21. Chapter twenty-one
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| Category | Slash >> Gibbs/DiNozzo |
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| Pairing | Gibbs/DiNozzo |
| Characters | Abby Sciuto, Anthony DiNozzo, Donald Mallard, Jimmy Palmer, Leroy Jethro Gibbs, Original character, Timothy McGee, Ziva David |
| Rating | NC-17 |
| Genre | Angst, Case, Character study, First Time, Hurt/Comfort |
| Added | 28/05/2009 |
| Status | This story is completed |
Chapter Twenty-one:
Gibbs contented himself with simply holding Tony’s hand and eyes. He was talked out. The minutes ticked by, and still they sat there looking at each other. Gibbs remained silent, trapped in his own thoughts, too tired and too confused to do much about it. It seemed as if Tony understood, because eventually he gave Gibbs’ hand a weary squeeze and let his eyes close. Gibbs wasn’t sure if Tony was really asleep or just inventing a new kind of hospital visitation etiquette " the one that states you have to let your visitors off the hook when they don’t know what to say. That was one of the funny things about Tony, Gibbs thought. He could joke and tease unmercifully when he found someone’s weaknesses, but he was also capable of great sensitivity. It was Tony who had dealt with McGee when he shot and killed that policeman, Tony who Abby confided in, and it was Tony who had held the team together during the dark months he had spent in Mexico. Gibbs pushed that thought away. There was no point in revisiting past bad choices. Now was the time to figure out what tomorrow might bring.
Gibbs knew this silence couldn’t continue. Tony was going to need the distraction from pain that talk could provide; and soon, they were going to have to discuss what was happening between them. Gibbs wondered if he could fall back on the old adage, ‘Actions speak louder than words,’ but knew that would never fly. Neither one of them was good at talking about things that really mattered. They would need to have one deeply personal and uncomfortable conversation if they were going to be able to fall back into their more natural pattern of half stated thoughts and meaning laden looks. Yeah, because that had worked out so well up until now, he thought bitterly. This was why he avoided relationships, he told himself. He sucked at them and usually found a way to truly screw it up. He didn’t want to make the same mistakes with Tony. If they were going to start something, then he needed it to last. He wasn’t prepared to deal with the ramifications loosing Tony would produce. This was making him crazy - too much talk and way too much soul searching. Gibbs was saved from his urge to tear out his hair when Karen came into the room.
“I see he’s gone back to sleep. This has been a long day for him, I’m sure.”
“Yeah.”
“Marianne’s making a run for coffee, do you want some?”
“Yeah - black,” he said, digging in his pocket for money.
“Tony and Abby seem to have a special friendship. It’s nice to see a bond that strong.”
“Yeah.”
“Don’t strain yourself making conversation.” She paused, giving him time to respond. When he said nothing she continued. “Hey Gibbs, did you know self pity isn’t a good color on you?” she said, not really asking a question.
Gibbs looked over at her, the sharp retort he had ready died on his tongue. She stood, hands on her hot pink clad hips, looking at him with understanding and amusement. There was something about that woman he thought. He wondered how someone he had known for such a short time seemed to have such a good read on him and still wasn’t afraid to call him on anything. Shaking his head and giving her a rueful smile, he said, “I’ll try to do better. You know, if you ever get tired of nursing bet you’d make a hell of a profiler.”
“That’s what makes me a good nurse.” She took the money he was holding in his hand and headed for the door, but stopped when she got to it. Turning back to Gibbs, she said, “Sometimes we all need more than just friends. Sometimes we need to know we’re irreplaceable to someone.” And with that, she waved the money and left.
“How’d you like that DiNozzo? Looks like you’ve got yourself a new ally.” Gibbs said, feeling his funk slowly lifting. He looked over at Tony, and getting no reaction, he knew that Tony was really asleep.
Gibbs settled back into the chair and prepared for another long night. Karen returned with coffee and copies of the day’s papers. Gibbs entertained himself, reading and periodically checking to see if Tony was awake.
At 11:15 Gibbs noticed that Tony was getting restless. Putting down the paper he stood and, reaching down to grasp Tony’s hand, he murmured reassuring words. Tony’s head was once again moving from side to side, in a vain attempt to escape whatever nightmare his subconscious had trapped him in.
Jeanne, Kate, Jenny and his mother surrounded him, arms linked - their bodies insubstantial and devoid of color. Gibbs stood on the outside of the circle, trying to get in but the women kept blocking him. Gibbs’ arms reached straight through their bodies, but still he could not break through. He was on his back on the ground; arms and legs stretched out away from his body and tied securely to stakes which had been pounded into the ground. He wore only a pair of thread bare jeans, the rest of his exposed flesh was covered in bloody welts and pain racked his body. The women were all pointing at him and laughing. They started to chant something he could not hear clearly. Something was blocking out their voices, and then he could feel something touching his hand.
“Hey Tony, it’s time to wake up. Come on Tony, you’re just dreaming again,” Gibbs soothed. “Come on, open your eyes. You can do it.”
The hand he was holding slowly came to life, returning the pressure Gibbs was applying. Tony’s eyes opened and immediately sought out Gibbs.
“Hey, you okay Tony?” Gibbs asked, disturbed when Tony just stared at him.
“Tony?”
Tony blinked, and slowly nodded.
“You back with me? Another nightmare?” Gibbs asked, although he already knew the answer.
Again Tony nodded his reply.
“You okay now?”
And Tony raised his other hand slightly and gave a thumbs up.
Giving Tony’s hand a quick squeeze, he extracted his hand from Tony’s grasp and reached over to the table next to the bed where the nurses kept a green plastic bowl of water and a generic white wash rag. He dipped the cloth in the water, rang it out, and wiped off the sweat that had formed on Tony’s forehead during the dream. Tony’s eyes followed his movements. He stopped when he realized how intimate the gesture was. He hadn’t thought about it when Tony was unconscious, but now found himself embarrassed to be cleansing Tony while he watched.
“Sorry, you were sweating, was afraid it would run down into your eyes,” he said weakly as he started to withdraw the cloth and his hand.
Tony’s hand reached up quickly and wrapped around Gibb’s wrist, effectively stilling his hand. Tony knew that Gibbs was extremely uncomfortable with the situation or he would never have resorted to apologizing. When he was being honest with himself, he had to admit that so was he. Not that he hadn’t spent countless nights fantasizing about Gibbs, imagining what he would do to his body if they were together, but now that the chance existed, he found those thoughts almost too overwhelming. He suspected that Gibbs felt the same way. He knew how easy it would be to pretend that nothing had changed between them " chalk all this up to the intensity of the situation " go back to how things had been. He couldn’t let either one of them do that. When Gibbs resumed rubbing his face with the cloth Tony relaxed his grip and allowed his hand to slide up Gibbs’ forearm, enjoying the feel of hard muscle through the soft burgundy pullover covering his arm. Gibbs reached up with his other hand and removed the cloth, replacing the rag with his now free hand. He rubbed it across Tony’s forehead and then slid his hand up onto his head, where he gently and repeated corded them through his hair. Tony allowed his eyes to close to a slit, savoring the feeling.
“Tony,” Gibbs said his voice thick and low; when he paused, Tony looked up at him. Gibbs took a deep breath and tried again, “Tony,” and again he stopped. After several seconds, he choked out, “I need to put down the wash cloth. The water’s running down my arm,” and he removed his hand from Tony’s head as he moved back over to the table to lay down the discarded cloth.
‘Well, that was special,’ Gibbs said silently, disgusted with himself as he stared at the bowl of water. When he turned back around he could see the frustration in Tony’s eyes. For one guilty moment he was glad for the breathing tube, glad that Tony couldn’t vocalize whatever was running through his mind. Then, not wanting Tony to think he had rejected him, he reached over and pulled his hand back into his own.
“I’m not good at this Tony,” he said, clearly stating the obvious since Tony’s response was to roll his eyes. “I can’t do this while you’re like that. It feels wrong. Makes me feel like I’m taking advantage of you.”
Tony shook his head as vigorously as possible; his only way of conveying his thoughts.
“Maybe not, but I can’t help how it makes me feel. I need you to be able to talk to me, tell me what you want. I need you not to be covered in bruises, bandages and electrodes. I need you to be able to go to sleep without being afraid of what nightmare lays waiting for you. Christ, I need you not to have a fucking tube down your throat,” and Gibbs stopped, unable to continue as his throat constricted. Tony gave his hand a gentle squeeze and then repositioned his hand so that he was covering Gibbs’ hand with his own.
Gibbs looked down at their hands. “How screwed up is it when the patient is comforting the moral support?” Gibbs asked rhetorically, needing desperately to lighten the mood. Looking at Tony, he imagined the smart assed retort he would have made if able. As it was, Tony’s eyes shone and he softly rubbed his thumb against the pressure point on Gibbs’ wrist.
“Go back to sleep Tony. We aren’t going to solve anything tonight, and you need to rest if you’re going to get better,” Gibbs implored. “I’ll be here when you wake up.” For now, that was the best he could do. Everything else was going to have to wait.
Tony didn’t comply immediately, but he did content himself with lying still and holding on to Gibbs’ hand. Eventually, however, his body’s need for rest won out, and he closed his eyes and fell asleep. At some point, Gibbs followed suit, slumped in the chair, his head lulled to one side.
That was how Dr. Anderson found them when he arrived at 7:30 a.m. for his morning rounds.
“Good morning,” he said, loud enough to wake them. Letting go of Tony’s hand, Gibbs dragged his fists over his eyes, trying to adjust to being awake. Looking over at Tony, he could see him slowly fighting off sleep.
“Morning,” Gibbs grunted, instinctively standing up and offering up his hand. Taking in Dr. Anderson’s freshly groomed dark hair, crisply starched blue dress shirt, rich navy and red silk rep stripe tie, and neatly pressed grey dress slacks Gibbs was aware of how crumpled and ragged he must look. “I’ll leave you to it.” He turned back to Tony, not surprised to find him watching him. “Be back after he’s done, DiNozzo. Figure you’ll have your regular photo session this morning,” he said, looking at Dr. Anderson for confirmation.
“You’re on to us I see,” Dr. Anderson joked. “But you’re right. I need to examine Tony and then have them take more x-rays. I looked over the charts before I came in. It looks like last night went better. That’s great. I’ll stop in to let you know when he’s done, Gibbs,” and he turned his attention to Tony and started talking.
Hoping that Ducky had once again stopped by this morning, Gibbs left the room, heading for the lounge.
“Special Agent Gibbs,” Maria called, as he passed the nurses’ station.
“Dr. Mallard was here early this morning. He said he had a pressing autopsy to perform and couldn’t stay. He asked that I give you this bag, when you came out,” she said, reaching under the counter, producing a very large purple shopping bag, which she heaved up onto the counter.
Thanking her, Gibbs took it from her, surprised by its weight. Not trusting the handles, he carried the bag in two hands and headed into the waiting room. Sitting in the chair next to where he had his overnighter stored, Gibbs sat the bag on the floor and opened it up, eager to see what was in it. Lying on top was a clean pair of jeans, underwear, socks, a red polo, and a grey sweatshirt, with something printed on it. Unfolding the top, he was amused to see Ohio State emblazed on the front. Gibbs was laughing as he set the clothes aside. Next he found a collection of puzzle magazines and some pencils. Under these lay three books. Pulling them out Gibbs examined them; there was the new Tom Clancy novel, a John Grisham book, and something called Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance. Piling these on top of the clothes, he reached back in and pulled out a very small CD player. Tucked in beside it was a plastic bag wrapped with a rubber band which held a note in place. Freeing the note, Gibbs unfolded it and read:
Jethro,
I assume by now you are running out of things to say, and Anthony is tiring of listening to you struggle. I thought a little music might provide a good distraction for you both. I consulted Abigail, and she provided me with these CD’s, assuring me they are some of Anthony’s favorites. I know that he would probably have preferred a DVD player, but I doubt if he is really up to watching an entire movie at the moment. So here is my present to you both. Hopefully you will find these pleasant, even when Anthony is asleep.
Take care. I’ll try to stop by this evening.
Donald
Gibbs opened the bag and looked at the CD’s " a couple of Frank Sinatra’s, Coltrane’s Ascension, a couple by groups called The Talking Heads and Gnarls Barkley, and a Miles Davis. Gibbs told himself that it could have been a lot worse. At least he knew who three of the artists were. He tucked the magazines, books, CD’s and player back into the bag. He pulled his overnighter out, and replaced it with the bag, then grabbed it and the clean clothes and headed for the bathroom.
Gibbs continued what had become his morning ritual. He washed and changed (grinning a little when he donned the OSU sweatshirt), went for coffee and a Danish, took a walk around the block, called McGee and Vance, and headed back to the lounge. Reaching for the bag, he pulled out a pencil and puzzle book and settled in to wait. He was halfway done with a crossword when Dr. Anderson appeared.
“It’s looking good Gibbs,” he said without preamble. “The tear around the aorta is starting to show signs of mending and the leg x-rays are very promising. I don’t know what Dr. Pitt will think of the chest x-ray, but I sure don’t see any additional congestion. I’m in favor of trying to wean him off the ventilator but we’ll have to see what Dr. Pitt thinks. He’s due over here at some point this morning and will decide then whether to remove it or not. Once he’s off the ventilator, and seems to be doing alright on his own, we can think about moving him to a regular room. How were the dreams last night?”
“Only one nightmare as far as I could tell,” Gibbs answered.
“Well, it could be a lot worse,” Dr. Anderson said. “Things may get better after the ventilator is gone, also. We’ll have to see. You might as well head back in. Everyone’s gotten used to you being there. I’ve got to get going, but I’m sure to see you later. Hang in there; he’s a real fighter Gibbs. He’s going to be fine.”
Grabbing the bag from Ducky, Gibbs returned to Tony’s room. When he got there, Tony was sound asleep. That didn’t surprise him. The examinations and x-rays exhausted him. Gibbs stuck his head back out the door and asked Nurse Maria if it would be alright if he played a CD quietly.
“That depends on the CD,” she answered, coming over to see what he had to offer. Looking over the selection, she pulled out From the Heart, by Sinatra and said, “I don’t see how this could bother anyone as long as you keep it very low. Each room is separated by glass walls and curtains, after all. Besides, I’ve always been partial to blue eyes,” she said with a wink and a grin.
Gibbs placed the CD player on the small bedside table and looked it over. From a panel in the back he extracted a power cord, which he plugged into an outlet on the wall. Opening the bag, he pulled out the Sinatra CD and used his teeth to tear through the cellophane wrapper. Popping the CD into the slot, Gibbs punched buttons until he succeeded in getting the music started. “Blue Skies” softly filled the room. Grabbing the half finished crossword, Gibbs settled down in the chair, waiting for Tony to awaken.
Sinatra had just started singing “Autumn In New York” when Gibbs heard the bed shifting. Looking up he saw Tony’s eyes open. Standing, he said, “Ducky sent a CD player and some music. Guess he thought you must be sick of my voice by now.”
Tony looked him over and pointed to his sweatshirt, his eyes silently laughing.
“I have no idea where he found this. Figured it couldn’t have been easy. Thought the least I could do was wear it,” Gibbs quipped. “Didn’t know what you would want to listen to but figured Sinatra was a safe choice.”
Tony nodded his head in agreement, and then tapped at his wrist. By now Gibbs knew that was his way of asking for the time and day.
“It’s around 10:30 on Thursday morning. You’ve been here just long enough for everyone to get tired of you,” he joked. “Dr. Anderson says you’re doing so well that you may get to move to a regular room soon.”
Tony’s hand reached up the ventilation tube and looked at Gibbs questioningly.
“I don’t know Tony. Brad should be here some time this morning. He’s going to be the one with the final say on when that gets removed.” He looked at Tony’s now beaming face and wondered how much he should tell him. Deciding that he never appreciated being left in the dark, and knowing that Tony felt the same way, he pressed on.
“You need to prepare yourself for what its going to be like when that gets removed, Tony. Even though you’re doing better, you still have pneumonia. When they remove the tube, all of the unpleasant symptoms are going to return. There won’t be any respiratory people coming in to suction all the gunk out. You’ll have to cough to clear out your airways. You remember what that was like.”
Tony nodded slowly in response. He recalled vividly what it had been like when the Y. pestis had been killed, leaving him with a raging case of pneumonia. Memories of what it felt like, spitting up mucus and blood, too tired from the constant hacking to even wipe his own mouth, flooded back. He didn’t know if he was strong enough to face that again. Fear replaced the happiness in his eyes.
“Hey, it might not be as bad as last time. They’ve been pumping antibiotics into you for the last three days. Even if it is, it’ll be okay, Tony. I’ve always got your back. You’ll get through it.”
Tony held up his hand and Gibbs knew what he wanted. Taking the proffered hand in his own, he settled them both back on the bed, and sat down in the chair. “We might as well sit and listen to old Frank; no point in worrying about this now. Brad will be here soon and we’ll see what’s up.”
They sat, companionably listening to the music, each lost in their own thoughts. Letting the music relax him, Gibbs silently vowed to buy Ducky a very expensive bottle of scotch as a thank you. Holding the crossword puzzle, Gibbs had just written ‘consider’, in answer to the question ‘to take into account’, when Dr. Pitt arrived, dressed casually in khaki’s, a button down yellow shirt, no tie, and a lab coat thrown casually over the top of everything. Maria was right behind him as he entered the room.
“Morning you two,” and he stopped, laughing uproariously when he took in what Gibbs was wearing. “Oh my god, you’ve been totally corrupted. This is almost too much for a good Wolverine to stand. Where in the hell did you get that?”
“Ducky brought it, the CD player too. Think he’s worried about my ability to entertain Tony and is looking to help.”
“Well, it entertained me. How about you Tony?” Brad said, moving over to the bed.
Tony nodded his head, his eyes laughing. He waved a hello to Brad and then reached up to the face mask, his question easily decipherable.
“I don’t know yet Tony, but if you’re enough better to ask that’s a good sign. I looked at the film from this morning and Dr. Anderson’s notes. Everything seems like a go from his end. I need to check a couple of things. I’m going to go ahead and suction out any mucus that’s formed in the time since the last time respiration therapist was in here,” and he reached over and used the machine for pulling out the build up. Once that was done, he checked Tony’s oxygen levels again, seeing if there was any change.
“Okay Tony, I need you to do something that will seem a little strange given the intubation. When I tell you to, I need you to try and take as deep a breath as you can. You’ve been letting the machine do all your breathing for you and I need to see how strong your breathing muscles are right now. You ready?” he asked, waiting for Tony’s response.
Tony nodded eagerly.
“Okay, go ahead and take a deep breath.”
Gibbs and Dr. Pitt watched Tony’s chest raise higher and then fall back to normal.
“That’s great Tony. Let’s do it again.”
Again Tony’s chest expanded as his lungs filled with the additional air.
“How do you feel, did that hurt,” Brad asked, after the machine resumed controlling Tony’s breathing.
Tony shook his head back and forth definitively.
“Would you tell me if it did?” Brad asked, holding Tony’s eyes, well aware of Tony’s tendency towards stoicism on important issues.
Tony looked at him for several beats, before he slowly nodded his head.
“Okay then, you ready to get rid of that thing?”
Tony’s nods became much more enthusiastic.
Maria moved to the other side of the bed and gently placed her hands over Tony’s, applying enough pressure to secure them. Then Brad looked down at Tony. “This is going to be uncomfortable, Tony. Once it comes out, you’ll need to cough to get out any secretions this dislodges. We’ll supplement your oxygen with a nasal cannula and continue to monitor your oxygen levels. I assume Gibbs has talked to you about the pneumonia and what that means?”
Tony nodded his response.
“Okay, then you know what to expect.” Reaching over, he removed the plastic mask protecting the tubing. “Okay, here goes.” And he gently pulled the tubing out of Tony’s mouth.
Gibbs contented himself with simply holding Tony’s hand and eyes. He was talked out. The minutes ticked by, and still they sat there looking at each other. Gibbs remained silent, trapped in his own thoughts, too tired and too confused to do much about it. It seemed as if Tony understood, because eventually he gave Gibbs’ hand a weary squeeze and let his eyes close. Gibbs wasn’t sure if Tony was really asleep or just inventing a new kind of hospital visitation etiquette " the one that states you have to let your visitors off the hook when they don’t know what to say. That was one of the funny things about Tony, Gibbs thought. He could joke and tease unmercifully when he found someone’s weaknesses, but he was also capable of great sensitivity. It was Tony who had dealt with McGee when he shot and killed that policeman, Tony who Abby confided in, and it was Tony who had held the team together during the dark months he had spent in Mexico. Gibbs pushed that thought away. There was no point in revisiting past bad choices. Now was the time to figure out what tomorrow might bring.
Gibbs knew this silence couldn’t continue. Tony was going to need the distraction from pain that talk could provide; and soon, they were going to have to discuss what was happening between them. Gibbs wondered if he could fall back on the old adage, ‘Actions speak louder than words,’ but knew that would never fly. Neither one of them was good at talking about things that really mattered. They would need to have one deeply personal and uncomfortable conversation if they were going to be able to fall back into their more natural pattern of half stated thoughts and meaning laden looks. Yeah, because that had worked out so well up until now, he thought bitterly. This was why he avoided relationships, he told himself. He sucked at them and usually found a way to truly screw it up. He didn’t want to make the same mistakes with Tony. If they were going to start something, then he needed it to last. He wasn’t prepared to deal with the ramifications loosing Tony would produce. This was making him crazy - too much talk and way too much soul searching. Gibbs was saved from his urge to tear out his hair when Karen came into the room.
“I see he’s gone back to sleep. This has been a long day for him, I’m sure.”
“Yeah.”
“Marianne’s making a run for coffee, do you want some?”
“Yeah - black,” he said, digging in his pocket for money.
“Tony and Abby seem to have a special friendship. It’s nice to see a bond that strong.”
“Yeah.”
“Don’t strain yourself making conversation.” She paused, giving him time to respond. When he said nothing she continued. “Hey Gibbs, did you know self pity isn’t a good color on you?” she said, not really asking a question.
Gibbs looked over at her, the sharp retort he had ready died on his tongue. She stood, hands on her hot pink clad hips, looking at him with understanding and amusement. There was something about that woman he thought. He wondered how someone he had known for such a short time seemed to have such a good read on him and still wasn’t afraid to call him on anything. Shaking his head and giving her a rueful smile, he said, “I’ll try to do better. You know, if you ever get tired of nursing bet you’d make a hell of a profiler.”
“That’s what makes me a good nurse.” She took the money he was holding in his hand and headed for the door, but stopped when she got to it. Turning back to Gibbs, she said, “Sometimes we all need more than just friends. Sometimes we need to know we’re irreplaceable to someone.” And with that, she waved the money and left.
“How’d you like that DiNozzo? Looks like you’ve got yourself a new ally.” Gibbs said, feeling his funk slowly lifting. He looked over at Tony, and getting no reaction, he knew that Tony was really asleep.
Gibbs settled back into the chair and prepared for another long night. Karen returned with coffee and copies of the day’s papers. Gibbs entertained himself, reading and periodically checking to see if Tony was awake.
At 11:15 Gibbs noticed that Tony was getting restless. Putting down the paper he stood and, reaching down to grasp Tony’s hand, he murmured reassuring words. Tony’s head was once again moving from side to side, in a vain attempt to escape whatever nightmare his subconscious had trapped him in.
Jeanne, Kate, Jenny and his mother surrounded him, arms linked - their bodies insubstantial and devoid of color. Gibbs stood on the outside of the circle, trying to get in but the women kept blocking him. Gibbs’ arms reached straight through their bodies, but still he could not break through. He was on his back on the ground; arms and legs stretched out away from his body and tied securely to stakes which had been pounded into the ground. He wore only a pair of thread bare jeans, the rest of his exposed flesh was covered in bloody welts and pain racked his body. The women were all pointing at him and laughing. They started to chant something he could not hear clearly. Something was blocking out their voices, and then he could feel something touching his hand.
“Hey Tony, it’s time to wake up. Come on Tony, you’re just dreaming again,” Gibbs soothed. “Come on, open your eyes. You can do it.”
The hand he was holding slowly came to life, returning the pressure Gibbs was applying. Tony’s eyes opened and immediately sought out Gibbs.
“Hey, you okay Tony?” Gibbs asked, disturbed when Tony just stared at him.
“Tony?”
Tony blinked, and slowly nodded.
“You back with me? Another nightmare?” Gibbs asked, although he already knew the answer.
Again Tony nodded his reply.
“You okay now?”
And Tony raised his other hand slightly and gave a thumbs up.
Giving Tony’s hand a quick squeeze, he extracted his hand from Tony’s grasp and reached over to the table next to the bed where the nurses kept a green plastic bowl of water and a generic white wash rag. He dipped the cloth in the water, rang it out, and wiped off the sweat that had formed on Tony’s forehead during the dream. Tony’s eyes followed his movements. He stopped when he realized how intimate the gesture was. He hadn’t thought about it when Tony was unconscious, but now found himself embarrassed to be cleansing Tony while he watched.
“Sorry, you were sweating, was afraid it would run down into your eyes,” he said weakly as he started to withdraw the cloth and his hand.
Tony’s hand reached up quickly and wrapped around Gibb’s wrist, effectively stilling his hand. Tony knew that Gibbs was extremely uncomfortable with the situation or he would never have resorted to apologizing. When he was being honest with himself, he had to admit that so was he. Not that he hadn’t spent countless nights fantasizing about Gibbs, imagining what he would do to his body if they were together, but now that the chance existed, he found those thoughts almost too overwhelming. He suspected that Gibbs felt the same way. He knew how easy it would be to pretend that nothing had changed between them " chalk all this up to the intensity of the situation " go back to how things had been. He couldn’t let either one of them do that. When Gibbs resumed rubbing his face with the cloth Tony relaxed his grip and allowed his hand to slide up Gibbs’ forearm, enjoying the feel of hard muscle through the soft burgundy pullover covering his arm. Gibbs reached up with his other hand and removed the cloth, replacing the rag with his now free hand. He rubbed it across Tony’s forehead and then slid his hand up onto his head, where he gently and repeated corded them through his hair. Tony allowed his eyes to close to a slit, savoring the feeling.
“Tony,” Gibbs said his voice thick and low; when he paused, Tony looked up at him. Gibbs took a deep breath and tried again, “Tony,” and again he stopped. After several seconds, he choked out, “I need to put down the wash cloth. The water’s running down my arm,” and he removed his hand from Tony’s head as he moved back over to the table to lay down the discarded cloth.
‘Well, that was special,’ Gibbs said silently, disgusted with himself as he stared at the bowl of water. When he turned back around he could see the frustration in Tony’s eyes. For one guilty moment he was glad for the breathing tube, glad that Tony couldn’t vocalize whatever was running through his mind. Then, not wanting Tony to think he had rejected him, he reached over and pulled his hand back into his own.
“I’m not good at this Tony,” he said, clearly stating the obvious since Tony’s response was to roll his eyes. “I can’t do this while you’re like that. It feels wrong. Makes me feel like I’m taking advantage of you.”
Tony shook his head as vigorously as possible; his only way of conveying his thoughts.
“Maybe not, but I can’t help how it makes me feel. I need you to be able to talk to me, tell me what you want. I need you not to be covered in bruises, bandages and electrodes. I need you to be able to go to sleep without being afraid of what nightmare lays waiting for you. Christ, I need you not to have a fucking tube down your throat,” and Gibbs stopped, unable to continue as his throat constricted. Tony gave his hand a gentle squeeze and then repositioned his hand so that he was covering Gibbs’ hand with his own.
Gibbs looked down at their hands. “How screwed up is it when the patient is comforting the moral support?” Gibbs asked rhetorically, needing desperately to lighten the mood. Looking at Tony, he imagined the smart assed retort he would have made if able. As it was, Tony’s eyes shone and he softly rubbed his thumb against the pressure point on Gibbs’ wrist.
“Go back to sleep Tony. We aren’t going to solve anything tonight, and you need to rest if you’re going to get better,” Gibbs implored. “I’ll be here when you wake up.” For now, that was the best he could do. Everything else was going to have to wait.
Tony didn’t comply immediately, but he did content himself with lying still and holding on to Gibbs’ hand. Eventually, however, his body’s need for rest won out, and he closed his eyes and fell asleep. At some point, Gibbs followed suit, slumped in the chair, his head lulled to one side.
That was how Dr. Anderson found them when he arrived at 7:30 a.m. for his morning rounds.
“Good morning,” he said, loud enough to wake them. Letting go of Tony’s hand, Gibbs dragged his fists over his eyes, trying to adjust to being awake. Looking over at Tony, he could see him slowly fighting off sleep.
“Morning,” Gibbs grunted, instinctively standing up and offering up his hand. Taking in Dr. Anderson’s freshly groomed dark hair, crisply starched blue dress shirt, rich navy and red silk rep stripe tie, and neatly pressed grey dress slacks Gibbs was aware of how crumpled and ragged he must look. “I’ll leave you to it.” He turned back to Tony, not surprised to find him watching him. “Be back after he’s done, DiNozzo. Figure you’ll have your regular photo session this morning,” he said, looking at Dr. Anderson for confirmation.
“You’re on to us I see,” Dr. Anderson joked. “But you’re right. I need to examine Tony and then have them take more x-rays. I looked over the charts before I came in. It looks like last night went better. That’s great. I’ll stop in to let you know when he’s done, Gibbs,” and he turned his attention to Tony and started talking.
Hoping that Ducky had once again stopped by this morning, Gibbs left the room, heading for the lounge.
“Special Agent Gibbs,” Maria called, as he passed the nurses’ station.
“Dr. Mallard was here early this morning. He said he had a pressing autopsy to perform and couldn’t stay. He asked that I give you this bag, when you came out,” she said, reaching under the counter, producing a very large purple shopping bag, which she heaved up onto the counter.
Thanking her, Gibbs took it from her, surprised by its weight. Not trusting the handles, he carried the bag in two hands and headed into the waiting room. Sitting in the chair next to where he had his overnighter stored, Gibbs sat the bag on the floor and opened it up, eager to see what was in it. Lying on top was a clean pair of jeans, underwear, socks, a red polo, and a grey sweatshirt, with something printed on it. Unfolding the top, he was amused to see Ohio State emblazed on the front. Gibbs was laughing as he set the clothes aside. Next he found a collection of puzzle magazines and some pencils. Under these lay three books. Pulling them out Gibbs examined them; there was the new Tom Clancy novel, a John Grisham book, and something called Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance. Piling these on top of the clothes, he reached back in and pulled out a very small CD player. Tucked in beside it was a plastic bag wrapped with a rubber band which held a note in place. Freeing the note, Gibbs unfolded it and read:
Jethro,
I assume by now you are running out of things to say, and Anthony is tiring of listening to you struggle. I thought a little music might provide a good distraction for you both. I consulted Abigail, and she provided me with these CD’s, assuring me they are some of Anthony’s favorites. I know that he would probably have preferred a DVD player, but I doubt if he is really up to watching an entire movie at the moment. So here is my present to you both. Hopefully you will find these pleasant, even when Anthony is asleep.
Take care. I’ll try to stop by this evening.
Donald
Gibbs opened the bag and looked at the CD’s " a couple of Frank Sinatra’s, Coltrane’s Ascension, a couple by groups called The Talking Heads and Gnarls Barkley, and a Miles Davis. Gibbs told himself that it could have been a lot worse. At least he knew who three of the artists were. He tucked the magazines, books, CD’s and player back into the bag. He pulled his overnighter out, and replaced it with the bag, then grabbed it and the clean clothes and headed for the bathroom.
Gibbs continued what had become his morning ritual. He washed and changed (grinning a little when he donned the OSU sweatshirt), went for coffee and a Danish, took a walk around the block, called McGee and Vance, and headed back to the lounge. Reaching for the bag, he pulled out a pencil and puzzle book and settled in to wait. He was halfway done with a crossword when Dr. Anderson appeared.
“It’s looking good Gibbs,” he said without preamble. “The tear around the aorta is starting to show signs of mending and the leg x-rays are very promising. I don’t know what Dr. Pitt will think of the chest x-ray, but I sure don’t see any additional congestion. I’m in favor of trying to wean him off the ventilator but we’ll have to see what Dr. Pitt thinks. He’s due over here at some point this morning and will decide then whether to remove it or not. Once he’s off the ventilator, and seems to be doing alright on his own, we can think about moving him to a regular room. How were the dreams last night?”
“Only one nightmare as far as I could tell,” Gibbs answered.
“Well, it could be a lot worse,” Dr. Anderson said. “Things may get better after the ventilator is gone, also. We’ll have to see. You might as well head back in. Everyone’s gotten used to you being there. I’ve got to get going, but I’m sure to see you later. Hang in there; he’s a real fighter Gibbs. He’s going to be fine.”
Grabbing the bag from Ducky, Gibbs returned to Tony’s room. When he got there, Tony was sound asleep. That didn’t surprise him. The examinations and x-rays exhausted him. Gibbs stuck his head back out the door and asked Nurse Maria if it would be alright if he played a CD quietly.
“That depends on the CD,” she answered, coming over to see what he had to offer. Looking over the selection, she pulled out From the Heart, by Sinatra and said, “I don’t see how this could bother anyone as long as you keep it very low. Each room is separated by glass walls and curtains, after all. Besides, I’ve always been partial to blue eyes,” she said with a wink and a grin.
Gibbs placed the CD player on the small bedside table and looked it over. From a panel in the back he extracted a power cord, which he plugged into an outlet on the wall. Opening the bag, he pulled out the Sinatra CD and used his teeth to tear through the cellophane wrapper. Popping the CD into the slot, Gibbs punched buttons until he succeeded in getting the music started. “Blue Skies” softly filled the room. Grabbing the half finished crossword, Gibbs settled down in the chair, waiting for Tony to awaken.
Sinatra had just started singing “Autumn In New York” when Gibbs heard the bed shifting. Looking up he saw Tony’s eyes open. Standing, he said, “Ducky sent a CD player and some music. Guess he thought you must be sick of my voice by now.”
Tony looked him over and pointed to his sweatshirt, his eyes silently laughing.
“I have no idea where he found this. Figured it couldn’t have been easy. Thought the least I could do was wear it,” Gibbs quipped. “Didn’t know what you would want to listen to but figured Sinatra was a safe choice.”
Tony nodded his head in agreement, and then tapped at his wrist. By now Gibbs knew that was his way of asking for the time and day.
“It’s around 10:30 on Thursday morning. You’ve been here just long enough for everyone to get tired of you,” he joked. “Dr. Anderson says you’re doing so well that you may get to move to a regular room soon.”
Tony’s hand reached up the ventilation tube and looked at Gibbs questioningly.
“I don’t know Tony. Brad should be here some time this morning. He’s going to be the one with the final say on when that gets removed.” He looked at Tony’s now beaming face and wondered how much he should tell him. Deciding that he never appreciated being left in the dark, and knowing that Tony felt the same way, he pressed on.
“You need to prepare yourself for what its going to be like when that gets removed, Tony. Even though you’re doing better, you still have pneumonia. When they remove the tube, all of the unpleasant symptoms are going to return. There won’t be any respiratory people coming in to suction all the gunk out. You’ll have to cough to clear out your airways. You remember what that was like.”
Tony nodded slowly in response. He recalled vividly what it had been like when the Y. pestis had been killed, leaving him with a raging case of pneumonia. Memories of what it felt like, spitting up mucus and blood, too tired from the constant hacking to even wipe his own mouth, flooded back. He didn’t know if he was strong enough to face that again. Fear replaced the happiness in his eyes.
“Hey, it might not be as bad as last time. They’ve been pumping antibiotics into you for the last three days. Even if it is, it’ll be okay, Tony. I’ve always got your back. You’ll get through it.”
Tony held up his hand and Gibbs knew what he wanted. Taking the proffered hand in his own, he settled them both back on the bed, and sat down in the chair. “We might as well sit and listen to old Frank; no point in worrying about this now. Brad will be here soon and we’ll see what’s up.”
They sat, companionably listening to the music, each lost in their own thoughts. Letting the music relax him, Gibbs silently vowed to buy Ducky a very expensive bottle of scotch as a thank you. Holding the crossword puzzle, Gibbs had just written ‘consider’, in answer to the question ‘to take into account’, when Dr. Pitt arrived, dressed casually in khaki’s, a button down yellow shirt, no tie, and a lab coat thrown casually over the top of everything. Maria was right behind him as he entered the room.
“Morning you two,” and he stopped, laughing uproariously when he took in what Gibbs was wearing. “Oh my god, you’ve been totally corrupted. This is almost too much for a good Wolverine to stand. Where in the hell did you get that?”
“Ducky brought it, the CD player too. Think he’s worried about my ability to entertain Tony and is looking to help.”
“Well, it entertained me. How about you Tony?” Brad said, moving over to the bed.
Tony nodded his head, his eyes laughing. He waved a hello to Brad and then reached up to the face mask, his question easily decipherable.
“I don’t know yet Tony, but if you’re enough better to ask that’s a good sign. I looked at the film from this morning and Dr. Anderson’s notes. Everything seems like a go from his end. I need to check a couple of things. I’m going to go ahead and suction out any mucus that’s formed in the time since the last time respiration therapist was in here,” and he reached over and used the machine for pulling out the build up. Once that was done, he checked Tony’s oxygen levels again, seeing if there was any change.
“Okay Tony, I need you to do something that will seem a little strange given the intubation. When I tell you to, I need you to try and take as deep a breath as you can. You’ve been letting the machine do all your breathing for you and I need to see how strong your breathing muscles are right now. You ready?” he asked, waiting for Tony’s response.
Tony nodded eagerly.
“Okay, go ahead and take a deep breath.”
Gibbs and Dr. Pitt watched Tony’s chest raise higher and then fall back to normal.
“That’s great Tony. Let’s do it again.”
Again Tony’s chest expanded as his lungs filled with the additional air.
“How do you feel, did that hurt,” Brad asked, after the machine resumed controlling Tony’s breathing.
Tony shook his head back and forth definitively.
“Would you tell me if it did?” Brad asked, holding Tony’s eyes, well aware of Tony’s tendency towards stoicism on important issues.
Tony looked at him for several beats, before he slowly nodded his head.
“Okay then, you ready to get rid of that thing?”
Tony’s nods became much more enthusiastic.
Maria moved to the other side of the bed and gently placed her hands over Tony’s, applying enough pressure to secure them. Then Brad looked down at Tony. “This is going to be uncomfortable, Tony. Once it comes out, you’ll need to cough to get out any secretions this dislodges. We’ll supplement your oxygen with a nasal cannula and continue to monitor your oxygen levels. I assume Gibbs has talked to you about the pneumonia and what that means?”
Tony nodded his response.
“Okay, then you know what to expect.” Reaching over, he removed the plastic mask protecting the tubing. “Okay, here goes.” And he gently pulled the tubing out of Tony’s mouth.
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