Silent Misery R&R - Chapter 30
by HidingInSight
Fornell reached the Director's door first and tried it. Locked. He could hear snatches of … something loud … coming through the door.
"Gibbs!" He yelled, knocking hard. He paused for a second and listened, his ear to the door. No response, just what sounded like random voices.
"Jethro, open the door!" Fornell said and pounded on it with the side of his fist.
A guard jogged up. "Simmons said you need to get in there, Agent David," he said, and produced a key.
"Give it to me," Fornell said and reached for it.
"No," the guard said, pulling his hand back. "Who are you?"
"Give it to me," Ziva echoed him, and held out her hand. "Now, please," she continued when she saw him hesitate.
The guard reluctantly handed it over and Ziva slipped the key into the lock. As soon as the door cracked open, Fornell pushed past them and into the office.
Gibbs was lying on the carpet in front of the director's desk, curled into himself with his back to the door. The big screen on the wall was flipping from one TV channel to the next, the volume at near maximum.
"Jethro!" Fornell cried. He fell to his knees beside Gibbs, grabbing a shoulder. Gibbs' body was stiff and unyielding.
"I'll get the medics," Ziva said, reaching for the phone.
"Wait," Fornell ordered. There was no reaction from Gibbs as Fornell pressed two fingers against his carotid artery. Strong, steady, slightly elevated.
"Jethro," Fornell called loudly over the noise from the monitor. Still no response. He knee-walked around in front of the fallen man. Gibbs' breathing was shallow and fast, his mouth slightly open, eyes tightly shut.
"Come on, Jethro, wake up," Fornell said, and patted Gibbs' upturned cheek. Gibbs had his hands pulled into his belly and Fornell could see he was holding the remote for the plasma tightly in one fist. He glanced over his shoulder in time to see the screen flash past a view of Montero and his lawyer, still sitting in interrogation. Fornell instantly put it together and he sighed.
"Damn it, Jethro," he said under his breath.
"Shall I call?" Ziva prompted.
"No," Fornell replied. He glanced over to where the guard was still standing, eyes wide.
"Get out," Fornell said. The guard opened his mouth to reply, but Ziva beat him to it.
"We will handle this. Thank you," she said. The guard frowned, but nodded sharply and left, closing the door behind himself.
Fornell tried to pull the remote out of Gibbs' hand, but Gibbs refused to let go. Like that first day in the hospital, he was there, but not.
"Can you turn that thing off?" he asked Ziva. She looked around for the remote.
"He's got it," Fornell said. "Won't let it go."
Ziva nodded and went to the monitor. Feeling along the edge of it until she found the power button, she turned it off. The screen winked out for a moment, then came right back on.
"He must be holding a button," she said. Fornell tried again to wrestle the remote away. Gibbs silently resisted.
"Pull the plug," Fornell said. Ziva stretched her arm up and behind the monitor. It took a moment for her to find the hidden plug, and a few more to wiggle it free. The plasma darkened, finally silenced.
"Is he alright?" Ziva asked, coming to stand beside them.
"Yeah. He was probably watching the interrogation. It's happened a couple of times since …" He trailed off. "It's the memory. He's been …" Fornell hesitated, searching for the right word.
"Dissociating," Ziva supplied. "It is not uncommon after a traumatic event."
Fornell nodded. That sounded right. "Help me get him to the couch," he said.
With Fornell at his head and Ziva holding his legs, the two managed to pick Gibbs up off the floor and carry him to the Director's couch. It was more difficult than it would have been had he truly been unconscious: The stiffness of his muscles kept him in a partially curled up position even as they moved him. They laid him on his side facing the room.
"How long does it last?" Ziva asked after he was settled. Gibbs had made no movement or sound during the transfer.
"Usually a few minutes. Sometimes longer," Fornell said. "No way to know how long he's been out already." Fornell stood in front of the couch, watching for a moment before turning back to Ziva.
"I'll stay with him. Hold the door?" It was something more than a request, but not quite an order. Ziva nodded, understanding. She turned away and a few seconds later, the door snicked shut.
With Gibbs still curled up, there was room for Fornell to squeeze into the space between Gibbs' head and the couch arm. He lifted Gibbs' head into his lap and settled back. Fornell expected him to wake at any moment and when he didn't, the fed rested a hand against Gibbs' head and began scratching gently at his scalp in a way he knew Gibbs liked. Fornell began speaking softly, telling the silent man he was safe and loved.
It took a long period of minutes before anything changed. It was subtle at first: Gibbs' breathing began to deepen and there was a slight lessening of the tension in his shoulders. After a few more minutes, his mouth closed fully and Fornell felt his body relax and settle against the couch. A minute or more after that, there was a soft thud as Gibbs finally released the remote and it hit the carpet.
Fornell kept talking to him, words of love and comfort, idly watching the clock on the wall tick out the minutes. Five, ten, then twelve before Gibbs twisted slightly, turning so he was lying mostly on his back.
"You awake, Jethro?" Fornell raised his voice some. There was a twitch in Gibbs' face, but he didn't open his eyes.
"You're alright. I'm here," Fornell said, and rested a hand on Gibbs' chest. A few minutes later, Gibbs took a deeper breath and his eyelids fluttered open.
"Wake up, Jethro. It's okay," Fornell said. Gibbs looked up at Fornell. His features showed confusion.
"I'm here," Fornell repeated. Gibbs turned his head slightly, looking around.
"Vance's office. You remember?" Gibbs frowned, then looked surprised. He tensed and made to sit up. Fornell pushed slightly against his chest, suggesting but not insisting he stay where he was.
"No one here but us," Fornell said. "Ziva's got the door."
It took a moment for the words to penetrate, then Gibbs relaxed back against Fornell's lap. He blinked several times and raised a hand to rub at his face.
"Just relax. You've been out for a while."
Gibbs nodded slightly and closed his eyes again before taking another deep breath and blowing it out.
"How long?" Gibbs said, his voice thick.
"Were you out?" Fornell asked. Gibbs nodded.
"Awhile. Not exactly sure. I left you in the squad room about an hour and half ago." Fornell paused. "You were watching the interrogation." He made it a statement. Gibbs frowned, then nodded.
"McGee get him?" Gibbs asked. He was finding it a little hard to speak.
"Don't know," Fornell replied. "I left early." He paused, waiting for Gibbs to mention Fornell's interruption. There was nothing. Another couple of minutes passed while Gibbs stared at the ceiling and Fornell carded his fingers through his hair.
With a deep sigh, Gibbs finally sat up. He swung his feet off the couch and leaned forward with his hands in his lap, dropping his head. A few breaths, and Gibbs cleared his throat.
"The son of a bitch is right you know," he said.
"About what?" Fornell asked. He didn't have to ask which son of a bitch Gibbs was talking about.
"I'm gonna have to testify."
Fornell frowned, tilting his head slightly as he tried to remember Montero saying anything on that issue. Gibbs continued, still looking at the floor.
"Our lieutenant is the only witness willing to speak up. He's too cocky, too … sure of his damn story. If she stands alone, the jury's gonna look at it as a 'he said, she said,' and the bastard's gonna walk."
"You don't know that," Fornell said. "We'll talk to the other witnesses, convince them."
Gibbs was already shaking his head. "Won't work. Nothing we can tell them is going to beat their desire to forget all about it. It's why we didn't know about him for so long. We only found them because of some online thing Abby did. Not one of them told us anything willingly." He paused. "It's got to be me." He lifted his head and looked over. "It's got to be me," he repeated.
Though the logic was sound, Fornell didn't like it. "You can't. You get on the stand, and they're going to ask questions you don't want to answer."
Gibbs looked at him questioningly. "What have I got to hide?"
Fornell snorted, and Gibbs waved a hand slightly before rephrasing his question. "What have I got to hide that a defense attorney would care about?"
Fornell stared at him. "For starters, me."
A pause, then: "It gonna bother you, people knowing about us?"
"No," Fornell said. "But what are you going to say when some high-priced defense attorney starts grilling you about our sex life?"
"Nothing. It's not relevant."
Fornell made an exasperated sound. "Be serious, Jethro. When did relevancy ever play a role in a sex crimes trial? You know more often than not, the victim ends up the one on trial. Especially if Montero tries to say you and he …" Fornell trailed off. "He says it's always consensual. He's gonna claim the same about you."
"Won't hold up. I'm a federal agent. What motive would I have for lying?"
"They'll make it about being gay. They'll get a dozen of your agents to say they didn't know you were sleeping with me, make it like you're on the DL, hiding your sexuality and embarrassed by it." He paused to let that sink in. "Even if your testimony sells it, you and me are gonna become relevant, real fast. In full detail. It's gonna be all over the Capitol. You gonna be able to handle that?"
"Will you?" Gibbs shot back.
"Doesn't matter to me. I've got no friends at the Bureau. Been a loner way too long. But you …" He stopped again.
"My people don't care."
"Not saying they'll care. Just saying there's no taking back the stuff they're going to make you reveal on the stand. You think it's gonna be business as usual on your team after they hear about what we did the night before? There's some things you can't unhear. And even if they don't make you reveal the details, your people have great imaginations."
Gibbs sighed. He understood what Fornell was saying. His team would get over it, he was almost certain, but he knew there were some who wouldn't be able to let it go.
"I'll deal with it if I have to. This is more important."
"What about DiNozzo?" Fornell asked.
"What about him?"
"He was there. If you testify, he's going to have to."
"He will."
Fornell threw him a look. "Really? Just like that? He's gonna get up on the stand and tell a courtroom full of people how he let you get raped?"
"He didn't," Gibbs snapped, real anger in his tone.
"I know," Fornell said placatingly. "But that's not what it's gonna sound like to people who weren't there. He's gonna have to tell everything that happened: He got caught with his gun holstered, got beat, was about to get it himself, then laid there and watched. You think he's gonna be able to say all that?"
"He'll do it," Gibbs said, his confidence clear.
"What makes you so sure?" Fornell asked.
"Because I'm gonna tell him to."
"Just like that?" Fornell said again.
"Just like that," Gibbs said. He stood suddenly, moving away from the couch with only a slight stutter step. "Let's go."
Fornell smothered a sigh and followed him.
As soon as the door opened, Ziva and McGee were on their feet.
"McGee, report," Gibbs said, forestalling their inevitable questioning. He started for the stairs, trailing his agents behind him.
"Montero says he has a lot of rough sex, but insists it's always consensual. Claimed not to remember much about Tuesday, but not very convincingly. He likes to brag, we might be able to use that. But I couldn't get him to admit being in the warehouse."
"Ziva," Gibbs called back over his shoulder as he rounded the landing. He was moving well, the pain present but distant.
"Both of the other men refused to speak. It did not matter what we threatened or promised, they were silent."
"Well trained," Gibbs said.
"It would appear so."
"Alright. Send them to holding, be sure they're kept separate. Then go home. We'll try Montero again in the morning." Gibbs sat behind his desk, returning the building master key to the the drawer. When he looked up, Ziva and McGee were still standing in front of him.
"I'm fine. Go home," Gibbs said with a touch of annoyance. When they didn't immediately move, Fornell spoke up from his position leaning on DiNozzo's desk.
"I'll make sure." Gibbs shot him a look, but it was what the agents had apparently been waiting for, because they both turned to gather their stuff and go.
The two senior agents sat in silence until the elevator doors closed and they were again alone in the big room. Fornell pushed away from the desk and moved to stand in front of Gibbs.
"You scared Ziva. I didn't think that was possible," Fornell said.
"Yeah," Gibbs said. He squared up the paperwork he'd been sorting through, paused, then pulled out DiNozzo's evaluation. He quickly ran lines down the 'meets expectations' column on three pages, checked where it said to grant the step increase, and signed his name. He folded it and sealed it into an envelope he found in a lower drawer, wrote 'HR' on the front, then once again levered himself upright.
Fornell followed Gibbs as he headed for the elevator, dropping the envelope in the inter-office mail on the way. Without further comment, they rode down to Fornell's car.
"Need to stop by DiNozzo's," Gibbs said when they were rolling. Fornell nodded. For the moment, he was just along for the ride.
NCIS*NCIS*NCIS
When they arrived at the apartment building, Gibbs told Fornell to wait in the car. He would do this alone. After a minimum of arguing, Fornell agreed and parked in a red zone.
Waiting in the lobby for the elevator, Gibbs had the strangest feeling of being watched. He focused on the space around his reflection in the chromed elevator doors, but there was no one behind him except the concierge. The concierge. Gibbs smiled slightly. Not enough that his Second lived in a building with two round-the-clock doormen, there had to be a concierge too.
The doorman on the curb had held the door for him, tipping his hat slightly in greeting. The man at the front desk had recognized him, acknowledged him, and let him pass. Gibbs had been on Tony's "no need to announce" list for years. From the elevator lobby, Gibbs couldn't see either of them. Only the concierge, reading a magazine of some kind at a desk bigger than Leon's. It was usually an Asian man named … Chris. This time, it was a young woman with long blond hair pulled back in a tight braid. She'd looked up when he arrived, smiled, then returned to her reading. She certainly wasn't watching him. But Gibbs couldn't shake the feeling. It crawled along the nape of his neck and down his spine, making him twitch. He was glad when the elevator arrived.
Upstairs, Gibbs knocked and waited for a response. Tony answered, clutching his support pillow. Abby was nowhere in sight, but the shoes she'd worn at Gibbs' house last night were lying by the door. Tony explained in low tones that she was napping. She hadn't gotten much sleep the night before, and after extracting a promise from Tony that he wouldn't try to sneak away, she'd gone to lay down for a bit. Gibbs was okay with that.
They took seats at the kitchen table and Gibbs tried to make the conversation brief: They didn't get a confession, but they got something. All three of the bastards were in holding. They'd try again in the morning. He had confidence McGee would get everything he could.
"What did he say about … Tuesday?" DiNozzo asked quietly.
"He hasn't admitted being there. Yet." Gibbs, too, kept his voice barely above a whisper.
"He give an alibi?"
"Not much of one," Gibbs said, trying to remember what he'd heard Montero say.
"What about the others? What'd they say?"
"Nothing. Not a word."
Tony considered that, biting at his lip.
"We're gonna get them, right?" he finally asked.
"Yes," Gibbs said firmly.
Tony cocked his head. "What aren't you telling me?" he asked. Gibbs silently cursed. He was usually better at keeping things hidden. This case had been hell on his control. Among other things.
On the ride over, he had debated with himself what to say to DiNozzo. It had been a really tough day already. He wasn't sure he was up to convincing Tony that he was eventually gonna have to tell the story in open court. He'd told Fornell that DiNozzo would do what he was told, but Gibbs knew it wouldn't be that easy. There were too many things underneath the surface on this one. He decide to go with his gut.
"Montero claims to be some kind of sex addict. Spends a lot of time at it, and likes it rough. But he says it's always consensual."
Tony frowned. "Consensual?"
"That's what he says."
"Always?" he repeated, like he wasn't sure he'd heard right.
"Always," Gibbs said again.
"He claims what he did to our lieutenant was consensual?" Confusion turning to incredulity now and his voice rising slightly.
Gibbs nodded. "Her and all the others. Says he has lots of rough sex, but the other party always consents and enjoys it. And he's gonna make a convincing witness." He waited for Tony to make the jump.
"What he did to us … to you … consensual?" This time, the disbelief was clear.
"He didn't actually say it," Gibbs said. "He denied knowing what McGee was referring to when he asked about Tuesday. But he said …" Gibbs trailed off, suddenly remembering the last thing he saw before his brain shorted out: Fornell, bursting into the room. Damn it.
"What? What did he say?" Tony demanded.
"He denied being there," Gibbs said simply, returning to the issue at hand. He'd deal with Tobias later. "Hinted he might have had sex with someone like … me … but denied being at the warehouse."
Tony stared, his face frozen. There was a space of a few seconds, maybe 10, where Gibbs really wasn't sure what would happen next. Then he spoke.
"McGee's going to get him to confess, right?" Tony asked. Uncharacteristically, Gibbs shrugged.
"He's gonna try. Might not work."
"Then what? Flip one of the other two?"
"No." Gibbs said flatly. Over his dead body would any of the three of them walk.
"Well, we can't kill them." Tony paused. "Can we?" His expression was almost hopeful.
"No," Gibbs said again, more gently this time. But in his soul he knew that if justice wasn't done, he would see to it that none of them lived to enjoy it.
"The lieutenant is tough, but if he's as convincing as you say, her testimony isn't gonna be enough."
"Probably not," Gibbs agreed. Tony was getting to it the same way Gibbs had.
"We're gonna need someone else to testify."
"Uh huh."
"No one else has been willing to come forward so far," he said.
"Nope."
Again, Tony stared at him. Then, a sigh.
"Thanks for letting me know," he said. Gibbs frowned a little, not sure he'd made the final connection. But when he said nothing more, Gibbs decided they'd gotten close enough to it that if Tony wasn't there yet, he would be soon. Gibbs stood.
"You want me to send Ziva or McGee over?" Gibbs asked. With the three men in custody, there was less of a need to make Tony stay put.
"Abby'll stay," Tony said.
"Good." He headed for the door, pausing in front of it to look back.
"Stay away from the Navy Yard," he said. Tony reluctantly nodded.
NCIS*NCIS*NCIS
When they got back to Gibbs' house, Gibbs went straight to the refrigerator and pulled out a bottle of beer. He used the edge of the counter to pop the top, tipped his head back and drained half the bottle in one go. When he stopped for breath, Fornell was standing in front of him with a concerned look on his face.
"No Vicodin all day," Gibbs said simply. Fornell nodded. Fair enough. He reached around Gibbs to grab his own bottle.
"You want to eat?" Fornell asked hopefully. Gibbs shook his head.
"Gonna lay down for a while."
"Want company?"
Gibbs took another long pull on the bottle. "Sit with me," he said. Fornell nodded.
They climbed the stairs together. Fornell was pleased to see Gibbs was moving relatively well, only a barely-three stiffness belying his claim to be pain free. Though Fornell supposed he hadn't actually claimed that. Only said he hadn't taken pain meds all day.
In the bedroom, Gibbs finished the bottle before pulling off his sweatshirt and toeing off his shoes. He laid out on the bed and turned on his side to face Fornell, who shrugged off his own jacket and took a seat in the rocking chair. Gibbs sighed deeply.
His mind was spinning. Despite what he'd told Fornell, the very idea of testifying, of telling the world he'd been raped, shook him. It was what he'd been hoping to avoid since they'd arrived at the hospital. He knew sexual assault was about power, but defense attorneys always tried to make it about the sex. Especially for men. He'd heard the questions himself a hundred times at trials involving military sexual trauma: Did you like it? Did it turn you on? Did you get hard? Did you orgasm? You did? Then you must have enjoyed it, right? You must have wanted it, right? Was it good for you?
And Tony. Gibbs knew the younger man still wasn't sure he wasn't somehow to blame. A defender doing his thing might bring that to the front again. Did you really do everything you could to stop it? Maybe it was consensual. Your boss volunteered, right? Said he wanted it? Enjoyed it maybe? Tony was going to have a tough time keeping his cool if it went that way, and losing it on the witness stand was rarely productive.
And what about what happened in Leon's office? His sense of it based on what Tobias said was that he was unconscious, unaware, absent, for most of an hour. What the hell was that about? How was he supposed to get on with his life if he was subject to … zone out at any moment? It wasn't bad enough that he was currently dangerous with a firearm. If some random memory could floor him like that, he wasn't safe to be out of the house. He certainly couldn't get back to work.
And the panic attack this morning. He hadn't had one that bad in years. He'd honestly thought they were gone for good. So many things, traumatic things, had happened over the past few years without the panic returning, he really thought he'd beaten it. What if this thing brought them back? What if the next time he was faced with life and death, he panicked?
And why did he still feel like someone was watching him?
The silence grew long, but not heavy. Gibbs tried to relax, tried to slow his spinning thoughts. But none of his usual tricks were working. He didn't close his eyes, staring at a middle distance between him and where Tobias was sitting in the rocking chair and taking slow, even breaths.
Fornell watched him in turn, their eyes not meeting. When he realized Gibbs wasn't going to sleep, Fornell softly asked the question that had been bothering him all day.
"You have panic attacks?"
After a long moment, Gibbs said: "Trauma-induced anxiety disorder, according to Ducky. Apparently related to, but not a part of, never formally diagnosed PTSD."
Fornell considered that. "How come I didn't know?" When Gibbs didn't respond, Fornell continued: "I've been a part of your life for more than 20 years, Jethro. Shared your bed for the last couple. How come I didn't know you have panic attacks?"
"Doesn't happen very often. Not worth talking about."
Fornell gave that a moment. "How often is 'not very often'?"
"Rarely enough you've never seen it," Gibbs said simply. Fornell nodded, hesitated, continued.
"How long have you had them?" Fornell asked.
Gibbs shook his head a little without looking up. "It doesn't matter, Tobias."
"It matters to me," he argued lightly.
Gibbs sighed again. "Long time," he said vaguely.
"Since '92?" A muscle in Gibbs' cheek jumped. He knew Fornell was referring to the year Gibbs' first wife and daughter were killed, the year he'd nearly lost his life in so many ways. So much had changed after that, and the ripples kept flowing.
"Before that," Gibbs said. "I was a kid the first time."
"How old?" Fornell asked.
"Why do you care?" Gibbs countered, and now he did meet Fornell's eyes.
Fornell smiled a little. "I care about you. Wish you'd told me. Might've been prepared."
Gibbs blew out a breath. "No way to prepare. Not even for me. They come, they go. Years go by. Stress builds, overwhelms, it happens."
"I didn't know," Fornell said.
"Does it bother you more that I have panic attacks sometimes, or that you didn't know about it?" Gibbs asked. There wasn't any heat in his tone. He seemed to be merely curious.
Fornell gave that some honest thought. "Seems like a pretty big thing to not know about the man you love. And coming out of left field like that, it scared me a bit. Plus …" he paused. "Jethro Gibbs having a panic attack? More than once? It's just … strange."
"You mean, wrong?" Gibbs asked.
"Something like that," Fornell admitted.
"We all have our weaknesses, Tobias. You know that."
"I do."
"Guess I'm lucky this one stays out of sight, most of the time."
There was nothing more for several minutes. Then Fornell spoke again.
"Considering all the crap you've experienced in your life, personal and professional, I'm surprised you're not sitting in a corner somewhere talking to the dust bunnies," he said. "There's nothing 'wrong' with getting overwhelmed sometimes."
"Hmm," Gibbs replied. He was pretty sure he didn't believe that. It did feel wrong to him, to lose control like that. Wrong and … weak.
He sighed again and rolled onto his back to stare at the ceiling. Unbidden, his mind spun to the first time it happened: The day his mother told him she had cancer. Jackson was at the store, and as was his habit, nine-year-old Jethro stopped in at home after school before heading there to do his chores. His mom had been sick for a long time, terrible weakness and nausea whenever she tried to move. She'd hardly been out of bed for a month. The doctor had been in and out, but nothing seemed to make her any better.
That day, the day he'd learned that nothing was forever, his mom had called him into her room and beckoned him up onto the bed. She'd told him he was a good boy, told him she loved him more than anything, then told him the doctor had finally figured out what was wrong. It was cancer, very advanced, and there was no cure. It wouldn't be long, she'd said, and she'd be gone. Then it would be up to him to make sure his dad was okay without her.
He was a sensitive kid, wise far beyond his years even then. He tried to deny it, but from the moment she said it he knew it was true. The very idea of life without his mom hit him like a hurricane and he'd run from the room, already in the throes of a panic he couldn't put words to, much less fully understand. He ran until he physically couldn't run any further before collapsing to the ground in the woods. A search party hastily arranged by his dad found him there hours after dark, still virtually unconscious. They'd carried him home and he hadn't come back to himself until he woke up in the morning.
It had happened for the second time only a week later, when she died. He didn't learn until years later that she'd intentionally overdosed on the pain medication the doctor had left. At the time, all he knew was hurt. And loneliness. And fear.
"Whatcha thinking about?" Fornell whispered, startling him a little.
"Everything," he said. "My mom," he added.
"How come?" Fornell asked.
"That was the first time."
This time it was Fornell's turn to say "Hmm."
Gibbs felt a sadness begin to descend. He didn't want to think about that time, the first time he'd felt loss. As usual, trying not to think about something made it all he could do. He had to make it stop. He found he couldn't do it.
"Could you make some soup?" Gibbs asked. "I might be able to eat."
"I can do that," Fornell said, obviously pleased.
As soon as he was gone, Gibb sat up and quickly went into the bathroom. He knew the fastest way to clear his mind was to sleep. And even as physically tired as he was, he also knew there was no way he was going to be able to do that without help. There was just too damn much going on in his head.
He ran a finger over the row of pill bottles, briefly considering the sleeping pills, then picking out the pain meds. He could take a couple and combined with the beer, it should mellow him out enough to sleep for a while. Fornell would kill him if he found out, but what he didn't know … It didn't escape him that he'd read DiNozzo the riot act for doing this exact thing a few days ago. Sometimes, it was do as I say time.
Gibbs swallowed two Vicodin and returned to the bed. He lay down facing the other way and started taking even, measured breaths. Even if he used the microwave, it would take Tobias at least five minutes to make the soup and get it up here. Maybe 10. That was enough time to settle into a convincing pretend sleep. He felt the tinniest bit of guilt for sending Tobias on a useless errand, but pushed it down. This was about him. And he wanted to sleep.
... to be continued ...