Six mothers-in-law, five fathers-in-law, two – or was that three? – step in-laws, eight brothers and six sisters all acquired along with their various spouses and ex-spouses and children and step-children – after three marriages, Gibbs was a little too well-acquainted with the numerous ways that family could hatchet away at your soul.

And, despite Tony's declaration that he didn't have much luck with things familial, he knew that the younger man had left himself open in a way Gibbs hadn't ... maybe since he lost his brother. Maybe even before that.

There was a light in the younger man's blue eyes that Gibbs could see even in the rearview mirror. Tony had bonded as Gibbs knew only he could. Quickly. Deeply. That aura of vulnerability that brought Tony success undercover, manifesting itself in the bright-eyed innocence, the dazzling smile -- it was real. Tucked deeply, carefully hidden, but real. Tony had been hurt enough that he'd obviously learned to protect himself, learned to fight back with a quick mind and a sharp tongue. But somewhere during the weekend, it seemed Sam had found his way to that portion of Tony DiNozzo he wouldn't fully reveal ... even to Gibbs.

And Gibbs was afraid he had a good idea what was coming.

He pulled up to the door of the condominium and began to unload his passengers: first Rufus from the back of the SUV, then Tony, then a happy Sam, who recognized his home, scrambling up the designer stairs to the lobby doors.

Gretchen had said she'd come down, probably to keep Lloyd and Tony separated, Tony's barbs from their previous meeting getting further under the Baltimore cop's skin than his obvious disdain did under Tony's. Which left them in the upscale lobby, in charge of a three-year-old nearly vibrating with excitement.

Tony tried to say goodbye, but Sam was in no mood to be cuddled or cajoled. He fixed his eyes on the elevator and wouldn't be moved. Only when it opened to a chorus of "Mama!" loudly and rapidly repeated was the small body set in motion. As Sam charged into his mother's arms, Gibbs stepped back, unobtrusively taking Tony's hand into his, feeling Tony's fingers clench tightly around his own.

And while Gretchen wasn't effusive, she did hug Sam to her. Whether it was some awakened maternal feelings or just the knowledge that she now possessed something her ex-lover wanted, Gretchen took up the role with previously unseen enthusiasm.

"He had a wonderful time, Tony. She's ... his mother."

"I know," said Tony, dropping Gibbs's hand and mustering the dazzling smile for Gretchen as she came forward.

"It went well?" asked Gretchen as Gibbs handed over the bags.

"Had a great time," replied Tony, the smile still practically glowing. "You?"

"It was ... good," she finally decided. "I think they liked me."

Determining he couldn't take much of this forced congeniality, Gibbs gave a little pat to Sam's back, the blond head swiveling in his direction. "See you soon, kiddo." He looked at Gretchen for confirmation and saw a certain indecision.

"Yeah," she eventually agreed. "Bye, Tony." She stuck out her hand like they were closing a business transaction, but either Tony couldn't make out the gesture or chose to ignore it.

"Bye, Sam," he said instead, cupping his hand around the crown of the boy's head.

In reply, four chubby fingers waved a goodbye.

"Whoa!" Gibbs quickly slipped in behind Tony and supported him as the razor the younger man was holding dropped to the tiles with a clatter, both Tony's hands needed to buoy his weight against the hard, cold sides of the sink.

"Just dizzy," murmured Tony, fighting to get his trembling legs back under him.

But even when he was stable, Gibbs refused to release him and, pressed back to chest with the older man, Tony could feel the quick pounding of Gibbs' heart.

"Didn't mean to scare you."

"God, Tony ..." he could feel Gibbs' sharp intake of air as he tried to not let worry transform into anger. "I'm calling a builder. We are putting bars in here."

"I'm just tired, Gibbs. Not our usual weekend."

They had, in fact, been snapping at each other ever since leaving Sam back in Baltimore Sunday night and, in the bed last night, Gibbs could feel the heavy tremors shaking Tony's legs, undoubtedly brought on by stress, too powerful to be quieted by the handful of pharmaceuticals Tony swallowed daily. The hands he'd reached to massage the spasms were quietly accepted but, other than that, Tony had laid silent and still.

"Maybe you're coming down with something," observed Gibbs a little worriedly, finding the skin under his touch a little warm.

Tony pushed out of his grasp. "I'm fine. If it's anything, it's some kind of reaction to the shot." He rubbed gingerly at the injection site still tender from the jabbing the day before.

"If it's a reaction, we should call—"

Gibbs rarely found himself on the receiving end of the kind of piercing gaze he was often accused of giving. "Okay. Fine," he capitulated. "Maybe I'm overreacting."

"I'm okay," Tony repeated.

The blurry man in the mirror, though, didn't believe him any more than Gibbs had and the florescent lights of the men's room didn't do anything to make his complexion less a pasty gray. And, now that his personal tilt-a-whirl in his head had been joined by a slight case of the chills, he was feeling even less stable. The dark walls and the row of mirrors rushed randomly at and away from him like he truly was at the mercy of some mechanical midway monster.

When the door to the head swung open, Tony resolidified his grasp on the handgrip of the crutch, his other hand planted so firmly that the outside edge of the countertop pressed a red line into the skin of his palm.

"Hey, Tony." McGee unzipped, then noticing the distinct lack of Tony's usual greeting, looked back over his shoulder. "Tony? You okay?"

"Fine," Tony managed to get out, but the smile reflected back at him was a pitiful specimen.

Rufus shuffled slightly by Tony's side, waiting for him to take the harness back up, but when he reached for it, the tilt-a-whirl took a decidedly earthward slide and before he really realized what was happening, he was falling.

The hands that caught him were less sure than Gibbs' in their hold, but they were supporting nonetheless and he needed them.

"Hey! Easy!"

Tony was still upright mainly because McGee had pressed his braced leg tightly against the faux wood of the cabinet. One of McGee's slightly pudgy hands wrapped around his waist and the other palmed his chest. The closeness of other man's body brought some warmth but the chills continued to course through him.

"Tony?" McGee's eyes were dark and worried in the mirror. "Okay, let's sit you down."

Numbly Tony nodded his agreement, but he couldn't unlock the brace, pressed as he was. "McGee?" he whispered, his voice suddenly succumbing to the same trembling weakness. "Gotta back up."

"Oh." The body behind Tony's shuffled back. "Okay, just ease—"

As soon as Tony unlocked the brace, though, his weak knee buckled and there wasn't enough strength in his other leg to keep him vertical. An uncoordinated grab at the sink did nothing to slow his descent and he rapidly found himself on the floor, his butt resting uncomfortably on McGee's legs. He softly knocked his head back against the younger man's shoulder in apology.

"Sorry, McGee."

"Hey, it's okay. I just didn't want you hitting your head." McGee shifted his legs out from under the nearly unresponsive weight. "Come on, lie down. I'll go get Ducky."

"No," breathed Tony, embarrassingly unable to muster more than that small protest as McGee lowered his head, first, to his lap, then stripping off his jacket to use as a pillow, settled him as comfortably as possible on the cold floor.

Able to reach him now, Rufus snuffled around one slightly curled hand and Tony reached out to anchor himself against the spinning of the walls, his fingers entwining in the Great Dane's leather collar.

Kate swung the door open so hard that it hit the wall with a thud. "Tony?"

His cheek pressed into the relative softness of the jacket, Tony grinned weakly. "Men's room, Kate. Can't you read?"

A warm touch curved around his jaw. "What happened?"

"Dizzy. Kind of felt like I was going to pass out."

"You want me to get Gibbs? He's up with Morrow."

"Don't bother him." Tony lifted his head, trying to rally, then dropped it back to the makeshift pillow as the room tilted a good forty-five degrees. "Just going to close my eyes..."

And Tony would have sworn that's all he'd done, but when he opened them again his audience had morphed into McGee, who was giving directions on his cell phone, and Ducky, who bent over him, his fingers pressed beneath his jaw line.

"Ducky?"

"Easy, my boy. Caitlin is getting Jethro. We're going to take a little ride."

"'m okay," Tony protested, trying to rise, his efforts doing little against the hands now gently pinning his shoulders down.

"You're disoriented and you're running a fever." Ducky's face seemed to swim in and out of focus. "We're going to get you to the ER."

Tony closed his eyes again, only opening them when the door slammed back once more, this time with even greater force than Kate had mustered.

"What the hell happened?"

The acoustics of the bathroom gave a slight echo to Gibbs' question.

"It appears to be small episode of syncope."

Then Gibbs face appeared above him, the expression smoothing at the rather weak "hey" that Tony mustered.

"He also appears to be running a fever," added Ducky.

As if testing this, Gibbs put a hand on Tony's forehead.

"Feels good," murmured Tony under the touch. "Cool."

His eyes fluttered shut.

"Stay with me, Tony."

He tried to at least crack an eyelid in answer to the order, but he was both blazingly hot and – somehow – bone-shakingly cold, and, if he opened his eyes, the carnival ride would start up again.

"Tony?"

It was like he heard Gibbs' call from some vast distance and then the lights of the midway went out altogether.

Thanks to C and to Aly for continued Sam-help. Appreciate the feedback!