Silent Misery R&R - Chapter 11

by HidingInSight

As Fornell took a seat on the easy chair in the corner perpendicular to the couch, Gibbs listened to his messages. Nothing vital, nothing that couldn't wait. That done, he called Director Vance and sold the story: Suspects had gotten the drop on them, they'd been beat up, they'd be fine. Gibbs was being treated for a blood exposure.

Vance was predictably annoyed he hadn't been told all this yesterday. After making Gibbs repeat that they weren't seriously injured, he asked how long they'd be off. A week minimum for DiNozzo, Gibbs would be in and out, depending on the effect of the exposure medications. Vance told him to check in with Navy Medical as soon as possible to get the paperwork on the exposure completed, and reminded him to keep in touch.

Gibbs hung up and drank more smoothie. He looked to Fornell.

"Your people find anything at the building?"

"There was an office, with files. On the side DiNozzo was searching, presumably. Probably why the bastards were there."

"Have them send the files to McGee," Gibbs said. "If they collected trace from us, send it to Abby, eyes only."

Fornell nodded and took out his own cell. Gibbs called McGee.

"How's Tony?" was McGee's first question.

"They're releasing him in a few hours. He'll be off at least a week."

"Agent Fornell said you'd be off a couple days, too. Are you alright?" he asked.

"I'm fine," Gibbs said, giving Fornell the evil eye. Fornell ignored him. "I'll be in tomorrow, part of the day at least."

"Did Agent Fornell give you the copies?"

"Of what?" Gibbs asked.

"He said you wanted copies of the case file, on the loan shark rapist."

"He did, huh?" Gibbs said, musing over that development.

"Was that not okay?" McGee asked, and Gibbs could hear his uncertainty.

"It's fine. I'll look at them later."

"Okay. You need me to tell Director Vance you're going to be off?"

"Covered," Gibbs said. "Find out when Ducky's taking DiNozzo home. Coordinate with Ziva, make sure someone's with him 24/7 until further notice."

"What if he doesn't want us there?" McGee asked. They all knew Tony considered his apartment his refuge, and didn't like visitors.

"Tell him tough. I don't want him alone."

"Okay," McGee said dubiously.

"Just take care of it, McGee. And make sure he's doing breathing exercises with that plastic doo-dad with the balls in it. Every half hour he's awake."

"Okay," McGee said again.

"Can you do a full cyber search from your laptop?" Gibbs asked.

"To the level of 'Secret.' Anything higher and I'd have to be on a hardline at the Yard."

"Secret'll be good enough," Gibbs said. "The FBI's gonna send over some evidence from the building we searched. Take it with you, work it from DiNozzo's place. You're in charge of this investigation until I get back."

"Understood," McGee said.

"Paper chase only. No one moves against this guy without clearing it with me first. Got it?"

"Got it, Boss," McGee said.

"Good. Call me if you find something." He hung up, drank more smoothie. It was getting more gritty toward the bottom and he swirled the cup to mix it. Fornell finished his own call.

"Along with some blood that's probably yours and traces of semen on the floor at the scene of the attack, they found a handkerchief it looks like he used to clean himself up," Fornell said.

Gibbs remembered. The pain between his legs, up his back, the thrusting, over and over, the hand at his neck, gasping for air, the bastard asking if he'd enjoyed it... the handkerchief fluttering down next to his head...

"Jethro?" A voice, right in front of him. Gibbs jerked backwards, his eyes unfocused. He jumped to his feet, lashing out, seeking escape.

"Jethro!" He blinked, his vision cleared. Fornell. Standing in front of him, both smoothies in his hands. He took a hard breath and sat down hard.

When Fornell had finished speaking and he realized Gibbs was falling into his memory, he'd acted immediately. He'd moved over in front of Gibbs and shoved the coffee table back out of the way with one foot, calling Jethro's name. There'd been no response. Gibbs' eyes were open, he was holding his smoothie half way to his mouth, and he was frozen. Fornell put a hand around the cup and called his name louder, ready when Gibbs suddenly let the drink go and stood. He was already taking a step back when Gibbs took a swing, and was able to easily duck out of the way. Another shout, and he got through.

"You with me?" Fornell asked, standing back a little, watching Gibbs.

Gibbs was sitting on the edge of the couch, breathing hard. He nodded in response to Fornell's question.

"Here," Fornell said, and held out the cup. Gibbs took it and took a drink.

"Better?" he asked. Gibbs nodded. He ran a hand through his hair and rubbed at the back of his neck.

"Wow," Gibbs said.

"It's normal," Fornell said. "It's gonna happen." He retook his own seat.

"Yeah," Gibbs said. He drank more smoothie, almost gulping it down. When it was empty, he reached over the now larger gap to set the cup on the table. He pulled the table back into place.

"Did I hit you?" he asked.

"No," Fornell said. He thought of a joke about being too fast, but let it go.

Gibbs nodded. He looked around and snagged his phone off the floor where it had fallen. He leaned back against the couch for a few minutes, letting the adrenalin fade, before dialing Abby. He explained there'd be an FBI courier coming with more evidence from the scene, told her to find what she could and add it to the DNA run. Abby heard his still-elevated breathing rate and asked about it. He brushed her off.

After he hung up, Gibbs closed his eyes, finding his focus. A block of time passed and he looked over at Fornell, who was still watching him.

"Do you think of yourself as gay?" Gibbs asked.

Fornell frowned at the non sequitur. "This is the conversation you want to have right now?"

Gibbs shrugged. "Something else you'd like to talk about?"

Fornell shook his head, partly in denial, and partly in exasperation. "I don't think of myself as gay, because I'm not. I'm bisexual. As in, attracted to both men and women."

"But you're turned on by men?" Gibbs asked.

"Aren't you?" Fornell shot back.

"Not normally," Gibbs said. "Pretty much just you."

Fornell looked at him incredulously. "Come on, Jethro, I know I wasn't your first."

"No," Gibbs granted. "There were others. In the Corps. But that was desperation, not attraction. When you don't think you're going to live to see another sunrise, you take comfort wherever you can find it."

Fornell had nothing to say to that. Though he understood situational affections between men in combat, he'd never served in the military and had not experienced it for himself.

A minute later, Gibbs spoke again. "What do you look for in a man?" he asked.

Fornell frowned at him. This was coming from so far out of left field, he was more than a little lost. "Why?" he finally asked.

Gibbs shrugged. "Just wondering."

Fornell thought for a second. "Same thing I look for in a woman, really: compatible personality, smart, sense of humor. Willingness to put up with me. Understanding what it means to be in a relationship with a cop." He paused, smiled. "Something worth looking at in the morning."

"It makes no difference to you, male or female?" Gibbs asked. Fornell took a couple breaths. There was something going on here, that much was certain. But damned if Fornell could figure out what.

"For the enjoyment of the relationship? Not really. Both have their pros and cons. It's easier, politically, to be with a woman. Sometimes appearances matter."

"So why not be with women all the time, if it's easier and it makes no difference?" Gibbs asked. Fornell cocked his head, examining him, trying to figure out what Gibbs was up to. Gibbs' face was impassive. Fornell wanted so badly not to make a wrong step, but he had no idea what this dance was about.

"You can't choose who you fall in love with, or when," Fornell said.

"Be good if you could," Gibbs said.

"Save some heartache," Fornell agreed.

"Save some money," Gibbs said, and Fornell chuckled. Gibbs had been saddled with alimony for two of his three ex-wives – at the same time – saved only when they each remarried. One of them had married Fornell, who later divorced her himself and paid her alimony for five years before he was able to escape.

"How many times you been in love?" Gibbs asked.

"More times than I should have been," Fornell said.

"More men? Or more women?"

"I don't know. Women, probably," Fornell said, then he shook his head. "What're you doing?"

"Making conversation," Gibbs said.

"You've never just 'made conversation' in your life," Fornell argued. "What's going on?"

Gibbs looked down at his hands, ran his fingers over the bandages on his wrists.

"Just wondering who else you might find worth looking at," Gibbs said.

And just like that, the light bulb went on.

"No way. We're not doing this," Fornell said. "You are the one I chose. You are the one I'm in love with. No one else."

"But why?" Gibbs asked, and when he looked up at Fornell this time, there was honest confusion on his face. "Why choose me? And why would you stay?"

"God, Jethro," Fornell said. He stood and moved over to the couch, taking a seat at the opposite end and turning to face Gibbs, one knee folded up. "There are only three really good things in my life: my daughter, my job, and you. You're the only one of those I can count on never to screw me over. Falling in love with you, after so many years, it's one of the best things that's ever happened to me." He paused. "What happened yesterday does not change that in any way. Not even a little."

"It should," Gibbs said.

"It won't," Fornell swore. "You and I are what we are because of everything that's happened until now. All the good, and all the bad too. Yesterday was bad. There's probably more bad ahead. Doesn't matter. We're in this together." He tentatively reached across the space between them to rest a hand on Gibbs' thigh.

Gibbs set his own hand atop Fornell's. He rested it there a minute before he spoke again.

"I'm really tired, Tobias."

"Why don't you lay down," Fornell suggested, and adjusted his position on the couch. Gibbs slid over and swung his feet up to lay on his side, his head in Fornell's lap.

"Rest," Fornell said softly when Gibbs was comfortable. Gibbs closed his eyes.

NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS

As anticipated, DiNozzo was released from the hospital just after lunch. Ducky drove him home. Tony shook off his jacket, letting it fall to the floor inside the front door. He dropped his keys on the entry table and was already standing at the lock box where he usually stored his gun on arrival home before he remembered he didn't have a gun at the moment. Which made him think about where it was, which made him remember why it wasn't with him, which made him stutter just a little.

He'd dreamed off and on through the night, vivid memories of the attack: The sight of Gibbs being raped, the sounds of the bastard enjoying it, his vile words both whispered and not, Gibbs gasping for breath and occasionally grunting in pain, but otherwise eerily silent. After a dozen or more reviews in his mind, the images no longer made him throw up, though they still sickened him. The feelings of guilt and shame, while reduced since talking with the counselor, had not left him. He just wanted to curl up in his bed and check out until the memories were gone. He doubted that would be possible, but he was sure as hell going to try. If he could be left alone long enough.

Problem was, he didn't think that was going to happen either. On the way home, Ducky'd told him McGee was coming over. When he'd tried to veto that, Ducky played the card that always worked: Gibbs' orders.

Tony had been prescribed some pretty heavy pain killers, which was nice. Moving from the hospital wheelchair to Ducky's car, and from the car to his apartment, caused more pain than the meds could handle, which wasn't nice. DiNozzo shuffled into his bedroom and sat down on the edge of the bed. He was breathing hard and sweating from the exertion, which only added to his depression. In his head, he knew he'd recover – sooner rather than later – but right now he felt like he might never be strong enough to work again.

He was still in the clothes he'd been wearing yesterday and desperately wanted a shower. He wasn't sure he could manage on his own just yet. With Ducky his only source of help, he decided to forego the shower and just get undressed. He didn't bother putting on fresh clothes, or even pajamas. He just lay down in his underwear, pulled the sheet up over himself, and tried to shut off his brain.

It didn't work, of course. He'd never been very good at that. By the time McGee showed up and Ducky took his leave, he was more awake than he'd been all morning. After blowing off McGee's expressions of sympathy over his injuries, and trying – but failing – to blow off his insistence that he do breathing exercises, he'd taken another dose of pain meds with a sleeping pill chaser. He knew the doctor intended him to take the sleeping pills at night, but he figured sleep was sleep. And sleep, uninterrupted by dreams, was what he wanted and needed. Maybe by the time he woke up, he'd have figured out a way to forget what happened. Or at least put it in his 'never to be dealt with if I live to be 100' box.

NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS-NCIS

After DiNozzo fell asleep, McGee set up his laptop on the dining room table and began cataloging the documents the FBI had brought him. He wasn't expecting to find anything directly related to the loan shark operation – that would be too easy – but he was hoping to find something that would lead them somewhere.

As he worked, McGee's attention split as it often did. Half of his mind was working on the documents in front of him. The other half was trying to figure out what had happened yesterday. Last night, Gibbs had said Tony would be okay, but he sure as hell didn't look okay. Tony himself had been strangely quiet about the whole thing, which made McGee incredibly nervous. When Tony was injured on the job, his reaction was always an inverse of the severity of his wounds: The worse the wounds, the less he talked about them. Cuts and bruises got the big show, with Tony virtually begging for attention and sympathy. When he got the plague and almost died, he said nothing about it until he was well again, even coming back to work a week early. This time, McGee had even fed Tony several huge openings, inviting him to give him all the gory details. Tony had ignored them.

It also didn't make sense that yesterday Gibbs hadn't even mentioned being hurt, yet this morning, Fornell had come by to report Gibbs wouldn't be at work for a couple of days. Then Gibbs had denied it, saying he'd be in tomorrow. McGee had tried to get Tony to spill about Gibbs, but was ignored on that front as well. And what was up with Fornell getting copies of the case file? Obviously Gibbs hadn't asked for them. So what was Fornell up to?

One thing McGee knew for sure: He was going to find out for himself if Gibbs was alright. The boss had a tendency to ignore his own injuries and try to make others ignore them too. If Tony looked like that, Gibbs couldn't be in good shape. Not without the guy who'd done it taking up residence on one of Ducky's tables. Gibbs had to have been down, and probably down hard, for them to get that much of a piece of Tony.

More of McGee's attention moved away from the papers. How could he find out what had really happened? Tony wasn't talking. Ziva'd been with him all day yesterday and had been as surprised as McGee was to hear from Fornell this morning. He supposed he could ask Director Vance, but it wouldn't be his first choice, even if Vance would tell him. He didn't like the idea of Vance knowing they didn't know what had happened to their own team leader.

Ducky probably knew. As far as McGee knew, Gibbs hadn't seen any doctor other than Ducky in all the time McGee had worked for him. Other than emergency room doctors.

Which made McGee wonder how hard it would be to hack into the records system at Bethesda Medical Center. Assuming that's where Gibbs had gone.

On that thought, McGee gave up on the documents entirely. He stood and crossed to where Tony's jacket was lying across the back of an easy chair. Feeling only a small thread of guilt, he went through his partner's pockets. The discharge paperwork from the hospital was there. He unfolded it, surprised by two things: The paper was in the name of Anthony DeMarco, and it was from Washington Hospital Center. Why had they gone there? It was nowhere near the site of the building Gibbs and DiNozzo had been searching. Bethesda would have been closer. Unless they'd gone somewhere else after that? Gibbs being Gibbs, they might have done that without saying anything to anyone. On the other hand, the evidence had all come from the building they'd searched. Via the FBI. Which was bizarre all by itself. And why had Tony given a false name? None of this made any sense.

Maybe Abby knew something... The courier from the FBI had taken evidence down to her too. Maybe she had something he didn't.

McGee dialed Abby's lab. When there was no answer, he tried her cell. It was one ring away from voicemail when she picked up. Her usually cherry greeting was subdued.

"Where are you?" McGee asked.

"At home. Why?"

"Are you alright?"

"Yes. Why?" she said again.

"You sound... tired," McGee said, picking the least offensive of the things he was thinking. She also sounded sick, out of sorts, not all there...

"That's what happens when you stay up all night working," Abby said. "You woke me up."

"What were you working on?" McGee asked.

Abby's hesitation was long. "Uh... evidence," she said, and suddenly she was wide awake.

"What evidence?" McGee asked. "We haven't had anything in days. Not until this morning."

"Um... I was rechecking some evidence from the rape cases," Abby said.

"Abby, what's going on?" McGee said. She was so bad at lying. To her teammates, anyway.

"Nothing," Abby said.

"What happened to Tony and Gibbs yesterday?" McGee asked.

"They got hurt, at the building they were searching," Abby said promptly.

"How?" McGee asked.

"Bad guys got the drop on them. You know it happens sometimes," Abby said.

"No, I mean, how were they hurt? What kind of injuries does Gibbs have?"

Another hesitation, shorter this time. "Bruised up. A minor head injury. He got hit with some blood during the fight, so he's going to be taking antiretroviral medication for four weeks. That stuff's going to make him pretty sick, so he'll probably take time off."

McGee paused, thinking that through. "Was he knocked unconscious?"

"I don't think so," Abby said.

"If he just got knocked around a little, how did Tony get so hurt?" McGee asked. "Gibbs would have stopped it unless he wasn't able to."

"How should I know?" Abby said, sounding defensive. McGee waited, but she didn't say anything else.

"Well it doesn't make any sense. Did you know Tony used a fake name at the hospital last night?"

"So?" Abby said.

"So, it's weird, that's all. Why would he do that?"

"Why are you asking me?" she demanded. Her defensiveness was increasing with every question he asked. There was only one reason he could think of that she would be acting that way.

"Abby, what do you know about what happened yesterday that you're not telling me?"

"Nothing," Abby said quickly.

"You're lying," McGee said flatly. "Why?"

He could hear Abby breathing, but she said nothing for a long moment.

"I can't tell you, Tim. I'm sorry. Gibbs will tell you when he's ready."

"Is he alright?" McGee asked.

"He wasn't hurt badly," Abby said. "That's all I can tell you. He made me promise."

McGee relented. If Gibbs had told her not to tell, she would die before disobeying. "Where is he?" he asked.

"He's at home. He'll be at work tomorrow, he says."

"Okay."

"Tim, you need to leave him alone," Abby warned. "He's okay. Really."

"Okay," McGee said again.

"You're not going to, are you?" Abby asked, her voice subdued.

"I just need to know," McGee said. "I won't bother him."

Abby sighed. "He's not going to like it."

"I know," McGee said. "He can fire me later."

After he hung up, McGee debated his next move. He had work to do here, and someone needed to stay with Tony. He didn't want to wait until he was relieved at 7 p.m. to go check on Gibbs. That didn't leave him a lot of options. With a sigh, he called Ziva.

"I'm worried about him," he said, after quickly briefing her on what Abby had said, including the extent of Gibbs' injuries and the blood exposure that might keep him home.

"She said he was alright," Ziva summed up.

"No, she said he wasn't hurt badly. Which could mean anything. It could mean she's just repeating what he told her."

"What do you want to do?" Ziva asked.

"I want one of us to put eyes on him," McGee said.

"I do not think that is a good idea," Ziva said. "You know how private he is. He will probably be angry."

"I don't care," McGee said. "It's what he'd do for any one of us. He made sure Tony was covered. Why shouldn't he be covered too?"

"Agent Fornell said he was keeping an eye on him," Ziva reminded her partner.

"It's not the same. It has to be one of us."

Ziva seemed to consider that. "You are correct," she said finally. "It should be one of us. I will go."

McGee was surprised. "Are you sure? I can do it, if you come relieve me here."

"No, I will do it. He owes me one. If I have to, I will use my marker to make sure he does not hold a grudge."

"Thank you," McGee said. He was secretly thrilled he wasn't going to have to face Gibbs himself. "Call me after you talk to him."

To be continued.