Author's note: Sorry about the delay in posting. My brain got kidnapped by other ideas for a few days.
Gibbs had taken great pleasure in returning Petrov to the Navy Yard with plenty of time to spare on his forty-eight hour deadline. Vance had hassled him somewhat about shooting Petrov, but agreed that it was justified and there were worse places than the leg to have gone for. With that business out of the way, as soon as he was done with his portion of the interrogation, Gibbs headed to the hospital. He wanted to see Tony, and he figured Ziva would do well with a little relief.
Gibbs didn't expect to find Ziva in the waiting room when he arrived, restlessly flipping through a magazine. She was clearly less than pleased, and Gibbs suspected she had been made to leave the room for some medical procedure or another. "Hey, Ziva."
She looked up, quickly covering her surprise with a neutral look. "Gibbs! Hello."
"They kick you out?" Gibbs guessed, sitting down in the chair across from her.
"No." Ziva's voice was even, but perturbed nonetheless. "It would seem that the cat has hit the fan."
"It's 'shit,' not 'cat,'" Gibbs told her, almost automatically. Ziva's grasp of idioms was getting better, but she still didn't have it quite right. Not that Gibbs was one to say anything. He'd had to leave in order to protect his life after accidentally insulting a group of thugs in a Mexican bar one night.
"Oh. That makes more sense." Ziva nodded. "I had always thought that sounded somewhat cruel."
Gibbs shook his head. "At the moment, Ziva, I'm less interested in cruelty to animals and more interested in why the room is getting sprayed."
Ziva nodded again. "Yes, of course. I think the sense of numbness is wearing off for Tony. He has been quite irritable this morning. Frustrated, I think. I let him chase me off for now, hoping he would calm down. Frankly, I would prefer it if he could just yell and get it out in the air, but obviously, that is part of the problem."
Gibbs had seen this coming. Tony vented through wisecracks and movie references. Gibbs knew that McGee and Abby had collaborated on some kind of computer communication thing, but that wasn't the same as a conversation. There was no way a computer was going to be able to replace Tony's voice. "I'll try to talk to him."
"I think that would be good idea," Ziva said. "He always seems to listen to you."
Gibbs chuckled. "Not always, but often enough." He rose, nodding to Ziva, and made his way to Tony's room. The staff, usually omnipresent, seemed to be making themselves scarce, and that was fine with Gibbs unless he needed someone. It only slowed him down having to explain himself to five people along the way.
When he walked into Tony's room, he was met with a death glare, followed by mild surprise. Tony's posture relaxed slightly, and he reached up a hand to wave at Gibbs.
"Hi, Tony." Gibbs waved back, and moved to stand at the foot of the bed. A laptop was sitting on the bed next to Tony, screen dark. "I see Abby and McGee brought you their new toy."
Tony shrugged slightly, rolling his eyes.
Gibbs raised his eyebrows at Tony. "Really? I thought you'd be driving everyone within earshot nuts with that thing by now."
Tony tapped at the keyboard and the screen came to life. He typed something, and the computer said, "If I wanted to sound like this all day." It sounded stilted and awkward, like Gibbs would expect a talking computer to sound.
"I see your point." Gibbs smiled. "Too bad you never let Abby teach you sign language. It's a lot more natural." He expected Tony to make a rude gesture in response, and when it didn't happen, Gibbs got a sense of how Tony must have been feeling. There was no playfulness when he was presented with an opening, and his posture was tense. Angry. Everything he had a right to feel. "You'll be glad to know we got Petrov. The director wasn't too happy about him getting shot along the way, but he's alive to face charges."
Tony nodded – gingerly, it looked like. The trach was still nestled in a swathe of bandages, but they didn't seem quite as bulky as they had the last time Gibbs saw Tony. The tube that went into his nose was gone, too.
"How's your pain?" Gibbs asked. The last time Tony had been on painkillers, he had been in an extraordinarily good mood while they were in his system. Tony was known to resist taking meds sometimes, and Gibbs didn't exactly have the sort of history that let him preach about such things, but he didn't want Tony to be in pain if something could be done about it.
Tony made a so-so gesture with his hand. He gestured toward the IV, which had one of those patient-controlled pain medication delivery systems.
Gibbs didn't know much about the thing other than that you pressed a button to get the dose, but there was a light on the front of the machine that said the next dose was ready. "This is not the time to be a hero, DiNozzo. Take it if you need it. There's plenty of time to be macho later."
Tony frowned, his nose wrinkling, and he looked annoyed.
"Well, if that's not it, then what?" Gibbs asked. "You're not going to get addicted in a day."
Tony shook his head slowly, then winced. He raised a hand to touch the side of his neck, then sighed audibly and picked up the button attached to the pump, pressing it.
Gibbs nodded approvingly. "You'll thank yourself later for that." He wasn't used to this, being the one to run the conversation, but he could step up to the plate. For his team, always. "If you're going to be pissed off at anyone, be pissed off at me. I'm the one who signed the papers while you were in surgery."
Tony opened his mouth, then closed it, and looked at the computer reluctantly. He pulled it closer and typed. "Ziva said you didn't have a choice." It horribly mangled Ziva's name, and Tony looked like he didn't know whether to be amused or irritated.
"There wasn't much of one," Gibbs agreed, "but that doesn't mean you don't have a right to get upset." He remembered a long-ago meeting for NCIS team leaders, where the counselor had advised them to give their team members permission to experience their emotions. Gibbs had written it off as part of the touchy-feely mumbo-jumbo the lady had been spouting the whole time, but sometimes, the concept had merit. Sometimes his people needed to know that it was okay for them not to be okay. As long as it didn't get in the way of their work – and Tony wasn't going to be back at work for awhile. Gibbs pushed his team hard, but he never asked the impossible of them. They only thought he did, when they weren't realizing their true potential. "I've been laid up before, remember? It was irritating as hell." Gibbs glanced at a discarded tray on the bedside table, which had the remnants of some kind of puree. It looked awful, and Gibbs doubted it tasted any better. "The food's crap, for one thing."
Tony nodded – slowly, again, but he seemed to be able to manage that okay. He pointed to the tray and made that rude gesture Gibbs had been hoping to see earlier.
Gibbs laughed, and stepped forward so he could drop a hand on Tony's upper arm. "Tell you what. You play nice here, and when the doctor says it's okay, I will see personally that you get anything you want."
Tony's eyebrows climbed, as he mouthed, Anything?
"To eat," Gibbs clarified before Tony's thought process could get too carried away.
Tony cast another glance at the pureed mess, looking uncertain, then dipped his finger in it and put his finger at Gibbs. He shrugged, then smiled – the little-boy grin that had charmed countless women over the years. Gibbs saw it as a sign of Tony's coping mechanisms beginning to return. He knew there was more than physical pain behind Tony's foul mood, but it was amazing how big of a component pain could be. With that taken care of for the moment, Gibbs could begin to work on the other factors.
"It's a start." Gibbs leveled a look at Tony. "Listen. I know you feel like you probably want to throw something – or someone – out that window over there right now. I'll let you in on a little secret, something I learned from experience." He leaned in a bit, conspiratorially. "Hospital windows don't open that easy." At Tony's vaguely disappointed look, he added, "What? You want me to tell you that it's okay? Fine. You have my permission to want to wreck this place. You just don't do it. You keep on not doing it, and eventually you don't want to anymore. It'll be easier when you can talk, sure, but you're Tony DiNozzo. You'll come up with something – and it'll probably manage to annoy the hell out of somebody. You don't think I keep you around just for your good looks, do you?"
The genuine smile that teased out of Tony was totally worth the admission.