Ok y'all, remember way back when I said things might go from a T rating to M? This might be that chapter. I'm not sure. There are fairly graphic descriptions of wounds, and lots and lots of blood. So maybe don't read if you have a weak stomach/some sort of trigger warning. If not, please enjoy and let me know what you think!
...
Their threat momentarily neutralized, Apollo raced the little yacht down the shore and around a stretch of land, hoping they would already be at Simon's home before the authorities arrived to investigate the burning wreckages of their small battle. He was cut around the forehead and hands, as were all three agents. But that was nothing compared to the bloody messes that were Timothy and Victoria. The NCIS agents were attempting to begin first aid, but there really was very little they could do until they were safe on dry land.
No one was following them when they pulled up to a massive mansion on the water. Honestly, with their recent escapades, large houses shouldn't have struck awe into the humans, but this home was even bigger than the Clark house. It was unbelievable that one man could live alone in such a place, but it was lucky he did. The large flightling was Apollo's closest friend, and even though he was in Africa, his home was always at the disposal of the Clark family. It was much more modern; every inch was a pristine shade of off-white, and it came equipped with sprawling acres of property surrounding the building. A swimming pool reflected the moonlight on the back deck. If they weren't here because they were running for their lives, it would have looked like a resort.
They quickly docked and prepared to move Tim to the house. Victoria had awakened and insisted on helping McGee, disregarding whatever injuries she had. It took all of them working together to get the unconscious young man up to the mansion from the dock, but when it was done, they burst into the immaculate structure and immediately went about locking the doors and fortifying all windows. Gibbs had brought all of the guns up to the house in the case of another attack, and Ziva had thankfully remembered the boat's impressive first aid bag.
Apollo led the way through the darkened halls until they came upon a living room with a large adjoining hall. Through a set of side doors was a master suite, where they settled Tim on the bed.
Emergency medical attention was necessary if Tim were to survive. That much was certain. But the way Victoria was breathing worried Apollo just as much.
In fact, he didn't know which was more concerning: the fact that Tim's eyes were closed and threatening to never open again, or the fact that Victoria's were so dilated with pain it made no sense for her to be conscious.
Despite the fog that had settled over her body, Victoria could see Apollo pause; saw the hesitation in his eyes. Tim appeared to be in more danger, but Victoria had yet to indicate exactly how bad she was hurt. She kept her wings pinned tight against her back, so he had no way of seeing the extent of the damage. He didn't want to choose between the two people he loved most, so his daughter made the decision for him.
"Help Tim first, Apollo," she croaked. "He needs you more right now."
With a final concerned glance at her, he nodded and turned to Gibbs. "I'll need your help."
Of course Jethro would do anything for Tim, though he wasn't sure how much help he could be with the limited first aid training that he had. But after noticing the way his flightling counterpart sent glances between the three agents and Victoria, Gibbs realized that Apollo singled him out as best assistant available. McGee's current bed was about to become a bloody operating table, and despite the desperate circumstances, he knew that Tim would be embarrassed to have either Victoria or Ziva see him in such a compromising, undignified way. That left Gibbs and Tony, and while everyone knew that the latter was excellent in a stressful situation, DiNozzo looked a little too green around the gills- not that anyone blamed him. They had all seen their fair share of carnage, unfortunately, but Gibbs was very experienced with war wounds.
Apollo looked at Victoria, then at Tony and Ziva. "As soon as I'm through with Timothy I'm coming back for you three." Picking up as much of the first aid supplies as he could carry, he added. "You can get a head start by washing the blood off of yourselves. Between the three of you, that should take all night." With that, he and Gibbs were gone, the door closing behind them. Silence followed.
If they had nothing to do then the three would just end up pacing and fidgeting for hours. Luckily, all three were injured and needed medical attention. Apollo was right- between the cuts and scrapes the agents had, and whatever Victoria was working so hard to play down, they would be busy for a while. Ziva could see that the young woman was mere minutes away from collapsing even before the blood from her wings began to puddle on the floor.
"Is there another bathroom we can use?" Tony asked, looking down the hall at the row of doors.
"Uhm…" Victoria's head titled to the side. Why was it so hard to remember minor details? "I think the third door has another master bedroom…should be a bathroom back there…"
When they did find the huge washroom, the three set about cleaning themselves up.
DiNozzo sat on a stool in front of the his-and-hers sinks and wet a washcloth, quickly cleaning and bandaging the small cuts on his hands and forehead. Ziva did the same. The real challenge was washing off Tim's blood, which was everywhere. Their clothes were definitely ruined. Ziva went through all of the spare rooms and borrowed some clean garments. The agents had only met this Simon once, when he'd retrieved their belongings from Venice, and she hoped that he wouldn't mind the loss of a few t-shirts and sweatpants. (It made her feel better that they were clearly too small to belong to the robust man.) Victoria stepped into the shower, clothes and all, and let the gentle stream rinse off her body. However, she kept her wings tucked as close as possible, failing to conceal her hiss of pain when the water splashed on the fragile appendages.
Tony heard the sound, and it began to dawn on him that Victoria was lying about how hurt she was. She had admitted that she was in pain; it would have been foolish to try and deny it. But no one had gotten a truly good glimpse of her since they'd docked, as everyone had been worried about McGee. She'd said that the blood on her was mostly Tim's, but DiNozzo began to doubt it.
"Hey," he knocked softly on the shower's warped glass door. "Come on out, we'll help fix you up."
There was a pause as she considered this, then the water was shut off. The door opened and a sopping wet flightling emerged. She stumbled and Tony caught her, easing her onto one of the small cushioned stools.
"Unfold your wings and I will clean them," Ziva asked of her.
"I…I can't," Victoria finally admitted, involuntary tears rolling down her cheeks. She could hardly think for the pain. "I can't feel them."
"We'll do it for you," Tony said, and the two each took a side, gently pulling until they were at full length. The action solicited a torment-filled cry, but the sound was not nearly so breathtaking as the sight.
The left appendage was broken so completely it looked like a mangled kite. It had snapped at the middle joint, so the last four feet of length hung limply, brushing against the floor. No wonder she couldn't feel it- it was a wonder the thing was still held together at all. But Tony's side, the right wing, was far worse.
It had been hit multiple times, and most of the feathers had been burned away. The little flesh that did rest on the skeletal frame was blistered and bloodied. A huge hole lay close to the base of the wing, the damage extending up and down Victoria's back, which was bare in many places. The water from her shower was dripping and once again mixing with a fresh flow of blood.
For the first time, the flightling got a look at herself in the mirror. But she didn't scream, or sob, or even gasp. She laughed.
It was a soft sound, hardly shaking the body, but it was as if she couldn't believe her own eyes. Now that she was sitting, the adrenaline drained from her body and she finally began to go into shock.
Tony and Ziva shared an alarmed look. They had a decent amount of first aid training between them, but none of that training had covered flightling-related damages. How did one set such a hideously broken wing? And, human or not, the burns on her wings and back were second degree, possibly worse in some places. (They couldn't quite tell, as some of her shirt was now melted onto her skin.) Apollo was definitely going to have to fix these wounds, but it was clear that they couldn't wait for him to finish with Tim. At the very least, they'd have to stop the steady flow of blood.
Though it didn't seem like Victoria would stay awake long enough for them to do it.
"Hey," Tony said softly, shaking her good shoulder. "We're gonna lie you down, ok?"
"You don't have to…"
"Yeah, we do," he insisted, still gentle, refraining from citing the multiple times she'd helped care for McGee, himself, Ziva and even Gibbs. They owed her this much, if nothing else.
She nodded, her eyes closed. Ziva couldn't help but be surprised at the softness in her partner's voice, but was even more surprised when DiNozzo lifted Victoria, wincing when she sucked in a breath. He let her wings droop over his arm and carried her to the adjoining bedroom. He tried not to panic when she went limp in his arms, her head rolling onto his shoulder. Ziva felt for a pulse when he put her down on the bed and was relieved to find a faint but present heartbeat beneath her fingertips. They put her on her side, the broken wing resting on the comforter, the burned one lying on top where they could see to it. The medical supplies Apollo and Gibbs left them consisted of a bottle of hydrogen peroxide and the washcloths from the bathroom. It wasn't much, but it would have to do.
Tony poured a generous splash of peroxide onto his hand towel and hesitantly brought it to meet the biggest wound: the edge of the hole in her skin... Where a projectile had blown straight through. The fizz of the chemicals caused Victoria, even unconscious, to arch her back and clench her jaw.
"This isn't going to work," Tony said to Ziva, not even trying to keep the worry from his voice.
"We just have to stop the blood and clean the area," she assured him. The two set to work, trying to focus on their concern for Victoria…trying to contain their fear for McGee.
…..
Apollo and Gibbs didn't share a single word until the door was closed behind them and they had taken their places on either side of McGee's prone form. The young man's breathing was too slow to be safe, and only served to remind them of what they stood to lose.
Gibbs removed a pair of scissors from the medical bag and handed them to Apollo, who cut Tim's shirt off. The cloth was stuck to McGee's side, burned and fused with dermis at the worst of the burns- the one on his ribs. The burn didn't reach all the way to the bone as Tony had thought, but it did scald through several layers of skin- the patches around the area were red and raw, the rest was black and even a horrid leathery white- definitely third degree.
"This can't stay," Apollo said, gesturing to the worst of the injury. "We…we'll have to remove it. He… he's probably going to need a skin graft. We'll have to get him to a hospital somehow."
"That's the best you can do?" Gibbs asked, almost angry. Instead of returning the acidic tone, Apollo sighed.
"I know what you're thinking, but right now all we can do is clean him up and get the worst of it off of him before he bleeds out or develops some sort of infection. I might have some experience with this but I am in no way a doctor."
They set to work cleaning Tim's torso; Gibbs wiping and bandaging the smaller lesions while Apollo worked at the larger problem. McGee never stirred, he was so far gone. Although his face was a deathly white and a sheen of sweat covered his whole body. The two men were careful to sanitize and disinfect every inch of him- an infection would be impossible to fight with Tim's already weakened condition.
While Gibbs was done patching up Tim's head, legs and arms, Apollo was just finishing clearing away the worst of the burn, but he quickly began to despair at the fact that so much raw, blistered and bloodied skin was now exposed to the open air. McGee's flightling strength and endurance were the only things keeping him alive right now. He'd lost too much blood for a normal person; his body had suffered too much trauma. Sure, Tim would heal faster than the average person, assuming he survived the night. Still, Apollo could see no way that he would survive without the attention of a real doctor, a skin graft or a blood transfusion.
"He needs a hospital," the flightling murmured. "But I don't think he'd survive if we tried to move him yet. I wish I were a doctor. Or even that we had a doctor on hand."
But this was wishful thinking- it was too late at night to call a doctor for a house visit. Even if it weren't, what human doctor could manage the shock of working on a winged person? Which reminded him…
Gently, Apollo worked stepped around the bed and worked Tim's massive wing. One was only singed at the edges, something that would heal within days. Nothing felt broken, and the joints moved fine, so he wasn't really worried about it. The other wing, however, was burned severely and needed attention.
"I need more cool water. The aloe and some bandages too," he said to Gibbs, who was retrieved the materials. Using the scissors, Apollo clipped and gently pulled the broken feathers away from the affected area and applied a powerful local anesthetic that was in the bag. Gibbs handed him the medicated, aloe-infused gel, which, according to the label on its container, was meant to promote healing in burned areas such as this. The wing was quickly wrapped and fixed. All that was left was the wound at McGee's side.
"I don't dare use these," Apollo admitted, reading the labels on the anesthetic and the gel. "The skin here is too sensitive, too prone to infection. The potency in these chemicals could do the opposite of what we want."
Gibbs wished that Ducky was there. He'd know what to do. Suddenly the thought fully dawned on him. Ducky!
Ripping his cell out of his pocket, Gibbs punched the speed dial and waited impatiently for the international call to go through. It was late in Italy, but in America Ducky was most likely still at NCIS.
After what felt like ages and a puzzled look from Apollo, the medical examiner's voice could be heard. "Jethro? What on earth…?"
"No time to explain, Duck. It's an emergency."
He could hear Ducky ask Palmer for a minute alone, and then his old friend was back. "What's wrong?"
Vance had brought the elderly ME up to speed regarding McGee's flightling status and how the Clarks had saved the agents from the D'Amico mansion, so Gibbs felt no need to go into detail. (Not that he would, anyway.)
"McGee's hurt. We can't get him to a hospital."
"Timothy? In what way is he hurt? What happened?"
For the first time in his life, Leroy Jethro Gibbs was glad that he had been forced to upgrade to a smartphone for work. Ducky had never been annoyed by technology, and had one as well. Which meant it was possible for Apollo to help Gibbs turn on the camera (he still didn't know how the damn thing worked) and show Ducky Tim's side.
"My God," Ducky breathed.
"What do we do?" Gibbs asked.
"First, one of you must make sure he's always breathing. Watch his pulse. It looks like you've cleaned the area, which is good. You're going to have to stop the bleeding…"
For almost an hour, Ducky talked Apollo and Gibbs through cleaning and dressing the wound so that it might actually heal without becoming infected. When that was over, McGee was certainly cleaner and less worrisome in appearance- blood and blister replaced with the sterile white of a thick gauze wrap around most of his torso. But his heart rate was even softer than it had been before.
"He most likely needs a blood transfusion. If your first aid bag is really good it will have the materials for it," Doctor Mallard informed.
Since the bag was meant for lifeboats, it was indeed supplied with just about anything they might need. Including the supplies for an, albeit primitive, transfer of blood.
Ducky pulled the files of his favorite team out of his desk. Call it sentimentality, but he even had a copy of McGee's old records, despite his being officially declared dead by NCIS.
"It looks like either you or Anthony could give blood to Timothy," the older man spoke into his cell. "I would suggest just one pint and see how he takes to it."
Gibbs, not wanting to make Tony see Tim like this, volunteered to give the blood himself. Apollo facilitated the process under Ducky's guidance. When it was done, Tim's heart rate and pallor had improved quite a bit.
"Let him rest, give him any pain killers you have. When he wakes, I'd give him any sugar he can stomach, to promote blood replacement. Whatever you do, do not let the wound become infected. You're going to have to redress the area every few hours. Check his vitals incrementally. He's definitely not out of the woods yet."
Although he would never admit it, Gibbs was exhausted by the turn of events. "Thanks Duck. We'll keep you updated." He disconnected the call and he and Apollo turned to the thing they had most in common. Or rather, the son they had in common.
"Thank you," Apollo sighed, wiping his hands on a towel. "I couldn't have done it without you. And your friend."
Gibbs nodded silently, thanking Apollo, in his own way, for saving Tim's life.
Almost three hours since they'd first began tending to McGee, they finished the process by moving him to yet another bedroom. One that wasn't stained with blood from top to bottom. Apollo realized with a touch of guilt that he'd now ruined several rooms in Simon's beautiful house. He'd pay to have everything cleaned or replaced, he promised to himself.
The two men emerged from the room, now intent on seeing to the other three young adults in the house.
Tony and Ziva had done their best to take care of Victoria, but there was very little they could do besides staunching the blood that seemed to want to seep from every inch of her wings. Since then, they'd sat around, checking on her in the bedroom or staring into space on the couch. They couldn't hear any sounds coming from the room where Apollo and Gibbs were working on Tim…they couldn't decide if that was a good sign, or a very bad one.
Both had unwillingly drifted off to sleep by the time the two older men moved Tim to a different bedroom. But they were roused by the sound of the door opening- and they shot up when they saw Gibbs and Apollo.
"How is McGee?" Ziva asked.
"He's still in danger, but he's alive. I'd let him rest a bit before you two go see him," Apollo said, glad to note that the agents were clean and patched up. "Where's Victoria?"
Ziva shot a look at Tony, who's lips pressed into a grim line. "She's hurt pretty bad. I guess she thought she could hide it."
Apollo's heart rate spiked at these words. "Where is she?"
They led him to the room, and the older man sighed at the sight of Victoria's pale, pain-filled face and her mangled wings.
"Oh my dear, why do you insist on being too brave for your own good?" he asked her, though she did not stir.
"We did what we could, but…" Apollo couldn't help but give a tired smile at Tony's guilty tone.
"It's alright. You did well." But alarm washed over his face as he felt her pulse. Or rather, the fading beat of a weakening heart. "She's in more trouble than I thought. Get me the first aid bag."
He lifted her wing to check the other one and almost cried out at the sight of the multitude of broken bones. Victoria was cold and clammy. Definitely in shock. He covered her body with a blanket, leaving only her wings and head uncovered. The real terror was that sepsis might begin to set in. Even worse, they'd used up all the field transfusion supplies on McGee.
He addressed the burned wing and her back first, wrapping it and hoping that infection would not occur. Luckily, the medical expertise Doctor Mallard had imparted while he was taking care of Tim was just as useful in dealing with Victoria. While he worked, Tony, Ziva and Gibbs went to watch over their former coworker and friend.
Victoria had stayed unconscious since Tony had lifted her into his arms, but the new movement and prodding of her injuries stirred her into a foggy, pain-filled awareness.
Apollo swore when he saw her eyes open. The whole process would be much easier for the both of them if she remained oblivious to pain.
"Victoria, can you hear me?" he asked. Her eyes closed again and she nodded.
"I'm going to set the bones in your wing, alright? You need to roll onto your stomach."
Slowly, trying not to pass out again, she followed his instructions. Her more damaged wing was moved out of the way, and then Apollo got to work.
Just touching the wing made Victoria gasp. The agonizing process of putting every bone back in place without an X-ray machine meant that Apollo had to squeeze and massage every inch to make sure nothing was out of place beneath it. She bit on the blanket that covered her to dull the screams and to keep from cracking her own teeth.
Tony, Ziva and Gibbs sat around McGee, thanking their lucky stars he was alive and praying he wouldn't come so close to death again.
Even with their human ears they could hear Victoria's muffled screams several rooms away. It bothered all of them, but what really bothered Tony was just how much it affected him.
After what felt like an eternity of torture, Victoria shuddered and was still. Her labored breathing indicated that she was alive, if only just. Apollo finished setting the wing and moved on to the second one. Thanking god that she was now unconscious again, Apollo cauterized the ruptured artery that was the cause of the persistent bleeding and stitched up the rest of her wing. He couldn't give her a transfusion since he'd used the materials on Tim, but that was a risk he was going to have to take.
Finally, everyone was safe...Or as safe as they could be. Apollo sat back, guilt coursing through his veins. This was his fault; everything from antagonizing Thaddeus all those years before, to that misguided phone call only a few hours before.
He squeezed Victoria's hand, put his own hands on his knees and stood. He wasn't sure he deserved it, but he needed sleep. Agent Gibbs was on the couch when he walked by, and they shared a nod before he found the bathroom and showered. He was asleep before his head hit the pillow.
…..
Over the next few hours the agents checking on Tim; redressing his wounds and making sure his heart rate was steady. Every now and again someone would stick their head in and make sure Victoria was alright. When it was Tony's turn to do so, he found himself pulling a chair up next to the bed
Victoria seemed to sense his presence and stirred, cracking one eye open.
"What are you doing here?" she asked.
"Checking on you," he answered honestly, giving her a small version of his signature grin.
"How's Tim?" she asked, worry replacing the cloudy look in her eyes.
"He's…alive," Tony said. "He's in bad shape, though."
"You should get some sleep," she advised. "You look awful."
He gave a quiet, breathless laugh. Victoria continued.
"I…don't remember all of how I got here," she said, her voice hardly above a whisper. "But I remember you…and Agent David…helping me. Thanks."
"Hey, you've done two times that for us."
"Doesn't matter," she said, her eyes glazing. "Thank you. Really."
She reached out from under the covers. Tony put his hand in hers and she squeezed it before falling back under the heavy weight of unconsciousness.
