A/N: OK, I lied - one more chapter and an epilogue, tag kinda thing. ;-) I'm posting them both at the same time, though. As a few people have suggested, I wrote the end of this leaving a possibility for a follow-up piece. That wasn't my original intent, but it's become very clear that there is enough to Tony's recovery for it to be a story in itself. In fact, I think to do it justice it would need to be its own story, and I would love to write it in the (not so distant) future. For now, I tried to simply capture a sense of what he had to go through in order to make his way back. Hopefully it will work. :-)
Finishing this feels huge, simply because I've never finished anything close to this size before. Thanks, again, go especially to Kylen for essentially ending up being my beta! Any mistakes, as always, are mine.
Writing this has ended up being an amazing experience - I've learned so much over the last several months. The support and encouragement so many of you have given a new fic writer has been incredible. Thank you from the bottom of my heart. If you've enjoyed reading this half as much as I've enjoyed writing it, then I've succeeded more than I could have hoped. :-)
-Rob Thomas, "Little Wonders"
Our lives are made
In these small hours
These little wonders,
These twists & turns of fate
Time falls away,
But these small hours,
These small hours still remain
If the transplant itself was a birthday, then it was only fitting that the next months were filled with firsts. Not the kind that might be immortalized on film or noted in a diary; in fact, not even things that might normally merit a second thought. But for Tony, they were each one more step back towards the elusive world of 'normal'.
There was his first night back in his own apartment, in his own comfortable king-size bed with the down comforter and perfectly squishy pillows. A few days after that, there was his first night alone in his own apartment, having finally convinced Abby that he would be fine by himself and really, she would have to stop sleeping over at some point.
There was the first time they ordered pizza and the smell of his beloved cheese, sausage, and pepperoni didn't turn his stomach. He ate himself sick that night and maintained that it was worth every last bite. There was the first time he ran a mile and didn't feel, at the end, as though an elephant were standing on his chest and his legs were about to fall off.
There was the first long, hot shower where he didn't have to be careful of the Hickman line in his chest. Having it removed had felt just as strange as having it put in, but he'd expected that. What he hadn't expected was how long it would take before his fingers stopped drifting to his collarbone of their own accord, before he stopped feeling the momentary jolt of worry when it wasn't there and he tried to figure out what the hell had happened to it and how painful fixing it would be.
Before any of it, though, came the first time that Tony realized just how arduous a journey he faced. They had all warned him. Dr. Weiss, the nurses, some of the other patients Tony had met - all of them had tried to tell him what to expect. He'd listened half-heartedly and with his usual skepticism, sure they were simply trying to prepare him for the worst case scenario. He'd gotten through the chemo, through the transplant, through the nasty little virus that had threatened to make all the rest of it a moot point. It had to be downhill from here.
It had taken him nearly two weeks to understand how things were going to be. At first, he was able to convince himself that the lingering weakness and exhaustion would be short lived. Christmas Day may have passed in a series of catnaps, curled up on the couch with Abby and drifting in and out amid Ducky's stories and the tail end of "It's a Wonderful Life," but that was surely just a fluke. And the walk around the block for 'exercise' that he'd barely made it through? Must have been a long day.
It wasn't until he found himself standing at the bottom of the staircase one night, wondering who had added extra steps to the damn thing and how, exactly, he was going to get to the top, that it hit him. He had been home for two weeks, and he was barely at the beginning of the transition from sick to well. Leaving the hospital had not brought the miraculous restoration to vigorous health that he hadn't even realized he was counting on. This, this slow, painful struggle for every modicum of improvement - this was reality.
And when Gibbs found him awhile later, sitting on the bottom step with his face buried in his hands, he didn't say a word. He simply helped Tony to his feet and put an arm around him when he faltered halfway up the stairs. He pretended not to notice the younger man's red-rimmed eyes, and if he spoke a bit more softly, if his hand lingered a little longer than usual on Tony's shoulder as he pulled the blankets up - well, perhaps he was just getting old.
That was when Tony understood: The return to normal was not a sprint. It was a marathon, and he had barely left the starting line.
Marathon or no, from the very beginning his team made it clear that he was not running alone. At first, when it still took all his energy to go through the motions of a single day, it was Gibbs who was there the most. Tony hated every damn day that his boss was on leave, hated it all the more because he had no valid argument against it. Things like driving to and from the hospital, cooking for himself - those first few weeks, he simply could not do it on his own.
Yet even after Gibbs returned to work, Tony knew perfectly well they were all still keeping an eye on him. Ziva would drop by with an entirely-too-healthy lunch, or McGee would just happen to show up as Tony was going out for his daily walk. Abby, for her part, never bothered with pretense - she informed him flat-out that she was coming over to check on him and he had damn well better be where he was supposed to be and doing what he was supposed to do. Tony was never quite sure what the consequences would be if he wasn't, and truthfully, he didn't want to find out. One did not mess with Abby, even a worried Abby. Especially a worried Abby.
It was two months before he was ready to come back on desk duty, and one month more before he could do so full-time. Being back helped, but still there were times when Tony was sure he had had enough, when the pain and the exhaustion and the sheer frustration over the slowness of it all were more than he could take. His ingrained response was still to handle it himself, and probably always would be - it was simply more comfortable to duck behind a smile and a joke and just try to deal. He had learned, though, that swallowing his pride and talking it out wasn't quite as painful as he'd always thought. More and more, he found himself perched on a stool in Abby's lab, letting her listen to him bitch while she ran her tests, or griping to Gibbs with the full knowledge that his boss would kick his ass if that was what he needed.
Over four long months, Tony worked furiously to regain what he had lost. His weight, his muscle mass, his stamina - he was surprised to find that those were the easy things, relatively speaking. Harder to recapture were his confidence, his independence, his surety of step and his easy laugh. His ability to wake up in the morning thinking of something other than blood tests, and to fall asleep at night without wondering if tomorrow would be the day when it all fell apart. Those things returned more slowly; yet even as he started feeling more like his old self, he knew that until the others stopped seeing him as sick and started seeing him as just plain Tony, normal would remain beyond his grasp.
In the end, then, those were the firsts that let him know that things would eventually be OK. The first time he took McGee down in the ring. The first time he took Ziva down in the ring. (He still hadn't gotten Gibbs, but that was expected - he was prepared to devote a good year to that one.) The first time they quit pussyfooting around and took him down.
The first time they ordered Chinese and no one said a word about vegetables and a balanced diet - Ziva even stole his eggroll. The first time Abby glared at him for forgetting her Caf-Pow. The first time he coughed and wasn't immediately met with three worried stares.
The day before he was due back on full duty, he got his first headslap that was delivered full force by a thoroughly annoyed Gibbs. No light tap, no split-second hesitation, just a good old wallop to the back of the skull. It stung like hell, and no one could quite understand why he walked around with a satisfied grin for the rest of the day.
Had they asked, he could have explained. Sometimes, normal simply meant being able to piss off your boss.
The day he'd waited for for months ended up feeling like any other slow morning in the bullpen; by the time Tony arrived, the rest of the team was settling into another long session of paperwork and cold cases. He tried to ease around the corner without being noticed, just in case Gibbs decided to get cranky about the fact that he was two minutes late, but Ziva spotted him just as he slid into his chair. "Excited, Tony?" she asked with a knowing smile.
Caught, he turned to face her. "What makes you say that, Ziva?"
"You're bouncing. Like Tiger."
"Tigers don't bounce, they pounce."
"No, this one bounces. The one with the coiled tail, friends with a bear, yes?"
"You mean Tigger?" McGee asked from his desk.
"Yes! Tigger."
Tony kicked back in his chair. "Well you know the most wonderful thing about Tiggers, don't you, Ziva?" At her inquisitive look, he grinned. "I'm the only one."
"Thank God," Gibbs said without looking up.
"I think Gibbs is the Heffalump," Tony said in a mock whisper, opening his backpack and pulling a sheaf of papers from the top.
Ziva frowned. "What is a Heffalump?"
"It's a -"
"DiNozzo!" Gibbs barked. "You got something for me?"
"Oh yeah, Boss." Tony hopped up and went around the desk to hand Gibbs the stack of papers. He'd picked them up from Dr. Weiss's office yesterday, and was half tempted to have them framed. Who knew six little words could be so beautiful? Approved for return to full duty. "Got 'em right here. Signed, sealed, and delivered."
Gibbs looked up. "If you tell me you're mine, you're doing inventory in the evidence garage for the next week."
"What if I sing it?"
"Autopsy too. Including the corpses."
"Gotcha, Boss," Tony said ruefully. Gibbs hid a grin as he turned back to his desk, setting the papers carefully to one side. Tony had looked like a little kid presenting his parents with a report card full of A's. And why shouldn't he? Gibbs knew as well as anyone how hard Tony had worked to get this far. He still wasn't completely up to speed - according to his doctors, that could take up to a year - but he looked more himself today than Gibbs had seen him in...well, longer than he cared to remember.
"Tony!!!" They heard Abby just in time to see her tear across the squad room and launch herself at Tony. "You're back, you're back, you're back!"
"I've been back for two months, Abs," Tony said with a laugh as he disentangled her arms from around his neck. "I was down in your lab yesterday. Remember? I even helped you do that...whatever that thing was we did, with the ballistics gel and the firecrackers."
"Uh..." Abby dropped her voice. "That wasn't exactly 'official,' technically, completely, so..." Tony made the requisite sign for zipping one's lips, and she nodded in satisfaction. "Besides, you know what I mean. You're back for real! Like, completely, 100% back. Out in the field, grab-your-gear back. The kind of back where -" Her eyes widened in realization. "Oh, no!"
"Abby? What's wrong?"
"Now I have to worry about people shooting at you again." She sighed. "Are you sure you don't need just a little longer?"
"No!" McGee and Ziva said in unison.
Tony turned to see the two of them staring at Abby as though the very idea was horrifying. "Awwww." A warm little glow washed over him. "See, I knew you guys missed me out there!"
"Of course we did, Tony," Ziva said quickly.
"It has nothing to do with not wanting to listen to you - ouch!" McGee rubbed his arm and bent to pick up the rubber band Ziva had shot at him. "What was that for?"
"I am too far away to kick you."
Ignoring them both, Abby gave Tony one more hug. "I gotta go see what my babies have for me, but come down later if you want, OK?" She eyed McGee and Ziva in turn. "You two - keep an eye on him."
"Abs, I don't need..." It was too late - she was already disappearing around the corner, leaving Tony objecting to thin air.
Not even a worried Abby or a seemingly-endless stack of paperwork could lessen his excitement for long, though. Tony settled back behind his desk, pretending to concentrate on the file in front of him, but he was filled with nervous energy and his leg kept bouncing beneath his desk. It wasn't like he was wishing for a case, exactly - after all, that would generally mean that someone had been kidnapped or shot or murdered or something equally horrific. Maybe they could get a nice, simple armed robbery - no injuries, just something to get them all away from their desks...
"Grab your gear! DC Metro just pulled a body out of the Potomac - looks like one of ours."
Tony's head flew up as Gibbs hung up the phone and pushed back from his desk. This was it. He had expected to be as nervous as a rookie cop, but he wasn't. Instead, finally unlocking the drawer and pulling out his badge and gun felt like coming home. The noise of the squad room washed over him, and he closed his eyes for a second, drinking it in. He was back. He was ready. He was -
"DiNozzo!" Tony started. Gibbs was standing in front of his desk. "You need a personal invitation?"
"Nope!" McGee and Ziva were already waiting, and Tony picked up his backpack and jumped up.
"Good. Gas the truck." Gibbs tossed the keys to him.
Tony snatched them neatly from the air, turning on his heel and throwing them to McGee in one smooth motion. "Hey, Probie!"
Startled, McGee reached out but the keys flew right through his fingers. "Tony, what're you doing?"
"Delegating, McGoo."
"Delegating?"
"Yes - since I'm back on full duty as Senior Field Agent, my time is better spent doing other things."
"And what might that be?" Ziva asked.
"Uh...Senior Field Agent duties, Zee-vah. You'll learn someday, when you're ready. It's a big responsibility."
"Remind me again why we missed him?" McGee grumbled, stooping to pick up the keys.
"My crack investigative techniques? My mad crime scene sketching skills?"
"No," Ziva said, pretending to look thoughtful. "That's not it."
"My charm? My sense of humor? My rugged good looks?"
"Write your personal ad on your own time, DiNozzo." Gibbs stopped beside Tony. "You sure you're ready for this?" he asked softly.
Tony rolled his eyes. "Positive. I'm fine, I swear."
Gibbs nodded. "Then get moving before I let Ziva drive."
He watched Tony jog ahead of him to the elevator, nudging his way in between McGee and Ziva. Gibbs followed, absently feeling around in his bag, then froze when his hand closed over a well-worn ball cap. He'd found it laying on the dresser weeks ago, and had stuck it in his bag to return it but had kept forgetting.
He nearly pulled it out now, but stopped when he looked back at the elevator. Something Ziva said had made McGee flush bright red, and he could see Tony throw back his head in real, honest laughter, the sound carrying all the way across to where Gibbs still stood. Fingers tracing the 9mm hole in the brim, he could almost hear Tony's voice: "Don't think I need that anymore, Boss."
No, Tony. Gibbs smiled to himself. No, I don't suppose you do. He shoved the cap back down in his bag, and headed to the elevator to join his team.
