A/N: 3 chapters in 3 days... it's been a very long time since I managed to pull that off. I know my posting schedule has been erratic at best; bear with me as it's only going to get worse. As I post this, I'm 37 weeks pregnant and having pre-labour contractions...

Special thanks to Trina109, for beta-ing this. And for putting up with my massive gaps in writing. As always, you rock.

Abby entered her lab at her usual start time to find a pile of evidence sitting on her stainless steel lab tables, waiting for her. She sighed. Either Gibbs' team had had a really early call out, or the evidence had been left there overnight- which meant that they were on yet another bread and butter case. It had been months since they'd given her evidence that was even remotely challenging. She shrugged into her lab coat as she walked through to the second part of her lab to deposit her lunchbox and fire up the computers.

She checked the evidence bags as she made her usual rounds, booting and checking her precious equipment. Making a face, she quickly realised it was yet another round of 'ordinary' evidence- straight forward fingerprinting, ballistics testing and identity matching. This kind of work was boring but necessary. Oh well, she reasoned, the quicker she got it done, the quicker Gibbs' team would solve their case and move on to the next one- which would hopefully, from her perspective, be a bit more interesting than this one appeared. She settled in to her work, breaking occasionally to refill her Caf-Pow from the dispenser.

It was on one of her trips upstairs to the vending machines that she heard McGee's name mentioned. After the attack on him, she'd often heard his name in conversations as she walked past, but the rather intense speculation about him had died down to the point where overhearing a conversation about him was unusual. Surreptitiously, she tried to see who was talking, reasoning that he was her best friend and she needed to know what was being said about him- so she could set the record straight if she needed to. She could only see part of one of the speakers... It looked to be one of the secretaries from Psych; Abby didn't know her name, having spent many years trying her best to avoid the people from the Psych department.

"He rang yesterday morning, to cancel his appointment."

"Really? But I thought all the agents had to clear a test before going back into the field!"

"That's just it, they do."

"So why would Agent McGee cancel his?"

"I have no idea..."

The voices of the two women faded away as they left the break room and headed down the hallway. Next to the Caf-Pow dispenser, Abby stood frozen. McGee had cancelled his psych evaluation? Why would he do that? He needed that to get back into the field. Was there something he wasn't telling her? She shook her head, forcing herself to move, to go back to her lab.

She sat back down at the ballistics computer, trying to make herself concentrate on her work. But her mind wasn't on what she was doing- it kept going back to what she'd overheard and the reasons why Timmy would have cancelled such an important appointment. Suddenly finding the ever-present music intensely irritating, she jumped up and snapped off the CD player and began pacing in front of her computers.

Timmy had passed his physical with no problems; she knew that. His shoulder wasn't 100%, it never would be, but Ducky said that the impairment wouldn't stop him. And she knew that he wanted to get back to field duties badly. Being an NCIS agent was his dream job.

So what had made him call off the appointment?

She was still pacing and worrying when Gibbs came into the lab carrying a Caf-Pow.

"Whatdya got for me, Abs?"

With a conscious effort, she pulled her mind back to the evidence, giving him her findings automatically. He nodded, but instead of giving her the Caf-Pow and leaving like she expected, he stood and looked at her for a moment.

"Something wrong, Abs?"

She shook her head. "I'm fine, Gibbs."

He gave her a disbelieving look.

"Ok... McGee cancelled his psych evaluation."

Gibbs paused. "He did what?"

"He cancelled his psych evaluation, Gibbs. One of the secretaries from up there was talking about it when I went to get a Caf-Pow and-"

She broke off as Gibbs, cursing softly, turned and left her lab abruptly.

...

Gibbs strode back into the bull pen and told Tony and Ziva Abby's findings, giving them orders as he tried calling McGee's cell phone. No answer. This late in the day, it was possible that he'd gone straight home after his appointment. Gibbs tried his landline as well, getting only McGee's recorded voice on the answering machine, telling him to leave a message.

Cursing again, he picked up his jacket and headed for the elevator.

...

McGee trudged tiredly up the corridor to his apartment. The interview with Sergeant Adams had been draining physically and emotionally, far more than he'd anticipated.

Unlocking the door, he shrugged out of his coat and hung it up. A voice behind him spoke.

"Abby says you cancelled your psych evaluation."

McGee whirled, his heart pounding. "B-boss. What are you doing here?" he stammered in his surprise.

Gibbs stood, walking forward until he was face to face with McGee.

"What's going on, McGee?"

McGee looked away, unable to meet the steely blue gaze.

"There didn't seem to be much point in doing it, Boss."

Gibbs just continued to look at him.

"I'm never going to be cleared fit for field work again." he went on sadly "I gotta move on."

Finally Gibbs spoke.

"What's stopping you from being declared fit?"

McGee stared at him as if he'd gone mad. Gesturing at his slightly misshapen shoulder and his scarred arm, he snapped "This!"

"Ducky said you passed your physical." Gibbs pointed out "So what's stopping you?"

McGee sighed, knowing that Gibbs wouldn't rest until he told him. "The firearms proficiency. I never was much of a shot and now... I went to the range last week and I can't lift my arm high enough for a good shot."

"So you're giving up?"

McGee flinched. Somehow it sounded so much worse coming from this man.

"What else can I do, Boss? I can't pass the range testing!"

Gibbs shook his head "Look, McGee, you can either sit here and feel sorry for yourself, or you can do something about it."

Abruptly he opened the door and left.

McGee sunk down onto the couch, pondering Gibbs' words. Was he really just feeling sorry for himself? He'd spent months in physiotherapy to get his arm as good as what it was; he'd defied everyone's expectations, recovering more movement than the doctors had anticipated. When he'd been unable to make a decent shot, how had he given up on his goal of making it back into the field?

He forced himself to admit that yes, he was feeling sorry for himself. Gibbs obviously thought there was some way he could pass the proficiency test, even without being able to lift his arm to aim at chest height. But how? He was no firearms expert. He knew someone that was, however. He pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and hit the speed dial.

"Ziva? It's McGee. I need your help..."