Chapter 2

By the time Gibbs knocked on Tony's door late that evening the fire of his anger had died and in its place lay a knot of concern that flexed and tightened.

Ducky answered at the first knock. Without a word he stepped back and allowed Gibbs to enter.

"How is he?" Gibbs asked simply, turning to face the doctor.

"He's fine," Ducky reassured him. "He's resting now and should have the day off tomorrow. After that, he can return to work but desk duty only until the end of the week. He can resume full duties next week."

Gibbs shook his head. He fixed Ducky with a stare. "I know about the hospital appointments," he hazarded.

"Nice try."

Gibbs snorted and rolled his eyes.

"It's okay, Duck."

Gibbs turned to see Tony standing behind him, one hand resting on the door jamb. He was dressed in faded boxers and a t-shirt, his face pale, but not the sickly metal grey of earlier in the day.

Gibbs turned fully to face him. He said nothing.

"I really am okay, Boss. Really. It's just that on Friday I... I had to have a ... a...thing, on my back..."

"A minor procedure," Ducky offered.

"Yeah, a minor procedure, on my back. When I fell, I landed on the incision. It really, really hurt for minute. But I'm fine. Really."

There were too many "really"s. Gibbs waited a moment and then stepped closer to Tony. "Silent but menacing" was second nature to him, and he wasn't above using the technique on his senior agent. He stared levelly into Tony's eyes. He felt no pleasure when, after a few seconds, Tony glanced down at his feet.

But then Ducky stepped in. "That's quite enough, Jethro. Anthony has a right to his privacy, and he needs to go to bed."

Gibbs lost it. Wheeling, he turned to face the doctor.

"This minor procedure has been going on for weeks! He's been to the hospital how many times? And he's been getting calls from the oncology department." He spun back to Tony. "I got McGee to pull the numbers from your cell and I phoned them. The oncology department! Now for god's sake will one of you tell me the truth!"

His voice cracked on the last word and it came out broken and desperate in a way he had not intended.

Tony's mouth dropped open and, if he had not been so deep in anger and fear, Gibbs might have felt satisfaction.

"Boss, I'm so sorry," Tony stepped forward and rested a hand on his shoulder. "I didn't know you knew. I never meant to worry you."

Gibbs shook his head in desperation. "Just tell me. What is it? How bad is it?"

"It's fine," Tony insisted. "I'm fine. I'm not sick. I do NOT have cancer."

Gibbs opened his mouth but he didn't know what else to say. Tony shot a questioning glance beyond Gibbs to Ducky, who responded with a quick shrug. Gibbs turned back to Tony. He took in Tony's awkward posture and the dark circles beneath his eyes, and remorse swept over him. Second "b" notwithstanding, yelling at a sick or injured agent was not acceptable.

"C'mon Tony, you can tell me from your bed." It was as close as Gibbs could come to an apology. Wrapping a careful arm around Tony's waist he led him slowly back down the hallway to his room.

As soon as Gibbs released him, Tony lay face down on his bed and heaved a relieved sigh.

Ducky moved silently to his side. Reaching into his pocket he drew out a small bottle and shook two pills into his hand. A glass of water sat on the bedside table, and he handed the glass and the pills to Tony, who raised himself up on his elbows. Without argument the agent threw the pills into his mouth and downed them with a swig of water. Handing back the glass, he wiped his chin. "Not easy to swallow when you're lying face down," he murmured.

"As the actress said to the bishop," Ducky finished with a smile.

Tony gave a small huff of laughter and settled himself down on his pillow.

Ducky moved to the other side of the room where he stood leaning against the dresser. Gibbs looked pointedly at him, but quickly realised that the doctor wasn't leaving. Sighing in exasperation, he pulled the chair from beside the dresser closer to the bed. Tony turned his head to face him.

"Boss, I really am sorry for making you worry," he murmured softly. Then he drew a breath. "But it's not what you think."

Gibbs nodded and braced himself. Whatever the explanation, it had to be better than not knowing.

Tony began. "A couple of years ago when I gave blood, they asked if I'd sign up for the bone marrow donor register. I said okay and forgot about it. Then about two months ago I got a call telling me that I might be a bone marrow match with a cancer sufferer. They asked if I'd have further tests." He gave a reclining shrug. "I didn't know if anything would come of it, but I said yes."

Ducky picked up the story.

"The tests are designed to see how close a match there is between the prospective donor's and the recipient's HLAs, their human leukocyte antigens. The closer the match between the recipient's HLA markers and the donor's, the better chance there is of a successful transplant. "

"That's when they told me," Tony interrupted. "The patient was a five year old girl with acute lymphoblastic leukaemia. No other treatment had worked. She was on her way out. I was her last shot." His voice was bleak and heavy.

Gibbs waited.

"The tests showed I was a good match. So more tests, lots of data they wanted from Ducky, and then a couple of tedious information sessions about risks and side effects. But I'd already made up my mind. Last Friday I had the procedure."

He paused and looked up at Gibbs, who simply raised his eyebrows.

Tony sighed and answered the unasked question. "Four needles into my back to draw out the marrow from my hip bones. Could have had a GA, but I wasn't too keen on being knocked out so I had an epidural. Duck came with me, drove me home, gave me pills."

Gibbs glared at Ducky, but the doctor returned his gaze, undaunted.

"I spent the weekend sleeping on my face - fatigue was one of the side effects they told me about. I was doing okay, I really was, until that damned perp knocked me flat onto my back."

Gibbs shook his head and stared at his senior agent. He asked the question lying heavy in his throat. "Why didn't you tell me?"

Tony shifted, rubbing his face against the pillow. He gave an ineffectual shrug. "I dunno Boss," he muttered. "I just thought, you know, I didn't...."

Gibbs gave an exasperated snort. "DiNozzo, you spend half you life trying to get my attention. But when you have a perfect excuse to demand it, you don't say anything! I don't understand you!"

"I didn't know that lying down unable to move my lower body while people stick needles in me was a skill deserving of your attention, Boss."

Mindful of Tony's condition, the head slap was quite gentle.

Tony lay silent and still. Finally he spoke again, and his voice was small. "I thought maybe Probie and Ziva would give me grief about it. You know, find a way to make it a joke. The way they did about my other... donation. And this is kinda sappy – like the plot of a really bad Hallmark movie of the week..."

Gibbs said nothing. He understood Tony's feelings, but he still didn't buy it. Tony would know that, had he told Gibbs in confidence, he would not have told the others.

"C'mon Tony," Gibbs urged softly. "The truth."

Tony's back rose and fell in a deep sigh. He lifted his face from the pillow and turned his head more fully towards Gibbs. He glanced up once to meet Gibbs' eyes, but then returned his gaze to the mattress.

"I thought... I thought that maybe .... I didn't want to say anything in case... in case, you know, it didn't work." Tony tried for a self deprecating laugh but it came out more as a huff. "I mean Boss, my DNA, what are the chances that it could save anyone?" He sighed again. "I keep thinking about the girl's parents, depending on me and my crappy marrow to save their daughter. Someone should warn them." He snorted and turned to bury his face back into the pillow.

Across the room Ducky rolled his eyes and shook his head despairingly. "I have told you, Anthony – if the transplant fails it will be because of either incompatibility, which is no-one's fault, or the condition of the recipient. Sometimes they are just too sick, or they contract an infection."

Gibbs looked at the still figure of his Senior Agent and could almost feel the crushing weight of his self doubt. He moved and sat on the edge of the bed. Resting a hand on DiNozzo's shoulder, he spoke softly.

"You do not have crappy DNA, Tony. If the transplant doesn't work, it's not your fault." He squeezed the shoulder gently. "If you are her last hope, then there is no-one I can think of who is more likely to save her than you."

Tony was still, then slowly turned his face to the side. Tilting his head, he looked blearily up at Gibbs through one eye.

Gibbs fixed him with an steady gaze. "Think about it, DiNozzo. You're a former college star athlete, now working in law enforcement. You kick in doors and chase perps for a living. You've been shot at, beaten up, stabbed, drugged, locked in a sewer, chained to a murderer, thrown out of a plane, framed for murder three times ..."

"Infected with the plague," Ducky interjected.

"Attacked by a Mossad assassin, held captive by terrorists, and blown up," Gibbs continued, "twice."

"Worked for you for 7 years," Tony added with the hint of a smile when he saw where Gibbs was leading.

"And you've survived all of it," Gibbs concluded, ignoring the interruption. "You're a survivor, DiNozzo." He fixed his eyes firmly on Tony's. "You're the strongest person I know. You're virtually indestructible."

Gibbs waited, but still Tony frowned, his mouth a tight line. With a sickening feeling Gibbs realised this went deeper than issues of physical strength. This was about something threading through every cell in his body – where he came from, the lines that had woven together to create him. And what he had been taught about himself from his earliest days.

Gibbs' eyes softened. He knew he couldn't repair that sort of damage with a few glib words. He could only think of one thing to say that might make a difference. He moved a little closer and spoke slowly, his hand gently squeezing Tony's shoulder.

"Tony, listen to me. If I was dying of a disease that could only be cured by a transplant of someone else's bone marrow, yours is the marrow I'd want."

Tony went completely still under Gibbs' hand. He looked up, still doubting, but now with a hint of a question in his eye.

Gibbs smiled and shook his head. "What, you think I'm lying? I don't lie to you Tony, never have. And if I needed to have someone else's DNA, you're the person whose DNA I'd chose."

They gazed at each other for a long moment, before Tony blinked and looked away. His eyes were distant, but his mouth had softened and the frown faded.

"And," Ducky interjected from across the room, "I suspect you two would be a good match."

Gibbs shot him a look.

"HLA-wise, I mean," the Doctor amended with an innocent smile.

Gibbs rolled his eyes. He looked down and saw Tony was looking into space a few feet from the bed. Gibbs decided to leave his words to sink into Tony's mind, to become one more drop Gibbs hoped would one day wear away the rock Tony's childhood had left inside him.

"It's late. I'm going to send Ducky home and I'll stay the night - make myself comfortable on your sofa. If you want to get up for any reason, even if it's just to hit the head, you call me. Hear me, DiNozzo?"

Ducky came over to the bed and handed Gibbs the small bottle of pills and a tube of ointment. "How are you feeling now Anthony?" he asked quietly. "Are you in pain?"

"Nope," Tony responded drowsily. "They're some good pills Duck."

"They are indeed," the ME confirmed. Bending down past Gibbs, he gently raised the back of Tony's t-shirt and slightly lowered the waistband of his shorts. Gibbs started. Tony's lower back was a swirling mass of bruises with four small puncture marks, red black dashes amid the purple and blue.

"Most of that bruising is due to the fall. The incisions were healing nicely before then," Ducky commented. "Now that you're sufficiently numbed, Gibbs will put some ointment on. You'll need some more tomorrow morning and evening." The doctor gestured to the tube he had just handed over and stared pointedly at Gibbs.

Gibbs glared up at the ME for a second, then back at Tony. So this was the price he would pay for his determination to involve himself. He sighed, flipped the cap on the tube and slowly squeezed the clear gel onto his fingers. He moved to touch Tony's back, but hesitated.

"Go ahead Jethro," Ducky urged quietly. "Just be gentle, and you won't hurt him."

Gibbs glanced at Tony's face and saw his eyes were closed and his breathing even.

Very gently, Gibbs touched the cold gel to Tony's back near his left hip, where the bruising was the worst. The younger man stirred slightly, snuffled into the pillow and then lay still again. Moving his fingers in circles, Gibbs spread the gel over the area, feeling it absorb into skin, listening to Tony's breathing slow and deepen as he slid into sleep. Gibbs stopped and squeezed more gel onto his hand. He turned to speak to Ducky, but found him gone. Looking back down at Tony, he smiled a little, and resumed his gentle application of the ointment. Tony gave a murmur and a slight snore. After covering the whole of Tony's lower back and ensuring the gel was well absorbed, Gibbs replaced the cap on the tube and set it beside the bed. He wiped his hands on a handkerchief before carefully pulling down Tony's t-shirt and raising the waistband of his shorts to just below the bruising. Finally, he covered him with bedding.

He sat for a moment staring at his senior agent. Reaching out he ran a gentle hand through Tony's hair.

"You've got my attention DiNozzo," he murmured softly, "whether you want it or not."

There was no response from the sleeping man, so Gibbs rose and headed for the couch.