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 Three
Gibbs stood in the waiting room, a long emptied Styrofoam cup still in his hand as he stared at the closed door to Tony's hospital room. He sensed, rather than heard, the approach of his long-term friend and took some comfort from the hand that the elderly ME placed on his shoulder.
"Thanks for coming back, Duck," Gibbs said flatly.
"Of course, Jethro," Ducky replied. "Is there any news?"
"Not yet. The docs are still with him."
Brutally crushing the cup into submission, Gibbs threw it into the nearby trashcan and start to pace in an agitated manner.
"How could this happen, Duck? I watched the nursing staff shine their damn penlights in his eyes every 15 minutes, waiting for him to wake up! Nobody noticed that he was blind?"
"In cases of severe brain trauma, the vision impairment can be due to damage to the brain and not the eyes. For all intents and purposes, the eyes function perfectly."
"Except for the fact that he can't see!" Gibbs growled.
"Yes, except for that." Ducky repeated sadly.
The door to Tony's room opened and two doctor's exited, closing the door behind them and conferring over what Gibbs assumed to be Tony's medical chart. Moments later they turned and entered the waiting room. Gibbs recognised Doctor Andrews, the young doctor who had treated Tony earlier.
"Agent Gibbs, Doctor Mallard," Doctor Andrews said. "I'd like you to meet Doctor James Owens our Chief Ophthalmologist."
The men nodded a greeting and shook hands.
"How is he, Doctor?" Gibbs asked, unable to wait another moment.
"As you know, Agent DiNozzo suffered a severe blow to the back of his skull. The impact was hard enough to cause a hairline fracture to his occipital bone and considerable swelling to the occipital cortex," the eye specialist explained. "Based on the tests I have conducted on Agent DiNozzo, I believe his eyes are working perfectly."
"But he can't see," Gibbs stated.
"No, he can't. Our eyes deliver information on the world around us to various parts of the brain via nerves that detect light. The occipital cortex, situated at the rear of the brain, processes the information and allows us to see distance, shape, movement and colour. If that area suffers some form of trauma, it can result in partial or complete loss of sight."
"And in Anthony's case?" Ducky asked.
"At the moment, he has no perception of light, colour or movement," Dr Owens replied. "Agent DiNozzo is completely blind."
The words hit Gibbs like a kick to the gut, stealing his breath and momentarily robbing him of his ability to form the next question. Thankfully, Ducky stepped in and spoke the words Gibbs could not put voice to.
"Doctor Owens, is Anthony's condition permanent?"
"That depends on the severity of the brain damage, it could be temporary or it could be permanent. I'm sorry - I know this is not easy to hear. We have arranged for a leading neurologist to see Agent DiNozzo tomorrow." He checked his watch and gave a small apologetic shrug. "Make that later this morning. He'll have further testing and we should know something more definite after that."
"Have you spoken to Anthony about your diagnosis?" Ducky asked.
"We keep all of our patients as well informed as we can," Doctor Owens replied. "He took the news surprisingly well."
"Yes, well, with Anthony, it's often difficult to know exactly what he is feeling."
"He was in quite a bit of pain from his head trauma. We've sedated him so that he can get some rest before he has the other tests."
"I'd like to see him," Gibbs said, finally finding his voice.
"Of course," the doctors said, before excusing themselves and leaving to attend to other patients.
Gibbs and Ducky entered Tony's room, noting how the subdued lighting highlighted the younger man's pale complexion. The nasal cannula and EEG leads had been removed; leaving the room eerily silent with the exception of Tony's deep, steady breathing. The frown and pain lines evident earlier, had smoothed and disappeared with the apportioning of pain medication and the fingers that had tightly grasped the bed linen were now relaxed in sleep.
Gibbs watched his agent's peaceful drug-induced slumber and tried to imagine the devastation of suddenly facing a world without sight. As he resumed his seat in the visitor's chair he leaned forward and placed his hand on Tony's forearm, hoping the touch would ground him when he woke to darkness.
"Anthony will survive this, Jethro," Ducky said with certainty. "Be this temporary or permanent, he has the strength to overcome and conquer this crisis."
"His whole life is about sight, Duck," Gibbs said quietly, never taking his eyes off his sleeping agent. "His job as an investigator, his ability to read people, his love of sports and watching his damn movies. This will devastate him."
"I agree that Anthony has a most difficult path ahead of him, with innumerable challenges and adjustments to make. But mark my words, Jethro; this young man would not have survived without being a strong person. People around him see an unhappy childhood and family life and pity him - but pity is for the weak and there is no weakness in Anthony. You knew that the moment you offered him a position on your team. He will get through this – we will see to it!"
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In silent companionship, Ducky spent the rest of the night in Tony's room, observing as Gibbs monitored every restless movement or soft, incoherent moan the younger man made in his sleep. Whether his hand gently grasped Tony's forearm or his shoulder, Gibbs never broke contact – silently reassuring him that he was not alone.
With the sun sending its early morning tendrils to peak through the blinds and herald the arrival of a new day, Ducky rose stiffly to his feet and rolled his shoulders to work out the kinks. He stood quietly beside the bed and placed a gentle hand on Tony's head.
"He had a restful night, Jethro," he said.
"It's what's waiting for him that worries me, Duck."
Ducky sighed audibly, silently agreeing with his friend. "I'll see if I can scare up some coffee, hmm?" he said. "Then I'll check on Ziva."
Making his way around the bed, he walked quietly to the door and turned back to Gibbs.
"Jethro, perhaps you should call Timothy and Abigail back to the hospital? They have a right to know what's happening."
Years of friendship enabled the elderly ME to read Gibbs' unspoken words and Ducky recognised that he was not about to leave Tony to wake up alone.
"You stay with Anthony," he said with a sad smile. "I'll inform the others."
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Having purchased and delivered a steaming hot coffee and Styrofoam container of pancakes and syrup to Gibbs, Ducky exited Tony's room, pulling the door gently closed.
"Ducky?"
He turned to see Ziva, dressed in a thin hospital robe and slippers with her right arm in a cast and strapped across her body.
"Ziva, my dear, I was just on my way to see you," he said cordially. "How are you feeling? I've been reliably informed by the nursing staff that you are being released this morning."
She looked over his shoulder at the closed door behind him.
"Ducky, is that Tony's room? How is he? I would like to see him," she said trying to step around him.
Ducky linked his arm through her good arm and steered her away from the door.
"Ducky?" she said halting their progress.
"It's not a good time, my dear, Anthony is still sleeping."
"I will not wake him, Ducky, I want to be sure he is okay."
"Please, Ziva, not now," Ducky said firmly.
"Ducky, what is wrong?" she asked, her voice growing louder with impatience. "What are you not telling me?"
"Let's go back to your room so we can talk."
Once again he steered her in the direction of her room and they walked down the corridor in an uncomfortable silence. As they passed the elevator, McGee, Abby and Palmer arrived, wearing matching expressions of concern.
"Ducky?" Abby called. "We came as fast as we could…well, that's not quite right, we could have been here faster if McGee didn't drive like an eighty year old woman."
With a put upon sigh and rolling his eyes heavenward, McGee chose to let the comment slide.
"Ducky, you wanted to see us?" he asked.
"Yes, Timothy, I did. Why don't we speak privately in Ziva's room?"
Ducky waited until Ziva and Abby were settled on the bed and Palmer and McGee were seated before he told them of Tony's condition.
Ziva paled noticeably, calling upon her years of Mossad training to maintain her composure and her impervious façade, while Abby swiped angrily at a traitorous tear that tracked mascara down her pale cheek.
"Ducky, is it permanent?" McGee asked.
"Anthony will undergo more testing later today to determine the severity of his injury and his visual impairment," Ducky explained to the shell-shocked group.
"Maybe it isn't as bad as we think," Jimmy said. "Maybe as the swelling subsides, Tony's sight will return."
"From your lips to God's ears, Mr Palmer," Ducky replied. "All we can do right now is hope and pray that Anthony will make a full recovery."
"Can we see him?" Abby asked in a tremulous voice.
"Not this morning, Abigail," Ducky said patting her hand. "Anthony has been sedated and needs his rest. He's not alone, however, Jethro is with him. I think it would be best for all of us to go about our business until we have more information on Anthony's condition. You have my word, I will let you know as soon as we have any news."
He looked around the room at the solemn faces and bowed heads.
"Timothy?"
"I'll take Abby back to work and ask the director to take us off rotation," McGee said, placing a comforting arm around Abby's thin shoulders.
"Mr Palmer?"
"I'll drive Ziva back to her apartment and start on that inventory we were planning."
"That's the spirit!" Ducky said cheerfully.
Abby lifted a small overnight bag and placed it on the bed next to Ziva.
"I brought you some clothes from your locker," she said with a forced smile.
"Thank you, Abby," Ziva said quietly, not meeting Abby's gaze.
"Right! Let's give Ziva a little privacy - I'll get your discharge papers, my dear."
Ziva watched them leave and viciously suppressed a sob. There had been no blame laid and no accusing looks but as she stood alone in her room she felt the strain of their silent recriminations and their unspoken condemnation.
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Gibbs watched helplessly as Tony slowly wrestled his way back to consciousness. The shadows bruising his agent's eyes and the lines around his mouth testified to how much pain Tony was in as the effects of the concussion presented.
He groaned as a wave of nausea and pain crashed over him and Gibbs placed an emesis basin in the younger man's hands and reached, once again, for the call button. Even after the doctor had administered Compazine to settle Tony's stomach, he continued to retch and gasp for several long minutes until, eventually; he stopped -shaking from pain and exhaustion. Only then, did Tony attempt to open his eyes.
His eyelashes fluttered and he blinked several times before raising his hand in front of his face. He waggled his fingers and huffed out a humourless laugh.
"Is it morning?" he asked quietly, the words tearing at Gibbs' heart.
"Zero seven hundred," Gibbs replied in a steady voice.
"Shit," he whispered, realising that the room would be flooded in natural light that he could not see.
"I spoke with your doctors," Gibbs said, keeping his voice calm and even. "We'll know more once you've had more tests."
"I thought it was a dream, I thought I could open my eyes and everything would be back to normal," Tony's voice was monotone and lifeless and his body shuddered under the onslaught of his emotions.
"I can't do this, Boss?" he whispered, his self-control hanging by a gossamer thread.
He turned his sightless eyes to Gibbs with a look of such desperate, hopelessness that Gibbs needed a minute to keep his own resolve in check. He placed a callused hand on either side of Tony's face and turned it toward his own.
"Listen to me," he ordered gruffly. "You will get through this! Are you listening? Whatever happens…You. Will. Get. Through. This!"
"I gotcha, Boss," Tony whispered, emotion catching in his throat.
Tony leant back against his pillows; the emotion had expended his depleted energy reserves. He was unusually comforted by Gibbs' hand lightly grasping his shoulder and had almost surrendered to sleep when the clattering of a wheel chair, arriving to take him for his tests, abruptly awakened him.
"You ready for this?" Gibbs asked.
"Let's do it," Tony replied.
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