Silent Misery R&R - Chapter 25

by HidingInSight

Fornell's 7 a.m. phone alarm startled him awake. He jerked upright, looking around to orient himself.

"Good morning." He turned toward the voice. McGee, sitting in the driver's seat. Fornell's car, parked in the lot behind a market around the corner from Alejandro's row house. Where they'd settled in around 4 a.m. after following Alejandro through the District as he partied the night away.

"Morning," Fornell replied. He pulled out his phone and silenced the alarm. "Anything happen while I was out?"

"Nothing," McGee said. "Agents report all quiet."

The lead agents on the stakeout were posted at various points within camera distance of the house. Fornell and McGee had kept their distance throughout the night's travels, listening over the radio as the men and women running the surveillance operation announced intersections and locations. Fornell remembered 5 a.m. He must have fallen asleep sometime after that.

"Coffee, then back to the Navy Yard," Fornell said. He didn't have to ask twice. McGee immediately started the engine.

Figuring Gibbs would already be up – or should be, to take his meds – Fornell called his cell. It rang only once before it was answered, but it wasn't Gibbs.

"Good morning, Special Agent Fornell." A female voice, hushed and whispering.

"Who is this?" Fornell demanded. What the hell was a woman doing at Jethro's house?

"It's Abby Sciuto. Gibbs is sleeping."

"What are you doing there?" Fornell asked in a more moderated tone, a little embarrassed by how fast he'd jumped to the wrong conclusion. Of course Gibbs didn't have a woman at his house. Well, he did, but…

"I came by to check on him last night. We were watching movies. I must have fallen asleep. What time is it?"

"Little after seven. Did he sleep okay?" They pulled into a coffee shop and Fornell indicated he wanted to go inside.

"Pretty good, I think. He's awake now. You want to talk to him?"

"Yes," Fornell said. There was the sound of the phone changing hands.

"Morning," Gibbs said in his ear.

"Morning. How'd you sleep?"

"Not bad. Don't remember anything."

"Good. I'll be there in an hour or so. You want coffee?"

"No," Gibbs replied, and Fornell frowned.

"Okay. Take your meds."

Gibbs grunted and hung up.

As they entered the coffee shop, Fornell wondered what he was going to tell Gibbs when he asked where Fornell had been all night. Because Gibbs would sure as hell ask. Even if it didn't otherwise come up, one look at him and Jethro would know Fornell hadn't slept. At least, not slept in a bed.

Would it help or hurt if he told Jethro the truth? Jethro would be pissed that they'd gone after Alejandro without him. He'd be even more pissed – in the short term – to know they'd let him go. Though when cooler heads reappeared, he'd understand the reasoning and probably approve.

Gibbs was also not going to be happy that McGee hadn't immediately reported his discoveries to his team leader. Fornell would protect the kid as much as he could, but Jethro would hold a grudge. For a while, anyway.

On the other hand, knowing they were so much closer to a resolution of the case might speed up Jethro's recovery.

Fornell figured it was a draw. He'd wait for Jethro to ask, but when he did, he wouldn't lie.

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When the movie ended, Abby saw what was up next and insisted they HAD to watch. Gibbs understood she wanted to stay for other reasons, but he didn't mind. Sending Tobias home had been a mistake he would admit only to himself, and he was glad for her company. Abby made popcorn in the microwave and got herself a beer out of the fridge. Gibbs declined – blaming it on the medications – but accepted more juice. He managed only a handful of popcorn before his stomach objected. Abby eventually noticed his queasiness and encouraged him to lie down. She sat on the floor in front of the couch with the popcorn bowl in her lap.

After a while, he started to drift. The first time the memory made him jerk awake, Abby asked if he was okay. He brushed it off. The second time, she silently reached over her shoulder and took his hand, pulling it down to hold it in front of her. He fell asleep sometime after that and didn't wake again until his phone rang. He was surprised to discover she was still holding his hand.

"What do you want for breakfast?" Abby asked, headed for the kitchen after returning from the bathroom. She'd taken off the hoodie, revealing a plain white tank top, and was padding around in a pair of multi-colored socks. Her hair was back in pigtails.

"Coffee," Gibbs replied. He stood, shaky.

"You need to eat something," Abby called from the kitchen. "You're losing weight."

Gibbs frowned. Losing weight? What the hell was she talking about?

"Not hungry," Gibbs said. He started upstairs.

He was aching all over this morning. He felt like he was in the fourth or fifth day of a really bad flu. There wasn't a lot of actual specific pain – for which he was grateful – but it was hard to move. Climbing the stairs was a struggle and he used the hand rail both for balance and to pull himself up.

In his bathroom, Gibbs noticed his urine was really dark. Not enough fluids, he supposed. When he finished, he took the ARVs and a Reglan. He picked up the Vicodin, looking at it for a long moment before setting it aside. He opened the medicine cabinet instead and took out a bottle of ibuprofen. He shook out three, decided to go with four, and swallowed them with a full glass of water.

The last packet of wash powder was sitting on the counter. Gibbs petulantly considered throwing it away: One more or less surely couldn't matter. But he knew Tobias would not be happy with him. Not that Tobias would necessary know. But he'd probably ask, and then Gibbs would have to either cop to it, or lie.

With a sigh, Gibbs set about preparing the mix. He locked the bathroom door and took care of it. When it was done, he turned on the shower to warm and brushed his teeth while he waited. He pulled off the bandage around his right wrist and examined the abrasions. They had finally scabbed over. That was progress he could at least see. His neck looked much better, too. The bruises had turned to the point it just looked like he'd been sweating in the dirt.

Stepping into the shower, Gibbs stood under the spray and let the warm water soothe his aching muscles. He'd actually slept pretty good last night, once he settled in. He couldn't explain it, he was just glad for it. He still felt the stirrings of guilt for what he'd almost done to DiNozzo, but the rest had given him the reserve to push it into the box in which it belonged: These things happen. The important thing was the bullet had missed. He'd stay away from loaded guns until he was sure the… whatever those moments were… were over for good. It would be fine.

When the hot water started to run out, Gibbs got out and slowly dried off. He pulled on underwear and a pair of old jeans, noticing absently that they seemed a little looser than usual. Must have stretched in the wash. He added a belt and pulled on a casual blue button down, stuffing a pair of socks in his shoes before carrying them downstairs. Fornell would be here in half an hour, and they'd go over to DiNozzo's. Ziva would be ready for some relief. Maybe Abby could spend the day over there? He wasn't keeping Tony covered for fear of attack, just to make sure someone was with him until he was more stable. Abby would fill that role nicely.

When he turned into the dining room, he was surprised to see Leon Vance sitting at his table drinking coffee. Vance was casually dressed, obviously not planning to go to the office. Gibbs had to think for a second to remember it was Sunday.

"Good morning, Leon," Gibbs said. He dropped his shoes by a chair and continued into the kitchen. Abby was whisking eggs in a bowl. When their eyes met, he silently asked, and Abby shrugged. Vance had apparently not said why he was here. Gibbs filled a mug and took a sip, steeling himself for whatever was to come.

"Morning, Gibbs. How you feeling this morning?" Vance asked when Gibbs returned to the table.

"Little run down," Gibbs acknowledged, knowing it would be useless to deny that much. If Sam Carver could see it, Leon certainly could. He sat across from his boss.

"How's DiNozzo?" Vance asked, sipping at his cup.

"Improving," Gibbs said. He held his coffee between both hands to still the sudden tremor he could feel in his fingers.

"Good to hear." Gibbs squeezed the mug tightly and took a drink. Abby came out of the kitchen.

"I can make plain scrambled eggs or omelets. Which do you want, Gibbs?"

"Really not hungry, Abby," Gibbs answered, glancing over at her while he returned his mug to the table. It stuttered a little against the surface before he could get it down, the liquid sloshing but not spilling.

"Would you excuse us for a few minutes, Miss Sciuto?" Vance said.

"No," Abby replied simply. Vance frowned, clearly surprised at her response.

"No?" he repeated.

"No," Abby said again. "This isn't the Navy Yard, it's Gibbs' house. And we're not working. So unless he says go, I stay." Her voice was determined, if the tiniest bit shaky, and Gibbs silently cheered. Loyalty was a beautiful thing.

"Gibbs?" Vance turned back to him, seeking his intervention.

"Say what you want to say, Leon."

Abby pulled out the chair at the end of the table and sat down, resting her chin in her hands. The director paused a moment and let out a small huff of breath before speaking.

"When were you planning to tell me what happened last week?"

"I already did," Gibbs said immediately. His heart clenched a little.

"Assault, head injury times two, blood exposure," Vance said. "That's what you told me."

"That's right," Gibbs said.

"And the rest? When were you going to tell me the rest?"

"Nothing more to tell," Gibbs said.

"Nothing?" Vance raised an eyebrow. Gibbs remained stubbornly silent.

Glancing at Abby, clearly hesitant to continue, Vance did anyway. "I don't consider sexual assault nothing."

"It's none of your business, Leon," Gibbs said. His voice was nowhere near as strong as he'd have liked, and he felt a rush of burgeoning anxiety. What the hell was that about?

Vance's eyes widened almost theatrically and he raised his voice. "None of my… what the hell do you mean, none of my business? One of my people gets raped and you don't think I should know about it?"

"How did you find out?" Gibbs asked. In contrast to Vance's incredulity, his words were tight and low. He could feel his chest tightening, and the stirrings of panic symptoms beginning. He silently begged for calm. This was even more insane than what had happened last night. Gibbs knew there was no threat here, from this man he'd known and worked with for 20 years or more. But no matter how much he silently berated himself, his body didn't seem to agree. Again, his heart rate was increasing along with his breathing, and he could feel sweat starting to bead under his arms and down the middle of his back.

Leon, oblivious to the effect he was having on Gibbs, continued at a lower volume but with no less intensity. "I got a call this morning from the FBI's inter-agency liaison asking who was going to pay for the surveillance operation going on in Georgetown last night. When I asked what operation she was referring to, I was informed it was related to the new victim in your serial rapist case. From last Tuesday. Didn't take a lot of figuring to put it together. And I tell you, Gibbs, of all the things you've kept from me over the years, this… this is too much. You should've told me."

Gibbs stared at him, saying nothing. He was the victim here. He would not try to justify keeping it within the family. Besides, he was too busy trying to keep from bolting.

"Did you go to the hospital?" Vance asked when Gibbs failed to respond, trying to set aside his anger for the moment.

"Yes," Gibbs said. He flexed his fingers against his mug. The trembling in his hands was increasing along with his pulse.

"Get a rape kit done?"

Gibbs hesitated. He wasn't ready to make himself part of the case. But he wasn't comfortable lying outright, knowing Vance could easily get the truth out of Abby.

"Yes," he finally said.

"Where is it? There's nothing logged into evidence. I checked."

At the end of the table, Abby shrunk a little in her chair.

"Secure. If it generates any new evidence, we'll use it. Otherwise, there's no reason to bring it into the case." He took a deep breath, trying to force himself to relax. It was just Leon. He could do this.

Vance stared at him, his jaw working. He'd quit chewing on toothpicks awhile back, and looked like he really wished he had one.

"And I supposed Ms. Sciuto's name will be on the chain of evidence," Vance said finally, looking her way. She looked down, her mouth twisting the way it did when she was feeling guilty about something.

"What do you want, Leon?" Gibbs asked. The last thing he wanted was for Abby to get into trouble with Vance. It gave him a little courage.

"How serious were your injuries?" Vance asked.

"Not serious," Gibbs said, and Abby cleared her throat. Gibbs looked that way, and she silently insisted he speak up. There was a brief battle of wills before Gibbs gave in.

"Nothing that won't heal." That would have to be good enough.

"Did you inform Dr. Mallard?"

"Yes."

"Of course you did," Vance said. He sighed. "I really wish you'd told me, Gibbs."

"Why?" Gibbs asked. "What possible difference could it've made?"

"What difference?" Vance repeated. "What difference?" His voice was rising again. "For God's sake, Gibbs! I know we're not exactly friends, but you don't think I care about what happens to you? You don't think I'd be here in a damn New York minute if I thought there was something I could do to help?"

Gibbs once again found himself inexplicably on the defensive. It pissed him off. His apparent complete lack of control over his body wasn't helping, either.

"Look, Leon, it's my life, my business. You can't handle that, it's too damn bad. We're done. Show yourself out."

Gibbs pushed back in his chair and stood, stumbling a little and spilling his coffee. He left the mug behind and went for the stairs. He felt the desire to run overtake him and he gave in to it, moving faster. Three steps up, he caught his bare toes on a riser and stumbled. He grabbed at the handrail with one hand, going down hard on the other elbow and biting his tongue. Gibbs jerked himself back to his feet with a grunt and pushed on. He could faintly hear someone calling his name from behind him, but he didn't stop. He made it to the top of the stairs and spun towards his bedroom, bouncing one shoulder off the wall. Into his bedroom, breathing hard, he slammed the door and looked around for something to barricade it. Nothing heavy enough that he could move it and an intruder couldn't. Gibbs pushed through into the bathroom and closed the door, locking it before leaning his back against it. The thin door would be little protection. He looked for a weapon. There was nothing.

Gibbs closed his eyes, clenched his fists, and started to hyperventilate. There was no logic in what he was feeling: It was all fight or flight. He slid down to sit on the floor and put his head on his knees. No matter how much he told himself there was no threat, he couldn't stop the overwhelming feeling of danger. His brain was locked on only one thought: Run.

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It took a space of time, maybe three seconds or more, before either Abby or Vance reacted. It was as if their minds collectively froze, denying what their eyes had seen. Abby was first to break.

"Gibbs!" she called after him. She heard him crash on the stairs, heard his grunt of pain, and jumped up to follow. She got to the bottom of the stairs as Gibbs reached the top and called his name again. He didn't even hesitate. She made to the upper hall in time to see Gibbs slam the bedroom door.

Abby raced to the door, stopping with her hand on the knob. She knew better than to startle him: That would be a stupid idea even when he was in complete control. And he clearly wasn't at the moment.

"Gibbs?" she called. She heard the inside door close. Taking a breath and hoping she wasn't being stupid, she stepped into the room.

"Gibbs?" she said quietly. A quick look around told her he had to be in the bathroom.

"Is he alright?" Vance's voice behind her made Abby spin his way.

"I don't know," Abby said. "But he told you to leave." She was too focused on Gibbs to realize – or care – how insubordinate she was being.

"I'm not leaving you here alone with him," Vance said.

"What, you think he'd hurt me? Not on his worst day," Abby said dismissively. "Please get out of here."

Vance nodded. He couldn't argue with that logic. "I'll be in the hall."

Abby turned back to the closed bathroom door. She pressed an ear against the wood and heard Gibbs' heavy breathing. She hesitated, then tapped twice lightly on the door with one finger.

"Gibbs? Are you alright?"

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Someone tapped on the door, making Gibbs jump. He dug his feet and the heels of his hands into the floor and pushed back harder, shaking with the effort to keep the door closed. His eyes were shut and there was a low moan coming from deep in his throat.

"What the hell are you doing?" a voice asked. Gibbs' eyes snapped open.

Sitting on the edge of the tub, impossibly balanced somewhere between life and death, was his old friend Mike Franks.

...to be continued...