Thanks, everyone, for your comments. Annie B. has been helping me by betaing this story, and I'm making small revisions as I read through it again.

CHAPTER 5

Coffee. He could smell coffee and his stomach rumbled with hunger. Opening one eye, and then the other, Tony discovered that Jethro was sitting at his bedside. Well, more like he was snoozing, listing to one side, cradling his injured arm in his sleep. He looked pale and worn out, and should be home in bed, thought Tony. It was dark out, and a bedside lamp was casting a warm glow over the hospital room.

There was a magnum-sized Java Joe's cup on the rolling table that extended over the bed, hence the enticing aroma of coffee. Right next to it sat a tray bearing several small dishes of what appeared to be baby food. Tony pulled a face and asked aloud, "Think we can order pizza?" A nasal cannula was irritating his nose, and although anything was better than an oxygen mask, his throat was so dry and gritty that just uttering a few words cause him to cough.

The dry coughing immediately woke Jethro up. Startled, Jethro jumped to attention. The sudden movement must have jarred his shoulder; he let out a gasp and hunched over before sitting down abruptly. Tony hated seeing Jethro in pain, and he muttered, "Shit," while pressing the call button.

After a long moment, Jethro looked up to find Tony watching him intently. A flush rose up his neck. "Forgot," was all Jethro said.

Tony asked, "Are you okay now?" He was pretty sure he wasn't going to get a truthful answer, but he had to ask anyway.

Jethro wiped his forearm across his forehead. "If I don't make any sudden moves."

"Sorry I startled you," said Tony.

Jethro looked embarrassed and shrugged it off. "Not your fault." His taut mouth and trying-too-hard-to-be-in-control expression indicated he was still feeling considerable pain.

A nurse entered and Tony pointed at Jethro, who was trying his damnedest to act as if he was perfectly fine. The nurse, who said her name was Celia, questioned him with a 'Don't mess with me, honey' kind of attitude. With a put-upon sigh, Jethro awkwardly pulled a prescription pill container out of his pants pocket. "Got these," he said, squinting at the label.

"They won't do you any good sitting in your pocket," admonished the nurse.

She held out her hand but Jethro shook his head and struggled to open the prescription container on his own. He swore under his breath but soon got the top off. He shook out two pills and took them with a mouthful of coffee. "Refill?" he asked the nurse.

"There's a fresh pot at the nurse's station. I'll get you some," Celia said, shaking her head. She turned to Tony, inquiring if he needed anything.

"Pizza?" Tony asked hopefully.

"Sorry, pizza is not on the menu tonight. You should drink as much as you can. It'll help your sore throat. How about you eat…" Celia looked over Tony's meal and said tentatively, "That brown stuff and some of that green stuff?"

"What is it?" Tony asked, peering at the unappetizing stuff on the tray.

"The brown is…apple sauce? Green is jello," Celia said, not sounding at all certain.

Tony poked at the green stuff with a spoon and watched it wiggle. "'I am lime-green jello and I can't even admit it to myself.'"

Celia's expression brightened. "That's from that Megan Fox movie, right?"

"Jennifer's Body," Tony confirmed. "Female empowerment disguised as a bloodbath flick."

"I thought it was sort of sad, even if she did slaughter a lot of folks. Now, let me check on a few things here, and I'll be out of your hair in a jiffy, Congressman."

"Please, call me Tony," he corrected, smiling. He received a wide smile from the nurse in response. Tony looked over at Jethro, who was staring at him. "What?"

"Nothing."

"Oh, God, I sounded just like my father right then, didn't I? Better watch that," Tony said to Jethro with a smile, a genuine one.

"Your father talk in riddles as much as you do?" Jethro inquired.

"Riddles? Oh, no…movie quotes. No, he's not a movie buff. He likes watching the Weather Channel though. And anything about the Civil War."

Celia made notes of Tony's stats. He was still connected to a couple of machines but they had been put on silent mode, thankfully. Currently there was one, rather than two IVs delivering medication into his arm. Jethro glanced at Tony's oxygen stats and saw they'd improved a lot in the last couple of hours.

Before Celia left, she told Tony, "Things are looking better, but your temperature is still high. Think you can swallow some Tylenol or you prefer a shot?"

"I can handle pills," he said quickly.

"Oh, and I'm supposed to inform you that a Dr. Bradley Pitt is coming in to see you soon."

Tony vaguely remembered demanding his own doctor. "Did my dad call Dr. Pitt?"

"No. I called him," Jethro said gruffly.

"You did?"

Jethro waited for the nurse to give Tony some Tylenol, and for her to leave, before replying. "I told Dr. Mason that if he wanted what was best for you, he'd better get your doctor over here, just like you'd asked."

Tony narrowed his eyes. "Did you threaten Dr. Mason?"

A slight flush colored Jethro's neck. "Didn't need to. He did like I asked."

Tony laughed. "I think maybe you sound threatening even when you ask nicely."

"I just made a request," Jethro protested, somehow looking innocent.

"Yeah, I'm sure you did," Tony replied. He smiled broadly at Jethro, finding that he liked him more and more, as time went by. And, for some reason, he felt comfortable with Jethro Gibbs. Of course the man had gone out on a limb and protected him from that crazy Frank Beals. And he'd been hurt as a consequence, and had played it down.

Usually, Tony kept his distance from people; he was nice to everyone he met, often charming, amusing, sometimes serious or concerned – all genuine emotions – but he rarely gave any of his true self to them. He'd learned his lesson the hard way, by trusting his own father, Wendy, a handful of other people who he'd become close to, and then getting his heart ripped out for being so open. A sucker, that's what he was. Jethro though…he seemed different, more genuine. No apparent agenda. It was nice to be able to engage in small talk with him, to sit here without worrying Jethro was waiting for an opportunity to sneak under his defenses.

Jethro settled back in his chair and looked Tony over. "You're better."

Tony noticed that Jethro tended to make statements rather than ask questions. He agreed, "I'm not coughing so much."

Jethro indicated his own face and neck while eyeing Tony. "Bruises are getting colorful, but at least you don't look so…gray."

"Gray is not a good color on me," Tony said seriously. He touched his ribs. "My skin looks like squished bananas. Nothing broken though." The swelling around his eye had gone way down and he could, thankfully, see out of it, but it was badly bruised, as was his neck. The bottom line was that he felt battered, and very tired, and no wonder, after everything that had happened in the past week, being kidnapped and beaten, escaping and getting manhandled when his persistent kidnapper showed up at Jethro's. However, within a few days, the muscle aches would lessen and he'd be able to get right back to work. It was important to show his face, to prove to the world that he hadn't been diminished in any way by his experience. He coughed a bit, and although the coughs soon stopped, he was exhausted.

"It hurt to talk?"

Tony cleared his throat. "No, sort of scratchy though." He wiped a hand over his forehead and reached for a plastic cup of water. "I feel kinda hot. Can we open a window?"

Jethro didn't hesitate. He opened the window furthest away from Tony's bed, just a crack. "Bet it would take a lot to prevent you from talking," he said, a slight smile on his lips. He replenished Tony's empty cup and found him a drinking straw.

"You'd win that bet," Tony admitted. "Jethro? Why did he threaten me with a knife when he had…"

"Had a gun?" Jethro nodded. He knew exactly who Tony was talking about. "Most people find a blade scarier than a gun. They can better imagine getting cut than being shot," he said matter-of-factly.

Tony nodded slightly. He'd been scared shitless; sharp blades did that to him. "It worked."

"He was insane," Jethro pointed out.

Again, Tony nodded.

"He was hurting you," Jethro said with a growl.

"I know," Tony said, whispering, wondering why this was so difficult to deal with, to even to talk about.

"'They bring a knife, we bring a gun,'" Jethro quoted.

Tony blinked at him. "Are you…quoting Sean Connery?"

Jethro cocked his head a little. "Am I?"

Tony chuckled. "Good thing we don't live during Prohibition, because as soon as I get home I'm going to have a big drink." He turned his head to look out the window. The long shadows suggested it was late in the day. "I guess I'm stuck here for the night." His neck and back ached pretty badly, and they'd found blood in his urine, courtesy of Beals' heavy fists. At least he didn't have to wear the neck brace any longer. It had given him muscle spasms, made things worse. "I don't know why they're keeping me here. I just want to go home," Tony said longingly.

"Funny thing is, when people are coughing and choking, and have a fever, they like to keep an eye on them," Jethro said sourly.

Tony couldn't help smiling at Jethro's sourpuss face, and because it was pretty obvious that Jethro's sarcasm was covering up the fact he cared about his wellbeing.

"What?" Jethro demanded, scowling.

"Nothing. Just…you try so hard to prove you're not a nice guy when you really are, underneath all the tough Marine, NCIS-agent vibe you have going on. Really are nice, I mean." Tony tried a spoonful of the green jello, smiling to himself.

"Vibe? I have a vibe?" Jethro demanded, as if the word was dirty.

Tony continued eating. "This isn't half bad. Minty."

"Must be the VIP jello. I've never had any jello I'd ever call good."

Tony took another bite before putting the bowl back on the tray. "I'd rather have a bowl of your chicken noodle soup, and be sitting in front of your fire," he said wistfully. He felt hot and uncomfortable, and wished he was anywhere but in the hospital. "What time's it?"

Jethro said, "It's almost five." His phone buzzed in his pocket. After pulling it out and glancing at it, he said, "My team…my people are here."

Disappointed, Tony managed to say, "Oh," which sounded so feeble he mentally kicked himself. He forced a smile, finding it harder than usual to make it seem natural. "Of course, you have to get back. You should rest. Sorry about wrecking your home," he said, referring to the big hole on the front porch that Beals had fallen into. "Not sorry about what happened to him though."

"I know." Jethro took hold of Tony's hand and gave it a squeeze.

Tony almost wished the man would just go if he was going, and not drag it out, because now his eyes were hot and pricking, and any minute he'd be making a fool of himself.

Jethro said softly, "I could stay."

Tony came to his senses. "No, no. You need to get back to your life. I'm gonna conk out any minute. So much for being the life of the party," Tony said with a self-effacing smile, letting his hand slip out of Jethro's.

Jethro continued looking at him, as if he were waiting for something. "You know my door's always open."

"I know. And…thank you, Jethro. Only, you're getting the short end of the stick."

Jethro raised his eyebrows questioningly.

"You know what it means when you save someone's life…" Tony managed to give a bright smile.

Jethro didn't smile in return. "Yeah. It means I'm responsible for you forever," he said seriously, getting to his feet.

"I'll see you." Tony wondered why it felt as though he was losing his best friend.

"Semper fi. You take it easy, let others do the heavy lifting," Jethro warned, his voice low and kind.

"You, too, Jethro. Take care of that arm," Tony replied. He closed his eyes, not wanting to watch Jethro leave, wishing he could say something to make him stay, yet knowing how selfish that was.

"You'll be okay?" Jethro laid a hand on Tony's shoulder, encouraging Tony to open his eyes and look up at him.

Tony wasn't used to being on the receiving end of any comforting gestures, and would normally shake it off, but it felt too good to deny. "Sure," Tony said with a tired smile. "Lydia will sneak some pizza in here, in that big handbag of hers. I'll be my staff has been celebrating. I'll bet they made a bundle."

Jethro frowned. "On what?"

Tony looked askance at Jethro. "You don't think that the kidnapper wanted me out of his hair badly enough to pay them to take me away?" he joked.

"I have heard you can be quite a pain," Jethro replied with an amused snort.

"True, and I'll have you know, my reputation is very important to me," Tony said with a smirk.

"It's good to have people who care about you, Tony. Here's my numbers." Gibbs scribbled a couple of phone numbers down on a brochure left on Tony's bedside table. The cover featured a graphic illustration of lungs filled with the words, 'wheeze HACK cough.'

"Could you…do you know where…the red hoodie is? They cut it off me," Tony said, hating that his words were so clumsy.

"I'll see what I can do," Jethro said with a nod, and then he turned on his heel and was gone.

As tired as he was, Tony couldn't sleep. He dozed for a while, but the nurses kept checking on him, drawing blood, giving him liquids, helping him to the bathroom – which he could have done perfectly well on his own, had he not been attached to an IV and a couple of monitors.

When Dr. Pitt arrived a couple of hours later, Tony was finishing a phone conversation with his father. It was a short call, as Tony was tired, and his voice wasn't strong enough to do battle with his overbearing father. Tony often gave in to his father's wishes, but this time he was determined not to let him run roughshod over him.

"No, Dad, I am not doing a press conference…no…no, I can barely speak…I don't care what your publicist…I don't have a publicist. When did that happen?" Tony brushed his hair back and talked over his father. "If you give any statements that even sound like you're speaking for me, I am going to call George McKinsey at The Press and promise him a private interview, and I'll let the world know how fucking high-handed…Yes, that is a threat. Jesus, Dad, aren't you even listening?"

Tony saw Brad cautiously enter his room, and decided he'd had enough of quarreling with his father. He coughed a couple of times and said in a hoarse voice, "You know what, Dad? I'm done. You talk to the press. Do your campaigning. Just don't speak for me." He hung up the phone and covered his eyes with his hands. "You ever I wish you were an orphan?"

"Every time I had to compete with my five brothers and sisters for the bathroom," Brad said with a chuckle.

Tony lowered his hands. "Sounds like fun."

"I can tell you never had siblings," Brad said. His expression turned serious. "From everything I've read in your file, and from what Dr. Mason has filled me in on, you shouldn't be talking at all, Tony."

Tony gave Brad a big smile with his lips together, and made as if to zipper them.

"Yeah, okay. I know it isn't easy. Since you called me, it's all right if I look you over?" Tony nodded and Brad proceeded to take Tony's vitals. He checked Tony's injuries, and his lungs, and then asked him some questions that demanded brief responses. "You've been through the wringer."

"Squeezed dry," Tony admitted. He picked at the blanket for a minute, then asked, "Why can't I remember how he caught me in the first place?"

Brad indicated the side of Tony's neck, slightly behind his ear. "There's a bruise here. It appears that you were injected with a fast-acting sedative." Tony's hand immediately flew to his neck, and Brad explained, "The drug screen showed traces of various chemicals in your urine, including ketamine. It's potent and very dangerous."

Tony felt sick. "How did he…?"

Brad said, "Not sure. Possibly got you in a chokehold, jabbed the needle into you, and held you until it worked. It could have gone very badly for you."

Brad's expression convinced Tony he was very lucky to be alive. "I can't believe I was stupid enough to let someone come up on me like that."

"You were jogging?"

"I think…maybe I stopped to tie my shoe." Tony pressed the heel of his hand to his forehead. "I don't know…"

"It's okay," said Brad, looking concerned.

Tony just shook his head helplessly. It wasn't okay, not at all. "He must have had a vehicle right there." He imagined Beals dragging him like a 200-pound sack of potatoes across the sidewalk, and dumping him in a van. It wasn't a pleasant thought.

"The other drugs he gave you were a mix that should never be given together," Brad noted. "I'm surprised you remember anything at all, Tony. You're very lucky…"

Tony laughed humorlessly. "Maybe I should head for Vegas, what with all this luck I'm having."

"I would advise you to take it slowly, rest up," said Brad, with a look of warning. "The good news is that you don't seem to have any lingering effects; the bruises will fade, kidneys are improving, and most importantly, your lungs sound good. You have nothing major to be worried about."

Tony nodded. He'd been exposed to a chemical agent when he was on assignment in the Middle East for Global Elite. That was over ten years ago, and his lungs, although greatly improved, had never been the same. If Dr. Pitt hadn't been the pulmonary specialist on call at the time, and if hadn't urged him to fight harder, Tony knew that he would have died a horrible death, choking on his own blood.

"How about the rest of you though?"

"You mean…like my wrists? They're okay." Tony looked at his bandaged wrists.

"Actually, I was talking about your mental state. Now, don't roll your eyes at me, Tony. You've been through a hell of a lot the past week, and it'll take a while for everything to calm down, and even more time before you feel normal again."

Tony sent Brad a puzzled look. "I'm normal, or as normal as I'll ever be."

Brad looked thoughtfully at Tony. "How do you feel right now?"

With a sigh, knowing he had to go through this test before the doctor would deem him well enough to go home, Tony said, "Relieved. Happy, I guess."

"You're not sure if you're happy?"

Slightly annoyed, Tony responded carefully, "I am happy I got out alive. I'm more than happy…or maybe glad is a better word, that Jethro Gibbs killed the guy who held me hostage. I will definitely not be experiencing any guilt over that. I'm irritated that I have to jump through hoops before you'll believe me when I say I'm okay. I'm not freaking out. I was a cop. I get it, that I'll probably have bad dreams, and be stressed out and overly cautious for a while. However," Tony said, holding up a finger to prevent Brad from interrupting him while he drank some water. "However, I plan on carrying a concealed weapon from now on, and if that makes me seem paranoid or freaked out, well, I'm not. I'm taking preventative measures, protecting myself, that's all."

Far from being alarmed, Brad seemed satisfied with everything Tony had disclosed to him. "My advice is for you to connect with your friends and family, Tony. You need to be in a safe environment for a while. Besides, you could do with a couple of weeks of down-time to recover from your injuries, and it's not like you can do any public speaking so long as your cough persists." He held out his hand, and Tony shook it. "You're a strong man, Congressman. Somewhat pig-headed at times," he added with a quirk of a smile. "I'll leave you to rest now. I'll check in with you in the morning, but feel free to call me any time, day or night, okay?" Brad handed Tony his business card. "Any questions or concerns?"

Tony only had one question. "Okay, Doc, so now you know I'm fine, how soon can I get out of here?"

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