So yeah. Here it is....FINALLY....chapter 11. I know you guys have been waiting a long time for this and I'm sorry. Between idiot boy drama (Why are all the good-looking ones complete assholes? Is that like, a rule or something?) and fighting with my mother on whether or not I need therapy (she thinks I'm suicidal due to my habitual mono-syllabic phone conversations. I just hate talking on the phone! UGH!) I have had a very full and emotionally dysfunctional several weeks.
But I managed to overcome my writers block through all that and thus this chapter finally made it into existence.
P.S.: For those of you who requested the hot pink Irish talking mushrooms, you're going to have to wait until the next chapter. Which will hopefully be up sooner than what my abysmal updating skills have been doing lately.
Chapter 11
It was dark when I finally became aware of myself again. I felt strange, almost as if I was floating in space and all the stars had disappeared.
Was I dead?
I thought about that possibility for a moment. Being dead would really suck right now.
I tried to move, so I could make more sense of my surroundings, but my muscles weren't working and still I could see nothing. Where the hell was I? Where was Ziva, and Gibbs, and Ducky? Was I really dead?
No, of course not, stupid.
How do you know?
I'm thinking death would be less painful.
But I'm not in any pain.
Yes you are.
And as the word came up, I discovered that I really was. It was throbbing all over my body…especially around my left shoulder and arm. What the hell had I been doing? I vaguely remembered lying in a ditch on the side of an empty road. Was I still there? Had no one found me yet? I settled back into whatever I was on and sighed. Gibbs would find me. I just had to hang on a little while longer.
Then, gradually, noises started to reach my ears. An incessant, steady beeping and murmuring voices.
Voices.
So I wasn't in the ditch still?
I tried to move my right arm to feel the grass under me, but all I managed to do was twitch my fingers a little. What they touched didn't feel like grass, or dirt, or anything that you would find outside. It felt like linen…like bed sheets.
My mind began to catch up with the rest of me at that point, putting all the clues together.
Beeping.
Linen sheets.
Murmuring voices.
I must be in a hospital. My mind flashed back to the time when I had the plague…blue lights still gave me the creeps.
"Did you see that?" a voice whispered, coming from somewhere in the vicinity of my feet. It sounded like McGee.
"See what?" a second voice answered from my left side, sounding very, very tired and very, very much like Ziva.
"He just twitched his fingers!"
"He did that about two hours ago, McGee."
"I know, but this time it was his whole hand; he moved his whole hand."
"That does not mean he is waking up."
"Well, at least we know he's not comatose."
"He was not in a coma."
"I know, but…"
"He has survived the pneumonic plague, McGee. He can survive a knife wound in the shoulder." Ziva sounded like she was trying to reassure herself more than Probie, however. I did not like to think that I was making her worry, so I decided it was time to insert myself into the conversation.
"Listen to Ziva, McGee," I said, my voice coming out as a hoarse whisper. "You can't get rid of me that easy."
"Tony!" Ziva said as I opened my eyes. I could see her smiling at me from the left side of the bed, her hands entwined tightly in the one of mine that she could reach.
"Hey, Ziva," I murmured, looking her over carefully. She looked extremely tired, and still in the clothes I remembered her wearing before.
"Why don't you go get Gibbs and the doctor, McGee?" she asked, her eyes not leaving mine.
"Uh…okay," the Probie said slowly, looking back and forth between me and the beautiful Israeli woman, obviously putting two and two together in his head.
"What are you doing, McDawdle?" I asked after a couple long seconds and he hadn't moved.
"Observing," he said, a grin pulling at the corners of his mouth.
"Well, don't."
"I'm a federal investigator, Tony. It's what I do."
"Go do it somewhere else. And bring a doctor with extremely effective pain medication with you when you come back."
He patted me on the shoulder (my good one) in a brotherly sort of manner, and then left the room, shutting the door quietly behind him.
"Are you in pain?" Ziva asked me worriedly, leaning in closer.
"Nah," I said calmly, trying not to wince as I said it.
"You just asked McGee to get painkillers."
"Do you have any idea how trippy these hospital pain meds can be? Of course I want them."
She gave me a Look (capital L) and punched me gently in the leg. "Be serious."
"I am."
I stared into Ziva's eyes for a good long second after McGee left. We had been so busy since the last time we'd been so intimately close, and therefore had no time to properly deal with rather severe change in our relationship had taken. We'd gone from innocent, flirtatious partners to whatever the hell we were now with one long, heavenly, seemingly perfect kiss in the office that now came back to my mind with perfect clarity. What kind of change would that mean for us? What would it do to our work dynamic? I wanted to know that the kiss was real, I wanted to know that it was more than just two people taking something too far on accident.
Ziva was softly rubbing her fingers on the hand of mine that she still held. I wanted to ask her all these things that were burning in my mind, but every time I opened my mouth to speak, the words would stick in my throat. So I finally had to settle on something a little less complicated. Like, the reason I was lying in this hospital bed anyway.
"So, what's wrong with me, Nurse Ziva?" I asked her nonchalantly.
"I'm sure you remember that you got stabbed in the shoulder," she reminded me. "And the reason you collapsed in Autopsy is because your actions had finally caught up with you."
"Right. I take it that you want to know how I made it back to NCIS after being briefly kidnapped?"
"You can tell me later," she said. "But at the moment I'm just grateful you're here with us." She leaned forward slightly, but pulled back shortly as a familiar doctor walked into the room, followed shortly by Gibbs.
"McGee's getting coffee. Why don't you join him, David?"
"Of course, Gibbs," she replied, the only hesitation she showed in following the order was the lingering touch she left as she let go of my hand.
"You really need to take better care of yourself, DiNozzo," the doctor said, and I recognized him as I pulled his face out of the fog that was my memories as a plague victim.
"Brad!" I exclaimed.
"How in the world could you have pissed someone off enough to make them stab you with a seven-inch knife?" he asked, shaking his head and looking over my charts.
"It was a case, I was doing my job," I said calmly.
"You chased a terrorist into a corner," Gibbs said.
"What else was I supposed to do? Let him go?"
"Avoid the knife next time, Tony," Gibbs said, sitting down in one of the plastic chairs by the window.
I wanted to add something in my defense to that but could think of nothing to say so instead I address Dr. Brad Pitt. "So, what's wrong with me, doc?" I asked.
"Well, a fairly large knife ripped a giant hole in your shoulder, causing massive bloodloss. It also damaged the large nerve that runs from your shoulder to your fingers, which is why your entire left arm probably hurts. That has been repaired somewhat by surgery, but it is possible that you may experience the tendency for your left arm to go numb, or fall asleep, more frequently; especially when you sleep or have long periods of inactivity."
"So I guess it will motivate you to stop being a lazy-ass at work?" Gibbs suggested.
"Great," I said sarcastically, looking at my injured arm. "Exactly what I wanted."
"Could be worse," Brad said, flipping the folder with my charts back over.
"Yeah, yeah…"
"Rest up now. If you're good, then maybe I'll let you out of here tomorrow."
"Oh, goody."
After a final check of my stats on the monitor and various other things, Brad left with a promise that he would come back again.
So I was left in the room with Gibbs. He stared at me from his little plastic chair for a long second before saying anything.
"What happened, DiNozzo?" he asked quietly. I paused before speaking, trying to get my thoughts in order.
"Um, they put me in a van, drove west, then randomly pushed me out on the side of the road," I explained, giving him the short version. "I didn't really hear anything…no names…no hints of dastardly plans for you to foil. I ended up in this ditch and some cab driver picked me up and drove me back to NCIS. Ducky and Palmer stitched me up, and I suppose you know the rest. Very anticlimactic and non-thrilling, I know."
Gibbs stared at me for a couple more seconds, then leaned forward and smacked me lightly upside the head.
"Ow! Boss, I'm injured! What was that for?"
"You know what it's for," he said, then stood up and started for the door. "Call Ziva when they release you. She'll take you home. And try not to get stabbed by anyone between now and when you come back in on Tuesday."
"Tuesday? But it's Wednesday, boss…?"
"I know what day it is, DiNozzo."
When he left, I groaned and leaned back into my pillows. I hated sitting around in my apartment being bored out of my mind. I'd rather be doing nothing at work than be doing nothing at home.
"Are you feeling okay, Mr. DiNozzo?" a nurse asked, poking her head in concernedly. "Do you need some morphine?"
"Ah, no, not right now," I responded, knowing that it would only make me sleepy and I did not want to fall asleep now, especially now that Ziva would be coming back soon. "But I would like to sit up, if that's not too much trouble."
"Sure, Mr. DiNozzo," the young female nurse walked in and pressed a little red button on the side of the bed, and I was elevated slowly into a sitting position as McGee and Ziva came back into the room.
"I brought you something," Ziva said, holding a cup out to me. I took it with my free hand. "It's just water, but the doctor says you have to drink it so they can take you off the IV."
"Right." I tipped the cup to my lips and drained the cup in one go.
"Wow. You didn't even have to fight him about it," McGee marveled.
"I'm confused too, McProbie. No doubt Ziva used some secret interrogation technique or something on me."
"Yeah. It was called 'doctor's orders'," she said sarcastically, resuming her position seated at the left side of the bed. McGee remained standing though.
"I have to get back to work now," he explained as he headed back out the door. "Abby said she was going to come by this afternoon to see how you were."
"Alright. Bye, Probie. Don't mess with my desk while I'm gone!"
McGee rolled his eyes as he shut the door behind him.
"Why do you give him such a hard time?" Ziva asked me for perhaps the umpteenth time in the four years we'd spent working together.
"Because I'm the senior field agent. It's my right."
A small flicker of a grin touched the corners of her lips, but faded away quickly. "Has Gibbs talked to you?" she asked suddenly, leaning closer and grabbing my hand comfortingly. Whether it was for her comfort or mine, I couldn't tell.
"Gibbs? About what, exactly?"
"About…what happened in Autopsy this morning."
I suddenly had an intense flash of my actions when I had been returned to NCIS. I had forgotten the second kiss Ziva and I had shared: the brief, passionate one that I had initiated before my collapse.
"Oh…" I whispered, trailing off.
"You remember."
"I remember. I'm sorry about that."
"Are you?"
I paused before I answered with a simple, "No."
The smile that tugged on her mouth was wider and more pronounced this time. "Gibbs hasn't talked to me about it either," she said. "But I believe we're both going to be getting a lecture."
"I already got a slap on the head for it."
"At least you got it over with."
"With many more still to come, I'm sure."
She leaned forward, running a soft hand over my injured arm. "You've been unconscious almost the entire day," she said, and I could tell she was diverting away from the talk we both knew had to happen sooner or later. "Gibbs and McGee and I followed the black van, but we lost it after about an hour or so. We have no clues still about what we may have accidentally stumbled upon. He has spoken to the Director and I believe they are trying to get help from other agencies."
"We'll be lucky if we get anything. Gibbs has had too much fun pissing everyone off in the past. If anyone does end up working with us, it'll be very miserable for everyone.'
Ziva smiled wanly. "I am just glad you are okay," she whispered.
"Me too."
She leaned forward more, just a little, her hand caressing the side of my face.
…
Ziva left the hospital about twenty minutes later, via angry phone call from Gibbs. She promised to come back later, however, and with a small kiss placed on my right cheek, she departed and I was left alone.
But Abby came striding in about 2 hours after Ziva had left, plopping herself ungracefully into a chair next to the bed.
"Hi Abby," I said, putting as much cheer in my voice as I could. I knew she worried easily, and I wanted her to know that I was fine.
"Hey," was all the response I got from the forensic scientist.
"What's up with you?" I asked, immediately taken aback by the uncharacteristic harshness in her tone.
She was silent, and instead just fixed me with a steely glare.
"Are you going to tell me what I apparently did to piss you off?"
"You can't figure it out?" she asked me.
"Would I be asking if..." I started, protesting the unfair assumption all women have that men can understand the subtle hints, but trailed of in defeat. "Oh, never mind."
"Guess!" she demanded.
I racked my brain for anything I might have done recently to put myself on the Goth's bad side. Nothing came up.
"Was it because I got stabbed by a terrorist?" I knew she got touchy when one of us got hurt. "Because I can't really control who and what other people feel like stabbing with-"
"No Tony! And don't try to hide it. McGee told me what you did. He saw it!"
"Wha...?"
"You kissed Ziva! You kissed her and I wasn't there!"
I took a mental step back. "Huh?"
"I knew you liked each other, but I didn't know that it was enough for you to make out in front of Gibbs! And I missed it!"
"I thought I was about to die, Abby. The most logical thing I could think of was to make sure she knew how I felt."
"And how do you feel?"
"Like shit."
"I meant about Ziva."
"I thought that much was obvious."
"I want to hear you say it."
"But I don't know how I feel. If you want my brain analysis go to Ducky. He understands it better."
"Fine. I won't bug you anymore about it," she said, getting the hint. "I'm just excited for you that's all."
A thought struck me. "If missing it bothered you so much, then why didn't you just hack into the security cameras or something?"
A smug smile crossed her pale features. "I did. I just wanted to give you a hard time."
"Thanks. Thanks a lot, Abby," I mumbled sarcastically.
"No problem!" she said cheerfully, pulling her chair closer to the bed, the metal feet scraping loud across the floor. "I'm sorry you got stabbed by the knife, Tony," she added. "That sucks."
"Yes it does."
"Do you know when they're going to let you out?
"Dr. Brad said he'd let me out tomorrow if I was good."
"And you know that Gibbs won't let you come back to work though."
I sighed. "Yeah, I know. I am not looking forward to a week or so of doing nothing in my apartment."
"You could clean it," she suggested with a laugh.
"I doubt I'll be that bored."
Okay. That's the end of the chapter.
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