Shot To Hell by ceilidh
A/N:- Oh dear! After the end of that last chapter, I think Gibbs might need to call that family cavalry in to keep his team together. And since I've rather neglected poor Ziva in this story, I thought I'd let her help him out in her own, wonderfully unique way.
As always, I hope you enjoy!
Chapter Eight - The Ties That Bind
Time, it was said, could heal all wounds. Gibbs hoped the same adage applied to another decent night's sleep. Maybe that was why he'd given Tim McGee a few more hours of nap-time before calling in to see him. The more time the boy had to rest and regain his strength, the easier the next stage in his recovery would be.
He hoped.
Even so, it was still only just past noon, so he'd naturally assumed he'd be Tim's first visitor of the day. Finding him already awake, and lap-deep in wrapping paper, Gibbs grinned at how pleasantly he'd been proven wrong.
Ziva had clearly got to him first.
When he'd called her the previous night, to ask her to organise the traditional cards and collection – yeah, Gibbs dryly reflected, maybe he should have been a bit more specific on the protocols involved. After all, Tim McGee would be laid up for several days yet, so there was no real rush to get it done.
Without that advice, though, and without waiting for his contribution either, Ziva had just gone for it, with her usual, unique enthusiasm.
She'd found plenty of support, of course, both from the previous night and today's early morning shifts, and – jeez, she must have been up all night, to get so much collected, and so much bought, so damn fast.
Watching Tim rip through his latest envelope, Gibbs laughed outright now as he pictured the scene – his Mossad agent striding through the bullpen, terrifying the bewildered night-shift into submission.
Still, it served them right for swiping Ducky's tea, Abby's Caf-Pows, and Tony's prized jelly donuts.
So yes, Ziva's grasp on language and culture could be shaky at times, the butt of endless jokes, but – hell, Gibbs had to give her credit for getting things done and, more to the point, her sense of loyalty.
For so long the outsider, met with wary suspicion, she was now a crucial, fully trusted part of his team.
And, judging by Tim McGee's appreciative laughter, she had quite the eye for card-humour too. This one was so funny, apparently, that it took several seconds for Tim to notice he had company – the grin that followed a promising sign that time, sleep, and Ziva's attempts to re-build some broken bridges, had all worked their wonders.
"Hey, boss! You've, um- just missed Ziva," he said at last, nodding to the box beside him – frowning slightly at Gibbs' huff of laughter, but thinking no more of it as Gibbs settled into his seat.
"So I see," Gibbs retorted dryly, dropping some errant strands of parcel ribbon into a nearby bin – Tim's typically fastidious search for more giving him a chance to give his young agent a discreet once-over.
He was still rather pale, but his eyes were clear, and he looked much happier than he'd done last night.
Gibbs smiled too now. Ziva had clearly tried to play her part in resolving the fall-out between the colleagues who'd become her surrogate family – giving Gibbs hope that the issues he couldn't face then might now be just a little easier to resolve.
That, though, could wait until Tim McGee was ready to talk – and Gibbs wasn't going to force him. There was just too much at stake, for too many people, to risk forcing him into it before he was ready.
He really should have known better. As he was constantly finding, Tim McGee was just full of surprises. And when he 'um-ed…' as much as this – yeah, Gibbs dryly noted, a real humdinger usually followed.
"I- um… well, um, a-about the other night, boss, and- um, what happened in the bullpen, with… um-"
Okay, it had come kinda earlier than he'd expected, and caught him completely off-guard, but – well, however unexpected this opportunity was, Jethro Gibbs was still damn grateful to take it.
"Tony?" he prodded gently, giving Tim's arm a rallying squeeze as he passed him a glass of water.
"It's okay, Tim, just take your time. Tell me what happened."
That won him a shyly grateful smile as Tim nodded, taking a long drink while he thought out his reply – composed enough, when he finally spoke, for his stutter to lessen, and the 'um's…' to almost disappear.
"I – I guess that's one good thing about being laid up like this, boss, it- um, gives you time to think. I've been awake all morning, just- well, thinking about what happened, and why it happened, and- well, I can remember it too now, boss. All of it. Everything, from going to Ducky to when I collapsed.
I remember Tony running back to catch me. He tried so hard to reach me, boss, he tried so hard. And I remember him holding me. Even when I threw up on him, all those times, he- well, he still wouldn't let me go-"
Pausing for a moment, both to gather his thoughts and regain his composure, Tim McGee then smiled – the strength of his friendship with his surrogate big brother summed up with soft but heartfelt pride.
"I know I was pretty out of it by then, but- well, I remember it now, boss. I – I know he was there-"
He'd spoken typically softly, and tiredness had slightly slurred his words, but Gibbs didn't mind that. However quiet and hesitant that voice had been, he'd still heard the gratitude, and forgiveness, within it.
As so often happened in times of crisis, one moment of crass stupidity could still be forgiven, and forgotten.
And eyes that would always show what Tim McGee was really feeling conveyed the same message. For Tony DiNozzo at least, the crisis which had almost wrecked a truly priceless friendship was over.
He still hadn't mentioned Abby, of course, but – well, right now, Gibbs didn't mind that either. After the way she'd hurt him, forgiveness for her would take a bit longer. But it would come. It would come.
For now, Gibbs gratefully accepted this breakthrough which, just last night, had seemed impossible.
One down. One to go.
An hour later, a smiling Jethro Gibbs slipped out of Tim McGee's room, leaving him in peace to sleep – his smile widening as he dialled his cellphone, and pictured the scene of pure relief its call would bring.
"DiNozzo…? Breakfast tomorrow. Bethesda. And bring some real big pieces of humble pie"