Chapter Eight

"You know, you could just tell me," Tim said for the third time since they'd started back down to the lab together. "It might go a little faster that way."

Abby just shook her head.

"At least give me a hint? Tell me how you figured out who it was."

Abby glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, then stood a bit straighter beside him. "Promise me you won't yell at me."

"What?" He was floored. How could she think he'd yell at her for doing her job? "Of course I won't yell at you. How'd you do it? Fingerprints? DNA match?"

"Well, after you left, I kinda … watched the security footage again."

"Abby!"

She spun toward him and stuck her finger in his face. "I told you you'd yell at me!"

He dropped his head and closed his eyes. "Okay," he said. "Okay, I'm sorry I yelled. But you shouldn't have done that alone. And you shouldn't have … you shouldn't have had to do that, Abs." He lifted his head and looked her straight in the eye. "You shouldn't have had to."

"Yeah, well," she said softly. The elevator dinged, and the doors slid open in front of her. "You shouldn't have had to shove Duncan into the wall and threaten to beat his face in." She stepped out of the elevator, and looked back at him over her shoulder. "But you did have to, didn't you?"

"Yeah," he admitted reluctantly, nodding his head as he followed her into the hallway. "I did."

"And I had to watch the tape again." She walked into her lab and crossed directly to her computer. "For a lot of the same reasons. Yeah, it's evidence, but it was more than that. I just had to, you know? For Tony. I just … I couldn't let him be the only one who knows what happened to him."

Tim sighed deeply and nodded his head slowly. "He's not," he said. "And neither are you."

Abby smiled sadly, and then turned and hit a few keys on her keyboard. "So. I watched it a few times just to get a general idea of what happened, to see if they'd left something in the parking lot that we could collect. I thought maybe I could see them touch something that we could lift prints from, or spit on the ground, or just … something." She glanced up at him. "I don't see anything obvious, but you should still go out there and look. I don't think they were far from Gibbs' spot; they both came out from behind his car."

Tim nodded his head, stepped closer to her, and looked at the computer monitor across her shoulder. "I saw that when I watched it upstairs, but I haven't been out there yet. The parking lot is my next stop after I leave here. Fornell should be here by then."

"Think we should fingerprint Bossman's car?"

Tim shrugged. "It's always worth a shot. I'll do that this afternoon, when I go to the hospital to brief him."

Abby bit her lip and glanced at the floor. "Have you heard anything? Is he awake yet?"

He shook his head in response. "I don't know. I haven't talked to Gibbs since he put that picture in my hand, and I haven't heard anything new since we got back here."

Abby sighed, and then turned back to her computer. "Okay. So, I watched it through a few times, and then I started going frame-by-frame. Just in case. And … it worked. We got lucky. We got one frame, just one, but it's a good one."

"Yes!" Tim squeezed her shoulders, then stepped around her and walked toward the plasma. Abby hit a few more keys on her keyboard as he rounded the corner of the table. The single frame she'd found was frozen on the screen.

Tim ignored the majority of the scene, ignored the look on Tony's face and the fact that he was paused in the middle of fighting for his life. He focused solely on the man who'd run up behind Tony with the rope.

Who was, in that one frame, looking directly at the camera.

Abby dragged a green box across the screen to isolate his face, hit a few more keys, and a Maryland driver's license picture popped up on top of the video.

"Meet Marco Santori."

Tim's eyes narrowed in hatred as he studied the man's features. He had short black hair, brown eyes, and a very large and crooked nose, which had obviously been broken at some point. He had pit scars and pockmarks all over his face, and what looked to be a rather impressive scar ran the length of his jawline, from his right ear to his chin. He'd ambushed Tony, attacked him from above and behind, and he had two inches and sixty or seventy pounds on him.

Tony hadn't had a chance.

"Who is he?"

"He is one of the few soldiers in Azari's organization whose name the FBI knows." A few more clicks on the computer, and a new file – an arrest record – appeared next to his picture. "He's been arrested eleven times but only convicted once. He's still on parole."

Tim read down the list of charges quickly. "Nine arrests for Grand Theft Auto," he said. "One burglary and a domestic charge." He tilted his head slightly. "Why him?" he wondered. "He's a car thief. How did he go from stealing cars to kidnapping and torturing a federal agent?"

Abby walked around to join Tim in front of the plasma. "Well, the most obvious possibility is that his boss told him to do it," she said. "But I'm guessing it has more to do with something a little less obvious."

Tim turned his head. "What's that?"

"He's a bit more than a car thief. He's a specialist. All of the cars he was accused of stealing disappeared from police impound yards."

Tim raised his eyebrows, and Abby smiled at him.

"Locked impound yards," she said. "With video surveillance and security."

Tim's eyes widened and he turned back to the screen. "He knows how to get through fences and past security guards," he said. "He'd have been able to get in and out through the south gate without even trying."

"And get Tony's car out without anyone knowing it was gone."

"And he's our tie to DelMar. All we have to do is pick him up and get him to flip." Tim turned back to the plasma excitedly. "We need to get a BOLO …"

"Already sent out," Abby said. "I put Agent Fornell's name on it." Her voice lowered in both tone and volume, and there was a clear edge of hatred and disgust to it. "The second this scumbag pokes his head out, we'll have him."

Tim turned toward her again. "This is good, Abby. This is really, really good. I'm going back upstairs, because I still have to tell Director Vance about Duncan, but the second Agent Fornell gets here, we're going out to the parking lot to see what we can find." He started to walk past her, but then suddenly he turned, grabbed her by the shoulders, and kissed her.

"I love you."

She watched him leave, and then she walked back to her computer with a grin on her face.

"I know."

Tony leaned back against his pillows and closed his eyes.

He knew there was something huge missing from his memory, and that wasn't a feeling he liked. He'd seen - and felt - enough of his injuries to know that something really, really bad had happened to him, but he had no idea what it was. The bandages that covered his lower arms told him he'd been tied up, and if the tingling in his fingers was anything to go by, it had been tightly enough to do some damage. His chest looked like a badly carved Thanksgiving turkey, his voice sounded like a bullfrog with laryngitis, and the front of his left leg throbbed in time with his heart. His head was thumping and pounding like the Ohio State drum line, his shoulder hurt like hell, and there was something seriously uncomfortable going on between his shoulder blades on his back.

But that wasn't the worst of it.

The worst part was how weird Gibbs was acting. No, that wasn't right. Weird wasn't a strong enough word. Gibbs was being nice. Too nice. The last time Tony remembered him acting that way was when Kate died. That was enough to alarm him on its own, but combined with the fact that he was obviously making an effort to act like nothing was wrong, it was a bit more disturbing. That Gibbs was trying so hard to act normal, and was failing so miserably at doing it, was downright scary.

It was really starting to freak him out.

"You still hurting?"

Tony shook his head without opening his eyes. He was lying, and he was sure Gibbs knew it, but he wasn't going to admit it. Moving from the ICU to the private room he was currently occupying had been a painful experience, large amounts of narcotics notwithstanding, and it wasn't one he ever wanted to repeat. From the waist up, every part of him hurt. What he probably needed was another dose of morphine, maybe along with a nice strong sedative, enough to knock him out for another twelve hours or so.

But what he wanted, more than anything, was to remember what the hell had happened. And the drugs were messing with his head and keeping him from doing any significant amount of thinking. What little thinking he had managed so far was disconnected, random, and made very little, if any, sense. He wanted control of his mind back, and if feeling the pain was the only way he could get that, then he'd just have to suck it up.

But damned if he knew how he was going to pull that off. The doctor had said that most of the pain was coming from pulled muscles, but he didn't think he believed her. He'd never had a pulled muscle hurt that much in his life ... but then again, he'd never pulled every muscle in his torso at the same time before. Even breathing was torture. He knew that he wasn't getting enough oxygen, even with the mask, because of how much it hurt, and that wasn't making thinking any easier.

Whether he refused more morphine or admitted he needed it probably didn't matter much either way.

"Sorry, Boss," he muttered.

Gibbs sat up a bit straighter in the chair next to him. "For what?"

"Pretty useless," he croaked. He hated the sound of his voice. He hated how weak and broken and raspy it was, hated how much it hurt to even whisper, hated the way the oxygen mask muffled what little sound he did manage to make. He hated that the one thing he did best - talk - was one of the many things he couldn't do at all. He opened his eyes and turned his head on the pillow. "Some witness."

Gibbs stood up and moved closer to his bed. "One - don't apologize."

"Weakness."

"No." Gibbs shook his head. "You didn't do anything to apologize for. Two - you're not useless. And three - who said you're a witness?"

He stared up at his boss and blinked in disbelief. "Not stupid," he said.

"That's debatable, DiNozzo."

Tony grinned in spite of himself. That was the first time Gibbs had insulted him since he woke up. It felt good, in a weird sort of way. Then he took as deep a breath as he could manage and tried to focus on the conversation - if his one-syllable words and two-word sentences could be called that - they were having.

"This," he said, indicating his chest, neck and shoulder with his right hand. "Not an accident."

Gibbs shook his head slowly. "No, you're right. It wasn't."

"I saw them."

That earned him a nod and a tight-lipped expression from Gibbs. "That's the going assumption."

"Don't remember."

"Yeah, we've been through this part."

"Need to." Tony closed his eyes again, and he tried to take another breath, but the pain that shot across his chest made it catch in his throat. He blew it out and took another, more slowly and carefully. "Gotta tell you," he muttered. "Gotta remember. Gotta help. Gotta …"

The tap to the top of his head was lighter than usual, almost gentle, and he really should have expected it. All the same, it took him by surprise and sent a spike of pain straight into his brain. His eyes flew open.

"Knock it off."

Gibbs was right beside him, just inches from his face. It brought back unbidden memories of another time – lying in another hospital bed, drowning under blue lights, when Gibbs had acted much the same way. He lowered his eyebrows in concentration, but they shot up again in realization. Gibbs was acting the way he had after Kate died, yes. But he was also acting the way he had the last time Tony had almost …

"Died?"

Gibbs shook his head slowly and stood up with a sigh. "No, Tony, you didn't die. You're talking to me, aren't you?"

"Close?"

Another nod. Slow. Reluctant.

"Yeah," Gibbs said softly. "Close."

The muscles in his chest made themselves known again, and he gasped in a pained breath. He had another question to ask, but he couldn't draw enough air into his lungs to do it. In the end, he didn't have to ask it, anyway, because Gibbs answered it on his own.

"Too damn close, DiNozzo." Gibbs wrapped his hands around the bed rail and looked down at him. "Too damn close."

Tim was on his way down the stairs from Vance's office when he heard the elevator ding and saw Fornell step out of it. The FBI agent had a cell phone to his ear, and it was obvious he was talking to someone on the other end. Tim slowed his pace and watched Fornell cross to the squad room.

"Okay. We'll be right there."

Fornell closed his phone and glanced around. He saw Tim standing on the landing above him and tilted his head.

"McGee," he said. "Did you put a BOLO out on a Marco Santori?"

"Yes!" He turned and ran down the last of the stairs, spun around the bannister, and jogged up the walkway. "Was that a hit on it?"

"One thing at a time," Fornell said, holding up his hand to cut off any more questions. "Bring me up to speed. What'd I miss?"

"A whole lot." Tim walked past him and straight to his desk. He grabbed the remote, turned to the plasma, and brought Santori's picture up. "Tony was attacked in the parking lot. We saw it on the security footage, and …"

"Wait, he was attacked here?" Fornell's eyes widened. "Gibbs isn't gonna be happy about that."

"No one's happy about that," Tim said. He knew there was an edge to his voice, but he didn't try to disguise it. "Least of all Tony." Fornell dropped his head slightly, and Tim continued. "But at least we got good footage out of it. Abby found one frame that had a clear shot of one of his attackers, and she got a hit on facial recognition. It was Santori."

"Kid's a car thief," Fornell said, and Tim nodded his head. "He's kinda dumb, but if anyone in Azari's organization could get in and out of this place without being seen, it's Santori."

"That's what we thought, too." Tim put the remote down and turned to Fornell again. "Now, who was …?"

"DC Metro," Fornell said.

He didn't seem very happy about the fact that they'd gotten a hit on the only suspect they'd identified so far. He also didn't seem to be in any great hurry to give Tim any more information than he already had.

"They've got him?"

Fornell nodded slowly. "Yeah, they've got him."

Tim's sudden sense of success was shattered by the look on Fornell's face and the next words that came out of his mouth

"Get your stuff, McGee. You're not gonna like this."

Gibbs sighed and leaned back against the windowsill.

"Why don't we try this another way?" he asked. "One that doesn't involve you talking?"

He wasn't happy with the way Tony looked, with the way his forehead was furrowed with pain, or the way he refused to admit that he was hurting at all. He'd known the morphine would be an uphill battle, but he hadn't expected Tony to start fighting it so soon. He was starting to think of calling Dr. Marquardt and asking her to slip something into his IV, but there was a reason why Tony was lying about being in pain and refusing more drugs to help him deal with it. Forcing it on him would piss him off to no end.

Gibbs wasn't quite sure when not pissing Tony off had started mattering, but he ignored the impulse all the same.

He knew that Tony answered his question, because he could see the oxygen mask moving and fogging up, but he was too far away to hear what he was saying. He pushed himself away from the window and walked back to the bed.

"What was that, DiNozzo?"

"Have to," Tony said. "Remember."

Even if he had wanted to argue, it was a fight he was going to lose, and he knew it. He'd already lost it half a dozen times. There was no way Tony was going to give up on trying to jog his memory. As much as he hated to see it, because he knew what it was costing Tony to keep going, he had to admit – to himself, if to no one else – that he was proud as hell.

"Okay. Then we stay focused. I'll ask you questions, and you answer them. Short answers. 'Yes or no' questions get a nod or a shake – no talking. Got it?"

"Got it … Boss."

"That was a 'yes or no' question."

"Sorry."

He wanted to smack him upside the head again, but the way Tony had winced and paled after the last one stopped him from doing it. The grin he could see around the edges of the oxygen mask both irritated and reassured him. No matter how much pain he might have been in, if Tony could still find the strength to be an incurable smartass, then he was going to be just fine.

"What's the last thing you remember about last night?"

Tony closed his eyes, and his face smoothed out as he took another breath. It took him a few seconds to fight back the last of the narcotics that were clouding his mind and pull everything back together. Gibbs knew the second he'd managed to do it, because his whole face changed.

Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo, levelheaded and highly competent investigator that he was, was back in control.

"Elevator."

"Getting on or getting off?"

"Off." Tony inhaled again. "Kicked me out."

"Well, yeah, I did. You wouldn't shut up. Seems to be a thing with you."

A ghost of a smile danced across Tony's face, and then he lowered his eyebrows.

"Stefano."

Gibbs' heart jumped into his throat, but he swallowed it quickly. "Stefano DelMar?"

He tried to force his voice to stay level, but he didn't know if he'd actually managed to do it. He hadn't once doubted that DelMar was involved in the attack on Tony. Even someone who did believe in coincidences – which Gibbs didn't, never had and never would – would have had a hard time believing in that one. But he couldn't give Tony any indication that the name might mean something.

"What do you remember about him?"

"Brewer," Tony said. "Strauss."

As quickly as his hope had risen, it deflated. Tony was remembering what had gotten him kicked out of the office for the night, not what had happened after he left.

"Yeah. We'd just started looking at DelMar for their murders."

If Tony heard him, he gave no indication of it. He scrunched his forehead tighter and took a breath. It obviously wasn't easy for him, but he was pulling himself forward. He was starting to dig something out of the void of his memory.

"Parking lot." Tony swallowed hard, and his breathing picked up speed, but he kept going. "Unlocked my car."

"You're doing great, DiNozzo." Gibbs didn't want to ask any more questions. Tony was leading the way, reaching into his mind and dragging out the missing pieces one by one. "Keep it up."

Suddenly, Tony's whole face changed. Instead of serious and focused, he looked scared. Gibbs didn't know what had caused the shift, but it didn't take much imagination to guess. He leaned forward.

"Tony?"

Tony's breathing had reached an almost alarming speed, and even Gibbs' untrained eye could see that it was shallow. His lips were barely parted, and his chest was barely rising and falling. He wasn't moving enough oxygen at all.

"Hey, calm down. You've gotta breathe."

"Couldn't," Tony forced out.

"Couldn't what?"

"Breathe."

"You couldn't breathe?" Gibbs' own heart sped up in response to Tony's words. "In the parking lot?"

Tony nodded his head rapidly.

"Why not? What happened?"

Tony's eyes shot open, and his right hand flew up to the angry red mark around his throat. His fingers curled along the side of his neck, like they were wrapping around an invisible piece of rope and trying to pull it away.

The realization slammed into Gibbs like a runaway semi.

"In the parking lot?" he asked again. "On the Yard?"

Tony was nodding rapidly, and that time, there was no mistaking the terror in his eyes. "Couldn't … can't …"

"Can't what? What can't you do, Tony?"

"Breathe," Tony forced out. "Can't … hurts …" He was definitely hyperventilating at that point – the condensation that his breath was leaving on the inside of the oxygen mask was only shrinking and growing, but never going away completely. He had his right hand balled into a fist, and he was pressing it against his chest.

"Boss …"

Gibbs jumped forward, grabbed the call button, and pressed it repeatedly.

"Easy, DiNozzo," he said. "Calm down."

It was nothing he hadn't done before. As much as he'd hoped he'd never have to do it again, it was still almost second nature. He moved closer to Tony, slid his right arm behind his shoulders, and pulled him up from the bed as carefully as he could while still moving quickly. He didn't want to jar his shoulder, didn't want to cause him any pain at all, but some things were more important than others.

"Pull your chest up," he said. "Open it up, Tony. Come on."

The edges of his lips were already turning blue, and his eyes were starting to roll back. Gibbs put a hand against the side of Tony's face and forced him to turn his head.

"Look at me, Tony," he ordered. "Breathe with me."

Gibbs could hear the breaths rattling their way into and out of Tony's lungs, hear the wheezing gasps that were passing for inhales, and feel the way Tony's body shuddered with every one. When the dry, hacking coughs started, Gibbs tightened his hold on Tony, turned to face the door, and called out with everything he had.

"Doc!"