Gibbs had been up for a few hours now; made coffee and had strolled into the basement to organize some of his workbench that had become unbearably cluttered for no apparent reason. Perhaps it was because he wasn't working on anything in particular; just a project here and there. Fixing things around the house that didn't necessarily need that much work...simply something to do.
It seemed he was almost finished when he heard footsteps on the stairs and looked over to see Tony as he descended with a cup of coffee in his hands. "I was wonderin' when you'd get up," he told the agent as he came into view.
"It's Saturday, Boss," he replied with a smirk. "I've trained myself well. I'm guessing you've been up for hours."
"Guessed right," he smirked as he placed a jar up onto the shelf.
"Kinda strange," Tony said as he looked around the expanse of the basement.
"What's that?"
"Nothin' down here...no boat, I mean. Kinda seems like somethin's missing."
Gibbs smirked at that, "You can only build so many boats before it makes you seem a little crazy."
"Nobody thinks you're crazy, Boss!" he grinned.
Gibbs cocked his head, "Maybe 'crazy' isn't the right word. 'Sad', maybe." He turned away from the empty space and busied himself with the table-top again.
Tony felt possibly more offended by the statement than even Gibbs should've been. "Having a hobby isn't sad," he told him. "The ability to successfully have time for a hobby with our line of work is flat-out amazing, at the least." Gibbs looked at him with a hint of amusement. "At least your hobby is constructive. I mean, what use can my extensive collection of movie trivia serve, right?"
"If I remember correctly, some of your 'useless' movie knowledge has helped devise some clever strategies in tight spots. Hell...it helped get me out of that hostage situation at the school. Sometimes you're just meant to like certain things like that; sometimes it's just fate."
"Well, maybe you're meant to keep buildin' boats, Boss."
"Nah," he shook his head as he pushed up from where he sat, and wandered over to another cluttered area to begin working. "It was never really meant to go past the first boat." There was a notable amount of silence as he shifted things around on the shelf.
"So...what made you keep building them?" Tony asked.
Gibbs glanced at him briefly before continuing his work, and he took a breath before replying, "I started building the first one with Kelly," he told him. "Guess once that one was finished, I felt like I...needed to keep doing it. Felt like it'd somehow keep that memory alive. It kinda became therapeutic in a way, but it lost its meaning somewhere along the line... So I decided the last one I made was gonna be the last one."
Tony wasn't sure how to respond at first. "Sorry, Boss...didn't mean to bring up sad memories," he said quietly.
"Doesn't count if I was already thinkin' 'em," he replied. "And it's okay. There's happy ones in there, too." He decidedly dropped what he was doing and turned to face his senior agent. "You hungry?"
"Not really," he replied, narrowing his eyes with the premonition of his boss's retort.
"Gotta eat," he headed toward the stairs, glancing briefly at Tony before ascending. Tony reluctantly followed behind him up to the kitchen. "Want some eggs or somethin'?" he pressed.
"Boss, if I even smell an egg cooking, I'm gonna hurl...seriously."
"You haven't eaten anything substantial in over two days, Tony," he reminded him. "You wanna end up back in the hospital with malnutrition?"
Tony took a breath, slumping his shoulders a bit in defeat, "Maybe I'll try some toast, I guess."
"That'll do, for now," Gibbs moved to grab the bread from the counter. "You feelin' alright?" he asked in light of the look of the discomfort that seemed more visibly apparent now.
"Just a headache," he replied. "And I'm a little queasy, obviously."
"Didn't you take your meds?" he asked as he went to retrieve the butter from the fridge.
"Yeah...took 'em while I poured myself coffee," Tony slipped into a chair at the table. "Guess they'll start working at some point, right?"
"You're supposed to take them with food, DiNozzo. Says so on the bottle."
"Well it's kinda ridiculous to prescribe an anti-nausea medication that insists that I eat something...when clearly I'll throw the damn thing up with whatever I put in my stomach!" he hadn't meant to sound so thoroughly agitated, but as Gibbs turned to face him with a look of question and concern, he felt the agitation building into something more substantial. He pushed away from the table and stood, "I'm gonna go get some air," he said as he headed for the back patio.
Gibbs watched Tony as he disappeared from the kitchen, then turned around to resume making the agent's breakfast. He hadn't meant to upset or push him, but Tony knew the rules about leaving the hospital and Gibbs wasn't about to let him get sick and end up right back there.
He finished buttering the two pieces of toast and plopped them onto a plate before bringing it out to the patio. Tony was standing facing the lawn, leaning on his elbows against the deck railing. Gibbs set the plate down next to him, silently, and turned to take a seat. After a moment, Tony picked up the plate and plopped himself down on another chair, setting the plate in his lap.
He picked one of the pieces up, examining it for a moment before focusing on his boss's face. "Sorry...for getting aggravated, Boss..." he told him before taking a bite of the toast.
"Didn't mean to aggravate ya," he replied, cocking his head.
"Not your fault," he said, decidedly swallowing before continuing. "I just feel...weird. Hungover, possibly, for lack of better explanation. I feel drained; physically and mentally...emotionally even. I'm not even aggravated, really. I'm just...nothing. Don't know how else to explain it."
Gibbs narrowed his eyes in concern as he watch Tony continue to eat. "You know, if you ever wanna talk, Tony...I'm here."
"Last thing I wanna do is think of that stuff again. Makes my stomach hurt."
"Yeah. Me too," Gibbs replied before fixing his gaze out onto the lawn. Tony appraised Gibbs' face, taking in the information he'd given in those simple words. It made him think back to the very thing he'd been hoping not to think about.
When Gibbs looked back over at Tony, the agent's eyes had closed; his thumb and forefinger pinched the bridge of his nose. Gibbs leaned forward in his seat, "You okay?"
Tony dropped his hand and opened his eyes. They were glassy and red before looking down and away from his boss. "I think I'm...gonna go back upstairs..." his voice cracked as he pushed up from the chair, sending his plate to the patio floor. "Shit!" he scrambled to pick up the mess.
Gibbs pushed out of his chair the moment he'd heard Tony's voice cracking, and now he was at a loss for what was happening as Tony crumbled in front of him; his hands moving to hide his face as he seemed to lose control completely. "Hey," Gibbs knelt beside him, putting an arm around his shoulders in effort to support him. "What's wrong? Talk to me."
"I dunno, Boss, I'm sorry..." the anguish in his voice caused Gibbs' heart to sink in his chest again, reminding him of the terrifying moments they'd spent in that cell.
"It's okay," he told him, pulling his agent into an embrace, the best he could in their position. "It's gonna be okay, Tony..." he petted his hair and felt Tony accept the comfort, moving his hands away from his face and clinging to Gibbs' by the front of his shirt.
"Why...why do I feel like this?" he cried against Gibbs' shoulder.
"I don't know," he told him as he held him close. "But we'll figure this out, okay?"
Tony suddenly regained as much of his composure as he could manage, and pulled from Gibbs, standing abruptly. Giving an apologetic look to his boss, he then turned to go back into the house and quickly disappeared up the stairs and into the guest room. As he shut the door, he turned and leaned back on it, sliding slowly to the floor as he cursed himself under his breath. Losing control like that in front of Gibbs was unacceptable. Surely he would lose his place on the team... and nothing was more important to him than his team; his family...
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Gibbs was sitting on the steps out front when Ducky finally arrived. "I came as quickly as I could, Jethro," the M.E told him as he approached.
"Thanks, Duck. I appreciate that."
"What seems to be the problem? Is it Anthony?"
"I think he's suffering from some depression caused by what happened. He broke down this morning. Hasn't come out of his room since."
"May I ask what brought this on? Were you discussing what'd happened?" he asked as Gibbs stood to follow him into the house.
"Not really. Just told him I was here if he wanted to talk. He said he didn't wanna think about it. Then he seemed to start...breakin' down. I dunno, Duck..."
"Perhaps he was having a flashback," he suggested. "And you say he went up to his room and hasn't come out? How long ago was that?"
"Right before I called you. Probably been an hour now."
"Perhaps I could try and have a word with him while I check his bandages."
"Duck," stood from the steps and followed the doctor toward the front door. "I don't think I'm helpin' him. Think I'm makin' it worse, unintentionally. I know he's gotta eat and take his meds, but he gets so frustrated when I mention it. It's like he's pissed at me..."
"Tony might be feeling angry or confused," Ducky said. "But if anything, I'm sure those feelings aren't aimed at you. You just happen to be the only one around him to witness his current state. Let me talk with him, Jethro. I'll try and get him to let me in."
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Ziva wasn't entirely sure why she'd decided to drive to McGee's place. But she'd somehow ended up there and walked up toward his door. In her head, she worked out some reasoning she could give the agent once he would open the door to her. She would ask him to go to lunch with her.
As she approached the door, however, she heard a crash and panicked. Drawing her weapon, she kicked open the door, "McGee!" she yelled as she entered, but she saw him standing there alone. His face was red with anger and tears brimmed his eyes. She noticed the typewriter in shambles on the floor in front of him and she holstered her weapon before approaching him. "McGee? What happened? Are you alright?"
Tim met her eyes and blinked back the tears that threatened to fall, and suddenly he felt ashamed and embarrassed in her presence. "I'm fine, Ziva," he told her before turning away and walking into his bedroom. For a moment, she was frozen where she stood; unsure of how to react to the situation. But her gaze fell to the broken machine in front of her and she crouched down to remove the paper that was still connected to it, and she pulled in free to read the writing...
Tommy was shut up in the box once more, void of the hope of ever escaping. He'd given up. After everything he'd been through that day, he was disappearing inside himself, prepared for the end...
The words made her heart burn in her chest. McGee had apparently been writing about their recent case, and it had struck him harder than either of them had thought. She stood, dropping the paper to the floor before going after her friend. She found him standing, facing the window. His hands clenched and unclenched at his sides. She went to stand beside him and his eyes shifted in realization that she was there.
"Why would you destroy your typewriter? You love writing..." she said.
"I was exploiting Tony's experience," he corrected. "And I was getting too far into his head to bear. I couldn't handle it anymore..." his voice cracked. "There was at least ten pages of it. Another five where I had us rescuing them before they did all that...and I just got to the point I couldn't do it anymore. I just can't..."
"Why are you doing this to yourself?" she turned to face him.
"What?" he faced her as well, confused by what she'd said.
"You watched the video alone, and now you are going so far as to dissect every part of what they went through...in essence, feeling everything they went through, yourself."
"So what?" he defended. "Maybe I wanna understand what he went through! I highly doubt it's gonna hurt me nearly as bad as it did Tony."
"Really?" she furrowed a brow at him. "Do you really believe this is not affecting you at all? Because I believe your typewriter would say differently, if it could speak."
"Ziva..."
"McGee," she took his face in her hands and looked him in the eye. "If you think that causing yourself this pain is somehow going to assist you in being a better friend to them, you are wrong."
He searched her eyes for a moment. "I don't know what else to do," he told her in a quiet voice. "I know you told me I just need to be there for them, but I can't even figure out how to do that."
Ziva dropped her hands and put her arms around him instead, pulling him into an embrace. "It is not something you figure out. Just be yourself, McGee. You know more about what happened than any of the rest of us. Perhaps, when Tony is ready to talk about it, you will be of great comfort to him." Gently, she pulled away to look at him. "For now, however, please stop torturing yourself."
He was silent for a long moment as they stood there. Then his brow furrowed, "Why did you come over here?"
"Honestly," she sighed, "I do not remember." Her lips curled up into a grin, causing his to do the same.
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Gibbs stood from the couch as Ducky came back down from his talk with Tony. The doctor motioned for him to follow him into the kitchen and he complied. "Did he talk to you?" he inquired.
"A bit, Jethro, and he gave me permission to speak to you about it," Ducky said as he sat at the table.
"Why wouldn't he just speak to me himself?" he asked as he sat across from him.
"Because he feels ashamed," he explained. "Embarrassed about how he's feeling. He's afraid of causing you to be disappointed in him."
"I thought the drugs were outta his system, Duck," Gibbs said in disbelief. "Or have I given him reason to believe I've ever been disappointed in him?"
"Now he hasn't said these things out loud. But it's clear to me, from what he's been saying, that this is what he feels. This team is his family and he's very much afraid of losing it because of what's happened to him. He believes that the way he feels right now, may never go away."
"I told him he didn't have to worry about that."
"I'm sure you did, Jethro. But it doesn't mean he's had his fears relieved. Anthony went through a great deal, as you well know. Not only was his body affected, but his mind and its chemical balance as well. It may take a while to fully recover. In the meantime, he'll need support and reassurance."
"That's what I was tryin' to do this mornin', Ducky. But he was offended by everything I did."
"Perhaps not in the same way as you might think," the doctor attempted to explain. "Tony did what he was supposed to, this morning, with the exception of eating. But he was aware that he needed to. His reasoning was sound, though. He might have suffered some stomach discomfort from not eating with the medication, but once the nausea medication took effect, he would've been more than happy to eat. The point is, if you have to nag him, he'll feel as though you don't trust him to take care of himself. He's aware that he has to be here for monitoring, but he needs to feel like he's not completely incompetent."
"Is that what he thinks I think of him?" Gibbs narrowed his eyes. "I'm just tryin' to make sure he gets better, Duck. What happened to him...I couldn't stop it. But I can do something now. I need him to know that...I wanna be here to help him, but if he's gonna feel hurt every time I try to reach out, then I'm not really sure what the hell to do..."
"Now, Jethro," Ducky stood and went to his friend's side, placing a hand on his shoulder. "I don't think you should stop what you've been doing. What I'm trying to do is tell you why he's reacting the way he is. Just keep in mind what I've said," he gave his shoulder a squeeze. "And be patient with him."
"Alright," Gibbs nodded after a moment. "Thanks, Duck."
"Now, I must get in to work," he said as he made his way out of the kitchen. "There's an autopsy report to be finished and signed. Oh," he turned back to face Gibbs, "That reminds me; I did a little searching into Griswald's claim of being ill. He was telling you the truth. There was a tumor in his brain, most likely causing his psychotic behavior. And judging by its size, it's been there for quite a while and only recently began metastasizing. He would've been dead within the next couple of months."
"So...everyone he killed..."
"May well have been due to that tumor, yes. But even if he'd been taken alive, it was inoperable. He would only have done a very small portion of the time he would've been punished with." Gibbs nodded in acknowledgment and followed Ducky to the front door. "I'll see you Monday, Jethro. Take care."
"You too, Duck. And thanks, again." Closing the door behind his friend, he turned toward the stairs, glancing up before climbing up toward the guest room. Hesitating only for a moment in thought, he knocked lightly.
"Come in," he heard Tony call from the other side, and he pushed the door open gently. "Hey, Boss," Tony said from his propped up position against the headboard. "Sorry about earlier..."
"No need to apologize," he replied as he approached, decidedly sitting beside the agent on the bed, leaning back on the headboard as well. "I probably should've mentioned that I get a bit overprotective when it comes to people I care about." Tony's eyes shot over to his boss at the comment; his brow furrowing. "I don't want ya to think I don't have every bit of faith in your ability to take care of yourself. I just wanna be sure I'm doin' everything I can to make sure you get better. We need you."
Tony sighed as he folded his arms over his stomach. "You don't have to do this."
"Do what?" Gibbs narrowed his eyes in the direction of his senior agent. Tony gave him a look. "Everything I'm sayin' is the truth, DiNozzo. Whether or not you wanna believe that right now is up to you. But I'm not blowin' smoke up your ass. You know I wouldn't do that."
Tony searched his eyes for a few long moments. Gibbs wasn't sure, exactly, what he was seeing in his agent's face, but it wasn't completely unfamiliar. Mixed emotion; uncertainty and confusion, and something else he couldn't quite put his finger on.
"The way you're feelin' is normal, Tony," Gibbs told him. "It'll get better with time. But I don't want you runnin' off every time you feel somethin', just because you think I can't handle it."
"You sayin' you can handle me cryin' like a little girl at the drop of a hat, Boss?" Tony gave his best fake grin possible.
Gibbs returned the smirk, "Yeah, I think I can handle it, DiNozzo. As long as you can take my help for what it is." Tony blinked a few times as he processed that, then gave a small smile to his boss...
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tbc...