Ah, how I dream of good health, free of plaguing stomach pains or fevers. Illness and dissatisfaction with wordiness aside, please enjoy this labor of love, chapter three. R&R, if it suits you!

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(See chapter one for introduction.)

Chapter Three: Losing Odds

Watching Tony and Ziva walk away with his car keys, Gibbs let out an exhausted sigh. All he wanted to do was sit down and take a nap, to wake up refreshed and have everything be okay like magic, but with his agents gone, Gibbs would be doing anything but sleeping. In fact, he had better kick his senses into high gear. He was on guard duty now. He had to keep an eye out for any suspicious activity or shady people and be able to make split decisions in a dangerous situation.

He needed coffee.

Before heading towards the front reception area, he stopped at the bathroom. His hands were covered in dark red-brown, his gray jacket splotched in equally-sickening patches of rust color. He could not walk around like this.

The restroom was blindingly white like the rest of the hospital, except for one stainless steel sink with diluted red in it. Gibbs stared at it, exhaustion pulling on him again as he thought, Ah, where Dinozzo must have washed his hands. Despite his years upon years of training, anger and pain boiled up in his stomach. However, he knew how to transform that burning, wild fury into cold, targeted fuel. He glared into the icy eyes of the older man in the mirror before him.

"We'll get that bastard," Gibbs said, imagining that Timothy far away could feel his conviction. He flipped on the sink and began washing his hands. Rusty water swirled down the drain. A stirring of self-targeted anger rose up in his gut. He could have gotten back there faster. He could have stopped the shooter from putting a bullet in his agent.

Gibbs stopped and gripped the sink in his dripping hands. He could have put Ziva at the back instead. She would have faired better in that ill-fated fight. Timothy never did have luck with the back door post anyway. Remembering back to when Jethro the dog had attacked Timothy, that had been a back door post as well.

"There's no way I could've seen this coming." He snatched some paper towels from the dispenser, wetted them and tried to scrub at his jacket then, giving up and removing it, his shirt. "The back door was a precautionary measure anyway. Webb was working alone." Gibbs examined his shirt. Both it and the jacket were a lost cause, but the first was much less stained than the latter. He would settle for wearing the article less gruesome.

Almost as he came to the decision, a familiar voice came from the hall. "Gibbs?! Gibbs, are you here?"

Leaving the jacket on the counter, Gibbs sprinted out to find Abby clad in a black night gown with makeup-stained tear tracks on her face. She spun towards him and gasped at the comparatively small bloodstain on his shirt.

"Gibbs! Oh, my god!" She grabbed him in a full-armed hug and let her tears flow again. "Oh god, oh god, I don't know what I'm gonna without Tim. He's so smart and sweet, and he always got my computer jokes-"

"Abby, Abby, McGee is not dead. He's still in surgery, and he is going to be fine." He pulled her away as she wiped at her eyes and sniffled and held her at arms' length. "Look at me. Tim needs you to be positive right now, okay? You're one of the people he's gonna want to see first when he comes to, I'm sure." Abby nodded, sniffed, and took a deep, shuddering breath.

"Okay, I can do that. Think positive, think positive." Closing her eyes, Abby muttered this to herself and focused. After a heartbeat, she looked up and was considerably calmer, though Gibbs could feel an undercurrent of panic just below the surface. She looked around the waiting room. "Where are Ziva and Tony? Oh god, don't tell me-!"

"No, Abby, they're fine!" Gibbs said, almost pleading. "They just went home to get cleaned up, then Dinozzo's coming back to watch over McGee with me." He avoided the phrase 'guard duty' lest it spark panic, but she caught on to the reasoning anyway.

Abby fixed the older man in an intimidating Gibbs-esque glare, making him regret her ability to learn so well. "Gibbs, as much as I worry about things, I am not a frail, little child that you need to protect. Why does McGee need body guards? This didn't have anything to do with the case, did it? Webb was working alone. He had no way of knowing about this sting, and he didn't have any associates that just happened to be with him. M-McGee and I were the ones that proved that with his payment records!"

Gibbs sighed and looked away. She was sharp as ever, even with grief and anxiety clouding her head. "It's true. I think someone targeted McGee directly. I think it was personal." Abby began to speak up but Gibbs interrupted her. "Now, Abby, I need you to do something for me. It's very important."

"Okay," Abby said as she cast him a wary glance. Whatever he was about to ask of her, she had the feeling he knew she would resist.

"I need you to go to the crime scene and establish jurisdiction. LEOs should already be there so-"

"Gibbs! I can't go! I need to be here when Tim gets out of surgery!" She grabbed his hand and squeezed to emphasize her point. Gibbs winced. She really did not know her own strength when she was riding adrenaline. "Please, what'll he think if I don't-"

"Abby, I can guarantee that he will not be conscious after surgery. The amount of damage that was done…" Gibbs hated using this leverage against her, knowing that it hurt her to know her friend was so injured. "He'll be sleeping until tomorrow morning, at the very, very least. Now if we don't let them know that we're running this show, you know they'll cut us out of the investigation. Abby, you need to be powerful, but you need to be under control, too. Can you do that?"

Abby almost got mad but realized it would only mark against her. She gave an attempt to smile, though it looked somewhat more like a grimace. "You underestimate me, Jethro. That crime scene is ours. I'll call some agents in to help me take care of the evidence but-" She fixed him in that stare again. "Once everyone knows NCIS is in charge of the investigation, I'm coming right back here."

Smiling, Gibbs hugged her again. "I know you will, Abby. Be careful." Abby's smile became softer, more real.

"I promise. And Gibbs? When he gets out of surgery… I know he won't be awake, but tell him… " She paused, trying to think of the right thing to say. "Tell him to never worry me like that again… And that I'll be right there when he wakes up."

"I will." There was a lull as they held each other for a heartbeat, then Gibbs pulled away and said in a brisk tone, "Now make me proud, Abby."

She saluted- with the wrong hand- and said, "Yes, sir!" Gibbs watched as she marched out, bristling with responsibility. Then, after retrieving his jacket and laying it on a chair in the waiting room, he went off to the front desk. He needed to know where they got their coffee in this place.

Three hours later, an exhausted man in blue scrubs exited the restricted OR hallway and found Tony dozing in the waiting room, while Gibbs stared into the distance beside him.

"Excuse me, are you the family of Agent McGee?" the surgeon asked. Gibbs stood up as Tony jerked awake.

"Yes, we are," Gibbs replied with ease. If it got him answers faster, then yes, they were family. "Can you tell us how Tim's doing?"

The surgeon, looking at the two men and wondering how they could possibly be related to the patient, replied, "Actually, I was looking for one of the investigators. I have the slug bagged-"

Tony smiled with his slick charm and said, "Ah, that would also be me." He dug around for his badge then flashed it to the skeptical doctor. "Cousins. I kinda got him into the business, so to speak." The surgeon glanced at Gibbs, who nodded in support of Tony's story.

"I always knew it was dangerous work, but-" Gibbs choked off, playing a surprisingly good anxious father or uncle. At least, it was convincing enough for this guy. The surgeon passed the bag and a clipboard to Tony, which Tony signed for and pocketed. Gibbs watched the exchange with a worried expression, looking the displaced father figure perfectly. "Now, can you tell us… ?"

"Certainly. You may want to be sitting for this." The surgeon pulled a chair up as Tony and Gibbs sat down. "My name is Dr. Clark. I was the leading surgeon on Timothy's emergency operation. Our first priority was to stop the bleeding, so there wasn't much repair work that I could do at first. After a transfusion however, I was able to begin taking stock of the damage." He sighed and rubbed his eyes. It had been a long, delicate surgery.

"The bullet entered below the ribcage and did considerable damage to the liver, stomach and the surrounding soft tissue. It bounced off a lower rib and lodged inside the back of a higher rib, fracturing both. For now, we'll keep him as still as possible but we'll need to realign the bone as soon as possible, probably early in the morning. The organ damage, however, is less prospective. Even with the regeneration rate of the liver and stomach, there's an extremely high chance of infection. Coupled with the shock of the blood loss, it'll be a close call."

Tony blew out a tight breath. "And his tongue?"

"We put some sutures on the wound, and it should begin healing soon. We'll have to keep the area clean, but the tongue is one of the fastest healing parts of the body. I'd say he could be talking again as soon as next week."

"What are his chances?" Gibbs spoke with a steady chill in his voice, almost as if he had to turn off his emotions in order to even look at the raw truth.

"In layman's terms, he has a 75 percent chance of coming out of this without any complications. His chances with complications… Well, let's not think too much about that. Considering all the factors, he's a very lucky man. A few inches to the right, and it would've hit his spinal column. A few inches up, and it would've gone straight through his heart."

Gibbs blood went cold. He had the hunch before but knew for sure now. Those odds were too close, too coincidental. For some reason, he felt like it was not quite an attempted murder. The malevolence was there, but the intention just did not seem to be death.

It was more like tormenting, punishing. It was a message by torture.

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