This chapter took a little longer than I expected, sorry bout that, I'm a few days out. Updates might be a little slower now, I'm back at school to bear with me. Not to worry, I'll still try to put out chapters at a decent rate.
Thank you reviewers! Once again, you make my day.
WHUMP WHUMP WHUMP. D
Not many warnings for this chapter. Medical themes I guess and some awful butchering of the French language. xD
Chapter Title: Her Gilded Cage (1922)
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Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.
The heart rate monitor to Tony's left was oddly soothing. After all he'd been forced to go through; it was nice to know that he was still functioning on a basic level.
He'd been half awake for a while now, just listening to that rhythmic beep-beeping, sedated and unable to open his eyes.
But now, as he was becoming more aware, he slowly stirred himself, consciousness flooding back into his body as he re-assessed his position. He was safe, in a hospital, in god knows where. But safe. That was good.
Tony's eyelids flickered open and he cautiously surveyed his environment. From what he could see, he was alone. Well, he didn't know whether that was a good thing or not. Where were Gibbs, McGee and Abby? They were nowhere in sight, which meant they had better places to be, which meant he had better places to be also.
What was he doing rotting in a hospital bed like an invalid?
Tony slowly pulled his arms out from under the hospital bed covers and distastefully pulled the electrodes and IV from his wrists. The cardiac monitor weakened significantly, but continued to beep-beep hesitantly alongside him, and Tony wryly sat up in his bed, quickly bringing his fingers to his head to check how his hair was going.
Dismally… but that didn't matter. He could fix that later.
With a grunt, he reached under the blankets and pulled the electrodes from his ankles, and the heart monitor gave one last stubborn 'beep beep' before flat-lining.
With that, he pulled his aching legs from out of the blanket covers. His savaged leg had been bandaged thoroughly from his ankle to just below his knee, and both feet were completely bandaged, numb and sore. They were prickling a little, too.
His hands had been wrapped in some weird kind of fuzzy medical tape. He was tempted to rip it off, but he vividly recalled that his hands had been weeping and bleeding earlier and he didn't want to risk opening up the geyser.
He propped himself against the steel head of the bed and swung his feet out, easing himself off the mattress onto his shuddering legs. His feet felt strange, like they didn't want to hold his weight, his toes prickling and the balls of his foot stinging as if he'd been bitten.
It probably had something to do with the ten tons of bandage wrapped around them. Damn it.
Someone had finally reacted to the flat-lining cardiac monitor- footsteps broke out of the mundane buzzing of the activity in the hallway, and a middle-aged man stepped into the room. He looked around mid-fifties, graying at the temples, slim and healthy looking with an intelligent look in his eyes.
Tony immediately identified him as a doctor; with that white coat and that buoyantly smug expression, he half expected him to whip out some suspenders and start rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet.
"What's up, doc?" said Tony, deciding to refrain from using a 'Bugs Bunny' accent. He still had some semblance of dignity to protect. The doctor took one look at the disconnected tubes and electrodes and visibly relaxed- his patient wasn't going into cardiac arrest, he was just another of the many thirty-something smartasses that acted like they owned the hospital.
"Sit down, sir," the doctor told him sternly with a briefly glance towards his heavily bandaged feet and calf.
"Nah, it's fine," replied Tony offhandedly with a brief wave of his bandaged fingers as if it wasn't an issue.
"I must insist, Agent DiNozzo. It's rather important. If you walk on your feet at the moment, there is a distinct possibility that you may lose them."
Tony's face visibly fell and he stared up at the doctor for a moment with unabashed horror, searching for some sign of jest. He half expected the man to guffaw 'pshaaw, just kiddin'!' and then lapse into hysterical hill-billy laughter. But alas, the doctor merely stood there and gazed intensely into Tony's green eyes without flinching.
"You're shitting me, right?" replied Tony, aghast, before gazing forlornly down at his throbbing feet.
"I'm afraid not, young man. Get back into bed, and I will elaborate."
Tony took another few moments to stare in horror, and then nodded numbly. Now with infinite tenderness, he hobbled back to the bed, attempting to put as little strain as possible on his feet. As soon as he was safely back on the mattress, the doctor swooped over and promptly appraised the mess he'd made. Tony had snapped his saline drip in two, disconnected all his cardiac electrodes and completely knotted the IV.
The doctor shook his head wearily and then commenced disentangling them, replacing the saline tube, and then carefully re-attached the electrodes and various drips to Tony's arm. Tony felt like a lab rat, but decided it best not to argue.
"How are you feeling?" asked the doctor in a rumbling voice, striding over to Tony's bedside, briefly wrenching his gaze away to stare down at a clipboard.
"Uh, peachy," replied Tony with a perturbed blink. It was a little surreal being asked how he was, after being hunted like wild game through the Canadian wilderness by a 5'8 blonde psychopath.
"You are progressing well," said the doctor with a brief glance at Tony's cardiac monitor, which was merrily 'beeping' away again as the electrodes had been re-connected moments earlier.
"You were chronically dehydrated when we brought you in here, Tony. How long has it been since you've had any water?" asked the Doctor.
Tony scratched his head a little sheepishly and then thought back to the previous few days.
"Erm, well, we were sort of surviving on hardened snow. There wasn't any fresh running water handy, you know."
The doctor nodded knowingly and Tony got the impression that he was inwardly being 'tsked.'
"An unfortunate urban myth, young man. Eating snow tends to dehydrate the body rather than revigorate it. But never mind that- you have reacted well to electrolyte treatment, so that's no longer an issue."
"Hurrah," said Tony dryly, addressing the man with a quirked brow. Dehydration wasn't really number one on his list of worries at the moment. The doctor didn't seem to notice- he plunged on relentlessly.
"You went into mild Cardiogenic Shock, probably a joint result of the stress you've endured and the previous Y. Pestis… Pneumonic Plague, yes, in the lungs? Your X-rays show that it caused contusio cordis, which explains the shock itself… a little peculiar for a pneumonic condition to affect the heart, but I suppose that it did cause significant damage to the respiratory system and the walls of your lungs, so it's not that hard to imagine…"
"I have no idea what you are talking about, doc," interrupted Tony good-naturedly in the same manner he might cut short Abby or McGee in one of their little computer monologues. Thinking of them caused his gut to drop a little as if he'd just descended rather rapidly.
Where the hell were they?
"Ah, yes, of course," answered the man with a sheepish smile before continuing.
"Your hands were savaged, but as far as we can tell the damage is purely superficial. There is no nerve damage there- nor in your leg, which was also attacked rather… viciously."
The doctor paused for a moment and took a deep breath which Tony took to mean that there was some bad news about to be delivered.
"The main concern, Agent DiNozzo, is your feet. They were not adequately protected from the cold, and were wet for a majority of the time in the elements. I'm afraid you have developed the initial stages of Frostbite in the furthermore extremities of your feet."
"'Furthermost extremities'?" repeated Tony a little incredulously with a raised brow.
The doctor chuckled ruefully and shrugged in a 'touche' sort of manner.
"I guess I can get a little carried away with the medical terminology. My apologies."
"So, is it bad?" asked Tony a little apprehensively, his bandaged hands drumming futilely on his belly. "The frostbite, I mean."
"No. The good news is that it's treatable. We literally need to 'thaw' out your toes, and you should make a complete recovery. The important thing is that you don't walk for a while- Frostbite causes ice to form between your muscle sinew, which means that every time you take a step, you are literally stabbing your feet with millions of tiny little sharp knives."
Tony had the chagrin to look disturbed, but vivid memories of Ziva dripping blood all over him bobbed into his mind's eye and his expression quickly turned to one of concern.
"Ziva! Oh shit, what happened to Ziva?! Where is she? Is she alright?"
The doctor's face darkened a moment before he managed to gain control of his features and Tony stiffened, tensed, against his mattress.
The doctor sighed and chanced a glance back at Tony's cardiac monitor as if it might distract him. It didn't- Tony stared at him intensely until he had no choice but to reply.
"Agent David is stable," he replied stiffly, as if that was meant to console a heavily apprehensive Tony.
"Stable? What do you mean, stable? Wasn't she always stable? Where is she?"
There was an awkward pause.
"At the moment- intensive care," replied the doctor hesitantly, fully aware that his irate patient would not be put off.
"Intensive…! Intensive Care? Why? What's happening to her?"
"She's lost a significant amount of blood over the last few days, as I'm sure you are aware. She's entered the progressive stage of Hypovolaemic shock, and stage 2 of chronic Hypothermia."
"What, what? Hypothermia? Hypovol-what?" Tony shook his head so violently he was almost expecting it to spin completely around, like the girl off 'the Exorcist.' Hopefully he wouldn't projectile vomit… the doctor probably wouldn't be too hot for that.
The doctor paused.
"Hypovolaemic shock, Tony, a combination of exhaustion and blood loss. An infection to the wounds on her chest sped it all up. Basically- she's lost too much blood too quickly and her body is overcompensating. Shock makes a person hyperventilate, to get rid of the Carbon Dioxide buildup. The problem is, Hypothermia slows breathing down. So she had one ailment telling her to breathe quickly, another telling her to breathe slowly. Do the math."
"What do you mean, the math? I'm not a doctor, don't patronize me," snapped Tony acidly, his knuckles white as he clasped the edges of the mattress. The doctor met his eyes sharply but Tony didn't quail in the slightest.
The man sighed in resignation and ran his fingers through his graying hair, teeth clenched and a muscle in his jaw throbbing warily.
"Her lungs have shut down, Tony," he said in a softer voice, causing Tony's eyes to flutter wide open. He pushed himself to the side of the mattress and stiffly tugged out the IV and the electrodes again.
"Okay, okay, enough, get me some crutches, damn it," growled Tony gruffly.
The doctor seemed to realize he'd revealed a little too much and stepped forward swiftly in an effort to stop him disconnecting the apparatus. Too late.
"I can't allow you to do that, Tony," he said sternly in response, bringing himself up to stand at his full height, as if using his patient's first name might defuse the situation.
In response, Tony promptly slid off the bed, eased himself onto his feet, and stood straight, staring the man in the eye. At 6'2, Tony was an impressive height, and the bandages easily added another inch to his stature. He dwarfed the doctor easily.
"Here's the thing," answered Tony offhandedly, barely batting an eyelid. "Either you go get me some crutches so I can wait outside Ziva's ward with the rest of my team, or I will haul my frostbitten ass out there and sign the release papers myself."
There was an electric silence in which they stood toe-to-toe. Tony could see the man hovering indecisively- it was evident in his eyes that he acknowledged Tony's hardiness.
After a long moment, he quivered peculiarly and then nodded with a bitter stiffness.
"Okay, okay, I'll get you crutches. Just promise me you'll be back in your bed before dark, you put as little weight as possible on your feet, and you try and spend the remainder of your time sitting. You hear me? The frostnip isn't that bad, but you can easily damage your muscles if you are careless. I don't want to amputate."
"Loud and clear, doc," replied Tony obligingly with a polite nod. "Now, go get me those crutches before I ride the bed out of here."
The older man bristled as if he'd just been chastised like a child, but decided against arguing with his lofty patient and turned abruptly, stalking out of the room without another word.
Evidently the doctor thought himself far too important to play delivery boy to an authoritative patient- instead; a matronly nurse waddled in on plump legs not long afterwards sporting two crutches that were evidently far too large for her.
Tony couldn't help but smile whimsically as she struggled with the oversized devices and plopped them against his bed, looking flustered, then smoothed down her blouse and tottered out, scarcely sparing Tony a glance.
Tony was a little bit impatient now, but certainly not careless. He wasn't a huge fan of his doctor, but he wasn't going to act like a complete ass just to spite him. He tenderly gathered the crutches in his arms and then got to his feet, supporting a vast majority of his weight on his arms.
He bore the remainder on his heels, the only part of his foot untainted by frostbite.
The crutches were a little long, but it didn't matter. He awkwardly heaved himself forward, looking like some strange stiff-legged creature, resolutely landing on his heels whenever he needed to swing the crutches out in front of him.
The hospital halls were filled with skittish nurses careening backwards and forth with various medicines and foods; none of them took any notice of Tony gingerly limping his way through the halls. He was tempted to ask for directions, but all he could hear was French, French and more French.
Given that he was almost positive that they'd crashed somewhere in Canada, there was a fairly good chance that they were in Quebec, the only Canadian state with French as the official first language. He'd suspected that long ago, but he'd never really acknowledged the suspicions until now.
It was difficult walking, with both his feet and hands aching. He flinched at every step, as he was forced to hold his weight against his hands. As a result, the open abrasions across his palms were being constantly rubbed against the bandages, causing his fingers to instinctively flex.
A sign hanging from a corridor branching off from the main hall caught his attention, and he squinted uneasily at the sign in an attempt to decipher the foreign words.
Hôpital Général de Montréal
CHIRURGIE GENERALE
1. TRAUMATOLOGIE CLINIQUE DE
2. BARIATRIQUE CLINIQUE DE CHIRURGIE
3. SEIN CLINIQUE DU
He snorted ruefully. The only thing he understood was 'Clinic,' 'Hospital,' and 'Montreal.' Everything else was an indecipherable blur.
However, on closer inspection, a much smaller and more discreet notice hung from below, obviously catering to Montreal's broad range of international tourism.
Montreal General Hospital
General Surgery
1. Trauma & Intensive Care
2. General Surgery
3. Bariatric Surgery
"Yahtzee!" crowed Tony aloud, momentarily stumbling as one of his crutches skittered across the linen in his excitement.
Tony looked to his left- a young French woman was staring at him with an expression of amused incredulity. Tony grinned sheepishly and then bobbed his head, acting as if he'd simply been humming, correcting his stance and leaning against his remaining crutch, peering at the woman almost predatorily.
"L'escargot rouge couché avec la charmante cinéma chien," purred Tony to the woman, wiggling his brow with a charismatic smirk. She stiffened, her expression bewildered, and trying hard to stifle her laughter.
Tony didn't know exactly what he'd said, but he had a funny feeling it had something to do with charming snails and a cinema dog.
He continued on down the hall, leaving the unknown woman to giggle feverishly to herself. It was all well and good to have some fun, but he had a team to find, after all.
It wasn't long before he spotted them- all standing in a group around the 'Trauma & Intensive Care' ward, gazing into half glazed windows at what Tony assumed was Ziva's bed.
Ducky was there!
Ducky hadn't been there before. He must have flown out while Tony had been 'incarcerated,' per se, in his hospital bed.
He picked up his pace, swinging himself forward and attempting to balance himself on his heels while keeping the ball of his foot off the ground.
Unfortunately, he misjudged his own momentum and moved a little too quickly- the crutches skidded out from underneath him and he crashed to his knees, gritting his teeth and riding out the sudden pain that lanced up his injured calf.
All five of them turned at once, but it was Abby who reacted first.
"Oh my god, Tony!" she yelped in sympathy, lunging forward to tenderly grasp at his arm, gathering his crutches and helping him to his feet.
"No biggie, I'm fine," said Tony, slowly rising to his feet. He was hurting, but that was to be expected and he swiftly shrugged it off.
"You look like crap," she said compassionately, leaning back and brushing him down (he was wearing a hospital gown- not very dignifying, but at least it wasn't one of those half-gowns that only covered the front. He maintained some semblance of dignity.)
"No offence, of course," she continued swiftly, green eyes widening as if she'd just said something horrible. "I'd look like shit too if I'd gone through everything that you did. Well actually, I'd look more like a dead person than shit, because you know… I'd be dead. Maybe I should be saying you look like a dead person? Not that you're dying! Because you're clearly not dying… Oh my god, you aren't dying, are you?!" she finished, voice steadily rising in octaves as she continued until Tony was forced to shake her gently to silence her.
"Shush, Abs! I'm not dying. I swear."
"Thank god," she breathed thankfully, hands sliding away from his torso.
"I might lose my feet if I'm not careful, though," he added swiftly, rekindling the sudden horror in her eyes. Maybe it was macabre, but a part of him liked seeing that tumultuous worry on the expressions of his teammates. "Eheh…"
"DiNozzo!" barked Gibbs, breaking up their little interlude with a stern glance, prowling over with an expression that clearly betrayed his relief, much as he tried to hide it. "What the hell are you doing?"
"Standing in a hospital ward boss!" barked Tony habitually, though he realized moments later that it probably wasn't the answer Gibbs wanted and quickly attempted to correct himself.
"... Talking to you… boss!"
No, that didn't sound right, either. He paused thoughtfully.
... er... I don't know, boss?" he finished hesitantly, really quite unsure about what he was doing wrong.
"I mean, what are you doing out of bed? You should be resting, not teetering around the hospital. They'll think you've escaped from the mental ward."
"He's right, dear boy," piped up Ducky moments later from Gibbs's right, eyes brightening considerably as he stepped forward to address the younger agent. "About the bed rest, of course. A man in your condition certainly should not be on the move!"
"The doctor let me," replied Tony defensively, drawing his crutches in towards his flanks with an expression of guarded testiness. "Besides, I was hungry."
It was a valid point, too. Tony had been surviving on pitiful rations of pemmican and candy bars for the last few days.
"Uh, do you want me to get you anything, Tony?" asked McGee from Abby's left. Tony paused momentarily to consider this but it didn't take him long to answer.
"At the moment, all I want to do is get some McNuggets from McDonalds, McGee," said Tony wearily. He'd been fantasizing about chicken and sweet-n-sour sauce for days now.
"Make sure you don't McCrash on the McWay," replied Abby drily with a broad grin, earning herself a clout to the shoulder by McGee. "…That would be a McTragedy."
McGee and Abby quickly indulged in a kafuffle involving several feathery punches and a few pinches before they settled down, glaring impishly at eachother.
The reason for Tony's rampage out of the bed came to a fore and he stiffened, staring hesitantly into the ward. Both beds were protected from view by curtains.
"How's Ziva?" he asked quietly, the jovialness swiftly fading from his voice.
Abby and McGee quickly exchanged a glance- Gibbs's expression hardened and Ducky looked a little morose.
"She is fighting, Anthony," said Dr. Mallard after a long silence. "The doctors have informed us that she is conscious, but alas, her lungs still don't seem to be working by themselves. Not to worry, of course."
"Can we see her?" he asked quickly, eyes brightening. "If she's conscious?"
"When they finish with her," growled Gibbs in response, jerking his thumb back at the curtain which occasionally jerked when a doctor passed by it, evidently fiddling with the machinery.
The doctors had told them that she'd be ready for visitors shortly, but stressed the fact that she would not be able to speak to them. They were there for emotional support only, and only briefly, because if she lapsed back into a comatose state it wasn't likely she was going to wake up for a long time.
Tony nodded tersely and all five of them waited in silence for a while, with Abby occasionally giving Tony's arm an encouraging pat as he resolutely balanced his weight on his heels, refusing to yield to the urge to roll back onto the entirety of his foot.
It wasn't too long before a young female doctor stepped out of the ward and addressed them, hands in pockets, her English accompanied with a throaty French purr.
"Monsieur Gibbs?" she asked, speaking directly to the older grey-haired agent directly. "Providing you do not excite her, you may visit Ms. David now."
"Daaah- veeeed," corrected Tony in a tired drawl as he loftily hopped past her on his crutches, eager to see the woman that he'd just so recently gone through so much with.
They trickled in single file, Gibbs first, followed by Tony, then Abby, McGee, and finally Ducky. Immediately they lapsed into that tender silence that often comes about in hospitals when the air is thick with anesthetic and disinfectant, and the pressure for silence is immense.
Tony paused just in front of the curtains, took a breath, pushed aside the cloth with one crutch and stepped in.
Ziva lay in the bed, no longer covered in blood but instead swathed in a whiteness that Tony had not seen from her in a very long time. Her lips were blue and she was covered in blankets, with only her head and wrists above the covers, electrodes and IV tubes connected as they had been with Tony not long before.
Gibbs stood alongside her, observantly looking down into her eyes. He looked a little pale himself, relieved, guilty even, but it was all very strictly hidden behind that impenetrable mask.
There was a large, noisy machine at Ziva's bedside. Every few seconds it would make a loud, mechanic sound and Ziva's chest would rise violently, forcibly pumped with oxygen.
A tube had been inserted directly down Ziva's throat, leading down her trachea to the base of her windpipe. She looked uncomfortable and the artificialness of her breathing was poignant and horrible to watch.
Tony heard Abby gasp quietly to herself at the sight, and McGee tenderly put a hand on her shoulder to comfort her. Gibbs edged quietly to Ziva's bedside. Silence ensued for several minutes.
"You did good, Ziva," Gibbs told her quietly after a long period of simple staring, meeting her half-lidded brown eyes with an affable tension. He swallowed, obviously with words to say but no initiative to say them.
"At least this time you didn't take out a cow," added Tony quietly from behind him with a tone of mock deference, cocking his head and sending a concerned smile her way.
It was only slight, but Ziva's lips turned up at the sides into a very weak smile and she blinked sluggishly, her eyes slowly progressing to settle on Tony's face. He quirked both eyebrows at her but there was a tense grin on his face, forced, attempting to make light of the situation.
Then, her lips started to move and her fingers jerked, arms shifting- all five of them stiffened, tense.
She groaned, as if attempting to speak. She looked frustrated, and despite her paleness and her glazed eyes there was a fire raging in her expression that refused to die.
"Don't talk, my dear," said Ducky from the bottom of the bed as she coughed viciously against the ventilator, obviously attempting to speak despite the tube inserted down her windpipe.
She made several more attempts to choke out words, head feebly thrashing back and forth in an attempt to move the pipe, before exasperation got the better of her.
None of them realized what she was doing until she'd done it. She brought a hand to her mouth, seized the pipe, threw back her head until her neck was completely elongated and tugged the respirator out of her throat with a hacking cough and a savage growl.
She tossed the ventilator tube aside, fingers twitching against the pipe. The ventilating machine began to make a shrill beeping noise, obviously alerting the doctors of the patient's plight.
"Tony," she coughed in a strangled snarl, attempting to articulate something but evidently unable to draw any more breath to do so.
Her lungs refused to function and she lay on the bed, mouth agape, visibly shuddering as she attempted to force her lungs into inhaling for her.
Ducky yelled out but they were already being shoved aside by doctors, carelessly pushing through, yelling out random snippets of French to each other and ushering them away from the laboring woman's bedside.
Abby began to sob quietly to herself as they backed out of the ward, Ziva gasping for breath on her hospital bed, Tony's crutches scratching for purchase on the cold ground.
He wanted someone to explain. Somebody to tell him what was happening, that it was normal; that he shouldn't be afraid.
All he was given by way of comfort was the steady 'beep!-beep!' of the cardiac monitor, that god awful huffing of the artificial ventilator and the strangled growls of a woman fighting desperately to survive.