A Coat of Paint
By scousemuz1k
AN:
The last time I posted a story I had fearful trouble with formatting, and since I'm not good with IT, (people did try to help, and I'm grateful,) rather than have all my italic stresses eaten again, I've used upper case instead. It looks clumsy to me, but please indulge me?
I've not gone into detail about what happened before the story begins; Tony managed to extricate himself and other people from a hostage situation after two days. I've had a few ideas for hostage stories over the years, but I don't think I'd enjoy writing them.
I haven't written anything for a while, got my arm twisted into this, thanks, Charlene. I hope I haven't forgotten how.
They were both well used to Gibbs on a tear, but they still felt as if they were scuttling along in his wake after he leapt out of the car whilst still wrenching the parking brake on. Their efforts to catch up with dignity were scuttled too, as he came to a sudden halt. Tim managed to stop before he ploughed into Gibbs' back, but Ziva, already scampering, (she preferred that description, much more dignified) cannoned into Tim.
A snarl came over the boss's shoulder.
"Why the hell did they bring him HERE?"
The junior agents looked around. What was wrong with here?
Everywhere was clean and tidy, no weeds in the tarmac, no litter. The hospital's glass doors were clean. It took a moment for them to spot anything untoward. The paint was a little tired, and the guard-rail on the ramp was a little buckled. The one ambulance parked nearby was also perfectly clean, although the body style indicated it was at least ten years old. But the crew, standing by the cab, snatching a break and a sandwich, wore uniforms which looked perfectly up to date and smart.
Tim tried to be positive, as Gibbs started forwards again, with another growl.
"They have a very good reputation here, Boss, especially with LEOs."
Gibbs' snort said exactly what he thought of cops and their opinions. He paused again beside the elderly sign board, which really needed the kindly attentions of a good signwriter: 'Eastlands Community Hospital'.
"He should have been taken to Bethesda. I want him moved."
Gibbs shoved his way through the entrance door as he spoke; Tim caught it with the resigned expertise of experience, and held it for Ziva. As he did so, he saw Abby rushing up the path from the parking lot, so he waited for her.
By the time she'd caught up, full of questions Tim couldn't answer, Gibbs was at the reception desk, and had reached what Tony would call 'Rantcon #4'.
The middle-aged woman behind the desk wore her piled up hair, her turquoise 'Eastlands Volunteer' sweatshirt, and her name badge which said 'Mary', like a lady, and sat calmly, bolt upright, waiting for Gibbs to pause for breath.
"I repeat, the patient concerned may very well be your agent -"
"How the hell is it that you don't know? What's wrong with your -"
Mary hadn't volunteered as a hospital receptionist because she was a shrinking violet by nature. She drew formidability round her like a spiky cloak.
"Well, Special Agent Gibbs, as I told you on the phone, the young man was brought in semi-conscious, with no form of identification on him. He recovered consciousness just long enough to say 'Gibbs is going to kill me', and as the EMTs said they 'thought he was a cop', I took the time to search through every police and federal record that I could, whilst still doing the rest of my job, until I found you. And when I'd told you about him, let me remind you that YOU put the phone down on me before I could ask for any information."
The wind was actually taken out of Gibbs' sails, but only for as long as it took him to blink, and then he was off again. "I want him moved to Bethesda -"
"Him? First I need a name, Agent Gibbs, and then it's up to the attending doctor."
She waited patiently, and Gibbs subsided slightly as he realised that another turquoise clad volunteer, aged about twenty, six foot four, blond and built like a quarterback, was looming over him in an ALMOST totally unthreatening manner, but he took another breath and ploughed on.
"So where is this doctor? I want to talk to him -"
"Agent Gibbs, it would really help both your agent and myself if you'd give me the information that I don't have!"
Tim was contemplating an intervention, while Ziva was wondering how to distract Gibbs. Abby, after cringing for a while, had tuned them all out. She was wondering why, when they were here for Tony, she was paying so much more attention to someone who was approaching from a side corridor.
The woman wore scrubs, and had her hair tucked into a tied-on cap with a cartoon kitten print. She was somewhere in her mid forties, of average height and trim figure, with a face that was pretty and kind underneath the layers of tiredness. Abby wondered if that weariness was responsible for the medic's pale complexion, then decided that no, the lady was blessed with the sort of china-blue eyes and peaches-and-cream skin that a few of her goth friends would kill for.
But it wasn't the peaches-and-cream, Abby realised as the woman drew closer…. She'd have whooped with laughter inside if she hadn't been worrying so much about Tony. The doctor – she guessed she was a doctor – had wisps of wild, wavy hair escaping from beneath her cap, and that hair was pinky… goldy… RED! Abby wished she'd brought popcorn.
The doctor looked from Abby to Gibbs, who'd bypassed Rantcon #3 by now, and hadn't noticed the newcomer, and decided that the eccentrically dressed young woman was the saner of the two.
"You're here for the Federal Agent?" she asked quietly.
Abby nodded. "His name's Tony -"
Gibbs spun round. "His NAME is Special Agent DiNozzo!" He began to head for Rantcon #1. "Why -"
"I take it you're Gibbs," the doctor said quietly. "The one who's going to kill him because he got hurt. I'm Dr Celia Farrell, how do you do. You'll have to excuse me for not knowing his name – I've been much too busy trying to save his life to do all that important paperwork."
Abby almost smiled; she'd never heard anyone sounding quite so dangerous without raising their voice.
"Trying?" It was Ziva who spoke anxiously.
The doctor smiled briefly but reassuringly. "Sorry, figure of speech," she said unapologetically – NOW she'd got their attention. She looked at them all in turn, including Tim who was giving the necessary information to the receptionist. "Are you all family of Tony?"
"Yes," Abby said earnestly. "Well, no – no, I mean yes. Yes, we're his family. Well, he hasn't any family, not that's any use, so we're elected. Gibbs is his medical proxy."
The doctor raised an eyebrow that eloquently asked 'Are you SURE', but didn't comment. Gibbs noted it, read it correctly, and didn't like it.
"I want him moved to Bethesda, NOW."
"Well," the red-headed doctor said calmly, "once we've established that it IS Tony we've been attending to, we'll discuss that." She tilted her chin up, unconsciously pushing at a wisp of hair as she did so, and looked Gibbs in the eyes. "And by that I mean he'll be moved when I say it's safe to do so."
Abby almost tasted the popcorn, then she realised that Gibbs was looking at that wisp of hair. After what seemed an age, he dragged his attention back to the doctor's face, where it stayed, and tried again.
"He shouldn't have been brought here!" There was a scornful emphasis on the last word that made Doctor Farrell's jaw twitch as she watched Gibbs glancing around, but his voice was calmer.
Abby and Ziva exchanged a look – wow, down to Rantcon #3. The doctor, however, was just building up. If this war went on for much longer, when were they going to find out how Tony was?
"Do NOT judge us by the lack of a coat of paint, Special Agent Gibbs! We don't turn anyone away, including wounded cops, so where do you think we find money for pretty decor when we're treating patients who can't afford walls, let alone matching drapes? Now, do you want -"
She looked over his shoulder as Mary said, "Dr. Mallard!"
"Mary, how lovely to see you again," Ducky beamed, as he approached with a large file in his hand, which he passed over to the receptionist, along with a memory stick. "There, my dear, all you need, in both ancient and modern forms! Celia! So, you've been looking after our Anthony!"
"Ducky," Celia Farrell smiled back, "He's given my team a nervous time." She handed him the much smaller report she'd brought with her.
The ME turned to Gibbs, and looked him up and down severely. "Jethro," he said mordantly, "If there were a list of the best hospitals in DC for emergency treatment, Eastlands would be very close to the top."
"Unfortunately, yes," Dr Farrell agreed. "We have so much practice, you see. And we do it on a shoe-string. Of course people bring their friends here – victims of muggings, domestic violence, gang fights, because they know we'll treat them WITH respect, and WITHOUT expecting them to sign in blood first," she finished sadly. She shook her head, and another wisp of that Celtic red hair escaped from her cap.
Gibbs remained silent. So did Tim and Ziva, although they wished Gibbs would get on and ask how Tony was. Abby also said nothing, although she was looking at that wisp of hair, and almost grinning.
Ducky looked up from the document he'd been scanning. "Anthony has many minor injuries: bruising and lacerations, minor fractures, a knife wound to the forearm, all of which if treated promptly he would have dealt with, with his usual disregard. Unfortunately they were NOT treated at once, and he had several infections setting in, and was approaching pneumothorax."
"The broken rib was actually useful. When we saw it on the x-ray, we spotted the lung scarring as well. Fortunately." She paused, resisting the urge to ask about it. They must want to know how their colleague, er… family member was, even if they weren't asking. "It's all in hand; his temperature is falling and he's comfortable. He'll stay sedated until all the numbers have been going in the right direction for 12 hours. And then I'll still keep him here until both Dr Mallard and I are happy about moving him. Perhaps another couple of days.."
There were murmurs of thanks, and... no dissent from Gibbs. Ducky remarked that NCIS would foot the bill.
Tim said, "By that time he'll be wanting to go home."
Ziva said, "And back to work."
Dr Farrell rolled her eyes. "Ah, that's what Dr Mallard meant about disregard. We'll see."
She looked hard at Gibbs. "And any attempt to 'kill him' will not be appreciated by his medical team." She paused, and said more gently, "Look, you should know the ambulance that brought him in was escorted by two of the police officers who attended the crime scene. Lights, sirens… They didn't have to – our paramedic drivers are perfectly good enough – but they did. They told the EMTs that they were pretty sure he was an LEO of some sort and to bring him here. They said 'from what we know he's a hero, do your best for him'; the implication was that he'd need a miracle. Well, it wasn't QUITE that bad, but we did do our best. I believe he'll be fine. You may visit him, but please don't crowd him, two at a time and do keep quiet."
Gibbs, amazingly, muttered, "Yes, Doctor," and they trooped off; with the tall young man who hadn't stopped hovering showing them the way.
o0o0o
Four days later, Tony was, of course, arguing the toss. "It's fine, McWorry, just drop me off at my place, I can look after myself fine."
"That word already. Twice in one sentence. I told you, we've got a rota. Somebody's going to be with you all the time because YOU know, nobody trusts you."
"Aw, that's hard, man – I wouldn't – I-" he fell silent abruptly as they walked slowly down the corridor, and Tim wondered what he was looking at, until he SAW. Further down the passage, a handyman was working on a door hinge that had been bumped by one too many gurneys. The man, wearing old jeans, a paint-splashed shirt and a reversed baseball cap, was down on his knees, his back to them, not heeding them as they came nearer.
Nothing remarkable, but as they went through the doorway towards the main entrance, Tony paused.
"Doctor Farrell, Boss…. she's a redhead." He gave a soft chuckle and went on his way.
