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 Four
Without regard to his injured arm, Gibbs pulled the sleeping boy protectively closer as he turned quickly toward the man standing in his living room.
"Take it easy, Son, it's just me," Jackson said quietly.
"Jesus, Dad!" Gibbs hissed.
His head fell back against the couch in relief as he waited for his heartbeat to return to normal.
"What the hell are ya doing here?" he asked more harshly than he intended. "How'd you get in?"
"You gave me a key!" Jack scolded. "Shhhh! You'll wake the boy."
A quick look found Tony still out like a light and Gibbs gently extracted himself from the tangle of arms and legs and nodded toward the kitchen.
"I wasn't expecting you till next week," he said, emptying the remaining coffee sludge and making a fresh pot.
"Ducky called. He told me you might need an extra pair of hands around here," Jack explained, looking pointedly at his son's arm in a sling. "Seems he was right."
"We were gonna call you tonight," Gibbs told him.
"You were shot, Leroy!" Jackson exclaimed. "And I gotta tell ya that I'm getting mighty sick of having to hear about what's going on in this family from Ducky!"
"You're right."
"You're darn straight, I'm right," Jack continued. "So maybe you can explain why it seems like you're happy to accept help from everybody but me?"
"I'm not happy to accept help from anyone, Dad," Gibbs countered. "You know what we're dealing with here. You told me yourself – 'don't be as ass, if you need help, ask for it.' You know that's never been easy for me…but I'm trying."
Jackson sighed audibly.
"I know, Son," Jackson said sadly. "Guess I was hoping, I'd be the first person you'd call."
"You would be…but you have the store and a life in Stillwater. I can't ask you to give that up."
Before the conversation could continue, Tony's sleepy voice sounded from the living room.
"Gibbs? Gibbs, where are you?"
"Be right there, Sport," Gibbs called and turned back to his father. "Come on. He'll be happy to see you."
With tussled dark, blonde hair sticking up in every direction, Tony was still knuckling the sleep from his eyes as Gibbs entered the living room.
"Where were you?" Tony yawned.
"Just getting a coffee," the Gunny said, holding the wheelchair steady while the boy slipped into it from the couch.
"That makes four coffees today, Gibbs, and it's only two o'clock!"
"You counting my coffees?"
"For your own good. The doctor said you're not supposed to have too much coffee while you're taking your pain meds. Did you forget? It's a good thing I remembered then, right, Gibbs?"
"Yeah, Sport," Gibbs said wryly, "a real good thing. You wanna say hello to our visitor?"
Jack walked into the living room and, for a moment, Gibbs honestly couldn't decide who looked more delighted.
"Grandpa Jack!" Tony exclaimed as the older man wrapped him in a huge hug. "What are you doing here?"
"Well, I was already coming down for Thanksgiving," Jack told him. "But I heard you boys could use an extra pair of hands so I came earlier. Is that okay?"
"It's more than okay, it's great! I've been looking after Gibbs since he came home from the hospital but there's lots of things he won't let me do by myself," Tony leaned forward and stage whispered. "You should know that when his arm hurts, he gets a little cranky."
"Thanks for the tip," Jackson whispered in reply. "He's never been a good patient – even when he was your age."
"Hey! I'm standing right here!" Gibbs feigned a protest causing Tony to dissolve into a fit of giggles. "If you two want to go to the park before it gets too cold, you better grab your gear!"
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With a mixture of joy and sadness, Jackson watched as Tony reached the end of the monkey bars and awkwardly turned for the return trip. Unlike other children, who swing their legs to give them the momentum to travel back and forth, Tony's lower limbs hung limply and he relied totally on the strength of his arms. The boy's young face was flushed from exertion as he made his way back to the start, reassured by the sight of his foster father, walking slowly beside him and uttering words of encouragement.
Tony's progress was slow and his breathing laborious but the grit and determination on the kid's face filled Jackson's heart with a pride so intense he had to swallow the lump in his throat.
"I did it!" Tony gasped, beaming a wide smile in Jackson's direction. "Six times across the monkey bars, Grandpa Jack! That's a new record!"
"Atta boy, Tony," Jackson replied, matching the boy's smile.
Gibbs positioned himself below him and Tony let himself slip safely into his one-armed embrace.
"Good job, Sport," he softly whispered into Tony's ear before kissing his temple.
The Gunny carried the weary boy over to the Liberty swing, where Jackson was already securing the wheelchair. With an extra hug – just because – Gibbs placed the boy into the chair and set the swing in motion. Taking a seat on a nearby bench, he and Jackson watched as Tony closed his eyes and let his imagination take him to a place where he could run and jump and play, fast and free.
"He's getting strong," Jackson remarked.
"Kid's a machine," Gibbs said with a small grin. "Ziva's been working on his upper body strength. Helps him use his wheelchair…and the monkey bars."
Jack nodded.
"Shame things didn't work out with his dog. He was so excited."
"We haven't given up on that yet, Dad. Ducky's working on it."
With Tony sufficiently rested, the two men detached the wheelchair from the Liberty swing and guided it down the path to their favourite bench by the pond. They enjoyed a small snack while Tony educated Jackson on the finer points of his duck research. Shaking his head ruefully, he still couldn't understand what had gone wrong. Jack's eyes were bright with suppressed laughter as he consoled the boy.
"The important thing is not to stop questioning. Curiosity has its own reason for existing," Jack told him. "You know who said that, Tony?"
Tony screwed up his face and gave the man a quizzical look.
"You just said that, Grandpa Jack," he laughed.
Jackson and Gibbs exchanged a smile.
"That's a quote from Albert Einstein, arguably one of the smartest men the world has ever known," Jack replied. "And you know what else? Albert Einstein suffered from epilepsy."
"Really? Like me?"
"Yep…lots of really smart people over the years had epilepsy. I bet they wouldn't let a bunch of old ducks stop them from finding something else to research. Never stop being inquisitive about life, young fella, the more questions you ask, the more you learn."
As Jack and Tony continued their conversation, Gibbs stepped away to answer his ringing cell.
"Kate? Everything alright?"
"In case you've forgotten, Gibbs, you're the one who got shot," the agent replied with a smile in her voice. "I'm just calling to see how you're managing."
"Jack's helping out," he assured her.
"Your father's here? That's wonderful!" she gushed. "Will we see him for Thanksgiving?"
"That's the plan."
Abby and McGee's familiar voices in the background piqued the Gunny's curiosity.
"Where are you?"
"At the office."
"You gotta another case?"
"Just tying up loose ends," Kate replied. "But we have some information about the man who approached Tony at the gym."
"Go on."
"We got a call this morning from the Israeli Embassy," Kate said. "They wanted to confirm that Ziva David was in your employ."
"Ziva?" Gibbs stated. "They say why?"
"We asked them but they just said it was a routine check on an Israeli citizen."
"One who happens to be the daughter of the director of Mossad," the Gunny said.
"I thought it sounded odd so I phoned Director Vance who placed a call to Mossad Headquarters in Tel Aviv. Ziva's father was unavailable but we spoke with his second in charge, Amit Hadar. He said there had been threats made against Director David recently and, in cases like that, it's protocol for the director's family to have heightened security."
"So, the guy this morning was following Ziva, not Tony," Gibbs said, feeling a weight slip from his shoulders. "Does Ziva know about this?"
"Apparently not. She and her father have a…troubled relationship and Director David ordered that she wasn't to be told."
"Kate, if Ziva's in any danger-"
"That's the good news," Kate explained. "Apparently Mossad made several arrests yesterday in relation to the threats and Ziva's protection detail has been recalled to Israel."
"Doesn't explain why he'd break cover to talk with Tony," Gibbs said.
"Maybe it does," Kate replied. "I mean, if he was watching from the car, all he would have seen is Ziva leaving Tony alone and running quickly into the building. He really could have been trying to help."
Gibbs nodded silently; it all made sense. He carded his fingers through his short grey hair, overwhelmed with relief that his worst fears had been allayed. Tony was the sole heir to a considerable fortune and if that knowledge was to fall into the wrong hands, it could prove to be very dangerous.
"Gibbs? Are you there?" Kate asked, drawing the former Marine from his musing.
"Still here," he said. "I appreciate the call, Kate. S'good to know that-"
His sentence was aborted when his father urgently called his name. Gibbs turned to see Tony seizing on the park bench; he immediately pocketed his cell and ran to his side. Jack had placed his sweater under the boy's head and was holding him gently in place.
"How long?" Gibbs asked, cupping the boy's sweaty cheek.
"Just now, not more than ten seconds," Jack replied, his voice calm but his eyes revealing his worry. "He was talking about going to the Smithsonian and he just started seizing."
"Hey, Sport," Gibbs said softly as he knelt beside the boy. "We're right here…we gotcha."
The boy continued to convulse, his body jerking and his shallow breathing causing his lips and complexion to look grey. Gibbs continued to speak softly to him until the seizing stopped and Tony lay, listless, on the bench.
"Give me a hand to sit him up," Gibbs said.
"Shouldn't we get him home?"
"When he's rested," the former Marine said. "Let's give him a few minutes."
The two men carefully lifted the child's pliant body and laid him between them with his head resting on his foster father's lap. Gibbs tenderly stroked the boy's sweaty hair, while Jack covered him with his sweater.
"I thought this Ketosis diet was supposed to stop these seizures," Jackson said.
"We're getting' there, Dad."
"I don't mind telling ya, Son, I don't think I'll ever get used to seeing him like that."
"I know."
They sat quietly for another ten minutes before Tony stirred. He half-opened his eyes before turning away from the brightness of the afternoon sun.
"You doing okay?" Gibbs asked, rubbing a hand along his back.
"My head hurts," Tony mumbled.
"We'll take you home and get ya something for that, okay?"
Tony nodded and, together, Gibbs and Jack lifted the boy into his wheelchair and pulled the visor of his cap down to keep the sun from his eyes.
"Just close your eyes, Tony, we'll have you home in a few minutes," Jack said.
"I'm sorry, Grandpa Jack," Tony whispered. "I'm sorry I spoiled our park time."
Jackson took the boy gently by the chin.
"You listen to me, young fella," he said. "You didn't spoil anything. I got to see you in the Liberty chair and swinging like a monkey on the jungle gym; I got to help you feed those ornery ducks and you told me all about your home-schooling and maybe going to the Smithsonian with Miss Cassie…I reckon I've had a pretty good afternoon, how 'bout you?"
"I guess," Tony said softly.
"Okay then," he said. "Let's get you home and we'll have no more talk about anyone spoiling our day."
As they set off toward home, Gibbs draped his arm around his father's shoulders.
"Thanks, Dad," he whispered.
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Tony had baulked at Gibbs' suggestion that he have dinner, a warm bath and an early night but eventually settled for an early dinner and a quiet evening on the couch watching one of the movies from his vast collection. The kid was a little quieter than usual but a dose of children's Motrin had eased his headache and the colour had returned to his face.
With Tony safely entrenched on the couch, Jackson and Gibbs were enjoying a coffee on the front porch when Ducky's Morgan hummed to a halt in the driveway. They watched as the ME exited the car and walked down the path toward them.
"Good evening, gentleman," he greeted. "I do hope I'm not intruding."
"Evening, Duck," Gibbs replied, dragging another chair over for the older man. "Getcha a drink?"
"Thank you, Jethro," Ducky replied. "Perhaps some water if it's not too much trouble?"
Gibbs nodded and entered the house, stopping at the living room door to look in on Tony who was totally engrossed in the old black and white movie. Swiping a bottle of cold water from the fridge he returned and handed it to Ducky who nodded his thanks.
"Jackson, here, was just telling me of Anthony's latest seizure. Since I'm already here, I'd be happy to check on the lad."
"He seems fine, Duck," Gibbs replied. "Some seizures take more out of him than others."
"Of course," Ducky agreed. "But, since I'm here…"
He retrieved his medical bag from his car and entered the house.
"Anthony, dear boy!" he said cordially. "How are you feeling?"
"Doctor Duck!" Tony replied. "I didn't know you were here."
"I can be very stealthy when I put my mind to it," Ducky chuckled, taking a seat on the couch beside the youngster. "Tell me, my boy, what cinematic treasure has you so enchanted that not even the rumble of my old Morgan could distract you?"
"I'm watching Angels With Dirty Faces," Tony replied.
"Excellent choice, my boy! One of James Cagney's finest."
"My Mum loved Humphrey Bogart," the boy replied quietly. "When she got sick, I used to climb into her bed and we'd watch all his movies together."
Ducky smiled sadly at the boy and lifted his medical bag to his lap.
"Your Grandpa Jack tells me you haven't been feeling well this afternoon."
"I'm fine, Doctor Duck, really. I had a headache before but it's gone now."
Ducky frowned as Tony sniffed and wiped his nose on the sleeve of his pyjamas. Reaching into his pocket he withdrew a crisp white handkerchief and handed it to the boy who grinned shyly and blew his nose.
"Did your head hurt before you had the seizure, Anthony?"
"No, Sir, just after."
"Ah yes…I know you've experienced headaches after a seizure before," Ducky said. "But what's say I give you a quick once over so Jethro and your Grandpa Jack can stop worrying about you, hmm?"
Tony reluctantly acquiesced and fifteen minutes later, Ducky rejoined Gibbs and Jackson on the porch.
"How is he?" Jackson asked.
"He's fine," Ducky assured them. "The headache he complained of earlier appears to have eased but his temperature is elevated slightly."
"Been checking on him, Duck. He doesn't have a fever."
"Not a fever, just a slight elevation in his temperature – 99.1 – not too bad at all."
"But?" Gibbs asked.
"Anthony's ketogenic diet depresses his immune system and leaves him susceptible to disease and infections. Although I suspect this may just be an ordinary case of the sniffles, we need to be extra vigilant – children with epilepsy may have worsened seizures during fevers."
Gibbs exchanged a worried look with his father.
"Jethro...Anthony is a child and children get the sniffles. But let me tell you what prompted my visit here tonight." Ducky said. "This morning I spoke with the CEO of a very reputable service dog facility in Arlington. He's a very nice chap and, as it happens, he graduated from Eton several years after me."
"Does he have a dog for Tony?" Jackson asked hopefully.
"I'm afraid not, Jackson," Ducky replied. "Sadly, he informed me that due to soaring costs, they are relocating their facility to Pennsylvania. However, I managed to arrange an appointment for young Anthony to tour the current facility and to see firsthand what a difference a service dog will make to his life."
"When can they see him?" Gibbs asked.
"Monday morning at 10am. I apologise for the short notice but under the circumstances I-"
"We'll be there," the Gunny interrupted. "Duck, this is...Tony will be…thank you."
"Jethro, it is important to understand that we are still a long way from getting the lad a dog of his own. You need to ensure he understands that!"
"I will."
Ducky handed Gibbs a piece of paper with the name and contact details of the CEO of Arlington Assistance Dogs.
"And now, I really must be off. Jimmy and Breena are celebrating their anniversary tonight and I have a date with an exquisite young lady who has captured my heart...her name is Victoria."
Jack and Gibbs watched quietly until the lights on Ducky's car faded out of sight.
"How do you want to handle this, Son?" Jackson asked. "Should we tell him tonight?"
Gibbs shook his head.
"If Tony's getting sick, we may have to postpone,"
"You're right. The boy's got his heart set on getting a dog of his own. I'd hate to see him disappointed again."
"If he's feeling okay this time tomorrow, we'll tell him then," Gibbs said.
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After spending a quiet Sunday together, Jackson, Gibbs and Tony sat at the dining table enjoying their dinner. The boy had experienced two grand mal seizures in the early hours of the morning and another after lunch but his headache was gone and he had been happy and chatty as he helped his Grandpa Jack build the model P-51 Mustang airplane the older man had bought him.
Gibbs was only mildly concerned that the boy's temperature hadn't dropped below 99 degrees and he was reasonably confident that, as Ducky had suggested, the kid just had a case of the sniffles.
"Gibbs?" Tony said around a mouthful of macaroni and cheese. "I have to give my permission note for the Smithsonian to Miss Cassie tomorrow. Can I go, Gibbs, please!"
With everything that had happened during the past few days, the Gunny had completely forgotten about Tony's home-school outing.
"What day is it?"
"Today?" Tony looked at the man like he had two heads. "It's Sunday, Gibbs. Did you forget?"
"No knucklehead," Gibbs grinned. "What day is the excursion?"
"Oh. It's Tuesday," Tony told him. "Please Gibbs, Emily and Jarrod and Kayla have all been and they said it's really cool."
"I can't go Tuesday, Sport," Gibbs said. "Gotta see the doc about my arm and meet with Mr Chambers."
"My Dad's solicitor?" Tony asked nervously. "Did I do something wrong, Gibbs?"
"Nope, just got some business, that's all."
The boy's relief was palpable and Gibbs longed for the day that Tony felt totally secure in his place in the Gibbs/DiNozzo home.
"But Miss Cassie can still take me though, right? I'd be really good, Gibbs, I promise."
"I know you will, Sport," Gibbs replied before exhaling loudly. "What about your seizures?"
Tony's head dropped and his eyes filled with tears he refused to let fall.
"Miss Cassie knows what to do," he whispered.
"The boy's right, Son," Jackson said softly. "Much as we want to, we can't wrap him in cotton wool his whole life. You've surrounded this child with the best physio, teacher, and medical team money can buy; every one of them is highly qualified and knows exactly what to do if Tony needs help. Let him go to the Smithsonian…let him be a kid."
Gibbs knew they were right. Cassie Yates was highly qualified and had years of experience dealing with children with epilepsy. In the short time she had been working with Tony, the boy had had several seizures and she had handled each one like the professional she was trained to be. Plus, now that they had determined that the man who had approached Tony in the parking lot was not a threat, Gibbs had very little reason not to allow the excited little boy to go on his first trip to the Smithsonian. He felt a stirring in his gut but the pleading green eyes, fringed with long black lashes ate away at the his resolve.
"Yeah, you can go," he said, watching as the boy's delighted expression lit up the room. "But I wanna hear all about it when you get home."
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With dinner out of the way and the dishes done, Jackson and Tony returned to their construction of the airplane. Gibbs sat quietly in the living room listening to Jack regale Tony with stories of flying his own P51-Mustang in the war. The Gunny smiled as he watched the boy, wide-eyed, open-mouthed and hanging on every word just as Gibbs had done as a small boy, hearing these stories for the first time. He crossed the room to join them and took a seat across from Tony.
"I need to talk to you for a minute," he said.
Tony looked up, immediately worried.
"You didn't change your mind, did you, Gibbs? About the Smithsonian, I mean."
"I gave you my word, Sport," Gibbs said. "I wanna talk to you about something else."
Gibbs exchanged a glance with his father and took a deep breath.
"Ducky and Mr Chambers are working real hard to get you a service dog."
The boy nodded his head but looked a little confused.
"I know that, Gibbs," he said.
"And you understand that it may take a while to get one."
"Yes, Gibbs."
"Okay. While we're waiting, Ducky thought you might like to visit a school where they train service dogs, just to see what it would be like."
For a moment, the former Marine thought the kid's eyes were going to bug out of his head.
"I can really see the service dogs?"
"Just to look though, Sport, we haven't found one for you yet."
"When? When can we go?"
"Got an appointment tomorrow morning," Gibbs said with a grin. "That soon enough?"
"But I have physio with Ziva tomorrow morning, remember Gibbs?"
"I switched Ziva to tomorrow afternoon," the Gunny replied.
"Miss Cassie comes tomorrow afternoon."
"Nope. Cassie's got you all day Tuesday at the Smithsonian. Tomorrow morning, we're looking at service dogs."
The boy threw himself forward, wrapping his skinny arms around the former Marine's neck and hugging him tightly.
"That's the best news ever! Well, not ever, 'cause getting my own dog would be the best news ever but this is really, really great. Thank you, Gibbs!"
Loosening the scrawny arms, the Gunny settled the kid back into his chair.
"Thank Ducky," Gibbs said ruffling the kid's hair. "It was his idea."
"I will, I'll thank Doctor Duck next time I see him, I promise," Tony said as he quickly reversed his wheelchair and crashed it into the leg of the dining table.
"Easy there, partner," Jackson said. "Where are you going? We're not finished the tail section of our plane yet."
"I have to go prepare, Grandpa Jack?" Tony replied over his shoulder. "I have lots of questions to ask tomorrow."
In his haste, he took the corner too quickly and rammed the foot board of his wheelchair into the corner of the wall in the living room.
"It's okay...I'm fine," he called.
Before the men could warn him, the boy backed his chair into the coffee table; knocking a book and Gibbs' reading glasses to the floor and narrowing avoiding running over them. He quickly turned with a grimace and an apologetic shrug.
"Sorry, Gibbs," he said before he adjusted his angle, rounded the corner and made his way to his bedroom as fast as his wheelchair could take him.
"I reckon he took that pretty calmly," Jackson chuckled with his tongue firmly planted in his cheek.
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Tony was almost vibrating in place as they neared the Arlington Service Dogs facility for their appointment with CEO, Tom Morrow. After the initial greeting, Morrow walked Gibbs, Jackson and Tony around the near-empty facility; all the while, fielding multiple questions from the ever-inquisitive boy.
"Once again, I must apologise for the disarray. We usually pride ourselves on running a tight ship but I'm afraid you've not caught us at our best," Morrow explained. "In fact, most of our dogs and our trainers have already made the move to our temporary facility in Pennsylvania."
"Temporary?" Gibbs asked.
"I'm afraid so. We are a charitable organisation that receives very little government subsidy. Sadly, rising costs here in DC have forced us to move elsewhere. We are still looking for a permanent location."
"Did you send all your dogs away, Mr Morrow?" Tony asked.
"Well, Tony, I thought you'd never ask," Morrow smiled. "Why don't we go back to my office and you can meet my friend, Ebony."
Ebony was a black Labrador, thirteen years old with a grey muzzle and face. Her movements were impeded somewhat with age but she still proudly wore her bright blue service dog vest. Now retired from active service her temperament and willingness to please made her a perfect service dog ambassador. As Morrow put the dog through some of the more basic retrieval, carrying and medical based tasks, Tony was completely captivated.
"How does she do that?" he wondered aloud.
"Ebony had two years training, Tony," Morrow replied. "But her training didn't stop there. Once she was placed with her human partner, they became a team and her training continued every day of her working life. Service dogs, like any well-trained domestic animal, rely on positive reinforcement every single time they perform a task correctly."
"She's so clever," Tony said in awe.
"What's involved in partnering a dog with a person?" Gibbs asked.
"That can be a juggling act and it depends on the personality and temperament of both dog and handler," Morrow explained. "Some dogs require more instruction than others and some handlers don't have the patience or tolerance needed. When we have a dog we think may be suitable, our clients come and stay in one of our lodges for two to three weeks so we can work exclusively with them and monitor areas that may require more training. Afterwards, we provide ongoing support and training wherever necessary. Sadly, sometimes after all that training, we find that some dogs just aren't suited for service dog duties."
"I'm guessing that's an expensive exercise," Jackson remarked.
"It certainly is. Service dogs are placed free of charge with people who need them but each of these dogs costs around $27,000 to train. Fortunately, we have an excellent team of experienced trainers and our successes far outweigh our failures."
"What happens to the dogs that can't be placed?" Gibbs asked.
"We remove them from the program. Then, we find them a home with a family in the community. That doesn't happen too often but it does happen."
The conversation was interrupted when the office door swung open widely and another dog trotted in. Wagging its tail, it enthusiastically greeted the visitors, before sitting in front of Tony's wheelchair and rubbing his muzzle against the boy's knee. Delighted by the intruder, Tony obliged the dog by scratching him behind the ears. The dog was a yellow lab, much younger than Ebony, with intelligent brown eyes and a shiny wet nose.
"Oh...er...sorry for the interruption, Tom," a female voice sounded from the doorway. "But you seem to have found my runaway."
All heads turned toward the door where an attractive young woman with long blonde hair and large brown eyes stood with one hand on her hip and the other holding a leash.
"Actually, he found us," Morrow said. "Come in, Ellie. Gentlemen, this is Ellie Bishop, one of our finest trainers."
As he continued with the introductions, Morrow added, "Sadly, Ellie won't be joining us when we move, she'll be sorely missed."
Ellie smiled sadly and turned to Gibbs and Jackson.
"My husband, Jake is an attorney for the NSA. His work is here in Washington and wherever he is, well, that's where I am."
She looked at the boy in the wheelchair.
"I see you've met Bogart," she smiled.
The boy's mouth hung open and he slowly turned wide eyes toward his foster father.
"Bogart," Tony whispered reverently.
Ellie's dark eyebrows drew together in a frown.
"Did I say something wrong?" she asked.
"Nope," Gibbs replied. "Humphrey Bogart is one of Tony's favourite actors."
"Really? Bogie is my favourite actor, too!" Ellie smiled at the boy before launching into a Bogart impression.
"You know what I want to hear," she said. "You played it for her, you can play it for me!"
Eyes glowing with excitement, Tony looked up at the young woman.
"Of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world, she walks into mine," Tony replied with his own more than passable Bogart impression.
Gibbs, Jackson and Morrow exchanged an amused glance as Ellie and Tony high-fived.
"A kindred spirit!" she exclaimed. "Well, this little "Bogie" slipped his leash the minute my back was turned so, if you'll excuse me, we'll get back to our training."
Clipping the leash onto the dog's collar Ellie called the dog's name and began to move away but was brought to a halt when the dog refused to leave.
"Bogart, come!" she tried again, frowning at the dog's obstinacy.
"As you can see," Morrow said. "Despite undergoing extensive training, sometimes we find a dog that is just not cut out to be a service dog. Bogart excelled in all of his training but has had two unsuccessful placements. We are in the process of releasing him from our program."
The dog became restless; whining softly while nudging and licking at Tony's hands.
"Look, Gibbs," the boy grinned. "He likes me!"
Gibbs smiled back at the boy but noticed the look of concern on the young woman's face.
"Is there a problem?" he asked.
"I'm not sure," Ellie replied. "Excuse me for asking, Agent Gibbs but, by any chance, does Tony have epilepsy?"
Gibbs eyed the woman curiously and nodded his head.
"How'd you know?" he asked.
"Um, this is going to sound strange but I think he's about to have a seizure. Or, rather, Bogart thinks he's about to have a seizure."
"He can sense that?" Gibbs asked.
"I'm pretty sure that's what he's telling us, yes, Sir."
The Gunny kneeled in front of the boy and cupped the side of his face.
"You feeling okay, Sport?" he asked.
"I feel fine, Gibbs," Tony answered. "Honest."
Bogart's whine became more insistent and he began to gently paw at the boy.
"Agent Gibbs, some dogs are naturally able to predict seizures ten to twenty minutes before they occur. Until now, Bogart has never given any indication that he has that ability but, with your permission, I think we should let this play out and see what happens."
Gibbs looked at the boy again; watching as Tony happily scratched the dog behind his ears and patted his golden fur. He nodded his agreement.
Working quickly, Ellie grabbed the afghan and cushions from the nearby couch, spread them on the floor. With his arm in a sling and unable to properly lift the boy, Gibbs stepped aside to allow Jack and Tom Morrow to lift the boy from his wheelchair and place him on the floor among the cushions. Immediately, Bogart followed and lay across the boy's legs.
"That's a response our dogs are taught to perform during and after seizures," Ellie explained. "Their presence provides comfort and reassurance to their handlers but his weight will help to keep Tony's legs still and safe from injury."
"How do you train a dog to predict a seizure?" Gibbs asked, watching the boy closely for any sign.
"I'm afraid we don't," Ellie replied. "We can train them what to do during and after a seizure but we can't train a dog to anticipate a seizure."
"Then how does he know?" Jackson asked.
"I wish I knew," Ellie said. "Two popular theories are that the dog is able to smell minute changes in the person's biochemistry, possibly in their blood chemistry or that they are able to detect fine motor changes imperceptible to human eyes. Regardless of how they do it, this behaviour is a natural one that occurs in some dogs and not others."
Tom Morrow nodded his agreement as he shortened Ebony's leash and led her several feet away from the boy.
"As Ellie explained, Bogart has never shown this ability before and he has been known to be somewhat unpredictable so this could be a false alarm. In any case it's-"
Morrow's sentence was truncated when Bogart's whining increased in volume and he began to bark a warning. Then, moments later, Gibbs and Jackson watched in amazement as Tony's body stiffened and a full blown seizure began.
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