Something To Believe In
Written for the NFA Hurt/Comfort Challenge
Disclaimer: It has never been mine, so why should it start now?
Parings: McGee/OC, maybe McGiva if you want to see it that way
Characters: McGee, Gibbs, Ziva, Jilly (OC), slight appearance from Tony and Abby
Genres: Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Tragedy, Friendship
Word Count: 9,033 words
Summary: As McGee's world falls apart, is there anyone that can help him pick up the pieces.
A/N The song featured in this story is 'Something To Believe In' by Aqualung.
turn out the light and what are you left with
open up my hands and find out they're empty
- something to believe in, aqualung
The tranquil and uncanny silence that graced Georgetown University Hospital was broken as a man in a rumpled suit came dashing into the emergency room, panicked and unnerved. Nurse Millicent Hatchet braced herself for another distraught relation. She plastered a reassuring smile on her face as the man reached the triage desk.
"My wife," the man gasped, impacting with the desk and bracing himself with his hands. "My wife. I'm looking for my wife."
"Of course, sweetheart," Millicent replied soothingly. "What's her name, darl?"
The man looked momentarily stunned. "Jilly," the man breathed at last and Millicent waited patiently for the man to elaborate.
Finally he realised that, perhaps, he needed to give a last name. "Jilly McGee. Jillian. Jillian McGee. Her name's Jillian, but everyone calls her Jilly. They should know that. The doctors, I mean . . ." The young man was babbling at a hundred miles per hour.
Millicent just nodded calmly and taped the information into her computer. She was used to upset relatives, and had become well versed the language of the hysterical.
She looked up from her computer and said with a soft and knowing smile, "She's in Trauma One, Mr. McGee."
"Trauma One," he repeated, looking around wildly. He seemed at a loss as to where he should go. Then he spotted the double doors and his eyes widened, and Millicent knew what was going to come next.
"I am sorry, Mr. McGee," she said calmly, "but Trauma is for authorised medical personnel only."
"But, but . . ." Millicent could see the little resolve the man had left drain away. "You-you don't understand. I need, I need to be-be there," he stuttered helplessly.
Millicent smiled gently. "Your wife is getting the best care that she possibly can, sweetheart, I promise. The best thing you can do for her is to stay calm."
"Calm, calm, calm," the man muttered to himself. "How can I be calm when my wife could by dying?!" he yelled at Millicent who barely flinched.
"How about I get an update on her condition for you," Millicent soothed, trying to placate the man. She stepped out from behind her desk, and guided him to a chair by his elbow. "You wait right here and I'll personally get her condition for you. Okay?"
He nodded weakly and Millicent felt her heart go out to the young man; he was about the same age as her own son and she couldn't imagine what it would be like if it were Daniel in this man's position.
"I'll be right back, okay. Don't worry." Millicent could feel his eyes on her as she keyed in her authorisation code and slipped into the trauma rooms.
Timothy McGee looked at his watch and sighed. The coffee machines at NCIS Headquarters were getting their annual maintenance check and this meant that the rest of his team would glare at him until he gave in and "offered" to go and get the coffees. It did not help that there was a massive line-up at the local coffee parlour.
McGee sighed again and tapped his foot impatiently. The team would get antsy if they didn't get their daily coffee intake. Then, finally, the line moved and he was one person closer to buy the over-priced coffee.
Unfortunately, at the same time, something knocked his arm. He started, then blushed as he looked into the apologetic eyes of a young woman.
"Oh, I am so, so sorry," she apologised, brushing a piece of hair from her face. She smiled genuinely. "I can be such a klutz sometimes," she laughed. "There's this time I remember when I was totally not watching where I was going and embarrassingly landed . . ." she trailed off, blushing.
McGee stood there, unmoving and blinking in apparent shock. The brunette's eyes widened as she realised and apologised, "Oh, you really didn't need to know that, I'm sorry." McGee gaped at her.
She giggled. "Cat got your tongue, hey?" she grinned and then said, "I'm Jillian Peters, but everyone calls me Jilly."
"Tim," McGee finally managed to say. "Timothy. Tim. McGee."
Jilly giggled again. "It's nice to meet you, Tim Timothy Tim McGee."
Millicent finally winced. She had, as promised, gotten an update from the doctor treating Mr. McGee's wife, but she didn't think it was what the young man had wanted to hear. Hell, it wasn't what she had wanted to hear. She winced again at the resounding crack and reached down for her intercom.
Once she had told the man that his wife was in surgery and that it wasn't looking good, he had lost it. It was not as if Millicent was unused to such reactions, but his direct show on fierce anger by the innocent young man that could have been her son unnerved her.
And now, Mr. McGee was pounding on the door that lead to Trauma and yelling almost incomprehensible babble. He yelled again and kicked the door. At first, Millicent thought it may have been a quick release of anger, but now, she wasn't so sure.
She had seen many people lose it in her ER; men, women, even children, and frankly, though she appeared used to it, it always unnerved her. Millicent hated that she had to call in security, but the young man was a danger to himself and others. Perhaps, mused Millicent, she should also page Psych.
"Let me in!" he was yelling, slamming his fist against the door. "Let. Me. In. I want to see my wife!" He pounded at the door.
Millicent picked up the phone and dialled security. "Bob, hi. We have another distraught in emergency," she said quickly before hanging up the phone. It wouldn't be long before Bob and whoever else was on duty arrived. Till then, she decided, she should try and resolve the situation herself.
"Mr. McGee," she said, calmly and in her very best victim's voice. He turned on her, eyes blazing and she immediately recognised the look in his eyes; the look of a man mourning.
"I want to see my wife," he yelled, looking pained. "I just want to see Jilly."
"I know, sweetheart," Millicent soothed, but kept her distance, "but she's in surgery."
"You're lying," he yelled back. "She's fine. She's fine. And I want to see her."
Millicent sighed; she hated denial. "Mr. McGee, why don't we . . ."
"No!" he yelled.
"Millie?" a new voice asked and she turned to see Bob and the other security guard, Stan. "You've got a distraught."
Millicent gestured to the man who had resumed banging on the door. "Poor lad, his wife is in a critical condition. Car accident." She paused and added, "She's also pregnant." Bob winced and Stan looked sympathetically at the man.
"Ouch," Bob murmured. "We'll take him outside and calm him down. Hopefully he'll quieten down and we'll bring him back inside."
Millicent nodded. "That's what I'd hoped you would do, the poor man. It's not his fault his wife is in here." Bob and Stan agreed before stepping towards Mr. McGee.
Before they could reach him, however, a hand reached out and planted itself on Stan's shoulder. "There's no need for that," the new male voice said.
Stan and Bob looked up to see an older man staring them down determinately. He fished at his hip, pulled out a badge and flashed it.
"I will take it from here," he ordered, stepping in front of the guards.
"But, sir," Stan started to protest, but the man cut him off.
"Don't call me sir, I work for a living," he snapped, turning on them, "and I think I am better equipped to deal with my agent than a couple of rent-a-cops." Bob and Stan looked slightly miffed at his comment about them being rent-a-cops.
He turned his back on the pair and said gently, "Tim?"
McGee was tracing a line of credit when his cell phone rang. He sighed; he hated to leave a trace while he was in the middle of untangling the web, but the ringing would not let up.
He picked up the phone and all but barked, "Timothy McGee."
There was a hesitation at the other end, then, "Mr. Timothy McGee?"
"Yes, I just said that." McGee sounded a little annoyed.
"Oh, right," the female voice said. "Well, I am Nurse Jana Kilburn from Georgetown University Hospital . . ."
McGee paled instantly. Jilly, he thought fearfully. Please not his Jilly.
"I am sorry to inform you, Mr. McGee, that your wife, Jillian McGee, has been involved in an accident," Nurse Kilburn said sympathetically over the phone.
"What?" McGee breathed. "How-how bad?" he managed to get out, attracting the attention of Tony, Ziva and Gibbs.
"I'm sorry, Mr. McGee, it would be better if you could come in and get one of the doctors to talk to you," Nurse Kilburn said calmly.
"Just tell me!" McGee yelled, gaining shocked and fearful looks from his teammates.
Nurse Kilburn hesitated. "It's serious, Mr. McGee. I think it would be best . . . Mr. McGee?"
At Georgetown University hospital, Nurse Kilburn heard the telltale sound of a phone clattering to the ground. "Mr. McGee?" she repeated.
Back at NCIS Headquarters, McGee let the cell tumble from his grip.
"Probie?" Tony asked, sounding worried.
McGee ignored him and instead grabbed the keys to his car, unaware of the tears rolling down his cheeks.
"McGee!" Ziva this time.
He ignored her and clumsily ran out from behind his desk. He shot the others a wild look, before running to the elevator.
The voices followed him as the doors of the elevator opened and echoed as they slid shut.