One Less - Part 38
by joykatleen
With the families and friends of a couple thousand sailors and Marines in town for the shove-off, every hotel DiNozzo called was full. It took him 20 minutes to find them a room at any price, and that hotel only had one. That would be fine, Gibbs told him. They'd shared quarters before.
The room they got was large and well-appointed, with two queen-sized beds, a small table and chairs in one corner, and a separate sitting area with a couch and an easy chair facing a good-sized wall-mounted television in another corner. Gibbs couldn't have cared less. Anything more than clean sheets was just gravy. He dropped onto the first bed he came to. He struggled out of his jacket, tossing it in the general direction of where Tony had set the bags. Removing his holstered sidearm from his belt, he set it on the nightstand between the beds, then fell sideways onto the mattress. He lay there for a second, then with what looked like a monumental effort pulled his legs up onto the bed and rolled onto his back. He let out a deep sigh and closed his eyes.
Without asking or being asked, DiNozzo leaned over the bed and undid Gibbs' boot, then took the shoe off. He set them both on the floor as Gibbs grunted something that might have been a thank you. DiNozzo smiled to himself.
"You need anything else, Boss?" he asked when he straightened. Gibbs waved him off without opening his eyes. DiNozzo watched him for a few seconds.
"I'm gonna go out for a while. Call me if something comes up."
Gibbs slept hard, and did not dream at first. He came only partly awake when DiNozzo returned some unknown time later. His subconscious recognized the younger man and he merely rolled part way over and dropped back to sleep. DiNozzo moved quietly through the room, putting away the things he'd bought and securing his weapon in his overnight bag. He took a quick shower and changed into sweats and a t-shirt. It was still early, so DiNozzo dug out his laptop and a pair of headphones, sat on the couch, put his feet up on the coffee table, and started a movie.
He was almost through the Alfred Hitchcock classic 'Vertigo' when DiNozzo heard a muffled cry that definitely wasn't part of the soundtrack. He frowned, looking past the screen into the complete darkness of the room. His eyes were adjusted to the island of light coming from the laptop and he couldn't see a thing. DiNozzo pulled off the headphones and for a few seconds there was silence. Then, from the direction of Gibbs' bed, another cry. A name. Nicky. Tony quickly set the laptop aside and groped for the lamp on the end table.
The light revealed Gibbs lying mostly on his stomach with his face turned toward the space between the beds. His left arm was under his head, his right hand reaching across the bed. As Tony watched, Gibbs' hand opened and closed, the fingers tightening around something unseen.
"Nicky! We're coming!" Gibbs cried out, his voice clear. His good leg suddenly jerked as if he'd stopped himself from falling. His face showed something Tony had rarely seen there in the eight years he'd worked with the man: fear.
"Gibbs?" DiNozzo called softly. Gibbs flipped over hard onto his back, his legs tangling together, and he cried out again. "Nicky!"
"Wake up!" DiNozzo spoke louder this time.
Gibbs instantly fell silent and before Tony could comprehend what he was doing, the older man pushed himself toward the nightstand and his holstered Sig. He got his hand on the weapon and was bringing it toward himself when Tony grabbed his wrist.
"Gibbs, Wake up!" DiNozzo shouted as Gibbs began to struggle against Tony's grip. Tony grabbed the top of the holster with his other hand, wrapping his palm over the safety strap and hanging on. He didn't know what would happen if Gibbs managed to get the weapon unholstered, but he didn't want to find out.
"Boss!" DiNozzo shouted again, and this time, he got through. Gibbs stilled. His eyes fully opened, focused on the ceiling, then he looked over at where Tony was holding him. There was a split second of confusion while Gibbs' eyes tracked to the end of his hand, then Gibbs' hand shot open. Tony instantly released him, yanking the gun away. Gibbs put both hands over his face, breathing fast.
DiNozzo set the gun on the other bed and moved to pick a bottle of water out of the supplies he'd bought earlier. On the bed, Gibbs struggled to sit up. He slid his legs off the bed and leaned on his elbows.
"Water?" DiNozzo asked casually, offering the bottle. Gibbs took it and drank half in one go. He took a few deep, gasping breaths, then drank the rest. DiNozzo sat on the edge of his own bed, watching as Gibbs set the empty bottle aside and worked to get his breathing under control.
"Thanks," Gibbs said when he could speak again.
"You're welcome," DiNozzo said solemnly. While Gibbs could and did show his appreciation in many subtle ways, DiNozzo knew he really meant it when he used his words.
Gibbs gestured to where the crutches were resting against the wall. DiNozzo handed them over. Gibbs levered himself upright and hobbled over to the bathroom.
DiNozzo's voice had startled Gibbs out of another nightmare. He'd been lost somewhere in his head and when a voice he didn't recognize in his haze shouted at him, the only thought was defense. He'd reached for his Sig without thought and had fought the hand on his wrist like his life depended on it. But only for a second. Tony's call of 'Boss' had made the dream dissolve instantly.
Gibbs leaned on his crutches and stared at his reflection over the sink. What the hell was wrong with him? And how was he going to explain it to DiNozzo when he didn't understand it himself?
He glanced at his watch. Just past 10:00. He'd fallen into the bed sometime before 6:00. So, four hours. Not enough. Not nearly enough.
Gibbs set the left crutch aside and leaned wholly on the right one. He grabbed a washcloth off the rack next to him and soaked it in the sink. Wringing it out with one hand, he wiped his face and the back of his neck with coolness, careful to avoid the bandage.
There was little doubt in his mind now that the dreams were connected to Nicky. Gibbs didn't understand how the retired Marine had managed to get so far into his subconscious that he was starring in Gibbs' nightmares, but the fact of it was undisputable. He wondered how long this was likely to go on.
When Nicky had first appeared in his nightmares, Gibbs figured it was because Nicky was at risk. But he wasn't anymore. He was safely ensconced at Gregor's house. Two of the bastards who'd killed Ferrara were in custody, and the third had other things to worry about. Besides, Lewiston had no frame of reference to know to look for Gregor's house, much less any way to find it. Nicky was not in danger, and Gibbs couldn't imagine why his subconscious was telling him otherwise.
Out in the room, DiNozzo turned on a few more lights, then sat on the couch and tried to calm his racing heart. Gibbs had scared the hell out of him. Grabbing for the gun like that. That could have ended very badly. Even if Tony hadn't gotten himself shot, it was never easy to explain random shots and bullet holes to the locals.
And what about the absurdity of Gibbs having a nightmare? Tony occasionally suffered from nightmares himself. With the work they did, it was almost inevitable. But he'd never figured Gibbs for them. The boss was so self-assured, so confident in his decisions and his actions, he'd never thought Gibbs would have the kind of doubts that tortured a subconscious while the body slept. At least not without a damn good reason. Like Kate. Her death had been a good reason for nightmares. Tony knew that Gibbs had gone months without a good night's sleep after that. He'd been like a bear with a sore head, grumping at everyone. They all had. But beyond that, Tony couldn't imagine a night terror that would put fear on Gibbs' face. Of course, with what little Gibbs had shared of the life he'd lived, Tony supposed he wouldn't necessarily know.
The bathroom door opened and Gibbs came out. He swung over to the one of the easy chairs and lowered himself carefully into it, moving his foot up onto the coffee table. He set the crutches aside and rubbed at his right wrist where DiNozzo had grabbed him. Tony's eyes widened at the four parallel red marks that were coming up. Those were going to bruise. Gibbs had certainly suffered at the hands of his team during this case.
"You alright?" DiNozzo asked.
"Yeah. You got any more water?" DiNozzo nodded and got up to get another bottle.
"My jacket," Gibbs said, and DiNozzo grabbed that too, before bringing both to him. Gibbs pulled the pill bottle out of his jacket pocket, looked at it. He couldn't read the label. He had his glasses, but he wasn't in the mood.
"Is this a narcotic?" he asked DiNozzo, holding the bottle out. Tony took it and examined the small print. The prescription was made out to Gibbs, prescribed by Ducky, seven months before. Tony wondered why – if Gibbs had had the pills that long – he didn't know what they were. On the other hand, it wouldn't surprise him if Ducky had prescribed the pills months ago as a matter of course and held them for just such an occasion as this. That's just the kind of relationship the boss and the doctor had.
"It's Vicodin." He handed the bottle back and took his seat again.
Gibbs sighed. His knee was hurting, but not badly. The dose he'd taken in the truck on the way to book Rosario had tamped down the worst of the pain. The knee was probably just swollen from when he put weight on it. He could take more drugs, but it wouldn't be for pain. It would be so he could sleep. Without dreams. Which was exactly what he'd denied doing when he'd talked to Gelfand, what, 48 hours ago? Probably not a good option.
Gibbs put the pills back in his pocket and set the jacket aside. He uncapped the water and took a swig. He could feel DiNozzo's eyes on him. Waiting for an explanation, Gibbs figured. What the hell was he supposed to say?
Tony stepped into the opening. "Where is Nicky?" he asked.
"At Gregor's house."
"From the BX?"
Gibbs nodded and drank more water.
"So he's secure," DiNozzo said.
"Far as I know," Gibbs said. "No reason he wouldn't be."
"You want me to check? Call him?"
"No," Gibbs said.
More silence. Then: "I don't know why I'm dreaming about him."
"Is this the first time?" DiNozzo asked.
"Couple'a nights." He took another pull from the bottle.
"Your gut trying to tell you something?"
Gibbs shrugged. "Don't know."
"McGee said you'd been looking a little run down, all week. He said you were late two days in a row. Because of this?"
"You guys talk about me a lot?" Gibbs growled.
DiNozzo grinned at him. "The probie worries, Boss." He paused. "Me, too."
Gibbs had no immediate answer for that. He again considered the pills. They'd helped put him out already a couple of times, quite unintentionally. But could he use them to put himself out on purpose? To be certain he'd get the effect he wanted, he'd have to take more than Ducky's recommended dose. Gibbs knew fooling around with narcotics was never a good idea. Better to stick with something he knew.
"This room got a mini-bar?" Gibbs asked. DiNozzo nodded. He got up and pulled open the small fridge beside the dresser. He examined the racks of shot bottles sealed in the door.
"There's four bottles of Jack in here," he reported. "Eight bucks a piece."
Gibbs did some mental math. He was six feet tall, 180 give or take, it had been at least five hours since he last ate. Two shots back to back ought to mellow him out enough to put him to sleep without making him drunk.
"Bring two. For me."
DiNozzo nodded and broke the seal, grabbing the bottles. He brought them over.
"I need ice," Gibbs said as he twisted the top off one of the shot-sized bottles. DiNozzo was surprised. He'd never known Gibbs to take his booze any way but straight.
"In a glass?" he asked.
"In a towel," Gibbs said, and DiNozzo almost laughed.
"Got it. Be right back." He picked up the room keycard and an ice bucket and stepped out.
Gibbs threw back the first shot. It was rare for him to drink while he was out of town on a case. But he figured the risk was low: They weren't actually looking for Lewiston tonight, which meant if he showed up, it would be voluntarily. It wasn't like they'd be chasing him down or having to fight it out with him. Besides, he trusted DiNozzo to watch his back if they did have to go somewhere. It was more important that he get some sleep, so when they did find Lewiston, Gibbs would be ready to work him. And given the choice, the booze was better than the drugs.
DiNozzo returned with the ice bucket. He made an ice pack out of one of the bath towels, bringing it and a stack of hand towels back into the living room. He then stood by while Gibbs wriggled out of his khakis and examined the brace. It would have to come off so the ice could do its thing.
"I got it, Boss," DiNozzo said. He knelt in front of Gibbs and worked the Velcro straps. He peeled back the sides of the brace and his eyes widened.
"Geez, she really did a number on you," DiNozzo said. The knee was swollen, not as badly as right after the injury, but still bad. The bruising had solidified into a single patch of dark purple about five inches wide by ten inches long down the outside of his knee.
"Just give me the ice," Gibbs grumbled. DiNozzo handed him the ice bundle and Gibbs balanced it between the injured side of his knee and the open brace. He wrapped one of the straps back around the brace and the bundle, sticking it to the other side. It held. DiNozzo put the stack of hand towels on the floor under Gibbs' knee to catch the melting water.
Gibbs leaned back in the chair and opened the second bottle, sipping at it. He closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths.
"He's been on my mind," Gibbs said. DiNozzo got a water bottle of his own and returned to the couch.
"Nicky?" DiNozzo wasn't sure where this was going, but as usual, he'd follow Gibbs' lead.
"Yeah." When Gibbs didn't continue, DiNozzo did.
"You worried about him?"
"Not really," Gibbs said. "Not anymore."
"What then?" DiNozzo asked.
Gibbs took another sip of the shot without opening his eyes. "He grew up in Hanson, Kentucky. Population 580. Rural town, one stop light, one grocery store, half a dozen churches. Haven't had a fatal traffic accident since 1996. Sound like somewhere we've been lately?"
"Sounds a lot like Stillwater," DiNozzo said. They'd travelled to Gibbs' hometown on a case last fall. It had been an eye-opener, for dang sure.
"He joined the Marines right out high school. Planned to make it his career. Got injured in a mortar blast, retired on disability. Awarded a Silver Star for running in when he should have run out."
"Sounds a lot like you, Boss," DiNozzo said. He opened the bottle of water and took a couple swallows.
"He was me. About 10 years later." The two men fell silent. Gibbs adjusted the ice pack.
"Makes you wonder how come you made it and he didn't. Especially after your family..." DiNozzo stuttered to a stop.
Gibbs opened his eyes and swung his gaze to his second. "Makes you wonder," Gibbs agreed after a moment. He drained the rest of the small bottle and set it aside.
"Ducky would want me to tell you about genetic susceptibility to mental illness, socio-economic factors leading to addiction, the statistics on returning veterans and post-traumatic stress disorder..."
Gibbs waved him off. "I know the statistics," he said.
"You obviously beat the odds. Then again, you were probably just too damn stubborn to let it get to you."
Gibbs grunted. DiNozzo had no idea how bad it had been. How many times, after losing his family and losing the Corps, he'd nearly given up. He'd fought addiction, fought depression, fought a complete lack of desire to keep living. But in the end, he'd won every fight. Gibbs knew that joining NCIS had played a major role in his survival. If he hadn't had that, if he hadn't been able to lose himself in the work, he really didn't know what might have happened. With Nicky's far more debilitating injuries, that option wouldn't have been available to him. Which may alone have been the root of their different outcomes.
"I got lucky," Gibbs said finally. "I got through it."
"You think there's still hope for Nicky?" DiNozzo asked. He drank more water.
"There's always hope, Tony. He's a survivor. He'll be fine."
"If you believe that, why are you having nightmares about him?"
Gibbs silently granted him the point, but said nothing. Gibbs could feel the alcohol doing its thing, fuzzing his head and making his blood slow down. It wouldn't be long before the fog settled, he knew. He pushed himself into a more comfortable position in the easy chair and relaxed his big muscles, letting his eyes close. It wasn't bad, for hotel furniture.
He was drifting away when DiNozzo spoke again an unknown time later. "You going back to bed?"
"Nah. I'll sleep here for awhile," Gibbs mumbled.
DiNozzo nodded and got up. He went to his bed and picked up Gibbs' still-holstered sidearm.
"I think I'll put this away," he said. Gibbs cracked open an eye and saw what he was referring to.
"Not up for another round?" Gibbs asked.
"Not in the mood to explain random bullet holes," DiNozzo said and shoved the gun into the top of Gibbs' overnight bag. "Especially not in me."
Gibbs chuckled. He took a deep breath, letting it out in a sigh, and felt himself skirting the edge of darkness. "You got the watch?" he asked. Or at least he thought he asked.
"On your six, Boss." DiNozzo's voice came from far away. Gibbs let himself drift away.
to be continued...
I'm about two (in-story) days ahead of you, dear readers, and I've been there for weeks. I know where I want to go, but I'm not sure how to get there. It's a struggle, but your words are encouraging. Please keep leaving reviews, even if it's just to say "I'm here, and I like it." I appreciate every word. joy