Gibbs tiredly rubbed a hand over his face, gazing intently at the still form in front of him, if only to convince himself that the man was real and not a figment of his desperate imagination. He tried to avoid looking at the myriad of equipment that surrounded the still figure, tried to avoid the tubes for urine and oxygen and food and medication, tried not to hear the rhythmic click-whoosh of the ventilator, tried to focus on the mostly steady beep of the heart monitor.
Tony was alive. Gibbs found himself occasionally reaching a hand out and cautiously touching DiNozzo's, taking comfort in the reassuring warmth he felt there, so different from the chilling lifelessness he had felt in the ambulance.
It had been a close call. It was still a close call.
"You hang on, DiNozzo. No one dies without my say-so, you hear me?"
He had been certain of what he was about to hear when the doctor emerged from the trauma room, face grim and haggard, and if not for the closeness of his team, he may have staggered under the weight of knowing that he was responsible for what he was going to hear. The first words of the doctor's mouth were that he was alive, against all odds, again, and Gibbs felt a swell of pride at his stubborn-ass senior agent.
He had been naïve in hoping that that would be enough. Possible brain damage, not breathing on his own, almost certainly compromised lung functions, ventilator…all of the doctor's slowly uttered words fell on his ears like jumbled pieces of a puzzle, finally clicking into place to form one, startlingly inescapable conclusion: Tony might never come out of this. Tony most likely would never come out of this. His senior agent, vibrant and immature and rowdy and intuitive, was probably going to die in this craphole hospital, would never run into work late again, would never take bets on his interrogation style again, would never throw movie references at him again.
Gibbs was not an easy man to overwhelm. Staring at the still, lifeless man in front of him, Gibbs was overwhelmed.
A sudden noise had Gibbs glancing in the corner, watching as McGee shifted slightly from his tightly curled position on the other uncomfortable armchair in the room, flinging an arm out and opening his mouth to emit a small snore. Gibbs managed a fond half-smile and stood slowly, stretching his arms above his head and popping his neck. He paused a moment, put a gentle hand on his still agent's shoulder as if to reassure them both that neither was going anywhere, then made his way over to Tim. Someone had thoughtfully left a blanket, but it was slipping off of the sleeping agent. Gibbs gently grasped it, tugging it up to rest around McGee's shoulders.
Gibbs shook his head as he looked at his youngest agent. Tim had flat out refused to leave, and had spent most of the night as enthralled with Tony as Gibbs was. They'd sat in silence, watching with a mixture of dread and relief as DiNozzo's chest rose and fell mechanically, allowing the beeping of the heart monitor serve as a form of comfort.
It was nice, he mused, to see the obvious worry and care in McGee's actions, a camaraderie that had been missing from his team for too long. It was less nice, he further mused, that it had taken a disaster of these proportions for it to happen. Gibbs would have had to be blind to have missed the tension that sparked between Tony and Tim the past few days, and he knew that both men had been considering other options. Staring between the two men, no one would have guessed that they'd ever been anything but friends, as close as brothers.
xxxx
Three days later, DiNozzo continued to remain unresponsive, still and quiet and pale, and Gibbs came to the hard realization, aided by Vance, that he would have to return to work. Tony had given no sign of waking, no sign of coming around, and Gibbs knew that it wasn't feasible to have his whole team out of commission for an indeterminate amount of time. As sure as Gibbs was that Tony would wake up, he had no sort of timeline, and the cruel reality was that people were still being killed and families still needed justice.
Walking into Tony's room, still slightly startled by the image of his senior agent's still form even after all these seemingly endless days of worry, he once again noted McGee, this time sitting next to DiNozzo, commentating on the episode of 'Magnum P.I.' that was playing quietly before them. Gibbs quickly realized that Tim was trying to goad Tony into waking up, judging by the comments he was making, poking fun at the dialogue and the plot and even, most unforgivably, Magnum's mustache.
"Hey McGee," Gibbs acknowledged, settling into the open chair. McGee glanced up and gave him a small smile.
"Hi Gibbs. We're, uh, well, I'm watching Magnum P.I.," Tim stuttered, wincing at his words. "Sorry, Boss." A pause, then, "Still no change. But he's going to come around soon, Boss, I can tell." His words rang false and hollow and devastatingly hopeful, and Gibbs nodded, his mouth forming a tight line.
"I'm sure he will, Tim, but in the meantime, you…uh…aw hell, McGee, we need to go back to work." Tim's face fell as if he had just found out that Santa wasn't real for the first time, only to be replaced by a look of smoldering anger that Gibbs recognized from a riverbank next to a bridge not so long ago.
"Gibbs, there is no way in hell I'm leaving him," McGee said firmly. Gibbs sighed.
"Look McGee, it's going to happen, but we don't know how long this is going to take, and we can't just stop working." Tim's voice quavered as he spoke.
"Gibbs," he whispered miserably, staring at the floor. "Gibbs, he doesn't have anyone else." Gibbs nodded.
"I know that, Tim, but you have to go back to work. I can't just allow you to stay." This time, Gibbs was certain he saw McGee's bottom lip tremble the slightest bit, so he switched tactics. "I mean, without a reason, you can't just stop going to work." No change in McGee's demeanor, and Gibbs sighed.
"Unless you're not feeling well, you need to go to work, Tim," he said, enunciating every syllable. Tim finally looked up, a ghost of a smile on his face.
"Okay, Boss, I got it."
xxxx
"Gibbs! Tim McGee just called in sick," Vance barked, and Gibbs shrugged.
"So?"
"So McGee never calls in sick!" Gibbs had to hold back the smile that came to his lips.
"Apparently he isn't feeling well, Leon. You got a problem with that?" Vance glared at him. Gibbs stared back.
"Don't think I don't know what this is, Leroy," he muttered, and Gibbs did allow himself a small smirk.
"Of course not," he answered.
The next day, Ziva called in sick. The third day it was Abby, the fourth day Palmer, and the fifth day, even Ducky took a day off. Gibbs managed to see Tony every day after work.
No one said anything, but with each day, hope seemed to grow a bit fainter, seemed to flicker more uncertainly. Tim had come back optimistic, Ziva guardedly cautious, Abby in tears, Palmer subdued, and now, sitting alone in the bullpen long after everyone else had gone home, Ducky came, hat in hand, to talk to Gibbs. And Gibbs knew immediately, by the man's stature and facial expression, that he wasn't going to like what his oldest friend had to say.
"Jethro," Ducky said quietly, sinking into the chair behind Ziva's desk. "Jethro, I know that you've been seeing Anthony every day, so I'm fairly certain that what I'm about to say won't come as a complete shock." Gibbs closed his eyes, swallowing back the anger and helplessness and fear that rose in his throat.
"Anthony is dying, Gibbs," Ducky said, so quietly that Gibbs almost missed hearing it. Not that he really needed to hear it to know what was being said. "He's unable to breathe on his own. His mental capacities are likely compromised. He is wasting away, Jethro." Gibbs looked up at the man in front of him, noting the tears and the gentle hand on his arm.
"Jethro, I think it's time you let Anthony go."
xxxx
"Hey DiNozzo," Gibbs said, stroking his rough, trembling hand through Tony's hair. He cupped his senior agent's cheek, feeling the gaunt features, the stubble that graced the dying man's face.
"Ducky says I should let you go," Gibbs whispered, wishing DiNozzo's eyes would open and he would laugh at that statement. "You always did follow orders, Tony, and he says that I'm being selfish by keeping you here." Gibbs paused, feeling a rare twinge at the corner of his eyes, and quickly wiped them.
"Sometimes a body's just taken too much. Can't handle anymore." He looked at the still man in front of him and pressed on. "It isn't a sign of weakness, DiNozzo, if you can't do this. It's not your fault. So, officially, I'm letting you go." Gibbs rubbed his hand along Tony's arm and patted his agent's shoulder.
"But off the record, you die on me now, and your ass is mine. Maybe I'm being a selfish bastard, but you'd better wake the hell up and spout off some wise-ass comment, or you're never going to hear the end of it. Are we clear?" Gibbs half hoped for some instantaneous sign that his words had had the intended effect, but his friend made no indication of having heard.
"You always have to be stubborn, don't you, Tony?" Gibbs muttered. "Don't you give up, son. I-I need you here. You're all the family I got left, DiNozzo. So don't you give up on me. Not now."
For the first time in a long while, Gibbs felt tears stream down his cheeks, but he didn't care , just pressed his agent's still hand to his forehead and cried.
xxxx
The next day, DiNozzo opened his eyes.
xxxx
A/N: So I was really tempted to kill Tony off (again) but decided not to…Should I continue? I was considering going into DiNozzo's recuperation and all that, but this seems like it could be a good place to stop. I dunno.