Every once in some unmeasured while, the opaque darkness lightened just a little, a few words pierced the boundary of silence where he floated.
Some of the voices were familiar. He'd even thought he'd heard ... Gibbs. Which couldn't be, because Gibbs had been ... the vision, as always, came unwanted: Ducky bending over Gibbs' blood-soaked body, his hand firmly clamped around a hemorrhaging wrist.
Tony tried to puzzle the incongruity out, but the thought skittered away from him into the pressing darkness and it was a while before he woke enough again to chase it.
Gibbs felt someone hovering over him and instinctively opened his eyes, as useless as that was. His left hand gripped at the vinyl arm of the lounge chair and he tensed against the cushioned back.
"Easy, Jethro." Ducky rubbed a hand along Gibbs' forearm. "Anthony is awake and off the respirator."
Gibbs sat up. "We can see him?"
"We can," reassured the physician. "Anthony is under the influence of some rather powerful painkillers. He is a bit disoriented. They thought we might be able to ground him a little."
Getting stiffly to his feet, Gibbs sorted through what Ducky had just said, "Disoriented?"
"It's not unusual in the case of traumatic injury. Anthony is a bit confused over what put him in ICU."
"He doesn't remember the wreck," concluded Gibbs.
"No, and he thinks the explosion is responsible for his current injuries. He will sort it all out in time. I just thought that if he saw you were all right—"
Gibbs shifted, drawing his injured hand against him. "Been a while since anyone called this 'all right', Duck."
"You can talk to him, Jethro," restated Ducky. "It may be all he needs is someone to ground him, hold his hand."
"Okay." Gibbs reached out his left hand, his touch floundering before Ducky captured the searching fingers and positioned them. "I can do that."
Ducky patted his hand. "Yes, you can."
"Tony?" Tony might be awake, but, for Gibbs, the only immediate change in the too cool room was the absence of the respirator's steady machinations. He leaned over the railing. "DiNozzo?"
The answering "hey" was badly slurred. The hand that weakly reached out went unseen.
Ducky pulled Gibbs' hand from the railing and wrapped it around Tony's reaching fingers, Gibbs leaning down to try and catch the soft mumblings.
"You 'kay?"
Gibbs tried to offer a smile. "I'm fine, Tony. You know what happened?"
"Bomb," came the soft reply.
"Nope." Gibbs heard the rustle of crisp sheeting as Tony turned his head. "Car wreck."
"I wreck' the car?"
"No. A semi wrecked the car for you."
"Don' remember."
Gibbs did smile, genuinely, at the petulance in the drugged voice. "Don't worry. It'll come back to you after you get off the joy juice."
"Mmm," murmured Tony, his fingers tightening on Gibbs'. "Gonna stay, boss?"
"As long as they'll let me."
Tony shifted more energetically, then groaned at the pain he'd reawakened. Small grunts of discomfort were huffed between his words. "Not the same without you."
Gibbs rubbed a thumb over Tony's knuckles. "It's okay, Tony. Go to sleep. I'll be here."
"Promise?"
Gibbs gave the fingers in his a squeeze. "Yeah, I promise."
"Ow." Tony squinted at the hardware protruding from his suspended right leg. Obviously he was pumped with some serious pharmaceuticals because nothing really hurt, but it looked –
"Ow," he repeated, dropping his head back against the pillow to take in the rest of his surroundings. Which were, he admitted, not encouraging. Heart monitor. The little pulse checker on his finger. Lots of liquids running into the IV port near his collarbone.
He raised his head back up to look at his stomach, his hand twitching at the strip of cloth laying over it.
Staples. A whole row of them.
Tony winced, his breath releasing in a sudden gasp at the shear amount of metal that currently seemed to be embedded in his skin.
"Tony?"
Tony's gaze moved to the space beside the bed, to the odd sight of a thoroughly disheveled Gibbs – silver hair mussed, wrinkled shirt untucking itself from equally wrinkled khakis.
"Tony?" Gibbs tilted his head, turning to catch whatever sound had woken him.
"Hey, boss." Tony futilely snaked a hand out between the bars of the railing. "You okay?"
"I'm not the one who had to be cut out of a sedan."
"They cut me out?" Tony dropped his head back to the pillow again. "Ow."
"I don't need—"
Tony blinked awake again, his bleary vision clearing to give him a ringside seat to something he hadn't seen in a long time: a beleaguered Ducky trying to out-talk an obviously exhausted and very stubborn Gibbs.
"They will move Anthony to a regular room shortly. We all need to get some rest, Jethro. You included. There is no need for this bedside vigil."
"I shouldn't have let him go." Gibbs took a couple cautious steps, his hand out to buffer him from obstacles in his path, but after a few feet he stopped, unable to pace in the strange space.
"Jethro, this is in no way your fault."
"We hit the bottle pretty hard the night before, Duck. How long does alcohol take to clear the body?"
"The body can metabolize approximately one drink per hour. I believe by the time Anthony left, he had well overcome the effects of even several of your bourbons."
Gibbs turned a half circle and retraced his steps, Ducky lunging to catch him as he stumbled. "Jethro," Ducky huffed a bit as he momentarily supported Gibbs' weight, but his tone broached no argument. "This is enough."
Gibbs nodded as he straightened, a dispirited acquiescence. Ducky happened to glance toward the bed, and seeing alert blue eyes, put a finger to his lips.
"Kate booked us rooms at the Hyatt. After we all take a nap, we will return. Anthony will not even know the difference." His gaze locked reassuringly with Tony's,
"Okay." Gibbs put a hand out. "Just let me ..."
"Here," Ducky led him toward the bed. "He'll be fine, Jethro."
Gibbs dropped his hand behind the railing and smoothed his palm over the coolness of the sheets, listening, unaware of the blue eyes that watched his every move. After a second he drew back, holding his hand out for Ducky, who took it, the physician's other hand moving to clasp Tony's in a brief, thankful farewell.
Ducky retrieved the key from the desk clerk, offering a mildly reproving look at the young man's unabashed study of a drooping Gibbs before leading his charge to the elevator with a gentle, "Come along."
"Give me the layout," instructed Gibbs even as he leaned wearily against the doorframe.
"The only thing you need to know is where the bed is," replied Ducky, walking Gibbs to the end of the first double bed and planting his hand against the mattress. He turned the covers and sat Gibbs unceremoniously down on the clean sheets. Then he knelt stiffly, removing Gibbs' shoes.
"Ducky, I'm not an invalid," Gibbs protested.
"Sleep," ordered the physician, dropping the second shoe to the floor.
Gibbs leaned back, finding the headboard with his hand then dropping against the unfamiliar pillow. "You're sure he's not going to—"
"Sleep, Jethro." Ducky lay down on his own bed, sighing deeply. "Anthony will be fine for a few hours."
"He shouldn't have come."
Ducky grunted, hoping the lack of a true verbal response would give Gibbs the idea that he was dropping off. Something he looked forward to doing, as soon as he saw his roommate was safely asleep.
"'Told him I didn't need a pity fuck."
Ducky's eyes re-opened. "Anthony offered to—"
"'kissed me." Gibbs was definitely dropping off now, his voice slowed and dreamlike. "Should have kissed back."
Ducky rose up on his elbows and frowned at the body sprawled, legs on top of the covers, on the other bed. Sighing, he got up and pulled the sheet and blanket up, covering Gibbs. "We can talk about this later." He patted an exposed shoulder. "Sleep," he repeated.
Gibbs rolled over, burrowing his face into the pillow. After a minute, Ducky went back to his and did the same.
"Duck?"
Ducky groaned. "What time is it?"
The mechanical sound of Gibbs' talking watch ground against his ears. "Eight twenty-seven PM."
"Duck?" prodded Gibbs again, "Bathroom?"
"Oh," Ducky rolled up and, putting a hand to his back, limped over to where Gibbs sat hunched over on the side of the bed. "This way."
"Your back out?" asked Gibbs as Ducky shuffled them both along.
"At my age, the body does not appreciate a change in lodging." Ducky ran Gibbs' hand along the cabinet, "Sink. Now reach to your left and you'll find the loo."
Gibbs waved him off with a "got it" and Ducky retreated to the desk to find the room service menu.
By the time Gibbs reappeared he had ordered a pair of hamburgers and was chatting with a just-awakened Abby who had staggered from her bed only to flop on Gibbs' mussed sheeting in a back-bending stretch and view him upside-down.
"Abs?" questioned Gibbs, unaware of the blissful smile that the nickname brought to the lab tech's face. "Where's Kate?"
"She's on Tony-watch. She went back a couple hours ago."
"You're fine, Jethro, come straight and there will be a chair." He watched the careful steps. "Stop. Just to the right."
Abby watched Gibbs settle in the upholstered seat. "This is all my fault."
"No, it's not, Abby," retorted Ducky.
Abby rolled over, settling on her stomach, pushing back jet black hair from her face. "I'm the one who talked him into it."
"No one is to blame except the intoxicated driver. Not you. And not you either, Jethro," he added for good measure.
Gibbs buried his face in the palm of his hand, his exposed eyes feeling vulnerable. "What kind of recovery are we looking at? Can he go back to work?"
"Eventually," acknowledged Ducky. "His leg will need extensive rehab."
"But it's not career-ending," Gibbs reconfirmed.
"Somebody better tell Kate he has a career." Abby clasped her hand over her mouth. "Forget I said that. That was ... snarky of me. When I'm tired, I get snarky, it's like some biochemical—"
"Abby."
Abby jerked her attention to Gibbs. "Yeah, boss?"
"He'll have a career."
"'kay," said Abby. "And you didn't hear—"
"Didn't hear anything, Abs."
"Kate?"
Staring at the muted pastel print across the waiting room, lost in thought, Kate hadn't heard their approach but she found herself automatically responding to Gibbs' unvoiced request with an immediate report, just like in the old days when Gibbs' desk wasn't hers.
"He's doing fine. They plan to move him to a regular room tomorrow if everything keeps going well."
Gibbs groped out for the nearest chair and Ducky eased him toward it.
"How are you?" he asked when he'd settled into the next lounger.
Kate pondered the question, taking a deep sigh before answering, "Okay. I, uh, got to have a little talk with Tony. Well, not much of one, he's still a little out of it."
Ducky coughed politely, drawing the pair's attention, "If you'll excuse me, I shall attempt to get an update out of the nursing staff."
"He leaving us alone for any particular reason?" inquired Kate as she watched the ME head for the door.
"You're a fine agent, Kate. I'm sure you make a fine senior."
Kate grimaced, settling deeper into the chair. "Why do I think I'm not going to like this?"
"When I left ... it was rather abruptly. And I left you without any guidance, for that I apologize."
"Gibbs, you were hurt."
"Yeah, but mainly, I was scared," corrected Gibbs. "I wasn't ready to admit I'd lost my independence. Wasn't ready to have you find out I needed you more than you needed me. Any of you. And in doing that, I did you all a disservice."
"I'd learned a lot from you, just watching. I did okay. I knew how to—"
"I know you did," interrupted Gibbs. "You've done a good job. Ducky says Morrow's very happy with your performance. I just don't know that you're emulating the right person. I was a big fan of competition, Kate. Maybe too big of one. I set agents against each other because I thought it made them harder, smarter. I played people, manipulated them if I had to, to get to my goal. I played you against Tony, and Tony against you, because it got me what I wanted."
"I think that ... competition was already there," countered Kate.
"Maybe, but I didn't have to exacerbate it. I could have showed you how to work as a team, despite your differences. But I didn't. Instead I fostered a climate of one-upsmanship." Gibbs turned his face in Kate's direction. "Why do you think you were the one put in charge? Honestly."
He waited awhile in the resulting silence before pointing out, "Tony had seniority in the agency."
"Because I'm more dependable."
"Define dependable," ordered Gibbs mildly.
"I don't run off on wild tears." A touch of irritation crept into Kate's voice. "I obey orders."
"But you're not as good undercover," observed Gibbs, wishing he could see Kate's face, he had only audible cues to rely on to tell him if he'd already gone too far. He could hear the slight pick-up in her hushed breathing. "You don't think on your feet quite as quickly as Tony does."
"Okay," Kate struggled to control the defensive tone, "if that's true, why didn't you leave him in charge?"
"Because Tony's best skills are street-skills, not office ones. But it doesn't mean he's not as good an agent. It doesn't mean he couldn't have done the job if it were given to him. Hell, I did the job and my skills definitely aren't office ones."
"Your paperwork was impeccable."
"Yeah," offered Gibbs honestly, "almost made up for my people-skills being abysmal."
"Abby worships the ground you walk on. So does Tony."
"I think DiNozzo is a little more discriminating than that, and Abby is willing to overlook most any shortcoming if you let her be ... Abby."
"I somehow doubt the same could be said of their opinion of me."
Gibbs could hear Kate moving restlessly. He put out a hand to still the agitation, the forearm he lightly grasped feeling small and somehow fragile beneath his hand.
"Just because Tony butts head with you doesn't mean he doesn't respect you. I need to know you understand that. I need to know you have each other's backs."
"Of course we do, Gibbs. Just because we argue doesn't mean—"
"Say it to Tony," Gibbs instructed.
"Okay," conceded Kate. "Maybe you're right."
Gibbs moved his hand down to clasp Kate's. "Thank you."
