Title: "In the Closet"
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Romance
Characters: Tony DiNozzo, Jimmy Palmer
Rating: FR15
Spoilers: None
Prompt: Written for the Locked Room Challenge on NFA
Warnings: Pre-slash, slash (non-explicit)

Disclaimer: I don't own them. If I did, I would never have let them out…

Chapter 1

The third thing that Tony became aware of upon returning to consciousness was a pair of hands on his chest and shoulder, holding him down so that he didn't move. He heard a man's voice murmuring indistinct words in a soothing tone, but for the moment he couldn't think of who it might be.

The second thing Tony knew was that he was laying on a hard surface, only thinly padded by – carpet? He was on the floor, then, although where that floor was located was anyone's guess.

But the first thing that Tony DiNozzo was aware of was the pain. His right shoulder felt like it had been torn from its socket; sharp, hot pain radiated down his arm and across his chest. His head ached and the rest of his body felt battered and bruised, but those hurts were almost insignificant when compared to the fire in his shoulder.

He tried to think, to remember how he'd managed to get himself into this situation, but recent events were tangled into a chaotic web of aural and visual impressions, with random input from the other senses now and again. First, he remembered pain – a sudden burst of it exploding at the back of his head. Then loud sounds, unfamiliar voices, all around him. Just as he was beginning to make out what they were saying, someone grabbed him and threw him roughly over a shoulder, and the resulting vertigo was enough to drive out all other sensory input for a short while.

Then he was set down on the ground again, and for a moment he felt relief. That lasted for all of two seconds, until strong hands grabbed his arm and shoulder. His unseen assailant said something – to him? to someone else? – then wrenched Tony's arm. The familiar pain of a dislocated shoulder caused Tony to cry out, and the last semi-clear memory he had was the sound of laughter and screaming entwined in a sadistic harmony.

Back in the present, Tony groaned and tried to curl his body into a ball. But someone was holding him down, pinning him to the ground. Opening his eyes, he saw only the dark silhouette of a man leaning over him, surrounded by a halo of bright light. Adrenaline surged through his body, and in a moment of panic, Tony brought his left arm up and around, aiming toward the man's face. He felt his fist connect with flesh and bone, and the man screamed in pain and fell away from him, collapsing to the floor.

As Tony struggled to a seated position, he realized that the pain in his shoulder was not as bad as it had been just moments before; it seemed that someone had at least popped the arm back into the socket. He looked around wildly, searching for something to use as a weapon, and his first thought was, What the hell am I doing in a woman's closet?

His second thought was spoken aloud, as he looked down at the person he had assumed was his assailant. The man was shielding his face with both hands as he moaned in pain, but there was no mistaking that lean figure – or the NCIS coveralls that he wore.

"Palmer?"

Cautiously, Jimmy Palmer raised his head, his hands falling away to reveal his face – the skin around one eye already puffy and bruised, the other just beginning to swell. His lip had been cut, but the blood had already begun to clot. The cut, however, didn't look anywhere near large enough to be the source of the blood that coated the front of his coveralls.

He sat up, scrambling backward to put a little more distance between himself and the man who had just decked him.

"Jesus, Palmer, I'm sorry –"

"It's okay, Tony, it's alright." But Jimmy flinched visibly as he came up hard against the wall, making Tony's stomach clench. It made him sick to see the fear on Jimmy's face, to know that he was responsible for it –

Partly responsible. Tony blinked and looked again. He'd swung once, with his left hand, so the new swelling next to Jimmy's right eye was his fault. But the bruising on Jimmy's left cheekbone had to have been done some time ago, and the cut on his lip was also on his left side. His glasses were conspicuously absent; where had they disappeared to? And where had all that blood come from?

"What the hell happened, Palmer?"

Jimmy took a deep breath and pushed himself away from the wall. The younger man crawled over and sat next to him, hands reaching toward Tony's injured shoulder. "Let me see what it looks like," Jimmy said softly. His hands trembled slightly as he gently felt around the joint. "I didn't get to check it after I popped it back in."

Tony nodded in understanding. That must have been why his shoulder hurt so badly when he awoke, and why the pain was fading somewhat now. He knew the reprieve wouldn't last – the swelling and bruising would get worse over time – but he was glad that Jimmy had known how to pop the bone back into place. Of course he'd know, Tony then thought, impatient with himself. He's only a med student, after all.

"That's the best I'm going to be able to do for your shoulder til we're out of here," Jimmy said apologetically, moving around behind Tony. Tony felt the other man's hands on the back of his head, parting his hair so he could see the scalp. "How's the head feel?"

"Like I got hit with something," Tony replied, but his heart wasn't really into the teasing. Jimmy's fingers touched a tender spot near the top of his head, and he winced. "How does it look?"

"Like you got hit with something." Jimmy came back around in front of Tony. He slid his fingers under Tony's chin and tilted his head up. "Look toward the light."

Tony did so, blinking rapidly as his eyes began to water. From his peripheral vision, he could see Jimmy looking at him intently, and surmised that the young doctor-to-be was checking to see how his pupils responded to the light. Then he held up a finger and had Tony track it left and right, up and down, while he watched. Whatever he saw must not have been too bad, Tony figured, since he didn't look worried. Correction – he didn't look more worried.

Jimmy finally nodded and let him go, but Tony grabbed his arm before he could move away again.

"Jimmy, man, I'm sorry. I didn't mean –"

"I know, Tony." Jimmy's eyes met his. "It's okay."

He pulled away and stood up, moving around the tiny room. "Let me see if I can find something to use as a sling. You're not going to want to move that arm."

At that, Tony finally looked around at the room they were in. His first impression, that of a woman's walk-in closet, seemed accurate. What the hell? The last thing he clearly remembered was investigating a crime scene out in the middle of a state park in Virginia. How'd they get here? And where was everyone else?

He put those questions out of his mind and examined the room. At a guess, he'd say it was about six feet wide and eight or so feet deep –just long enough for him to lie down somewhat comfortably, if sleeping on the floor was anyone's idea of comfort. One wall of the closet supported a shelf at approximately chin height – if he were standing – with a clothing rod directly below. There was nothing on the rod aside from a few plastic hangers, but the shelf held what looked like several sweaters on one side, and spare bedding – blankets and pillows – on the other.

He twisted around to see the wall behind him. This wall had two shelves – one just high enough for him to sit under without hitting his head, the other just a little higher than the shelf on the opposite wall. The lower shelf held more clothing – jeans, T-shirts, sweaters. Boxes were stacked on the upper shelf. They were carefully labeled: "Picture Frames," "Knick-knacks," "Books," and other uninteresting, useless items.

He turned his attention to the door. "Have you tried opening that yet?"

Jimmy had been sorting through the clothing on the lower shelf. Tony watched as his whole body tensed, his hands convulsively gripping the sweater he was holding. Eyes closed, he swallowed hard, then took a deep breath and let it out slowly. It was several seconds before he found his voice, and then he whispered, "Yes, Tony, I tried the door. There's a deadbolt."

Jimmy's reaction puzzled him; so did his response.

"Who the hell puts a deadbolt on a closet?"

It was meant mostly as a rhetorical question, but as Jimmy had a habit of answering rhetorical questions – often with a wholly inappropriate comment – Tony was surprised when the younger man remained silent. He looked at Jimmy, still standing motionless with his eyes squeezed shut, then looked back to the door. It took a moment for his brain to kick in, and then he wanted to Gibbs-slap himself. "Shit. You're claustrophobic, aren't you?"

Jimmy shot him what was clearly intended to be a dirty look, but the fear was plain on his face. Tony winced. He hadn't meant to say that out loud – he didn't want to make the kid feel more uncomfortable than he obviously already was – but it was too late now.

Jimmy took another breath, then another, deliberately relaxing the muscles that had tightened up when the fear hit him. After a moment, he let go of the sweater, though his hands still shook as he went back to sorting through the piles of clothing. Before long, he pulled a blue sweater out from the pile and crouched down in front of Tony. "Let's see what we can do with this."

After some trial and error, they found that they could make a passable, if uncomfortable, sling by tying the arms of the sweater around Tony's opposite shoulder. But the arms weren't quite long enough to make a stable knot. "Wait, see if she's got any cardigans."

The green cardigan sweater that Jimmy found, when unbuttoned, gave them more to work with. A few minutes later, Tony's right arm was bound securely to his chest. It wouldn't completely immobilize the shoulder, but as long as he was careful, it would work well enough until he could receive proper medical attention.

Whenever that might be…