Note: To Sunny, who commented that there were some parts of the previous chapter that didn't make sense. Thanks for bringing that to my attention. I've gone back, edited part of the chapter, and re-posted it.

CHAPTER 16 - Just Fine

He blinked. And blinked again, trying to clear his eyes. Everything was hazy, pale gray. He inhaled and coughed. Blood in his mouth. Crap. The air smelled odd, bitter. His head hurt, his face. Shit, everything hurt. He tried to sit up but there was a hand on his chest, keeping him in place; all he could make out was a dark figure hovering over him. He asked what was happening, or he thought he did, but he couldn't hear himself speak. He tried again and only heard a soft whooshing in his ears.

The person leaning over him slowly came into focus and he realized he was being asked a question, and he tried to shake his head to say no, that he couldn't hear, but he couldn't move. Something rigid was under his chin, around his neck, choking him. Fuck, one of those collars! Just as he was about to give in to panic the man gave him a confident smile and a hand sign that meant okay.

Only Tony didn't believe him; what the fuck was okay with this situation? He couldn't move his left arm without agonizing spikes of pain shooting through his shoulder and back, but his right arm seemed okay. He made the tactical hand sign for 'don't understand,' palm out, sweeping from side to side. It was the only sign he could remember.

More people joined them, milling around, lips moving as they talked to each other, making urgent hand motions like actors in a silent film. Then he was being lifted off the road and strapped down on a gurney. He was moving, being rolled over rough ground, every bump making him cry out in pain. Another face swam into view. Joanna, thank God. He tried to speak, and he saw her lips moving, but he still couldn't hear anything that made any sense. He was lifted again, and he was sure he was screaming. There were bright overhead lights, a prick in his arm, someone leaning over him. His head hurt so bad he was crying.

The lights slowly dimmed and everything went black.

◊ • ◊ • ◊ •

"I already told you I'm not leaving," someone said in a hushed tone.

Quietly, but adamantly just the same, another person said, "Jethro, you can't–"

"The hell I can't. He needs me!"

Tony slowly opened his eyes. The lights were dim but he could make out Jethro on the other side of the room beside Ducky. They were quarreling in whispers, and for some reason, he found that amusing. He licked his lips and his tongue touched something hard, a scab. His bottom lip felt funny, like when you get a fat lip. He couldn't move his left arm so he tried his right. It ached but it worked. Raised his hand to find out what was wrong with his mouth. It felt tender, swollen. His fingers encountered bandages. Wrapped around his head. Covered half his face. A hard thing, a patch, over his right eye. Fuck, this was going from bad to worse.

He called out to get Jethro's attention but his throat was so dry he barely let out a croak. They were still bickering over who was going to do what. Tony heard Ducky telling Jethro that he had to save his energy for later on, and that was when it finally sunk in that he could hear again.

"Jeth…ro. Fuck, Jethro!" he cried out weakly.

Both men turned at the same time and stared in his direction. "Tony?"

"Who th' fuck else?" he asked, having a tough time getting the words out.

Jethro stood by the bed and held his hand, and kept saying his name, like he was relieved or surprised he was alive.

"Wha' th' fuck's goin' on?" He sounded fucking drunk. "I'm no' drunk."

"Take it easy. You're on meds," Jethro explained.

"Fuck." He reached out and grabbed a handful of Jethro's shirt. "I can hear you! I still have ears?"

"Yep, two of them." Jethro said slowly, "You're gonna be fine. There was an explosion…"

Ducky interrupted, "You mustn't alarm him."

"I got this, Duck." To Tony, he said in a calm voice, "You have some injuries. Concussion. Your left shoulder is injured. And you've got some… scrapes on your face. The doc cleaned up your eye so there's a bandage over it."

"I didn't lose my eye?" Tony fumbled around until his fingers encountered the patch he'd noticed before.

"It's intact. Don't touch it. You'll be just fine."

Ducky nodded and said, "Exactly, my boy. You'll be up and about in no time at all."

Jethro glared at Ducky. Tony knew they were both lying, but he wasn't sure about which part. "Wha' happ'n? Where 'm I? Tell me…"

"In the hospital," Ducky said. "There's nothing to worry about. You are being very well taken care of."

Jethro told Tony what he later found out was a pared-down version of the events that had led up to the explosion outside the Coq au Vinnie three days earlier. He had been at a downtown restaurant, got suspicious of a man getting out of a van parked right in front, and when the man ran, he ran after him.

"He was holding a detonator. The van was rigged," Jethro said. Tony must have been staring at him because Jethro asked, "You don't remember?"

"No." Was that a bad thing?

"You warned the man on their security detail, and he got Morrow and Porter to safety before the bomb exploded," Jethro said, obviously proud. "You saved a lot of lives, Tony."

"Morrow? And Porter? Wha' they doin' there?"

"You were having lunch with them, and Teague."

"I was? In Hope Lake?" Tony saw the glance Ducky and Jethro shared. He'd said something wrong.

"You were in DC. That's where we are right now. You flew back with Teague. Don't worry about it now. They're all good, not injured."

"Okay. Tha's good."

Tony later learned that several people were hurt, and not just at the restaurant. Glass and shrapnel had been flying everywhere. Anyone standing up bore the brunt of it. Joanna and most of the restaurant patrons had run out the back and sheltered in a building across the street.

They were still chasing down the people responsible for the bomb, which, it turned out, had been intended to kill the Secretary of the Navy. Porter was unharmed, although very shaken.

"Did we get 'im? The driver?"

"Yeah. He's dead, died in the explosion."

"'s good. Wha' 'bout me? Wha' happened?"

"You were struggling with the driver when it went off. Bomb squad says there was a timer, but he set it off with the detonator in his hand. You were thrown forward. Lucky you were as far away as you were." Jethro stroked the hair off Tony's forehead, smiling sadly. "You were so fucking lucky."

Tony closed his eyes and mumbled, "Lucky."

He heard Jethro say softly, "That's right. You go to sleep now. I'll be here when you wake up."

◊ • ◊ • ◊ •

Despite Jethro being by his side day and night, Tony felt just about as far from being lucky as was possible. Everything hurt, although the sharp jabs of pain became dull throbbing jabs of pain once they got his medication right. They had excised forty-five pieces of shrapnel out of his left shoulder and his back, many of them small, but a couple big enough to cause trouble. That left many smaller fragments embedded deep in his body. The doctor said it would do more harm than good to remove them. Some would work their way out in time. Meanwhile, his shoulder and back were heavily bandaged, and his arm immobilized to prevent him from pulling on the stitches. Apparently there were a lot of them.

When he was first brought in, and unconscious, they had done surgery on his eye to remove a sliver of glass, and he had to use eye drops and wear an eye patch while it healed. He knew he'd gotten off easy with that injury. The eye surgeon believed he'd make a full recovery. His right hand, wrist and forearm had suffered abrasions that were mild in comparison to the rest of his injuries.

The worst thing was his face was messed up. Palmer, when he visited, likened it to extreme road rash, and said with a big smile, "Sounds like an idea for a video game: XXXtreme Road Rash Challenge!" Gibbs head-slapped him for his insensitivity, much to Tony's amusement. Smiling hurt, but still, it felt good.

It turned out Palmer's description was accurate. The first time Tony set eyes on the raw wound that covered most of the left side of his face, he threw up. Initially, even Jethro had trouble looking at it when they cleaned it, but just the same, he stood by Tony and held his hand during the procedures. The raw scrape extended from his forehead, down his cheekbone to his jaw. It was red and patchy and oozing stuff where he'd lost skin, and the sight was almost too gross for Abby, which meant it was pretty bad. A nurse applied ointment to the area three times a day, then covered it with sterile non-stick gauze, and wrapped it with a bandage that went under his chin and around his forehead. He looked like a mummy who'd been in a bad accident.

That was McGee's opinion, anyway. "You look like The Mummy," he said, a few days after the bombing. "The 1959 version, Christopher Lee. If he'd been blown up, that is."

"Hey, I'm supposed to be the one to ref'rence ol' movies, McFilmStudies," Tony griped. He was still confined to bed and on painkillers, and his mouth didn't seem to want to express what was trying to escape from his brain. They'd all come to visit at the same time, McGee and Delilah, Abby, Palmer, Bishop, Ducky, plus Gibbs – not that he ever seemed to leave. It was against the rules to have so many visitors, but who, among the NCIS employees, ever followed the rules?

Abby leaned over Tony with a penlight and tried to inspect his mouth. "Lucky you didn't lose any teeth in the impact. I'll bet you weren't the kind of kid who always landed on your head."

"Were you?" Tony retorted.

Abby nodded and swept back her bangs, exposing her forehead with faint scars near the hairline. "Always landed head-first," she said proudly.

Palmer nodded wisely. "Lucky you didn't break your jaw. You'd have to have metal plates screwed in and be on a liquid diet for weeks."

"Lucky you have your eyesight, but it's sort of cool that you look like a pirate with that eye patch," Bishop said.

"Fucking lucky, that's me," Tony retorted. He wasn't in the mood to be made fun of.

Delilah mused, "Are there any mummy pirates?"

Ducky interjected, "Yes, as a matter of fact, there was a dreadful film, made in 1934, I believe, called The Mummy Ghost Ship. It was about pirates in the Caribbean–"

"Fuck all of you," Tony said, as he accepted a protein shake with a straw from Jethro.

"Hey! What's with all the swearing?" Jethro asked.

"They're being mean to me," Tony replied, chewing on the scab on his lip.

Immediately, Jethro tapped Tony's chin. "Please don't do that."

Tony did as he was told.

Abby stared at Gibbs. "Since when did you start saying please?"

Jethro shrugged, and affectionately ran his hand over Tony's hair. "Since I got lucky, I guess."

It took a moment for the innuendo to sink in, and Tony started to laugh. "Fuck, Jethro. Your turn to come out?"

As the others caught on, Abby sent a confused look at Tony. "But I thought… You were making it up, about being in a committed relationship…weren't you?"

"Was I?"

"Of course you were! You had to be. You don't mean… with Gibbs?" She turned to Gibbs, looking upset. "You're with Tony? You lied to me, both of you! You didn't tell me! How could you?"

"Because it's our business," Jethro said.

Tony nodded. "Wha' we did was keep our sex life private, Ms. Busybody." He looked up at Jethro. "Why're you saying somethin' 'bout it now?"

"I figured they can see how I feel about you," Jethro said. "Besides, they know I'm taking you home with me. McGee has already set up your TV in the living room, and Bishop organized a gang of helpers to paint the inside of the house."

"Only your dingy living room, and the kitchen. And the living room. Hall. Stairs. I guess the bedroom, too. But just the big one," Bishop said innocently.

"Palmer helped me decide which of clothes you'd be needing, and we took them over. Everything's neatly hung up in the closet." Delilah leaned towards Tony and whispered, "I think Jimmy has his eye on a pair of your Italian loafers."

Tony glared at Jethro. "You let them into my condo? They touched my things? Palmer, if you took any of my shoes…"

Apparently, Abby didn't seem to know what to do with the news that Jethro and Tony were now together. She stood sullenly at the back of the hospital room with her arms crossed until McGee nudged her with his elbow. "Be happy for them," he said in an undertone.

"You knew?"

"I guessed," McGee admitted.

"Of course, with your track record, fucking Tony and all, you would see what was going on," Abby said spitefully.

McGee stood stock still, his mouth open in astonishment. "Abby!"

"Oh, I'm sorry. Was Tony fucking you, Timothy McGee? It's all right for you and Tony to be in the closet, but now he's made Gibbs gay! Tony, how can you be so selfish? You're ruining everything!"

Tony stared at her in disbelief, his face going red, but before he could say anything, Jethro growled in a low, dangerous voice, "Get out."

For a moment it looked as though Abby was going to make a major scene, but as everyone was glaring at her, and looking pretty hostile, she ducked her head and headed for the door.

Before Abby could escape, Delilah rolled her wheelchair forward, blocking her, and said, "You should be ashamed of yourself. Tony's your friend. So is Tim. Or they were. They'll never trust you again, you know. None of us will." Abby pulled the door open and walked out, but not before Delilah rolled her wheelchair over Abby's foot.

When they'd all gone, Tony was quiet. Jethro hovered, scowling and acting protective even though they were alone. Eventually, Tony said, "Sorry you had to hear that, about me and Tim. Find out that way."

Jethro sat on the bed, facing him. He was still frowning. "I'm sorry we all had to hear it. Not because of you and Tim, but the way she spoke to you."

"I'm still sorry." Tony could feel the waves of anger coming off Jethro, and it made him feel awful, like it was his fault.

"You're not to blame. I knew about you and McGee, anyway, back when you two were fooling around. I thought it would be best to leave you to get it off your chests," said Jethro. He leaned forward and kissed Tony on the side of his mouth, careful of his injured lip. "I was so pissed at the both of you though."

Tony gave him a small smile. "You mean you were jealous?"

"Damn right I was."

"I need 'nother kiss."

"I don't want to mess up your lip."

"Then we'll have to practice half-mouth kissing until it's healed," Tony reasoned.

"I dunno. I get the feeling it's gonna take an awful lot of practice," Jethro said, shaking his head.

Tony smiled happily. "Then we'd better get started."

After they'd tried a few angles, and decided that Jethro could suck on Tony's top lip just fine, and Tony had full use of his tongue, so they spent some time enjoying just being together.

◊ • ◊ • ◊ •

Someone was in his room... not a nurse... The cologne, he recognized immediately. Whatever they'd given him, Tony felt too groggy to do more than open his eyes, just a sliver. With difficulty, he mumbled, "Dad, tha' you?"

"Junior... Zoe told me you were in the hospital and… Good Lord, what kind of mess have you gotten yourself into this time?"

"'s nothin'," Tony said, and licked his dry lips. "Thirsty."

Senior looked around but apparently couldn't see the water jug or the nearby plastic cup with a straw sitting on the rollaway tray, just out of Tony's reach. He turned back to Tony but immediately averted his eyes. "I… I'll go get a nurse."

"No, there's wa'er... there." Tony tried to sit up enough to reach for the plastic cup, but pain shot tore through his shoulder and back. He stopped mid-action and fell back on his pillow, clenching his teeth to stifle a groan. His father took a step back, and started looking around as if someone would magically come to his rescue. "Don't want a nurse," Tony said between clenched teeth. If they saw he was in pain, they'd up his dosage. He was willing to tolerate the pain rather than be out of control. He hated that floaty feeling, the tingling in his extremities, and the way it made him say things he really should never say aloud.

"What's wrong with you? Your face?" Apparently Senior had overcome his trepidation and was standing at the bedside, frowning down at him.

Tony touched his bandaged face. Only his forehead and chin had gauze taped to them; the rest was exposed and he was well aware it looked raw and ugly. He shouldn't have been surprised, or even hurt, by his father's reaction. Senior had always kept his distance from the injured, sick or otherwise afflicted. Tony knew it was due to fear; he reasoned it was his dad's way of protecting himself, a basic survival instinct. His mother had scoffed that her husband wouldn't even help her when she was ill because he was selfish to the core. Tony figured it was probably equal amounts of both. It was just the way he was.

"I'm fine, Dad," Tony said with a small laugh. "C'mon, it's not like I've got leprosy. Hey, remember in Ben Hur? 'Look for them in the Valley of the Lepers!'" A wave of nausea rolled over him and, despite his numb fingers, he managed to snag a plastic basin off the bedside stand. It was the pain medication they'd started this morning, and it wasn't agreeing with him. "Fuck. Wanna raise the head o' the bed for me?"

Instead of coming to his aid, Senior mumbled some excuse and just about ran for the door – only his way was blocked by a woman in pale pink scrubs, and, right behind her, McGee. Senior was raising his voice, telling them that his son needed help, and demanding to know why wasn't someone taking care of him? He sounded so outraged, Tony wasn't sure if he should laugh or not.

McGee pushed his way past Senior as if he wasn't even there, and went straight to Tony. "What do you need? Water?" He raised the head of the bed and handed Tony the cup and watched as he sipped some water. "Make sure you can keep it down before you have any more." When Tony was done, McGee refilled the cup and placed it within reach on the rolling overbed tray.

The aide in pink checked Tony's IV and the readouts on the machines monitoring his vitals. She asked Tony a few questions, determined that he felt queasy and unusually thirsty, and left to inform the nurse. Meanwhile, Senior hung out near the door.

McGee ignored him while he adjusted Tony's pillows so he was more comfortable. "Is that okay?"

Tony suddenly felt very sleepy. "Mmm. Good. You're good t' me, Timmy. My best friend."

McGee snorted. "I should record this for later on, to remind you how you really feel."

Senior, not moving from his position by the exit, said, "You need anything, Junior? I have to go… um… a meeting…"

Tony made a dismissive gesture. "Fuck off, old man."

That angered Senior enough he forgot his fear of illness and stepped forwards. "You can't talk to me like that!"

Taking hold of Tim's hand, Tony smiled. "You always took care of me. Lots of lube, and lotion on my ass, that's my Tim…"

"Tony!" Tim shushed him and glanced over his shoulder. He squeezed Tony's hand and warned him in a low voice, "You're doing the loopy thing. Watch your mouth."

"You always did like my mouth…"

At that moment, Gibbs strode in carrying a coffee. He passed by Senior with barely a glance, took in what was going on with Tony, and asked, "I can't leave for ten minutes without you saying things you shouldn't? This isn't a porn show." McGee stood aside and Gibbs took hold of Tony's hand. He glared at McGee and asked, "You do know he's taken, right?"

McGee was slightly flustered, even though he knew Gibbs was kidding. "Yeah, Boss, I know." Jerking a thumb over his shoulder, he said quietly, "Mr. DiNoGood is being his usual useless self. Couldn't even get Tony a drink of water."

Gibbs turned to glare at Senior, for real this time, but Tony grabbed his sleeve to get his attention and whined, "Jethro."

"I'm right here."

Tony mumbled, "He's getting' all cozy with Zoe. Hey, that rhymes! Cozy with Zoe."

"Get some sleep," Gibbs said gently.

Tony blinked at Jethro. "Don' wan' him here. Tell 'im to go 'way."

Senior started to approach, but Gibbs barked, "If you don't leave this room right away, I'm going to have to shoot you!"

"That's outrageous!" Senior declared, but he hastily retreated to the door. He stopped there and demanded, "What's wrong with his face?"

Gibbs met McGee's eyes, and he sighed. "Injured in the line of duty. Saved a lot of people from a car bomb."

"A bomb! Zoe told me that but… I thought she was exaggerating," Senior exclaimed. "Junior always did run towards trouble."

Gibbs smiled fondly at Tony and stroked his damp hair off his forehead. "That's my boy."

Senior pointed at Tony and said loudly, "They need to fix that. His face. It's… he can't walk around looking like that!"

McGee confronted Senior, scowling at him. "You need to leave, Mr. DiNozzo. Now."

"But that's my son! I have rights–""

McGee shook his head. "No, you have no rights here. Tony doesn't want you here, and neither do we." As Senior started to bluster, McGee said, "You don't have the faintest idea how brave Tony is, or understand that he helps people every day of his life. You don't know him after all this time, and I doubt you ever will."

Instead of backing off, Senior moved closer to the bed. "I know he can't go out looking like that! My God, it's horrific! Junior, I'm going to get you a lawyer, the best there is, and we'll get you the money you're due. They pay well for disfigurement, tens of thousands!"

Gibbs had had enough. He left Tony's side, grabbed Senior by his shirtfront, pushed him across the room and shoved him out the door. "You stay the fuck away from him! And if you so much as make a move towards him, or speak to him, I'm gonna come after you."

"You can't threaten me!"

"I think I just did," Gibbs said with a sneer, closing the door and leaving Senior to rant about injustice out in the hall. Meanwhile, McGee placed a call to security and had them remove an irate visitor causing a ruckus outside Special Agent DiNozzo's room.

From his bed, Tony mumbled, "I love you guys. I love you, M'Gee, 'n' I love you even more, Jethro. Hey, I got 'n idea!"

"Do we really want to hear this?" McGee asked.

"Yeah, it's good! You know wha' I think? I think we need a threesome…"

Gibbs, once again holding Tony's hand, groused, "Like I said, a porn show."

◊ • ◊ • ◊ •

Joanna visited and stayed to chat for a while. She showed Tony a single Aston Martin cufflink, scraped and scarred but intact. "I saw it on the street after they picked you up," she said and gently placed it in Tony's palm.

"Thank you. The other one?" He had no idea where the other cufflink was. Maybe with the clothes he'd worn that day. He remembered dressing in a good suit for when he finally got home to Jethro, and their flight into DC, but he didn't have any memory of the time preceding or following the blast.

He talked with Joanna a while, although she pretty much carried the conversation. When Tony was too tired to speak and had trouble keeping his eyes open, she pulled out her gun and cleaned it using a kit from her oversized handbag. Before Joanna left she went to the nurse's station. She soon returned with the other cufflink, in surprisingly good condition. "They had it in an envelope with your watch. Gibbs must have taken your wallet and credentials," she said.

When Jethro came in later, and Tony showed him the cufflinks. Jethro pocketed them and said he'd see if a jeweler could do something about the damaged one.

A bunch of the SMUT recruits turned up one morning, bearing fast food and shakes, and related stories of their classes at FLETC. They told Tony how Alice Brown had walked into class the first day wearing a gray dress, apron, and carrying a mop, and the Undercover Tactics for Women teacher assumed she was part of the cleaning crew and tried to shoo her out.

It was good to see them, but they were tiring.

Tony's fellow committee members came early one morning, and Rob Cox, who was back at the DOJ, said he and Milo Garcia had been working on the final report since Tony was laid up. "Don't worry, Teague is keeping an eye on us, so we don't mess it up," Garcia assured Tony. "Anyway, we'll leave it for you to polish it up, when you feel better." When Tony asked Garcia if he was planning on doing more deep undercover work at the FBI, the agent shrugged and revealed they might not be hearing from him for a few months.

SecNav Porter came by, as did Deputy Director Morrow, praising Tony to Vance, who had accompanied them. They assured Tony the final report on the organization and implementation of the SMUT unit could wait a few weeks. "Just don't take too long to recover. NCIS needs more men like you," Porter said. All three of them left fruit baskets.

Fornell brought Starbucks coffees, pastries, and a hip flask of whiskey, and he ribbed Gibbs mercilessly when he confirmed the rumors about him and DiNozzo were true.

Gibbs scowled at his friend. "Who told you?"

Fornell rubbed his chin and said, "Dr. Taft said something about you two being lucky, and Agent Garcia said he hoped you would be happy a long, long time. Then I ran into a gaggle of your SMUT recruits at Quantico. They wanted to know if they should add Special Agent Gibbs' name to a card they were sending Tony. And I met these two women who said you called them baggy bunnies – you know them? – they giggled every time they mentioned Gibbs, so I guess you two being an item isn't exactly classified any longer."

Jethro was turning a deep shade of red, so Tony motioned for Fornell to stop teasing him. It was fun to see Jethro blush, though.

Tony enjoyed the coffee and a pastry, but Jethro took the flask from his hand before he could even get a sip.

◊ • ◊ • ◊ •

Tony heard later that Ducky and Palmer cornered Abby, and questioned her lack of acceptance of Jethro and Tony's relationship. They rebuked her for the malicious things she'd said.

"I can't see Tony and McGee forgiving you for outing them like that, even if it happened several years ago," said Palmer, with a disdainful sniff. "Agent Gibbs was not happy."

"And you spoke of them in such a crude manner," Ducky said, shaking his head.

Abby tried to apologize to McGee and Tony, and then Tony and Gibbs, and assured them she would be totally supportive. Once she took the time to think about the terrible things she'd said, she realized her words were spurred by jealousy, and fear that Gibbs would no longer care about her if he was wrapped up in Tony. She said all that, and more, in emails, texts and messages left on voice-mail to all affected parties – only nobody responded to any of her attempts to contact them.

Abby persisted though, and finally, Jethro swore he was going to put a stop to the barrage of "twits and crap." The very next time she phoned, he picked up.

Jethro was in protective mode, and although he listened to her apology, he did little more than grunt a couple of times before telling her if she bothered or hurt Tony in any way, he'd personally make sure she was fired and blackballed from every lab in the country. And then he abruptly hung up on her.

◊ • ◊ • ◊ •

After being in the hospital for a week, Tony was feeling better and asking when he could go home. They were talking about releasing him the next day, which he was happy about because it was Thanksgiving. But after walking to the toilet and back to his bed all on his own, he suddenly felt drained and complained his left arm was feeling weird.

Jethro asked, "How weird?"

"I dunno. Pins and needles." Tony poked at his arm experimentally.

"Are the bandages too tight?"

"I don't think so." Tony lay back on his pillows, panting. "I don't feel too good."

"You're really pale." Concerned, Jethro pressed a button to call a nurse.

"Jethro?"

"I'm right here." He took Tony's hand and gave it a squeeze.

"I wanna go home," Tony whispered before his eyes rolled back and he passed out.

◊ • ◊ • ◊ •

TBC...