A/N: Thanks again to those who have reviewed!

Chapter 10

Gibbs didn't want to think about how satisfying that punch felt, he just wanted to get that sorry excuse for a human being as far away from his agent as he could. He had spotted the angry conversation at the back of the foyer when he re-entered the hospital. He knew the second he made eye-contact with Tony and saw that grin that things were going to go south. He just hadn't expected it quite that fast, he certainly hadn't expected the man to try and kill his son in public. He hauled the stunned man to his feet by the lapels of his expensive sport coat. The elder DiNozzo started to struggle.

"Go ahead, give me the excuse," Gibbs growled menacingly.

It might have been the glare. It might have been the posture that said I could kill you a hundred ways with my bare hands. Gibbs didn't know and did not care what caused Marc to cease his struggles. All he cared about was it gave him the opportunity to get rid of the man and finally check on his agent.

"Get him out of my sight," Gibbs barked to McGee. Without hesitation McGee chicken-winged Marc, accepted a pair of cuffs offered to him by a security guard and walked him towards the front entrance while giving the Miranda speech. A moment later, Gibbs pushed past the couple guards that were guiding Tony to the floor.

Gibbs dropped to a knee next to the senior field agent. The younger man was drawing in deep gulps of air, blood running down his cheek seeping into the collar of his shirt. Tony rolled his head to the side to make eye contact with his boss.

"Sorry, Boss," he croaked, wincing as the effort strained bruised vocal cords.

Gibbs lifted an eyebrow.

"Right, apologies, got it," Tony whispered his eyes searching the foyer.

"He's gone," Gibbs said quietly, "Won't be around here again anytime soon."

The relief that flashed through Tony's eyes made Gibbs wish he had hit Marc just a little harder. Tony loosened the tie around his neck, still trying to catch his breath. He stared at the hand when it came away bloody, wrinkling his nose like he had just discovered a fly in his Lo Mein.

"Hey Boss, I think I might need stitches," he rasped as he leaned his head back.

Gibbs stared at him a couple seconds before nodding, "Yup." He rose to his feet and offered a hand out to DiNozzo. "Can you walk?"

Tony gave a short nod of assent and took the proffered hand. That the younger agent didn't make a show of what would usually be perceived as an insulting question worried Gibbs. When the former marine took Tony's hand and helped him to his feet, he understood. The man was shaking like a leaf, though he was hiding it well. He met Tony's eyes and saw one thing: get me the hell out of here.

Gibbs placed a steadying hand above DiNozzo's elbow as he waved off the nurse approaching with a wheelchair. When they rounded the corner into the hall leading to Emergency, Tony dropped his posturing. His shoulders slumped and he was visibly shaking.

"Wanna tell me what happened in there?" Gibbs asked, a hint of anger lacing his tone.

Tony looked at him eyes expressing hurt but not surprise at the tone. "No," he whispered, "Not now."

"Can you at least tell me one thing?"

Tony shrugged.

"Why didn't you defend yourself? You're a trained federal agent. You could have easily taken him down!" Gibbs demanded, his tone harsher than he had intended.

Tony stopped walking. He closed his eyes. Swallowing painfully, he tried to speak. Frustrated he turned and looked at Gibbs. He was angry. He knew everyone in that foyer had been thinking the same thing. Hell, his dad was probably laughing at what a pathetic federal agent his son was even as he was being shoved into the back of a squad car.

He tried to speak again, his voice sounding alien in his ears, "I didn't…" he broke off to cough, "I didn't fight back…cough…because I… cough, cough…was…cough…afraid…." Tony clenched his fists at his inability to finish the sentence. Gibbs was looking at him with concern. The irritation in his throat wouldn't quit, and suddenly he couldn't stop coughing.

The wheelchair-bearing nurse seemed to materialize out of thin air. Tony found himself seated, being rushed along the corridor. Black spots danced in front of his eyes as the coughing jag continued. He felt like he was suffocating, the sensation eerily reminiscent of the plague days. He was angry at Gibbs for making him talk, he was angry at his body for betraying him. And he was angry that Gibbs now thought he didn't fight back because he had been too afraid. The buzzing in his ears increased to a dull roar and the world went oddly gray.

~*~*~*~

Gibbs pulled the curtain aside that shielded DiNozzo from the rest of the ER floor. At the sound of the curtain track rasping, Tony turned his head. He was reclined back on the narrow bed, one hand keeping the edge of the breathing mask off the bandage covering his new stitches. He started to pull the mask off but aborted the move at Gibbs warning eyebrow.

"Doctor Singh said he'd be back in here shortly," Gibbs informed Tony, "He'll let you know if you can take that thing off."

Tony simply nodded before he turned his head away from his boss, fixating on the seventh pleat in the curtain again. He was embarrassed. Not only had he not stood up to his father, he had let Gibbs down by not doing so. He had further evidenced his weakness by nearly passing out from hyperventilating. He could feel Gibbs staring at him, felt his ears burning under the former marine's scrutiny.

"I talked to Elizabeth," Gibbs stated in a neutral tone. Tony turned his head back towards the team leader, surprised. "She told me what happened; matter-of-fact she blames herself for the whole thing. I know you didn't go looking for the confrontation, I never believed you did."

Tony tried to absorb the reassurance Gibbs was offering, trying to reconcile the understanding tone with the anger he had heard earlier. After several seconds he gave up, he just didn't have the emotional wherewithal at the moment to try and figure it out. He was saved from further rumination by the curtain being swept aside by the doctor.

The young doctor pushed his wire-rimmed glasses up his nose while he inspected Tony's chart. He conducted a brief vitals assessment before finally speaking in a colorful accent that seemed to be a combination of Hindi lilt and Scottish brogue, "I think we're safe to lose the mask now, Agent DiNozzo," he smiled as Tony fairly ripped the mask off his face. "Your respiration is back to normal, I presume the irritation in your throat has abated some?"

He continued at Tony's affirmative nod, "The mask was to rebalance your carbon dioxide levels following the hyperventilation episode, not an uncommon side-effect of strangulation. The air was also humidified to relieve some of the irritation in your airway. Should the irritation return, a hot shower or breathing over a basin of steaming water will help."

Tony nodded impatiently, looking to Gibbs for an assist. Gibbs smirked, "He wants to know when he can get out of here."

The doctor smiled good-naturedly, "Very soon, I assure you. We have a few more items to cover and you will be free to go. As you've been told already, avoid using your voice for at least a day and that includes whispering. Tomorrow you can start using your voice again, but be judicious: if it hurts, stop. Irritating the injury further could result in permanent voice damage. If you still are having problems speaking after a week, schedule an appointment with an ear, nose and throat specialist."

Tony tuned out the rest of the instructions about the care of his stitches. He'd had enough of them over the course of his life to know what to do. The intern that had stitched him up had done a very good job, insisting that the scar would be "hardly noticeable". He sighed, just one more mark his father had left on him. Absently he rubbed the inch long scar under his chin, made twenty-three years ago by the same ring that damaged his cheek today.

"Any questions, Agent DiNozzo?"

He shook his head.

"Then you're free to go. Come see us immediately if you start having any trouble with your breathing," the doctor cautioned.

Tony couldn't get out of the bed fast enough. He moved to pull on his button-down shirt and was stopped when Gibbs held up a clean t-shirt. "Your laundry won't be back until this afternoon. This was the only clean shirt you had left in your bag."

Gibbs had been busy the short time he had been away from the ER. Tony pulled the shirt over his head and used one of the few signs he had picked up from Abby: Thank-you. They walked out of the Emergency area into the hospital proper. After two corridors, the younger agent stopped in his tracks. He opened his mouth to speak and was promptly shot down by a light swat to the back of his head. His jaw jutted out in irritation. He turned and stared at his boss. He needed to explain to Gibbs what he was going to say.

"This can't wait for the conference room?"

Tony shook his head.

Gibbs stared back. After a moment he handed over his notepad and a pen.

Tony took it and scrawled out a single sentence. He took a deep breath before handing the pad back over to Gibbs. His boss read the message, looked up and gave the agent an understanding nod before glancing at it one more time.

I didn't fight back because I was afraid I wouldn't be able to stop.

~*~*~*~

He had managed to keep up the act for an hour. Leaned back in the chair, feet kicked up on the seat next to him, head tipped back resting against interlaced fingers: he was the picture of all was well. Tony had listened to Gibbs explain that Abby and McGee would have access to Dawson and Knoll's machines by 1400. He had shown mild interest when Gibbs revealed that in addition to talking to Vance he had called Fornell. Electronic copies of Elliot Dawson's FBI/ATF file were being compiled. The remainder was being sent with an agent familiar with the case, due to arrive by 1600.

McGee had explained that all of Knoll's bills had been paid with money orders. The lieutenant didn't have a checking account. Every payday he would cash his check, deposit one-third into savings and have money orders printed in varying amounts. One amount was consistent, five-hundred dollars, every two weeks. McGee was still working with the money order company to find out who was cashing the money-orders.

But they wouldn't stop staring at him. Both had tried to ask if he was ok in their own way when he and Gibbs had first walked back into the conference room. He mouthed "I'm fine," and took his place in the chair. Whenever they thought he wasn't looking, they'd stare. Tony just wanted to forget about what had happened, deal with it after the case. But they kept staring. Ziva was asking Abby a question when McGee did it again. Tony met the younger agent's eyes and slammed his hand down on the table. Ziva turned and looked at him sharply; Gibbs gave him a warning look.

Tony's gaze was fiery. He grabbed a sheet of paper and angrily wrote on it. After a moment he lifted the sheet up to show McGee. In case you hadn't noticed we have a missing submarine to find.

"I'm well aware of that, Tony," McGee said testily.

A moment later: Then quit looking at me like I am a kicked puppy and do your damn job.

Ziva interjected, "We are concerned about you. What happened this morning…"

SLAM. Tony wrote furiously. What happened this morning is not important and is not relevant. I am fine. I can do my job. Let it go.

Tony stood and pointed at the projection screen. Both Ziva and McGee were looking at him like he had grown a third arm. Tony raised his eyebrows in challenge.

Abby dramatically cleared her throat on the phone and both agents turned around and focused their attention back on the projection screen.

"I was able to finally decrypt the last of the files on Lieutenant Michael Dawson's computers. The heavily encrypted files were recordings he was sending to recording studios."

Album cover art appeared on the screen as Abby continued, "DJ MD: Prescription for Trance was going to be his first professionally released album. The other encrypted document was a contract with a record label that was unsigned. Not surprising given their terms. I did some additional research into his work, he apparently had a fairly strong following back at Cal-Tech. Worked a lot of clubs with some pretty innovative music.

"McGee and I have scrubbed every bit of these machines, and there is nothing else on here. He was just super protective of his music. It's anti-climatic, really."

The conference room was quiet. They had all hoped that the laptops would yield some clue. Tony picked up a pen and wrote another note on some paper. Email?

"Tony's asking about the email, Abs," Gibbs conveyed.

"I've fed the emails through my new analytics server, searching for anything to do with weapons, submarines, the codename Fade. I've looked for anything from Dawson's uncle. It's mostly just spam. There's some correspondence from the record labels, some from his ex-wife. A lot from her family after their daughter died. If he was setting something up via email, it wasn't using this email account or these computers."

Silence settled in the conference room again. Gibbs stared at the cover art thoughtfully. His eyes narrowed and he tipped his head to the side. "Dawson!" he exclaimed after a moment.

DiNozzo furrowed his brow. Gibbs continued, "DJ MD… I bet Lt Hastings was talking about Lt Dawson yesterday. He said something about Deege Dock – I thought he was referring to a place. DJ MD, DJ Doc…" Gibbs trailed off.

"Good catch, Gibbs!" Abby cheered.

"It really doesn't get us anything, Abs," he commented drily, "he said four things, 'traitor', 'Deege Doc', 'fade' and 'abandon'. Even if we substitute Dawson for Deege Doc, it still leaves a lot to speculation.

"If we go on the assumption that Hastings was saying that Dawson was the traitor, it still leaves us with the question of whether or not Knoll is involved and we're no closer to an answer than we were ten minutes ago!" Gibbs tossed his pencil violently down onto the table in frustration.

Tony surreptitiously tore off a corner from a sheet on his notepad and wadded it up. He pitched it at McGee's head and grinned when it bounced off the Probie's ear. McGee did not look nearly as amused.

"In case you hadn't noticed, Tony we have a missing submarine to find," Tim sarcastically turned Tony's previous words back on him.

Tony simply shrugged and lifted his next sign. Anything on the money orders?

Tim rolled his eyes but checked the progress on his computer. "No. Nothing yet."

"Push them harder," Gibbs responded, giving Tony a hard look. Tony pointed to his stomach. Gibbs nodded. His gut was telling him the same thing. There was an answer in those money orders. The team leader looked at his watch.

"Ziva, get back upstairs and sit with Hastings. Access to Dawson and Knoll's Navy computers will be ready in a half-hour, McGee stay here and work with Abby. Tony and I are going back to the hotel to wait for Agent Torgeson and go through the electronic files Fornell sent to us. Meet back at the hotel at 1800."

Gibbs rose to his feet and stalked through the door, Tony just inches behind him. Gibbs had marveled at Tony's willingness to obey doctor's orders and keep his mouth shut. Looking at the set of the younger man's jaw and the glint of anger in his eyes, he saw it for what it was: a shield. As long as he could get away without speaking, he could avoid answering questions. Gibbs knew there was going to be fallout. The older man cast DiNozzo a worried look as Tony's scowl deepened when they exited the hospital.

Gibbs took a stab at what was churning in Tony's mind when they reached the car. "Hey," Gibbs said over the roof of the car. When Tony met his eyes he spoke, "You did the right thing, not fighting back," his tone quietly assuring. He held DiNozzo's gaze for a moment longer, making sure the agent understood that he knew it had taken far more strength to resist fighting back than exchanging blows with his father ever would. That kind of anger and resentment was powerful. Tony would have been fully in his rights to defend himself but had recognized his limits and upheld the integrity of the agency.

"His day is coming," Gibbs promised. Both men shared a ghost of a smile as they opened the doors to the car and left the hospital parking lot.