Silent Misery R&R - Chapter 6
by HidingInSight
Previously...
They picked up the pace of the internal exam and six minutes later, Marc withdrew the scope. He and Josie manhandled Gibbs back into his original position. Gibbs never relaxed his hold on Fornell's hand. When he was again lying on his side, Marc inserted the lubed nozzle of an anal douche and washed Gibbs out, collecting the water for sampling. He refilled the douche with what he explained to Fornell was a medicated wash. Fornell kept talking to Gibbs, trying to get a reaction, getting nothing. His fear was real now. He'd never seen Gibbs so... absent. Jethro was obviously conscious, the punishing grip on his hand showed that. But no matter what Fornell said, Gibbs kept his jaw clenched, his eyes screwed shut, and said nothing.
When he was done, Marc pulled the gown back down and Jessica grabbed another set of shock blankets. She quickly dragged the old blankets off and replaced them, topping the new set with the old to keep the heat in longer.
"Keep talking to him, Tobias," Marc said. "Latisha, go find out where the blood's at. Josie, draw another three tubes for the lab, stat. I want to see what's going on. Jess, order a stat head CT. He might've blown something."
"What?" Fornell exclaimed.
Marc stripped off his gloves and came over to his side as the women went to work.
"Something's obviously going on. He's medically stable, not seizing, but he's unresponsive." Marc reached over Fornell and dragged up one of Gibbs' eyelids, checking his pupils again.
"Pupils are equal and reactive, so it's not a major vessel or a significant pressure problem. We've got to rule out a minor bleed."
"I need his arm," Josie said. Fornell tried to get Gibbs to release his hand. Gibbs' grip increased, keeping him there.
"Jethro? Can you hear me? I gotta get out of the way," Fornell said. "I'm not going anywhere. I need you to let go." He began twisting his fingers. Gibbs' grip was unrelenting.
"He's not going to let go," Fornell said.
"Did he just tighten his grip?" Marc asked.
"Yes. And he's got hands like vices." Fornell's voice was strained with what the assembled personnel realized was pain. He wiggled his fingers so the bones weren't pressing against one another and the pain eased. Some.
"So he's obviously conscious on some level," Marc said, then nodded. "Okay. Belay those orders. Let's give him a few minutes, see what happens. Tobias, go ahead and sit down, relax. Talk to him."
Fornell sat, and the staff moved to the other side of the room. They worked over the mound of evidence bags, speaking softly to each other and keeping half an eye on the men.
For ten minutes or more, Fornell spoke gently to Gibbs, trying to draw him out. He relaxed his hand, letting Gibbs hold it without fighting his grip. His phone rang in his pocket, but he ignored it. Latisha returned with the unit of blood, and Jessica started an IV in the upturned side of his neck, beginning the transfusion. As the minutes continued to pass, Gibbs' trembling eased and finally stopped, and he began to visibly relax. His face smoothed out, his jaw slackening. Another five minutes and Fornell spoke up.
"His grip is loosening," he reported. He raised their joined hands and kissed the back of Gibbs'. "Talk to me, Jethro, show me your blues. Come on," he encouraged.
A minute later, Gibbs' eyelids fluttered, and finally opened.
"Hey, Jethro. How you doing?" Gibbs looked at him, like he couldn't quite make out what he was seeing.
"You with me?" Fornell asked, and squeezed his hand. Gibbs nodded and opened his mouth to speak. A rough hiss of breath was all that came out.
"Can you hear me?" Gibbs swallowed, frowned, and nodded again.
"Yeah," he managed to say. His voice sounded like he hadn't used it in days. "What's going on?"
"Jethro?" Marc hit the monitor to recheck his vitals before coming around. "You remember where you are?"
Gibbs started a little before taking a hard breath. "Washington Hospital," he said.
"Tell me who I am," Marc said, having seen Gibbs' instinctive reaction. He took a seat on the stool Jessica had vacated.
"Doctor. Marc. What happened?" He looked down at where he was still holding Fornell's hands. "That hurts," he said. Fornell released him and Gibbs slowly straightened his fingers, grunting a little at the stiffness and pain.
"You went away for a bit," Marc said. "What do you remember?"
Gibbs frowned again. "You were getting ready to take the samples," he said. "Did you?"
"Finished about 15 minutes ago," Marc said. "Has that ever happened before?"
"What?"
"You were unresponsive for almost half an hour," Marc said.
"What?" Gibbs asked again, clearly confused. He looked to Fornell.
"He's had a couple of head injuries in the past, where he stayed in a coma a lot longer than the doctors thought he should have," Fornell said.
"I think we'd better order up that CT after all, Jessica," Marc said over his shoulder. "With contrast. I want to know what's going on inside his head. Have them take a look at his neck while they're there."
Jessica got on the phone. After a moment, she turned to Marc. "You still want it stat? ER just received four traumas from a pileup on the Beltway."
Marc shook his head. "Priority two will be fine. He doesn't seem to be in any distress at the moment."
Jessica finished the call. As she passed the monitors, she read off his vitals. Only his still-elevated heart rate was out of normal range.
"How's your pain level?" Marc asked Gibbs.
"Moderate," Gibbs said.
"What's the worst level?" he asked.
"Headache. Seven."
"Okay. Give him a dose of Dilaudid," Marc told Josie, who went to the medication vault and started tapping. She prepared a syringe and injected it into the IV on his arm.
"That'll last a little longer than the morphine, hopefully get you through the rest of this," Marc said when she was done. "Why don't you guys finish up as much as you can while we wait for CT."
Jessica nodded her understanding.
"Keep an eye on his vitals, call me if his pressure falls again," Marc said before he left. Jessica removed the now empty blood bag, capping off the larger IV at his neck, but leaving it in place.
"We've still got some things to do to finish our evidence gathering, but the invasive parts are over," Jessica told him when she was done.
Gibbs nodded again, still trying to figure out what had happened. He remembered the team returning, remembered Marc's hand on his backside, more pain, then... his hand hurt.
"What'd you do to my hand?" Gibbs asked Fornell, gently flexing and straightening his fingers.
"Me? It was all you. Look." He splayed out his own hand, showing red marks across the back that would surely become bruises. "You really didn't want me to leave," he said.
"No, I didn't," Gibbs said. That was the last thing he remembered, and the first thing. Holding Fornell's hand.
"You ready to keep going?" Jessica asked.
"Yeah," Gibbs said with a sigh. "What's next?"
The rest of the exam was a long, slow exercise in humiliation. Jessica and Josie worked together, with Latisha standing to the side taking notes. Overview and close up pictures were taken of the bruises at his neck, the abrasions on his wrists, the scratches on his torso. His socks were finally removed, added to the clothing bags. The hair on his head, chest, underarms and pubic area was combed through, with loose hairs and particles of who knew what collected on white paper. Samples of his own hair were pulled by the roots from each place. With the nurses turning him this way and that, his entire body was examined with a magnifying glass and an ALS light, with photographs and swabs taken whenever they found anything abnormal. His genitals were similarly examined, and when Jessica found slight bruising on his testicles, close-up photos were taken there, too. The whole thing was done with professionalism, a running commentary and obvious compassion, but it was still an ongoing insult to Gibbs' dignity. He held Fornell's hand when he could, and was stoic and silent through the entire process. The only time he balked was when Jessica attempted to take a picture of his face. He knew the photographs would become part of the sexual assault evidence kit. Which meant no matter how secret they kept it, it would be all over NCIS the moment anyone who knew him saw a photo of his face. Followed by a rapid spread through the rest of Washington federal law enforcement. He would not allow that to happen.
Halfway through, the phone on the wall rang and Latisha announced they were ready for him in CT. Jessica removed her gloves and washed her hands. After making sure Gibbs was well covered with blankets, she released the brakes on the bed and pushed it out of the room. She suggested Fornell take a break for coffee, but the fed refused and went along. Gibbs was grateful.
While Gibbs was in the CT suite and Fornell was exiled to the hallway outside, he checked his phone. One of the agents at the crime scene had called. They'd found both phones, right where McGee had said Gibbs' was located. DiNozzo's was smashed. There was no sign of the missing guns. Fornell placed a call to McGee, telling him to report the loss to NCIS and requisition new sidearms and phones for both agents, to be ready by morning. He knew Gibbs' phone would go into evidence and its return date would be anyone's guess. The young agent asked for details, but Fornell refused. Gibbs would tell him in the morning, he said.
After the CT, they returned to the exam room and the nurses resumed their work. Another 15 minutes, a swab taken from the inside of Fornell's cheek for the comparison sample, and it was finally over. Jessica called for Marc to come back and Josie and Latisha left. She took the stool, handing his now clean watch to Fornell.
"How are you doing?" she asked Gibbs. He nodded. He could feel a ball of emotion pushing at his chest, trying to make its presence known. It contained anger, humiliation, fear, and a feeling like he needed to run. He took measured breaths, trying to keep it in check.
"Your pain level okay?" she asked, and he nodded again. She could see the emotions struggling to break free on his face. It had surprised Jessica that he'd stayed so silent during the balance of the exam. Her experience told her it wasn't a good thing.
Marc returned with a quick tap on the door that barely made Gibbs flinch. The doctor had a computer printout in his hand. He pulled over the other rolling stool.
"I didn't get a chance to talk to you about the extent of the damage," Marc began. "The worst of the tears is about three inches long, the other two in the one-inch range, but they're much shallower inside than on the surface. We're going to treat them with external cream and an internal wash. There's a regimen you'll need to follow, but if you do, they should heal within a few weeks."
Gibbs nodded. He was paying attention, but he was clearly distracted.
"I've also got the CT results," he said. "There's tissue swelling in your neck, but no bony damage. It's going to be painful for a few days, inside and out, but that should fully resolve within three or four days."
When Gibbs again nodded, he continued. "You didn't get so lucky with the head. You've got a linear fracture of the parietal bone, right here." He pointed on his own head to a spot about an inch above and slightly behind his left ear. "A mild cerebral contusion at that site, and a more significant one on the other side directly opposite. Do you know about contre-coup injuries?"
When both Gibbs and Fornell answered in the negative, he continued demonstrating on his own head.
"When your head hit the concrete, here, your brain bounced against the inside of your skull on that side, then rebounded and hit the skull on the other side. The second brain impact was actually more damaging than the first, because the fracturing skull on the left side absorbed some of the force of the initial collision and threw it back, kind of like a trampoline."
"How serious is it?" Fornell asked.
"Relatively minor, all told," Marc said. "It's why he's got a headache. It might also be why he seemed to have lost consciousness for a while, though I don't think so." He turned to Gibbs. "I'd like to admit you overnight for observation..."
"No," Gibbs said.
"Jethro," Fornell said, ready to argue.
Gibbs shook his head slightly. "No," he said firmly. "There's no dizziness, nausea, confusion, or retrograde amnesia. The only symptom I've got is a headache. I've been here long enough. I'm going home."
Marc considered him, then turned to Fornell. "Will you stay with him?"
"Guaranteed," Fornell said.
Marc nodded. "I'll sign off on you leaving, but only if Tobias stays with you and you promise to go home, go to bed, and rest for the next 24 hours."
"He will," Fornell said. Gibbs nodded his agreement.
"Okay. In that case, Jessica's going to help you get cleaned up and walk you through the discharge instructions and the medications I'm going to prescribe. There's quite a bit of information, but she'll go over it until you're comfortable. " He again turned to Fornell. "Anything changes, he shows any of the symptoms Jessica's going to list, you get him back here. Right away."
"I will," Fornell said.
"Okay. Good luck, Jethro," Marc said and left without offering to shake hands. Jessica stood and began disconnecting the IVs and monitoring equipment. She had Gibbs press against the spot on his arm while she applied pressure to the site on his neck.
"I'm going to let you shower before we start talking," she said when the wounds were well clotted. "Let me have you stand up, see how you do."
Fornell pulled back the blankets, and Gibbs carefully sat up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. There was an immediate spike of pain, radiating from his ass up into his low back, but it wasn't as bad as it had been. Pain meds must be working.
Using Fornell's arms for balance, Gibbs slipped to the floor. For a second, he thought his knees would buckle, but he stayed upright through sheer force of will and took a step, broadening his stance to help with his balance. With a nod to Fornell, he let him go.
"Walk toward me a little," Jessica instructed. He did, and managed it.
"Good." She turned to Fornell again. "I'd rather not have him alone in there. You okay to sit with him?"
"Absolutely," Fornell said.
"There's a hand shower. If you're careful, you can probably help him if he needs it without getting wet."
"I will," Fornell said.
"Let me get you some towels." She crossed to the cabinets again and came back with a stack of items: A set of blue scrubs, several white towels and washcloths, a pair of white boxers still sealed in packaging, a set of no-slip socks, and a plastic bag with sample-size bottles of toiletries. Fornell took the stack.
"Those scrubs and socks aren't the highest in fashion, but they'll get you home," she said with a gentle smile. "I'll be out here. Call out if you need anything."
Fornell held the stack in one arm and used the other to guide Gibbs over to the bathroom. The Navy man grew more stable with each step.
The bathroom was large. A tiled waist-high half-wall supported the sink and a counter and separated out a large shower area. There was a fold-down bench under the shower head, which was both height-adjustable and removable to be used hand-held. There were numerous grab bars at various heights mounted on all the walls. Because of the positioning of the sink, there was no mirror above it. Or anywhere else in the bathroom.
Fornell put the stack on the counter and walked with Gibbs into the shower area. He folded down the bench, supporting Gibbs while he swung around and gently sat down.
"You need help?" Fornell asked. He brought over the washcloths, a wrapped bar of soap and a small bottle of shampoo from the bag of toiletries, setting them on the bench beside Gibbs.
"With the gown," Gibbs said. Fornell reached around him to untie the ties. Gibbs shrugged his shoulders and let the gown fall into his lap. Fornell reached for it. There was a second's hesitation before Gibbs pulled the tails out from under himself and let Fornell take it. Fornell tossed it into the main part of the bathroom. Without asking, Fornell took down the handheld and turned on the taps. When the water was as hot as Fornell knew Gibbs liked it, he rolled the holder down to the right level and stood beside the stream to hang the nozzle. The water started cascading down over Gibbs' head and shoulders. Fornell retreated to sit on the closed toilet lid.
He watched silently for several minutes as Gibbs just sat under the falling water. Finally, Gibbs moved. He unwrapped the bar of soap and stared scrubbing himself. Several aborted movements told him Gibbs' shoulders were still bothering him. Nonetheless, Gibbs didn't ask for help and Fornell didn't offer. After he'd washed as much of himself as he could from the seated position, Gibbs set the cloth and soap aside and turned to the shampoo. He washed his hair, twice, before tossing the bottle aside. He picked up the cloth and soap again and stood, folding up the bench. He turned to face the water, rolling the nozzle holder up so he could stand under it.
Gibbs washed again and kept washing, over and over, until the soap was nothing but a sliver. Then he turned the hot water up a little and stood for another five minutes, leaning with his hands on the wall while his skin turned pink. Finally, Fornell spoke, his voice gentle over the sound of the water.
"Jethro, that's enough," he said. Gibbs didn't turn, didn't move. Fornell stood and leaned on the half wall.
"Come on, love, you're clean."
"Don't feel like it," Gibbs said quietly.
"I know."
With a sigh, Gibbs shut off the water. Fornell stepped across with a towel, reaching to wrap it around his shoulders from behind. When the towel made contact with his skin, Gibbs started and twisted on his feet, slipping on the wet tile. Fornell dropped the towel and grabbed him to stop him from going down. Gibbs fought him for a second before stilling in Fornell's arms.
"Easy," Fornell said. "It's alright."
Gibbs turned, his forearms pressed against Fornell's chest. He stood for a second before he dropped his head onto Fornell's shoulder and bumped his fist against the broad chest in front of him. Gibbs hit him with the other fist, a low, wordless cry bubbling up. Fornell held him as Gibbs continued to strike out, the impacts growing stronger as Gibbs' cries grew louder. The FBI agent stood there, street shoes solid against the wet tile, and let him get it out. He whispered words of calm and comfort, rubbing the fingers of one hand lightly across Gibbs' back. His heart was breaking. This wasn't supposed to happen. Jethro felt things deeply, but he rarely expressed his deep emotions aloud. To see him lose it so badly... Fornell renewed his private oath: He was going to find that bastard, and he was going to kill him.
To be continued. Thank you very much to all who've reviewed this story. Reviews make me very very happy.
BTW: Since Google is being spectacularly unhelpful: "ALS" stands for "Alternate Light Source." It's the blue UV thing they use on CSI (and NCIS, too) to illuminate samples of bodily fluids. Now you know.