NCIS: Live For Ten (9/9)
All disclaimers, notes, warnings and summary are in the Master post: Live For Ten
Chapter Seventeen
"Ziva!"
He didn't need to call for her, because she was already there. She took off her jacket and spread it out, then she straightened Tony's legs as Gibbs slowly lowered him to the floor.
"McGee! Call … !"
"Already did, Boss." Tim's feet beat a rapid rhythm as he ran down the stairs. "They're four minutes out."
"Fornell!"
Tobias stood from where he'd been kneeling next to Rivers' body. "He's dead," he said. He nudged the knife away with his foot even as he holstered his weapon. "We're clear."
’It's over.’
Gibbs allowed himself just one second to be grateful for that fact, and then he snapped into action. Tony had made it that far on his own, but he'd need their help to make it the rest of the way. He looked up at Tim, at the handful of towels he'd grabbed from the kitchen on his way down, and he nodded in approval and appreciation.
"Ziva, neck wound." It didn't look deep, but it was long, and it was bleeding heavily. "Don't touch his shoulder."
Ziva took a towel from Tim without a word.
"McGee, knife." Tim handed his knife over silently. "Chest and side." Gibbs shifted to his right, and Tim knelt down in the spot he'd just vacated.
The towels that Tim pressed against the two wounds started showing red almost instantly. The towel Ziva held against his neck had done the same. With those wounds being cared for, Gibbs could turn his attention to Tony's wrists and the electrical cord that still bound them.
Tony's sudden drop had saved his life, without a doubt, but it had come with a price. The small cut that Rivers started on his neck had gotten bigger as the knife dragged across it, and it went from under his ear to his jaw. His already damaged shoulder was grotesquely swollen, misshapen and bruised, and there was something jutting out under the skin on the top of it. And the cord had been pulled so tight against the outsides of his raw and bloody wrists that it was almost buried in them.
Gibbs shook his head silently as he opened the knife.
"Are you sure you want to do that?" Fornell had left his position next to Rivers' body and was knelt down on Tony's other side. "Those are in there deep."
"And they'll stay there." There was heat and anger in his voice. Did Fornell really think he was that stupid? "But I'm not leaving him tied up." He glanced up at Fornell quickly. "Wrap a towel around that arm, and don't let it move."
Gibbs sliced through the cord carefully, closed the knife and set it aside. Then he grabbed a towel of his own, lifted Tony's right arm, and applied pressure to the cut on the inside of his forearm.
"Tony?" McGee leaned down, and then glanced up at Gibbs. "Boss?"
Gibbs turned his head in time to see Tony's eyes flutter open. At least, his left eye opened. His right eye was too swollen to open more than a sliver. He looked at each of them in turn - first McGee, then Ziva, then Fornell, and finally Gibbs.
"You stay awake, DiNozzo. You hear me?"
Tony blinked slowly in understanding. He kept his one good eye on Gibbs, and Gibbs looked right back at him.
"That's it. Eyes on me. Stay with me."
Tony tried to follow the order, but it was obvious that he was having a hard time with it. His blinks were becoming slower and closer together, but he was fighting.
"Paramedics are on the way. Hang in there."
Tony shifted position slightly, so little movement that it was barely noticeable. Then a shudder ran through his entire body, he squeezed his eyes shut, and his head reared back against the floor.
Ziva moved her left hand to the side of his face. "Open your eyes, Tony."
His eyes shot open as far as they could, but it wasn't in response to Ziva's request. He opened his mouth as if he were about to scream, but no sound passed his lips. Then his eyes fell closed again, and his head fell to the side. Blood started to run from his nose and down the side of his face.
"Tony!"
"Damn it, DiNozzo!" Gibbs jammed his right thumb into Tony's sternum as hard as he could.
"Wake up, Tony," Tim muttered beside him. "Wake up."
"Open your eyes, DiNozzo! Now!"
"Hello!" An authoritative voice called from upstairs. "Paramedics!" Three heads turned toward it and yelled out in unison.
"Down here!"
Gibbs didn't move.
He kept his eyes locked on Tony's face, watching for some sign of waking, but he didn't see one. He heard the paramedics charging down the stairs with their gurney, and Fornell stood up.
"He's dead."
’He's not dead!’
"We'll have an ME take care of that. You were called for him."
Tim and Ziva both stood up and moved aside. But Gibbs didn't.
"Sir? Sir, we need you to move."
He still didn't.
"Boss."
"Gibbs."
He ignored them both, until they wrapped their hands around his arms and pulled him away. He didn't fight them, but he didn't help them, either. They got him to his feet, and the three of them stood, together, watching as the paramedics quickly and efficiently dressed Tony's wounds and moved him to the gurney.
"Is anyone else injured?" One of the paramedics looked around the room quickly, but he stopped when his eyes fell on Gibbs. "Sir? Are you all right?"
"What?" He shook his head in frustration. "I'm fine. Take care of him."
Then Tim was there, taking charge again. "Boss, you're bleeding pretty badly. You've got two black eyes, your nose is probably broken, your arm and hands are cut … you should go. Go with them."
"I don't need …"
Tim lowered his voice. "Go with him."
Something about Tim's tone snapped Gibbs back to reality. He'd been starting to go off-kilter again, and there was no reason for it. There was no crime scene to destroy. There was no evidence to collect. There was no attempted murderer in the wind. Santori was dead, Duncan was dead, Rivers was dead, and Tony was still alive.
’It's over.’
He nodded at Tim, then at Ziva, and they let go of his arms. He followed the paramedics up the stairs.
"We will be right behind you, Gibbs," Ziva said.
The gurney reached the landing, and the paramedics disappeared around the corner with Tony. Gibbs stopped there and turned back to look out over his basement one last time. He glanced around, making eye contact with both Tim and Ziva before his gaze turned to Bruce Rivers' body and the perfectly round hole between his eyes.
His eyes narrowed, and his jaw hardened.
"There's a dead security guard around here somewhere, too, Tobias. Find him. And get them both the hell out of my house."
Tony didn't wake up in the ambulance.
The paramedic in the back checked his blood pressure, listened to his lungs, checked his oxygen levels and started an IV, but he didn't move. The sirens wailed, the horn honked, and the paramedic shouted back and forth with the driver, but his eyes never fluttered. The tires screeched when they entered the ambulance bay, the gurney rocked when they pulled him out, and chaos erupted when they burst through the doors, but he didn't even twitch.
Gibbs stayed at Tony's side as they made their way down the hall. He was holding a large piece of gauze tightly against his upper arm, clearly indicating that he was injured, too, but no one seemed to notice. No one told him to stay in the waiting room; no one told him to get out of the way. In fact, everyone seemed to be ignoring him, which wouldn't have bothered him if not for one small thing.
"Doc Marquardt," he said. "Someone needs to call her."
No one answered him.
They ran into the exam room, and Tony was quickly transferred from the gurney to the bed. The nurses began moving around, hanging IVs and hooking up wires and flipping switches. He recognized one of them, and he put his hand on her arm as she rushed by.
"Juanita!" She stopped and looked at him, blinking in surprise. She must not have realized who was lying on the bed in front of her. "Where's the doc? She said to …"
"She's upstairs, Agent Gibbs. I'm sure she'll be here if she can."
"Has anyone called …?"
"Excuse me."
"But she needs to …" He stumbled back as Juanita pushed her way past him. Another nurse darted behind him, and she almost knocked him off his feet.
He turned his head from side to side, eyes sweeping the room quickly as the swarm of medical personnel buzzed around. He wasn't happy with how many people stood between him and the bed. He was frustrated with the fact that he couldn't move any closer for fear of being thrown out. He was not impressed by the detached, emotionless way they looked at and talked about Tony.
But what bothered him the most was that with the exception of one nurse who was probably just picking up an extra shift, no one in that room knew what they were dealing with. None of them knew what Tony had been through in the past two days, and none of them knew about the complications he'd already dealt with. They didn't know about his lungs; they didn't know about his heart; they didn't know about his muscle spasms or his shoulder or his oxygen levels or his blood volume. That was unacceptable. There was too big a risk that someone might do something wrong.
Since no one seemed inclined to listen to him when he talked, he drew a deep breath and did the same thing he'd done the day before. "Doc!"
"Don't shout in my ER, Agent Gibbs." He spun toward the sound of her voice, letting out a relieved sigh when he saw her wading through the tide of nurses. "It disturbs the other patients."
He stepped toward her, but she held up her hand and stopped him. She looked him up and down, just once, and it was obvious she didn't like what she saw. She pointed one finger at him and then at the empty curtain area a few feet away.
"Go."
He opened his mouth to protest, but she'd already figured out what he was going to say.
"No arguing." She moved closer to Tony, picking his chart up and flipping through it as she walked. "You're bleeding all over the place, and you look like a raccoon. Get over there and let Tamera clean you up."
One of the nurses moved toward the empty bed. He followed her, though he kept looking back over his shoulder. When she reached for the top of the curtains to pull them closed, he hesitated, and Dr. Marquardt looked up from Tony's chart.
"Tamera," she said. "Leave it open."
Gibbs gave her a look of gratitude and sat down on the edge of the bed.
"My name's Tamera. I'll be your nurse."
He nodded without looking at her. He already knew her name, and he already knew she was a nurse. He had more important things to worry about than whatever pleasantries she wanted to give him. She moved a blood pressure monitor closer to him, pushed his sleeve up, and wrapped the cuff around his left arm.
"He's a friend of yours?" she asked. When he didn't answer, she tried again. "Your son?" The silence that followed was broken only by the beep of the monitor, indicating that it was finished. He didn't even look to see what it was. It was either too low, too high or perfectly normally, and he didn't really care which. "Well, he's in good hands. Dr. Marquardt is one of the best trauma surgeons we have on staff."
After a few more attempts at small talk, none of which he returned, Tamera gave up and cleaned his cuts in silence.
"Start with one unit of O-neg. Type and crossmatch for two more. It's going to be A-positive, but check it anyway." Dr. Marquardt had put a gown on over her clothes at some point, and she snapped a pair of blue gloves on. "Is his spine clear? Good. Roll him and let me see his back. Keep that arm immobilized."
As soon as she saw what had been done between his shoulder blades, she turned and looked Gibbs straight in the eye. He saw no condemnation or blame there, only concern. "Page plastics." She gave Gibbs one of her tired smiles, and then she turned back to take a closer look at the damage "I'm going to want Dr. Marshall's help with this."
She motioned with her hand for the nurses to put Tony back on the bed, and they did so. "Let's look at that eye." She stepped up to the head of Tony's bed, put one hand on either side of his face, and leaned down. "Call radiology. I need a CT scan of his head and face and an x-ray of this shoulder." She stepped around to Tony's left side.
"Sterile saline for these wrists. A lot of it." She looked down at his chest and side, then his neck, then the insides of both arms. "I'll need 5-0 silk and a 3/8 needle." She put one hand on the top of his shoulder and wrapped the other around his wrist, just above where the cord was still embedded. Very carefully, very slowly, she moved his arm up and away from his side.
Tony screamed in pain.
Gibbs jumped to his feet.
"Whoa!" Dr. Marquardt moved her hands from Tony's arm to the sides of his face. "Okay, okay. Tony. Tony!" She glanced up and saw Gibbs starting to move toward them, and she held up her hand. "You, stay!" Then she turned all of her attention back to her patient. "Tony. Look at me."
Tony had stopped screaming, but he was breathing so heavily that Gibbs could see his chest heaving from fifteen feet away.
"Hey, look at me, Tony."
Gibbs couldn't see his face, but Tony must have done what she asked, because she smiled down at him.
"Hey there. That hurts, huh?"
Tony's head moved slightly, obviously an affirmative.
"So, if I ask you to rate that shoulder on a scale of …?"
"Twenty." Cracked, raspy, and breathy … but awake, lucid, and honest.
It was the best sound Gibbs had heard all day.
She looked up at Juanita across the bed and nodded. "Fourteen of morphine, IV." She looked back down at Tony and leaned closer to him. "What was that, Tony?"
He hadn't heard Tony's questions, and he couldn't hear his answer. He wanted to move closer. But there was a doctor standing next to him with a needle in his hand, getting ready to sew his arm closed, and Tamera didn't look happy that he'd stood up in the first place, so he sat back down.
"Where's Agent Gibbs? He's fine, Tony." A few seconds passed. "No, he's fine. He's hurt, but he's fine. I promise." She turned and pointed in his direction, and a few seconds later, Tony turned his head. His one open eye followed her finger, and when he saw Gibbs, the tense, fearful expression on his face relaxed into one of relief. "See? He's right there."
Gibbs tipped his head once in acknowledgment.
’You made it.’
Tony nodded slowly in response.
’We won.’
"How about we get you fixed up, Tony? You'll be good as new in no time."
’You won.’
He wasn't supposed to leave the ER. He wasn't supposed to leave the exam room. He wasn't supposed to get out of bed at all.
But he had questions, and she had answers, and he was going to find her.
He finally tracked her down outside. She saw him coming, and she smiled at him as he approached. Then she looked down at the cigarette in her hand guiltily.
"I know these things are going to kill me," she said. "I keep trying to quit, but every time I think I'm going to make it, days like this happen, and I'm right back out here again." He kept walking without a word, and she took a long drag before she spoke again. "What can I do for you, Agent Gibbs?"
"They moved Tony out of the ER."
She nodded slowly. "That's because he's been admitted. I'll take you up to see him as soon as he's settled."
"Doc …"
"How are you, Agent Gibbs?"
He was surprised by the question. He'd thought that Dr. Marquardt, of all people, would understand that he wasn't there to talk about himself.
"I'm fine."
She laughed lightly and took another drag from her cigarette. "You have a broken nose, twelve stitches in the back of each hand, twenty-five in your arm, and a Grade Three concussion." She shook her head. "You have a strange definition of 'fine'. I think I know where Tony gets his from." She sighed. "But I guess your doctor agrees, because he wants to release you."
"Good."
"I went out to talk to your team for a few minutes. I understand from Agent McGee that the threat to Tony has been …"
"Neutralized," he interrupted.
"I think he said resolved, but I get the idea, either way." She took one last drag from her cigarette, and then she smashed it in the ashtray. "I noticed that Agent Rivers isn't out in the waiting room with everyone else. Is there a reason for that?"
"Yes."
She froze, and her eyes widened in surprise and understanding. "Wow. So, he's been … arrested?"
Gibbs shook his head slowly.
"Damn." She pushed her hair out of her eyes and turned toward him. "Okay. That's going to … damn." She took a deep breath and shook her head. "But I don't think you're out here to tell me about Agent Rivers."
"No."
She smiled softly, sighed, and straightened her shoulders. "Fair enough. First things first - Tony is going to be fine."
"Going to be." Gibbs didn't like the way that sounded at all.
Dr. Marquardt nodded. "Well, it's going to take some time. I'm not going to lie; he's pretty banged up right now. But he's in much, much better shape than he was when he got here Monday night."
Gibbs stood and listened attentively as she gave him another rundown of Tony's injuries.
Though the wounds he had were deeper than the first time, there weren't as many, and he hadn't bled as long. The cut on his throat had missed the artery by half-an-inch. His arms, chest, and side were clean and uncomplicated. A plastic surgeon had put the stitches in his back, and even with the jagged edges Rivers had left behind when he cut them back open, he probably wouldn't have much of a scar. He'd been given two units of blood so far, and he was going to get one more. If not for his blood volume being so low to begin with, he wouldn't have needed that much. His blood pressure was a little low, but she wasn't concerned. His oxygen levels were fine. They were monitoring his heart, but Dr. Marquardt didn't expect any problems.
He had a blowout fracture of the orbital floor of his right eye. That was why it was swollen shut, and that was why his nose had been bleeding. The blood pooling in his sinuses and running down his throat had made Tony's breaths rattle and his coughs sound wet. His eyeball was going to turn red, and his vision might be blurry until that cleared up, but he didn't need surgery. Gibbs' insistence that he keep breathing, no matter how much it hurt, had worked. His lungs were fine.
His wrists had been cleaned, sutured and bandaged. There didn't appear to be any nerve damage in his hands. He'd bruised both of his knees, but he hadn't done any significant or lasting damage to them. His concussion had been aggravated, but not badly. His intercranial pressure was fine. He'd never lost consciousness because of a head injury.
"His shoulder," Gibbs said.
"Yes," she said with a nod. "His shoulder. It is by far my biggest concern right now."
His shoulder hadn't been healed from the original dislocation yet. Rivers had knocked him down the stairs, and he'd landed on it. Tony told Dr. Marquardt that was the only time he'd lost consciousness. He had several torn ligaments, and the bump on the top, though it might shrink in size, was going to be permanent. He'd dislocated it again, and all indications were that he'd done it himself when the cords yanked his shoulders up as he dropped to the floor. It was going to heal, though it would take time. He was going to be in the immobilizer for at least three weeks, and a sling for several weeks after that. He would regain full mobility in his arm. He didn't need surgery.
Gibbs let all of the information sink in and process before he spoke again.
"He lied to you."
Dr. Marquardt's eyes widened in surprise. "About what?"
"That wasn't the only time he lost consciousness. He passed out right after he hit his knees. He woke up for a minute or two, but he passed out again. He was out cold when they brought him in. Remember? He didn't wake up until you moved his arm."
She smiled, and then she laughed. He stiffened and raised his shoulders in anger.
"Oh, Agent Gibbs." She stopped laughing, but she was still smiling when she spoke again. "Have you ever dislocated a separated shoulder?"
He shook his head. "No."
"Neither have I, but I can still tell you, it hurts like hell. The first time he passed out was probably a combination of exhaustion and his mind catching on to the fact that his shoulder had just been pulled back out. And I'm guessing that when he passed out that second time, he'd done something stupid. Like, say, move?"
Gibbs thought back over that moment. Tony had been looking at him, and he'd moved - not much, so little that Gibbs wouldn't have noticed if he hadn't been watching him so closely. Then he'd shuddered, thrown his head back, and passed out.
"Yeah," he said. "He did."
"He passed out from the pain. He stayed that way because his mind obviously didn't want to wake up and deal with it. Honestly, Agent Gibbs, with all the movement involved in getting him in and out of the ambulance, and then getting him into a bed, it was probably for the best that he was out cold for it."
She had a point there.
Gibbs took a few seconds to finish digesting everything he'd just been told. Despite everything he'd been through, despite everything Bruce Rivers had done to him, Tony was alive. And he was going to be just fine.
’Rot in Hell, you stupid bastard.’
Gibbs smiled.
"I've already spoken to the director of the medical floor Tony's been moved to. In light of the fact that his life is in no danger medically, Agents McGee and Fornell both assure us that there is no investigation to preserve, and the threat to his safety has been …" She paused as she tried to think of the right word. "Neutralized … I'm afraid that she sees no reason to waive the visiting rules. No one is going to be allowed to stay with him outside of visiting hours."
The smile faded from his face, and he sighed. He really should have expected that.
"Also, we're pretty full at the moment, and all of our private rooms are already taken. He's going to have a roommate this time."
"I want to see him," Gibbs said. "As soon as I'm released, I'm going to …"
"Oh, you're not being released, Agent Gibbs."
"What?" He tilted his head in confusion. "I thought you said …"
"I said that your current doctor wants to release you. But I forgot to mention that your care has been taken over by another doctor. A real hardass. One who insists on a mandatory admittance for 24 hour observation after all head injuries above a Grade II."
"No. That's not …"
"Of course, since the private rooms are full, you'll have a roommate, too."
She was smiling. It wasn't a tired smile, or a worried smile, or a fake smile. It was a real, true smile.
It took him longer than it should have to figure out why. And when he did, he laughed.
"I'm rubbing off on you, Doc," he said. "Breaking the rules?"
She shook her head. "Bending them. Because it's in my patient's best interest." She took one step toward him. "Both of my patients' best interests."
A comfortable silence settled around them, and for the first time in forty-eight hours, Gibbs allowed himself to relax.
"Let's get you back to the ER before they send security out looking for you," Dr. Marquardt finally said. "I'll bring your team in so you can give them the good news, and I'll get your admission papers drawn up. Tony's asleep - not sedated, just sleeping - and I think it would be good if you're in the room and settled as quickly as possible. I think you should be the first person he sees when he wakes up. That'll go further toward convincing him that he's going to be all right than anything I could ever say."
She turned to walk back into the hospital, but Gibbs' hand on her arm stopped her.
"Thank you, Doc." The words seemed insignificant, weak, and they didn't even come close to expressing what he was feeling. He hoped that the rest of the meaning was showing in his eyes and on his face, because he didn't know how else to express it. "For everything."
Another smile, one that told him his meaning was clear.
"You're welcome. Just do me a favor?"
"Sure," he said. "Anything."
"Don't ever bring him back to me like this again."
He nodded slowly. "I'll do my best."
She put her hand on top of his. "Of that, Agent Gibbs," she said, "I have never had any doubt."
Chapter Eighteen
"I look like a freak."
Ziva sat down on the end of his bed and looked at him through the open bathroom door.
"Do not feel bad, Tony. You are a freak." She smiled. "Besides, what is it you say? Hens dig scars?"
"Chicks," he said. "Chicks dig scars."
She tilted her head in confusion. "I thought chicks were baby chickens."
"They are."
"Then you call women babies? Would you not prefer a hen?"
"No, I'm not calling women … Oh, never mind." He leaned forward so he could see himself more clearly in the mirror above the sink. His vision wasn't as bad as he'd thought it would be, but it was still blurry at a distance "Anyway, scars, yes. But bruises that cover half your face and a solid red eyeball? Not so much."
"It is not that bad, Tony."
He turned toward her in disbelief. "Have you seen me lately?"
"Yes," she said. "And at the moment, I am just happy that you are here to be seen." She pushed herself up from the bed and walked toward him.
He smiled softly. "Okay, yeah. There's that."
"It looks much better than it did thirty-six hours ago. At least you can open your eye now." She reached up and gently brushed his hair away from his forehead. "You are healing, Tony. It will not be red forever. You look fine to me."
They stood in silence for a few moments, until he finally worked up the courage to say what he'd been wanting to say to her for more than a week.
"Don't go," he said. "Don't go back."
She sighed. "I must. My father is …"
"Not the reason you're going to Tel Aviv." She froze so completely that she didn't even breathe, and for the first time since he'd found the picture on her desk, he knew with certainty that he was right. "Who is he?"
"Who is who?" She smiled again, but it didn't reach her eyes. "I have told you that there is no one …"
"I'm done with people lying and hiding things to protect me, Ziva. I thought I made that clear the other day. I thought you understood."
She nodded slowly. "I do."
"Then tell me who he is."
"He …" She trailed off, as though she was searching for the right words to use. "He is no one that you need to be concerned about." She smiled again and touched his arm lightly. "But your concern is noted. It is misplaced and unnecessary, but very … sweet."
He wrapped his hand around hers and squeezed it. "Just promise me you'll be careful."
She lifted her head and looked at him. "I am always careful."
The door to the room burst open. Ziva dropped Tony's hand and stepped away from him, and he turned back to the mirror.
"I can't believe I left this in the car."
Tim tossed the duffel bag down on the bed. He picked up on the mild tension in the room, and he looked back and forth between Tony and Ziva. He narrowed his eyes in suspicion.
"Am I interrupting something?"
"Nope," Tony said easily.
"Tony is simply admiring himself in the mirror, McGee. I would think you would be used to that by now."
Tony walked out of the bathroom and crossed to the bed. He noticed the way Tim and Ziva both watched him as he walked, and he was very aware of the fact that they were staring at the stitches on his back, across his chest, and down his side as he moved. They were counting the bruises, checking for any signs of a limp, and making sure that the straps on his immobilizer stayed tight.
He made a mental note to work with them on developing their subtlety, and he forced himself to ignore the way he felt under their scrutiny. He really did look like some kind of freak, and if he was going to go out in public - which he was - he was going to have to get used to people staring at him.
"There better not be jeans in this bag, McGee."
Tim looked down at the floor in embarrassment. "I am so sorry about that," he said. "I didn't even think about …"
"Yeah, I noticed that." Tony dug through the bag one-handed until he found what he was looking for, and he pulled the gray sweatpants out with a small cry of victory. "Yes! Good boy, McGee. You're forgiven."
Ziva looked down at her watch. "Oh, I must go now." She walked over to Tony and kissed him lightly on the cheek. "Feel better, Tony." Then she walked over to Tim and gave him a hug. "I will be back on Wednesday."
"I thought you were coming back Monday."
"I was," she said. Then she turned toward Tony with a grin on her face. "But then my vacation was so rudely interrupted, and the director …"
"Rudely?" Tony didn't even have to fake the insulted tone of voice. "I'm sorry that I so rudely intruded on your holiday in Israel, Officer David. The next time someone decides to kill me, I'll make sure that they pick a more convenient time for you." He didn't mean the words to sound as angry as they did, but he couldn't seem to stop them. "You do know that I almost died, right?"
The smile fell from Ziva's lips. "Yes, Tony," she said softly. "I do."
He knew that she'd only been teasing him, and he'd started out teasing her back. He didn't know when, exactly, he'd lost control of the filter between his brain and his mouth, and he didn't know when he'd gone from playing along to lashing out, but it was obvious that he'd done both.
Ziva stared out the window, and Tony stared at the wall. Tim turned his head back and forth between them.
Tony swallowed loudly. "Um, that … that came out wrong."
"It's the pain meds. Right, Tony?" It was Tim, once again offering him the out that he couldn't find for himself. "You know how he gets on those, Ziva. He doesn't even know what he's saying half the time."
Ziva blinked and forced a smile back onto her face. "How is that different from any other day?"
"Hey!" That time, the indignation was fake. "There's a difference between not knowing what I'm talking about and not knowing what I'm saying."
"Really?" Tim asked. "And what would that be?"
"I don't know right now," Tony said lightly. "Ask me again when I'm not coming down off morphine. I'm sure I'll know then."
"You mean you will make something up." Ziva's smile was real again, and the atmosphere in the room had grown noticeably warmer.
"Probably," he admitted. "But it'll sound good."
It was Tim's turn to look at his watch. "You'd really better go, Ziva. You don't want to miss your flight."
"Yes, you are right, McGee." She smiled at them both one last time as she walked to the door. "Stay out of trouble while I am gone."
"You, too," Tony said.
She pulled the door open and walked out.
Tim and Tony stood, motionless and silent, watching as the door pulled itself shut behind her.
"You haven't had any morphine since last night," Tim finally said.
"I know."
"It wore off a long time ago."
Tony nodded. "I know that, too."
Tim shook his head and sighed. "So, are we back to that whole staring-at-the-spot-she-used-to-be-until-she-comes-back thing?"
Tony shook his head. "No," he said as he turned away. "No, we're not."
"Good." Tim walked over to the bed and sat down next to the bag as Tony dug through it again. "Because we have more important things to worry about right now."
"Like what?"
"Like how to keep Gibbs from killing us for what we're about to do."
Tony smiled. "Hey, I almost died this week, remember? I'm safe for at least three days."
"Oh, yeah, that's great for you. What about me?"
"Well, that depends." He pulled out a shirt and headed for the bathroom to get dressed. "How fast can you run?"
They'd made two stops on their way to the house, and they had taken so much out of Tony that he almost called the whole thing off. He was grateful that Tim was driving, because it meant that he could lay his head back and close his eyes for a while. He was just about to doze off when Tim started talking.
"You know … IA is all over the Rivers thing," he said. He sounded reluctant to start the conversation, maybe because he was worried about how Tony would take it, but it was obvious that there was something he needed to get off his chest.
Tony didn't move or open his eyes. "Why do they care?"
"Well, an agent involved shooting, and the person who died was an agent, too."
"Bruce Rivers was no agent," Tony returned hotly. "The person who almost died is an agent. The person who did the shooting is an agent. The person who died wasn't."
"I know," Tim said. "But they're still looking at it that way."
"Well, IA is stupid." They pulled up to a stop light. Tony opened one eye and looked at Tim through it. "Do you think it was a clean kill, McGee?"
"Yeah." Tim nodded his head. "I do."
"Then what's the problem?"
The light turned green and the car started forward again. "I've never …" Tim took a deep breath and tightened his hands on the steering wheel. "Have you ever killed someone you … someone you knew?"
Tony finally understood what Tim was so upset about. It was a feeling he knew, and, unfortunately, one he knew well. "Yeah," he said. He closed his eye again and settled back against the seat. "I have."
"And?"
"And … it sucks. But sometimes, it has to be done."
Tim nodded slowly. "It's just … I don't know. Harder than it should be to deal with? A week ago, we were working with the guy. Talking to him, standing next to him, teasing him. And then the whole time you were in the hospital, he was there, and we thought we were working with him again, and now … now he's dead. And I killed him, Tony. I did that."
Tony turned slightly in his seat and opened his eyes. "Look, McGee. He was going to kill me. We know that. He damn near did Monday night. And he had it in for Gibbs, too, and maybe you and Ziva and Fornell. He'd already killed Santori and Duncan. There's no way of knowing who else he'd have killed if he got the chance. And maybe I'm biased, but I'm glad you stopped him. I'm happy you blew the son of a bitch's brains out."
"So am I," Tim said softly.
"I owe you my life, Tim. You saved my life. That's what you did."
Tim didn't speak.
"The only question that really matters is this. In the same situation, knowing what you know now, this guy's going to kill me and you're the only one who can stop him, do you take the shot again?"
"Yes." The answer was given with no hesitation.
Tony smiled broadly. "Then you did the right thing." He reached across himself and punched Tim lightly on the shoulder. "Thank you, by the way. For saving me. You're my McHero."
Tim laughed. "You'd have done the same for me."
"Of course I would." Tony leaned back against the seat and closed his eyes again. A few seconds of comfortable silence passed between them.
"So. You do know that Gibbs is going to kill us, right?"
Tony smiled. "Nah."
"You left the hospital early, without him, knowing that he was coming to get you. And now we're going to the one place he told you not to go without him."
"Yep."
"He's going to kill us."
"We're good, McGee. Trust me. He's not going to kill us."
"Give me one good reason why I shouldn't shoot you both right now."
Tim and Tony froze in place, then slowly turned toward the voice in unison. After a few seconds of guilty silence, Tony smiled and relaxed his shoulders.
"Hey, Boss!" he said cheerfully. "What are you doing here?"
Gibbs narrowed his eyes and glared down at them. "It's my house. The question is - what the hell are you doing here?"
Tim and Tony looked at each other. Tony shrugged his one good shoulder, and Tim held up the piece of drywall he'd just pulled down.
"Fixing your ceiling," Tony said. "Like I said I would."
Gibbs relaxed his face a bit, but he didn't smile. "You can't hang drywall with two good arms, DiNozzo. How the hell are you going to do it with one?"
Tony jerked his thumb in Tim's direction. "That's why McHandyman's here."
Gibbs turned from Tony to Tim. "You know how to hang drywall, McGee?"
Tim shook his head nervously. "No, Boss."
"Look!" Tony's voice was bright, excited, and happy. He walked over to the white bags laying on the workbench and started pulling things out of them. "We asked the guys at the hardware store what we needed. We got the drywall." He pointed at the 4x4 sheet Tim was standing next to. "And these screws …" He pulled out the box and held it up, then reached back into the bag. "And this mud stuff … Oh, and some shop lights! Because your old ones don't have cords anymore and …"
"DiNozzo!"
Tony stopped and dropped his head. Tim did the same.
Gibbs started down the stairs. "McGee," he said. "Vance wants to see you. Something about an IA investigation he's going to shut down."
Tim nodded his head silently. He glanced over at Tony, who didn't look up from the floor, and headed for the stairs. As he walked up them, Gibbs stuck his hand out and stopped him. Tim looked up.
"That's a good job, Tim." They both glanced over at Tony again, and Gibbs put his hand on Tim's shoulder. "A damn good job."
Tim smiled. "Thanks, Boss."
Gibbs moved his hand, and Tim jogged up the stairs. "See ya later, Tony!" he called out as he rounded the corner and disappeared into the kitchen.
Gibbs started down the stairs again, slowly.
"Did I not make myself clear, DiNozzo?" he asked. Tony didn't look up at him. "When I told you that I'd be back to pick you up from the hospital, did I do or say something to give you the impression that was optional?"
Tony shook his head.
"And when I told you that I didn't want you coming back here alone? Did that seem like a suggestion?"
"I wasn't alone," Tony muttered.
"That's not the point."
"Yes," Tony argued. "Yes, it is." He finally raised his head, and it was done in defiance. "I'm not a little kid, Gibbs. I don't need a bodyguard, and I don't need a babysitter. You can't tell me where I can and cannot go, or when I can and cannot go there."
Gibbs squared his shoulders and stopped a few feet from him. "When it involves my house, I damn well can."
Tony still held the tub of drywall mud in his hand, and he slammed it down on the workbench. "No," he insisted. "You can't." He motioned around the basement with his arm. "I've been here a hundred times by myself. It's never been a problem."
"That was before you almost died here." The conversation wasn't going the way he'd expected it to. He'd thought that he'd come in angry, and Tony would back down, but that hadn't happened. There were a lot of emotions flying around the basement, emotions that Gibbs had wanted to avoid, but once they'd started down that path, it was impossible to get it back on track. "Damn it, Tony. You almost died here."
"I know that!" Tony walked away from the workbench and toward the hole in the ceiling. He stopped right under the beam, in the exact same spot that Rivers had almost killed him before he'd died himself at the end of McGee's sniper rifle, and turned back toward Gibbs. "I was here! I know what happened. And I'm sorry. I'm sorry it happened here, Gibbs, and I wish I could change that. I wish it had happened somewhere else. Anywhere else."
Gibbs shook his head and stepped forward. "I don't," he said. "If it hadn't happened here, I wouldn't have …" He took a deep breath when he realized the truth of what he was saying. "If he hadn't brought you here, Tony, I wouldn't have found you."
Tony dropped his arm to his side and looked down at his feet again.
"If it hadn't happened here, I'd have lost you."
Tony licked his lips and took a deep breath. "Then why don't you want me here now?"
"It's not that I don't want you here," he insisted. "It's that I was worried that being here would upset you. That it would hurt you. That you'd be scared or nervous or …"
"He's dead, Gibbs," Tony interrupted. "He can't do any of that anymore."
"I know. But I just keep thinking about you in that hospital bed, trying to remember what happened, and …" He trailed off when he saw another bag sitting on the workbench. A brown paper bag, laying on its side, with tools in it.
His tools.
Tony noticed what he was looking at, and he walked back over. "I, um … we … me and McGee, we … stopped by the Hoover building." He reached into the bag and pulled out the antique handsaw.
Seeing that saw in Tony's hand almost stopped Gibbs' heart in his chest, and he swallowed hard. "Do you know … do you know what that …?"
"I know," Tony said, "That I gave this to you for a reason. And it wasn't so it could spend the next twenty-five years in a cardboard box in the FBI's basement." He smiled, almost shyly, and looked up at Gibbs out of the corner of his eye. "Whatever else was done with it, it doesn't matter. Just like what happened in this basement doesn't matter. Because it was never about the tools, or the basement, or you." Tony looked back down at the saw. "It was never about you, Boss."
Gibbs nodded silently.
"I told you I'm not going to let him change anything about this place for me, and I meant it. But I really need to know that he didn't change it for you, either."
Gibbs nodded, hesitantly at first, but then stronger. "He didn't." For the first time since he'd found Tony hanging from his rafters, he felt the truth of his own convictions. "He failed at everything he tried to do," he said. "Every single damn thing."
He took the saw from Tony's hand and looked down at it. The weight of it felt good, perfectly balanced, just as it always had. He liked it just as much as he had the first time Tony had given it to him. "Thank you."
Tony smiled.
Gibbs transferred the handle of the saw into his left hand, and he reached into the pocket of his coat with his right. "I've got something for you, too."
Tony turned toward him in surprise. "Really?"
Gibbs nodded. "You and McGee aren't the only ones who stopped by to see Fornell."
He pulled the keys out first, and Tony's eyes lit up when he saw them. Then he handed him his wallet, then his gun. And finally, he flipped open Tony's badge and handed it to him. As Tony ran his thumb lovingly around the edges of his shield, he was positively beaming.
"Feel good?" Gibbs asked.
Tony nodded. "It does. It feels like … like I've got my life back." He chuckled and shook his head slightly. "Ya know, it's weird. I've never had someone try to steal my life before. End it, yeah. I'm used to that. But steal it? Why the hell did he want it so bad?"
Gibbs put the saw down and leaned back against the workbench, at ease in his own sanctuary for the first time in five days. "You mean why was he so jealous of you?"
"Yeah."
"Why are most people jealous?" Gibbs asked. "You have everything he wanted. You are everything he wanted to be."
Tony's mounting confusion showed on his face. "But … why? I mean, how?" He sat down in the chair at the end of the bench. "He was right about me, you know. I am a screw up. And I don't understand why you put up with me most of the time, either."
Gibbs sighed and pushed himself away from the workbench. "No, he was wrong about you. He was right about me."
Tony looked up at him.
"If your situations were reversed, and Kale had knocked you out and used your gun to kill Azari, I wouldn't have let Vance fire you over it."
Tony grinned. "You'd have had my six."
"Always," Gibbs said with a nod. "Fornell didn't do anything to save his job, and he knew that I'd have done anything in my power to save yours. But what Rivers didn't understand is that I didn't give that to you. I didn't just randomly decide to put my trust in you, or give my loyalty to you. You earned it." He put his hand on Tony's shoulder and looked down at him. "You deserve it, Tony. Every bit of it."
Tony looked up at him, the expression on his face somewhere between disbelief and awe. Then his grin turned mischievous. "Does that mean you like me, Boss? Really, really like me?"
"You'll do." Gibbs ruffled his hair fondly, then turned away. "Now, get up, DiNozzo. We've got a ceiling to hang."
Tony jumped to his feet, and Gibbs pretended not to notice that he wobbled a bit when he did it.
"On your six, Boss!"
‘Right where you belong.’
~ fin ~
Chapter Seventeen
"Ziva!"
He didn't need to call for her, because she was already there. She took off her jacket and spread it out, then she straightened Tony's legs as Gibbs slowly lowered him to the floor.
"McGee! Call … !"
"Already did, Boss." Tim's feet beat a rapid rhythm as he ran down the stairs. "They're four minutes out."
"Fornell!"
Tobias stood from where he'd been kneeling next to Rivers' body. "He's dead," he said. He nudged the knife away with his foot even as he holstered his weapon. "We're clear."
’It's over.’
Gibbs allowed himself just one second to be grateful for that fact, and then he snapped into action. Tony had made it that far on his own, but he'd need their help to make it the rest of the way. He looked up at Tim, at the handful of towels he'd grabbed from the kitchen on his way down, and he nodded in approval and appreciation.
"Ziva, neck wound." It didn't look deep, but it was long, and it was bleeding heavily. "Don't touch his shoulder."
Ziva took a towel from Tim without a word.
"McGee, knife." Tim handed his knife over silently. "Chest and side." Gibbs shifted to his right, and Tim knelt down in the spot he'd just vacated.
The towels that Tim pressed against the two wounds started showing red almost instantly. The towel Ziva held against his neck had done the same. With those wounds being cared for, Gibbs could turn his attention to Tony's wrists and the electrical cord that still bound them.
Tony's sudden drop had saved his life, without a doubt, but it had come with a price. The small cut that Rivers started on his neck had gotten bigger as the knife dragged across it, and it went from under his ear to his jaw. His already damaged shoulder was grotesquely swollen, misshapen and bruised, and there was something jutting out under the skin on the top of it. And the cord had been pulled so tight against the outsides of his raw and bloody wrists that it was almost buried in them.
Gibbs shook his head silently as he opened the knife.
"Are you sure you want to do that?" Fornell had left his position next to Rivers' body and was knelt down on Tony's other side. "Those are in there deep."
"And they'll stay there." There was heat and anger in his voice. Did Fornell really think he was that stupid? "But I'm not leaving him tied up." He glanced up at Fornell quickly. "Wrap a towel around that arm, and don't let it move."
Gibbs sliced through the cord carefully, closed the knife and set it aside. Then he grabbed a towel of his own, lifted Tony's right arm, and applied pressure to the cut on the inside of his forearm.
"Tony?" McGee leaned down, and then glanced up at Gibbs. "Boss?"
Gibbs turned his head in time to see Tony's eyes flutter open. At least, his left eye opened. His right eye was too swollen to open more than a sliver. He looked at each of them in turn - first McGee, then Ziva, then Fornell, and finally Gibbs.
"You stay awake, DiNozzo. You hear me?"
Tony blinked slowly in understanding. He kept his one good eye on Gibbs, and Gibbs looked right back at him.
"That's it. Eyes on me. Stay with me."
Tony tried to follow the order, but it was obvious that he was having a hard time with it. His blinks were becoming slower and closer together, but he was fighting.
"Paramedics are on the way. Hang in there."
Tony shifted position slightly, so little movement that it was barely noticeable. Then a shudder ran through his entire body, he squeezed his eyes shut, and his head reared back against the floor.
Ziva moved her left hand to the side of his face. "Open your eyes, Tony."
His eyes shot open as far as they could, but it wasn't in response to Ziva's request. He opened his mouth as if he were about to scream, but no sound passed his lips. Then his eyes fell closed again, and his head fell to the side. Blood started to run from his nose and down the side of his face.
"Tony!"
"Damn it, DiNozzo!" Gibbs jammed his right thumb into Tony's sternum as hard as he could.
"Wake up, Tony," Tim muttered beside him. "Wake up."
"Open your eyes, DiNozzo! Now!"
"Hello!" An authoritative voice called from upstairs. "Paramedics!" Three heads turned toward it and yelled out in unison.
"Down here!"
Gibbs didn't move.
He kept his eyes locked on Tony's face, watching for some sign of waking, but he didn't see one. He heard the paramedics charging down the stairs with their gurney, and Fornell stood up.
"He's dead."
’He's not dead!’
"We'll have an ME take care of that. You were called for him."
Tim and Ziva both stood up and moved aside. But Gibbs didn't.
"Sir? Sir, we need you to move."
He still didn't.
"Boss."
"Gibbs."
He ignored them both, until they wrapped their hands around his arms and pulled him away. He didn't fight them, but he didn't help them, either. They got him to his feet, and the three of them stood, together, watching as the paramedics quickly and efficiently dressed Tony's wounds and moved him to the gurney.
"Is anyone else injured?" One of the paramedics looked around the room quickly, but he stopped when his eyes fell on Gibbs. "Sir? Are you all right?"
"What?" He shook his head in frustration. "I'm fine. Take care of him."
Then Tim was there, taking charge again. "Boss, you're bleeding pretty badly. You've got two black eyes, your nose is probably broken, your arm and hands are cut … you should go. Go with them."
"I don't need …"
Tim lowered his voice. "Go with him."
Something about Tim's tone snapped Gibbs back to reality. He'd been starting to go off-kilter again, and there was no reason for it. There was no crime scene to destroy. There was no evidence to collect. There was no attempted murderer in the wind. Santori was dead, Duncan was dead, Rivers was dead, and Tony was still alive.
’It's over.’
He nodded at Tim, then at Ziva, and they let go of his arms. He followed the paramedics up the stairs.
"We will be right behind you, Gibbs," Ziva said.
The gurney reached the landing, and the paramedics disappeared around the corner with Tony. Gibbs stopped there and turned back to look out over his basement one last time. He glanced around, making eye contact with both Tim and Ziva before his gaze turned to Bruce Rivers' body and the perfectly round hole between his eyes.
His eyes narrowed, and his jaw hardened.
"There's a dead security guard around here somewhere, too, Tobias. Find him. And get them both the hell out of my house."
Tony didn't wake up in the ambulance.
The paramedic in the back checked his blood pressure, listened to his lungs, checked his oxygen levels and started an IV, but he didn't move. The sirens wailed, the horn honked, and the paramedic shouted back and forth with the driver, but his eyes never fluttered. The tires screeched when they entered the ambulance bay, the gurney rocked when they pulled him out, and chaos erupted when they burst through the doors, but he didn't even twitch.
Gibbs stayed at Tony's side as they made their way down the hall. He was holding a large piece of gauze tightly against his upper arm, clearly indicating that he was injured, too, but no one seemed to notice. No one told him to stay in the waiting room; no one told him to get out of the way. In fact, everyone seemed to be ignoring him, which wouldn't have bothered him if not for one small thing.
"Doc Marquardt," he said. "Someone needs to call her."
No one answered him.
They ran into the exam room, and Tony was quickly transferred from the gurney to the bed. The nurses began moving around, hanging IVs and hooking up wires and flipping switches. He recognized one of them, and he put his hand on her arm as she rushed by.
"Juanita!" She stopped and looked at him, blinking in surprise. She must not have realized who was lying on the bed in front of her. "Where's the doc? She said to …"
"She's upstairs, Agent Gibbs. I'm sure she'll be here if she can."
"Has anyone called …?"
"Excuse me."
"But she needs to …" He stumbled back as Juanita pushed her way past him. Another nurse darted behind him, and she almost knocked him off his feet.
He turned his head from side to side, eyes sweeping the room quickly as the swarm of medical personnel buzzed around. He wasn't happy with how many people stood between him and the bed. He was frustrated with the fact that he couldn't move any closer for fear of being thrown out. He was not impressed by the detached, emotionless way they looked at and talked about Tony.
But what bothered him the most was that with the exception of one nurse who was probably just picking up an extra shift, no one in that room knew what they were dealing with. None of them knew what Tony had been through in the past two days, and none of them knew about the complications he'd already dealt with. They didn't know about his lungs; they didn't know about his heart; they didn't know about his muscle spasms or his shoulder or his oxygen levels or his blood volume. That was unacceptable. There was too big a risk that someone might do something wrong.
Since no one seemed inclined to listen to him when he talked, he drew a deep breath and did the same thing he'd done the day before. "Doc!"
"Don't shout in my ER, Agent Gibbs." He spun toward the sound of her voice, letting out a relieved sigh when he saw her wading through the tide of nurses. "It disturbs the other patients."
He stepped toward her, but she held up her hand and stopped him. She looked him up and down, just once, and it was obvious she didn't like what she saw. She pointed one finger at him and then at the empty curtain area a few feet away.
"Go."
He opened his mouth to protest, but she'd already figured out what he was going to say.
"No arguing." She moved closer to Tony, picking his chart up and flipping through it as she walked. "You're bleeding all over the place, and you look like a raccoon. Get over there and let Tamera clean you up."
One of the nurses moved toward the empty bed. He followed her, though he kept looking back over his shoulder. When she reached for the top of the curtains to pull them closed, he hesitated, and Dr. Marquardt looked up from Tony's chart.
"Tamera," she said. "Leave it open."
Gibbs gave her a look of gratitude and sat down on the edge of the bed.
"My name's Tamera. I'll be your nurse."
He nodded without looking at her. He already knew her name, and he already knew she was a nurse. He had more important things to worry about than whatever pleasantries she wanted to give him. She moved a blood pressure monitor closer to him, pushed his sleeve up, and wrapped the cuff around his left arm.
"He's a friend of yours?" she asked. When he didn't answer, she tried again. "Your son?" The silence that followed was broken only by the beep of the monitor, indicating that it was finished. He didn't even look to see what it was. It was either too low, too high or perfectly normally, and he didn't really care which. "Well, he's in good hands. Dr. Marquardt is one of the best trauma surgeons we have on staff."
After a few more attempts at small talk, none of which he returned, Tamera gave up and cleaned his cuts in silence.
"Start with one unit of O-neg. Type and crossmatch for two more. It's going to be A-positive, but check it anyway." Dr. Marquardt had put a gown on over her clothes at some point, and she snapped a pair of blue gloves on. "Is his spine clear? Good. Roll him and let me see his back. Keep that arm immobilized."
As soon as she saw what had been done between his shoulder blades, she turned and looked Gibbs straight in the eye. He saw no condemnation or blame there, only concern. "Page plastics." She gave Gibbs one of her tired smiles, and then she turned back to take a closer look at the damage "I'm going to want Dr. Marshall's help with this."
She motioned with her hand for the nurses to put Tony back on the bed, and they did so. "Let's look at that eye." She stepped up to the head of Tony's bed, put one hand on either side of his face, and leaned down. "Call radiology. I need a CT scan of his head and face and an x-ray of this shoulder." She stepped around to Tony's left side.
"Sterile saline for these wrists. A lot of it." She looked down at his chest and side, then his neck, then the insides of both arms. "I'll need 5-0 silk and a 3/8 needle." She put one hand on the top of his shoulder and wrapped the other around his wrist, just above where the cord was still embedded. Very carefully, very slowly, she moved his arm up and away from his side.
Tony screamed in pain.
Gibbs jumped to his feet.
"Whoa!" Dr. Marquardt moved her hands from Tony's arm to the sides of his face. "Okay, okay. Tony. Tony!" She glanced up and saw Gibbs starting to move toward them, and she held up her hand. "You, stay!" Then she turned all of her attention back to her patient. "Tony. Look at me."
Tony had stopped screaming, but he was breathing so heavily that Gibbs could see his chest heaving from fifteen feet away.
"Hey, look at me, Tony."
Gibbs couldn't see his face, but Tony must have done what she asked, because she smiled down at him.
"Hey there. That hurts, huh?"
Tony's head moved slightly, obviously an affirmative.
"So, if I ask you to rate that shoulder on a scale of …?"
"Twenty." Cracked, raspy, and breathy … but awake, lucid, and honest.
It was the best sound Gibbs had heard all day.
She looked up at Juanita across the bed and nodded. "Fourteen of morphine, IV." She looked back down at Tony and leaned closer to him. "What was that, Tony?"
He hadn't heard Tony's questions, and he couldn't hear his answer. He wanted to move closer. But there was a doctor standing next to him with a needle in his hand, getting ready to sew his arm closed, and Tamera didn't look happy that he'd stood up in the first place, so he sat back down.
"Where's Agent Gibbs? He's fine, Tony." A few seconds passed. "No, he's fine. He's hurt, but he's fine. I promise." She turned and pointed in his direction, and a few seconds later, Tony turned his head. His one open eye followed her finger, and when he saw Gibbs, the tense, fearful expression on his face relaxed into one of relief. "See? He's right there."
Gibbs tipped his head once in acknowledgment.
’You made it.’
Tony nodded slowly in response.
’We won.’
"How about we get you fixed up, Tony? You'll be good as new in no time."
’You won.’
He wasn't supposed to leave the ER. He wasn't supposed to leave the exam room. He wasn't supposed to get out of bed at all.
But he had questions, and she had answers, and he was going to find her.
He finally tracked her down outside. She saw him coming, and she smiled at him as he approached. Then she looked down at the cigarette in her hand guiltily.
"I know these things are going to kill me," she said. "I keep trying to quit, but every time I think I'm going to make it, days like this happen, and I'm right back out here again." He kept walking without a word, and she took a long drag before she spoke again. "What can I do for you, Agent Gibbs?"
"They moved Tony out of the ER."
She nodded slowly. "That's because he's been admitted. I'll take you up to see him as soon as he's settled."
"Doc …"
"How are you, Agent Gibbs?"
He was surprised by the question. He'd thought that Dr. Marquardt, of all people, would understand that he wasn't there to talk about himself.
"I'm fine."
She laughed lightly and took another drag from her cigarette. "You have a broken nose, twelve stitches in the back of each hand, twenty-five in your arm, and a Grade Three concussion." She shook her head. "You have a strange definition of 'fine'. I think I know where Tony gets his from." She sighed. "But I guess your doctor agrees, because he wants to release you."
"Good."
"I went out to talk to your team for a few minutes. I understand from Agent McGee that the threat to Tony has been …"
"Neutralized," he interrupted.
"I think he said resolved, but I get the idea, either way." She took one last drag from her cigarette, and then she smashed it in the ashtray. "I noticed that Agent Rivers isn't out in the waiting room with everyone else. Is there a reason for that?"
"Yes."
She froze, and her eyes widened in surprise and understanding. "Wow. So, he's been … arrested?"
Gibbs shook his head slowly.
"Damn." She pushed her hair out of her eyes and turned toward him. "Okay. That's going to … damn." She took a deep breath and shook her head. "But I don't think you're out here to tell me about Agent Rivers."
"No."
She smiled softly, sighed, and straightened her shoulders. "Fair enough. First things first - Tony is going to be fine."
"Going to be." Gibbs didn't like the way that sounded at all.
Dr. Marquardt nodded. "Well, it's going to take some time. I'm not going to lie; he's pretty banged up right now. But he's in much, much better shape than he was when he got here Monday night."
Gibbs stood and listened attentively as she gave him another rundown of Tony's injuries.
Though the wounds he had were deeper than the first time, there weren't as many, and he hadn't bled as long. The cut on his throat had missed the artery by half-an-inch. His arms, chest, and side were clean and uncomplicated. A plastic surgeon had put the stitches in his back, and even with the jagged edges Rivers had left behind when he cut them back open, he probably wouldn't have much of a scar. He'd been given two units of blood so far, and he was going to get one more. If not for his blood volume being so low to begin with, he wouldn't have needed that much. His blood pressure was a little low, but she wasn't concerned. His oxygen levels were fine. They were monitoring his heart, but Dr. Marquardt didn't expect any problems.
He had a blowout fracture of the orbital floor of his right eye. That was why it was swollen shut, and that was why his nose had been bleeding. The blood pooling in his sinuses and running down his throat had made Tony's breaths rattle and his coughs sound wet. His eyeball was going to turn red, and his vision might be blurry until that cleared up, but he didn't need surgery. Gibbs' insistence that he keep breathing, no matter how much it hurt, had worked. His lungs were fine.
His wrists had been cleaned, sutured and bandaged. There didn't appear to be any nerve damage in his hands. He'd bruised both of his knees, but he hadn't done any significant or lasting damage to them. His concussion had been aggravated, but not badly. His intercranial pressure was fine. He'd never lost consciousness because of a head injury.
"His shoulder," Gibbs said.
"Yes," she said with a nod. "His shoulder. It is by far my biggest concern right now."
His shoulder hadn't been healed from the original dislocation yet. Rivers had knocked him down the stairs, and he'd landed on it. Tony told Dr. Marquardt that was the only time he'd lost consciousness. He had several torn ligaments, and the bump on the top, though it might shrink in size, was going to be permanent. He'd dislocated it again, and all indications were that he'd done it himself when the cords yanked his shoulders up as he dropped to the floor. It was going to heal, though it would take time. He was going to be in the immobilizer for at least three weeks, and a sling for several weeks after that. He would regain full mobility in his arm. He didn't need surgery.
Gibbs let all of the information sink in and process before he spoke again.
"He lied to you."
Dr. Marquardt's eyes widened in surprise. "About what?"
"That wasn't the only time he lost consciousness. He passed out right after he hit his knees. He woke up for a minute or two, but he passed out again. He was out cold when they brought him in. Remember? He didn't wake up until you moved his arm."
She smiled, and then she laughed. He stiffened and raised his shoulders in anger.
"Oh, Agent Gibbs." She stopped laughing, but she was still smiling when she spoke again. "Have you ever dislocated a separated shoulder?"
He shook his head. "No."
"Neither have I, but I can still tell you, it hurts like hell. The first time he passed out was probably a combination of exhaustion and his mind catching on to the fact that his shoulder had just been pulled back out. And I'm guessing that when he passed out that second time, he'd done something stupid. Like, say, move?"
Gibbs thought back over that moment. Tony had been looking at him, and he'd moved - not much, so little that Gibbs wouldn't have noticed if he hadn't been watching him so closely. Then he'd shuddered, thrown his head back, and passed out.
"Yeah," he said. "He did."
"He passed out from the pain. He stayed that way because his mind obviously didn't want to wake up and deal with it. Honestly, Agent Gibbs, with all the movement involved in getting him in and out of the ambulance, and then getting him into a bed, it was probably for the best that he was out cold for it."
She had a point there.
Gibbs took a few seconds to finish digesting everything he'd just been told. Despite everything he'd been through, despite everything Bruce Rivers had done to him, Tony was alive. And he was going to be just fine.
’Rot in Hell, you stupid bastard.’
Gibbs smiled.
"I've already spoken to the director of the medical floor Tony's been moved to. In light of the fact that his life is in no danger medically, Agents McGee and Fornell both assure us that there is no investigation to preserve, and the threat to his safety has been …" She paused as she tried to think of the right word. "Neutralized … I'm afraid that she sees no reason to waive the visiting rules. No one is going to be allowed to stay with him outside of visiting hours."
The smile faded from his face, and he sighed. He really should have expected that.
"Also, we're pretty full at the moment, and all of our private rooms are already taken. He's going to have a roommate this time."
"I want to see him," Gibbs said. "As soon as I'm released, I'm going to …"
"Oh, you're not being released, Agent Gibbs."
"What?" He tilted his head in confusion. "I thought you said …"
"I said that your current doctor wants to release you. But I forgot to mention that your care has been taken over by another doctor. A real hardass. One who insists on a mandatory admittance for 24 hour observation after all head injuries above a Grade II."
"No. That's not …"
"Of course, since the private rooms are full, you'll have a roommate, too."
She was smiling. It wasn't a tired smile, or a worried smile, or a fake smile. It was a real, true smile.
It took him longer than it should have to figure out why. And when he did, he laughed.
"I'm rubbing off on you, Doc," he said. "Breaking the rules?"
She shook her head. "Bending them. Because it's in my patient's best interest." She took one step toward him. "Both of my patients' best interests."
A comfortable silence settled around them, and for the first time in forty-eight hours, Gibbs allowed himself to relax.
"Let's get you back to the ER before they send security out looking for you," Dr. Marquardt finally said. "I'll bring your team in so you can give them the good news, and I'll get your admission papers drawn up. Tony's asleep - not sedated, just sleeping - and I think it would be good if you're in the room and settled as quickly as possible. I think you should be the first person he sees when he wakes up. That'll go further toward convincing him that he's going to be all right than anything I could ever say."
She turned to walk back into the hospital, but Gibbs' hand on her arm stopped her.
"Thank you, Doc." The words seemed insignificant, weak, and they didn't even come close to expressing what he was feeling. He hoped that the rest of the meaning was showing in his eyes and on his face, because he didn't know how else to express it. "For everything."
Another smile, one that told him his meaning was clear.
"You're welcome. Just do me a favor?"
"Sure," he said. "Anything."
"Don't ever bring him back to me like this again."
He nodded slowly. "I'll do my best."
She put her hand on top of his. "Of that, Agent Gibbs," she said, "I have never had any doubt."
Chapter Eighteen
"I look like a freak."
Ziva sat down on the end of his bed and looked at him through the open bathroom door.
"Do not feel bad, Tony. You are a freak." She smiled. "Besides, what is it you say? Hens dig scars?"
"Chicks," he said. "Chicks dig scars."
She tilted her head in confusion. "I thought chicks were baby chickens."
"They are."
"Then you call women babies? Would you not prefer a hen?"
"No, I'm not calling women … Oh, never mind." He leaned forward so he could see himself more clearly in the mirror above the sink. His vision wasn't as bad as he'd thought it would be, but it was still blurry at a distance "Anyway, scars, yes. But bruises that cover half your face and a solid red eyeball? Not so much."
"It is not that bad, Tony."
He turned toward her in disbelief. "Have you seen me lately?"
"Yes," she said. "And at the moment, I am just happy that you are here to be seen." She pushed herself up from the bed and walked toward him.
He smiled softly. "Okay, yeah. There's that."
"It looks much better than it did thirty-six hours ago. At least you can open your eye now." She reached up and gently brushed his hair away from his forehead. "You are healing, Tony. It will not be red forever. You look fine to me."
They stood in silence for a few moments, until he finally worked up the courage to say what he'd been wanting to say to her for more than a week.
"Don't go," he said. "Don't go back."
She sighed. "I must. My father is …"
"Not the reason you're going to Tel Aviv." She froze so completely that she didn't even breathe, and for the first time since he'd found the picture on her desk, he knew with certainty that he was right. "Who is he?"
"Who is who?" She smiled again, but it didn't reach her eyes. "I have told you that there is no one …"
"I'm done with people lying and hiding things to protect me, Ziva. I thought I made that clear the other day. I thought you understood."
She nodded slowly. "I do."
"Then tell me who he is."
"He …" She trailed off, as though she was searching for the right words to use. "He is no one that you need to be concerned about." She smiled again and touched his arm lightly. "But your concern is noted. It is misplaced and unnecessary, but very … sweet."
He wrapped his hand around hers and squeezed it. "Just promise me you'll be careful."
She lifted her head and looked at him. "I am always careful."
The door to the room burst open. Ziva dropped Tony's hand and stepped away from him, and he turned back to the mirror.
"I can't believe I left this in the car."
Tim tossed the duffel bag down on the bed. He picked up on the mild tension in the room, and he looked back and forth between Tony and Ziva. He narrowed his eyes in suspicion.
"Am I interrupting something?"
"Nope," Tony said easily.
"Tony is simply admiring himself in the mirror, McGee. I would think you would be used to that by now."
Tony walked out of the bathroom and crossed to the bed. He noticed the way Tim and Ziva both watched him as he walked, and he was very aware of the fact that they were staring at the stitches on his back, across his chest, and down his side as he moved. They were counting the bruises, checking for any signs of a limp, and making sure that the straps on his immobilizer stayed tight.
He made a mental note to work with them on developing their subtlety, and he forced himself to ignore the way he felt under their scrutiny. He really did look like some kind of freak, and if he was going to go out in public - which he was - he was going to have to get used to people staring at him.
"There better not be jeans in this bag, McGee."
Tim looked down at the floor in embarrassment. "I am so sorry about that," he said. "I didn't even think about …"
"Yeah, I noticed that." Tony dug through the bag one-handed until he found what he was looking for, and he pulled the gray sweatpants out with a small cry of victory. "Yes! Good boy, McGee. You're forgiven."
Ziva looked down at her watch. "Oh, I must go now." She walked over to Tony and kissed him lightly on the cheek. "Feel better, Tony." Then she walked over to Tim and gave him a hug. "I will be back on Wednesday."
"I thought you were coming back Monday."
"I was," she said. Then she turned toward Tony with a grin on her face. "But then my vacation was so rudely interrupted, and the director …"
"Rudely?" Tony didn't even have to fake the insulted tone of voice. "I'm sorry that I so rudely intruded on your holiday in Israel, Officer David. The next time someone decides to kill me, I'll make sure that they pick a more convenient time for you." He didn't mean the words to sound as angry as they did, but he couldn't seem to stop them. "You do know that I almost died, right?"
The smile fell from Ziva's lips. "Yes, Tony," she said softly. "I do."
He knew that she'd only been teasing him, and he'd started out teasing her back. He didn't know when, exactly, he'd lost control of the filter between his brain and his mouth, and he didn't know when he'd gone from playing along to lashing out, but it was obvious that he'd done both.
Ziva stared out the window, and Tony stared at the wall. Tim turned his head back and forth between them.
Tony swallowed loudly. "Um, that … that came out wrong."
"It's the pain meds. Right, Tony?" It was Tim, once again offering him the out that he couldn't find for himself. "You know how he gets on those, Ziva. He doesn't even know what he's saying half the time."
Ziva blinked and forced a smile back onto her face. "How is that different from any other day?"
"Hey!" That time, the indignation was fake. "There's a difference between not knowing what I'm talking about and not knowing what I'm saying."
"Really?" Tim asked. "And what would that be?"
"I don't know right now," Tony said lightly. "Ask me again when I'm not coming down off morphine. I'm sure I'll know then."
"You mean you will make something up." Ziva's smile was real again, and the atmosphere in the room had grown noticeably warmer.
"Probably," he admitted. "But it'll sound good."
It was Tim's turn to look at his watch. "You'd really better go, Ziva. You don't want to miss your flight."
"Yes, you are right, McGee." She smiled at them both one last time as she walked to the door. "Stay out of trouble while I am gone."
"You, too," Tony said.
She pulled the door open and walked out.
Tim and Tony stood, motionless and silent, watching as the door pulled itself shut behind her.
"You haven't had any morphine since last night," Tim finally said.
"I know."
"It wore off a long time ago."
Tony nodded. "I know that, too."
Tim shook his head and sighed. "So, are we back to that whole staring-at-the-spot-she-used-to-be-until-she-comes-back thing?"
Tony shook his head. "No," he said as he turned away. "No, we're not."
"Good." Tim walked over to the bed and sat down next to the bag as Tony dug through it again. "Because we have more important things to worry about right now."
"Like what?"
"Like how to keep Gibbs from killing us for what we're about to do."
Tony smiled. "Hey, I almost died this week, remember? I'm safe for at least three days."
"Oh, yeah, that's great for you. What about me?"
"Well, that depends." He pulled out a shirt and headed for the bathroom to get dressed. "How fast can you run?"
They'd made two stops on their way to the house, and they had taken so much out of Tony that he almost called the whole thing off. He was grateful that Tim was driving, because it meant that he could lay his head back and close his eyes for a while. He was just about to doze off when Tim started talking.
"You know … IA is all over the Rivers thing," he said. He sounded reluctant to start the conversation, maybe because he was worried about how Tony would take it, but it was obvious that there was something he needed to get off his chest.
Tony didn't move or open his eyes. "Why do they care?"
"Well, an agent involved shooting, and the person who died was an agent, too."
"Bruce Rivers was no agent," Tony returned hotly. "The person who almost died is an agent. The person who did the shooting is an agent. The person who died wasn't."
"I know," Tim said. "But they're still looking at it that way."
"Well, IA is stupid." They pulled up to a stop light. Tony opened one eye and looked at Tim through it. "Do you think it was a clean kill, McGee?"
"Yeah." Tim nodded his head. "I do."
"Then what's the problem?"
The light turned green and the car started forward again. "I've never …" Tim took a deep breath and tightened his hands on the steering wheel. "Have you ever killed someone you … someone you knew?"
Tony finally understood what Tim was so upset about. It was a feeling he knew, and, unfortunately, one he knew well. "Yeah," he said. He closed his eye again and settled back against the seat. "I have."
"And?"
"And … it sucks. But sometimes, it has to be done."
Tim nodded slowly. "It's just … I don't know. Harder than it should be to deal with? A week ago, we were working with the guy. Talking to him, standing next to him, teasing him. And then the whole time you were in the hospital, he was there, and we thought we were working with him again, and now … now he's dead. And I killed him, Tony. I did that."
Tony turned slightly in his seat and opened his eyes. "Look, McGee. He was going to kill me. We know that. He damn near did Monday night. And he had it in for Gibbs, too, and maybe you and Ziva and Fornell. He'd already killed Santori and Duncan. There's no way of knowing who else he'd have killed if he got the chance. And maybe I'm biased, but I'm glad you stopped him. I'm happy you blew the son of a bitch's brains out."
"So am I," Tim said softly.
"I owe you my life, Tim. You saved my life. That's what you did."
Tim didn't speak.
"The only question that really matters is this. In the same situation, knowing what you know now, this guy's going to kill me and you're the only one who can stop him, do you take the shot again?"
"Yes." The answer was given with no hesitation.
Tony smiled broadly. "Then you did the right thing." He reached across himself and punched Tim lightly on the shoulder. "Thank you, by the way. For saving me. You're my McHero."
Tim laughed. "You'd have done the same for me."
"Of course I would." Tony leaned back against the seat and closed his eyes again. A few seconds of comfortable silence passed between them.
"So. You do know that Gibbs is going to kill us, right?"
Tony smiled. "Nah."
"You left the hospital early, without him, knowing that he was coming to get you. And now we're going to the one place he told you not to go without him."
"Yep."
"He's going to kill us."
"We're good, McGee. Trust me. He's not going to kill us."
"Give me one good reason why I shouldn't shoot you both right now."
Tim and Tony froze in place, then slowly turned toward the voice in unison. After a few seconds of guilty silence, Tony smiled and relaxed his shoulders.
"Hey, Boss!" he said cheerfully. "What are you doing here?"
Gibbs narrowed his eyes and glared down at them. "It's my house. The question is - what the hell are you doing here?"
Tim and Tony looked at each other. Tony shrugged his one good shoulder, and Tim held up the piece of drywall he'd just pulled down.
"Fixing your ceiling," Tony said. "Like I said I would."
Gibbs relaxed his face a bit, but he didn't smile. "You can't hang drywall with two good arms, DiNozzo. How the hell are you going to do it with one?"
Tony jerked his thumb in Tim's direction. "That's why McHandyman's here."
Gibbs turned from Tony to Tim. "You know how to hang drywall, McGee?"
Tim shook his head nervously. "No, Boss."
"Look!" Tony's voice was bright, excited, and happy. He walked over to the white bags laying on the workbench and started pulling things out of them. "We asked the guys at the hardware store what we needed. We got the drywall." He pointed at the 4x4 sheet Tim was standing next to. "And these screws …" He pulled out the box and held it up, then reached back into the bag. "And this mud stuff … Oh, and some shop lights! Because your old ones don't have cords anymore and …"
"DiNozzo!"
Tony stopped and dropped his head. Tim did the same.
Gibbs started down the stairs. "McGee," he said. "Vance wants to see you. Something about an IA investigation he's going to shut down."
Tim nodded his head silently. He glanced over at Tony, who didn't look up from the floor, and headed for the stairs. As he walked up them, Gibbs stuck his hand out and stopped him. Tim looked up.
"That's a good job, Tim." They both glanced over at Tony again, and Gibbs put his hand on Tim's shoulder. "A damn good job."
Tim smiled. "Thanks, Boss."
Gibbs moved his hand, and Tim jogged up the stairs. "See ya later, Tony!" he called out as he rounded the corner and disappeared into the kitchen.
Gibbs started down the stairs again, slowly.
"Did I not make myself clear, DiNozzo?" he asked. Tony didn't look up at him. "When I told you that I'd be back to pick you up from the hospital, did I do or say something to give you the impression that was optional?"
Tony shook his head.
"And when I told you that I didn't want you coming back here alone? Did that seem like a suggestion?"
"I wasn't alone," Tony muttered.
"That's not the point."
"Yes," Tony argued. "Yes, it is." He finally raised his head, and it was done in defiance. "I'm not a little kid, Gibbs. I don't need a bodyguard, and I don't need a babysitter. You can't tell me where I can and cannot go, or when I can and cannot go there."
Gibbs squared his shoulders and stopped a few feet from him. "When it involves my house, I damn well can."
Tony still held the tub of drywall mud in his hand, and he slammed it down on the workbench. "No," he insisted. "You can't." He motioned around the basement with his arm. "I've been here a hundred times by myself. It's never been a problem."
"That was before you almost died here." The conversation wasn't going the way he'd expected it to. He'd thought that he'd come in angry, and Tony would back down, but that hadn't happened. There were a lot of emotions flying around the basement, emotions that Gibbs had wanted to avoid, but once they'd started down that path, it was impossible to get it back on track. "Damn it, Tony. You almost died here."
"I know that!" Tony walked away from the workbench and toward the hole in the ceiling. He stopped right under the beam, in the exact same spot that Rivers had almost killed him before he'd died himself at the end of McGee's sniper rifle, and turned back toward Gibbs. "I was here! I know what happened. And I'm sorry. I'm sorry it happened here, Gibbs, and I wish I could change that. I wish it had happened somewhere else. Anywhere else."
Gibbs shook his head and stepped forward. "I don't," he said. "If it hadn't happened here, I wouldn't have …" He took a deep breath when he realized the truth of what he was saying. "If he hadn't brought you here, Tony, I wouldn't have found you."
Tony dropped his arm to his side and looked down at his feet again.
"If it hadn't happened here, I'd have lost you."
Tony licked his lips and took a deep breath. "Then why don't you want me here now?"
"It's not that I don't want you here," he insisted. "It's that I was worried that being here would upset you. That it would hurt you. That you'd be scared or nervous or …"
"He's dead, Gibbs," Tony interrupted. "He can't do any of that anymore."
"I know. But I just keep thinking about you in that hospital bed, trying to remember what happened, and …" He trailed off when he saw another bag sitting on the workbench. A brown paper bag, laying on its side, with tools in it.
His tools.
Tony noticed what he was looking at, and he walked back over. "I, um … we … me and McGee, we … stopped by the Hoover building." He reached into the bag and pulled out the antique handsaw.
Seeing that saw in Tony's hand almost stopped Gibbs' heart in his chest, and he swallowed hard. "Do you know … do you know what that …?"
"I know," Tony said, "That I gave this to you for a reason. And it wasn't so it could spend the next twenty-five years in a cardboard box in the FBI's basement." He smiled, almost shyly, and looked up at Gibbs out of the corner of his eye. "Whatever else was done with it, it doesn't matter. Just like what happened in this basement doesn't matter. Because it was never about the tools, or the basement, or you." Tony looked back down at the saw. "It was never about you, Boss."
Gibbs nodded silently.
"I told you I'm not going to let him change anything about this place for me, and I meant it. But I really need to know that he didn't change it for you, either."
Gibbs nodded, hesitantly at first, but then stronger. "He didn't." For the first time since he'd found Tony hanging from his rafters, he felt the truth of his own convictions. "He failed at everything he tried to do," he said. "Every single damn thing."
He took the saw from Tony's hand and looked down at it. The weight of it felt good, perfectly balanced, just as it always had. He liked it just as much as he had the first time Tony had given it to him. "Thank you."
Tony smiled.
Gibbs transferred the handle of the saw into his left hand, and he reached into the pocket of his coat with his right. "I've got something for you, too."
Tony turned toward him in surprise. "Really?"
Gibbs nodded. "You and McGee aren't the only ones who stopped by to see Fornell."
He pulled the keys out first, and Tony's eyes lit up when he saw them. Then he handed him his wallet, then his gun. And finally, he flipped open Tony's badge and handed it to him. As Tony ran his thumb lovingly around the edges of his shield, he was positively beaming.
"Feel good?" Gibbs asked.
Tony nodded. "It does. It feels like … like I've got my life back." He chuckled and shook his head slightly. "Ya know, it's weird. I've never had someone try to steal my life before. End it, yeah. I'm used to that. But steal it? Why the hell did he want it so bad?"
Gibbs put the saw down and leaned back against the workbench, at ease in his own sanctuary for the first time in five days. "You mean why was he so jealous of you?"
"Yeah."
"Why are most people jealous?" Gibbs asked. "You have everything he wanted. You are everything he wanted to be."
Tony's mounting confusion showed on his face. "But … why? I mean, how?" He sat down in the chair at the end of the bench. "He was right about me, you know. I am a screw up. And I don't understand why you put up with me most of the time, either."
Gibbs sighed and pushed himself away from the workbench. "No, he was wrong about you. He was right about me."
Tony looked up at him.
"If your situations were reversed, and Kale had knocked you out and used your gun to kill Azari, I wouldn't have let Vance fire you over it."
Tony grinned. "You'd have had my six."
"Always," Gibbs said with a nod. "Fornell didn't do anything to save his job, and he knew that I'd have done anything in my power to save yours. But what Rivers didn't understand is that I didn't give that to you. I didn't just randomly decide to put my trust in you, or give my loyalty to you. You earned it." He put his hand on Tony's shoulder and looked down at him. "You deserve it, Tony. Every bit of it."
Tony looked up at him, the expression on his face somewhere between disbelief and awe. Then his grin turned mischievous. "Does that mean you like me, Boss? Really, really like me?"
"You'll do." Gibbs ruffled his hair fondly, then turned away. "Now, get up, DiNozzo. We've got a ceiling to hang."
Tony jumped to his feet, and Gibbs pretended not to notice that he wobbled a bit when he did it.
"On your six, Boss!"
‘Right where you belong.’
~ fin ~