Silent Misery R&R - Chapter 15
by HidingInSight
The ME answered on the third ring.
"Gibbs is sick, told me to call you," Fornell said as soon as the older man identified himself.
"What are his symptoms?" Ducky asked.
"He's been throwing up all night," Fornell said. "Breathing's fast and shallow. Pulse is..." Fornell crouched down and pressed two fingers against Gibbs' carotid artery. After a ten-count, he answered. "Fast, but regular. Hard to find. Maybe his pressure's low?"
"Does he have a fever?" Ducky asked.
"He's warm, but not hot," Fornell said. He smoothed Gibbs' hair. "He tried to take the nausea medication, but couldn't keep it down."
"Is he fully conscious?"
"Yes," Fornell said.
"Is he oriented?"
"I think so."
"Find out. Ask him his name, the year, where he is. It's important."
Fornell did, getting slow but correct answers. "He's oriented," Fornell reported. "Should I call the medics?" On hearing that, Gibbs reached for him with a negative sound. Fornell took his hand. It was trembling slightly.
"Is he sweating?" Ducky asked instead of answering.
"Not really." Fornell felt at the t-shirt Gibbs was still wearing. It was damp. "Is that sweat or water, Jethro?" he asked.
"Sweat," Gibbs ground out. He started gagging again, his whole body wracking with spasms, a little more of the water he'd tried to drink coming up.
"His shirt is damp, but his skin is dry," Fornell said.
"It sounds like he's dehydrated. I don't think the medics are necessary at this point unless he wants them," Ducky said. "I'm going to send someone to help."
Fornell stood and moved out to the bedroom. "You can't come?" he asked, his voice lowered.
"Unfortunately, no," he replied. "I have to testify at a trial this morning in Norfolk and I'm well on my way there now. I'll send someone I trust."
Ducky took a breath. "In the meantime, keep him lying down as much as possible. If his blood pressure is low, he might pass out if he tries to stand. If his fever spikes, he gets disoriented, or his respirations become significantly labored, call 9-1-1. Also, check his pulse every 10 minutes and call the medics if it becomes at all irregular. Cool his skin with lukewarm cloths, and see if you can get him to suck on ice chips."
"Ice chips? Where the hell am I supposed to get ice chips?" Fornell asked.
"Make some. Use a hammer. I'm sure Jethro's got one," Ducky said, and Fornell could swear the doctor was smiling. "It likely looks more serious than it is, Agent Fornell. Just keep an eye on him. Help will be there soon."
Fornell hung up and returned to the bathroom. He set the phone on the counter and soaked several washcloths, then crouched in front of Gibbs.
"He coming?" Gibbs asked. His voice was dry and harsh. Fornell shook his head. He laid one cloth on Gibbs' forehead, another around the back of his neck and used a third to wipe Gibbs' face.
"He's in Norfolk. He's sending help. Someone he says he trusts."
Gibbs nodded a little. He was clearly trying to slow his breathing. Fornell wiped up the vomit and scooped up the fallen pills.
"Can you make it back to the bed?" Fornell asked.
Gibbs said nothing for a moment, then nodded once. "With help," he said.
"Are you still having diarrhea?" Fornell asked.
"Not for a couple hours. Nothing left."
"Ducky said you're probably dehydrated."
"Yeah," Gibbs agreed.
"You ready?" he asked. When Gibbs again nodded, Fornell helped Gibbs sit up. Gibbs closed his eyes against an obvious wave of dizziness and grabbed Fornell's arms to keep from falling forward.
"How'd you end up on the floor?" Fornell asked while Gibbs stabilized. "Did you fall?"
"Not really." Gibbs' negative head shake was still small. He kept his eyes closed. Fornell figured it must be making him dizzy to move his head.
"Not really?" Fornell asked.
"Got dizzy. Went to my knees. Kind of leaned over from there."
"Did you hit your head?"
"No."
"You sure? I heard a thud," Fornell said.
"Shoulder," Gibbs said.
"Okay. Does it help to keep your eyes closed?"
"Yeah," Gibbs agreed.
"Do it. I'll watch."
Fornell pulled Gibbs to his feet, holding him tightly. Gibbs was weak, worse than he'd been at the emergency room after... So bad that Fornell was practically carrying him. He sat his partner on the bed and held him with one hand while he pulled the top of the robe off his arms and stripped off his wet t-shirt, then slipped Gibbs' arms back into the robe and helped him lie down. The movement made Gibbs sick again and he gagged up the last dribbles of water. Fornell did his best to soothe him.
"You think you can suck on some ice?" he asked when Gibbs was still. Gibbs shrugged, his eyes still closed.
"I'm gonna get some. Stay there." Fornell pulled the sheet up over him and hurried out.
Fornell went down to the basement, picking a small hammer off the tool rack. He returned to the kitchen and quickly filled a plastic bag with ice cubes. He laid the bag on the butcher block, placed a hand towel on top of it, and smashed the cubes into chips. Satisfied the pieces were small enough, he returned to the second floor. Gibbs hadn't moved.
"Here, try this," Fornell said. He scooped a small chunk of ice out of the bag and slipped it into Gibbs' mouth. The navy man sucked on it. Fornell checked his pulse again. A little faster than it had been but still regular. His skin was still warmer than Fornell liked, and Gibbs still wasn't sweating.
"You have a thermometer around here?" he asked.
"Not since Kelly. Don't get sick," Gibbs said. Fornell had to smile.
"You're doing a pretty damn good impression of a sick man, my friend."
"Side effects," Gibbs said.
"Of course. That's different," he said. He sat on the edge of the bed.
Half an hour later by the nightstand clock, there was a knock on the front door. Gibbs had managed to eat only a few ice chips. He didn't want the vomiting to start again and was taking it very slowly. Fornell left the ice bag on the floor and descended to the main level.
A man in Navy working blues was standing on the front porch. He was tall but thin, his face long and narrow with a prominent jaw. He was wearing an eight-point cap and had the wide strap of a bag over one shoulder. Fornell glanced at himself, making sure he was presentable, and pulled open the door.
"I'm here to see Special Agent Gibbs," the man said.
"And you are?" he asked.
"Ian Goetz," he said. "Dr. Mallard sent me."
"Fornell. Come on in," he said and stepped out of the way. Goetz moved into the house.
"He's upstairs," Fornell said and gestured the man ahead. Goetz climbed the stairs, turning sideways slightly so the large bag didn't hit the walls of the narrow stairway. A logo on top of the bag identified it as a Navy medical jump kit.
Goetz pulled off his cap, shoving it in a pocket as he turned through the bedroom doorway.
"Okay to turn the light on?" he asked. When Fornell approved, he hit the wall switch and the overheads came on.
Without raising his head, Gibbs looked to see who had come in. He stared for a moment before his eyes widened in recognition.
"Good morning, Special Agent Gibbs. Somebody call for a Corpsman?" the medic asked. He put his bag on the floor next to the bed.
"Senior Chief," Gibbs said. His voice was more normal with the lubrication his throat was getting from the ice.
"What's the situation?" he asked. He crouched down and unzipped the bag.
"What did Dr. Mallard tell you?" Fornell asked.
"Vomiting since last night, probably dehydrated, secondary to ARVs he's taking for blood exposure."
"That's the situation," Fornell said. "Also diarrhea that stopped a couple hours ago."
"How many days have you been taking the ARVs?"
"Three days," Gibbs said.
"Sounds about right," Goetz said. "Let's see where you're at." Goetz pulled on a pair of latex gloves. He picked up Gibbs' available wrist and felt for a pulse. After several attempts, he replaced Gibbs' hand and reached for his neck instead.
"Any internal damage here?" he asked when he got a look at the bruises.
"No," Fornell said. Goetz nodded and reached for Gibbs' pulse, finding it easily.
"A little fast. Not too bad." He took a blood pressure kit out of his bag, wrapped the cuff around Gibbs' bicep and slipped the stethoscope into his ears. Quickly pumping it up, he listened as it began to deflate. He pumped it back up slightly twice before fully releasing the pressure.
"Pretty low," he said. He pulled back the sheet, frowning a little when Gibbs flinched. Goetz hesitated for a moment. When no further objection was forthcoming, he reached through the open robe to place the head of his stethoscope on Gibbs' chest, listening in four places. He slipped the stethoscope down the back neck of the robe and listened in four more places.
"Lungs are clear. That's good." He pulled the stethoscope out of his ears and hung it around his neck.
A small kit came out of the medical bag next. Goetz unzipped it, removing and setting up a blood sugar meter. He cleaned one of Gibbs' fingers with an alcohol swab and efficiently poked him, squeezing out a small drop of blood which he applied to a test strip inserted into the meter. Five seconds later, the machine beeped.
"Blood sugar's low," he commented.
"He hasn't had much to eat in the last couple days," Fornell said.
"Okay," Goetz said. "We'll see about that in a bit." He retrieved a temporal scanner from his bag and ran it back and forth across Gibbs' forehead.
"100.1," Goetz said. "Low grade fever."
"Could it be an infection?" Fornell asked.
"Maybe. Did the exposure come from an injury?"
"Yes," Gibbs said.
"How long ago?"
"Tuesday," Fornell said.
"Did they start you on antibiotics right away?"
"Yes," Gibbs said.
"Probably not an infection, then, though Dr. Mallard did ask me to submit samples for a blood panel. What's your biggest complaint right now, Gibbs?"
"Nausea. Dry," Gibbs said. "Been real shaky."
"It probably is just dehydration. It's hard to keep enough fluids down when those ARVs start beating up on you. I'm gonna start some IVs, get you some fluids and get some Reglan on board. That'll help."
"Is he going to need a hospital?" Fornell asked.
"Let's not go there yet," Goetz said. "We'll do this first. You wanna help?"
With Fornell playing medical assistant, Goetz started an IV in the big vein in Gibbs' right forearm. He drew blood into several tubes and set them on the bed before connecting a bag of fluid. He opened the flow wide and had Fornell hold the bag high. Goetz tried to start a second IV in Gibbs' left arm, but his dehydration had made the lesser-developed veins on that side collapse and he gave up after three attempts.
"I gotta put this one in your neck, Gibbs. Try to be still." He brought his equipment to the head of the bed and worked quickly to get the IV going in the jugular vein at the side of Gibbs' neck, just up from where the nurse had done the same a few days before. Gibbs flinched at the pressure against the bruises. "Sorry," Goetz said.
When both IVs were flowing freely into Gibbs' veins, he removed a vial from a med kit and drew up a small amount of fluid. He pinched off the line in Gibbs' neck and injected the medication, then let the flow restart. He retook both bags and had Fornell bring him a pair of empty hangers from the closet, then used the hangers to suspend the bags from the ceiling light fixture.
"It shouldn't take long," Goetz said when he was satisfied. "Mind if I sit down?"
"Go ahead," Gibbs said, waving a hand vaguely at the rocking chair in the corner between the bed and the bath. Goetz went first to the bathroom, taking off his gloves and turning on the water to wash his hands.
Fornell sat on the edge of the bed next to Gibbs. "You doing alright?" he asked.
"Yeah," Gibbs said. "Feel weird."
"Weird?" Fornell asked.
"Weird," Gibbs confirmed, but didn't expound any further. Fornell rested his hand on Gibbs' back, rubbing small circles through the covering cloth.
When Goetz returned, his eyes swept across the two men without comment and he moved to the rocking chair.
"Thanks for coming," Gibbs said.
"You're welcome," Goetz said. "Though I admit it was a little refreshing to get a call from NCIS that didn't involve a demand to appear for interrogation."
Gibbs gave a vague smile and closed his eyes again. Senior Chief Corpsman Ian Goetz had been a person of interest in two homicides of sailors ten years apart, both of which he'd eventually been cleared. During Gibbs' interrogation of him in connection with the second death, Goetz had been forced to give up a deeply-held secret in order to alibi himself. Upon hearing the career sailor was gay, Gibbs had moved to ensure that particular secret remained so.
Gibbs wondered why Ducky had chosen Goetz. For that matter, why Ducky had even known to call him. Ducky had taken a special interest in the first homicide, which led him to be more involved that strictly necessary in the second. Still, Gibbs hadn't been aware the doctor even knew Goetz, much less knew him well enough to ask him to help in a situation like this. On the other hand, Gibbs had long ago learned that Ducky's influence was broad and far-reaching.
Goetz watched the men on the bed, his mind working on what he had seen in the bathroom and what he was seeing now. He had wondered when he'd seen the condition Gibbs was in what had gotten him. Gibbs was one of the toughest SOBs he knew. By the look of those bruises on his neck, someone had tried awfully hard to kill him. The bandages on his wrists probably hid abrasions or cuts, which meant... what? And what was up with the way he'd flinched on being touched?
When the door had been answered by a man in pajamas, Goetz hadn't given it a second thought. It was a big house. When he'd noticed the book, reading glasses, cell phone – and handgun – on the nightstand on the far side of the bed, coupled with a second set of glasses, cell phone and wallet on the near nightstand, he'd realized he was looking at a room shared by two. Add that to the way Fornell was hovering over Gibbs, and the situation solidified: Gibbs and this man Fornell were a couple. That fact alone didn't bother him. Surprised him, but didn't bother him. But when he'd gone into the bathroom and seen supplies for a medicated douche and antibiotic cream, his medical training and personal experience connected the dots and he knew what had happened to Gibbs.
Goetz had been frankly intimidated by Gibbs the first time they'd met. Of course, Gibbs had held his career in his hands at the time. One word from the Special Agent to anyone in the Navy and Goetz would have been dishonorably discharged, his life destroyed. Instead, Gibbs had kept his word and kept Goetz's secret. A year and a half later, Gibbs and his team had been responsible for stopping a terrorist attack at Goetz's own Norfolk homecoming. It had been a sobering experience to realize that had Gibbs not been there, Goetz's own life and the lives of many of the people he loved might have ended that day in May. He knew he owed Gibbs not only his career, but his life.
Which was why he'd immediately detoured from his morning routine to answer Ducky's call for help. He was originally planning to just stop in and make a decision whether or not a trip to the hospital was required. Now, he had a tougher decision to make.
"You wouldn't happen to have any coffee around here, would you?" Goetz asked suddenly. Fornell looked up at him, glanced down at Gibbs' closed eyes and relaxed face, and nodded.
"I could make some."
"I'd appreciate it," Goetz said. "Black, two sugars."
"I'll be back," Fornell said, and with a final pat on Gibbs' shoulder, he stood.
Goetz waited until he heard Fornell's footsteps fade before he spoke again.
"Who's he?" he asked.
"A friend," Gibbs said after a moment.
"A friend who shares your bed?" Goetz asked. Gibbs opened his eyes and looked over at Goetz. He stared at the sailor for a moment, remembered the secret about this man he still held, and shrugged.
"Sometimes," Gibbs said. Goetz nodded.
"You haven't been out very long," Goetz stated. Goetz was certain he would have heard if that had become public knowledge. The suspension of 'Don't Ask, Don't Tell' and the Navy's attempts at integrating gays and lesbians into its ranks made any high profile coming out front page news in Stars and Stripes. Gibbs' wasn't in the Navy, but his profile in the Capitol Region was still pretty high. "Is he your first?"
"Why?" Gibbs asked.
"Some men make bad choices at first," Goetz said. "Get in over their heads."
Gibbs frowned at him, shook his head a little, said nothing.
"He like it rough?" he asked. Gibbs' frown deepened.
"That's none of your business, Senior," Gibbs said.
"I bet he does," Goetz said. "Does he stop when you safe word? Do you even have a safe word?"
"What are you talking about?" Gibbs asked.
Goetz felt his blood heat. Gibbs was new to man on man sex, new to the intricacies of rough sex and – judging by the bruises on his throat and what were probably bondage injuries on his wrists – didn't know enough to say 'no.'
Standing suddenly, Goetz moved around the bed behind Gibbs and picked up the gun. He checked to be sure the safety was on and stuck it in his waistband.
"Never mind. It's nothing. I'll be back in a few minutes."
To be continued.