Disclaimer: NCIS and its characters do not belong to me and this story is not intended as an infringement of copyright. It has been written solely for entertainment and no profit has been made from its creation.
BLINDSIDED
Chapter Two
McGee was caught in a waking nightmare as the bomb exploded seconds after Tony entered the building. He watched on in horror as windows shattered, timber cracked and splintered and assorted debris was catapulted into the air.
"Tony! Ziva!" he yelled repeatedly into his com-link, feeling his throat tighten and his heart pound painfully in his chest when his calls were met with silence.
The sirens of the bomb squad and the emergency services vehicles were still agonising moments from arrival. Decision made, McGee turned to Agents Farrell and Preston, who were still at his side.
"I'm going in," he said. "I need you to check around back."
"You can't," Preston protested. "What if there's another bomb?"
"My partners are in there!" McGee yelled furiously. "Check the back, see if we can access the house from there."
"We should wait for the bomb squad," Farrell tried to reason.
"Dammit, if that was you in there, Farrell – or you, Preston – would you want people standing around debating the merits of waiting for the bomb squad?" McGee snapped. "Just go round the back and let me know if it's still accessible – that's all I'm asking."
McGee pulled up the collar of his jacket, attempting to give himself a little protection from the heat and billowing smoke then drew his handkerchief from his pocket to cover his nose and mouth. Taking a deep breath, he crouched low and ran up the front steps and into the house. His breath was immediately snatched away by the heat and smell of the fire that, for the moment, seemed to be primarily based in the living room.
"Tony! Ziva!" he called, blinking tears from eyes irritated by smoke, heat and floating debris particles.
Coughing and gagging from the taste and smell of the acrid smoke, he took a knee and breathed deeply from the untainted air closer to the ground. He was ready to continue his search when he saw a body lying sprawled at the far end of the hallway.
"Tony!" he gasped.
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Farrell and Preston ran quickly to the rear yard of the house that was now littered in detritus from the explosion. They were making their way to the back entrance when the sound of a dog whimpering, caught their attention. Turning toward the noise they saw the large dog standing over the unmoving body of a woman, Ziva. As they approached, the dog became anxious and growled protectively.
"Easy boy," Farrell said. "We're not gonna hurt you."
The dog moved slightly, placing itself between the agents and Ziva, curling its lips to reveal dangerously large teeth.
"Ziva? Ziva can you hear me?" Farrell asked as he noticed her beginning to stir. "Ziva, if you can hear me, stay very still – there's a vicious dog standing over you."
Farrell removed his jacket, wrapping it tightly around his right arm for protection against the possible dog attack while Preston took his weapon from his holster, ready to take a shot.
"No, wait!" Ziva moaned softly from her prostrate position on the ground.
"Ziva! Don't move – we'll try to lure the dog away," Farrell instructed.
"That will not be necessary," Ziva replied, rolling onto her back with a stifled cry, she called to the large dog. "Hey, good boy, you are a good boy, yes?" she cooed.
The dog's demeanour changed instantly as it was transformed from Cujo to Pluto and wagged its tail happily. Cautiously, the other agents approached and crouched by Ziva's side.
"Are you hurt?" Preston said, warily eying the dog.
"I think my arm may be broken," Ziva replied, favouring her right arm.
Farrell assisted her to carefully position her arm against her chest, preventing unnecessary and painful movement, and he wrapped his jacket around her shoulders. They helped her to her feet, steadying her until her legs found their strength and all sighed with relief as the sirens of the emergency services vehicles sounded their arrival at the scene.
"Come on," Preston said. "We'll get you to the ambulance."
As they walked to the front of the house, they saw several members of the bomb squad disappear into the building. Preston called to the EMT's standing nearby who assisted Ziva to sit on the step at the rear of the ambulance. She did so willingly as a spell of light-headedness and a pounding headache threatened to overwhelm her.
"Who's in charge here?" the Bomb Squad leader asked.
"Special Agent McGee," Farrell replied. "He's in the house. We have an agent down."
"What?" Ziva said in alarm, pushing away the arms of the EMT attempting to check her over. She climbed unsteadily to her feet. "Where is Tony?"
A commotion at the front of the house caught their attention, as Tony was carried unconscious from the building, McGee at his side.
"Tony," Ziva gasped.
"He went into the house to get you, Ziva," Preston said. "Just as the bomb exploded."
"Oh, God!" she whispered. "What have I done?"
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Gibbs pushed his way through the elevator doors before they had fully opened and urgently searched the waiting room for a familiar face. He spotted Ducky and McGee standing at the nurses' station, awash in paperwork, and hurried to join them.
"What the hell happened?" he asked.
"Jethro! You made good time!" Ducky said holding Tony's wallet in his hand. "I don't suppose you know where Anthony keeps his health insurance number? I can't seem to find it here in his wallet."
"DXN74659" Gibbs replied by rote.
"My word, that's very impressive!" Ducky commented, shaking his head in admiration.
"Practise," Gibbs stated flatly. "How are they?"
"Ziva has a slight concussion and greenstick fracture of her right radius. It has necessitated the insertion of a surgical plate - she is currently in surgery and expected to make a full recovery."
"Tony?"
"Anthony suffered a hairline fracture of the occipital bone at the base of his skull and a serious concussion. He also sustained some smoke inhalation after the explosion."
"Ducky? His lungs?"
"His lungs are fine, Jethro, the doctors have him on oxygen as a precaution only."
"DiNozzo has a concussion and his lungs are fine, yet we're standing out here in the halls? What aren't you telling me, Duck?" Gibbs asked with growing impatience.
"The doctors are still with him, Jethro. Anthony hasn't regained consciousness yet and that is cause for considerable concern."
"Ya think, Duck? It's been over three hours!"
"Please calm down, Jethro, I'm sure they'll come and see us just as soon as there's any news."
Gibbs carded his fingers through his short, silver hair and exhaled loudly. He turned his attention to his dishevelled agent, noting McGee's eyes were red from smoke irritation and he was coughing frequently.
"McGee? You alright?"
"I'm fine, Boss," McGee replied. "Just a bit of residual smoke."
"What happened?"
As McGee recounted the events that led to his teammates injuries, his breath caught and he coughed harshly. Ducky handed him a bottle of water, receiving a nod of thanks.
"So Briggs is dead and there's a bomb inside the house still counting down," Gibbs stated, watching McGee nod his head while taking another drink. "What happened next and don't tell me those two went back inside to try to disarm it?"
"No, Boss, Tony ordered everyone to stay clear, we called the EMT and the bomb squad and tried to evacuate the neighbouring properties."
"And?" Gibbs snapped.
"And, um, then, er…Tony went back inside the house to try to disarm the bomb," McGee answered quickly.
"Damn it, DiNozzo!"
"But he took the remote with him, Boss, and when the remote didn't work he came straight back out!"
"If he came straight back out, how the hell did he end up in a hospital bed with a crack in that thick skull of his?" Gibbs asked, not bothering to hide his frustration.
"Cos, um, he, er…he went back in," McGee muttered.
"He went back in!" Gibbs repeated loudly. "Of all the boneheaded, idiotic…."
"Boss! Please, it wasn't Tony's fault!" McGee tried desperately to explain. "Ziva had gone in the back way, Tony told her to get out of the house but…"
"She didn't."
McGee's silence and his inability to meet Gibbs' determined glare was all the answer he required.
"Jethro, when the explosion occurred, Anthony was trying to get Ziva out of harms way," Ducky added softly.
"He didn't know that Ziva had already realised there was no more time," McGee continued. "Tony went in the front door as Ziva went out the back and they both got caught in the blast concussion."
Gibbs closed his eyes on a sigh. "Has anyone called Abby?" he asked after a moment.
"Mr Palmer has gone to fetch Abigail," Ducky replied.
With a brisk nod, Gibbs walked to the large windows and looked out into the night. He pressed the heels of his callused hands into tired eyes and chased away all thoughts of what could have been.
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After a successful surgery, Ziva was wheeled from the Recovery ward to a bed in a private room. McGee, Ducky and Palmer had quietly looked in on her but were told she would most likely sleep until morning. It was almost another hour before the doctor left Tony's side to speak with Gibbs and the team.
"Agent DiNozzo has taken a fierce blow to the head," Doctor Andrews said. "His pupils are very sluggish and his CT scans indicate swelling in the occipital lobe. We're concerned about the severity of his concussion but until he regains consciousness we'll just have to wait and see."
"He's not awake yet? It's been hours!" Abby asked, red nosed and puffy eyed but stoically holding on to her composure.
"Not yet," the doctor replied, "but we've been monitoring his vitals and his brain activity and we're confident that he will wake up soon. He's going to have one hell of a headache."
"Can we see him, Doctor?" McGee asked.
"I'm sorry, it's very late and I'd like to keep him as quiet as possible. One of you can stay and the rest are welcome to come back tomorrow."
There was never a question of who would be staying with Tony, so, nodding their reluctant acquiescence, they said goodnight to the doctor and Gibbs and left for their homes.
Doctor Andrews led Gibbs into Tony's room and Gibbs blanched at the machinery and equipment currently attached to his agent.
"Don't let all this hardware get to you," Doctor Andrews said. "We've already reduced his oxygen intake from the mask to the nasal cannula and if his breathing continues to improve, he'll lose the cannula tomorrow. The IV is just to keep his fluids up until he regains consciousness and the EEG is monitoring Agent DiNozzo's levels of consciousness and his brain activity."
"Good luck with that," Gibbs said with the ghost of a smile crossing his lips. "I've been working with him for eight years - know him better than anyone – and, sometimes, I still wonder how his brain works."
Doctor Andrews gave a chuckle and pointed to the visitor's chair. "Sorry about your accommodation," he said. "I'll have a nurse bring in a coffee an hour from now."
Gibbs gave a quick nod and began his vigil in the visitor's chair.
Time passed slowly as Gibbs was lured into the almost hypnotic effect of the steady rise and fall of Tony's chest. He tried to ignore the stillness of a man who had rarely stopped moving since their first encounter. He shook his head and his lips quirked in a smile as he fondly recalled meeting the cocky young detective in Baltimore. To his surprise he'd found, under the flippant, brash, wise-ass exterior, Anthony DiNozzo was a hell of an investigator, a person he could respect, a partner he could trust with his life and a man well worth getting to know.
Yet another hour passed and a nurse delivered a second cup of coffee and a sandwich.
The squeak of a plastic lid being removed from a Styrofoam coffee cup and the aroma of strong coffee wafted over to him. He kept his eyes closed as he heard the soft creak of the bedside chair as his visitor shifted his bodyweight.
"Boss?" Tony whispered, frown and pain lines appearing instantly as his mammoth headache made its presence felt.
"Tony," Gibbs replied, reaching for the call button to request pain relief for his agent. "Doc's on his way, hold on."
Tony gave a tiny nod before opening his eyes a crack. His long fingers twisted in the linen as his breathing sped up.
"Boss…s'late?" Tony asked in a barely audible whisper.
"Yeah, Tony, it's very late," Gibbs answered.
Tony blinked his eyes rapidly and turned his head to look around the room. Sensing Tony's burgeoning panic and disorientation Gibbs pressed the call button repeatedly and placed a comforting hand over Tony's white knuckles.
"Hey, talk to me," Gibbs said. "What's going on?"
"Boss…I can't see."
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