Disclaimer:- I do not own NCIS or its characters and any copyright infringement is unintentional.
A/N- Totally, completely and utterly overwhelmed and thankful for the lovely reviews and support of this story. L
When The Snow Lay Round About
Chapter Four
Gibbs braced himself against the howling winds that whipped the falling snow into frenzy and threatened to knock him off his feet. Visibility was reducing rapidly as the sun sought refuge from the storm in the horizon's protective embrace. Gibbs bent at the waist, breathing deeply and gingerly probing his injured right knee where a substantial amount of swelling had already formed.
Despite several layers of clothing, the straps of the survival pack were cutting into his shoulders and the added weight exacerbated the pain from his knee. Had he not been certain he would need every item it contained, he would have discarded it long ago. Swiping the sleeve of his parka across his goggles to clear them, he looked around at the snowscape and cursed under his breath.
'Where the hell is the damn shed?'
Donna's map had placed the shed two hundred yards beyond the large double-trunk oak tree. His stomach dropped as he realised that he may have set off in the wrong direction. Hoping to regain his bearings, he began to retrace his own deep footprints knowing that if he didn't find shelter soon he would perish in the sub-zero temperature. Something among the trees to the right caught his eye and, ignoring the agony from his injured knee, he was running before he realised it. Tony's name burst from his lips even before he reached the door of the shed.
0—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-0
Tim McGee stood in the living room, staring out of the large picture window at the blizzard outside. He watched the snow falling from the night sky; an infinite number of tiny white stars that had lost their hold on the heavens. He hated waiting and not knowing. More times than not his own fertile imagination inflicted greater suffering than reality – he hoped like hell it would be that way again.
He understood why Gibbs had ordered him to stand down but that didn't make the order any easier to obey. In life and death situations, every member of the team needed to do what they did best. Gibbs was a man of action; a man who was currently risking his life in search of his injured agent. McGee had wanted desperately to go with him but he knew the best way he could help his teammates was to brief the director and to have a rescue team and chopper ready to move at first light or the minute the storm cleared.
The shudder that danced down his spine told him he was being watched and he turned to see the distress in Sam's dark eyes as he sat by the fireplace nervously rocking back and forth.
"Hey, Sam," he said with forced cheerfulness. "I thought you were watching the movie with your Mom."
Sam shook his head and averted his eyes.
"You worried about Tony?" the agent asked.
The dark head changed direction and nodded emphatically.
"Tony's my friend," Sam said wringing his hands anxiously. "I left him in the storm and now he could be dead."
Hearing the words aloud sent a cold feeling of dread surging through the IT Specialist. Shoving his own fears aside, he took a seat on the other side of the fireplace and tried to reassure the younger man.
"You got him out of the trap, right?"
"But…but I couldn't carry him," Sam said, his eyes filling with tears.
"Listen to me, Sam. You got Tony to shelter and you told us where to find him," McGee stressed. "I don't know what's gonna happen but I know this…if anyone can find Tony, Gibbs can. And Tony's gonna be real proud of you."
The rocking stopped suddenly and Sam lifted his head. His dark eyes warily searched McGee's face for any hint of untruth. Seeing nothing but honesty, Sam beamed a smile as bright as a second sun and turned to see his mother standing at the door.
"Did you hear that, Momma? Tim said Tony's proud of me!"
"Of course he is, honey," she said, clearing the emotion from her voice with a quiet cough. "We're all proud of you."
She looked at the large Christmas tree standing unadorned in the corner of the room and tapped her lip with her index finger. It was a Geary family tradition not to decorate their tree until Christmas Eve but Donna was anxious to find something to distract her son while they waited for news.
"Why don't we ask Tim if he'll help us decorate our tree?" she asked.
With a frown, Sam climbed to his feet and checked the advent calendar hanging on the wall.
"It's not Christmas Eve until tomorrow," he said with a puzzled expression.
"Let's do it early this year," Donna suggested. "Besides, it doesn't look like any of us will be getting sleep tonight."
McGee looked through the window as the snowstorm continued unabated. The last thing he wanted to do right now was to decorate a Christmas tree. But Donna was right; none of them were likely to get any sleep until the storm lifted and the sun provided enough light to send in the rescue team.
"Tim?" Sam asked, his eyes shining with barely contained anticipation.
"Where're the decorations?" McGee asked him, rubbing his hands together in feigned eagerness. "We can't decorate the Christmas tree without decorations, right?"
With a whoop of excitement, Sam ran up the hallway to retrieve the Christmas decorations.
"Be careful," Donna called after him before directing a grateful smile toward McGee. "Thank you, Tim. He's been so worried about Tony…you gave him hope."
"I may have given him false hope," McGee replied sombrely.
Reaching forward, she gave the agent's shoulder a gentle squeeze and smiled sadly.
"Any hope is good hope."
0—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-0
The door of the shed was thrown opened and banged loudly against the wall as Gibbs burst inside accompanied by a blast of icy wind and snow. It was bitterly cold inside, but as he closed the door the relief from the arctic-like winds was enormous.
"Tony!" Gibbs called, removing his snow goggles and willing his eyes to adjust to the darkness. "DiNozzo!"
A gasp tore from his lips as his vision adjusted and he saw his agent lying in a sleeping bag on the floor, as still as a stone effigy. Shrugging off the survival pack, he used his teeth to tear off his gloves and stumbled to Tony's side. Reaching out tentatively, he touched the younger man's face, cringing as the waxy, colourless skin felt cold even to his chilled fingers. His chest tightened at the sight of Tony's blue lips and the painful memories it evoked of days spent battling the aftermath of the pneumonic plague.
Tapping his agent's cheek, Gibbs called his name quietly but couldn't rouse him. He felt for Tony's carotid but couldn't determine between the younger man's pulse and his own trembling fingers.
"Don't do this, DiNozzo," Gibbs told him through chattering teeth. "We're not done yet. You hear me, Tony? We…are…not…done."
He leaned forward and pressed his ear against Tony's chest, releasing a long breath as he heard the slow but steady beating of his agent's heart.
"Atta boy, Tony" Gibbs rasped.
Pulling the heavy-duty flashlight from the pack, he scanned the scant surroundings with the skill of a crime scene investigator. In one quick glance he took in the woodworking tools on the workbench nearby, the slat chairs against the far wall and the supply of wood that was yet to be fashioned into Sam's new carvings. He gathered as many dry twigs, wood cuttings and pine-cones as he could reach and started a fire in the camp stove.
Taking his knife from its sheath, he turned his attention to Tony's injured leg and cut away the blood-sodden jeans. He felt the bile rise to the back of his throat at the sight of the torn and bloodied tissue and the stark jagged bone protruding through the skin.
"Aw hell," he muttered.
Carding agitated fingers through his short, silver hair, he tried to collect the scattered fragments of his composure. The Corps and NCIS had provided him with emergency first aid training and if he was going to get his agent safely home he was going to have to put it to the test.
"Resuscitate, emergent, urgent, less urgent," he muttered, reciting the triage order.
Having already ensured Tony's airway was unobstructed he turned his attention to the badly injured leg. Although there was considerable blood loss, Gibbs was grateful that the freezing conditions had slowed the blood flow to a trickle. Had Tony suffered this injury when the weather was warmer, he may well have bled out. He sorted through the comprehensive medical kit. Not for the first time, he was thankful for military efficiency and preparedness as he found everything he was looking for including Celox gauze; two pre-filled syringes of morphine; SAM splints; and space blankets. Add this to the camp stove, MRE's and warm clothes and Gibbs felt hopeful that he could get them through the night.
He irrigated the deep, jagged laceration and liberally sprinkled an antiseptic powder into the wound before gently packing the injury with Celox gauze and applying a field bandage. Removing Tony's boots, he eased the wet socks off his agent's feet; replacing them with a double layer of thick dry socks that Donna had provided. Unfurling a roll of SAM splint, he fashioned it into a shape that would immobilise the leg before securing it with a bandage and gently elevating it.
The fire crackled in the camp stove, illuminating the shed and giving Gibbs a better look at his agent's face. He found Tony's stillness disturbing. Still was one thing Tony DiNozzo didn't do except in extremes. Placing his hand at the side of the man's jaw, he spoke with a rare gentleness.
"Talk me to, Tony," he said, sighing at his agent's lack of response. "Come on, DiNozzo…gimme some yabba."
Lifting the front of his agent's wet sweater he placed his hand on Tony's abdomen and cursed at the lack of warmth. Tony's core body temperature was dangerously low and hypothermic. He needed warm, dry clothes and he needed them fast. Placing more wood-chips in the camp stove, he grabbed a pair of scissors, a small chamois and the warm clothes Donna had packed for them.
Tony moaned low in his throat as conscious function began to return. His eyelids flicked with movement before they finally opened but it took an agonisingly long moment for recognition to creep into glazed green eyes.
"Boss?" he whispered.
Gibbs was not a man comfortable with showing his emotions but the utter relief he felt at the sound of his agent's voice was almost his undoing. He swallowed around the lump in his throat and finally found his voice.
"Right here."
A spear of agony shot up Tony's leg and he arched his back off the ground, clenching his jaw to trap the scream that tried to escape as Gibbs held him tightly.
"I gotcha," the former Gunny told him. "I gotcha."
Tony took big, slow gasps of air until the pain slowly subsided, leaving him completely exhausted. His eyes closed and his head lolled to one side.
"Hey, Tony…stay with me," Gibbs told him, tapping his fingers on the younger man's face. "Gotta get you into some warm clothes."
Tony's eyes reflected his pain and confusion as he swatted Gibbs' hands away lethargically.
"Jusss…jusss wanna sssleep," he slurred worryingly and closed his eyes again.
Taking a firm hold of his agent's jaw he waited until Tony met his gaze.
"Listen to me. Are you listening?"
"…'m lissning…Boss."
"Clothes first, then you can sleep," he said firmly. His eyes flicked to Tony's broken leg. "S'gonna hurt like hell."
Tony made a sound that was a hybrid of a laugh and a sob.
"Already…hurzlike…sonabish," he replied languidly.
The former Gunny reached for one of two pre-filled syringes.
"Got some morphine," Gibbs said, uncapping the syringe. "You get half now, half when we're done."
"Done?"
Gibbs' brow furrowed at the extent of Tony's confusion.
"Your clothes are wet," Gibbs repeated patiently. "Need you to stay awake. You with me?"
Somehow, his voice reached into the darkness of his agent's dazed mind and Tony nodded sluggishly.
"I'm with you…Boss."
Despite his known hatred of needles, Tony didn't twitch an eyelash as his boss injected half the contents of the syringe into his thigh and recapped the needle. The moment the drug hit Tony's bloodstream all the tension leaked out of his body and his eyelids slid from half-mast to closed.
"Hey!" Gibbs said sharply.
"M'up," Tony mumbled.
Working quickly, Gibbs used the scissors to cut away the injured man's wet clothing. Tony's body was littered with bruises and scrapes from the nasty tumble down the side of the mountain but none looked threatening or hinted of a more serious injury. Despite the camp stove, the temperature in the shed was frigid and the former Marine noted Tony's lack of shivering and the absence of wise-ass comments with equal concern.
"You ready?" he asked.
Blinking heavily, Tony remained silent – pain, blood loss and hypothermia teamed with the morphine to leave the agent uncharacteristically docile. Sucking in a bracing breath he nodded his readiness and Gibbs carefully lifted his agent's shoulders. He wrestled Tony into a long-sleeved t-shirt and one of Sam's colourful Christmas sweaters as the younger man clenched his teeth at the pain the movement caused.
"Time to lay off the extra cheese," Gibbs grunted, bearing most of Tony's weight.
The former gunny took a woollen watch cap from his pocket and pulled it onto Tony's head.
"It'll keep your ears warm," Gibbs said, repeating Sam's words.
Getting his agent into the sweatpants proved much more difficult and after several agonising attempts, Tony slumped heavily against his boss.
"Stay with me, Tony," Gibbs told him.
Despite his best efforts, Tony's head fell limply forward and when unconsciousness beckoned, he tumbled mercifully into it.
0—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-0
The hands of the clock dragged themselves around the face in agonizingly slow increments and McGee found himself back at the picture window. Outside, the fluffy white snowflakes fell from unseen clouds and contrasted starkly against the night sky. He'd checked in at the office; calming the fears of a frantic forensic scientist and noting the thinly disguised concern in Ziva's voice as she discussed several leads on Gianni Rosetti's accomplices.
The Allegany County volunteer snow rescue team had arranged to meet McGee at first light to search for the missing agents. Tim's vision of snowshoes, dogsleds and monstrous St Bernard dogs disappeared the instant he heard the word ski-doo and he hastily dismissed the urge to put voice to an excited but highly inappropriate "sweet!" Leaving nothing to chance, he'd called Anacostia to confirm the emergency medivac. Commander Bradley and the crew of the Knighthawk had been on their way back to base when the storm closed in and forced them to land at Potomac Airpark. If the storm cleared on schedule, the chopper would arrive shortly after daybreak.
The thought that Tony and Gibbs could already be dead while he sat helplessly waiting for dawn to arrive, sent McGee's stomach into a free-fall. He felt a gentle touch on his arm and turned to see understanding reflected in Donna's eyes.
"I thought you might like to join us for some hot chocolate," she said, handing him a steaming mug.
"Thank you," he smiled sadly. "I'm sorry, I'm not very good company tonight."
"Nonsense; you've got a lot on your mind," Donna told him, leading him away from the window and back to the couch. "Besides, you're just in time for the main event."
"The main event?"
"I found them, Momma," Sam called from the hallway.
Carrying a polished oaken box and looking like the cat that swallowed the canary, the young man joined them in the living room. Placing the box on the coffee table, Sam opened the lid and ran his fingers lightly over the items within. His curiosity piqued, McGee leaned forward to see an array of beautifully handcrafted tree ornaments.
"These are our special ornaments," Donna explained. "Sam made these with his Dad to celebrate their love of nature and animals."
Turning the box so that McGee could see, Sam pointed out the o'possum and the beaver, the deer and the raccoon, the shrew and the mole, the black bear and the wolf, the bobcat and the bison – all native to Maryland and all carved with great detail and love.
"These are really beautiful," McGee said as Sam smiled shyly.
"They're not your traditional Christmas ornaments," Donna said. "But to us, they symbolise love of nature and family. What better time to show that than at Christmas?"
Within a few moments the tree was done and when the lights were switched on, Sam's face lit up with excitement. McGee helped Donna clear the dishes, looking back over his shoulder at Sam who sat totally mesmerised by the twinkling lights.
"All this…it must be hard for you," McGee said.
Donna smiled knowingly.
"Tim…I don't think you understand just how much I love being Sam's mother. He's sweet and he's gentle and he's honest…he'll never be greedy or devious or spiteful." As she looked at her son, Donna's eyes filled with deep emotion and pride. "I am the luckiest mom alive."
0—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-0
Energised by the gale force winds, the snow and sleet continued to test the stamina of the fragile shed that creaked and screeched in protest but stood firm. Inside, Gibbs had taken advantage of Tony's unconscious state to periodically check the dressings on his agent's badly injured leg and monitor his body temperature and pulse. Despite the warm blankets and dry clothes, the younger man's skin was still pale and cold and his lips retained their bluish colour. With a painful twist of his gut Gibbs noted the absence of shivering and knew that Tony was not generating body heat.
He added extra wood cuttings and pine-cones to the camp stove while he activated the flame-less ration heater to warm the MRE's and a hot glucose drink for Tony. Only then did he shed his own wet clothes; baulking slightly before pulling on another of Sam's colourful Christmas sweaters and a pair of sweats. He filled a plastic bag with snow and applied it to his painfully swollen knee. He knew an injection of morphine would take the edge off his pain but it was in short supply and Tony was in greater need of it. He tossed down a couple of Tylenol – for now, that would have to do.
Tony's eyes danced frantically under his eyelids as his mind slowly rebooted. He began to move fitfully; muttering under his breath in snatches of unintelligible phrases. Slowly he became aware of someone talking to him; the voice low and reassuring. He concentrated on the words and they acted as a lifeline. A spasm from severed and traumatized leg muscles caused him to cry out as the intense pain drew him back to consciousness and he blinked as though suddenly becoming aware of where he was and what had happened.
"Boss?"
A rush of adrenaline-fed strength enabled him to try to sit up, struggling against the arms attempting to hold him down.
"Take it easy," Gibbs told him. "Don't try to move."
Dizzy to the point of nausea, Tony screwed his eyes tightly closed and breathed deeply. When he opened them again, there was a hint of lucidity as he looked toward his injured leg and swallowed convulsively.
"Really put my foot in it this time…Boss," he stated sibilantly.
Gibbs' lips curved slightly upward at the welcome hint of humour.
"Ya think?"
"How bad?"
The former gunny let years of experience transform his face into a neutral mask but Tony recognised the sharp worry in his boss' eyes.
"Bad enough," Gibbs replied, guiding a cup to the younger man's lips. "Drink."
"Whazzit?" Tony pulled back.
"It'll make you feel better."
Turning his glazed eyes to Gibbs, Tony's expression lit up.
"Beer?"
The team leader's lips wore a tiny smile and his eyes softened with affection.
"Not beer," he replied. "Easy, it's hot."
Tony grimaced at the first sip of the sickly sweet liquid but dutifully drank the entire contents.
"How'dja find me?"
"Sam. The kid who got you out of the trap."
Tony nodded drowsily.
"S'okay?"
"He's fine. Blames himself for leaving you."
"He did good. Woulda died in the trap." Tony gasped, as the pain from his leg grew worse.
"McGee and a rescue team will be here at first light."
"Probie s'coming?"
"Yeah, Tony…he's coming."
Pain and the bitter cold had screwed with his cognitive reasoning and he found he had to concentrate on every new thought. Suddenly, realisation dawned that Gibbs had risked his life in the snowstorm to get to him. He turned emotion-filled eyes to the former Marine.
"You could've died," he whispered.
Uncomfortable with showing his feelings, Gibbs averted his eyes and cleared his throat with a quiet cough before resolutely meeting Tony's gaze.
"You would've died."
The lead agent hadn't said the words aloud but Tony had no trouble reading the subtext. Hell with Gibbs, if you couldn't read the subtext you missed most of the conversation. Tony gasped loudly as another spear of agony tore through his body and his breath caught on a strangled cry. He clamped his lips to deny it life and felt a firm squeeze on his shoulder.
"Boss?" Tony rasped.
"Need another shot?" Gibbs asked.
Tony nodded his head and Gibbs' chest tightened as he reached for the syringe and injected another half-dose of morphine into Tony's thigh. He watched as his agent slowly relaxed into a drug-induced stupor. Ducking his hand under Tony's sweater, he bit back a curse as he found minimal change to the younger man's body temperature. Sighing audibly, he ignored the shooting pain from his knee and nudged his agent's shoulder.
"Move over."
"Wha?"
"You deaf," DiNozzo? I said move over," Gibbs said, climbing in behind the younger man and resting Tony's back against his chest.
"Thazzit?" Tony slurred with a goofy grin. "Buy me one lousy drink and think you can climb into my bed?"
The former gunny rolled his eyes and wondered whether he was seeing his agent's loopy reaction to painkillers or Tony reinforcing the mask of the extrovert to hide the face and feelings of the man.
"Get some rest."
Instead of settling in to sleep, Tony fidgeted and then recoiled in horror at the sight of the ice-skating penguins adorning the Christmas sweater he was wearing.
"S'your sweater, Boss?"
"Does it look like my sweater, DiNozzo?"
Tony frowned, looking from his colourful sweater to the equally colourful sweater Gibbs was wearing.
"Azzamadda of fact..."
"They're Sam's," he told him succinctly. "They're warm."
"Don't s'pose he…he packed any Zegna?"
"Go to sleep!" Gibbs growled.
"Didn't think so."
A long silence passed and just as Gibbs thought Tony had finally fallen asleep; the younger man spoke up again.
"Just don't wanna get…get rescued looking like an extra from Happy Feet," he said drowsily.
"DiNozzo!"
"S'alright for you, Boss," Tony continued with a hint of DiNozzo impertinence. "The dancing reindeer look good on you."
"Shut up, keep still and go to sleep," Gibbs growled again.
"Clearly, your pillow talk needs work," Tony mumbled. "'splains the three ex-wives though."
He yelped at the familiar sting of a head slap and reached up to gingerly rub the back of his head.
"Pass out or I'll knock you out," Gibbs threatened. "Your choice!"
Usually, Tony would staunchly defend his claim that DiNozzo's don't pass out but, as far as he was aware, he was the first DiNozzo in history to stick his fool foot in a bear trap and he was therefore entitled to a little leniency.
"Passing out…Boss," he mumbled and with a soft sigh, Tony's world went still except for the comforting sound of his Boss' heartbeat.
0—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-0
A/N Happy Australia Day weekend, Aussies!
Thanks again for your support, I hope you enjoyed the chapter, L