Gibbs and Ziva spent the afternoon interviewing Tony's neighbors. They were a diverse group, ranging in age from late twenties to early seventies, of varied ethnic backgrounds. They all had one thing in common: they adored Tony.
Mrs. Barbetti, a slightly-deaf widow in her sixties, lived next door. She was concerned when she saw all the police activity and was very upset to hear that her dear Antonio was dead. Through her tears she explained that she was watching television when the attack occurred, wearing special headphones so she could hear the program without disturbing her neighbors, and she had no useful information for the agents.
Chrissy Spector and Angie Bradley were two airline hostesses that lived across the hall from Tony. Both had been out of town on flights the night of the attack. Everett Rockwell was a retired police officer who lived down the hall. He and Tony had spent a few evenings discussing police work over beer and pizza. He thought the young agent seemed to be a sharp investigator who loved listening to his old war stories about his days on the force.
"So you're Gibbs," he said, eyeing the older agent speculatively. "I've heard a lot about you. To hear Tony talk, you'd think you were omniscient."
Gibbs chuckled wryly. "Tony has a tendency to exaggerate," he said.
Everett laughed. "Yeah, especially about his love life. If he was getting as much as he said, he wouldn't have the energy to lift his head, much less anything else."
Ziva snorted inelegantly. "Oh, sorry," she said, with no sign of apology in her expression.
Rockwell turned serious. "You have any idea who killed him?" he asked.
"We're going over all the evidence," Gibbs replied. "But we don't have much to go on. Do you recall seeing or hearing anything unusual the night of the murder? Anything at all?"
Everett looked pensive. "I was coming home from League Night – bunch of retired cops formed a team and joined a bowling league – around 10:30 that night. When I was coming around the corner I heard someone say something about dumping a phone."
Gibbs' eyes narrowed. "Did you see who was talking?" he asked.
The older man shook his head. "Not clearly. It was dark, they were about 30 feet away and my eyes aren't so good at night. I think I heard one guy call the other one 'Mike'. They were both about six feet tall, husky, like football players. Sorry," he said apologetically, "that's the best I can give you."
"You've given us more than we had before to work with," Gibbs replied.
"Tony was a good man," Everett said solemnly. "I hope you catch those guys and put a major hurt on 'em."
"I intend to," Gibbs replied seriously, reaching to shake Rockwell's hand. "Thank you, for everything."
The two men shook hands. Rockwell nodded politely to Ziva as he showed the two agents out of his apartment.
oOoOoOo
"...you need to get some rest yourself, Ducky. You look terrible, in a manly, dashing way, of course."
I hear Ducky chuckle. "Thank you, Abby. I must admit I'm exhausted, but I'm loath to leave Tony's side. He moved a little before, I want to help pull him out of this stupor."
"Why don't you just lie down on that other bed over there and grab some z's. I'll sit and talk to Tony and if he makes any moves, I'll call you. I promise."
I struggle to open my eyes, and I think I see a sliver of light. I work harder and nearly jump out of my skin, if I were able to move, when Abby lets out an excited squeal.
"TONY! Ducky, his eyes are open! Tony, can you see me? Can you hear me?"
I feel my hand being held tightly and I try to focus on her voice. Everything is all fuzzy, like there's a layer of petroleum jelly on my eyeballs. I try blinking, but it doesn't clear anything up. I tighten my grip on Abby's hand, to show her I know it's her.
"Oh Tony, I was so worried. Gibbs is all growly and Ziva looks like she'd kill the first person that looks at her funny. Timmy's all 'Are you okay Abs?' trying to be protective, but I think he needs some hugging too. You scared all of us. Ducky's about to fall over in his tracks, but he's being stubborn."
"Now, Abby, I'm not that tired. I believe I've got my second wind; the excitement of seeing Tony open his eyes has my adrenaline pumping. Tony, can you understand us? Blink twice for yes, three times for no."
"That's a lot of blinks, Ducky, he just woke up. Why not once for yes and twice for no?"
"But if he just blinks to clear his eyes we'll think he's saying yes to a question..."
"Not if we haven't asked one, though, and anyway, how can he blink 'no' if he can't understand; I mean, if he doesn't understand us he can't know to say no, you know? You're really tired, Ducky."
I think they've forgotten I'm here. Really, those two could talk the spots off a leopard. Where did I come up with that; is that a saying? While the two of them argue about how many blinks I should make, I try to move other parts of my body, but other than being able to close my hand, nothing seems to be cooperating. I'm suddenly struck by a feeling of panic. What if this is all I can move? What if I'm stuck here, my body wasting away while my mind takes note of every lost minute? A small whimper escapes my throat; well, my vocal cords are starting to work, at least. Maybe I'll be able to communicate, ask someone to put me out of my misery if I stay like this.
"Oh Tony, don't be upset." Abby starts petting my head and crooning soothing words.
"Tony, please try to stay positive." Ducky's trying to comfort me too - I feel like a baby. "You've made good progress since you were brought in to hospital. It will take time and patience, but you're going to recover. You have to believe that."
"We'll help you, Tony." Abby's practically crawled into bed with me. This is nice, actually. She's warm and soft and she's changed perfumes to something light with a hint of something I can't quite place. It's not gunpowder; it smells kind of nutty. Not nutty crazy, but nutty like peanuts... no, almonds. Wait a minute, is that cyanide? I mentally shake my head, that's my Abs, unconventional is too straight laced a word for her.
I spend the next few hours trying to move various body parts, with Abby playing the role of manic cheerleader. She stops to check her test results via her laptop periodically. I can hear Ducky snoring softly off in the other side of the room. The activity and company is making me feel better. I may not be moving or talking, but I'm pretty sure I will be soon if for no other reason than to take the Caf Pow away from an overcaffeinated Abby.