Chapter 3

Ducky waited rather patiently for Jethro's return. Mentally, he was going over the list of what he needed to do. He considered calling for an ambulance, but decided against it. He would just check a few things for himself, first. Perhaps this was something simple, in need of only basic treatment. He prayed that was the case. Physically, he allowed himself to chat mundanely about past experiences. His voice seemed to hold her attention, and he could easily speak at length while doing other things.

Confusion. That was the primary symptom he could diagnose at the moment. Disorientation, pale skin, and a pulse that was perhaps faster than normal. He wasn't certain of her normal resting pulse rate, so the quick pulse against his fingers as he touched her wrist could only tell him that it was slightly rapid for the average young female. Quite frankly, he could attribute that to her common intake of caffeine, or even her usual quick metabolism.

"Abby, do you know where you are?" he asked her.

It was a moment before she answered. "My lab," she finally said.

"What day is it?"

She took longer for this question. "Wednesday?" She sounded uncertain. "Or Thursday?"

"It's Friday afternoon, Dear," he told her gently. "When did you last sleep?"

She thought about that for a long while, and then she finally shrugged her shoulders.

Ducky took a breath of relief when Jethro came into the lab with his bag. First things first, he thought, and reached for his sphygmomanometer and stethoscope. Mentally he noted that her blood pressure was low, although not dangerously so, and he used the stethoscope to listen to her heart. The beat was rapid, but regular and with no murmur. He couldn't tell any more about her cardiac status without further instruments, and those were not currently available.

He exchanged the first two implements for another. It took him a moment to organize the supplies, but momentarily he was using a lancet to obtain a drop of blood to check her glucose level. He knew Jethro was watching him as he worked, but he attempted to focus on what he was doing rather than the glare of the NCIS team leader. Her blood sugar was low as well, although again not dangerously so. Respiration was shallow but regular and of normal rate. A quick check with a simple pen light showed him that her pupils were reacting normally to light. Her body temperature was normal.

Next he attempted to check her neurological status. This required cooperation on her part, so it was a frustrating process. Eventually she was able to squeeze his hands, push up and down with both hands and feet with an equal if less-than-normal strength, and demonstrate normal reflexes.

What continued to be a concern to him was the delay in processing that she was experiencing. Each command he gave required several seconds to register, and than she seemed to be working very hard to comprehend and comply with those commands.

"Jethro, there are some test results on the very low edge of normal, but I can't do more without further equipment and testing. I hate to say this, but she really should be seen by a physician who has better access to facilities than I. Unfortunately, while I can manage basic first aid, I simply don't have the equipment to adequately assess the living." Frustration rang from every word, but he couldn't help it. His instinct told him that something was very wrong, and yet he couldn't detect it. Yes, he could draw blood and give oxygen, but frankly even if he were able to determine what was disorienting Abigail, he was unable to treat her. The situation went against his instincts as both a physician and a friend.

"Abby, can you walk well enough to get to my car?" he asked, grateful that he'd driven it instead of his truck. It had a smoother ride, and it would be more comfortable for her.

There was a long pause before she nodded, and then her face furrowed in confusion. "Why?"

"We need to get you checked out," he said simply.

Another pause, and then another nod. Abby stood up from where Ducky had requested she sit in the chair by her computer, and her legs wobbled. She took two steps, and then she collapsed.

Gibbs was faster than Ducky, and he had an arm under her to lower her to the floor even before Ducky could reach for the phone and dial 911. He explained the situation, requested paramedics rather than EMTs, and returned to his patient within minutes.

"Jethro, find Mr. Palmer. Send him to the infirmary. I need a pulse oximeter and a cardiac monitor. Go. Now!"

Bless him, Gibbs didn't argue. He headed out of the room at a jog as Ducky did a quick evaluation of Abigail. Her pulse was a little thready, but the rate hadn't changed. Quickly, he moved to a cabinet in her lab and grabbed several vacutainer tubes of varied color. Returning to Abby, he assembled the supplies necessary to draw blood, making sure he had two tubes for each of the most common tests: complete blood count, electrolytes, thyroid and liver functions, and several other tests. Once this was complete, he dug through his bag for IV supplies, selecting a saline solution containing dextrose in case blood sugar was indeed her problem.

He didn't think it was.

By the time the Jethro returned, he had her IV in place with a solid 18 gauge catheter. Any necessary medications could be given through this during transport. He connected the pulse oximeter to her finger and was vaguely concerned when the best he could get was in the upper eighties. He sent Palmer, who had come into the room with Jethro, to get the portable oxygen unit. By the time the paramedics arrived, he had her on oxygen, her IV running at a good pace, and her tubes of blood were labeled.

"Bethesda," he told the lead paramedic as they loaded Abby onto the gurney.

The man looked at him as though he were from another planet. "The closest facility is…"

"I said, Bethesda," Ducky stated again.

"She active duty?" the second paramedic asked, glancing rather obviously at the tattoos and attire that Abby had worn that day.

"She's DOD," Gibbs answered, the first words he had spoken since Abby's collapse. "Take her to Bethesda. I'll take responsibility."

The first paramedic nodded and transferred the IV bag from the makeshift hanger that Ducky had fashioned from a large paperclip on the cabinet door to the more appropriate IV holder on the gurney. "Bethesda it is," he said. "Anyone coming with her?"

"Jethro," Ducky began, but the younger man cut him off.

"Go, Duck," he said quickly. "Make sure they take care of her. I want a doctor in that ambulance." He paused a moment and then added, "I'll follow you."

If it occurred to Dr. Mallard that he wasn't a traditional doctor, he said nothing. He simply nodded and followed the gurney out of the lab. As the elevator doors closed, Ducky glanced back and saw the expression on Jethro's face. He didn't think he'd ever seen the special agent closer to panic than he was at that moment. Absently, he wondered if Jethro would be safe to drive.

Then again, he smiled to himself, was he ever?