Chapter Seven:
The ride to Georgetown University Hospital seemed a blur to Gibbs. He was aware of the paramedics carefully monitoring Tony’s vitals. He heard them on the radio, speaking with a trauma specialist there. He watched as medications were administered and reactions recorded. He took comfort in the fact he could see evidence of Tony’s continued existence by glancing at the heart monitor which recorded a constant, if irregular heart beat. The entire experience had a surreal and unsettling quality to it. Although he was in the ambulance, sitting right next to Tony and the paramedics, he felt much like he did when watching an interrogation from the observation window - engaged and yet removed at the same time - eager for the results but frustrated by his inability to control the outcome. His peace of mind was intrinsically linked to his controlling and shaping of every situation he found himself in. His entire life had been built around maintaining control, from his early years in the Marine Corp to his present responsibilities as a team leader. Lack of control made him feel impotent, and impotency made him mad. This explained why, when the ambulance arrived at the hospital and the gurney holding Tony had been rushed into the trauma room in Emergency, it was an angry and withdrawn Gibbs who found himself standing in the waiting room.

After waiting impatiently for what seemed a very long time to Gibbs, and receiving no information about what was happening in the trauma room, a hospital worker was finally sent to get more medical background on Tony. “Sir, the paramedics informed us that you are listed as Mr. DiNozzo’s next of kin. We have sent to Bethesda for his complete medical records, but it would be helpful if you could provide us with a little preliminary information now,” the woman said. Even though he nodded, Gibbs fixed her with such a fierce glare that she found herself stepping back away from him. “If you could just give me a brief rundown on the illnesses and wounds he has been treated from in the last few years it will help the doctors in deciding how to treat some of his present injuries,” she continued bravely.

“Do you want to start with when he had the plague?” Gibbs muttered and, as she was still trying to digest that piece of information, he proceeded to gruffly list the number of concussions, stab wounds, bullet holes, broken ribs and severely sprained appendages Tony had sustained in the line of duty over the last four years. When he was finished he looked over at her gaping mouth and realized that she had ceased to document what he was saying at some point during the recitation. Grabbing the forms and pen out of her hands, he looked to see where she had stopped recording the information and swiftly filed in the rest of the information. Thrusting the clipboard back into her hands, he grunted her dismissal. Thinking about the number of times Tony’s life had been on the line had not improved his mood.

The time continued to drag on for Gibbs. Although he frequently asked at the desk for an update on Tony’s condition he was told that the doctors were too busy trying to help him to come out and update Gibbs. By the time Ducky arrived at the hospital he was close to erupting. Immediately observing that everyone in the waiting room was giving Gibbs a very wide berth, Ducky suggested that they take a seat and Gibbs could tell him what he knew. “I don’t know anything, Duck. That’s the problem,” Gibbs roared, refusing to be dragged to the far end of the room. Realizing the Gibbs was functioning on his last nerve, Ducky offered to try and get some information and successfully steered Gibbs to a nearby chair. Gibbs watched him approach the desk where he exchanged several whispered words with the duty nurse. She smiled at Ducky, rested her hand on his shoulder, and ushered him back through the large double doors that led to the inner sanctums of the ER and Gibbs found himself again waiting helplessly for someone to bring him information.

Ducky seemed to be gone for a long while before he finally emerged. Gibbs shot to his feet like a loaded spring when he saw Ducky coming, knowing from the way his friend moved that the news was not good. “Jethro, I think you should sit back down while I tell you what is going on. I know that I could use a chair right now,” and he paused while he sat, forcing Gibbs to take the chair next to him before he continued. “Young Anthony has managed to get himself into quit a pickle again, Jethro, and I’m not going to lie to you and tell you that it looks good. While I was back there his heart stopped once and it took the doctors quit a bit of effort to get it started again. The beatings he received were quit severe, and he is suffering from multiple injuries. The most worrisome right now are the strain put on his heart from the massive chest trauma he suffered and lung contusions resulting from the beatings. His lungs, which were not strong to begin with, are so badly compromised that he can not breathe on his own. The doctors are prepping him for surgery to deal with the most worrisome of his injuries, an aortic dissection, which is causing bleeding between the walls of his heart. He is also suffering from a host of lesser injuries that included badly bruised kidneys and spleen and a collection of lacerations and contusions and a broken leg which are all direct results of the blunt force trauma he suffered. Although his face is not pretty right now, those injuries are primarily to the soft tissue and are not of immediate concern. In addition he has suffered a severe concussion, but the effects of that are waning. In short, Jethro, our boy is very precariously hanging onto life. I do not want to pull any punches. The next several hours will be touch and go and everything will hinge on how he tolerates the surgery. They will also be watching very closely to see if he develops pneumonia, a common side effect for those who have suffered severe bruising of the lungs, and a condition that Anthony was already susceptible to.”

Gibbs sat back in his chair, stunned by the blunt recitation of Tony’s injuries. The fact that Ducky did not follow his summary with a recollection from his past, more then the detailed description of Tony’s injuries, told him how critical the situation was. “Do they need me for anything right now, Ducky?” he asked, and receiving a shake of the head, he stood up and announced, “I’m going for coffee. Appraise the others and tell them to stay on task. I want the bastards that did this!” And with that, he spun on his heels and exited the room, leaving a stunned Dr. Mallard in his wake.