How To Relate: Chapter 21
Chapter 21
Where To Go From Waking
Bright lights glared down and reflected off the shiny metal of the autopsy table, casting a harsh pallor on Tony's already unnaturally pale skin. If not for that, and the starkly purple rimmed 22 caliber hole in his chest, he could almost be mistaken as being among the living.
Standing over him, Ducky shook his head sorrowfully. "Oh, my dear, dear boy. Such a regretful day for us all. You will be sorely missed. I remember all too well when our dear Caitlin was taken from us, in much the similar fashion. I suppose it's almost to be expected in this line of work, but still, there is guilt felt all round. I am afraid Jethro has taken it terribly hard. He blames himself, of course, though you and I both know he was not at fault. I daresay you knew just how reckless you were being, and were willing to pay the price."
He patted Tony's cold hand gently, and sighed. "I understand why you did it, Anthony, I do. I only wish that the cost had not been so high, and so final. You had a great many years ahead of you still."
The autopsy doors slid open.
"Ah, Mr. Palmer." Ducky turned to face his assistant. "Are we set?"
Jimmy stopped a ways away from the table, averting his eyes. "Um, actually, Dr. Mallard, I was wondering if I could have a minute?"
"Of course." Ducky started to leave the room, pausing to lay a sympathetic hand on Jimmy's arm. "I never would have guessed it when you first began working here, but I know you two became rather close. He valued your friendship a great deal."
After the doors closed behind Ducky, Jimmy walked slowly over to the table.
"Hey, Tony," he began hesitantly. His voice cracked slightly, and he swallowed hard and tried again. "Well, it's sure going to be different around here now. I mean, I know it isn't exactly your fault, but…"
Abruptly, Jimmy's tone became angry.
"Aw, screw this. You know, I like to think that we were friends, Tony. I mean, yeah, like Dr. Mallard said, it wasn't the most likely friendship, but it was there. And I just don't know how you could do this. Why couldn't you wait for backup? I know she was your sister and all, but did you even think about what this would do to her? Or to the rest of us?" He shook his head.
"It's all such a mess. Abby's a complete wreck, and Agent Gibbs isn't much use for comforting her right now. It's like the Ari thing all over again, but he can't get his revenge since you already killed the guy, and so this whole thing is eating him up inside. And then Ziva just tries to be all stoic and pretends like she hasn't been crying, but you can tell she's lying because her eyes are always red. McGee, I think, is still in shock. He's had to be the strong one for everyone since Gibbs is so out of it. I guess he'll be the new senior agent now. Probably not at all how he pictured this promotion."
Jimmy looked down for a moment before going on.
"Let's see, what else. Um, Director Vance took the team off rotation indefinitely. Oh, apparently your father isn't sure if he can come in for the funeral. He's out of the country or something. But, I guess, maybe, you didn't expect him to come anyway."
He sighed. "So, I- I took your American Pie coffee mug. I know you got mad last time, but I figured it would be ok now. Right? Well, anyway, I just wanted to let you know that it's in good hands."
When Ducky came back in a few minutes later, Jimmy had set up the tray of instruments.
"Ready, Mr. Palmer?"
"As I'll ever be."
"You know, the first is always the hardest," Ducky told him.
"The first, Dr. Mallard?" Jimmy replied, confused.
"The first autopsy of someone you know," Ducky clarified, pulling on a pair of latex gloves. "Why, even now when I think back to the first time I was required to assist in an autopsy of a man that I knew-now, mind you, he was not a close friend either, merely an acquaintance, but still, I-"
Ducky picked up a scalpel as he continued his tale, and it moved slowly, spellbindingly, closer and closer to…
*****
"Tony!" Abby came awake with a sudden jerk, gasping in horror. She blinked and took a deep breath as a steady mechanical beeping reminded her where she was.
She scooted her chair closer to the hospital bed where Tony lay and, circumventing numerous wires, tubes, and lines, reached out to squeeze his hand, feeling his reassuring warmth.
Hmm. Maybe a bit too warm.
Frowning, she laid her palm against his flushed cheek. He was definitely a little feverish, but the doctors had said it was to be expected after the trauma his body had gone through.
What they didn't know was exactly when he would wake up. It was almost three days now since Tony had been shot, and while he was almost certainly out of danger, he had yet to regain consciousness due to the blood loss, and the doctors couldn't be sure about any permanent damage until then.
This was troubling to Abby, and indeed to them all. None of them were at all comfortable with a Tony who wasn't constantly chattering or quoting movies at them, a Tony who wasn't flirting with anything in a skirt, a Tony who wasn't, well, Tony. And the idea that he might not wake as the Tony that they knew, was disconcerting, to say the least.
Abby shuddered, thinking of how close they had come to losing him altogether.
Everyone leaned in to hear as the man, who introduced himself as Dr. Flynn, began to deliver his news.
"He's out of surgery now and in recovery."
A collective sigh of relief went around at those words, and the mood in the small room almost visibly lifted.
"How is he?" Ducky asked.
"Honestly, it was touch and go for a while there, but he's doing as well as can be expected right now. He suffered massive blood loss, and it was a fight to get him stabilized so that we could assess the damage. The bullet entered between the seventh and eighth anterior ribs, perforating the diaphragm, and continued through the lower right lobe of the liver. It then ricocheted off the ninth rib in the back, fracturing it, and then grazed his right lung before it came to a stop in the intercostal tissue." Here the doctor paused. "He's quite lucky."
"Oh?" Gibbs cocked an eyebrow.
"Well, the bullet hit the ninth rib very near the spine," Dr. Flynn explained. "Half an inch to his left, and he could have been paralyzed. And then there's the fact that he got here just in time. Liver injuries bleed profusely; any longer and he would have almost certainly bled out."
The group took this in soberly.
"He's still in serious condition, and we'll be monitoring him closely for the next 24 hours, but, barring any complications, there's no reason he shouldn't make a full recovery."
Once Tony had been moved to the ICU later that evening, they'd all filed in to see him. Abby remembered how small and vulnerable he had seemed lying there so still, surrounded by and attached to all kinds of medical equipment, including, to the team's alarm, a ventilator.
"It's just a precaution," Dr. Flynn assured them. "We don't foresee any issues, but considering his rather unusual medical history, we want to be sure he's getting enough oxygen and not having to work too hard for it, at least for the time being. If all goes well, we'll take it out after the critical 24 hours have passed."
When Dr. Flynn had left, they'd had to explain to Ali what he meant by 'unusual medical history.' To say that she was shocked to learn of Tony's brush with death via the plague would be an understatement.
But thankfully, the doctor had been right and Tony was breathing on his own now, with only the aid of a nasal cannula supplying oxygen.
As Abby watched the comforting, even rhythm of the rise and fall of his chest, she began to nod off again.
"Abbs."
Her eyes flew open. Gibbs stood in the doorway, a fresh coffee in his hand.
"Take a break. You've been here all night."
"So have you, Gibbs," she pointed out. "Every night."
He just gave her a look.
"Go get something to eat. Take her with you." He gestured at Ali, who was curled up sound asleep in her chair on the other side of the room.
Abby sighed. "Ok."
She stood and stretched widely to get out the kinks before walking over to wake Ali. The two women soon left, and Gibbs had scarcely sat down in the chair next to Tony's bed when Abby stuck her head back in the door.
"Can we bring you back anything?"
He glanced down at his coffee then back at Abby in answer.
"That's a no. Gotcha, Bossman."
She began to leave, then turned back once more.
"Oh, Gibbs, I just remembered. It's Sunday."
"Yeah?" he acknowledged, not sure why she was bringing it up.
"Well, do you think it would be ok if we went to church? It wouldn't be for long; we'd be back soon, but the sisters were going to say a prayer for Tony, and they wanted me to let them know how he's doing, but they won't have their cell phones on in church so I can't call them, so the only way I can tell them is if I go to the service this morning, and Ali's going to come with me." She took a breath. "So is that ok, Gibbs, do you think? I mean, you don't think anything will happen while we're gone, do you?"
"That's fine, Abbs. Go."
"You'll call if anything changes?" She didn't give him a chance to answer. "Of course you will. Ok, we won't be long."
Gibbs settled back into the chair. He wasn't by nature a patient man-when he demanded results he got them-but he knew how to wait. His days as a sniper and countless stakeout hours as a field agent had made him well acquainted with the galling, although often necessary process.
And so he waited. Sitting there, sipping his coffee with an inscrutable expression; staring intently at the man in the bed across the room, the man who was like a son to him, the man who had very nearly died underneath his hands not three days earlier.
About half an hour into Gibbs' vigilant watch, the heart monitor sped up slightly and Tony began to stir, letting out a groan as his forehead furrowed up in distress.
"Tony? Hey, DiNozzo, wake up."
Tony's eyes fluttered open at the command, and came to rest on Gibbs.
"Hey… Boss," he replied faintly, grimacing and closing his eyes tightly again as the pain of his injuries made itself known.
"I'll go get your doctor," Gibbs told him before quickly stepping out into the hallway.
After making his promised call to Abby, Gibbs met Dr. Flynn as he came out of Tony's room.
"How's he doing?" he questioned.
"He's doing fine. I still want to keep an eye on his temperature, but there's nothing to worry about unless it keeps rising. I've given him something for the pain, and he'll probably drop off again in about twenty minutes or so."
Twenty minutes. Plenty of time.
Gibbs thanked the doctor, then walked back into the room. Reaching behind him, he slowly, deliberately closed the door, then turned back to face Tony. His eyes were dark and unreadable.
"Do you mind telling me," he began in a calm and deadly quiet voice, stalking closer with each word, "just what- the- HELL you thought you were doing?"
...
Chapter 22