With Daniel Jordan no longer holding him upright, Tony collapsed against the bathroom wall, sliding down to slump against the tub, its closed curtain fluttering softly as he put his aching head down on the cool porcelain.

Gibbs was by his side in an instant, one hand landing on Tony's back and the other pulling out a handkerchief. He let his injured agent rest for a moment, knowing from his own past concussions that moving his head would be painful and nauseating.

"You okay?" Gibbs asked softly after several long moments of letting DiNozzo get his breath back.

"Uhnn," Tony groaned in answer, picking up his head carefully and letting Gibbs press the cloth to his bleeding temple. He blinked a few times to focus on his boss's face. "M' head hurts."

Gibbs nodded. "Getting kicked in the face will do that," he said wryly. He touched Tony's cheek gently, letting him turn his head so Gibbs could see the damage. "You're not getting out of a trip to the hospital this time, DiNozzo. You need stitches."

Tony gave a half-shrug, knowing it was futile to protest when Gibbs was looking at him like that—and also from the amount of blood still seeping down his face to land on the brightly white tub next to his injured right wrist.

Gibbs followed his eyes and put his free hand on the back of Tony's forearm, just above the bruised, swollen knot there. "And an x-ray for this wrist."

" 'S not broken," Tony said, wincing as they heard the first squeal of a siren.

Gibbs rolled his eyes, but he was glad Tony was protesting. A docile DiNozzo usually meant a severely concussed one, and Gibbs figured Tony had enough pain to deal with. "Let's let the doctors decide that, huh?"

Tony started to nod but thought better of it, instead letting his head rest on the tub again. "Not sleeping," he said after a moment.

With a smile at the apparent mind-reading, Gibbs asked, "You gonna tell me how you knew?"

That Tony didn't answer right away told Gibbs more about the severity of his head injury than a doctor could.

"When he stepped forward," Tony finally said, speaking slowly and slightly thickly, his voice still hoarse from the arm that had been clamped across his throat, "I saw the candy wrappers again."

Gibbs nodded, realizing they had both missed the clue the first time through. "Ryan's diabetic," he said, hearing the sirens approach and wondering if McGee and Ziva had found that brother at the cabin. The District is smack-dab in the middle of Aberdeen and Front Royal, so Gibbs figured he would be getting a call soon. He wished he could remember how to put his phone on vibrate so it wouldn't bother DiNozzo's head when they called. "There's no way he could have eaten all that sugar in less than a day."

"Yep," Tony confirmed, swallowing hard and making Gibbs wonder if he should move back, out of puking range. Sad green eyes slowly rose to meet Gibbs' blue ones. "That, and I also saw his scar," Tony said quietly, pulling back the shower curtain to reveal Ryan Jordan lying facedown in a pool of blood. Gibbs didn't bother checking for a pulse, considering the depth of the fluid in the tub.

"Goddammit," Gibbs swore softly, recognizing yet another senseless death. He looked to where Daniel's cooling body lay on the pink-tile floor. "Guess the bastard got his wish," he said bitterly. "Ryan's out of his mother's life."

He reached across and picked a folded sheet of paper from Daniel's jacket pocket. After quickly skimming the rambling missive, he said, "Suicide note confessing to the murder, signed 'Ryan.' Right. Guess it wasn't enough just to frame his brother for murder." He glanced at the body in the tub and the knife on the bloody sink. "Bastard had to cut his wrists, too."

Gibbs looked back at Tony to find his dazed green eyes staring at Daniel's body, a pillow of blood under his head. Gibbs blinked in surprise at the tears suddenly shining in those eyes, but he quickly realized his agent wasn't seeing Daniel lying there.

He was seeing Kevin.

Gibbs heard the first of the emergency vehicles screech to a stop in the parking lot, and he held out a hand, quickly pulling Tony to his feet and holding him by the shoulders as he swayed. "C'mon," Gibbs said, sliding an arm around his agent's back and leading him slowly out of the room. "Let's get you outta here."

He shouted an "all clear!" to the cops below, giving Tony's arm an apologetic squeeze when his agent flinched away from the sound.

A plainclothes officer ran up the stairs to meet them, and Gibbs said, much more quietly, "Two bodies. One in the tub was killed by the dirtbag I shot." He handed over his gun and a business card. "Where's the nearest hospital?"

The cop, who had a gold shield at his hip, glanced back down at the parking lot and then back at Tony's bloody face. "We've got an ambulance on the way for victims—"

"He's not a victim," Gibbs said calmly, still speaking softly. "He's an injured federal agent. Hospital?"

"Oh," the detective said, still looking slightly confused, but he gave quick directions anyway. He added an awkward, "Um, thanks?" as he moved to enter the motel room, obviously surprised the fed had turned over the crime scene so easily.

"Think you just made his day," Tony mumbled as Gibbs helped him down the stairs.

Gibbs saw that the tears were gone but Tony still looked anguished—and Gibbs could guess that it wasn't because of the concussion. Gibbs nodded in agreement, feeling his partner shaking as they slowly descended but ignoring the ambulance that pulled up next to the police cars. "Easiest case he'll ever close," he said, opening the passenger door to their sedan and guiding Tony inside. He shut the door as gently as possible and got in, taking a moment before starting the car to study Tony's pale face. "You gonna puke?"

Tony's eyes closed and he winced as he settled his injured wrist near the door handle. "Depends on your driving."

Gibbs smiled, hoping the joke meant Tony was no longer seeing Kevin on the backs of those lids. At least for now. He knew it would still take time for Tony to recover from the boy's death, but Gibbs also knew he would do whatever he could to help make that happen. "I'll even keep it under the speed limit."

"Thanks," Tony said, his eyes still closed against the vicious pounding in his skull. After a moment, he said, "And thanks for catching the code. You saved my life, Boss."

The quiet gratitude made Gibbs' chest go tight—along with the knowledge of just how close he had come to losing his agent. Again. "Well yeah, DiNozzo," he said, needing the levity after all of the senseless bloodshed. "Of course I caught it. Who the hell would bet on the 'Skins to win?"

Gibbs stood just outside the entrance to the hospital and pulled his phone, wincing at the recent memory of the nurse—a rather large, fiery black woman named Marguerite—snatching it out of his hand in the examination room. He had waited there with a pale, shaking Tony until radiology came to get him, and now, he dialed McGee's cell and wondered at the contents of the nine voicemails his junior agents had left him.

"Boss are you okay?" came the Probie's rushed voice, sans greeting.

Gibbs rolled his eyes. "Just fine," he answered.

"Then why are you at a hospital?" McGee asked, fear and confusion in his voice.

"Tracking my cell, McGee?" Gibbs asked, amused.

The Probie stammered through an explanation. "I uh, well, Ziva and I, we didn't find anyone at the, um, the cabin, so we—"

"Daniel killed Ryan," Gibbs said, cursing the bastard yet again and hoping he was roasting somewhere in the hottest section of hell. "I shot Daniel."

"Oh," McGee said, sounding relieved. His relief was short-lived, though, and he asked, "So why are you at a hospital?"

"DiNozzo got himself kicked in the head taking the bastard down," Gibbs said, keeping his guilt at not having his partner's back out of his voice. He shook his head, remembering his advice to McGee and realizing he hadn't quite pulled it off. "I've got him. You coordinate with the LEOs here."

"Okay," McGee said. "Boss? Uh, tell Tony I'm glad he's okay?"

There was a pause that made the Probie wonder if his boss had hung up on him.

Then: "Yeah, McGee. I will."

Gibbs closed the phone and headed back into the hospital, keeping a keen eye out for the feisty Marguerite. Unfortunately, it seemed she was also looking for him.

"There you are!" the nurse exclaimed, wrapping a hand around his arm with no hint of hesitation and dragging him toward the exam rooms.

Gibbs allowed himself to be towed behind the woman, and he stuffed down his worry for his agent. "First you throw me out, now you're glad to see me?" he teased, smiling as she threw a glare over her shoulder.

"I threw you out because you can't use a cell phone in a hospital," she said, her mouth twitching in a smile as she caught Gibbs' waggling eyebrows. "I'm glad to see you because your boy is causing a ruckus back here."

"Why? You wouldn't flirt back at him?"

She stopped dead in her tracks, turning and letting her eyes rake the agent from head to toe. "I'm saving it all for you, Sugar." She started moving again, still holding on tightly to Gibbs' sleeve. "Now come on."

They entered the room to find Tony sitting quietly, a bag of ice on his wrist and a doctor putting a neat row of stitches above his left eye.

Marguerite gaped, then wagged a finger at the injured agent. "First you fight me tooth and nail over getting that thick skull of yours x-rayed, and now you're sitting there, quiet as a little lamb?"

"Headed for slaughter?" Tony muttered, trying to stay still and catching the doctor's grin as he tied off the last stitch.

"We came to an agreement," the doctor said. "He agrees to a CT, and if it's clear, I won't make him stay overnight for observation." He turned, giving the nurse a smile. "It's called compromise, Marg."

"It's called bein' a sissy," she retorted, hands going to her ample hips. "And my momma didn't raise no sissy-girl."

Gibbs covered a grin with his hand, glad to see Tony smiling—and that he had agreed to the CT scan. Gibbs knew that if Tony were feeling as fine as he was faking, he would be flirting mercilessly with the flamboyant woman, or at least joining the banter. Tony's smile faded and he returned to the listless, trembling state that had Gibbs so worried earlier.

The doctor also noticed the change and gave Tony a pat on the arm. "You just rest here while me and my bulldog go get you to the front of the line, okay?"

"Sure," Tony said softly, not daring to aggravate the pain and dizziness by nodding.

As soon as they were alone, Gibbs sat beside his agent, wholly surprised when Tony leaned against his shoulder and didn't shake off the arm his boss tentatively put around him.

"It's not fair," Tony said miserably, cradling his sore wrist to his chest.

Gibbs gave him a squeeze and wondered if the doctor had given him painkillers. "You heard him, DiNozzo. You get a clear scan and we'll get you out of here."

Tony didn't speak so Gibbs said, "Hey, we both know how hard your head is. You'll be okay."

"When he let him go, I about fell over in relief," Tony said softly, letting his head come to rest on Gibbs' shoulder. The arm around him tightened slightly as Gibbs realized who Tony was talking about. "I thought it was over. And I was just so… relieved."

Gibbs suddenly wished he could see Tony's face, and he realized that was probably why the agent had given in to the sideways embrace. "You couldn't have known," Gibbs said, meaning it. He was never one to placate, and he hoped like hell DiNozzo knew that.

"No," Tony agreed, to Gibbs' surprise. But then he continued, his tone full of bitterness, "But I'm a trained fucking federal agent, Boss. I should have considered all of the possibilities. I should have put the boy behind me… or just turned away from Harris."

"And if you had," Gibbs said firmly, "we'd be burying you and Kevin. Once Harris decided to kill the boy, there wasn't anything that was going to stop him. He wouldn't have thought twice about killing you, Tony."

"So?" came the immediate reply as Tony pulled back, blinking dizzily and touching a hand to his head. His eyes focused on Gibbs' face and he dropped the hand back to his side. "Protect and serve, Gibbs, right? I leave my apartment every morning knowing I might not ever make it back. I made my peace with that a long time ago."

Gibbs took a breath, wanting to look away from the agony in the green eyes watching him. "Blaming and second-guessing yourself isn't going to bring him back."

He had expected anger at that, so Gibbs was surprised when Tony laid his head back on his shoulder and whispered, "I know." There was a moment of silence, and Gibbs knew the shaking he was feeling now was less the concussion and more Tony trying not to cry. "I'd trade places with him in a second, though."

"Dammit, DiNozzo," Gibbs said angrily—but he pulled Tony closer to his side. "Don't," he ordered, still seeing images of Harris leveling a weapon at his agent, and of Daniel pressing his gun to Tony's bleeding temple.

"Maybe you should know what kind of person I am before you go defending me," Tony said so quietly that Gibbs almost missed it.

Gibbs waited, but Tony didn't go on.

After a moment, Gibbs felt the deep breath DiNozzo took as he pulled away. Gibbs stood, sensing it would be easier for Tony to say whatever it was that had him looking so ill if there was space between them. The absolute lack of color in his face had Gibbs feeling glad they were in a hospital.

"That wasn't the only relief I felt," Tony said, his eyes dropping to his knees. He pulled in a shaky breath and looked up, locking eyes with his boss. "When I heard that gunshot…"

Gibbs suddenly knew where this was going and he stepped forward, reaching out to touch his suffering friend.

"Don't," Tony said, harshly. He went on, the words pouring out of him in a torrent of guilt, "I knew Harris had pulled that trigger and I knew I was still alive and I felt relieved." He stopped, tears streaming down his face. "I was holding a dead little boy and I was glad I was still breathing so don't stand there and tell me you're happy I'm still alive. I don't deserve to be."

Tony brought his hands up and covered his face, his shoulders shaking as he gave in to the guilt and grief and pain that had been threatening to tear him apart ever since that gunshot.

Gibbs knew there was nothing he could say that would dull the claws of those strong emotions so he simply sat down again, pulling his agent against his body without a word. Tony buried his face in his neck, crying so hard that Gibbs had to give him a little shake every now and then to make sure he remembered to breathe. Gibbs didn't speak, didn't whisper soothing nonsense to try to drown out or cover Tony's pain—because it was pain too long buried and it deserved to be heard.

Gibbs looked up and found Marguerite standing at the door to the small room, her face so filled with empathetic pain that Gibbs almost wanted to hug her, too. He didn't need to tell her to get the hell out. She just met his eyes and pointed down the hall, letting him know she would be there when they were ready.

When the tears had finally exhausted themselves, Gibbs reached for his handkerchief only to remember he had tossed the bloody cloth in a trash can out in the lobby. He grabbed a box of tissues off a counter and handed them to his sniffling agent, who suddenly had color back in his cheeks. Gibbs recognized the shame and embarrassment, and he simply shook his head.

"Happens to the best of us, DiNozzo." He moved to the door and paused there, looking back at Tony. "I'll go stall Miss Marguerite for a few minutes while you get yourself together."

Tony nodded.

Gibbs gave him a stern look. "If I'm not back in five, though, come rescue me."

That got a small, sad smile—and a hiccup—out of Tony, who nodded again and continued blushing furiously as he wiped at his face.

Gibbs moved down the hall and found Marguerite sitting behind the nurses' station. She moved to get up but Gibbs waved her down.

She nodded knowingly and asked, "He gonna be all right, Sugar?"

"With time," Gibbs said.

"Mmmhmm." The nurse shook her head vigorously. "If there's one thing I've learned workin' here, it's that there ain't nothin' time can't heal. 'Specially when you got good friends lookin' out for you."

Gibbs nodded. "Mmmhmm." His eyes went to the coffee cup on the desk, and he held up a hand when Marguerite started to hand it over. "No, thank you," he said politely.

"It's fresh," she said, rolling her eyes at him. "No cooties, Sugar, I promise."

"It's more the sugar I'm worried about."

"Honey," she said, pushing the cup into his hands, "I take my coffee like I take my men: tall, hot and black as the day is long." She looked him over again, pretty dark eyes sweeping him up and down. "I'd make an exception for you, though, Sugar."

Gibbs grinned and accepted the cup, sipping appreciatively. "Thank you," he said, glancing back down the hall and knowing Tony would be itching to get out of there as soon as possible.

"You think it's safe now?" Marguerite asked, following his eyes. "Boy was raisin' holy hell when the doc told him he had to stay overnight."

"Doubt he's got enough gas left in the tank to fight."

"Good," she said, standing and tapping a syringe in the pocket of her purple-and-white-checked scrubs. "Thought I was gonna have to come loaded for bear."

It was dark by the time Tony walked out of the hospital with a clean CT, a cast on his broken wrist and Gibbs close by his side.

They settled into the car for the two-hour ride back to the District, but Gibbs stopped, seeing a flash of purple from the corner of his eye. He rolled down the passenger side window and fought a smile.

Marguerite put a pillow on Tony's lap and said, "You take care of that wrist, son." She leaned down farther and gave Gibbs a wink. "And you owe me a coffee someday, Agent Gibbs."

Gibbs nodded. "I pay my debts."

"You better," she said, blowing him a kiss. "Remember what I said about bears."

Tony thanked her and they said their goodbyes, and then Gibbs started driving. As soon as the window was up and they were on their way, Gibbs said, "Not a word, DiNozzo."

Tony laughed, and found that it still felt wrong—but not quite as wrong. He slumped down in his seat, ready to give in to the exhaustion and hoping he would be able to sleep without the nightmares.

"She's not even a redhead," he murmured sleepily, glancing at Gibbs to make sure no headslap was forthcoming.

Gibbs just gave him a look. "What did I just say?"

"That you pay your debts," Tony answered, closing his eyes and settling in. "Aberdeen's not that far, really. I don't even think it would be considered a long-distance relationship."

"DiNozzo," Gibbs growled in warning.

"No headslapping," Tony said, tossing his discharge papers into the backseat. "I'm pretty sure it says so in there somewhere."

"Bet you never thought you'd be happy to have a concussion," Gibbs said.

"I don't know about that," Tony said, rubbing gingerly at his temples, "but the bongo players in my head seem happy to have the gig." He winced and rested his head against the cool glass of the window. "Or at least enthusiastic."

"Get some sleep, DiNozzo," Gibbs ordered, gently.

"Shutting up, Boss."

They were quiet for a long stretch of interstate, and Gibbs thought Tony was finally sleeping—until he shifted and said, "About back there—"

"Hey," Gibbs snapped, lowering his volume when Tony flinched away from the sharp word. "You don't have to say a word about it, Tony. And neither will I."

"I'm not worried you're going to go tell Ziva or the Probie that I cried all over you," Tony said, frowning as he considered that. "Not that that wouldn't be bad. As senior field agent, I have to uphold some sort of—"

"Tony."

Tony sighed. "Just wanted you to know," he said, looking up at his boss, "it wasn't that I didn't trust you after what happened, Gibbs. I didn't trust myself."

Gibbs took in that pained admission, and he reached over and gave DiNozzo's arm a squeeze. It was one of those moments between them when no words were needed and both were glad for their silent communication.

Several miles later, Tony turned, blinking tiredly. "I should also say thank you, Boss, for—"

"You can thank me by getting some rest," he said, flicking a glance at the cast on Tony's wrist. "And not trying to weasel your way back into the field before you're ready."

Tony waited, knowing there was more Gibbs needed to say.

After a moment, he turned and gave him a look. "Go on, Boss. Just say it."

Gibbs grinned, his eyes going back to the cast. "Told ya so."

"Good," Tony said, closing his eyes and getting comfortable again. "So what's this about bears?"