Thanks so much to all who have reviewed. I've been posting these from my phone as time allows, and haven't figured out how to pm reviewers, as for some reason it won't let me. It took me ages to figure out how to post the story itself, so please forgive if I don't get back to you. Reviewer charlie911 pointed out that I'd messed up the timeline here for how long Tony had been on Gibbs' team. For some reason I was thinking Hiatus was at the end of the third season, from which this fic diverges, but I've lost track of prior seasons after Cate was killed off, so my timeline is wonky. Also, please keep in mind that this is AU as stated in the first chapter, so while I've used the story arc that was canon, the circumstances won't all be exactly the same. They will diverge as to the actual events on the show.
Not beta'd..
After consulting with Tony's charge nurse as to his dietary restrictions, Gibbs headed out for the appropriate fare, while Ducky checked in with his doctors. It was tricky finding something that fit into the parameters that he knew Tony would eat - nothing too greasy, or spicy, or hard to digest, like roast beef. Damn.Those were pretty much DiNozzo's entire diet. He'd opted for a tuna wrap with a side of soup, and hoped it would tempt the kid into eating more than the gloppy mashed potatoes and meatloaf he'd only partially eaten at lunchtime. Tony had seemed genuinely happy with the choices, especially seeing as how dinner was some form of pasta and soggy green beans. He'd shared the large wrap with his boss, and slurped happily on an orange soda.
"That was good, Boss, thanks. I didn't think I would be this hungry so soon."
"You're welcome. Nobody's health improves on hospital food."
Tony set the drink on the rolling over the bed table and sat back, careful to ease his stitched head into a comfortable slot in the pillow.
"Brad says I can go home tomorrow afternoon as long as I have an aide or visiting nurses to check in on me."
"I know. Would you mind coming to my place for a couple of days? Just until we know your balance is ok? I'll guard the door against unwanted visitors."
"Boss, I - it's not that I don't like coming to your place, it's just - I wanna sleep in my own bed, watch my movies for a while, just - veg and order takeout."
"Understood. I'll sleep on your couch, then."
Tony knew it would take too much energy to argue with the man, but he was also a bit weirded out by the "new" old Gibbs - concerned and caring - but only when he knew Tony really needed it. That was the Gibbs he remembered and loved. The one that had come back from Mexico had been a stranger to him, and it was sort of like his boss had flipped a personality switch, which reminded too much of his father, DiNozzo Senior.
As usual, Gibbs pretty much read Tony's mind by reading his eyes, and backed off a little.
"It's ok. We'll work something out. Maybe I can come by for dinner after work, and an aide can spend the night."
Tony brightened, mostly at the fact that Gibbs had stopped pressing him about being his babysitter.
"I'd like that, Boss. Anyway, according to Brad and Ducky, I'll probably do a lot of sleeping the next few days while my system recovers."
"That would be good, DiNozzo. I'm pretty sure you haven't been getting much the past few months."
"Not really. Haven't been home much, either." He yawned mightily at that point, and Gibbs chuckled, patting his hand.
"Okay. I'll talk to Brad about arranging some aides and nurses. Make a grocery list - er, I'll help you make a grocery list later and get your fridge stocked for when you get home. Go to sleep, I'll stop back before visiting hours are over."
Tony nodded vaguely, but he was already half out of it, and totally out by the time Gibbs got out the door of the small step down unit.
Two days later, Tony was comfortably ensconced in his apartment, cupboards and fridge stocked with his favorite foods, and new takeout menus scattered on the counter. He was able to navigate his apartment by himself, but Ducky had made him strike a bargain with him - Tony had called it blackmail - that if the stubborn young man refused to have someone there round the clock, that he would use a walker for balance. He was still having the occasional dizzy spells, and his balance in general was questionable until he started physical therapy, which was a couple days off, and he would need more than one session to regain his equilibrium after weeks of illness.
Still, Tony was happy with the situation as a whole - he was able to keep some independence, keep his Boss and Ducky from worrying about him so much during the work day, and feel a modicum of safety that eased his own mind. Like he'd told Gibbs he would be doing, he slept a good part of the day, waking up for the home health aides and nurses that took turns stopping by at intervals to check on his surgical stitches, and make sure he was getting up and around and clearing his lungs.
All in all, he thought he was pretty damned lucky, having successful brain surgery and then being able to be back home a few days later. Life was good. Now he just needed to decide what to do with the next several years of it. He wasn't blowing smoke when he told Gibbs he couldn't come back to the team until they'd all come to a clear understanding of what had happened and what needed to change.
And he wasn't offering half-assed apologies when he'd told his boss that he was partially to blame for how he'd been treated by the others while Gibbs had been in Mexico. He'd always lived inside layers of different personas, each to suit the moment, and he'd had to admit to himself that sometimes he didn't know when to put them away, leave them at home. A few habits, manifested from years of self-defense, sometimes were his worst enemy. He could admit that the humor he used to soften the harshness of their jobs sometimes went too far. So he had a difficult time with boundaries…why was everyone else allowed to trample his with impunity and never get called on it, or worse, get a head slap, which by the way, were over and done with, brain surgery or not.
He'd made a list of things to discuss with his mental health therapist, new areas that had come to light in Gibbs' frank discussions with him at the hospital. He liked the new doctor. She reminded him of Cait, but a more organized, less volatile version. Someday he might even talk to Rachael about his dead partner. But not yet. That was a topic best left for when he was physically on more solid ground, mentally and emotionally grounded with his team. For now, he had some thinking to do, a backup plan he'd guess he'd call it - in case compromise couldn't be found within the MCRT as to how to move forward.
He was fairly certain that he and McGee could come to some sort of truce , but quite honestly, he didn't have high hopes for Ziva. Without Gibbs there to bring a stabilizing influence to her impulsiveness, or lower the boom on her default to anger, she had hijacked the team, and taken McGee along with her to convince him to defect to her side. It had all been pretty effective, and once they'd found that Gibbs could be swayed to their side, it had become a bloodbath. He didn't hold out much hope that Gibbs could make her understand that her reign of terror was over - he had a particular soft spot for her, and Tony had ferretted out what had really happened in his boss's basement that night. It didn't take a federal agent to connect the dots if anyone bothered looking hard enough.
Still, knowing the truth behind the facade, and actually being able to use the information was for all practicality, impossible. He wouldn't go up against his own agency director, and he certainly wasn't going to take on the Director of Mossad; he valued his body parts, even though a few of them were dodgy now. Besides, he didn't feel that he should have to do either of those things. He not only had seniority, he'd worked hard for his Master's degree to qualify for the senior field agent position. Ms. David was there as a liaison as a courtesy to Mossad, although Tony often wondered if there was more to it than that. Most of the time, he'd been too beaten down to come to any conclusion.
His head had started to hurt and he realized he was late in his medications. Ducky, God bless him, had had the schedule copied, and made sure to have Jimmy Palmer call him to make sure he'd taken them. He hurriedly gulped them down, and in the nick of time, as his cell phone rang as he set down the glass.
"Jimmy, my man! What's up?"