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 Ten
After leaving the hospital, Gibbs battled the late afternoon traffic before dropping Ducky at his home. The ME wished them a good evening and promised to call them later that evening to check that they were coping all right. When Ducky had exited the vehicle - taking his extensive portfolio of beguiling stories with him - Gibbs headed for Tony's apartment, noting that the younger man hadn't spoken since they left the hospital.
"You okay?" Gibbs asked.
"I'm fine," came the automatic response.
"Spit it out, DiNozzo, what's on your mind?"
Tony inhaled deeply, as if choosing his words carefully, then decided he was just too damn tired for subtleties.
"Why didn't anyone tell me that there is a rehab instructor coming tomorrow? And when did losing my sight mean that I've lost the right to make my own decisions, in my own home, about my own life? Did anyone even think about asking me?"
Tony kept his voice low but it was edged with the frost of anger.
"Just found out about it myself," Gibbs said.
"From who? Who arranged it? Ducky?"
"Vance. It's a compulsory requirement of your worker's compensation claim."
"Then why didn't he tell me?"
"You're my agent, DiNozzo, it's my job to tell you," Gibbs explained calmly. "I was gonna wait until you got home but when Colby looked like screwing the pooch on that idea I had to tell him we had arranged professional help. 'Course, I can take you right back to the hospital if you'd prefer."
Tony bit down on words he didn't mean and would regret later, choosing wisely to say nothing at all. Gibbs left him to his thoughts and continued to concentrate on the traffic. Twenty minutes later, they had arrived at the apartment building and parked the car next to Tony's in the resident's parking area. Using their newly gained skills, they managed to negotiate their way to Tony's apartment without mishap.
"Living room or bedroom?" Gibbs asked, gently nudging the door wider so he could guide Tony in more easily.
"Living room," Tony decided.
Exhaustion and anger collaborated to upgrade his headache from nagging to pulsating and he released a groan of relief as he eased himself back into his luxurious, leather-upholstered couch.
Gibbs took Tony's bag into his room, depositing his toiletry bag in the adjoining bathroom and placing the clothes in the laundry bin. He had called by the apartment earlier in the day to stow his own gear in the spare room and ensure the bed was made up. He re-stocked the refrigerator and cupboards with some basics until they had time to do a bigger grocery run.
Tony's elderly neighbour, Mrs Cantrell, had stopped him in the corridor, concerned that she had not seen Tony for several days. Gibbs explained what had happened and saw the look of shock, then sadness on the elderly lady's features. Mrs Cantrell was obviously very fond of Tony and fiercely protective of the spare key he had entrusted to her in case of emergency. After extracting a promise from Gibbs to call on her if they needed anything, she tottered back into her apartment across the hall.
A small smile ghosted Gibbs' lips when the found a fresh homemade lasagne and prepared salad in the fridge with a note, handwritten in a beautiful but shaky script, reminding Gibbs of his promise. He placed the lasagne straight into the oven and set the timer before turning his attention to the coffee machine. He kept an eye on Tony, watching as he tried to massage the pain from his temples, then blinked heavily a few times until his eyes, still hollowed by fatigue and pain, remained closed.
"Hey, don't go to sleep," Gibbs called. "Chow's almost ready. You've got time for a quick shower if you want one?"
With a put upon sigh, Tony rose cautiously to his feet and felt his way tentatively around the coffee table before making his way toward the main bedroom. Gibbs watched attentively from a distance, shaking his head in wonder at how the younger man's deep-seeded stubbornness could be one of his best attributes as well as one of his most infuriating.
If help had been offered, it would have been flatly refused, so - like many other times in their past - Gibbs hadn't bothered to ask.
"There's fresh towels in your bathroom and clean sweats on your bed," he called after Tony who acknowledged with a grumble and a dismissive wave of his hand.
He paced outside the bathroom door - uncomfortably aware of how close he was coming to the unwanted intrusion into the younger man's fiercely protected privacy - but needing to ensure his agent was safe. He heard the sound of water against the porcelain tiles as Tony started the shower and he flinched twice at the sound of the bottle of shampoo or shower gel slipping through Tony's fingers and falling with a crash to the floor. Fortunately, before he burst through the door, he recognised that the sound was too small to be a 6 foot two federal agent taking a header in the shower recess. Satisfied that Tony was in no immediate peril, he walked back to the kitchen.
Gibbs looked around the stylishly furnished apartment, taking note of things that could be hazardous in Tony's sightless condition. He found a large, expensive-looking vase and some weird looking art-deco figurine that probably cost the younger man half a pay check. He'd wait until Tony went to bed and then gather them up to keep them, and his agent, out of harms way. He could probably space the furniture a little further apart to allow Tony easier access around the apartment.
The timer sounded on the oven and Gibbs turned down the heat and quickly set the table. He placed Mrs Cantrell's pre-made salad and the heated lasagne in the centre of the table, as a freshly showered Tony emerged from the bedroom unscathed.
"Chow's on," Gibbs said, using his voice to let Tony know he was in the dining area.
Tony nodded his head in reply, running his hands along the back of the couch to help guide him in the right direction. Stopping suddenly, he inhaled deeply and smiled.
"Mrs Cantrell's lasagne," he said as he began to salivate. "She knows?"
"Saw her this morning - she's worried about you. You should go see her."
"Soon," he said, cringing internally as he imaged the older lady's clucking and fussing. He inhaled a second time and added. "I see you found the coffee."
"Yep."
"Good, let's eat, I'm starvin'."
"Chair's three feet to your 12 o'clock," Gibbs said, thrusting his hands into his pockets to stop from reaching out to his agent. Gibbs was so intent on watching Tony move to the chair that he didn't notice the rug until after the younger man had caught his foot on it and fallen heavily to his knees.
"Shit!" Gibbs cursed, rushing to Tony's side and grabbing him by the shoulder to steady him. He was more than a little surprised when Tony shrugged him off angrily.
"I'm alright," he growled. "I'm fine! I…I just forgot about the damn rug!"
"We both did," Gibbs replied, his steady voice belying his rapidly pounding heart. "Off your knees, DiNozzo, chow's getting cold."
Gibbs left Tony to regain his feet and locate the dining chair without assistance – all the while, watching him closely - and he served a generous portion of the lasagne onto both plates. Once Tony was seated, Gibbs went back to the kitchen for the coffee and brought the pot to the table.
"Wait, Boss, let me pour the coffee!" Tony said, keen to show off another new skill.
"All yours," Gibbs said, placing the coffee pot on the table. "Pot's near your right hand, six inches to your 2 o'clock - handle's facing you."
Gibbs pretended not to notice the tiny trembling of Tony's long fingers as he reached for and found the handle of the coffee pot. Then, with his left hand, he groped about looking for the coffee mugs while Gibbs furtively moved the ketchup bottle, a glass of water and a bottle of salad dressing out of the direct path of Tony's searching hand.
A slight smile appeared on Tony's face as he located both of the coffee mugs and, one at a time, wrapped his fingers around them, with one just inside the rim, the way Ducky had taught him. He brought them to the lip of the coffee pot and poured until he felt the heat from the steaming liquid close to his finger then he stopped pouring and placed the pot and the mugs back onto the table.
Gibbs was wary of heaping too much praise on the fiercely independent younger man - that was not their way. During this time of complete turmoil, when everything in his life had changed, Tony needed a constant – he needed Gibbs to be Gibbs.
"Good job," may have been all he said but Tony heard the unspoken words of pride… and that was enough.
Feeling ridiculously pleased with himself, Tony located his knife and fork and made a start on his dinner. The pasta proved a little more difficult to manage and when he attempted to cut into it, it slid across his plate and knocked over his coffee mug. The hot liquid flooded over the end of the table and poured onto Tony's thigh, startling him. He quickly pushed back from the table causing it to shake violently and other condiments and glasses to topple over.
"God dammit!" he yelled furiously.
Gibbs grabbed a roll of paper towels and placed them in Tony's hand to wipe himself.
"You get burned?" he asked, worried when Tony didn't respond. "Tony?"
" I'm okay," Tony replied, leaning heavily against the chair and raking one hand through his hair.
"No harm, no foul," Gibbs commented evenly. "We'll get this cleaned up and try again."
"No," Tony replied, his face burning with embarrassment. "I'm gonna hit the rack."
"You didn't eat."
"Yeah…well…I just lost my appetite. I'm tired, Boss, I'm going to bed."
As he listened to his agent's reply, Gibbs noted at the toneless quality in a voice that rarely, if ever, lacked emotion. He watched as Tony made his way cautiously around the living room furniture and into the master bedroom, flinching as the door closed firmly behind him.
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With the kitchen and dining rooms cleaned, the furniture moved further apart and the more fragile decorative items packed safely away, Gibbs poured himself another coffee and walked back into the living area. He sunk back into the comfortable couch and stared at the closed bedroom door, trying to decide whether to give Tony a little more time or to check on him.
Sometimes, dealing with the younger man was like trying to navigate a mine field and despite the fact that Gibbs knew Tony better than anyone else - when he was in this kind of mood - even Gibbs was unsure whether the next step was safe ground or whether it would blow up in their faces.
His cell rang and he picked it up quickly so as not to disturb Tony.
"Gibbs!" he answered tersely.
"And good evening to you, too, Jethro," Ducky replied in a cheery voice. "Have I called at a bad time?"
"What can I do for you, Duck?"
"Judging from your tone, my friend, perhaps I should be asking that question of you," Ducky said. "Bad evening?"
"You could say that."
"How is Anthony?"
"He hit the rack about an hour ago."
" Really? It's barely 8 o'clock! How is he feeling?"
"Tired, frustrated, depressed, furious, pissed…take your pick!" Gibbs said, rubbing tired blue eyes with the heels of his hands. "One minute he seems to be adjusting, the next minute he completely shuts down."
"Oh my! You do know, Jethro, that there will be many such moments ahead?"
"That doesn't help, Duck?"
"No, I don't suppose it does,' Ducky replied sadly. "You may not see the similarity but you and Anthony are like two sides of the same coin - in situations such as this, you both believe that actions speak louder than words. Well, my friend, sometimes words need to be spoken – you need to get that boy to talk to you."
"Easier said than done, Duck, getting DiNozzo to talk about his feelings is like pulling teeth."
"That may be so but it needs to be done – if not with you then with somebody else – perhaps the director can arrange some professional help."
"Rather keep this between us for now. There's already a home-based rehab instructor coming tomorrow. We bring too many strangers in he'll clam up on us for sure."
"As you wish," Ducky conceded. " Perhaps Abigail's idea of a birthday party might be just the thing to boost Anthony's spirits."
"I don't know, Duck," Gibbs said sceptically. "I don't think he's ready."
"Come now, Jethro, a quiet dinner with friends, gifts and cake – we could all use an pleasant evening after the week we've had."
"Okay," Gibbs agreed reluctantly. "But Ducky…tell Abby, no naked dancing!"
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Despite the presence of Tony's state-of-the-art home theatre and his eclectic collection of DVD's, Gibbs had never been one to spend his time watching television. He entered the spare room and opened his suitcase, finding the parcel he'd safely packed away in a cocoon of bubble wrap. He'd started the project a few weeks before and was only half finished. However, with some modification, he was sure it would still fit the bill. He reached for his set of small woodcarving tools and took it back into the living room, spreading newspaper on the coffee table to avoid making a mess.
He'd been working on his project for almost two hours before his concern finally got the better of him and he opened the door of Tony's room and looked inside. The large summer moon had sent its lustrous beams to dance through the semi-open curtains and cast the room in a silvery glow. Tony had stripped down to t-shirt and boxers and was supine on the bed - the heat of the evening made blankets unnecessary. His eyes were closed and he was breathing deeply – a trail of discarded outer clothing led from the adjoining bathroom.
Quietly, Gibbs entered the bathroom, gathering the clothing as he went. He checked the small cup in which he had placed Tony's night meds and was pleased to find it empty. He would have preferred the younger man had eaten before taking them but at least he had taken them. Satisfied his agent was down for the count, he left the room and turned in for the night.
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The sound of smashing glass startled him from his sleep and had him running for Tony's bedroom door, before he was fully awake.
"Tony?" he called, flicking the light on and waiting for his eyes to adjust to the sudden brightness.
His heart skipped a beat when he found the bed empty until he saw Tony leaning heavily against the bathroom vanity - shards of broken glass around his bare feet.
"Don't move, there's glass all over the floor," Gibbs instructed calmly.
"Dropped the freakin' glass," Tony replied, unable to disguise the catch in his voice. He leant forward, pressing one fist into his temple and breathing harshly. "I was trying to find my meds."
Taking a closer look, Gibbs saw the shimmer of sweat on his agents face and neck and the light tremor of exhaustion and pain, running through his body.
"Headache's bad?" Gibbs asked
"Yeah," Tony replied truthfully as Gibbs placed a steadying hand in the broad of Tony's back.
"Hold on, I'll clean this up."
Returning with the dustpan and broom, Gibbs swept a path through the broken glass so he could help Tony back to bed.
"Take my arm," he said as he assumed his guide position and led Tony from the bathroom, easing him gently back against the bed head.
"How bad's the pain?" Gibbs asked, going back into the bathroom for Tony's painkillers. "Want me to call Colby?"
"No! I wanna stay here, Boss. He'd just give me the painkillers and tell me to sleep – I can do that here."
"How many?"
"Two," he replied. Gibbs winced knowing that if Tony was asking for meds, the pain must be nearly intolerable.
He handed Tony the pills and placed a new glass of water in his hand. He watched as the younger man swallowed them then settled further down into the bed. Gibbs returned to clean up the remainder of the broken glass and after ensuring he hadn't missed any, he flicked off the bathroom light and headed back to his own room.
"Boss?" Tony slurred as the effects of the meds started to kick in.
"Thought you were sleeping," Gibbs said, moving closer to the bed.
"I was…but I…I shouldn't have…earlier when I…I'm sorry."
"Eight years, DiNozzo, when you gonna learn never to apologise?"
"Guess I'm a slow learner."
"Wouldn't have lasted eight years if you were. You're doing fine," Gibbs said, feeling Tony flinch slightly as he placed his hand on his shoulder as squeezed. "Get some rest."
"I gotcha, Boss," Tony replied, fighting sleep.
"Call me if that headache gets worse."
"Mmm."
Gibbs started for the door when Tony's voice called him back a second time.
"Boss?"
"Need something?"
"I need control," he answered sibilantly - the strong painkillers were already eroding his almost insurmountable emotional barriers. "Everything is so…so uncertain. I just need to make…my own decisions. S'my life…s'gotta be my decisions, Boss…s'gotta be…"
Gibbs reflected on Tony's words as the younger man's breathing evened out and the pull of the painkillers drew him into sleep. As infuriating as his stubborn behaviour was at times, he wasn't trying to be difficult – he was fighting desperately for his independence and to live his life, his way – no matter what that life held in store. Gibbs had no illusions about the difficult road ahead, but there were no doubts in his mind that - if anyone could do it – DiNozzo could.
He walked to the window and drew the curtains fully before flicking the light and leaving the door half open in case Tony called and then he made his way back to his room.
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On the roof of the building across the road, a man peered through high-powered binoculars - constantly moving them from window to window – determined in his quest to locate his quarry.
He'd followed him from the hospital but the damned secured lobby and code-entry parking had prevented him from establishing the apartment number. So he waited and he watched, zeroing in on every apartment, hoping for a glimpse, that's all he needed.
It was almost midnight and he had almost decided to call it a night when he saw a sudden flicker of movement and focussed his binoculars, just as a silver-haired man pulled the curtains closed.
The man gave a predatory grin. "Gotcha."
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