Disclaimer: I do not own or profit from NCIS.
Author's Note: I hope this chapter is worthy of the evil Childers has brought on our boy. And (I can't quite help myself) there is a bit of a cliffie at the end! As usual, forgive any errors, specifically medical mistakes. Oh, and sorry about the re-postings, but I get little details that nag at my brain and I have to add them or it drives me nuts.
I honestly think I love you guys. Your comments are so encouraging, and helpful and just plain fun! We have a few more chapters to go, so keep them coming!
Thanks!
TLH
Ziva and McGee raced toward the front of the house, their footsteps against the tile sounding in unison with the repeated rounds of gunfire. Weapons drawn, they arrived at the scene of the fight intent on helping Kort and his associates escape from the battle zone that had overtaken the once comfortably decorated living area. It currently resembled something out of Martha Stewart's nightmares.
As Ziva turned the final corner she heard someone scream, "Don't shoot me! Please, I surrender, just don't shoot me!"
The skinny young man cowered behind a sofa with his hands in the air, Kort standing over him with his weapon pressing into the man's forehead right above his eyes. The terrified scientist started crying hysterically, a wet stain spreading over the crotch of his khakis. "I swear, all I did was help him! None of this is my fault; you want Dr. Childers, not me!" Andrew blubbered pathetically, tears streaming from beneath the edges of his glasses.
"Oh, I think we can find a use for you, my scared little mouse. It's time for you to find out what it's like to be the pawn." Kort stared at Andrew with the same bored, detached expression that never left his face. He addressed the short agent at his side. "Tie him up. He's coming with us."
McGee steadied his heart at the carnage in the open room. Furniture was upended, broken glass littered the floor, expensive artwork hung in tatters. The bodies of Childers' security force were tossed on the carpet like discarded trash. He noticed the blonde woman who had accompanied Kort on the helicopter lying on her back, blue eyes staring at the ceiling but seeing nothing.
"I got company," a voice broke through on the earwig; McGee identified the speaker as the demolition expert. "Dammit, someone's made me!"
The sound of more shots crackled into their ears, the man on the outside of the house grunting and cursing before finally falling silent. McGee stared open-mouthed at Ziva and Kort when he realized the agent would more than likely not be coming back with them. There was still no sign of Gibbs and Tony, one of their agents was dead, and now the bomb expert had been killed. This op was going to hell in a hand basket.
"What now? Who's going to detonate the rest of the charges?" the junior agent asked nervously.
A low rumbling reminiscent of a minor earthquake shook the house, knocking the remaining paintings to the floor and tossing the agents sideways as a blast tore the foundation of the structure.
"Does that answer your question, McGee?" Kort growled. "My man took care of it. Now we have to finish our objectives and get out of here before the last of those charges go."
NCISNCISNCIS
Tony's eyes were open and wide, but unfocused; he looked like he was listening to something very far away. Bewilderment and uncertainty lined his face and creased his forehead.
He's the one who hurt you, Tony. Remember? You've seen him do it over and over again. Make him pay, Tony. Make him pay.
The violent scenes involving Gibbs that Childers had made him watch for the past month rolled through Tony's mind. Indecision clouded his thoughts; he had no idea what to do. Should he listen to the voices? If he did he would be rewarded and if he didn't he would be punished? Was anything that was happening right now even real? He couldn't trust himself to figure out fact from fiction.
"You know what to do, Tony. Trust yourself. Once it's over you'll feel much better and you won't be scared anymore." Childers was awake and staring intently at Tony. "Follow through with what you're supposed to do and everything will be alright. He won't be able to cause you any more pain."
"I don't want to," Tony whispered. "Please don't make me."
The agony in his head was building again, each moment he stood there doing nothing it intensified. His legs felt like rubber and he sank down on the wall a little lower.
Gibbs doesn't really care about you. He'll kill you if you give him a chance.
"Don't listen to him, DiNozzo," Gibbs said, keeping his voice deep and calm. He watched as Tony licked his cracked lips and tried to control his rapid breathing. Slowly, Gibbs moved his hand to the backup weapon he had strapped to his ankle. He didn't want to use it, but the look in Tony's eyes wasn't promising. The gun was shaking in Tony's hands so violently, Gibbs wasn't sure the younger man could pull the trigger if he tried.
"This is your chance to finally get things right, Tony. This time can make up for all your other mistakes," Childers goaded him.
Tony looked back and forth between the two men, not sure who was telling him the truth.
"We have to get out of here, Tony, the team is waiting on us," Gibbs reminded him. He wrapped his hand around the hilt of the small gun.
Take your shot, Tony. Get it over with. Make him pay. He's lying to you. Go ahead and do it. He'll hurt the team. He'll hurt you. Get it over with. Make him pay. Take your shot, Tony. The words overlapped and built upon each other, a never ending cycle of urgent demands.
"NO!" he shouted and lifted the weapon higher. His head was shattering into a thousand stars against a black velvet night. Did he shoot Gibbs, or Childers, or just turn the gun on himself and be done with it? He couldn't think, couldn't decide, couldn't pick which voice to listen to.
Sorry, Tony. They had to get out of there; waiting any longer was not an option. Gibbs raised his backup and aligned it to take a shot at Tony's calf, intending to force his already injured friend back to the floor.
He stopped when Tony's weight shifted, the field agent's gun moving from its angle pointing at him to unsteadily aim in Childers' direction. "I won't…..I won't do it….I'd rather die." His voice was choking, nearly pleading at the end. "Nothing you could do…could ever make me hurt Gibbs. You're the one...who needs to die."
His fingers, buoyed by a willpower even he didn't know he possessed until now, finally squeezed the trigger, but the bullet went nowhere near its intended target, his trembling hands unable to control the weapon enough to take a clear shot. "Boss," he gasped, his weakened body collapsing beneath him. "Boss," he choked out again, momentarily losing his tenuous hold on consciousness. He dropped Childers' gun, which fell to the floor between him and the professor.
Gibbs turned his own weapon toward Childers before lowering himself to where Tony lay slumped against the wall. "I'm here, Tony. You alright?" he asked. DiNozzo blearily looked up at him.
"I didn't know….what to do. So I tried…..to kill him…..instead of you. Not you." His voice was barely audible, any strength he had left expended in the struggle to break through the control the professor had tried to exert over his mind.
The lead agent patted Tony's cheek. "You had me worried for a minute, DiNozzo, but I should've known better. Are you alright?"
Tony leaned his head against the wall and gave up on trying to make sense of what was happening. He couldn't think anymore; all he wanted to do was go to sleep. Any adrenaline that had been surging through him evaporated and he let his eyes sink closed. When Gibbs shook his arm and asked again if he was alright, he nodded wearily.
Standing, Gibbs walked over to Childers. The white-haired doctor gingerly pulled himself into a sitting position, groaning at the movement. His face was a mass of dark bruises, his nose and lips oozing blood. He laughed bitterly. "So I guess you think you've won, Gibbs. You'll take Tony back home and stick me in some cell. How long do you think that will last? My abilities are sought after by the highest government authorities, including our own. After I've been given time to think over my sins, they'll let me go in return for playing nice and giving them what they want. It's the way these things work."
Gibbs listened to him impassively.
"And then, I'll be back. When you think I'm gone and life has moved on, I'll reassert my control and show you and Tony exactly who's in charge. Isn't that right, Tony? You know I'll never let you go. This has gone beyond what I can train you to do or what I can learn from you. It's personal now. I won't rest until I teach you who really has power over your life."
Gibbs looked down at Tony's anxious eyes and pounding heart, every rapid beat revealed through his naked chest. Childers was right; as long as he lived Tony would never be free, never be able to move on from this incident and put it behind him. The silver-haired man knew what he had to do in order to allow this to be over. If he didn't, Tony would never be himself again. Morally, ethically, many would consider it to be wrong. The law might even define it as a crime. But there were moments in time when none of that mattered anymore. He thought about the unspoken rule, the rule that would never be written on paper and saved in a box because it was recorded somewhere that made the physical act of writing it down unnecessary; it was the unwritten rule of the heart.
You do whatever you have to for family.
Gibbs understood that rule all too well; he knew Tony understood it, too. And that family wasn't always the one you were born into, but the one you chose, who stood elbow to elbow with you through the highs and lows, and never, ever let you go it alone.
Gibbs turned back to DiNozzo and found the green eyes at half-mast, but staring at him. They were for the moment clear, not clouded by pain or drugs or confusion. Words weren't needed; Gibbs said all he had to with the smallest raise of his eyebrow and tilt of his head. Tony responded with a slight nod and closed his eyes the rest of the way. "Do it," the younger man whispered.
Gibbs would wrestle with the right and wrong of his decision later, in his basement over a bottle, or maybe several bottles, of bourbon and long hours of sanding. For now, he did what he knew was right for Tony. Nothing else was important.
He lifted his gun and pointed it at Childers' head.
"What are you doing?" the professor asked. "You won't shoot me, not a straight and narrow lawman like you, Gibbs. You might bend the rules some, but not that much. You couldn't live with the guilt of cold-blooded murder."
The blue-eyed man gave him a hard smile. "I guess that's something you don't know about me, Childers. I already do."
Realization spread over the professor's face as he finally comprehended what was about to happen. In one last desperate attempt to preserve his own life, Childers lunged toward the gun Tony had dropped lying a few feet away from him. His hand closed on the hilt and he rolled, lifting the weapon to aim at the marine sniper. But Gibbs had tracked him like a hunter seeking his prey; the marine fired, his bullet penetrating through the doctor's right shoulder. Childers screamed, dropping his weapon and grasping the tattered wound. "You shot me! I can't believe you shot me!"
Quietly, the lead agent took aim again, pulling the trigger and sending a bullet through the professor's left knee. The man yellled in agony, rolling on the floor at the debilitating pain radiating from his decimated leg.
Gibbs sighed at the slaughter, knowing full well the act would bring him neither comfort nor peace. He turned his back on the groaning man and returned to Tony's side. "Let's get a move on, Sundance."
Tony put a shaky hand on Gibbs' arm. "Thanks." His red-rimmed and watery green eyes were filled with an expression of gratitude the lead agent would never forget and confirmed his choice as the correct one. "I would've….done it myself, if…..if I could've."
"I know, Tony, I know." He watched as his young friend's eyes continued to brim with emotion.
"You shouldn't have had to do that for me, boss…you shouldn't…I'm sorry…." Tony was shaking again; Gibbs was uncertain if it was a reaction to his injuries, or the cold, or plain old-fashioned shock. In all honesty, it was probably all three.
Gibbs shook his head, and decided for right now, the walls of pride and manhood didn't matter; he hugged Tony gently, pulling him into an easy embrace and patting the back of his head. "Stop, Tony. Stop blaming yourself for everything. Childers is a monster, and monsters deserve to die. I'll never regret for one minute doing anything that means he can't hurt you anymore. Got it?"
Tony made a choking sound. "Got it, boss." He started coughing again; acrid grey smoke was now billowing into the hallway, burning his nose and making it even more difficult to breathe. Bright orange flames emerged at the end of the corridor, snaking their way down the walls and across the ceiling towards them.
Childers had rolled over on his stomach and was trying to crawl away from the increasing heat; he had managed to move a few feet leaving a bloody trail behind him on the white floor. "You can't leave me here. You have to take me with you," he begged. Sweat covered his pale and panicked face.
Gibbs gave the professor an emotionless blue-eyed stare. "This entire building is going to burn down around you in about five minutes. If you want to get out, I suggest you crawl a little faster."
"You'll pay for this, Gibbs! I swear, you'll pay for this!" Childers yelled, despite the futility of his words. "Don't leave me here to die!" his voice was filled with pathetic desperation. A chunk of burning tile fell from the ceiling onto his legs, quickly igniting the cloth of his pants. As the fire seared into his flesh, he howled again.
The silver-haired man ignored him. Aware that they had very little time, Gibbs carefully pulled Tony up, letting the younger man's wasted body lean against his own. Without another backward glance at the monster still screaming at them from behind, they continued their slow trek toward the front of the house, and Gibbs hoped toward home.
NCISNCISNCIS
Kort raised his head at the approach of Gibbs and Tony, the two men taking shape out of a hallway that was filled with thick, black smoke. Both of the agents were coughing; Tony was wheezing and listing to the side, barely able to stand. McGee quickly ran over to the two, wedging his shoulder under Tony's loose arm to help support him. DiNozzo's eyes flicked up at the younger man. Just seeing his friend made him feel somewhat human again.
"Hey, McSpy," he managed to mumble. "Nice duds."
Tim had been shocked beyond words at the sight of his bald and emaciated partner, but the caustic remark fit like a worn glove. He smiled. "Missed you too, Tony."
Tony was about to rally for a follow-up comment when another explosion roared beneath their feet, knocking everything, including them, off balance and into a heap. Tony screamed as his broken ribs continued to shift inside him, tearing his breath away and leaving him gasping.
Ziva and Kort rushed to help lift them off the floor. The Israeli lay her hand gently on Tony's heaving chest. "Calm breaths, my friend. Let the pain pass out of you." DiNozzo's eyes were squeezed shut; he opened them to find not only Ziva but Trent Kort looking down at him.
"Someone….should've told me….I'd died and …gone to hell. That…..would explain why…..he's here."
"I'd almost forgotten how much I can't stand you, DiNozzo. Thanks for reminding me. If I hadn't already lost two good agents on this operation I'd leave you here and call it a day."
"I…didn't ask….for…..your help," Tony struggled out, making a face when he ran out of air at the end and started hacking.
Kort raised an eyebrow. "No, he did." The CIA agent tilted his head at Gibbs. "Now get back up so we haven't wasted our time coming after you and your boss hasn't put himself in hock to me for no reason. The rest of those charges could detonate at any minute." The swirling smoke had thickened and turned black, wafting around them like a soot-filled early morning fog. Flames burst through a wall, licking upward toward the ceiling as oxygen fueled the blaze into a fury.
Tony clenched his jaw. "I can….get up," he stated, attempting to rise, but the scissors in his belly and chest had him curled in the floor again before he knew what he was doing.
McGee gave Kort a scathing glance prior to placing a hand on Tony's shoulder. "Take it easy, Tony. Let us help you, ok?"
Unable to answer, DiNozzo nodded his assent.
Ziva and McGee lifted Tony as easily as they could, steadying him as he started trembling during the minor exertion. Gibbs grabbed a throw off the sofa and tossed it over his senior field agent's bare shoulders. Ziva readjusted her grip on Tony and lifted her chin to McGee. "Let us get out of here." She bent her head nearer to DiNozzo's ear. "Come on, chaver, it is time to go."
Hunching slightly to avoid the scorching heat from the fire that was dancing its way onto the exposed ceiling beams and eating at the drapes, they stumbled toward the exit. The sounds of crackling wood increased as the flames began to roar, sections of drywall and rafters tumbling to the floor.
Kort grasped Gibbs' arm as they ducked their heads to avoid the flying embers and jogged toward the door. "Childers?" he asked, stopping as they reached the entryway.
"Not a problem anymore."
"I told you not to do anything I wouldn't do."
Gibbs snorted. "I didn't."
Kort watched the two NCIS agents assisting Tony down the steps, his movements slow, cautious, and painful.
"DiNozzo might be an asshole, but I don't think I blame you. At least we still have the professor's sidekick to give us any information we might need." Kort nodded at Andrew who was being led away by the other remaining CIA operative.
Gibbs head jerked up at a sound on the far side of the room. He squinted through the fire and ash to see what was happening. The silhouettes of several men emerged from the chaos.
"What's that?" Kort asked.
"Trouble," Gibbs answered. "Let's go."
NCISNCISNCIS
Gibbs and Kort ran up behind the rest of the team. "We've gotta move fast; there are a couple more security guards behind us and they aren't happy," Gibbs explained.
Kort was on the radio to the helicopter pilot. "He's going to land out here, but we have to make it to the middle of the lawn. Hold them back for a few minutes."
The former marine was already laying down a line of fire; McGee and Ziva hurried ahead as fast as they could under Tony's nearly dead weight.
The guards ducked behind a row of bushes next to the house, continuing to shoot at the retreating group.
Without warning, Tony's body went completely limp, his legs no longer making any effort to hold him up. Unable to change their positions quickly enough, Ziva and McGee lost their grip on him and all three agents fell to the hard earth.
"Tony!" Ziva cried out, scrambling to make sure he was still breathing. She sighed with relief when she was able to detect a weak pulse.
"Boss, we need help!" McGee yelled.
Gibbs turned to see what his agent wanted. One of the guards took that second to line up a shot on the silver-haired man.
In that brief moment, McGee recognized what was about to happen; this time he didn't hesitate. Sliding his weapon into his hand he took aim and fired, his bullet ripping its way through the chest of the security officer. The man fell at the fatal shot.
Gibbs glanced over his shoulder; then faced McGee again who was still lying on his back with his gun in his hands. The lead agent ran to the fallen trio, noting immediately that Tony was out cold but continuing to raggedly breathe. The sound of helicopter blades pounding the night air caught their attention; they looked up to find their ride home making its way over the treetops.
"We'll have to carry him," Gibbs directed, bending to pick their friend up under the arms. With the chopper on the ground, they hauled DiNozzo over and lifted him in, strapping the unconscious man into a seat. The squatty agent ran after them, shoving a sniveling Andrew inside so Ziva could roughly buckle him in place before climbing in himself.
Kort finally took out the remaining guard and trotted over to join them, jumping into the helicopter and giving the order to lift off.
Just as they cleared the trees, a final and devastating explosion raged through the compound. A fireball plumed into the night sky, casting a fiery red glow over the shredded structure. They watched as the fire was sucked back down into the house, flames racing across what remained of the building. No one spoke as they flew across the dark sky, eyes transfixed by the haunting inferno they had so narrowly escaped.
NCISNCISNCIS
Ziva was a woman of action; sitting in the helicopter watching Tony slumped against Gibbs' shoulder made her feel useless and somewhat afraid. It didn't even look like Tony; the pale, waxy skin, the bruised torso, the thin frame. His eyes were hollowed out, his cheeks were sunken, and his jaw line had taken on a sharp and chiseled edge. She teased him for his vanity, but she loved to touch his hair, to run her fingers through it when he was tired or hurt. It twisted her gut that she would not be able to do that for him now that his brown spiky crown was gone.
He had opened his eyes several times and glanced around, but didn't seem to have the strength, energy, or desire to do more than reassure himself that he was there and they were there and he was safe. He had looked across the aisle at her and she had smiled at him, but he had not returned the favor, just stared vacantly and let his eyes slide shut again. It wasn't fair that she wanted him to show her that he was still Tony by grinning or winking or making some comment entirely inappropriate for the moment. All the things she complained about were the very same things she now wanted him to do for her benefit.
When they hit some turbulence she saw him gasp and try to shift away from his position leaning against Gibbs, but the lead agent wrapped his arm around the younger man's skinny shoulders and held him tight, while he whispered into Tony's ear. Her partner blinked a couple of times and nodded; she could read lips well enough to know that he said "ok, boss" before allowing his head to once more slip into the niche above Gibbs' shoulder blade.
Gibbs didn't remove his arm, but kept it firmly in place, ensuring that Tony moved as little as possible while the helicopter streaked through the sky. The older man's back remained perfectly straight and his face unreadable, a rock-solid pillar of strength protecting his agent's battered body until he finally made it home. Ziva knew that Tony was hurting and in pain, and it would be a kindness if he didn't remember much about his rescue, but a small part of her wondered if he did remember, could he ever doubt what the older man felt for him? Because from Ziva's vantage point, it was obvious that he was, without a doubt, loved in the most paternal sense of the word.
Her reaction to the two men sitting across from her was surprising; she understood that for all his posturing the steady arm that Gibbs' provided was what Tony yearned for more than anything, and Gibbs needed the sense of family and being a father that Tony brought out in him. Their strengths and weaknesses complimented each other as only those of a father and son could.
By the time they landed at Bethesda, many hours later, Tony had been unconscious for a while. She knew they could have taken him to outstanding medical facilities that were much closer, but Gibbs felt it was best to have him as near to home as possible. Everyone had agreed; they sensed more than anything he would want to be near things that were familiar and well-known. McGee and Gibbs managed to lift him out of the chopper and onto the waiting gurney, one last act of kindness before turning him over to doctors and nurses, who, although they would have his best interests at heart, would not really know him.
The staff, with the assistance of Dr. Mallard, swarmed over their new patient like moths to a flame, whisking him away to do tests and assessments and whatever else was necessary to start him on his road back to health.
Ziva observed her boss, as for just a second, he ran his fingers through his silver hair and let his shoulders slump, giving in to the worry, stress, and exhaustion of the last few months. It was a flicker in time, gone just as quickly as it arrive when he sensed the approach of others. And to think, she had asked him to choose between her and Tony, to even for a moment consider assigning Tony to another team. It had been a very foolish thing for her to do. She wasn't jealous, or hurt even, merely accepting of the fact that no matter how much the lead agent cared about the rest of them, no matter how much he cared about her, there was a bond between the two men that couldn't be denied.
She instinctively covered her face as the helicopter lifted off, wind from the rotors beating down on her. When it was gone, Gibbs and McGee stood by her side.
"You two need to go home and change clothes, grab something to eat. We won't hear anything about Tony for hours anyway," Gibbs suggested to his team. "I'll call Abby, Palmer, and Vance. By the time you get back maybe we'll know something."
The two agents looked at each other, not wanting to leave but knowing the idea was a practical one. "Go. I'm making it an order," the lead agent added.
McGee sighed, unable to hide his mounting fatigue. "Call if you need anything," he said, stifling a yawn.
Gibbs smiled at him. "You did good tonight, Tim."
The younger man blushed. "Thanks, boss," he replied and made his way for the elevator.
Ziva paused and met Gibbs' gaze.
"Something on your mind?" he asked.
"Do you plan on ordering yourself home, too? Food and a shower would not hurt you either. What is good for the goose is good for the…geese? Gooses? Other goose?" She shook her head in frustration.
"Gander. I give you points for trying, though. That's a tough one. And no, I'm staying."
She smiled at the answer she expected, but it was her duty to try. "I will bring you back coffee. The good kind that you like, the kind that looks like used motor oil."
He leaned over and gave her a rare kiss on the cheek, something he usually reserved for Abby. "Thank you, Ziva. Now go."
She left, believing in her heart she had made the right choice to stay here and make America her permanent home and this group of people, with Gibbs as their patriarch, her surrogate family.
NCISNCISNCIS
"You look like shit," Vance stated as he walked into the waiting room.
Gibbs grinned and continued to twirl the empty coffee cup that he had drained dry over thirty minutes before. "That's what my last ex-wife told me."
"How's DiNozzo?" Vance settled into a hard plastic chair next to the lead agent.
"I still haven't heard anything. It's been a couple of hours; I was hoping Ducky would be back out by now."
"I saw a report on the fire and explosions; it's being attributed to a faulty gas line."
"Leave it to Kort to have a good cover-up."
Vance leveled his gaze. "What happened to Childers? I gather he didn't make it back with you."
Gibbs looked down at the floor and stretched his lips into a thin line.
Vance tapped his foot and sighed.
"Maybe I don't need to know," the Director amended.
"Nope."
The two men sat in silence until Abby, McGee, Ziva, and Palmer exited the elevator. Gibbs stood and tossed his empty cup in the trash, taking the new steaming coffee that Ziva handed him.
"Have you seen Tony yet?" Abby asked anxiously.
"Not yet, Abs."
"Well, what could be taking so long? McGee said he wasn't hurt that bad, a little on the skinny side and kind of out of it, but not too bad. So what could be going on? And why hasn't Ducky told you anything?" She whirled on McGee, pigtails flying around her head as she spun to face him. "What did you leave out? Why didn't you tell me everything? You know how I feel about being lied to, McGee!"
"I didn't lie to you, Abby! I mean, maybe I glossed over the fact that he was more than just skinny, more like emaciated, but I didn't think it would help if you got upset."
The Goth scowled at her friend before spinning back to face Gibbs. "How bad is it? And no 'glossing over the facts' like McGee. I demand to know the truth!"
"The truth will set you free, Abigail," Ducky burred when he walked up behind her.
"Ducky!" she squealed. "They won't tell me anything! You'll tell me what's going on, right?"
"Of course I will, my dear." He patted her black-sleeved arm. "Now let's all have a seat and discuss our lad's condition. What do you want to hear first, the good news or the bad news?"
"Bad news," Ziva said.
"Good news," McGee stated.
Ziva frowned and shook her head; McGee opened his mouth and shrugged. Gibbs looked at them both like they each needed a headslap.
Instead he pursed his lips. "Just tell us something, ok, Duck?" His voice held a thin, brittle tone.
Dr. Mallard nodded. "The good news is that Tony is currently stabilized and his problems are not immediately life-threatening." He watched as relief spread across their faces. "That does not mean he is out of the woods. The bad news is that he has a long road of recovery ahead of him. They're prepping him for surgery now; the neurologist feels they need to get the implant out of his head as quickly as possible."
"Is that going to cause any long-term damage?" Vance questioned.
"It's really impossible to tell. He could continue to experience migraines and seizures, but those effects can be controlled with medication. The other pressing concern is his inability to eat and other side-effects of starvation and dehydration. Special care has to be taken to avoid something called refeeding syndrome. It's a condition primarily identified in malnourished prisoners-of-war who were given food following their release from detainment; the unfortunate soldiers died as a result of their digestive systems having shut down. It will take quite a while before he's able to eat normally again."
"So we have brain surgery, he can't eat, anything else?" Gibbs demanded, a rough edge in his voice.
"There is also a small tear in his spleen, which is currently being monitored to determine if surgery is necessary, and a partially collapsed lung that is being treated with oxygen and inhalants, and several broken ribs. Oh, and he does have a nasty cough resulting from a small spot of pneumonia that appears to be the consequence of aspirating at some time during his captivity." The doctor removed his glasses and rubbed them with his shirt. "The list is rather long when I say it out loud. The only other significant issue is some muscle atrophy from the imbalance in proteins due to the lack of nutrition. That, we hope, can be addressed with physical therapy and reestablishing his nutritional balance."
"It sounds like with the correct medical care and some time he should be fine," Palmer summarized cautiously. "Right?"
"Definitely. He's very weak, though, and it will take quite a while for him to rebuild his strength. I think that might be where we experience the greatest difficulty; Anthony is not well-known for his patience."
"So he will rest for a few weeks and watch movies. We will make sure he loves it," Ziva pointed out, relieved that it sounded like the situation was not as bad as it first seemed.
"I don't think it's going to be quite that simple, my dear. Once the surgery is complete they'll move him to surgical ICU until he's stronger. After that he should be transferred to a general floor for several weeks. They won't want to release him until his food intake issues have been resolved and he's restored some of his body weight. Even then, he's going to require an extensive amount of assistance over the next six to eight weeks. Just because he isn't dying doesn't mean he won't need a great deal of care."
Gibbs nodded solemnly. "Gotcha, Duck. You know we'll do what it takes to get him back on his feet."
Dr. Mallard smiled. "I knew you would. Now, who would like to accompany me to the cafeteria for a bite to eat? Someone will find us as soon as Tony is out of surgery."
The team agreed it would be the best place to wait; heading for the elevator, Gibbs stopped the ME. "How do you think he's going to do mentally, Ducky? It's not like he spent the last month at a spa."
The ME met the worried blue eyes. "That is a question I can't answer as a physician or a friend. The only person who can tell you what you want to know is Tony. But I can promise you that no matter what, we will get him through this."
Gibbs clapped his old friend on the back. "That we will, Duck. That we will."
NCISNCISNCIS
Tony had the floating, otherworldly feeling that was a result of very good drugs. Even with his eyes closed, he sensed that he was in a hospital, and that he must still be under the influence of anesthesia. Somehow he knew that a person was hovering over him, and he could hear his name being called from very, very far away. It seemed rude not to answer, but it also seemed impossible to do.
"His body temp's still pretty low, can you grab another blanket?"
Seconds later he was cocooned in an envelope of toasty warmth. It had been a really long time since he was truly warm; the feeling was impossibly comforting.
"Hey there Tony, open those big green eyes for me."
He didn't want to open his eyes; it was pleasant to float here and enjoy being tucked in nice and safe where no one could hurt him. The bed was soft and the pain he had grown so used to was gone. No, he didn't want to open his eyes because bad things might happen if he opened his eyes. What if this was all a dream?
The persistent woman with the impossibly perky voice wouldn't take no for an answer.
"You have to wake up, Tony. Let me know that you can hear me."
Maybe if he answered her she would leave him alone and go away.
"Sleepy. Warm."
It was not his best effort at conversation, but he must have done ok because the next thing he was aware of he was moving through corridors. A tickle in his nose woke him up later. He swatted at the irritation, finding a tube attached to his face. He tugged his eyes open and looked around, recognizing the familiar surroundings of the ICU.
He tried to turn his head, but it felt like someone had replaced his brain with a ten pound bowling ball. Abandoning that idea, he decided to take inventory; it became obvious why he was on oxygen since every shallow breath was a struggle to pull air into his lungs past his fractured ribs. His stomach ached dully, and he was sure that would hurt worse without the pharmacological assistance he was receiving through an IV. His muscles felt cramped and tight, discouraging much movement beyond what he had to. There were too many tubes and wires attached to him to even get concerned about; they ran from the top of his head to the pressure point behind his knees. All in all, crap probably felt better than he did. He could hear the beeping of the heart monitor and scratching of the EEG.
He coughed a little, jarring everything around and making him moan at the end.
"Do you want something to drink?"
The familiar voice was at his side, which was why he didn't see the face. Before he could open his mouth to reply, a bombardment of flashbacks ran through his mind, stealing his words and taking his limited breath away. Gibbs stabbing him. Gibbs hitting him. Gibbs laughing at him. Gibbs shooting him. Gibbs slitting his throat.
The lead agent stopped pouring the cup of water and sat the pitcher back on the nightstand. What the hell was happening? Tony's heart rate had shot off the charts and the monitors were suddenly screaming like a chorus of banshees. DiNozzo's eyes were rolled back in his head and his already pale skin had gone whiter than the sheets he was laying on.
"No, don't please," the senior field agent mumbled. "Don't do this to me."
"Tony? What's going on? What's wrong?"
"I can't make it stop this time! I can't…..it's not real…not real."
His weakened condition had disabled whatever barriers he had erected against Childers' implanted scenarios. Even with his eyes open all he could see were the various images the professor had subjected him to almost daily for weeks on end. It was a waking nightmare; a flashback to hell with Gibbs as the villain and him as the victim. He struggled to free himself from the memories, but couldn't escape.
"Tony? Tony, it's Gibbs. Just calm down." The lead agent touched the younger man's face, but DiNozzo flinched at the contact, fear invading his emerald eyes.
"No," he moaned. "No, don't!"
A doctor and nurse brushed Gibbs aside, moving in to assess the situation and try to stabilize their unexpectedly volatile patient.
Tony's eyes were focused past them all, looking at images none of the rest of them could see.
"He's….going to kill….me. He's trying…..to kill me. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. I won't screw up again." His struggle to control himself as he fell headlong into whatever he was seeing was difficult for Gibbs to watch. "I….I can't breathe." Tony pleaded with the doctor, unable to get any air into his damaged lungs. Each breath he took was barely more than a wheezing gasp. His mouth moved but he couldn't make any sound. He started coughing again.
The nurse shook her head. "His O2's are dropping like a rock. What do you want to do?"
The doctor frowned, not wanting to take any drastic steps if he could avoid it. Instead, he hoped to get the young man to calm down. "Give him some valium," he said softly to the nurse. He bent close to Tony and tried to speak evenly. "You have to settle down, Agent DiNozzo. Who are you seeing? Who's hurting you?"
The field agent took several more shallow breaths, his rapid heartbeat and breathing pushing him further into hyperventilation. His whispered answer sucked the rest of the oxygen from the room.
"Gibbs."
A nurse standing near the doorway saw the older man freeze and the color drain from his face until he was nearly as white as Tony. She took his arm gently. "Why don't we wait outside and let the doctor figure out what's going on?"
The silver-haired man let her push him toward the door. He watched as they switched the nasal cannula for a mask and heard the doctor say something to the nurse about intubation if Tony's oxygen levels didn't improve quickly.
Ducky was standing in the waiting room when Gibbs was led out. "What's happening, Jethro? I just saw half the ICU staff run into Tony's room."
The lead agent tried to accept what he'd observed, but it was proving a challenge for him to put into words. "Tony had a flashback and it scared the hell out of him; sent his heart and who knows what else racing out of control. He can't breathe and they're talking about tubing him."
"Oh, my. I suppose his memories of Childers are going to be more difficult to deal with than we had anticipated."
Gibbs shook his head. "That's the problem, Ducky. It wasn't Childers he was scared of." The lead agent sat down and looked up at his old friend with a mixture of confusion and pain. "It was me."