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 Thirteen
With agents covering all entrances to Tony's apartment building, McGee and Agent Kendall accompanied Tony and Gibbs to Bethesda Hospital for Tony's appointment and scans.
While the agents waited outside, Gibbs was back in the visitor's chair waiting for Tony to sleep off the effects of another sedative. Several times he'd stirred restlessly and opened his eyes long enough for Gibbs to see the large dilated pupils with a hint of green around the edges.
The former Marine watched as Tony flared his nostrils and inhaled. The smell of coffee and the sound of Gibbs rustling the newspaper or shifting his weight in the unforgiving chair, were enough to let the younger man know that he wasn't alone - then he would relax into sleep once more.
Gibbs recognised the warning signs as Tony's legs moved restlessly beneath the thin blanket, his brow creased in a frown and his breathing became ragged. Putting the newspaper to one side, he reached for the emesis basin, raised the head of the bed and pressed the call button. The nurse arrived, smiling empathetically as Tony retched into the bowl.
"I'll get you some Compazine for the nausea and let Dr Colby know you're awake," she said hurrying from the room. She returned, moments later, and gave Tony a shot that would, hopefully, suppress his nausea.
Chief Neurologist, Dr Colby, entered the room and greeted the two men.
"Well, now, judging from the agents who have been cluttering up my ward, I'm guessing you ignored my advice to take it easy," Colby said. "I heard you had some excitement."
"Sorry, Doc," Tony said quietly.
The doctor frowned when he saw the angry, red grazes on Tony's arms.
"Is that how these happened?"
Tony pulled his arm irritably from the doctor's grip, uncomfortable with anyone touching him without warning.
"I'm fine," he said sharply.
"Doctor Mallard checked him out," Gibbs told the doctor.
"I'm sure that was a nasty experience - having a fall is never pleasant but when you're visually impaired it can be terrifying."
Noting that Tony was stilling struggling with fatigue and nausea, he advised Tony's results without further delay.
"Let's get on with this, shall we? The hairline fracture you suffered to the occipital bone has begun to heal nicely but, unfortunately, we are yet to see any discernable reduction in the swelling around your occipital cortex," the doctor said.
"No change at all?" Gibbs asked.
"I'm sorry, none at this stage," Colby repeated. "Despite how it must feel for you, Tony, it's still very early in the recovery process but it is beginning to look like this condition could be more long term than we'd hoped."
Tony's face was unreadable as he stared into the darkness, lost in his thoughts.
"How are the headaches?" the doctor asked.
"Tony?" Colby called again.
"I'm sorry…what?"
"Are you still suffering from regular headaches?"
Tony nodded dully.
"How bad?
When Tony didn't reply Colby turned to Gibbs.
"Some worse than others. Seem to be worse at night." Gibbs replied.
"That's not unusual. These types of headaches are often exacerbated by fatigue and stress," the doctor said making notes on Tony's chart. "I was pleased to learn that Tony has begun his Visual Rehab Therapy. Steve Myles is one of our best therapists. How's that going?"
"He's progressing."
"I'm sure he'll do well." Colby shifted uncomfortably and cleared his voice. "Tony, I think we should reduce your hospital appointments to once a week."
Although Gibbs didn't think it was possible, Tony paled even further and looked like he'd been struck.
"If you're worried about payment of Tony's medical bills…" Gibbs started sternly.
The doctor cut him off mid-sentence.
"This has nothing to do with cost, Agent Gibbs! NCIS has already contacted us in regard to accepting all expenses," Colby said indignantly. "I am quite concerned about putting Tony through the scans twice weekly, when the effect of the contrasting agent, sedatives and the stress is obviously very difficult on him."
Tony averted his face for just a moment and although he appeared to quickly recover his countenance, Gibbs could see by the set of his shoulders that the younger man was fighting to maintain his composure.
"I can handle it, Doc," Tony replied in a strangled whisper.
"I'm sorry, Tony, it simply would not be in your best interests to put you through undue stress and discomfort," Colby said. "Go home, continue taking your meds and get as much rest as you can. Remember, if your headaches increase in frequency or intensity, I want you back at the hospital stat. I'll reschedule Thursday's appointment to this time next week."
Tony nodded his reply - frustrated by his inability to squeeze the words passed the lump in his throat – and the doctor left the room.
"Tony, this doesn't mean…"
"Boss, don't…I…I just wanna get outta here."
Gibbs winced at the hollow frailty of the voice he barely recognised as Tony's - but with a quick squeeze of the younger man's shoulder, he moved into his guide position and assisted Tony to the bathroom so he could dress in private.
McGee and Kendall were immediately on alert as Gibbs led Tony from his room. Receiving a nod from Gibbs, Kendall ran ahead, taking the stairs and moving their car into position in the ambulance bay. Gibbs, McGee and a very subdued Tony entered the elevator when it arrived – McGee flashed his badge and waved away three others who tried to board.
He turned to look at Tony and could only recall him looking so completely gutted on two or three other occasions – each had involved the death of a colleague.
"So…er…how'd it go?" he asked nervously.
Tony averted his face and Gibbs shook his head quickly, warning the younger agent that now wasn't a good time. They felt the elevator come to a halt and Gibbs and McGee moved into position, either side of Tony, their bodies protecting his. As the doors opened, Agent Kendall was waiting for them and, with trained eyes searching every face and anticipating every possible scenario they moved across the lobby of the emergency ward to the ambulance bay and climbed into their car.
The trip back to Tony's apartment was made in silence and without incident. Once Gibbs and Tony were safely home, McGee and Kendall headed back to the Navy yard to continue their investigations.
00—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-00
As they quietly ate their lunch, Gibbs wrestled with his preference of giving Tony his privacy or Ducky's advice to draw him into talking through his emotions. He was more than aware of the irony that he, of all people, was contemplating trying to get the younger man to open up about his feelings. The bemoaning of 3 ex-wives had left him in no doubt that he was about as emotionally reserved, restrained and undemonstrative as they come. He allowed himself a wistful smile - he hadn't always been that way.
He'd actually opened his mouth several times to begin but his words had failed him and despite the anticipated rebuke from Ducky, Gibbs decided to go with his gut. He knew that Tony would talk to him eventually, he generally always did, but it would happen on the younger man's terms, when he was ready, and no amount of coaxing cajoling or encouraging would change that fact.
Right now, Tony didn't need Gibbs to be a pseudo-shrink or a father confessor – he needed Gibbs to be Gibbs. He needed to know that somewhere in his world of confusion, pain and despair a little bit of normality remained. That normality was their friendship of nine years and - at this point in time – it was the greatest gift he could offer Tony.
Gibbs walked into the living room to retrieve his ringing cell from the pocket of his jacket. He was pleased that Tony had at least managed a few spoonfuls of soup and half a sandwich before he'd sated his feeble appetite. After a brief discussion, he returned to the dining area.
"Vance is coming to talk to you tomorrow," Gibbs advised. "Wants to discuss your career options within the agency."
Tony closed his eyes and released a heavy sigh.
"It's not what you think, Tony."
"Can I keep my job as your senior field agent?" Tony asked.
Gibbs' silence told him all he needed to know.
"Then it's exactly what I think," he said flatly, before rising to his feet and heading for his room.
"Tony?"
"I'm tired, Boss, I'm gonna lay down."
00—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-00
Gibbs worked on his project for the rest of the afternoon, putting the finishing touches in place just a few hours before the scheduled dinner. For the first time, he began to doubt the wisdom of his choice and - not for the first time - he doubted the wisdom of this dinner. When he tried to call Abby to reschedule the evening, his call diverted to her voicemail. He phoned Ducky with the same intention and was told that Abby was already excitedly shopping for gifts and collecting the cake. His gut twisted again and he hoped the evening wasn't going to be a complete disaster.
He reached for his cell and dialled McGee's number.
"Tell me you got something," he said.
"Hey, Boss," McGee said. "No hits yet on the BOLO for Turner's truck. Turner withdrew $1000 from an ATM in Fairfax yesterday morning at 10:23, approximately half an hour after neighbours reported him leaving his home. There have been no further usages of his accounts or his credit cards – he's probably using cash to lay low."
"His wife?"
"Mrs Elaine Turner is listed as critical but stable. Doctors have placed her in an induced coma – it could be several days before we can speak to her."
"What do we know about him?"
"Harold Turner - 61 years old, former US Army sergeant, who served two tours of Nam," McGee reported. "Exemplary record, he was honourably discharged from the Army in 1976 and was employed as a plumber until two years ago – he's currently listed as unemployed. Turner is a known alcoholic who has been arrested 3 times in the last two year for domestic violence. Each time his wife refused to press charges. He has also had a drink driving charge and was ordered to enter a DUI Driving School. Their only child, Allan Turner…well…you know about him, Boss, but apparently he was the apple of his old man's eye –according to his father couldn't do a thing wrong."
"Tell that to the family of Petty Officer Lauren Henry," Gibbs said bitterly. "What about the exhaust modifications DiNozzo was talking about?"
"Tony was right about that, Boss," McGee said. "Out of 12,000 Ford F-150's in the tri-state area, approximately 2,000 have had custom-fitted, high-performance, exhaust modifications. Of those, most have the…er…the…you know the ones where the exhaust pipes stick out the back. Only about 10% have had the…er…the side one."
"Which narrows your list of possibilities from 12,000 to 200," Gibbs said.
"We have Metro PD working with us to contact High Performance Exhaust companies in the area – we'll put a list together of owners of dark blue Ford F-150's with side exhausts and cross-check it with yours and Tony's lists of…er…usual suspects. It's time consuming and still a long shot, Boss, but the odds are significantly better than they were."
"You gotta team?"
"A temporary team, yes, Boss," McGee said. "The director has assigned Keating, Harris and Kendall to give me a hand."
"Keep 'em on it, McGee, we want this guy fast," Gibbs said. "See you at six."
00—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-00
Gibbs watched his senior field agent intently throughout dinner. It was all there - the engaging smiles, the quick wit, the casual conversation, the tender hugs with Abby and the easy banter with Palmer and McGee – and none of it was real.
DiNozzo was playing a part, going through the motions and exhibiting all the skills that made him a fine undercover agent. He was putting on a one man show and giving his friends the Anthony DiNozzo he thought they'd be most comfortable with – coping, adjusted, getting on with his life – and viciously suppressing his anger, sorrow and despair.
With dinner eaten and the empty pizza boxes despatched to the recycling receptacle, the group adjourned to the living room for coffee and to open the gifts before cutting Tony's cake.
"Here you are, Anthony," Ducky said, handing Tony a meticulously wrapped parcel once everyone was seated. "If nobody else minds, why don't you start with my gift? But first – allow me."
Ducky took Tony's hand and fastened the watchband around his wrist. Tony let his fingers flip the newly replaced crystal and checked the time.
"Nineteen-fifteen, right?" he said, ridiculously happy to have the timepiece back. "Thank you, Ducky, but really guys, dinner was enough, you didn't have to get me anything."
As he struggled with the wrapping paper, Abby offered her services and soon had the gift unwrapped. Tony felt the box and gave an embarrassed shrug.
"That, my young friend, is a grocery list organizer. It's very easy to use and features state-of-the-art voice recognition software that allows you to simply speak the item's name, rather than having to write it. Then, you press the print button and the grocery list organizer prints out your shopping list organized in categories, such as "frozen foods" or "produce." According to the manufacturer, it recognizes over 2,500 grocery items!."
"Then you can give me your list and I'd know exactly what you need when I shop for you!" Abby said.
"Wow, Ducky that's incredible," McGee enthused. "Although, in Tony's case it would only need to know about five items – frozen pizza, Cheerios, beer, chocolate Yoo Hoo and hair product."
Tony's smile faltered slightly as he extended his hand in Ducky's direction and felt the older man grasp it warmly.
"Ducky…that's…that's a big help, thank you," Tony said tentatively.
"Open mine next, Tony, please, please, please?" Abby said, placing her gift on his knee and assisting him to remove the wrapping. Tony held the item in his hand, trying to guess what it was. When he shook his head, Abby explained.
"Well, we all know what a clothes horse you are, Mister," she said. "So, this is a colour identification device to help you match the colours of your clothes! It's so totally cool, Tony! You just hold the device against the article of clothing and this voice says 'cerise' or 'puce' – not that you have any cerise or puce clothes but you get the idea. Oh, at the moment, the voice has this really creepy Hannibal Lector sound but you can change it to, like, Austin Powers or Marilyn Monroe - even Elvis or the Duke! And, it is able to detect more than 1,700 different colours!"
"One for each of your designer ensembles, Tony," Palmer quipped.
"So now you don't have to worry if you're, like, wearing matching socks or if your tie matches your shirt," Abby said. "And you'll still be the snappiest dresser in DC!"
"Thanks, Abs, that's really great," Tony said quietly, wrapping her in a warm embrace. As he kissed her cheek and tucked his face into the junction of her neck and shoulder, Gibbs saw the façade slip again and felt his own chest tighten.
"Okay, me next!" McGee said, slipping a small package into Tony's hand. As Abby helped Tony unwrap the gift, McGee described it. "I know how much you loved your X-Box and how much you must be missing it, so I did some research and I found this game for you," McGee explained. "It's called TROG and you're trapped in a labyrinth with a murderous caveman and must avoid him to continue playing the game. If the caveman finds you, the game is over. Your points depend on how long you can avoid the caveman."
"Hey…I've heard about those!" Jimmy said. "It's all about sound. The background music plays a specific tempo or volume depending upon how far you are from TROG. It takes a little getting used to but it's one of the most popular computer games for visually impaired people."
"That's great, man," Tony said, forcing a smile and giving McGee a friendly slap on the back.
"Maybe Jimmy and I can come over one night and we'll give it a run," McGee said.
"Hey, me too!" Abby protested.
"Absolutely!" Tony replied tightly.
Gibbs studied Tony's brittle smile and noticed the depth of despair in the man's unfocussed green eyes. Although he tried valiantly, it was fast becoming obvious that every single movement was hard fought for control.
When it came to DiNozzo, Gibbs realised a long time ago that you didn't have to come from the same gene pool to hear the unspoken words. They had long shared the intrinsic ability to read a glance, a look or an expression without the need to verbally express their thoughts or feelings - but, right now, Tony's expression was screaming for help and Gibbs couldn't see the danger. Frustrated that he was missing something, the lead agent looked around the room, his eyes narrowing in search of anything that could have triggered such inner turmoil in his agent.
A soft knock brought a halt to proceedings and gave Tony a moment to collect himself as Gibbs and McGee took their positions on either side of the door. Gibbs looked through the peephole and waved at the others to relax as he opened the door.
"Mrs Cantrell," he said. "Nice to see you again."
"Come now, Jethro! You promised to call me Gladys!" she scolded gently. "I hope I'm not intruding, I have a little birthday gift for Anthony."
"No intrusion at all, Ma'am, please come in."
The elderly lady rushed to sit beside Tony on the couch, enveloping him in a hug that rivalled Abby's.
"Oh, my poor boy, look at you," she said, holding Tony's face between the palms of her hands. "You look tired and pale! Are you sleeping? And you look thin! I don't think Jethro is feeding you enough! I'll do some more cooking – you can't beat a home-cooked meal, my Arthur used to say!"
Tony's face flushed as his neighbour made a fuss.
"I'm fine, Mrs Cantrell, honest," he said, quietly.
She placed a kiss on both of Tony's cheeks and squeezed them together until his lips puckered.
"You're still a devilishly handsome young man, Anthony DiNozzo! Why if I was just fifty years younger…"
"You'd be too much woman for me!" Tony smiled fondly.
"And don't you forget it, young man!" Gladys scolded playfully.
Gibbs introduced Mrs Cantrell to the rest of the visitors, who were a little surprised that she and Jimmy had already met. They warmly welcomed her and asked her to join them for cake.
"Excuse my curiosity, Mrs Cantrell," Ducky said. "I am a little intrigued as to how you know my young assistant here?"
"Please, call me Gladys," Mrs Cantrell asked, with a not too subtle flutter of her eyelashes. "I met Jimmy several months ago. He and Anthony were planning to attend a tap dancing class to impress a couple of very pretty young ladies. I teach an advanced tap dancing class each Thursday at the senior's centre so, when they knocked on my door and asked for my help, I just couldn't refuse them. Of course, the lessons disappeared almost as quickly as the young ladies! Probably just as well, they really were quite awful!"
McGee snorted at the visual and Abby smiled brightly.
"Aw…that's so cute!" she said.
"I can't stay too long, my darling," Mrs Cantrell said taking Tony's hand. "Tomorrow is the regional final of the Gymnastics for Geriatrics competition and I have to be up bright and early. I'm competing in the floor discipline and it's the first time I've been able to perform my front handspring with a double soli since I had my hip replacement. But I have a little something for you."
She placed the small gift in Tony's hand and then assisted him with the wrapping. It felt the size and weight of a cell phone.
"It's called a locator, Anthony," she explained. "It's a small remote with six buttons. You attach the six wireless sensors in different places like your wallet, keys or cell. Then, when you need to find something, you just press the button and it will make a unique sound so you can find it."
Tony took a moment to allow a deep, composing breath, then reached out to Gladys who gently held his hand between both of hers.
"Thank you," he whispered hoarsely as he kissed her on the cheek.
Her eyes swam behind a curtain of tears as she cleared her throat of emotion and turned to Ducky.
"Donald? Why don't you and I prepare the cake and get better acquainted and leave these young folk to clean up all this paper?" she asked.
"I'd be honoured, dear lady," Ducky said graciously extending elbow and escorting her to the kitchen.
"Okay, Palmer, your turn and make it fast – I took a peek at that cake and it looks delicious!" McGee said.
Palmer shifted his weight awkwardly and chewed his bottom lip.
"Maybe I shouldn't…um…I mean, I didn't realise that we were all getting that type of gift."
"Come on, Jimmy, I'm sure Tony will love whatever you got for him," Abby said. "Besides, I'm with Timmy, you're messing with some serious cake eating time."
Lowering his head in embarrassment, Jimmy placed a rectangular shaped box into Tony's hands. Again, Abby did the honours, assisting to open the box. Trying to shut down his emotions, Tony slipped his hand into the gift box. He moved his fingers around, feeling the soft warm texture as he removed the v-neck, cable knit sweater from the box.
"I…er…remembered you told me that you put your other sweater in the drier and ruined it," Jimmy said. "It's not cashmere like your old one…but it's the same style and colour."
Tony struggled to his feet, reeling from torrent of his emotions and desperately trying to regain the tenuous grip on his composure. He held the sweater in his shaking hands and couldn't help the strangled laugh that escaped.
"Tony?" Abby said worriedly. "Tony, what's wrong?"
"I'm sorry, Tony, I'll return it…I'll get you something else!"
A sweater, a simple gift from a friend was all it took to rip asunder the long-constructed shields he had diligently built around his real emotions. He was momentarily disoriented, catching his knee on the coffee table and sending two cups crashing to the floor as he tried to regain his balance.
The former Marine had started across the room and was at his agent's side when the telltale red dot of a laser sight appeared - first on Gibbs then, as the younger man unknowingly stumbled between Gibbs and the sniper, the dot centred on Tony's chest.
"Shooter!" Gibbs yelled. "Everyone down!"
Gibbs hit Tony with a force that knocked him off his feet just as the crack from a rifle sounded and the floor to ceiling balcony door exploded into a myriad of tiny little crystal prisms.
00—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—00