NCIS: Live For Ten (4/9)
All disclaimers, notes, warnings and summary are in the Master post: Live For Ten
Chapter Seven
"Agent Gibbs?"
He was starting to get sick of waking up without remembering falling asleep.
"Doc." He pushed himself up from the chair and stood. "What is it? What's wrong?"
"Nothing's wrong." Dr. Marquardt was standing on the other side of DiNozzo's bed, checking the monitors and making more notes in his chart. That chart was going to be enormous by the time all was said and done. "We discontinued the Versed about twenty minutes ago, and he'll be waking up soon." She glanced back at him with a smile, by far the most genuine one he'd seen on her face all night. "I thought you'd want to be awake for that."
He nodded and looked down at DiNozzo, but he looked back up almost immediately. "Discontinued the Versed? I thought you said you couldn't do that."
"Technically, we could have. But for his comfort, I didn't want to," she said. "Not so long as he was on the vent."
Gibbs caught her meaning instantly, and he stood straighter. "His lungs?"
"They're clear," she said. "No signs of pneumonia. There is still a chance he could develop it, but that risk is much smaller than it was six hours ago, and the antibiotics he's receiving should take care of any infection. Plus, the swelling in his throat is starting to subside, so if he should have any problems, we'll be able to secure an airway without any trouble."
He looked back down at Tony. There was a pinch between his eyebrows that hadn't been there before, and the muscles in his face weren't as relaxed as they had been.
"His saturation levels aren't as high as I'd like them to be, so he's still going to need oxygen, but we're going to use a mask. It'll be easier on him."
"Blood pressure?"
"Stabilized. It's at 95/60 now. It's still lower than I want it to be, but it's on its way up. It's going up slowly, but that's much better than the way it was jumping around two hours ago."
"What about his heart?"
Tony's eyes were moving around under his eyelids, and the muscles at the sides of his mouth were twitching. He was definitely waking up.
"Also better," Dr. Marquardt said. She stepped closer to DiNozzo's bed, and Gibbs looked up at her. "There is still some fluid, but most of it's gone. We'll keep the head of his bed elevated, and we're going to keep the diuretic going for a while longer, but I feel confident saying that the danger has passed."
Gibbs nodded and turned back to Tony. "So he'll be able to go home in a week or so?"
"Oh, no. Not a week. At this rate, he'll be able to go home tomorrow."
Gibbs snapped his head up. "What?"
Dr. Marquardt nodded and smiled once more. "Once we get him off the vent, if he doesn't have any other complications, we'll keep him for twenty-four hours for observation, but that's it. We'll watch him for infection, to make sure the CHF isn't coming back, and for any potential increase in intracranial pressure. But honestly, Agent Gibbs, the odds of any of that happening are incredibly low. Once his blood pressure is above 110/65, his blood volume is over 90%, and his sats are above 95% without supplemental oxygen, there's no reason for him to stay."
"That's insane." He shook his head in denial and confusion. "Seven hours ago, he was fifteen minutes from dead."
"I know it seems crazy," she admitted. "But it's not. Like I said last night, the only immediate threat to his life was the blood loss, and that ceased to be a danger as soon as we stopped him from losing it and started replacing what he'd already lost. So long as he continues recovering from the minor complications he's encountered and doesn't develop any more, he'll be fine."
He wanted to argue with her more, wanted to explain to her exactly why it was vital to Tony's continued survival that he not be released from the hospital, but he didn't have the chance. Tony's eyelids fluttered again, his eyebrows lowered, and within seconds, Gibbs was looking directly into a pair of green eyes that were clouded with confusion, widened in fear, and glassy from painkillers.
"Hey, DiNozzo."
He wanted to smile. He wanted to laugh. He wanted to tell Tony that it was over and he was safe and that everything was going to be okay. But he couldn't do any of those things. He'd made a promise, and he had a job to do. He couldn't just tell him; he had to show him.
"It's about time you woke up."
Someone was going to die.
Okay, maybe not die. But someone was going to seriously regret the day they were born. Or maybe just the day they pissed him off. Or maybe just the night before when they'd shown up for work but hadn't bothered to do their damn job.
He really didn't care.
Tim hadn't even waited for the elevator. As soon Abby had calmed down enough that she wasn't shaking and crying in his arms anymore, he'd headed for the stairs and run all the way to the squad room. He'd gone straight to his desk, loaded up the security footage, and forced himself to sit through the entire thing. Repeatedly.
Twenty-three seconds. That was how long it had taken for the first man to strangle Tony into unconsciousness and a second man to walk up and stick a needle in his neck. It took another thirty-six seconds for them to pick up Tony's weapon and keys, throw him into his car, and drive away.
Fifty-nine seconds. That was it. Fifty-nine seconds had brought a perfectly normal night crashing to a halt. Fifty-nine seconds had left Tony alone in the hands of two men who tortured him nearly to death in Gibbs' basement. Fifty-nine seconds had almost cost Tony his life.
Fifty-nine seconds that someone should have seen.
He glanced at the clock on his computer. It was 5:30 in the morning. Tony had been attacked at 8:09 the night before, and the security guards worked twelve-hour shifts.
Tim jumped up from his chair and ran back down the stairs, but he didn't go to the lab. His mind was whirling, the images that he'd seen on the computer screen playing over and over again. He burst through the door on the main level and made his way across the lobby. The few people who were there that early in the morning looked up at him, several of them smiled, and a few called out a greeting, but he stalked right past them and ignored them all. He had a purpose and a goal. He had a destination. He had an objective.
He had a target.
He pulled open the door to the security center roughly and without announcing himself. The guard behind the desk - a man named Duncan, Tim remembered, Robert Duncan - looked up from the video monitors in front of him and smiled.
"Agent McGee," Duncan said brightly. "Is there something I can …?"
"Did you work the cameras last night?"
Duncan's face was instantly clouded with confusion. "What?"
Tim stepped closer to him and lowered his voice. "Did you work the cameras last night?" he repeated, pausing after every word.
"Yeah, I …"
He didn't wait for any more. He grabbed Duncan by the front of his jacket, pulled him out of his chair, and slammed him into the wall.
"Where the hell were you?!"
"What? I don't … what …?" Duncan stammered and sputtered, and the expression on his face was one of pure shock.
"At 20:09 last night!" Tim yanked Duncan toward him, then shoved him into the wall again. "Where were you?"
"At 20:09? I think I ... wait." Tim pulled him forward again, and Duncan held up his hands in supplication. "Wait!"
Tim didn't shove him again, but he didn't let go of his jacket, either.
"Where?"
"We got a call," Duncan said. "About 20:00 hours. A report of someone trying to breach the front gate."
"And?" His patience had done more than worn thin; it was completely gone. He wanted answers, and he wanted them yesterday.
"And I responded with everyone else. It turned out to be a false alarm. There wasn't anyone there, or any sign that there ever was. We're trying to track down who it was that called it in. I was back in here by 20:15. I reviewed the tapes from while I was gone, and I saw no …"
"You reviewed the tapes?" Tim couldn't keep the disbelief out of his voice. "All of them?"
Duncan nodded his head quickly. "For those fifteen minutes I was out front, yes."
He slammed him into the wall again.
"What?" Duncan's expression had changed. There was no confusion, shock, or uncertainty left on his face. There was fear.
"You'd better hope that I just caught you lying," Tim said through clenched teeth. "Because if you're telling the truth, I'm going do a lot more than have more than your job."
"I don't understand!"
"It's simple." He leaned forward until he was only inches from Duncan's face. "Either you didn't follow protocol and didn't review the tapes, or you watched Agent DiNozzo being attacked in the parking lot and did nothing about it." Tim narrowed his eyes and locked them on Duncan's. "Which is it?"
Duncan opened and closed his mouth, but no words came out.
"Which is it!"
Duncan's entire face fell. He closed his eyes and lowered his head. "I didn't review the tapes," he said quietly.
"You stupid son of a …"
"I was only gone fifteen minutes!" Duncan protested. "And I swear to you, I swear, Agent DiNozzo's car never left the Yard!"
"Oh, it didn't?" Tim let go of Duncan's jacket and took a step back. "Then how did it end up parked in front of Agent Gibbs' house?"
Duncan shook his head. "No. You can check the logs yourself. He never signed out at any of the gates that were open last night."
Tim tilted his head slightly. "The south gate," he said, almost to himself. "The south gate is still closed from Kale busting through it."
"Yes," Duncan said.
"Was anyone guarding it?"
"Of course!" Duncan answered. "The guard booth was damaged, and the camera is offline, but Gary was on foot patrol."
"Has Gary checked in yet this morning?"
"Yes. And he checked in every hour all night long, just like he was scheduled to do. The gate is barricaded. No one can come in or go out. Everyone has to go through the other gates, and I'm telling you, Agent DiNozzo never did."
Tim shook his head and stepped forward again. Duncan assumed that just because the south gate was barricaded, no one would use it. But to people who were trying to get in and out without being seen, an unmanned gate would seem like an open invitation, barricade or no. One man on foot patrol would have been easy for the men who'd attacked Tony to evade. Tony hadn't seemed to hear them, which meant they were skilled at stealth, and they obviously knew their way around the inside of the Yard.
"You're an idiot."
"Hey! Now, look, I don't know what happened to DiNozzo, but whatever it was, it wasn't my fault."
That was the final straw. Tim grabbed Duncan's jacket with his right hand and pinned him to the wall. He clenched his left hand into a fist and pulled it back.
"Timmy!"
Abby's voice surprised him, and he dropped his hands to his sides and turned to face her. She looked as shocked as Duncan had earlier, but she looked excited, too. "What, Abby?"
"I've got something."
He had no idea what she had, didn't even really remember what she'd been working on when he'd left her lab, but it whatever it was, the fact that she'd come to find him herself rather than just calling him told him it was important. He turned his back on Duncan and walked toward the door, but he wasn't finished yet.
"Your shift ends in an hour," he said without looking back. "When you leave, you clean out your desk, you turn in your badge, and you don't come back."
"You can't fire me!"
"No, but Director Vance can, and I promise you that he will." Tim stopped next to Abby and turned back around. "You left one man on foot, with no surveillance or backup, to guard a trashed gate, and at least two unauthorized people made it into the Yard. Those two men attacked and kidnapped an NCIS agent in the parking lot. You might have stopped them, if you'd been paying attention, might have saved him, if you'd reviewed the tapes, but you didn't. You didn't follow protocol, you didn't do your job, and you almost got a man killed. That man is one of Director Vance's agents," he said. "A member of Agent Gibbs' team, and my partner. My friend. You're done."
He put his hand on Abby's arm and led her out the door. He slammed it behind him before turning to face her.
"What have you got, Abs?"
"I know who attacked Tony!"
"Agent DiNozzo?"
Dr. Marquardt leaned down over Tony's bed. He turned his eyes away from Gibbs and toward her, and she smiled at him. "Can I call you Tony?"
DiNozzo nodded his head ever-so-slightly.
"Okay, Tony. I'm Dr. Marquardt. I'm your surgeon. Do you know where you are?"
He glanced around the room, locked eyes with Gibbs briefly as he did, then looked back at her and nodded again.
"That's good," she said. "Now, I don't imagine having that tube down your throat is very fun, is it?" A slight headshake was the answer. "How about we get it out of there, then? Have you ever been extubated before?" When Tony shook his head again, she looked up at Gibbs.
"They didn't put him on the vent when he had the plague," he explained. "He came close to it, but he pulled through without it."
"That's okay," Dr. Marquardt said. "It's really pretty easy. I'm going to count to three, and I need you to blow out as hard as you can, okay? Don't inhale, though. Just blow out. Got it?" Another nod. "On three then. One. Two. Three."
It only took a second to get the tube out. Tony, in true DiNozzo fashion, immediately turned toward Gibbs and opened his mouth to talk. His first inhale caused a coughing fit that doubled him over, pulling his shoulders and upper body up from the bed. Gibbs knew the second the strained muscles in his chest, ribs, and back made themselves known, because Tony went white. The increased pain made him inhale deeper, which in turn made the cough worse.
No amount of promises made to Ducky could stop Gibbs from reaching out to grab Tony's right shoulder, putting a hand against his chest and pushing him gently back against the bed. "Easy, Tony," he said. "Slow down before you rip yourself in half."
"Talking is probably not a good idea right now," Dr. Marquardt added. "I know your throat is irritated from the tube, and it's still pretty badly swollen. It's going to hurt for a while, so let's try to keep talking to a minimum."
Tony nodded at her silently as he concentrated on slowing his breathing down, and his eyes watered as he tried - and failed - to swallow another cough.
"Agent Gibbs." He looked up, and Dr. Marquardt handed him a Styrofoam cup with a spoon in it. "Ice chips," she explained. "They'll help."
Gibbs wondered what Ducky would have said if he'd seen him spoon-feeding Tony ice chips. It wasn't something he'd ever done before, and it really didn't fit with the whole 'bastard' thing, but from the look on Tony's face at that moment, it didn't much matter.
"That better?" he asked after the second spoon.
Tony let his head sink into his pillow and closed his eyes. "Ow," he whispered.
"You're in pain, Tony?" Gibbs rolled his eyes at the question. Tony nodded again. "I'll get something for that. We're going to be moving you into your own room in just a bit, and it'll be a lot easier for all of us if you're not hurting when we do it."
She moved away and headed for the nurse's station, and Tony turned to Gibbs.
"What …?" His voice was breathy, haggard and broken.
"It's morphine," Gibbs said. "And you need it, so no arguing."
Tony shook his head, and his eyes widened. "No," he whispered. "What … happened?"
Gibbs stood straighter, but he never took his eyes off of Tony. "What happened?" he echoed. "You mean what happened to you?"
Tony nodded and looked up at Gibbs expectantly. Gibbs had made a mistake reading Tony's eyes when he'd first woken up. There was no fear in them; there was nothing but confusion. He wasn't scared, because he didn't know there was anything to be afraid of.
"You don't remember."
Tony shook his head silently.
Dr. Marquardt returned with a syringe in her hand. "That's perfectly normal, Tony," she said. She slid the needle into his IV line and pressed the plunger without pausing in her explanation. "The medication that we used to keep you sedated while you were on the vent can affect short-term memory. You also have a substantial head injury. That could be contributing to it."
Tony's eyebrows lowered again, and Gibbs realized that the whole time he'd been trying to read Tony's reaction, Tony had been studying his. Ducky had been right about what Tony would be looking for, and he wasn't finding it. He knew something was wrong, and he'd already picked up on the fact that something was off about how Gibbs was acting.
"What?" Tony asked again. "Bad … isn't it?"
He took a deep breath and forced himself back into his normal detached mode. "You've had worse," he said. He didn't believe it himself, couldn't think of any time - aside from the plague - when Tony had been hurt anywhere nearly as bad. But Tony had a history of believing every word he said, whether or not it was true. "You're fine."
"Don't ... feel fine."
Of all the times for Tony to not follow Gibbs' lead, he had to choose that one.
Dr. Marquardt picked up an oxygen mask from the table beside her, stretched the strap out, and reached down to put it in place. "We need to get your oxygen levels up, Tony," she said. Gibbs didn't know if she was trying to distract Tony on purpose, but he was grateful to her all the same. "No more talking. I want you to concentrate on breathing."
"No." He lifted his right hand and weakly pushed her hands away. "Boss …"
"Hey." Gibbs grabbed Tony's arm and put it back at his side. "What did she just tell you about talking?"
Tony's eyes narrowed, and the steady beep of the heart monitor sped up. He was getting agitated.
He was getting pissed.
"You," Tony said, as he looked Gibbs directly in the eye. "Tell ... me."
He glanced at Dr. Marquardt, and he could see the sympathy in her eyes. She knew that even though it would fall to her to explain to Tony the generalities of his injuries, when the time came to fill him in on the specific details, it would be Gibbs who would tell him. She looked as uncertain as he felt, but their reasons were different. She thought Tony was asking what his injuries were. Gibbs knew he was asking what had been done to him, who had done it, why had they done it, and had Gibbs caught them.
He took a deep breath, turned slightly so his hip rested against the bedrail, let go of Tony's wrist, and crossed his arms across his chest.
"I can't, Tony."
"Why ... not?"
He let his head fall forward slightly, and looked down at the floor. "Because I don't know."
Tony's head sank more deeply into the pillow, and he let out a pained sigh. Dr. Marquardt took the opportunity to settle the oxygen mask in place and adjust the knobs on the machine it was attached to.
Gibbs' mind was filled with a thousand different implications of what Tony had said. If he didn't remember what had happened to him, then there was no way he could tell them who'd done it. He couldn't tell them who grabbed him, where, or when. He couldn't tell them what they'd said. He couldn't identify their faces or their voices. He couldn't tell them anything, because he didn't remember.
Gibbs couldn't tell him any of his theories or suspicions about DelMar, because doing so would risk planting false memories in Tony's mind. He couldn't even really tell him where he'd been or what he'd looked like when he and Ducky found him, because that might lead Tony to the same conclusions they had drawn, and that was no better than telling him. He would have to remember on his own. If DelMar's name came out of Tony's mouth, it would have to be because Tony remembered him.
But without Tony's testimony, they might have nothing. They couldn't convict DelMar on nothing more than circumstantial evidence, disbelief in coincidences, and gut feelings. Tony had been the sure thing, the one person who Gibbs had been counting on to nail the bastard. What kind of a case were they going to be able to build without him?
Gibbs shook his head and made himself look Tony in the eye one last time.
"I don't know."
Chapter Eight
"You know, you could just tell me," Tim said for the third time since they'd started back down to the lab together. "It might go a little faster that way."
Abby just shook her head.
"At least give me a hint? Tell me how you figured out who it was."
Abby glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, then stood a bit straighter beside him. "Promise me you won't yell at me."
"What?" He was floored. How could she think he'd yell at her for doing her job? "Of course I won't yell at you. How'd you do it? Fingerprints? DNA match?"
"Well, after you left, I kinda … watched the security footage again."
"Abby!"
She spun toward him and stuck her finger in his face. "I told you you'd yell at me!"
He dropped his head and closed his eyes. "Okay," he said. "Okay, I'm sorry I yelled. But you shouldn't have done that alone. And you shouldn't have … you shouldn't have had to do that, Abs." He lifted his head and looked her straight in the eye. "You shouldn't have had to."
"Yeah, well," she said softly. The elevator dinged, and the doors slid open in front of her. "You shouldn't have had to shove Duncan into the wall and threaten to beat his face in." She stepped out of the elevator, and looked back at him over her shoulder. "But you did have to, didn't you?"
"Yeah," he admitted reluctantly, nodding his head as he followed her into the hallway. "I did."
"And I had to watch the tape again." She walked into her lab and crossed directly to her computer. "For a lot of the same reasons. Yeah, it's evidence, but it was more than that. I just had to, you know? For Tony. I just … I couldn't let him be the only one who knows what happened to him."
Tim sighed deeply and nodded his head slowly. "He's not," he said. "And neither are you."
Abby smiled sadly, and then turned and hit a few keys on her keyboard. "So. I watched it a few times just to get a general idea of what happened, to see if they'd left something in the parking lot that we could collect. I thought maybe I could see them touch something that we could lift prints from, or spit on the ground, or just … something." She glanced up at him. "I don't see anything obvious, but you should still go out there and look. I don't think they were far from Gibbs' spot; they both came out from behind his car."
Tim nodded his head, stepped closer to her, and looked at the computer monitor across her shoulder. "I saw that when I watched it upstairs, but I haven't been out there yet. The parking lot is my next stop after I leave here. Fornell should be here by then."
"Think we should fingerprint Bossman's car?"
Tim shrugged. "It's always worth a shot. I'll do that this afternoon, when I go to the hospital to brief him."
Abby bit her lip and glanced at the floor. "Have you heard anything? Is he awake yet?"
He shook his head in response. "I don't know. I haven't talked to Gibbs since he put that picture in my hand, and I haven't heard anything new since we got back here."
Abby sighed, and then turned back to her computer. "Okay. So, I watched it through a few times, and then I started going frame-by-frame. Just in case. And … it worked. We got lucky. We got one frame, just one, but it's a good one."
"Yes!" Tim squeezed her shoulders, then stepped around her and walked toward the plasma. Abby hit a few more keys on her keyboard as he rounded the corner of the table. The single frame she'd found was frozen on the screen.
Tim ignored the majority of the scene, ignored the look on Tony's face and the fact that he was paused in the middle of fighting for his life. He focused solely on the man who'd run up behind Tony with the rope.
Who was, in that one frame, looking directly at the camera.
Abby dragged a green box across the screen to isolate his face, hit a few more keys, and a Maryland driver's license picture popped up on top of the video.
"Meet Marco Santori."
Tim's eyes narrowed in hatred as he studied the man's features. He had short black hair, brown eyes, and a very large and crooked nose, which had obviously been broken at some point. He had pit scars and pockmarks all over his face, and what looked to be a rather impressive scar ran the length of his jawline, from his right ear to his chin. He'd ambushed Tony, attacked him from above and behind, and he had two inches and sixty or seventy pounds on him.
Tony hadn't had a chance.
"Who is he?"
"He is one of the few soldiers in Azari's organization whose name the FBI knows." A few more clicks on the computer, and a new file - an arrest record - appeared next to his picture. "He's been arrested eleven times but only convicted once. He's still on parole."
Tim read down the list of charges quickly. "Nine arrests for Grand Theft Auto," he said. "One burglary and a domestic charge." He tilted his head slightly. "Why him?" he wondered. "He's a car thief. How did he go from stealing cars to kidnapping and torturing a federal agent?"
Abby walked around to join Tim in front of the plasma. "Well, the most obvious possibility is that his boss told him to do it," she said. "But I'm guessing it has more to do with something a little less obvious."
Tim turned his head. "What's that?"
"He's a bit more than a car thief. He's a specialist. All of the cars he was accused of stealing disappeared from police impound yards."
Tim raised his eyebrows, and Abby smiled at him.
"Locked impound yards," she said. "With video surveillance and security."
Tim's eyes widened and he turned back to the screen. "He knows how to get through fences and past security guards," he said. "He'd have been able to get in and out through the south gate without even trying."
"And get Tony's car out without anyone knowing it was gone."
"And he's our tie to DelMar. All we have to do is pick him up and get him to flip." Tim turned back to the plasma excitedly. "We need to get a BOLO …"
"Already sent out," Abby said. "I put Agent Fornell's name on it." Her voice lowered in both tone and volume, and there was a clear edge of hatred and disgust to it. "The second this scumbag pokes his head out, we'll have him."
Tim turned toward her again. "This is good, Abby. This is really, really good. I'm going back upstairs, because I still have to tell Director Vance about Duncan, but the second Agent Fornell gets here, we're going out to the parking lot to see what we can find." He started to walk past her, but then suddenly he turned, grabbed her by the shoulders, and kissed her.
"I love you."
She watched him leave, and then she walked back to her computer with a grin on her face.
"I know."
Tony leaned back against his pillows and closed his eyes.
He knew there was something huge missing from his memory, and that wasn't a feeling he liked. He'd seen - and felt - enough of his injuries to know that something really, really bad had happened to him, but he had no idea what it was. The bandages that covered his lower arms told him he'd been tied up, and if the tingling in his fingers was anything to go by, it had been tightly enough to do some damage. His chest looked like a badly carved Thanksgiving turkey, his voice sounded like a bullfrog with laryngitis, and the front of his left leg throbbed in time with his heart. His head was thumping and pounding like the Ohio State drum line, his shoulder hurt like hell, and there was something seriously uncomfortable going on between his shoulder blades.
But that wasn't the worst of it.
The worst part was how weird Gibbs was acting. No, that wasn't right. Weird wasn't a strong enough word. Gibbs was being nice. Too nice. The last time Tony remembered him acting that way was when Kate died. That was enough to alarm him on its own, but combined with the fact that he was obviously making an effort to act like nothing was wrong, it was a bit more disturbing. That Gibbs was trying so hard to act normal, and was failing so miserably at doing it, was downright scary.
It was really starting to freak him out.
"You still hurting?"
Tony shook his head without opening his eyes. He was lying, and he was sure Gibbs knew it, but he wasn't going to admit it. Moving from the ICU to the private room he was currently occupying had been a painful experience, large amounts of narcotics notwithstanding, and it wasn't one he ever wanted to repeat. From the waist up, every part of him hurt. What he probably needed was another dose of morphine, maybe along with a nice strong sedative, enough to knock him out for another twelve hours or so.
But what he wanted, more than anything, was to remember what the hell had happened. And the drugs were messing with his head and keeping him from doing any significant amount of thinking. What little thinking he had managed so far was disconnected, random, and made very little, if any, sense. He wanted control of his mind back, and if feeling the pain was the only way he could get that, then he'd just have to suck it up.
But damned if he knew how he was going to pull that off. The doctor had said that most of the pain was coming from pulled muscles, but he didn't think he believed her. He'd never had a pulled muscle hurt that much in his life ... but then again, he'd never pulled every muscle in his torso at the same time before. Even breathing was torture. He knew that he wasn't getting enough oxygen, even with the mask, because of how much it hurt, and that wasn't making thinking any easier.
Whether he refused more morphine or admitted he needed it probably didn't matter much either way.
"Sorry, Boss," he muttered.
Gibbs sat up a bit straighter in the chair next to him. "For what?"
"Pretty useless," he croaked. He hated the sound of his voice. He hated how weak and broken and raspy it was, hated how much it hurt to even whisper, hated the way the oxygen mask muffled what little sound he did manage to make. He hated that the one thing he did best - talk - was one of the many things he couldn't do at all. He opened his eyes and turned his head on the pillow. "Some witness."
Gibbs stood up and moved closer to his bed. "One - don't apologize."
"Weakness."
"No." Gibbs shook his head. "You didn't do anything to apologize for. Two - you're not useless. And three - who said you're a witness?"
He stared up at his boss and blinked in disbelief. "Not stupid," he said.
"That's debatable, DiNozzo."
Tony grinned in spite of himself. That was the first time Gibbs had insulted him since he woke up. It felt good, in a weird sort of way. Then he took as deep a breath as he could manage and tried to focus on the conversation - if his one-syllable words and two-word sentences could be called that - they were having.
"This," he said, indicating his chest, neck and shoulder with his right hand. "Not an accident."
Gibbs shook his head slowly. "No, you're right. It wasn't."
"I saw them."
That earned him a nod and a tight-lipped expression from Gibbs. "That's the going assumption."
"Don't remember."
"Yeah, we've been through this part."
"Need to." Tony closed his eyes again, and he tried to take another breath, but the pain that shot across his chest made it catch in his throat. He blew it out and took another, more slowly and carefully. "Gotta tell you," he muttered. "Gotta remember. Gotta help. Gotta …"
The tap to the top of his head was lighter than usual, almost gentle, and he really should have expected it. All the same, it took him by surprise and sent a spike of pain straight into his brain. His eyes flew open just as Gibbs spoke.
"Knock it off."
Gibbs was right beside him, just inches from his face. It brought back unbidden memories of another time - lying in another hospital bed, drowning under blue lights, when Gibbs had acted much the same way. He lowered his eyebrows in concentration, but they shot up again in realization. Gibbs was acting the way he had after Kate died, yes. But he was also acting the way he had the last time Tony had almost …
"Died?"
Gibbs shook his head slowly and straightened up with a sigh. "No, Tony, you didn't die. You're talking to me, aren't you?"
"Close?"
Another nod. Slow. Reluctant.
"Yeah," Gibbs said softly. "Close."
The muscles in his chest made themselves known again, and he gasped in a pained breath. He had another question to ask, but he couldn't draw enough air into his lungs to do it. In the end, he didn't have to ask it, anyway, because Gibbs answered it on his own.
"Too damn close, DiNozzo." Gibbs wrapped his hands around the bed rail and looked down at him. "Too damn close."
Tim was on his way down the stairs from Vance's office when he heard the elevator ding and saw Fornell step out of it. The FBI agent had a cell phone to his ear, and he was talking to someone. Tim slowed his pace and watched Fornell cross to the squad room.
"Okay. We'll be right there."
Fornell closed his phone and glanced around. He saw Tim standing on the landing above him and tilted his head.
"McGee," he said. "Did you put a BOLO out on a Marco Santori?"
"Yes!" He turned and ran down the last of the stairs, spun around the bannister, and jogged up the walkway. "Was that a hit on it?"
"One thing at a time," Fornell said, holding up his hand to cut off any more questions. "Bring me up to speed. What'd I miss?"
"A whole lot." Tim walked past him and straight to his desk. He grabbed the remote, turned to the plasma, and brought Santori's picture up. "Tony was attacked in the parking lot. We saw it on the security footage, and …"
"Wait, he was attacked here?" Fornell's eyes widened. "Gibbs isn't gonna be happy about that."
"No one's happy about that," Tim said. He knew there was an edge to his voice, but he didn't try to disguise it. "Least of all Tony." Fornell dropped his head slightly, and Tim continued. "But at least we got good footage out of it. Abby found one frame that had a clear shot of one of his attackers, and she got a hit on facial recognition. It was Santori."
"Kid's a car thief," Fornell said, and Tim nodded his head. "He's kinda dumb, but if anyone in Azari's organization could get in and out of this place without being seen, it's Santori."
"That's what we thought, too." Tim put the remote down and turned to Fornell again. "Now, who was …?"
"DC Metro," Fornell said.
He didn't seem very happy about the fact that they'd gotten a hit on the only suspect they'd identified so far. He also didn't seem to be in any great hurry to give Tim any more information than he already had.
"They've got him?"
Fornell nodded slowly. "Yeah, they've got him."
Tim's sudden sense of success was shattered by the look on Fornell's face and the next words that came out of his mouth.
"Get your stuff, McGee. You're not gonna like this."
Gibbs sighed and leaned back against the windowsill.
"Why don't we try this another way?" he asked. "One that doesn't involve you talking?"
He wasn't happy with the way Tony looked, with the way his forehead was furrowed with pain, or the way he refused to admit that he was hurting at all. He'd known the morphine would be an uphill battle, but he hadn't expected Tony to start fighting it so soon. He was starting to think of calling Dr. Marquardt and asking her to slip something into his IV, but there was a reason why Tony was lying about being in pain and refusing more drugs to help him deal with it. Forcing it on him would piss him off to no end.
Gibbs wasn't quite sure when not pissing Tony off had started mattering, but he ignored the impulse all the same.
He knew that Tony answered his question, because he could see the oxygen mask moving and fogging up, but he was too far away to hear what he was saying. He pushed himself away from the window and walked back to the bed.
"What was that, DiNozzo?"
"Have to," Tony said. "Remember."
Even if he had wanted to argue, it was a fight he was going to lose, and he knew it. He'd already lost it half a dozen times. There was no way Tony was going to give up on trying to jog his memory. As much as he hated to see it, because he knew what it was costing Tony to keep going, he had to admit - to himself, if to no one else - that he was proud as hell.
"Okay. Then we stay focused. I'll ask you questions, and you answer them. Short answers. 'Yes or no' questions get a nod or a shake - no talking. Got it?"
"Got it … Boss."
"That was a 'yes or no' question."
"Sorry."
He wanted to smack him upside the head again, but the way Tony had winced and paled after the last one stopped him from doing it. The grin he could see around the edges of the oxygen mask both irritated and reassured him. No matter how much pain he might have been in, if Tony could still find the strength to be an incurable smartass, then he was going to be just fine.
"What's the last thing you remember about last night?"
Tony closed his eyes, and his face smoothed out as he took another breath. It took him a few seconds to fight back the last of the narcotics that were clouding his mind and pull everything back together. Gibbs knew the second he'd managed to do it, because his whole demeanor changed. His body relaxed and his expression became one of calm self-assurance and confidence.
Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo, levelheaded and highly competent investigator that he was, was back in control.
"Elevator."
"Getting on or getting off?"
"Off." Tony inhaled again. "Kicked me out."
"Well, yeah, I did. You wouldn't shut up. Seems to be a thing with you."
A ghost of a smile danced across Tony's face, and then he lowered his eyebrows.
"Stefano."
Gibbs' heart jumped into his throat, but he swallowed it quickly. "Stefano DelMar?"
He tried to force his voice to stay level, but he didn't know if he'd actually managed to do it. He hadn't once doubted that DelMar was involved in the attack on Tony. Even someone who did believe in coincidences - which Gibbs didn't, never had and never would - would have had a hard time believing in that one. But he couldn’t give Tony any indication that the name might mean something.
"What do you remember about him?"
"Brewer," Tony said. "Strauss."
As quickly as his hope had risen, it deflated. Tony was remembering what had gotten him kicked out of the office for the night, not what had happened after he left.
"Yeah. We'd just started looking at DelMar for their murders."
If Tony heard him, he gave no indication of it. He scrunched his forehead tighter and took a breath. It obviously wasn't easy for him, but he was pulling himself forward. He was starting to dig something out of the void of his memory.
"Parking lot." Tony swallowed hard, and his breathing picked up speed, but he kept going. "Unlocked my car."
"You're doing great, DiNozzo." Gibbs didn't want to ask any more questions. Tony was leading the way, reaching into his mind and dragging out the missing pieces one by one. "Keep it up."
Suddenly, Tony's whole face changed. Instead of serious and focused, he looked scared. Gibbs didn't know what had caused the shift, but it didn't take much imagination to guess. He leaned forward.
"Tony?"
Tony's breathing had reached an almost alarming speed, and even Gibbs' untrained eye could see that it was shallow. His lips were barely parted, and his chest was barely rising and falling. He wasn't moving enough oxygen at all.
"Hey, calm down. You've gotta breathe."
"Couldn't," Tony forced out.
"Couldn't what?"
"Breathe."
"You couldn't breathe?" Gibbs' own heart sped up in response to Tony's words. "In the parking lot?"
Tony nodded his head rapidly.
"Why not? What happened?"
Tony's eyes shot open, and his right hand flew up to the angry red mark around his throat. His fingers curled along the side of his neck, like they were grabbing at something. Like they were wrapping around an invisible piece of rope and trying to pull it away.
The realization slammed into Gibbs like a runaway semi.
"In the parking lot?" he asked again. "On the Yard?"
Tony was nodding rapidly, and that time, there was no mistaking the terror in his eyes. "Couldn't … can't …"
"Can't what? What can't you do, Tony?"
"Breathe," Tony forced out. "Can't … hurts …" He was definitely hyperventilating at that point - the condensation that his breath was leaving on the inside of the oxygen mask was only shrinking and growing, but never going away completely. He had his right hand balled into a fist, and he was pressing it against his chest.
"Boss …"
Gibbs jumped forward, grabbed the call button, and pressed it repeatedly.
"Easy, DiNozzo," he said. "Calm down."
It was nothing he hadn't done before. As much as he'd hoped he'd never have to do it again, it was still almost second nature. He moved closer to Tony, slid his right arm behind his shoulders, and pulled him up from the bed as carefully as he could while still moving quickly. He didn't want to jar his shoulder, didn't want to cause him any pain at all, but some things were more important than others.
"Pull your chest up," he said. "Open it up, Tony. Come on."
The edges of his lips were already turning blue, and his eyes were starting to roll back. Gibbs put a hand against the side of Tony's face and forced him to turn his head.
"Look at me, Tony," he ordered. "Breathe with me."
Gibbs could hear the breaths rattling their way into and out of Tony's lungs, hear the wheezing gasps that were passing for inhales, and feel the way Tony's body shuddered with every one. When the dry, hacking coughs started, Gibbs tightened his hold, turned to face the door, and called out with everything he had.
"Doc!"
Part Five
Chapter Seven
"Agent Gibbs?"
He was starting to get sick of waking up without remembering falling asleep.
"Doc." He pushed himself up from the chair and stood. "What is it? What's wrong?"
"Nothing's wrong." Dr. Marquardt was standing on the other side of DiNozzo's bed, checking the monitors and making more notes in his chart. That chart was going to be enormous by the time all was said and done. "We discontinued the Versed about twenty minutes ago, and he'll be waking up soon." She glanced back at him with a smile, by far the most genuine one he'd seen on her face all night. "I thought you'd want to be awake for that."
He nodded and looked down at DiNozzo, but he looked back up almost immediately. "Discontinued the Versed? I thought you said you couldn't do that."
"Technically, we could have. But for his comfort, I didn't want to," she said. "Not so long as he was on the vent."
Gibbs caught her meaning instantly, and he stood straighter. "His lungs?"
"They're clear," she said. "No signs of pneumonia. There is still a chance he could develop it, but that risk is much smaller than it was six hours ago, and the antibiotics he's receiving should take care of any infection. Plus, the swelling in his throat is starting to subside, so if he should have any problems, we'll be able to secure an airway without any trouble."
He looked back down at Tony. There was a pinch between his eyebrows that hadn't been there before, and the muscles in his face weren't as relaxed as they had been.
"His saturation levels aren't as high as I'd like them to be, so he's still going to need oxygen, but we're going to use a mask. It'll be easier on him."
"Blood pressure?"
"Stabilized. It's at 95/60 now. It's still lower than I want it to be, but it's on its way up. It's going up slowly, but that's much better than the way it was jumping around two hours ago."
"What about his heart?"
Tony's eyes were moving around under his eyelids, and the muscles at the sides of his mouth were twitching. He was definitely waking up.
"Also better," Dr. Marquardt said. She stepped closer to DiNozzo's bed, and Gibbs looked up at her. "There is still some fluid, but most of it's gone. We'll keep the head of his bed elevated, and we're going to keep the diuretic going for a while longer, but I feel confident saying that the danger has passed."
Gibbs nodded and turned back to Tony. "So he'll be able to go home in a week or so?"
"Oh, no. Not a week. At this rate, he'll be able to go home tomorrow."
Gibbs snapped his head up. "What?"
Dr. Marquardt nodded and smiled once more. "Once we get him off the vent, if he doesn't have any other complications, we'll keep him for twenty-four hours for observation, but that's it. We'll watch him for infection, to make sure the CHF isn't coming back, and for any potential increase in intracranial pressure. But honestly, Agent Gibbs, the odds of any of that happening are incredibly low. Once his blood pressure is above 110/65, his blood volume is over 90%, and his sats are above 95% without supplemental oxygen, there's no reason for him to stay."
"That's insane." He shook his head in denial and confusion. "Seven hours ago, he was fifteen minutes from dead."
"I know it seems crazy," she admitted. "But it's not. Like I said last night, the only immediate threat to his life was the blood loss, and that ceased to be a danger as soon as we stopped him from losing it and started replacing what he'd already lost. So long as he continues recovering from the minor complications he's encountered and doesn't develop any more, he'll be fine."
He wanted to argue with her more, wanted to explain to her exactly why it was vital to Tony's continued survival that he not be released from the hospital, but he didn't have the chance. Tony's eyelids fluttered again, his eyebrows lowered, and within seconds, Gibbs was looking directly into a pair of green eyes that were clouded with confusion, widened in fear, and glassy from painkillers.
"Hey, DiNozzo."
He wanted to smile. He wanted to laugh. He wanted to tell Tony that it was over and he was safe and that everything was going to be okay. But he couldn't do any of those things. He'd made a promise, and he had a job to do. He couldn't just tell him; he had to show him.
"It's about time you woke up."
Someone was going to die.
Okay, maybe not die. But someone was going to seriously regret the day they were born. Or maybe just the day they pissed him off. Or maybe just the night before when they'd shown up for work but hadn't bothered to do their damn job.
He really didn't care.
Tim hadn't even waited for the elevator. As soon Abby had calmed down enough that she wasn't shaking and crying in his arms anymore, he'd headed for the stairs and run all the way to the squad room. He'd gone straight to his desk, loaded up the security footage, and forced himself to sit through the entire thing. Repeatedly.
Twenty-three seconds. That was how long it had taken for the first man to strangle Tony into unconsciousness and a second man to walk up and stick a needle in his neck. It took another thirty-six seconds for them to pick up Tony's weapon and keys, throw him into his car, and drive away.
Fifty-nine seconds. That was it. Fifty-nine seconds had brought a perfectly normal night crashing to a halt. Fifty-nine seconds had left Tony alone in the hands of two men who tortured him nearly to death in Gibbs' basement. Fifty-nine seconds had almost cost Tony his life.
Fifty-nine seconds that someone should have seen.
He glanced at the clock on his computer. It was 5:30 in the morning. Tony had been attacked at 8:09 the night before, and the security guards worked twelve-hour shifts.
Tim jumped up from his chair and ran back down the stairs, but he didn't go to the lab. His mind was whirling, the images that he'd seen on the computer screen playing over and over again. He burst through the door on the main level and made his way across the lobby. The few people who were there that early in the morning looked up at him, several of them smiled, and a few called out a greeting, but he stalked right past them and ignored them all. He had a purpose and a goal. He had a destination. He had an objective.
He had a target.
He pulled open the door to the security center roughly and without announcing himself. The guard behind the desk - a man named Duncan, Tim remembered, Robert Duncan - looked up from the video monitors in front of him and smiled.
"Agent McGee," Duncan said brightly. "Is there something I can …?"
"Did you work the cameras last night?"
Duncan's face was instantly clouded with confusion. "What?"
Tim stepped closer to him and lowered his voice. "Did you work the cameras last night?" he repeated, pausing after every word.
"Yeah, I …"
He didn't wait for any more. He grabbed Duncan by the front of his jacket, pulled him out of his chair, and slammed him into the wall.
"Where the hell were you?!"
"What? I don't … what …?" Duncan stammered and sputtered, and the expression on his face was one of pure shock.
"At 20:09 last night!" Tim yanked Duncan toward him, then shoved him into the wall again. "Where were you?"
"At 20:09? I think I ... wait." Tim pulled him forward again, and Duncan held up his hands in supplication. "Wait!"
Tim didn't shove him again, but he didn't let go of his jacket, either.
"Where?"
"We got a call," Duncan said. "About 20:00 hours. A report of someone trying to breach the front gate."
"And?" His patience had done more than worn thin; it was completely gone. He wanted answers, and he wanted them yesterday.
"And I responded with everyone else. It turned out to be a false alarm. There wasn't anyone there, or any sign that there ever was. We're trying to track down who it was that called it in. I was back in here by 20:15. I reviewed the tapes from while I was gone, and I saw no …"
"You reviewed the tapes?" Tim couldn't keep the disbelief out of his voice. "All of them?"
Duncan nodded his head quickly. "For those fifteen minutes I was out front, yes."
He slammed him into the wall again.
"What?" Duncan's expression had changed. There was no confusion, shock, or uncertainty left on his face. There was fear.
"You'd better hope that I just caught you lying," Tim said through clenched teeth. "Because if you're telling the truth, I'm going do a lot more than have more than your job."
"I don't understand!"
"It's simple." He leaned forward until he was only inches from Duncan's face. "Either you didn't follow protocol and didn't review the tapes, or you watched Agent DiNozzo being attacked in the parking lot and did nothing about it." Tim narrowed his eyes and locked them on Duncan's. "Which is it?"
Duncan opened and closed his mouth, but no words came out.
"Which is it!"
Duncan's entire face fell. He closed his eyes and lowered his head. "I didn't review the tapes," he said quietly.
"You stupid son of a …"
"I was only gone fifteen minutes!" Duncan protested. "And I swear to you, I swear, Agent DiNozzo's car never left the Yard!"
"Oh, it didn't?" Tim let go of Duncan's jacket and took a step back. "Then how did it end up parked in front of Agent Gibbs' house?"
Duncan shook his head. "No. You can check the logs yourself. He never signed out at any of the gates that were open last night."
Tim tilted his head slightly. "The south gate," he said, almost to himself. "The south gate is still closed from Kale busting through it."
"Yes," Duncan said.
"Was anyone guarding it?"
"Of course!" Duncan answered. "The guard booth was damaged, and the camera is offline, but Gary was on foot patrol."
"Has Gary checked in yet this morning?"
"Yes. And he checked in every hour all night long, just like he was scheduled to do. The gate is barricaded. No one can come in or go out. Everyone has to go through the other gates, and I'm telling you, Agent DiNozzo never did."
Tim shook his head and stepped forward again. Duncan assumed that just because the south gate was barricaded, no one would use it. But to people who were trying to get in and out without being seen, an unmanned gate would seem like an open invitation, barricade or no. One man on foot patrol would have been easy for the men who'd attacked Tony to evade. Tony hadn't seemed to hear them, which meant they were skilled at stealth, and they obviously knew their way around the inside of the Yard.
"You're an idiot."
"Hey! Now, look, I don't know what happened to DiNozzo, but whatever it was, it wasn't my fault."
That was the final straw. Tim grabbed Duncan's jacket with his right hand and pinned him to the wall. He clenched his left hand into a fist and pulled it back.
"Timmy!"
Abby's voice surprised him, and he dropped his hands to his sides and turned to face her. She looked as shocked as Duncan had earlier, but she looked excited, too. "What, Abby?"
"I've got something."
He had no idea what she had, didn't even really remember what she'd been working on when he'd left her lab, but it whatever it was, the fact that she'd come to find him herself rather than just calling him told him it was important. He turned his back on Duncan and walked toward the door, but he wasn't finished yet.
"Your shift ends in an hour," he said without looking back. "When you leave, you clean out your desk, you turn in your badge, and you don't come back."
"You can't fire me!"
"No, but Director Vance can, and I promise you that he will." Tim stopped next to Abby and turned back around. "You left one man on foot, with no surveillance or backup, to guard a trashed gate, and at least two unauthorized people made it into the Yard. Those two men attacked and kidnapped an NCIS agent in the parking lot. You might have stopped them, if you'd been paying attention, might have saved him, if you'd reviewed the tapes, but you didn't. You didn't follow protocol, you didn't do your job, and you almost got a man killed. That man is one of Director Vance's agents," he said. "A member of Agent Gibbs' team, and my partner. My friend. You're done."
He put his hand on Abby's arm and led her out the door. He slammed it behind him before turning to face her.
"What have you got, Abs?"
"I know who attacked Tony!"
"Agent DiNozzo?"
Dr. Marquardt leaned down over Tony's bed. He turned his eyes away from Gibbs and toward her, and she smiled at him. "Can I call you Tony?"
DiNozzo nodded his head ever-so-slightly.
"Okay, Tony. I'm Dr. Marquardt. I'm your surgeon. Do you know where you are?"
He glanced around the room, locked eyes with Gibbs briefly as he did, then looked back at her and nodded again.
"That's good," she said. "Now, I don't imagine having that tube down your throat is very fun, is it?" A slight headshake was the answer. "How about we get it out of there, then? Have you ever been extubated before?" When Tony shook his head again, she looked up at Gibbs.
"They didn't put him on the vent when he had the plague," he explained. "He came close to it, but he pulled through without it."
"That's okay," Dr. Marquardt said. "It's really pretty easy. I'm going to count to three, and I need you to blow out as hard as you can, okay? Don't inhale, though. Just blow out. Got it?" Another nod. "On three then. One. Two. Three."
It only took a second to get the tube out. Tony, in true DiNozzo fashion, immediately turned toward Gibbs and opened his mouth to talk. His first inhale caused a coughing fit that doubled him over, pulling his shoulders and upper body up from the bed. Gibbs knew the second the strained muscles in his chest, ribs, and back made themselves known, because Tony went white. The increased pain made him inhale deeper, which in turn made the cough worse.
No amount of promises made to Ducky could stop Gibbs from reaching out to grab Tony's right shoulder, putting a hand against his chest and pushing him gently back against the bed. "Easy, Tony," he said. "Slow down before you rip yourself in half."
"Talking is probably not a good idea right now," Dr. Marquardt added. "I know your throat is irritated from the tube, and it's still pretty badly swollen. It's going to hurt for a while, so let's try to keep talking to a minimum."
Tony nodded at her silently as he concentrated on slowing his breathing down, and his eyes watered as he tried - and failed - to swallow another cough.
"Agent Gibbs." He looked up, and Dr. Marquardt handed him a Styrofoam cup with a spoon in it. "Ice chips," she explained. "They'll help."
Gibbs wondered what Ducky would have said if he'd seen him spoon-feeding Tony ice chips. It wasn't something he'd ever done before, and it really didn't fit with the whole 'bastard' thing, but from the look on Tony's face at that moment, it didn't much matter.
"That better?" he asked after the second spoon.
Tony let his head sink into his pillow and closed his eyes. "Ow," he whispered.
"You're in pain, Tony?" Gibbs rolled his eyes at the question. Tony nodded again. "I'll get something for that. We're going to be moving you into your own room in just a bit, and it'll be a lot easier for all of us if you're not hurting when we do it."
She moved away and headed for the nurse's station, and Tony turned to Gibbs.
"What …?" His voice was breathy, haggard and broken.
"It's morphine," Gibbs said. "And you need it, so no arguing."
Tony shook his head, and his eyes widened. "No," he whispered. "What … happened?"
Gibbs stood straighter, but he never took his eyes off of Tony. "What happened?" he echoed. "You mean what happened to you?"
Tony nodded and looked up at Gibbs expectantly. Gibbs had made a mistake reading Tony's eyes when he'd first woken up. There was no fear in them; there was nothing but confusion. He wasn't scared, because he didn't know there was anything to be afraid of.
"You don't remember."
Tony shook his head silently.
Dr. Marquardt returned with a syringe in her hand. "That's perfectly normal, Tony," she said. She slid the needle into his IV line and pressed the plunger without pausing in her explanation. "The medication that we used to keep you sedated while you were on the vent can affect short-term memory. You also have a substantial head injury. That could be contributing to it."
Tony's eyebrows lowered again, and Gibbs realized that the whole time he'd been trying to read Tony's reaction, Tony had been studying his. Ducky had been right about what Tony would be looking for, and he wasn't finding it. He knew something was wrong, and he'd already picked up on the fact that something was off about how Gibbs was acting.
"What?" Tony asked again. "Bad … isn't it?"
He took a deep breath and forced himself back into his normal detached mode. "You've had worse," he said. He didn't believe it himself, couldn't think of any time - aside from the plague - when Tony had been hurt anywhere nearly as bad. But Tony had a history of believing every word he said, whether or not it was true. "You're fine."
"Don't ... feel fine."
Of all the times for Tony to not follow Gibbs' lead, he had to choose that one.
Dr. Marquardt picked up an oxygen mask from the table beside her, stretched the strap out, and reached down to put it in place. "We need to get your oxygen levels up, Tony," she said. Gibbs didn't know if she was trying to distract Tony on purpose, but he was grateful to her all the same. "No more talking. I want you to concentrate on breathing."
"No." He lifted his right hand and weakly pushed her hands away. "Boss …"
"Hey." Gibbs grabbed Tony's arm and put it back at his side. "What did she just tell you about talking?"
Tony's eyes narrowed, and the steady beep of the heart monitor sped up. He was getting agitated.
He was getting pissed.
"You," Tony said, as he looked Gibbs directly in the eye. "Tell ... me."
He glanced at Dr. Marquardt, and he could see the sympathy in her eyes. She knew that even though it would fall to her to explain to Tony the generalities of his injuries, when the time came to fill him in on the specific details, it would be Gibbs who would tell him. She looked as uncertain as he felt, but their reasons were different. She thought Tony was asking what his injuries were. Gibbs knew he was asking what had been done to him, who had done it, why had they done it, and had Gibbs caught them.
He took a deep breath, turned slightly so his hip rested against the bedrail, let go of Tony's wrist, and crossed his arms across his chest.
"I can't, Tony."
"Why ... not?"
He let his head fall forward slightly, and looked down at the floor. "Because I don't know."
Tony's head sank more deeply into the pillow, and he let out a pained sigh. Dr. Marquardt took the opportunity to settle the oxygen mask in place and adjust the knobs on the machine it was attached to.
Gibbs' mind was filled with a thousand different implications of what Tony had said. If he didn't remember what had happened to him, then there was no way he could tell them who'd done it. He couldn't tell them who grabbed him, where, or when. He couldn't tell them what they'd said. He couldn't identify their faces or their voices. He couldn't tell them anything, because he didn't remember.
Gibbs couldn't tell him any of his theories or suspicions about DelMar, because doing so would risk planting false memories in Tony's mind. He couldn't even really tell him where he'd been or what he'd looked like when he and Ducky found him, because that might lead Tony to the same conclusions they had drawn, and that was no better than telling him. He would have to remember on his own. If DelMar's name came out of Tony's mouth, it would have to be because Tony remembered him.
But without Tony's testimony, they might have nothing. They couldn't convict DelMar on nothing more than circumstantial evidence, disbelief in coincidences, and gut feelings. Tony had been the sure thing, the one person who Gibbs had been counting on to nail the bastard. What kind of a case were they going to be able to build without him?
Gibbs shook his head and made himself look Tony in the eye one last time.
"I don't know."
Chapter Eight
"You know, you could just tell me," Tim said for the third time since they'd started back down to the lab together. "It might go a little faster that way."
Abby just shook her head.
"At least give me a hint? Tell me how you figured out who it was."
Abby glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, then stood a bit straighter beside him. "Promise me you won't yell at me."
"What?" He was floored. How could she think he'd yell at her for doing her job? "Of course I won't yell at you. How'd you do it? Fingerprints? DNA match?"
"Well, after you left, I kinda … watched the security footage again."
"Abby!"
She spun toward him and stuck her finger in his face. "I told you you'd yell at me!"
He dropped his head and closed his eyes. "Okay," he said. "Okay, I'm sorry I yelled. But you shouldn't have done that alone. And you shouldn't have … you shouldn't have had to do that, Abs." He lifted his head and looked her straight in the eye. "You shouldn't have had to."
"Yeah, well," she said softly. The elevator dinged, and the doors slid open in front of her. "You shouldn't have had to shove Duncan into the wall and threaten to beat his face in." She stepped out of the elevator, and looked back at him over her shoulder. "But you did have to, didn't you?"
"Yeah," he admitted reluctantly, nodding his head as he followed her into the hallway. "I did."
"And I had to watch the tape again." She walked into her lab and crossed directly to her computer. "For a lot of the same reasons. Yeah, it's evidence, but it was more than that. I just had to, you know? For Tony. I just … I couldn't let him be the only one who knows what happened to him."
Tim sighed deeply and nodded his head slowly. "He's not," he said. "And neither are you."
Abby smiled sadly, and then turned and hit a few keys on her keyboard. "So. I watched it a few times just to get a general idea of what happened, to see if they'd left something in the parking lot that we could collect. I thought maybe I could see them touch something that we could lift prints from, or spit on the ground, or just … something." She glanced up at him. "I don't see anything obvious, but you should still go out there and look. I don't think they were far from Gibbs' spot; they both came out from behind his car."
Tim nodded his head, stepped closer to her, and looked at the computer monitor across her shoulder. "I saw that when I watched it upstairs, but I haven't been out there yet. The parking lot is my next stop after I leave here. Fornell should be here by then."
"Think we should fingerprint Bossman's car?"
Tim shrugged. "It's always worth a shot. I'll do that this afternoon, when I go to the hospital to brief him."
Abby bit her lip and glanced at the floor. "Have you heard anything? Is he awake yet?"
He shook his head in response. "I don't know. I haven't talked to Gibbs since he put that picture in my hand, and I haven't heard anything new since we got back here."
Abby sighed, and then turned back to her computer. "Okay. So, I watched it through a few times, and then I started going frame-by-frame. Just in case. And … it worked. We got lucky. We got one frame, just one, but it's a good one."
"Yes!" Tim squeezed her shoulders, then stepped around her and walked toward the plasma. Abby hit a few more keys on her keyboard as he rounded the corner of the table. The single frame she'd found was frozen on the screen.
Tim ignored the majority of the scene, ignored the look on Tony's face and the fact that he was paused in the middle of fighting for his life. He focused solely on the man who'd run up behind Tony with the rope.
Who was, in that one frame, looking directly at the camera.
Abby dragged a green box across the screen to isolate his face, hit a few more keys, and a Maryland driver's license picture popped up on top of the video.
"Meet Marco Santori."
Tim's eyes narrowed in hatred as he studied the man's features. He had short black hair, brown eyes, and a very large and crooked nose, which had obviously been broken at some point. He had pit scars and pockmarks all over his face, and what looked to be a rather impressive scar ran the length of his jawline, from his right ear to his chin. He'd ambushed Tony, attacked him from above and behind, and he had two inches and sixty or seventy pounds on him.
Tony hadn't had a chance.
"Who is he?"
"He is one of the few soldiers in Azari's organization whose name the FBI knows." A few more clicks on the computer, and a new file - an arrest record - appeared next to his picture. "He's been arrested eleven times but only convicted once. He's still on parole."
Tim read down the list of charges quickly. "Nine arrests for Grand Theft Auto," he said. "One burglary and a domestic charge." He tilted his head slightly. "Why him?" he wondered. "He's a car thief. How did he go from stealing cars to kidnapping and torturing a federal agent?"
Abby walked around to join Tim in front of the plasma. "Well, the most obvious possibility is that his boss told him to do it," she said. "But I'm guessing it has more to do with something a little less obvious."
Tim turned his head. "What's that?"
"He's a bit more than a car thief. He's a specialist. All of the cars he was accused of stealing disappeared from police impound yards."
Tim raised his eyebrows, and Abby smiled at him.
"Locked impound yards," she said. "With video surveillance and security."
Tim's eyes widened and he turned back to the screen. "He knows how to get through fences and past security guards," he said. "He'd have been able to get in and out through the south gate without even trying."
"And get Tony's car out without anyone knowing it was gone."
"And he's our tie to DelMar. All we have to do is pick him up and get him to flip." Tim turned back to the plasma excitedly. "We need to get a BOLO …"
"Already sent out," Abby said. "I put Agent Fornell's name on it." Her voice lowered in both tone and volume, and there was a clear edge of hatred and disgust to it. "The second this scumbag pokes his head out, we'll have him."
Tim turned toward her again. "This is good, Abby. This is really, really good. I'm going back upstairs, because I still have to tell Director Vance about Duncan, but the second Agent Fornell gets here, we're going out to the parking lot to see what we can find." He started to walk past her, but then suddenly he turned, grabbed her by the shoulders, and kissed her.
"I love you."
She watched him leave, and then she walked back to her computer with a grin on her face.
"I know."
Tony leaned back against his pillows and closed his eyes.
He knew there was something huge missing from his memory, and that wasn't a feeling he liked. He'd seen - and felt - enough of his injuries to know that something really, really bad had happened to him, but he had no idea what it was. The bandages that covered his lower arms told him he'd been tied up, and if the tingling in his fingers was anything to go by, it had been tightly enough to do some damage. His chest looked like a badly carved Thanksgiving turkey, his voice sounded like a bullfrog with laryngitis, and the front of his left leg throbbed in time with his heart. His head was thumping and pounding like the Ohio State drum line, his shoulder hurt like hell, and there was something seriously uncomfortable going on between his shoulder blades.
But that wasn't the worst of it.
The worst part was how weird Gibbs was acting. No, that wasn't right. Weird wasn't a strong enough word. Gibbs was being nice. Too nice. The last time Tony remembered him acting that way was when Kate died. That was enough to alarm him on its own, but combined with the fact that he was obviously making an effort to act like nothing was wrong, it was a bit more disturbing. That Gibbs was trying so hard to act normal, and was failing so miserably at doing it, was downright scary.
It was really starting to freak him out.
"You still hurting?"
Tony shook his head without opening his eyes. He was lying, and he was sure Gibbs knew it, but he wasn't going to admit it. Moving from the ICU to the private room he was currently occupying had been a painful experience, large amounts of narcotics notwithstanding, and it wasn't one he ever wanted to repeat. From the waist up, every part of him hurt. What he probably needed was another dose of morphine, maybe along with a nice strong sedative, enough to knock him out for another twelve hours or so.
But what he wanted, more than anything, was to remember what the hell had happened. And the drugs were messing with his head and keeping him from doing any significant amount of thinking. What little thinking he had managed so far was disconnected, random, and made very little, if any, sense. He wanted control of his mind back, and if feeling the pain was the only way he could get that, then he'd just have to suck it up.
But damned if he knew how he was going to pull that off. The doctor had said that most of the pain was coming from pulled muscles, but he didn't think he believed her. He'd never had a pulled muscle hurt that much in his life ... but then again, he'd never pulled every muscle in his torso at the same time before. Even breathing was torture. He knew that he wasn't getting enough oxygen, even with the mask, because of how much it hurt, and that wasn't making thinking any easier.
Whether he refused more morphine or admitted he needed it probably didn't matter much either way.
"Sorry, Boss," he muttered.
Gibbs sat up a bit straighter in the chair next to him. "For what?"
"Pretty useless," he croaked. He hated the sound of his voice. He hated how weak and broken and raspy it was, hated how much it hurt to even whisper, hated the way the oxygen mask muffled what little sound he did manage to make. He hated that the one thing he did best - talk - was one of the many things he couldn't do at all. He opened his eyes and turned his head on the pillow. "Some witness."
Gibbs stood up and moved closer to his bed. "One - don't apologize."
"Weakness."
"No." Gibbs shook his head. "You didn't do anything to apologize for. Two - you're not useless. And three - who said you're a witness?"
He stared up at his boss and blinked in disbelief. "Not stupid," he said.
"That's debatable, DiNozzo."
Tony grinned in spite of himself. That was the first time Gibbs had insulted him since he woke up. It felt good, in a weird sort of way. Then he took as deep a breath as he could manage and tried to focus on the conversation - if his one-syllable words and two-word sentences could be called that - they were having.
"This," he said, indicating his chest, neck and shoulder with his right hand. "Not an accident."
Gibbs shook his head slowly. "No, you're right. It wasn't."
"I saw them."
That earned him a nod and a tight-lipped expression from Gibbs. "That's the going assumption."
"Don't remember."
"Yeah, we've been through this part."
"Need to." Tony closed his eyes again, and he tried to take another breath, but the pain that shot across his chest made it catch in his throat. He blew it out and took another, more slowly and carefully. "Gotta tell you," he muttered. "Gotta remember. Gotta help. Gotta …"
The tap to the top of his head was lighter than usual, almost gentle, and he really should have expected it. All the same, it took him by surprise and sent a spike of pain straight into his brain. His eyes flew open just as Gibbs spoke.
"Knock it off."
Gibbs was right beside him, just inches from his face. It brought back unbidden memories of another time - lying in another hospital bed, drowning under blue lights, when Gibbs had acted much the same way. He lowered his eyebrows in concentration, but they shot up again in realization. Gibbs was acting the way he had after Kate died, yes. But he was also acting the way he had the last time Tony had almost …
"Died?"
Gibbs shook his head slowly and straightened up with a sigh. "No, Tony, you didn't die. You're talking to me, aren't you?"
"Close?"
Another nod. Slow. Reluctant.
"Yeah," Gibbs said softly. "Close."
The muscles in his chest made themselves known again, and he gasped in a pained breath. He had another question to ask, but he couldn't draw enough air into his lungs to do it. In the end, he didn't have to ask it, anyway, because Gibbs answered it on his own.
"Too damn close, DiNozzo." Gibbs wrapped his hands around the bed rail and looked down at him. "Too damn close."
Tim was on his way down the stairs from Vance's office when he heard the elevator ding and saw Fornell step out of it. The FBI agent had a cell phone to his ear, and he was talking to someone. Tim slowed his pace and watched Fornell cross to the squad room.
"Okay. We'll be right there."
Fornell closed his phone and glanced around. He saw Tim standing on the landing above him and tilted his head.
"McGee," he said. "Did you put a BOLO out on a Marco Santori?"
"Yes!" He turned and ran down the last of the stairs, spun around the bannister, and jogged up the walkway. "Was that a hit on it?"
"One thing at a time," Fornell said, holding up his hand to cut off any more questions. "Bring me up to speed. What'd I miss?"
"A whole lot." Tim walked past him and straight to his desk. He grabbed the remote, turned to the plasma, and brought Santori's picture up. "Tony was attacked in the parking lot. We saw it on the security footage, and …"
"Wait, he was attacked here?" Fornell's eyes widened. "Gibbs isn't gonna be happy about that."
"No one's happy about that," Tim said. He knew there was an edge to his voice, but he didn't try to disguise it. "Least of all Tony." Fornell dropped his head slightly, and Tim continued. "But at least we got good footage out of it. Abby found one frame that had a clear shot of one of his attackers, and she got a hit on facial recognition. It was Santori."
"Kid's a car thief," Fornell said, and Tim nodded his head. "He's kinda dumb, but if anyone in Azari's organization could get in and out of this place without being seen, it's Santori."
"That's what we thought, too." Tim put the remote down and turned to Fornell again. "Now, who was …?"
"DC Metro," Fornell said.
He didn't seem very happy about the fact that they'd gotten a hit on the only suspect they'd identified so far. He also didn't seem to be in any great hurry to give Tim any more information than he already had.
"They've got him?"
Fornell nodded slowly. "Yeah, they've got him."
Tim's sudden sense of success was shattered by the look on Fornell's face and the next words that came out of his mouth.
"Get your stuff, McGee. You're not gonna like this."
Gibbs sighed and leaned back against the windowsill.
"Why don't we try this another way?" he asked. "One that doesn't involve you talking?"
He wasn't happy with the way Tony looked, with the way his forehead was furrowed with pain, or the way he refused to admit that he was hurting at all. He'd known the morphine would be an uphill battle, but he hadn't expected Tony to start fighting it so soon. He was starting to think of calling Dr. Marquardt and asking her to slip something into his IV, but there was a reason why Tony was lying about being in pain and refusing more drugs to help him deal with it. Forcing it on him would piss him off to no end.
Gibbs wasn't quite sure when not pissing Tony off had started mattering, but he ignored the impulse all the same.
He knew that Tony answered his question, because he could see the oxygen mask moving and fogging up, but he was too far away to hear what he was saying. He pushed himself away from the window and walked back to the bed.
"What was that, DiNozzo?"
"Have to," Tony said. "Remember."
Even if he had wanted to argue, it was a fight he was going to lose, and he knew it. He'd already lost it half a dozen times. There was no way Tony was going to give up on trying to jog his memory. As much as he hated to see it, because he knew what it was costing Tony to keep going, he had to admit - to himself, if to no one else - that he was proud as hell.
"Okay. Then we stay focused. I'll ask you questions, and you answer them. Short answers. 'Yes or no' questions get a nod or a shake - no talking. Got it?"
"Got it … Boss."
"That was a 'yes or no' question."
"Sorry."
He wanted to smack him upside the head again, but the way Tony had winced and paled after the last one stopped him from doing it. The grin he could see around the edges of the oxygen mask both irritated and reassured him. No matter how much pain he might have been in, if Tony could still find the strength to be an incurable smartass, then he was going to be just fine.
"What's the last thing you remember about last night?"
Tony closed his eyes, and his face smoothed out as he took another breath. It took him a few seconds to fight back the last of the narcotics that were clouding his mind and pull everything back together. Gibbs knew the second he'd managed to do it, because his whole demeanor changed. His body relaxed and his expression became one of calm self-assurance and confidence.
Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo, levelheaded and highly competent investigator that he was, was back in control.
"Elevator."
"Getting on or getting off?"
"Off." Tony inhaled again. "Kicked me out."
"Well, yeah, I did. You wouldn't shut up. Seems to be a thing with you."
A ghost of a smile danced across Tony's face, and then he lowered his eyebrows.
"Stefano."
Gibbs' heart jumped into his throat, but he swallowed it quickly. "Stefano DelMar?"
He tried to force his voice to stay level, but he didn't know if he'd actually managed to do it. He hadn't once doubted that DelMar was involved in the attack on Tony. Even someone who did believe in coincidences - which Gibbs didn't, never had and never would - would have had a hard time believing in that one. But he couldn’t give Tony any indication that the name might mean something.
"What do you remember about him?"
"Brewer," Tony said. "Strauss."
As quickly as his hope had risen, it deflated. Tony was remembering what had gotten him kicked out of the office for the night, not what had happened after he left.
"Yeah. We'd just started looking at DelMar for their murders."
If Tony heard him, he gave no indication of it. He scrunched his forehead tighter and took a breath. It obviously wasn't easy for him, but he was pulling himself forward. He was starting to dig something out of the void of his memory.
"Parking lot." Tony swallowed hard, and his breathing picked up speed, but he kept going. "Unlocked my car."
"You're doing great, DiNozzo." Gibbs didn't want to ask any more questions. Tony was leading the way, reaching into his mind and dragging out the missing pieces one by one. "Keep it up."
Suddenly, Tony's whole face changed. Instead of serious and focused, he looked scared. Gibbs didn't know what had caused the shift, but it didn't take much imagination to guess. He leaned forward.
"Tony?"
Tony's breathing had reached an almost alarming speed, and even Gibbs' untrained eye could see that it was shallow. His lips were barely parted, and his chest was barely rising and falling. He wasn't moving enough oxygen at all.
"Hey, calm down. You've gotta breathe."
"Couldn't," Tony forced out.
"Couldn't what?"
"Breathe."
"You couldn't breathe?" Gibbs' own heart sped up in response to Tony's words. "In the parking lot?"
Tony nodded his head rapidly.
"Why not? What happened?"
Tony's eyes shot open, and his right hand flew up to the angry red mark around his throat. His fingers curled along the side of his neck, like they were grabbing at something. Like they were wrapping around an invisible piece of rope and trying to pull it away.
The realization slammed into Gibbs like a runaway semi.
"In the parking lot?" he asked again. "On the Yard?"
Tony was nodding rapidly, and that time, there was no mistaking the terror in his eyes. "Couldn't … can't …"
"Can't what? What can't you do, Tony?"
"Breathe," Tony forced out. "Can't … hurts …" He was definitely hyperventilating at that point - the condensation that his breath was leaving on the inside of the oxygen mask was only shrinking and growing, but never going away completely. He had his right hand balled into a fist, and he was pressing it against his chest.
"Boss …"
Gibbs jumped forward, grabbed the call button, and pressed it repeatedly.
"Easy, DiNozzo," he said. "Calm down."
It was nothing he hadn't done before. As much as he'd hoped he'd never have to do it again, it was still almost second nature. He moved closer to Tony, slid his right arm behind his shoulders, and pulled him up from the bed as carefully as he could while still moving quickly. He didn't want to jar his shoulder, didn't want to cause him any pain at all, but some things were more important than others.
"Pull your chest up," he said. "Open it up, Tony. Come on."
The edges of his lips were already turning blue, and his eyes were starting to roll back. Gibbs put a hand against the side of Tony's face and forced him to turn his head.
"Look at me, Tony," he ordered. "Breathe with me."
Gibbs could hear the breaths rattling their way into and out of Tony's lungs, hear the wheezing gasps that were passing for inhales, and feel the way Tony's body shuddered with every one. When the dry, hacking coughs started, Gibbs tightened his hold, turned to face the door, and called out with everything he had.
"Doc!"
Part Five