It's been an hour, and the doctor in her wants to wake him again, ask him where he is, when it is, and if he knows who he is. But the lover in her wants to let him sleep, to keep him away from the pain. Her hand finds his broken ribs again, and she prods gently, making sure they haven't shifted and aren't in danger of stabbing like self-guided knives through his heart or lungs. He doesn't stir, doesn't make a sound, and her soft, skilled hands move to his jaw as she sits up next to him. She pokes and prods and manipulates the joint until she is as satisfied as she can be without x-ray vision that it is not broken.

She wishes he were awake to give her a long lecture about the uses of x-ray vision as metaphor in film.

Her hands move through his hair and she is having a hard time separating doctor and lover—until she finds the lump of swelling at the back of his head responsible for his concussion symptoms.

She thinks about waking him and asking him again to go to the hospital, hoping the painkillers and sleep will have lowered the defenses she hadn't realized he had.

It makes her wonder what else about him she doesn't know.

His cell vibrates on the table beside her, and her gaze flicks from his sleeping face to the name on the phone's display.

Gibbs.

She has never heard of this Gibbs person and Tony needs to rest so she reaches over and silences the phone. He jerks in his sleep as if burned by contact with some searing nightmare, and she flinches in surprise, dropping the phone. It bounces on the carpet and pops open, but her attention is on him and his sudden writhing.

She lets a gentle hand fall feather-light and puppy-soft onto his cheek and murmurs, "Shhh, it's okay, Tony. You're okay."

He reaches up and captures her hand, tucking it against his body as he curls his arm to his chest, and she forgets the phone for a long while.

Until it vibrates again, its buzzing as insistent as an alarm clock.

She disentangles herself from his warmth and reaches down for the phone, blinking in surprise at the nine missed calls.

This Gibbs person apparently has the persistence of an alarm clock, too.

The multiple calls make her wonder if this is the demanding boss he has hinted at on occasion—and what kind of emergency film professors have that would require this many attempts at contact. And then she remembers the rape occurred on campus. She briefly debates hitting the send button and letting this Gibbs person know Tony is injured but in the care of a doctor.

Had DiNozzo been awake, the mere thought of that call—which would likely have been short because Gibbs would unfailingly answer with a barked "Where the hell are you, DiNozzo?"—would have been enough to stop the hearts of both DiNozzo and DiNardo.

She wonders if he's told his boss—or his coworkers or friends—about her, and that makes her realize that she's never met anyone close to him. She hasn't even been to his apartment.

But before she can dwell on that too long, the phone buzzes again in her hand, and she sneaks a glance at the man sleeping beside her and answers it, hoping he won't be too upset.

"Hello?" she answers tentatively, banishing sudden fears that Gibbs is a woman—another lover.

"DiN— Hello?" comes the decidedly male voice.

"This is Jeanne," she says, feeling an excited thrill to be connecting with a yet-unknown part of his life. She suddenly feels like a spelunker.

Gibbs thinks for a moment, trying to remember if Tony ever told him his girlfriend's name. Who the hell else would be answering his phone at one in the morning?

"My name is Jethro," he says, matching her informality and keeping the bite out of his voice. In truth, he's happy for Tony, thinking it's about time the man found someone to share his life with—someone to lower his walls for. Gibbs isn't thrilled with the fact that Tony drags himself into work most days looking dead tired, but he understands it.

Even if he doesn't want to think about the why.

Those are images he can do without.

"I'm Tony's boss," Gibbs says, wondering if she knows that.

He has a boss named Jethro, she thinks, gathering the little bits of information she has about her lover around her like treasured trinkets. He had a tree in his backyard that he liked to climb, and he has a very interesting scar from a run-in with a horse. She should realize now that he shares very little with her, but she's blinded by the shiny newness of her latest acquisition.

"Is he with you?" Jethro asks.

"Yes, he is," she says, wondering if he knows about the rape on campus. He's his boss so he probably does. "He's sleeping right now."

"That might not be such a good idea," Gibbs says, thinking about how pale and shaky Tony had been before he snuck out of the hospital, presumably pissed off because Ziva had made two cracks in quick succession about Tony's getting his ass kicked and about his personal cell phone.

Gibbs knows Tony uses that cell only for his girlfriend, and the lead agent can understand that. He'd had a wife who liked it when he kept the job separated from home. He didn't think Tony was the type to care about things like that, but maybe he did it for the girl.

So Jethro knows he's injured, Jeanne thinks, putting on her best smile even though the man can't see her. "It's all right. I'm a doctor."

Gibbs breathes a sigh of relief at that, wondering if Tony had ever mentioned it before. He realizes Tony hasn't really said much at all about his girlfriend, odd in itself because Tony usually couldn't keep his mouth shut on the topic of his various women.

But this one is different. Apparently she's someone special.

"How is he?" Gibbs asks, hoping she won't ask why he doesn't know—if she doesn't already know why. He suddenly finds himself not wanting to get Tony in trouble with her by ratting him out about fleeing the hospital. DiNozzo's in enough trouble with him on that as it is.

But she slips into doctor mode and says, "Broken ribs, concussion, split lip could probably use a stitch or two, but he wouldn't let me do it."

"He's a bit stubborn when it comes to his health, isn't he?"

She grins, happy to be sharing a moment with someone who obviously knows Tony well. She wonders if it would be too forward to ask Jethro over for dinner one night. Academics do that sort of thing all the time. "That he is. He should probably be in a hospital, but considering he's with me, I guess it's not worth fighting him over."

And if I hadn't been dealing with a half-hysterical Abby, he still would be in a hospital.

But he doesn't say that because he doesn't know if this woman knows Abby and it would take too long to explain all the nuances of a scared, upset Abby.

"Especially since I don't want to make him talk with his jaw that bad," she continues. "I'm pretty sure it's not broken, but I think I'll try again in the morning to get him to go to the hospital with me."

That answers that, Gibbs thinks, wondering what pretty lies DiNozzo crafted for her so as not to scare or anger her and knowing Tony had the requisite skill set to pull it off. And his jaw is badly bruised but not broken, he adds silently but keeps his mouth shut. This girl obviously means a lot to Tony, and Gibbs isn't going to get him in trouble with her just to applaud her doctoring skills—not that he would do either anyway.

"I'd appreciate that," is all he says. He almost hangs up but remembers just in time that this has become as much a social call as a professional one. "Thank you. Good night."

"Good night," she says, hanging up and frowning. Forgot to ask him to dinner. Oh well, I'll just ask Tony about it in the morning.

Tony chooses that exact moment to start to stir in his sleep, as if he had heard her disastrous thoughts. He sits bolt upright, all pain forgotten as his hands fly to his face to get the blood off—real and imaginary.

"Kate!"

She abandons the phone and grabs his hands before he hurts himself with the way he's clawing at the reopened wound in his lip and the blood dripping down his chin. He's staring at her with wide eyes.

"Get it off, please get it off," DiNozzo whispers before DiNardo can manhandle the agent out of the driver's seat and take over.

She disappears in a hurry, and he feels terror very different from that of the nightmare grip him hard. But then she's back, sitting cross-legged in bed beside him with a soft cloth and a small suture kit.

He eyes the kit, wondering if all doctors have them stashed away in their homes and figuring they probably do. Who doesn't bring work home from time to time? DiNardo brings DVDs and DiNozzo brings bruises, so why shouldn't she have needles made to quilt flesh next to her rose-scented deodorant?

"Didn't know you were into S&M," he comments, wincing not at the sharp instrument coming so very close to his mouth but because that sounded a little more DiNozzo than DiNardo and he's still shaky from the dream.

But she just smiles wryly at him. "Open your mouth and shut up," she says, her words as gentle as her hands.

" 'At's 'inda 'ontra'icto'y," he says.

"What?" she asks with a soft, confused smile as she carefully closes his mouth.

"That's kinda contradictory," he repeats, glad for the painkillers that have reduced his agony to a completely bearable soft thrum of achiness. DiNardo pushes loopy DiNozzo down into a dark recess and gags him. "Opening one's mouth and shutting up."

She smiles at him. "Shhh, and open up," she says, her small, deft hands making quick work of the trio of stitches she uses to close his wound.

"There," she says, stowing her kit and curling up beside him.

"Barely felt a thing," he says, settling contentedly back and enjoying the feel of her warm body tucked against his. "Care to rectify that?"

Back to your corner, DiNozzo. Don't make me call your mother.

She's dead, DiNardo. Go ahead and try. I don't think your long-distance plan quite covers that. And good luck waking her "without some serious smelling salts and a heater."

Ah, "Good Will Hunting," nice one, DiNozzo. Now shut up.

"You're impossible, Tony," she says, a bit surprised he can laugh and joke like this after what must have been a seriously scary experience earlier. But maybe this is just how he deals. Whatever works. I'm here for you.

They lie there, their quiet, still contact all either of them really needs at the moment. She thinks he may be asleep, and she asks in a whisper she's not sure if she means for him to hear.

"Who's Kate?"