Chapter 9

The raft bobbed gently on the waves. Any sign of the squall had vanished, as if it never happened. Like a bad dream. Only... this was no dream, but the hard and cruel reality.

All occupants sat or lay in total silence, each and everyone lost in their thoughts. That is...with the exception of the captain and the two unconscious NCIS agents who lay side by side, both of them stripped to their boxers and wrapped in blankets that were tucked around them from just below the groin all the way up including the head, to keep them from losing any more of what little warmth there was left in their still bodies.

The skipper had now taken over from Ziva and Tony, allowing both to take a rest. There wasn't much he could do, except keeping the young agent's core from cooling down any further and making sure any excess movement or jostling was avoided. The skipper had taken out a thermometer from his first aid kit and measured the rectal temperature – the closest alternative to a tympanic reading - which had, unsurprisingly, dropped to an alarmingly low level. He knew – as did the others – that this agent's life depended on getting a transfer to a specialized medical facility pronto.

Tony, arms wrapped around his legs and chin resting on his knees, sat staring morosely at Tim, lost in thought.

This was one such an occasion when he truly wished his partner had never gone on a diet and the workouts for a fitter body.

- Flashbacks -
It was fun teasing chubby "baby fat – puppy faced" Tim when he was a lowly probie on Gibbs' MCRT. Later, when Tony saw the pounds drop off, he secretly congratulated his coworker for his determination to do something about his weight. But the slimming down had turned into something close to an obsession to Tim – and a bother to Tony – with the result that the jokes became more tinged with snideness by the day.

Tony'd never forget the look on McGee's face when he'd told the younger man that he was much funnier when he was fat, nor that time when he'd told Tim he was getting more "Kate Mossish".

No, McGee was not amused.

Later that day, Tony had caught his friend standing in front of the mirror in the men's room, staring at his reflection in silent resentment of the way Tony saw him – and God knew how many others. Tony did what he thought was best at the time: ignore Tim, do his business and leave.

Then, one Friday night, when the friends had gathered at their favorite pub, and McGee's weight-loss had been broached, Tim had calmly explained to the others how the doctor at the annual check-up had strongly recommended him to do something about the overweight. It wasn't that dramatic, but for a field agent, he was told to take better care of his body.

A couple of weeks later after work, Tony had taken himself down to the pool for a swim. The few times he'd felt the need to de-stress by doing his couple of lengths, he'd been mostly alone. On this occasion, there was another person already there.
Tony barely took notice of the other individual in the water, other than that the man was of an athletic built and performing a relaxed, yet strong breaststroke. Length upon length. Seemingly untiring and effortless, pushing through the unresisting water in straight lines with regular, deliberately slow strokes.

At intervals, Tony would lean on the side to catch his breath while watching the streamlining of the other occupant of the pool: from his long reaching fingers, body stretching all the way down to his long legs and toes. Unerringly keeping a regular rhythm.
To Tony, the man appeared to be an well trained swimmer. It didn't take an expert to notice the ease at which the other was taking his turns, pushing off the pool-wall, gliding through the water before breaking through the surface again to resume the stroke cycle.
The man never took a break until he considered he'd completed the laps he had set himself to do.

It wasn't until he'd hoisted his lithe body out of the water, onto the edge, and turned around facing the pool again while running one hand through his hair, that Tony recognized the mystery swimmer. The sleek, flat abdomen, and long limbed man staring back at him in mutual and utter surprise was none other than his very own probie. Tim was the first to recover and after a quick nod, he made his hasty exit into the showers and changing rooms, leaving behind him a baffled, yet impressed, Tony.
- End of flashbacks -

Now, the lack of fat proved a severe handicap to Tim. It was rather unsettling to see one's partner lying there, in the middle of the life raft, tucked in like a baby except for the extremities which were still bare...and so thoroughly devoid of color. Almost alabaster white...apart from the blueish tinge and the sustained injuries. A gash on the left leg and various cuts and abrasions on the hands and face. None were bleeding, but the gash looked deep and ugly.

To all appearances, he made the perfect candidate for a corpse on one of Ducky's autopsy-tables.

A very unwelcome thought that had Tony swallow the bile that had started to rise in his throat and draw his gaze away from his friend, just in time to see Gibbs stir.

The captain had also seen – or felt – the other of his two charges coming around and he laid a steadying hand on Gibbs' shoulder. Not that Gibbs was in any way cognisant of all that was happening around him, and not entirely awake, either.
No. His weak flailing and movements of his lips rather bespoke of something going on in a world only he knew of.

"Nooshhhhnnn..."

Tony raised his eyebrows: "what the...?" and scooted closer to lay a soothing hand where the captain's had previously lain before returning his attention on Tim.

"Da...nlllnnng..."

It looked like the Boss was having quite an interesting conversation, but...with whom? Tony couldn't make out anything sensible from the slurred words Gibbs was uttering.

"NO! Won't do!"

Now that was frighteningly comprehensible, Tony thought as Gibbs suddenly struggled to sit up.

"Just hold him down, will ya?" The captain urgently hissed between his teeth, giving Tony a glare.

"Know what? Ne'er goin' back there."

Tony bent over his boss and pushed him gently down again. Gibbs' eyes had snapped open to stare intently at some point beyond his agent.

"Sshhh... Just...just... It's okay, Boss. Is okay."

"O..okay?" He blinked a few times and then managed to focus on Tony, squinting a little due to the closeness of Tony's face.

"What...?" Gibbs swallowed, licked his dry and salt crusted lips and tried again. "Tony?"

"Yeah. It's me. Now just stay down, 'kay? You need to lie down."

Gibbs' eyes closed and Tony thought he was out again...but no... the eyes had reopened.

"How's McGee...Tim...?" He turned his head to look at his youngest. He knew it was only to be expected that there would be no improvement and it chagrined him.

Tony followed his gaze and mumbled. "Not too good, Boss."

"Hmm... Take good care of him, will ya? Please?"

"Sure, but how about you?"

"I'm fine. I'm fine." The recurring shudders belied that, of course, as he well knew."Bit cold, bit numb...No worries, I'll surfff...ife..."

Tony sighed and settled himself as close as he could by the team leader, hoping to transfer some of his own heat to the other.

"Why didn't you do anything?" A hereto new voice piped up.

For the first time since she'd been taken on board of the lifeboat, Lorraine Daring had finally stirred and spoken.

Ziva regarded her icily before replying: "What do you think they've been doing for the past two hours?" And she pointed at the captain and Tony.

"Yeah, but...not much use now, is it?"

"What?" Ziva couldn't believe her ears.

"Shouldn't you have rubbed the man to warm him up? Get his circulation back or something? No, instead, you just took off his clothes and left him half naked on the floor! And with the sun gone, it's getting even colder!" She sniffed derisevely and confused at the same time, if such could be possible.

Pellowe brushed at a stray lock of her hair before calmly explaining to her how things worked. He had sensed the tension in Ziva and wanted to avoid the latent hostility getting worse. He considered himself a fairly good judge of characters and it hadn't taken him long to realize the way the members of this NCIS team were closeknit – almost like a family.

"Lorraine. Massaging or rubbing to get him warm again would only serve to make his condition worse. You would only succeed in getting the cold blood from the extremities to flow to the heart, causing his body temperature to drop even more. This would surely kill him. Cardiac arrest. That's why they left his arms and legs bare, you know? To concentrate on keeping his core warm for as long as possible."

"What's the point anyway. He's dead now." She softly cried. "Why don't you people cover him? I can't stand to see his face like that!"

Tony and Ziva both had their mouths open to speak, but were beat by their boss.

"No can do, 'cause he ain't dead yet! Haven't given him permission, yet."

The mumbled reply brought a tiny, sad smile on both agents' faces. They knew exactly what he was talking about.

"B...but..." She protested.

This time, Pellowe gave her a little shake.

"Honey, as the man says, he isn't dead yet. Unconscious and, okay, in a real bad way. They're doing everything that's in their power to save him."

She was sniffing loudly now, breath hitching as panic slowly built up. And that was something that had to be nipped in the bud at all cost. Now!

Pellowe hugged her closer, offering her comfort.

"Hey sweetie, see it this way: he's sort of hibernating. It's what animals do. Reduce their body temperature to pull through the cold winters. He's quite cold now, but his heart's still beating, at a very slow rate, but still beating. He can't be warmed up too fast, now." He kept his voice soft as if talking to a frightened child. Nobody in the raft could deny the love the two fugitives shared.

"Why are they still breathing him?"

"That's warm, moist air. He needs it to survive, baby. Remember he also drowned and he must've aspirated some water. His lungs are not working as they should."

"He...he's not dead, then?" She couldn't grasp this.

"No, he isn't. He'll be just fine..." He patted her knee as he looked away from her to rest his eyes on McGee, and muttered under his breath "...if only that damned Evac would arrive..." before locking eyes with Ziva and then Tony.

They understood. They all sent silent prayers that rescue would soon arrive.