The third and final. I thought I was done after Maddie's letter, but apparently I wasn't.

Not continuous at all with 'The Life You Save' - because Tony didn't get shot, more's the pity - although this can (and does) follow after the letter. I thought, what would happen if Gibbs DIDN'T say anything to Tony? And what if Tony DID suffer physical aftereffects of his experience?

I've given Tony sort of an unspecified ailment because a) I didn't feel like doing any research and 2) it's not the point of the story anyway. This is a one-shot - I asked my muse if it was a multi-chaptered story and she politely declined - even though it's long. And it's very, very angsty. Gibbs will kind of come off as a big huge jerk here, although I explored his reasons for acting as he does towards the end, and in my mind at least, it makes sense.

I've actually wanted to write something like this for a while - since the La Grenouille thing at least. I've always wondered what would happen if Gibbs and Tony just let their bad feelings fester. The two of them have, I think, a tremendous capacity to hurt each other, based on their shared experiences as well as their individual pasts. Exploring that ability was a really neat writing exercise for me.

Long Overdue

Someone was coughing.

He could hear it outside of the men's room, and once he stepped inside, the staccato rhythm echoed off the walls. COUGH cough cough. COUGH cough cough. Like a waltz.

Gibbs didn't have to peek under the stall to know that it was Tony.

The metal door burst open and Tony looked slightly embarrassed. "Boss," he said, edging past the older man to reach the sinks.

"You wanna tell me what's going on?" Gibbs demanded.

"I can't use the men's room without explaining myself?"

"I heard coughing. You got the plague again, DiNozzo?"

Tony sighed, filling his palms with pink soap. "It hurts to breathe. Sometimes I cough. Sometimes I get, like, I hyperventilate. It's not the plague, or you'd know. But yes, it's plague-related." He said all of this mechanically, without a hint of self-pity.

"How long has this been going on?"

Tony met Gibbs' eyes in the mirror with a cold green gaze. That was when Gibbs realized the younger man hadn't looked him in the eye for weeks. "Since the river," he said, shouldering past. "Excuse me."

Gibbs spooled off a length of paper towels and handed it to his senior agent. "And when were you planning to tell me?"

"I haven't hidden anything from you, Boss," he stated. Gibbs shrank a bit under the subtle accusation.

"Have you called your doctor?"

"I'm not a child, Gibbs. Of course I've called my doctor."

"And?"

"And he gave me an antibiotic, since you're so interested."

"Is it working?"

Tony's face was impassive. "It's too soon to tell."

"Hold the door!" Gibbs stuck his hand between the sliding doors as a slightly flustered McGee caught up. "Thanks."

But Gibbs wasn't expecting what happened next. McGee reached over and flipped the emergency stop. "Do you know what he said to me?" And Gibbs didn't have to ask what his agent was talking about.

"On the Chimera. He said, I'm running out of almosts."

Gibbs flipped the switch back. "When I want your opinion, I'll give it to you," he said. But he had to admire the kid for growing a spine.

"He's not wrong, you know," Jenny opened.

Gibbs groaned. "Great, now everybody has an opinion."

"He deserves it," she said. "Have a seat." She slid a file folder across the mahogany desk.

"What's this?"

"It's an official commendation for Tony's file," Jenny explained. "As his supervisor, I need you to sign it. He'll be getting an awards ceremony - medal, speeches, the whole nine yards."

"How do you know that's what he wants?"

"How do you know it isn't?" Jenny returned. "Just pick up the pen, Jethro, and sign it."

"I never asked him to do anything," Gibbs said, signing his John Hancock at the bottom.

"You know, he ran your team while you were in Mexico," Jenny said. It seemed like she was changing the subject, but she wasn't. "He did a good job - a great job. I don't think he believed for one minute that he was only keeping your seat warm."

"Jenny -"

"No." She held up her hand. "You're going to listen to me. Rule fifteen, Jethro. You went in without backup. You didn't work as a team. It's only because you've trained your agents so well that you aren't dead. And the girl - I should give you an official reprimand for placing a civilian's life in danger."

"But you won't."

"I haven't decided. You know, for all the lectures you've given me, you sure were quick to break your own rules the minute it became personal. And I've let it slide. You've been disrespectful and even insubordinate, Jethro, but I've let it slide. But I won't. Not this time. You need to make it right."

Gibbs slid the folder back across her desk. "You finished, Jen?"

"We'll see." She smiled brightly, all sunshine and roses again. "Thank you for your time, Agent Gibbs."

"Right, I understand. We're pretty busy right now; can it wait until tomorrow?"

Gibbs stopped short as he came around the corner. Tony was leaning against the wall, facing away from him. And he was on the phone. Gibbs thought the clandestine phone calls had stopped when the Frog turned up dead. He froze, practically stopped breathing, a sniper not wanting to give away his position.

"8 a.m. sharp. I'll be there. Thanks for everything, Brad." He flipped the phone closed, then stiffened as he became aware of the presence behind him.

"Give me one good reason why I shouldn't headsmack you into next week," Gibbs said. He couldn't imagine why he felt relieved and angry at the same time.

"Because it's not Wednesday?" His tone was light. But he hadn't turned around. Gibbs actually had to circle around the younger man to see him face to face.

"You wanna tell me why you're calling your doctor?"

"It isn't working, Boss." Gibbs had a frightening moment of déjà vu. That was what one of the ex-wives had said to him - It isn't working, Jethro - and then she split his scalp open with a golf club. "I mean, the drugs. The antibiotic isn't working. Dr. Pitt wants me to go into Bethesda for some tests."

"Back under the blue lights, huh?" Gibbs said with some sympathy.

Tony's face went dark for a moment. "Let's hope it doesn't come to that." He holstered his cell phone. "So anyway, I won't be coming in tomorrow. I don't know how long it's going to take - a couple of days, maybe."

Gibbs was shocked, and his shock translated into gruffness. "What am I supposed to do without a Senoir Field Agent, DiNozzo?"

It was a backhanded compliment, but Tony ignored it. "As far as I know, sick leave doesn't have to be approved by a supervisor. I'm being polite and telling you now. I could have waited and called it in tomorrow. Or had my doctor call you."

Gibbs tried a different approach. "Look, is there anything I can do?"

"Will you water my houseplants?"

"You don't have houseplants, DiNozzo."

"Then no, there's nothing I need from you." A thin-lipped smile, and he was gone.

Gibbs squinted a little at Brad Pitt's plastic badge. "Director of infectious diseases? That's a promotion from last time, if I remember correctly."

Dr. Pitt smiled a little. "I've sort of developed a subspecialty in the pneumonic plague. I've actually written several journal articles about Tony. He's been quite helpful to my career."

"Does he know that?"

The smile widened to a chuckle. "I sent him a fruit basket."

"How long is it going to take?" Gibbs asked, and they weren't talking about fruit baskets anymore.

"Another day or two. Actually, since you're here, I can ask you. What have you noticed?"

And there it was: the guilt. Dr. Pitt had asked his question in the least accusatory tone possible but Gibbs knew there wasn't any way for the question not to wound him. "I noticed he's been moving slower than usual lately, you know?" he explained. "But we all have. I just thought it's age and cold weather."

"And the coughing?"

Gibbs looked at the floor. "We haven't really had a lot of downtime lately." He didn't mention that he'd been avoiding Tony as much as possible since that day. When he needed to split up the team, he took Ziva or McGee. They'd only spoken to each other in clipped sentences since Tony pulled Gibbs from the river. "Look. What's going on, Doc?"

"There's significant damage to his lungs."

"How significant?"

"I really can't say yet."

"Is it permanent? " Gibbs persisted.

"I really can't say yet." He said it slower, enunciating, as if to a child or a stupid person.

"I mean, do I need to be looking for a new agent?" That wasn't his worst fear, but it was the easiest to articulate.

"I told him to consider a change in profession." Dr Pitt smiled. "Of course, I've been telling him that for two years."

"He won't leave NCIS," Gibbs insisted, although he was far from sure of it.

"With his degree, he could be a gym teacher. Can't you just see Tony with a whistle, yelling at a class of sweaty fifth-graders?" Brad chuckled. "Look, I know he doesn't listen to me. But as his doctor, I have to tell him this stuff. It's part of my training - you understand."

Dr. Pitt leaned back in his chair, rubbing his eyes wearily. "Pulling two people from an icy river and performing CPR is a health risk for anyone, let alone a survivor of the pneumonic plague. If he had asked my opinion, I would have told him not to do it. But I understand why he did."

"Do you?"

"He's talked about you, Agent Gibbs. And I remember." Hard to forget, actually, the scene in isolation two years ago. Dr. Pitt had tried to tell the story a few times. No one ever believed him.

"What'd he say?"

If one more person gave him that stupid mysterious smile, Gibbs was going to break something. "Doctor-patient confidentiality."

What shocked him as he crossed the threshold of Tony's room was how old he looked. It wasn't that he was pale or gaunt or even all that sickly looking. But he had somehow aged twenty years in the last day and a half. Gibbs actually froze in mid-step.

"Come in, Boss," Tony said without looking towards him. He was sitting sprawl-legged on the bed, dressed in sweats and an Ohio State t-shirt. Calmly spooning up applesauce and watching a rerun of The Price Is Right. Except for the I.V. in his arm, the scene actually looked relatively normal.

Gibbs dropped into the chair. "Tony," he acknowledged with a nod.

Tony pointed his spoon at the TV. "See, Charlene here isn't even trying. Eight hundred dollars for a washing machine? It was 1984, for Pete's sake!"

Gibbs groaned a little in sympathy. "So, how long you stuck here for?"

"It's not that bad," Tony said, tossing his empty applesauce container across the room. It missed the garbage can, and clattered messily to the floor. "I'm not the one who hates hospitals. I could do without being poked every five minutes -" he displayed a Band-Aided elbow as proof - "but I have a great appreciation for the medical profession as a whole."

"Especially the nurses, huh, DiNozzo?"

Tony grinned. "Definitely the nurses."

Gibbs looked around the room. Tony's badge was on the table, along with his cell phone. "Where's your weapon?"

"Call me crazy, but I didn't think I'd need it."

Resist the urge to headsmack. " I know that. You leave it at the office?"

"Nah," Tony said, leaning into the pillows with a smirk, "I gave it to the little old lady next door for safekeeping."

Gibbs found the remote and turned the TV off. Tony still stared at the blackened screen. "Let's cut the crap, DiNozzo." Tony snapped to attention at Gibbs' change in tone. "What's really going on here?"

"I'm having lunch," Tony replied calmly. "And I was watching TV."

"All of this." Gibbs wasn't just talking about the hospital room any more. "This is because of the river?"

Tony's expression changed and he turned dark eyes on Gibbs. "Yeah, the river. What actually happened down there? I didn't know it was anything significant. You know, because you haven't mentioned it since."

"You pulled me out, Tony," Gibbs said, almost to himself.

"I did?" Sarcasm oozed from his pores. "And here I thought you got out of the car all by yourself. I didn't realize I had anything to do with it."

Gibbs had his opening. But Tony's words were striking too close to home. He changed the subject. Coward, he thought. "And Maddie. You pulled Maddie out, too. It was pretty amazing, actually."

"Maddie," Tony said, "wrote me a really nice letter. She apparently was raised to have manners." He looked down, spinning the plastic bracelet around his wrist. "What if she had died, Gibbs? Would you have blamed yourself, or would you blame me?"

"It wouldn't be your fault if she died."

"No." Tony shifted his gaze to the window, swallowing hard. "But you still would have hated me for it, wouldn't you? You'd never be able to look at me again."

"That's not true," Gibbs protested, even though it probably was.

"You still never explained why she was there."

"I said it was personal," Gibbs snapped.

"She was Kelly's friend, wasn't she." Tony wasn't even asking. He didn't need to.

Gibbs' tone was dangerous. "How do you know about Kelly?"

Tony gestured expansively, trailing an I.V. line. "I had to clean out your desk after you left. There were pictures and stuff." He had actually stayed in the office that first night, morosely packing away Gibbs' personal effects and spraying Windex on the dusty desktop. He always felt like he should have been more shocked by what he discovered. But the stunning blow of Gibbs' sudden departure had left him numb to anything else.

"And you couldn't leave it alone?"

Tony shrugged. "I'm an investigator. It's what I do."

"While we're on the subject, why do you do it? Why are you still here?" Why are you still here if I'm such a horrible boss, DiNozzo? Because I know I am.

"Why are you still here?" Tony retorted. "I thought you retired."

"When I'm the one with an IV in my arm, you can be the one asking questions."

"Fair enough." Tony shrugged. "I like my job."

"Why'd you pull me out?"

"You would have died otherwise." Tight lips indicated that that was all he had to say on the subject.

"Why'd you pull Maddie out?" That was a more promising line of questioning, Gibbs reasoned. Tony didn't appear to be mad at her.

"She's just an innocent kid," Tony explained. "She didn't deserve to die."

"Protecting the innocent?" Gibbs glanced at Tony's badge, remembering the cop in Baltimore he had once met. "That's why you do it?"

Tony drew his knees up to his chest, picking a piece of lint from his sweatpants. "Five people on the dock that day. Two bad guys. Two good guys. And one innocent bystander." His breathing hitched in his chest; he coughed a few times, and continued. "The bad guys died. The good guys got out. And yes, the innocent was protected. I like to think I had something to do with that."

"So, you did your job."

Tony shrugged, still focused on the knee of his pants. "As far as I can tell, yeah."

"Are you sorry you pulled me out?"

Tony decided he might as well answer the question honestly. "I'm sorry it was me. I think you would have been happier if it was someone else. Ziva, maybe."

"Ziva wasn't there. You were!" Gibbs' irritation mounted as Tony continued to get him, right at the core. "I told you to stay at the office, didn't I?"

"Yeah, you did, and it almost got you killed." Agitation shortened Tony's breathing. "Good leadership there, Boss."

Gibbs was out of the chair and shouting. "I didn't ask you to save my life! I didn't ask you for anything! What, I'm supposed to be grateful for something I explicitly ordered you not to do?"

Tony leaned his head back, gulping in oxygen. "Why are you even here? I told you I don't need anything." His hand shook a little as he pointed towards the door. "I think you should leave."

"All right, Ducky. I give."

The medical examiner looked up from his autopsy. "Can I help you, Jethro?"

"What's going on here? Why is DiNozzo so angry?"

"Despite what you may believe, I can only read the minds of the dead. Tony is, fortunately, still living."

"Why is everyone so mad?"

Ducky sighed as he flipped off his mask. "Some tea, Jethro?"

"No." Gibbs frowned sourly as the Englishman poured a cup anyway. He wondered where Ducky had gotten the tea cozy from.

"It's as plain as the nose on your face, Jethro," Ducky explained after a leisurely sip. "You see it too, but you don't want to look."

"In English please, Ducky."

"He dove into a river," Ducky continued, "and pulled you out. Not to mention Miss Tyler. And at great personal risk to himself, I might add."

Gibbs started to pace. "He's a federal agent, Duck. He was only doing what I've trained him to do. What we do every day."

"Despite what you might be telling yourself," Ducky lectured, stopping just short of a wagging forefinger, "it was not an everyday occurrence. It was a singular act of bravery and heroism. You'd be hard pressed to find more than a handful of people - even in this agency - who could have done what he did."

"What am I supposed to do, Duck? Bring him flowers?"

"You'd be amazed what a few simple words can do, Jethro. Such as 'thank you' for instance. Although at this point, 'I'm sorry' might be a more appropriate opener." Gibbs opened his mouth, and Ducky held up a hand to stop him. "And don't say it's a sign of weakness. I know a few of your ex-wives that would beg to differ."

"Ahh, Duck. You know how I hate all that touchy-feely crap."

"As do most members of the male species, of course. But sometimes it's absolutely necessary. I'm not telling you to go hug the boy but for heaven's sakes, man, open your mouth."

"I -" Gibbs couldn't finish the sentence. I don't want to. I can't.

"I know you, Jethro. I know it's not merely because you're stubborn. You're embarrassed, aren't you?" Gibbs froze. Ducky had hit the nail on the head. "You're embarrassed that it was Tony and not you who saved the day. Every time you look at him, you are reminded that he had to rescue you. I know how you hate admitting to weakness, Jethro. It's the fact that he saved your life that bothers you the most."

"So how do I fix it?"

"One thing," Ducky said. "Stop thinking about yourself."

"And then what?"

"Then you'll know what to do."

Gibbs brought his hand down sharply, sending a tray of instruments scattering. Jimmy Palmer appeared out of nowhere to pick them up. "That's not good enough!"

"It has to be, Jethro," Ducky said. "It has to be."

He couldn't stop looking at Tony's empty desk, the rest of that day or the next. When his phone rang a few minutes before five, he nearly jumped out of his skin.

It was Dr. Pitt. "Tony's breathing is getting worse," he said after dispensing with the pleasantries. "If he keeps deteriorating we'll have to move him. I thought you should know."

"Let me get this straight," Gibbs said a little more loudly than necessary. McGee and Ziva, who had been preparing to leave, both froze like statues. "My Senior Field Agent went into your hospital, under your care, and you actually managed to make him worse?"

There was a very long pause. "He can barely talk now, Agent Gibbs. If you've got a heartfelt conversation you'd like to have with him, I suggest you do it soon."

"I already talked to him yesterday. You know I did."

"Maybe you should try again," Dr. Pitt said gently - almost pityingly.

"Maybe you should go fix my agent," Gibbs barked. The phone went dead in his hand. He slammed it into the receiver. Ziva and McGee were staring at him.

Ziva was brave enough to break the silence. "What is going on, Gibbs?"

He buried his face in his palm. "I don't even know, any more." Looking up, he added, "You should go see him."

Ziva appeared in front of his desk, a folder in her hand. "I… don't think that will help." She laid the folder on his desk, and she left. McGee was already gone.

Gibbs sat there, his head buried in his hands, as the other agents left. The office grew dark around him. How had it come to this, anyway? How could things have grown - how could he have allowed things to grow so bad? Finally he snapped on his desk lamp and opened Ziva's folder.

She had filled it with the photos she and McGee had taken at the impound lot, the day after. Every single one of them blown up to 8x10, glossy. Real subtle, Officer David. He flipped through: there had to be at least a dozen, all pictures of the car, all from a different angle. The undercarriage, with bits of debris stuck in the muffler. The ruined upholstery. The smashed steering column, jerked at an odd angle like a broken neck. The windshield - there was no windshield, although the divers had recovered it later, filled with bullet holes and fragmented but still intact.

And then he remembered.

He remembered Tony breaking the surface of the water like a torpedo. Cutting through the icy green, a dark suit and a trail of bubbles.

Like an angel.

But not an angel of death. Gibbs had never mistaken him for that, not for a second. He was a rescuing angel, and trapped as he was behind the steering wheel, he had somehow irrevocably known that Tony would get him out.

He remembered Tony hugging him when he was back from Mexico, not because he was happy that his boss had come back and demoted him, but because everyone thought Gibbs had blown up in that cabin. He remembered Tony knowing all about Kelly and Shannon and never bringing them up until today. He remembered Tony in the sewers of Alexandria, Tony in the jail cell, Tony's car exploding in vivid color on every screen in MTAC. Tony under the blue lights. All that, and all that Gibbs had ever said was "You'll do." But Tony haddn't hesitated before diving into the water, designer suit, scarred lungs and all.

And that was when he got it. You don't get to choose who saves your life. You don't get to question motives. All you get to do is spend every day of the rest of your life with a prayer of gratitude on your lips.

Gibbs jumped in his car, cursing the rush hour traffic. Creeping around the Beltway at a crawl, he rehearsed the words over and over to himself. Other motorists were staring but he ignored them - and was glad he hadn't taken the Metro. He used his badge to park in the doctors' parking lot rather than circling around the garage for twenty minutes. The parking ramps would have only reminded him of Tony, anyway, and he didn't need any more guilt. Lacking patience for the elevator, Gibbs bounded up the stairs two at a time.

It had been, he noted, nineteen days and four hours since Tony pulled him from the water.

A doctor Gibbs had never seen before was exiting Tony's room. Gibbs actually almost knocked the man over. He wanted to stop the doctor, shake him, demand answers - but there was no time for that. The scene inside had changed significantly since yesterday. Tony lay on his back, oxygen tubing snaked under his nose. The Ohio State tee had been replaced by a puke-green gown. He was buried under the covers, glassy-eyed, sporadically coughing.

At least he hadn't been intubated yet. Thank heaven for small favors. Gibbs cleared his throat.

Tony dragged his attention from the muted TV. "Hey, boss," he said weakly.

Gibbs pulled up the chair and sat. "Hello, Tony," he began.

the end