Gibbs sighed as he partially accepted his fate on the floor of his basement. At least his bottle of bourbon was still intact and within reach.

It was as child's mistake; he hadn't checked the latches on the timber delivery and thus when he went to move one part of it, the rest unbalanced, falling from chest height towards him. Now he lay flat on his back on his basement floor, with a timber delivery crushing half his right leg and his left foot.

Huffing, he reached for the bourbon and took a swig, before attempting to sit up and assess the damage. From the angle he was at, moving the timber off himself was going to be difficult and he couldn't simply pull himself out. Although his leg hurt, he didn't suspect too much damage, especially since he was able to wiggle his toes.

Well, he thought, this was going to be a long night.

However, just as he thought it, there came a knock upstairs from his front door, followed by the sound of it opening. Only one agent still knocked despite his rules.

"McGee," he bellowed up. "Down here…. Bring ya Palmer abs." He muttered the last bit to himself as he awaited his youngest agent to appear.

Shortly, McGee appeared at the top of the stairs with sure enough a concerned expression when he saw what was before him.

"Gibbs! Oh God, are you alright?" he shouted, crashing down the stairs towards his mentor as the older agent rolled his eyes. Kids, so concerned.

"I'm sure I'm fine. Need some help getting this off me –"

Gibbs hadn't finished his sentence before McGee began to shove timber with all of his might and a few grunts. Slowly with each piece moved, Gibbs could feel the pressure relieve off his limbs; and with that came new, further pain. Eventually, Gibbs was able to pry himself out and away from the remaining timber, scooting backwards until he was leaning up against a work bench.

"Thank you," he said.

"Let me look at your leg" McGee instructed, kneeling beside him. Gibbs chuckled and shook him away.

"Its fine. Some rest and ice and it'll be better in no time," he spoke knowingly. McGee didn't budge, not believing him and holding his eye. Gibbs sighed. "Honestly… c'mon, help get me upstairs and onto the sofa." Like a loyal puppy McGee didn't hesitate on moving, an arm sliding under Gibbs' legs. "Oh no – I'm not DiNozzo. Get me on my own two legs and help or let me do it myself."

Hesitant, McGee then moved to take one of Gibbs's arms – the one that held the bourbon – over his shoulders and slid his other arm around the man's waist. Together, they heaved the older agent up.

Hissing, a newfound pain was sent through Gibbs' nerve system when he placed a slight amount of pressure on his legs. The foot that that been trapped wasn't too bad, most of the weight being held by his other leg that now pulsed with pain.

Hobbling, the pair moved through the basement towards the stairs, McGee supporting a good amount of his boss' weight. The stairs themselves provided an obstacle, Gibbs' stubbornness making it harder and much longer process climbing them. However, they did it; and McGee was patient and quiet. Not a word of begrudge or mutter of sarcasm.

Finally reaching the living room, McGee practically dropped the man onto the soft, the bourbon nearly spilling as it and its holder went downwards.

McGee moved towards the kitchen rolling his eyes as Gibbs took another good swig of his bottle. Opening the freezer, he was relieved to find ice packs. Returning, he grabbed a foot stool on his journey, using it to cautiously raise his boss' legs and place the ice packs. Gibbs hissed instinctively.

"Will you let me call Ducky?"

"No need." Silence. "I'll call if it worsens by morning, deal?"

"Okay." McGee smirked. He stood, as if to leave, except he threw himself down onto the empty side of the sofa. "Where are your blankets?"

Gibbs shook his head, pointing to a small cupboard. "You should go home, McGee."

"But if I go home," he spoke, in pursuit of two blankets. "How will I know if you call Ducky in the morning?"

With a soft smile, Gibbs let his agent cover him in the blanket and settle down on the sofa next to him. He offered a sip of his bourbon, which was declined after a brief contemplation.

"Why did you come over tonight, Tim?"

"Oh," he blushed. "It's stupid."

"Go on," Gibbs instructed, again offering the bourbon. This time McGee took it.

"Well, I wanted your advice… On getting Tony to… Shove off." He swigged at the bottle; coughing was just the single sip that touched his lips. "Oh God, I think I'll only ever drink beer and wine." Gibbs laughed, getting a feel of a father giving his teen son his first sip of alcohol.

"Listen, if this is the whole, 'Palmers' abs' thing going on; take the compliment and run." Somewhere, he clearly lost his younger agent by the creased brows on his forehead. "Tim, you don't need to have something to justify what you can or can't do. You carry this team in more than one way, because that's what a team is: a collection of people that we can all rely on. It doesn't matter if you do have abs like Palmer or not. You carried Ziva out of a burning building, Tony up a hill in the wood, you held Abby when she was scared and carried Ducky down three flights of stairs – and yes, I noticed."

"I thought I'd gotten away with that last one," he murmured sheepishly.

"My point is: Tony's bragging for you as much as he is teasing you."

"Doesn't feel like it. Feels like I'm pulling off the impossible in his eyes, like -"

"You're not weak Tim. You've come a long way in this team, don't forget that." McGee didn't speak but smiled in return with a proud gleam in his eye. Handing back the bourbon, he leaned on the man's shoulder, a gesture that caused him to smile too.

"What about the bourbon?"

"Hmm?"

"Am I less of a man 'cuz I don't like it?"

"Never... That's just a character flaw."

Sorry for the delay in posting! Busy, busy... Next chapter will be the last. Hope you enjoyed and please leave a review.