Author's Note: I won't make apologies for the delay, because you've heard all the excuses. I'll just express my appreciation of your patience, and pass along my sincere gratitude to all who've reviewed and sent messages since I last posted. Your continued attention to this story helps.

Silent Misery R&R

Chapter 21

The water was still running when Gibbs dimly heard a phone ring. He raised his head from where he'd been resting it on the back of the couch. Tony's bedroom. The phone rang four times, then stopped. Gibbs closed his eyes again. A minute later, the phone rang again, four times. When the third call began, Gibbs decided it might be important. He got up and went to the younger man's bedroom.

When he stepped through the doorway, Gibbs' eyes widened. Every previous time Gibbs had been over, the entire apartment had been neat and tidy, almost obsessively so. Now, the room was a mess. The bed covers were on the floor at the foot of the bed, tumbled together with dirty clothes. The night stand was crowded with empty and half-empty glasses, and the bedside trash can was overflowing with used tissues and bandages spotted with blood. The clothes Tony'd been wearing on Tuesday were lying in a pile beside the bed, likely where they'd fallen when he took them off. The laundry hamper was lying on its side a step or two away from the nightstand.

With a small sigh, Gibbs looked for the phone. It quit ringing just as he isolated the sound to the floor beside the bed. He pulled at the dirty clothes. The phone wasn't underneath. Gibbs carefully got down on his knees to look under the bed and saw it, lying on the rug barely within reach. It started ringing again as he stretched his arm out for it, and Gibbs grabbed it, hitting the answer button.

"Hello?" he said.

"Tony?" A male voice Gibbs didn't recognize. He sat on the floor, leaning back against the bed.

"He's not available," Gibbs replied.

"Who is this?" the voice asked, and Gibbs heard caution.

"His boss," Gibbs answered with just a taste of his usual 'take no crap' growl.

There was a pause, a few heartbeats. "Is this Jethro?" the voice asked. The caution had changed to curiosity.

Gibbs frowned. "Who is this?" he asked.

"Brian. I'm a friend of Tony's. I was just checking in."

That name was familiar, and after a second, Gibbs got it. "From the hospital," he said.

"Yes," Brian said.

"He's okay," Gibbs said, then added: "I appreciate you talking to him."

"It's my pleasure. I was worried when he didn't pick up. He knew I was going to call."

"He's in the shower," Gibbs said. "I'll have him call."

"Thank you," Brian said. There was another pregnant pause before he spoke again. "I hope you have someone to talk to as well."

"I do," Gibbs said.

"Good. I won't keep you. Take care," he said, and disconnected. Gibbs reached up and slipped the phone into the charging base on DiNozzo's nightstand before pushing himself to his feet with a muffled groan. He took a step toward the living room before turning back. He might as well make himself useful while he waited for Tony to reemerge.

He began by gathering the debris from around the trashcan and shoving it all inside. After righting the hamper, Gibbs gathered the dirty clothes into a pile on the bed. He carefully went through the pockets of each item before dropping it into the basket. In the sweats he found a few random wrappers and scraps of paper, two tubes of lip balm and Tony's car keys, but mostly just more tissues. The t-shirts, a few socks and underwear were next. He picked up the shirt Tony had been wearing the day of the attack, feeling his heart rate kick up when he saw the blood stains. Gibbs closed his eyes for a second and tamped down on that through sheer force of will. He briefly considered the value of the clothes as forensic evidence, then rejected the thought. Abby had enough DNA and fibers to sink a canoe. It would be better for DiNozzo if Gibbs just threw everything in the wash. He dropped the shirt into the basket.

Tony's suit jacket was next. It, too, was bloodied and clearly worse for wear. Maybe the cleaners could fix it. He set it on the bed after removing Tony's ID folder from the breast pocket and confirming the other pockets were empty.

Next came the slacks Tony'd worn. The pants were torn in several places. Casualty of their wearer being dragged across a concrete floor. Gibbs swallowed hard, again fighting a wave of rising emotion. He could do this for his Second. He reached into the back pocket, removing DiNozzo's wallet and putting it on the nightstand. In the left front pocket, a few folded bills and a pocket knife. Gibbs reached into the right pocket. He felt something odd and pulled it out. A piece of rope? Stained with...

Gibbs's pulse spiked and his blood pressure dropped as the memory once again overwhelmed and pushed out rational thought. He took a hard step backwards, tripped over the hamper and went down. He didn't feel his knee twisting beneath him, didn't feel his elbow smack into the side of the bed. Instead, he felt sudden, sharp pain in his core as he remembered being forcibly breached, tight muscle involuntary opened, tearing and ripping, thrusting over and over, his arms pulled back, the hand in his hair, around his neck, the heat of breath, saying his name…

NCIS-NCIS-NCIS

Out in the hall, McGee and David hadn't moved from their places on the bench across from DiNozzo's door. McGee was bouncing one leg slightly, obviously nervous. David was next to him, sitting up straight with her hands folded in her lap. She seemed mostly at ease even if her posture was a little stiff. Fornell was leaning against the wall next to the door, his arms crossed over his chest. His many years standing posts as an FBI agent made it a comfortable way to wait. He had one ear tuned toward DiNozzo's apartment, listening for sounds of trouble. It had been quiet.

For ten minutes or more, an uneasy silence reigned. McGee finally broke it.

"I didn't mean anything by it," McGee said. Fornell looked his way.

"What'd you say to him?" Fornell asked. Just making conversation.

"Nothing bad," McGee said. "I just asked him how it happened."

Fornell raised his brow at that. Ziva spoke up.

"You accused him of standing by and doing nothing while Gibbs was raped," she said. Fornell twitched a little.

"No I didn't," McGee objected.

"You asked him why he did not stop it. You said even though he was tied up and beaten, he should have done something. You told him he should have let himself be killed trying to stop it."

"What?" McGee said. "No I didn't."

Fornell's eyes widened and he dropped his arms, pushing off the wall.

"You said what?" Fornell asked. He managed to stop himself from crossing the hall and getting in McGee's face, but it was close.

"I asked him how it happened. I asked him why he didn't do anything. I told him if the roles had been reversed, Gibbs would have…" he stuttered to a stop with wide eyes and turned to Ziva. "…died for him. Oh, God, I did say that. But I didn't mean... I didn't..." His expression was of horror. He looked up at Fornell.

"I have to fix this."

"Yeah, you do," the Fed agreed.

"How?" McGee asked.

Fornell gave a small shrug. "I don't know. But you'd better think of something, before he comes back out. Even if DiNozzo does his best to protect you – like he always does," Fornell paused to let the rebuke land, "Gibbs is going to see right through him. And he's gonna come out here looking for blood." He paused again before continuing. "The way he's feeling, I'd be surprised if you're still on his team an hour from now."

"Oh, God, what have I done?" McGee said, and dropped his head into his hands.

"You screwed up," Fornell said needlessly. "Fix it."

McGee nodded miserably. Fornell watched his mental struggle for a few minutes, then returned his attention to the apartment.

The silence resumed, mostly. McGee was mumbling to himself, an occasional word rising high enough to be heard. Ziva's expression had turned to sympathy and she stayed next to her partner as if her presence alone would somehow help. Fornell resumed his casual stance against the wall. He heard the shower start up inside the apartment and figured that was a good sign.

"How is he... how is he feeling?" McGee asked after a period of minutes had passed, drawing Fornell back. The FBI man didn't have to ask which one of the men in the apartment he was referring to. On the other side of the wall, the shower water shut off.

"How do you think?" Fornell asked. "He's pissed."

"I know. I mean, about the… what happened to him."

Fornell shook his head. "Ask him yourself."

McGee nodded a little and bit at his lower lip. He opened his mouth to speak again, closed it, then tried again.

"Will he be alright?" he asked. His expression was concern, and uncertainty, and fear and hope all wrapped up in one. Fornell took pity on him.

"He will be. Give him time. And if you've got anything else to say about this that's not absolutely supportive, keep your mouth shut. He doesn't need it."

McGee nodded again, more resolved this time.

"Do you think he'll…"

Whatever McGee had been about to say was suddenly masked by a gunshot from inside the apartment. Fornell swung away from the wall instantly, beating Ziva to the door by a split second. McGee was right behind her.

"No!" he shouted, inserting himself fully between Ziva and the door. He used his body to push them both back. "Stay out!" He grabbed the doorknob and shoved the door open, his heart in his throat.

NCIS-NCIS-NCIS

Tony spent much longer in the shower than the time it took to get clean. After using only the tips of his fingers to gently clean his hair so as not to further stress his ribs, and nearly passing out when he bent over to wash his legs, he stood under the spray repeating to himself over and over in a low voice what Gibbs had said. It was not his fault. It was not his fault.

Something had come loose in his brain when Gibbs made him say the words. He thought maybe he might be able to believe. Gibbs didn't say things he didn't mean; at least not to his team. If he said it, he believed it. So maybe Tony could, too. It wasn't a done deal – not by a long shot – but maybe Tony could get past it. It was the hope of that which released all the emotion he'd been valiantly trying to hold back and he spent several minutes letting the water spill over his back and the tears spill down his cheeks.

The catharsis didn't take long. When it was over, he rinsed his face and turned off the water. It felt good to be clean again. Stepping out carefully, he wrapped himself in a big bath towel and sat on the closed toilet lid while he though through what came next. Gibbs would undoubtedly want someone to stay with him awhile longer. He supposed that would be alright, but it would have to be Ziva. He wasn't in the mood to deal with McGee yet. By now, the kid had likely been shown the error of his ways and was ready to apologize. Tony wasn't ready to hear it. Despite what he'd told Gibbs, the guilt wasn't totally gone yet. It was better, for sure. But not gone yet. So Ziva would be his roommate for a while. Not the worst thing in the world. At least she didn't expect him to hold up his end of a conversation.

Of course, Gibbs might decide to stay himself. Which wouldn't be horrible either. He wouldn't admit it to anyone – ever – but he felt better, stronger, more capable, when Gibbs was around. Even considering what they'd been through, what Gibbs had been through, over the last few days, there was still a certain strength about his Boss that made Tony both want to do his best, and feel like he could. Besides, then he could see for himself how Gibbs was doing.

On the other hand, where Gibbs was, so was Fornell. At least lately. It wouldn't surprise him one bit if the fed was standing outside his apartment door right now. And Tony certainly didn't want to spend any serious time with him.

With a shallow sigh, Tony stood. He grabbed the towel bar and waited out a head rush, then dropped the towel on the floor. He picked his bath robe off the hooks on the back of the door and carefully slid into it. Maybe he could just go back to bed. He thought maybe he might be able to sleep now. Probably not without dreaming, but without the crushing guilt that had been keeping him awake. He'd have to get someone to change the sheets first; sleeping in them for four days without showering had left the bed smelling pretty bad.

Tony took a minute to brush his teeth. That felt pretty good, too. He parked the toothbrush, considered and rejected picking the towel off the floor, and opened the door.

For a second, Tony couldn't process what he was seeing: Gibbs was lying on the floor next to the overturned laundry hamper. He was partly curled up with his hands underneath him and one side of his face pressed into the rug. Tony blinked, but nothing changed.

"Gibbs?" he called, softly. A small moan broke Tony's paralysis and he dashed across the room, slipping to his knees beside the downed man.

"Gibbs?" he said again and touched his back.

Gibbs suddenly rolled over hard, his hands coming up, his gun out. Tony instinctively threw out his arm, pushing Gibbs' hands away as the gun went off. The bullet zinged past Tony's head and he swore he felt the breeze.

"Gibbs!" Tony shouted. Gibbs tried to bring the gun around for another shot. Tony grabbed Gibbs' wrist in one hand and reached for the gun in the other. He managed to get his hand over the barrel and tried to twist it away. Gibbs fought him, struggling to regain control of the weapon.

The front door suddenly slammed open and Fornell appeared in the bedroom doorway. He took in the two men wrestling on the floor and waded in.

"Jethro!" he said sharply as he crouched and pulled at Gibbs' shoulder. Gibbs suddenly blinked, stilled, looked around at Fornell, and relaxed all at once. Tony jerked the gun away and fell back onto his butt. He was gasping in shallow breaths from the adrenalin rush.

"You okay?" Fornell asked Tony over his shoulder, still holding Gibbs' stare.

"What the hell… was that?" Tony asked between breaths.

"Are you hit?" Fornell asked more urgently.

"No," Tony said.

"Jethro? You with us?" he asked. Keeping one hand on Gibbs' shoulder, he slowly moved the other to rest on Gibbs' cheek. Gibbs raised a hand and put it over Fornell's. After a second, Gibbs nodded and blinked. He was breathing hard himself.

"Anyone hit?" Gibbs asked, his voice rough. He dropped his hand and Fornell did likewise, though he kept hold of Gibbs' shoulder.

"No," Tony said. He looked in the direction the bullet had gone and saw a neat hole in the wall a foot above his goldfish bowl. "Near miss on the goldfish bowl."

Gibbs looked that way and grunted.

"Go tell your team we're Code Four," Fornell said. Tony nodded and rolled onto his knees. He held the gun out to Gibbs, who stared at it without moving. Fornell reached for it instead.

"I'll take it," he said. He popped the magazine out of the Sig and slipped both into his coat pocket. Tony used the side of the bed to lever himself to his feet. He swayed for a few seconds before taking a stagger step away. Fornell waited until Tony was stable and on his way to the door before turning back to Gibbs.

"Are you alright?" he asked quietly. He leaned forward, turning his crouch into a kneel.

"Yeah," Gibbs breathed.

"What happened?" Fornell asked.

Gibbs thought for a second. "I was putting DiNozzo's clothes into the hamper. He had… in his pants pocket… from Tuesday…" Gibbs looked around. He saw the bloody rope and an all-over shiver suddenly shook his body. He tasted adrenalin in his mouth as his vision started to spiral again. Fornell grabbed Gibbs' closest hand and squeezed it hard, instantly drawing Gibbs back.

"And then DiNozzo came out of nowhere," Fornell finished when he saw he had Gibbs' attention again.

"Yeah." Gibbs squeezed back, then ran both hands over his face. He looked over at Fornell. "Help me up?"

Fornell rocked back onto his feet and stood, then offered a hand to pull Gibbs to his feet. Gibbs stood only partway before sitting back on the edge of the bed. He kept his gaze away from the pile of clothes, and the coil of rope.

Fornell made sure he was stable, then went to DiNozzo's kitchen. He searched for and found a box of large plastic zipper bags and pulled one loose, turning back toward the bedroom. DiNozzo had slipped quietly back into the apartment and was standing at the entrance to the kitchen.

"Is he alright?" DiNozzo asked quietly.

"He will be," Fornell answered. Of all of them, DiNozzo was the one who deserved an answer.

"Has that happened often?" he asked.

"Couple times. This's the first time the gun's been loaded."

"Damn," DiNozzo said.

Fornell considered him for a moment. "I don't know what he told you, but I can guess," he said. "And I second it. This was not your fault."

DiNozzo frowned. "You too? I'd have thought you'd be pretty upset about it."

Fornell's eyes narrowed. He searched for hidden meaning. DiNozzo was just looking at him, so Fornell took it for what it was. "I'm not happy it happened to him. But that doesn't mean I wish it'd been you. And it doesn't mean I don't think you did everything you could to stop it. He's got a hard head. He decided on a course of action, and it would have taken a battalion of Marines to change his mind."

DiNozzo nodded. "There was nothing I could have done," he said.

"I know," Fornell said. "The blame lies squarely with the bastards who did it. No one else."

Another nod, and a relaxing of stiff features that Fornell hadn't even noticed.

"How long are you staying with him?" DiNozzo asked.

"As long as it takes," Fornell said. He moved past DiNozzo. In the bedroom, Gibbs was sitting where he'd left him, elbows on his knees, head in his hands. Fornell ignored him for the moment and used one of DiNozzo's socks to pick up the bloody rope, sliding it into the zipper bag. He sealed it and folded the whole thing into his pocket.

There was the muffled sound of raised voices in the hall. All three men looked that way.

"Better get dressed," Fornell told DiNozzo. "Sounds like we're about to have company."

DiNozzo nodded and went into his large walk-in closet, pulling the door shut behind himself. Fornell headed to the front door. Before he could get there, there was a double-tap knock and the door opened. McGee stuck his head through.

"Metro's here. Someone called about the shot," McGee said. "They want to come in."

"Fine," Fornell said and reached for his credentials. The door opened the rest of the way and a pair of uniformed D.C. Metro cops came in, the taller one annoyed, the shorter concerned. McGee stayed in the doorway.

"Is everyone alright in here?" the short cop asked. They stopped in the living room.

"Fine," Fornell said. He showed his badge and ID. "Fornell, FBI. We're handling this." He tossed his head at McGee, indicating he should close the door. On his way out. The younger agent reluctantly complied and the door snicked shut again.

"Neighbors reported a gunshot," the taller one said. "Who fired?"

"Doesn't matter," Fornell said. "It's a federal case. Thanks for coming out, but we've got it."

Tall cop shook his head. "Look, it's not that I don't love the feds, but we don't like guns going off in residential neighborhoods," he said. "So either explain what happened or we're going to have to search, be sure no one's hurt."

Gibbs came up behind Fornell, touching his arm briefly to make the g-man move aside.

"Gibbs, NCIS," he said, holding up his own creds. He had a look of embarrassment on his face that Fornell could see wasn't completely fake. "It was an accidental discharge. Some perp got the best of me a few days ago, and my hands are a little stiff. Dropped my Sig, it went off. Nearly killed the goldfish, but otherwise no harm." He gestured toward the fish's bowl. "You gonna report me, add insult to injury?"

The two cops looked at the bullet hole in the wall, the bruises still visible around Gibbs' neck, Gibbs' ID, and then at each other.

"Anyone else here?" tall cop asked.

"No," Gibbs said without hesitation. He put his ID away.

"Who lives here?" The shorter one.

"We're working a case," Fornell said. "It's need to know. But everyone's fine here, and we'd really appreciate it if you'd clear out."

The cops consulted each other again.

"Fine," the taller one said. He turned to Gibbs. "Be more careful next time."

"Noted," Gibbs said. "Thanks."

They took their leave, the door closing behind them. A moment later, DiNozzo appeared in the living room dressed in jeans and a t-shirt, his hair pressed down but not combed.

"We okay?" DiNozzo asked.

"We're good," Gibbs said. He paused, collecting his thoughts. He briefly debated trying to explain what had happened, then decided to just move on.

"I'd like someone to stay with you a few more days. That okay?" Gibbs asked it with that tone that said he was only asking as a courtesy, and if DiNozzo said no, he was going to insist anyway. DiNozzo answered accordingly.

"Fine. Ziva can stay. McGee needs to work the case."

"Yes, he does," Gibbs said. "But first he's got something to say to you."

DiNozzo frowned. "What is this, third grade? Teacher's gonna make him say sorry?"

"No," Fornell said. "It's all him. He knows he screwed up. He's been out in the hall for the past half an hour trying to figure out how to fix it."

"What did you say to him on the way in?" DiNozzo asked Gibbs.

"We didn't talk," Gibbs answered. "Had more important things to deal with first."

"And you?" DiNozzo said to Fornell, ignoring Gibbs' almost hidden compliment.

"Nothing," Fornell said. It was mostly the truth.

"Fine. I'll talk to him," the younger man said.

"Not without me," Gibbs said. DiNozzo nodded.