I post this chapter in honor of September 1st. This means there are only 20 days until the premiere of NCIS Season Eight!
Ricky came sauntering back to where Gibbs and Tony sat, balancing two sandwiches on top of the two large coffees.
Gibbs grabbed the food without acknowledging Ricky's deed, holding out his hand for the spare change. Ricky sighed heavily, pulled a crumpled bill and a few coins from his pocket, and dropped them into Gibbs' palm.
"That must be my coffee." Tony croaked as he forced open both eyes and reached eagerly for the cup.
"Not too fast, DiNozzo, or it'll make you sick," Gibbs ordered before handing over the brew. Gibbs knew Tony was aware of that fact, but Gibbs couldn't help saying it anyway. There was just something about Tony that managed to invoke Gibbs' paternal side, stirring the protective instincts Gibbs thought had died fifteen years ago. Yet, somehow, whenever DiNozzo was hurt, these feeling came back full-force.
"Yes, mother," Tony replied sarcastically before taking a big gulp of the steaming liquid. Almost the instant the coffee hit his stomach, he could feel the caffeine seeping into his system. It wouldn't be long now before he was back to his normal charming self.
He took another large swig before placing the cup in his lap and eyeing the sandwich.
"The same goes for the sandwich," Gibbs stated in response to Tony's expectant stare.
Tony chose not to reply, instead focusing his energy on unwrapping the Philly cheesesteak. His mouth began watering uncontrollably as the smell of the freshly cooked sirloin wafted through the air. He hadn't realized how hungry he was until this very minute, but really, he hadn't eaten since lunch yesterday. He demolished the sandwich in a few hearty bites, discarding Gibbs' advice about eating slowly.
"That good?" Gibbs asked with a hint of reproach in his tone.
"Only the best in Baltimore," Tony replied, leaning backwards, stretching out his long legs in front of him. He clasped his hands over his chest and closed his eyes once again. His momentary adrenaline rush had ended, but the real food and coffee had left him feeling marginally better than he had a few moments ago; while most of his symptoms were still present, being able to remain conscious for a while was a definite improvement.
He flinched as he heard a wild acceleration and the sudden screech of brakes.
"Ziva's here," he announced to Gibbs without opening his eyes.
"How could you tell?" Gibbs quipped in response.
Tony opened one eye as pounding footsteps and heavy breathing approached.
"Geez, McHefty," Tony cracked as McGee bent over with his hands on his knees, panting heavily. "Maybe you should visit the gym a little more. It would do you some good."
"If this is the thanks I get for leaving my Comic-Con convention in order to drive here to help you deal with some crazy psycho, then I'm going home," McGee shot back between pants.
"My bad, Elf Lord. I appreciate your great sacrifice. That's only the…third?—or is it the fourth—convention you've been to this year?" Tony returned, not ready to lose this battle of wills to someone who played considered online video games a form of social interaction.
"You look like death passed over," Ziva commented to Tony, as she took the seat between him and Gibbs, effectively cutting off McGee's next retort.
"It's warmed over, Zee-vah. And thank you so much for that, by the way. It's just what I wanted to hear today, right up there with my partner's been kidnapped by a psycho and Mason's was released from jail without anyone telling me about it," Tony snapped, his eyes shooting daggers at the Mossad operative.
McGee frowned at Tony's sudden mood swing and chose not to respond as he straightened up, pulled his iPhone from his pocket and handed it to Gibbs.
"Hey, boss. You're supposed to call Ducky. But be warned: he's not too thrilled you checked Tony out of the hospital…"
"Yeah, well, we didn't really have much choice," Gibbs muttered as he dialed the Scotsman. He pulled the phone away from his ear as the irate Medical Examiner began reprimanding him.
"Jetho! I cannot believe you would do such an insane thing as checking young Anthony out of the hospital! Nerium oleander poisoning is not something you just shake off when you're through with it. Considering the extensive damage to Anthony's lungs as a result of the Y. Pestis, he should remain in the hospital for a considerable while longer."
"You done, Duck?" Gibbs asked as Ducky paused for breath.
"Yes, yes, Jethro, I am finished. I am sorry that you had the misfortune of being on the receiving end of my anger. The bastard who did this has me all worked up. How is Anthony doing anyway?"
"I'll let him tell you." Gibbs handed the phone to Tony with a stern glare.
"Hi Ducky!" Tony called with as much enthusiasm as he could muster. "How are you?"
"Anthony! I am not in the mood for your wit! We're going to cut straight to the chase: How are you feeling? Are you in any pain?"
"Well…not—" Gibbs glowered at Tony with such intensity that the Senior Field Agent actually recoiled slightly in an attempt to escape his boss' line of sight.
"Anthony!" Ducky bellowed. Tony jumped slightly, having forgotten about the Medical Examiner, who was keen on verbally accosting him from D.C. He fumbled to catch his airborne phone before answering the question.
"Well, my stomach aches, my head feels like the OSU marching band is holding practice using my skull as the playing field and I feel kinda out of it," he replied obediently.
"Well, it appears you ingested a higher dose of the nerium oleander than the doctors originally thought. I thought as much, and have sent a remedy along with Timothy."
Tony looked expectantly at McGee who handed over a small black doctor's bag.
"Yeah, we have the bag," Tony told Ducky, while opening the bag and inspecting its contents. He pulled out a syringe and small vial.
"It's not the shot, Ducky, is it?" Tony asked, a note of apprehension creeping into his tone.
"Why, yes, Anthony, it is. The vial is filled with Digibind, which is the antidote for a digitalis overdose. Fortunately, the chemical structure of digitalis and nerium oleander are remarkable similar. It is a recent discovery that will be most beneficial to the medical world. Now, give me back to Jethro, if you would be so kind."
Tony unhappily handed over the phone, continuing to hold the vial and syringe at arm's length.
"Jethro. You remember how to administer injections, don't you? You were a great help to me in Paris during the—well, that's not important now. Just remember to clean the injection site thoroughly—5 cc's of the Digibind should do it. The treatment is experimental though, so you will have to keep a close eye on his for the next hour to ensure our lad does not develop an allergic reaction. You should also have him drink the beverage I've included—it's a patented Mallard remedy that is known to have remarkable rejuvenating effects."
"Thanks, Duck," Gibbs said, his thumb hovering over the End call button.
"Who is the bastard anyway, Jethro?" Ducky questioned before Gibbs' finger made contact with the iPhone screen.
"James Mason." Gibbs replied, disconnecting the phone to a few choice expletives uttered by the Scotsman.
"My god, Tony, it's just a shot," Ziva frowned at her co-worker, finding it hard to believe that Tony was truly afraid of anything.
"I'm not afraid of it, Zee-vah," Tony responded, picking up on Ziva's underlying statement. "I just don't like getting poked and prodded with sharp objects. Contracting the plague kinda does that for you."
"How do you Americans say it? Man up?" Ziva looked to McGee for clarification and was rewarded with an affirmative nod. "Well, then, man up, Tony." Before Tony could protest, she turned her back on him, busing herself with an evaluation of Ricky. She shook her head disapprovingly, not pleased with what she saw. The man was going to cause trouble for them; of this, Ziva was sure. She'd have to keep an eye on him to ensure the safety of this mission.
"Easy for you to say," Tony muttered before turning back to where Gibbs had been standing. "Just get it over with, boss. We've got places to be, people to see, banks to rob. Ow!" He rubbed his upper arm, glaring viciously at his boss who was holding the now empty syringe between two fingers. With much effort, Tony bit back a sharp comment about Gibbs resembling a certain Vicodin-addicted doctor, deciding it wasn't the time or place for a pop culture reference.
"Ducky says to drink this," Gibbs rooted through the bag and produced the drink.
"You sure about that, boss? I think the water in Iraq was cleaner than this," Tony replied, staring suspiciously at the muddy brown liquid Ducky had sent.
"I so swear, DiNozzo, if you don't drink every last drop…" Gibbs trailed off, the implications of his threat resonating loudly with his agent.
"On it, boss," Tony replied dutifully before taking a large gulp of the murky drink. He grimaced as the thick, clumpy liquid slid down his throat. It was awful! Imagine burning rubber combined with rotting eggs topped with expired milk, and that was a Wolfgang Puck buffet compared to this. He knew better than to complain, and obediently downed the rest of the remedy without comment.
"What now, boss?" Tony questioned, viciously chucking the empty bottle back into Ducky's bag.
"Where's your fake ID?"
"It's in the backyard of my old house, next to Rick and TC's graves."
"For what does he need his fake ID?" Ziva questioned at the same time McGee asked, "Who or what were Rick and TC?"
Gibbs didn't respond to either, choosing to march quickly toward the NCIS sedan. Tony slowly pulled himself to his feet, pleasantly surprised when the world stayed upright. Apparently, that stuff Ducky had given him was working. He set off after his boss at a slow pace, increasing his speed when he remained conscious and alert.
"Shotgun!" he cried.
McGee and Ziva looked at each other and rolled their eyes before following Gibbs and Tony to the car. It was going to be a long car ride.
Some where between the Baltimore park and the United Bank of Baltimore, Tony began feeling much better. Whatever Ducky had packed into that drink was really having the desired effect—his muscles no longer felt leaden and staying awake was once again a simple task. However, the Medical Examiner might have been a little overzealous adding the caffeine to the concoction…well, having that extra large coffee with said concoction probably wasn't the best idea either…but he could no longer remain still; he was sitting with his ankle on his opposite knee, the foot that was in the air was twitching spasmodically and the foot on the floor was tapping the melody to an upbeat Sinatra song. Not only that, but he was actually twiddling his thumbs.
In less than twenty minutes, he had crossed to the other end of the enthusiasm spectrum, but at least, at this end, he was more his normal self. Moving that much in a cramped back seat, however, wasn't boding well for his continual survival. Ricky had refused to sit in the back, forcing Tony to surrender his previously claimed seat. Now, he sat next to Ziva, who had taken the middle seat after McGee, who, in a surprisingly unProbie move, had pulled rank. She was the unhappy recipient of his jumpy behavior and continued to shoot him dirty looks for the entire trip.
They had stopped by Tony's old house, a quaint little condo not far from the BPD Headquarters. Without pause, Tony jumped out of the car, muttering something about "Terra firma!" under his breath and disappeared behind the house. Before long, he came around the corner, holding a plastic Ziploc full of fake identification in one hand. As Gibbs pressed the gas pedal to the floor ensuring a speedy trip to the United Bank of Baltimore, Tony took the opportunity to fill in his coworkers about his and Gibbs' first case and Mason's return, all the while bouncing impatiently in his seat. Ziva was fixing Tony with glares that rivaled Gibbs' own, but before she could do something drastic, Gibbs pulled up to the bank.
"How did we do?" Gibbs questioned, looking at his agents in the rearview mirror.
"Well, boss, I think we broke the sound barrier a few miles back and briefly entered Mach 1, McGee almost ralphed on his new Armani shoes and Ziva, well, Ziva didn't say much the entire trip," Tony reported.
Gibbs turned around and fixed him with a glare that would have had even Fornell cringing.
Tony immediately sobered, his attempt to lighten the mood discarded. "Lunch break is in half an hour, boss," he answered.
"Good," Gibbs nodded and turned to Ricky, staring evenly at the man who had been assigned to follow them. Ricky cleared his throat before beginning.
"The safety deposit boxes in question are numbers 452 and 494. Do not attempt to place a tracker or bug of any sort on these items or Mason will shoot your friends."
"Yeah, yeah, we know," Tony interrupted, waving his hand dismissively.
"What's the plan, boss?" McGee questioned after a moment of thoughtful silence.
"Ask DiNozzo. It's his bank," Gibbs replied, returning his gaze to his Senior Field Agent.
"Okay, the safety deposit boxes have three security levels: one is the metal key assigned to moi, the second is the key card swiped by the on-duty security guard, and the third is the password submitted by the off-duty security guard in the security room. If any of these are not present, the alarm will sound and the vault door will close automatically, locking the intruders inside. But here's the good news: the United Bank of Baltimore is an old-fashioned, mom-and-pop joint—it still closes for lunch time between twelve and one. That'd be the best time to move."
"What do you know about the vault?"
"Nothing. Never had enough money to merit a look-see into the vault," Tony responded without a hint of regret.
"We'll have to ring it," Ziva stated confidently, positive she had nailed that idiom.
"Wing it, Ziva. We'll have to wing it," Tony corrected. "You're an American citizen now—you should be getting these idioms right now. It's part of The Code."
"What code?" Ziva asked, a puzzled expression on her face.
"Never mind," Tony declared with a deep sigh. "How much time we got left, boss?"
"Enough time for you to sit back and shut up," Gibbs snapped.
Tony relaxed into his seat, resigning himself to the most boring half an hour of his life. He hated waiting, especially when Kenzie's life was on the line. Kenzie was one of the few Baltimore cops who had bothered to find out more about the newly transferred Uni, and had treated him well, despite his wisecracks and practical jokes. He and Kenzie had been a great team and had held the highest solve rate in the department, but more than that, they'd been close friends. Tony would do anything to ensure Kenzie's continued safety, be it robbing a bank in broad daylight, surrendering his hand to the heart of the warrior, or dancing with the devil in the pale moonlight.
He couldn't wait to get his hands on Mason after this whole debacle was resolved. If Mason thought he was going to get away with this, he certainly had another thing coming…
We had to get Tony back on his feet, since he has such an important role in the next chapter.
I already have the next chapter written, and since this one is essentially actionless, I will post Chapter Seven within the next few days.
Thanks for reading! My loyal reviewers, you're the greatest! Those of you who haven't reviewed yet, I'd love to hear from you!