One Less - Part 27

by joykatleen

It was not a busy night at Bethesda. McGee checked him in while Gibbs leaned against the wall looking miserable. After McGee explained the nature of the injury, the triage nurse brought Gibbs a wheelchair. She told him to sit and ignored his threatening glare. She'd seen it thousands of times from thousands of sailors and Marines who'd come through her ER, and she wasn't fazed. She just stood there silently and smiled at him until he gave up and sat. She pushed him through into triage.

The nurse got his personal information, took his vitals, and found the information from his previous visits in the computer. She read the top few lines of his history. With a small "huh," she told him she'd be right back and disappeared. She returned less than five minutes later and escorted them to an exam room. She gave Gibbs a gown, told him to take off his boots and his pants, then left them. Gibbs told McGee to leave, but the young agent said he'd rather stay, to take Gibbs home. Gibbs glared at him, too. But like the nurse, McGee ignored him this time. He must be losing his touch. Or maybe his glare was as tired as he was.

Which was the point at which Gibbs remembered he still hadn't called Tony. He asked McGee to get his cell from his pants, and McGee reminded him that cell phones were blocked in this ER. With a grumble, Gibbs told McGee to step out and make the call.

"Tell him to update McNally on Fazio. His unit's gonna need a new Corpsman."

McGee did as instructed and quickly returned, taking a seat in a visitor's chair in the corner away from the door. Sitting on the side of the bed in the relative silence of the small room, Gibbs found his mind chewing on what Abby had read to him. Ferrara had told someone on the ship that he was gay. The sailor had expected to find support, but had been rebuffed. Then, a week later, he was killed for being gay.

Ferrara had written that it was the first time he'd ever told anyone he wasn't sure wanted to know. Gibbs assumed that meant he'd told other gay men, and further assumed – considering the other victims – that it wasn't one of them who'd killed him. So if it was the first time he'd ever admitted it to anyone, either the person he talked to was involved, or that person told someone else who was involved. The mystery confidant had told Ferrara that homosexuality was an intentional evil. Abhorrent. So the person he talked to had to be one of Col. Hatton's true believers.

Why had Ferrara told anyone? He was in trouble, doubting himself. He needed someone to talk to. He went to this person because he thought he would find support. Why? It was someone he thought he knew well, someone he trusted. One of the officers he was working with? The Captain himself? Nah, the Captain had made it clear that he didn't care that Ferrara was gay. Who then?

There was a sudden knock on the door, startling Gibbs from his thoughts. The door opened and in walked two men: one a stranger, the other a familiar face.

"Agent Gibbs. Sorry to hear you're back." The familiar man was Capt. Dr. Todd Gelfand, Chief of Emergency Services at the hospital. He was out of uniform, wearing gray sweats under his lab coat. His blond hair was tousled, and Gibbs wondered if he'd just woken up.

Gibbs had come to know Gelfand pretty well over the last few years. He had been Chief of Neurology at the Portsmouth Trauma Center when Gibbs was blown up in Norfolk Harbor in 2006. When he ended up on life support here at Bethesda after being drugged two years ago, Gelfand had overseen his care. Their history together had actually begun when Gelfand was a field surgeon in Kuwait: He'd helped put Gibbs' body back together after the mortar attack that nearly killed him. Gibbs knew the Captain had developed a soft spot for him, so it didn't really surprise him that Gelfand was here in the middle of the night.

"Captain. I'm sorry to be here. Nothing personal," Gibbs said with a wry smile. The two men shook hands. "My babysitter here is Special Agent McGee."

Gelfand smiled at them and shook McGee's hand. "I see nothing has changed." He turned to the man who'd come in with him. "He only comes down here under protest. I try not to take it personally." Turning back to Gibbs, he continued. "Dr. Mallard called me earlier, said to be expecting you. He told me what happened to your neck, and explained his concerns about your knee given your history of prior damage. I put a note in your chart telling triage to page me if you showed up."

"Just what I need, another damn conspiracy," Gibbs said. Gelfand shook his head.

"It's the good kind, Gunny. This is Dr. Bobby McNeil, one of our hotshot orthopods. I took the liberty of inviting him down to take a look at your knee, and he graciously agreed to come."

"Graciously agreed?" Gibbs asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Orders are orders, midday or midnight," McNeil said with an accent that was definitely south of the Mason-Dixon. His easy smile took the sting out of his words.

"So, what'd you do to it?" McNeil asked, stepping forward. He was about Gibbs' size, thinner, younger, with fine hands and long fingers. He pulled over a low stool on wheels and sat in front of Gibbs' dangling legs.

"Took a kick to the outside," Gibbs said, indicating where Ziva's boot had connected.

"Bad guy?" McNeil asked. He felt around his knee, much as Ducky had. His touch was feather-light.

"One of my team," Gibbs said. When McNeil gave him a startled look, Gibbs shook his head. "Long story. She didn't know it was me."

"Anything else I should know?" he asked.

"The kneecap was dislocated."

"Spontaneous reduction?" McNeil asked. It took Gibbs a beat to interpret the medical terminology.

"No. Ducky put it back."

"Ducky?"

"Dr. Mallard. He's their Medical Examiner," Gelfand supplied. That got Gibbs another odd look.

"He's also our field medic," McGee offered from where he'd stood to get out of the way.

"Ah. Did he sedate you?" McNeil asked Gibbs.

"A shot of something after. Wore off about a half hour ago."

"Can you move the joint?"

"Not comfortably," Gibbs said. McNeil put one hand under Gibbs foot and spread the fingers of his other hand over Gibbs' kneecap. He felt around the knee as he helped Gibbs straighten his leg.

"Did you walk in?"

"Yes."

"Comfortably?"

"No."

"Alright." McNeil straightened up and turned to Gelfand. "There's some ligament damage. He'll need an MRI. Do we have records on the prior injury?"

"They're in his military file," Gelfand said. McNeil nodded.

"How's the pain on a one to ten scale?" McNeil asked Gibbs.

"About a four just sitting here."

"You want something for it?"

"Nah," he said. Gelfand met Gibbs' gaze and rolled his eyes. They had history on that issue, too.

"Fair enough," McNeil said. "I'll order the MRI, take a look at your old records, give you my expert opinion on what's next."

"Alright," Gibbs said.

"Might take awhile," McNeil said. "We're not a trauma center, so they shut the machine down overnight. There's more to turning it back on than just flipping a switch. Plus they've got to get the tech in. So now that you're here – and we've got your pants – you can probably send your babysitter home."

"Right," Gibbs said with a slight drawl. McNeil smiled at him before stepping out. Gelfand moved in.

"How's your neck?" he asked. Gibbs tilted his head slightly away and Gelfand peeled back the gauze.

"Hurts. I'll live," Gibbs said.

"Barely," Gelfand said. "This was someone you like?"

Gibbs had to smile. "Most of the time."

Gelfand poked at the wounds a bit, making Gibbs cringe and hiss.

"She missed your carotid by about a half inch," Gelfand said.

"I heard."

"Some days you get lucky. How clean was the knife?"

Gibbs frowned at him. "I'm sure she cleaned it after the last time she stabbed somebody with it," he said.

Gelfand retaped the gauze. "How long since your last tetanus shot?" he asked.

"Couple years."

"I'm going to order you some antibiotics, just in case." He made a note in Gibbs' chart. "I'm also going to have a corpsman clean it up a bit. You don't need stitches, but we'll use some surgical glue to be sure it doesn't reopen."

Gelfand folded up the chart and headed out. "I'll come check on you in awhile. You look like crap. Try to sleep while you wait." Gibbs growled at him and Gelfand grinned as he left.

Gibbs again told McGee to go home, and this time, his junior agent said he would. He would keep his cell handy, he told Gibbs, and he was only 15 minutes away from Bethesda if Gibbs needed him. Gibbs waved him on. He'd be fine.

xoxoxoXOXOXoxoxox

A hand on his arm, throwing him into awareness. A scream, suddenly cut off. Danger. He instantly rolled away from the touch, his body hitting something solid. He threw up a hand to protect himself, hitting flesh. There was another cry, this one higher. Female. The hand came back, and another, grabbing his shoulders and pushing him down. He struggled, hard, trying to throw off the hands.

"Gunny! Stand down!" someone shouted. Gibbs froze, responding to the command in the voice. He looked wildly around, seeking the source of the order. He saw white walls, medical equipment. Capt. Gelfand standing inside the door. Bethesda.

"God," Gibbs said softly as he relaxed back against the reclined bed. He was gasping for breath, his heart pounding. The nurse who'd been holding his shoulders released him and straightened up. She had a bright red mark on her cheek, and Gibbs realized he must have hit her.

"Are you alright?" he asked her. She smiled at him and patted his shoulder.

"No worries, Marine. I've got twin three-year-old boys at home. I get hit harder than that breaking up fights over who gets the first turn with the Tonkas. Try to calm your breathing."

The nurse moved around the bed, taking his vitals, listening to his lungs.

"What happened?" he asked when she picked up his chart to make notes. He ran his hand over his face and concentrated on taking measured breaths.

"You were having a nightmare. I tried to wake you up, but you were screaming too loud to hear me. I should have used a stick." She smiled at him. "But everything looks fine now. I'll check back with you later." She closed his chart and slipped out. Gelfand pulled over the visitor's chair.

"So, you're having nightmares," Gelfand said as he sat.

"How long was I asleep?" Gibbs asked, ignoring the implied question. He rubbed the back of his head and scratched at his chin. His breathing was gradually slowing to normal. A quick self-inventory told him his knee was aching, the side of his neck was still numb from where the corpsman had closed the knife wound with surgical glue, the headache was back, and the buzzing in his ears was still there. As God was his witness, if those jackasses had caused permanent damage to his hearing, he was going to kill them both. Slowly.

"About an hour," Gelfand said. "The MRI tech just got here. It'll be another 45 minutes or so before he's ready for you." He looked Gibbs up and down. "How are you feeling?"

"Fine."

"You don't look fine. You look beat up. And I don't just mean by your partner. How've you been sleeping?"

"Not well," Gibbs admitted.

"How come?" Gelfand asked.

"I gotta have a reason?"

"There usually is one," Gelfand said.

"Just the usual."

"Have you been self-medicating?"

"What?" Gibbs asked, startled.

"Sleeping pills, pain medicine, alcohol?"

"Couple of shots of bourbon usually does the trick," Gibbs said, with a touch of sarcasm.

"How often do you drink so you can sleep?" Gelfand asked, ignoring Gibbs' tone.

"Occasionally," Gibbs acknowledged. "Not often."

"Do you drink until you pass out? Or does the alcohol make you sleepy?"

Gibbs frowned, looking curiously at him. "What's this about, Doc?"

"Are you worried about your drinking?" Gelfand asked.

"No."

"Would Dr. Mallard be worried, if he knew how much you were drinking?"

Gibbs actually chuckled at that. "No."

Gelfand waited for an explanation, but Gibbs just looked at him.

"Okay," Gelfand said. "How's the pain?"

"It's fine. Tolerable."

"Headache?"

Gibbs looked at him strangely. "Yes."

"Since the stun grenade went off?" When Gibbs' strange look turned to a frown, Gelfand smiled slightly. "Ducky told me the whole story. Or as much of it as he knew."

Gibbs nodded his understanding. Of course Ducky did. "Before that. Couple days," he admitted. "Off and on."

"How's your vision?"

"Clear," Gibbs said.

"And your hearing?"

"Still buzzing, but it's not bad."

"How far were you from the detonation?"

Gibbs thought about it. "Ten, maybe fifteen feet. The guy threw it away from us. My eyes were completely covered, ears partially. My partner got the worst of it."

"That's why she attacked you?" Gelfand asked. "She didn't know it was you?"

"Yeah," Gibbs said. "I made the same mistake that nurse just did." Gibbs huffed a little. "Stupid. She coulda killed me."

"She could have," Gelfand agreed. He paused. "Is that what you were dreaming about?"

Gibbs shook his head. "No." But he didn't elaborate.

"You were screaming. Loud enough that I heard you in my office on the other side of the ER." Gibbs nodded, but said nothing. He'd suspected – once he came around enough to understand what the hell was going on – that it had been his own scream he'd heard cut off as he was shocked awake.

"Last thing I heard before Lt. Williams tried to wake you was a name. Shannon. If I remember correctly, she was your wife."

"Yeah," Gibbs said. He wasn't surprised that he'd been screaming her name. The substance of the dream had left him almost instantly, but he remembered Shannon's face. And Nicky's, the 'before' version from the Marine's SRB.

"Want to talk about it?"

"No," Gibbs said. Gelfand took a second before continuing.

"This isn't the first nightmare you've had about her," Gelfand said.

"It's not," Gibbs agreed.

"How long having you been having them?"

"Long time," Gibbs said. "Not regularly."

"But a lot lately?"

Gibbs stared at him. He did not like people prying into his personal life. And he'd had enough of people prying into his head.

"Leave it alone," he said in a tone that brokered no compromise.

Gelfand held his glare, unfazed. He finally nodded.

"Regardless of the result of the MRI, you're likely to be here for awhile longer. Best case, orthopedics is going to have to create a brace for it before you leave, which they can't do until the lab opens in the morning."

"I can't stay," Gibbs said. "I'm in the middle of a hot case."

"You need to stay, at the very least until we can figure out how best to support the knee so you can walk without doing more damage. That'll take a couple hours, minimum. But I've got a deal for you," he said.

"Don't you always?" Gibbs asked, and Gelfand smiled.

"Carrot and stick, Agent Gibbs. How long's it been since you had a good night's sleep?"

"It's been awhile," Gibbs said.

"I can see by looking at you that you're exhausted," Gelfand said. "You need to stay here and you need to sleep. But I don't want you scaring the nurses with another round of screaming. So how 'bout I give you a sedative. It'll take away the pain, let you sleep without dreams for a solid eight hours. You can sleep through the MRI and whatever work ortho can do without your feedback. When you wake up, if McNeil says you don't need surgery right away, we'll brace the knee and you can be back to work by noon, feeling rested."

Gibbs considered it. With the pain he was feeling, he was going to need some help to see this case through. And he could certainly admit to himself that it would be a hell of a lot easier to get through the next couple days if he could get at least one solid night's sleep.

"Am I going to feel hung over?" Gibbs asked.

"Not likely. If you do, it'll be less of a hangover than the one you get from the bourbon."

"Can you shorten it? Six hours instead of eight? I'm working a serial case, and we're running out of time."

"Yeah, I can do that," Gelfand said after a moment's thought. When Gibbs still hesitated, Gelfand pushed him, just a little.

"Trust me, Gunny. I know how important what you do is. Let me help."

Gibbs considered him, the nodded once.

"Fine. I need to make a phone call first."

xoxoxoXOXOXoxoxox

DiNozzo and Fredrick had spent half the night talking about the assaults and tossing around ideas. Fredrick had come back from his visit to the Captain's office determined to earn his right to stay aboard. DiNozzo didn't feel comfortable prying into it, but he would have loved to be a fly on the wall for that one. For investigative purposes, and for plain curiosity. It wasn't every day that a Navy Fleet Captain changed his mind on discipline. Fredrick must have worked it hard.

DiNozzo managed to corral Holbrook after his shift, and they went to the chapel again. The young officer was horrified to discover he'd become a target so quickly, and had initially asked if he shouldn't take emergency leave, get the heck out of Dodge as it were. DiNozzo figured the Captain would make it happen if he was made to understand the reason. Instead, he told Holbrook what Gibbs had told him: He was safe on board at least until the ship made its next port, and if he left, they might starting looking for another target. Holbrook agreed to stop asking questions, and to watch his back.

After McGee called with the update, Fredrick and DiNozzo had come up with a list of sailors known to associate with Fazio. Most of them were other corpsmen or medical personnel, most of which weren't aboard yet, and none of which would have been officially logged on or off the ship last Saturday night. Fredrick knew some of them, and would go to work on them as quickly as he could once they came aboard today. All personnel were to be here by 1600, and then they'd have 24 hours of a completely captive crew before the ship sailed.

They'd also done some brainstorming on who might be at the head of the conspiracy. They figured it had to be an officer: If officers were involved in some of the attacks as Goetz had surmised, they would only take orders from another officer. DiNozzo called Abby for her list of officers who'd been on the ship since she sailed in 2003, and Fredrick had read it. None of them stood out.

Tired and out of ideas, they called it a night sometime around 3 a.m. As he had the previous nights, Fredrick fell asleep almost immediately. Tony lay awake, staring at the ceiling of his borrowed rack, trying to pull out a miracle.

to be continued...

Sorry friends, but the Bethesda scene was just too long to put in one chunk. The next section, where we find out what all's wrong with Gibbs' knee (and where Gibbs and company find a big chunk of what they've been looking for) will be up soon. Promise. joy