A/N. Yes, I've finished chapter 12. Thank you for the continued feedback and for keeping me motivated. This is the last time I attempt a quick follow-up from a couple of oneshots… :D Hope you enjoy…

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Gibbs was going stir crazy. After DiNozzo had been forced to go back to his room, Abby had returned. Upon finding out he was awake, the forensic scientist had spent at least twenty minutes alternating between attempting not to cry, berating him for causing them all so much worry and hugging him and telling him how glad she was that he was alive. Had the young woman not been so distraught, Gibbs might have been tempted to laugh. As it was, he'd settled for returning the hugs and assuring the young scientist that he had survived worse. This fact hadn't seemed to provide much by way of reassurance.

'You're not superman, Gibbs,' she'd reprimanded him. 'One of these days you're going to do yourself some permanent damage.' She hadn't mentioned getting himself killed, but the implication was there.

'Not this time, Abbs,' he'd held her tightly, giving her the only assurance he could. He wouldn't lie to her – Abby needed to be prepared for the fact that one day in the future, there was a good chance that one of them might not come back. Gibbs had seen too many good men die to realistically believe that it wasn't a possibility.

After Abby had left, Ducky had appeared. The two had talked, Gibbs doing more listening than talking, and eventually the medical examiner's voice had delivered its intended soporific effect, and Gibbs had found himself dozing. Now, just a few hours later, Ducky had fallen asleep in the chair beside his bed and Gibbs was bored.

He knew it would have sounded ridiculous if he'd voiced it out loud, but there was nothing to do in the intensive care unit. He was tired of sleeping and even more tired of the constant beeping from the infernal monitoring equipment. The ubiquitous wires and tubing were hindering his every attempt to find a comfortable spot, and the lighting was so bright it was on a par with mid-day in the Afghan desert. Not ideal sleeping conditions at the best of times.

Gibbs knew he was weak, but the number of painkillers being pumped into his system meant he really wasn't feeling too bad. Besides, he really needed some coffee. Maybe he could call in and speak to DiNozzo en route. He was sure he could be back before Ducky was even awake – the older man wouldn't need to know a thing. Gibbs carefully detached his IV drip from the needle in his hand and yanked off the monitoring wires covering his chest. He knew as soon as he had done so that the move was a big mistake. The heart monitor screamed in protest and two nurses rushed into the room. He had the good sense to look slightly contrite as they glared at him.

'Good lord, Jethro, what do you think you're doing?' Ducky had been startled awake by the noise, and was now looking even more irate than the two nurses, who were rapidly retreating through the doorway.

'I don't need all this stuff, Duck,' he explained, instinctively understanding that mention of coffee was more likely to get him shot than forgiven. 'I'm okay.' He smiled guiltily at the medical examiner, but the older man did not return the gesture. Instead, he was fuming.'

'Jethro, I sometimes wonder if you have the common sense you were born with. Let me explain this to you. Two days ago, you were dead. Your heart stopped. Do you understand the implications of that? For a couple of minutes, we lost you. It could very easily have become permanent. Ever since the paramedics and young Anthony somehow managed to bring you back, which was a miracle, by the way, you've been in a critical condition fighting an infection that by rights should have killed you. The average human being would be dead right now, not disconnecting the equipment that had kept him alive for the past forty-eight hours and taking his chances against nature. Do you have any idea what the past two days have done to that poor boy? He's been so worried about you that he hasn't even begun to give himself chance to heal. He won't listen to the nurses and he won't listen to me. Abigail's been having some success since you managed to persuade him that you're out of danger, but can you imagine what it would do to him if I had to go down there and tell him you've relapsed through your own stupidity? And seeing you like that, delirious with fever and so weak you couldn't lift your own head, and not knowing whether you'd even regain consciousness. Do you have any idea how much that upset Abigail? And upset me? I'm pleased that your recovery thus far has been nothing short of miraculous, but tempting fate really isn't the wisest of moves.'

Gibbs sighed. Ducky's reaction had been disproportionate to the crime of simply pulling out a few wires, but it wasn't hard to see the root cause of the diatribe. Ducky had been worried – they all had. Probably still were. Gibbs knew how much harder it was to be the one helplessly watching a friend suffer than to be the one doing the suffering. This time, though, with Gibbs unable to comfort Abby or force DiNozzo to rest, that responsibility had fallen to Ducky. It had been necessary for him to put his own feelings aside and be a pillar of strength for the team. It was a role Gibbs was used to, but the more openly emotional medical examiner would have found it far more difficult. The field agent kicked himself for not realising earlier the strain the older man was under. Before Abby had shouted at him, it had also not really occurred to him that anyone would have been that worried. Back in the marines, there had rarely even been the chance to accompany a teammate to the hospital, let alone spend days watching over them. He had to make this right, and he'd have to start with an apology.

'I'm sorry, Duck. I should have realised.' He closed his eyes. Even to his own ear he sounded terrible. Maybe the older man had a point after all. He wondered fleetingly whether he would have had the energy to stand if he'd managed to make it that far.

'Oh Jethro, what am I to do with you?' Ducky responded finally. Gibbs was relieved to note that the older man had calmed considerably.

'I really am okay, Duck.' He reassured his friend.

'By some miracle, you do genuinely appear to be on the way to recovery,' the medical examiner agreed, 'but Abigail was right when she said you really do need to be more careful.'

'I know, Duck,' Gibbs was quick to affirm.

'Oh, by the way,' the older man changed the subject, 'this arrived while you were asleep.' Gibbs looked at the item. It appeared to be some kind of carved wooden box. 'The symbols appear to be celtic,' the medical examiner was saying. 'Perhaps if we can open the catch and take a look inside…'

'Ducky, no!' Gibbs shouted. The word celtic had triggered an alarm in his head. His shout was too late – Ducky had already lifted the lid and there was an ominous click. Gibbs grabbed the box and hurled it into the steel waste paper basket at the far side of the room. In the same movement, he threw himself from the bed, pulling the medical examiner to the floor behind the room's bedside table. There was a loud explosion and the room filled with smoke. Gibbs could feel warm blood seeping from the wound in his side, but for the moment he wasn't worried about that. He had to check on his friend.

'You okay, Ducky?' he asked.

'Thanks to you, yes,' the medical examiner pulled himself to a sitting position, lifting the injured man with him. Gibbs placed a hand on the older man's shoulder, as though to subconsciously reassure himself that his friend was unharmed.

'She may be thousands of miles away,' he stated, 'but that woman is really beginning to get on my nerves. The sooner I get out of here and testify, the safer everyone will be.'