Luh-dumf. Luh-dumf. Luh-dumf.
Luh-dumf. Luh-dumf. Luh-dumf. Luh-dumf. Luh-dumf. Luh-dumf.
Heart's beating. Beating. I'm alive. I'm alive. Calm down. I'm alive.
Tim sat on the gurney in his nook in the emergency room, gripping its sides for balance. It hurt a little less to breathe if he sat up, he'd discovered. Laid down once; didn't care for it, uh-uh. And he'd had to wait for the nurse to return and help him back up. No, he could sit now while he waited. Sit and tense up.
A purple expanse had emerged across the left side of his bare chest, he could see, as the bruises acted out. He'd no doubt that the painful left side of his face looked much the same.
Heart's beating. Heart's beating. I'm alive. I'm alive. Calm down. I'm alive.
Every thought made his breaths come faster, increasing his moments of pain. Trying to get his mind off the physical, Tim did a mental self-assessment, but every point came up negative. Everything I do, everything I touch, just devolves to disaster today...and I still haven't made it to Annapolis yet. How late am I now? The Director will kill me if I embarrass her...I'll have to rent a car to get up there now...How could I have let this all happen?!
"Hey."
Tim turned his head at the soft greeting, and then turned away again, head lowered. Gibbs. No doubt here to yell at me for not getting to Annapolis. Or yell some more about the incident at Anacostia. Or am I being paranoid?
Gibbs silently followed the movements of Tim's face with his own eyes, studying him. Tim then noticed, from the corners of his eyes, how white his boss looked.
"The police called," Gibbs offered, a catch in his voice. "Said your car rolled over four times. And I remembered seeing that your car, in the lot at Anacostia, had the top down..."
Ow. Yes, I would be a lot worse off if I'll rolled with the top down... "I put it up before I left there, so I could run the air-conditioning."
Gibbs nodded, and put a hand on his shoulder, looking around the small room, rather than at him. "Haven't you been seen by a doctor yet?" he said, suddenly antsy.
"Oh, yeah; they did the triage thing. I'm pretty low on the list. Just waiting on the X-rays to come back."
"Ribs?"
"So we think." He was quiet, wondering why Gibbs wasn't yelling at him; too spooked to give Gibbs any excuse to start.
The doctor returned then, smiles and empathy, and tacked up the X-ray prints. "Relatively good news, Agent McGee. Breaks in three middle ribs on the left side, but just single breaks, so there's no flail chest to worry about. You'll be in a world of hurt for awhile, but other than that, your ribs aren't a serious matter. We'll bandage your chest, and you'll be good to go. Be sure to cough now and then; this is to prevent an infection from taking up residence in your respiratory system. I'll write you a prescription for acetominophen with hydrocodone; take one every four to six hours and don't drive until you see how it affects you. You may have dizziness, drowsiness, stomach pain, lightheadedness..." He went on, and Tim only half-listened as the doctor started wrapping an elastic bandage around his chest. No driving! How am I going to get to Annapolis? By some combination of train and bus, maybe?
"McGee!!"
Tim turned his head toward Gibbs. Now what?
"You're spacing out. Come on, I'll drive you home."
And so I leave an assignment incomplete. Great; just great...Tim put his shirt back on, feeling a trifle better now that the painkillers were starting to work.
"So tell me what happened," Gibbs said, starting his car but not pulling out yet.
"The brakes went. I was in the far left lane. I tried to merge to the right, to pull off the road, but there was too much traffic. Eventually, I lost control—" He swallowed. They gave us a defensive driving techniques course at FLETC. Is he going to get on me about that? "—and hit a road sign, and went into the median, and...that's all I remember."
"You didn't notice trouble earlier? Your car's too new to be having brake problems."
"No, it was okay when I left Anacostia. It wasn't until I was on the highway that they started feeling soft."
Gibbs' phone rang. "Gibbs...But I was just about to drive McGee home. Yeah, he'll be okay; just a few busted ribs...But I—" He looked at Tim but didn't voice his thoughts. "—okay. I'll be there directly." He turned to Tim. "Got a meeting at MTAC that I have to get to. I'm going to have to take you there, and DiNozzo or someone can drive you home. Sorry."
"No problem..." At last something that's not my fault...Why am I feeling so insecure? I haven't felt this way in a long time...
- - - - -
Tim got off the elevator at the squad room level, leaving Gibbs to continue up a floor. Tony did a double-take and half rose on seeing his bruised face.
"Holy...You look like you went two rounds with Superman, and...came out badly, Probie. What happened?!"
Tim sighed. At least things were normal around here. "Tony, if I'd fought with Superman, my face would be powder, not just bruised."
"Well, maybe he pulled his punches. He is a nice guy, after all."
"Superman's an imaginary character," Ziva scolded, then added, after a beat, "Wonder Woman told me so."
Tim laughed, though it hurt to do so, and he clutched his chest. Laugh...breathe...I guess I can do only one of those. Dang.
"What happened to you, McGee?" Ziva asked, now concerned. "I know you were going to Anacostia and Annapolis..."
"Never got to Annapolis. I rolled my car."
"No! Not that beautiful car!" Tony cried, over McGee's grimace for his priorities.
"Yes. Didn't Gibbs tell you?"
"He was gone when we came back from break. You hurt?"
"Broke a couple of ribs."
"Then why are you here? Go home! Take a week off! Take two!"
"If only you could approve my sick leave request! Has Ducky come up with anything on the dead lieutenant yet?" As if I really want to meet up with Ducky...
- - - - -
"Ah, Lieutenant, what happened to you to make you bleed so much, so suddenly, as the witnesses say you did?" Ducky said to Peskarev's corpse, which was on the autopsy table. "A sudden, unexpected death is atypical for someone your age. A grave infectious disease, perhaps? A sub-intimal hemorrhage? No signs of...Hmmmph. I do wish that young fool Timothy hadn't handled you; it's making you all the more mysterious, dear lady... Hold that light over here, would you please, Mister Palmer?" Ducky said, slicing into tissue, but finding it hard to slice.
"An obstruction, Doctor?"
"I'm not sure. Either the implement is dull, or there's something odd here..." With gloved hands, he felt the tissue. It didn't feel right, either...He snipped a piece off.
"Mister Palmer, take this to Abby; see if she can find anything peculiar in here. Perhaps trace chemicals have altered the tissue."
- - - - -
Abby danced to her blaring music, amusing herself by running a program she'd created that generated Tim's face in a montage of pictures, goofily responding to the moods of the music: frowning at some spots, grinning at others, sometimes just looking perplexed. Of course, I can never show this to him; pity... "You should like this piece, It's classic!" she said out loud to the montage. "Don't make that face..."
"Uh, what face, Abby?"
She jumped, and sprang to close the application. "Jimmy! Don't sneak up on someone like that!"
"Uh, sorry. Ducky asked me to bring you these samples for analysis. The tissue part was found to be abnormally dense, or something. And then there are these..."
"What are they?" She looked at the little gray-purple blobs in the small container.
"We're hoping you can tell us. Tissue of some sort, I guess. They, uh, came off the lieutenant's body, according to McGee."
"Tim was there?" Abby hadn't been filled in on the Anacostia story; all she knew was that he'd be spending the morning fixing officers' computers somewhere. It had only dimly registered with her that Autopsy had received a lieutenant's body this morning, a case involving the rest of the team.
"Yes, he witnessed the death. Tried CPR, he and the commander, but nothing could be done for her."
Poor Tim; he must be broken up about that, she thought, but said, "Okay. I'll see if I can shake loose some answers." When Palmer left, she turned the montage back on and got to work.
- - - - -
Gibbs returned to the squad room after a too-long meeting to find Tony and Ziva crowding Tim as he tapped at his computer. "Why are you still here?" Gibbs snapped at Tim.
Again that peculiar, overly self-critical feeling came over Tim, and he didn't meet Gibbs' eyes. "Uh, got caught up in this, boss...This is the lieutenant's file." The image of the smiling, brown-haired woman's ID came up on his screen. "I'd overheard Commander Alvarez talking to her, while I was waiting to be let through the gate. She was one of two people who hadn't complied with that new Naval reg requiring that all officers have a full-length, color picture in their file before today."
"So?"
"The thing is, she did have a photo submitted. Did it within days of when the directive came out in April. And then she went in and deleted it, on June 12. Yet supposedly, from the conversation I overheard, she was convinced that she had never had a photo done."
Gibbs shrugged, but found himself interested, none the less. "Can you recover the photo?"
"Sure." It popped up, and didn't look much different from the ID photo.
"Well, she may have had her own reason. But it's irrelevant; we don't have a case yet. DiNozzo, drive McGee home. McGee, rest up and take care of yourself. Call me Thursday, let me know how you are then, and we'll discuss your return to work."
Tim did one last check on the lieutenant's file before shutting the computer down. Search:Nell. It came up with no results. "Okay; I'm ready to go."
"Good, Probie, because I'm not a taxi service." Tony grinned to chase away some of the sting from the barb. "How're you fixed for food? Do we need to stop at a grocery store along the way?"
- - - - -
"Commander Alvarez, please."
"May I ask who is calling?"
"I'm calling about Lieutenant Peskarev. I'm sure the commander will want to speak with me."
The ensign looked around worriedly. Everyone on the base knew that Lt. Peskarev, the harried, fun-loving taskmaster had died this morning. Right on base. Some said it was gruesome, but who could trust rumors?...Ah, there he was. "Commander, someone calling for you. About Lieutenant Peskarev."
"Must be the family," Alvarez sighed. "Put it through to my office, please, Robby."
He picked up the phone there, composing himself for his tragic duty. "Alvarez speaking,"
"Commander, please be vigilant when you leave the base today. You've already made one mistake, the one this morning. They know about this. The other gentleman involved almost didn't survive the attempt on his life. I hope it isn't too late for you. I need you to find Lieutenant Peskarev's killers." A pause. "Or you might not like what I do to those who impede the investigation."
"Who is this?!"
A quiet laugh. "Some call me 'Nell'." The connection broke.
Alvarez grabbed his hat. "I'm going to NCIS," he told the ensign-secretary. "Should be back in an hour or so."
He pulled his car out of the lot. Odd; I don't remember having trouble with the brakes this morning...