Silent Misery R&R - Chapter 13
by HidingInSight
They spent the evening as they'd spent the day: Casually keeping company, not doing much of anything, just 'hanging out' as the teenagers would say. Fornell had bought meal replacement shakes and at dinner time Gibbs reluctantly tried one in chocolate, finding it to be not repulsive. He'd managed to squelch the urge to brush his teeth for the most part, only giving in once.
A check-in with Ziva found Tony to be grumpy with the continued presence of his babysitter, but resting mostly comfortably with pharmaceutical support. McGee had taken the evidence home and hoped to have it all cataloged by morning.
Drowsiness brought on by lack of activity, the effects of the medications, his lingering pains and his increasingly unstable stomach had Gibbs heading for bed hours earlier than he normally would. He'd showered and brushed his teeth again before laying out on his stomach.
Fornell joined him soon after he laid down. He sat on the bed leaning against the headboard to read the file McGee had given him, one hand resting on Gibbs' back. He was about halfway through the file when Gibbs spoke.
"Why are you reading my case file?" he asked. Fornell looked over at him. He thought his bedmate had fallen asleep long before.
"Getting up to speed," he said.
"Why?" Gibbs asked again.
"So I can help with the case."
Gibbs thought about that. "Help?" he asked. "You think we need help?"
"No. It looks like you're doing everything you can be doing." When Gibbs narrowed his eyes and continued to stare at him, Fornell continued. "Your team's going to be short-handed for the next little while. I can help. I want this guy off the streets, now."
"That's all, you just want to help my people get him off the streets," Gibbs asked.
"That's not the only reason," Fornell admitted.
Gibbs looked at him, waiting.
"What do you want me to say, Jethro?" Fornell asked. "You want me to say I want to kill him? That if I'm the one to find him, he's going to resist arrest, maybe fatally?"
"Tobias..." Gibbs said.
"He hurt you," Fornell said. "No one gets to hurt my family and walk."
Fornell said it with such certainty that Gibbs had to smile. He raised a hand to rest it on Fornell's thigh through the blanket. "Be careful," Gibbs said. "And take Ziva and McGee with you. I don't want you going after him alone."
"I won't," Fornell said.
Gibbs nodded and moved his hand, reaching for Fornell's. They held on to one another until Fornell finished his reading and Gibbs finally did fall asleep.
E*E*E*E*E
The first nightmare came before midnight. Gibbs began fussing in his sleep, which turned into twitching and occasional vocalizations. Fornell rubbed his back and called his name softly, trying to wake him gently. When that didn't work, he got louder. Gibbs finally came awake with a cry and bolted out of bed. He didn't get as far as the gun this time before realizing what was happening and dropping back onto the bed.
Two hours later, the pattern repeated. This time, Fornell convinced Gibbs to take a sleeping pill. He was here, it would be okay.
The pill did its thing, and it was a quiet rest of the night. They were still sleeping when Fornell's cell phone alarm went off at seven the next morning. Fornell woke immediately. He shut off the alarm then rolled out of bed and moved to the bathroom. Gibbs was groggy and had trouble waking up. He sat on the edge of the bed and waited for Fornell to emerge before replacing him in the bathroom.
Fornell brought him a handful of pills and Gibbs swallowed them without comment. He followed that with a shower before using the douche, then laid out on the bed so Fornell could apply the cream. Figuring he'd spend most of the day doing paperwork, Gibbs dressed casually in a long-sleeved Henley shirt and decided to forgo a sport coat in favor of a jacket.
By the time he was standing in front of the mirror to shave, Gibbs felt about half normal. The headache was still lingering lightly, his neck was sore to the touch, his low back ached, and his butt was still on the tolerable side of severely painful. On that thought, he set his shaver down and took a max dose of Vicodin. He was going to need it to face the day ahead.
When he finished shaving, Gibbs examined the abrasions on his wrist. The left side had completely closed, but there was still enough open skin on the right wrist to require cream and a wrap. He gathered the treatment supplies and carried them with him as he descended the stairs.
Fornell waiting for Gibbs at the table when he appeared. He had also showered and dressed and was ready for a work day. Gibbs put the supplies on the table and went to the kitchen to pour himself a mug of coffee.
"What's that?" Gibbs asked, seeing a lunch-sized paper bag with Abby's distinctive signature on it sitting on the table. He sipped some coffee. Fornell looked around the morning paper at him.
"Present from Abby. She left it on the porch sometime last night or this morning."
"What is it?" Gibbs asked. He frowned at the coffee. It was landing badly on his stomach.
Fornell shrugged. "Don't know. Didn't open it."
Gibbs put his coffee down and opened the bag. A small glass bottle with a black top, about an ounce in size, and a note. It looked like makeup. He set the bottle on the table and unfolded the note. It was written in black marker on printer paper. By holding it at arm's length and squinting a little, he read it without his glasses.
"It's tattoo cover up," Gibbs said.
"For what?" Fornell asked. Unlike many Marines, Gibbs was tattoo-less.
"My neck. And wrists, once the skin is closed."
Fornell smiled. "She's a good girl," he said.
"Yes, she is," he said. He opened the bottle and put his finger over the top, turning it over so a small amount came out on his fingertip. He sniffed it. No scent. He rubbed it on the back of his other hand. The liquid was about the same color as his own skin tone and even as he was rubbing it, it was already drying and disappearing into his skin.
"Worth a try," Gibbs said. He left his coffee where it sat and went to the downstairs bath. The instructions in the note said to apply lightly and blend at the edges – whatever that meant – and to not put his shirt on until it dried completely.
Gibbs carefully stripped off the shirt he had just put on. He poured a little of the makeup onto his left palm and used his right index finger to rub it gently over the bruises. After a few swipes, he understood what Abby had meant by 'blending' the edges. It took a minute to get the hang of how thickly it needed to be applied, but before too long, his neck looked like nothing had happened. Gibbs considered and rejected doing the same with his left wrist. He'd decided not to put his watch on so it wouldn't irritate the newly scabbed-over scrapes. He wasn't sure rubbing make-up onto the scabs wouldn't do the same.
The cover-up dried quickly and Gibbs redressed, returning to the dining room. Fornell looked up at him and nodded. "It looks good," he said.
"Good," Gibbs said. He picked up his coffee and took another sip. It didn't go down any easier, and he set the cup aside. He sat down at the table and pulled over the bandaging supplies. Fornell put down his paper and took care of it.
"What are you doing today?" Gibbs asked when he was done.
"Going with you," Fornell said. "I'm off for a couple days."
As if on cue, Fornell's phone rang. He picked it up and smiled at the caller ID.
"Hello, Princess. How are you this morning?" Fornell asked. By that, Gibbs knew it was Fornell's daughter Emily calling. There was a long pause while Fornell listened to the girl talk, followed by an expression on Fornell's face that showed he'd screwed up.
"Of course I remembered," Fornell said when she took a breath. "I'll be there to pick you up at 11:45."
Another pause. "Of course. It is okay if I bring Gibbs along?" A squeal Gibbs heard through the phone. "Okay. I'll tell him. I'll see you then. Love you." Fornell clicked off.
"What'd you forget?" Gibbs asked.
"I'm taking Emily to lunch today," Fornell said. "Daddy daughter date day. You're coming."
"Why?" Gibbs asked. Not that he minded: Emily was his unofficial Goddaughter, and he loved her to death. But he wondered why she'd agree to have him along on a Daddy date.
"Because I'm not leaving you alone today," Fornell said. "And you know she thinks of you as her other Daddy. She wants you to come."
Gibbs nodded. It might be fun. It would certainly have been fun any other day. He glanced at the clock on the microwave: Almost 8:00. Three and a half hours ought to be enough time to get what he needed done at the Navy Yard. He thought he could probably last that long.
"You sure you're up to going in?" Fornell asked. He stood and started folding the sections of the paper back together.
"I need to," Gibbs said. "There's things I need to take care of before the worst of these side effects kicks in."
"Okay," Fornell said. "You want breakfast?"
"No," Gibbs said. He hadn't eaten anything since dinner last night and his stomach had been relatively stable until the coffee hit. He wasn't so sure that had been a great idea. He didn't want to compound the error now.
"Alright. If you're ready, let's go," Fornell said. "I'm driving." Gibbs nodded. He dumped the remains of his coffee down the sink and rinsed the mug.
On the way in, Fornell went through the coffee shop drive thru. He offered to get Gibbs' coffee and was surprised – and concerned – when Gibbs declined. Gibbs had never, in all the years he'd known him, turned down a free cup of good coffee.
Ziva was sitting at her desk when they arrived in the squad room. She looked up, surprised to see Gibbs. They noticed her notice the lack of visible bruising on his neck.
"McGee with DiNozzo?" Gibbs asked.
"Yes. He says he will be finished cataloging the documents by noon."
"You get any sleep last night?" Gibbs asked. He circled around behind his desk, leaning over to turn on his computer. He didn't sit.
"Yes. Tony's couch is quite comfortable."
"How's he doing?" Gibbs asked.
"He slept through most of the day and night. I ensured he worked with the incentive spirometer whenever he was awake."
"He taking medications?" Gibbs asked. His email beeped, and he pulled a pair of glasses out of his desk drawer to read the sender names.
"Yes. He has antibiotics, pain medication and a sleep aid. He took one yesterday afternoon before I arrived, and another late in the evening."
"Two sleeping pills in one day?" Gibbs asked, looking up at her.
"McGee has custody of the bottle, and will not allow him to use any more until this evening," Ziva supplied. Gibbs nodded and returned to his email. He'd talk to Tony about that when he saw him.
After determining there was nothing important in his email, Gibbs straightened up. "What are you doing today?" he asked.
"McGee created a list of names from his inventory of the documents. I will be running the names and numbers to try and locate the individuals he has identified and determine if they are related in any way to our case."
Gibbs nodded his acceptance of that. "Paper chase only. No one moves without my authorization."
"I understand," Ziva said. Gibbs clicked off the monitor he'd turned on and rejoined Fornell in the aisle.
"I'll be available by phone all day. Call me if something comes up," he said.
They rode down to Abby's lab. She was in, her music present but subdued. She was sitting at the desk in her office, working on her computer.
"Abby," Gibbs called as he entered the lab.
"Gibbs!" she cried and jumped up. She rushed over to him and he braced himself for one of her crushing hugs. Instead, she stopped in front of him and gently wrapped her arms around him with the barest of squeezes.
"How are you feeling?" she asked when she withdrew.
"So far so good," Gibbs said. He didn't think it necessary to tell her about the instability that was returning to his stomach.
"That looks really good," Abby said, brushing a finger gently along his neck.
"It does," Gibbs agreed. "Thank you."
"Anytime," she said with a smile. "How was your night, Mr. G-Man?" she asked Fornell.
"Long," Fornell said.
"I bet," Abby said. She stepped back from them. "I know what you're here for, and I've got nothing back yet," she said. "The DNA from the new evidence I got from the FBI was all mixed up, so I didn't run it." She stared at Gibbs, and he understood. The DNA had been partially his, partially his attacker's, and she hadn't wanted the techs at CODIS to separate it out and identify him.
"Otherwise, there's nothing new," she said. "I retroactively put a rush on it, but I don't know if it's gonna work or not. I'll let you know when I get something."
"Thank you," Gibbs said. He headed out. Abby watched him go, a forlorn look on her face. He hadn't kissed her as he always did, and she'd noticed.
Their next stop was Autopsy. Gibbs knew from previous experience that he would need a doctor's exam to confirm his work status before Navy Medical would sign off on the injuries he'd sustained. Gibbs had always gotten that clearance from Ducky, and there was no reason this time should be different. He knew he wasn't ready to return to work, but someone with an MD after their name was going to have to make an official decision as to how long he was to be off.
Ducky was alone in autopsy when they arrived, and he immediately had Gibbs lean back against one of the tables so he could take his vital signs. Gibbs would have rather just had Ducky hand him the form he was pretty sure Ducky had already filled out, but he put up with the exam, knowing the older man's heart was in the right place. Finding his vitals slightly abnormal for him but still within the range of normal for his age and condition, Ducky ran him through a few tests for brain injury. He had Gibbs follow his fingers with his eyes, checked his pupil response, and felt at his skull for swelling. All was normal. Gibbs answered all of Ducky's questions – some of them once again far more personal than he'd ordinarily have allowed – and was relieved when Ducky finally pronounced him well enough. The ME produced the required form, added a note, and signed it.
A trip to the armory was next, where Gibbs' new sidearm was waiting for him. He stood at the counter and filled out a stack of forms a quarter inch thick, each one wanting him to explain over and over what had happened to the one he'd previously been issued. On the sixth form, Gibbs wondered if it wouldn't be easier to just go buy himself a new one. Not that that would satisfy the Navy, but still. After half an hour, he was again armed and feeling much more comfortable. There was something about walking around in public without a weapon that always put him on edge. Maybe it was the job he did, maybe it was just that he'd been carrying one for more years than he could remember. Whatever the reason, he always felt half-dressed without the weight of the Sig on his hip. He made a mental note to get to the range as soon as possible. Even though it was the same model he'd been using for years, all firearms were different. He'd have to shoot off a few clips to get comfortable with it. Maybe after lunch?
With Fornell still trailing along and not saying much, Gibbs walked across the Yard to the onboard medical clinic. It was a large facility whose primary function was deployment readiness: Every sailor or Marine in the Northeast who was headed overseas had to stop here first. That made it very busy on a slow day. The good news was it also had an urgent care for those who made their living on the Navy Yard. Gibbs was able to bypass the hundred or so men and women sitting in the waiting room and present himself directly to the triage counter. He was again handed a stack of forms and asked to sit down and fill them out. He declined to sit, instead finding a spot in a corner to lean. The Vicodin had done a good job holding back the pain, but it was starting to creep back.
Ten minutes after the forms were returned to the counter, Gibbs was called back. At Gibbs' instruction, Fornell took a seat to wait.
Gibbs was shown to an exam room where a nurse had him sit on the exam table. He focused hard on keeping the pain of sitting on the hard table off his face. The nurse took his forms and his vitals and left him alone. He slid off the table to lean against it while he waited.
The door opened after another ten minutes. Gibbs looked up to see a face he recognized.
"Special Agent Gibbs, it's good to see you again," the young man said.
"Gerald," Gibbs said and offered a hand. "How've you been?"
Gerald Jackson had been Ducky's assistant years before. He went on disability after he was shot during a hostage taking in Autopsy, the same incident that had earned Gibbs the scar on his shoulder that Abby had recognized. Though Gerald had recovered from his wounds, he had not returned to NCIS. Gibbs hadn't known what had happened to him.
"Doing really well," Gerald said. "Got my PA license. I've been working here a year or so."
"Good for you," Gibbs said.
"So what happened to you?" Gerald asked.
"Suspect got the best of me," Gibbs said lightly. "We got into a fight, there was an exposure. The hospital started me on antiretrovirals."
Gerald scanned over the papers Gibbs had filled out.
"This happened when?"
"Tuesday," Gibbs said.
"You have a skull fracture?" Gerald asked.
"Ducky says it's not serious," Gibbs said.
Gerald nodded, accepting that. "Any symptoms since you were released?"
"Mild headache," Gibbs said. "That's all."
"Dizziness? Nausea or vomiting?"
"Some nausea, but it's the medication."
Gerald nodded. "Probably." He flipped over to the form Ducky had filled out and read it through.
"What was the nature of the exposure?" Gerald asked without looking up from the papers.
"I had an open wound. He bled on me," Gibbs said.
"What kind of wound?" Gerald asked. Gibbs was silent long enough that Gerald finally looked up.
"Ducky already took care of the exam," Gibbs said firmly. "I'm only here to get the paperwork filled out."
Gerald considered him. He knew Gibbs pretty well. If the man was hiding something, he wasn't doing it just for the hell of it; there was a good reason.
"Mind if I call Ducky?" he asked.
"No," Gibbs said. Ducky was far better at medical obfuscation than Gibbs. He'd make sure Gerald got what he needed without breaking confidence. At least Gibbs hoped he would...
To be continued