His Two Dads

He'd read it a dozen times, but the message from Delilah was still the same. At first he'd been shocked that she'd sent an email instead of Skyping, but he suspected that she was afraid of his reaction. That hurt – sure they'd never talked about starting a family, but she should have known he was an honorable man. His hands were shaking when he reached over and pulled the black and white image off his printer.

The ringing of his phone made him jump. It was his sister's name on the caller ID, not the woman he really needed to talk to, but he answered it anyway.

"Hey, Sarah, what's up?"

I'm going to be stuck in Georgetown this afternoon and Dad's got Chemo scheduled for today.

Three days a week, for the last six months. The siblings had set up a schedule so that one of them was at the hospital at least briefly for each treatment. Today was Sarah's day. Her timing sucked, but she'd covered for him more than enough times to earn the pass. "Okay, I can be at Bethesda in about twenty minutes."

Thanks, Tim. He's talking again about quitting treatments. We've got to figure out something that will make him want to hang on, to give the chemo more time to work.

"Yeah, okay, I'll try to think of something." He ended the call and stared at the tiny shape on the print-out. Four generations of McGee's – well, three plus a Langston – all alive at the same time, that might be something to live for.

-NCIS-

"There you go, Admiral McGee. Now remember, you'll feel a slight flush."

It was the same routine every time. John McGee grimaced as the drugs entered his system. This part was uncomfortable, but it would be several hours before the worst of the side effects hit. "Yes, thank you."

The perky nurse made sure the call button was within reach, then left him alone. John stared at the liquid dripping down out of the bag and into the tube that ran into his arm. The tumor hadn't changed size at all over the last two months and the doctors were talking about trying a different combination of drugs, possibly another round of radiation. The only bright spot had been the improvement in his relationship with his children. It hadn't been easy and he'd had a few late night visits from Tim's boss that had given him a bit of a reality check, one in particular.

"What's this?" John was tired and ready to go back to his quarters. The last thing he'd expected was a NCIS agent standing in front of his desk with a stack of files. Instead of answering, the files were dumped unceremoniously onto his desk. "What the – Gibbs, isn't it?"

Gibbs just gave him the look that told John that he was well aware that John knew who he was, but would play along – at least for now. The agent didn't pull any punches as he sat on the edge of the desk. "Been a month since your son found out about the cancer."

"And?"

"I know he's been trying." Gibbs gave him a hard look. "I've seen the look on his face after every visit."

John threw his pen down. "And you think I haven't? Damn it, I don't have that much longer to get that boy into shape. All that potential, and you've got him stuck as tech support."

"Yeah, that's what I thought. Start reading." Gibbs handed him the stack of files, the top one marked Somalia.

It was almost daylight when John closed the last file and rubbed his mouth. "My God, I had no idea."

Being an admiral, it had been many years since John had been the recipient of such a kick in the ass, but after he'd gotten over the sting, he'd been quite grateful. Somewhere in all those files he'd read a comment that referred to his son as having the heart of a lion. It made him proud and ashamed and, if he were honest with himself, a little scared. Instead of hiding behind a monitor, his son was in danger more often than not.

It had never been more apparent than when, months later, a bomb went off aboard the Navy Yard. He'd been at his oncology appointment when there was a call for every available doctor and nurse to report to the Emergency Department. Fearful, he'd gone down to the lobby, hoping to see a familiar face, only to see his son wheeled past him, a large chunk of glass sticking out of his abdomen. There had been a young agent with him, one that John did not recognize, and Tim had been barking orders to him, something about a flash drive and how to continue the search.

"Timothy? My God, are you..."

"Hey, Dad." Tim's attention went right back to the other agent. "Gibbs is going to want answers. Start with the banking records from the shell companies. Find out where he's hiding."

"Got it." The agent looked both scared and awed as he nodded to Tim, who grabbed his arm with a bloody hand.

"Good, I'm counting on you until I can get out of here, Dorney."

Tim was obviously going into shock, so John interrupted. "Time to stand down, son. You've done your share."

"Too much to do. Gotta find Dearing." Glassy-eyed, Tim reached for the glass shard. "Don't have time for this."

Both John and the agent grabbed at his hands while a nurse called for help. A doctor arrived a moment later with a syringe. In his weakened state, it didn't take long for Tim to succumb to the drugs but just to be safe, John didn't let go. "Dorney, is it?"

"Dorneget, Sir, Ned Dorneget. I, I work with your son."

Under any other circumstances, John would have snapped something about being obvious, but he had other worries. "He was in the blast range?"

"Yeah, he's, umm, been trying to track down Dearing for days, wasn't going to leave his post until he had all of it secured." Dorneget looked down at their hands and John realized that he was rubbing his thumb over Tim's scraped knuckles. "If you've got him, I've got to get back. There's so much to do, but Agent Gibbs didn't want him here by himself."

"Of course. Gibbs, and the others?"

"Bruised and battered." Dorney looked down at Tim. "Of the survivors, I think McGee's one of the most seriously injured so far."

Survivors suggest that all were not that lucky. "Do you know the casualty count?"

Dorneget really looked up at John for the first time and John was struck by how young he was. "I saw three body bags, but they're still digging through the debris."

John was at a loss. In all his years in command, he'd been extraordinarily lucky in that regard. He'd lost a few men over the years, but nothing like what had just happened aboard the Yard. Luckily, Agent Dorneget didn't seem to expect anything from him, just nodded and stepped back before slipping away.

An exam room opened up and two orderlies started to roll the gurney down the hallway again and John kept pace. Very few people would challenge a four star admiral, as he knew, and John managed to get into the room without argument, at least until a doctor came in.

"Admiral."

"Doctor," John quickly looked at the name tag. "Collins, this is my son."

More medical staff arrived, with a great deal of equipment and the doctor gave him a hard look. "We're looking at both a penetrating injury and a blast injury. He's reasonably stable, but that could change in a hurry. If I tell you to move, you move. Understood?"

John swallowed hard. He hadn't realized Tim had been close enough to the bomb to have those kind of injuries. "Understood. Thank you."

-NCIS-

"Hey, Dad."

Speak of the devil. "Timothy, this is a surprise. I thought today was your sister's day."

"Yeah, well, she's still caught up in that meeting she had today, so you're stuck with me."

John bit his tongue and just nodded. "Good to see you. Case get solved?"

"Yeah." Tim hooked a chair with his foot and dragged it closer to the bed so he could sit down. "Made the arrests last night and when they saw that we'd cracked the encryption on their files, most of them folded pretty quick – trying to get the jump on a plea deal."

By now John knew that 'we'd cracked the encryption' actually meant that Tim had cracked it and explained it to the rest of the team, but he also knew that his son would shut down if he mentioned it. "So, who got the plea?"

"Nobody. We have their records, their drugs, the vehicle they used to run down their victim and DNA to connect all three of them. They killed the child of a Marine; Gibbs wasn't going to let any of them take the easy way out. None of us were."

"Fair enough." John had been on the receiving end of Gibbs' intensity and could imagine how quickly a low-life would crumble. "So, paperwork day?"

"I finished mine earlier this morning, so I would be on cold cases until the rest of the team closes out their files. Tim grinned at his father. "Instead, I took a half day of comp time since we worked twelve days straight."

"And rather than enjoying the day, you're stuck in here with me."

Tim sighed and bent forward, leaning his arms against the bed rail. "Dad, we've talked about this."

John took a moment to find the controls and raise the bed so he could look directly at Tim. "Yes, we have, but we both know I'm not going to beat this. All the doctors are doing is delaying the inevitable."

"Sarah said they talked about another round of radiation. Then you could be treated as an outpatient again."

This time it was John's turn to sigh. His kids meant well, but neither one of them would understand this, not until they were on the receiving end which, God willing, would never happen. "And another few months added onto my life would give us what?"

"A chance to meet your first grandchild."

"What?" John stared at him as the words sunk in. "You and Delilah?"

"I guess we weren't as careful as I thought we were when I visited her." John recognized the look on his face, one he'd seen so often during Tim's childhood. Don't be mad at me, Daddy. He wasn't going to have many more chances to fix things, so John was mindful as he made sure to smile.

"Your mother and I were actually married a year less than what you think."

Tim frowned at that, but John could see the gears turning before his eyes widened. "Mom was already pregnant with me when you guys got married?"

"Let's just say we really celebrated when I managed to pass my last class in Chinese languages." For good measure, he waggled his eyebrows, making this the dirtiest conversation he'd ever had with his son.

"So, when did you guys actually get married?"

"Same day I graduated from Annapolis. Graduation was at 1100, grabbed a random cover and was in front of a Navy Chaplin by 1400."

"You regret it?"

The question didn't shock him as much as he thought it would. "No, I don't. I screwed up a lot of things over the years. Being here," he waved his hands around the small room in the Oncology wing of Bethesda, "gives one a unique perspective on his life. I can't claim much about the man you turned out to be. Others did a better job at that, but I can claim the biology that made you."

It was as close to an apology as John had ever given for the absences in his son's life and the twisted way he'd tried to make up for it on his rare times at home. Neither man seemed to know where to go from there, so John changed the subject back. "Tell me about my grandchild. When's he due?"

"I'm, I'm not sure." Tim pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket and unfolded it before handing it to John. "I haven't gotten to talk to her yet."

John felt his eyebrow climb as he tried to figure out the time difference between here and Dubai, but then he had the paper in his hand and was looking at a printed image of the ultrasound. They didn't have these when Timothy was on the way and were only used for high risk cases when they were expecting Sarah, but he'd seen a few over the years – mostly when his contemporaries were bragging about their grandchildren.

He was pretty sure which end was the head – well, maybe – but that was about it. A line had been added across the body, an x at each end, which he assumed was some sort of measurement. His nurse came back in, so he held up the picture.

"My grandchild."

-NCIS-

After years of floating between departments, Keri Ann Simmons had found her place in oncology. It was hard, don't get her wrong, but helping families through such a difficult time was rewarding in a way that no other specialty had been. Admiral McGee had been a perfect example. Hard core and strictly by the book, she'd watched as little by little he'd loosened up and let his children into his life.

There were still times where things were rocky, so she tried to find reasons to pop into the room once in a while. This time it was easy, it was time to check the Admiral's vital signs. He was smiling, that was a first.

"My grandchild."

Returning the smile, she took the paper he was holding out and smiled at the black and white image. "How exciting. This is something to really look forward to. Mid-Winter baby?"

The younger McGee looked confused for a moment. "Maybe, I was guessing closer to Spring." Embarrassment flashed across his face. "She's stationed overseas and..."

"You were so excited about becoming a dad that you forgot to ask?"

"Yeah, something like that."

She handed the picture to the new father-to-be while she got to work, wrapping the blood pressure cuff around Grandpa's arm. She knew she was skirting dangerously close to a violation of HIPAA laws but the mother wasn't her patient and the information was clearly printed on the bottom of the image. "That line across the baby's body is how they confirm gestational age. If you check the dates, I bet you can figure it out." She fell silent as she listened to the stethoscope, then checked the Admiral's pulse as the two men bent close to read the numbers. They were still staring at the picture when she finished. "Don't forget to add in the two weeks, since they count from Mom's last menstrual cycle." Pleased to see them focused on something positive instead of the cancer, she slipped out of the room.

-NCIS-

Looking at the dates of the ultrasound and the age of the baby, John quickly added things up in his head. The nurse was right, junior would be arriving sometime in January, probably close to the end of the fourth week, maybe even the beginning of February. "So, why were you thinking Spring?"

"Because my two week vacation in Dubai was in July. The sixteenth through the thirtieth, to be precise."

John quickly ran the number through his head again, but the cancer hadn't scrambled his brains that much. He looked up to see the devastation on his son's face. "Tim?"

Tim was already shoving the paper back into his jacket pocket. "I, umm, I gotta go, Dad."

"Tim." Luckily, Tim was on the same side as the IV, so John was able to grab his closest hand and still reach across with his untethered arm in an awkward hug. It was the first time he'd actually hugged his own son since Timothy was a small child, but he filed that guilt away for later. "I'm so sorry, son. What are you going to do?"

"Call her. Guess now it makes sense why she sent an email instead of telling me over a video call. She's not good at lying directly to my face."

"Had you two ever talked about having a family?"

"Yeah, sort of. Well, she knew how much I wanted kids someday. She was the one with doubts, so we never talked about actually starting a family. It was just way off in the someday range. I'll see you later, okay?"

John wasn't quite sure how Tim had slipped out of his arms, but he was gone before John could say anything else, even if he'd known what to say. He hated the idea of his son going through that call and the aftermath alone, but he was stuck here for the next few hours at least – longer if he were honest about how bad the nausea would be. Of course, even if he could drag himself out of the bed, would Tim accept that level of comfort from him? Their relationship had improved, there was no doubt, but he sensed that they were still a long ways away from Tim opening up to him at that level no matter how much he needed a father right now.

Sinking back onto the bed, John's thoughts traveled back once again to the night of the Navy Yard bombing. He'd been forced to wait while Timothy underwent an MRI, and then again when he was taken into surgery to remove the piece of glass. He'd never had to wait like that before; for the first time he'd understood how hard things had been for his wife while he'd been in combat zones.

"Well?"

"We were able to remove the glass and he's being moved into recovery."

"So, he'll be all right?"

"Eventually. It did puncture the wall of his stomach, so he'll have to be careful for a few weeks. No spicy food for a month or so, probably. I'll have one of the nurses come get you as soon as he's settled into a room."

"Thank you, doctor."

Tim looked pale when John finally got to see him. It seemed strange to see him like this and John didn't quite know what to do. Eventually he bent down and brushed his hand across Tim's forehead.

"B'ss?"

"No, Tim, it's Dad."

"Why r'here? Wh'rs Gibbs?"

That hurt, he had to admit, but it told him just how important Gibbs was to his son, filling in as a father figure when John, himself, had been too wrapped up in his own views of Tim's life to be anything more than a source of pain. Decision made, he picked up his phone from the nightstand, talking as soon as the call was picked up on the other end.

"Gibbs, I need to talk to you right away. It's about Timothy. He's – he needs a dad and I can't be there for him."