NCIS: Live For Ten (6/9)
All disclaimers, notes, warnings and summary are in the Master post: Live For Ten
Chapter Eleven
"He has DiNozzo's gun?"
His gut wasn't churning; it was turning itself inside out and doing backflips.
Tim nodded slowly. "That's not all he has," he said. "We didn't find Tony's keys, either. Or his wallet. Or his badge."
Gibbs pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes. It wasn't bad enough that DelMar had tortured Tony and left him for dead, was it? He'd just had to take it further. He'd stolen his gun and murdered someone with it. He'd kept the keys to his car and apartment. He'd taken off with his ID, his credit cards, his badge.
He had access to Tony's whole life.
"What other evidence are you processing?" Ziva's question was directed at Abby, and Gibbs was grateful to her for getting the conversation back on track.
"Like I said, I'm still waiting on the DNA results - the blood in the basement, the skin under Tony's fingernails and the blood on Santori's clothes."
"All of which will most likely lead us to Marco Santori again." Ziva was as upset about the lack of forward progress as the rest of them were, and her frustration was obvious.
"Major Mass Spec is still chewing on the rope, but I don't think you're gonna like what he says, Gibbs."
"Why not?"
There was another pause, shorter than the ones that had come before, but still heavy. "I've looked at that rope a thousand different ways, under a hundred different magnifications, and it's not … it's not Stachybotrys chartarum." Abby sighed deeply. "It's the wrong mold."
"It's not the same rope used on Brewer and Strauss." Gibbs wasn't asking a question; he was confirming a fact.
"No," Abby answered. "It's not."
Gibbs glanced between Tim and Ziva again, and he shook his head almost imperceptibly. "What else have you got going?"
"I've still got the FBI's files on Azari to go through. If there's a link between DelMar and Santori, I'll find it."
"McGee's going to bring you a dartboard and a note to process, along with a few hours' worth of security video, the hospital's security logs, and fingerprints from the staff to use for exclusion." He heard Abby's sharp intake of breath through the speaker, but he didn't give her time to react any more. "Have you talked to Ducky?"
"No." Abby set the fact that he was sending her evidence from the hospital - and what that implied - aside, but Gibbs knew that it was only temporary. He was going to have to answer for not telling her that DelMar had been there, had been within feet of Tony.
"Do you know where he stands?"
"When Jimmy brought up the evidence from Santori's body, he said Ducky was almost finished matching Tony's wounds to your ... to the tools when he got called out to the crime scene. If he's not done with it yet, he will be soon."
"And the profile?"
"He's starting it after he finishes the tools."
Gibbs opened his mouth to speak again, but Tim cut him off. "Let us know when you've got those results back, Abby, and tell Ducky to call either me or Fornell when he's done." Gibbs shot an angry glare in his direction, and Tim shrugged.
"Will do, McGee."
Tim ended the call, and then he looked Gibbs in the eye. "Agent Fornell's rules, Boss, not mine. We can tell you what we get, but you can't be involved in the investigation. Remember?"
Gibbs took a deep breath and blew it out. Tim was right, and he knew it, but he didn't like it.
"Ziva," he said, turning toward her. "Go in and sit with DiNozzo for a few minutes. McGee and I are going down to the security office."
Ziva shot him a look that said she didn't believe him, and he didn't blame her. It was true that he and McGee were about to have a conversation that he didn't want anyone else to be present for, but it was also true that someone had to stay with DiNozzo until the security detail got there. For a second, it looked as though she was going to press the issue, but she decided against it.
"Of course, Gibbs."
She pushed Tony's door open and disappeared through it.
Gibbs spun toward Tim. His eyes were narrow, and he raised his index finger in front of the younger man's face.
"McGee, the next time I try to step up and take over any part of this investigation, you …" He pulled his finger into a loose fist, and then dropped his hand at his side. "… do exactly what you just did."
"What?" The confused, dumbfounded look on Tim's face almost made Gibbs smile.
"You did the right thing. But they aren't Fornell's rules; they're mine. By the book. FBI's jurisdiction." He gave Tim a few seconds to let that sink in, and then nodded at him in confirmation. "Speaking of which, where is Fornell?"
Tim's whole face brightened. "That's the one piece of good news we do have," he said. "Fornell's at the Hoover Building with our witness."
For the first time in more than twelve hours, the churning worry and frustration in his stomach gave way to a bit of hope. "There's a witness?"
Tim nodded excitedly. "Your neighbor, Edgar Collins."
The hope collapsed, and Gibbs' shoulders sank with it.
"He was walking Mugsy when they pulled up last night. He saw them get out of the car with Tony, he talked to one of them, and he knows that …"
"Did you see Mugsy, McGee?"
The interruption took Tim by surprise, but he shook his head in answer to the question.
"Did Fornell?"
"I … I don't know. I think Mr. Collins came to see him at your house, so … Why does that matter?"
Gibbs heaved a sigh. "Because Mugsy's dead. He died three years ago."
"No." Tim stuttered and stammered, and he shook his head again. "No, that's not … That doesn't …. He saw them, Boss. He talked to them. He was standing no further from them than I am from you. They told him Tony was drunk and they were taking him home, but he knew that …"
"And what did he tell you about DiNozzo?"
"Um … that Tony had blood on his face, and he knew Tony wasn't drunk because he didn't smell like alcohol. And he kept saying he's a nice boy, and Mugsy likes him."
"Did he tell you DiNozzo's seventeen? Or that he's my son?"
The confusion in Tim's eyes had turned to disbelief. "Why would he tell me that?"
"Because that's what he thinks." Gibbs turned and walked to the nurses' station. He grabbed a piece of paper and a pen and started writing. "He lives with his niece, Carol. She'd be at work right now, but if the nurse gets there to give Edgar his afternoon meds, and he's not there …" He handed Tim the phone number he'd just written down. "You need to call her and tell her where he is. And then call Fornell, and tell him to take him home."
Tim stared at the piece of paper in his hand. "But he saw …"
Gibbs turned to face him and locked eyes with him. "Think of the big picture here, McGee. Edgar's not competent to testify. Do you want to put an eighty-two-year-old dementia patient on the stand?"
Tim lifted his chin and stiffened his shoulders. "No. That's not right. That's not how we think, Boss. You've always said that our job is to find the evidence, and it's up to the DA to decide what he can and cannot use. And if Mr. Collins can tell us who pulled Tony out of his car and dragged him into your house, then …"
"The defense attorney would have a field day with him. Leaving it up to the DA is a risk we can't take. Not this time."
“You look like a sheet, Tony."
Any other day, he'd have laughed and corrected her, but he had neither the energy nor the inclination. Besides, no matter which way he interpreted what she'd said, she was probably right.
"Losing a few liters of blood will do that to ya."
He couldn't finish a sentence without taking at least three breaths, and that was with the oxygen cannula in his nose. He couldn't talk much above a whisper, and he still sounded like a frog with bronchitis. His throat still hurt, but it wasn't as bad, and the morphine did make talking easier.
Walking was a different story. The five minutes he'd spent walking around the room had been pure hell, and that was with the nurse keeping him steady and Gibbs standing at his side, ready to catch him if he fell. His left leg throbbed with every step, having his left arm strapped to his side threw his balance off, and dragging the IV pole with him everywhere he went was a giant pain in the ass.
As far as he was concerned, there were only three positive things about the whole walking experience. It meant that they were going to release him soon. It meant that the catheter was gone. And even though the only things covering his chest were bandages and his shoulder brace, the gown was gone, and he had pants on.
Ziva walked across the room slowly, and he got the distinct impression that she was nervous. That didn't sit well - Ziva David was never nervous, especially not around him.
"How are you feeling?"
'Exhausted. Hurting. Dizzy. Useless. Kinda freaked out. Stupid. Weak. Pathetic. Scared.'
"Fine." She smiled at him in a way that said she didn't believe him, and he shrugged his good shoulder. "What are you doing here?"
She moved around the room absently, looking at the cheap, cheesy paintings on the wall as if they were the most interesting things she'd ever seen.
"Someone tried to murder my partner. Where else would I be?"
"Tel Aviv."
She stopped her aimless wandering and walked to the chair he was sitting in. "Some things are more important than my vacation," she said. Then she knelt down in front of him and placed her hand gently on the Velcro that circled his left wrist. "You are more important than my vacation."
Her dark eyes bore into his, searching for the truth that he wasn't telling her, and he didn't like it. On a normal day, he'd have stared right back at her and dared her to find what she was looking for, but if he did that, she'd see it. His defenses were weak, he couldn't hide the frustration and pain and fear in his eyes, and he knew it.
He turned his head away.
"Do not hide from me, Tony."
"Not hiding." It was supposed to be a declaration filled with defiance and enough conviction to make her believe it. It was supposed to be a warning to her to back off, an indication that he was handling things on his own. It was supposed to be a way to put the mask back on and the defenses back up.
It wasn't even a complete sentence.
"Talk to me." Her voice was calm and even, and she hadn't removed her hand from his arm. "Tell me what you need."
What did he need? He needed to be able to walk more than five feet by himself without panting from exertion. He needed to see what was under the bandages on his wrists and chest. He needed the pain to go away so he could get rid of the painkillers and his brain could start working again. He needed to pull himself out of what he was feeling and get on with his life, and there was only one way to do that.
"I need to know."
"What do you need to know?"
"Everything. Hell … anything." He took a deep breath and forced himself to face her. "Remember last week? I asked you why one friend would withhold information from another?"
She nodded carefully. "I said that sometimes, it is best for everyone."
"You're wrong, Ziva." He shook his head slowly. "He's wrong. It's not best for me."
"You're telling me to ignore evidence?"
They'd moved away from the nurses' station and Tony's door, and they were alone in the hallway. Tim was standing with his back straight and his head up, his hands loose at his sides and his eyes slightly narrowed. Gibbs was mildly surprised. He knew the kid had backbone, because he'd seen it before, but he never thought it would be used against him.
"What did you say, McGee?"
"You're telling me to ignore evidence," Tim repeated. "We need every lead we can get right now, and you're telling me to throw this one away."
"No, I'm telling you this one's no good and you need to find a better one."
Tim bristled. "And since when do we decide that?"
Gibbs stepped forward angrily. "Since we'll be letting the son of a bitch who tried to kill DiNozzo walk if we screw this up."
"And what are we doing if we ignore the evidence we need to arrest him in the first place?" Tim lowered his voice, but he didn't relax his posture. "We need a name, Boss. We need a face. Tony can't give them to us, but Edgar Collins can. We need to take it."
"We know who did it." Gibbs turned to walk away again.
"Do we?" Tim wasn't ready to let it go. Gibbs would have been proud of him for standing his ground, if he hadn't been standing it against him. "Do we really? Where's our proof? Where's our evidence? You think it was Stefano DelMar, and I understand why, but we've got nothing. We've got a dead car thief who didn't wear gloves and a tall man with dark hair whose face we've never seen. That's it."
"Are you questioning my judgment?"
Tim didn't even think about the answer. "Yeah," he said with a nod of his head. "I don't like it but … I guess I am." He took a deep breath before continuing. "I understand what you're saying, and I'll tell Agent Fornell about Mr. Collins, but we have to work with him. If he says DelMar was there, or if he says he wasn't, either way, we have to follow the evidence where it leads us. We want to win this one, and we all need it to be over - especially Tony - but we can't start ignoring evidence or witnesses just because we don't like what they say. That's not how we do things."
Gibbs let the anger flow through him for a few seconds before he admitted to himself that Tim was right. He had sidelined himself because he didn't want to risk compromising the investigation. And even if he had wanted to be involved, Fornell wouldn't have let him. His home was the crime scene. His tools were the weapons. His name was carved into Tony's back. Anyone else would have been a suspect, and if Fornell were doing his job right, he'd have been one, too, if not for his alibi. He was way too close to what had happened, but he was a federal agent. He was used to being in charge, and it was hard to turn it off.
It had always been Tony's job to stand up to him when he was like that, and as much as it irritated him, he'd come to depend on it. No matter what they were investigating, if he lost his objectivity, Tony was always there to pull him up, pull him back, and pull him out of the water when he got in over his head. Until that moment, Gibbs had been so focused on his promise to Ducky, and on what Tony needed from him, that he hadn't stopped to think that he needed something, too. He needed Tony to call him out, talk him down, and make him back off.
Apparently, Tim had been paying attention, and he'd taken a page or two from Tony's book.
Gibbs nodded slowly and gave Tim a small, crooked grin. "DiNozzo would be proud."
Tim relaxed his shoulders and smiled.
Ziva moved her hand from Tony's wrist to his knee, and she settled back on her heels. "What has he told you?"
"Nothing." He leaned back in the chair as far as he could and tried to relax, but it wasn't doing much good.
Ziva did her best to smile, but it didn't reassure him. "He only wished for your memories to return on their own."
Even his fuzzy, drug-addled brain caught the meaning of that. "Wished," he said. "Past tense. Something's changed."
"Yes." She was hesitating, reluctant to answer him, choosing every word carefully. "Abby tested your blood from the b … crime scene." That was almost a slip-up. He'd have to press her on that, if he could remember it. "She found Rohypnol and GHB."
"Oh." He looked down, watched Ziva squeeze his knee, and raised his head slowly. "Kinda hard to recall memories that were never written. Isn't it?"
"Tony …"
"He thinks I'm stupid."
"He does not."
"Stupid, or incompetent, or maybe just drugged out of my head." He'd spent a lot of time thinking about it. At least, he thought he had. And it was the thought that bothered him the most. "I don't know. But he thinks not telling me anything means …" He drew in a breath, a ragged one, and he felt the familiar twinge in his chest that told him his muscles were starting to protest again. "He thinks I don't notice. That I can't see it."
"Can't see what?"
"That I'm cut up like Rob Brewer was." He looked down as he gestured toward his arms and chest. "Exact same. Right down to the … screwdriver hole in my leg." He looked into her eyes, and that time, he didn't care what she saw. He wanted her to see it. He wanted someone to understand. "What does that have to do with me?" he asked. "Is this part of that? Does he think … does he think Stefano did this? Is that why he won't tell me?"
Ziva opened her mouth, but no words came out. She shrugged at him as she shook her head, not in denial, but in refusal to answer.
"Help me, Ziva. I need to know. Give me something. Please." His breathing was starting to speed up again, and he forced himself to concentrate on slowing it back down. "I don't even know who found me. Or where. Or how."
Seconds passed in silence as Tony tried to clear his head, tried to relax and breathe, and tried to study Ziva's face for some indication of what she was thinking. He didn't figure it out until she moved her hand again, from his knee to his right hand, and tightened her fingers around his.
"He found you."
He blinked at her in surprise. "Gibbs?"
She nodded her head slowly. "Yes. Ducky was with him, but it was Gibbs who found you."
"Gibbs saved my life?"
"He and Ducky did, yes."
"But that doesn't … why wouldn't he tell me?" It didn't make any sense. Why would Gibbs want to hide that? Unless it was more about where and how and … "Wait," he whispered. "Where?"
Ziva tightened her grip on his hand again, shifted back onto her knees, and moved closer to him. "In his basement."
"In his …" Tony closed his eyes as a horrible thought occurred to him. "Rob Brewer."
"What about him?" Ziva's voice was barely more than a whisper, and he was grateful to her for that. His head was pounding enough as it was.
"He was tortured with Jack Kale's tools." He drew another breath, one that shook more with emotion than pain. "And I was … with Gibbs' …?"
"Yes."
The first word that popped into his head was the next word that came out of his mouth.
"Shit."
Chapter Twelve
Gibbs walked through the door of Tony's room half an hour later. Ziva was sitting in the chair Tony had occupied when he'd left, and he glanced around the room quickly as she rose to her feet.
"Where's DiNozzo?"
"In the restroom." She answered as smoothly as she'd moved, and she kept her voice even and controlled. She didn't vocalize any of the irritation that he knew she felt toward him. "He said his eyeballs were gloating."
Gibbs smiled in spite of himself. "Floating," he corrected. "He's been given a lot of fluids. Did he have any trouble getting there?"
Ziva shook her head. "He was unsteady and moved very slowly, but he allowed me to assist him. The IV pole and oxygen got in his way a few times, but we managed."
Her voice hadn't changed, and to anyone who didn't know her, it would have seemed like a perfectly normal conversation. But he did know her, and he could see in her eyes all the things she wasn't saying. The disappointment, the hurt, the admonition … all the things he'd been seeing in everyone's eyes for the past sixteen hours. He stepped forward and opened his hands at his sides.
"Say it."
"Say what?"
He huffed and leaned his shoulders against the wall at his back. "Ducky, McGee, Abby, hell, even Fornell has had a swing at me over how badly I'm screwing this whole thing up. You might as well take one, too."
Ziva sighed and crossed her arms across her chest. "We are not enjoying this, Gibbs."
"Do you think I am?"
"Of course not." She moved closer to him, and then stopped and leaned against the windowsill. "We rely on you. All of us do. And from you, we take not only direction and guidance, but also strength. No matter what, when we need you, you are there." She crossed her arms and smiled tightly. "Perhaps it is time for us to repay the favor."
He tilted his head slightly. "So you don't think I'm screwing it up?"
"I did not say that."
He nodded. "I should have called you."
"Yes," she answered. "You should have. But McGee did, and I am here, and this is not about me."
He glanced at the bathroom door briefly before turning back to face her. He knew who it was about. She was less irritated with him about what he hadn't told her, but she was angry with him about what he hadn't told Tony. Knowing Ziva the way he did, he was certain that she'd taken steps to correct what she thought he'd done wrong.
"What did you tell him?" He lowered his voice, unwilling to risk Tony overhearing him.
"I only answered the question he asked me." She was speaking as softly as he was, obviously just as aware of the danger of Tony hearing them.
"And what was that?"
"The identity of his savior."
His heart sank into his stomach, and he dropped his shoulders. "Ziva …"
"He had a right to know." Gibbs shook his head. "He deserved the opportunity to thank you. Surely you do not think that he will blame you for …"
"It wasn't about him blaming me." He lifted his chin and looked her in the eye. "It was about not compromising the investigation."
"By telling him who saved his life?" He could hear the disbelief in her voice, and he didn't blame her. He wasn't sure he believed himself anymore. "He is the victim, not an investigator. Telling him the truth would not have compromised anything."
Gibbs rubbed his forehead as he shook his head again.
"He believes you think him stupid and weak."
He looked up in surprise. "Why would he think that?"
"Because you refused to share with him even the basic details of what happened. And if he were any other victim, you would have told him without hesitation."
"He's not 'any other victim,' Ziva. He's Tony."
"I am aware of that. As is he." She pushed herself up from the windowsill and stood straight. "And he cannot understand why you would refuse to give him the same consideration you would give a stranger."
Gibbs closed his eyes, pinched the bridge of his nose, and sighed. "Ducky was right," he said softly.
"I do not know what Ducky said," Ziva said just as quietly. "But he often is."
Gibbs pushed away from the wall and straightened his shoulders. "I'll fix it," he said. "One way or another."
"I would expect nothing less."
Gibbs nodded one last time. "I'm glad you're home, Ziver." And just like that, the conversation was over. "McGee's down in the security office getting the surveillance videos for the past two hours. Meet up with him and head back to the office."
"We will find him, Gibbs." Ziva squeezed his arm once as she moved past him. "I swear to you."
"I would expect nothing less."
Ziva shot him a quick smile, and then she walked out the door.
Gibbs closed his eyes and let his head fall back. He rolled his shoulders a few times, took a deep breath, blew it out, and turned toward the bathroom door.
"DiNozzo!" He stepped forward as he called out. "You fall in, or what?"
There was no answer, so he tapped the door with his knuckles. "DiNozzo? You okay?"
Again, silence was the only response. "Hey, DiNozzo!" A hole opened up in the pit of his stomach, and he knocked harder. "Answer me or I'm breaking the door down."
Nothing.
"That's it. I'm coming in." He wrapped his hand around the knob and squared his shoulder against the door, prepared to ram into it if he needed to. He was surprised when the knob turned easily under his fingers, and he pushed the door open carefully. If Tony were on the floor behind it …
But Tony wasn't on the floor. He wasn't anywhere near the door. He also wasn't unconscious, bleeding, or otherwise unable to answer.
He was standing between the two mirrors in the room, leaning against the sink, slightly hunched over and using his right arm to hold himself steady. He'd turned off his oxygen and hooked the cannula over the top of the canister, and he'd removed his IVs. He'd also pulled most of the bandages from his chest and arms and piled them in the sink.
The large bandage that had covered his upper back was with them.
The straight, neat rows of sutures that crisscrossed his chest and the insides of his arms stood out in stark contrast to the paleness of his skin. The two deep wounds that circled his right wrist - he'd left his other arm strapped down and bandaged - looked better than they had the night before. But it was Tony's back, so easily readable in the mirror that both of them were staring at, that stopped Gibbs cold.
"DiNozzo …"
"I just wanted to know." Tony's voice was devoid of emotion, and he didn't turn away from the mirror or meet Gibbs' eyes in the reflection. "I mean, I knew my chest looked a lot like Brewer's, but I wanted to see for myself, ya know? Didn't figure it would be that hard. But damn, that one on my back … that was a bitch."
"Tony."
"Don't think I need answers anymore." Tony continued as though Gibbs hadn't said spoken. His voice was almost painful to listen to, broken and breathy. "I think I get it now. You don't think I'm stupid. You just couldn't think of a good way to say, 'Hey, DiNozzo, some psycho carved my name into your back.' But that's probably because there is no good way to say that, is there?"
"Tony, listen to me."
Tony shook his head. "I've been listening all day, Boss. Waiting for you to talk to me, to tell me something, anything. You haven't said a damn thing. Asked me if I was hurting, if I wanted pain meds, told me to breathe. But those don't really count." He paused to take a shaky, raspy breath, and he had to put more effort into it than he should have. There was a reason he was still dragging that oxygen tank around. "And I know this has got to be screwing with you, but …"
"Ya think, DiNozzo?" Gibbs fought the urge to move further into the small space, unwilling to force Tony into a corner. "You want me to tell you the truth? Okay." He took a deep breath of his own. "I don't know what I'm supposed to do right now. I don't know what I'm supposed to say or how I'm supposed to act. I'm trying, but this is all new to me, and I don't know what to do."
Tony closed his eyes and lowered his head. "That actually doesn't help."
Tony was shaking, and his right arm looked like it was about to buckle under the pressure. He was pale, and he looked ready to hit the floor at any second. Gibbs stopped fighting with himself, stepped forward, and put his hand on Tony's arm.
"You need to get back in bed."
"Boss …" A thousand questions unasked, pleas unspoken and fears unvoiced. Wide, scared green eyes finally met his in the mirror.
"I'll tell you everything I know, Tony. But not until you're back in bed, you've got your oxygen back on, and a nurse reattaches your IV." Tony opened his mouth to argue, but Gibbs cut him off with a brisk shake of his head. "You're about to pass out."
"DiNozzos don't …"
"I've already caught you once." Gibbs paused, and Tony's eyes widened further in sudden understanding. "I don't know if my knees can take it again."
Tony nodded slowly and pushed himself back from the sink. Gibbs moved closer to him, put his left arm around Tony's lower back and wrapped his fingers around the younger man's upper arm. Slowly, carefully, he led him out of the bathroom and toward the bed.
He concentrated on walking, putting one foot in front of the other and making sure that Tony stayed on his feet long enough to get where they were going. He intentionally avoided looking at Tony's back, at the evidence of his responsibility for what had been done.
"Think that'll ... leave a scar?"
Tony barely had enough breath or energy to walk in a straight line, but he obviously thought he had enough to keep talking.
"I don't know." He would have shrugged if he hadn't known how much pain it would cause the man he supported. "It might."
"I guess it's ... not so bad. If it does." They'd reached the bed, and Gibbs turned them around. "I can think of ... worse tattoos to have. And if someone asks me ... who I work for ... I can always ..." Whatever else he was going to say was lost in a gasp of pain as Gibbs helped him sit and then lie down.
"You think this is funny, DiNozzo?" He carefully lifted Tony's feet onto the bed.
"Not … laughing."
"Yeah, well, neither am I. Someone tried to kill you." He pressed the call button and returned to the bathroom for the IV pole and oxygen canister. "Someone choked you out, drugged you, kidnapped you, and tortured you. And yes, DiNozzo, some psycho carved my name into your back. Someone hates me enough to …"
"Us."
"What?" He put the oxygen on the floor next to the bed and started to untangle the tubing.
"They did it in … your house." Tony's voice was weaker than it had been only seconds before. He was exhausted, drained, and if the crease between his eyebrows was anything to go by, in a lot of pain. "But they did it ... to me."
Gibbs didn't visibly react to Tony's words, but that didn't stop them from stabbing him in the heart. After everything he'd said, after everything he'd thought, about needing to protect Tony - from the truth, from the pain, from the man who'd tried to kill him - how had he missed something so obvious?
He hooked the cannula around Tony's ears, positioned it in his nose, and turned the oxygen back on. Tony took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and his head sank deeper into the pillow.
"Someone ... really hates ... us."
"You're looking for a man consumed by hatred," Ducky said. "For both of them."
Ducky had called everyone to autopsy only moments after McGee and Ziva returned from the hospital. Fornell joined them less than ten minutes later, after calling Edgar Collins' niece to let her know where her uncle was. They were assembled in a loose semi-circle around Ducky's whiteboard, which was covered in writing, boxes, and lines that connected everything that he had learned about their unidentified suspect.
Fornell snorted, and everyone turned toward him. "That narrows our suspect pool down to everyone who's ever met them."
Ducky shook his head. "Not this level of hatred. This isn't just anger; this is deep and all consuming. Think Charles Sterling."
"Chip." Abby's voice dripped with anger and the closest thing to hatred they had heard in years.
"It can't be Sterling," Fornell said. "He's still in the pen, and he's got at least seven more years to serve."
"It couldn't be him, anyway." McGee glanced around the room before focusing his attention on the whiteboard again. "He hated Tony, yeah, but not Gibbs."
"There is that." Ducky turned back to the board, too. "There is also the fact that this person's hatred is fresh. And while we can't eliminate the possibility that this is someone they've known for a while, I believe we should focus on people they've met only recently."
"How recently?" Director Vance had invited himself to the gathering, but no one minded. He'd been angry enough that someone had tried to kill one of his agents. The fact that they'd taken Tony from his parking lot made him livid. He'd sworn to Tim that he'd be given anything he needed - any resource, any warrant, any intel. Finding out who'd tried to kill Tony had become Vance's number one priority.
"Within the past week and a half to two weeks."
"Rob Brewer." Ziva leaned against the table that Tim and Abby were sitting on. "He recreated Brewer's torture on Tony."
"But not Strauss'," McGee added.
"Yes." Ducky nodded and pointed to one of the boxes he'd drawn. "This tells us that …"
"Whatever happened to make him hate them happened during the Brewer investigation." Abby's voice was even harder than it had been when she said Chip's name. "Before Strauss was even dead."
Another nod from Ducky. "He's fixated on that event. He's trying to make them pay for something he imagines they've done to him. Something that happened in the twenty-four hours between the discovery of Lance Corporal Brewer's body and the murder of PFC Strauss."
Fornell tilted his head. "It's DiNozzo who's caught the brunt of it," he pointed out. "Can we assume that means DiNozzo is his main focus?"
"No. Absolutely not. He hates them equally."
"But he hasn't laid a hand on Gibbs." Vance stepped forward slightly. "And it's not like he hasn't had the opportunity. If this man wanted them both dead, then he wouldn't have run. He'd have forced a confrontation with Gibbs last night."
"That is true." Ducky gestured toward the board again. "And that is why I believe that as much as this person hates Jethro, he's also afraid of him."
"Afraid?" Tim didn't know why he was surprised at that. It wasn't exactly a new or rare occurrence.
"Something has convinced him that Jethro is, for lack of a better term, untouchable. Rather than taking his revenge on him directly or physically, as he has done to Anthony, he is focused on hurting him mentally and emotionally."
"By hurting Tony." Abby's breath hitched in her throat, and Tim put his hand on hers in comfort.
"And as Jethro's episode in the waiting room proves, it's a successful tactic." Ducky turned his back to the whiteboard and sighed. "My initial thought was that Gibbs' involvement was secondary, that his role in Anthony's torture was merely as a tool to increase feelings of isolation and hopelessness. Since then, we have learned things that have forced me to rethink that assessment."
"Rethink it how?" Fornell asked.
"They are both victims, and they are both weapons. They were used to torture each other, and they will continue to be until he is caught. He will not stop until Jethro is destroyed." Ducky took a deep breath. "And Tony is dead."
Tony turned his head when the door opened. He put his fingers to his lips to silence the new arrival, and then waved him into the room.
Gibbs was in the chair in the corner, with his head back, his hands in his lap, and his feet flat on the floor. He'd been there for nearly an hour, and he'd been snoring softly almost the whole time. True to his word, he'd waited until the nurse had properly scolded Tony for taking his IV out and restarted it. Then he'd told him everything he knew, everything he suspected, and everything he thought. The conversation had taken a lot out of them both, but it seemed to have taken more out of Gibbs than it should have.
Tony had a sneaking suspicion that there was something else going on with Gibbs, that something else was wrong, something he still wasn't telling him. The fact that Gibbs had fallen asleep within moments of sitting down was just more proof of that. A healthy Gibbs could stay awake for days at a time, if he felt the need.
"Hey, DiNozzo. How're you feeling?"
Tony would have laughed, but he didn't want to risk waking Gibbs up.
"Just peachy, Rivers." Keeping his voice down wasn't difficult, since he could barely talk above a whisper. "You?"
Rivers had the good sense to look ashamed. "Okay, yeah. Dumb question." He looked over at Gibbs' sleeping form.
"What are you doing here?"
Rivers turned back to face him and smiled. "Babysitting you."
Tony smiled back and raised his eyebrows. "Really?"
Rivers nodded. "Agent Gibbs told me to be back at 8:00, so I …"
"You're a little early." Tony looked up at the clock. "It's not even 6:30 yet."
"Yeah, I know." He shot another glance across his shoulder, and Tony got the impression that he was nervous. "I just really don't want to piss your boss off again."
"Again?"
"He threatened to shoot me last night."
Tony did chuckle at that, though it sounded more like a weak, hacking cough than a laugh. "He threatens to shoot me all the time." He smiled. "I think it means he likes you."
"No," Rivers protested, shaking his head. "He doesn't like me. He scares the hell out of me."
"He has that effect on people."
"Where does that leave Stefano DelMar?" It was Fornell who finally broke the heavy silence that had fallen over autopsy.
"All but eliminated," Ducky said. "Yes, he did try to kill Anthony ten years ago, but I do not think he's in any way involved with what's happening right now. Our suspect's hatred is newer, explosive and violent. DelMar's, if it even still exists, has been simmering for ten years. A longstanding hatred like that would result in a slower, calmer, and more controlled outlet. It wouldn't explode like this."
"We also have no proof that he even knows DiNozzo works here," Fornell added. "And why would he hate Gibbs? Between the two of us, if he was going to hate anyone, it would be me. But I doubt he does. Azari's death hasn't exactly been bad for DelMar's career."
"Have you narrowed it down further, Doctor Mallard?" Everyone turned toward Vance at the question, and then to Ducky for the answer.
"I believe I have, Director."
"And if I'm following you correctly, I'm not going to like what you're about to say, am I?"
"No, you're not." Ducky shook his head slowly and sadly. "No one will."
"What is it, Ducky?" Ziva asked. "What else have you found?"
Ducky took another deep breath and addressed everyone with his answer. "There is an overall pattern here, a snapshot, if you will, of Tony's attacker. As I said, it is someone with a deep, but recently developed, hatred for both Tony and Jethro. He is intelligent, almost methodical, but at times, his anger is so extreme that it leads him to make mistakes - showing himself on the security camera, talking to Edgar Collins, taking Tony to Jethro's house without knowing when he would be home. He has the ability to convince someone like Marco Santori to help him, which means he has contacts within Azari's organization. He knows details about Lance Corporal Brewer's death that were never released to the press. He knew there was mold on the rope, he knew Brewer was tortured with his friend's tools, and he felt these were important enough to replicate in his attack on Tony. He was able to move around the Yard without arousing suspicion. He knew one of our gates was damaged, and he knew which one."
Ziva closed her eyes, and Tim dropped his head.
"Oh, Ducky." There were no tears in Abby's eyes, but they were obvious in her voice. "No."
"You're telling us that he works here." Vance's voice was as hard and cold as the look in his eyes. "One of my people is doing this."
Ducky didn't answer, but instead, he turned to Tim.
"Timothy, what time did Anthony leave the squad room last night?"
Tim lifted his head and tightened the already white-knuckled grip he had on the edge of the table. "The timestamp on the security footage said 20:04."
"And what time did the call about the non-existent breach of the front gate come in to Officer Duncan?"
"Twenty-oh … damn it. 20:05. I should have thought, should have realized …"
"It is not the first thing that comes to mind." Ziva put her hand on his back and leaned closer to him. "We have been conditioned to trust each other, McGee. We have to trust each other. If we do not, we cannot do our jobs."
"And if we do," Abby interrupted, "stuff like this happens!"
"Abigail …"
"Doctor, I don't understand." Every head in the room turned toward the previously silent Palmer. "What does that tell us? What does that prove?"
"The phone call was a diversion." It was Fornell who answered him. "They used it to pull the security guards away from the monitors so they could jump DiNozzo without being seen in real-time. The only way they could have timed that phone call so perfectly is if they were …"
"Wait, they were watching him?" Palmer's eyes were impossibly wide. "Watching him here? In the squad room?"
Tim straightened his back. "And Tony knew it, too."
"What?" Fornell and Vance asked the question in unison.
"He felt it. He kept looking behind him, and he told me he couldn't… that he thought …" He shook his head and closed his eyes. "I told him he was imagining things."
"What about the hospital? Is it safe?"
"Of course he's safe!" Abby sounded offended that Palmer had even asked. "He's with Gibbs."
"But the guy was there." Palmer had obviously caught up with Ducky's thought process, and he was following it to his own set of conclusions. "He was right outside Tony's door."
"We are all aware of that, Palmer," Ziva said.
"But are you all aware that Tony's name isn't on any of the patient registries?" Tim didn't know about anyone else, but he hadn't known that. "I tried to find his room number earlier today, so I could send him a Get Well present. The hospital told me there was no one registered under that name. I even identified myself as an NCIS employee, but it didn't make a difference. His name's not on that list."
"So the only way this guy could've known what room DiNozzo was in …" Fornell said.
"He's found himself an open door," Vance said. "He's hacked the hospital's security feed, or he's got another source inside." He turned on his heel and walked out of the room. Just before the doors closed behind him, he called back over his shoulder.
"The son of a bitch is still watching him."
"Rivers. What the hell are you doing in here?"
Tony didn't look up from the cards in his left hand, but he did smile. "He's babysitting me. Can't you tell?"
Gibbs pushed himself out of the chair, rolled his shoulders, and stepped forward. Tony had raised the head of the bed, and Bruce Rivers was sitting on the other end. There were two piles of cards between them, and they each held several in their hands.
"Funny. Looks to me like he's playing Gin."
"Canasta, actually," Tony said. "But close enough."
In comparison to DiNozzo, who looked to be enjoying the exchange, Rivers' expression was one of absolute terror. Gibbs decided to work that to his advantage. He changed direction and headed straight for the FBI agent.
"You are supposed to be on the other side of that door," he said. "Your job is to protect this room, not to hang out in it."
"Yes, s … Agent … Agent Gibbs." Rivers dropped his cards and jumped off the bed.
"He can see the door just as well from in here as he can from out there. If anyone comes in, he can …"
"He's supposed to stop them before they get through the door. That's the point." Gibbs shook his head in disbelief. "If I could do it without aggravating that concussion, DiNozzo, I'd headslap you so hard right now. You're distracting your own protection detail!"
Tony leaned back against the head of the bed and smiled again. "I was bored, and you were asleep. Besides, what are the odds that anything's going to happen anyway? It's a hospital. There's security everywhere."
Gibbs felt all the blood rush out of his face. Tony's eyebrows shot up and he straightened back up.
"Right, Boss? I mean, it's not like he … no. No, that's not …" Gibbs wanted to interrupt him, wanted to tell him he was wrong, but he couldn't. "He was here?"
Tony's voice was a combination of disbelief, fear, and betrayal. The last was directed solely at Gibbs.
Gibbs glanced at Rivers and jerked his head in the direction of the door. Thankfully, he got the hint, and he didn't need to be told again. Rivers made a hasty, and silent, exit.
"Why didn't you tell me?"
Gibbs shook his head and moved closer to the bed. "I wasn't withholding information from you. I honestly thought you knew why you changed rooms. I thought Dr. Simms told you."
"So he was here. And now you've got Rivers standing outside my door looking for … who, exactly? Stefano?"
"It's not just Rivers. There's an entire network of agents in this building. One at every entrance, one at every elevator on the first floor, one at every elevator on this floor, one at each end of this hallway, and two at the nurses' station. If DelMar shows his face, yes, he'll be arrested on sight. But it doesn't matter who it is. He's not getting in here."
"How are they going to stop him if they don't know who he is?"
"Because no one - and I do mean no one - is getting within a hundred feet of this room without my say-so."
"But what if …?"
"Tony, look at me." Gibbs waited until he was sure that he had the younger man's undivided attention before speaking again. "Even if every single one of those agents messes up, if all of them let someone pass that isn't supposed to, if all else fails …" He took a deep breath.
"I'm right here. And I'm not going anywhere. I've got your six, okay?"
Tony nodded, slowly but not reluctantly. The fear that had filled his eyes hadn't vanished entirely, but it had faded somewhat.
"Okay." Gibbs sat down next to Tony's legs, in the spot that Rivers had vacated, and turned to face the head of the bed.
"I'm not a Canasta man." He picked the cards up from the table and started shuffling them. "How does five-card stud sound instead?"
Part Seven
Chapter Eleven
"He has DiNozzo's gun?"
His gut wasn't churning; it was turning itself inside out and doing backflips.
Tim nodded slowly. "That's not all he has," he said. "We didn't find Tony's keys, either. Or his wallet. Or his badge."
Gibbs pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes. It wasn't bad enough that DelMar had tortured Tony and left him for dead, was it? He'd just had to take it further. He'd stolen his gun and murdered someone with it. He'd kept the keys to his car and apartment. He'd taken off with his ID, his credit cards, his badge.
He had access to Tony's whole life.
"What other evidence are you processing?" Ziva's question was directed at Abby, and Gibbs was grateful to her for getting the conversation back on track.
"Like I said, I'm still waiting on the DNA results - the blood in the basement, the skin under Tony's fingernails and the blood on Santori's clothes."
"All of which will most likely lead us to Marco Santori again." Ziva was as upset about the lack of forward progress as the rest of them were, and her frustration was obvious.
"Major Mass Spec is still chewing on the rope, but I don't think you're gonna like what he says, Gibbs."
"Why not?"
There was another pause, shorter than the ones that had come before, but still heavy. "I've looked at that rope a thousand different ways, under a hundred different magnifications, and it's not … it's not Stachybotrys chartarum." Abby sighed deeply. "It's the wrong mold."
"It's not the same rope used on Brewer and Strauss." Gibbs wasn't asking a question; he was confirming a fact.
"No," Abby answered. "It's not."
Gibbs glanced between Tim and Ziva again, and he shook his head almost imperceptibly. "What else have you got going?"
"I've still got the FBI's files on Azari to go through. If there's a link between DelMar and Santori, I'll find it."
"McGee's going to bring you a dartboard and a note to process, along with a few hours' worth of security video, the hospital's security logs, and fingerprints from the staff to use for exclusion." He heard Abby's sharp intake of breath through the speaker, but he didn't give her time to react any more. "Have you talked to Ducky?"
"No." Abby set the fact that he was sending her evidence from the hospital - and what that implied - aside, but Gibbs knew that it was only temporary. He was going to have to answer for not telling her that DelMar had been there, had been within feet of Tony.
"Do you know where he stands?"
"When Jimmy brought up the evidence from Santori's body, he said Ducky was almost finished matching Tony's wounds to your ... to the tools when he got called out to the crime scene. If he's not done with it yet, he will be soon."
"And the profile?"
"He's starting it after he finishes the tools."
Gibbs opened his mouth to speak again, but Tim cut him off. "Let us know when you've got those results back, Abby, and tell Ducky to call either me or Fornell when he's done." Gibbs shot an angry glare in his direction, and Tim shrugged.
"Will do, McGee."
Tim ended the call, and then he looked Gibbs in the eye. "Agent Fornell's rules, Boss, not mine. We can tell you what we get, but you can't be involved in the investigation. Remember?"
Gibbs took a deep breath and blew it out. Tim was right, and he knew it, but he didn't like it.
"Ziva," he said, turning toward her. "Go in and sit with DiNozzo for a few minutes. McGee and I are going down to the security office."
Ziva shot him a look that said she didn't believe him, and he didn't blame her. It was true that he and McGee were about to have a conversation that he didn't want anyone else to be present for, but it was also true that someone had to stay with DiNozzo until the security detail got there. For a second, it looked as though she was going to press the issue, but she decided against it.
"Of course, Gibbs."
She pushed Tony's door open and disappeared through it.
Gibbs spun toward Tim. His eyes were narrow, and he raised his index finger in front of the younger man's face.
"McGee, the next time I try to step up and take over any part of this investigation, you …" He pulled his finger into a loose fist, and then dropped his hand at his side. "… do exactly what you just did."
"What?" The confused, dumbfounded look on Tim's face almost made Gibbs smile.
"You did the right thing. But they aren't Fornell's rules; they're mine. By the book. FBI's jurisdiction." He gave Tim a few seconds to let that sink in, and then nodded at him in confirmation. "Speaking of which, where is Fornell?"
Tim's whole face brightened. "That's the one piece of good news we do have," he said. "Fornell's at the Hoover Building with our witness."
For the first time in more than twelve hours, the churning worry and frustration in his stomach gave way to a bit of hope. "There's a witness?"
Tim nodded excitedly. "Your neighbor, Edgar Collins."
The hope collapsed, and Gibbs' shoulders sank with it.
"He was walking Mugsy when they pulled up last night. He saw them get out of the car with Tony, he talked to one of them, and he knows that …"
"Did you see Mugsy, McGee?"
The interruption took Tim by surprise, but he shook his head in answer to the question.
"Did Fornell?"
"I … I don't know. I think Mr. Collins came to see him at your house, so … Why does that matter?"
Gibbs heaved a sigh. "Because Mugsy's dead. He died three years ago."
"No." Tim stuttered and stammered, and he shook his head again. "No, that's not … That doesn't …. He saw them, Boss. He talked to them. He was standing no further from them than I am from you. They told him Tony was drunk and they were taking him home, but he knew that …"
"And what did he tell you about DiNozzo?"
"Um … that Tony had blood on his face, and he knew Tony wasn't drunk because he didn't smell like alcohol. And he kept saying he's a nice boy, and Mugsy likes him."
"Did he tell you DiNozzo's seventeen? Or that he's my son?"
The confusion in Tim's eyes had turned to disbelief. "Why would he tell me that?"
"Because that's what he thinks." Gibbs turned and walked to the nurses' station. He grabbed a piece of paper and a pen and started writing. "He lives with his niece, Carol. She'd be at work right now, but if the nurse gets there to give Edgar his afternoon meds, and he's not there …" He handed Tim the phone number he'd just written down. "You need to call her and tell her where he is. And then call Fornell, and tell him to take him home."
Tim stared at the piece of paper in his hand. "But he saw …"
Gibbs turned to face him and locked eyes with him. "Think of the big picture here, McGee. Edgar's not competent to testify. Do you want to put an eighty-two-year-old dementia patient on the stand?"
Tim lifted his chin and stiffened his shoulders. "No. That's not right. That's not how we think, Boss. You've always said that our job is to find the evidence, and it's up to the DA to decide what he can and cannot use. And if Mr. Collins can tell us who pulled Tony out of his car and dragged him into your house, then …"
"The defense attorney would have a field day with him. Leaving it up to the DA is a risk we can't take. Not this time."
“You look like a sheet, Tony."
Any other day, he'd have laughed and corrected her, but he had neither the energy nor the inclination. Besides, no matter which way he interpreted what she'd said, she was probably right.
"Losing a few liters of blood will do that to ya."
He couldn't finish a sentence without taking at least three breaths, and that was with the oxygen cannula in his nose. He couldn't talk much above a whisper, and he still sounded like a frog with bronchitis. His throat still hurt, but it wasn't as bad, and the morphine did make talking easier.
Walking was a different story. The five minutes he'd spent walking around the room had been pure hell, and that was with the nurse keeping him steady and Gibbs standing at his side, ready to catch him if he fell. His left leg throbbed with every step, having his left arm strapped to his side threw his balance off, and dragging the IV pole with him everywhere he went was a giant pain in the ass.
As far as he was concerned, there were only three positive things about the whole walking experience. It meant that they were going to release him soon. It meant that the catheter was gone. And even though the only things covering his chest were bandages and his shoulder brace, the gown was gone, and he had pants on.
Ziva walked across the room slowly, and he got the distinct impression that she was nervous. That didn't sit well - Ziva David was never nervous, especially not around him.
"How are you feeling?"
'Exhausted. Hurting. Dizzy. Useless. Kinda freaked out. Stupid. Weak. Pathetic. Scared.'
"Fine." She smiled at him in a way that said she didn't believe him, and he shrugged his good shoulder. "What are you doing here?"
She moved around the room absently, looking at the cheap, cheesy paintings on the wall as if they were the most interesting things she'd ever seen.
"Someone tried to murder my partner. Where else would I be?"
"Tel Aviv."
She stopped her aimless wandering and walked to the chair he was sitting in. "Some things are more important than my vacation," she said. Then she knelt down in front of him and placed her hand gently on the Velcro that circled his left wrist. "You are more important than my vacation."
Her dark eyes bore into his, searching for the truth that he wasn't telling her, and he didn't like it. On a normal day, he'd have stared right back at her and dared her to find what she was looking for, but if he did that, she'd see it. His defenses were weak, he couldn't hide the frustration and pain and fear in his eyes, and he knew it.
He turned his head away.
"Do not hide from me, Tony."
"Not hiding." It was supposed to be a declaration filled with defiance and enough conviction to make her believe it. It was supposed to be a warning to her to back off, an indication that he was handling things on his own. It was supposed to be a way to put the mask back on and the defenses back up.
It wasn't even a complete sentence.
"Talk to me." Her voice was calm and even, and she hadn't removed her hand from his arm. "Tell me what you need."
What did he need? He needed to be able to walk more than five feet by himself without panting from exertion. He needed to see what was under the bandages on his wrists and chest. He needed the pain to go away so he could get rid of the painkillers and his brain could start working again. He needed to pull himself out of what he was feeling and get on with his life, and there was only one way to do that.
"I need to know."
"What do you need to know?"
"Everything. Hell … anything." He took a deep breath and forced himself to face her. "Remember last week? I asked you why one friend would withhold information from another?"
She nodded carefully. "I said that sometimes, it is best for everyone."
"You're wrong, Ziva." He shook his head slowly. "He's wrong. It's not best for me."
"You're telling me to ignore evidence?"
They'd moved away from the nurses' station and Tony's door, and they were alone in the hallway. Tim was standing with his back straight and his head up, his hands loose at his sides and his eyes slightly narrowed. Gibbs was mildly surprised. He knew the kid had backbone, because he'd seen it before, but he never thought it would be used against him.
"What did you say, McGee?"
"You're telling me to ignore evidence," Tim repeated. "We need every lead we can get right now, and you're telling me to throw this one away."
"No, I'm telling you this one's no good and you need to find a better one."
Tim bristled. "And since when do we decide that?"
Gibbs stepped forward angrily. "Since we'll be letting the son of a bitch who tried to kill DiNozzo walk if we screw this up."
"And what are we doing if we ignore the evidence we need to arrest him in the first place?" Tim lowered his voice, but he didn't relax his posture. "We need a name, Boss. We need a face. Tony can't give them to us, but Edgar Collins can. We need to take it."
"We know who did it." Gibbs turned to walk away again.
"Do we?" Tim wasn't ready to let it go. Gibbs would have been proud of him for standing his ground, if he hadn't been standing it against him. "Do we really? Where's our proof? Where's our evidence? You think it was Stefano DelMar, and I understand why, but we've got nothing. We've got a dead car thief who didn't wear gloves and a tall man with dark hair whose face we've never seen. That's it."
"Are you questioning my judgment?"
Tim didn't even think about the answer. "Yeah," he said with a nod of his head. "I don't like it but … I guess I am." He took a deep breath before continuing. "I understand what you're saying, and I'll tell Agent Fornell about Mr. Collins, but we have to work with him. If he says DelMar was there, or if he says he wasn't, either way, we have to follow the evidence where it leads us. We want to win this one, and we all need it to be over - especially Tony - but we can't start ignoring evidence or witnesses just because we don't like what they say. That's not how we do things."
Gibbs let the anger flow through him for a few seconds before he admitted to himself that Tim was right. He had sidelined himself because he didn't want to risk compromising the investigation. And even if he had wanted to be involved, Fornell wouldn't have let him. His home was the crime scene. His tools were the weapons. His name was carved into Tony's back. Anyone else would have been a suspect, and if Fornell were doing his job right, he'd have been one, too, if not for his alibi. He was way too close to what had happened, but he was a federal agent. He was used to being in charge, and it was hard to turn it off.
It had always been Tony's job to stand up to him when he was like that, and as much as it irritated him, he'd come to depend on it. No matter what they were investigating, if he lost his objectivity, Tony was always there to pull him up, pull him back, and pull him out of the water when he got in over his head. Until that moment, Gibbs had been so focused on his promise to Ducky, and on what Tony needed from him, that he hadn't stopped to think that he needed something, too. He needed Tony to call him out, talk him down, and make him back off.
Apparently, Tim had been paying attention, and he'd taken a page or two from Tony's book.
Gibbs nodded slowly and gave Tim a small, crooked grin. "DiNozzo would be proud."
Tim relaxed his shoulders and smiled.
Ziva moved her hand from Tony's wrist to his knee, and she settled back on her heels. "What has he told you?"
"Nothing." He leaned back in the chair as far as he could and tried to relax, but it wasn't doing much good.
Ziva did her best to smile, but it didn't reassure him. "He only wished for your memories to return on their own."
Even his fuzzy, drug-addled brain caught the meaning of that. "Wished," he said. "Past tense. Something's changed."
"Yes." She was hesitating, reluctant to answer him, choosing every word carefully. "Abby tested your blood from the b … crime scene." That was almost a slip-up. He'd have to press her on that, if he could remember it. "She found Rohypnol and GHB."
"Oh." He looked down, watched Ziva squeeze his knee, and raised his head slowly. "Kinda hard to recall memories that were never written. Isn't it?"
"Tony …"
"He thinks I'm stupid."
"He does not."
"Stupid, or incompetent, or maybe just drugged out of my head." He'd spent a lot of time thinking about it. At least, he thought he had. And it was the thought that bothered him the most. "I don't know. But he thinks not telling me anything means …" He drew in a breath, a ragged one, and he felt the familiar twinge in his chest that told him his muscles were starting to protest again. "He thinks I don't notice. That I can't see it."
"Can't see what?"
"That I'm cut up like Rob Brewer was." He looked down as he gestured toward his arms and chest. "Exact same. Right down to the … screwdriver hole in my leg." He looked into her eyes, and that time, he didn't care what she saw. He wanted her to see it. He wanted someone to understand. "What does that have to do with me?" he asked. "Is this part of that? Does he think … does he think Stefano did this? Is that why he won't tell me?"
Ziva opened her mouth, but no words came out. She shrugged at him as she shook her head, not in denial, but in refusal to answer.
"Help me, Ziva. I need to know. Give me something. Please." His breathing was starting to speed up again, and he forced himself to concentrate on slowing it back down. "I don't even know who found me. Or where. Or how."
Seconds passed in silence as Tony tried to clear his head, tried to relax and breathe, and tried to study Ziva's face for some indication of what she was thinking. He didn't figure it out until she moved her hand again, from his knee to his right hand, and tightened her fingers around his.
"He found you."
He blinked at her in surprise. "Gibbs?"
She nodded her head slowly. "Yes. Ducky was with him, but it was Gibbs who found you."
"Gibbs saved my life?"
"He and Ducky did, yes."
"But that doesn't … why wouldn't he tell me?" It didn't make any sense. Why would Gibbs want to hide that? Unless it was more about where and how and … "Wait," he whispered. "Where?"
Ziva tightened her grip on his hand again, shifted back onto her knees, and moved closer to him. "In his basement."
"In his …" Tony closed his eyes as a horrible thought occurred to him. "Rob Brewer."
"What about him?" Ziva's voice was barely more than a whisper, and he was grateful to her for that. His head was pounding enough as it was.
"He was tortured with Jack Kale's tools." He drew another breath, one that shook more with emotion than pain. "And I was … with Gibbs' …?"
"Yes."
The first word that popped into his head was the next word that came out of his mouth.
"Shit."
Chapter Twelve
Gibbs walked through the door of Tony's room half an hour later. Ziva was sitting in the chair Tony had occupied when he'd left, and he glanced around the room quickly as she rose to her feet.
"Where's DiNozzo?"
"In the restroom." She answered as smoothly as she'd moved, and she kept her voice even and controlled. She didn't vocalize any of the irritation that he knew she felt toward him. "He said his eyeballs were gloating."
Gibbs smiled in spite of himself. "Floating," he corrected. "He's been given a lot of fluids. Did he have any trouble getting there?"
Ziva shook her head. "He was unsteady and moved very slowly, but he allowed me to assist him. The IV pole and oxygen got in his way a few times, but we managed."
Her voice hadn't changed, and to anyone who didn't know her, it would have seemed like a perfectly normal conversation. But he did know her, and he could see in her eyes all the things she wasn't saying. The disappointment, the hurt, the admonition … all the things he'd been seeing in everyone's eyes for the past sixteen hours. He stepped forward and opened his hands at his sides.
"Say it."
"Say what?"
He huffed and leaned his shoulders against the wall at his back. "Ducky, McGee, Abby, hell, even Fornell has had a swing at me over how badly I'm screwing this whole thing up. You might as well take one, too."
Ziva sighed and crossed her arms across her chest. "We are not enjoying this, Gibbs."
"Do you think I am?"
"Of course not." She moved closer to him, and then stopped and leaned against the windowsill. "We rely on you. All of us do. And from you, we take not only direction and guidance, but also strength. No matter what, when we need you, you are there." She crossed her arms and smiled tightly. "Perhaps it is time for us to repay the favor."
He tilted his head slightly. "So you don't think I'm screwing it up?"
"I did not say that."
He nodded. "I should have called you."
"Yes," she answered. "You should have. But McGee did, and I am here, and this is not about me."
He glanced at the bathroom door briefly before turning back to face her. He knew who it was about. She was less irritated with him about what he hadn't told her, but she was angry with him about what he hadn't told Tony. Knowing Ziva the way he did, he was certain that she'd taken steps to correct what she thought he'd done wrong.
"What did you tell him?" He lowered his voice, unwilling to risk Tony overhearing him.
"I only answered the question he asked me." She was speaking as softly as he was, obviously just as aware of the danger of Tony hearing them.
"And what was that?"
"The identity of his savior."
His heart sank into his stomach, and he dropped his shoulders. "Ziva …"
"He had a right to know." Gibbs shook his head. "He deserved the opportunity to thank you. Surely you do not think that he will blame you for …"
"It wasn't about him blaming me." He lifted his chin and looked her in the eye. "It was about not compromising the investigation."
"By telling him who saved his life?" He could hear the disbelief in her voice, and he didn't blame her. He wasn't sure he believed himself anymore. "He is the victim, not an investigator. Telling him the truth would not have compromised anything."
Gibbs rubbed his forehead as he shook his head again.
"He believes you think him stupid and weak."
He looked up in surprise. "Why would he think that?"
"Because you refused to share with him even the basic details of what happened. And if he were any other victim, you would have told him without hesitation."
"He's not 'any other victim,' Ziva. He's Tony."
"I am aware of that. As is he." She pushed herself up from the windowsill and stood straight. "And he cannot understand why you would refuse to give him the same consideration you would give a stranger."
Gibbs closed his eyes, pinched the bridge of his nose, and sighed. "Ducky was right," he said softly.
"I do not know what Ducky said," Ziva said just as quietly. "But he often is."
Gibbs pushed away from the wall and straightened his shoulders. "I'll fix it," he said. "One way or another."
"I would expect nothing less."
Gibbs nodded one last time. "I'm glad you're home, Ziver." And just like that, the conversation was over. "McGee's down in the security office getting the surveillance videos for the past two hours. Meet up with him and head back to the office."
"We will find him, Gibbs." Ziva squeezed his arm once as she moved past him. "I swear to you."
"I would expect nothing less."
Ziva shot him a quick smile, and then she walked out the door.
Gibbs closed his eyes and let his head fall back. He rolled his shoulders a few times, took a deep breath, blew it out, and turned toward the bathroom door.
"DiNozzo!" He stepped forward as he called out. "You fall in, or what?"
There was no answer, so he tapped the door with his knuckles. "DiNozzo? You okay?"
Again, silence was the only response. "Hey, DiNozzo!" A hole opened up in the pit of his stomach, and he knocked harder. "Answer me or I'm breaking the door down."
Nothing.
"That's it. I'm coming in." He wrapped his hand around the knob and squared his shoulder against the door, prepared to ram into it if he needed to. He was surprised when the knob turned easily under his fingers, and he pushed the door open carefully. If Tony were on the floor behind it …
But Tony wasn't on the floor. He wasn't anywhere near the door. He also wasn't unconscious, bleeding, or otherwise unable to answer.
He was standing between the two mirrors in the room, leaning against the sink, slightly hunched over and using his right arm to hold himself steady. He'd turned off his oxygen and hooked the cannula over the top of the canister, and he'd removed his IVs. He'd also pulled most of the bandages from his chest and arms and piled them in the sink.
The large bandage that had covered his upper back was with them.
The straight, neat rows of sutures that crisscrossed his chest and the insides of his arms stood out in stark contrast to the paleness of his skin. The two deep wounds that circled his right wrist - he'd left his other arm strapped down and bandaged - looked better than they had the night before. But it was Tony's back, so easily readable in the mirror that both of them were staring at, that stopped Gibbs cold.
"DiNozzo …"
"I just wanted to know." Tony's voice was devoid of emotion, and he didn't turn away from the mirror or meet Gibbs' eyes in the reflection. "I mean, I knew my chest looked a lot like Brewer's, but I wanted to see for myself, ya know? Didn't figure it would be that hard. But damn, that one on my back … that was a bitch."
"Tony."
"Don't think I need answers anymore." Tony continued as though Gibbs hadn't said spoken. His voice was almost painful to listen to, broken and breathy. "I think I get it now. You don't think I'm stupid. You just couldn't think of a good way to say, 'Hey, DiNozzo, some psycho carved my name into your back.' But that's probably because there is no good way to say that, is there?"
"Tony, listen to me."
Tony shook his head. "I've been listening all day, Boss. Waiting for you to talk to me, to tell me something, anything. You haven't said a damn thing. Asked me if I was hurting, if I wanted pain meds, told me to breathe. But those don't really count." He paused to take a shaky, raspy breath, and he had to put more effort into it than he should have. There was a reason he was still dragging that oxygen tank around. "And I know this has got to be screwing with you, but …"
"Ya think, DiNozzo?" Gibbs fought the urge to move further into the small space, unwilling to force Tony into a corner. "You want me to tell you the truth? Okay." He took a deep breath of his own. "I don't know what I'm supposed to do right now. I don't know what I'm supposed to say or how I'm supposed to act. I'm trying, but this is all new to me, and I don't know what to do."
Tony closed his eyes and lowered his head. "That actually doesn't help."
Tony was shaking, and his right arm looked like it was about to buckle under the pressure. He was pale, and he looked ready to hit the floor at any second. Gibbs stopped fighting with himself, stepped forward, and put his hand on Tony's arm.
"You need to get back in bed."
"Boss …" A thousand questions unasked, pleas unspoken and fears unvoiced. Wide, scared green eyes finally met his in the mirror.
"I'll tell you everything I know, Tony. But not until you're back in bed, you've got your oxygen back on, and a nurse reattaches your IV." Tony opened his mouth to argue, but Gibbs cut him off with a brisk shake of his head. "You're about to pass out."
"DiNozzos don't …"
"I've already caught you once." Gibbs paused, and Tony's eyes widened further in sudden understanding. "I don't know if my knees can take it again."
Tony nodded slowly and pushed himself back from the sink. Gibbs moved closer to him, put his left arm around Tony's lower back and wrapped his fingers around the younger man's upper arm. Slowly, carefully, he led him out of the bathroom and toward the bed.
He concentrated on walking, putting one foot in front of the other and making sure that Tony stayed on his feet long enough to get where they were going. He intentionally avoided looking at Tony's back, at the evidence of his responsibility for what had been done.
"Think that'll ... leave a scar?"
Tony barely had enough breath or energy to walk in a straight line, but he obviously thought he had enough to keep talking.
"I don't know." He would have shrugged if he hadn't known how much pain it would cause the man he supported. "It might."
"I guess it's ... not so bad. If it does." They'd reached the bed, and Gibbs turned them around. "I can think of ... worse tattoos to have. And if someone asks me ... who I work for ... I can always ..." Whatever else he was going to say was lost in a gasp of pain as Gibbs helped him sit and then lie down.
"You think this is funny, DiNozzo?" He carefully lifted Tony's feet onto the bed.
"Not … laughing."
"Yeah, well, neither am I. Someone tried to kill you." He pressed the call button and returned to the bathroom for the IV pole and oxygen canister. "Someone choked you out, drugged you, kidnapped you, and tortured you. And yes, DiNozzo, some psycho carved my name into your back. Someone hates me enough to …"
"Us."
"What?" He put the oxygen on the floor next to the bed and started to untangle the tubing.
"They did it in … your house." Tony's voice was weaker than it had been only seconds before. He was exhausted, drained, and if the crease between his eyebrows was anything to go by, in a lot of pain. "But they did it ... to me."
Gibbs didn't visibly react to Tony's words, but that didn't stop them from stabbing him in the heart. After everything he'd said, after everything he'd thought, about needing to protect Tony - from the truth, from the pain, from the man who'd tried to kill him - how had he missed something so obvious?
He hooked the cannula around Tony's ears, positioned it in his nose, and turned the oxygen back on. Tony took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and his head sank deeper into the pillow.
"Someone ... really hates ... us."
"You're looking for a man consumed by hatred," Ducky said. "For both of them."
Ducky had called everyone to autopsy only moments after McGee and Ziva returned from the hospital. Fornell joined them less than ten minutes later, after calling Edgar Collins' niece to let her know where her uncle was. They were assembled in a loose semi-circle around Ducky's whiteboard, which was covered in writing, boxes, and lines that connected everything that he had learned about their unidentified suspect.
Fornell snorted, and everyone turned toward him. "That narrows our suspect pool down to everyone who's ever met them."
Ducky shook his head. "Not this level of hatred. This isn't just anger; this is deep and all consuming. Think Charles Sterling."
"Chip." Abby's voice dripped with anger and the closest thing to hatred they had heard in years.
"It can't be Sterling," Fornell said. "He's still in the pen, and he's got at least seven more years to serve."
"It couldn't be him, anyway." McGee glanced around the room before focusing his attention on the whiteboard again. "He hated Tony, yeah, but not Gibbs."
"There is that." Ducky turned back to the board, too. "There is also the fact that this person's hatred is fresh. And while we can't eliminate the possibility that this is someone they've known for a while, I believe we should focus on people they've met only recently."
"How recently?" Director Vance had invited himself to the gathering, but no one minded. He'd been angry enough that someone had tried to kill one of his agents. The fact that they'd taken Tony from his parking lot made him livid. He'd sworn to Tim that he'd be given anything he needed - any resource, any warrant, any intel. Finding out who'd tried to kill Tony had become Vance's number one priority.
"Within the past week and a half to two weeks."
"Rob Brewer." Ziva leaned against the table that Tim and Abby were sitting on. "He recreated Brewer's torture on Tony."
"But not Strauss'," McGee added.
"Yes." Ducky nodded and pointed to one of the boxes he'd drawn. "This tells us that …"
"Whatever happened to make him hate them happened during the Brewer investigation." Abby's voice was even harder than it had been when she said Chip's name. "Before Strauss was even dead."
Another nod from Ducky. "He's fixated on that event. He's trying to make them pay for something he imagines they've done to him. Something that happened in the twenty-four hours between the discovery of Lance Corporal Brewer's body and the murder of PFC Strauss."
Fornell tilted his head. "It's DiNozzo who's caught the brunt of it," he pointed out. "Can we assume that means DiNozzo is his main focus?"
"No. Absolutely not. He hates them equally."
"But he hasn't laid a hand on Gibbs." Vance stepped forward slightly. "And it's not like he hasn't had the opportunity. If this man wanted them both dead, then he wouldn't have run. He'd have forced a confrontation with Gibbs last night."
"That is true." Ducky gestured toward the board again. "And that is why I believe that as much as this person hates Jethro, he's also afraid of him."
"Afraid?" Tim didn't know why he was surprised at that. It wasn't exactly a new or rare occurrence.
"Something has convinced him that Jethro is, for lack of a better term, untouchable. Rather than taking his revenge on him directly or physically, as he has done to Anthony, he is focused on hurting him mentally and emotionally."
"By hurting Tony." Abby's breath hitched in her throat, and Tim put his hand on hers in comfort.
"And as Jethro's episode in the waiting room proves, it's a successful tactic." Ducky turned his back to the whiteboard and sighed. "My initial thought was that Gibbs' involvement was secondary, that his role in Anthony's torture was merely as a tool to increase feelings of isolation and hopelessness. Since then, we have learned things that have forced me to rethink that assessment."
"Rethink it how?" Fornell asked.
"They are both victims, and they are both weapons. They were used to torture each other, and they will continue to be until he is caught. He will not stop until Jethro is destroyed." Ducky took a deep breath. "And Tony is dead."
Tony turned his head when the door opened. He put his fingers to his lips to silence the new arrival, and then waved him into the room.
Gibbs was in the chair in the corner, with his head back, his hands in his lap, and his feet flat on the floor. He'd been there for nearly an hour, and he'd been snoring softly almost the whole time. True to his word, he'd waited until the nurse had properly scolded Tony for taking his IV out and restarted it. Then he'd told him everything he knew, everything he suspected, and everything he thought. The conversation had taken a lot out of them both, but it seemed to have taken more out of Gibbs than it should have.
Tony had a sneaking suspicion that there was something else going on with Gibbs, that something else was wrong, something he still wasn't telling him. The fact that Gibbs had fallen asleep within moments of sitting down was just more proof of that. A healthy Gibbs could stay awake for days at a time, if he felt the need.
"Hey, DiNozzo. How're you feeling?"
Tony would have laughed, but he didn't want to risk waking Gibbs up.
"Just peachy, Rivers." Keeping his voice down wasn't difficult, since he could barely talk above a whisper. "You?"
Rivers had the good sense to look ashamed. "Okay, yeah. Dumb question." He looked over at Gibbs' sleeping form.
"What are you doing here?"
Rivers turned back to face him and smiled. "Babysitting you."
Tony smiled back and raised his eyebrows. "Really?"
Rivers nodded. "Agent Gibbs told me to be back at 8:00, so I …"
"You're a little early." Tony looked up at the clock. "It's not even 6:30 yet."
"Yeah, I know." He shot another glance across his shoulder, and Tony got the impression that he was nervous. "I just really don't want to piss your boss off again."
"Again?"
"He threatened to shoot me last night."
Tony did chuckle at that, though it sounded more like a weak, hacking cough than a laugh. "He threatens to shoot me all the time." He smiled. "I think it means he likes you."
"No," Rivers protested, shaking his head. "He doesn't like me. He scares the hell out of me."
"He has that effect on people."
"Where does that leave Stefano DelMar?" It was Fornell who finally broke the heavy silence that had fallen over autopsy.
"All but eliminated," Ducky said. "Yes, he did try to kill Anthony ten years ago, but I do not think he's in any way involved with what's happening right now. Our suspect's hatred is newer, explosive and violent. DelMar's, if it even still exists, has been simmering for ten years. A longstanding hatred like that would result in a slower, calmer, and more controlled outlet. It wouldn't explode like this."
"We also have no proof that he even knows DiNozzo works here," Fornell added. "And why would he hate Gibbs? Between the two of us, if he was going to hate anyone, it would be me. But I doubt he does. Azari's death hasn't exactly been bad for DelMar's career."
"Have you narrowed it down further, Doctor Mallard?" Everyone turned toward Vance at the question, and then to Ducky for the answer.
"I believe I have, Director."
"And if I'm following you correctly, I'm not going to like what you're about to say, am I?"
"No, you're not." Ducky shook his head slowly and sadly. "No one will."
"What is it, Ducky?" Ziva asked. "What else have you found?"
Ducky took another deep breath and addressed everyone with his answer. "There is an overall pattern here, a snapshot, if you will, of Tony's attacker. As I said, it is someone with a deep, but recently developed, hatred for both Tony and Jethro. He is intelligent, almost methodical, but at times, his anger is so extreme that it leads him to make mistakes - showing himself on the security camera, talking to Edgar Collins, taking Tony to Jethro's house without knowing when he would be home. He has the ability to convince someone like Marco Santori to help him, which means he has contacts within Azari's organization. He knows details about Lance Corporal Brewer's death that were never released to the press. He knew there was mold on the rope, he knew Brewer was tortured with his friend's tools, and he felt these were important enough to replicate in his attack on Tony. He was able to move around the Yard without arousing suspicion. He knew one of our gates was damaged, and he knew which one."
Ziva closed her eyes, and Tim dropped his head.
"Oh, Ducky." There were no tears in Abby's eyes, but they were obvious in her voice. "No."
"You're telling us that he works here." Vance's voice was as hard and cold as the look in his eyes. "One of my people is doing this."
Ducky didn't answer, but instead, he turned to Tim.
"Timothy, what time did Anthony leave the squad room last night?"
Tim lifted his head and tightened the already white-knuckled grip he had on the edge of the table. "The timestamp on the security footage said 20:04."
"And what time did the call about the non-existent breach of the front gate come in to Officer Duncan?"
"Twenty-oh … damn it. 20:05. I should have thought, should have realized …"
"It is not the first thing that comes to mind." Ziva put her hand on his back and leaned closer to him. "We have been conditioned to trust each other, McGee. We have to trust each other. If we do not, we cannot do our jobs."
"And if we do," Abby interrupted, "stuff like this happens!"
"Abigail …"
"Doctor, I don't understand." Every head in the room turned toward the previously silent Palmer. "What does that tell us? What does that prove?"
"The phone call was a diversion." It was Fornell who answered him. "They used it to pull the security guards away from the monitors so they could jump DiNozzo without being seen in real-time. The only way they could have timed that phone call so perfectly is if they were …"
"Wait, they were watching him?" Palmer's eyes were impossibly wide. "Watching him here? In the squad room?"
Tim straightened his back. "And Tony knew it, too."
"What?" Fornell and Vance asked the question in unison.
"He felt it. He kept looking behind him, and he told me he couldn't… that he thought …" He shook his head and closed his eyes. "I told him he was imagining things."
"What about the hospital? Is it safe?"
"Of course he's safe!" Abby sounded offended that Palmer had even asked. "He's with Gibbs."
"But the guy was there." Palmer had obviously caught up with Ducky's thought process, and he was following it to his own set of conclusions. "He was right outside Tony's door."
"We are all aware of that, Palmer," Ziva said.
"But are you all aware that Tony's name isn't on any of the patient registries?" Tim didn't know about anyone else, but he hadn't known that. "I tried to find his room number earlier today, so I could send him a Get Well present. The hospital told me there was no one registered under that name. I even identified myself as an NCIS employee, but it didn't make a difference. His name's not on that list."
"So the only way this guy could've known what room DiNozzo was in …" Fornell said.
"He's found himself an open door," Vance said. "He's hacked the hospital's security feed, or he's got another source inside." He turned on his heel and walked out of the room. Just before the doors closed behind him, he called back over his shoulder.
"The son of a bitch is still watching him."
"Rivers. What the hell are you doing in here?"
Tony didn't look up from the cards in his left hand, but he did smile. "He's babysitting me. Can't you tell?"
Gibbs pushed himself out of the chair, rolled his shoulders, and stepped forward. Tony had raised the head of the bed, and Bruce Rivers was sitting on the other end. There were two piles of cards between them, and they each held several in their hands.
"Funny. Looks to me like he's playing Gin."
"Canasta, actually," Tony said. "But close enough."
In comparison to DiNozzo, who looked to be enjoying the exchange, Rivers' expression was one of absolute terror. Gibbs decided to work that to his advantage. He changed direction and headed straight for the FBI agent.
"You are supposed to be on the other side of that door," he said. "Your job is to protect this room, not to hang out in it."
"Yes, s … Agent … Agent Gibbs." Rivers dropped his cards and jumped off the bed.
"He can see the door just as well from in here as he can from out there. If anyone comes in, he can …"
"He's supposed to stop them before they get through the door. That's the point." Gibbs shook his head in disbelief. "If I could do it without aggravating that concussion, DiNozzo, I'd headslap you so hard right now. You're distracting your own protection detail!"
Tony leaned back against the head of the bed and smiled again. "I was bored, and you were asleep. Besides, what are the odds that anything's going to happen anyway? It's a hospital. There's security everywhere."
Gibbs felt all the blood rush out of his face. Tony's eyebrows shot up and he straightened back up.
"Right, Boss? I mean, it's not like he … no. No, that's not …" Gibbs wanted to interrupt him, wanted to tell him he was wrong, but he couldn't. "He was here?"
Tony's voice was a combination of disbelief, fear, and betrayal. The last was directed solely at Gibbs.
Gibbs glanced at Rivers and jerked his head in the direction of the door. Thankfully, he got the hint, and he didn't need to be told again. Rivers made a hasty, and silent, exit.
"Why didn't you tell me?"
Gibbs shook his head and moved closer to the bed. "I wasn't withholding information from you. I honestly thought you knew why you changed rooms. I thought Dr. Simms told you."
"So he was here. And now you've got Rivers standing outside my door looking for … who, exactly? Stefano?"
"It's not just Rivers. There's an entire network of agents in this building. One at every entrance, one at every elevator on the first floor, one at every elevator on this floor, one at each end of this hallway, and two at the nurses' station. If DelMar shows his face, yes, he'll be arrested on sight. But it doesn't matter who it is. He's not getting in here."
"How are they going to stop him if they don't know who he is?"
"Because no one - and I do mean no one - is getting within a hundred feet of this room without my say-so."
"But what if …?"
"Tony, look at me." Gibbs waited until he was sure that he had the younger man's undivided attention before speaking again. "Even if every single one of those agents messes up, if all of them let someone pass that isn't supposed to, if all else fails …" He took a deep breath.
"I'm right here. And I'm not going anywhere. I've got your six, okay?"
Tony nodded, slowly but not reluctantly. The fear that had filled his eyes hadn't vanished entirely, but it had faded somewhat.
"Okay." Gibbs sat down next to Tony's legs, in the spot that Rivers had vacated, and turned to face the head of the bed.
"I'm not a Canasta man." He picked the cards up from the table and started shuffling them. "How does five-card stud sound instead?"
Part Seven