CHAPTER NINETEEN

The long, nightmarish day finally wound to a close. Gibbs had gone home for dinner, even though he wasn't hungry. Ducky insisted. The entire team would meet back at the hospital in a couple of hours. None wanted to stay away for long until they knew McGee was going to pull through.

Gibbs stood in his basement, a sander in his hand. He lovingly ran a hand along the smooth edge of the wood he'd just sanded to a satin finish. Nothing calmed him down better than working with wood. It spoke to him, soothing his often troubled soul. But tonight, he couldn't hear it. Instead, it was his gut that kept nagging at him. He couldn't put a finger on it, but he felt something was wrong. Not that anything was right at the moment.

He couldn't help thinking about McGee. McGee, whose own father wanted nothing to do with him until Tim took a bullet for him. Gibbs didn't always understand the younger man. Ziva and Tony made more sense to him, but Tim came from a generation of technophiles who teethed on computers and video games. Gibbs preferred a simpler time, but he appreciated McGee's skills even if he didn't understand them. And he was turning out to be a damn good agent. But now, that might all be lost if he didn't make it.

Gibbs picked up a mason jar that sat on the workbench. The glass was cool in his hand as he studied the dark amber scotch within. It's smoky aroma familiar and comforting. He took a sip and felt the smooth burn down his throat. He set the jar back down. He couldn't settle. He felt antsy and he didn't like it. He glanced at the clock. It was close to 7:30. They'd all agreed to meet back at the hospital by nine. He began sanding the wood once more, but the clean odor of the sawdust didn't have the settling effect it normally did. Gibbs set the sander down. He glanced at the clock again. Only five minutes had gone by. He shook his head. Something was wrong. He could just feel it, deep inside. He grabbed his jacket from the workbench and headed up the stairs. He couldn't wait a minute longer. It was time to go back to the hospital. Now.

xxx

Owens stood in his grandmother's kitchen peering into the old box refrigerator. Where was that sliced turkey? Hard to make a sandwich without it. As he moved things around, his eye landed on a small box of vials. Frowning, he picked it up and read the label. Amoxicillin. Part of his grandmother's Lyme disease antibiotic regimen. The old woman had picked up Lyme disease while on a nature hike with some fellow seniors a couple of months ago. She was receiving a medication regimen via IV on a daily basis. She was improving slowly but surely for which he was deeply grateful. He started to return the box to its place when he hesitated. Amoxicillin. That was a form of penicillin, right? Something niggled the back of his mind. Something about penicillin. And a severe allergy. Then, slowly he smiled and lifted one of the small vials from the box. He stared at it for a long moment then slipped it into his pocket. He opened a nearby drawer and found a box of syringes. Perfect. He selected one and slipped it in beside the vial. He had just the use for these. Humming to himself, he pulled out the package of sliced turkey. Things were going even better than he'd hoped.

XXX

Gibbs's hands clenched the steering wheel of his truck, his knuckles white. He was caught in a traffic jam that seemed without end. Cars were at a virtual standstill, both on the highway and on the exits as drivers tried to desperately to escape to alternate routes. Gibbs was trapped and with every moment that passed, his anxiety rose. He reached into his pocket and yanked out his cell phone. He swore. No signal. He wanted to call Tony or Ziva. Tell them to get to the hospital and check on McGee, but it would seem the fates were against him. He swore again. He glanced over at the southbound lane. The traffic there was moving well. He set his jaw and began to work his way into the far left lane. He simply had to get off this highway. It seemed to take forever slowly edging his way into each new lane, but when he reached the left lane, he floored the accelerator and began racing across the wide, hilly median. The truck bounced and slid but never faltered until finally he was across. Turning a hard left, he sped onto the southbound lane just missing an oncoming SUV. He ignored the indignant driver's pounding horn. He had to find an alternate route to the hospital. He glanced at the luminous clock on the dash. It was taking too damn long. A trickle of sweat trailed down his back. He was more worried than he cared to admit, even to himself.

xxx

Owens frowned at the crowd of people milling about the ICU waiting room. It seemed they were everywhere. Many were weeping. Others were simply sitting with blank expressions on their faces. What the hell was going on here?

Owens approached a man sitting in a corner concentrating on a cell phone, his thumbs quickly flying across the surface of his phone's keyboard.

"Excuse me, sir?"

The man typed a second longer than looked up at Owens. He looked beat. "Yeah?"

"Do you know what's going on? Why are all these people here?"

The man looked past Owens at the crowd. "Bus accident. Bunch of people on a chartered bus headed up to Atlantic City. Not sure what happened, but there were lot of casualties and they sent a lot of them here. I heard there were like 50 people on the bus. Lot of them seniors."

Owens thanked the man then moved away to study the situation. People were lined up near the nurses' station desperate for information on injured friends and family. Owens smiled. This could definitely work to his advantage. With so many people here, no one would notice one more. And with an influx of new patients, the doctors and nurses would be far too busy to worry about a patient who'd been there awhile and presumably stable. For the moment anyway.

Owens moved closer to the entrance of the ICU. If anyone asked, he'd simply say he was McGee's brother but he didn't really anticipate any trouble. With any luck, he'd be in and out before anyone even knew he'd been there.

He reached his hand into his jacket pocket. He could feel the cool glass of the vial. He glanced around and spotted a sign towards the bathrooms. He'd fill his syringe in there. He wanted to be in and out of McGee's room as quickly as possible. It would be better to have everything ready to go before he entered the ICU.

Once inside the men's room, he slipped into an empty stall and firmly shut and latched the door. He pulled out the syringe and vial then quickly inserted the needle and drew the antibiotic into the syringe. He stared at the full syringe for a long moment. Could he really do this? Would it even work? He was working on an off-hand comment the admiral had made long ago about his son being severely allergic to penicillin. But how allergic? Hives allergic or anaphylactic shock allergic? Well, in his current fragile state, either one might be enough to push Tim McGee over the edge. Finally Owens took a deep breath and capping the needle, returned it to his pocket. It was worth a try if it would prevent the admiral from throwing away his career. He flushed the toilet, just in case anyone else was in the rest room, then quickly exited.

The waiting room was more packed than ever when Owens returned. He smiled to himself. Excellent. The more chaos the better. He wove his way through the crowd of distraught people to the door to the ICU. It should have been locked but when he gave it a gentle push, he realized it hadn't quite latched. Things couldn't be going better. He slipped through the door. A number of people were milling around in here as well. Extra medical personnel had been called in to help with the flood of new patients. A number of family members also seemed to be busy getting in the way. Owens looked up and saw a whiteboard with room numbers and names. He quickly picked out McGee on the list. Good, he hadn't been moved. Turning to the right, he made his way purposefully to his destination. No one stopped or questioned him. Everyone too busy to suspect he didn't belong. He couldn't have possibly planned this better.

Finally, he reached McGee's room. He peered through the window and could see McGee surrounded by wires, tubes and machines. He shuddered. He'd personally rather die than have to be like that. Really, he was doing McGee a favor. Putting him out of his misery so to speak.

"Can I help you?"

Owen's froze, his heartbeat soaring. He swallowed and then turned to see a nurse watching him expectantly.

"I'm Tim's brother," Owens lied. "I…I just heard about what happened. I hope it's okay that I'm here. Is he all right?"

The nurse glanced through the window at McGee's still form. "Well, he's stable at the moment. He's had a few scary moments since he was brought in, but right now, he's hanging in there. You can go in for a few minutes if you like."

Owens nodded his thanks then watched as the nurse hurried on his way. Damn. He had really been hoping no one would notice him. He didn't want anyone to even remember he'd been here. Well, it couldn't be helped. He touched the syringe again as if to reassure himself. From what he understood, it could take about an hour for a severe allergic reaction to kick in. That would give him plenty of time to get away from here and hopefully no one would associate him with Tim's abrupt decline.

He glanced up and down the hall one last time, took a deep breath and pushed open the door. It was time to get this done with.

xxx

A/N: Thanks so much for the kind words concerning my grandson. He and his twin sister were born 8.5 weeks early back in March and he is still having some breathing issues and anemia. Helping my daughter haul them from one doctor appointment to another has been taking up a lot of my time! But, I'm happy to report, both babies seem to be doing well now and hopefully we'll wean him off his monitors and supplemental oxygen soon. In the meantime, here is another chapter. Not a long one, but I hate to go too long without posting one. Makes me feel guilty! Thanks again for the support.