Disclaimer: I am neither lucky, powerful, rich, or influential enough to own NCIS. If I did I certainly wouldn't be sitting around fantasying about it. (Ha! Who am I kidding, I still would!) But regardless, everything and everyone belongs to their respective studio's, corporations, and companies. (God damnit!) And thus, I own nothing but my rabid plot bunnies and hopeless dreams, thank you very much!
Authors Note #1: This has been one of those plot bunnies that has basically eaten my brain for close to three weeks. Sitting in the back corner of my mind and absolutely nagging to be told. Something that is really quite distracting when you are right in the middle of trying to finish a few other stories I might add. I am so so so sorry to those of you waiting on my other fics, but my muse is my master and I am as whipped as they come!
*I see this story as being able to fit in anywhere mid to end season 6 where you really get to notice how much Jimmy as a character has truly become a part of the team. He is not just Ducky's assistant anymore and you see him getting more prominent story lines and more integration with all the team characters. (Seasons 5 & 6 put me in my happy place for that let me tell you!)
Warnings: Violence, a bit of gore and language. Spoilers: Anything up to the end of season six is fair game in my opinion, so count yourselves as warned. But really, nothing hugely specific other then the little tid-bits of trivia throughout and of course for the Season Five episode: "About Face." The famed 'Jimmy' episode. (Which obviously I totally adore)
Authors Note #2: Unlike in a Zoo, please feel free to feed the author! Your reviews not only give me a warm fuzzy feeling inside, but they also help me improve myself. Not to mention this is my first foray into NCIS fanfiction. So yes, please read and review.
It's a Rough Roadto Heroism
Chapter Two - "Gotta take every chance to, show that you're the kinda man who....Will never look back, never look down, ...and never let go."
...Present...
The first thing he became aware of was the blood. He felt it first before the pain, before the chill of the concrete wall at his back crept into his bones, and before the discomfort of his cramped, splayed-legged position brought an ache to thrum through his calves.
Blood. His body knew the word before his mind had even begun to pull itself from the depths of peaceful, unfeeling oblivion. It was a roaring rush that echoed in his ears, singing in it's horrible staccato melody as it met with the open air, pattering and rippling as it made its way to the ground.
He had come to realize throughout the years, that the body always sang, it had it's own unique melody and ever changing rhythm... but it is it's audience was that is rarely attentive, with it's rhythms and beats often going unnoticed and unappreciated.
He could feel it slicking his skin, feel the drying catch of it as it rubbed against his clothes. He could even detect the slow and steady splatter of it as it leaked through the bandages, peppering his arms and thighs with crimson.
But then, all too suddenly, everything returned in a rush. 'Oh god..' He whimpered wordlessly, clutching at his side as his body quaked in pain. Coughing violently, he doubled over where he sat, the movement sending pain lancing through his entire body. Fighting to stay conscious he remained slumped over, his head bowed as he sucked in painful lungful of air, feeling as though he were breathing in glass shards, not even noticing the steady dribble of blood that left his lips as he fought for air.
Still coughing, he eased himself back against the side of the building, feeling the spaces between each brick through the thin material of shirt. Blinking back spots of color he wiped at the corner of his mouth with his hand, expecting salvia until the skin came back red.
'Oh damn... Jimmy, what have you gotten yourself into this time?' He thought with a sort of wry amusement, unable to let himself despair completely as he eyed the bloody smear, a hallmark of his problems. But he found he couldn't help but smile as something occurred to him. Ironically, just this past week Tony had casually told him that red wasn't his best color... No kidding.
Blood. Blood was something unavoidable in his profession, whether at a crime scene, or on the autopsy table. Blood, body parts, bones, organs..skin...even the occasional maggot or bow fly. It all came part and parcel with the job. And being anything but a squeamish person, he usually paid no attention to the whole process, coming out of autopsy and even on the odd time a particularly messy crime scene covered in blood and god knows what other bodily fluids. To him it was simply part of the job. But this..this time it was somewhat different.
God knows he had heard enough about the various injuries Doctor Mallard had received in his travels and adventures throughout his life, whether in the service of his country, profession...or even in accidents that occurred as the result of his admittedly rambunctious and indomitable spirit.
He himself had had his fair share of small injuries, but nothing compared to this. Because now he could smell it..he could detect the faintest tang of bitter iron in the air, sensing the thick musk of blood as it rose sluggishly to his nostrils. And of course, there was the depressingly unavoidable fact that came with the knowledge of knowing that it was mostly his. Sometimes consciousness is highly overrated...
Working his jaw tentatively, he moved his tongue around his mouth, trying to ignore the strange feeling of swollen skin all around as he checked to make sure all his teeth were still there, feeling slightly better when he discovered they were all accounted for. Lucky.
Experimentally he wet his lips, swallowing a mouthful of phylum-like salvia as he tested out his voice, cautiously taking stock of his injuries. 'Might as well take things one step at the time Jimmy...It isn't as if you are going moving anytime soon anyway..' He thought silently, groaning aloud as his head throbbed menacingly in response.
"Patient suffers from a gunshot wound to the right torso. The projectile missed the right lung by only a mere six centimetres. Lucky. Probably only a flesh wound, soft tissue damage at most." He began, pausing slightly as he shifted in place, unable to quell a pained exclamation as he delicately probed at his back, searching for any sign of an exit wound.
"The bullet left what seems to be a clear exit path. A classic case of Ballistic trauma." He theorized professionally, as if he were in autopsy and giving his diagnosis to Doctor Mallard like it was any other day, only this time his voice had turned into a harsh phylum-clogged gurgle, forcing him to cough to clear it, hacking until he spat out a mouthful of thick ropey salvia, the color tinged a worrisome red.
'Well that can't be good...' He thought worriedly, his eyes casting in all directions as he attempted to ignore the pain building behind his eyes, wiping away the damning evidence on his already sodden pant leg.
'Hemptysis...' His brain snidely supplied, coming across as more nagging then helpful, and he wasn't sure if he was imagining it or not, but he could have sworn his own mind was mocking him.
'God...What was wrong with him?' He wondered. His whole brain throbbed, seeming to pulsate in time with his racing pulse and he had the strangest sensation that he was floating inside his own skin. As if that paper thin layer was the only thing keeping him there. Keeping him grounded.
Maybe he was more far gone then he had originally thought? No...No...there was no Hematemesis yet, so the bullet couldn't have nicked a lung or the stomach cavity...He would have known by now. Besides...if it had punctured a lung he would have likely never regained consciousness.
However, despite this, that didn't mean that there wasn't something equally as worrisome brewing. Moving with the utmost caution he sucked in an unsteady breath as he gently loosened the make-shift bandages around his middle, crying out softly as the material stuck painfully to the mutilated skin, causing fresh hot blood to well up and over his fingers as he checked the wound. Forcing himself to focus, he eyed it professionally, looking for any sign that the blood was beginning to clot.
Swearing softly he slump back, closing his eyes in exhaustion for a long moment until the darkness behind his lids became too unnerving and he opened them again. He could see no signs of clotting.. at least not in any significant amounts that would be helpful to him at any rate.
'Well, one thing was for sure, today was not the best day to go out and buy a lottery ticket.' He thought with more then a touch of sarcasm. He wasn't even sure he still had his wallet anyway..
'Damn!' He hissed angrily, steeling himself from moving as he examined the wound balefully. As it was the material he had been using to stop the wound had nearly soaked through, he needed medical attention now!
If not, he knew it was very possible that he might die of exsanguination... Already he knew he was experiencing the symptoms of serious blood loss. Dizziness, weakness, confusion, erratic pulse, ...trouble breathing.. slipping in and out of consciousness. It was all there, just like the lists in his medical text books.
He could even recall his introductory course on the circulatory system in his first year of medical school, remembering his professors exact words as he had droned on, apparently not bothered in the slightest that he had already put half the class in a near comatose state after the first ten minutes of his lecture.
'When blood is lost, the body's tissues cannot get enough oxygen. This inevitably leads to tissue and organ damage. However if too much blood volume in the body is lost, circulatory shock will occur. And if left untreated, this condition can be fatal. Near the end such sufferers simply lapse off into unconsciousness and die.' Good thing he had actually paid attention in Professor Duberiuo's class...
Carefully retying the bandages, he cut off a strangled screamed as he forced himself to tighten it further around the wound, fighting his rebelling gut as pain lanced through his body. Grimacing he rested his head against the rough brick, letting the chill of the stone seep into his skin as he fought the urge to pass out, his body remaining hyper sensitive to his every movement, with even breathing now causing a hitch of pain with every breath.
'God..I wish Doctor Mallard was here...' He thought with regret as a confused image of the kindly mortician flashed in his mind. It was a memory of earlier that day, when he had watched with amusement as the elder man had gestured grandly with a scalpel as he detailed his report to Agent Gibbs, the ghost of a smile playing on the silver-haired man's face as he watched the doctor with barely concealed amusement. It was like an image captured in time..But how long ago was that? Morning? Mid afternoon? Night? ...He couldn't remember..
The blood was warm, welling up heated from the depth of the wound like an overflowing pond. He couldn't help but watch with morbid interest as it slowly trickled down his skin, separating from the main wound to trail downwards as gravity demanded, channelling off into separate streams of dark red until it had coloured his lightly tanned torso in a sheen of crimson. Abby would have liked that.
Well... maybe not so much as him bleeding, but he was sure that she would have appreciated the general affect of the image. Maybe she would put a picture of it on her wall? She hadn't changed the pictures in there for a while, at least not since Agent Gibbs had returned from his short lived retirement.
Maybe he would do something with the scar...A bullet wound like this was likely to make a pretty noticeable scar. He knew Tony would certainly say, in his words that 'chicks dig scars'...and actually, come to think of it, Doctor Mallard might even say the same as well, just in many more words and probably an interesting story about one of his own to boot.
Maybe he would finally let Abby convince him to get a tattoo to cover it? She'd like that.. One of his friends from Medical school had gotten one to cover his appendicitis incision; maybe he could do the same... Either way Abby was pretty hard to refuse, sometimes he had to wonder if there was anyone who actually knew Abby that wasn't walking around without some sort of inked artwork.
'Good thing you didn't get shot in the ass then..' He thought with an inward grin, feeling as though he might as well look on the lighter side of things. 'There would have been no living with any of them after that!' He smirked, the thought alone would have made him chuckle if he could have spared the breath.
With what seemed like supreme effort he raised his eyes from his lap. He had lost his glasses he realized slowly, taking in the blurred edges that now encroached on his vision with the resignation of one used to a life of near sightedness. It was dark, and he vaguely remembered thinking that it seemed far to early for the sun to have set completely...'It wasn't that late already...was it?'
His thoughts ran rampant, jumping from one thought to another, switching subjects and dwelling on the most random and strangest things that the physician in him knew he was close to hallucinating. He needed help! But yet he could find no will left in him to tame his mind, with confusion and a growing sense of lax exhaustion tempting him back to unconsciousness.
The thought alone was akin to an electrical shock. 'No!' He mentally cried, if he knew one thing... if he remembered one thing correctly then he knew that despite what his body and brain were crying for, he knew that falling asleep was a grave mistake. No matter how much...how very much he wanted it...
The left side of his head and face felt taunt and numb, and when he reached up to touch it, his hand came away sticky with half dried blood, the action causing a small cascade of red flakes to shower down from his messy curls, his NCIS cap seemingly long lost to the darkness.
"Head wound, blow to the right temple, likely causing a concussion which resulted in the patients lapse into unconsciousness, and inability to think clearly." He added fastidiously, the act of reciting the words aloud seeming somehow important and meaningful. As if it really wasn't him lying here in this cold alley way, as though it was someone else slowly staining the pavement red.
'Oh nice.. way to think positive Jimmy!' He snarked inwardly, shaking his head in self disgust, but immediately regretting it as his head throbbed angrily. Karma. He had never been one to complain about things, or bemoan his lot in life..so there was no reason to start now!
'Besides..' He thought with a wry grin. 'That would be stealing Tony's spot light anyways..' He chuckled with a liquidity gurgle.
And this time he was too caught up in his own thoughts to notice the fresh trickle of blood his laugh had brought forth, slowly rolling down from of the corner of his mouth, rouging his lips in a horrid mockery of the image of the sated lover, lips love bitten and red...
Only he was lying alone in this dank, stinking alley way, his lips swollen and blood smeared, as his body leaked blood across the filthy concrete...Waiting..
A/N #1: Well I am not sure how in demand this story will be so I will stop it here and depending on the reviews if people want see more I will decide whether or not to continue!
A/N #2: Chapter title is lyrics from Brain Adams song: "Never let go".
A/N: *Glossary for a bunch of medical terms that will be in the first and second chapters (Because lets face it, we all can't be as smart as Jimmy and Ducky!) ---(I am too lazy to separate them all out per chapter because I have edited this section enough today!) :
Ballistic trauma: Caused by a projectile weapon, this may include two external wounds (entry and exit) and a contiguous wound between the two.
Hempotysis: Coughing up blood from the lungs.
Hematemesis: The vomiting of fresh blood.
Exsanguination: Basically the act of bleeding to death.