CHAPTER 5

Don't Leave Me Now

~Elvis song

Don't leave me now

Now that I need you

How blue and lonely I'd be

If you should say we're through

Don't break my heart

This heart that loves you

They'll just be nothing for me

If you should leave me now

What good is dreamin'

If I must dream all alone by myself

Without you darling

My arms would gather dust

Come to these arms

These arms that need you

Don't close your eyes to my plea

Don't leave me now

Tony woke to a blinding pain in his head. The second he tried to open his eyes, he almost puked, it was so bad.

Jesus, my head… cracked wide open… brains… leaking out my ears. What's happened…?

"Take it easy," said a voice near his ear.

There was a heavy droning, and the room was vibrating. Tony raised a hand to his head. "What's going on?" Fuck, even whispering hurt.

"I've got ya."

"My head," Tony mumbled, scared, not knowing where he was or what was going on. He reached out blindly. A large rough hand took hold of his with a firm grip that calmed his fears a little. "Gibbs?"

"I'm right here."

Tony tried to open his eyes but, try as he might, he couldn't do it. "Go," he moaned, swaying. A hand gripping his arm startled him and he jerked away, shoulder slamming against a wall. Close quarters, boxed in. Nowhere to go. Rushing in his ears, his heart pounding out of his chest, Tony struggled and the grip tightened. Tony fought it; he had to get out! "Let me go!"

"Tony! It's me. Calm down. You're all right."

He knew it was Gibbs, but something told him to fight him off. "Don't!" Tony tried to push him away, but the man was like a rock.

"Stop. You're scaring the passengers," Gibbs said, his voice low and stern.

As usual, hearing Gibbs' confident voice helped rein in the panic that Tony felt pushing close to the surface. "Oh. Okay," Tony panted and opened one eye, just a sliver. He could make out Gibbs, and behind him a worried looking woman in some type of uniform. Tony swallowed on a dry throat. "Where…are we?"

"On the plane, heading home." Gibbs signaled the woman, a flight attendant, that everything was under control, and she left them alone.

Tony asked, "The red-eye?"

"We caught a later flight," Gibbs replied, sounding reluctant.

It took some effort but Tony got both eyes open. Gibbs looked drained, dark circles under his eyes, making Tony realize that he wasn't the only one who'd been through the ringer. "What happened? I don't remember…"

"We'll talk later," was all Gibbs would say.

Tony closed his eyes, and something cold, a bottle of juice, was pressed into his hand. Pills followed. It took several Advil to put a dent in his headache, but when it eventually receded, he became aware of his other pains. "My ass hurts," Tony groaned, shifting a little in the unforgiving seat.

Of all things, Gibbs laughed, though Tony had a sense it was a laugh of relief. He tried to smile back, but it hurt too much.

~ • ~ • ~ • ~ • ~

They landed as the sun was going down, and by the time their taxi pulled up to the Navy Yard, and pulled up behind Gibbs' car, it was late.

While Gibbs dealt with the taxi and their bags, Tony stood on the pavement, breathing in the cool night air while swaying slightly. He felt really out of it. He had a feeling there was something he was supposed to do. His car…yeah, he had to locate his car, his leased car, which was a far cry from the Ferrari of his dreams. Patting his pockets, Tony found his keys. He wandered down the row of parked cars, pressing the button on his key fob in various directions in an attempt to locate his vehicle. Problem was, he couldn't remember what kind of car he was driving. It struck him as funny and he laughed aloud.

He must have looked as loopy as he felt because Gibbs took his arm and steered him back towards his car. Once Tony was settled in the passenger seat, Gibbs said, "I'm going to book the evidence."

"Mmm, I'll stay here." Tony slumped in the seat, making himself comfortable. He couldn't keep his eyes open.

Sometime later, the car door slammed, waking Tony. "You want me to write my report, Boss?"

"We'll do it in the morning. I already sent McGee and Ziva home," Gibbs said, while backing out of the parking space. "I'm taking you home."

Tony sat up and took a couple of deep breaths. "Wow, I feel like I've been on a bender, a really wild one, like spring break wet T-shirt kind of wild. You know what I mean? No, you don't know because you never did a spring break, though I'll bet you did your share of drinking in the good ol' Marine days. Did I drink a lot? 'Cause I sure feel like I did. Did I have a good time? Were you there, too?" Tony peered at Gibbs, having a vague recollection of singing 'Hound Dog' with him.

Gibbs' response was a curt, "Fasten your seatbelt," before driving out of the Yard at a stomach-lurching speed.

As Gibbs drove, he made a phone call to Vance, delivering a brief update on the case. Tony only listened with half an ear, and within minutes he fell asleep, his head resting on the cool glass of the window.

"Tony?"

"Mmm."

The car door was open and Gibbs was leaning in. "C'mon, DiNozzo. I'm not gonna lug you all the way inside."

Inside? Tony blinked and looked around groggily. They were parked in someone's driveway, in a neighborhood. It was dark but a single light was shining brightly at the front door. Tony raised a hand to shield his sensitive eyes. "Where are we?"

"We're home." Gibbs stuck his hands under Tony's arms and unceremoniously hauled him out of the car.

He hugged Tony to keep him upright and Tony instinctively flung his arms around Gibbs' neck for balance. His nose ended up mighty close to Gibbs' neck, where he took in the smell of coffee and aftershave, and those indefinable masculine Gibbs-smells that made him irrationally weak at the knees. His heart was beating faster than it had a right to, and Gibbs' arms tightened protectively around him, causing Tony to just about melt into his welcoming embrace. Suddenly, the proximity to Gibbs and the alluring aromas, were too much to take.

Tony pushed Gibbs away. "I'm okay." He wasn't anywhere near being okay, but there were times when a man had to stand on his own two feet. He swayed a bit, and Gibbs reached out a helping hand, but Tony refused it, saying brusquely, "I can walk."

"Fine." Gibbs grabbed the bags, but he waited for Tony and walked beside him, up the steps and into the house.

It wasn't until Tony collapsed on the lumpy couch that it finally sunk in that he was, in fact, in Gibbs' home. Tony watched through half-closed eyes as Gibbs dumped their bags near the stairs, and went around turning on a few lights. He wondered if it would be rude to go straight upstairs to bed, even though it was only six o'clock.

Gibbs disappeared into the kitchen for a few minutes. Cabinet doors banged, water ran, and Tony recognized the sounds of coffee being prepared. There was a one-sided conversation – Gibbs calling someone. A minute later, he came out bearing a glass of water, which he placed on the end table. "Let's get you more comfortable," he said, reaching for Tony's jacket.

Good thing Gibbs didn't seem to expect much help from Tony, because he didn't get it. Once his jacket and shoes were off, and Gibbs went to lock his weapon in the gun safe, Tony sank back onto the well-worn cushions of the couch.

Gibbs stood over him and asked, "You think you can stay awake long enough to eat something?"

"I guess. Boss?"

"Yeah?"

"You never said. Did something…happen? I mean, to me?" Tony blinked slowly and rubbed his eyes, wishing the room would stop undulating.

Gibbs stood over Tony, looking concerned. "What's going on?"

Tony squinted up at him. "I feel weird. Like the air is made of jello. I'm all itchy, like when someone tells you they found a tick on themselves, and immediately you think they're all over you, sucking your blood and giving you nasty diseases." He scratched his stomach and shuddered in revulsion.

"You find any ticks?" Gibbs asked.

"Well, no, but…"

Gibbs grasped Tony's chin and gently moved his head from side to side, then laid his hand on Tony's forehead. "I don't see any rash, but you're a little warm. You having trouble breathing?"

Tony shook his head. "No, it's not that. But…something's not right."

"I already called Ducky to check you out. He'll be here soon," Gibbs said.

"I don't need to be poked. Just need sleep," Tony mumbled, and slipped down on the couch, trying to get comfortable. His headache was still bothering him, mostly behind his eyes, and he felt exhausted. Even though he couldn't recall the events of last night, Tony was pretty sure he and Gibbs hadn't been out drinking and gambling all night. So what had they been up to? Partying was out; maybe they'd checked into a hotel room. They'd eaten out, but after that…it was all a big blank until he'd woken up on the plane. So why couldn't he remember anything? It was seriously disturbing and Gibbs hadn't been much help. He'd been surprisingly closed-mouthed about the details, but Tony knew he'd get it out of him…after he'd had a nap.

Tony woke up to find Ducky taking his blood pressure. "'M fine. You don't have to…"

"Jethro indicated that you were both feeling under the weather."

Gibbs, who was standing to one side, pointed at Tony. "Not me. Him."

The ME met Tony's eyes, and Tony could read amusement and exasperation in their gray depths. Ducky stuck a digital thermometer in Tony's ear until it beeped. He frowned at the results. "Hmm. A wee bit high."

Gibbs made an 'I told you so' kind of noise.

Tony asked what had been on his mind, ever since he'd woken up on the plane a few hours ago. "Do I have valley fever?" He pulled up his shirt to expose his belly. "See the red spots? There."

"Where?" Ducky inspected Tony's stomach.

"Right there," Tony said, having trouble quelling the rising panic at the thought of having contracted valley fever once again. He'd had it years ago, when he was on the Philly PD, and he'd had to take three months off work. Of course he'd put that free time to good use, once the chills had gone, and had pursued further degrees in criminology. Still, it sucked to feel that bad for so long. He'd ended up taking a transfer to Baltimore as soon as he was back on his feet.

Gibbs stepped in and unceremoniously pulled Tony's shirt up even higher, revealing his chest. "That's a freckle. Get a grip, DiNozzo," he said bluntly.

With a sideways glance at Gibbs, Ducky said dryly, "Thank you so much for your diagnosis, Dr. Gibbs."

"C'mon, Ducky, it takes a week for symptoms to even show up."

"Those appear to be bites from sand fleas. Quite harmless. I'll give you some ointment to stop the itching." Ducky patted Tony's knee. "As far as valley fever goes, it takes a good seven days between contracting coccidiodomycosis and the appearance of symptoms. You have no rash, nor do you exhibit any of the other known symptoms. However, you seem a tad disoriented and have a low-grade fever. Perhaps you overindulged while in Las Vegas?" Ducky turned to Gibbs for an answer.

"We only had one meal, at a steak and brew," Gibbs said defensively.

Tony sat upright. "You think it was the beer? They brewed their own." He remembered drinking samples, but not much else about the night. He noticed how Gibbs shifted his weight, averting his gaze, and Tony immediately wondered what was up with him. Had they done something he didn't want to remember? Something that Gibbs wasn't pleased about? Wait a minute – could that be guilt he was seeing? From Leroy Jethro Gibbs? Tony asked, "Gibbs? What did we do? Please tell me I didn't get naked in public."

Ducky looked at Gibbs expectantly. "Yes, would you care to share your suspicions with the room, Agent Gibbs?"

Gibbs sighed and said, "We drank some beer that might have been a little off."

Tony nodded even though doing so made his head swim. "Yeah. I remember that. Unusual taste. Salty. It was good though. I mean, I felt sort of good and I wanted more."

"How much more?" asked Ducky.

Gibbs recalled, "Tony drank a few, more than me, and when I got back to the table he was acting…"

Both Tony and Ducky waited for Gibbs to finish his sentence.

"Happy," Gibbs said, pulling a face as if the word was distasteful.

"Happy?" asked Ducky, apparently expecting more detail.

"Like maybe he'd been roofied," Gibbs said, sounding unsure.

"Like with a date rape drug?" asked Tony, horrified. "I don't…I don't remember being attacked. Was I?"

Gibbs looked just as appalled as Tony felt, and the immediate shake of his head and strong, "No!" assured Tony he was telling the truth.

"Oh dear," said Ducky. "It is far too late to detect the usual markers that would indicate the use of rohypnol, or GHB, although ketamine can be detected when it breaks down into norketamine, and the detection window is seven to fourteen days. I will take blood, and I will also need a urine sample." Ducky peered over his glasses. "And yours, too, Jethro, as you imbibed the same type of beer, I gather?"

Gibbs sighed. "Yeah, I drank it, too."

"It was called BuzzKill," Tony said, trying to be helpful. "Or BuzzHappy. Or…Buzzzzz…" He looked at Gibbs, blinking slowly. "I sort of remember leaving the restaurant. We walked out on our own power, right? Nobody had their way with me, did they?" He laughed, a little wildly, even though he didn't see any humor in the situation.

Gibbs settled on the couch next to Tony, watching Ducky pull a couple of syringes from his bag. "We got out safely," Gibbs assured him.

Tony asked, "Did anyone get…you know, like…funny with us? I mean, was there anyone suspicious hanging around, watching us? Who did that to us?"

"It was Vegas. Everyone looked suspicious," Gibbs replied. Tony continued to stare at him so Gibbs relented, saying, "I remember us leaving under our own steam. I…I don't exactly remember much, okay? I drank some of that BuzzBrew, too." He swore under his breath and said, "I shoulda grabbed a bottle as evidence, but I was in a hurry to get us the hell out of there. And when the fresh air hit me…"

"You don't remember?" Tony asked, feeling better now he knew that Gibbs' memory was as fuzzy as his was, which made no sense.

"It's not exactly clear," was all Gibbs would admit to. "We…we got a hotel room; I remember that. You sacked out and I had trouble getting you going in the morning, but we got on our flight."

"I don't remember any of this," Tony said, feeling sick to his stomach.

"Oh dear," Ducky said, looking from Gibbs to Tony, and then back. "If you were both given illicit drugs, then you are lucky to have escaped any real harm."

Tony said, "I remember sampling a few beers…and then things got sorta blurry…and…next thing I know, we're on the plane." Gibbs was staring at him with widening eyes, making Tony frown and ask, "What?"

Gibbs just shook his head.

There was something funny going on, and Tony swore he was going to get to the bottom of it. He demanded, "Why didn't you call the cops? Or the manager? I know you…you'd normally pull your gun and scare everyone into submission. Line them up and…"

Gibbs swallowed, and admitted, "I didn't call anyone."

"Were you hurt?" Tony asked, suddenly fearful that Gibbs had been assaulted.

"What? No! But…Damn it, I couldn't."

"Why the hell not?" Tony asked, raising his voice.

Gibbs practically shouted back, "Because I had to get you out of that restaurant! If we'd stayed, we'd have been defenseless. Anyone could have gotten to us. And then…we escaped, got outside, made for the nearest hotel. You were staggering, and your legs gave out before we'd gone a block. I think…" Gibbs rubbed his temples. "We went in somewhere to call a taxi…I don't…damn it! I can't remember."

Tony could see Gibbs was disturbed by the incident, and the loss of memory that came with being roofied. Well, he didn't like losing a chunk of time either. Trying not to sound like he was accusing Gibbs of anything, Tony spoke slowly. "But you didn't call the cops, file an incident report, or complain about the restaurant?"

Gibbs glared at Tony. "And how would that look, DiNozzo? I can just see the headline: Two Federal Agents Drink Drugged Beer and Are Seen Staggering Around Vegas. You really think that'd go down well with the Director? Or SecNav? We'd lose our jobs," Gibbs said angrily.

"You could've called Detective Ramos. She'd have helped us," Tony reasoned. He would have said a lot more, but he was getting the mother of all headaches and his tongue felt thick and dry. Besides, Gibbs was right. They'd surely lose their jobs if word of this got out. If they were lucky, they'd only get demoted. "Yeah, you're right. Vance would jump at the chance to separate us," he said bleakly.

"It won't come to that," Gibbs said, sounding determined.

Ducky intervened. "Anthony, it appears that Jethro's main concern was getting both of you to safety, which he did. It also appears that neither of you was harmed at the scene, which is excellent news. Right now, the best medicine for both of you is a good night's sleep. But before you retire, I do need to obtain samples from both of you."

Tired of the conversation, Tony shrugged, but he said, "Fine."

"Sleeves up, gentlemen," Ducky said cheerfully.

Tony went first. He watched as Ducky slid a needle into a vein in his forearm. It made him feel queasy, but it was soon over, and the ME gave him a square of gauze to press against the puncture wound.

"What're you expecting to find out from this, Duck?" asked Gibbs, while Ducky took a sample of his blood.

"Unfortunately, the likelihood of finding evidence of drugs in your systems is remote, considering the amount of time that has passed. However, I am confident that if anyone can find traces, Abigail can. I will not tell her who the samples belong to; it will remain confidential. There you go," Ducky said as he tidied up. "Now, I need urine samples from both of you. Then get some rest, and drink plenty of water. If you still feel weak or at all befuddled in the morning, either of you, call me."

"Why did I get so badly affected?" Tony asked, looking at the small drop of blood welling through the gauze in the crook of his arm.

Ducky taped the gauze in place and replied in a kind voice, "Due to your history of adverse reactions to certain medications, it is likely that it only took a small quantity of the tainted beer to overwhelm you – if it was the beer that caused this reaction."

"I just don't like the not remembering part," Tony admitted. "You sure you don't remember, Boss? When I was in college, I got really drunk once during hockey season. They said I stood on a table and sang the Canadian national anthem, perfectly, and in French. I still don't remember any of it."

Ducky hummed a few bars of 'Oh Canada,' and handed both men small plastic cups to pee in.

"He going to be okay?" asked Gibbs looking to Ducky for an answer.

"Anthony's system does not process medications as quickly as is normal. The effects linger, especially those of opiates, as we have witnessed on more than one occasion," Ducky explained.

"Hey, I'm right here, ya know," Tony complained.

Ducky patted Tony's arm and assured him, "Not to worry, you should be right as rain by tomorrow. Or the day after that."

Tony gave a little groan. "You know this is gonna drive me crazy, not knowing." Gibbs was no help, what with his own Swiss-cheese memory. Being investigators, they'd feel compelled to trace the steps they took last night in Vegas, and Tony was afraid of what they might discover.

Gibbs and Ducky got him on his feet and Tony was able to make his way to the toilet where he peed into the sample cup. As soon as Gibbs had done the same, Ducky stowed the small containers safely in his bag, and was off.

Gibbs rattled around in the kitchen and came out with a couple of large mugs of steaming cream of chicken soup. He handed one to Tony and sat beside him on the couch, not saying anything, his forehead creased in thought.

Tony felt floaty and half out of it, and even though it was barely nine o'clock, he couldn't keep his eyes open. Gibbs offered to help him up to the guest room. "I'll stay here," Tony said, pulling his shirt off before Gibbs had a chance to respond. Gibbs sighed but helped him to undress down to his boxers, and pulled out the pillow and blanket he stored behind the couch. Tony lay down and snuggled under the blanket Gibbs pulled up to his shoulder. "Mmm, thanks, Boss," he mumbled.

Gibbs gently brushed hair back from Tony's forehead, saying softly, "Feel better, Tony."

~ • ~ • ~ • ~ • ~