NCIS Fic: Fine is a Four Letter Word - Gen - 5/30
Title: Fine is a Four Letter Word - Chapter 5: Honesty
Author: Emeraldsong (originally posted on ff.net as Secretchild)
Rating: T, mainly for language
Genre: Gen, angst, hurt/comfort, friendship, family
Characters: Team fic, but strong focus on Tony/Gibbs father/son relationship and Abby/Tony friendship.
Summary: When Tony collapses while pursuing a suspect, he insists it's just the flu. Things are never that simple.
Disclaimer: Nope, still not mine.
A/N: A couple of people have asked if I'm writing this from experience. The answer is no, just research and trying to imagine what it would be like to be in that situation. So, with that in mind, if anyone sees anything from the medical end that is totally off base, I would love to know. I'm sure there will be times when things aren't entirely realistic, but I don't want anything to be just plain *wrong*. :-)
Thanks for sticking with this! On we go.
And now you crossed that line
You can't come back
Tell me how does it feel now?
It's too late, too much to forget about
Can't stop now
How does it feel now?
-Matchbox 20, "Feel"
Maybe it was time to just tell everyone, Tony thought, sitting at his desk a couple of days later. Get it over with. Hiding the radiation was one thing - yes, it made him tired (was there anything that didn't make him tired these days?), and it had the potential for other side effects, but it wasn't outwardly visible. Chemotherapy was another story. Even if it didn't make him sick, no one was going to believe he shaved his head for the hell of it. And the longer he waited... He absently touched the catheter in his chest through his shirt, then stopped abruptly when he realized what he was doing, hoping no one had noticed.
He had tried so many times to get up the nerve to say something. Played the conversations over in his mind, until he half thought he already had told them. Abby would cry. McGee would be flustered and get all serious and tongue-tied. Ziva might be the easiest; she would listen, say "I'm sorry, Tony" in that quiet voice of hers, then likely just ask him what came next. And then there was Gibbs. When he found out how much Tony had been keeping from him...well, Gibbs might not wait for the cancer to kill him.
Tony sighed, and let his head drop into his hands. "Tired, DiNozzo?" Gibbs said without looking up from his paperwork.
"Nope."
Gibbs did look up, then.
"A little."
No response.
"OK, yes. But I'm almost done here, then I'll take a break. Promise."
Gibbs stood up and grabbed his mug. "I'm going for coffee. You'd better not be here when I get back."
"Yes, boss."
He watched Gibbs' retreating back. Then he shoved his chair away from the desk, feeling his chest tighten, and took several deep breaths to try to calm down. There wasn't a lot of time left. In a few hours, he'd be at the hospital getting the first round of drugs pumped into his system. He thought of the folder, now shoved in the back of his bottom desk drawer. The words he'd seen a million times now. Cyclophosphamide. Doxorubicin. A foreign language that he was going to have to learn pretty damn fast.
And then he knew who he needed to talk to.
Tony yanked the drawer open, pulled the folder out, and headed for autopsy.
Luckily, Ducky was there. And even more luckily, Tony thought as he entered autopsy, he was alone. "Hey Ducky. Got a minute?"
"Tony!" Ducky was at his desk, pouring over a thick file, but closed it when he heard Tony's voice. "Is everything alright?"
"Everything's fine. I had a couple of questions, thought I'd come down here rather than calling."
"Your timing is excellent - Mr. Palmer has just stepped out for lunch, and I was taking a short break myself before starting on our poor petty officer." He gestured to the autopsy table, and Tony felt his stomach turn. He usually didn't have a problem with autopsy, and today was no different...as long as he kept his back to the body.
Tony pulled a chair over and joined Ducky at the desk. "Anything turn up on the initial exam?"
"Funny you should ask - that's what I was looking at when you came in. There was a strange bruise on the torso that reminded me of a case from several years ago. Different circumstances, of course, but it was the shape that struck me, almost like an impression of some kind, which is why I remembered it."
"That's great, Ducky." Stop stalling, Tony.
"It's nothing conclusive, to be sure, but at this point anything useful would be very welcome." Ducky looked down at the folder Tony was gripping. "But that's not why you're here. Is it?"
"Ah, no. Not exactly."
"Well then," Ducky said. "What can I do for you?"
Tony froze.
"Anthony?"
Say it. Open your dammed mouth and just say it. You damn coward.
He stared at the folder in his hands, not able to bring himself to look at Ducky's kind, craggy face. "Ducky, that virus. It's not exactly a virus."
"I see," Ducky said gently. "I must admit, I did have my doubts. Then what...?"
Tony's mouth was tight. "Lymphoblastic lymphoma."
Ducky's opened his mouth, then closed it again. "Well," he finally said. "I guess 'Oh, dear' doesn't exactly do the situation justice, now, does it?"
As much to his own surprise as to Ducky's, Tony burst out laughing. "No," he said, "no, I guess not. I've been thinking more along the lines of 'Oh, shit,' myself."
"Yes," Ducky said with a wry smile. "I would have to agree with you on that." He settled back in his chair. "How are you -"
"I'm fine." Tony said quickly. "A little...y'know." He shrugged, finding himself wishing for one of Ducky's long, rambling stories. What the hell did you expect, DiNozzo? That he'd pat you on the head and go back to cutting up the petty office over there?
"Have you told Jethro?"
"No. Not yet."
Ducky nodded. Wisely changing the subject, he said, "Were you told what stage the disease has reached?"
"3B." He handed Ducky the folder. "It's in there. All of it."
Ducky opened it and began reading carefully. "No bone marrow involvement, good, good..." he murmured to himself. "Six centimeter mass in the mediastinal region..." He looked up. "Have you begun radiation, then?"
"The day I left the hospital."
"And chemotherapy?"
"This afternoon."
Ducky flipped through the papers until he found the chemotherapy protocol. "This is quite an aggressive regimen, Anthony," he said. "I assume you'll be admitted again?"
"No. I'm doing it outpatient." Ducky looked at him, surprised. "I didn't want to stay any longer than I had to."
"Tony, I don't know if that is the wisest course of action." He tapped the page. "As I said, this is very aggressive. There are side effects -"
"It'll be fine, Ducky," Tony said, cutting him off. His tone made it clear that the matter was not open for discussion. "I'll handle it."
"Tony -"
The gentle Scottish burr was playing hell with his defenses. Suddenly, Tony knew he had to get out of there, knew that if he said another word, he would end up saying far more than he'd ever intended. He shoved his chair back roughly. "I have to go. Gibbs thinks I'm napping in Abby's lab."
Ducky simply handed him the folder, and the two walked to the door together. "Tony, if you need anything - "
"Yup." Tony mustered his warmest, most reassuring smile. "Thanks, Ducky. I'm fine, though. I'll see you tomorrow."
Ducky didn't bother to argue. Instead, he caught Tony's arm just before the doors started to close. "And Tony?"
Tony stopped, waiting.
"You're going to have to tell him. Today."
"Yeah. I know."
And he meant to tell Gibbs. He truly did. But somehow, he found himself in the car that afternoon on the way to the hospital, still not having said a single word.
McGee had just made it to his desk the next morning when his phone rang. He grabbed it and tucked it under his ear as he sat down at the computer. "McGee."
"Probie, it's me." Tony's voice was hoarse. "I'm out sick. Tell Gibbs."
"You OK, Tony?"
"Yeah, I'm fine. Tell Gibbs I'll be back tomorrow."
"I will, Tony, but - " McGee broke off. Tony had already hung up. "Hmmm. That was weird," McGee said, setting the phone back on its cradle.
Ziva had looked up upon hearing Tony's name. "Is everything alright, McGee?"
"That was Tony. He said he's staying home sick today." McGee frowned. "He didn't sound too good."
"How did he sound?" Ziva asked, getting up from her desk and coming over to McGee. He shrugged.
"I don't know. Sick."
"Who's sick?" Gibbs came around the corner and into the bullpen, and headed straight for his desk, tossing his coat over the back of his chair. The coffee he was carrying was still steaming, which meant he hadn't had much yet. McGee wished he'd kept his mouth shut. It was always better to stay out of Gibbs' way until the first cup was gone. "And where's DiNozzo?"
"Um, well, it's Tony that's sick, Boss. He just called."
Gibbs froze, then turned and fixed McGee with a piercing gaze. "And what did he say, exactly?"
"He said he was out sick."
"Yeah, I kinda figured that, McGee. Did he say anything else?" Gibbs' voice was soft. Another bad sign.
"Um, well..."
"Spit it out, McGee!"
"That's really about it. He said that he'd be back tomorrow, and that he was fine."
Gibbs digested that for a second, then all but slammed his coffee cup onto the desk. "Like hell he is," he muttered, grabbing his jacket off the back of the chair. He snatched up his keys and was in the elevator before either McGee or Ziva could say another word.
Gibbs made the fifteen minute drive to Tony's apartment in just over ten, and took the stairs two at a time. He didn't know why he was in such a hurry, but something told him that he needed to get there now, and this time he knew he couldn't ignore his gut. He knocked once on Tony's door, waited, then knocked again. "DiNozzo!" he called out, but there was no answer. He dug out his spare key and let himself in.
All the shades were drawn and the apartment was mostly dark, except for the flicker of the television in the empty living room. Gibbs clicked it off as he passed, heading for Tony's bedroom. It was quiet, too quiet, and Gibbs kept his voice low as he called Tony's name softly. No answer from the bedroom. Then he heard the unmistakable sound of vomiting from the bathroom at the other end of the hall. He was at the door in two long strides, and when his knock went unanswered, he eased the door open.
Tony was curled up in a ball on the bathroom floor, a bath towel tucked under his head as a pillow, cell phone lying at his side. He squinted up at Gibbs, trying to focus. "Boss?" he said in not much more than a whisper. "What are you doing here?"
Gibbs ignored the question. "DiNozzo, what the hell is going on?" he said, easing to the floor beside Tony. "When did this start?"
"Last night," Tony said, barely moving his lips. Slowly, he pushed himself to a sitting position and leaned heavily against the wall, one arm wrapped protectively around his stomach.
"You've been in here all night?"
"I guess. Something like that." He tipped his head back, closing his eyes. It could be nothing, Gibbs thought. Stomach flu, food poisoning - hell, even a hangover. Yet even as he ran through the possibilities, he knew they were all bullshit. One look at Tony told him that something was very wrong. Gibbs pulled out his cell. "Who...who are you calling?"
"You're going back to the hospital, and this time you are not leaving until I see signed papers releasing you for duty," Gibbs said, starting to dial.
"No!" Tony's eyes flew open, and he closed a shaking hand on Gibbs' wrist. "No, don't. I'm fine, Boss. Really."
"You are NOT fine, DiNozzo!" Gibbs managed not to yell, but just barely. "For God's sake, I find you on the floor, you can barely sit up, you're puking your guts out, YOU ARE NOT FINE!" He took a deep breath, clamping down on his anger.
"I..." Tony swallowed hard, grimacing. He sat for a moment, waiting to see if he was going to be sick, then said, "Call Ducky. If he...says I need...need to go, then I'll go."
Gibbs nodded briskly, and hit the speed dial. Ducky answered on the second ring. "Ducky, it's Gibbs."
"Ah, Jethro! I hope you're not calling to tell me you have another body for me, I'm running out of room -"
"No, Duck, listen. I'm at Tony's apartment. He's sick, I don't know what happened - I'm trying to get him back to the hospital, but he insisted that I call you first. Is there something you know that I don't?"
"Damn." Silence stretched across the line, until Ducky finally spoke. "Alright. Jethro, may I speak to him for a moment, please?"
Gibbs looked at Tony, who was watching through half-closed eyes. "Tony?" He nodded, and Gibbs handed him the phone.
Gibbs could only hear Tony's half of the conversation. "Hey Ducky...no. Yeah, yesterday afternoon. Um...I don't know...last night, I think...yeah, they did...I don't remember....started with a....hang on..." He started to struggle to his feet, but his knees buckled and Gibbs caught him before he fell.
"What do you need?" he whispered.
"That bottle," Tony said, gesturing to the sink. Gibbs found a prescription bottle that appeared mostly full, and handed it to Tony, who was slumped against the wall again. Tony peered at the label. "Zofran, Duck. But I can't....uh-huh...I tried, I can't keep it down...OK...yeah, OK." He handed the phone back to Gibbs and closed his eyes, sliding down to curl up on the floor again. Gibbs took the phone and went into the hallway, keeping Tony in his line of sight even as he tried to move out of earshot.
"Jethro?" Ducky was saying as he pressed the phone to his ear.
"Yeah, I'm here, Duck."
"Jethro, I'm on my way. I have to make a brief stop at the pharmacy but I will be there within half an hour. Now, I need you to try to get Anthony to drink some water, at least a bit. He said he hasn't been able to drink anything since yesterday and I'm concerned that he is becoming dehydrated."
"Sure, fine. Water. Anything else?"
"No, the water may be difficult enough. Is he running a fever, do you know?"
"I think so, but I don't know how high. Tony's not exactly the type to keep a stocked medicine cabinet."
"No, I suppose he's not," Ducky chuckled.
Gibbs lowered his voice. "Duck, what's wrong with him?"
"He...didn't tell you?"
"Tell me WHAT?" His patience was growing very thin. "Would someone please explain what the HELL is going on?"
Ducky sighed. "I can't do that, Jethro. He will need to tell you himself. Don't push him now, please. We'll talk more when I arrive; in the meantime, please do try to get him to drink something."
As blindingly frustrated as Gibbs was, he knew when it was time to quit. "Alright. Thanks, Duck. The door's open." He hung up, closing the phone perhaps a bit too hard, but that was the only indulgence he allowed his anger. He grabbed a glass of water from the kitchen, then returned to the bathroom. Tony hadn't moved; Gibbs sat on the floor beside him and placed a hand on his shoulder.
"Tony. Can you sit up if I help you?"
"Yeah, Boss. I think so." Gibbs helped him sit up until he was leaning against the wall, knees pulled into his chest.
"OK?"
"Yeah."
"You need to drink something."
Tony shook his head. "I can't."
"You can, Tony."
"No, I can't." Tony winced at the thought. "I tried, Boss, a few times. I can't keep it down."
"You need to try again. You're dehydrated." Gibbs picked up the glass. "A few sips."
"I can't."
Gibbs pulled out the big guns. "Please, Tony. Try."
Tony looked at him for a long moment. Then he took the glass and drank a few small sips of water.
"OK?"
Tony nodded. "OK."
They sat silently for a few minutes, but Tony was right - he couldn't keep it down. Gibbs closed his eyes, helpless to do anything except place a calming hand on the younger man's back as he threw up the water. "Told you," he muttered weakly, sitting back on his heels. "No more, Boss. Please."
Gibbs knew he should try again, knew that any liquid he could get into Tony would help, but he couldn't bring himself to put him through that again. "OK, Tony, no more. Ducky will be here soon." A look of relief came over Tony's face, and he relaxed against the wall, slumping sideways to lean against Gibbs' shoulder. His eyes were closed, and Gibbs couldn't tell if Tony even knew what he'd done. He brushed Tony's damp hair off his forehead and put an arm around him. "Hurry up, Duck," he said under his breath. Please hurry.
True to his word, Ducky arrived about twenty minutes later with his medical bag and a package from the pharmacy. Gibbs and Tony hadn't moved. "In here," Gibbs called softly when he heard the front door open, and Ducky made his way back.
"Oh, Anthony." He came in, quickly kneeling on the floor beside the other two, his bag already half open. "Jethro, I'll need you to move, please." Gibbs did, carefully sliding his arm from behind Tony so as not to jar him too much. He stood in the hallway, watching, as Ducky spoke softly. "Did they give you anything for nausea before the treatment, Tony?"
Tony shook his head slightly. "Tried, but...I didn't...think I'd need it."
Ducky muttered something that sounded suspiciously like too damn stubborn for your own good, to which Gibbs wholeheartedly agreed.
He asked Tony a few more questions, which were answered in monosyllables. Finally, he opened the pharmacy bag and pulled out a small vial of clear liquid. "Jethro, where is that prescription bottle?" Gibbs handed it to him, and Ducky checked the label carefully. Satisfied, he removed a needle and syringe and began to draw up some of the liquid. "This should help, Tony. It's the liquid form of the pills you were given. Do you have a catheter? I can use it for the injection; otherwise it needs to go in a muscle." Gibbs was now completely lost. What on earth does a catheter...
Tony said nothing, simply pulled up his T-shirt to reveal a small white tube in his chest.
Gibbs turned his back, his jaw clenched so tight he could feel the muscles in his neck seize up, and walked out into the living room. If he stayed, he knew he would start yelling. Better to let Ducky help, and to let himself calm down.
Calm down...not bloody likely. Goddammit, DiNozzo! Gibbs paced, his head buzzing with a million incoherent thoughts. He was furious: furious with Tony for keeping something so serious from him; furious with himself for being so stupid as to let him get away with it; furious with anybody and everybody for letting it happen in the first place. And I don't even know WHAT is happening! Except that he did know, or at least, he knew enough to understand that it was serious, far more serious than even he had suspected. He hated it, the lack of information, of facts he could wrap his head around and find some kind of order in, rather than this swirling mess of nothing that was all he had to work with.
A hand touched his shoulder and he whirled. "What!"
Ducky stood behind him. "I called your name three times, Jethro."
"I didn't hear you."
"Obviously."
"What is it?"
"I need your help getting Tony in bed, or at least to the couch. I do want to get him back to the hospital, and soon, but for now he at least needs to be up off that floor."
"OK. I'm coming." He tried to pull himself back to the here and now, push the rest aside and deal with what was in front of him.
"Jethro." Ducky sighed, watching his friend's face. "Don't be angry with him."
"We'll discuss it later." Gibbs took a long, slow breath, then followed Ducky.
It took both of them to get Tony up, and even then they only made it as far as the couch before the nausea hit again and Tony had to stop. They waited, Gibbs' hand on his back, and when he was through they decided that the couch was far enough. At least it wasn't the floor. Ducky left to call Dr. Weiss and arrange to meet her at the hospital, leaving Gibbs and Tony alone.
Tony mumbled something, and Gibbs crouched beside him so that they were at eye level. He felt the anger, still coursing through his blood, begin to fade in the face of concern as he looked at Tony. He lay on his side, hair matted with sweat, and Gibbs could feel the fever emanating from his body. "I missed that, DiNozzo."
"I said, I'm sorry, Boss. I should...should have told you."
"Can you tell me now?" Gibbs said gently.
"Do I...have a choice?"
"Nope."
"Lymphoma. This...from chemo."
The final piece of the puzzle slid into place, and the picture it created left Gibbs reeling. All he managed to say was a quiet "OK," as he turned Tony's words over and over in his mind.
Tony read his silence as anger. "I'm sorry...I didn't -"
"Enough." Gibbs placed a hand on his arm. "It'll keep, DiNozzo. One thing at a time. Right now, we get through this. Understand?"
"Mmmm." Tony's eyes slid shut. "I don't..."
"I said, we will get through this." Gibbs spoke slowly and firmly. "Do you understand me?"
"...understand, Boss."
"Good."
And once again, they waited.
Author: Emeraldsong (originally posted on ff.net as Secretchild)
Rating: T, mainly for language
Genre: Gen, angst, hurt/comfort, friendship, family
Characters: Team fic, but strong focus on Tony/Gibbs father/son relationship and Abby/Tony friendship.
Summary: When Tony collapses while pursuing a suspect, he insists it's just the flu. Things are never that simple.
Disclaimer: Nope, still not mine.
A/N: A couple of people have asked if I'm writing this from experience. The answer is no, just research and trying to imagine what it would be like to be in that situation. So, with that in mind, if anyone sees anything from the medical end that is totally off base, I would love to know. I'm sure there will be times when things aren't entirely realistic, but I don't want anything to be just plain *wrong*. :-)
Thanks for sticking with this! On we go.
And now you crossed that line
You can't come back
Tell me how does it feel now?
It's too late, too much to forget about
Can't stop now
How does it feel now?
-Matchbox 20, "Feel"
Maybe it was time to just tell everyone, Tony thought, sitting at his desk a couple of days later. Get it over with. Hiding the radiation was one thing - yes, it made him tired (was there anything that didn't make him tired these days?), and it had the potential for other side effects, but it wasn't outwardly visible. Chemotherapy was another story. Even if it didn't make him sick, no one was going to believe he shaved his head for the hell of it. And the longer he waited... He absently touched the catheter in his chest through his shirt, then stopped abruptly when he realized what he was doing, hoping no one had noticed.
He had tried so many times to get up the nerve to say something. Played the conversations over in his mind, until he half thought he already had told them. Abby would cry. McGee would be flustered and get all serious and tongue-tied. Ziva might be the easiest; she would listen, say "I'm sorry, Tony" in that quiet voice of hers, then likely just ask him what came next. And then there was Gibbs. When he found out how much Tony had been keeping from him...well, Gibbs might not wait for the cancer to kill him.
Tony sighed, and let his head drop into his hands. "Tired, DiNozzo?" Gibbs said without looking up from his paperwork.
"Nope."
Gibbs did look up, then.
"A little."
No response.
"OK, yes. But I'm almost done here, then I'll take a break. Promise."
Gibbs stood up and grabbed his mug. "I'm going for coffee. You'd better not be here when I get back."
"Yes, boss."
He watched Gibbs' retreating back. Then he shoved his chair away from the desk, feeling his chest tighten, and took several deep breaths to try to calm down. There wasn't a lot of time left. In a few hours, he'd be at the hospital getting the first round of drugs pumped into his system. He thought of the folder, now shoved in the back of his bottom desk drawer. The words he'd seen a million times now. Cyclophosphamide. Doxorubicin. A foreign language that he was going to have to learn pretty damn fast.
And then he knew who he needed to talk to.
Tony yanked the drawer open, pulled the folder out, and headed for autopsy.
Luckily, Ducky was there. And even more luckily, Tony thought as he entered autopsy, he was alone. "Hey Ducky. Got a minute?"
"Tony!" Ducky was at his desk, pouring over a thick file, but closed it when he heard Tony's voice. "Is everything alright?"
"Everything's fine. I had a couple of questions, thought I'd come down here rather than calling."
"Your timing is excellent - Mr. Palmer has just stepped out for lunch, and I was taking a short break myself before starting on our poor petty officer." He gestured to the autopsy table, and Tony felt his stomach turn. He usually didn't have a problem with autopsy, and today was no different...as long as he kept his back to the body.
Tony pulled a chair over and joined Ducky at the desk. "Anything turn up on the initial exam?"
"Funny you should ask - that's what I was looking at when you came in. There was a strange bruise on the torso that reminded me of a case from several years ago. Different circumstances, of course, but it was the shape that struck me, almost like an impression of some kind, which is why I remembered it."
"That's great, Ducky." Stop stalling, Tony.
"It's nothing conclusive, to be sure, but at this point anything useful would be very welcome." Ducky looked down at the folder Tony was gripping. "But that's not why you're here. Is it?"
"Ah, no. Not exactly."
"Well then," Ducky said. "What can I do for you?"
Tony froze.
"Anthony?"
Say it. Open your dammed mouth and just say it. You damn coward.
He stared at the folder in his hands, not able to bring himself to look at Ducky's kind, craggy face. "Ducky, that virus. It's not exactly a virus."
"I see," Ducky said gently. "I must admit, I did have my doubts. Then what...?"
Tony's mouth was tight. "Lymphoblastic lymphoma."
Ducky's opened his mouth, then closed it again. "Well," he finally said. "I guess 'Oh, dear' doesn't exactly do the situation justice, now, does it?"
As much to his own surprise as to Ducky's, Tony burst out laughing. "No," he said, "no, I guess not. I've been thinking more along the lines of 'Oh, shit,' myself."
"Yes," Ducky said with a wry smile. "I would have to agree with you on that." He settled back in his chair. "How are you -"
"I'm fine." Tony said quickly. "A little...y'know." He shrugged, finding himself wishing for one of Ducky's long, rambling stories. What the hell did you expect, DiNozzo? That he'd pat you on the head and go back to cutting up the petty office over there?
"Have you told Jethro?"
"No. Not yet."
Ducky nodded. Wisely changing the subject, he said, "Were you told what stage the disease has reached?"
"3B." He handed Ducky the folder. "It's in there. All of it."
Ducky opened it and began reading carefully. "No bone marrow involvement, good, good..." he murmured to himself. "Six centimeter mass in the mediastinal region..." He looked up. "Have you begun radiation, then?"
"The day I left the hospital."
"And chemotherapy?"
"This afternoon."
Ducky flipped through the papers until he found the chemotherapy protocol. "This is quite an aggressive regimen, Anthony," he said. "I assume you'll be admitted again?"
"No. I'm doing it outpatient." Ducky looked at him, surprised. "I didn't want to stay any longer than I had to."
"Tony, I don't know if that is the wisest course of action." He tapped the page. "As I said, this is very aggressive. There are side effects -"
"It'll be fine, Ducky," Tony said, cutting him off. His tone made it clear that the matter was not open for discussion. "I'll handle it."
"Tony -"
The gentle Scottish burr was playing hell with his defenses. Suddenly, Tony knew he had to get out of there, knew that if he said another word, he would end up saying far more than he'd ever intended. He shoved his chair back roughly. "I have to go. Gibbs thinks I'm napping in Abby's lab."
Ducky simply handed him the folder, and the two walked to the door together. "Tony, if you need anything - "
"Yup." Tony mustered his warmest, most reassuring smile. "Thanks, Ducky. I'm fine, though. I'll see you tomorrow."
Ducky didn't bother to argue. Instead, he caught Tony's arm just before the doors started to close. "And Tony?"
Tony stopped, waiting.
"You're going to have to tell him. Today."
"Yeah. I know."
And he meant to tell Gibbs. He truly did. But somehow, he found himself in the car that afternoon on the way to the hospital, still not having said a single word.
McGee had just made it to his desk the next morning when his phone rang. He grabbed it and tucked it under his ear as he sat down at the computer. "McGee."
"Probie, it's me." Tony's voice was hoarse. "I'm out sick. Tell Gibbs."
"You OK, Tony?"
"Yeah, I'm fine. Tell Gibbs I'll be back tomorrow."
"I will, Tony, but - " McGee broke off. Tony had already hung up. "Hmmm. That was weird," McGee said, setting the phone back on its cradle.
Ziva had looked up upon hearing Tony's name. "Is everything alright, McGee?"
"That was Tony. He said he's staying home sick today." McGee frowned. "He didn't sound too good."
"How did he sound?" Ziva asked, getting up from her desk and coming over to McGee. He shrugged.
"I don't know. Sick."
"Who's sick?" Gibbs came around the corner and into the bullpen, and headed straight for his desk, tossing his coat over the back of his chair. The coffee he was carrying was still steaming, which meant he hadn't had much yet. McGee wished he'd kept his mouth shut. It was always better to stay out of Gibbs' way until the first cup was gone. "And where's DiNozzo?"
"Um, well, it's Tony that's sick, Boss. He just called."
Gibbs froze, then turned and fixed McGee with a piercing gaze. "And what did he say, exactly?"
"He said he was out sick."
"Yeah, I kinda figured that, McGee. Did he say anything else?" Gibbs' voice was soft. Another bad sign.
"Um, well..."
"Spit it out, McGee!"
"That's really about it. He said that he'd be back tomorrow, and that he was fine."
Gibbs digested that for a second, then all but slammed his coffee cup onto the desk. "Like hell he is," he muttered, grabbing his jacket off the back of the chair. He snatched up his keys and was in the elevator before either McGee or Ziva could say another word.
Gibbs made the fifteen minute drive to Tony's apartment in just over ten, and took the stairs two at a time. He didn't know why he was in such a hurry, but something told him that he needed to get there now, and this time he knew he couldn't ignore his gut. He knocked once on Tony's door, waited, then knocked again. "DiNozzo!" he called out, but there was no answer. He dug out his spare key and let himself in.
All the shades were drawn and the apartment was mostly dark, except for the flicker of the television in the empty living room. Gibbs clicked it off as he passed, heading for Tony's bedroom. It was quiet, too quiet, and Gibbs kept his voice low as he called Tony's name softly. No answer from the bedroom. Then he heard the unmistakable sound of vomiting from the bathroom at the other end of the hall. He was at the door in two long strides, and when his knock went unanswered, he eased the door open.
Tony was curled up in a ball on the bathroom floor, a bath towel tucked under his head as a pillow, cell phone lying at his side. He squinted up at Gibbs, trying to focus. "Boss?" he said in not much more than a whisper. "What are you doing here?"
Gibbs ignored the question. "DiNozzo, what the hell is going on?" he said, easing to the floor beside Tony. "When did this start?"
"Last night," Tony said, barely moving his lips. Slowly, he pushed himself to a sitting position and leaned heavily against the wall, one arm wrapped protectively around his stomach.
"You've been in here all night?"
"I guess. Something like that." He tipped his head back, closing his eyes. It could be nothing, Gibbs thought. Stomach flu, food poisoning - hell, even a hangover. Yet even as he ran through the possibilities, he knew they were all bullshit. One look at Tony told him that something was very wrong. Gibbs pulled out his cell. "Who...who are you calling?"
"You're going back to the hospital, and this time you are not leaving until I see signed papers releasing you for duty," Gibbs said, starting to dial.
"No!" Tony's eyes flew open, and he closed a shaking hand on Gibbs' wrist. "No, don't. I'm fine, Boss. Really."
"You are NOT fine, DiNozzo!" Gibbs managed not to yell, but just barely. "For God's sake, I find you on the floor, you can barely sit up, you're puking your guts out, YOU ARE NOT FINE!" He took a deep breath, clamping down on his anger.
"I..." Tony swallowed hard, grimacing. He sat for a moment, waiting to see if he was going to be sick, then said, "Call Ducky. If he...says I need...need to go, then I'll go."
Gibbs nodded briskly, and hit the speed dial. Ducky answered on the second ring. "Ducky, it's Gibbs."
"Ah, Jethro! I hope you're not calling to tell me you have another body for me, I'm running out of room -"
"No, Duck, listen. I'm at Tony's apartment. He's sick, I don't know what happened - I'm trying to get him back to the hospital, but he insisted that I call you first. Is there something you know that I don't?"
"Damn." Silence stretched across the line, until Ducky finally spoke. "Alright. Jethro, may I speak to him for a moment, please?"
Gibbs looked at Tony, who was watching through half-closed eyes. "Tony?" He nodded, and Gibbs handed him the phone.
Gibbs could only hear Tony's half of the conversation. "Hey Ducky...no. Yeah, yesterday afternoon. Um...I don't know...last night, I think...yeah, they did...I don't remember....started with a....hang on..." He started to struggle to his feet, but his knees buckled and Gibbs caught him before he fell.
"What do you need?" he whispered.
"That bottle," Tony said, gesturing to the sink. Gibbs found a prescription bottle that appeared mostly full, and handed it to Tony, who was slumped against the wall again. Tony peered at the label. "Zofran, Duck. But I can't....uh-huh...I tried, I can't keep it down...OK...yeah, OK." He handed the phone back to Gibbs and closed his eyes, sliding down to curl up on the floor again. Gibbs took the phone and went into the hallway, keeping Tony in his line of sight even as he tried to move out of earshot.
"Jethro?" Ducky was saying as he pressed the phone to his ear.
"Yeah, I'm here, Duck."
"Jethro, I'm on my way. I have to make a brief stop at the pharmacy but I will be there within half an hour. Now, I need you to try to get Anthony to drink some water, at least a bit. He said he hasn't been able to drink anything since yesterday and I'm concerned that he is becoming dehydrated."
"Sure, fine. Water. Anything else?"
"No, the water may be difficult enough. Is he running a fever, do you know?"
"I think so, but I don't know how high. Tony's not exactly the type to keep a stocked medicine cabinet."
"No, I suppose he's not," Ducky chuckled.
Gibbs lowered his voice. "Duck, what's wrong with him?"
"He...didn't tell you?"
"Tell me WHAT?" His patience was growing very thin. "Would someone please explain what the HELL is going on?"
Ducky sighed. "I can't do that, Jethro. He will need to tell you himself. Don't push him now, please. We'll talk more when I arrive; in the meantime, please do try to get him to drink something."
As blindingly frustrated as Gibbs was, he knew when it was time to quit. "Alright. Thanks, Duck. The door's open." He hung up, closing the phone perhaps a bit too hard, but that was the only indulgence he allowed his anger. He grabbed a glass of water from the kitchen, then returned to the bathroom. Tony hadn't moved; Gibbs sat on the floor beside him and placed a hand on his shoulder.
"Tony. Can you sit up if I help you?"
"Yeah, Boss. I think so." Gibbs helped him sit up until he was leaning against the wall, knees pulled into his chest.
"OK?"
"Yeah."
"You need to drink something."
Tony shook his head. "I can't."
"You can, Tony."
"No, I can't." Tony winced at the thought. "I tried, Boss, a few times. I can't keep it down."
"You need to try again. You're dehydrated." Gibbs picked up the glass. "A few sips."
"I can't."
Gibbs pulled out the big guns. "Please, Tony. Try."
Tony looked at him for a long moment. Then he took the glass and drank a few small sips of water.
"OK?"
Tony nodded. "OK."
They sat silently for a few minutes, but Tony was right - he couldn't keep it down. Gibbs closed his eyes, helpless to do anything except place a calming hand on the younger man's back as he threw up the water. "Told you," he muttered weakly, sitting back on his heels. "No more, Boss. Please."
Gibbs knew he should try again, knew that any liquid he could get into Tony would help, but he couldn't bring himself to put him through that again. "OK, Tony, no more. Ducky will be here soon." A look of relief came over Tony's face, and he relaxed against the wall, slumping sideways to lean against Gibbs' shoulder. His eyes were closed, and Gibbs couldn't tell if Tony even knew what he'd done. He brushed Tony's damp hair off his forehead and put an arm around him. "Hurry up, Duck," he said under his breath. Please hurry.
True to his word, Ducky arrived about twenty minutes later with his medical bag and a package from the pharmacy. Gibbs and Tony hadn't moved. "In here," Gibbs called softly when he heard the front door open, and Ducky made his way back.
"Oh, Anthony." He came in, quickly kneeling on the floor beside the other two, his bag already half open. "Jethro, I'll need you to move, please." Gibbs did, carefully sliding his arm from behind Tony so as not to jar him too much. He stood in the hallway, watching, as Ducky spoke softly. "Did they give you anything for nausea before the treatment, Tony?"
Tony shook his head slightly. "Tried, but...I didn't...think I'd need it."
Ducky muttered something that sounded suspiciously like too damn stubborn for your own good, to which Gibbs wholeheartedly agreed.
He asked Tony a few more questions, which were answered in monosyllables. Finally, he opened the pharmacy bag and pulled out a small vial of clear liquid. "Jethro, where is that prescription bottle?" Gibbs handed it to him, and Ducky checked the label carefully. Satisfied, he removed a needle and syringe and began to draw up some of the liquid. "This should help, Tony. It's the liquid form of the pills you were given. Do you have a catheter? I can use it for the injection; otherwise it needs to go in a muscle." Gibbs was now completely lost. What on earth does a catheter...
Tony said nothing, simply pulled up his T-shirt to reveal a small white tube in his chest.
Gibbs turned his back, his jaw clenched so tight he could feel the muscles in his neck seize up, and walked out into the living room. If he stayed, he knew he would start yelling. Better to let Ducky help, and to let himself calm down.
Calm down...not bloody likely. Goddammit, DiNozzo! Gibbs paced, his head buzzing with a million incoherent thoughts. He was furious: furious with Tony for keeping something so serious from him; furious with himself for being so stupid as to let him get away with it; furious with anybody and everybody for letting it happen in the first place. And I don't even know WHAT is happening! Except that he did know, or at least, he knew enough to understand that it was serious, far more serious than even he had suspected. He hated it, the lack of information, of facts he could wrap his head around and find some kind of order in, rather than this swirling mess of nothing that was all he had to work with.
A hand touched his shoulder and he whirled. "What!"
Ducky stood behind him. "I called your name three times, Jethro."
"I didn't hear you."
"Obviously."
"What is it?"
"I need your help getting Tony in bed, or at least to the couch. I do want to get him back to the hospital, and soon, but for now he at least needs to be up off that floor."
"OK. I'm coming." He tried to pull himself back to the here and now, push the rest aside and deal with what was in front of him.
"Jethro." Ducky sighed, watching his friend's face. "Don't be angry with him."
"We'll discuss it later." Gibbs took a long, slow breath, then followed Ducky.
It took both of them to get Tony up, and even then they only made it as far as the couch before the nausea hit again and Tony had to stop. They waited, Gibbs' hand on his back, and when he was through they decided that the couch was far enough. At least it wasn't the floor. Ducky left to call Dr. Weiss and arrange to meet her at the hospital, leaving Gibbs and Tony alone.
Tony mumbled something, and Gibbs crouched beside him so that they were at eye level. He felt the anger, still coursing through his blood, begin to fade in the face of concern as he looked at Tony. He lay on his side, hair matted with sweat, and Gibbs could feel the fever emanating from his body. "I missed that, DiNozzo."
"I said, I'm sorry, Boss. I should...should have told you."
"Can you tell me now?" Gibbs said gently.
"Do I...have a choice?"
"Nope."
"Lymphoma. This...from chemo."
The final piece of the puzzle slid into place, and the picture it created left Gibbs reeling. All he managed to say was a quiet "OK," as he turned Tony's words over and over in his mind.
Tony read his silence as anger. "I'm sorry...I didn't -"
"Enough." Gibbs placed a hand on his arm. "It'll keep, DiNozzo. One thing at a time. Right now, we get through this. Understand?"
"Mmmm." Tony's eyes slid shut. "I don't..."
"I said, we will get through this." Gibbs spoke slowly and firmly. "Do you understand me?"
"...understand, Boss."
"Good."
And once again, they waited.