This chapter doesn't feature the team, but I thought it a good idea to give you little bits of Tom's life to show some similarities with Tim's life. Not so much as in how they were both raised but more regarding their characters.

Let me know if this works.

Chapter 8: You Seek Him Here, You Seek Him There...

"Well, that was a somewhat unexpected turn of events, I daresay." The hitherto silent Secretary of the Navy, Clayton Jarvis deadpanned, letting his gaze travel over the others.

The Admiral threw him a withering glance which was mirrored by Gibbs,whereas Vance kept a neutral countenance, which wasn't surprising since the man had a reputation of having elevated this to an art form.

"What?" Jarvis asked with feigned surprise?

Gibbs chose to ignore him, turning instead to Vance. "That all for now? I'd like to join my agent and get some work done. Besides, we have a missing Lieutenant Commander. Admiral McGee, please remain available for further questions. We will look into the matter of the break-in."

As Gibbs turned on his heels to stalk out, he wasn't sure about the flash of...anxiety on the Admiral's face. Fear? Hurt? Hope? He was sure to find out what skeletons the McGee clan were holding in the closet.

"I hope your boy doesn't screw up!" The SecNav tossed at his back as a parting shot.

- -.-. -. . .

When Lieutenant Commander McGee woke up next, he was feeling rather disoriented and confused. Where was he?

He sat up in bed to look around at the strange location.

Yes. Strange. Since he last remembered he was on board the HMS Devon. So, where was he now? Obviously on land. He tried to pick up on the sounds surrounding him. The smell... Disinfectants and other hospital... Yes! That was it! Hospital!

By bits and pieces, he started to remember. Still, he should be on board his ship! What was he thinking? He had a job to do. He was the XO of a man o' war and he had a responsibility.

"Must get back to the Devon," he mumbled.

He shivered. He hurt... His head, mostly, but he hurt all over his body.

Tom pulled out his intravenous access line and winced. Letting the line fall from his fingers, he swung his legs over the side and just sat there, his bare legs dangling, hands in his lap.

Looking at himself , he grimaced and brought a shaky left hand up to fumble at the hospital gown. That, he scowled, would have to come off, and his eyes searched the room for his uniform.

Clothes.

Surely he'd find them in the closet.

He put his weight on his feet as he held his breath and blinked. So far, so good.

One step...and another.

A sudden spell of dizziness hit him and he barely managed to lean against the wall next to the door.

Let's take it a little slower to start with, then.

Slower? When he was feeling too restless and anxious to get back to his ship? He snorted and carefully opened the door, peeking down the corridor to both sides. There was someone at the nursing station but that person seemed too preoccupied to take any notice of an eloping patient.

Good.

He took a deep breath which brought on a wince, and awkwardly crossed the corridor to a door which lead to the stairway. Not wanting to draw any unnecessary attention to himself, it was out of question to take the elevator now. If he went down to the basement, he was sure to find himself some clothing before he could venture outside.

Treading carefully on his bare feet and holding onto the hand rail, he started his way down the stairs at a snail pace, pausing now and then to catch his breath. He couldn't remember when he'd last felt so tired. Or, wait a minute! He did! Crossing the Atlantic from Portsmouth, he'd fallen quite ill. Of course he'd kept going for as long as he could...with the result he'd worked himself into such a pickle by exacerbating his cold which had developed into a bout of bronchitis! Coughing his lungs out! He was still not fully recovered and Doc hadn't let go any opportunity to remind him he was lucky he hadn't caught a pneumonia!

The clang of a door banging at an upper level made him freeze. He shivered and felt light headed.

Hurried steps echoed off the bare concrete walls and down the empty staircase, till the unknown person jumped the last two to one of the floors and soon another door was heard closing.

He let out the breath he'd unconsciously been holding and resumed his descent. He was annoyed that every little sound freaked him out and soon was in a sweat.

Lowering himself on the stairs to take a rest, he leaned his painful head against the cool metal of the rail. God! He was feeling so under the weather!

With great effort, he pulled himself up again.

Bit by bit, memories were coming back to him. With a start so violent it made him giddy enough to seek support against the wall, he remembered this visitor in his hospital room staring back at him as a perfect reflection of himself. His double.

Pushing himself off the wall to continue down the stairs, he thought back to the attack.

To Tom it was evident there was a reason behind the attack, though it beat him what that was. And now he had met the other...McGee, he was wondering if it hadn't been a mistake of sorts? What if not him, but that NCIS Agent had been the true target? Wouldn't he be in danger, too?

It didn't seem so clever anymore to go back to his ship. Surely his assailants would lie in wait for him to show up?

No. He couldn't go back there. Not yet.

Oh, if only he could get in touch with Yago. Between them, they might figure out where he could go in order to keep a low profile.

Finally, he had reached the bottom and pulled open the heavy door to the lowest level of the hospital.

His double would need to be warned, too.

Thinking of Agent McGee...Timothy McGee... What if...? Suppose... In his tender years, he'd wanted to have a little brother. He often felt so alone, having few friends. Sometimes, he didn't mind at all...to be alone. Other times, though...

Then his dad returned from an assignment in the Gaza and proudly announced a young Palestinian boy would become part of their family. Young Tom, much to his own amazement, had felt jealousy for the first time in his life. This boy - this intruder would receive all the loving care and attention, pushing him back to second place.

Tom also well remembered the day when Akil joined the McGee family and he'd felt his former resentment give way to compassion upon seeing the delicate and obviously traumatized youth. He'd been shaken by the haunted look in eyes too big for the unhealthy pale and emaciated face. A face looking too old for a child. A child that still shied from any sudden movement our sound.

From that moment on, Tom had taken it upon himself to look after the poor boy who was still suffering from the terrible injuries that were still painfully and obviously there to be observed by all.

At first, Akil had been wary of those white strangers. Soon, he'd found them to be kind people who only wanted to help him.

Slowly the nightmares had beaten a retreat, too. He wasn't only helped by his foster parents quiet and patient support, but also by Tom who'd sit and read from comic books rather animatedly, waving his arms this way and that, and jumping on the bed in full re-enactment mode.

They'd become inseparable... They'd become brothers.

And now... What if he truly had a brother? A real brother; flesh and blood? It all felt so surreal...incredible, but... Just looking at that man! Everything about him was a near perfect reflection of himself.

He shuddered.

It was a bit creepy, too. Like Agent McGee was a clone of himself. Imagine more of those. Science fiction become reality!

Tom walked down the basement hall way and tried the first door he came across.

Locked.

On to the next.

Locked, too.

Dash it!

He sighed and didn't hold much hope for the next one.

Turning the doorknob, he was surprised to feel the door opening without resistance. Stepping inside the enormous room, he was instantly met by the oppressive heat and the smell of cleaning chemicals. Closing the door behind him, he took a look around what obviously was an enormous laundry area.

Tom breathed out a small sigh.

Great! A laundry room, but no clothes to be seen at a first glance. All he could see were piles of bed linen and towels. A partition separated the space where soiled laundry was sorted from the rest of the room. Some of it lay bloody and wet in the colored and tagged containers, still waiting to be handled. Some of them were labeled with the bio hazard symbol.

Great. How comforting.

He swallowed and sank to the floor rather dejectedly.

How was he going to get away? He was sure they wouldn't let him go this readily and it wasn't just because of his injuries.

The loud echo of a door clanging shut penetrated all other ambient noise; the constant humming from the power plant hidden somewhere in this maze of corridors and hallways, the huge washing machine and dryer were in action...

It made him jump up nervously and he nearly let out a cry when a jab of pain ran through his body.

Footsteps approached, then voices as they became more distinct with the shortening distance...then receded again as they passed by the door of the room he'd let himself in. Maintenance personnel, surely.

Tom flitted his eyes once more through the room and sighed once he'd ascertained himself there was nothing useful to be found...unless he got dressed in a pair of sheets! Now, that would make a sight.

Despite his non-too-stellar condition, the thought brought on a smile on his pale and bruise mottled face.

Shaking himself, albeit painfully, he moved his tiring feet towards the door to let himself out again...and continue his quest for something more decent to wear than the ridiculous hospital gown.

Again the loud echo of a door falling shut. The hospital's employees again? No. A single pair of footsteps, this time, and something else. He felt the little hairs on his arms raise in anticipation of building fear as an irrational thought struck him.

What if they were here, already?

He turned around. The lightheadedness making him stumble at the sudden movement. His eyes were frantically seeking a spot to hide, finding it behind a pile of towels in the far corner, beside the huge dryer. Quickly moving over, he could judge by the scent they were freshly washed and waiting to be folded. Thank God for small mercies, he thought as he gingerly tucked himself in the fluffy towels.

The footsteps halted by the door and Tom felt rivulets of sweat trickle down his spine making him shiver. It wasn't just the combination of the heat and the fear which made him sweat. He knew he was running a mild fever, but it wasn't even that either. It was the inability to do something...the fact of being powerless, to be defenceless.

Tom shifted uncomfortably at the seeming lack of fresh air. Laundry freshness wasn't necessarily...fresh. His throat felt tight. His chest was feeling just as constricted.

Closing his eyes, he moaned softly. What had he gotten himself into?

As the door opened, he quickly stifled the moan and held his breath, involuntarily clutching at a fistful of towels.

He was close to passing out.

"What a way to go," he thought with disappointment, "and without even the tiniest little fight!"

Then there was the sound of something being rolled into the room...and a metalic click.