Silent Misery R&R - Chapter 14
by HidingInSight
"I've got another form I need you to fill out about occupational blood exposure," Gerald said, and picked a form off his stack of paperwork. "We usually go over it step by step with patients, but I think I can trust you to read it through and be honest, can't I?"
"You can," Gibbs said. Gerald handed him the form, and handed him a pen out of a cup on the counter.
"I'll be back."
Gibbs put on his glasses and turned to use the exam table as a writing surface. The space for biographical information had been covered with a sticker containing a barcode. Underneath it was a lengthy disclaimer about privacy rights that basically said the document and all records related to potential exposure to HIV were fully confidential and wouldn't be shared with anyone, including command staff or other physicians whether personal or military. Okay, Gibbs thought. He started reading the questions.
In the twelve months prior to the date of the exposure did you have: a blood transfusion, an organ transplant, a skin or bone graft, an accidental needle stick, sexual contact with anyone who has HIV/AIDS or had a positive test for HIV/AIDS, sexual contact with a prostitute or any person who has accepted money, drugs or other payment in exchange for sex, sexual contact with an IV drug user, sexual contact with anyone who uses needles to take steroids, sexual contact with anyone with hemophilia, sexual contact that resulted in open wound to you or your partner, a tattoo or piercing, a stay in jail or prison lasting more than 72 hours. Gibbs ran down the 'no' column, making x's.
Next section: Since 1977, have you received money, drugs or other payment for sex? Had sexual contact with another male, even once?
Gibbs paused over that one. 'Don't Ask, Don't Tell' was no longer the law, but the Navy still wasn't asking. Obviously, this form didn't count and the disclaimer about privacy seemed to bear that out. Which meant it was probably safe to check 'yes.' On the other hand, he didn't want this to be the way he came out to his employer. Still, he wasn't sure that gay could be assumed from 'having sexual contact with another male even once.' There were a lot of guys who experimented who weren't gay. He checked the 'yes' box. If this was the way it came out, so be it. Honesty was usually the best policy.
The final section: Have you ever had a positive test for HIV/AIDS, used needles to take drugs, steroids or anything not prescribed by your doctor, had sexual contact with any animal... Gibbs' eyes widened. Really? ...had sexual contact with anyone who was born in or lived in Africa, travelled to Africa. Thinking of their mission to Somalia, he checked 'yes' for that last one, 'no' on the others.
Putting his glasses away, Gibbs turned to again lean against the table. Along with the creeping pain, his headache was beginning to intensify. He closed his eyes and focused on the source of the pain. Temples, mostly. So side effects, not fracture site. Good.
The door opened and Gerald returned. "Okay. You're good to go," he said.
"That's it?" Gibbs asked, surprised.
"Ducky says you're good, and we all know you're not malingering to get a little time off work," Gerald said. "You're off until further notice, with a follow-up with Dr. Mallard in 10 days, or prior to returning to full duties, whichever comes first."
"Thank you," Gibbs said. He handed over the completed form. "What's that for?"
"If, God forbid, you develop HIV and need to make a Workers' Compensation claim for future benefits, the Navy will need to rule out the possibility that you got it from somewhere other than an on-the-job exposure. It'll only come into play if you pop positive on a future test." He stuck the paper into a chart folder without looking at it.
"Nice seeing you," he said, and showed Gibbs out.
*N*C*I*S*
Lunch with Emily did not go well. She was a sweet kid, full of life and loving every minute of it, which usually made her really fun to be around. Though no one had ever told her about Gibbs' lost daughter, she seemed to sense the trace of sorrow that inevitably appeared in him when they were together and she was always gentle with him. When it was the three of them, she always made sure to focus her attention equally on Gibbs and Fornell so neither felt left out. Sometimes Gibbs felt he was intruding on Fornell's 'Daddy' moments when they were together. Even though both father and daughter denied it, that made him sad, too.
Today, Gibbs' rising pain and the emotional weight holding down both men made the atmosphere tense. Always perceptive Emily immediately noticed something was off. As lunch was served, she tried to lighten things up. She was bouncing a little more and talking a little louder than normal. She kept trying to engage him in conversation. Gibbs kept brushing her off. Fornell tried to intervene, but Emily saw her 'other daddy' was hurting, and she really wanted to make it better.
After twenty-five minutes of that, Gibbs' patience was reaching its limit. He loved the girl, but he really wasn't in the mood. He had ordered only a milkshake and he hunched over it, leaning forward on his elbows to shift the weight off his backside and onto his thighs. He was putting off his best 'back off' vibes, but either Emily didn't get it, thought it wasn't directed at her, or his best was really bad right now.
On Emily's tenth attempt to draw him out, Gibbs finally snapped.
"Leave me alone," he said sharply. Emily visibly recoiled, her eyes widening.
"Jethro," Fornell said reproachfully. Gibbs pressed the heels of his hands hard against his temples. He took a deep breath and glanced back up at Emily. There were fat tears gathering in the corners of her eyes.
"I'm sorry, Uncle Jeff," she said. Her voice was hesitant. She called him that, sometimes. Mostly when she wanted to be close. When she was very small, she hadn't been able to say 'Jethro,' putting an 'ff' sound where the 'th' should have been. The name had stuck.
"Nah, it's my fault, kiddo," Gibbs said. Suddenly he wanted to be anywhere but here, in front of this little girl who'd done nothing wrong and who was looking at him like he'd kicked her puppy. He slid sideways out of the booth and stood.
"I'll be outside," he said and strode across the restaurant. As he stepped into the vestibule, he looked back. Emily was leaning into her father's side, Fornell's arm around her shoulders to comfort her.
Gibbs spent 15 minutes leaning on a Washington Post newspaper box, feeling like crap physically and emotionally before Fornell pushed through the door. Emily was walking beside him, holding his hand.
"Dad says you're not feeling well," she said when they reached him. "I know when I'm not feeling well, I don't like to have people around too much. Unless they're taking care of me." She cocked her head and peered up at him: "Is someone taking care of you?"
Gibbs smiled despite himself. "Yes."
"Good. Maybe we can try lunch again next week when you're better?"
"That'd be nice," Gibbs said. "Might take a little longer than a week before I feel better, though."
"That's okay. Whenever you're ready."
"Thanks," Gibbs said.
"Is it okay if I give you a hug?" she asked.
"I'd like that, Em," he said. She tentatively reached out for him. Gibbs enveloped her in his arms and held her against him for a long moment.
*N*C*I*S*
Fornell woke when Gibbs kicked him in the shin. His eyes popped open and he turned to look that way. Gibbs was lying on his side facing Fornell, as he had been when he fell asleep – Fornell checked his watch in the dark – three hours ago. It was just past one a.m. As he watched, he saw the nightmare Gibbs was having reflected on his face. Gibbs twitched again, his leg kicking out. Fornell jerked out of the way in time. A small cry escaped.
"Jethro?" Fornell said in a normal voice. Whispering hadn't been working up until now. Gibbs gasped, held his breath.
"Wake up, Jethro," Fornell repeated, and Gibbs' eyes opened. He blinked rapidly several times, then released the breath he was holding.
"You awake?" Fornell asked, and Gibbs nodded. He lay still for a moment, breathing hard, then suddenly rolled away and lurched off the bed. He dashed for the bathroom and a moment later there was the sound of retching. Fornell sat up and followed.
After dropping Emily back at school, the men had called it a day and gone home. Gibbs would have to check his new gun – and talk to McGee – when he could stand up without feeling like he was about to collapse.
Fornell had decided to just ignore Gibbs' outburst at lunch. He could tell Gibbs felt bad enough about it without him piling on. Gibbs had gone immediately up to bed without even removing his shoes or unholstering his new sidearm. Fornell had followed him. Without comment, he'd leaned down and pulled the weapon free, releasing and pocketing the clip before leaving the gun on the nightstand. Next he'd pried off Gibbs' shoes and leaned down to kiss his temple before leaving him alone.
Gibbs spent the rest of the day lying as still as possible on the bed. Hours later, Fornell had made stew for dinner. Since Gibbs wasn't eating much anyway, Fornell decided the thick stew broth would work for Gibbs and Fornell could enjoy some real food. Gibbs had sat up in bed to try and eat but only managed to sip a little before his stomach rebelled and he pushed the rest away. He'd taken his evening meds – including a Vicodin and an anti-nausea pill – with as little water as he could and they'd stayed down but it was close. The nausea medication had helped and by 9:00 Gibbs was stable enough to fall asleep. Fornell had sat up reading beside him for several hours after. His lack of activity today had left him with a lot of unburned energy and it had taken him until nearly midnight before he was ready to turn out the lights. He hadn't been down long when Gibbs woke him.
In the bathroom, Gibbs was sitting on the toilet with the small trash can in his lap, the trash dumped out in a pile on the floor. Fornell crouched in front of him and rested a hand on his knee to wait out the spasms. When they stopped, Gibbs held out the can. Fornell took it and rinsed it in the shower while Gibbs took care of his business and flushed.
"You okay?" Fornell asked and Gibbs nodded. Fornell wet a washcloth in the sink and handed it to Gibbs who used it to wipe his face. He was sweating.
"Want some water?" Fornell asked. Gibbs nodded again and Fornell filled the bathroom glass. Gibbs rinsed his mouth and leaned sideways to spit in the sink. After a minute, he drank a mouthful which almost immediately led to more gagging. He quickly shoved the glass back into Fornell's hand and Fornell slipped the trash can under his chin. Nothing came up.
Gibbs spent another 10 minutes in the bathroom before Fornell helped him bodily back to the bed, bringing the trash can with them. Gibbs laid curled up on his side facing the edge of the bed and tried to breathe shallowly. Fornell leaned over him and wiped his face with a cool cloth.
"How's your pain?" Fornell asked softly.
"Fine," Gibbs said. "Stomach hurts."
"Want to try another nausea pill?" he asked.
"Won't stay down," Gibbs said. He breathed slowly in through his nose, out through gently pursed lips.
Fornell took a seat on the edge of the bed in front of Gibbs' feet. He laid a hand on Gibbs' upturned thigh and rubbed it gently.
Ten minutes later, Gibbs' stomach rolled again. Fornell was up in a flash, holding the trash can under Gibbs while he helped him to the toilet. Gibbs just managed to get his pants down before diarrhea flowed like water. A small amount of yellow mucus landed in the trash can. After several minutes, Gibbs nodded and once again Fornell helped him get back to bed.
The pattern repeated over and over. Bed, rest, nausea, bathroom, void top and bottom, clean up, back to bed. Twice Gibbs didn't make it to the toilet in time. The first time Fornell helped him get clean and into fresh pajamas. The second time, Gibbs didn't bother redressing, just pulled on the bathrobe over his t-shirt. Fornell stayed with him, trying to comfort him any way he could. After two tortuous hours, Gibbs told him to go to his own bed.
"It's okay, Jethro. I'm fine," Fornell said.
"I can handle this, Tobias," Gibbs insisted. "Go to sleep."
Fornell considered him. "I don't mind staying," he said.
"I don't want you to," Gibbs said.
Fornell stared for a second, then nodded. He didn't want to leave. But he understood his old friend better than Jethro probably suspected. Gibbs needed to exert some control over this situation. Not because he didn't want to look weak in front of Fornell, but because at the heart of Jethro's ability to function was his need to be in control.
"I'll be down the hall. You need me, you call out."
"I'm fine," Gibbs repeated.
Fornell leaned down and brushed a kiss against Gibbs' sweaty forehead.
"I'll be down the hall," he said again and turned away.
Fornell left the room and headed for his own. He didn't stay there. Instead, he grabbed a pillow and returned to the hall. He tossed the pillow on the floor next to Gibbs' bedroom door and lowered himself onto it. He wasn't tired, and he wanted to be close. He could sit here and Gibbs would never know unless he came out of the room. Considering Gibbs' condition, Fornell knew that wasn't likely. He would be close enough to respond in a moment if something went wrong and still give Gibbs the illusion of control.
*N*C*I*S*
Fornell sat leaning against the wall as night gradually turned to dawn. Every time Gibbs stumbled out of bed, Fornell's heart squeezed a little. He listened to Gibbs' heaving stomach, the diarrhea flowing out, his occasional groan of misery or pain, his labored breathing. Fornell desperately wanted to be in there holding his love's hand. He understood why he wasn't. Didn't make it any easier to sit out here and do nothing.
As the hours passed, Fornell drifted a little. Coming fully awake every time he heard more retching, sliding into something like sleep when Gibbs was safely back in bed. Sometime shortly after light began spilling through the window at the end of the hall, Fornell heard a thud in the bathroom and jumped to his feet.
Gibbs was lying curled up tight on the bath mat, breath coming fast and shallow. A bottle of pills was spilled onto the floor beside him along with the empty bathroom glass and a small puddle of yellow vomit.
"Jethro, how many pills did you take?" Fornell asked, his mind instantly going somewhere he didn't want it to. He stepped over Gibbs and grabbed the pill bottle, holding it out at arm's length to read the small print. It was the anti-nausea medication. Not Vicodin, not sleeping pills.
"Call Ducky," Gibbs croaked. Fornell looked at the vomit: It was clear liquid with one white pill in it. Gibbs had tried to take a dose of the medication. That's all.
"Okay," Fornell said, his relief palpable. "Hang on." He grabbed Gibbs' cell off the closer nightstand and found the right speed dial even as he returned to the bathroom.
To be continued.
BTW: Those questions Gibbs had to answer? They really do ask that stuff when you get an occupational blood exposure. Only they ask it in an interview so they can tell if you're lying. Yucky. :)