NCIS Fic: Fine is a Four Letter Word - Gen - 28/30
Title: Fine is a Four Letter Word - Chapter 28: Release
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.
We break
And we bend
Turn it inside out
To take it back
To the start
And through the rise and falling apart
We discover who we are
-Lifehouse, "Who We Are"
Six weeks.
Hospitals, Tony had found, made it all too easy to lose track of time. Dates bore little meaning amid the endless stream of days spent within the same sterile walls, and one season moving into the next was significant only insomuch as the view from the window changed. He had been admitted just as fall reached its peak, leaves swirling amber and ruby beneath the shedding trees, the sagging faces of rotting Halloween pumpkins still littering the occasional porch. Thanksgiving, all bare branches and bitter wind, had slipped by when he was in intensive care. Suddenly, it was a few days before Christmas, the halls of the hospital decorated with garland, colorful cards taped to the walls beside the nurses' stations, and the view from his window sparkled with tiny lights.
He counted again. Six weeks.
It should have been "a few." Three, maybe four tops, or so Dr. Weiss had said way back when. He couldn't hold it against her, though. None of them had factored in a ten day detour to the ICU, a full week of that spent on a BiPAP, and a good bit of that half-conscious and burning with fever. Follow it all up with a couple weeks of painful, yet all-too-familiar respiratory therapy, slowed by a body still fighting to recover from chemo, and six weeks became an entirely believable sum.
Tony traced a finger along the window, his chest tightening as new memories of fighting for air blended with the old. Turned out horror didn't require blue lights after all. He'd tried to make light of it, once he was conscious and breathing and could do so without unduly tempting fate. He did his dead level best to play his usual role, make his jokes, coax smiles from Abby. In that glass-walled box, though, where there was no such thing as privacy and simply rolling over set off some alarm and brought three people running, even he lost the rhythm of it now and then.
"Ziva told me this thing makes me sound like Dark Vader," Tony said, handing Abby the mask from the BiPAP to investigate. He was back on a nasal cannula, at least during the day, and he was nearly giddy with the freedom of not having to choose between breathing and speaking. "I thought McGeek was going to wet his pants - desecration of Star Wars is a Federal offense in his book."
"Be nice, Tony," Abby swatted him on the shoulder, and he laughed.
"Careful, Abs - I'm a sick man."
She stiffened, the lighthearted mood evaporating. "I know."
"Abby?"
"You almost died, Tony."
"If I did, I totally got gypped. No bright white light, no out-of-body experience. I didn't even see my dear, sainted grandmother, may she rest in peace."
"It isn't funny!" She turned to face him and Tony was surprised to see that her lip was trembling. What the... She'd been fine not 30 seconds ago. "You could have died."
"But I didn't." Tony reached out and gently removed the mask from her grip. "I'm going to be fine."
"Right." She seemed to check herself, quickly plastering a smile on her face. "It's all gonna be OK."
Tony sighed. "C'mere, Abs." He reached out, and she wrapped her arms around him and laid her head on his chest, gingerly avoiding the remaining tubes and wires. Neither spoke, because really, what was there to say? Throughout his entire treatment, Tony had been well aware he was fighting for his life, but the abstract had come far too close to reality over the past few days. For all of them.
"Abs?"
She sniffed. "Just...just don't you ever scare me like that again. Ever. You got it, Mister?"
The last bit had been a get out of jail free card, and he'd gladly played it, assuring her again that there was no way anything really bad could have happened. She'd smiled, and she'd nodded, and by unspoken agreement neither had mentioned her damp cheeks or the mascara smudged on the front of his gown.
Outside the window, light snow was beginning to fall. Tony rested his forehead against the cool glass, watching the flakes drift lazily beneath the streetlights. He wondered if Gibbs would think to bring his coat. He wondered if it would still fit. He'd lost enough weight that most of his clothes wore him these days, rather than the other way around. He'd make a great runway model - weren't they really just walking clothes hangers?
Didn't you know? Armani's going for the chemo chic look, now that heroin is SO five minutes ago.
He'd braved a look in the mirror yesterday. A real one, not the usual quick glance out of the corner of his eye. He'd forced himself to stand there, beneath the harsh fluorescent lights of the tiny bathroom, and finally look at himself. Why, he still couldn't say. Glutton for punishment, perhaps. Or maybe, he just needed to be sure he was still there.
And he was, though it took him a few very painful minutes to realize it. At first, all he could see was how much he'd lost. His hair, of course, though it was slowly growing back. Weight - too much of it. He'd been proud, once, of his finely toned athlete's body; now the outline of his ribs showed clearly beneath thin, fragile skin. There were other changes, less quantifiable, but somehow even more profound for it. The weary set of his shoulders; the way he moved, tentative, uncertain, as though he had to second guess his own body. He didn't need to speak of his recent trip to hell and back. It was written all over him.
Temporarily. That thought, that realization, was what led him to square his shoulders and turn away from the mirror, a hint of his old smile ghosting at his lips. It was temporary, all of it. He could say that now, and not just in the soothing tones he used to encourage Abby on one of the bad days, or with the fake enthusiasm he gave Dr. Weiss to assure her that yup, he was coping just fine, just gotta ride it out, right? He could say it for real.
He was going home.
Or at least, he was going to Gibbs' house, which was close enough. After the past few months, his boss's place was starting to feel more like home than his sleek, GQ-ready apartment ever had. He needed to do something about that. Get some squishy pillows, maybe, and one of those funny little knit blankets with all the holes. It still might not really feel like home - he was starting to think that maybe home wasn't a place at all - but it would be a start.
No matter what he did, though, he would still have no room for a boat. Just as well. Boats led to bourbon and hand tools and the next thing you knew you were running around laced in sawdust and headslapping the bejesus out of everyone. Although, it would be nice to be the slapper rather than the slappee for a change.
As it had before, Tony had a sneaking suspicion that going home with Gibbs was letting him escape the hospital slightly earlier than if he'd been on his own. He hadn't quite believed it when Dr. Weiss told him he was being discharged - she'd said it so casually, he'd thought she was joking at first:
"What do you say to going home tomorrow?"
"I say it's not nice to tease. I just got used to giving this out as my permanent address."
"I'm not teasing, Tony. Your blood tests look excellent. You've sailed through respiratory therapy."
"I've had a lot of practice. And Angie is very good." Tony was torn between a grin and a wince at the thought of Angie. His respiratory therapist was young, blonde, and cute. She also had no problem kicking his ass if she thought he was slacking. "You should probably give her a raise."
"For putting up with you? Brad said the same thing." Tony rolled his eyes, but didn't comment. He could see Brad saying exactly that - and he was probably right. "But that cough's on its way out, and your lung function looks good. And most importantly..." She paused, smiling, and Tony could guess what she was going to say. Someday, when this was all over, he really needed to have a chat with her about her poker face, or lack thereof.
"You got the other tests back?"
"We got the other tests back," she confirmed. "Bone marrow, PET scan, biopsies. No sign of lymphoma anywhere." Tony closed his eyes, letting out a breath he hadn't even realized he was holding. The relief was enormous, all-encompassing. No lymphoma. No cancer. It was the last major hurdle: the new stem cells were engrafted and working, and he was still in remission.
If DiNozzos cried, he might have been tempted. Instead, he settled for nodding and grinning like a complete idiot.
"So, as long as you're feeling up to it, I don't see any reason not to send you home."
"I'm feeling fine," Tony said automatically, and was pleasantly surprised to realize it was almost true. He was still frustratingly weak, but finally had enough energy that he was starting to climb the walls from boredom, and while everything still tasted oddly metallic he could eat more than Jello without wanting to throw up. He wasn't quite up to pizza yet, but it was only a matter of time until he was back to his usual pepperoni, sausage, and extra cheese.
"Then I'll start the paperwork," Dr. Weiss said. "We'll go over the details tomorrow - I assume you'll be staying with Agent Gibbs awhile longer?"
"That's the plan." There hadn't been much question of where he would go. He'd put up a token protest, as he always did; Gibbs promptly shot it down and then turned Abby loose on him. One day, Tony would have to compliment his boss on his skill in recruiting Abby to do his dirty work.
"It's smart, Tony - you're doing great, but things will still be a little rough over the next couple of months. It won't hurt to have someone else around."
He shrugged, brushing it aside. They could address that question later - for now, he had more pressing concerns. "When can I go back to work?"
Dr. Weiss laughed. "One thing at a time."
"That is one thing!" He gave her his most charming smile. "C'mon, just part-time?"
"Let's get you through the holidays first. Then we'll talk."
Seeing that he wasn't about to get more out of her, Tony capitulated. New rule, he thought to himself: Do not piss off the woman writing your discharge orders.
"Tony!!!!" The voice, bubbling with excitement, startled him from his thoughts. He spotted Abby just in time to brace himself before she tackled him in a hug; even so, he was knocked off balance and barely managed to keep from smacking his head against the window.
"Um, Abs? Can't...breathe..."
"Oh, God! Sorry!" She let go and backed up, her dark eyes darting over him in search of damage. "Are you OK? I didn't hurt you, right? Are your lungs OK?"
"Yes, Abs, my lungs are fine," he said, trying to hide the slight wheeze in his voice.
"OK, good. I don't want to screw anything up. Gibbs is parking the car - I made him let me off out front so I could come up, 'cause we were already late - I swear, you'd think none of these people had ever seen snow before, traffic was so nuts." Stopping for air, she hugged herself in glee. "I can't believe you're going home!"
"Shhhh!" He put a finger to his lips. "Don't jinx it - we're not in the car yet."
"OK, OK." She grinned at him, reaching up to rub a gentle hand over the dark stubble on his head. "It's getting longer," she said.
"Better than the alternative," he replied. He'd gotten used to Abby petting him since his hair had started to make a reappearance. At least she hadn't started scratching him behind the ears.
"It looks good."
"It's practically a crew cut, Abs. I could never be a Marine - nobody looks good with hair like this -" He froze, then winced. "He's behind me, isn't he." How the hell does he do that?
"Uh-huh." Gibbs sounded amused, and Tony turned to see him leaning against the door frame, a half-smile on his face.
"Uh, I didn't mean nobody, Boss. I'm sure you looked great with hair like this. I mean, not to say that you don't look great now, but -"
"DiNozzo," Gibbs sighed. "Put the shovel down."
"Right. Shutting up, Boss."
Gibbs had remembered his coat after all - a pile of finely-worsted grey wool was folded over his arm, and he laid it across the bed as he passed. "Got everything?"
"Everything worth keeping," Tony said. It was hard to believe that after so long, everything could still be distilled into a single duffel bag, though it was quite a bit fuller than when he'd arrived. The extra space was taken up by a handful of cards, a twin for Bert that Abby had had waiting in his room when he returned from the ICU, and two pairs of fuzzy socks from Ziva, who had said his toes looked cold. When he'd asked her (with an admittedly lascivious grin) why she was looking under the blankets in the first place, Ziva had shown him exactly how the fuzzy socks could double as a convenient way to pad one's fist when inflicting blunt force trauma.
"Transport's out in the hall," Gibbs said. "You ready?" He started to reach for Tony's duffel, then stopped, reminding himself that Tony was perfectly capable of carrying his own bag.
"I was ready weeks ago, Boss." Even as he said the words, Tony found himself wondering who had stuck the lead weights into the bottom of his shoes. He forced an easy smile, hoping that neither Gibbs nor Abby picked up on the fact that he wasn't exactly racing towards the door. He was ready. More than ready. He was packed. He'd said goodbye to Beth and Alicia, and the other nurses. He had his prescriptions, his list of appointments for the next few weeks, his discharge papers. He had his fuzzy socks.
He glanced out the window; the snow was falling faster, now, and for an instant the world he'd hungered to rejoin for six long weeks loomed huge, threatening, beyond the glass. Cramming his hands into his pockets, he rocked back a bit on his heels, trying to quell the rush of nerves. What the hell is wrong with you, DiNozzo? Do you WANT to stay here?
Of course he didn't; otherwise they would be moving him up to the psych ward on the fifth floor. His fingers found an old gum wrapper in his pocket and he worried it absently, eyes flitting around a room that suddenly seemed very sterile. He knew damn well Dr. Weiss wouldn't be sending him home if she didn't think it was time. In fact, since his lungs had decided to sign him up for the Club Bethesda extended stay package, his blood counts were higher than most people's at discharge. It was just that...well, suddenly germ-phobic Jardine didn't seem quite so crazy.
Gibbs had no trouble spotting Tony's uneasiness, mostly because it mirrored his own. After too many sleepless nights wondering if they would be able to bring Tony home at all, there was a small part of him that wanted to keep him here, where there were people to fix the things Gibbs couldn't. In his too-big sweatshirt, chewing on his lip, Tony looked young, vulnerable, the flat grey-green of his eyes revealing that he still wasn't up to par. Yet no temporary fragility could hide the man that was still Gibbs' senior field agent - was, and would be, the one person he trusted to have his six.
You can't put him under glass, Jethro. It wouldn't be Tony if you did.
"Then let's go home." Picking up Tony's coat, he brought it over and held it out. "Cold out there," he said as Tony took the proffered coat and shrugged it on. "Hat's in the pocket."
"Did you bring my mittens on a string too?" Tony grumbled, but he pulled the knit cap out of his pocket and tugged it down over his ears. Once he was sufficiently bundled, Abby wrapped an arm around his waist, beaming up at him.
"If I didn't know better, I'd say you were excited about this, Abs," Tony said, tugging affectionately at a pigtail. For once she had no words, just squeezed him tight. He picked up his bag, then took a final look around. With Abby's warmth tucked against his side, and Gibbs waiting in the hall, the room that had seemed safe just a moment ago now threatened to suffocate him. To hell with it. He'd never lived life playing it safe, and he wasn't about to start now.
Gibbs poked his head back in the door. "We goin', or were you planning on spending Christmas here?"
"Dunno, Boss," Tony said. "Santa's coming tomorrow and Beth said he usually brings his elves. Can you beat girls in green spandex and tights?"
Abby was the picture of innocence. "How about guys in green spandex and tights?"
Tony winced. "I think we can go now." With Abby snickering beside him, they followed Gibbs out to the hallway.
None of them looked back.
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.
We break
And we bend
Turn it inside out
To take it back
To the start
And through the rise and falling apart
We discover who we are
-Lifehouse, "Who We Are"
Six weeks.
Hospitals, Tony had found, made it all too easy to lose track of time. Dates bore little meaning amid the endless stream of days spent within the same sterile walls, and one season moving into the next was significant only insomuch as the view from the window changed. He had been admitted just as fall reached its peak, leaves swirling amber and ruby beneath the shedding trees, the sagging faces of rotting Halloween pumpkins still littering the occasional porch. Thanksgiving, all bare branches and bitter wind, had slipped by when he was in intensive care. Suddenly, it was a few days before Christmas, the halls of the hospital decorated with garland, colorful cards taped to the walls beside the nurses' stations, and the view from his window sparkled with tiny lights.
He counted again. Six weeks.
It should have been "a few." Three, maybe four tops, or so Dr. Weiss had said way back when. He couldn't hold it against her, though. None of them had factored in a ten day detour to the ICU, a full week of that spent on a BiPAP, and a good bit of that half-conscious and burning with fever. Follow it all up with a couple weeks of painful, yet all-too-familiar respiratory therapy, slowed by a body still fighting to recover from chemo, and six weeks became an entirely believable sum.
Tony traced a finger along the window, his chest tightening as new memories of fighting for air blended with the old. Turned out horror didn't require blue lights after all. He'd tried to make light of it, once he was conscious and breathing and could do so without unduly tempting fate. He did his dead level best to play his usual role, make his jokes, coax smiles from Abby. In that glass-walled box, though, where there was no such thing as privacy and simply rolling over set off some alarm and brought three people running, even he lost the rhythm of it now and then.
"Ziva told me this thing makes me sound like Dark Vader," Tony said, handing Abby the mask from the BiPAP to investigate. He was back on a nasal cannula, at least during the day, and he was nearly giddy with the freedom of not having to choose between breathing and speaking. "I thought McGeek was going to wet his pants - desecration of Star Wars is a Federal offense in his book."
"Be nice, Tony," Abby swatted him on the shoulder, and he laughed.
"Careful, Abs - I'm a sick man."
She stiffened, the lighthearted mood evaporating. "I know."
"Abby?"
"You almost died, Tony."
"If I did, I totally got gypped. No bright white light, no out-of-body experience. I didn't even see my dear, sainted grandmother, may she rest in peace."
"It isn't funny!" She turned to face him and Tony was surprised to see that her lip was trembling. What the... She'd been fine not 30 seconds ago. "You could have died."
"But I didn't." Tony reached out and gently removed the mask from her grip. "I'm going to be fine."
"Right." She seemed to check herself, quickly plastering a smile on her face. "It's all gonna be OK."
Tony sighed. "C'mere, Abs." He reached out, and she wrapped her arms around him and laid her head on his chest, gingerly avoiding the remaining tubes and wires. Neither spoke, because really, what was there to say? Throughout his entire treatment, Tony had been well aware he was fighting for his life, but the abstract had come far too close to reality over the past few days. For all of them.
"Abs?"
She sniffed. "Just...just don't you ever scare me like that again. Ever. You got it, Mister?"
The last bit had been a get out of jail free card, and he'd gladly played it, assuring her again that there was no way anything really bad could have happened. She'd smiled, and she'd nodded, and by unspoken agreement neither had mentioned her damp cheeks or the mascara smudged on the front of his gown.
Outside the window, light snow was beginning to fall. Tony rested his forehead against the cool glass, watching the flakes drift lazily beneath the streetlights. He wondered if Gibbs would think to bring his coat. He wondered if it would still fit. He'd lost enough weight that most of his clothes wore him these days, rather than the other way around. He'd make a great runway model - weren't they really just walking clothes hangers?
Didn't you know? Armani's going for the chemo chic look, now that heroin is SO five minutes ago.
He'd braved a look in the mirror yesterday. A real one, not the usual quick glance out of the corner of his eye. He'd forced himself to stand there, beneath the harsh fluorescent lights of the tiny bathroom, and finally look at himself. Why, he still couldn't say. Glutton for punishment, perhaps. Or maybe, he just needed to be sure he was still there.
And he was, though it took him a few very painful minutes to realize it. At first, all he could see was how much he'd lost. His hair, of course, though it was slowly growing back. Weight - too much of it. He'd been proud, once, of his finely toned athlete's body; now the outline of his ribs showed clearly beneath thin, fragile skin. There were other changes, less quantifiable, but somehow even more profound for it. The weary set of his shoulders; the way he moved, tentative, uncertain, as though he had to second guess his own body. He didn't need to speak of his recent trip to hell and back. It was written all over him.
Temporarily. That thought, that realization, was what led him to square his shoulders and turn away from the mirror, a hint of his old smile ghosting at his lips. It was temporary, all of it. He could say that now, and not just in the soothing tones he used to encourage Abby on one of the bad days, or with the fake enthusiasm he gave Dr. Weiss to assure her that yup, he was coping just fine, just gotta ride it out, right? He could say it for real.
He was going home.
Or at least, he was going to Gibbs' house, which was close enough. After the past few months, his boss's place was starting to feel more like home than his sleek, GQ-ready apartment ever had. He needed to do something about that. Get some squishy pillows, maybe, and one of those funny little knit blankets with all the holes. It still might not really feel like home - he was starting to think that maybe home wasn't a place at all - but it would be a start.
No matter what he did, though, he would still have no room for a boat. Just as well. Boats led to bourbon and hand tools and the next thing you knew you were running around laced in sawdust and headslapping the bejesus out of everyone. Although, it would be nice to be the slapper rather than the slappee for a change.
As it had before, Tony had a sneaking suspicion that going home with Gibbs was letting him escape the hospital slightly earlier than if he'd been on his own. He hadn't quite believed it when Dr. Weiss told him he was being discharged - she'd said it so casually, he'd thought she was joking at first:
"What do you say to going home tomorrow?"
"I say it's not nice to tease. I just got used to giving this out as my permanent address."
"I'm not teasing, Tony. Your blood tests look excellent. You've sailed through respiratory therapy."
"I've had a lot of practice. And Angie is very good." Tony was torn between a grin and a wince at the thought of Angie. His respiratory therapist was young, blonde, and cute. She also had no problem kicking his ass if she thought he was slacking. "You should probably give her a raise."
"For putting up with you? Brad said the same thing." Tony rolled his eyes, but didn't comment. He could see Brad saying exactly that - and he was probably right. "But that cough's on its way out, and your lung function looks good. And most importantly..." She paused, smiling, and Tony could guess what she was going to say. Someday, when this was all over, he really needed to have a chat with her about her poker face, or lack thereof.
"You got the other tests back?"
"We got the other tests back," she confirmed. "Bone marrow, PET scan, biopsies. No sign of lymphoma anywhere." Tony closed his eyes, letting out a breath he hadn't even realized he was holding. The relief was enormous, all-encompassing. No lymphoma. No cancer. It was the last major hurdle: the new stem cells were engrafted and working, and he was still in remission.
If DiNozzos cried, he might have been tempted. Instead, he settled for nodding and grinning like a complete idiot.
"So, as long as you're feeling up to it, I don't see any reason not to send you home."
"I'm feeling fine," Tony said automatically, and was pleasantly surprised to realize it was almost true. He was still frustratingly weak, but finally had enough energy that he was starting to climb the walls from boredom, and while everything still tasted oddly metallic he could eat more than Jello without wanting to throw up. He wasn't quite up to pizza yet, but it was only a matter of time until he was back to his usual pepperoni, sausage, and extra cheese.
"Then I'll start the paperwork," Dr. Weiss said. "We'll go over the details tomorrow - I assume you'll be staying with Agent Gibbs awhile longer?"
"That's the plan." There hadn't been much question of where he would go. He'd put up a token protest, as he always did; Gibbs promptly shot it down and then turned Abby loose on him. One day, Tony would have to compliment his boss on his skill in recruiting Abby to do his dirty work.
"It's smart, Tony - you're doing great, but things will still be a little rough over the next couple of months. It won't hurt to have someone else around."
He shrugged, brushing it aside. They could address that question later - for now, he had more pressing concerns. "When can I go back to work?"
Dr. Weiss laughed. "One thing at a time."
"That is one thing!" He gave her his most charming smile. "C'mon, just part-time?"
"Let's get you through the holidays first. Then we'll talk."
Seeing that he wasn't about to get more out of her, Tony capitulated. New rule, he thought to himself: Do not piss off the woman writing your discharge orders.
"Tony!!!!" The voice, bubbling with excitement, startled him from his thoughts. He spotted Abby just in time to brace himself before she tackled him in a hug; even so, he was knocked off balance and barely managed to keep from smacking his head against the window.
"Um, Abs? Can't...breathe..."
"Oh, God! Sorry!" She let go and backed up, her dark eyes darting over him in search of damage. "Are you OK? I didn't hurt you, right? Are your lungs OK?"
"Yes, Abs, my lungs are fine," he said, trying to hide the slight wheeze in his voice.
"OK, good. I don't want to screw anything up. Gibbs is parking the car - I made him let me off out front so I could come up, 'cause we were already late - I swear, you'd think none of these people had ever seen snow before, traffic was so nuts." Stopping for air, she hugged herself in glee. "I can't believe you're going home!"
"Shhhh!" He put a finger to his lips. "Don't jinx it - we're not in the car yet."
"OK, OK." She grinned at him, reaching up to rub a gentle hand over the dark stubble on his head. "It's getting longer," she said.
"Better than the alternative," he replied. He'd gotten used to Abby petting him since his hair had started to make a reappearance. At least she hadn't started scratching him behind the ears.
"It looks good."
"It's practically a crew cut, Abs. I could never be a Marine - nobody looks good with hair like this -" He froze, then winced. "He's behind me, isn't he." How the hell does he do that?
"Uh-huh." Gibbs sounded amused, and Tony turned to see him leaning against the door frame, a half-smile on his face.
"Uh, I didn't mean nobody, Boss. I'm sure you looked great with hair like this. I mean, not to say that you don't look great now, but -"
"DiNozzo," Gibbs sighed. "Put the shovel down."
"Right. Shutting up, Boss."
Gibbs had remembered his coat after all - a pile of finely-worsted grey wool was folded over his arm, and he laid it across the bed as he passed. "Got everything?"
"Everything worth keeping," Tony said. It was hard to believe that after so long, everything could still be distilled into a single duffel bag, though it was quite a bit fuller than when he'd arrived. The extra space was taken up by a handful of cards, a twin for Bert that Abby had had waiting in his room when he returned from the ICU, and two pairs of fuzzy socks from Ziva, who had said his toes looked cold. When he'd asked her (with an admittedly lascivious grin) why she was looking under the blankets in the first place, Ziva had shown him exactly how the fuzzy socks could double as a convenient way to pad one's fist when inflicting blunt force trauma.
"Transport's out in the hall," Gibbs said. "You ready?" He started to reach for Tony's duffel, then stopped, reminding himself that Tony was perfectly capable of carrying his own bag.
"I was ready weeks ago, Boss." Even as he said the words, Tony found himself wondering who had stuck the lead weights into the bottom of his shoes. He forced an easy smile, hoping that neither Gibbs nor Abby picked up on the fact that he wasn't exactly racing towards the door. He was ready. More than ready. He was packed. He'd said goodbye to Beth and Alicia, and the other nurses. He had his prescriptions, his list of appointments for the next few weeks, his discharge papers. He had his fuzzy socks.
He glanced out the window; the snow was falling faster, now, and for an instant the world he'd hungered to rejoin for six long weeks loomed huge, threatening, beyond the glass. Cramming his hands into his pockets, he rocked back a bit on his heels, trying to quell the rush of nerves. What the hell is wrong with you, DiNozzo? Do you WANT to stay here?
Of course he didn't; otherwise they would be moving him up to the psych ward on the fifth floor. His fingers found an old gum wrapper in his pocket and he worried it absently, eyes flitting around a room that suddenly seemed very sterile. He knew damn well Dr. Weiss wouldn't be sending him home if she didn't think it was time. In fact, since his lungs had decided to sign him up for the Club Bethesda extended stay package, his blood counts were higher than most people's at discharge. It was just that...well, suddenly germ-phobic Jardine didn't seem quite so crazy.
Gibbs had no trouble spotting Tony's uneasiness, mostly because it mirrored his own. After too many sleepless nights wondering if they would be able to bring Tony home at all, there was a small part of him that wanted to keep him here, where there were people to fix the things Gibbs couldn't. In his too-big sweatshirt, chewing on his lip, Tony looked young, vulnerable, the flat grey-green of his eyes revealing that he still wasn't up to par. Yet no temporary fragility could hide the man that was still Gibbs' senior field agent - was, and would be, the one person he trusted to have his six.
You can't put him under glass, Jethro. It wouldn't be Tony if you did.
"Then let's go home." Picking up Tony's coat, he brought it over and held it out. "Cold out there," he said as Tony took the proffered coat and shrugged it on. "Hat's in the pocket."
"Did you bring my mittens on a string too?" Tony grumbled, but he pulled the knit cap out of his pocket and tugged it down over his ears. Once he was sufficiently bundled, Abby wrapped an arm around his waist, beaming up at him.
"If I didn't know better, I'd say you were excited about this, Abs," Tony said, tugging affectionately at a pigtail. For once she had no words, just squeezed him tight. He picked up his bag, then took a final look around. With Abby's warmth tucked against his side, and Gibbs waiting in the hall, the room that had seemed safe just a moment ago now threatened to suffocate him. To hell with it. He'd never lived life playing it safe, and he wasn't about to start now.
Gibbs poked his head back in the door. "We goin', or were you planning on spending Christmas here?"
"Dunno, Boss," Tony said. "Santa's coming tomorrow and Beth said he usually brings his elves. Can you beat girls in green spandex and tights?"
Abby was the picture of innocence. "How about guys in green spandex and tights?"
Tony winced. "I think we can go now." With Abby snickering beside him, they followed Gibbs out to the hallway.
None of them looked back.