A.N. Finished my English, Creative Writing, and Med. Terminology homework (like a pro) and decided to sit down and write this chapter down! Enjoy!
Nine.
You know that sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach you have suddenly when you get off a bus and realize you left your cell phone or something of value in one of the passenger seats?
That's the kind of feeling Abby awoke with at nearly half past four in the morning. She silently checked the beds of her roomies, and seeing nothing amiss, she snuck out to the boys room, where she met Timmy, just outside their door. "Whoa, someone looks good with bed hair." she commented slyly, before going into serious mode. "Why up so late? ...Or early, whatever."
Tim shrugged. "Something feels off." he admitted. "Why are you awake?"
Abbys' eyes widened. "Same reason."
For a moment, their thoughts synced, and they both muttered "Tony..." before rushing to Gibbs room in a panic. They all had keys to each others' rooms, just for precautions sake, so Abby unlocked the door quickly and stumbled in the dark for a minute before Tim found the light switch.
The first thing Abigail noticed that was out of place was Gibbs' reaction. He stayed asleep, didn't move even a bit. And that was odd in itself. Gibbs could sleep soundly in an aircraft, but put him in a bed, a tiny pin drops, and he'll shoot out of bed and aim a gun at your head.
And the worst thing she noticed was the empty bed next to his. "Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God, where's Tony? Tony, honey! Hiding isn't nice!" She called out, as she got to her knees and looked under both beds, in the closet and in the bathroom. Meanwhile, Tim tried to shake Gibbs awake, to no avail.
One hour later, the Gibbs team was in a panic and Ducky had confirmed with the blood sample he'd taken from his old friend that Gibbs had indeed been drugged.
"Ah, he's coming around now." Ducky noted.
Meanwhile...
"The boy is coming around."
Dr. Rosenberg stared at the small boy, as he awoke. "Hello Anthony." The four year-old sat up on the metal examination table, and looked about the white plain lab, utterly confused.
"I want Gibbs." he requested, voice very soft.
"In due time." the man replied.
Tony was rather small for a four year old, the doctor noted in his pad, and he was what most people would deem quite adorable, with tussled light brown hair, round, large green eyes, and a cherubic little face.
"I'm hungry." the boy whined, swinging his tiny legs on the metal table, distracted by most everything in the doctors laboratory.
Dr. Rosenberg raised a brow at the toddler, then looked to his body guard. "Get some breakfast for the three of us."
The man looked at the tiny boy, who was staring up at him with a hopeful expression. "What does it eat?"
Dr. Rosenberg had never dealt with children himself, either, and wondered at this too, and inspected Tonys' teeth, while the child squirmed uncomfortably. "He seems to have most of his teeth grown in, buy a few meals from the pancake house down the highway, yes?"
The guard nodded and left the premises.
"Anthony," the doctor snapped his fingers, noting the four year-olds lack of attention span. His adult mind was clearly pretty much gone, and his brain now was as undeveloped as a normal four year-olds. The doctor wrote this down on his note pad, "Do you still recall your team?" he inquired, raising his thin rimmed glasses to the top of his nose.
Tony looked up at the stranger, not really sure what was going on, but his ears perked up when the older man mentioned his team mates. "Mhm," he nodded eagerly. "Where's Gibbs?" the toddler looked around the room, bent his head so far down that he nearly lost his balance on the table, and fell.
Slightly alarmed, the doctor grabbed the boy, in a very unconventional manner, and lifted him by the arm pits, back onto the metal examination table and narrowed his eyes suspiciously at him. "Stay, yes?"
Tony blinked. "I'm hungry." he repeated, "I want Gibbs."
The doctor frowned. This is why he hated working with these small drooling beings. He hadn't a single clue as to how to deal with it-him, he corrected silently in his head. He felt a tugging on his arm and looked down. "What?" he asked, letting some frustration leak through.
The toddler scowled. "I want Gibbs!" he wiped a tiny hand on his face, clearly getting closer to a tantrum as his requests went unheard.
Dr. Rosenberg sighed. "If you do not shut your mouth, you will not see your boss ever again, is that clear?" he said, his tone stern.
Tony huddled into himself, and nodded slowly but apprehensively. "Yes sir." he didn't want to get hit, after all; his father had always gotten mad at him for getting talking too much as a child.
The doctor nodded, "Good, now, tell me what you can remember of your team mates and other things from your life, as well." he started scribbling down info as the boy spoke.
"I 'member Gibbs, and Zeevah; she can kill people with paper clips." he got enthusiastic suddenly, eager to be able to tell this adult about the people at NCIS he loved so much, and the doctor wrote in his pad about his emotional state being fast-changing and unstable.
"I think she's a ninja, like, from the power rangers, but cooler. And McGoo, he's an elf Lord," Tony giggled. "He makes me laugh. Caity, she used to prote't the pres'dent, but Gibbs got her to come to us instead, and she's always trying to take the front seat in the van, and when Gibbs lets her win, I get mad sometimes, because I like sitting next to Gibbs." Tony confessed, his childish innocence showing.
"And Abby," he grinned widely, "She wears a white coat like you, e'cept she's really pretty and has 'lots a tattoos!" he gushed excitedly, "I like 'em, and she always gives me Bert when I'm sad. Ducky, he wears a coat like you too, he likes to tell stories, and I always learn some'fin new with him. And I like saying 'Ducky', 'cause I like ducks." Dr. Rosenberg noted how the child digressed.
"Umm, and Palmer, he's the autos-autop-"
"Autopsy?"
Tony nodded, "Mhm, the ausopsy gremlin. But I like him too, 'cause he's really nice, and he stutters lots and I think it's funny." he finished, now playing with a lose string on his too-big shirt sleeve, once again giving into the tinniest distraction available.
As the doctor continued to observe the four year-old and take notes, his guard walked in, a large plastic bag in one hand, a coffee tray in the other. As soon as Dr. Rosenberg had his white plastic container of food and his cup of coffee, extra sugar, he excused himself and went to his office, telling his body guard to feed and look after the tiny thing on the table.
The large man stared at the child, taking out two separate white containers from the bag, and putting one next to the boy, an orange juice carton placed beside it. He took his own, plus his hot beverage, and sat on a dark chair opposite the metal table, so that he could eat and watch the kid simultaneously.
Tony, ever the curious child, asked, as his stubby little fingers attempted to open the white Styrofoam container, "Whas' your name? My name is Tony. You're really big, like, hulk big. I think thas' really cool, but I bet in a fight my boss would still win, 'cause he's really really tough, and he prote'ts allov' us." Tony smiled. "Are you a wrestler? Abby bets on fights sometimes, I think she's got a gamblin' problem, so we don't let her go to casinos of'en." he informed the man avidly.
The guard let a small smirk play on his lips. "You can call me Don, and yeah, you could say I'm kind of a wrestler." he got up and helped the struggling four year-old open his container, his smile growing a bit when Tonys' eyes lit up.
"I love pancakes, they're really yummy, thanksh." the toddler said, stuffing his tiny face with the diners' soft round pancakes.
The guard wondered briefly if he should have cut the food to small pieces before giving it to the little squirt. He shook his head, as he sat back down, he wasn't a babysitter. But even he had to admit, the kid did look damn cute sitting there, swinging his legs, shoving food into his mouth like he hadn't eaten in days.
"Foods' not goin' anywhere, kid." he chastised softly, deciding to get up once again, cutting the pancakes and eggs into small, bite size pieces, after all.