Disclaimer:- I do not own NCIS or its characters and any copyright infringement is unintentional
A/N Reminder that I have taken some liberties with the legal and medical aspects to keep the storyline flowing.
NIGHT TIME
Chapter Two
Jackson cracked open a bloodshot eye as another indistinct murmur drew him from his light sleep. Adjusting the glasses that were balancing precariously on the end of his nose, he squinted at the clock on the far wall and realised it was almost 5PM.
Earlier that morning, he had called his good friends, Mavis and Sam Newbury, and asked if they would watch the store for an hour that evening while he drove Tony to his doctor's appointment in Scranton. The Newburys not only agreed but had arrived within the hour - Mavis armed with homemade bread and soup. After taking one look at Jackson's worried face, Mavis insisted that he stay with Tony while she and Sam tended the store. True to their nature, the couple didn't ask any questions about the younger man's obvious poor health or why Scranton's doctor was favoured over the Stillwater practitioner.
From his favourite overstuffed armchair, Jackson watched with undisguised concern as Tony muttered incoherently but slept on. It was now seven hours since he had fallen into an exhausted sleep after a harrowing night neither of them hoped to ever experience again. His skin was wet and clammy and the ends of his hair darkened with sweat as he breathed in short, loud gasps. On the floor in a discarded pile, lay the afghan Jackson had placed over him just an hour before when shivers wracked his body and the sound of his chattering teeth filled the quiet room. The chills and sweats had alternated frequently and even as he slept, Tony's brow furrowed deeply and his body jerked as it endured painful muscle spasms.
"What the heck were you thinking, son?" he whispered as Tony shifted restlessly.
He cursed his own lack of foresight; Tony had been growing more restless and impatient every day, wanting to do far more than his body was physically able. Leroy and Ducky had both warned him that the younger man would rush his recovery. He understood, to a point, that Tony wasn't being foolhardy as much as he was desperately trying to wrestle back control of his own life. Jackson cast his mind back to the evening before and the sickening rush of fear when he realised Tony had gone out for a run.
FLASHBACK
He'd found him in the park on his hands and knees and throwing up violently until the muscles in his abdomen calmed, simply because they lacked the strength to contract again. He collapsed onto the grass; confused, distressed, his chest heaving from the exertion and his t-shirt soaked with sweat. His green eyes silently pleaded for help and, without hesitation, the older man held out his hand. Tony stared at it for a long moment before tentatively taking hold. As Jack hauled him upright and tugged one arm over his shoulders, the younger man flinched at the unexpected close contact before leaning in to the comfort.
Jackson muscled them both to a nearby park bench where they sat silently trying to regain their breath. For a fleeting moment, Jackson thought about tearing a strip off him but he knew Tony's own miserable discomfort was punishment enough...at least for now. Drowning in humiliation and despair even the strong arms supporting him provided no solace as Tony bit down on a desolate sob, denying it life.
"Easy there, young fella, I gotcha," Jack whispered, rocking them both back and forth in the age-old rhythm of comfort.
"I can't do this, Jack…I can't." The younger man's voice caught and dwindled to a raw whisper.
"Yes, you can," Jack assured him looking into Tony's tormented face with gentle intensity. "You think Leroy would have left you here with me if he thought for one minute that you couldn't get through this? Now you listen to me…I'm not about to sit back and watch you give up when you fought so darn hard to stay alive. You hear me, Tony?"
Tony's Adam's apple bobbed as he struggled for control and, when words continued to fail him, he nodded his head in reply.
"Okay…" Jackson continued. "I think we've both had enough exercise for one day, don't you? Let's get you home."
With great difficulty Jackson managed to get his young guest back to the house and a hellish night of severe headaches, cramps and nausea began. Tony's mood deteriorated as the night dragged on, fluctuating between stubborn belligerence and shame-filled remorse. Agitation and restless leg syndrome had him pacing the floor one minute and curled up in unbearable pain the next as his muscles constricted cruelly.
He itched as though a million tiny insects were crawling through his body and it was all he could do not to tear his skin open with his fingernails. As darkness encroached on the edges of his vision, a seductive black void called to him and he longed to fall into it. Fatigue attempted to claim him several times during the night but images of Evan Grayson and syringes lurked beyond the darkness and led to terrifying nightmares. The excruciating cycle played over and over until 7AM the following morning when, physically and mentally drained, Tony finally succumbed to exhaustion.
END FLASHBACK
Soft footsteps from behind him drew Jackson back to the here and now. He turned to see Mavis Newbury enter the living room. Her course grey hair was fashioned into a loose bun at the back of her head and she wiped her hands on her apron. Her face, thin and not much lined, was of the sort that aged gracefully and at almost seventy years of age she bore her years well.
"There's a bad storm coming," she said quietly. "If you're going to be in Scranton by seven you'll need to wake him, Jack."
"I'll give him a few more minutes," Jackson replied.
He watched as Mavis moved closer to the couch and reached for the afghan Tony had kicked to the floor. She silently appraised the ailing man as she folded the afghan and placed it on the foot of the couch. It had been thirty years since she and Sam lost their only son James to a drug overdose. Mavis took in the dark crescent-shaped smudges under Tony's eyes and his sickly pallor. Despite the breeze from the open window, the odour of sweat and sickness hung thickly in the air.
"Seems the boy picked up a bad case of stomach flu," Jackson said, not quite sure whether the small lie was to protect Tony or Mavis.
With slightly arthritic fingers she brushed the sweaty bangs from Tony's forehead and placed the back of her hand against his cheek to gauge his temperature. Holding back the tears of a mother who outlived her only child, she met Jackson's gaze with knowing eyes that held no judgement, only sadness and understanding.
"He needs to eat," she said quietly as she walked to the kitchen. "You wake him, I'll warm the soup."
-oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-
As the agents walked quickly to their sedan at Anacostia Naval Station, the atmosphere was as ominous as the threatening skies above. Gibbs, McGee and Ziva had just spent the better part of two hours questioning two petty officers charged with distributing illicit drugs aboard the USS Enterprise.
Neither of the sailors had any direct contact with theGraysons. CWO Louis Farrell, formerly of the Navy Supply Corps, had been their supplier and he had been murdered at the warehouse moments after blowing Tony's cover.
McGee had successfully traced the payments received by the sailors to the Grayson's Cayman Island account but due to the high anonymity proxy server they were still no closer to knowing which of the Grayson had initiated the transactions.
Gibbs' frustration level peaked when it became obvious that the sailors could not testify to Thomas Grayson's involvement.
"We need that decryption, McGee," he said.
"Boss, I've done everything I can to maximise the speed of the search without losing the integrity of the program."
"Do more," the team leader replied, certain that his IT Specialist would once again pull an all-singing, all-dancing rabbit out of his hat.
"Do you think Tony will be well enough to testify?" Ziva asked as they arrived at the car.
"He'll be fine," Gibbs replied, as much to reassure himself as his teammates.
Under normal circumstances, Gibbs was certain his agent could hold his own. Since their first encounter on the streets of Baltimore, the former Marine could recall countless times when Tony had reached deep within himself and tapped an inner reserve of strength to get the job done. As the rain began in earnest, he hoped like hell that this was one of those times.
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Sheet lightning lit the darkening sky as the wind tossed rain at them in waves. Jackson slowed the truck to a safer speed and cast another covert glance at his passenger. Tony sat staring vacantly out of the window, seeing nothing and drained beyond thought.
Still wrapped in the afghan Mavis had insisted he take to keep warm, the younger man was unusually quiet. After the torment of the previous night, the tremors and muscle spasms seemed more sporadic but his streaming eyes and nose continued to irritate him. He sniffed loudly and swiped a handkerchief across his face.
Even in the soft glow of the dashboard lights, Jackson noted the shadows bruising his young friend's eyes and the lines around his mouth testified to just how much discomfort Tony was in. He held a bottle of water in front of Tony's face.
"Keep drinking," he instructed gently.
Without meeting the older man's gaze, Tony compliantly took the bottle with shaking fingers. Jackson suppressed a yell of frustration at the latest setback that had left the young agent a shadow of the man he was gradually getting to know. Dismissing the dark thoughts from his mind, Jackson focussed on the few days when Tony appeared to be gaining the upper hand in his recovery.
Woven between the sickness and misery they had experienced some enjoyable evenings watching sport or an old black and white movie on TV. He'd been surprised by Tony's love of the old classics and they'd often attempted to stump each other with movie trivia.
When he felt up to it, Tony would help Jackson in the store; sweeping up, organising the storeroom, stacking shelves or helping the customers carry their groceries to their cars. Jackson watched bemused as his female customers of all ages and marital status went weak at the knees at the sight of his new box boy with the Hollywood smile.
Tony squeezed his eyes shut and leaned forward as his stomach contracted in nauseous spasms. He pulled his knees to his chest as the pain intensified and a moan escaped from between tightly clenched teeth.
"Tony?" Jackson said slowing the truck. "You need me to pull over, son?"
"No…I'm okay," Tony huffed, waving him off with one hand while the other tightly clutched his aching ribs. "Just…just give me a minute."
After a long moment, the pain subsided and Tony sagged against the back of the seat, perspiring and breathing heavily.
"I'm sorry, Jack," he managed, still unable to make eye contact. "Sorry for last night…for the last few weeks…for all of this."
"No need to apologise, son," the older man replied. "None of this is your fault."
"I think I should leave…go back to DC," Tony argued quietly. "I can't keep asking you to do this."
"Don't recall you asking me to do anything. I asked you to stay and you've been a big help to me in the store." Jackson chuckled softly as he gave Tony a sideways glance. "Besides…even crotchety old Florence Dibble, the scourge of Stillwater, has been a lot easier to deal with since you've been here…you have quite a way with the ladies, young fella."
Tony huffed out a laugh laced with bitterness.
"Family trait…ask any one of my stepmothers about the DiNozzo charm."
They drove on in silence watching as the windshield wipers struggled against the torrential rain. Unable to restrain his curiosity any longer, Jackson spoke up.
"I don't mean to pry, son, and feel free to tell me to mind my own business…but I'm wondering why your own father isn't here when you need him?"
"My father has never been where I needed him to be. Why start now?" he snapped, the words slipping from his mouth before he could censor them.
Jack's concerned glance prompted further explanation from Tony.
"We're not close, especially since my Mom died," Tony shrugged nonchalantly but the older man didn't miss the flickering of hurt in his eyes. "It's really no big deal. He is who he is…being a good dad just wasn't his strong suit."
"Being a single dad isn't easy, Tony," Jackson said. "Lord knows I made my share of mistakes."
"You ever leave your 12 year old kid in a hotel in Maui for two days while you chased a piece of rich tail back to the mainland?" he asked tersely. "Of course you didn't. You put your family first, Jack. You even quit your job as a pilot and went to work in the mines."
"Mining is good honest work. You wouldn't find a better breed of men than miners," Jackson replied. "I did what I did to support my family until LJ and I had saved enough money to buy the store."
"My Dad sent me away to school or to camp - there was always another business deal to finalise or a new wife to meet," Tony said quietly. "One day I realised that I was doing okay on my own and I didn't want or need anyone else."
"Until you met Leroy," Jackson stated plainly.
The silence between them grew longer and just as Jackson thought the conversation was over, Tony continued.
"Gibbs is…he's this weird mix of boss, father, brother and friend. Sometimes he's more of one than the others. This may sound crazy…and maybe it is, but I can tell what role he's playing by the way he slaps the back of my head."
"Yep, sure sounds crazy to me," Jack replied with a chuckle.
"He knew before I did that I needed someone to watch my six," Tony shrugged as an affectionate smile formed on his face. "He trusts me. Lets me do things my way but pulls me into line if I stray too far off track."
"With a head slap," Jackson stated as Tony shrugged again.
"Shows he cares," Tony replied quietly. "He's there when I need him, Jack."
Tony's face heated at the uncharacteristic soliloquy. He searched the older man's face but found nothing but understanding.
"The most valuable thing you can give your family is the gift of your time," Jack said, noting that the rain was starting to ease. "Of course Leroy might argue that I spent a little too much time watching over him… that boy of mine never went looking for trouble but he was never one to walk away when he found it."
Another cramp bit cruelly into Tony's left thigh and Jackson silently cursed the pain that denied the younger man any solace. Tony kneaded the muscle with his long fingers until it relaxed and the pain ceased.
Jackson placed a strong hand on Tony's shoulder and tried to ignore the tremors.
"Tony," he said. "When you get to my age, if you can look back on your life without regret, you have one of life's most precious gifts."
"A loving family?"
"Nope…a selective memory," he replied with laughter sparkling in his blue eyes.
A trembling smile graced Tony's features and then faded almost instantly.
"Jack…I appreciate everything you've done…really…but I still think I should go back to DC."
As the lightning streaked across the restless sky, Tony flicked nervous eyes in Jack's direction to gauge his reaction.
"I'm a man of my word, Tony," Jackson said. "I told Leroy that my home was yours for as long as you need it and that offer still stands."
"But-"
"What say you hold off making any decisions till after you've seen the doc? Deal?"
Jackson met the younger man's gaze. Tony nodded his head and as his voice caught in this throat.
"Deal," he whispered.
"Besides," Jackson said. "We're only two discs into our golden years of Hollywood box set and I'm looking forward to seeing my pin-up girl, Betty Grable. I ever tell ya that I had a likeness of Betty painted on the nose of my P-51?"
The two men sighed wistfully then said in unison...
"Great gams!"
Their easy laughter broke the tension as they continued on their way to Scranton, unaware of the dark SUV that followed behind.
-oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-
Gibbs' gut was churning and for the second time that day the ring of his cell sent his stomach into free-fall. Realising the number on the caller ID was not his father's he allowed himself a moment's relief before pressing the answer button and clenching the cell between his chin and his shoulder.
"Gibbs," he answered returning both hands to the wheel.
"Where are you?" Vance asked curtly.
"On our way back to the yard. Something wrong?"
"The protection detail at the safe house missed their last scheduled check in," the director stated grimly.
In the passenger seat McGee's hands shot out reflexively to grab the console as Gibbs put the sedan into a tight u-turn and sped off in the direction of the safe house.
"How late are they?" Gibbs asked.
"Only fifteen minutes but we can't reach them."
"When was their last check in?"
"Six hours ago," Vance replied.
"No one was supposed to know their location," Gibbs growled.
"No one did," Vance insisted. "We kept this thing wrapped tight."
"Not tight enough."
"Patterson's team are en route, they're ten minutes out."
"We'll be there in five," Gibbs said, cursing loudly as the car in front braked hard for no apparent reason.
"If our security's been breached, you need to give DiNozzo a head's up," Vance replied. "Keep me informed."
Gibbs tossed his cell to McGee who juggled it several times before taking the catch.
"Call the store," he said. "Put it on speaker."
McGee thumbed through the programmed numbers, ignoring the urge to rub his shoulder as the g-force of another sharp corner threw him against the door. In the back, Ziva folded down the split rear seat and reached into the trunk for the Kevlar vests, earwigs and com-links.
"It's ringing, Boss," McGee said placing the call on speaker.
"Hello, General Store," the pleasant female voice answered.
"Mavis?" Gibbs said. "Mavis it's Jethro. I need to speak with Jack."
"Jethro dear, how lovely to hear your voice!" she gushed. "I'm afraid you've missed him. Jack's taking Tony to see the doctor in Scranton. I'm not sure why they just didn't have Doc Andrews make a house call but you know your Dad - once he makes up his mind there's no changing it."
"When did they leave?" Gibbs called down the line.
"About thirty minutes ago, give or take. They left a little early because of the storm. I told him to wait until tomorrow but Tony wasn't feeling well. He's such a nice boy, I wish there was-"
"Mavis, I have to go…give Sam my regards." He nodded to McGee who disconnected the call.
"Calling Tony's cell," McGee anticipated as he keyed the speed dial number.
As the sedan ducked and weaved along the highway, swerving in and out between slow moving vehicles, they listened to the ringing cell, silently urging Tony to pick-up and unable to hide their surprise when a familiar female voice answered.
"Mavis?" Gibbs said.
"Jethro?"
"You have Tony's cell?"
"I heard it ringing from the store," she explained. "It was in the pocket of his jacket. Three times I told that boy not to forget his jacket, especially in this weather, but…oh my, I hope he doesn't need these."
"Need what?" he asked as a chill of apprehension rippled across his skin.
"Jethro, Tony left his medication behind."
-oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-
Thomas Grayson eyed the prison guard with disdain as he passed through the last checkpoint and was led down the corridor toward the private interview room. Although attorneys were not restricted to normal prison visiting hours, this visit was unscheduled…something had happened.
The guard opened the door and Grayson entered, taking a seat across the table from his attorney and waiting until the guard left the room before he spoke.
"Well?"
"The petition to have you released on your own recognisance was denied," Cameron Scott said plainly.
"I thought you said you could get me out of here?" the older man growled.
"I can…but I won't…not right now anyway," Scott replied. "The judge turned down my petition to have you released but he agreed to move the hearing forward. That's as good as acknowledging he has doubts about the prosecution's case against you."
"Then why won't he release me?"
"He probably would have if I'd appealed," Scott stated.
"So appeal!" Grayson ordered. "Get me the hell out of here!"
"I know you want to get out of here, Thomas, but you need to listen to me," Scott said. "I told you we didn't need 'him' but I followed your orders when you said you wanted him to handle things. You need to stay right here – at least until 'he' has finished what he came here to do."
"He'll finish it," Grayson said confidently. "And DiNozzo will pay for the death of my son. How long to the hearing?"
Cameron Scott leaned back in his chair, clasped his hands together behind his head and smiled smugly; his over-whitened teeth clashed starkly against his over-tanned skin.
"Three days," he said. "If he's half as good as you say and he gets the job done, the prosecution's case will collapse and there won't be any need for a hearing."
-oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-
"Boss, Abby called the clinic in Scranton," McGee said. "Tony's appointment isn't until nineteen hundred. They'll have Tony or your dad call as soon as they arrive."
"They still have fifteen minutes, Gibbs," Ziva said from the backseat, already geared up and cleaning her Sig with practised precision. "I am sure they are fine and still making their way to Scranton."
Gibbs caught her grim expression in the rear view mirror and knew she thought otherwise. He cast a sidewise glance as McGee shrugged into his vest and saw the same concern etched on the younger man's face.
With a series of speed-shifts and high-speed turns Gibbs eked every ounce of horsepower from the sedan as they headed for the semi-remote duplex NCIS had leased as a safe house.
After the previous attempt on Matthews' life and the loss of an agent on Balboa's team, they'd taken extra precautions to keep the details and location of the safe house as "need to know." They'd leased both sides of a duplex that was located in the suburbs; it was nondescript yet functional; close enough to neighbouring properties to not be considered remote, yet far enough away to be defendable and private.
A team of four highly experienced agents were assigned to Matthews' protection detail 24/7, working twelve hours shifts in two man teams. When not working, the off-duty team relaxed and slept in the adjoining apartment while the on-duty team were stationed with one patrolling the exterior and one by Matthews' side.
Other than the protection team, only Commander Barnes, Vance and Gibbs knew the location of the safe house and the fact that the team had missed its last check-in meant something had gone desperately wrong. As the sedan rounded the last corner and approached the duplex, Gibbs reduced speed and killed the lights.
"Boss," McGee said anxiously as Agent Harper staggered from the building dragging his partner.
"I see them," Gibbs said bringing the car to a halt. "Ziva, take the back, McGee you're with me."
Smoothly slipping into his Kevlar, Gibbs drew his Sig Sauer and with McGee by his side, ran at a crouch to where the agents had collapsed on the front lawn. Gibbs continued to scan the area for any hint of danger as McGee kneeled by the stricken men and checked for vital signs.
"They're alive, Boss," McGee said. "They don't appear to be wounded but they've passed out."
"Call it in. Tell dispatch we've got agents down. Make sure the EMT's wait till they get the all clear."
"On it."
Behind him Agent Harper began retching and vomited frothy bile as McGee rolled him onto his side. Adrenalin surged through Gibbs' body putting his senses on high alert. He took a pair of latex gloves from his pocket and threw them to McGee.
"Ziva, report," he said gruffly into the com-link.
"Gibbs, I have located Agent Young," the Israeli replied in a hushed tone. "He is dead. His neck is broken."
"Dammit!" Gibbs cursed.
"There is something else," she replied quietly. "A small canister has been spliced into the air conditioning unit."
"Is it labelled?" he asked anxiously.
"It is not," she replied.
"Calling Hazmat, Boss," McGee anticipated, reaching for his cell.
"Ziva, get back here," the team leader instructed before turning back to McGee. "Stay with Harper and Riley - do what you can for them."
"Boss, you're not going in there?" he said casting an anxious look as Agent Harper continued to retch and moan while Riley remained unconscious.
"We got people unaccounted for," Gibbs replied, taking his handkerchief from his pocket to hold over his nose and mouth. "The canister was used to debilitate not kill."
"Boss, it was unmarked," McGee insisted. "Whatever was in it could be deadly."
Ziva returned from the back of the duplex.
"Gibbs is right," she said, eyeing the stricken agents. "If the contents were meant to kill, they would already be dead."
"Stay here; both of you," Gibbs ordered, shutting down any further argument and walking toward the building.
With his weapon held steadily in his free hand Gibbs entered the duplex and quickly cleared the rooms used by the off-duty team. Locating the connecting door, he cautiously entered the living room of the adjoining apartment, clearing his throat and blinking rapidly as the residual substance irritated his eyes and throat.
Through watery vision he located the body of Billy Matthews, slumped lifelessly on the couch. The small bullet wound at his right temple was in stark contrast to the bloody mess of skull fragments and grey matter that had once formed the left side of the young man's head.
Entering the dining area, Gibbs stomach clenched at the sight before him. The body of Agent Gary Wallace was slumped in a chair to which he was securely tied. His face had been badly beaten and, like Billy Matthews, Wallace had sustained a gunshot wound to his temple. On the nearby table lay a small discarded oxygen cylinder, a syringe and an ampule.
A myriad of emotions pumped furiously through the former Marine's veins. The fury and loss of more good men battled for dominance over the relief he felt that Tony had refused to stay at the safe-house. His senior field officer was adamant that none of his colleagues witness his struggle against the effects of the narcotic replacement therapy. Reluctantly Gibbs had agreed, knowing it was highly unlikely that Grayson would look for Tony in Stillwater.
"Gibbs!" Ziva's worried voice hissed through his earwig.
"Clear," the team leader growled.
Moments later his agents appeared at the door; both brandishing their weapons. They entered the room and stood at his side in shocked silence.
"Oh God," McGee finally whispered then coughed as the dissipating gaseous substance irritated his throat.
"He was interrogated," Ziva stated with the calmness of someone long accustomed to the sight of brutality. "The oxygen was used to revive him and the injection was to make him talk."
"Why Wallace and not Matthews?" McGee asked. "It was Matthews they wanted."
"What did Agent Wallace know that Matthews did not?" Ziva added.
It took half a second for the truth to hit and Ziva and McGee saw a flash of raw anguish before Gibbs' eyes went dark and flat as granite.
"DiNozzo's location."
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A/N Many thanks for the very kind reviews and good wishes. Also to those I could not respond to personally. L
