Disclaimer: NCIS and its characters don't belong to me.

In Between Days

Chapter One: Waiting

February 2002

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Ignoring the strange looks he was getting from the people that passed his way, Gibbs kept on pacing through the waiting room. He hated waiting and he hated hospitals with their sterile smell and the odd feeling of helplessness that seemed to sweep through every room and every hallway. He had already lost count of the minutes he had already been there, losing himself in his own movements. One step at a time, twenty-four steps until he had to turn around again to avoid running headfirst into a wall. Though, coming to think of that, slamming his head into said wall didn't seem to be a too bad sentiment at the moment.

It all seemed still strangely unreal to him, even countless minutes and hours later. Gibbs had no clue how it could have happened. They had taken all precautions, had gone over their perfect little plan so many times only to find out that it hadn't been perfect at all. Sighing and running a hand through his hair, Gibbs tried to think about anything but what had happened. He quickly looked at his hand that seemed to be pretty dirty and just as he had started to wonder why that was, he realized that it wasn't dirt but blood. Trying to keep the thoughts of how it had gotten there out of his mind, he finally slumped down on one of the chairs, almost chuckling as the guy next to him let out relieved sigh as if he had been waiting for this moment for the last couple of hours. Maybe, Gibbs thought, he actually had and he tried to give him an apologetic smile or shrug at least, but found himself unable to even turn into the man's direction.

Sheer exhaustion suddenly seemed to pull him in, even though he knew that he wouldn't be able to sleep now or until all of this had blown over – if it ever would. He wasn't quite sure if he'd be able to live with himself if this would come to a devastating end. He didn't know what he'd do if those doctors came through the doors and tell him that it was over. What had happened wasn't necessarily his fault, he knew that, but he also knew that he was just as responsible for the things he'd done as for the things he hadn't done. Had he really made sure that the plan was safe enough? Had he really done everything in his power to keep both of them from harm?

The events, however, had proven that he hadn't thought it through thoroughly enough. It wasn't for the first time now that he wondered why all of this hadn't happened to him instead. It should have, but it hadn't and now Gibbs was left to shred himself to tiny little pieces over it. He wasn't entirely sure whether he'd be able to keep going if this was the end. He had never gotten over the grief and guilt about what had happened almost eleven years ago, his last divorce was evidence enough for that, and he had no idea how he'd be able to deal with the aftermath of this case. He had just gotten used to work in a team again, had gotten used to depend on someone else. He had lost a lot of trust in teammates as a result of Jenny's betrayal and just when he had somewhat regained it, it was forcefully torn away from him again.

He remained seated there for what seemed to be a very long time, hardly noticing that the waiting room was getting emptier with every minute that passed. A quick glance at his watch told him that it was already ten o'clock at night, but he couldn't even tell when he had first came here. He let his head drop back against the wall with a soft thud, wondering how long it could possibly take to inform him about anything. Squeezing his eyes shut, desperately trying to block out the possibility of having to hear an I'm sorry from any of the doctors, Gibbs realized that he had rarely ever felt that queasy, that nervous and that devastated over an agent, over a co-worker. He had lost a few friends in combat, a few since he had joined NCIS, and yet this one felt oddly different. He wasn't quite sure, though, whether it was only the fact that he felt guilty about it or because this one had probably sacrificed his own life for Gibbs'.

Suddenly, the world around him became foggy and he found it hard to breathe. He tried to take a deep breath, but had to realize that the much needed oxygen was stuck somewhere on the way to his lungs. He tried to swallow the lump that had formed in his chest, but yet again it was to no avail. His heart had started to beat so hard that he thought it was going to come out his throat and he felt sweaty and shaky all of a sudden. Desperately trying to ignore the anxiety that was slowly creeping up on him, he balled his hands into fists and pressed them against his eyes. Everything was tunneling in on him and once again, he tried to breathe, but somehow he still couldn't – he just couldn't.

But then, there were hands on his wrists, forcefully pulling them away from his eyes before they settled on his neck, warm fingers pressing into his skin, a voice, seemingly from far away, was murmuring soothingly and somehow it managed to calm him down a bit. At least, the air stream didn't seem to be closed anymore. He finally pried open his eyes and there was Ducky sitting next to him in the otherwise deserted waiting room. His fingers were still moving back and forth on his neck, his eyes calm behind his glasses, mirroring focus and understanding. The older man pressed his hands onto Gibbs' shoulders now, easing him forward until his head was between his knees.

If Gibbs hadn't been so frantic to finally get some air into his lungs, he would have been embarrassed, but he simply couldn't bring himself to care. He wasn't quite sure how long they sat like that, Ducky's hands soothing him, but Gibbs' breath and heartbeat were slowly going back to normal. He was still sweaty and his breaths still shaky, but he had somewhat regained his composure as he finally sat back up, scrubbing a hand over his face.

"What happened?" Ducky finally asked, his voice low, his eyes searching for something on Gibbs' face.

Gibbs took a minute or two to answer, not quite in the right frame of mind to actually be coherent. Hell, he didn't even know exactly what had actually happened. It still seemed too unreal to be true. He finally took a deep breath, clearing his foggy mind somewhat before he turned ever so slightly to look at Ducky more closely. The doctor's expression was worried and yet somehow still vaguely wary and it confused Gibbs to no end.

"Don't know," he finally said, his voice gruff, but oddly strangled. "Shot. Bridge. Fell down."

Ducky nodded even though it couldn't have made much sense to him, but he didn't ask, so Gibbs returned to focus on his own breathing because he felt himself choke again at the mere thought of the lifeless body lying on the concrete.

"What did the doctors say?" Ducky's voice cut through his inner turmoil.

"Nothing," Gibbs replied bitterly.

"Nothing?"

"Yeah," he sighed, trying his best to shove down his anger. "Not family, Duck."

"Ah, of course," the older man answered carefully as if he had sensed Gibbs' underlying impatience. "I'll see if I can help with that, my dear Jethro. Let me just ask. I shall be right back."

Gibbs just nodded before he slumped back in his chair, closing his eyes. Immediately, the image of the falling body showed up in front of his inner eye and he groaned, opening his eyes again. He couldn't do this. Not again, not so soon. Warily, he looked around and had the sudden distinct feeling that the walls were coming closer towards him with every moment that passed. He felt panic rise inside of him again. No, he couldn't just sit here any longer with nothing to do. Leroy Jethro Gibbs was not one to wait around for hours, looking for just one word, hell, one expression on the doctor's face. No, he wouldn't do this to himself. He needed to get out of there.

He jumped up from the chair he had been sitting on for the last hour, ignored his knee that was protesting painfully and then single-mindedly walked out of the waiting room and out of the hospital. He had no clue where he was going, but he needed to leave that goddamned place.

And he needed bourbon. Maybe it would help him forget the sinking feeling in his gut whenever his thoughts would reach the look of surprise on his partner's face moments after the bullet had hit him somewhere in his chest. Gibbs could still see him looking down on his own body before he stumbled over his own feet and then, to Gibbs' utter horror, keeled over backwards - and fell.

A/N: Had this sitting on my hard drive for ages, but I couldn't bring myself to publish it for some reason until now.

But well... let me know whether or not you'd like this continued ;)