Disclaimer: NCIS characters and situations borrowed; the original story and scenario from "Believe Again" by Montana-Rosalie, FFN story ID #5047152 .

A/N: continuing the spin-off, again with thanks to M-R for letting me play with your original idea.

This is a collection of vignettes, each revealing the reaction of a character to DiNozzo's injury, some over time and at different points in his recovery. IF YOUR PREFER YOUR STORIES IN CHRONOLOGICAL ORDER: installments not at all in the order that they would have occurred; this new one even includes a flashback... if you prefer reading them in order, they would be this one, with Ducky (Ch. 5), then Abby (Ch. 3), McGee, (Ch. 4), Gibbs (Ch, 2) and Ziva (Ch. 1).

Believing still

I.

Over the years, Donald Mallard had been called upon to be a second opinion and medical interpreter for Jethro Gibbs and team nearly any time one of his people – or Gibbs himself – was injured. They all trusted him; they looked to him to tell them what was going on, if the care their teammate was receiving was what it should be, what to expect – and how to will their injured member back to being just as good as before. He appreciated their respect, but it was a part of his job that he didn't relish – it was not his specialty, and often occurred in painful or troubling circumstances. At times like these, it put him in a position he did not find the least bit comfortable.

It had taken Gibbs his first few years as a supervising agent, but he had found a way to cover all bases with his team by requiring any agent who wanted to work for him to sign a medical authorization – highly unethical and most likely illegal to demand such a waiver, Ducky knew, but it was always provided. The authorization gave blanket permission to any medical treatment provider caring for one of Gibbs's agents to tell their boss – or the director – any and all medical information requested about an injured or ailing agent which would otherwise have been strictly confidential. It made life much easier and faster for Gibbs; he didn't have to resort to trickery or threats or ineffective court orders to get the information he wanted, and over the years, his team had become nearly as demanding as Gibbs when one of their own was at risk.

Ducky had always been a bit surprised that no one balked at giving up such privacy to their boss. Maybe they just figured Gibbs being Gibbs, he'd get the information anyway, and they didn't want to suffer his irritation by making it difficult. But oddly enough, none of Gibbs's agents ever questioned the requirement, or seemed the least bit uncomfortable that their boss could so easily get to such private information.

Until Tony got the plague.

The authorization certainly allowed NCIS's senior medical examiner as well as Tony's supervisory agent full access to every iota of medical information available during DiNozzo's illness and recovery. When first Tony came back after his hospitalization and sick leave, Gibbs had sent him down to see the medical examiner, requesting a second opinion on the wisdom of allowing DiNozzo an early return to duty. And it was during that examination that Tony made his request...

"Ducky?" He'd sounded so serious, suddenly, for Tony, and Mallard knew that his bout with a frequently-fatal disease must have had some effect on the agent. "That permission form that we all had to sign for work here, giving you and Gibbs and the director access to our medical information – is that a requirement for NCIS?"

He could still remember that moment so clearly, how he stopped his exam to look back in the agent's eyes – eyes trusting him to tell the truth. "No, i'tisn't," he'd said evenly.

"Something Gibbs wanted, so he'd know what was up with us?"

He'd simply nodded, silently, in response, and watched as DiNozzo thought it over for a moment. Clearly, the thought bothered him. After another few moments, though, when the younger man said nothing, Dr. Mallard had continued his examination and pronounced him foolish and pigheaded for returning so soon, but acceptable for a trial run of a day or two to see how he fared, as long as he didn't tire himself or over-exert. At the pronouncement, DiNozzo just nodded, mind elsewhere. Still sitting on one of the cold, metal autopsy tables, Tony had finally spoken again.

"I think I want to change my permission form," Tony said softly. "I don't mind if you tell him about things like broken bones or twisted ankles or even those minor concussions we all seem to get in this job. But life-threatening stuff, Ducky..." His voice trailed off, and DiNozzo seemed to be looking for words to describe what he meant. "Kate stayed there with me, risking her own health as far as she knew, because they told her that I'd gotten it. Gibbs has done things over the years, taken chances or gotten obsessive, when he's on a mission for pay back – and I don't want to be responsible for that. If there are things that would slow down the team, or throw Gibbs off his game – I don't want him to know those things, Ducky. It's not like he could help things with worrying about them anyway, but he – or the others, as Kate did – might do something stupid they wouldn't do otherwise."

"My boy, it's not all that easy to separate out one thing from another, as you seem to be asking..." he'd protested. "A doctor either keeps his patient's confidence or he doesn't; he's not usually in the business of determining to dole out part of what he knows, and keep the rest confidential."

"But you could." Tony said evenly, his eyes not leaving his. "For the good of the team. Ducky, you know what I mean, and I trust you to know how much to tell." He wavered only for a moment, but then added, "please..." It had been a new DiNozzo before him then, the doctor remembered; not only more mature in his time with Gibbs generally, but apparently sobered by being so close to death.

In truth, he knew exactly what Tony meant, and he knew what he wanted – and why. But no matter how much he cared about Tony, and about any of them, Ducky just couldn't see himself put in the role of censoring information, especially from Gibbs – and certainly not doing so successfully. So he sighed, "I understand, Anthony, and I appreciate your confidence. But I just cannot make such a promise and let you think I would be able to hide such news from Gibbs. However, if you were to amend your authorization to remove Gibbs or anyone else from the list of those who could be informed of your status, or if you chose to simply rescind it, you could be assured that no physician who knew your medical condition, whatever it was, would be free to tell."

But DiNozzo had seemed to deflate a little at his words, and given how wan he'd already looked, the dark circles under his eyes and pale complexion still clear evidence of his illness, Ducky felt a protective compassion for the younger man. "Okay," Tony sighed. "I'll think about it."

II.

He'd heard nothing more about it. Apparently, he'd reasoned then, even if Tony had given it some consideration he'd decided not to make any changes, because full waivers remained on file, and any persons offering medical evaluation or treatment to Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo was free to discuss his condition and care with his supervising agent, their medical examiner and their director.

...and so now, as he stood at the light box, Tony's latest CT and MRI films displayed in sobering detail before him, Ducky knew that this scenario was precisely what Tony had meant, almost as if he himself had imagined such a thing occurring. And as a result, Dr. Mallard decided to exercise his better judgment for all involved, and honor Tony's request – which was why this information, which he vowed to keep from Gibbs and the team, weighed so heavily on his conscience now.

He stood in the darkened neurology office, looking at the newest images of DiNozzo's brain, again, frowning at what he saw in and around the occipital lobe. He sighed. Six weeks out, DiNozzo still deep in a coma. Thus far, Jethro had assumed that his medical examiner's reticence, his sadness for the downed agent was simply the obvious – his failure to wake up. Well, the rest would come in due course, if at all, but he knew how the news would affect Gibbs. And given Tony's wishes, given Ducky's intimate knowledge of how both men's minds worked ... for the first time in their history, Ducky made the decision to actively hide the information from Gibbs.

He hadn't even done so with Director Shepard's illness, and he'd been ethically bound to keep her diagnosis to himself; she had not authorized him to break medical privilege. Yet ... in telling Gibbs he was not at liberty to answer his questions – considering their long friendship and years working together – it was tantamount to admitting the bad news, wasn't it? He never actively sought to hide her diagnosis from him as he might have, only danced around the interrogation he got from his friend. And, he admitted to himself guiltily, when offered to Gibbs, it was practically an open admission, most likely because of his own selfish belief that Jethro ought to know.

But this situation ... this time ... it was different.

The door opened behind him, and in the next moment the now-familiar form of Tony's neurologist, Talia Rosolov, came beside him. "They are maybe two hours old," she said in her soft Russian accent, in the manner of a familiar friend, without empty greetings or wasted words. The thought left him saddened, given why she knew him so well now.

"No real change since those taken a month ago," he murmured. "It would seem that your diagnosis is likely correct, Talia."

She nodded, lifting a finger to trace along the computer's image. "There was so much damage, here. There has been enough time that anything only a temporary result of the pressure would have resolved by now." Her expression softened as she watched the older physician's face crease in disappointment for his co-worker – his friend. "I am sorry, Doctor."

As the elderly medical examiner nodded, his eyes not leaving the films, the younger physician paused, studying him in curiosity. When she first had Anthony DiNozzo added to her caseload and learned that she would be meeting such a well respected forensic medical examiner, she was pleased, secretly hoping to wrest stories from him and hear about the real-life cases he'd helped solve, so much like those M.E.s on the countless shows on American television.

And he'd certainly been gracious, and had been so charmingly appreciative of her care for DiNozzo and her availability for his questions and concerns. But she had not anticipated that the doctor had been such a good friend of the injured agent and of the team of agents who came to visit him, sometimes alone, others in small, quiet clusters of two or three, more attentive and concerned and grief-stricken than many of the biological families she'd seen there.

So she had not bothered the doctor with her questions, but made herself available when she knew he would be there – and, not long after they had discussed her findings, she had acceded to his request that her diagnosis remain confidential, not shared with the others. He needn't have explained, but he did, knowing that her patient's boss might seek answers from her if he sensed that Dr. Mallard was holding out on him.

Seeing them from the distance of having just met them all, Tania understood: this was not just another co-worker to them, who for months had lay in a coma. She'd learned that his injury came from his selfless act of protecting his team-mate, the pretty, quiet Israeli whom Tania had heard singing quietly to DiNozzo, occasionally, when all others were gone, the hushed, lilting melodies that reminded her so much of the lullabies she'd herself heard, growing up – but Tania suspected the fact she sang in Hebrew was more for herself than for the man who lay so still. The sadness in this woman, healing because of his heroism, the mourning in the whole troupe of oddly-matched compatriots - the computer-nerd who so earnestly asked her approval for installing the DVD player he'd brought, the tearful, sweet girl whose appearance and apparel frightened the staff until they got to know her, and the tall, silent man whose guilt and pain radiated from him like a fever, when he was alone with his agent...

She understood. Dr. Mallard – Ducky – explained how close they all were, how they worried about their Tony every day, and how they had dangerous, stressful jobs with NCIS. The fact that their colleague would most certainly be blind once he awoke – if he awoke – was not something they needed to know. Not yet.

...because if he did not survive the coma, and they knew the truth, more than only Dr. Mallard would always wonder if the end had been blessedly beyond Tony's ability to process, or if he went to his grave, after those fleeting moments of consciousness they believed he'd had, aware that he was unable to see...

It would have haunted them all, now and forever, and they grieved enough now as it was. Talia certainly saw it in all of them and in the sweetly dedicated way each of them drove out from the District to Bethesda, as they could, to sing and talk and watch DVDs with their fallen comrade. Dr. Mallard was right to keep this from them. If the time came, there would be plenty of time to confirm that the diagnosis suggested to them early on had most assuredly been correct. Until then, they had no need to know the full diagnosis of his injuries.

III.

"Dr. Mallard ... it's Talia. I'm so sorry to disturb you at this hour..."

Ducky had long ago learned to sleep with one ear open for the phone, usually Jethro or one of the team calling with a new case, a new body ... a new development. However, it wouldn't be entirely unexpected to be something else. In recent years had dreaded a wee-hours call from the nursing home that might tell him that his mother had finally passed on – and in recent months, he feared getting the same call from Bethesda, about young Tony.

With this night's call he felt am immediate dread, hoping it was simply another team needing his services. He knew it wasn't a call from Gibbs, who had taken his team overseas on a hunt for a terrorist cell. Fearing only bad news, his heart sank a little hearing Talia's quiet, apologetic voice at 2:40 a.m. He sat up quickly, and threw back his blankets, arising for the early A.M. drive he somehow knew was ahead of him.

"No worries, my dear..." he pushed her mentally for more, quickly, for the news to be done and over with, as he pulled out his trousers and fished for a shirt and tie. "What is it?"

"I am so sorry to bother you in the middle of the night like this, but I did not want to wait until morning. I would not have called family for something like this," she apologized, "and maybe should have waited – but in the circumstances I thought you would want to know..."

"It's alright, Talia," Ducky tried to hide his frustration with the neurologist's sudden indirectness, so unlike her. "Is Tony ... is he still alive?" He suspected DiNozzo's condition had suddenly taken a bad turn; he could only hope that she apologized because it was merely a minor downturn...

"Very much so, doctor; I'm sorry you misunderstood me – " the woman's voice carried her surprise, both at his reaction and, possibly, at her news. "I believe Mr. DiNozzo is waking up."

IV.

Things had happened quickly after that, Ducky's medical training and experience kicking in to keep him calm, focused ... and willing himself to take things only one step at a time. There would be no telling what permanent damage Tony had suffered after a severe head trauma and four months in a coma, beyond the identified vision loss; there were too many problems which might occur. In addition, it might be a false alarm, and it might be that Tony was simply moving to a chronic vegetative state in which he might respond to some stimuli but never quite rejoin them.

Ducky knew all this and had even been reminded of it all by Talia, during her call. But given all the years Donald Mallard had known Anthony DiNozzo, he was willing to bet money that Tony would beat the odds.

Which was why, as he headed toward his car, he made his own call and felt some relief when he heard the familiar, gravelly voice answer, just a little more gravelly with sleep. "Ducky...?"

"Yes, my dear, it's me." He tried to keep the rising excitement out of his voice and focus on all that might lay ahead. As it was, he had some serious explaining to do. But if Tony was waking up, he would need his 'family,' there, which for now would have to be himself and Abby. And if Abby were to be the steady, supportive presence Tony would need – and which he knew she could be – she had to be brought up to speed quickly. And what better way than a quiet conversation, in his car, as they drove out to Bethesda? "I'm coming to get you and will be there in thirty minutes. Tony's doctor thinks he may be waking up ... and I think we need to be there with him when he does..."