Something felt like it had used his stomach as a punching bag as it was trying to escape. Maybe it already had. He really had no idea. Anything he tried to think about came up blank except for the pains in his stomach and head. What the hell had he been through? His head felt like it was full of cotton candy, it was hard to think, he felt light headed and the sensation was making him slightly nauseous. Opening his eyes was not something he really felt like doing because he was afraid of what he might see.
All he could smell was weeks old sweat and urine, a smell he had become familiar with in all the back alley and dive bar crime scenes he'd seen. Was that it? Was he now part of a crime scene? He shook his head back and forth to try and release the cobwebs, so he could think. Moving his head wasn't a problem but moving his arms sure was. They seemed stuck to his stomach as if they were held there with glue. No matter how hard he tried, he could not move them. Trapped. That's it. He must be trapped. But how? He still couldn't remember anything from the last day.
He was still in the bullpen, wrapping up a case, wasn't he? Maybe he had fallen asleep and this was all a dream. No, he had the day off...didn't he? There was a vision that Gibbs was looking at him or standing over him that kept flashing before his eyes. Something was coming out of his mouth, but it wasn't audible. Was that today or the day before though? What were they discussing? Then there was a scene of him and a plate of spaghetti. Dinner he guessed, though he couldn't remember heating it up, or even preparing it. And it smelled like...human excrement.
Rolling over on his side, he gagged and since he was putting his face right into the source of the smell, the gagging got worse, driving him close to losing whatever was in his stomach. Realizing that he needed to see his surroundings if he was ever to get out of them, he threw open his eyes and saw white. Nothing but white. The entire room was so white, he wondered if he'd actually died and gone to Heaven. The walls were puffy like clouds, as was the ceiling and floor. The rancid smell was emanating from what he now saw was a grungy mattress laying on the floor. It, unlike the walls, was not soft and cloud like.
Sitting up proved to be difficult since his arms were stuck, but it wasn't glue holding them. He was wearing a straitjacket. In his attempt to sit up, he rolled off the mattress and landed face first onto the floor. Fortunately, his legs were free, so he maneuvered them forward and up to his chest, then sat up that way. He turned his head in several different directions, and the only thing that wasn't white and puffy was a small square window in what must have been a door. There was no doorknob, but there seemed to be a break in the wall in the shape of a door.
Using every muscle in his legs, he got to his feet but almost fell back down. The white room started spinning, so he immediately closed his eyes until the feeling seemed to pass. Cautiously, he reopened his eyes, and everything was still. He then plodded over to the small window. The room he was in colorless, and what he saw outside wasn't much better. It was an open room with people in pajamas and robes milling about. Some were sitting and staring at a television, others were walking around aimlessly, gesturing wildly while they appeared to be arguing with themselves, but none were paying the others or him any attention.
He had seen this scene before in an old horror movie, but he had never thought he would be up close and personal like he seemed to be seeing it now. This was the typical scene inside an old fashion psychiatric asylum, and it appeared that somehow, he had been admitted as a patient.
"Hey! Hey, somebody! Help me! I don't belong here! I! I need to get out of here! Help me!" he shouted in the hopes that someone would hear and come to his rescue. He had no idea how he had gotten himself into this mess, but he needed Gibbs to help him figure it out. Surely, Gibbs would have some idea how he had ended up in a place like this.
After a few minutes, an older woman in a white nurse's uniform came to the door and scowled at him through the window. "Keep it down in there!" she shouted back at the anxious detective.
"You gotta help me," he pleaded. "My name is DiNozzo, Special Agent Anthony Dinozzo, I'm with NCIS. Please, I ... I have no idea how I got in here, but you have to get me out. I don't belong here."
The woman appeared to laugh. "Sure, you are. We also have the Prime Minister of New Zealand down the hall. He keeps telling me he needs to get back home to his people. Dignitaries as far as the eye can see."
"No, really. I'm an NCIS agent. I'm not crazy. You need to get me out of here!"
Her response was just to stare at him with an iciness that sent a shiver through his soul.
"Call my boss if you don't believe me! Call Gibbs, Lead Agent Leroy Jethro Gibbs, NCIS. Call him! Please, you gotta get me out of here!"
The nurse took a step closer to the window and looked into the patient's eyes. "Stop shouting or you'll get the bath," she growled before she turned on her heel and walked out of his view.
"The what? Hey! Come back! Let me out of here! I am not crazy!" Tony yelled, before he turned and leaned against the soft padded wall and allowed himself to slide down. "I'm not crazy!" he muttered again as he stared at the white walls.