Gibbs trudged up the steps and dropped his duffle with a thud on floor of the foyer. When no greeting met his weary entrance, he frowned slightly.

"Tony?"

Still nothing.

"You here, DiNozzo?"

The only reply this brought was the distant click of claws on hardwood and the rattle of metal tags as Rufus shook himself. Visions of Tony lying sprawled and injured in the floor somewhere pushed their terrifying way through his jet-lagged mind.

"Tony?" he called, louder this time, following the faint canine shuffling to the den. "You okay? You hear me?"

Gibbs pulled to a halt, relaxing in relief at the picture before him: Tony was sprawled, all right, but safely, on the couch, head tipped back, mouth open. Peacefully oblivious to the cell phone tipping precariously from his lax hand. Gibbs leaned over and retrieved the cell, then brushed a kiss against Tony's forehead, receiving only an unintelligible mumbling in response.

"Hey, sleeping beauty," Gibbs prodded as he settled on the arm of the sofa.

"Mmm?" murmured the object of his affections, snuggling deeper against the cushion he had trapped under a bent arm.

"Tony," Gibbs leaned down, lips brushing the delicate curve of Tony's ear.

A hand came up, briefly skimming Gibbs' beard-shadowed cheek before dropping back. Tony muttered a just audible, "Miss you."

"Don't have to miss me when I'm here, babe."

Gibbs moved to the front of the couch, disentangling the death grip Tony had on the cushion. "Come on, Tony, we're going to bed."

He took hold of Tony's wrists and tugged the sleeping body upright, swinging the bare feet on the floor, about to consider throwing the living weight over his shoulder in a fireman's carry.

Except Tony blinked sleepily, "Gibbs?"

"In the flesh," Gibbs assured, but Tony put out a hand, testing the statement. Gibbs allowed the touch to draw him down on the cushion beside the younger man.

"What time is it?"

"About one," murmured Gibbs, bending to rest his head tiredly against the steady rise and fall of Tony's chest.

"I waited up," laughed Tony.

"I could tell," Gibbs replied dryly. He pressed a kiss against the t-shirt clad shoulder. "What do you say we take this to the bedroom?" The kisses moved up Tony's neck.

"Don't know if I can—"

"Sleep, Tony," rebutted Gibbs. "All I want to do is sleep."

Tony arched his neck, revealing the vulnerable expanse of tender skin. He groaned as Gibbs placed a kiss against the hollow of his throat. And he laughed, though it was edged with an unfamiliar harshness.

"I can still do that. I'm just not sure I can make it into the bedroom if I don't put on the brace."

"Bad day?" asked Gibbs softly, abandoning his ministrations to rub a hand along a thigh he now saw was shaking.

"Missed you," replied Tony, trying to deflect the concern.

"Me, too," Gibbs replied, accepting that this was not the time or the place to be delving into Tony's symptoms. He reached for the brace. "Why don't you let me—"

Tony leaned back and steadied himself with his palms, letting Gibbs' hand work the brace back around his aching leg.

When he was done, Gibbs pulled him up, anchoring him with a firm hand against his waist. Together, they limped slowly toward their goal. Gibbs was tired. His back ached. But he wordlessly accepted the steadily growing weight of his struggling partner, bearing up until he could safely control their descent to the mattress.

Tony's face was drawn, faint beads of perspiration breaking out against his forehead.

"You taken any painkiller lately?" questioned Gibbs, hauling Tony's legs up on the bed and cursing silently at the shake of Tony's head. He stopped to lay a hand against a now-damp cheek. "You don't have to hurt, Tony."

Tony winced as the brace was removed. "Couldn't decide if it was worth getting up to get it."

"Christ, DiNozzo," murmured Gibbs affectionately, retrieving the bottle from the bathroom cabinet. "What happened to the ones you carry?"

"Took 'em before I went to the lawyer's." Tony accepted the tablets and the glass of water. "I'm sorry," he apologized, handing back the tumbler with a slightly shaky hand. "Not the 'welcome home' I meant you to come back to."

Depositing the bottle and glass on the nightstand, Gibbs stripped off his shoes, stretching out on the bed, his hand finding Tony's. His fingers entwined with Tony's long ones.

"This is all I wanted," murmured Gibbs. "Just to lay here. Hold your hand."

He realized belatedly that Tony had rolled upright to view him with concern. "You okay?"

Gibbs smiled, tightening the grip he held on the hand in his. "Turn off the light and I'll be just perfect."

"How was Sardinia?" inquired Ducky, although, as usual, he gave no time for a reply before continuing, "Fascinating place, actually. One of the most ancient lands in Europe. It was even involved, if only peripherally, in the Punic Wars—"

"He's worse, isn't he, Ducky?"

Gibbs fixed him with an interrogative stare. "I am to presume we're speaking of Anthony?"

"He's worse," repeated Gibbs, his tone flat.

"He's been growing worse the entire time, Jethro. When you see someone day-to-day, as you do, it's just that the decline is less noticeable."

"I was only gone two days." Gibbs hand slammed down on the metal autopsy table. The echo resounded against the bay walls.

"Yesterday was undoubtedly stressful. His stamina is lacking. I'm sure by this morning--"

"This morning," cut in Gibbs, "I caught him in the bathroom hanging onto the sink for dear life because his legs gave out while he was shaving." A dark look flashed in Gibbs' blue eyes. "He wouldn't get back into bed. He insisted on coming even though he barely made it out to the car. I just about carried him to his desk."

The anger in Gibbs' eyes disappeared as he contemplated the ME, "There's got to be something we can do, Duck."

"Dr. Lenz's suggestion of a wheelchair—"

"Damn it, Ducky. You're telling me with the advancement of medical science, you can't do anything—"

"As you'll remember, all of my patients are dead," retorted Ducky, slightly coolly.

"I don't mean you in particular, Duck," said Gibbs, quieting. "I just—"

"I thought I'd find you down here."

Both men's gazes shot to the figure at the door. Ducky immediately pushing a chair in Tony's direction.

"Please sit down, Anthony."

"Guess I was right," muttered Tony, easing into the chair with a sigh, scrubbing a hand down his face. "Any chance we could change the topic of conversation?" He tried a tentative smile. "How 'bout those Redskins?"

"Tony," reprimanded Gibbs tiredly, but there was no force behind it.

"My fucked-up nervous system it will be, then."

"I'm worried about you," admitted Gibbs simply.

"And when you're worried, you talk to Ducky," returned Tony. "I get it."

"I tried to talk to you," Gibbs pointed out, "which got me the silent treatment."

"Nothing to say," shrugged Tony. "My options are rather clear."

"Not to Jethro," murmured Ducky, sotto voce.

Gibbs looked between Tony and the ME. "You going to explain that, Duck?"

"No," replied the physician, all too aware of the cold-eyed gaze the other two occupants of the morgue had fixed on him. "I would prefer Anthony explain his options to you. All of them."

He met Tony's eyes, acknowledging the pained look of betrayal.

"I have some reports to pick up from Abby," Ducky explained, drawing near the door. "Anthony," he said as he passed the seated man, letting the simple prodding suffice.

Then the door shut behind him, leaving the pair to their quiet face-off.

"You going to tell me what he meant?" Gibbs abandoned his stiff stance, coming to kneel at Tony's side. The younger man winced as another spasm ran through his leg and Gibbs put a calming hand against his thigh, rubbing away the tremor.

Taking a deep breath, his gaze focused on some spot on the distant wall, Tony admitted, "There's a drug study; Dr. Lenz wants me to join."

"Okay," replied Gibbs, trying desperately for a neutral tone and almost making it, controlling his impulse to demand an immediate explanation with every interrogation skill he could muster.

"ASI, it's basically an immunosuppressant injection. If it works there would be fewer T-cells attacking my nervous system."

"Side effects?"

Tony smiled a bit ruefully. "Well for me, the big side effect would be that I'm giving my father's company a free guinea pig."

"Your family owns this drug?"

Tony nodded.

"So?" questioned Gibbs. "Does it work?"

"Maybe."

Gibbs frowned up at Tony. "Then what are you waiting for?"

"It's probably hard to understand from the outside."

Tony looked down at the hand gently kneading his aching thigh.

"I'm not on the 'outside,' Tony. And you're hurting. And if this drug might help, hell, I'd steal it for you myself."

"You'd commit larceny for me?" Tony laid a hand atop Gibbs', stilling his fingers.

"If I had to," Gibbs repeated firmly.

"I don't want them to know," whispered Tony.

"Why would they know?"

"I don't know. They just seem to know ... everything."

"Tony, you're an adult." Gibbs smiled fondly. "Well, most of the time. They have no power if you don't let them."

"You don't know the long arm of my father."

"No," conceded Gibbs, "but I know the strength of his son. Don't hurt yourself to hurt them."

For a long time they simply stayed there, hands clasped. Then Tony closed his eyes.

"I ... I'll talk to Dr. Lenz."

(tbc)

Thanks to C! As always, all mistakes are solely mine.