Chapter Nine:

Tony desperately fought the fog enveloping his brain. He needed to be awake; he needed to do something, unfortunately he had no idea why or what. Everywhere he looked he saw a white film, obscuring everything else. He redoubled his efforts to focus, and slowly, little bits of his surroundings became clear. He realized he was in a surgical room. He could see men and women masked and gowned. Straining for more clarity he tried to study the operation. The doctors and nurses looked quite intense. They huddled around, alternating their attention between the patient and the myriad of machines, all of which beeped and flashed. There seemed to be intense conversation being exchanged, although he could not hear them clearly. He strained to get closer, and was surprised that no one seemed to notice him. As things became clearer he was shocked to discover that the patient was himself. How was that possible? Did this mean he was dead? ‘No’, he told himself. ‘If I were dead they wouldn’t still be operating on me.’ For some reason that thought seemed to free him.

He lost interest in the proceedings unraveling before him and allowed his mind to drift. It occurred to him that it was probably important for him to remember how he got to this point. Little snatches of memory returned to him. He recalled a warehouse, but wasn’t sure of its significance. He remembered intense and prolonged pain and wondered if that were linked to why he was here. He looked back at his body, hoping it would provide a clue, and was immediately sorry he had done that. There were clamps on his chest, pulling back the skin, and Tony found himself staring directly at his heart. In an oddly detached manner he thought, ‘That can’t be good.’ Looking up, away from his heart, he studied his face. His eyes were swollen black and blue and his cheeks were covered in bruises, there seemed to be innumerable small cuts all across his face. He could tell that even if he was awake he would not have been able to open his eyes. There was a large tube running from his mouth, but that did not concern him; he was being operated on after all. Somehow he knew that the warehouse, the pain and the bruises were all related but he could not find the link, and he let it go and just allowed himself to float again.

Almost idly he wondered what the rest of the team was doing. Did they know he was in surgery? He was sure Gibbs knew, although he could not say why. Thinking about Gibbs seemed to disturb the peaceful, dreamy aura which had surrounded him. For some reason he felt that he had disappointed Gibbs but did not know how. He sensed that it was very important to please Gibbs, but he could not recall why. His mind flashed on memories of Gibbs laughing and smiling and he felt a sense of longing. He then saw images of Gibbs glaring and stalking away from him and he began to feel agitated. Then thoughts of a gentle touch and fingers caressing his hair replaced the unpleasant memories and he felt oddly soothed again and his thoughts became hazier. Miscellaneous pictures ran through his mind, and then he saw himself and Gibbs, engaged in a tight embrace, lips joined together. A lie, he knew that image was a lie. Longing washed back over him. Then the memories of an angry Gibbs returned and those felt real.

Something inside him ached, and he suddenly felt dizzy. He looked around again and found himself back in the operating room. Sharp pain infused him. He saw the doctors frantically talking and leaning over his body. He was vaguely aware of the machines screaming out warnings, and he suddenly felt himself tumbling down, as if falling from a great height, and then he knew no more.

In the waiting room, Gibbs and Ducky continued their silent vigil. Looking over at his companion Ducky registered on the fact that Gibbs’ coffee was apparently gone, as he was unconsciously squeezing the cup in half. That reminded him of Gibbs’ mauled hands. He knew what had happened; that the wounds had been self inflicted. Ducky had seen him in the throws of a blind rage before. Studying Gibbs he tried to gage his emotional state. His face was rigid, as if carved from granite. His eyes were cold and partially hooded. ‘He might as well be standing at attention,’ Ducky thought. He could not tell if the uncontrollable anger had abated. Deciding that something needed to be done about the injury he carefully said, “Jethro, the surgery is likely to continue for some time. Perhaps we should have someone look at your hands.”

“They’re fine.” Gibbs hissed.

“Now you sound like Anthony,” Ducky rejoined.

“No, if I sounded like Tony I would be gasping for breath and whimpering in pain.” Gibbs barked, and then caught himself and quickly shut up. Glaring at Ducky, he threw himself out of the chair and began pacing.

‘Well, apparently he is still angry,’ Ducky thought silently. Aloud, he asked, “Just who are you mad at Jethro?”

Gibbs immediately swung his attention back to Ducky, stared at him for a long time and then spun away from him. With his back still to him, Gibbs tersely announced, “I’m going to step out and call Ziva and McGee to see what’s going on with the investigation.” And with that, he stalked towards the door again.

Watching him leave, Ducky knew something was going to have to be done about this. He remembered back to when Jethro had escaped to Mexico. That could not happen again. Jethro could not allow his anger to consume him. The others were going to need him. Anthony was going to need him. Jethro had to face up to the situation and he feared that he was the one who was going to have to make that happen. Sighing audibly, he reached for the discarded magazine, glanced at the door Jethro had just exited, and settled back in for a long wait.

Finding himself outdoors once again, Gibbs stopped and looked around. He glared at the wall, remembering the satisfaction he had derived from pounding his fists into it; unfortunately he did not think that would work again. He looked across the street, and was surprised to find that coffee held no appeal. In fact, he could think of nothing which would calm the churning in his gut. Reaching into his pocket he pulled out his cell phone and punched in McGee’s number, hoping to hear some good news.

In the lab, Abby, Ziva and McGee were huddled around the computer which was running the scanned fingerprints through IAFIS’s databases. Focused intently on their task, they all jumped when McGee’s phone rang. Pulling it out, he glanced at the screen and said, “Oh shit, its Gibbs,” and then he froze, seemingly unable to answer it.

Abby snatched the phone from his hands and screamed into it, “Gibbs, how’s Tony? Ducky wouldn’t let me come down to the hospital!”

“Stop it Abby,” Gibbs said. “He’s in surgery right now and there’s nothing you could do here. What you can do that would be useful is to find out who did this to Tony.”

Stinging from Gibbs sharp words she swallowed and said, “I’m working on that right now, Bossman. Ziva and McGee brought me some prints they found and I’m running them through IAFIS.”

“Give the phone to McGee,” and Abby lowered the phone from her ear and handed it to McGee.

“Um, hi Boss” McGee stuttered. He could tell from the expression on Abby’s face that Gibbs was on the warpath.

“Report McGee!”

McGee could feel himself standing straighter, more rigid, and began, “We found a bat next to the chair Tony was tied to and got prints off both the bat and the chair. We just got them back to Abby and she’s running them right now.”

“What about the rope McGee? Does Abby think she will be able to pull any DNA or trace off it?” and his frown deepened when McGee did not answer; his gut telling him there was a story here. “McGee, is there something you want to tell me?” he asked dangerously.

“Well, you see Boss” and he was interrupted by Gibbs snapping, “No I don’t see, McGee.”

“Um, Abby doesn’t have the rope yet. Cassie’s team is still at the scene processing the evidence.”

“So how did you get prints for Abby to run then?” Gibbs asked, knowing he wasn’t going to like the answer.

It was then that McGee’s resolve abandoned him. What followed was a rush of words, barely decipherable. “WellyouseeBoss,VancegaveCassie’steamthelead” and he paused for a quick breath, “andZivaandIcouldn’tlivewiththatsowekindofcollectedtheprintsbehindherback.” His voice had gotten higher and higher as he had progressed, and it cracked when he said ‘behind her back’.

His announcement was met with silence and he wasn’t sure if Gibbs was trying to figure out what he had said or how he was going to kill him. He hung his head, not wanting to meet Abby’s or Ziva’s eyes.

“So Cassie doesn’t know you guys are running these prints?” McGee heard Gibbs ask.

“Um, no Boss.”

“What does she think you and Ziva are doing?”

“She told us to stand down and head back to headquarters to comfort Abby.”

“Call me the minute you get a hit. And McGee, make sure you avoid Cassie and Vance.” And with that he hung up, leaving a stunned McGee staring at the phone in his hand.

“Way to go McGee” Ziva huffed. “You just crumbled like a deck of cards,” and Abby and McGee both said “house” simultaneously. “I suppose he wants us to let Cassie know what we have done.”

McGee shook his head slowly, as if trying to clear away cobwebs, “No, he wants us to stay away from both her and Director Vance and to call him when we get a hit.”

Their shocked faces mirrored the look on Gibbs’ face as he closed his phone. He had no idea how everything had gotten so out of control. McGee and Ziva had gone vigilante on him, dragging Abby along with them. Tony had apparently been working himself into the ground, withdrawing from his usual activities and friends. He had managed to remain oblivious to any change in Tony. And, to top it all off, Tony had willingly endangered himself and was now fighting for his life. Nothing made any sense to Gibbs. He could feel his hands starting to shake again and his legs did not feel much steadier. Looking around he spotted a bench and went over to sit. He sat down, put his arms on his knees and cradled his head in his hands. His breathing had become ragged and his vision blurred. Taking several deep breaths, he began to feel his pulse rate slowing back down. He sat like that for a very long time and he had just begun to feel better when Ducky came rushing out of the hospital and hurried over to him.

“You need to come back in Jethro. They just told me that one of Tony’s surgeons will be out momentarily and wants to speak with you. ”

All of the progress Gibbs had made calming himself down evaporated instantly. As he shot to his feet to follow Ducky his heart was once again beating violently against his chest.