Disclaimer: I do not make any claims to characters used in this story.
Medicine ideas used are based on an episode from Numb3rs, but plot is original. Not slash.
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Preface
Gibbs was anxious. He hadn't been anxious in a long time. To be truthful, he hadn't been anxious since he saw Tony's car blown up in MTAC. As he counted for the door to be opened, he ran through all the times DiNozzo had been the cause of his anxiety. There were too many. This might almost be the worst. Almost.
The newly opened door revealed general darkness in the new room, but the light that flooded in through the doorway revealed a light switch to the left. He cautiously flipped it on.
Across the large warehouse, a man was lying on the ground, moving convulsively next to a metal chair. Otherwise, the room was empty. Filthy, but empty. The team of NCIS agents ran, with Gibbs at the head, to the seemingly incapacitated man. To Gibbs' horror, it was Tony, writhing on the ground, eyes wide and breathing ragged as he noticed the familiar faces.
"Bring in the paramedics!" Gibbs shouted as he kneeled next to Tony, placing a hand gently on his chest to still his movements and quickly digging though his pocket with his other hand, preparing a knife to cut loose the binds that held DiNozzo's hands inconveniently behind his back as he writhed on the grimy floor. Tony jerked away from Gibbs' touch and as he removed the bindings restraining the senior field agent, blood poured excessively from overly irritated and furiously red wrists and Tony whimpered quietly, ignoring the near chaos now surrounding him. Ziva and McGee stood to the side, worried, while other agents ushered the paramedics through the maze of the warehouse rooms to their current location. "B-boss," Tony whimpered, still completely coherent through the hazy pain. "Boss, I… I'm sorry." The last word came out as a cough, or maybe, Gibbs thought, a sob.
A wave of pain overtook any of Tony's conscious thought. Black spots invaded his vision from his periphery and threatened to take control. His back arched from the pain and he found that breathing was suddenly extremely difficult. It was only then, trying desperately to stop Tony's agonized jerks that Gibbs noticed the small syringe extending from DiNozzo's lower left shoulder, the arm opposite from Gibbs and the other agents. A small bloody dot surrounded the needle against the dirty, white fabric of the t-shirt Tony had been wearing when he disappeared. He quickly but carefully removed it to view the label, trying to ignore Tony's stifled groan. Quinuclidinyl benzilate. Gibbs sighed, recognizing the uncommon torture agent used in several sects of the military. He had never felt its effects before, but rather seen them in someone else. The symptoms were hallucinations, loss of muscle control, slight disorientation, and elevated chemicals involved in pain receptors, meaning that Tony was in a living hell right now, even disregarding other sustained injuries. Gibbs would bet, though, that Tony was holding it together mentally. The stuttered name and apology told him things might be okay.
The paramedics arrived just then, escorted by two Probies from someone else's team. As they loaded him onto a stretcher and into the ambulance, Tony couldn't contain his moans from the excruciating pain. Gibbs had given the paramedics the syringe, and now silently elected himself with a glare to ride with Tony.
"Don't be sorry. It's okay, DiNozzo. We've got you now," he whispered into Tony's ear as he grasped one of the younger man's hands between both of his.
