Disclaimer:- I do not own NCIS or its characters and any copyright infringement is unintentional
Withdrawal
Chapter Eleven
"Dammit, what the hell are you doing here?" Gibbs hissed.
The man casually folded his newspaper and looked at the former Marine with a bemused smile.
"I've gotta tell you, Leroy, I've had warmer greetings," Jackson Gibbs replied laconically, ignoring the handgun his son quickly holstered. "Didn't mean to give you a start, son."
"Just wasn't expecting anyone," Gibbs replied, glancing towards the car and eager to get Tony inside.
"Yeah…I can see that," Jackson said, his eyes narrowing in suspicion as he noted his son's uncharacteristic anxiety.
"I told you on the phone that I needed to get away."
"You also told me that you had some trouble," he said calmly. Following Gibbs' gaze to the car parked a distance from the house, Jackson's eyebrows rose in surprise as a thought occurred. "You know Leroy, if the trouble you're in, concerns a lady and a dirty weekend – I reckon this could be embarrassing for all three of us!"
Gibbs' face flushed with exasperation. He bit down hard, grinding his teeth and swallowing the harsh words before they could be spoken.
'Why was it that after all these years, his father could still make him feel like a teenager?'
"Tony's in the car, Dad. He's badly hurt and there are people trying to kill him."
Jackson's expression changed in an instant.
"Then bring the car around. I'll turn down the bed and meet you out front."
Gibbs did not drop his guard for an instant. As he jogged back to the car his eyes keenly scanned the surrounding area. Reassured by the rise and fall of Tony's chest, he drove the car to the front of the house where Jackson was already waiting.
"Good Lord!" Jackson muttered softly when he opened the passenger side door, saw the dark bruises on Tony's face and felt the heat of his fever.
Gibbs walked around the car and stood beside his father.
"If you can manage his feet, Dad, I'll take his head," Gibbs instructed. "Nice and easy, he's broken a few ribs."
With a considerable effort, they manoeuvred Tony's lanky frame out of the car and carried him to the only bedroom of the small house. Gently laying the unconscious man on the large double bed, they spent the next few moments recovering their breath before Gibbs went back to the car to bring in the medications and medical equipment and parked the car in the large garage next to Jackson's truck.
He returned to the bedroom and was joined by his father, carrying a basin of tepid water and some handtowels. He placed them on the bedside table and shook his head in disgust.
"What's wrong with those big city docs?" Jackson growled, gently wiping a cool towel over Tony's sweaty face. "This young fella should still be in the hospital."
"There were three attempts on his life in the hospital, Dad. He wasn't safe there."
"He's not even conscious, Leroy! You tellin' me that he signed himself out?"
"I signed him out…I'm Tony's next of kin."
Gibbs quickly turned his head to avoid the stunned look he instinctively knew had formed on his father's face. Taking the handtowel from his father's hand, he soaked it, wrung the water from it and placed it over Tony's brow.
Jackson schooled his features.
"You're his next of kin? Where's the boy's family?"
"Not interested."
"Even now, when he's hurt and in trouble?"
"Even now," Gibbs confirmed.
"Well...you were always one for bringing home sick or injured strays, Leroy."
"Don't worry, Dad. I won't ask you if I can keep this one."
Jackson walked to the bedroom door and looked back at his son rifling through the medical equipment to find the digital thermometer and blood pressure cuff.
"I reckon you've already decided that," Jackson said quietly as he headed to the kitchen to make coffee.
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McGee sat at his desk, a picture of concentration as his fingers flew over his keyboard and he searched the security and traffic authority tapes. He was looking for any vehicles leaving the building across the road from Bethesda hospital just after the shot was fired through Tony's window.
His eyes widened when he checked the time-marker on the tape – 0607 - and saw a dark blue 2007 Chevrolet Avalanche leaving the building. Fast-forwarding through the tape, he confirmed that the Avalanche was the only vehicle that left the building between 0545 and 0659. Switching to the traffic authority tapes he watched the Avalanche turn right from South Dr to Rockville Pike. The front registration plate had been partially obscured to prevent identification and only the number 4 was visible. McGee switched to the next traffic camera 2 miles further down the road at the intersection at Cedar Lane & Rockville Rd. He viewed the tape for another 15 minutes – much longer than it should take the Avalanche to drive the 2 mile distance – but the Avalanche never passed and had obviously turned off or parked in any one of a huge number of private, business and industrial complexes located in that area.
Sighing in disappointment at yet another dead end, he put a BOLO out on the car and checked DMV records. He blanched when the list of dark blue 2007 Chevrolet Avalanches in the tri-state area with the number 4 in their registration plate, numbered over 200. They just didn't have the manpower at the moment to contact each one.
"We just can't catch a break," he muttered.
Ziva had contacted the Army Human Resources Command and Army CID regarding the falsifying of Evan Grayson's army service record. She initially met with some resistance as the army tried to keep the matter "in-house" but Director Vance made a few well-placed calls and Ziva was finally able to acquire the information they needed. Although someone had gone to considerable trouble to alter Grayson's personnel file, the US Army mainframe computer confirmed his attendance at Fort Denning Army Sniper School, his attachment to a Sniper Unit and his subsequent dishonourable discharge from the US Army.
Agent Balboa rounded the petition into the bullpen and stopped beside McGee's desk.
"I didn't expect to see you here," McGee said. "I thought your team was on stand down."
"We are," Balboa replied flatly, "but I wanted to check on Doc – he refuses to leave Matthews until the assignment is complete. Says he wants to see it through for Jack."
McGee lowered his eyes.
"Jack was a good agent," he said softly. "Well thought of."
"And so was Tony. He'll be missed," Balboa replied. "Any new leads?"
"Well, we've been check-…"
"McGee." Ziva interrupted. "Abby needs to see us now!"
"Er…I was just telling-…"
"Now, McGee, it is important," Ziva urged.
Balboa looked hopeful.
"Does Abby have a new lead?" he asked.
"I am sorry, Agent Balboa, we have to go. Come McGee, Abby is waiting."
Looking embarrassed, McGee shrugged his shoulders apologetically.
"Sorry, man. We'll talk later."
They entered the elevator and waited for the doors to close before Ziva flicked the power switch off and rounded on her partner.
"What are you doing, McGee? Have you forgotten that there is a mole at NCIS?"
McGee looked surprised.
"You can't possibly think it's Balboa! He's been with NCIS for years. His team just lost an agent."
"That does not exclude him from suspicion, McGee," Ziva replied.
"The man was injured when the safe house was hit, Ziva," McGee said. "Why would they shoot him if he was feeding them information?"
"For the same reason CWO Farrell was killed, to tie up loose ends."
McGee nodded.
"You're right, the Boss said trust nobody."
"Come, perhaps Abby really does have a new lead for us," Ziva said while flicking the power switch back on.
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The unusual silence in the lab struck them immediately as they walked towards the Goth forensic scientist.
"No more Sinatra, Abs?" McGee asked.
"No, we're having a little break, aren't we guys?" she said to the oblivious goldfish. "I've discovered that too much Cranky Frankie makes for a Crabby Abby."
"What've you got for us Abs?" McGee asked.
"Ooh, McGee, very Gibbs-like," Abby cooed watching McGee almost preen at the comparison.
"I have a positive match from the gum to Evan Grayson's DNA, placing him at the warehouse where the drugs were seized, the tenement house where Tony was held and the sniper's nest on the building across from the hospital," Abby replied.
"Anything on the bullets that killed Agent Kendall?" Ziva asked.
"The bullets we removed from the back of the coroner's van and the bullets that killed Agent Kendall, positively match bullets from the unsolved murder of a drug-dealer here in DC six months ago. Metro PD had a suspect but the witness mysteriously disappeared and the case went cold."
"Who was the suspect?" McGee asked.
"Steven Neil Denton," Abby read from her report.
McGee and Ziva exchanged another look.
"What?" Abby asked.
"Denton is an associate of Evan Grayson's from his time in the Army," Ziva replied. "Do you have his last known address, Abby?"
"Thought you'd never ask!" Abby smiled as she peeled the "post it note" from her computer file and handed the address to Ziva.
"You get the gear, I'll get the car," McGee said as he and Ziva rushed towards the door.
"Guys wait!" Abby yelled stopping them both in their tracks. She looked at them anxiously and sucked her bottom lip. "Have you heard anything, has he called you?"
"Not yet, Abs," McGee replied. "He'll call when they're settled."
"I am sure they are safe Abby," Ziva said with more hopefulness than certainty.
"Please, please be careful!" Abby stressed.
"We will," they replied together as raced for the elevator.
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Having made Tony as comfortable as possible Gibbs walked outside the house and carefully scanned the area for any signs of movement. The property had belonged to Jackson's business partner and Gibbs' namesake, Leroy, who had enjoyed the peace and quiet of the remote location 30 miles from Stillwater.
Situated on top of a steep rise, the small house provided an excellent view of the area and of any vehicles approaching. The only access to the house was by way of a private road and Gibbs had taken measures to ensure that he had not been followed. As the property was still in Leroy's name, there was a good chance that it wouldn't be connected to Gibbs. Still, he would not leave anything to chance and would continue to perform frequent perimeter checks, day and night, to ensure their safety.
He smelled the enticing aroma of strong rich blend before he'd opened the front door. His father was seated at the kitchen table with two steaming mugs of coffee in front of him.
"Thought you could use one of these," Jackson said. "Then you can tell me how you and that young fella got into this mess."
Gibbs glanced into the bedroom and saw that Tony was still sleeping. The furrowed brow and a slight movement of his left arm indicated that it would not be too long before he woke to the nightmare of heroin withdrawal.
He sat with his father and scrubbed his weary eyes with his hands. He took a long draught of his coffee and proceeded to tell his father how the assignment had gone to hell and how they found themselves in this deadly predicament.
Gibbs was unsure how his father would react. Although Jackson Gibbs was worldly and life-educated, drug smuggling, corruption and murder had never come to Stillwater on such a large scale. Several moments of contemplative silence passed before Jackson finally spoke and, not for the first time in their lives, father and son found themselves with opposing views.
"You didn't think this through at all did you, son?" Jackson admonished. "You set your mulish mind on getting the boy out of the hospital and you didn't stop to think about anything else. This shouldn't be about you, Leroy, it's about Tony and his safety!"
"I was thinking about his safety when I got him the hell out of there!" Gibbs defended angrily.
"Really? Then tell me son, how on earth were you figuring on tending to his needs and keeping watch at the same time, 'cause from where I'm sitting, it seems to me that both things are going to require round the clock attention?"
The truthful words struck painfully as Gibbs' anger out-wrestled his guilt.
"I didn't ask you to come here!" he yelled, infused by a rush of anger.
"You're my son!" Jackson yelled back. "You didn't have to ask!"
The muffled yell and nonsensical words coming from the bedroom drew the immediate attention of both men and they quickly went to his side. Tony was caught in a drug-induced panic. His unfocussed eyes were barely open and were flicking blindly around the unfamiliar room. Confused and disoriented, he started to breathe in short harsh breaths that must have been painful with his broken ribs.
Tony felt the strong hands on him, holding him and pushing him down. He gritted his teeth against the pain exploding in his chest and head. He opened his eyes again and the room blurred around him as he tensed against the hands that held him. He crushed his eyes shut against the constant waves of nausea assailing him.
"Tony, you with me?" Gibbs asked. "Hey, talk to me?
"Go to hell!" Tony slurred breathlessly. "I won't talk…won't tell you anything."
"Hey, DiNozzo!" Gibbs tried to break through the confusion but Tony's fears of another beating and heroin injection were overwhelming and his arms began to flail.
"Tony, look at me," Gibbs ordered gruffly, holding Tony's face between his hands.
"No…no more!"
The younger man recoiled at his touch. In his mind he was still lying on the putrid mattress in the tenement building and fighting to stay alive. As they struggled to hold his still his incoherent shouts became mumbles, the thrashing calmed and the serenity of unconsciousness beckoned and he sank gratefully back into it.
After a few moments of tension-filled silence, Jackson picked up the basin of water and walked to the doorway.
"He's still burning up, I'll get some fresh water," he said, giving his son a disapproving look and although he never said the words, Gibbs clearly heard the unspoken 'I told you so'.
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"…for pity's sake Mr Palmer, are you sure you're not overreacting," Ducky said trying to quell his exasperation.
"With all due respect, Doctor, it's difficult to overreact when the words garrotted and castrated are used in such a threatening manner," Jimmy replied.
"Oh come now, Mr Palmer, I'm sure after what happened to young Anthony, our dear Ziva was just trying to provide a little merriment. I've always found that a little light hearted jocularity helps to create a tighter bond between colleagues." Ducky said. "Did you try apologising to her for your earlier indiscretion?"
"I did, Doctor!" Jimmy said emphatically. "Not only did I apologise for calling her stony-faced and tough-looking but I even complimented her shoes!"
"And….?"
Jimmy gulped audibly at the recollection.
"And…she told me that if I come near her again for a non-work related matter, she would truss me like a turkey and feed me my own ears!"
"Oh my!" Ducky exclaimed. "I think, Mr Palmer, it may be wise for you to give the lass a wide berth for a day or two!"
"I was thinking maybe a few decades," Jimmy muttered.
The elevator sounded and Agent Balboa entered the Autopsy room.
"Agent Balboa, I'm surprised to see you here," Ducky said. "I was told your team had been placed on stand down for a week."
"I…I'd just like some time with Jack before the funeral home arrives if that's okay. I'll just take a minute."
Ducky's eyes softened with empathy for the team leader.
"Of course…take your time. Mr Palmer, if you would be so kind to assist Agent Balboa?"
"Certainly Doctor," Jimmy replied soberly.
He led Balboa to the morgue drawers and waited until he signalled his readiness with a nod of his head, then he opened the drawer and drew back the sheet. Leaving Balboa to his private thoughts, Jimmy stepped back against the wall. Several moments later, Balboa pulled the sheet back over his dead agent's face and indicated to Jimmy that he was finished. As Jimmy closed the morgue drawer Balboa asked quietly.
"While I'm down here saying goodbye, do you think I could see Tony?"
Jimmy's mind swam as he tried to think of a suitable response.
"Umm…Tony? You want to see Tony?"
"Yeah, I do. We never worked on the same team but we've both been here a long time. I liked him a lot." Balboa replied.
"Of course." Jimmy said. "Er…it's just that…well, you see…I think that…"
"What my young colleague is having difficulty articulating is that Anthony was killed by a rifle shot to the head and, I'm afraid he's in a particularly distressing state," Ducky explained. "We have been instructed by Director Vance, that no one is to see him. Perhaps it's best to remember him as he was – a fun-loving and dashing young man."
Balboa looked sickened.
"Must be why Gibbs quit right away. I heard he was there when Tony was killed."
"Suffice to say that Jethro could not bear the thought of losing Anthony on his watch," Ducky replied choosing his words carefully. "Now, the director stood your team down so you could rest. I suggest you go home and do just that."
Agent Balboa nodded his head at Palmer and the elderly ME and walked towards the elevator as Jimmy and Ducky exchanged a relieved look.
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The sun was setting gloriously, painting the horizon a vibrant pink and orange as it disappeared behind the nearby mountains. Gibbs took a moment to admire it and to breathe deeply in the rapidly cooling air as he finished another perimeter check. He walked back into the kitchen bringing a gust of cold wind with him. Shrugging out of his coat he hung it on the coat-rack and leaned the rifle against the wall within easy reach.
Jackson was seated in the living room, reading Ducky's copious notes on the use and dosage of various medications and the effects of heroin withdrawal. Gibbs took two steps towards the bedroom before he was halted by his father's voice.
"I just checked on him, he's still sleeping. Temperature's up again, I wrote it in the notepad beside the bed," Jackson said, the displeasure still obvious in his voice.
Gibbs nodded his head and continued into the bedroom to check for himself. Even without touching him, the blushing cheeks were evidence of a rising fever. Shortly after he'd fallen into a fitful sleep the younger man had begun to tremble and the linen beneath him was twisted and damp with sweat. Jackson's voice sounded from just behind Gibbs' shoulder.
"He needs fluids son, we'll have to wake him. I've got some ice chips in the freezer."
Gibbs sat on the edge of the bed and gently shook the younger man's shoulder.
"Tony? Tony, open your eyes," Gibbs encouraged.
Consciousness was returning incrementally and Tony swallowed against his burning, sore throat. He could hear his name being called but turned his head away from the voice trying to lure him from the comfortable, warm, darkness.
"Hey, DiNozzo! Open your eyes and talk to me," Gibbs urged.
He struggled to lift heavy eyelids and tried to focus on the shape beside him as it wavered in and out of focus. He barely recognised his own voice as it rasped.
"Boss?"
Gibbs released a deep relieving breath. It had been almost 46 hours since they'd found Tony in the abandoned tenement house and this was the first sign of recognition.
"Take it easy, I got you," Gibbs replied.
As cognisance slowly returned the pain of muscle spasms and tremors racked his body, and he tried to curl into himself. He folded his arms across his ribs and abdomen, squeezing his eyes shut and waiting for the pain to recede to a manageable level.
Jackson returned with a cup of ice chips.
"Well young fella," he said with thinly disguised concern. "It's good to see you awake. You think you can handle some ice chips?"
Tony shook his head once and then closed his eyes and pleaded silently for his head to stop throbbing. He wondered fleetingly where he was and what Jackson Gibbs was doing at his bedside but found it too difficult to maintain lucid thoughts.
"Tony," Gibbs said. "Take the ice chips."
The younger man managed only three small spoonfuls before sleep took him again.
Reining in his concern, Gibbs consoled himself with the thought that Tony had recognised them. He took Tony's vitals and jotted them down in preparation for his call to Ducky, then readied a syringe of Naltrexone to lessen the heroin craving and injected it into Tony's picc line. He was watching his agent intently, when Jackson's hand squeezed his shoulder and drew him from his musings.
"We'll need to wake him again soon and give him some more fluids," Jackson said. "Supper's warming in the oven, we best eat it now. I've got an feeling this is going to be a long night."
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