Chapter Twelve

Gibbs walked through the door of Tony's room half an hour later. Ziva was sitting in the chair Tony had occupied when he'd left, and he glanced around the room quickly as she rose to her feet.

"Where's DiNozzo?"

"In the restroom." She answered as smoothly as she'd moved, and she kept her voice even and controlled. She didn't vocalize any of the irritation that he knew she felt toward him. "He said his eyeballs were gloating."

Gibbs smiled in spite of himself. "Floating," he corrected. "He's been given a lot of fluids. Did he have any trouble getting there?"

Ziva shook her head. "He was unsteady and moved very slowly, but he allowed me to assist him. The IV pole and oxygen got in his way a few times, but we managed."

Her voice hadn't changed, and to anyone who didn't know her, it would have seemed like a perfectly normal conversation. But he did know her, and he could see in her eyes all the things she wasn't saying. The disappointment, the hurt, the admonition … all the things he'd been seeing in everyone's eyes for the past sixteen hours. He stepped forward and opened his hands at his sides.

"Say it."

"Say what?"

He huffed and leaned his shoulders against the wall at his back. "Ducky, McGee, Abby, hell, even Fornell has had a swing at me over how badly I'm screwing this whole thing up. You might as well take one, too."

Ziva sighed and crossed her arms across her chest. "We are not enjoying this, Gibbs."

"Do you think I am?"

"Of course not." She moved closer to him, and then stopped and leaned against the windowsill. "We rely on you. All of us do. And from you, we take not only direction and guidance, but also strength. No matter what, when we need you, you are there." She crossed her arms and smiled tightly. "Perhaps it is time for us to repay the favor."

He tilted his head slightly. "So you don't think I'm screwing it up?"

"I did not say that."

He nodded. "I should have called you."

"Yes," she answered. "You should have. But McGee did, and I am here, and this is not about me."

He glanced at the bathroom door briefly before turning back to face her. He knew who it was about. She was less irritated with him about what he hadn't told her, but she was angry with him about what he hadn't told Tony. Knowing Ziva the way he did, he was certain that she'd taken steps to correct what she thought he'd done wrong.

"What did you tell him?" He lowered his voice, unwilling to risk Tony overhearing him.

"I only answered the question he asked me." She was speaking as softly as he was, obviously just as aware of the danger of Tony hearing them.

"And what was that?"

"The identity of his savior."

His heart sank into his stomach, and he dropped his shoulders. "Ziva …"

"He had a right to know." Gibbs shook his head. "He deserved the opportunity to thank you. Surely you do not think that he will blame you for …"

"It wasn't about him blaming me." He lifted his chin and looked her in the eye. "It was about not compromising the investigation."

"By telling him who saved his life?" He could hear the disbelief in her voice, and he didn't blame her. He wasn't sure he believed himself anymore. "He is the victim, not an investigator. Telling him the truth would not have compromised anything."

Gibbs rubbed his forehead as he shook his head again.

"He believes you think him stupid and weak."

He looked up in surprise. "Why would he think that?"

"Because you refused to share with him even the basic details of what happened. And if he were any other victim, you would have told him without hesitation."

"He's not 'any other victim,' Ziva. He's Tony."

"I am aware of that. As is he." She pushed herself up from the windowsill and stood straight. "And he cannot understand why you would refuse to give him the same consideration you would give a stranger."

Gibbs closed his eyes, pinched the bridge of his nose, and sighed. "Ducky was right," he said softly.

"I do not know what Ducky said," Ziva said just as quietly. "But he often is."

Gibbs pushed away from the wall and straightened his shoulders. "I'll fix it," he said. "One way or another."

"I would expect nothing less."

Gibbs nodded one last time. "I'm glad you're home, Ziver." And just like that, the conversation was over. "McGee's down in the security office getting the surveillance videos for the past two hours. Meet up with him and head back to the office."

"We will find him, Gibbs." Ziva squeezed his arm once as she moved past him. "I swear to you."

"I would expect nothing less."

Ziva shot him a quick smile, and then she walked out the door.

Gibbs closed his eyes and let his head fall back. He rolled his shoulders a few times, took a deep breath, blew it out, and turned toward the bathroom door.

"DiNozzo!" He stepped forward as he called out. "You fall in, or what?"

There was no answer, so he tapped the door with his knuckles. "DiNozzo? You okay?"

Again, silence was the only response. "Hey, DiNozzo!" A hole opened up in the pit of his stomach, and he knocked harder. "Answer me or I'm breaking the door down."

Nothing.

"That's it. I'm coming in." He wrapped his hand around the knob and squared his shoulder against the door, prepared to ram into it if he needed to. He was surprised when the knob turned easily under his fingers, and he pushed the door open carefully. If Tony were on the floor behind it …

But Tony wasn't on the floor. He wasn't anywhere near the door. He also wasn't unconscious, bleeding, or otherwise unable to answer.

He was standing between the two mirrors in the room, leaning against the sink, slightly hunched over and using his right arm to hold himself steady. He'd turned off his oxygen and hooked the cannula over the top of the canister, and he'd removed his IVs. He'd also pulled most of the bandages from his chest and arms and piled them in the sink.

The large bandage that had covered his upper back was with them.

The straight, neat rows of sutures that crisscrossed his chest and the insides of his arms stood out in stark contrast to the paleness of his skin. The two deep wounds that circled his right wrist – he'd left his other arm strapped down and bandaged – looked better than they had the night before. But it was Tony's back, so easily readable in the mirror that both of them were staring at, that stopped Gibbs cold.

"DiNozzo …"

"I just wanted to know." Tony's voice was devoid of emotion, and he didn't turn away from the mirror or meet Gibbs' eyes in the reflection. "I mean, I knew my chest looked a lot like Brewer's, but I wanted to see for myself, ya know? Didn't figure it would be that hard. But damn, that one on my back … that was a bitch."

"Tony."

"Don't think I need answers anymore." Tony continued as though Gibbs hadn't said spoken. His voice was almost painful to listen to, broken and breathy. "I think I get it now. You don't think I'm stupid. You just couldn't think of a good way to say, 'Hey, DiNozzo, some psycho carved my name into your back.' But that's probably because there is no good way to say that, is there?"

"Tony, listen to me."

Tony shook his head. "I've been listening all day, Boss. Waiting for you to talk to me, to tell me something, anything. You haven't said a damn thing. Asked me if I was hurting, if I wanted pain meds, told me to breathe. But those don't really count." He paused to take a shaky, raspy breath, and he had to put more effort into it than he should have. There was a reason he was still dragging that oxygen tank around. "And I know this has got to be screwing with you, but …"

"Ya think, DiNozzo?" Gibbs fought the urge to move further into the small space, unwilling to force Tony into a corner. "You want me to tell you the truth? Okay." He took a deep breath of his own. "I don't know what I'm supposed to do right now. I don't know what I'm supposed to say or how I'm supposed to act. I'm trying, but this is all new to me, and I don't know what to do."

Tony closed his eyes and lowered his head. "That actually doesn't help."

Tony was shaking, and his right arm looked like it was about to buckle under the pressure. He was pale, and he looked ready to hit the floor out at any second. Gibbs stopped fighting with himself, stepped forward, and put his hand on Tony's arm.

"You need to get back in bed."

"Boss …" A thousand questions unasked, pleas unspoken and fears unvoiced. Wide, scared green eyes finally met his in the mirror.

"I'll tell you everything I know, Tony. But not until you're back in bed, you've got your oxygen back on, and a nurse reattaches your IV." Tony opened his mouth to argue, but Gibbs cut him off with a brisk shake of his head. "You're about to pass out."

"DiNozzos don't …"

"I've already caught you once." Gibbs paused, and Tony's eyes widened further in sudden understanding. "I don't know if my knees can take it again."

Tony nodded slowly and pushed himself back from the sink. Gibbs moved closer to him, put his left arm around Tony's lower back and wrapped his fingers around the younger man's upper arm. Slowly, carefully, he led him out of the bathroom and toward the bed.

He concentrated on walking, putting one foot in front of the other and making sure that Tony stayed on his feet long enough to get where they were going. He intentionally avoided looking at Tony's back, at the evidence of his responsibility for what had been done.

"Think that'll ... leave a scar?"

Tony barely had enough breath or energy to walk in a straight line, but he obviously thought he had enough to keep talking.

"I don't know." He would have shrugged if he hadn't known how much pain it would cause the man he supported. "It might."

"I guess it's ... not so bad. If it does." They'd reached the bed, and Gibbs turned them around. "I can think of ... worse tattoos to have. And if someone asks me ... who I work for ... I can always ..." Whatever else he was going to say was lost in a gasp of pain as Gibbs helped him sit and then lie down.

"You think this is funny, DiNozzo?" He carefully lifted Tony's feet onto the bed.

"Not … laughing."

"Yeah, well, neither am I. Someone tried to kill you." He pressed the call button and returned to the bathroom for the IV pole and oxygen canister. "Someone choked you out, drugged you, kidnapped you, and tortured you. And yes, DiNozzo, some psycho carved my name into your back. Someone hates me enough to …"

"Us."

"What?" He put the oxygen on the floor next to the bed and started to untangle the tubing.

"They did it in … your house." Tony's voice was weaker than it had been only seconds before. He was exhausted, drained, and if the crease between his eyebrows was anything to go by, in a lot of pain. "But they did it ... to me."

Gibbs didn't visibly react to Tony's words, but that didn't stop them from stabbing him in the heart. After everything he'd said, after everything he'd thought, about needing to protect Tony – from the truth, from the pain, from the man who'd tried to kill him – how had he missed something so obvious?

He hooked the cannula around Tony's ears, positioned it in his nose, and turned the oxygen back on. Tony took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and his head sank deeper into the pillow.

"Someone ... really hates ... us."

"You're looking for a man consumed by hatred," Ducky said. "For both of them."

Ducky had called everyone to autopsy only moments after McGee and Ziva returned from the hospital. Fornell joined them less than ten minutes later, after calling Edgar Collins' niece to let her know where her uncle was. They were assembled in a loose semi-circle around Ducky's whiteboard, which was covered in writing, boxes, and lines that connected everything that he had learned about their unidentified suspect.

Fornell snorted, and everyone turned toward him. "That narrows our suspect pool down to everyone who's ever met them."

Ducky shook his head. "Not this level of hatred. This isn't just anger; this is deep and all consuming. Think Charles Sterling."

"Chip." Abby's voice dripped with anger and the closest thing to hatred that she could to feel.

"It can't be Sterling," Fornell said. "He's still in the pen, and he's got at least seven more years to serve."

"It couldn't be him, anyway." McGee glanced around the room before focusing his attention on the whiteboard again. "He hated Tony, but he didn't hate Gibbs."

"There is that, Timothy." Ducky turned back to the board, too. "There is also the fact that this person's hatred is fresh. And while we can't eliminate the possibility that this is someone they've known for a while, I believe we should focus on people they've met only recently."

"How recently?" Director Vance had invited himself to the gathering, but no one minded. He'd been angry enough that someone had tried to kill one of his agents. The fact that they'd taken Tony from his parking lot made him livid. He'd sworn to Tim that he'd be given anything he needed – any resource, any warrant, any intel. Finding out who'd tried to kill Tony had become Vance's number one priority.

"Within the past week and a half to two weeks."

"Rob Brewer." Ziva leaned against the table that Tim and Abby were sitting on. "He recreated Brewer's torture on Tony."

"But not Strauss'," McGee added.

"Yes." Ducky nodded and pointed to one of the boxes he'd drawn. "This tells us that …"

"Whatever happened to make him hate them happened during the Brewer investigation." Abby's voice was even harder than it had been when she said Chip's name. "Before Strauss was even dead."

Another nod from Ducky. "He's fixated on that event. He's trying to make them pay for something he imagines they've done to him. Something that happened in the twenty-four hours between the discovery of Lance Corporal Brewer's body and the murder of PFC Strauss."

Fornell tilted his head. "It's DiNozzo who's caught the brunt of it," he pointed out. "Can we assume that means DiNozzo is his main focus?"

"No. Absolutely not. He hates them equally."

"But he hasn't laid a hand on Gibbs." Vance stepped forward slightly. "And it's not like he hasn't had the opportunity. If this man wanted them both dead, then he wouldn't have run. He'd have forced a confrontation with Gibbs last night."

"That is true." Ducky gestured toward the board again. "And that is why I also believe that as much as this person hates Jethro, he's also afraid of him."

"Afraid?" Tim didn't know why he was surprised at that. It wasn't exactly a new or rare occurrence.

"Something has convinced him that Jethro is, for lack of a better term, untouchable. Rather than taking his revenge on him directly or physically, as he has done to Anthony, he is focused on hurting him mentally and emotionally."

"By hurting Tony." Abby's breath hitched in her throat, and Tim put his hand on hers in comfort.

"And as Jethro's episode in the waiting room proves, it's a successful tactic." Ducky turned his back to the whiteboard and sighed. "My initial thought was that Gibbs' involvement was secondary, that his role in Anthony's torture was merely as a tool to increase feelings of isolation and hopelessness. Since then, we have learned things that have forced me to rethink that assessment."

"Rethink it how?" Fornell asked.

"They are both victims, and they are both weapons. They were used to torture each other, and they will continue to be until he is caught. He will not stop until Jethro is destroyed." Ducky took a deep breath before continuing. "And Tony is dead."

Tony turned his head when the door opened. He put his fingers to his lips to silence the new arrival, and then waved him into the room.

Gibbs was in the chair in the corner, with his head back, his hands in his lap, and feet flat on the floor. He'd been there for nearly an hour, and he'd been snoring softly almost the whole time. True to his word, he'd waited until the nurse had properly scolded Tony for taking his IV out and restarted it. Then he'd told him everything he knew, everything he suspected, and everything he thought. The conversation had taken a lot out of them both, but it seemed to have taken more out of Gibbs than it should have.

Tony had a sneaking suspicion that there was something else going on with Gibbs, that something else was wrong, something he still wasn't telling him. The fact that Gibbs had fallen asleep within moments of sitting down was just more proof of that. A healthy Gibbs could stay awake for days at a time, if he felt the need.

"Hey, DiNozzo. How're you feeling?"

Tony would have laughed, but he didn't want to risk waking Gibbs up.

"Just peachy, Rivers." Keeping his voice down wasn't difficult, since he could barely talk above a whisper. "You?"

Rivers had the good sense to look ashamed. "Okay, yeah. Dumb question." He looked over at Gibbs' sleeping form.

"What are you doing here?"

Rivers turned back to face him and smiled. "Babysitting you."

Tony smiled back and raised his eyebrows. "Really?"

Rivers nodded. "Agent Gibbs told me to be back at 8:00, so I …"

"You're a little early." Tony looked up at the clock. "It's not even 6:30 yet."

"Yeah, I know." He glanced across his shoulder again, and Tony got the impression that he was nervous. "I just really don't want to piss your boss off again."

"Again?"

"He threatened to shoot me last night."

Tony did chuckle at that, though it sounded more like a weak, hacking cough than a laugh. "He threatens to shoot me all the time." He smiled. "I think it means he likes you."

"No," Rivers protested, shaking his head. "He doesn't like me. And he scares the hell out of me."

"He has that effect on people."

"Where does that leave Stefano DelMar?" It was Fornell who finally broke the heavy silence that had fallen over autopsy.

"All but eliminated," Ducky said. "Yes, he did try to kill Anthony ten years ago, but I do not think he's in any way involved with what's happening right now. Our suspect's hatred is newer, explosive and violent. DelMar's, if it even still exists, has been simmering for ten years. A longstanding hatred like that would result in a slower, calmer, and more controlled outlet. It wouldn't explode like this."

"We also have no proof that he even knows DiNozzo works here," Fornell added. "And why would he hate Gibbs? Between the two of us, if he was going to hate anyone, it would be me. And Azari's death hasn't exactly been bad for DelMar's career."

"Have you narrowed it down further, Doctor Mallard?" Everyone turned toward Vance at the question, and then to Ducky for the answer.

"I believe I have, Director."

"And if I'm following you correctly, I'm not going to like what you're about to say, am I?"

"No, you're not." Ducky shook his head slowly and sadly. "No one will."

"What is it, Ducky?" Ziva asked. "What else have you found?"

Ducky took another deep breath and addressed everyone with his answer. "There is an overall pattern here, a snapshot, if you will, of Tony's attacker. It is someone whose hatred has developed within the past two weeks. He is intelligent, almost methodical, but at times, his anger is so extreme that it leads him to make mistakes – showing himself on the security camera, talking to Edgar Collins, taking Tony to Jethro's house without knowing when he would be home. He has the ability to convince someone like Marco Santori to help him, which means he has contacts within Azari's organization. He knows details about Lance Corporal Brewer's death that were never released to the press. He knows enough to come close to almost duplicating it with Tony. He knew there was mold on the rope, and he knew Brewer was tortured with his friend's tools. He was able to move around the Yard without arousing suspicion. He knew one of our gates was damaged, and he knew which one."

Ziva closed her eyes, and Tim dropped his head.

"Oh, Ducky." There were no tears in Abby's eyes, but they were obvious in her voice. "No."

"You're telling me that he works here." Vance's voice was as hard and cold as the look in his eyes. "One of my people is doing this."

Ducky didn't answer, but instead, he turned to Tim.

"Timothy, what time did Anthony leave the squad room last night?"

Tim lifted his head and tightened the already white-knuckled grip he had on the edge of the table. "The timestamp on the security footage said 20:04."

"And what time did the call about the non-existent breach of the front gate come in to Officer Duncan?"

"Twenty-oh … damn it. 20:05. I should have thought, should have realized …"

"It is not the first thing that comes to mind." Ziva put her hand on his back and leaned closer to him. "We have been conditioned to trust each other, McGee. We have to trust each other. If we don't, we cannot do our jobs."

"And if we do," Abby interrupted, "stuff like this happens!"

"Abigail …"

"Doctor, I don't understand." Every head in the room turned toward the previously silent Palmer. "What does that tell us? What does that prove?"

"The phone call was a diversion." It was Fornell who answered him. "They used that phone call to pull the security guards out of the monitor room so they could jump DiNozzo without being seen in real-time. The only way they could have timed that phone call so perfectly is if they were …"

"Wait, they were watching him?" Palmer's eyes were impossibly wide. "Watching him here? In the squad room?"

Tim straightened his back. "And Tony knew it, too."

"What?" Fornell and Vance asked the question in unison.

"He felt it. He kept looking behind him, and he told me he couldn't… that he thought …" He shook his head and closed his eyes. "I told him he was imagining things."

"What about the hospital? Is it safe?"

"Of course he's safe!" Abby sounded offended that Palmer had even asked. "He's with Gibbs."

"But the guy was there." Palmer had obviously caught up with Ducky's thought process, and he was following it to its logical conclusion. "He was right outside Tony's door."

"We are all aware of that, Palmer," Ziva said.

"But are you all aware that Tony's name isn't on any of the patient registries?" Tim didn't know about anyone else, but he hadn't known that. "I tried to find his room number earlier today, so I could send him a Get Well present. The hospital told me there was no one registered under that name. I even identified myself as an NCIS employee, but it didn't make a difference. His name's not on that list."

"So the only way this guy could've known what room DiNozzo was in …" Fornell said.

"He's found himself an open door," Vance said. "He's hacked the hospital's security feed, or he's got another source inside." He turned on his heel and walked out of the room. Just before the doors closed behind him, he called back over his shoulder.

"The son of a bitch is still watching him."

"Rivers. What the hell are you doing in here?"

Tony didn't look up from the cards in his left hand, but he did smile. "He's babysitting me. Can't you tell?"

Gibbs pushed himself out of the chair, rolled his shoulders, and stepped forward. Tony had raised the head of the bed, and Bruce Rivers was sitting on the other end. There were two piles of cards between them, and they each held several in their hands.

"Funny. Looks to me like he's playing Gin."

"Canasta, actually," Tony said. "But close enough."

In comparison to DiNozzo, who looked to be enjoying the exchange, Rivers expression was one of absolute terror. Gibbs decided to work that to his advantage. He changed direction and headed straight for the FBI agent.

"You are supposed to be on the other side of that door," he said. "Your job is to protect this room, not to hang out in it."

"Yes, s … Agent … Agent Gibbs." Rivers dropped his cards and jumped off the bed.

"He can see the door just as well from in here as he can from out there. If anyone comes in, he can …"

"He's supposed to stop them before they get through to door. That's the point." Gibbs shook his head in disbelief. "If I could do it without aggravating that concussion, I'd headslap you so hard right now. You're distracting your own protection detail, DiNozzo!"

Tony leaned back against the head of the bed and smiled again. "I was bored, and you were asleep. Besides, what are the odds that anything's going to happen anyway? It's a hospital. There's security everywhere."

Gibbs felt all the blood rush out of his face, and the fact that Tony's eyebrows shot up and he sat back up was evidence that it had been visible, too.

"Right, Boss? I mean, it's not like he … no. No, that's not …" Gibbs wanted to interrupt him, wanted to tell him he was wrong, but he couldn't. "He was here?"

Tony's voice was a combination of disbelief, fear, and betrayal. The last was directed solely at Gibbs.

Gibbs glanced at Rivers and jerked his head in the direction of the door. Thankfully, he got the hint, and he didn't need to be told again. Rivers made a hasty, and silent, exit.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

Gibbs shook his head and moved closer to the bed. "I wasn't withholding information from you. I honestly thought you knew why you changed rooms. I thought Dr. Simms told you."

"So he was here. And now you've got Rivers standing outside my door looking for … who, exactly? Stefano?"

"It's not just Rivers. There's an entire network of agents in this building, Tony. One at every entrance, one at every elevator on the first floor, one at every elevator on this floor, one at each end of this hallway, and two at the nurses' station. If DelMar shows his face, yes, he'll be arrested on sight. But it doesn't matter who it is. He's not getting in here."

"How are they going to stop him if they don't know who he is?"

"Because no one – and I do mean no one – is getting within a hundred feet of this room without my say-so."

"But what if …?"

"Tony, look at me." Gibbs waited until he was sure that he had the younger man's undivided attention before speaking again. "Even if every single one of those agents messes up, if all of them let someone pass that isn't supposed to, if all else fails …" He took a deep breath.

"I'm right here, Tony. And I'm not going anywhere. I've got your six, okay?"

Tony nodded, slowly but not reluctantly. The fear that had filled his eyes hadn't vanished entirely, but it had faded somewhat.

"Okay." Gibbs sat down next to Tony's legs, in the spot that Rivers had vacated, and turned until he was facing the head of the bed.

"I'm not a Canasta man." He picked the cards up from the table and started shuffling them. "How does five-card stud sound instead?"