Thanks to Gotgoats for all your help! You're an awesome beta!

Blank Slate
Chapter 11

Ziva stepped off the plane in Tel Aviv and took a deep breath. She couldn't believe she'd actually done it. She'd turned her back on the best life—the best family—she'd ever experienced. And why? Because she was angry with Gibbs? One thing was certain. Fourteen hours on a plane, spent travelling halfway around the world had given her a huge amount of time to think. She wasn't at all sure that she'd made the right decision by coming here. She'd been upset and frustrated and that email had arrived in her inbox at a weak moment. She replied to it on a whim, without really giving it too much thought.

A man stepped up to her in the terminal suddenly, his eyes shielded by impenetrable mirrored shades. "Agent David," he spoke in a low, heavily accented voice. "Your father sent me to fetch you from the airport. Do you have all of your belongings?"

"I have one bag to collect," Ziva said, heading for the baggage claim area.

xxx

Twenty minutes later, Ziva and her companion, she'd learned his name was Edan, climbed out of the rented car at Mossad Headquarters. They passed through security and Edan escorted her swiftly to the Director's Office. He knocked twice—two firm, short raps—and stepped back. A moment later the door opened, and another man stuck his head out. "Ziva David?" he asked.

Ziva nodded. "Yes. That is me," she answered in flawless Hebrew.

"Your father is expecting you," the other agent pulled the door open farther and beckoned Ziva inside.

Eli David sat at his desk, his regal aura sitting heavily in the dramatically adorned office. "Ziva," he spoke softly.

"Hello Papa," Ziva murmured.

"I see you have decided to accept my offer to return to your roots here at Mossad," Eli said.

"I was happy to receive your message. Thank you for asking me back."

"I am hoping to be able to offer you a team of your own."

"I thought you already had a team for me?" Ziva asked. "I have many skills from the Mossad and now I have honed my skills even more with my time at NCIS."

"That is a matter of opinion," Eli said snidely. It was really no secret that Eli had no love lost for NCIS and the American Agents who'd given him so much trouble.

Ziva decided to remain quiet. She had no response for that. There was really not a response that was appropriate.

"Before I turn you loose with your own team, Daughter, I have an individual task for you. You need to prove your loyalty to the Mossad."

Ziva eyed her father carefully. "And how would you have me prove myself?"

xxx

Gibbs was dozing in the chair, hand still holding onto Tony's when he heard a noise behind him. He sat up straight and whipped around.

"Sorry Boss," McGee said quietly. "Didn't mean to wake you."

Gibbs stood up and checked on Tony. "It's alright," he murmured distractedly. Tony was still sleeping, thanks to the painkiller he'd been given earlier. The night nurse had checked Tony carefully, waking him every two hours and measuring his coherency. The young man's sleep hadn't been entirely restful. Tony'd been plagued most of the night by troubling dreams—disturbing images that hadn't made a lot of sense to Tony, and he'd been too groggy to really explain it to Gibbs. Gibbs was hoping it was Tony's memories disrupting his sleep, though he knew from experience that memories often returned fragmented, like confetti falling down around you on New Year's Eve, but leaving holes in your mind like a child's puzzle with missing pieces. It was absolutely maddening—often producing the sensation of losing your train on thought—trailing off midsentence because you had no idea what you were going to say.

"I brought coffee Boss," McGee handed Gibbs the cup. He looked at his friend. "How's Tony?"

"He woke up last night," Gibbs said.

"That's—Boss that's good!" Tim exclaimed.

"Yeah," Gibbs nodded and took a sip of coffee. "He's uh…he's having some trouble with his memory though."

Tim froze. "How much trouble?"

Gibbs took another long pull off of the coffee cup. "About ten years of loss," he said quietly, staring at the blanket covering Tony's legs.

"T-total loss?" McGee swallowed hard.

"It's looking like it," Gibbs said regretfully. "Doc's gonna do some tests this morning. When he woke up he thought it was 2002. He thought he was still a cop in Baltimore."

"Kinda like when you lost your memory?"

"A bit. He doesn't seem to have lost as many years as I did, but…I dunno, maybe it just looks worse to me because I see him through my own experience."

"That makes sense," Tim agreed.

"So Tim," Gibbs looked up at him, "tell me about Rule Number Twelve." He took a quick sip of coffee to hide his smirk at McGee's gaping expression.

"What?! Boss?!"

Gibbs leveled a stare at McGee. "Don't lie to me Elf Lord," he took another sip of coffee.

"We uh…um…"

"Whose idea was it? Yours? Abby's?"

"It um…uh…well I think Abby said it out loud first, but…well I was thinking it…"

"So it was a mutual decision?"

"It…uh…well…um…" Tim looked up at Gibbs, frustrated. He was saved from responding by a soft moan from the bed that stole Gibbs' attention from Tim.

Tony was rolling his head back and forth on the pillow again, brow furrowed into a deep frown and looking like he was terribly frightened. Gibbs stepped right up to Tony's bed and put his hand flat on Tony's forehead. "Easy Tony," he said quietly, his touch firm but soothing. "Just relax. Just rest."

Gibbs let out a soft sigh when Tony's eyes suddenly shot open and he forced himself halfway upright, propping on his elbows. He looked confused and in pain and blinked blearily through foggy eyes trying to get his gaze to focus on something—anything. His eyes widened in fear when he saw another stranger in his room. He didn't know who the young man was—he looked younger than Tony was…

Tim watched as Gibbs moved smoothly to the rollaway cart and picked up the cup of water. He held the straw towards Tony and the other man looked at it for a long moment, as if he was trying to figure out what to do with it, before he finally leaned forward and took a sip of the water. Tim watched in awe as Gibbs nodded, silently praising Tony for figuring it out. There was something about Tony…he seemed…vulnerable…innocent somehow…it was obvious he was still Tony, but…a much younger, much…less…experienced? He looked at peace? Maybe? Tim wasn't sure what to make of it. Tony seemed as though the world hadn't laid heavily on him—even though Tim knew the past almost decade had been a long road of ups and downs for his friend. Seeing Tony like this…Tim suddenly felt waves of guilt wash over him. He and Ziva had treated Tony so badly…they'd contributed to taking this look away from Tony…and he suddenly wanted to make it better.

"Hey Tony," Tim said with a smile.

Tony's eyes dragged up to Tim and confusion filled his face. "Hello," he said uncertainly. He looked up at Gibbs, hoping for some clarity. "Gibbs?" he murmured. "I know he knows me, but…do I know who he is?"

Gibbs smiled sympathetically. "You do know him. Would you like him to introduce himself?"

Tony thought about it for a several minutes. "Ok," he finally said. He looked at Tim. "I'm sorry, but…I don't remember who you are," he said quietly.

Tim took a deep breath and a step forward. This could be the opportunity he needed to make things right. He could have a chance at a new start with his friend…one without Ziva's influence. "My name is Tim," he said, raising his hand to shake it with Tony. "Tim McGee. I'm on the team with you and Gibbs at NCIS."

"NCIS…that's where you said I work, right?" Tony looked at Gibbs.

Gibbs nodded. "That's right Tony. That's good work."

Tony looked at Tim. "Are we friends?"

Tim swallowed hard and glanced at Gibbs. Gibbs nodded imperceptibly and Tim took a deep breath, hoping he was interpreting it right. "Yes," he said slowly with a confounded expression.

Tony looked at him curiously. "Why do you have that look on your face?" he asked bluntly, his voice still quiet.

"What look?" Tim asked, trying to force the squeak out of his voice.

"You look…I dunno…like you aren't sure you believe what you're saying…or something…maybe I'm wrong," Tony said uncertainly.

Tim glanced at Gibbs again. Gibbs looked like he wasn't sure what Tim was talking about, so Tim decided to be vague. "I um…I believe what I'm saying Tony, but…things between us have been a little hard…and I've made some mistakes."

To McGee's horror, Tony began to look even more confused. "I don't…I'm sorry, I can't remember," he murmured, sounding slightly desperate. "I um…I need some…uh…can you…can you go now? I'm sorry," Tony's voice dropped to a whisper.

Tim looked to Gibbs for direction, and Gibbs nodded his head in the direction of the curtain. "Thanks for stopping by Tim," he said in a low voice. "I'll call you later."

"I hope you feel better, Tony," McGee murmured. "See you later." He left without any hesitation, feeling bad the whole way to the car that he could leave and return to his normal life, while Tony was stuck in this…personal hell… He wondered what he'd do if he were in the same situation.

Back in the hospital room, Tony looked around uncertainly. "God," he breathed shakily. "This is all…it's so…Gibbs I don't know how to do this," he murmured.

"Just take it one minute at a time. It'll be alright. I'll help you."

Tony shook his head. "I don't think it ever will be. I kept hoping…last night I was hoping I'd just go to sleep and wake up and remember all of this stuff—this ten years that I don't know anything about—but now…it's hopeless," he said despondently. "I don't know what to do."

The rest of the morning was a flurry of activity, moving him around for tests and scans and by lunchtime Tony was in a foul mood. He felt like hell, his head felt like it had Two-Ton-Tilly doing the Foxtrot in his head and more than anything he just wanted a few moment's peace and quiet so he could drift away and not have to think for a bit. Gibbs remained by his side as much as he was allowed to, but there were great expanses of time where the older man was relegated to an observation window or to a waiting room and Tony was forced to face things alone.

It was frightening for Tony to know that he'd lost so much of his memory—for whatever reason. To him, it really didn't matter WHY—to him it mattered more of WHAT he'd lost. Who were these people who kept stopping by? This Tim? Gibbs? Who were these people? He didn't know them. He didn't know anything about them. He didn't like that they knew who he was. Could he trust them? Could he believe the older guy when he said that he'd keep Tony safe? What did he need to be kept safe from? Part of Tony thought that he'd be better off to strike out on his own. He'd been on his own since…well, forever, and he was a master at taking care of himself. Right now he needed to figure out how to get himself out of the hospital, he needed to figure out why he was in Washington DC, why GIBBS was with him and not Danny…he had too many questions and not nearly enough answers.

He let the doctors poke and prod at him until they were finished with their tests and the information was conclusively drawn that he was experiencing some phenomena called Dissociative Retrograde Amnesia. It wasn't affecting every portion of his brain, and it wasn't affecting every aspect of his life, but his memory was severely impaired and there was no guarantee that he'd ever be able to fix that.

And what else was he missing? This guy, Gibbs, he seemed to be working hard to keep Tony relatively sheltered. What the hell was up with that? Did he know these people really? Or had…had they done something to him? Were they the ones who'd hurt him? Tony closed his eyes against the sickening movement as the medical professionals zipped him off to some other undisclosed location. What were they going to do to him now? Where were they taking him? Where was Gibbs?

"Where…where're we going?" Tony mumbled, lifting a hand and dropping it weakly over his stomach. He felt incredibly nauseous. "Can you…will you slow down? Please…gonna be sick…"

The people pushing his bed around hardly acknowledged him. One of them—a pretty lady—smiled down at him. "Oh you just sit tight Sweetie," she cooed. "You're going to be just fine!"

Tony reached up and grabbed the bedrail, slowly pulling himself up to a seated position. Well that got everyone's attention and brought his bed to a grinding halt. A flurry of hands moved around him and over him, touching him, and soothing him, and guiding him to lie back on the bed. Tony shook his head and brushed their hands off, his annoyance growing by the minute. "Can't keep me…not like this…lemme go," he grumbled. When the hands didn't stop touching him he raised his hands to his face and covered his eyes. "STOP TOUCHING ME DAMMIT!" he roared.

"Let him have a minute," a familiar voice said. He recognized the voice. It was the voice of someone he knew, but he couldn't place who it was. Glancing around through the crowd of medical professionals, he looked for the person who was speaking. It was a young man with round glasses and a mop of curly hair on his head. He was standing near Gibbs—there he was—and they both looked pretty pissed—though Tony was unsure if they were pissed at him or at the doctors and nurses. Tony stared at the other man—not much younger than himself—and tried to figure out where he knew him from. His voice was familiar, his body recognized this man like it recognized Gibbs, but…who was he?

The familiar looking man stepped forward once everyone backed off and he put his hands on the bedrail. Tony hoped more than anything that he'd let the bedrail down. He had to get out of here. He was sitting up on the bed, legs splayed out before him, only covered by a thin sheet. He knew that if he got up his ass would be hanging out, and a glance around, told him that no one would help him if he wanted to leave. He hoped that was because they wanted him to make sure he was ok…he didn't feel ok though. He rubbed a hand over his mouth, and took a shaky breath.

"Tony?" the guy—were they friends?—spoke softly. "Ya ok bud?"

Tony's mouth felt full of spit…his stomach was roiling and he felt like someone had thrown hot water on him…

The guy next to him turned around and spoke to someone else. "Get a pan; he's gonna be sick."

Before they could even move though, Tony's body erupted, revolting violently against him and he found himself covered in the remnants of the water and applesauce he'd choked down for lunch. He gasped as his bruised ribs made themselves known—it certainly FELT like he'd been in an explosion! Perhaps Gibbs wasn't lying to him after all…

Hands gently eased him back then and they quickly moved him to his destination. The young guy who seemed to be trying to help him—he stayed right next to Tony's head and kept a hand over his eyes the whole way there. Once they got to the MRI lab, another nurse appeared—where had she come from?—and a syringe deposited something into his IV line. Oh shit they were drugging him. He'd caused too much trouble, and he'd pissed off the doctors, and now they were going to keep him—make him stay—hold him prisoner in the hospital…

"N-no…" Tony mumbled, shaking his head. He reached weakly for the IV, meaning to pull it out, but a gentle hand on his wrist stopped him. Tony followed the line of the arm up to the man who was holding him. The grip wasn't painful, it didn't hurt, but it was firm and obvious that the man meant business. Tony stared up at Gibbs. "Can't keep me here," he mumbled pitifully, his eyes blinking tiredly shut. "Can't make me stay…"

Gibbs stayed close as they made quick work of changing Tony's clothes and blankets. "It's going to be alright Tony," Gibbs told him. "I've got your six alright? Like I promised. The doctors just gave you something to help with the sick feeling. It might make you a little sleepy, but you're having an MRI so that's probably not a bad thing."

"I want…wanna go home," Tony whimpered pitifully. He was gently shoved back in the bed after they finished changing his clothes and the fresh blankets were pulled up over him. He could feel his eyes rolling around, staring at the ceiling, and the dots in the tiles began to swim and move and he closed his eyes against them. "Feel sick," he muttered, hugging his torso again. He yawned deeply. "'m tired…"

Gibbs watched as the medicine did its job, easing Tony's discomfort and helping him drift off to sleep again. He looked up at the doctors. "We aren't going to keep him sedated. If he is nauseous then he gets the meds he needs. His mind is foggy enough without drugging him to the gills just to keep him in bed."

"He needs to rest," one of the nurses told Gibbs brusquely. "He just came out of the coma."

"I'm quite aware of that," Gibbs snapped. "I'm telling you how it's going to go down. I'll stay with him, but we aren't going to make him sleep."

Palmer stepped up next to Gibbs. "Gibbs is right," he said. "Tony needs to figure things out on his own. Of course he's combative and trying to leave—he's freaking out! I think you were right to give him the medication just now because he was obviously sick. Perhaps next time we move him, we could let him lie on his side or something. His eyes were trying to track while the gurney was moving—I think he's got some motion sickness from it."

The doctors and nurses agreed and Tony was carefully lifted onto the MRI platform. They did the first stage of the MRI and Tony didn't even move a finger. He slept deeply, seeming to be resting comfortably throughout the test. They slid him out after the first stage ended and put the dye in through his IV and sent him back in for the second half of the MRI. Once it was completed, they placed Tony back into the bed to transport him back to the ICU. Gibbs took his seat beside the bed and Tony slept a good bit of the afternoon. Dr. Granger stopped by a couple of times to check on Tony and go over the MRI results with him, but he was sleeping each time he stopped by.

Just before dinner time, Jackie Vance poked her head into Tony's cubicle. "Hellooo," Jackie called softly.

Gibbs smiled. "Hey Jackie."

"Heard our boy woke up. Thought I'd see how he's doing." When Gibbs didn't smile, Jackie frowned slightly. "Gibbs? Is Tony ok?"

"He's got Dissociative Retrograde Amnesia. Can't remember the last ten years or so."

Realization dawned on Jackie's face and it dawned into an expression of alarm. "Gibbs…how long has he worked for NCIS?"

"Nine years," Gibbs said softly.

"Oh Jesus," Jackie breathed. "Does he know?"

Gibbs nodded, his lips in a firm line. "Yeah…Yeah he knows."

"How's he taking it?" She reached out and held his hand. "How are you taking it?"

"He's scared shitless. I know how scary it is…same thing happened to me." Gibbs shrugged. "I'm feeling…feeling pretty helpless. I wanna make it better, and can't. There's nothing I can do but support him and help him feel as safe as he can. But that's hard to do when he doesn't remember me."

Tony rolled his head as Gibbs spoke. He'd heard every word that the older man said, but he didn't let on. He didn't know who Gibbs was talking to. And what was it about Gibbs that he was supposed to remember? What was he forgetting? He'd been told that Gibbs was his boss at NCIS…why would there be more to the story than that? And did it have anything to do with the way his body seemed all but drawn to the older man? He didn't understand it.

Jackie smoothed Tony's blanket gently, and rubbed her hand over Tony's arm. She felt the minute flinch when she touched him, and knew then that he wasn't sleeping. He was hiding. It was obvious to Jackie's maternal instinct that Tony'd had enough for one day. He was trying to tune out the world and just drift for a bit. That was fine. She wouldn't push. Once Tony's blankets were smoothed, Jackie turned to Gibbs. "Honey why don't you go get yourself some real food for dinner and take a shower and get some coffee? I'll sit with him."

"He…I promised him he'd be safe…promised him that I had his six," Gibbs said helplessly.

"You do have his six. But in order to do that you've got to take care of yourself too. You haven't left his side in over three days Gibbs. Take a little break. It'll be alright. He'll be fine for that long. And if he wakes up…well I'll take care of it. It'll be alright."

Gibbs ran a hand over his mouth, obviously trying to decide if he should stay or go. Finally he blew out a long breath and nodded. "Right. Right, you're right. It'll be ok. I'll be gone…less than two hours. Is that too much?"

"It's fine Gibbs. Kayla and Jared are at my mother's. And it isn't like I have no way to contact you if I need you."

"Right. Ok. Um…if he…if he's scared…nervous…whatever…tell him I'm coming right back."

"Gibbs?"

"Yeah?"

"Bring him something that's familiar. It might help."

Gibbs thought about it for a minute before he nodded and smiled. "I know just the perfect thing. I'll grab it from home while I'm there. I'll be back soon."

"See you later Gibbs. Be safe."

Gibbs nodded and left. Jackie sat down in the chair Gibbs vacated, and looked at the young man on the bed. "I know you aren't sleeping," she said gently. Tony didn't respond. "I'm not going to force you to open your eyes or talk to me. But I want you to know that you're safe with me too, Tony. My name is Jackie and we are good friends."

Tony didn't move or speak, but Jackie watched over the next few minutes as Tony seemed to relax slightly. Eventually she reached up and put her hand over Tony's. He didn't move. She wrapped her hand lightly around his and squeezed it gently. Her dear friend had managed to doze off. "Just sleep Sweetheart," Jackie murmured. "Jackie's here and I've got your six. We all care about you Tony. Even if you can't remember that yet. We all love you."

TBC…