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 Seventeen
Abby sat on a stool at her workbench, her pigtails swinging wildly as her head swivelled from left to right, keeping pace with McGee's frantic pacing.
His brow was creased in frustration as he chugged back the remains of his coffee. Crushing the Styrofoam cup in his hand, he threw it across the room to make a very impressive rebound shot off the wall into the trashcan and causing Abby's eyebrows to disappear into her hairline.
"Something's not right, Abs!" McGee said, not missing a step.
"I know, Timmy," Abby replied. "Without all that caffeine you've been drinking lately, you would have never made that shot!"
"I'm serious, Abs!" he growled. "This isn't funny! Gibbs and Tony are counting on me to come up with a lead and at the moment, I've got squat!"
"Sheesh, hanging around Federal prisons makes you mean and cranky," Abby replied.
"I'm sorry, Abs," he said ruefully.
"Don't be," Abby smiled wickedly. "I like mean and cranky! But if you're going for a new image, you totally have to get down and get dirty. You know, a few neck and knuckle tats, mess up the hair, maybe a little scar through one eyebrow, grow a little stubble…"
"I tried the stubble, remember? Tony told me it felt like a bunny rabbit and Gibbs gave me shaving cream."
"Hmm," Abby said, stroking her chin thoughtfully. "Maybe they're right, it's just not you. It's kind of like casting Zac Efron to play Charles Manson."
"Thanks…I think," McGee said, not knowing whether to be offended. "I spent all morning with Seaman Turner at the FCI in Fairton, trying to get him to tell me anything that would help us find his father. He gave me nothing!"
"Well, NCIS is responsible for him, like, spending the next 25 years of his life wearing prison garb and dating some hairy, 300 pound dude named Bubba. Are you really surprised that he doesn't want to talk to us?"
"Gibbs would have got him to talk," McGee stated.
"Gibbs could get Marcel Marceau to talk."
"Tony would've pretended to be Turner's best friend - comparing stories about life on an aircraft carrier and talking about sports and cars until Turner told him what he wanted to know."
"Aw, someone needs a hug," Abby said, wrapping her arms around McGee and squeezing tightly.
"Thanks, Abs, but what I really need is to find Harry Turner."
"Want some advice?"
"Sure."
"Go back to doing what you do best. No one finds a paper trail or an electronic signature like you, Timmy. Keep looking – you'll find it, I know you will."
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Gibbs allowed a slight grin as he recognised the familiar rumble of Ducky's Morgan as it pulled into the driveway. He should have known that, despite his assurances that Tony had survived imbibing half a bottle of bourbon; the doctor would arrive to inspect the damage for himself.
"Hello, Jethro," Ducky greeted cordially, juggling a cardboard tray with three coffee cups as Gibbs held the door open.
"Come on in, Duck."
"I'm sorry I couldn't get here sooner. Agent Balboa's team had a double homicide and Mr Palmer and I had to work through the night."
Gibbs showed the ME into the living room and they took a seat on the couch. Ducky placed the steaming Styrofoam cups on the coffee table, checked his watch and looked around for one conspicuously absent senior field agent.
"I assume you've looked in on Anthony. It's past noon, is he still sleeping?"
"He's resting. Had a big morning."
"And a bigger evening if half a bottle of bourbon is anything to judge by," Ducky said, not bothering to hide the displeasure in his voice. "He can't go on like this, Jethro. Have you spoken to him about joining a support group?"
"We're his support group, Duck."
"What about the agency psychologist?" Ducky asked.
Gibbs shook his head.
Ducky clicked his tongue against his teeth to indicate his disapproval.
"Then please tell me you spoke to him about the Blind Reorientation Centre?"
"Nope."
"Well what, pray tell, did you speak to him about?"
"Baseball," Gibbs shrugged.
"Baseball?" Ducky repeated aghast. "Please tell me you're kidding. Whether you want to admit it or not, that young man needs specialised assistance. I know that Anthony is not one to ask for it but last night's overindulgence was a cry for help. Sometimes, Jethro, it's not about hearing with your ears, it's about hearing with your heart."
Gibbs took a long draught of coffee and recognised not only the annoyed expression on his old friend's face but the anxiety in his eyes. Ducky had known Tony for almost as long as Gibbs and had always had a very large soft spot for the younger man - he had no doubt that the doctor spoke out of genuine concern.
"Took him to play some baseball, Duck. He did good," Gibbs replied softly. "Saw the old DiNozzo – cocky, brash - was all I could do to stop from smacking him upside the head!"
"He actually played baseball?" the doctor asked.
"Yep! Put him in the batting cage, stuck a helmet on his head and a bat in his hand," Gibbs replied, his lips quirking slightly in a proud grin. "Took a while to get used to it but when he started driving 'em back at me…should've seen him."
"Jethro…you must believe me when I say that I am not trying to discourage you from involving Anthony in this activity. On the contrary, any activity like that is bound to provide him with confidence and a sense of achievement. But to deny the existence of the truth will not make it less true - he needs help with day to day activities and he needs to speak about what he's feeling."
"He's agreed to more sessions with the vision rehab therapist," Gibbs said.
"Well, I suppose that's something but it's not enough," Ducky sighed heavily. "Jethro, when this maniac is caught and you return to work, who will stay with Anthony? Who will ensure his safety and help him prepare his meals? He can't stay locked up in his apartment hoping that his sight returns."
"Ya think I don't know that, Duck?" Gibbs snapped at his old friend. "You may not think that baseball is important in the scheme of things, but I know DiNozzo. He's had a glimpse of what he can still achieve even without sight. He'll be more receptive to the other things. I hooked him, Duck, time for you to go reel him in."
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A soft knock at the door drew Tony from his musings as he lay resting on his bed. He heard the tiny rattle of the door handle being turned and the soft whoosh as the opening door brushed over the thick carpet.
"Am I disturbing you, Anthony?" Ducky said.
"Hey, Ducky," Tony replied, with a sleepy grin. "No, please come in."
He sat up on the edge of the bed and felt the mattress move as the ME took a seat next to him.
"How are you feeling, my boy? I hear the last 24 hours have been quite an adventure!"
"You know about the bourbon," Tony stated flatly.
"Honestly, Anthony, what on Earth were you hoping to achieve?" Ducky said gently chiding.
"I'd always heard the term 'blind drunk,'" Tony said impudently. " Maybe I was…"
"Anthony!" Ducky scolded, cutting Tony off mid-sentence. "This is not a laughing matter."
"Do you see me laughing, Doc?" Tony replied in a low, serious tone.
"No, my boy, I see a young man who feels his life has been turned into complete disarray - trying desperately to find an escape from the confusion and the fear."
"I think I know where this is going," Tony muttered.
"Director Vance told me that you have resigned from NCIS. I do wish you would reconsider or at least postpone your decision until it's absolutely necessary."
"Ducky, I appreciate what you and the director and everyone else is trying to do, but ever since I can remember, I wanted to be a cop. Then I met Gibbs and became an agent and despite the horrors that sometimes come with it, I loved my job. If I can't be a field agent then I think it's best that I find something completely different to do with my life."
"How will you support yourself?"
"The director told me that, because I was injured on the job, I'm entitled to half pay permanently or until I can find something else. I can draw some money from my police pension and I have some money my mother left me in a trust account. I'll get by."
"You know, young man, you promised me that you would accompany me on a visit to the Blind Reorientation Centre."
"I know, Ducky, but I really don't think I need to go there. I've started seeing this vision rehab therapist who's teaching me all this really good stuff and this morning, Gibbs took me to the batting cages. It took me a while to get the hang of it but once I got the range I was hitting them like Babe."
"The pig?"
"That's funny, Ducky," Tony said with a smirk. "I know cricket's more your game but even you know who Babe Ruth was."
"Ah, yes, I seem to recall, hearing the name once or twice since arriving here in America," Ducky said teasingly.
"So, you see, Doc, I don't I need to go to the centre – Steve's teaching me the important stuff and Gibbs is teaching me the fun stuff - I'm fine!" he said wearing what he hoped was his brightest smile.
The temperature in the room seemed to drop suddenly.
"I have known you for many years, Anthony, and believe me when I tell you that I have had it up to here with you!" Ducky said angrily.
"Ducky?"
"Don't Ducky me, don't paste on a smile and tell me you're fine! Don't set your shoulders and pretend you can deal with this by yourself. You can't do this alone Anthony! You are blind! This is not something you can ignore and hope it goes away."
"Don't you think I know that, Ducky! You think this is easy for me? My whole life changed in an instant and I don't know what to do. I'm afraid Ducky, is that what you wanted me to say? Does hearing me say it make you feel better?" Tony challenged.
Ducky waited a moment, listening to the sound of Tony's ragged breathing before he softly replied.
"My fervent hope, dear boy, is that saying it would make you feel better. It takes much more energy to suppress your emotions than to release them, Anthony," Ducky said, placing a gentle hand across Tony's back. "You already did the hardest part, you survived the explosion – now please, please let your friends help you."
He wrapped an arm gently around Tony's shoulders and pulled him into a comforting one-arm hug, surprised when the younger man did not pull away but leant into it. There were no tears and no sobs but Ducky felt the fine tremors as the younger man battled fiercely with his self-control. The elderly ME closed his eyes and tightened his embrace, confident that he had just had his own breakthrough with this proudly independent young man of whom he was immensely fond.
"I'm right here by your side, Anthony…please, let me help you," Ducky pleaded.
Slight movement from the doorway caught his attention and he looked to see Gibbs leaning quietly on the doorframe, his face implacable as ever, but his blue eyes softened as he watched Ducky provide the physical comfort. Despite their closeness, Gibbs knew that had never been a part of his relationship with Tony – it was never given, nor was it expected but the unique unspoken bond was none the weaker for it and Gibbs gave Ducky a small nod of approval before walking away.
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"Coffee?" Gibbs asked as Ducky entered the kitchen.
"Please," Ducky said, pulling out a chair and wearily falling into it as Gibbs fixed him a cup of coffee.
"He okay?"
"He's fine, Jethro, he'll join us as soon as he's dressed," Ducky said. "Despite the fact that I believe you have a rule about it, I owe you an apology, dear friend."
"Duck?"
"You were right…about the baseball I mean. Those few hours spent in the batting cage this morning gave Anthony a glimpse of what he could accomplish, regardless of whether his sight returns."
"He agreed to see a shrink?" Gibbs said in surprise.
"Not in so many words, however, he has agreed to visit the Blind Reorientation Centre with me and meet informally with their counsellor."
"Can't argue with that, Duck. That's a big step for him."
"Indeed it is," the doctor replied gratefully. "So, what's on the agenda for you gentlemen this afternoon?"
"I still have the keys to the indoor sports centre," Gibbs replied. "If he wants to, I thought we'd do a few fielding and base running drills."
"Anthony told me about this Beep Baseball. I must say I'd never heard of it before now. What a shame I have to return to work, otherwise I'd be delighted to come and offer Anthony some encouragement."
"If he takes to fielding and base running like he took to batting, believe me, Duck, he won't need any encouragement," Gibbs quipped.
"I heard that," Tony said walking into the kitchen.
"Taken to eavesdropping, DiNozzo?"
"Just honing my other senses, Boss," Tony grinned back. " We going back to the sports centre?"
"You up to it, DiNozzo?"
"I'm up to it, Boss."
"Good," Gibbs said. "Let me get authorisation to leave the house and we'll get moving."
Tony frowned. "You calling the director?"
"Worse," Gibbs growled in frustration. "I'm calling McGee."
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Tony completed his warm-up stretches while Gibbs set up the bases on the synthetic playing field. Beep Baseball has first and third bases only – no second base - rather than the familiar diamond shape of the sighted baseball game it was played on a triangular shape.
The bases were four-feet high padded cylinders with speakers and Gibbs placed them one hundred feet down their respective lines and ten feet off the foul line. The bases contain sounding units that give off a unique buzzing sound when activated.
"Hey, Boss, you sure that I'm allowed to run directly to first or third, cos that seems a little weird."
"The base operator will activate the buzzer in either first or third base. You hit the ball; you wait until you hear the buzzer and you run like hell to the sound. Got it?"
"Got it," Tony said.
Gibbs placed home plate in the correct position and called Tony over. Although they weren't batting this afternoon, he wanted Tony to get used to standing closer to the front of the box with his lead foot even with the front of the plate. Tony flinched a little when Gibbs placed a blindfold over his eyes.
"If you're afraid I'm gonna peek, Boss, I give you my word, it ain't gonna happen," Tony quipped.
"Regulations, DiNozzo, some players are blind and some have low vision – everyone but the pitcher and the catcher wears a blindfold."
"Feels a little silly."
"If it's any consolation, it looks much worse," Gibbs replied dryly. "I'll call 'ready' and 'pitch,' then wait two seconds and activate one of the bases. You identify which one's buzzing and you haul ass. Might be an idea to walk the first couple, get a feel for it."
Tony nodded his readiness and Gibbs called and activated third base. Tony's head turned in the direction of the sound and he set off in that direction at a brisk walking pace. It wasn't the most direct route but he found the base.
"Again," Gibbs said, offering his guide arm to Tony and leading him back to home plate.
Gibbs called 'pitch' but this time activated first base, which had a distinctly different sound to third. Tony set off at a slow jog and quickly zeroed in on the large buzzing base.
"Good job," Gibbs said, leading Tony back to home plate again. They practiced over and over - each time, Tony gained in confidence and speed with Gibbs goading and encouraging him all the way.
"You call that running, DiNozzo?" Gibbs yelled in his best DI voice. "I've seen better legs in a barrel of fried chicken."
"You call that fast? Ducky can run faster than you!" Gibbs yelled.
"I always thought Ducky was very spry, Boss," Tony replied. "Besides, he can see where he's going."
Within 30 minutes Gibbs was shaking his head in admiration at the fearlessness and athleticism shown by the younger man who was running the one hundred foot distance to the bases, confidently at an impressive pace.
After a short break and a refreshing drink, Gibbs produced the bat and the beep ball and sent Tony into the field. Gibbs repeatedly bunted the ball in Tony's direction, watching the agent using only his hearing to locate the beeping ball. On several occasions he was required to make an energetic full-stretch dive to stop the ball from passing him and then hold the ball in the air to signify an 'out.'
Gibbs had Tony diving to his right and to his left and, more often then not, the ball was fielded by hitting some part of his body. Though his body would more than likely be black and blue in the morning, he never shied or complained about taking a hit and the smile on his face was all the evidence Gibbs needed to know the younger man was having the time of his life.
'Attaboy, Tony,' Gibbs thought proudly.
When Gibbs called practice to a close, a dishevelled Tony stood before him, sweat soaking his hair and t-shirt.
"So…wanna give this Beep Baseball a try?" Gibbs asked. "I can have Sam call the coach, sign us up."
"You'd really do that, Boss, sign up and play with me?"
"Like I said, DiNozzo, I haven't got a boat and I need a hobby. Am I calling?"
Tony needed to clear his throat twice before he found his voice.
"You're calling, Boss," he said in a voice thick with emotion.
Gibbs clapped his hand on the younger man's back.
"Come on, crazy legs, let's go home!"
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Ziva stood in the open doorway of Ducky's office and cleared her throat, drawing the ME's attention from his paperwork.
"Ziva!" he greeted cordially.
"Good afternoon, Ducky, I hope I am not disturbing you."
"No, no, not at all, my dear. Any distraction from this interminable paperwork is a pleasant distraction, I always say. Please come in, take a seat."
"I cannot stay long," Ziva said. "I just came by to give you my return to work certificate."
"I was just about to have a nice spot of tea, I'd be delighted if you'd join me."
With a quick glance toward the open door, she reluctantly replied.
"Um…thank you, Ducky…I would like that very much."
Ziva listened patiently as Ducky prattled genially about the correct way to make a pot of tea, then placed a cup of the perfectly brewed beverage in front of her.
"Thank you," she said.
He allowed a moment for them to taste and savour the rich blend before he met her dark eyes.
"Tell me, my dear, how are you?"
"The doctors say I am ready to resume light duties," she replied, evading the real question. "The cast will remain for another four weeks."
"That is very good news indeed but I was not referring to your arm. Have you been to see Anthony since the accident."
"I tried to see him in the hospital but he was sleeping, I…I spoke to Gibbs."
Ducky sat back in his chair, gently tapping his fingertips together.
"I imagine that was not a pleasant conversation," Ducky said. "Our esteemed team leader has never been known for his tactful conversation skills, let alone when one of his people has been injured."
"Ducky…how is Tony?" she asked, not meeting his eyes.
"There has been no noticeable improvement to the swelling around his visual cortex."
"He is still blind."
"Yes, my dear, he is," Ducky said gently.
"So it is permanent?"
"The doctors have no way of knowing until the swelling reduces and they can determine the extent of the damage to the visual cortex and optic nerves."
"But it could be…permanent."
"Yes, there is still hope, of course, but it could be permanent," Ducky advised truthfully.
Ziva closed her eyes for a moment and when they re-opened the softness was gone, replaced by emptiness – a legacy of her Mossad training.
"Did you know that Anthony had resigned from NCIS?"
Ziva looked shaken.
"McGee told me the director had several job options for Tony," she stated. "He said NCIS was providing specialised equipment and support."
"That is true, the director has been very accommodating however Anthony told him that if he cannot return to his former position, he will not return at all."
"Why? Why would he do that?" she asked.
"I'm afraid that's a question you will need to ask Anthony. Go to him, my dear, speak to him and perhaps you will both find some solace."
"How can anything I feel compare to what he's going through!"
"While your own feelings of distress are very different to Anthony's; they are not necessarily less," Ducky replied. "At the very least, you have the ability to control your own situation - Anthony does not have that luxury. Don't you see my dear, as difficult as this has been for you, this is not about you; this is about Anthony. No matter how deeply you regret the circumstances that caused this situation, there is no going back."
Ducky looked, through sad eyes, at the young woman sitting in front of him. She was obviously heavily burdened by her role in Tony's accident and the enormous impact his injuries were having on his life and the lives of those who cared about him. He sighed wearily as he realised the reason for her hesitation.
This woman had been trained as a soldier from a very early age and, later, as an assassin. Raised in a deadly kill or be killed world, by necessity, she had closed herself off from feelings of regret, sorrow and personal responsibility – an effective assassin has no room in their lives for such emotions. During her time at NCIS, they had seen her slowly start to evolve but still the feelings were locked inside.
"The way I see it, you have two choices, my dear," Ducky said. "You can let these feelings of guilt and regret fester and eat away at you forever, or you can show the courage and the strength that we know you have and salvage the remains of your friendship with Anthony."
Thanking Ducky for the tea, Ziva rose to her feet and left the building, heading for Gibbs' home - and Tony.
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Gibbs and Tony were sitting down to an early dinner when McGee arrived and they called him into the dining area.
"Grab some coffee and sit down," Gibbs said around a forkful of vegetables. "You eaten?"
"It's my sister's birthday, we're going to dinner later," McGee said. "Won't say no to the coffee though."
Gibbs pointed toward the coffee machine with his chin and McGee poured himself a cup and joined them at the table.
"What've you got, McGee?"
"A lot of nothing I'm afraid, Boss," McGee said, the frustration clearly evident in his voice. "I drove up to Fairton this morning to see Seaman Turner. He clammed up tight, wouldn't tell me anything about his truck or his father."
"Not surprising," Tony said. "We did put him away for 25 years."
"What else?" Gibbs said.
"Still no hits on Harry Turner's accounts or on the BOLO on his truck. Wherever he is, he's lying low."
"What about the list of modified trucks from the high performance exhaust companies?"
"That's really slow going – so far we've cross checked about 150 names with yours and Tony's list of possible suspects but haven't had a match. We haven't even found the company that modified Turner's truck yet."
"Stay on it, Harry Turner only withdrew a thousand dollars. He has to come up for air sometime." Gibbs said.
McGee turned his head to face his senior field agent. "Hey, Tony, I hear you did good in the batting cage this morning," he said.
"You heard right, McFlyball, I was hitting 'em like Babe," Tony grinned.
"The pig?"
"Not the pig! Babe Ruth! Doesn't anybody know who Babe Ruth was?"
"Sorry, Tony, he was before my time," McGee said.
"The man retired from the game in 1936, Probie, he was before everyone's time…but his legend continues."
McGee was pleased to see the improvement in Tony's temperament and exchanged a quick grin with Gibbs.
"Hey!" Tony said suddenly. "Allan Turner was a Navy construction mechanic, right?"
"Yeah, so?" McGee answered slowly.
"Construction mechanics repair and maintain heavy automotive equipment like, buses, dump trucks and tactical vehicles. Maybe Turner did his own modifications. Maybe you're not looking for a high performance exhaust company but an auto parts shop."
"Makes sense," Gibbs said.
"There's gotta be thousands of auto parts shops in the tri-state area!" McGee groaned and then started as his PDA shrilled. He removed it from his jacket pocket, read the message and stood abruptly. "Boss, I gotta hit! Harry Turner just accessed his account at a liquor store in Fairfax, not far from the ATM where he withdrew money the day of the shooting."
Gibbs stood quickly and retrieved his weapon and ID from his gun safe.
"Who's outside?" he asked.
"Purcell and Brunner," McGee said.
"Tell 'em what's going on and to keep their eyes open."
"Boss, what are you doing?"
"You got back-up with ya, McGee?"
"Not…with me," he answered slowly. "I was gonna call in for back-up."
"I'm you're back-up, let's go!"
He stopped next to DiNozzo and placed his hand on the younger man's shoulder.
"You need anything, you call Purcell or Brunner. They're right outside."
"I'm fine, Boss."
He gave Tony's shoulder a reassuring squeeze then headed for the car behind McGee, hoping that they could find Turner and end this tonight.
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