Author's Note: Thanks everybody again for the support and comments! Time for some more angst.

Chapter Ten

"Whoa, whoa, whoa. Hey buddy. Calm down," one of the nurses attempted to pacify Tony as he thrashed on the OR table.

"Okay, okay. Got some emergence delirium going on here," the anesthesiologist admitted, while hoping the fight would eventually taper off. "I don't want to push more sedatives. I'd prefer him awake and alert."

"You think so?" another nurse shot back sarcastically. "If he freaks out for longer than this, he's going to tear his sutures for sure."

"Hey buddy," the first nurse tried again. "You're okay. You're just fine. You're in the hospital. You've just had emergency surgery. Nod if you can understand me."

Tony didn't nod, but he did calm down. Or maybe he only exhausted himself. He lay pliantly on the table, attempting to heave awkward breaths in and out despite the tube in his mouth and throat. Hazy green eyes stared at the door leading to the hallway, as if he sensed that something lay beyond that point.

The nurses remained still for a moment, enjoying the brief respite from the wild thrashing. When they started to shift him towards the gurney that would soon be PACU bound, Tony's fighting began anew.

"Damn it," the anesthesiologist swore. "I guess we used the wrong set of drugs on him." The statement was half-sarcastic and half-serious, shaking her head and studying the vital stats monitors. She then sent a nurse to go grab someone Tony knew from the gaggle of people in the waiting room. While they waited, she attempted to get through to the man. "You're not being very nice today, are you?" she joked. "We need to get that tube out of your throat. It's gotta be uncomfortable."

Tony again relaxed, still heaving, as if trying to catch his breath. But every time one of the nurses attempted to touch the tube, or any other line, or even lay a hand on him, he'd start to fight like crazy.

Chaperoned by a nurse, McGee stood by the swinging doors and looked in with worried uncertainty.

"Come on over," the doctor invited. "Just stand at his head. Say some nice things. Maybe he'll recognize you."

McGee tried his best, but to be frankly honest, Tony's state scared the shit out of him. His neck was a sutured mess, as was his chest and his left bicep. There wasn't much familiar in his drugged-out hazel-green eyes. But Tim had to try, and try he did.

"Tony," he spoke, voice cracking in raw emotion. He put his hands on the side of Tony's head and rubbed his thumbs around and around against his temples. Tony did not flinch away. The tube was an ugly thing, and the fact that it was jammed down Tony's throat gave McGee goose bumps. "Shhh," he urged. "I know you're confused, but you're safe."

Despite McGee's presence and repeated attempts to get through to him, Tony still wouldn't let anybody else come near him. The doctor shook her head. "Okay, let's get some sedative on board." A nearby nurse sprang into action.

Tony fought even while the sedative was pushed through an IV port. McGee went through a struggle of his own trying to keep his stronger emotions at bay while he watched Tony flag into a limp state of sedation. "Uh, is that normal?" McGee asked, indicating that Tony's eyes were still halfway open.

"Sometimes, not often," the doctor replied.

McGee was then banished to the corner while the team more easily removed the tube and then moved his floppy form onto a gurney. A bit like a lost child, McGee followed them to wherever they needed to go.

"Tony's been having a rough time coming out of anesthesia, Boss," McGee murmured from where he'd sat firmly planted for hours upon hours. "He didn't even recognize me before, and now he's just sort of a mess."

"He'll be fine, Tim," Gibbs spoke with confidence, also keeping his voice low. "He never reacts well to that stuff. It makes him do all sorts of weird things."

"I think he's just exhausted now. Hell, I'm exhausted, and I've done nothing but sit here." McGee rubbed his hands over his greasy, sleep-deprived face. He leaned forward and placed his elbows on his knees. He then looked towards the chair-turned-lumpy-cot where Lucky had curled up and fallen asleep hours ago. He wore an extra large hoodie over his hospital gown, and both of his arms were held gently around his thickly bandaged middle.

Gibbs followed McGee's gaze. "He supposed to be here?"

"Probably not," McGee breathed out. "I mean, he had a six-inch blade stuck in his gut barely even 24 hours ago. But no one has the heart to move him, and he seems okay otherwise."

Gibbs huffed out a small laugh as his gaze turned somewhat approving. It was an odd look on Gibbs, whose expressions typically ranged from 'fairly unimpressed' to 'slightly less unimpressed.' "Tough kid," he commented. "And damn lucky."

"The DA let him off the hook, with Detective Sternes blessing, all things considered," McGee went on to say. "We put him in that situation. It wasn't a good idea."

"No. It wasn't."

"Tony thought it was a bad idea. We both did."

"You had the option to pull out," Gibbs reminded him. "It was Metro's show to begin with."

"And what about Lucky? What would have happened to him?"

Gibbs nodded, appearing somewhat proud of his agents' convictions.

On the cot, Lucky stirred in his sleep. He mumbled and shifted before settling back into silence. His breaths came long and even.

"I wish I could sleep that well right now," McGee shook his head. He looked back at Tony. He startled a bit, noticing that Tony's eyes were open - dark and hazy from the painkillers and lingering anesthesia - and staring straight ahead at him. McGee smiled automatically and leaned forward. "Hey…"

"Hey yourself," Tony slurred.

"How are you feeling?" McGee pressed. He felt more than saw Gibbs move slightly into Tony's line of vision.

"Like a cloud," Tony answered. His voice was slow and measured, and his tongue stumbled over the simplest words. "High, high, hiiiiigh above… ground."

Gibbs chimed in gruffly, "You're high alright, DiNozzo."

"Boss…" Tony tried to adjust his gaze. "Boss," he repeated. "Hi. I love you."

"Hi," Gibbs relented. "Glad you're back with us."

"How's Lucky?" Tony then asked.

"Right over there," McGee pointed. "He's been freaking out over you."

Tony blinked heavily, "Did we… miss Christmas?"

"Almost," McGee looked at his watch. "A few hours left, and maybe if we're lucky Abby'll bring…"

But Tony was suddenly in tears, hitching as the sobs came and went. McGee gripped his shoulder and squeezed in sympathy. "Shhh. Hey. C'mon, Tony. You don't want me to record this on my camera phone, do you?"

Gibbs shook his head. "I don't think he'd believe it if you told him later."

"He's been doing this off and on," McGee admitted. "He's awake and semi-coherent, and then he's crying again. It's weird."

"Yep. Better get it on the camera phone," Gibbs actually joked as he nudged McGee.

"I don't think I'm mean enough for that. I mean, look at him. He looks like he just found out that Santa doesn't exist."

"What?" Tony croaked

"Never mind," Tim said quickly. "Go back to sleep."

Tony whimpered into an uneasy sleep.

"You did a good job out there," Gibbs then said.

"Yeah, he did," McGee agreed.

"Sure he did, just like he's meant to. But I meant you, Tim," Gibbs corrected. "A really good job. You kept your head. Kept Bishop safe, too. Shot that son of a bitch dirty cop clean through the head."

"I feel like I didn't do a lot of things right," McGee admitted, staring at Tony. "I could have done more."

"Like what?" Gibbs grunted. "Predict the future? Read minds? Control what Tony decides to do? Impossible. I don't say these things very often, Tim, so why don't you just accept it."

"I'll try."

"Good." Gibbs reached out and ruffled Tony's already messy hair. "And keep an eye on this one," he requested with a strange amount of warm affection. "Fragile goods."

While McGee stared after him, Gibbs walked out of the room without another word.