Disclaimer: NCIS and its characters do not belong to me and this story is not intended as an infringement of copyright. It has been written solely for entertainment and no profit has been made from its creation.

Patrem et Filium – Father and Son

Chapter Three

"Really, Jethro, you are being quite unreasonable about this," Ducky admonished. "You were shot! The doctor wants you in here overnight!"

"It's a through and through, Duck," Gibbs understated. "I gotta get home to my kid."

"I agree with Ducky," Kate told the former Marine. "It's two in the morning! Tony's probably sound asleep! Besides, Jenny is staying with him tonight and she'll bring him here to see you when she starts work at nine!"

Gibbs tugged one-handed at his open-backed hospital gown.

"Unless you want me to sign outta here bare-assed, someone better find my pants," he growled.

At the back of the room, McGee's cell phone beeped loudly and he silently read the text message.

"You might wanna hold off on that, Boss," he said.

Opening the door of the private room, he stepped into the corridor, looking both ways before waving to someone. A moment later he stepped aside, allowing the small boy to guide his wheelchair into the room. Tony's eyes shone with unshed tears which spilled down his cheeks when he saw his foster father.

"G...Gibbs," he whispered.

"Tony?"

Gibbs made a move to get out of the bed and was halted by McGee's response.

"I'll get him, Boss," he said.

The IT Specialist lifted the boy from his wheelchair and onto the bed with Gibbs, mindful to place the child on the opposite side of the agent's injured arm. He lifted the side rail of the bed to prevent the boy from falling and stepped back to watch as the youngster wrapped his arms around Gibbs' neck and silently cried into his chest.

"It's okay, Sport," Gibbs soothed, rubbing the boy's back to calm him. "What are you doing here?"

Tony wiped away his tears with the sleeve of his pyjamas. He reached out his fingers and tentatively brushed them over Gibbs' sling.

"Are you gonna be okay?"

"Yep," the Gunny answered. "Doc says I'm gonna be fine."

The boy's tears flowed again and his words came in a rush.

"I'm really, really sorry I was mean to you, Gibbs. I'm sorry that I wouldn't talk to you or let you read our story - even though I really wanted to know what happened to Fagan and whether Brownlow adopted Oliver. And I know it's not your fault that I can't get my dog yet. Even if I never, ever get a dog, you're right at the tippity-top of my Thanksgiving list."

Gibbs smiled and kissed the top of his kid's head.

"You're at the top of my list, too, Sport."

Tony lifted his head and looked at Gibbs with a serious expression that belied his eight years.

"Jenny and Abby said you have to stay in hospital tonight, so I made them bring me here. But don't be mad at them, Gibbs, because it was all my idea, okay?"

"Okay," Gibbs agreed biting back a grin at the boy's sombre expression.

"You wanna know why I made them bring me here? Because you always stay with me in the hospital, Gibbs, and it makes me feel better when you're with me. Now it's my turn to stay with you. So...you just go to sleep and I'll be right here when you wake up."

Gibbs hugged the boy close and looked over the top of his head at the smug faces of his friends.

"Using my kid against me?" he asked them.

"Whatever works," Kate replied smiling sweetly. "We should go and let you get some rest."

"I believe the doctor's rounds are at 8AM," Ducky added moving toward the door. "After a good night's sleep and a hearty breakfast, you should be discharged by nine."

"Abby and I'll swing by to drop you home, Boss," McGee said.

Jenny placed an overnight bag at the foot of the bed.

"I've brought Tony's meds and a change of clothes for you both," she said before she, too, headed for the door.

Abby quickly ran back to the bed, kissing both Tony and Gibbs on the cheek before returning to the door and flicking off the light.

"Sleep tight," she said before following the others out of the room and closing the door behind them.

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Secure in the one-armed embrace of his foster father, Tony had quickly drifted off to sleep; his warm, steady breath tickling Gibbs' neck with every exhalation. The former Marine closed his eyes and relished the closeness of the boy until the unintentional movement of his left shoulder resulted in a throbbing pain shooting down his arm. With his back protesting strongly from laying too long in one position, he slowly and carefully extracted himself from the sleeping child and moved to the far side of the narrow hospital bed, putting a few inches between them. It took less than a minute for Tony to subconsciously sense the change and snuggle into him again. Gibbs smiled as he carded his fingers through the boy's fine hair.

They'd had a close call tonight. When the shout went out at the warehouse for members of the drug cartel to drop their weapons, all hell had broken loose. Gibbs took a ricocheted bullet to his left bicep but it was a credit to his team and the agents providing back-up that no one was killed.

In the muted light, Gibbs watched the boy's face; peaceful in sleep. He couldn't help but wonder what would have happened to Tony if the bullet that pierced his arm had hit him three inches to the right.

Although Gibbs was Tony's foster father, the child was still considered a ward of the state and, should anything happen to Gibbs, he would be placed back into the system. Gibbs had no doubt that Jackson would seek custody of the boy but his age would surely be held against him – as would Ducky's. It was obvious that his teammates and friends adored Tony and would do all they could for him but they had family and careers of their own - could he realistically expect any of them to consider making a home for an eight year old boy with serious health issues?

The door opened quietly and a nurse appeared with a syringe and pain meds on a tray. Her face softened when she saw the boy sprawled in sleep over most of the bed.

"I see we have a gate-crasher," she said softly. "Want me to ask the orderly to bring in another bed?"

"He's fine," Gibbs replied.

"You're not going to get much rest with him like that," she replied.

"He's right where I need him," Gibbs replied, brushing the bangs from the boy's face.

"Then at least let me give you some stronger pain meds; something to help you sleep."

Gibbs shook his head.

"Tony has epilepsy. If he has a seizure, I'll need to be alert."

"That's where I've seen you!" she exclaimed. "I was doing my paediatrics rotation the night Tony was brought in. It was touch and go as I recall. He's a tough kid."

"The toughest," the Gunny said proudly.

"I can probably track down a seizure monitor," she said.

"Thanks, but that's not necessary."

The nurse produced a tablet in a small white cup.

"At least take half of this. It will help take the edge off and ease you into a more natural sleep. Don't worry, if Tony needs you, you'll wake up right away but I really think you should try to rest."

Nodding in agreement, Gibbs washed the tablet down with a mouthful of water and watched as the nurse pulled the blanket up to Tony's chin and left the room. As the Gunny gave in to the tug of sleep his last thought was ensuring that his kid had a secure future with people who loved him.

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Nocturnal seizures are a common occurrence in children with epilepsy. Several times, Gibbs felt the small body go rigid and start to convulse. While most of the seizures lasted less than two minutes, the big one came as zero six hundred. Struggling to secure him with the use of only one arm, Gibbs placed his hand on the boy's back and spoke softly to him.

"S'okay, Sport. I'm here…I'm right with you."

When the seizure finally stopped, Tony slowly opened his dazed green eyes and gave Gibbs a crooked smile before his eyelids closed and sleep took him. Following every major seizure, Tony experienced drowsiness, exhaustion and confusion as his brain recovered from the trauma This period, known as the postictal state, generally lasted between five and thirty minutes depending on the severity of the seizure. Kissing the boy on the forehead Gibbs slipped out of bed, ensuring both safety rails were raised before moving to the adjoining bathroom to shower and dress.

Sitting in the chair across the room, the Gunny watched the sleeping boy. Once again his concerns for Tony's future rushed to the forefront of his mind. If something was to happen to Gibbs, Tony's trust fund would cover his education, medication and material needs. But the boy needed stability and a loving home – someone who would encourage him to reach his full potential. If Tony became a ward of the state, Gibbs doubted that would happen.

By the time the boy's eyes opened again, Gibbs was reading a newspaper and nursing a cup of coffee.

"Gibbs?"

"How you doing?" he said, climbing to his feet and approaching the bed.

"Why'd you let me sleep?" Tony yawned. "I'm supposed to be taking care of you!"

"I'm just reading the paper, Sport," he replied. "Don't need any help with that."

As Gibbs lowered the bed railing, Tony threw back the covers and manoeuvred his still legs over the edge of the bed. With his foster father steadying the wheelchair, the boy slid down into it.

"You're getting pretty good at that," Gibbs said ruffling the blonde head.

Tony smiled proudly then narrowed his eyes and scrutinized the man from head to toe.

"How'd you get dressed?" he asked suspiciously.

"Same way I always get dressed," Gibbs replied.

Not satisfied, the boy continued his inspection and pointed to his foster father's feet.

"How'd you do up your laces? You used your sore arm, didn't you?"

"Guilty as charged," Gibbs replied nodding.

Tony shook his head in disappointment and folded his arms across his small chest.

"You wanna get better, Gibbs, you gotta do what the doc tells ya."

Gibbs almost guffawed. He wasn't used to having his own words used against him but he had to hand it to the little mimic - his Leroy Jethro Gibbs impression was nearly flawless.

With the use of only one arm, Gibbs found that getting Tony washed up and dressed was a struggle and both were more than ready to eat when breakfast arrived. Leaning back in his chair, Gibbs grinned as Tony insisted on cutting the man's food into small pieces – after all, the boy told him, he had two good arms and Gibbs had only one.

Moments later, Gibbs looked up from his meal to see Tony watching him worriedly.

"Gibbs...are you really okay?"

"I'm fine, Sport," he said. "Bullet missed the bone. After some physio, the arm will be good as new."

"I bet Ziva could help your arm, Gibbs," Tony told him. "She's the best physiotherapist I've ever had."

"Had a lot of physiotherapists have you, Sport?" Gibbs grinned.

"Well...no, just Ziva...but she's really good and if you work really hard during your session, I bet she'll play a game with you at the end just like she does with me."

"Ya think?"

"Sure," the boy nodded his head but the worried expression returned to his face and he chewed his bottom lip.

"I was scared, Gibbs," he whispered.

"S'okay to be scared, Tony. Everybody gets scared."

"Even you?"

"Yeah, Sport, even me," Gibbs assured him. "I'm gonna be fine. I got you to watch my back, right?"

"Right!" Tony grinned. "And I'm gonna take real good care of you, Gibbs, you'll see!"

With breakfast over, the doctor arrived shortly thereafter and declared Gibbs fit to leave.

As the young resident prescribed antibiotics that were to be taken three times daily with meals and pain killers to be taken after physio or as needed, Tony listened carefully, committing the aftercare instructions to memory before grilling the young doctor on possible side-effects and the finer points of administering CPR.

"CPR?" Gibbs exclaimed. "Getting a little carried away there, aren't you, Sport?"

"You're very fit for your age, Gibbs, but you're not getting any younger," Tony said with a serious expression belying his eight years. "As your primary care giver, I need to be prepared for any emergency."

"Well, it's good to know that Agent Gibbs will be in such good hands," the young resident said, enjoying the moment a little too much for the former Marine's liking. Noticing the glare on his patient's face, the doctor said his goodbyes and made a hasty exit to arrange Gibbs' discharge.

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"Hey!" McGee exclaimed as he guided the agency sedan down Gibbs' street and into his driveway. "Looks like your new neighbours are moving in,"

The large moving van was prominently parked in the front yard of the house next door. Securely strapped into his car seat, Tony craned his neck trying to get a good look.

"Can you see them, Gibbs?" he asked. "Are there any kids? Maybe they have a dog. Do you think they have a dog, Gibbs? Maybe I could play with him sometimes."

"I dunno, Sport. All I see right now is the van," he replied. "Give 'em time to settle in. We'll meet 'em soon enough."

With Gibbs' arm in a sling, he watched as McGee and Abby transferred Tony to his wheelchair and into the house where Abby spent the next few minutes trying to convince Gibbs to let her stay and help.

"How will you manage using only one arm?" she asked. "I mean, it's the weekend. I could stay here and, you know, help you take care of Tony."

"You don't have to take care of me, Abby," Tony told her. "I'm going to be taking care of Gibbs. I listened really close to the doctor and I know exactly what to do."

"I know you do, Short Stuff, but who's going to help you with your exercises and your bath?"

"My bath!" Tony spluttered. "Abby, you can't help me with my bath! You're a…you're a girl!"

"Yeah but I'm also a scientist, right? Scientists see naked bodies almost all the time...for scientific reasons, of course."

Tony's large eyes widened and he turned to his foster father in horror.

"Gibbs!" he pleaded.

Although secretly enjoying the boy's indignation, the former Marine took pity on him.

"We got it, Abs, thanks."

"Okay, well, you have my cell number," she said. "Call me anytime and for, like, anything. Okay?"

Gibbs and Tony were waving goodbye to Abby and McGee when a man appeared at the door of the house next door.

"Afternoon," he called to them as he approached the fence.

"Afternoon," the Gunny replied.

"Sure is a hot one!" he said, wiping his brow with a handkerchief from his pocket.

"Are you our new neighbour?" Tony chirped. "Do you have a dog?"

"Nope, to both questions young fella," the man chuckled. "I'm just the removalist. The new owner had some business to finish up – sent his furniture on ahead."

"Oh," Tony said sadly. "Do you know if he has a dog?"

"Sorry, Son, I told you all I know. 'Cept I think they'll be moving in some time after Thanksgiving."

Thanking the man, Gibbs used his good arm to push Tony's wheelchair up the ramp and back into the house, ensuring he engaged the deadlock. The lack of restful sleep for the last two nights had started to take its toll and the former Marine headed for the kitchen and flicked the switch on his coffee machine.

"Gibbs!" Tony called from his bedroom. "Gibbs could you please help me?"

Curious, the Gunny walked up the hallway and found the boy leaning precariously out of his wheelchair and struggling with the straps of his standing frame.

"Hey, hey, what are you doing?" he said reaching to steady the standing frame.

"It's Saturday," Tony answered as if it was the most obvious thing. "Saturday is when we do our housework remember, Gibbs?"

"I still got one good arm, Sport, I can handle the housework."

"But the doctor said you had to rest," Tony countered. "If you help me into my standing frame, I can make your lunch and then you can take a nap on the couch while I do the laundry and…and…the other stuff."

The child looked the Gunny in the eyes and straightened his shoulders.

"It's what we do for family, Gibbs," he said sombrely.

The former Marine felt his chest tighten. That was the second time today the kid had used his own words against him and he fought the urge to hug the stuffing out of him. The practical side of the man urged him to say no but the genuine sincerity reflected in those big green eyes shut down any argument. Gibbs began helping Tony into his standing frame.

"Kitchens can be dangerous, Tony, 'specially in your frame. I don't want you in there by yourself."

"But Gibbs-"

The Gunny held up his hand to silence the boy.

"I'll help with lunch," he conceded. "Then we'll talk about what else you can do to help out."

"By myself though, right Gibbs?"

"By yourself," Gibbs agreed.

The boy extended his small hand with an earnest look on his face.

"You promise?" he asked hopefully.

Suppressing a grin, the former Marine shook the boy's offered hand.

"Promise," he said.

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Gibbs stood by the boy's side, watching closely as Tony manoeuvred his standing frame around the small kitchen. With the stove and the oven deemed off limits, the boy had decided to make his foster father a sandwich for lunch and he was putting the finishing touches on his specialty - peanut butter and jelly, a la DiNozzo. Gibbs grimaced as an avalanche of sickly sweet jelly smothered the thick layer of peanut butter.

Tony looked up, grinning proudly at his masterpiece.

"One sandwich or two, Gibbs?" he asked.

"One's more than enough, Sport," he said with a wry smile.

Grabbing Gibbs' USMC coffee mug, the boy guided his frame to the opposite side of the kitchen. Feeling the watchful eyes of his foster father upon him, he nodded his head in acknowledgement of the silent warning before reaching for the hot coffee pot.

The tip of his tongue protruded from the corner of his mouth as he concentrated on pouring the coffee without spilling the contents or burning himself. Once again, the Gunny's face contorted into a grimace as the sludge at the bottom of the pot slid into his mug. He forced a neutral expression as Tony handed him the coffee mug and waited in silent anticipation for Gibbs to take a sip.

"Black with no sugar," Tony said. "That's just how you like it, right, Gibbs?"

"Yup," the man said, "just how I like it."

Tony continued to watch expectantly as the former Marine reluctantly lifted the mug to his mouth and took a sip of the gritty liquid. He held the coffee in his mouth as long as he could before grudgingly swallowing.

"Do you like it?" the boy asked.

Gibbs cleared his throat.

"Perfect," he coughed.

"See, Gibbs, I told you I can look after you!" Tony beamed. "You don't have to worry about a thing."

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Tony had chatted happily while eating his pre-packed Keto lunch of apple and cinnamon pancakes and heavy whipped cream. Across the table, Gibbs eyed the pancakes enviously as he choked down the last of his sandwich and washed it down with the gritty coffee substance.

He had agreed to allow Tony to hand wash the few dishes from lunch, change the towels and pillowslips in his room and to attend to a pile of washing that had been steadily growing over the past few busy days. The boy had wanted to do more but Gibbs told him that those few chores were a big help to him and the rest could wait until his arm had healed a little.

"What's this?" Gibbs asked, picking up an envelope with his name on it.

"Oh, I nearly forgot!" Tony said, dramatically hitting his forehead with the heel of his hand. "That's a permission note. Miss Cassie left it for you to sign."

"For what?"

"My first home-school excursion," the boy smiled excitedly. "Miss Cassie wants to take me to the American History Museum at the Smithsonian. Isn't that great, Gibbs? I've always wanted to go there."

Gibbs looked at the excitement in the big green eyes and felt his gut shout a warning. Until he learned the identity of the man that had approached his kid yesterday, he wasn't about to let the boy leave the house without him.

"Gibbs?" Tony asked. "It's okay, isn't it? There's no entrance fee and I can take a packed lunch, so it wouldn't cost anything and Miss Cassie said that it's very, very educational. Can I go, Gibbs, please?"

"Maybe I'll come with you," the Gunny said nodding at his sling. "I got some time off."

"Really, Gibbs? That would be great!" Tony enthused as he began clearing the dishes.

The boy made several trips from the dining room to the kitchen and back again while Gibbs watched surreptitiously over the top of the newspaper. The clatter of crockery and the clang of cutlery resonated from the kitchen as the boy attended to his chores, humming happily as he did so. When the noise and humming abruptly stopped, Gibbs quickly looked in Tony's direction, noting the glazed, faraway look of an absence seizure on the boy's face. A moment later the seizure ended and, unaware of what had happened, the child continued to do the dishes and resumed humming.

Satisfied the kitchen was tidy, Tony used his push-rims to wheel himself into the living room where he found Gibbs reading the paper.

"Why aren't you taking your nap?" he asked.

"Cos I'm not four years old," the Gunny quipped.

"But the doctor said-"

"Doc said I had to rest, not nap. This is me resting."

Tony considered the response for a moment before nodding his head.

"I'm going to start the laundry now," he said. "If you need me for anything, just call me and I'll come right back, okay?"

"Roger that," the Gunny replied. "Need a hand in there?"

"I know how to do it, Gibbs. I've helped you lots of times."

"O-kay," the man nodded as the boy awkwardly turned his standing frame and headed for his bedroom.

Several minutes later, the grunting and groaning coming from Tony's room got the better of him and Gibbs quietly crept down the hallway and peered into the boy's room where Tony was wrestling the pillowslip off an uncooperative pillow. Ensuring the boy was in no danger, he hurried back to his place on the couch and picked up his newspaper just as Tony emerged from his room.

"Sure you don't need a hand?" he asked as the boy passed him.

"No, Gibbs I'm helping and you're resting," Tony puffed, breathing heavily and bound for the laundry with a small bundle of pillow slips and towels. "I'll be back soon to check on you. Stay right there on the couch and rest."

"Gotcha, Boss," the man replied.

The growing ache in his injured shoulder prompted Gibbs to take his pain meds but more banging and crashing had him moving quickly to the laundry. Stealthily peeping into the room, he watched as Tony diligently separated the whites from the colours before tossing a load into the washing machine. The former Marine held his breath as the boy tipped his frame precariously and strained to reach the washing powder from a nearby shelf. Exhaling in relief, he shook his head, simultaneously proud and concerned by the boy's independence and dogged determination.

Using three times the necessary amount of washing powder, Tony closed the lid and pressed the start button to set the washing machine in motion before leaning back in his standing frame and closing his eyes. Gibbs noted the pale face and sweat-dampened hair with concern – he wasn't the only one who'd had a rough time and little sleep the night before. He quickly dashed into Tony's room, collected the book from the nightstand and returned to his position on the couch.

"Hey, Sport?" he called. "You done yet?"

Tony appeared a moment later, still trying to get his breathing under control.

"Are you…okay, Gibbs? Do you…need something?" he gasped. "Is your shoulder hurting?"

"I thought we might see what happened to Fagan and Oliver," he said. "What do you think?"

"That's a great idea, Gibbs," Tony beamed. "You keep resting and I'll go get the book."

The Gunny held the book up for the boy to see and Tony's green eyes narrowed suspiciously.

"How'd that book get out here?" he asked accusingly.

Not willing to subject himself to another lecture from his pint-sized minder, Gibbs just shrugged and changed the subject.

"Let's get you outta that frame," he said.

With the use of only one hand, it took quite a bit of effort to free the boy from the standing frame and carry him to the couch. Tony settled against his foster father, listening to the cadence of the man's voice as he began to read the next chapter of the Charles Dickens classic. Beyond exhausted, it didn't take long for the youngster to close his eyes and drift off to sleep.

Once again, Gibbs revelled in the feeling of the little boy snuggled beside him; a child who had re-opened a door in his heart that he thought was forever sealed. Placing the book on the coffee table, the Gunny held the boy close and gave in to the pull of his medication.

The former Marine didn't know what jolted him from his slumber; was it Tony mumbling in his sleep or the washing machine completing its cycle? Although the pain medication dulled his usual state of heightened awareness, his blood ran cold as he sensed the presence of an uninvited guest in his living room.

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A/N Thank you all for your kind words of support and also to those following quietly in the background. SMcG