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 Eight
Ever-present cup of coffee in hand, Gibbs leaned back in the visitor's chair and watched the sleeping form of his agent. Tony had hardly twitched a muscle since returning from his starring role in 'Jim and Tim's Excellent Adventure' to Glen Echo Park. The nursing staff had tried to wake him for dinner the previous night and for breakfast this morning but, each time, he mumbled incoherently and went right back to sleep. Sleep and rest were important at this stage of his recovery, so they let him be.
Gibbs shook his head and his lips quirked in a smile as he remembered the twin "deer in headlights" looks presented to him by McGee and Palmer. He'd bitten down hard on the inside of his cheek, to keep his staid and taciturn reputation in tact, as the younger men stuttered and stammered their explanation and waited for Gibbs to unleash his wrath. For once, he didn't have the heart.
Totally unaware of the drama going on around him, they put DiNozzo to bed where he slept peacefully – the fresh air, the company of friends and the pull of strong pain medication all adding to his near comatose state. But for the first time since the accident, his face wasn't marred by the lines of pain or haunted by the worry of things to come. Despite their unconventional means, Gibbs knew that McGee and Palmer had given Tony what nobody else had managed – a little piece of normality, a refuge in a raging storm.
He stood up, wincing as he stretched the abused muscles in his back and legs and walked stiff-legged to the window. He had ridden his own emotional roller-coaster since DiNozzo had been hurt – holding his breath in hope each time the younger man woke and opened his eyes, then feeling the brutal stab of disappointment when the split-second falter of Tony's façade revealed the crestfallen, broken expression that told him his agent remained sightless.
'Come on, DiNozzo!' he silently urged the younger man. 'If you can beat the pneumonic plague, you can beat this.'
He knew he was being impractical – there were no guarantees - he also knew that Ducky was pissed as hell that he hadn't been more supportive in persuading Tony to enrol in the centre. But the more he watched Tony, fiercely clutching to the belief that his vision would be restored, the more he believed it himself. He'd seen a lot of emotions in his senior field agent's eyes over the years – from excitement, humour and empathy to determination, anger, even hate – but the rare, fleeting glimpses of fear and desolation tore at his own composure.
Ducky's arrival drew him from his introspection and he watched as the ME picked up Tony's chart from the end of the bed and reviewed his condition from a medical perspective. His eyebrows knitted in concern as he listened to Tony's deep, even breaths and realised he was sleeping.
"Is Anthony alright?" he asked. "His chart says that he missed dinner and breakfast."
"He's fine, Duck, had a big day yesterday, that's all."
"Good Lord, it was the scans again, wasn't it? I knew I should have stayed with him."
"Scans went fine. The doc came by last night with the results but sleeping beauty wouldn't wake up. Said he'd come back later this afternoon."
"Yes, well…I suppose the emotional trauma of the last few days was bound to catch up with him sometime."
"Yep," Gibbs said, not bothering to mention Tony's unauthorised 'day release.'
"Has Doctor Colby mentioned when Anthony can leave the hospital?"
"When he gives us the results," Gibbs replied. "Duck, ya think you could lay off the reorientation centre today?"
"Jethro! I cannot, in good conscience, call myself Anthony's friend, and then cease to do what I fervently believe is in that young man's best interest?"
"You know DiNozzo - the more he feels pressured into doing something, the more he'll dig his heels in."
"And you think sitting by his bedside feeding him false hope, is a better idea?" Ducky said tersely.
"Any hope is good hope, Duck."
"Not if it prevents the boy from coming to terms with his condition and seeking help! Or perhaps it's you who needs to come to terms with Anthony's condition."
They turned quickly toward the bed as Tony muttered in his sleep and settled down again.
"Thanks for staying with him, Doctor," Gibbs said, utilising the rarely used salutation and shutting down the conversation as he grabbed his jacket from the back of the chair. "I'll be back once I've seen the director."
"Jethro?" Ducky said, frowning in puzzlement in Tony's direction. "If I didn't know better, I would swear that Anthony has a touch of sunburn on his cheeks!"
Gibbs feigned innocence and shrugged his shoulders.
"Must be the lighting," he replied and with one more glance at Tony, he left the hospital for the Navy Yard.
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As he approached the door of her apartment, he faltered slightly, wondering if he was doing the right thing. Ziva was fiercely private of her personal life and even more so of her feelings. He recalled, when they had returned home from Somalia - it was weeks before she contacted any of them. While he wouldn't presume to understand the pain and torment she had endured - both situations brought their own kind of suffering. Taking a deep breath, he pressed her doorbell and waited – a moment later the door opened.
"McGee?"
"Hey, Ziva, hope I'm not intruding," he said.
"I was just reading," she replied. "The doorman did not tell me you were here."
"I asked him not to - flashed the badge," McGee said awkwardly. "I wasn't sure if you'd see me. So…can I come in?"
"Oh, excuse me," she said stepping back to allow him to enter her apartment. "Can I get you something?"
"Yes…as a matter of fact, you can give me access to your kitchen."
"You want to use my kitchen?"
"We want to use your kitchen – I supplied the ingredients and you supply the kitchen. I'm guessing you had a light breakfast when you came back from your run around 5 this morning – so, this is brunch!"
"You know me far too well, Special Agent McGee," she said with a sad smile.
"You're my partner, Ziva," he said, and watched her smile disappear.
McGee placed the grocery bag on the counter and started to unpack the items.
"Better put this in the freezer for now," he said.
"Ice cream, McGee?" Ziva said, raising an eyebrow.
"Not just any ice cream, Ziva, that is chocolate fudge ripple ice cream – perfect with banana cinnamon pancakes - my Grandma McGee's cure all for everything from a skinned knee to a broken heart."
"I do not have a skinned knee nor do I have a broken heart, McGee."
"No, you don't – but you are upset and I'm sure Grandma McGee won't mind – just this once."
He returned his attention to the grocery bag and continued to unpack as she retrieved a frying pan, two large bowls and a whisk from her cupboards.
"Was getting kinda worried about you," he said. "I've left a few messages."
"I am sorry McGee, I have not felt like talking."
"I heard about the suspension, Ziva, I'm sorry."
She shrugged her shoulders casually but, for a fleeting moment, McGee saw the pain and worry reflected in the depths of her brown eyes.
"It was to be expected. Tony was in command, I should have heeded his instructions."
"So…why didn't you?" he asked, combining the dry ingredients in one bowl while in a separate bowl, he added the milk, sugar, oil, egg, and vanilla extract and handed it to Ziva. "Whisk!"
Raising an eyebrow at his unusual bossy attitude, she picked up the utensil and began to whisk.
"I do not know really know," she replied, averting her eyes.
McGee pursed his lips thoughtfully, then tipped the dry ingredients into Ziva's bowl.
"Whisk again!" he said, watching her comply as he started to chop the bananas. "Mind if I venture an opinion?"
"Do I have a choice?" she asked, only half joking.
"Not if you want me to share my Grandma's pancakes!"
"That is blackmail, McGee," she said pointing a dripping whisk at him.
"Hey, whatever works," he replied, finally enticing a smile from her.
"Then tell me, McGee, what is your opinion?"
"I think, it's the probie factor," he said matter-of-factly.
"What is this probie factor?" she asked.
McGee barked out a laugh. "Come on, Ziva, I've watched you, I know how it riles you every time Tony calls you that. Hey, if anyone should know how that feels, it's me, right? He's called me Probie for the last six years, probably always will."
He poured the chopped bananas into the pancake batter Ziva had mixed. "Whisk!" he said again as he prepared the frypan and switched on the coffee percolator.
"I was a Mossad Officer for many years, McGee!" she said, placing the prepared batter on the kitchen counter. "I have specialist training in fields that Tony has not."
"I know that, Ziva. We all have training in diverse fields - that's what makes us a good team! I'm sure that Tony knows that, too!"
"I thought that, perhaps, if I could disarm the bomb, then Tony would stop treating me like a rookie!"
"I know that Tony ribs you about the probationary agent stuff but, honestly, I can't recall one time when we were in a critical situation and he didn't respect your abilities," McGee replied. "Tony was in command - he had to make a call and he made it. He didn't think there was time for you to disarm the bomb – he was right!"
"And now he is paying the price for my mistake, yes?"
"Yes, he is," McGee said plainly. "But if you think we all blame you for Tony losing his sight, you're wrong. I know Ducky and Palmer agree with me, that this was just a horrible accident."
"And Gibbs, Abby and Director Vance?"
"Okay…now they're gonna need a little more convincing," McGee quipped.
"How is he, McGee?" Ziva asked with genuine concern.
"It's hard to know with Tony. He only lets you see what he wants you to see," McGee replied. "I spent a little time with him yesterday. He's doing his best, under the circumstances, but he's got to be terrified his sight will never return."
"He said that?"
"Tony would never say that - not to me anyway – let's just call it a gut feeling. You really need to go see him, Ziva."
"I cannot, McGee - not yet."
As the transitory battle with her countenance ended, he realised how far removed she was from the hardened, Mossad assassin who joined them almost five years ago.
"You know, Ziva, we're supposed to let the batter rest for 30 minutes before we cook the pancakes," McGee said. "What say we start cooking, I'm starving!"
"What about Grandma McGee's famous recipe?"
"I won't tell her about this, if you don't tell Tony that I was wearing your apron," he said.
"Deal. I will get the plates."
"And don't forget the ice cream!"
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"Ducky?" Tony said sleepily.
"Good morning, Anthony!" Ducky said. "I thought you were going to sleep the day away – do you realise that you slept through last night's dinner and this morning's breakfast?"
Tony's eyes widened in surprise and cleared his voice nervously, knowing that Ducky would be furious to learn that he'd left the hospital yesterday without permission.
"I…um…was really tired and…I…er…had a big lunch," he replied, wincing as the explanation sounded lame to his own ears.
"I see," Ducky added a little sceptically. "Can I get you something?"
"Water?"
"Of course."
Ducky was immediately on his feet and reaching for the pitcher on the bedside table.
Pausing, he turned to the rollaway table and moved it into position in front of Tony, then placed the plastic cup into Tony's left hand. He wrapped Tony's long fingers around it and manoeuvred the top finger just over the rim of the cup. He positioned the pitcher on the table and placed Tony's right hand on the handle.
"Why don't you try to pour yourself a glass?" Ducky coaxed gently.
"Er…Ducky?" Tony said nervously.
"Lift the cup to the lip of the jug and pour until you feel the liquid touch your finger," Ducky said, watching Tony's dubious expression. "You can do this, Anthony…trust me!"
Tentatively, he moved the cup into position and began to fill it with water from the jug, stopping as soon as he felt it touch his finger.
"Well done, lad!" Ducky crowed proudly. "This is just one of many things the centre can teach you. Although many tasks are quite challenging and require a great deal of practise and concentration, many are as simple as placing your finger inside that cup."
At the mention of the reorientation centre, Tony's expression clouded over and Ducky knew he had to speak quickly before the stubborn young man slammed the window of opportunity closed.
"I have a small gift for you, Anthony," he said, placing a small box in Tony's hand.
"A gift?"
"Yes, I understand that keeping track of time is one of the most frustrating aspects of losing one's sight, so I bought you a little something that will help."
Tony opened the box and removed a watch.
"Ducky?" he said.
"Oh, I know it's not as grand as that Cartier timepiece you usually wear but I want you to press the small button located on the side at the three o'clock mark."
Tony gently eased his fingers to 3 o'clock; lightly pressed the button and felt the watch crystal flip open, allowing him access to the hands.
"Now then..." Ducky said. "I know that they have talking watches these days with an automated watch to tell you what time it is, but I think these are more stylish, more…DiNozzo!"
"Tell me how to do it?"
"There are raised dots situated at every number on the face. The numbers 1, 2, 4, 5, 7, 8, 10 and 11 all have one dot that marks their position. The numbers 3, 6, and 9 have two dots marking their position, while the number twelve has three. Can you tell me what time it is, Anthony?"
Ducky watched anxiously as Tony's brow creased in concentration and his fingers ghosted lightly over the face of the watch.
"Ten-twenty?" Tony answered uncertainly.
"Got it first try!" Ducky exclaimed, gently removing the watch from Tony's fingers, resetting the time and handing it back. "Let's try again, shall we?"
Tony took the watch again, feeling with his fingers but seeing with his mind.
"Eleven…thirty-five," he said a little more confidently.
"Two from two, my good man!" Ducky said, with more than a modicum of pride. "I had no doubt that you'd be a quick study!"
"How do I tell AM from PM?" Tony asked.
"Ah, for that, you use these," Ducky said, touching warm fingertips to Tony's ears. "Anthony, listen to the world around you, both inside this building and outside in the streets. You tell me…is it 10-20 AM or PM?"
He listened closely for a few moments before giving his answer.
"It's AM."
"What did you hear that led you to that decision?" Ducky asked.
"Outside, I heard birds and the traffic sounds heavier, plus I thought I heard a jackhammer, like there's a construction site somewhere nearby."
"Excellent, my boy! Now, what about inside the hospital?"
"I heard the ding of the elevator and the normal ringing of the phones at the nurses' station – they usually switch off the sound of the elevator at night and the nurses' phones have a quieter ring-tone at night."
"And tell me, how did you know that I was here when you woke this morning?"
"I know the scent of your cologne and could smell the peppermint tea," Tony replied.
"Now that's the young investigator I remember! You're already starting to compensate the loss of your sight by increasing your usage of your other senses." Ducky enthused then frowned as Tony dropped his head and averted his face. "Anthony?"
"I'm still not going to the centre, Ducky. I know you think I should, but I just can't - not when my sight could return tomorrow! I just need a few of these…skills to help me until my sight returns."
Ducky sighed heavily. He didn't know what hurt him more – extinguishing Tony's hope or trying to persuade him to do something that he didn't want to do. He was terribly concerned that Tony's denial would only lead to a heavier fall and a greater heartache if his sight never returned.
"I'll make you a deal, young man," he said. "You agree to come to the centre with me next week - just to visit - and I'll look into some other techniques that may assist you in the meantime."
"Deal," he said, reaching out his hand in the general direction of Ducky's voice. The ME clasped Tony's hand between both of his in a warm handshake.
"I'm sorry, Ducky," Tony said. "I shouldn't have yelled at you the other day – I know you're just trying to help."
"Don't apologize for your anger or your grief at what you've lost, my dear Anthony, but never forget what you still have."
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