Chapter 9
When someone is having a bad day, be silent, sit close by and nuzzle them gently.
Hospitals. He hated hospitals.
Hospitals always reminded him of the times when he did things wrong that got himself hurt, or when he’d failed to protect others that got them hurt-or killed, his heart sank-or when he’d had the plague. Now that was an experience he never wanted to repeat, ever again.
His dislike for hospitals was the only thing Tony could focus on sitting there on a stiff plastic chair in the waiting area of the emergency room. He’d tried to think about something else, but his mind kept flashing back to earlier that day, the entire chain of events played out in his head in slow motion. He kept catching himself examining the whole thing frame by frame, trying to tease out what went wrong.
His body was stiff and tired now that the adrenaline had subsided, but he couldn’t stop his entire body from shivering.
He could hear his phone ring, but he was shaking too much to take it out of his pocket and pick up the call. He looked down, staring at his hands. They were still covered in blood. Like the rest of his clothes.
He had his gun trained on Burman, who’d turned to face him. He yelled for Burman to put his hands up, but Burman didn’t listen. He could see Gibbs coming from behind Burman, running, fast.
Gibbs was yelling something. His name. Gibbs yelled something else as he tackled Burman to the ground, but Tony couldn’t hear clearly because it sounded at the same time as the gun shot that still rang in his ears hours later.
He ran over to Gibbs, who was lying on top of Burman. He eased Gibbs off of Burman and cuffed a groaning Burman before checking on Gibbs, only to find Gibbs clutching his right shoulder, blood flowing profusely from under his hand. He remembered shouting Gibbs’ name, to keep him conscious and responsive while he took off his jacket, rolling it before pressing it to Gibbs’ wounds. He pressed hard, applying pressure with one hand while the other frantically dialed for an ambulance and backup.
He remembered how Gibbs was coughing hard, gasping for breath through the pain and trying to speak. He remembered how Gibbs held out a bloody hand to his face and stroked his cheek gently.
“Boss! Come on, Gibbs!” he remembered shouting. “Stay with me, Jethro! Stay with me! C’mon, keep those eyes on me! I am not losing you! Jethro?”
And then the EMTs were there, pushing him away to work on stabilizing Gibbs.
A warm hand squeezed his shoulder, bringing him back from the memories that would surely turn into a nightmare later. Tony looked up to find Ducky’s soft blue eyes looking at him with concern.
“Tony, are you with me?” Ducky asked, frowning when Tony barely gave him a nod.
“Doctor Mallard?” A nurse stopped next to Ducky with a pile of fabric. “Here are the scrubs and blanket you asked for. Let me know if you need anything else.”
“Thank you, my dear.” Ducky gave her a reassuring smile and watched her walk away before turning his attention back to Tony. “Here, dear boy.” Ducky hauled Tony up, pushing him towards the direction of the washroom.
“You need to get yourself cleaned up and changed.” Ducky handed him the pair of scrubs, pushing him into the room and closed the door behind him. When Tony came out in the fresh scrubs, bloody clothes in hand, Ducky guided him back to the waiting area and wrapped the blanket around him before stuffing a Styrofoam cup full of tea into his hands. “There, that should keep you warm.”
Tony nodded dumbly, a hand coming up to tug the blanket tighter around himself as he sat and sipped his tea.
It was late, but the ER was surprisingly calm. Tony had been sitting there by himself for a few of hours. Had been since he’d wrapped up the case.
After the EMT had rushed Gibbs to the hospital, Tony had stayed on scene, waiting for the backup to arrive, automatically assuming Gibbs’ duties. He called McGee and Ziva, told them what happened and to get their asses down there to process the scene.
It wasn’t until the scene had been processed, evidence collected and their now-suspect taken into custody, did Tony allow himself to stand down. And as soon as the adrenaline faded, the shock and fatigue began to set in.
He had been standing stiffly behind his own cubical, staring at Gibbs’ desk from a distance, when Ducky found him.
The elderly doctor didn’t say a word. He merely wrapped an arm around Tony, guiding him gently to the elevator and went on to driving Tony to the hospital.
“Duck?” Tony asked quietly after he’d down a few sips of the tea. He was shivering less, but still feeling numb all over. “How is he? They wouldn’t tell me.”
Tony remembered the gun being a pistol, and at point blank range-he kept flashing back to the body of the dead marine on Ducky’s slab.
“They’re still operating. He’s lost quite a bit of blood, but Jethro is strong. He’ll pull through.” Ducky patted Tony on the shoulder. “He will be okay, Tony.”
“Why? Why did he…” Tony swallowed around the lump in his throat. He stared at his hands. They were clean now, but he could still feel the blood on them.
Gibbs’ blood.
The door to the operating room opened suddenly, and they both looked up as the doctor walked towards them, pulling his mask and hood off at the same time.
“Doctor Mallard? I’m Doctor John Gregory.” The doctor shook Ducky’s hand before turning to Tony. “You must be Agent DiNozzo.”
“Call me Tony. How is he, Doctor Gregory?” Tony asked, shaking the man’s hand.
“Well, the bullet was a through and through, didn’t hit any bone. But he’s lost quite a bit of blood. The bullet nicked an artery in his right shoulder. We managed to stop the bleeding and repaired the damage. He is unconscious right now but he is stable, breathing on his own.” Gregory looked through his charts. “We’re gonna have to keep him in ICU overnight for observations, but once he regains consciousness tomorrow we can move him to a regular ward.”
Tony breathed a sigh of relief at the doctor’s words. “When can we see him?”
“Not until we’ve transferred him out of ICU.” Gregory shook his head. ICU was family only, and even then it was well past visiting hours. “Have you notified his family?”
“I suppose I can give Jackson a ring. Thank you, Doctor Gregory.” Ducky nodded, thanking the doctor.
“Just doing my job. Donna will take care of the paperwork.” Gregory tilted his head towards the nurses’ station. “And she will give you a call tomorrow when Agent Gibbs has been transferred.”
“That would be most appreciated.” Ducky smiled at Gregory before he began to steer Tony towards the door. “Come on, my boy. You heard the doctor. You’re going home to get some rest.”
“But-” Tony protested. He wanted-needed-to visually confirm that Gibbs’ alive and breathing.
“No ‘buts’, Tony. There is nothing you can do right now. Jethro needed to rest, and so do you.” Ducky gave him a stern look, gripping Tony’s shoulders firmly, refusing to let him go. “I’ll make sure to give you a call tomorrow as soon as I hear from the hospital.”
Knowing he wouldn’t win the argument, Tony reluctantly allowed Ducky to drive them both back to the Yard. McGee and Ziva gave him an update as he picked up his backpack. They’d searched Burman’s apartment and found large quantities of a variety of narcotics and brought the girl in as an accessory. Abby had processed most of the evidence, and a few more tests would be running overnight. Tony dismissed McGee and Ziva for the night and left instructions to run backgrounds on Burman and the two murders when they got in the next morning. He’d let Burman stew in holding overnight, and interrogate him once he was sure Gibbs was okay.
He hadn’t dared to think about the alternative.
Instead of heading home, Tony drove aimlessly after leaving the yard, until he realized that he’d stopped in front of Gibbs’ house. He had no recollection of how he’d gotten there.
He let himself into the house, turning on the lights in the kitchen and went into the living room. Probie was dozing on the couch, instead of his dog bed. Tony couldn’t remember how many times they’d tried but Probie would always claim the couch while they were out, and only return to his own bed reluctantly when they ordered him off after getting home.
Probie seemed to sense that something was wrong. The pup immediately jumped down from the couch and trotted over to Tony, nudging his fisted hand before licking it gently.
It was as if Tony had lost all of the strength he’d been desperately holding on to the entire evening, sinking down onto the floor, right there in the middle of the living room. Probie sat down right next to Tony, nudging Tony with his big head until Tony slung an arm around the dog, burying his head into Probie’s soft fur.
Tony heard the sound of quiet sobbing, and it took him a while to realize that it was he who was sobbing into Probie’s coat.
He felt his anger bubbling to the surface-the anger towards Burman, the anger towards himself. It’d been his fault that Gibbs was shot. He was distracted, he wasn’t fast enough, didn’t see the gun until it was too late. It was followed by all the worries and fears that he might lose Gibbs for good this time, that he might never get the chance to say to Gibbs all the things he never got around to say.
If he was less tired, he would’ve been kicking and scream and punishing himself until he was bloodied and bruised, just so he wouldn’t feel so numb. He was too mentally exhausted to do anything but let his worries and fears come in waves like the roaring tides, bursting through his walls and his masks and his defences in quiet tears.
He couldn’t stop it.
He held on as tight as he could without hurting Probie, gasping for breath as the tears flowed. He could hear Probie’s whining, as if the dog had felt that something was wrong and was in mourning.
“He’ll be okay, Probster,” Tony mumbled through the words of assurance, unsure of whether he was saying it to Probie or trying to convince himself. “He’s gonna be okay.”
He didn’t know how long he’d sat there like that, Probie curled up next to him, when he heard the front door open. He didn’t bother looking up.
“Tony?” Palmer’s voice echoed through the living room. “Is that you?”
Tony sighed, ruffling Probie’s big head as the dog slump down onto his lap. “Hey, Jimmy.”
“You all right?” Palmer knelt down next to the pair, a hand lay gently on Tony’s shoulder.
“I will be,” Tony lied through his teeth. “What are you doing here?”
Palmer stared at Tony from above his glasses, seeing right through Tony’s half-truths. The blood-shot eyes and the red rims and the puffy skin around the eyes told him all he needed to know. Shaking his head and sighing, Palmer stood up and offered his hand to Tony. “I, uh, came by to check up on Probie. There wasn’t much to do for me in Autopsy at the moment, and both Abby and Tim were tired so I volunteered. Come on, up you go.”
Taking Palmer’s hand, Tony stood up from the floor, wobbling slightly before he got his balance back. “Thanks.”
“My pleasure,” Palmer answered with a dip of his head. Depositing Tony into the couch, he padded over to the kitchen, filled Probie’s bowls with kibble and water before checking the fridge, pulling out two bottles of beer.
“Here,” he handed one to Tony after twisting the tops off, sitting down next to the man.
“Thanks.” Tony clinked his bottle with Palmer’s before taking a long drag.
“You’re not okay,” Palmer stated as a matter of fact.
“No, I guess I’m not.” Tony sighed, slumping into the seat, his eyes watching absently at Probie eating hungrily out of his bowl. He felt guilty for not remembering to feed Probie because he was wallowing in his emotions.
“And you’re in love with Agent Gibbs,” Palmer said cautiously as Tony drank from the bottle.
Tony nearly choked on the mouthful of beer. He coughed as he tried to get the words out. “What?!”
“You’re in love with him, aren’t you?” Palmer looked at Tony, a smirk played at the corner of his mouth.
“I swear you are slowly turning into Ducky. Only Ducky is allowed to blurt out this psychobabble, ya know?” Tony glared at the culprit of his near-choking.
“But you do love him.”
Tony sighed, rubbing a hand over his tired eyes, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose. “I guess I do. How did you-”
“For someone who’d done as much undercover work as you had, I’m surprised you never noticed the way you looked at Agent Gibbs.” Palmer shook his head, nudging Tony in the arm with his elbow. “Just because I live down in Autopsy doesn’t mean I don’t pay attention.”
“Touché.” Tony shook his head, huffing out his mild protest. “I’m that obvious, huh?”
“A little bit, if one knows where to look. I’m pretty sure Doctor Mallard noticed it too.” Palmer looked over to Tony before continuing. “He’ll be okay, Tony. He’s tough, tougher than any of us. He’s going to be fine.”
“I know…I know,” Tony groaned. “I know he’s going to be fine. I just… I can’t stop thinking about it. I kept wondering if I’d done anything wrong, or if I’d missed something I shouldn’t have…”
Tony swallowed, trying to loosen the lump in his throat as he stared into the wall just behind Gibbs’ ancient TV. “After they took him, I kept thinking to myself-what if that was the last time I saw him? I couldn’t stop the bleeding; his blood was everywhere. The only times I’ve been this scared in my life was when he was in that coma and when I had to stop CPR on him to work on Maddie Tyler. And to be honest, I wouldn’t even care if I never get the chance to tell him how I feel as long as he’s all right.”
Feeling the reassuring pat on his shoulder, Tony looked over to Palmer, giving him a weak smile.
They sat silently like that for a while, sipping their beers, and Tony couldn’t help to wonder if he and Jimmy were developing some sort of relationship like Gibbs had with Ducky over the past few years. He shook his head bemusedly. Probie had finished eating and trotted over to sit on his haunches next to Tony, resting his furry head on Tony’s thigh as he always did. Tony stroked Probie’s fur absentmindedly, wondering if Probie knew that Gibbs would be gone for a few days and whether he could comprehend it.
“Oh, look at the time! Tony, I… uh, I’m gonna have to get going. Breena’s waiting for me at home…”
“Go, get out of here already.” Tony smiled. “Tell Breena I said ‘hi.’”
“You’re gonna be okay here?” Palmer asked as he walked to the door.
Tony rolled his eyes, following behind Palmer. “Not the first time I’ve stayed over.”
“All right then. Uhm…” Palmer hesitated for a moment before giving Tony a pat on the shoulder. “Good night, Tony.”
“G’night, Jimmy. Drive safe.” Tony waved Palmer off at the door, watching as his friend climbed into the car and drove off before shutting the door and locking it.
After checking that everything was in order, Tony made his way upstairs to wash up and to try and get some sleep, even though he knew he probably wouldn’t get any. Coming out of the bathroom, he paused in front of Gibbs’ bedroom door. It wasn’t like he’d never been inside before, but he felt…like he was intruding.
In the end, the need to feel connected to Gibbs, even if it was through the things he owned and used, had won out. He entered the bedroom, found a pair of sweatpants to change into, before he walked over to the bed, leaving the scrubs pooled on the floor.
The USMC sweatshirt was still there, in a pile on the bed, and Tony couldn’t help it this time to pull it over his head, allowing the scent that he’d been missing and craving since that awkward morning surround him like a comforting embrace.
He lay down on Gibbs’ bed, the utilitarian bed sheet rough under his skin but he barely noticed as Gibbs’ scent enveloped him.
As he drifted off, he made a promise to himself. He was going to tell Gibbs. He would tell Gibbs that he loved him.
Before it was too late.
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TBC
Author's Chapter Notes:
A night at the hospital, emotions run rampant.
Chapter End Notes:
This is written in response to rose_malmaison’s ‘If a dog was the teacher’ fic challenge :)
Thanks to gibbsgirlabby for the beta!
Thanks to gibbsgirlabby for the beta!