Chapter Three

Gibbs sucked in his breath. "I guess we're going to Portland," he said calmly. "I assume there's a navigational chart in the cabin somewhere." He reached for a drawer with his right hand but couldn't stretch far enough. "Got a problem" he announced. "I can't search the cabin and hold onto the wheel at the same time."

Tim lay on the floor, on a blanket Tony had found for him. In his mind Tim fancied he could hear Tony say, "Maybe there's a gas station around here? We could stop and ask for directions. And get some sodas. I'd love a cold Coke right about now. And maybe a chocolate bar. Oh, and—" But Tony wasn't saying that. In fact, he was making little gasping noises as the perp's handcuffs cut into his neck; the perp himself sitting on Tony's back. The guy wasn't falling for Gibbs' distraction. If something wasn't done quickly, Tony could die, even unintentionally.

Pain was shaking Tim's body from the inside out, it felt. One line of pain came from his left side—he was vaguely aware that something had happened to his side, but he wasn't sure what. Another chute of pain ran along his right leg, which he remembered had been trapped by the pot line; trapped and then stretched tightly. The line was gone, but there was still the problem of having his head and one hand in the pot.

Tim had been trained at FLETC, and in NCIS' advanced training classes, on how to remain calm in all sorts of dire situations. Panic never helped. Only a calm mind could think clearly. He tried rolling a feeling of calmness over all of his pains, and they did lessen a little. Now to figure this out…

A new sound, like a gurgle, from Tony made up his mind for him. Enraged, Tim sprang for the perp with a roar; his concern overcoming his pain.

Startled, the crook moved to get away from the strange sight of a man with a lobster pot on his head, coming at him. To do this, he had to get his handcuffed hands away from Tony's neck. Nimbly he slipped his hands over Tony's head, leaving Tony to rise partly up and then hit the floor, gasping. The perp was unable to get away fast enough, however. Tim came at him like a ship doing a full-steam-ahead; head, or lobster pot, first, and bowled the man over, butting him with the cage a few times for good measure, until the man was pleading for him to stop.

Gibbs was first stunned with the events, but quickly started shaking with laughter. "That's…enough, McGee," he finally said, and added, "Have some respect for your injuries. We're still pretty far out from Gloucester, near as I can tell."

By now, Tony was feeling his throat gingerly, but sitting up. "Don't mess with Lobster Pot Man," he warned the perp, his voice raspy. "He can be very dangerous. Very, very dangerous." He seized the perp, caught the rope Gibbs tossed to him, and tied the man to a chair that was bolted to the floor.

Tim groaned and flopped back down on the blanket. "I thought I had enough hurts. Now my head hurts, too."

"Yeah, whine whine whine," Tony teased. "I was going to find you some more Dr Pepper earlier, and got sidetracked," he said, checking Tim's injuries. "Let me do that now."

Coming up to Gibbs, Tony said in a low tone, "I think he's bleeding through his bandage again, boss. Can't you make us go any faster?"

Gibbs frowned. "Not really. And I'm still going blind without charts. Here, take the wheel and I'll see if I can find some." He put Tony's hands on the wheel, and stepped aside.

"Take the—Boss! I've never driven one of these things!!"

"Pretend it's a Ferrari, but don't give it too much gas. And no drag racing, if you see another boat." With a grin, Gibbs started poking around the cabin, opening drawers.

See another boat…! All Tony could see was water; gray swells of water. For all he knew, they were headed for Bermuda…or Greenland. Any land would be a welcome sight now. He thought about the movie The Perfect Storm, about New England fisherman in a boating tragedy, and shuddered. Think about something else…His mind glommed on Titanic, and he quickly dismissed that. The Little Mermaid? At least it was bright and cheerful, and had a happy ending. And that singing crab. He started humming Under the Sea without realizing he was doing so. Gibbs gave him a look, rolled his eyes, and went back to searching.

After a stop to check Tim's bandage and give him the promised soda, Gibbs finally found the nautical chart he needed, wrapped in a tube and marked with the GPS waypoints. Now he could check that against the boat's navigation system. The steering control signal would inform the steering motor and set a course for Gloucester. Gibbs took the wheel back from Tony, who said he'd prefer to stick to cars after this.

The boat, traveling northwest, was fighting the northeast wind, but going at 20 knots, it still made the roughly 20 mile distance in about 40 minutes. When in cell phone range, Gibbs called the Gloucester authorities and found they were still waiting at the dock.

"Any problems, Agent Gibbs?" asked the deputy.

"We ran out of Dr Pepper," said Gibbs. "And those guys don't stock coffee."

"I'll put that down on the list of charges."

- - - - -

At the hospital, despite Tim's protests, the staff chose to attend to his side wound, first, instead of freeing him from the pot. Tim had to endure Tony taking several pictures of him with the pot still on his head and hand. "You know the Director," Tony said, calmly. "She likes to have a complete report. And she'd never believe this without the pictures!"

"You're fortunate, Agent McGee," said the doctor, after tests. "The knife wound just nicked your spleen, but I think that won't cause any lasting problems. The spleen has already stopped bleeding internally. We'll rebandage you, and keep an eye on it. Now for the pot…this may be even more painful, I'm afraid…"

Removing the pot took over an hour. It involved wire cutters, yanking and twisting, and was indeed painful with every jarring snip. It took over an hour to get it all off. As a last gruesome bit, the attacking 

lobster that had seized Tim's ear was now dead, and fell across Tim's face when the last of the pot was peeled off.

"Want a souvenir, Probie?" Tony grinned. Tim snatched the dead lobster with his right hand and tried to stuff it down Tony's pants, but Tony was too quick for him.

Tim lay back on the hospital bed with a sigh. His face, ear, hand, side, ankle and leg were mostly free of hurt, now that the painkillers were kicking in. "I want dinner," he announced. "And something to drink other than Dr Pepper."

Gibbs looked at the doctor, who shrugged. "No reason why he can't have whatever he wants," said the doctor.

"Well, I was thinking…" said Tony.

"No, Tony. No lobster," Tim insisted.

"…of a little local specialty…"

"No lobster!"

"…are you familiar with fra diavolo, Probie?"

"A spicy tomato-based dish, usually with chicken, but sometimes with lobsters. Have it if you want, but bring me back a burger or something."

Tony nodded. "Okay. Your loss."

- - - - -

Tony left to get take-out for the three of them. Gibbs drew a chair up close to Tim's bed. "I'm sorry, McGee," he said, and his face showed he meant it.

"For what, boss?"

"You may not remember it, but when you were…stabbed…that was my fault."

Tim blinked, and waited, dumbfounded, for more information.

"You…thrashed. When the lobster was attacking you, and you were running out of air, too. I was trying to cut the line, and…my hand slipped. God help me. I never meant for that to happen. I should have had better control."

Tim had never heard anything like this come from Gibbs. "It sounds like an accident, boss. Accidents just happen," he said in a whisper.

Gibbs looked a little sterner then, and didn't meet his eyes. "Someday you'll have a team of your own, Tim. If you ever injure one of them, it won't matter that it was an accident. You'll carry guilt with you, forever." He got up. "Be right back. I need coffee."

As Gibbs left the room, Tim's eyes teared up. He wasn't the only one who'd been hurt today, and it seemed like Gibbs would be a lot longer in healing.

- - - - -

Tim accepted carefully, in his uninjured right hand, the Styrofoam carton Tony brought back. "This my burger? Thanks…"

He opened it up and gaped. "Tony!!"

"What?" Tony said innocently, forkful of lobster halfway to his mouth. "You only said 'no lobster'."

Glumly Tim looked at the braised crayfish, which looked a lot like a little lobster. "I did, didn't I? Oh, well."

He dug in, as Gibbs and Tony did. It tasted pretty good!

-END-