Chapter Eight

Dawn was just starting to paint the sky a pale pink when Gibbs rattled up the gravel drive to the old farmhouse. It was the kind of farmhouse ubiquitous with the country with its pale gray clapboards and wraparound porch. It even had a couple of old wooden rockers lined up side by side. As Gibbs pulled to a stop and turned off the engine, the front door opened with a squeak of hinges long in need of a good oiling.

An elderly man, clad in a flannel shirt and dark pants stood limned in the light of the open door, held a shotgun firmly in his hands. He peered cautiously at Gibbs.

"Dr. Timms?" called Gibbs not wanting to spook the man. "I'm Agent Gibbs."

The man's shoulders relaxed as he lowered his gun. "Sorry about that, but since Tim said he'd kidnapped, didn't want to take any chances."

Gibbs nodded and slammed the car door. A moment later he stood beside the older man and offered his hand. "Special Agent Jethro Gibbs."

The doctor set the gun aside and took the proffered hand. "Nice to meet you, Agent Gibbs. I am Dr. Monroe Timms as you guessed. You got here fast."

Gibbs gave him a crooked smile. "I was worried about my agent. How is he by the way? I mean, really."

Timms glanced back at the house and ran his hand through his bushy white hair. "I know he didn't want me to tell you how he really is and supposedly, the law says I shouldn't, but I'm not really a practicing physician right now and in my opinion, it's best you do know."

He glanced around then opened the door. "C'mon. Let me get you a cup of coffee. I just made some cinnamon rolls. Figured I might as well do something useful while I waited for you."

Timms opened the door and Gibbs inhaled the rich, buttery aroma of freshly baked cinnamon rolls. His mouth watered. He followed the old doctor down a hallway to the large farm kitchen, an expansive well- scrubbed table took center stage. A black dog lay beneath the table, watching Gibbs. He gave his tail a couple of thumps then closed his eyes. Timms pulled out a couple of chairs, then began to busy himself making coffee and dishing out large, fragrant rolls dripping icing.

"Coupla local boys found your man lying unconscious in a ditch off one the side roads hereabouts. Thought he was dead at first. I'm about the only medical man in these parts even if I am retired, and they figured they'd better bring him to me."

Gibbs sipped the hot coffee Timms placed before him and grinned. Strong and black, just how he liked it. "And?"

Timms wrapped his hands around his own mug as he settled into the seat across the table. "Looked like somebody was using him for batting practice. He's got a number of broken or cracked ribs and severe bruising along his entire torso. A number of small, but nasty burns, probably from a cigarette. Also, somebody broke a couple of his fingers and gave him a pretty nasty knock on the head. That took a few stitches and I expect he has a bit of a concussion. Tim said he'd been kidnapped. Something to do with a case involving his dad. That's about all he'd tell me. But, he didn't want me to tell you about his injuries Afraid you'd take him off the case."

Gibbs sighed deeply and tipped his head back stretching his neck. Of course McGee would be afraid of that. He was trying to prove to his father that he could handle himself and was competent at what he did. He turned to his attention back to Timms who was watching him with interest.

"Can he work?"

Timms rubbed his stubbled chin. "Frankly, I'd be happier if he stayed in a hospital for a couple of days for observation. He's lucky he didn't end up with a punctured lung. Mentally, I think you're going to have a tough time keeping him away. It's obvious to me he's got something to prove. If he doesn't have to do anything more stressful than sit at desk, he could probably handle it. He'll be in a lot of pain, but you could keep an eye on him, make sure he doesn't overdo."

"That might work. I don't want to have to take him off, but if you have any doubts medically, I will."

"Agent Gibbs, I have plenty of doubts medically, but my gut tells me you should let him do what he can. He said this case involves his father. Obviously this case must be very important to him."

Gibbs didn't say anything. Just took another sip of his coffee. It was important to Tim, but not in the way Timms thought.

"Is he asleep?"

Timms nodded. "I gave him something for the pain and between that and his exhaustion, he went out like a light. Would have liked to keep him awake a bit longer just in case, but I'm thinking sleep is probably the best thing for him right now."

Gibbs glanced down at his watch. "Well, I'll give him a couple more hours, then we need to get back to Washington." He picked up a fork. "In the meantime..."

xxxx

Tim awoke to an odd snuffling sound and then something wet slobbered across his face. Tim's eyes snapped open to find himself staring into the soulful eyes of a large black Labrador retriever. Tim blinked. The dog smiled, pink tongue lolling.

"I think he likes you."

Tim froze and slowly rotated his head to find Gibbs sitting in a chair in the corner regarding him with solemn eyes.

"Boss!" Tim struggled to sit up, but immediately doubled over gasping with pain.

Gibbs was by his side in an instant, easing McGee back against the pillows. "Take it easy, Tim. There's no rush."

Tim closed his eyes, gritting his teeth against the sharp stabs of pain. "I'm fine, Boss." He grimaced, trying to get comfortable.

"Really, McGee? The look on your face, the grunts of pain, and the fact that half your body is covered in bandages and bruises tell me otherwise."

Tim glanced down at his chest, uncomfortably aware that he wasn't wearing anything more than his boxers. He flushed.

"You wanna tell me what happened?"

Tim swallowed, his eyes fixed on the ceiling. He heard the dog snuffling around the bed.

"Tim?"

Tim took a shallow breath, conscious of his painful ribs. "Abby told me that Yancy's assistant, Myron Jenson, kept making brief calls to my father's phone. She tracked Jenson to that new restaurant."

"Scorched."

"Right. When I got there, I saw Tony and Ziva arrive with the admiral. I figured I'd look around a little and wait by Dad's car to ask him if he knew Jenson."

"Why didn't you just go into the restaurant?"

Tim grimaced. "Well, my last interview with my father didn't go so well. I figured it would be better to speak to him in a little more private location."

"Okay, go on."

"Well, I showed the valet photos of Yancy and Jenson, but he didn't know if he'd seen them or not. Then he told me where Dad's car was. I walked up since I had to park pretty far from the restaurant. When I got closer to the car, I saw there was somebody doing something to it. I hid and looked under the other cars and could see the guy was underneath the Lincoln. I figured he must be planting a bomb." Tim paused, readjusted his position, and winced, trying to get more comfortable. "Uh, well, I pulled my gun, told him to stop, and show me his hands. And, well, that's the last thing I remember."

"But that's not the end of the story, is it?" Gibbs nodded towards McGee's heavily bandaged torso and hand.

Tim looked down, his jaw tightening. The little color he'd regained quickly drained from his face.

"No." He could barely get the word out. His mind was abruptly filled with memories of searing pain, a voice in the darkness,

"It's all right, Tim. Take your time. Did you see who did it?"

Tim shook his head. "Just heard their voices. But, I'm sure it was Yancy and Jenson. Dornegat interviewed Jenson, but I heard his voice. A few words anyway. It was enough. He's the one that, um, questioned me."

Gibbs stared at him for a long moment. "What did they want to know?"

McGee glanced at Gibbs, then his eyes slid away. "They wanted to know where my dad was staying." He looked up quickly. "But I didn't tell them. I didn't tell them anything." He gritted his teeth and gripped his ribs, fighting against the pain. He closed his eyes, not really wanting to say anymore, afraid Gibbs would notice his shaking.

His eyes snapped open as he felt a firm hand grip his arm. Gibbs stood beside the bed, brow creased with concern. "You did good, Tim. No one could ask for more. Your dad would be proud."

Tim shifted his gaze to the bulky bandage encasing his right hand. His face went warm. "I don't want Dad to know about any of this." He looked up. "Does...does he know I went missing?"

Gibbs shook his head. "No. We were waiting until today."

"Good. Then don't tell him anything. I was stupid to go off by myself. I deserved what I got."

"No, McGee, you didn't. Yeah, you shoulda brought someone along but that doesn't mean you deserved to be beaten to a pulp. You interrupting the bomber probably saved your father's life, as well as Tony and Ziva's. The bomb wasn't connected properly to the timer so it never went off. Everyone is fine thanks to you."

Tim plucked at the edge of his blanket. "You, um…, gonna take me off the case?"

Gibbs sighed. "Tim, physically, you should be in a hospital. You've got broken bones, bruises upon bruises, and a concussion."

Still avoiding Gibbs' gaze, Tim nodded. He knew all this, but all he could think of was his father's scorn.

"But…"

Tim's head lifted, a small spark of hope blossoming in his chest.

"I'm not going to take you off the case."

Tim's face broke into a relieved grin. "Really?" He couldn't hide the disbelief. "You're going to let me keep working it? You won't be sorry! I'll work really hard, I'll…"

"Hold on, McGee," Gibbs lifted a hand trying to put a halt to the verbal onslaught. "I'm not finished. Today is Tuesday, no wait, Wednesday now. You will take off the rest of the week to recover. No arguments."

McGee's mouth snapped shut.

"Tim, I know this case is important to you. This is the first opportunity you've had to show your father what you can do." Gibbs grimaced. "Granted, he is not the easiest guy to impress or work with, but I still want to give you the chance. That said, I am not going to risk your health. You will rest the remainder of the week, then I'll have Ducky take a look at you. If he deems you fit enough for desk work, then you're back. Do you understand?"

McGee chewed his lip for a moment, then nodded. He knew it had been too much to hope that Gibbs would let him right back on the job after what he'd been through, but assuming they didn't catch Yancy or Jenson before next week, he still had a chance to be a part of the case.

"Thank you, Boss."

Gibbs gave him a rare smile. "Tim, I'm proud of you. And believe me, we will get the bastards that did this. It's personal now." He glanced at his watch. It was close to ten in the morning. "We need to get back to Washington."

"I'll be fine, Boss, really. I'm ready to go whenever you are."

"I think you need to to eat something, young man." Timms entered the room carrying a breakfast tray. "Don't know when's the last time you ate anything, but I'm sure it's been awhile. Eat this up, and then we'll get you ready to go."

Tim looked down at the plate of scrambled eggs and wheat toast smeared with what smelled like strawberry jam. A steaming cup of coffee was nestled in the corner of the tray. Suddenly, Tim was famished. He smiled his thanks to the doctor and began to dig in. Maybe things would work out after all.

xxx

A/N: Thanks to SS for pointing out that I had somehow neglected to tag this to Tim McGee's character. Not sure how that happened, but I appreciate the head's up! Thanks again to you all for reading and special thanks to those of you who review. They are much appreciated.