Deck The Hall

Chapter 11

For Gibbs and McGee, it was like watching a slow motion sequence in a movie. The Yeti, backside against the rail, Tony dimly seen beyond him, and then the slow overbalancing and plunge down. They couldn't see the landing, since the shelves were blocking their view, but they sure as hell heard it, as the falling bodies crashed into a storage unit. Tim winced in horror, having just fought his own battle with shelving like that. He ran as fast as his injured leg would carry him, Gibbs with his bruised knees still only inches behind.

The Yeti was out cold, lying on his back across the toppled rack, Tony face down on top of him. Ziva was hurrying down the stairs, looking shaken and breathing heavily. Gibbs cuffed one of Ray Miles' wrists to the rack he was lying on, and McGee attached his other arm to a unit still standing close by. It wasn't the most comfy position they'd ever seen, and their hearts bled for him, but it was one that would be hard to struggle from. They both looked at Ziva. "I am fine," she said firmly. "He did not get the chance to break my ribs."

"Tell me – " Gibbs broke off and turned his attention back to Tony, who was starting to push himself away from his useful landing site. Unfortunately, as he could only use his left arm, it meant that his right side would hit the ground first, and there was maybe two feet to fall from the Yeti and the rack. Gibbs hissed urgently, "Get under his shoulder," as he put his hands out to break his SFA's fall, and as Ziva dropped to her knees at Tony's right side, his boss was able to lower him gently into her lap. Tim was speaking urgently into his cell phone.

"Ducky's coming, so are local LEOs; I told them to send big guys and a truck, not a squad car." Tony muttered something venomous about a cattle prod, which brought the ghost of a smile to Gibbs' face. "I suppose that's it?" Tim asked dubiously. "Is it OK to tell everyone things are safe now? Ducky filled us in, but I don't know what else Tony was thinking."

Adrenalin gone… pain back. That was something to think about; as was the persistent smell of garlic breath. He screwed his face up in disgust, and rolled off the sleeping Yeti to get away from it. He was aware of careful hands lowering him down, and a moment later was lying… by the scent of her… in Ziva's lap. His half focussed butterfly brain remembered his morning dream, and there was a voice close to his ear murmuring 'my little hairy butt' and other comforting nonsense, and it left him feeling… what? Not what he'd imagined. Bleakness, emptiness, and anger. He pushed it all aside and pretended not to hear. Waves of pain buffeted at his concentration, and he was happy to let them. He tried to focus on McGee's voice and make out what he was saying, and as always when he felt least amused, he retreated into humour.

Gibbs' voice, strong but not too gunnery sergeant, made him try harder. "DiNozzo. You hear me?"

"Yeah, Boss, I hear you."

"What d'ya think, then? Is that it? Any more of them?"

"No… I wondered… but no… he'd never bother with help." He hissed faintly, and tried uncertainly to swipe at his right shoulder with his left hand.

He heard Gibbs say, "Hold him," very softly, then, "Ya ready, Tony?"

"Sure," he said lazily, knowing what was coming. He opened his eyes for the first time, and gave Gibbs a reasonable copy of his usual grin. It said clearly, "I trust you, Boss," and Gibbs swallowed the lump in his throat, lifted Tony's arm with a sure, swift movement, and put his shoulder back into place. The unpleasant scraping sound it made was louder than the squeak of pain from the patient, a moment later Tony sighed and his tense body went limp.

"So, Ziva," Gibbs asked, "What did we miss?"

"We came in from the corridor," she replied confidently. "Our eyes became accustomed to the limited light. We checked out the lower floor of the store, and realised that the killer must be on the top level. We climbed the iron stair; when we got to the top, the killer jumped us. He grabbed me from behind and began to squeeze; Tony fought with him, and they fell."

Gibbs' reaction puzzled her. He looked thoughtful, took his jacket off and spread it on the ground, folding the sleeves up for a pillow, and eased Tony down onto it. Didn't he think he was comfortable on her lap? She pointed to the handkerchief now wrapped around Tim's hand. "What happened to you two?"

Tim thought it odd that they hadn't heard the racket up here that he and Gibbs had made down in the stairwell; it had certainly been loud enough down there, but he explained without drama about the booby trap. "We broke a mirror," he said. "Who d'you think gets the bad luck? Us for breaking it, or him," gesturing towards the Yeti, "for putting it there to get broken?"

Gibbs sighed. "DiNozzo," he said. "DiNozzo got it all."

He tore Tony's ruined t-shirt straight up the front, and ripped a clean strip from the bottom. He gave it to Tim, to bind his hand with temporarily. As he eased the SFA gently out of first the jacket then the shirt, he said tersely, "Level with me, both of you. Are you OK? I don't want to find out later that you've been concealing something you need treatment for. That's DiNozzo's thing."

"I may find a few bruises tomorrow," Ziva said stiffly. She didn't like being accused of half truths, especially when she'd told Gibbs one not five minutes ago. She wondered why she didn't simply fess up; she wasn't a coward, and she could stand the wrath of Gibbs for not following Tony's instruction. She decided that it was because if she did, she would have to explain why she did it, and she wasn't prepared to think about that.

Tim could see that Gibbs was unsettled, and didn't know why, but since the man who usually took on the problem of an unhappy boss was lying there, bloody, white and still, he stepped up to the plate the best way he could. "My hand will need a couple of stitches, I think, Boss," he said, "but it's OK. My shin's still bloody sore, but I've no new bruises… I kinda had a soft landing, like Tony." Gibbs gave a wry half smile, which encouraged Tim to go on. "How about you level with us, Boss? Are you all right?"

"Oh, yeah. Other than a nice new McGee shaped bruise on my gut, nothing a hot bath and a couple of Tylenol won't fix."

"Ah, if only everything in life were as simple as that," a new voice broke in. Ducky came marching down between the shelves, like Father Goose, followed by four large police officers, the Dread Triumvirate, Josh and Anne-Marie, the General Manager and a couple of stage hands.

"Great," Tony thought, as he came slowly to the surface of the black treacle pool he found himself swimming in. "It's not enough to be lying here half naked, but by the sound of it, I seem to have drawn a crowd to be half naked in front of. I've been tossed and sliced like a Caesar Salad, and now I'm the cabaret after the meal. And why's my chest all wet?" He put his left hand up to consider the problem, but another hand carefully removed it.

"I'm sorry about that, Anthony," Ducky's voice said, as his patient opened one unfocussed eye, then the other. "The strapping I put on your ribs this morning was bloodstained, and I've cleaned it up. The only alternative would have been to remove it, and you wouldn't want that, would you?" The injured man's face crunched up at the mere thought, and he tried to sit up.

Another voice said sternly, "Stay down, DiNozzo. Let Ducky do his job."

"Boss!" Tony said, trying to sit up anyway, suddenly anxious as a lot of memories came surging back. "Are you OK? And McGee?"

A hand on his shoulder pushed him down, without much effort, it seemed. "Sure we are, Tony, why?"

"I heard a crash from down the stairs, helluva crash I thought at the time… I listened carefully, and I thought then that I heard your voices, but it was still scary. You sure you're all right?"

Something flicked across Gibbs' face, and Tony registered it, but was too groggy to figure it out. "He left us a booby trap. Broke a mirror. McGee got a gashed hand, I got bruises. That's all. McGee stopped me from getting cut."

Tony looked around for his younger colleague, and saw him sitting on the bottom step of the balcony stairs. Selina Hawksworth had a first aid pack, and was treating his wound, her deft brown hands working confidently with the white dressings. The SFA smiled. "So he looked out for you, then Boss?"

"You taught him well, DiNozzo."

"Can I sit up yet? I've got a case to close."

"Hmm…" Ducky said. "I've finished dressing your shoulder for now, it will however need stitches later. I have also dealt with the small wound in your arm. Both wounds have stopped bleeding… You may sit up, but you must keep your arm still, across your knees, until I can immobilise it properly. You will not attempt to leap to your feet, Anthony, you will accept help when you do stand up, and when all this is over, you will go to Bethesda and get yourself checked over." He wiped the smile off Gibbs' face, and put one back on Tony's by adding, "As will you, Jethro."

The SFA sat up slowly, and took stock of what had happened during his siesta. The General Manager was directing stage hands in the clearing of the wreckage; there was proper lighting now, so all the bulbs the Yeti must have broken had already been replaced. The Yeti…. Tony looked around. Ray Miles sat on the floor, his hands cuffed behind him. On either side of him stood a large police officer, each with his night-stick drawn. Another stood behind him, his hand on his gun.

What was keeping the drummer quiet and subdued, however, was the blonde pocket rottweiler standing haranguing him in furious Romanian. Sometimes her voice would rise in question, and Radek, (Tony found it easier to think of him by that name, as he spoke grudgingly in his native language,) would reluctantly answer.

Ziva stood near her, not quite knowing which of them she needed to protect. She glanced over at her colleagues, and saw that Tony was conscious. He was sitting up, leaning slightly against Ducky, shirtless and shivering, and she was about to go over to him, intending to pick Gibbs' jacket off the floor and put it round him, when he looked up and his eyes met hers. The green gaze was level and expressionless, but there was nothing welcoming in it, before he looked away again, as Josh and Anne-Marie came hurrying into the store.

"We found the sweater," Josh said, handing the key of the NCIS truck back to Ducky. "We also scrounged a front-of house uniform t-shirt in the biggest size we could find."

"Very good work, dear children," Ducky said, and the two soon-to-be Princeton graduates looked at each other and giggled. They stopped laughing as they watched Ducky carefully manoeuvre Tony's right arm up so that it was drawn slightly forward and his hand pointed up at the opposite shoulder. The Senior Field Agent bore it stoically, as the arm was strapped into place, although he shut his eyes and wouldn't speak.

While he looked embarrassed at the whole business, Gibbs and Ducky carefully dressed him in the t-shirt and his beloved Daddy Gibbs sweater; when it was finally done, he said, "Thanks, Mom. Now, can we get on?" Ducky handed him a couple of pain killers, which, as usual, he swallowed dry, and he looked at his two friends. "I will accept help," he murmured, and they helped him to his feet. Gibbs gave him a 'well, what next' look; Tony grinned, and walked somewhat shakily over to Radek.

"So tell me," he said, "How did you know it was Eddie and Burns?"

The drummer replied with a tirade of Romanian that made Nadia screw her face up in disgust. Tony just smiled. "OK, darlin'," he said to Nadia, "If that's what he wants, will you ask him? Oh, and tell him he makes a wonderful cushion." Nadia took in the state of him at a glance, and thought she shouldn't waste any time. Hands on hips, she looked down at her former friend and asked the question. No-one but her understood what Radek said, but the gist of it was obvious, and not nice.

One of the policemen guarding him nudged him with the end of his nightstick, and said, "Hey, friend, that's a lady you're talking to…" Radek Milescu's weapon was his physical strength; deprived of the use of that, he had nothing else. He answered Nadia sullenly, and she translated.

"He heard them arguing. He did not speak much English, but he knew the word 'gold'. He knew they had taken it and were arguing. The little one called the other one a thief. He thought the other one – he means Burns – had stolen the gold from Eddie. He could say nothing, because he had stolen it himself, and -" she shook her head in wonderment, "Radek could say nothing because he had stolen it first. Since then he has watched them both… for fourteen years he has bided his time." She paused, and thought. "You know, it seems obvious now… he had a back pack that was twice the size of the ones the rest of us carried. He used to laugh and say so what, he was twice as strong as the rest of us. But he would never let us look inside. He said he had valuable books. The gold was that close to us for four years! Where is it now, Tony?"

"We'll get to that, Doll. Just ask him one thing… Did he kill anyone in his own country in order to steal the gold?"

Nadia looked sick, but she asked. Radek shut his mouth firmly, and wouldn't answer even when she repeated the question. "That'll bear looking into," Tony said sadly. He nodded to the police officers. "Thanks for your help, gentlemen. He's all yours." He shook hands with the sergeant, and Radek was hauled to his feet and led away.

"What made you ask that, DiNozzo?" Gibbs asked curiously. "Don't know, Boss. I'm just feeling a little… odd… I suppose… I guess I just thought that violence comes easily to him… probably always did. Look… this place is dreary, let's go and find somewhere we can get a hot drink or something, and we'll try to fill in the gaps."

"You up for that, Tony?"

"Like I said, Boss, got a case to close."

AN: Almost there. Last explanations coming up… hope I don't forget anything; I'm still paranoid. Oh, and Tony talks to Ziva…