Well, that one hurt.
jae
The door. NOW.
He's stable.
Take her up to C3.
Does she have an emergency contact?
That was him?
Find another. She's hemorrhaging .
If he hadn't already been hit with enough force to propel him back across the Atlantic, he would do so to himself now. He'll gladly accept this pain, because it's nothing to what he could have known if tonight had ended only several degrees in the other direction.
He blinks blearily against the harsh white fluorescents as his bosses face looms above him in a foggy, drug induced haze. Before wires reconnect and cylinders start firing, linking thoughts to his mouth, the gruff tone is calming him.
"She's alive. She's alive, DiNozzo."
It's not perfect. But it's enough.
He stops fighting. The darkness claims him once again.
The next time he wakes, the lights have been mercifully dimmed.
His eyes are heavy and that's how he knows that yeah, they've got him on the good stuff. The kind that makes him fifty shades of loopy and awards him the eye roll to end all eye rolls from one Ms. David.
Ziva.
A cool, firm grasp tightens around him somewhere; He thinks it might be his fist.
"He supposed to be twitching like that, Doc?"
The voice floats somewhere around and above him. It's hard to concentrate with the fog in his head and the car horn that won't stop blaring in his ears.
He pulls all his energy together; tries to focus, make his mouth move and force the words out. What results is mumbling.
He hears a new voice somewhere floating in the air.
"Did he just say sweetcheeks?"
There's a grumble of a Christian deity, and he swears the back of his head tingles in the way before an imminent head-slap.
And then he slips away once more.
One second, he's dreaming; the next, he's very alert, very aware, and sitting up bolt right in bed.
The shattering glass still echoes in his ears.
It fades into a high pitched beeping. The rapid, pulsing tone follows the drum of his heartbeat, flying a mile a minute. He stares around in shock, and he's acutely aware of a very dull pain making it's self known in his right side.
The pain is trivial. He's got other things on his mind.
As the nurses converge around him, his eyes search for the familiar face he knows will be present. When hazel eyes meet blue steel, he finds the reassurance he needs that it wasn't a lie; that this nightmare won't continue.
He lets the nurses push him back against his pillows; listens as they tell him to breathe in, breathe out.
He always knew she'd land him in a hospital bed.
It takes three failed prison breaks, feigned sleep, and Gibbs surrendering to his need for caffeine before he is finally able to make a run for it.
And by run, a heavy crawl with a walker toward the room that waits four doors down.
There's a movie reference in here, he thinks as he fights his blackening vision and the pain in his side. The good stuff seems to be wearing off.
But when he makes it to the threshold and he sees the face of the only person whose stayed clear through the heavy fog of his mind the past several days, the relief is enough to make the pain fade completely.
Even under these damn fluorescent lights, she's never looked so good.
He's there when she finally wakes, but ironically it's her who must wake him.
"Tony."
The soft sound of his name is enough to make him stir, and the first thing he's aware of is a hand traveling through his hair; delicate fingers scratch lightly over his scalp soothingly.
His only reaction is to moan. The chuckle that follows is quickly cut short by a sharp gasp of pain, and when the hand falls from his head is when he becomes more alert.
"Ziva."
His head snaps up from where he sits; head resting on the mattress near her hip, and she winces more for him than for herself. Her face is pinched in pain; watching as his eyes drift all over her body, cataloging her injuries with careful scrutiny. When his eyes find her own again, she feels her face betray her, contorting in more pain as she reads the agony in his expression.
The bruises will fade, but the guilt she sees within him won't.
"Oh, Ziva."
And it's not the contusions, the broken ribs, the gashes marring her skin that bring tears to her eyes. It's the broken way he croaks her name.
He moves forward, burying his head into her shoulder at the same time she reaches for him. She swallows down the lump in her throat as his dry sobs rumble against her. Her hand finds his hair again, and she begins to massage the back of his neck, his shoulder, then his head again. Shushing him with each stroke.
She sees movement by the door. Her good eye flits to the entrance, and she sees the shadowy figure of Gibbs, hovering between the room and the hall.
She watches a thousand expressions pass over his face before it settles upon the factory default setting: Poker.
The older man reaches a firm hand for the doorknob, and levels her with a subtle nod before closing it with no more than a whisper.
His breathing soon evens out. Her eyes flutter close.
She wakes, and there's so much warmth surrounding her.
She turns her head to escape the light behind her eyelids, and she's hit with the heavy scent of antiseptic and the faint smell of Armani code.
She intakes a short breath in surprise, and that's when she feels familiar arms around her, pulling her closer ever so carefully.
Her eyes flutter open, and her partner has taken over her vision. He's gazing at her with such tenderness, that it momentarily steals her breath away.
It's not a smile, but his lips do turn up affectionately.
"You slept."
She pauses for several seconds before her brain catches up to what he's saying, and she has to smile at that. Leave it to Tony to bring up the moment in the hotel room now.
Forcing back a groan of pain as awareness of all her injuries intensifies, she buries her face closer into his neck. She doesn't think she could ever be closer enough to him again.
"So I did."
He quakes against her with suppressed laughter, and she's not sure if it's for her benefit or his; she's been made aware of the injuries that she sustained from … .
"I thought I'd lost you again."
His voice is barely above a whisper, and she wonders if he meant for her to hear him or if he's talking to himself. He does enjoy the sound of his own voice. But when she feels him delicately kiss the top of her head, she has her answer.
She's just not quite sure if she's ready with one of her own. His breathing and the calming thump of his heartbeat in her ears calms her, though, and she searches for a response that will convey what she needs him to know.
"You will never lose me, Tony."
Her voice cracks on the last syllable, but she blames it on the pain; the fire in her ribs. She lets him wrap himself tighter against her though, and pushes the agony aside for now.
"I almost did there. It was close."
She has no answer for this. Because yeah, it was close. His hand runs up and down her back, and she hears his mind running a mile a minute.
This won't be something they'll walk away from intact. She knows all too well the guilt that Tony lets manifest in his mind; the martyr that he is. But they've been given yet another chance by fate, a chance to once again, walk away and pick the pieces of themselves up again. It's a constant jig-saw puzzle, and they've never been able to fit the pieces back together quite right. Close, but not perfect.
The medicine that floats through her system has her tired, emotional, and a little dazed. For now, she won't fight it. There's a rocky road ahead, but she'll embark it another day.
For now, she lets herself melt once more in her partners arms, and attempts to assuage the guilt before it truly builds.
"We are partners, Tony," Her breath fans against his neck, "I am with you until the end."