Disclaimer: See chapter 1. Nothing's changed since then.
A/N: Many thanks to everyone who has read, reviewed or read and reviewed. To put it mildly Alaidh and I have been totally overwhelmed by the response to our baby – the hit rate has been phenomenal (thank you FFN enhanced stats, lol) – over 500 during the first week of posting of Chapter 1. Once again, a thousand thankyous to Alaidh, my friend, beta and co-conspirator on this story. Without her, this story just wouldn't have happened.
Chapter 2
"Morning, Mr. D."
"Hi." Tony looked at the new arrival in some confusion.
"I'm Anne McCallister, your physio…PT. Gees, I'll never get used to saying that."
"Hey, you're an Aussie!"
"That would be Aussie with a zed – zee for you," she said, correcting his pronunciation.
"I love Aussies," he said, getting it right.
She was young and undeniably attractive, with short, dark hair and a light scattering of freckles across her face. She was also undeniably physically strong, and exuded such an air of competence that even Tony thought twice about flirting with her. "You'll be starting rehab soon," she said, pulling back the bedclothes and taking hold of one of his feet. Tony had a mini-bet with himself that her hands would be cold if he could feel them. He watched with detachment as she started to stretch the muscles and tendons and manipulate the joints, starting with his feet. "Why do you do that?" he asked suddenly.
"No one explained the ROMs to you?" she asked in response.
He shook his head in reply. "No, and I didn't ask."
"Hmm, aren't you an investigator?" When he didn't reply she continued with the explanation. "There's several reasons," she said, gently putting his leg down. She sat on the edge of the bed beside him, turned slightly sideways, swinging her foot. "Firstly, to keep the joints moving. You know how if you, I don't know, sit too long in one position then try to move everything just seizes up and it really hurts?"
"Yeah. I've done that."
"Haven't we all," she grinned. "You wanna chase Barbie dolls, not become one, right?"
Tony grinned.
"Secondly, to prevent contracture."
"Gotcha."
"Thirdly, to help prevent spasms."
"Okay."
"Basically, the stretches will help you reach and maintain optimum independence. Does that make sense?"
"Yes."
"Now, you ready to get out of that bed?" she asked. "Your surgeon said it would be okay to give you fifteen minutes in the chair today."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes, I'm sure. I'll be back in a minute," she said.
Anne was back a few minutes later with a wheelchair and a long piece of wood. She parked the chair and locked the brakes, then lowered the level of the bed to make the transfer easier. "Okay, let's get you upright." She offered her hands to pull him upright and then swung his legs around off the side of the bed.
"Whoah."
"You okay there?" Anne asked when she had him sitting on the side of the bed, propped on his arms.
"Not really, no," he said.
"It'll feel a little strange now, but you'll get used to it. Just let me know if you get dizzy." She pulled off the armrest of the chair and picked up the piece of wood. "This is a transfer or slide board. You probably won't always need it, but it's a useful tool for now." She looked at him critically as he sat propped on the edge of the bed dressed in a pair of boxer shorts, t-shirt covered by the TLSO vest with a short robe over the top then grinned. "Elegant outfit. You might want to get someone to bring you some drawers."
"Drawers?"
"Pants, silly."
"Okay, duly noted. Drawers, prawns…" he said, mimicking her Australian accent.
She grinned at him. "You wanna try this yourself with the slide board, or will I grab a couple of strong blokes to lift you?"
"I'll try,' said Tony, quietly, his tone serious. "I've got two shredded vertebrae and a severed spinal cord, so this is gonna be for the rest of my life. Might as well start the learning curve now as later."
Anne nodded as if to say "good boy". "Let's get you set up, then."
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Tony sat quietly by the window of his room, staring out at the view. He'd accomplished the transfer himself, and Anne had then left him for a few minutes to savor the feeling of success. It was an oddly terrifying feeling to be sitting in a chair. He had no feeling in his body from the hip area down, and he felt completely off balance. He was thankful that the clunky hospital wheelchair had armrests, and clutched them for the illusion of stability. Still, in another way, it also felt really good to be out of bed.
"Hey, Tony," a female voice said, entering his room, a voice he hadn't heard in quite a while.
"Kate!" Tony turned his head to look, an expression of pleasure on his face.
"Gibbs asked me to drop off your mail," she said, dropping said mail on the table before walking over to the window. "How you doin'? You look a lot better than the last time I saw you."
"Well, since I don't remember seeing you since I was shot…"
"Gibbs's been like a bear with a sore head," she said, promptly changing the subject. Tony intuitively sensed that Kate was feeling a certain amount of discomfort.
"He gets like that when he's hurting, Kate, you know that," Tony said. "He feels responsible for what happened to me. He'd be the same if it were you or McGee or any one else."
"Yeah, I know." She turned her head, hearing Anne enter the room.
"Time's up, bozo," the PT said.
Tony held up his hand in a "one moment" gesture, releasing his death grip on the arm of the chair. "Thanks for coming, Kate."
"You're welcome, Tony."
Tony visibly sagged, obviously flagging, as soon as Kate was out the door. "You gonna be able to manage the transfer?"
"Sure," he said, his smile overly bright.
She lined him up with the bed and helped situate the slide board, checking carefully that it was properly under his body. "Okay, go," she said.
Tony started moving slowly across, laboriously shifting his weight onto the board under the close scrutiny of the therapist. "Ah, damn!" the exclamation came as Tony found himself stuck and then falling forward, unable to resist the force of gravity. Anne caught him by the shoulders with quick hands, rebalancing his weight on the board.
"Hey, take it easy. You want a hand?" He looked up at her feeling a little foolish. "Let me take the weight of your legs. That'll make things easier."
He nodded slowly. "Yeah, sure."
"Tony," she said with a smile. "Baby steps, okay?" She picked up his legs in a sure grip around the ankles. "Hey, legs like these, you must have been a runner," she quipped, balancing the weight. "Now try it."
He gave her a hesitant smile that quickly turned into a wider grin as he found himself able to move. He waited until he was properly settled in the bed before speaking again. "Thanks, Anne."
"You're welcome, Tone. Take it easy, 'kay? Things'll seem hard right now, but it will get better, I promise."
"It's not like I have a choice, right?"
"Nope, no choices." She looked at her watch. "Okay, got another patient to see. Enjoy the rest of your day."
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Gibbs was in early the following morning with a large plastic bag in one hand and a potted plant in the other. "What've you got there, boss?" Tony asked.
He dropped the bag on the edge of the bed, catching it quickly when it started to tilt and leaning it back against Tony's legs. "Brought you some clothes – sweatpants and things."
Tony looked both surprised and thankful. "Thanks, boss."
Gibbs, for once, looked a little uncertain. "Kate said you could use them."
Tony nodded in the affirmative. "I can. And what's that?" he asked, looking at the curious little plant that Gibbs set down on the rolling table.
"From Abby. She thought you could do with some…passion in your life – whatever that means."
Tony gestured for Gibbs to move the out-of-reach tray-table forward. He examined the handwritten plastic tab stuck into the potting mix in which an odd little plant with purple leaves grew. "Purple passion vine" he said out loud. "Interesting. Must be a goth thing."
"Yeah, I guess."
Gibbs had been as confused as Tony when Abby had handed him the strange plant, with its dark greenish purple leaves. They were slightly hairy and almost looked like bats. Gibbs also noted that Tony's mother had sent him yet another floral arrangement – the third in as many weeks. This one consisted of a complex arrangement of dark yellow late spring exotics.
Ducky had filled Gibbs in on what Tony had told him about his family. They both had a hard time understanding the attitude of Tony's parents to their only child. While Gibbs found Tony's impetuosity and general lack of seriousness to be a trial from time to time, DiNozzo also had a disarming charm, and brought to the job so much enthusiasm and enjoyment that Gibbs found it hard to give him more than the odd reprimand. He found it incredible that Tony's family could disown him, as they obviously had. Under Gibbs' not so patient guiding hand he was shaping into a capable agent, with occasional brilliant leaps of intuition, the ability to charm witnesses into revealing their secrets, and the kind of reckless courage he'd seen from himself. And he had nothing but respect for the way DiNozzo was facing up to his current difficulties. Other than one angry outburst brought on by insecurity, Tony had pretty much just been his usual self.
Tony noted where Gibbs' eyes had gone and gave a wry smile. "She keeps threatening to visit," he said. "I told her not to bother." A momentary expression of pain crossed his face, but was quickly replaced by the normal Tony smile. "So, what's goin' down in the outside world, boss?"
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Anne saw the slim, angular, gray-haired man leaving Tony's room as she was getting ready for Tony's next session. Anne entered the room with a cheerful, "G'day."
"G'day yourself," Tony responded, pulling out a pair of navy blue sweat pants from the bag Gibbs had left.
"Cool. I see your dad brought you some clothes."
"Who, Gibbs?"
"The skinny gray-haired guy with the bad haircut."
"No, no, no, no," Tony laughed. "He's…not my dad. He's my boss."
Anne blushed bright red. "I'm so sorry…I thought…never mind."
Tony adopted a more serious expression. "Gibbs is better than my dad. He's here and he actually cares."
Anne picked up the pants, taking them from Tony's hands. "These look pretty good. Guess we're in business," she smiled. "Want me to put the rest of this stuff away for you?"
"Please."
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Tony was startled out of a doze by the clicking of heels on the floor of his room. "Anthony? My poor darling boy," a soft voice said.
"Mom? What are you doing here?" Tony shook his head to clear some of the fuzziness induced by a daytime nap.
"I've come to look after you, sweetheart."
He looked at his mother blankly, taking in her perfectly coiffed light brown hair, understated makeup and tailored suit, and was instantly suspicious. "Mom, I don't need to be looked after."
"But sweetheart, it's so long since we saw you. I want you to come home and live with us."
"No, Mom. I have a home and a job here." Tony's jaw started to develop a dangerously stubborn set. He could see where this was heading and he didn't like it one bit.
"But surely you're gonna quit your job now. It's so dangerous…and…look what happened. I never wanted you to be a policeman or whatever the hell you call it."
"No, Mom."
Gibbs, standing outside the room, held a finger to his lips when he saw the PT coming toward him. He was grinning broadly at the exchange, the two voices carrying out into the corridor. Tony's mother's voice was developing a slightly hysterical edge to it, while Tony himself had a kind of controlled tightness to his as he said for the fourth time that he was not going to leave his job, and his home.
"But Anthony, I want to look after you now that you're an invalid."
"No, Mom. I will not be paraded before your friends like some kind of prize, 'Oh, and this is my son Anthony who was shot in the back. He was a Law Enforcement Officer, you know.'" Tony's voice was a perfect mimic of his mother's. "All you want is to show your snooty, in-bred friends what a martyr you are!" The fury was now becoming more apparent in his voice. "I won't be a party to that…ever! I can look after myself, Mother. I don't need your care or your pity!"
"But…sweetheart…can't we talk this over?"
Gibbs and Anne heard a loud thud, together with some dripping noises.
"Well, I've never…"
"Mom…just go…please," he said more gently than he really felt. "I just don't need this right now."
Tony's mother strode out of the room without another word, silently stalking past Gibbs and Anne, her face white, obviously very upset. She felt around in her handbag and came up with a tissue before scurrying along the corridor in the direction of the exit. Anne and Gibbs exchanged looks as the woman disappeared from sight, trying very hard not to laugh. Gibbs made a gesture indicating he was going after mom and that Anne should deal with Tony. "Sure," she said.
Anne stood in the doorway, arms crossed, and surveyed the scene. Tony had his hands over his face, shoulders shaking with something, but whether it was rage, laughter or tears, she couldn't tell. The large floral arrangement which had previously been on the nightstand had been flung across the room with great violence, shedding blooms, greenery and drops of water as it went, and apparently, judging by the black skid-mark, impacting on the wall to finally come to rest about four feet from the door. Water had flowed from the shattered plastic base and collected in a pool. The PT waited, trying to contain her laughter. Eventually, Tony opened two fingers to see her standing by the door, grinning at him. "Is she gone?" he asked.
"She is."
Tony dropped his hands. His face was ashen, but he started to laugh.
"That…was really mean," she finally said.
"She deserved it."
Anne looked at him and sighed.
"You gonna clean up the mess, or to I have to get Nurse Battle-ax to beat on you?" she asked.
Tony gave her a "who, me?" look.
"Well, you told your mum you can take care of yourself. Let's begin by cleaning up this mess."
"How do I do that?" he asked doubtfully, looking over the edge of the bed at the floor.
Anne pushed the wheelchair into position beside the bed, footrests flipped up, and patted the seat with her hand, grinning at him wickedly. Tony sighed and pushed up into a sitting position on the side of the bed. After she removed the arm, he positioned the slide board and transferred across, grumbling the whole time.
"You're gettin' too good at this. I think it's time we moved you down to rehab," Anne commented. "Now, you need to lower yourself to the floor. Scoot forward on the seat a bit…that's good…find a grip on the frame and lower yourself down…that's the way." Anne gave him a smile and patted his head as she passed by to go into the bathroom for a towel. "There you go, sport, have at it."
"You are going to help, aren't you?" he asked reproachfully.
"I didn't throw the flowers," she pointed out.
"Please?" he looked up at her with pleading eyes.
"Oh, all right." Anne bent down and started gathering the scattered blooms, throwing them in the trash when she was done, trying not to laugh at Tony as he muttered to himself about "doing the damn housework."
"Mopping the floor, DiNozzo?" Tony looked up at the sound of his boss's voice. "When did you join the cleaning staff?"
"Awww, boss, did you have to show up now?" Tony scooted backwards across the floor a bit further, dragging the towel through a stream of water.
"That was quite an impressive display you put on for your mother."
Tony gave him an annoyed look. "Not you too, Gibbs."
"She left, by the way. Muttered something about how she wasn't appreciated by her ungrateful son and that she should just go home."
Tony cast his eyes upwards. "There is a merciful God," he said, leaning back on his hands. "I'm done here, Mom," he said to Anne, who was sitting in the wheelchair watching the by-play between Tony and Gibbs.
"Now for the hard part."
"Knew there was a catch to this," Tony moaned. "Up gotta be harder than down."
"Move out from the wall so there's room to move," the PT said. She flipped up the footrests again to get them out of the way and locked the brakes, parking the chair as close as she could while Gibbs watched curiously. "Now, grab the frame as high as you can and try to lift yourself."
Tony took a couple of breaths and attempted to lift his own bodyweight up onto the seat, a vein popping out on his forehead as he strained. He grunted with the effort. Anne reached a hand around his waist to help him up the last few inches, but was intercepted by Gibbs's hand on the other side, who was doing the same thing. "Hey, nice try, DiNozzo," she said. "You nearly nailed that."
Tony took a couple of deep breaths. "Thanks." He coughed and rubbed his ribs, trying to hide his embarrassment. "Man, you got bony hands, boss."
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The move to the rehab section was remarkably painless. Tony soon settled into the new regime, and not being one for continual dull routine, the change seemed to suit him. He threw himself into the task of weight training and learning how to cope with gusto. Anne, who had qualifications in both physical and occupational therapy, had been assigned Tony as a "special" via Gibbs' nefarious means when the NCIS agent had discovered that, despite her obvious good looks, she wasn't going to be an easy nut for the gutter-minded junior agent to crack.
Tony had warmed to the Australian girl's relaxed attitude – or seemingly relaxed attitude. He soon realized that she managed to get him to work very hard indeed without seeming to force the issue, and she managed to keep the tasks varied while still aiming toward the same goals.
The set up in rehab was somewhat different, with most patients making use of a shared dining and recreation room with widescreen TV, video and DVD, as well as the gym, and other exercise and hydrotherapy facilities.
Ducky was still dropping in from time to time. He had dropped the bombshell earlier in the day that Tony's mother was still in town and that there was some possibility that she would be calling again. Ducky had found Tony taking a break, staring out the window of the recreation room at a heavy rainstorm.
"I wish she'd go back home," was all he could think to say.
"Anthony, despite what you seem to think, your mother does care what happens to you. She's been calling Gibbs for daily updates."
Tony just shook his head. "How come he hasn't told me this?" Tony asked, then reconsidered. "No, this is Gibbs we're talking about." The Medical Examiner was quiet for once as Tony mulled things over. "Ducky, tell Gibbs to let her know it's okay to visit."
"Ah, good," the older man said. "I knew you'd see reason sooner or later."
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"There's one thing you can do for me." Tony looked at his boss, seeming to come to a difficult decision. Three days into full-on rehab and he was already starting to work out some home truths about what his future life would probably be like, and driving a car with a manual transmission was one he'd made a decision on.
"What's that?"
"Sell my car."
Gibbs had been silent for a moment. "You sure?"
"The papers are in the top drawer of the desk in my apartment," Tony had continued, ignoring the question. "These the keys?" Gibbs held up the car keys that were on the ring of keys he was using to access Tony's apartment in order to collect his mail and to bring him various things. "Yup. Parking space 75."
"You sure you wanna do this?" Gibbs asked.
"Yeah," was the firm reply. "It's no good to me any more. And I can always buy another car, one that I can drive now," he said with a wry grin.
Gibbs strolled around the parking lot looking for the number painted on Tony's allotted car space in the apartment block. He walked past the old dark blue sports car three times before realizing that this was what he had been looking for. For work purposes, Tony usually drove one of the cars from the motor pool, and as a result, Gibbs had no idea that the lovingly restored dark blue Shelby Cobra he sometimes saw at NCIS headquarters belonged to the junior agent.
Gibbs whistled between his teeth and placed a work-worn hand on the smooth paintwork, where one of two wide white stripes met the point of the hood. Grinning, he got in the car and started the engine, pleased at the way it responded immediately. "How can such a unclassy guy…" Gibbs wondered, as he pulled out onto the street, "...own such a classy car. Can only be one reason for it." Gibbs was still pondering this conundrum as he nosed out onto the freeway, enjoying the feeling of the wind in his hair from the open-topped vehicle.
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"What's this, boss?" Gibbs had handed Tony a check.
"What I got for the car."
Tony looked at the digits curiously, disregarding the signature. "Can you deposit it in my account for me?"
Gibbs gave a small laugh, "Sure."
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Gibbs drove the blue sports car into the NCIS parking lot and, juggling coat and coffee, made for the elevator. Immediately on arrival at his desk, he was on the phone to the director, making an appointment.
"He needs a car. I thought maybe we could fix one up for him temporarily."
"Is that wise?" asked the director. "It might be setting a bad precedent."
"Could be a bad precedent if we don't, sir." Gibbs was happy to milk the system for whatever he could get. "Don't want the ADA coming down on us for not doing everything we can."
"All right, just temporarily. I'll get my secretary to sort something out with the motor pool."
"Thank you, sir."
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Gibbs wandered into the gym of the rehab section late in the morning on his way to interview a suspect in a murder enquiry. There were several groups in the room engaged in various activities. He caught Anne's eye where she was working with Tony, who was lying on the floor mat working on the ins and outs of rolling over. They'd already done an upper body workout and his dark colored t-shirt clung to his body wetly. They were gradually moving onto the skills he would need to have for his future life, and the ability to move his body efficiently was one of those important skills. Anne gave Tony a pat on the shoulder as she stood to go and talk to Gibbs, "Keep going. Be right back."
Tony looked back at where she'd gone and thought, seeing Gibbs, Ah, crap. It had to be him. His boss was an expert at catching him in embarrassing situations, and flopping around on the floor like a beached whale was just one more to add to the list. Anne, keeping a watchful eye on her patient, just waved for him to continue. Tony eyed the private conversation suspiciously.
"What was that all about?" he asked as the therapist came back to him. "Nothing. He was just checking on your progress."
Tony looked at her slightly pissily. "Fine, don't tell me." He pushed up into a sitting position and dragged himself backwards to the edge of the mat, intending to get back into the wheelchair if his wretched body would let him.
"What's up with you?" Anne asked, amazed that her normally equable patient was upset.
"I'm just sick of people doing things for my own good behind my back."
"Tony?"
"He can check my progress by asking me, you know." He pulled the wheelchair into position and locked the brakes with an angry snap.
"Tony, calm down." She sat down beside him on the floor, legs tucked up, arms wrapped around them. "What's the matter? Really?"
"I-I'm not sure I can do this."
"Remember what I said when we first started?"
"Baby steps?" he asked.
She grinned at him. "No, after that."
"That things would seem hard now, but that'd improve?"
"Yes, but that's not the one I was thinking of either."
"That I'd work the hardest I ever had in my life."
"That's the one. Well, Gibbs is just trying to make that life a little easier for you," she said, somewhat enigmatically. "Come on, why don't we grab some lunch and go out in the garden for a while. Some sunshine'll do us both some good."
A/N: Just wanted to point out that, firstly, I'm not a medical specialist, so if I've gotten any of that stuff wrong, don't sue me. Secondly, the best is yet to come. This chapter has been more serious…trust me, Alaidh won't let it remain serious for long. Just bear with me.
A photo of the purple passion vine can be seen here: www. darkangelkasman. com/ gynura.JPG (remove extra spaces)