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 Fifteen
Breakfast had been punctuated with long, awkward silences. Gibbs' forced statements and Tony's grunted replies, were a far cry from the relaxed and easy conversations they had shared over meals during the past nine years.
When Tony had eaten his fill, he placed his cutlery across his plate and pushed back from the table.
"You look like crap," Gibbs said. "If you need more sleep I can call Vance, have him reschedule."
"No," Tony said sternly. "I need to talk to Vance – alone."
"Fair enough," Gibbs replied calmly, despite the sharp tone of the younger man's response.
At the sudden loss of his appetite, Gibbs was unable to finish his own meal and started to clear the dishes from the table when he eyed the checkers set on the sideboard. He reflected momentarily on the countless times - after an exhausting or particularly gruelling case – the pair had enjoyed a thick steak and a few beers and then faced off over a sometimes raucous and always hotly contested game of checkers. The company and the competition forced the horrors and frustrations of the job to the deepest corners of their minds - to be dealt with later in the form of nightmares.
~oo00oo~
Flashback
The checkers set was beautifully hand crafted and polished and had been a gift from Jackson to his son when Gibbs had joined the Marines. The red cedar box had the initials LJG skilfully carved into the lid. Gibbs had lost count of the times he'd seen Tony running admiring fingers reverently over the pieces, whenever he thought no one was watching.
"Your father ever make you anything?" Gibbs asked.
Tony's smile was firmly in place but the look in his eyes was hard to determine – sad, wistful, pensive - he blinked the melancholy away and chuckled softly.
"My father's always been good with his hands, Boss – which may explain why I've had so many step-mothers – but he would never have made me something like this," he said, looking at the set with heartfelt deference. "Of course, had I asked for one, he might have sent his secretary out to buy me the best set money could buy but...it's not the same!"
Like so many things Tony found difficult to discuss, the topic was disguised as a joke and never spoken of again but his regard for the craftsmanship, love and thought behind the gift continued to this day.
End Flashback
~oo00oo~
"Thought we could play some checkers, kill some time until the director arrives," Gibbs said.
"You wanna play checkers?" Tony repeated in surprise.
Gibbs shrugged. "Why not?"
"Oh, I don't know…how about the little matter of me not being able to see!" Tony replied cynically.
"Worried I'll cheat?"
"How would I know? I can't see!" Tony repeated impatiently.
"Don't need to be able to see," Gibbs replied casually. "You know how to play, you've got good recall – you can feel the board and the pieces if you need to."
Gibbs recognised his error as he watched the younger man's expression harden and saw the unspoken 'what are you kidding me?' written all over Tony's face.
"Here's an idea!" Tony said with a hint of acrimony that Gibbs had rarely heard in his voice. "Why don't we just hang a piñata? You can spin me around a few times and, hey, we don't even need the blindfold!"
"Knock it off!" Gibbs said sharply, his tone dousing the raging inferno of Tony's anger. He took a deep breath, letting it out in a long, controlled exhale and fighting the urge to strangle the younger man – at least for now.
Tony stood quickly, stumbling over the chair that had fallen in his haste to leave the room and then, after he regained his balance, he started for the stairs. He was well aware that his pissy attitude was testing the bonds of their friendships and - though he should have known better - he was terrified it was only a matter of time before those bonds were severed forever.
"I'll be upstairs until Vance arrives," he said flatly.
Gibbs waited until Tony had closed the door to the guest room before he slammed his hand onto the table, refusing to wince as the pain jarred up his arm.
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Leaning forward on the couch with his elbows resting on his knees, Gibbs rubbed his hands roughly over his face. He glanced up at the closed door of the guest room and blew out a breath of frustration. Though Tony's words were laced with anger the look in his eyes was one of such desperate, hopelessness that Gibbs felt his gut clench painfully. He felt his agent's despair yet no matter how many times he cast the lifeline, it fell short every time. He needed to ensure the younger man didn't slip into a void of depression.
The sound of a car pulling up in the driveway caught his attention and he looked out of the window in time to see Director Vance climb from his car and speak with Agent Kendall. Ignoring the creaks from his knee, he climbed the stairs and knocked on the guest room door.
"Director's here," he said, opening the door and peering in to the darkened room. Tony was lying on the bed, his hands clasped behind his head as he stared futilely at an indiscriminate spot on the ceiling.
"I'll be right down," Tony replied.
Gibbs closed the door behind him and descended the stairs, arriving at the front door in time to greet the director and steer him into the kitchen for coffee.
"How's he doing?" Vance asked as they walked back into the living room and took a seat.
"About how you'd expect," Gibbs replied vaguely.
"You think he's ready to discuss his job options?"
"Said he wants to talk to you."
"That could be a good sign," Vance hoped.
Gibbs huffed out a humourless laugh and raked his fingers through his hair.
"Right now, Leon, I have no idea what's going on in his head."
Vance took a sip of coffee and his eyes narrowed in thought. Despite the implacable expression, he knew the admission from Gibbs was painful. Gibbs and DiNozzo were connected in a way Vance couldn't fully define. He watched them communicate on a subtle non-verbal level that only comes from complete trust and understanding. They drew strength from each other, both consciously and instinctively and if Gibbs was feeling uncertain then the younger man had to be floundering badly.
"He doesn't need to make a decision about work right now," Vance said. "This discussion is purely to reassure him that NCIS will support him in any way we can, including financially and finding a position for him within the agency. Did you speak to him about the blind reorientation centre?"
"Won't even consider it. Right now, he sees every offer of help as a sign that his blindness is permanent."
"Well, maybe, we…"
The creaking of the stairs alerted them to the fact that Tony was on his way down. They watched warily as he cautiously made his way down one stair at a time, one hand firmly gripping the railing while he ran the other lightly down the wall as a guide.
"Oh, hey, don't stop speaking because of me," he said with mock humour. "Unless, of course, you were speaking about me."
Ignoring the jibe, Gibbs walked to the bottom of the stairs and offered his guide arm to Tony by touching his elbow against the younger man's arm. With a curt shake of his head, Tony rejected the offer.
Vance walked around the couch and extended his hand to Tony with a light touch on the younger man's forearm. Tony extended his own and they shook hands firmly.
"Director, thanks for coming," Tony said in a tone that was strictly business.
"DiNozzo," Vance greeted in return. "Let's take a seat, shall we?"
"I'll get some more coffee and leave you to it," Gibbs said, remembering Tony had asked to speak with Vance alone.
A moment later he had refreshed his and Vance's cups and poured a cup for DiNozzo. He placed it on the coffee table and, in a low voice, told Tony where to find the cup and then he excused himself and entered his basement.
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He looked around the expanse of the empty room, desperately wishing he had a boat to work on - something in which he could completely immerse himself in its creation and shut out the feelings of helplessness that had been eating away at him since Tony's accident. He picked up the broom and swept the already spotlessly clean floor and then pulled the cell from his pocket.
He thumbed through the contact list until he found the name he was looking for. He paused momentarily, wondering if his action could be interpreted as an admission that he was unable to reach the man closer to him than any other. Ultimately, his need to help Tony far outweighed any feelings of inadequacy and he dialled the number and waited for the other party to pick up.
"Steve Myles, speaking."
"It's Jethro Gibbs, this a bad time?" he said, keeping his voice purposely low and listening for any movement from the living room.
"Agent Gibbs, no…this is fine," the amiable young man replied. "In fact, I was going to call you later today."
"You were?"
"Yes. Tony called me about 30 minutes ago and cancelled our appointment for tomorrow."
"He called you?"
"I placed my number on speed dial on his cell in case he had any questions," Steve explained. "He called to say he wasn't feeling well, thought he was getting the stomach flu, so I was going to call you later and see how he was."
Gibbs sighed.
"I…er…take it you didn't know," Steve said.
"No."
"And Tony's not really sick."
"He's been a hell of a lot better…but there's no stomach flu."
"I see." Came the empathetic reply.
He had only met Gibbs that one time at Tony's apartment but had immediately sensed the deep connection. Gibbs' uncomfortable silence was almost deafening so Steve forged ahead when he thought the agent could not.
"Tony is starting to realise that his blindness may be permanent," Steve said.
"That hasn't been confirmed," Gibbs stated, realising that, he was not ready to give up hope either.
"No, but it's probably going to take a little longer than you both thought, right?"
"Probably," Gibbs replied almost reluctantly.
"Let me guess, Tony's angry, hard to get on with, won't accept help, argumentative, belligerent…"
"You forgot stubborn, pig-headed and just plain pissed."
"Oh yeah, I gotta little sample of that at his apartment the other day," Steve chuckled softly. "Agent Gibbs, as much as I'd really like to help, you know that I'm not a psychologist, right? That's why I mentioned that many blind reorientation centres also have excellent professional counsellors on staff that can help Tony come to terms and accept his vision loss. There are also many support groups where Tony can receive the support of people who have also suffered from blindness or loss of vision."
"People like you."
"Well…yeah, I guess."
"That's why I called you," Gibbs said. "I don't know much about Neurological Vision Impairment, or the treatments, or anything else about being blind - but I do know DiNozzo. Any talk about counsellors or shrinks is gonna push him right over the edge. He likes you, he put his trust in you – that's not easy for him."
"I understand," Steve said thoughtfully. "Although Tony is voicing his anger and frustration, those emotions are masking the ones that we need to be most concerned about."
"Depression."
"Absolutely. Depression and fear is the real enemy here, Agent Gibbs," Steve said solemnly. "It's those feelings Tony has to deal with before he can move forward. There's a big difference between feeling depressed and clinical depression. I don't believe he's at the clinical depression stage but that's something you'll need to keep an eye on. If he won't seek professional help, he may find it helpful to share his feelings with a close family member or friend."
Gibbs sighed heavily again.
"Guess Tony's not a talker, right?"
"Not about things that matter."
"Not even with you?"
"DiNozzo's been my partner for nine years, I know him better than anyone but I can count the number of times he's really opened up to me on one hand."
"Then you need to find another way, Agent Gibbs, and you need to do it fast," Steve said. "No matter what he's thinking at the moment, Tony cannot get through this alone and he cannot move on until he's beaten the feelings of depression."
"Tell me how."
"You know the man - what's he really passionate about? You need to find that, Agent Gibbs, something that will break through his hopelessness and give him the push he needs to move forward."
With those words echoing in this mind, they agreed to keep in touch and ended the call.
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Gibbs went back to sweeping the clean floor, needing to keep busy no matter how pointless the task. He heard the creaking of the stairs leading to the bedrooms and figured Tony and Vance had finished speaking. A moment later, Vance appeared at the top of the basement stairs with two steaming coffee cups in his hands.
"Figured you could use another cup," the director said, making his way carefully into the basement with the hot beverages.
Gibbs accepted the cup with a nod of thanks.
"How'd it go?" he asked.
Vance took a long sip of coffee before replying.
"I tell you, Gibbs, I worked counter-intelligence for a long time - got to be pretty good at reading people – but I'll be damned if I know what's going on in DiNozzo's head."
A tiny smile quirked Gibbs' mouth before he could reel it back it – Tony's ability to mask his thoughts and real emotions may be a huge asset in undercover work and dealing with suspects but it was tremendously infuriating when trying to get a handle on what was eating him.
Vance looked around for somewhere to sit.
"Mind if I pull up a…saw-horse?"
"Be my guest," Gibbs replied, dragging another one over for himself. "He hear you out?"
"Were you worried he wouldn't?"
Gibbs shrugged but offered no further reply.
"He sat and listened to the whole thing – was so quiet and attentive I had to keep reminding myself this was really DiNozzo," Vance quipped. "I reassured him that NCIS would cover his medical costs and the cost of his rehab plus pay his full wages until he could return to work."
Gibbs watched as the director walked to the corner of the basement where Gibbs had hung a heavy bag and a speedball. He worked the speedball with the technique of a former boxer before turning back to Gibbs.
"Speedball's good stress relief," he commented.
"Doesn't beat a boat," Gibbs replied as Vance resumed his seat on the saw-horse.
"I told him we've had people from OS & H researching all kinds of assisted technology to help him adapt to the work environment," Vance said. "There's software that enables someone with either low vision or who is blind to use the computer without the keyboard through voice commands. It would take a little getting used to but he'd manage."
"And the job options?"
"We discussed the options of MTAC tech, Sound tech or Foreign Analyst."
"He show any interest?"
Vance cleared his throat and adjusted his tie.
"He said, if he can't return to his current position, he won't return to NCIS."
"Dammit, DiNozzo!" Gibbs cursed softly.
"I told him there was no need to make a decision now, he should take his time and consider all his options but it seemed like his mind was already made up." Vance said. "He has offered his verbal resignation."
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Protective custody or not, being holed up in his house - unable to assist Tony and unable to assist with the investigation - was driving Gibbs around the twist. He was, for all intents and purposes, a man of action and all this inaction was making him crazy!
He needed to go back to Tony's apartment, collect the mail, leave a check for Tony's cleaning lady and collect the bottle of meds they'd forgotten in their rushed departure after the shooting.
Agents Kendall and Harris were left to watch the house and check on Tony, while Vance offered Gibbs a lift back to the Navy yard to check the progress of the investigation. He could catch a ride to Tony's apartment with McGee afterwards.
Lying on his bed, still staring sightlessly at the ceiling, Tony grunted his acknowledgement when Gibbs told him he'd be back in a few hours.
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"What do you got, McGee?" Gibbs said striding into the bullpen and suppressing a grin as the younger man startled at the unexpected arrival and spilled his coffee.
"Boss!" McGee said, fussing around looking for something to mop up the spill. "What are you doing here?"
"At the moment, McGee, I'm watching you spill coffee all over my desk. Clean that up and tell me you got something."
"Er…yes, Boss," McGee said, mopping madly with a serviette. "There's not a lot to tell actually. Turner has not used his accounts since the morning he beat his wife and left home. Abby confirmed that the bullet was fired from an M16 and ATF records indicate that Turner is a registered owner of a M16."
"You search his house?"
"Keating and I obtained a warrant and searched the Turner home – no sign of the rifle, he must have it with him."
"What about the search for the truck?"
"No hits on the BOLO and Keating and I are still compiling a list from the high performance exhaust companies in the area and cross-checking the owners of dark blue Ford F-150's with side exhausts with yours and Tony's lists. It's really slow going."
"And the son?"
"Former Seaman Allan Turner's just started his sentence at the Federal Correctional Institution in Fairton, Philadelphia. I've spoken to the Superintendent at Fairton and Keating and I are driving up to speak with Turner first thing in the morning. Hopefully, he can give us something to help us locate his father."
"Keating, stay on it, McGee you're with me," Gibbs said heading for the elevator.
Keating was seated at McGee's desk and looked up to find him hovering over him.
"Er…stay on it Keating," he repeated before leaning forward and whispering menacingly. "And don't even think about changing the codes on my computer again."
"Right, Boss," Keating replied as McGee hurried after Gibbs, turning sideways to slip into the elevator between the closing doors.
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"Need you to drive me to Tony's apartment and then home afterwards," Gibbs said. "I want to check on Abby first."
"Sure, Boss. Mind if I ask how you got here? I told Kendall and Harris to stay with you and Tony at all times," McGee asked crossly.
"Down boy," Gibbs replied. "The director gave me a lift. Kendall and Harris are still at the house with Tony."
The elevator deposited them on the level of the forensics lab and they entered the unusually subdued laboratory. Hearing voices from the inner offices they continued through the sliding glass doors and found Ducky, Palmer and Abby gathered around Abby's desk.
"Someone call a stop work meeting?" he asked.
"Gibbs, Gibbs, Gibbs!" Abby called excitedly as she rounded the desk and enveloped him in a crushing hug.
"Abs, I saw you last night at Tony's."
"I know but I've missed you and I've been so worried!"
"If I might ask the question," Ducky said. "Where is Anthony?"
"At my house," he replied, halting Abby's question by placing his index finger to her lips. "Kendall and Harris are there."
"How is he, Gibbs?" Abby asked, anxiously, "and don't tell me he's okay, cos I know he's not."
"He's not okay, Abs," Gibbs replied as Abby began to pace.
"I saw his face last night, he was upset, I know he was. I know Tony and I know how he totally hides when he's upset but I saw the look in his eyes. No matter what you say, I know I'm right about this, Gibbs."
"You're right, Abs."
"We did something we shouldn't have, didn't we? Or…or, like, maybe we didn't do something we should have done," she reasoned, her hands waving about to emphasise her words. "But whatever it was that we did or we didn't do - we upset Tony. We need to find out was it was, Gibbs, we need to fix this and tell him that we're sorry."
"That's what we were discussing when you arrived, Jethro," Ducky explained.
"It was the gifts," Gibbs said quietly.
"What?" Abby asked.
"The gifts…the computer game for the blind, the locator, the grocery list organiser …"
Abby gasped. "Even the…?"
"Even the colour identification device," Gibbs confirmed, watching the Goth scientist chew at her bottom lip and her large green eyes fill with unshed tears.
"Oh dear," Ducky said sadly.
"I don't understand," she said in a tremulous voice. "We wanted to help him, Gibbs. He said he wanted to be independent and we thought those gifts would help him whether his sight returned tomorrow or next week or…"
"Abs?"
"He thinks we've given up hope, doesn't he?" McGee asked.
"Oh my God, oh my God…Tony thinks we've all just accepted that he will be blind forever!" Abby said, allowing the tears to trickle down her pale cheeks. "Gibbs, that's, like, so not true…we all had other presents!"
"That's true, Agent Gibbs," Jimmy said. "Doctor Mallard bought Tony tickets to a Nats and Phillies game and Abby bought him some DVD's and McGee had an new X-Box game but they thought those gifts would make him feel worse about being blind."
"How do we fix this, Gibbs? How can we make this better?"
"Just give him time, Abs," he said to himself as much as to Abby. "He'll bounce back."
He didn't know how he was going to do it, but even if Gibbs had to drag him, kicking and screaming all the way, he was determined the younger man would bounce back.
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McGee waited in the living room of Tony's apartment as Gibbs walked around, removing perishables from the fridge and cupboards, packing another bag with additional clothes, leaving a check for Tony's cleaner, collecting the mail and pocketing the meds left behind in the rush.
"Boss, if you want, I can hook up your stereo in your guest room and Tony could listen to his music…er…that is…you do have a stereo, don't you?" McGee asked, memories of a dusty, prehistoric computer and printer kept in the basement, flashed through his mind.
"Well, yeah, McGee!" Gibbs said with a hint of annoyance. "Everyone has a stereo."
"It's not one of those with a big brass horn and a wind-up handle, is it?" McGee's head dipped involuntarily forward as Gibbs head slapped him. "Sorry, Boss, must be something in the air here at Tony's that made me say that."
"Grab a few CD's," Gibbs said as he did one more check of the apartment.
They arrived back at Gibbs' home and parked the car in the drive. Much to Gibbs' extreme irritation, Agent Kendall and McGee shielded him with their own bodies as they walked quickly into the house and were met by Agent Harris.
"Everything all right?" Gibbs asked.
"Everything's quiet," Harris replied.
"DiNozzo?"
"I haven't seen him for a few hours. We had a cup of coffee and he complained of a headache. Said he was gonna lay down for a while so I went back outside and left him to it."
Gibbs nodded and took the bag up to the guest room that was shrouded in darkness, an ominous silence and an empty bed. Gibbs felt the hair on the back of his neck stand on end as he checked the bathroom and the other upstairs rooms and found no sign of Tony.
"DiNozzo's not in his room. Kendall and Harris spread out, check outside, keep your eyes peeled," he said, descending the stairs rapidly. "McGee, check down here, I'll check the basement."
His heart pounded painfully on his sternum as he burst on to the landing at the top of the basement stairs and flicked on the light. The sight of his senior field agent lying unmoving at the bottom of the stairs stole the air from his lungs and for a chilling moment he was unable to do anything but stare in horror. His training kicked in seconds later, forcing trembling legs to carry him down the stairs to his agent's prone body.
"McGee, 911!" he called, reaching a shaking hand under Tony's jaw to check for a pulse.
It was then he caught the overpowering stench of alcohol saw the empty bottle of bourbon still held between lax fingers. Gibbs sat back on his haunches, wincing at the protest of his knee until a rush of anger infused him and drove away his fears.
"Damn you, DiNozzo!" he yelled.
McGee hastily ran down the steps and stopped at the lead agent's side.
"Ambulance is on the way, Boss, how is he…is that bourbon?"
"Damn right it's bourbon," Gibbs said angrily.
Leaning down to better appraise his agent for injuries, he was relieved there were no bruises, scrapes, blood or broken bones in evidence.
"Help me turn him," Gibbs said.
As gently as they could, they rolled him onto his back, noticing for the first time the swelling and bruising on both hands.
"Told you a million times not to work the bag without gloves, DiNozzo," Gibbs said quietly as he tapped the younger man's cheek repeatedly.
Tony's brow furrowed deeply and his hands flew up to bat away the annoyance but his uncoordinated movements only succeeded in punching himself in the eye.
McGee grabbed his wrists and pinned them to his chest.
"Hold still, Tony," he said. "Keep that up and you'll give yourself a shiner."
Tony moaned and muttered incoherently.
"Tony? Did you fall?" McGee asked. "You may be seriously hurt. We need to know whether you hit your head or fell down the stairs?"
In the midst of another stream of incoherent ramblings and curses, they distinctly heard the words 'didn't fall.'
McGee sat back in relief. "Thank God," he said looking back up the stairs. "If he'd have fallen from there he could have killed himself."
"Now the pleasure's all mine." Gibbs said ominously.
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