A/N: I thought about ending this chap earlier, but then the title didn't make sense (and I really like the title) plus, if I had ended it before the last scene, you would have gotten absolutely ZERO new information, which is kind of appealing, so that brings me back to the title issue, lol. THANK YOU SO MUCH to the 29 people that reviewed the last chap, I think that's some kind of record! For me at least. And huge thanks to Susangel who basically inspired my little muse for this chapter. I love that everyone loved Gibbs coming to the rescue. But when it came right down to it, what else was I gonna do?? Really, I had no control over the matter, Gibbs just leveled one of those stares at me and I knew. He'd be there in time, no matter what I had to say about it. lol. Also, FYI, I think the next chap will be the last so, Enjoy! -pj

"McGee," Gibbs barked. He was pacing up and down the small space they'd been given as an office and living area, with Ziva watching him carefully from beneath dark eyelashes under the pretense of reading their finished report. The case had been a relatively neat wrap-up after coming on board. The XO had many enemies but some more violently inclined than others, and they were easily persuaded to tell the truth when Ziva and Gibbs made it clear they wanted off the ship asap and standing in the way of that could be detrimental to the suspect's physical well-being.

McGee kept his eyes glued to his laptop, shifting, though not nearly as uncomfortably as he used to, as his Boss' concern masked with irritation was thrown at him full force.

"No joy Boss," McGee said finally, pursing his lips as he glanced up at Gibbs, "still no response from Tony's computer."

"They would not intentionally miss a check in," Ziva pointed out, moving to stand with her hands on her hips, "perhaps they went to find Tony some real medical attention." She raised her eyebrows, urging Gibbs to hear her suggestion. He did not pause in his movements.

"What makes you think they needed a hospital," he growled, not looking at her.

"You're gut," she responded evenly. Almost defensively. He looked at her and could see the challenge in her eyes.

Am I wrong?

McGee watched the silent exchange with wide eyes. He waited, but Gibbs never protested Ziva's suggestion.

"Boss? You don't think…"

"No, I don't, McGee." With that he turned and left the room, leaving the junior agents to wonder at what would happen next.

---

Self preservation kept McGee and Ziva from questioning him when Gibbs came back twenty minutes later. His face was red, his jaw set and his teeth working hard beneath his skin.

"Get your gear," was all he said, his tone clipt and sharp enough to draw blood and deathly quiet so neither of them even thought to argue.

McGee and Ziva glanced at one another and started to move.

Where were they going? Where had Gibbs been? What about Tony? Their first instinct was to jump first and ask questions later, after all, where Gibbs went, his team followed. But they were also investigators and had been taught to question. Ziva and McGee opened their mouths, about to express these very questions when, feeling they were not moving fast enough, Gibbs turned a dark look on them both.

The fierce, icy look in his eyes rivaled the snow outside and the words died in their throats. Instead they quickly began breaking camp as ordered, hoping not to be left behind. But that didn't keep them both from silently musing to themselves.

McGee was not the most socially adept person, and Gibbs was not the easiest to read. But McGee knew what Gibbs wasn't saying right then. Regardless of the weather, or the not-quite-finished murder investigation, or anything anyone else might say, they were going for Tony. End of discussion.

Ziva held her duffle with a fist that was closed too tightly, her fingernails digging into the flesh of her palm, but she didn't notice. She blinked when they approached the flight deck. A thin coat of ice seemed to cover everything, but the wind had lessened and the clouds had stopped dropping snow, as if Mother Nature herself dared not defy Gibbs in this mood.

"The storm is all on land," McGee said from his position beside her, "they're getting the worst of it in DC now."

Ziva stared straight ahead and concentrated on keeping her footing on the slippery ground, her mouth too dry, and her throat too thick, to respond.

---

Gibbs had made a lot of enemies over the years. But he'd made a lot of friends too.

People he knew from his time in the Corps. People he knew through Shannon or his ex-wives. People who built boats, people he'd helped as an agent.

Some of these people owed him favors; many of them would help him just because it was him doing the asking.

And one of them owned a snow plow.

The cab smelled of an over-used heater on its last leg and week-old coffee, but no one made comment. The cab was silent as they plowed their way through the DC streets. Ducky had been apprised of the situation and the group and gone by his house on the way to Tony's, and now he was following behind them in their recently cleared wake.

Outside it looked like a snow globe had been turned on its head and gone nuclear, white covered everything with such thickness it was hard to recognize buildings from cars from garbage cans.

It wasn't until they were two blocks from Tony's place that someone spoke.

"The power is out," Ziva said, pushing forward in her seat to see further out the window past McGee.

"No power means no heat," McGee observed, his tone low and apprehensive, "it also explains why they didn't respond to my message alerts."

Gibbs didn't respond and Ziva and McGee, understanding that this new information could only mean bad things for their friends, added to the silence.

When they got to Tony's building Gibbs entered first with Ziva on his heels, leaving McGee to make sure Ducky got out and up to Tony's apartment alright. He didn't bother knocking when he got to the door, instead choosing to open it immediately with his spare key.

His gut was churning so intensely now it was on the brink of making him nauseous, but even with that fairly reliable warning, he was not prepared for what he saw when he flung the door open to Tony's apartment. His eyes swept across the large open space of Tony's kitchen and living room, falling to two prone figures on the floor near the couch, and in spite of himself, he froze.

Tony was still, far too still, his chest remarkably motionless. And beside him sat Abby, everything about her screaming exhaustion, from her wheezing breaths to her shaking limbs. But he only remained immobile for a moment, taking in the situation and moving on to a solution as quickly as possible. He crossed the room, having realized what Abby was doing and why, before Ducky and McGee had even made it up to Tony's apartment.

"Duck!," he called, hardly aware of the hint of panic in his voice. He hit his knees beside Abby, trying to disentangle her from around Tony so Ducky could do a proper examination. He grasped her small wrists, noting her skin was far paler than usual.

"I've got him Abbs," he assured her quietly when she fought him. She was disoriented and weak, but she seemed to understand because she stopped struggling and he turned his attention to Tony. His pulse was a little weaker than normal, but steady, his head wet with sweat and his face pale but cheeks flush with fever. He resumed the rescue breathing Abby had ceased while Ducky prepared the breathing bag and fitted it over Tony's mouth and nose.

"Oh Anthony," he said, and Gibbs didn't ask for clarification. He knew that tone, and it only made him that much more anxious to see Tony out the door and on his way to the hospital.

"McGee," Gibbs barked and Tim was immediately at his side, helping Ducky and Ziva as they tried to negotiate Tony's limp form out the door without ceasing the rescue breathing for too long at a time.

He turned back to Abby and found her eyes impossibly large and glassy.

"Gibbs," she squeaked. He didn't need clarification for that tone either. She had only said his name like that twice before. The first time was when he left for Mexico, his memory still resembling something of Swiss Cheese and she'd stared at him across the bullpen looking disbelieving and alone. The other time was when they'd watched Tony's car be blown to bits in MTAC and they had all, Gibbs included, been terrified that Ducky would not be able to prove the driver wasn't Tony.

It was her pleading voice. The scared one. The one that always broke his heart.

"C'mon," he said, pulling her to her feet and they started toward the door. She mumbled something about Tony not being allowed to die until he got there, and he responded with the only coherent thing he could think to say.

"Damn straight."

---

Abby was still. Motionless. And it made Gibbs' gut turn. Abby was never not moving. She was always active. Always talking, bouncing, tapping, dancing, swaying. Abby was art in motion. Abby did not do 'still'.

Yet, when Gibbs entered the ICU waiting room after receiving an update on Tony's condition, that was exactly what he saw.

They'd made the trip to the hospital from Tony's place in good time, all things considered. Ziva and McGee had driven the plow while Gibbs drove Ducky's car behind them, with Ducky and Abby tending to Tony in the back seat. They'd been able to bypass the zoo that was the ER because of Tony's preexisting condition and the fact that he was currently breathing only with the help of Ducky's balloon-like rescue breathing device.

The doctors had admitted Tony and immediately started him on oxygen and antibiotics to combat what they diagnosed as acute pneumonia attacking his chest, while they attempted to regulate his temperature and liquid intake and get a hold of Dr. Pitt. The team was huddled in a corner, strength in numbers per their routine, talking quietly to distract eachother or listening to Ducky's stories. Gibbs would usually have ordered them all home by now, but the storm made that impossible.

And then there was Abby. Who stood still and silent in front of the large picture windows on one wall of the waiting room that gave them all a front row view of the Jack Frost: Strike's Back encore showing outside.

He came to stand beside her, wordlessly reaching out to rub a hand across her shoulders, wishing to receive some sort of reaction to his presence.

"Abby, he's going to be okay," he said, sure it was what she needed to hear.

Abby nodded, the blank look still firmly planted on her face, "I know. He said he would be. And Tony is a lot of things, but he's not a liar," she said confidently, and then added a bit quieter, "not to me."

Gibbs nodded and turned so they were standing shoulder to shoulder, nearly touching.

"And I didn't spend nearly two days trying to keep him alive in an apartment stocked with nothing but old pizza and Bourbon just to have him die when he got proper medical care," the quiver in her voice made the bravado much less convincing and he looked at her reflection in the window.

"Did you know Tony talks in his sleep?" She said after a moment. Gibbs didn't respond. She wasn't really expecting him to and, besides, he did know that. He'd spent enough time with hurt, unconscious, fever-stricken Tony to know more than he ever wanted.

"He talks about everything. His father. His mother…he really loved his mother Gibbs. Like, a lot," she sniffed and balled her hands into fists, "and us. He talks about us to. McGee and Ziva and – and Kate, and Ducky and me and you. He talks about you a lot too. About wanting your approval and wishing to be more like you."

She turned slowly, never looking at him, and slid down the glass to sit on the floor and, after a moment, Gibbs joined her, feeling the prying gazes of the rest of the team but refusing to look.

"And listening to him talk it was-," she bit her lip and winced.

"What is it?" Gibbs asked, his brow furrowed as he turned to look closer at him.

Abby lifted a hand to her mouth and touched her lip. It was swollen and sore. She remembered tasting blood before, but she'd been so busy tending to Tony she hadn't had time to notice. It seemed as though she'd bitten right through.

Gibbs made eye contact with McGee and the young man nodded, standing and making his way over to the refreshment table on the opposite wall, getting ice for her.

"Thanks McGee," she said, trying to smile up at him when he handed the Styrofoam cup to her. She didn't hold his gaze long enough for it to really work, and instead turned to stare at the ice.

"Abbs."

Abby inhaled sharply. How she'd longed to hear that voice over he past few days. Now it was here. He was here, and somehow she still felt lost and scared. She wasn't sure what his saying her name that way was meant to make her do. Keep telling him about Tony? Make more of an effort for McGee? Put some ice on her lip?

She did none of these things. Instead she started to shake her head, and realized the rattling sound she was hearing was the ice knocking against itself in the cup. Her hands were shaking too.

Gibbs reached over and covered her hands with his, steadying them.

"He turned blue Gibbs," she whispered, "he stopped breathing." She started to bite her lip again but Gibbs stopped her, giving a pointed look at the ice instead.

Obediently, she slipped one of the cool chips into her mouth, rubbing it against her sore lip.

"Abby," he said again, his voice soft and gentle, "he's going to be fine."

Abby didn't want to question whether he was saying that just to comfort her, or if he really believed it. She didn't want to know if he was agreeing with the doctors or defying them with that assurance. She didn't want to think of how the word 'fine' had been one of the things to get them into this mess in the first place.

She didn't want any of it.

She just wanted Tony. Healthy and normal colored and mischievous and alive.

Gibbs remained silent beside her, and after a moment, Abby bent her head to rest against his shoulder.

"I know he'll be…fine, Gibbs," she said, pulling in a calming breath and squeezing his hand, "He has to. Or else I'll be the one to kick his ass."

TBC