Chapter 2
Tony couldn't hide his worry when there was no real recognition in his companion's eyes. He was just staring without speaking, without acknowledging the question, even. It was enough to sap his already low energy and bring his spirits to an even lower level.
It was downright depressing. How in the world could he figure out what was going on if the only person who might know didn't know anything, either?
Still, he tried to keep himself occupied with all the other things that had to be done during the day. He kept the space very clean in the hopes of staving off infection or illness. It also took up time. There was always something he could clean if he couldn't do anything else. No hospital was cleaner than an apartment staffed by one guy trying to keep himself from going nuts. He made meals. He fed his companion and himself. ...and he thought, for the millionth time, about giving up and taking their chances with the police or with anyone else.
Then, after six hours of the depressing silence, something happened that lifted his spirits more than it should have.
"Tony."
He turned around from the sink where he'd been washing the dishes. Again.
"What?"
The eyes were still closed, but the word had been clear enough.
"Say it again."
Another long, silent moment.
"Tony."
Tony couldn't keep himself from smiling. He hurried back to the bed and knelt down.
"That's right! That's exactly right! You got it! It took you a while, and I'd have to dock some points for that, but I'll take what you can give me if it's what you've got right now. And do you know who you are?"
The silence returned. The eyes didn't open, but this time, Tony wasn't fooled into thinking that meant nothing was happening. There was thought going on. It was slow and probably faltering, but it was real thought. Tony waited for about ten minutes with no reply, but he refused to let it bother him after this first success.
"You tell me when you're ready to, okay? Just say it. I'll hear it."
He couldn't just sit there and listen. Even with this improvement, he couldn't just sit around and do nothing. Besides, there really was something to do right now. He got up and went back to getting the bandages ready. He hated this part, but he knew it was the most important. Even when he'd been pretty much caught getting his companion out of the hospital, the doctor had simply sighed and told him what to do to take care of the injuries.
Another hour went by before the next word. It was the hour that Tony used to get himself mentally ready to give a bath to a grown man.
Boy, it's a good thing that I never went into medicine. I hate this.
Tony didn't dare say that out loud because he was absolutely sure that, regardless of how little his companion seemed to be aware of his surroundings, he'd hear that and feel bad.
"Tim."
Again, Tony wasn't ready for it, but he wasn't as shocked to hear it this time. He hurried back to the bed, the bandages in hand and ready.
"That's right, Tim. Excellent! Great! Fantastic! Good. I won't ask you any more questions today. You passed with flying colors. Well, except for the time frame involved. You're still going too slow and you'll have to work on doing better before I accept that you're ready."
Then, Tim showed him that he wasn't really recovered.
"Can...cnnn...no...baaa...can..."
That same gibberish again. Well, Tony would take that if it was accompanied by some degree of sense. He didn't care how small it was.
"Don't worry, Tim. It's okay. Now, this is not my favorite part of the day, and I know it's probably not yours, either. But it's got to be done. Just keep your eyes closed and I'll be as gentle as I can."
Carefully, Tony removed Tim's clothes. This still made him more than a little uncomfortable, but the necessity of it kept him from putting it off. It didn't keep him from trying to pretend the discomfort wasn't there, even though it was totally obvious. Or at least, if there had been a single other person around to see him, it would be obvious to that person. To help pass the awkward time, Tony talked. He tended to have the conversations with himself a lot of the time, but when he was doing this, he just pretended that Tim was listening and just didn't have anything to say in return.
"You know, I heard this interview with Billy Joel once where he said that he heard the tune to 'River of Dreams' in a dream before he ever could think of the words and he would be in the shower, singing the tune and he'd say things like, 'In the shower now and...got my soap and I...clean my body and I...' And so on and so on. I can't imagine coming up with a song from a dream. Well, I can't really imagine coming up with a real song awake, either. I can do songs that other people wrote, but not my own. Not my thing. Oh, sorry."
Tim was awake enough to react to every twinge of pain. Tony hated to see that and know that he was hurting Tim while he was trying to help him. Tim didn't move much, but he whimpered a few times as Tony removed the bandages and started to clean his friend as much as a sponge bath allowed. The bruises were finally starting to fade, but the sheer savagery was what had convinced Tony to be more cautious than he might have been otherwise.
"I know it's not fun. Gotta do it, though. Just relax as much as you can. Speaking of Billy Joel, my favorite song is 'Piano Man', but did you know that while he did write it about something that had happened to him, it really wasn't about him being a new musician trying to get by? It was actually something he wrote when he was having a dispute with the label or something and he refused to do anything until he was satisfied with the contract. That's why, in the last verse, he has the lyrics about people asking him what he's doing in the bar. He was famous already, and singing in a bar."
Tony had no idea how much Tim was understanding, but the talking helped him as much as anything. The silence would drive him crazy. It was a slow process, but he was glad to see no sign of infection and plenty of signs of healing. Tim was gradually getting better, even if it was taking too long as far as Tony was concerned. It would be better if Tim was just mentally okay and the physical stuff was necessary. Tony hated not being able to have a simple conversation. Talking to himself was all well and good, but the responses weren't all that interesting.
Twenty minutes later, Tim was clean with new bandages. Just as carefully, he got Tim dressed again, and the ordeal was over. For both of them.
"There. All done. I know it hurts, but it has to feel better than it did before, right?"
No reply. Was Tim even awake? Tony hesitated and then carefully took Tim's bruised hand and held it gently.
"Are you awake, Tim? Squeeze my hand if you are. Twice."
There was a long moment of nothing and then two very light squeezes.
"Good. Can you open your eyes again? I promise, I won't ask you any other questions today."
Gradually, very gradually, Tim's eyes fluttered open, just halfway. He looked at Tony and said nothing at first. Then, his lips moved. His face was much less swollen than it had been.
"Huuuuuursss."
Tony tried to figure out what Tim was saying. Just one word and a short one.
"Say that again?"
"Huuuurrrssss."
"Hurts?"
Two more squeezes.
"I know. I'm sorry that I can't take all that away. You'll get another dose of pain medication soon. When we have dinner. It's just that we have to be careful. Don't want you getting hooked on it."
"Can...cnnn...no...baaa...can..."
The doctor had insisted that Tim had said he couldn't go back. Now, he didn't know back where, but given the situation, the fact that Tony didn't even know why Tim had been gone, he was inclined to be safe, if it was possible.
Still, he didn't think that sounded much like not going back. Heck, part of it sounded like bacon, and Tony was almost positive that Tim didn't want any bacon.
Tim stopped mumbling again and Tony got back to cleaning up everything. He picked up the old bandages, put them in the trash. He cleaned up the bandages he hadn't used and put them back in the kit. He checked the kit very thoroughly to make sure he had plenty of supplies. Actually, he took everything out and then put it back in and reorganized it. Then, he packed away the kit and stood up. He looked around the apartment. He could see the whole place from right here. Two beds. A small TV, a lumpy couch. A kitchen. The only thing he couldn't see in detail was the bathroom, but that was tiny. Shower, toilet, sink. It was clean. Tony could say that it was very clean. Tiny, cramped, dingy, annoying, ugly. But it was clean. Obsessively clean. Tony knew that, while he didn't like living in a pig sty, he was still cleaning way more than was necessary.
If only he knew where Gibbs was. Tony had never realized how it felt to be the one not involved. It was not pleasant. He felt so worried about what might have been happening. But if Tim had been with Gibbs, why had he asked for Tony? If he had been with Gibbs, how had this happened and was Gibbs worse off? Was Gibbs dead? Tony had tried to call once, but it hadn't even gone to voicemail. That had clued him into the seriousness of the situation, even if Tim's status hadn't already.
"Man, this sucks," he said aloud.
x.x.x.x.x.x.x
Tim lay where he was, with his eyes closed. It was so hard to open them.
He was sure that time must be passing, but he couldn't determine how much. All in all, he was mostly content with the fog, but he was actually somewhat aware of it now, and he was fairly certain that the fog had been there before but he hadn't noticed.
He tried to open his eyes again. He wanted to do it without Tony making him. He needed to show that he was able.
His eyes opened, but things weren't completely clear. There was some fog involved in his vision as well as his brain.
He tried to talk, but this time, he tried to slow it down. Maybe repetition wasn't helping. Maybe he just needed to be slower.
Then, he realized that it was dark.
"Daaaaarrrrk," he said. There. That was a word. Right?
"What? Tim, was that you?"
The name. What was it?
"Tony," he said, trying to get it right.
He heard movement and then a hand on his arm.
"I'm right here. What did you say?"
Tim thought hard about the word he'd said.
"Daaarrk," he said.
There was a chuckle.
"Yeah, well, it's the middle of the night, Tim. What do you expect?"
He suddenly couldn't think of what was happening now. It was something else. Something terrible. Awful. Painful. It had been dark when it happened.
"Dn...leave...behnd...sssstoooop."
"Hey. Calm down, Tim. It's okay. You're fine. Or you will be. Eventually."
"Darrrrk," he said again.
"Okay. I'll turn on a light."
There was a flash of light in his eyes and he closed them in reaction, making it dark again.
"Rrrrrrrunnnnn...ing," he whispered.
"Open your eyes, Tim. If you're afraid of the dark, open your eyes. There's light."
Tim struggled and did. Tony was right. There was light.
He tried really hard to say that. He didn't know why it was so difficult to come up with the right words, but it was.
"Noooo...dar-k."
"Nope. Not dark."
Good. That seemed to have made sense.
"Tony."
"Yeah?"
"Cnnn...go...baaaaa...no."
"I'm sorry, Tim. I don't understand what you're saying."
Tim had been afraid of that. The problem was that, right now, he wasn't sure exactly what it was he was trying to say. Everything had fallen out of his head in the midst of his sudden fear. Making words was so hard, though. He tried and tried to think of what he was saying.
"It's all right, Tim. Calm down. Go back to sleep. It can wait until tomorrow."
"Nooooo...baaaaa. Nnnnnooo."
Moving was harder than speaking, but Tim tried to move his hand, tried to grab Tony so that he would get what Tim was saying.
Finally, he did it. Well, he did something. He managed to move his hand over to Tony's hand.
"I get that this is important, Tim, but it'll wait. We're not going anywhere or doing anything until you can tell me what's going on. So relax and go back to sleep. You've got to be tired, right?"
As soon as he said it, Tim was tired, but he didn't want to be in the dark again.
"Dar-k," he said, trying to emphasize the k.
"I'll leave the light on for you. Just like Tom Bodett."
Tim was exhausted with trying to talk and trying to move. His eyes closed and he felt the black starting to come in again.
He slept.
x.x.x.x.x.x.x
Tony stifled a sigh as Tim seemed to fall asleep again. On the one hand, it was great that Tim seemed to be more alert. On the other hand, he wasn't really making much sense at all. If there were clear thoughts in his head, they weren't coming out of his mouth.
Was it better or worse that Tim was alert enough to be scared of the dark?
"Think positive, DiNozzo," he said softly to himself. "He's getting better. He's improving. He even moved a little!"
But it was taking so long and he was worried about how frightened Tim was...about whatever it was that had frightened him. He needed Tim to act like Tim. And if he was genuinely afraid of something or someone, then, what was the best course of action? Action. That would be so much better than this sitting around. Tony hated being forced to be sedentary. It just wasn't him, no matter how much he complained about working. He hated that he couldn't do anything.
At least, he couldn't do anything besides clean. Clean the apartment, clean the dishes... clean Tim. He sighed but then shook his head.
"No, he's getting better, not worse. That means that, eventually, he's going to be able to talk about whatever it is that he's trying to say now. I just have to be patient."
That made him sigh again. Patient. Patience was only a virtue until waiting meant one had waited too long and then everything went to pot. Then, it became delaying or something else with negative meanings attached and it was the wrong thing to do...but up until the moment when everything went wrong, it was the virtue of patience.
With the light on, Tony could sit there and stare at what had become of his friend and teammate.
Tim had been beaten to within an inch of his life. Two of his teeth were broken. He'd had swelling in his brain and internal bleeding in his abdomen. There were bruises all over, including a couple of places where the pattern of a boot could be seen in the pattern of the bruise. There were smaller lacerations that the doctor hadn't been able to identify the cause of, and a few places where they'd had to debride the wounds because Tim had been hit with rotten wood. All in all, he was lucky to be alive. It was only due to a hunter who had heard the commotion and called out that Tim hadn't been killed. (It had helped that the hunter had two large redbone hounds.)
No wonder he'd said it hurt.
"And no wonder I hate looking at him," Tony said to himself.
After another twenty minutes, with Tim breathing more or less evenly again, Tony took a chance and turned out the light.
He got back into bed and, as he always did, hoped for a good night's sleep. He never got it, but he hoped for it. And he hoped, as he always did, that he wasn't making a mistake by keeping Tim hidden here.
If only I knew what was going on!