I'M SORRY. DON'T HATE ME. MY LIFE IS A MISHMASH OF PROCRASTINATION, DUE DATES, OVERBOOKED SCHEDULES, FINALS, AND LARGE CAFFINATED BEVERAGES. JUST SAYING. Also, don't hate me because this chapter is shorter- I figured a short chapter is better than none at all, right? Even if it is a filler, it's me stepping back to this story.

I'm so happy to see everyone enjoying the suspense and most of all (haha) the cliffhangers! I have to admit, I've had an evil ending the last two chapters—what can I say, I'm just feeling particularly devilish. But Dick would be glad to know all of you are worrying about him and his bullet wound.

Thank you to all of you lovely people who reviewed- starletzrose, Cindar, authorwannabe, shattered rainbow, Nightwingsass, Lyn, Caleo4ever42, dragonlovewater, Platypus2014, TV Manic 2, lyn, DawnAlizeti, Vi-Violence, and 4 Guests. Thank you thank you to all who have contributed their thoughts and opinions. It means the world to me, and is the reason I continue to write and share my stories with you!


Chapter 9

Heh. Heh. Heh.

The leg pressed against Dick's was twitching, spasming erratically with no beat, rhythm, or logical pattern.

Heh. Heh. Heh.

But then, there was nothing within logical reasoning that would really explain all of this...not really. Nothing that a logically inclined historian, secretary, or store owner could reasonably fit into their daily regimen of things to look out for, to prepare for. There was nothing about this situation that when they left for the night they would think 'Huh. Need to be sure I bring an antidote for that next time.'

Heh. Heh. Heh.

Guess that just proved that life really was a matter of perspective. Yet another lesson learned from Atticus Finch.

Heh. Heh.

Batman's growling voice resonated behind his ears, growling in a voice so low only he could hear. Focus. Assess. Strategize. Implement. You know how to deal with this. The instructions, short and concise, drew Dick out of his molasses thoughts and into the tripwire atmosphere of the small car.

Heh. Heh. Heh.

Short, breathy gasps punctuated the silence in the air, dominating the space and leaving no room for conversation. Dick could see why; Tim's deep, strangled breaths seemed to make everyone else hold their breath for fear of stealing oxygen. It wasn't just him either. Gibbs' hands clenched whiter on the wheel with every passing minute, and at this point Dick was fairly sure any more pressure on the steering column and it would twist in his death grip. He couldn't blame him—with each gasping, desperate breath that Tim squeezed through his lips, it just sent a stabbing pang through Dick's chest (although nothing on the scale Tim must be feeling) that just reminded him of how utterly helpless he felt. As the drug coursed through Tim's veins and seeped into his very tissues and bloodstream, Dick could do nothing but hope, pray, and clench Tim's hand tighter in his own, his watch leaving painful imprints in his wrist.

Heh. Heh. Heh. Heeh. Tim wheezed an especially forced breath of air.

Ha. That was what was so ironically, devastatingly, hit yourself funny about it. The more Dick wished for the damn watch to slow, to crawl at the same intolerable pace as when he was on a stakeout, the more the traitor hands seemed to race around the circular track, lapping each other in a competition where Tim's life was the prize. Bruce had handed him the onyx beauty in a simple, unassuming silver box with the uncharacteristically sensitive phrase To treasure every moment. Now those words were dripping on him like some ironic poison.

Perhaps it wouldn't be so bad if Tim wasn't reacting so quickly. Dick didn't know if it was the drug itself or the sheer quantity in the syringe he was injected with, but Tim was deteriorating rapidly. He flashed back to the warehouse, recalling the precious moments right after.


At the warehouse

Tim was sprawled out on the concrete floor, and even through the shield of his NCIS teammates Dick could see the occasional tremor running through his frame. His heart sounding in his ears, Dick quickly made his way back to the team, who were circling Tim like a screen protecting him from anything else life had to throw at him. At this point, though, the damage had been done.

On closer inspection, Tim's tremors appeared to run throughout his body, affecting different parts at random and without prejudice, covering every inch like an electric shock. With that, Dick could sympathize.

Tim's brows were clenched as tightly as his fists, and despite his new sitting position, the rigidity of his body betrayed his casual stance.

"Tim! Tim, are you okay," Dick asked, his tone laced with frantic worry. Already his mind was leaps and bounds ahead of him, thinking and processing as he thought back to countless missions where toxins were involved, or someone on the team was laced with some type of drug. With a start, he realized the basic kit he had on him didn't have his usual general antitoxin. He didn't know it was possible for his stomach to clench further, but obviously this was a day to be proven wrong about these things.

Tim's eyes clenched shut, and his voice shook coming out. "Ah…It hurts. It really hurts. But it" a spasm ran its way up his torso "c-could be worse."

Tim was an awful liar. And apparently Dick wasn't the only one who thought so.

Ziva gently laid the back of her hand on his forehead. "Tim, you're already running a mild fever, and your heart rate is far from normal." She turned to Gibbs, face as serious as a heart attack. "He needs medical attention right now."

Gibbs nodded, his face reflecting Ziva's stony exterior, and turned toward Tony. "Call an ambulance DiNozzo." Tony looked at him for a moment, the instruction seeming to go unheard or unacknowledged. Dick didn't blame him—in that moment where you found your teammate was hurt, your mind started spinning faster and faster, but like a wheel stuck in the mud, you got nowhere fast.

But now wasn't the time to freeze or balk at the face of danger, especially with the threat of the unknown breathing down Tim's neck. Years of vigilantism had instilled in Dick the power of fast action and quick thinking, and the adrenaline coursing through his veins was one of the best catalysts for decision making around.

Gibbs was of the same mindset. With a few short steps, he gripped Tony's shoulder and squeezed. His tone, brusque and clear and sending Dick back to moments of desperation and last minute action where all Batman could spit out was Go! Now!, seemed to cut right through the tension in the air. "DiNozzo. Now."

The rubberband of reality snapped back in place, presumably hurting Tony a little on the return trip. On the bright side it seemed to have magicked some sense and a feeling of urgency into him, because he gave a curt nod to Gibbs, and within seconds was dialing and had the phone to his ear.

The rest of them stood stiffly (or in Ziva's case, crouched next to Tim) as Tony spoke to an operator in clipped, concise sentences, giving all the information necessary with none of his confusion from before.

Several minutes passed and even Dick felt himself growing antsy despite Bruce's best lessons in patience and stoicism. Finally Tony lowered the phone from his ears and leveled with Gibbs' fierce gaze. One look at his acerbic expression, and Dick's stomach twisted into a tangled mess that could have rivaled the Gordian knot itself.

"Ambulance can be here in 40 minutes tops Boss. Apparently—"

Gibbs' eyes flashed and there was steel in his voice when he replied. "Not good enough. Get them here faster."

Tony's voice was taking on a desperate tone. "They can't Boss. They're all deployed right now. Something about a nursing home with a flu outbreak, and a shooting downtown." A shooting that might normally have been dealt with by Nightwing, Dick realized.

All Dick could see was Bruce's face as Gibbs angrily pointed a finger at the phone in Tony's hand. "Make. It. Happen. DiNozzo."

Dick took a long step forward. "Listen, the techs there at the switchboard know the police codes, just in case one of us calls in with an emergency. It's different if we call in—they make it a priority, and they would if they knew it was a federal agent's life on the line. Say it's…say it's a 10-18, 11-99, Code 11 SWAT call up. Officer Romero Juliett Golf 189 requesting assistance. It should speed things along." It wasn't much, but it was something. Anything at all was better than just standing here.

Tony nodded vigorously. "On it." He returned the phone to his ear. "Now you listen to me, you pompous bureaucratic douche canoe…" He continued verbally abusing the person on the line, his acrid tone growing increasingly biting as he spat out Dick's officer information.

Dick was distracted from Tony's impressive display of colorful vocabulary by that feeling of eyes watching him, raising the hair on the back of his neck. Turning, his gaze met Gibbs, and he watched as the old man observed him. He knew that look. That look was Bruce looked like when he could file one more revealing fact away about someone, put down one more piece to the puzzle of the human condition. He knew his face gave nothing away—he was too well trained to give away clues from facial expressions, but inside his already cluttered mind had one more problem to throw on the pile. What had he said that could possibly have blipped on Agent Gibbs' radar?

Ziva fired a question at Gibbs, breaking the two men from their silent battle of wills. "Will they even be able to treat him there Gibbs? Whatever this new drug is, will the hospital be able to diagnose this?"

Somewhere in Dick's mind, amid the chaos and wreckage, a lightbulb slowly but surely flickered to life as Ziva's words filtered in. This was supposedly a new drug to the streets, never before seen (at least in Bludhaven) and from the looks of it, it had never before been widely administered. This wasn't like a flu vaccination that was regularly given. The odds of hospitals having the antidote to most of the synthesized toxins and viruses that developed out there by evil criminal masterminds was slim, the only exception Dick could think of being Gotham. After all, with a psychotic, deranged clown running around that had access to his own exclusive Laughing Gas, you took precautions. Batman had the foresight to distribute the antidote to all Gotham hospitals. But even he had to synthesize a new antidote for every new venom that Joker managed to produce.

He had to speak up. This may not be his team technically—he was fully aware that for all intents and purposes he was nothing more than a guest, a liaison to NCIS on this investigation. Still, that didn't change the fact that he cared for them, and he didn't want to see them hurt. They had history, even if the team didn't know it. As much as it went against the decision he'd made two years ago, the decision he'd practically sealed in blood, he felt himself clinging to the connection to his past life. To the people that bridged the gap between who he was now and that person he used to be. They needed help, and this was a team he actually could save right here and now.

"Agent Gibbs, I think we should take him to Abby's lab." The older man turned his head to look at him, and he could almost feel the Bat glare and the clipped words that would follow. Explain. So he did. "We're dealing with specially designed, high dosage heroin. Just from looking at Nicholas we know this stuff is a different formula but McGee…" he glanced at the agents' shivering form, "either had a even more high concentrated dose, or there could be something different involved. I think Abby could formulate the antidote we would need to counteract the side effects."

Gibbs stared at him with an indecipherable look on his face. If gears were turning, if lightbulbs were sporadically flickering on, or even if there were a group of midgets in clown suits trying to put out a fire up there, Dick couldn't ell anything past Gibbs' pale, steel blue eyes that were on him, calculating and sizing him, somehow seeing through him and into his very soul. Dick had to remind himself for a split second that (as far as he and the League knew), Leroy Jethro Gibbs was human. Remember, he can't read your mind.

McGee grunted as another wave of tremors ran through his body like a live wire. With steady hands Ziva steadied him, checking his pulse and temperature for reference. From his position on the side he heard Ziva murmuring reassurances. Dick almost took a step toward the downed man, but thought better of it. McGee wouldn't accept that kind of help from, even if he was tempted to give it. And he would if he were Robin. But here he was Officer Grayson, someone Tim barely knew and clearly didn't like.

Amidst her ministrations to McGee, Ziva peered at Dick and gave him a look that was a hybrid of frustration and confusion. "Tim was given a high dose of heroin, yes? I don't see why that needs an antidote. It's a high, concentrated dose, but that can be treated with methadone and other pain relievers."

Dick shook his head. "If it were just a regular dose of heroin, sure, that would be the regular treatment. But we don't know how concentrated this dose is. Not to mention there could be other chemicals or compounds mixed in…or this could be something else entirely, with long term physical or mental effects." He'd seen it too many times not to take this seriously.

Ziva made eye contact with Gibbs, and a long conversation was held between the two that didn't involve words. Dick suddenly felt like he was intruding on something private and personal. Huh. Wonder if that's how people feel around me and Bruce. Wally always used to say… Dick shook it out of his head. Doesn't matter. He didn't need to be a mind reader to tell that his trustworthiness (in a town of crooks and cowards) was certainly being measured, along with the urgency of the situation.

Tim, obviously only semi-aware of the purely ocular conversation happening in front of him, struggled to lift his head to meet Dick's eye. His forehead was shining with sweat under the warehouse lights, and his voice cracked under some hidden strain as he spoke. "What else could this be Grayson? Abby said it was heroin earlier—why would they change it all of a sudden?"

It's not exactly like he could whip out his vigilante resume and cite his past experiences with homicidal, gas wielding evil villains on this one, but damn, he wished he could. "Because it's Bludhaven and you can never be too sure about anything here. Believe me, you'll feel better and be alive if Abby can check you out and actually create an antitoxin that targets whatever was in that syringe. Abby's smart—I'd trust her over your generic hospital tests any day." And if all that fails, I have more antidotes in my locker than I know what to do with.

Ziva looked contemplative, like it wasn't the worst idea in the world, and Gibbs had resumed his in depth visual dissection of Dick's existential being. Tim just looked spacey.

Tony returned to the conversation with a clear of his throat and a curious look around. One hand covering the cell, he directed his next words towards Gibbs. "Ambulance is on its way Boss. They'll be here in 30, which is sooner than the 40 they were promising earlier. Sorry, even with Grayson's connections it's the soonest I could get."

Gibbs answered immediately, and Dick could see that this news wasn't the deciding factor—he had already made up his mind. "Get him to the car. Bludhaven police department is 25 minutes away—we can make it in 10. Move!"


TBC-

My special hugs go out especially to shattered rainbow and TV Manic 2. A double helping of thanks to shattered rainbow, for always taking the time to post a comment that always tells me what you're thinking and what you liked in particular about the chapter. The insight is invaluable, and you really make me double back and recheck my own work, going through it with a fine tooth comb. Critical/constructive evaluations ftw! Thanks so much for doing more than just reading! And also to TV Manic 2. I've been following your In Between Series for Young Justice as soon as I found them, and believe me, it's been a great read all the way through! I love the work you do, the special attention you give to Dick (a pastime I obviously indulge in too), and the way you interact with your readers. Thank you for the keen observations—not gonna lie, I'm fangirling pretty hardcore over here.

Shattered rainbow- I feel like Gibbs is going to put things together eventually and that this fight was a clue...like, why would Dick fight hand-to-hand for so long when he was losing and not use his gun? Most cops probably wouldn't do that, or be a skilled at hand-to-hand. Thanks a million! I'm glad to hear that you'd read a prequel, but of course I'll finish this one first. Yes, Dick's feelings about the NCIS run a little deeper than they're fully aware of right now. And you bring out an excellent point about Dick's hand to hand fighting…hmm. I like the direction you're thinking J keep on pondering!

TV Manic 2- Thank you for reading! It's an honor to have one of my favorite writers on FF pay special attention to something I'm working on. And gosh, within five sentences, you're already giving me plot bunnies haha. And as far as McGee and Dick's relationship goes…you're not the first to confess your doubts. You're right—Dick is a well liked character, loved by practically everyone. Why McGee would not fall for his charm…well, I know my reasons, and they'll make their way onto paper (screens, watevs) soon. What I'm interested in is what you think ;)