a/n:

Damselfly: Chapter II

If someone was ever going to break the barrier of the speed of light in a dodge truck, it would be Leroy Jethro Gibbs. It was something that he was near doing currently on his way to St. James hospital, and it was a miracle no cops were around to pull him over, not that they would be able to catch up to him if they were.

Gibbs wasn't a rusher, it wasn't in his nature. It wasn't him. If it was, he could never have been a proper scout sniper or killed the bastard that took away his wife and daughter. He would be out of the job if he did. So even though he rushed to get to the hospital, he didn't rush in to the front desk like a parent would of their child was in the hospital, but instead walked in like a Special Agent and flashed his badge at the nurse at the front desk.

"N.C.I.S." He said. "I'm here to see Gibbs, Shelby Jackson; he was brought in around 0600 in critical condition."

"I'm sorry, sir." The nurse told him, and Gibbs felt something harden in his stomach. "The patient is in the I.C.U., and not conscious. I cannot allow you to see him, even if he were. Only family is permitted." Gibbs looked at her, hard. He was family!

"It's alright, Amy." Jackson spoke up from next to Gibbs. He nodded to her. "He's family."

Amy looked at him, her gaze flickering between the two, she could tell instantly that they were related. She pursed her lips. "If you're sure," She said.

He nodded. "Thank you," Jackson said.

Gibbs turned form her and faced his father, his face as read-less as any other day, but this was not any other day.

"I'm surprised that you showed, Jethro." Jackson told him. "After you didn't answer my calls,"

"I have a job to do, dad." Gibbs told him.

Jackson shook his head and turned away, heading back to his grandson's room in the I.C.U., Gibbs following after him. He stepped into the room and took the seat that was at Shelby's bedside; the one that he looked like he had been sitting on since he arrived at the hospital. "This is the only way you'll see him, isn't it?" He said.

Gibbs was silent as he stood at the foot of Shelby's hospital bed. The 27 year-old looked like anyone should after they've been thrown by the shock-wave of a two explosions. He had burns on his face and arms, it was obvious that he had a concussion, he was covered in scrapes, lacerations and bruises. His right arm was in a sling because of a dislocated shoulder, a gash was at his hairline. His head was wrapped, his left eye and ear were bandaged as well. That was just what Gibbs could see, under the gown was a mystery. He was hooked up to a heart monitor, an I.V., he had oxygen going to his nose and a tube down his throat. Gibbs felt like a bastard, and rightly so. "You know that's completely unfair," he finally said, looking at Jackson.

"No. What's unfair is that you can't stand the sight of him because he looks like you when you were his age, Jackson told his son, looking up from Shelby as well.

Gibbs glared at him. "I don't have time for this,"

"You don't have time for your son, you mean." The older man corrected, standing up from his chair.

"Don't even start."

"You're right." Jackson agreed. "Even though he's unconscious, he shouldn't hear this."

"You done?" Gibbs questioned.

"Not yet." Jackson turned from his son and opened the cabinet that was next to the window, and too out a bag. He tossed it to Gibbs, who caught it. "I had them save everything that they took off Shelby. Thought that it might help. So do your job, Jethro, and find out who nearly killed my grandson."

Gibbs locked gazes with his father as he held the clear bag full of his son's uniform and everything else. Yes, he wasn't on the greatest terms with his father since he left for the Marines at 18, and the same went for Shelby since Shannon and Kelly were killed. But they were his family; Shelby was his last connection with Shannon and he shoved that away- But no one messes with his family and gets away with it. He nodded to his father, and with one last glance at Shelby, he left the two of them. He needed to get these to Abby and find out who else was with his son in that field.

Jackson sighed and sat back in the chair, he was careful as he took Shelby's good hand in his. "He means well, your father." he told the unconscious man.

chapter II end-