Chapter Five

"I think he's coming around, Ducky."

He was lying down, but he didn't remember how he got there.

"You see, Abigail? I told you it wouldn't take long."

He was warm and comfortable. His feet were propped up on something soft, and there was a soothing rhythm being rubbed on his leg.

"Is he waking up, Ducky? Timmy? Is he okay?"

He didn't hurt anywhere, he could breathe, and his chest didn't ache. His only complaints were a mild headache and something pinching the back of his hand.

"That's half the bag gone, Dr. Mallard."

He remembered yelling at Tim and feeling lightheaded, but that was all. What the hell happened?

"Jethro?"

'You flipped out, Marine. Then you passed out.'

Memories filtered in, one-by-one, but in reverse. Yelling at Tim, being mad at Fornell, talking to Ducky, being at the hospital, being at his house, the basement, Tony …

"Tony."

His eyes shot open, and he tried to sit up, but a firm but gentle hand on his chest stopped him and pushed him back down.

"Easy, Jethro. Just relax. Anthony is still with us, and is likely to remain so for quite some time to come."

"What?" His voice cracked like it hadn't been used in days. "How …?"

"The nurse who assisted me with your IV was kind enough to check on his status for us. They've moved him into the recovery room. His surgeon will be by to fill you in on the details as soon as possible."

"IV?"

He looked down, found the small catheter taped to the back of his hand, and followed the tube with his eyes until he saw the clear bag hanging from the pole above his head. He wanted to know what they were giving him, but he couldn't have read such small print even if it had been right-side-up. He frowned.

"It's just saline, Agent Gibbs," Palmer explained quickly.

He was missing an important piece of information, and he had the distinct impression that everyone else in the room already had it. That wasn't a feeling he liked, and he took a moment to get his bearings.

He was lying on one of the couches in the waiting room, and someone had covered him with a scratchy but warm blanket. Abby sat cross-legged at the other end of the couch; the soft object beneath his lower legs was her pajama-clad lap. Ducky was sitting in a chair a few feet in front of the couch with McGee standing behind him, and Palmer was standing next to the couch, near the wall. Fornell sat across the room, close enough to hear what was being said but far enough away to not be part of it.

Abby shifted slightly and the soothing rhythm on his leg turned into a smack.

"You scared me, Gibbs!"

"Abigail."

"Well he did!"

She had a pouty expression, but one look at her eyes told him she didn't really mean it. She was upset, worried, stressed, and - as she'd said - scared. She wanted him to apologize to her for all of those things, and most likely to McGee, too, for yelling at him the way he had. But hurt feelings or no, Abby and McGee were fine. He had all the time in the world to make it up to them. There was only one person he felt the need to apologize to.

"Tony?" he said again.

"It was not his fault. If it's anyone's, I suppose it's mine."

He didn't know if Ducky hadn't heard him or if he'd ignored him, but if he was a betting man, he'd have put money on the latter. "Tell me what …"

"I was so concerned about Anthony that I'm afraid I overlooked what was right in front of me. I mistook your symptoms for a fit of pique rather than seeing them for what they truly were."

He was getting angry that no one was answering him, and he had more important things to worry about than whatever Ducky thought was wrong with him.

"What about DiNozzo?"

"Confusion, anxiousness, agitation." Ducky continued on as though Gibbs weren't glaring daggers at him. "Timothy tells me you were sweating and hyperventilating. I'm guessing that you were having chest pains, too, weren't you?" He didn't acknowledge the question, but he didn't have to. Ducky obviously knew the answer anyway. "Your heart was beating far too fast, your breathing was far too shallow, and your blood pressure was far too low."

"Damn it, Duck," he said through clenched teeth. "I don't care."

Ducky's expression hardened slightly, as did his tone of voice. "Well, you should care. I'm trying to tell you that you're in shock, Jethro, and you have been for quite some time. Most probably from the first moment you walked down the stairs. Looking back on it now, I'm amazed that you stayed on your feet as long as you did."

He shook his head. "It was Tony who …"

"Anthony was in hypovolemic shock from the blood loss. The proper term for what you are suffering from is acute stress reaction. It is a psychological shock, and in some instances, if not managed correctly, it can progress into a physical condition. In your case, it did. Your blood pressure dropped, suddenly and drastically, and you passed out. It is not at all uncommon in witnesses to a violent trauma."

He opened his mouth to argue, but Ducky shook his head.

"It is also not a sign of weakness, so none of that nonsense. It just means that you're human."

Gibbs closed his eyes and sighed deeply. He wasn't in the mood for one of Ducky's lectures. He just wanted to get off the couch and find out how Tony was.

"I already told you that he's alive and he's going to recover, Jethro. At the moment, that is all that any of us know." Ducky's voice had softened again. Gibbs opened his eyes to see the older man smiling at him sadly. "You can sit up now, if you want. Just move slowly."

He pulled his feet out of Abby's lap carefully, put them on the floor, and sat up in one smooth movement. He looked down at the back of his left hand, then up at the IV bag above him, and reached for the tape.

"That stays until the drip is finished. Non-negotiable."

"Duck …" It wasn't his usual growl, but it was close.

"I'm glad to see you're feeling better," Ducky said with a small grin. "Those fluids are bringing your blood pressure back up, which is a good thing. Twenty minutes ago it was so low that the hospital staff wanted to admit you. I intervened on your behalf, but it was dependent upon your cooperation. Consider yourself fortunate that you're getting an IV in the waiting room rather than lying in a hospital bed of your own."

Gibbs sighed and leaned back against the couch. Silence had fallen over the waiting room, and it wasn't comfortable. It felt like everyone was on edge, waiting to see if he was going to explode again, and he couldn't really blame them. He'd been failing them all from the moment he'd found DiNozzo in his basement, and it was time to stop.

He couldn't do anything to help Tony, but he could help the rest of them.

He held his right arm out to Abby and cocked his head at her. She scooted over silently and curled against him, and he wrapped his hand around her shoulder. "I'm okay, Abs," he said softly before he pressed a kiss against the top of her head. "And Tony's going to be fine."

The next twenty minutes passed largely in silence. There were a few half-hearted attempts at conversation, the majority of them by Abby with a few from McGee and Palmer, but none of them lasted long. The combination of worry and the fact that it was nearly 2am didn't leave any of them in the mood to talk much, not even Ducky.

Gibbs had made an effort to finish his interview, but both Fornell and McGee assured him that they had enough to start with and they could do it later that day. The part of him that wanted the investigation to move forward as quickly as possible chafed against waiting, but the rest of him was grateful for the respite, however brief it might be. He didn't think he'd lose it or pass out again, but he was honest enough to admit, at least to himself, that he still wasn't ready to go through it all again.

The IV had run empty, and Ducky had removed it. The fluids had the desired effect, and with his blood pressure back up, he was more clear-headed than he had been all night. He could look back on the way he'd acted and the things he'd said, and though he was ashamed of himself, knowing that he'd been in shock at the time made it easier to deal with. He still had a whole lot of things to make up to a whole lot of people, but he could view those things rationally. He would apologize to Abby for scaring her, and he would apologize to McGee, both for checking out on him at the house and for screaming at him, but those would be done later and privately.

Then there was Tony.

It was impossible to be objective about one of his team – one of his kids – being tortured in his basement. There was no way it could have been random, neither the attack itself nor the location. That meant that both Tony and his house had been chosen for a specific reason.

'Because it was about you,' his mind told him. 'They went after him because of you.'

It was the same thing he'd been telling himself all night. It was the only conclusion that had made sense when he was in shock, and it was still the only one that made sense when he wasn't. The one thing that had changed was that he wasn't saying it out loud anymore.

"Leroy Jethro Gibbs?"

None of them had seen her walk into the room, but the second she announced herself, all of them were on their feet, even Fornell. Gibbs took three steps forward and nodded at her.

"I'm Dr. Marquardt. I'm Mr. DiNozzo's surgeon." She held her hand out, and Gibbs shook it.

"Agent," he said. "Agent DiNozzo."

"My apologies," she said. She smiled at him, but he didn't return it. She caught onto his mood rather quickly and dropped any other pleasantries. He was grateful for that. "Was Agent DiNozzo injured in the line of duty, then?"

"We're not sure yet."

He glanced at McGee and Fornell, and they both shrugged at him. Even though they were fairly certain they knew who had attacked Tony, and he was sure he knew why, they still had no idea how or where they'd grabbed him in the first place. Had he run into DelMar somewhere and things had escalated? Had DelMar been waiting at his apartment and ambushed him? Or was it something else entirely? Was it tied to the Brewer and Strauss investigation, to Gibbs confronting Azari in front of DelMar, or was it just a coincidence that DelMar had decided to go after Tony again? Those questions were pertinent to Fornell's investigation, but not to the doctor's treatment plan.

"How is he?"

She smiled at him again, but seemed reluctant to answer. She glanced around the room, making eye contact with all of the occupants, and he understood where her hesitance was coming from. Fornell picked up on it at the same time, and he stepped forward.

"Agent Tobias Fornell," he said. "FBI." He motioned at McGee, then at the others. "This is NCIS Agent Timothy McGee. Dr. Donald Mallard, our Medical Examiner, his assistant Palmer, and Ms. Sciuto, our forensic scientist."

Gibbs let Fornell make the introductions, though he bristled slightly at hearing Fornell make any claim on his team. He took a deep breath and reminded himself that for the duration of the investigation, they were Fornell's. It had to be that way.

That didn't mean he had to like it.

"We're all working the investigation into the assault on Agent DiNozzo, so whatever you say to Agent Gibbs, you're going to have to repeat to me anyway. You can save yourself some trouble if you tell us all now."

She turned back to Gibbs for confirmation, and he gave it. "It's all right," he said. "Just tell us how he is."

She nodded once, and the smile returned to her face. "I have every reason to believe that he's going to be just fine," she said. "We've upgraded his condition from Critical to Serious, and if all goes the way it should, we expect to upgrade him again, to Good, within the next six to ten hours."

The collective sigh of relief filled the room, and Gibbs closed his eyes and sent up a silent prayer of thanks.

"He's all right?" Abby was the first to find her voice, and he wasn't surprised. "He's really okay?"

"He's still a long way from okay," Dr. Marquardt said carefully. "But he's much better than he was when he arrived. Another fifteen minutes to half an hour, and this would be an entirely different conversation."

Abby gasped loudly; McGee and Palmer were only a bit quieter. They'd all known it was close, but hearing just how close was a shock.

They'd been minutes from losing him.

Gibbs couldn't stop his mind from running through all the ways things could have been different. If Ducky had taken a few minutes longer to get ready to leave, if he and McGee hadn't wrapped up for the night when they did, if he'd stopped for gas, if he'd hit more red lights on his way home, if he'd chased the people who'd run out his back door instead of going downstairs …

"We moved him to the OR and got him stabilized very quickly. The only immediate threat to his life was the blood loss. Once that was controlled, and once we began replacing what he had lost and was still losing, his condition began reversing itself."

From there, Dr. Marquardt filled them in on every detail of Tony's injuries, what they implied about the torture he'd been subjected to and what they meant for his future.

He'd lost between two and two-and-a-half liters of blood before he arrived at the hospital, and more in the operating room, but they'd started replacing it as soon as he was in the ambulance. He'd been strangled. He'd been drugged. He'd been beaten, most likely with a blunt instrument rather than fists, which made Gibbs think about the hammer that had been lying on floor near Tony's feet and the two-by-fours, which had been stacked neatly against the wall when he'd left for work, that had been scattered around him. He'd taken two blows to the head, one on his forehead and the other behind his left ear, which left him with a Grade Three concussion. He had bruising consistent with having fallen or been thrown down a flight of stairs.

He'd managed to escape without a single broken bone, and though his left kidney was bruised, he had no major organ damage or internal bleeding. The screwdriver in his leg had missed all of the arteries and major blood vessels, and it hadn't hit the bone, either. Removing it had been simple, and though he'd favor his left leg and probably limp for a while, he'd gotten lucky.

He had two sets of rope marks around his wrists, one deeper than the other, which implied that at some point, after he was too weak to struggle much, he'd been cut down and moved. He'd likely spent most of the time hanging from the rafters with his hands straight above his head. The muscles in his back, neck, shoulders, chest, and arms were stretched and strained, but none of them had torn. There was a possibility of nerve damage. When they'd moved him into the crucifixion position, they'd dislocated his left shoulder.

His blood pressure had been dangerously low – 50/33 when the paramedics took it – but it was climbing. His blood volume was still too low, and what blood he did have wasn't carrying enough oxygen. Being hung by his wrists had kept him from exhaling completely, and the combination of his dislocated shoulder, bruised ribs, and muscle damage in his chest had made it difficult for him to breathe at all. His already-scarred and damaged lungs were compromised. He was in danger of developing pneumonia. His trachea was swollen from being strangled. He was still sedated. They'd left him on the vent after surgery.

They'd documented every injury they found, measured the depth and length of every slice on his chest and arms, and taken pictures of everything.

Gibbs looked at the pictures before passing them over to Ducky, who was standing – silent – behind Palmer, who'd fallen into a chair and buried his head in his hands about halfway through the briefing. McGee stood close to Gibbs' right shoulder, with his arms around Abby, who'd spent the last several minutes with her face hidden against his chest. Fornell stood just to Gibbs' left.

"Agent Gibbs?"

He raised his head and looked at Dr. Marquardt. She was trying to smile at him again, but it was tight and strained. He almost appreciated the effort.

"There's something I need to speak with you about privately. If you could step into the hallway with me, please?"

He followed her through the door without a word. Whatever she needed to tell him, she was speaking to him in his role as the agent of Tony's medical power of attorney rather than as his boss, his friend, or someone involved in the investigation. An injury that she didn't want to speak about openly without his permission? The possibilities were endless, and his mind swirled with them.

"What?" he said once they were far enough away from the door that they couldn't be overheard. "What happened?"

She turned slowly, and though she'd had no problem looking directly at him in the waiting room, she suddenly seemed reluctant to meet his eyes. She took a deep breath and looked down at the floor.

"What?" he demanded.

"Agent Gibbs, did you know about the wounds on Agent DiNozzo's back?"

He glanced down at his fingernails, at the flecks of blood that still showed underneath them, then back up at her. "I knew he had some, yes," he said. "But I didn't see them, if that's what you're asking. Why?"

She looked down again, but it was at something in her hand rather than the floor. It was another photograph, like the ones he'd just handed to Ducky.

"We saved his back for last," she began. "The wounds there were shallower than the ones on his chest, there didn't seem to be as many, and they weren't bleeding as badly. Plus, since he was on his back, there was already pressure on them. It wasn't until we turned him over and began suturing them that we saw what they were."

"What were they?"

She didn't speak again, but handed the photograph to him in silence.

When he looked at it, his heart froze in his chest. He felt bile rising into his throat, and he was getting dizzy again. Lights were flashing behind his eyes, and he took a deep, shaky breath.

'About you.' His mind echoed the same thought it had from the very beginning. 'It's because of you.'

"Agent Gibbs?" There was sincere concern in her voice, and it was for him, not for Tony. "Are you all right?"

He nodded wordlessly without taking his eyes from the photograph in his hand.

"Are you sure?"

"Fine," he whispered. "I'm fine. Thank you." He took another breath and looked back up at her. "When can I see him?"

"I assume that you'll be acting as his Designated Contact Person?"

He nodded once more.

She smiled, though not as sadly as before. "He's in the ICU on the fifth floor. I've already spoken to the Director of Critical Care, and she agrees that this is a special enough situation to warrant waiving the rules about visiting hours. You've got her permission to go see him immediately, and to stay with him as long as you wish. I'm afraid that's only for you, though. The rest of your friends will have to go home."

He glanced across his shoulder toward the door. He knew where they were all going to go, and he knew it wouldn't be home.

"Just be aware that he's sedated, and he's going to stay that way until morning, at the earliest. We'll re-evaluate his lungs and breathing then and decide whether or not to remove him from the vent."

"I know," he said. "That's not the point anyway."

"I didn't really think it was." She held out her hand, and he shook it again. "I'll see you upstairs, Agent Gibbs."

He looked back down at the picture in his hand one last time as she walked away, took a deep breath, and walked back into the waiting room.

"Gibbs?" McGee and Abby jumped up from the chairs they'd been sitting in, and Ducky stepped toward him.

"What is it, Jethro?" Ducky asked. "What's happened?"

"Duck, you take Palmer and get back to autopsy. Fornell will get the tools they collected to you. I know you can't do much working from photographs and measurements, but get whatever you can. I want to know which tools caused which injuries, in as much detail as possible. And get me a profile on Stefano DelMar. I want to know what makes this guy tick so I can figure out how to detonate him."

"Of course, Jethro, but …"

"Abby, you've got a ton of evidence being delivered to your lab – blood samples, fingerprints, and the rope just for starters. Tony's car is coming into the garage on the back of a flatbed. I don't have to tell you that this is your highest priority case, do I?"

"No."

"I didn't think so. Don't worry about Vance; I'll take care of him. Everything else you're doing, every other case you're working, stops until this is done. If these guys left so much as an eyelash behind, I want you to find it."

"Absolutely, Bossman."

"McGee, you're with Fornell, but I want you to focus on figuring out how they got him. DelMar grabbed him from somewhere, and I want to know where and when. I want to know how long they had him."

"On it, Boss."

"I heard two people run out, and there were two sets of shoe prints. Fornell, you know Azari's organization better than any of us. Figure out who's loyal enough to DelMar to help him torture and try to murder a federal agent."

Fornell stepped forward and cocked his head to the side. "I thought this was my case, Gibbs."

"Oh, it is your case," Gibbs said. "I'm just making sure you do it right."

"Now, Jethro …"

Gibbs turned back to McGee and put his hand on his shoulder. "I cannot be part of this. You are my eyes and ears, McGee. Do you understand?" McGee nodded solemnly and silently. "This has to be done right, and it has to be done now. I need you to do this. Tony needs you to do this. You got me?"

"I got ya, Boss."

Gibbs turned the photograph upside down and slid it into Tim's hand, then squeezed his arm. "This is personal, Tim," he whispered. "It's personal."

Gibbs turned and walked out the door without another word. He knew the second that McGee turned the photograph over and looked at it, because he heard the "Shit!" all the way down the hallway. He kept walking, and he didn't look back. He couldn't look back. He couldn't see their faces, and he couldn't look at that photograph again, even though he was never going to get the image out of his mind.

The wounds on Tony's back weren't simple slashes like the ones on his chest and arms. They were deliberate, straight and even, shallow enough to leave the skin in place but deep enough to bleed and leave scars. They crossed his upper back, between his shoulder blades, and they were letters. Letters had been carved into his skin.

Five letters.

One word.

GIBBS