So small. So unassuming. So innocuous. And now, apparently, so very deadly.
They were just thin, tiny bits of technology, man-made slices of metal and fibers, assembled by hand under microscopes or, perhaps, by some specifically constructed robotics, deep within a sterile laboratory or facility or government structure...and used for one of the most heinous, most strangely inhumane and frightening manners she'd ever witnessed in all her young life. And, now, they were in her possession.
Abby Sciuto tilted her dark head downward to momentarily rest against the knuckles of her gloved hand and rubbed soothingly at a spot just over her right eye, fighting the tension headache that had begun building the instant she'd disobeyed Jethro Gibbs' direct order to destroy the loathsome tags they'd recently extracted from DiNozzo's frail body. She'd told him she would do as he instructed, and she'd never lied to him before in all her years at NCIS, but all she could do at the moment was hope he'd be willing to listen to her reasoning and try to understand her actions before exploding into the expected rage...once she understood it all herself first.
But for now, all her worrying was playing havoc with her body and erupting into one killer of a pain that was bordering just shy of migraine status in her book. She pressed at the throbbing area once more and sighed, easing back from her bent position at the table holding most of her mobile forensics equipment and slowly straightened her spine, eyes automatically shifting and rising to look up toward the long staircase leading to the second floor lodgings...and DiNozzo's room. It was up there the real battle was still taking place but, because of her most recent discovery, she now knew she held another potential key to the war being waged. She just had to find the right way to deliver her suspicions and be allowed to experiment further without breaking anymore of Gibbs' orders...or disturbing the tenuous and fragile moments of relative peace DiNozzo was now experiencing.
Abby shuddered slightly as she quickly recalled what she'd seen hours ago, what she'd had to witness because of their self-imposed lock-down situation, and she bit back another hot flare of anger toward the evil, cowardly, low-lives that had brought her friend and colleague so much pain and suffering. It just wasn't right...and she didn't think she'd ever be able to forget what had transpired in that room, no matter how much she wished she could.
Hours ago, she'd sat quietly in a corner closest to the doorway of DiNozzo's assigned room, on one of the thickly-padded armchairs someone had pushed aside to make more room around the bed for the various bits of medical equipment and instruments, and had become a silent witness to everything done to DiNozzo as he laid helplessly on the mattress. Time seemed to have stretched into an eternity for them all as they painstakingly searched the weakened body for implants, going over the trembling form inch by inch, leaving no area untouched or unexplored. It had been an agonizingly slow process and there'd been several delicate moments when they'd had to stop and let DiNozzo rest and recapture his composure. She'd heard the soft, sure words of guidance from both of the doctors at hand and the gentle, soothing, repeated reassurances from Gibbs. She'd also listened to DiNozzo's scared, muffled noises and the heartbreaking murmurings of his denial and horror as the hidden devices had been located and gently removed, one by one, from his violated body. She'd pulled her legs up tight and held them securely against her chest with both arms, almost as a shield, and tried to remain strong and silent and out of the way. But, above all else, Abby wanted to make sure she could accurately testify to all the atrocities committed against her good friend.
In the end, it hadn't been all that simple to do.
When Gibbs had grit his teeth and carefully lubricated one long finger to cautiously explore the rectal cavity, just as Wainwright instructed, Abby had felt her resolve waver and crumble, and had quickly averted her face to block out the dreaded sight of this new obscenity. But, as simple as shielding her eyes had been, there had been nothing she could do to block out the sounds...the horrible, wretched sounds. She'd pressed her face against her knees and wept openly but silently, her tears making dark, wet splotches on the knees of the jeans D had let her borrow earlier in the day, trying to control her emotions for the sake of her friend and all those trying to help him.
The process seemed to have taken far too long but, when that repulsive last device had finally been located and removed, she'd raised her face from her simple shelter again and observed how Gibbs had immediately and without hesitation returned to DiNozzo's side, sweeping the sobbing, trembling young man into his strong arms, ignoring the blood still staining his own hands, and had offered all the comfort and support and...love...he had to give.
Abby allowed a small, sweet smile to escape as she thought of seeing the two men together on the bed after the primitive surgery had been completed, ignoring everything and everyone around them, and focusing only on each other. Gibbs had been surprisingly gentle, his touches sweetly reverent, and his eyes had held such tender, blessed relief that Abby had found herself unable to continue looking. It had been too raw, too open, too honest...and one of the singularly most beautiful moments she'd ever witnessed in her life. She'd seen a side of Gibbs most people rarely had to opportunity to see, one she'd been sure he kept hidden away from the rest of the world, and one she'd felt most priviledged to observe, even in it's brevity.
When she'd finally managed to look back in their direction, Gibbs was quiescent against the headboard of the bed, holding an exhausted DiNozzo close, his dark head nestled comfortably but firmly against the older man's chest and his eyes closed in blissful, natural slumber. She'd finally risen from her place by the door as the two doctors had moved in her direction, giving the resting men some much-needed privacy, and had handed her a small package containing the three RDIF units. She'd swallowed convulsively as her fingers had touched the sterile, sealed package, and her eyes had immediately looked toward Ducky for some guidance.
"I think Jethro wants these destroyed," was all he'd said, his usually light voice dimmed terribly by fatigue and sorrow.
Wainwright had merely nodded her relunctant agreement but Abby had clearly detected a moment of hesitation in the older woman's eyes and, maybe, even a hint of regret. As horrendous as those tags were, they were medical evidence and worthy of further study. Wainwright had recognized it and Abby had recognized it. The only roadblock had been Gibbs.
Abby had closed her fist around the tiny parcel and looked toward the man in question, surprised to see his eyes open and resting only on her. She'd stepped quietly toward his silent beaconing and was surprised when he's actually released one hand from his grip around DiNozzo's shoulders and held it out in her direction, wanting her close and within his easy reach. She'd immediately complied and received his precise, specific orders to destroy the hideous RDIFs, ignoring her one, desperate attempt to get him to reconsider, and had dismissed her to do his bidding without further thought.
Now, as she sat forlornly on the chair in front of her temporary work station inside the lodge's trophy room, surrounded by the seemingly all-knowing eyes of a weird assortment dead animal staring down upon her from their lofty positions on the walls, Abby could only nurse her headache and wonder how she was ever going to break the news of her preliminary findings to Gibbs. The RDIFs were terrible reminders of what DiNozzo had endured and, according to her first tests, were still very much active...but they also held what she considered a possible clue to his continued weakened condition. If she destroyed them now, as instructed by Gibbs, she could potentially destroy any chance DiNozzo ever had for any kind of recovery.
Only able to come up with one viable solutuion, Abby took a deep breath and pushed herself up from the seat, her movements becoming more sure and steady with each passing moment. She quickly exited the trophy room, instantly turning to her right as she exited the area, and came face to face with the only other person she felt sure could possibly help.
"McGee," she spoke evenly, her bright eyes alight with intense purpose, "we need to talk."
________________________________________
Captain Joseph Bradley gave the strap of his slung weapon a hard tug, adjusted his military-issued sunglasses across the bridge of his sunscreen-slathered nose, and squinted up into the scorching illumination sitting high in the overhead sky, scowling openly when the intense brightness caused him to blink and quickly avert his eyes. A sharp shard of light had seemingly jolted a path straight along the optic nerve to his brain and it took a moment for his vision to clear. The sun was beating down upon him and his small band of men like a barrage of incoming missiles over the Iraqi landscape, bombarding their heads and shoulders mercilessly and wickedly licking hot flames across any area of exposed skin. Not even 1130 hours and it was already hotter than a barrel of an overworked all-terrain assault tank. Just perfect.
"Fucking Texas heat," he groused quietly to himself and then turned to face the remainder of his split unit, schooling his features into a mask a calm serenity before automatically checking their positions and status, knowing they were all very capable and highly-trained young men. And there didn't seem to be a fool among the bunch: each man was now using the temporary break in their forward movement to rest in any bit of available shade, sipping from their canteens and conserving energy, waiting to hear the order to move out again.
"Sir, Rodriquez just chirped in," Sergeant Evers spoke directly to his superior as he moved up the small rise to join the man, knowing the sharp eyes were on his, even though the dark glasses hid Bradley's usual hawk-like stare. He maneuvered until they both had visual access to the map he now held open and pointed to a spot on the flat surface, his solid body blocking out the glare from the sun. "He's got a bead on the two unknowns moving in from a southerly path," the broad finger traced a short line, "and we should intercept here. Also says they're packing assault rifles, sir."
Bradley's eyebrows rose momentarily before quickly receeding out of sight behind the dark frames once more. "Of course they are. Knew this wasn't going to be a walk in the park." He lifted his chin fractionally. "What's the news from Samuels?"
Evers immediately started refolding the map and fell into step as Bradley began to move, their booted feet kicking up small rocks and sending a flow of loose pebbles skittering down the dusty incline as they crossed to join up with the other members of their group. "The driver is alone and is identified as a Doctor Thomas Gustafson, CDC. He's got all the appropriate paperwork and identification and appears to be who he claims."
"And we all know about appearances," Bradley offered quietly as he took up a position near the feet of one of the men. "We aren't going to fall for any bum scoop on this outing."
"No, sir," Evers agreed without inflection and continued his report, watching as Bradley nodded to a Marine resting in a small area of shade. The man was immediately rising from his location, slinging his weapon, and motioning for the others to follow. "They gave the vehicle a sweep and it, too, appears clean, inside and out. The LT indicates they've secured it and will send someone back later."
"Good. Hope old Doc Gustafson is up for a stroll in the sunshine," Bradley offered with a twitch of his lips...and then was instantly back to business. "Now, let's just go see who's trying to crash our party."
Evers smirked back. "Aye, sir."
____________________________________
"What do you mean 'hike'?" Thomas Gustafson asked in barely restrained outrage, his dark eyes pinning the blatantly unconcerned Marine walking just to one side. "I...I was given that vehicle," he indicated the lonely SUV now left some distance behind and struggled to maintain his grip on the briefcase he held tight against his heaving chest, stumbling over a rock as he tried to focus on the profile of the Lieutenant's impassive face, "to get me from the airport, out to the Double D Lodge, and back again when I'm finished. I'm responsible for it and everything else we left behind."
"Sorry, sir," Samuels responded coolly, not in the least sympathetic, "the vehicle will be recovered and you will have access to everything you need. Nothing will happen to it."
"Then why do I have to walk?" He persisted with a bit of a whine. "I mean, it's a SUV, for God's sake...with air conditioning! We *all* could ride!"
"Yes, sir," was all Samuels said, choosing to ignore the cough one of the Marines to the rear offered.
They continued walking, nonetheless, and Gustafson tossed an angry look to the two Marines bringing up the rear, following several yards behind, their eyes alert and their hands ready on their weapons. The sight made the CDC doctor blink in surprise...and immediately lose some of his ire.
"Am...am I a...prisoner?" He choked nervously and stumbled again, eyes swiftly seeking those of the man at his side.
Samuels sent the twitchy man a strange look. "No, sir. We're just accompanying you to a safe place."
"A safe place?" He frowned openly, obviously not understanding the statement. "I thought I was going to see a patient at the Lodge. Isn't it a safe place?"
"I only do as I'm ordered, sir," Samuels easily deflected the inquiry and picked up the pace, knowing they had a lot of ground to cover if they were to be at the rendezvous point on time. "If you need help carryng that satchel, one of the men will..."
"No, no, no," Gustafson assured hastily...maybe a bit too hastily...and hurried to match the Marine's speed, his grip intensifying until his fingers on the slim handle appeared almost white from the pressure, "I can do it. It's...it's not all that heavy."
Samuels eyed the man and nodded, instantly noticing the way he clutched at the briefcase, and slowly and deliberately began to widen the distance between them as they walked, alert to the strange manner the man was carrying his case. His intentional movement was gradual but Samuels knew his men following behind would pick up on the gesture immediately and act accordingly.
"So," he began nonchalantly and gestured with one hand toward the small case in Gustafson's protective embrace, hoping to see if he could push the man into exposing any potential danger, "what's so important in there? Just a bunch of papers from what I could see earlier."
Gustafson all but puffed up in renewed outrage, thinking of how the Marines had callously and carelessly rummaged thoroughly through all the possessions he'd carried within the vehicle. "It's everything I need if I deem we're looking at some form of contagion or highly infectious disease. I've got to have all the appropriate forms and questionnaires ready to fill out and complete before I'll be able to get any assistance from the CDC. There's criteria to meet and parameters to fulfill and, if I don't have everything ready to present exactly as required, it could add on extra hours...or even days...before I can get the type of response necessary to meet the problem."
A damn pencil-pusher. Well, fuck a duck. Samuels relaxed his posture and allowed himself to drift back a bit closer, unable to keep the tiny note of sarcasm from his voice.
"Forms and questionnaires? Sounds...exciting."
The derision didn't go unnoticed but Gustafson was too busy to respond, concentrating on placing one foot in front of the other while mopping the perspiration from his face with his crisp, white handkerchief. He wanted to comment, to let the smug-sounding Marine know how he really felt, but knew his efforts would only be wasted. As far as he was concerned, all these gung-ho, simple-minded military men were all alike: if you weren't part of their little band of brothers, you didn't rate a second look.
Gustafson shook away his ill feelings and focused on the purpose of his visit, trying to make the most of his time. "Have you seen the patient since you arrived?"
"No, sir," Samuels responded honestly as they began to climb down a shallow ravine, the lose gravel rolling with their movements. The Marine's eyes dropped quickly to Gustafson's black wingtips and he pursed his lips together in annoyance. There'd be a blister or two under those leather shoes well before they got to the rendezvous point. "I've only been with those who flew in with me."
The answer seemed to satisfy the doctor...for awhile. As they traveled on, more and more questions popped up and, as before, Samuels deflected them all with his truthfulness: No, he didn't know how many were at the Lodge and, no, he didn't know if anyone else was suffering from some sickness and, no, he didn't see anyone wearing hazmat or any other protective gear. By the time they were nearing the designated position, Samuels was all but ready to strangle the CDC representative and stuff that stupid briefacse where the Texas sun would never shine. The Marine could only wonder if all men like Gustafson were so aggravatingly inquisitive...or just naturally talkative. Whichever, he sincerely wished he could just gag the man...with a grenade.
They stopped, finally, after traversing the wild terrain for approximately seventy minutes and Gustafson collapsed into a heap in the shade of some old, twisted hackberry tree, the rough, dry bark poking sharply through the inappropriate clothe of his fine shirt. The sweat was evaporating almost as quickly as it appeared and Samuels offered the thirsty man his canteen, turning slightly away as the CDC doctor gulped down the refreshing liquid, eyes sweeping the surrounding area instead. When he turned back, he gestured with his hand to the man.
"Keep it, sir," he offered when the canteen was held back in his direction. "I can share with one of my men."
Gustafson had the decency to look a little sheepish. "You sure? I mean, I wouldn't want you to go thirsty."
Samuels nodded, offering a fleeting smile. "It's okay, sir. Really."
Gustafson nodded back and took another long drink. The water wasn't cold but it sure was wet and the fluid felt so good traveling over his thick tongue and down his dry throat. He coughed once and realized he needed to slow down, his eyes roaming with embarrassment over to where the three Marines were huddled together around a small map, quietly discussing the situation and taking tiny sips from their canteens. He watched as Samuels glanced at the compass strapped to the back of one wrist, check the time on his watch, and then speak softly again to the other two, giving orders while stuffing the map back inside his shirt. It was plain to see a decision had been made.
Gustafson forced himself to his aching feet just as Samuels rejoined him. "Are we getting close to where we're suppose to be?"
"We're just going to move to a better location, sir. Nothing for you to worry about."
The CDC doctor nodded his understanding, hefted his briefcase once more, and followed the direction indicated, noticing immediately how one Marine now walked ahead, one by his side, and one just to his rear. Gustafson was oddly pleased by the new arrangement, realizing they no longer considered him a threat and were now grouped for his protection. He sighed in resigned contentment: if he had to go by foot, at least he'd be safe.
____________________________________
"..thrsy..."
Roberta Wainwright turned quickly at the sound of the slurred, rough voice and peered down into the pale face of her patient. The fragile-looking lids were still closed but she could see the eyes moving slowly within the sockets. She leaned forward a bit more and was visibly surprised when the lips parted and another sound emerged.
"Wa...er..."
"Ducky!" She hissed in quiet excitement toward the man napping peacefully in the armchair just on the other side of the bed, a light blanket draping most of his legs and part of his chest. She watched as their patient stirred, the face turning in her direction, and a pair of very confused eyes blearily seeking and slowly fixating on her form. There were several slow, lazy blinks but no real recognition in the tired, green depths and she was momentarily afraid her presence would upset the weak, young man. From the corner of her eye, Wainwright saw Ducky stir and move restlessly in his make-shift bed but he never came fully awake. Pursing her lips, she made a quick decision.
Turning away for only a moment, Wainwright snatched the glass containing a fair amount of cool water from the surface of the closest table and turned back toward the obviously thirsty agent in the bed, smiling in reassurance as he continued to blink in her general direction. With deft fingers, she tweaked a bend into the flexible straw and angled it just right for easy sipping.
"Here," she whispered gently and brought the straw to DiNozzo's mouth, carefully placing it directly between his cracked lips and offering a small, pleased smile of support. "Just take a small sip or two for right now. All right?"
The dazed eyes wandered slowly over her face as the lips closed around the offered straw and Wainwright could see the effort it was taking for him just to provide enough suction to draw the liquid up from the glass. Agent DiNozzo was still struggling in the simplest of tasks but the Navy doctor held her worry at bay...for the moment. At least he was attempting to drink and, after losing a fair amount of blood during the removal of those implants nearly five hours ago, it was good to see him fighting against his weakness. She could see when the fluid reached his mouth because the eyelids fluttered and closed in something akin to ecstasy and the cheeks immediately hollowed out as he strived to pull even more water up into his parched throat.
"Easy, now," she directed kindly and slipped the straw away before he could end up choking on his efforts, trying to soothe with her sweetest smile when his eyes reopened in more bewilderment. "You can have more in a few minutes, all right? I just need to make sure you keep that down first."
DiNozzo continued his mute inspection of the older woman and then just let his gaze drift away, dismissing her and never speaking again, eyes roaming slowly around until they lit and settled upon Ducky's napping form. The younger man frowned, eyebrows angling downward in concentration, and Wainwright held her breath as he struggled to turn more in the slumbering man's direction, shifting slightly before just giving up. She watched the dazed, green eyes close briefly and then reopen, a look of sheer determination lighting the tired gaze and bringing a bit of color to the too-pale cheeks. As one trembling hand rose from its resting spot atop the clean, carefully turned-back sheet and blanket, stretching and reaching uncertainly toward the unsuspecting medical examiner, Wainwright swiftly moved around the foot of the bed and grabbed Ducky's shoulder, carefully staying away from the young man's questing hand and clear of his line of sight.
"Ducky," she hissed into his ear, grip tightening on his arm, "wake up and say hello to your young agent."
The older man stirred and his head automatically turned her way, searching for the exact source of the gentle disruption. "Um...Roberta? What...is it?"
The woman smiled indulgently and rose from her squat, patting the shoulder under her hand and directing his curious gaze toward the bed. "Look who's awake again."
At her direction and smile, he pushed himself out of his slightly slouched position and sat upright, looking expectantly toward the figure on the bed. He couldn't control the wide smile that erupted and he inched forward, capturing the seeking hand within his tender grasp and holding with extreme care, wary of the IV line inserted and held into place with a piece of tape on the fragile skin.
"Anthony, my dear boy!" He grinned into the unwavering stare, allowing himself a moment to savor his relief before remembering he had to use every available opportunity to monitor DiNozzo while alert. He sighed and eased to carefully sit on the edge of the mattress, watching the youthful eyes watching him back. "Can you give me some idea of how you are feeling?"
DiNozzo took a slow, deep breath and seemed to consider the question but, instead of answering the query, the young man just blinked once and let his eyes slide shut. Unsure if DiNozzo was falling asleep again or merely trying to gather his thoughts, Ducky continued to wait, gently squeezing the hand he continued to hold, and offering his sustained, silent support. When the tired eyes reopened, they looked a bit clearer. The medical examiner tried again.
"Anthony, can you tell me how you feel right now? Are you in any discomfort at all?"
DiNozzo's bleak eyes were back on the older man's face for only a moment before they glazed over and inexplicably began to fill with tears. The dry bottom lip quavered and the chin trembled and Ducky's heart ached at the pitiful sight. He leaned close and gently began stroking a hand through the younger man's hair.
"Here, now," he soothed softly, trying to catch and hold DiNozzo's watery gaze, "everything is going to be just fine now. Just fine."
DiNozzo sucked in a shaky breath and blinked up at his friend, nodding once in understanding, his head barely moving on the soft pillowcase. The tears overflowed and tracked paths down the pale skin and Ducky could only sigh in helpless frustration, reaching to dab them away with a nearby cloth. Watching this visible emotional roller coaster was nearly as bad as observing the physical ups and downs, and the older man had to forcibly shove his own emotions aside so he could focus on the task of evaluating DiNozzo's condition.
Just to the other side of the bed, Wainwright was offering the medical examiner the digital thermometer, waiting only until he had taken it from her hands before bringing her stethoscope into position over her ears while manually inflating the blood pressure cuff already wrapped around the patient's upper arm. She and Ducky had their little medical 'dance' well-established, able to bend and sway and move around each other and the bed without awkward hesitations or stumbling movements, assisting and supporting and making the examinations as quick and as stress-free as possible.
"Thank you, my dear," Ducky murmured his pleasure as he gently coaxed the end of the thermometer past DiNozzo's lips and settled it under the tongue, keeping his eyes fixed on the younger man's changable expressions.
"You're welcome," Wainwright responded warmly, focused on her own tasks but pleased to have such an easy working rapport with the ME.
They took turns recording the gathered information and, when he'd completed their minimal evaluation by checking the pace of DiNozzo's pulse, he was gratified to see the green eyes looked a bit clearer and a lot less emotional. Smiling again at the young man, he reached for the glass of water and offered the patient a bit more liquid, pleased when a small mouthful was accepted and swallowed without too much effort. He placed the container back on the side table and donned his best 'grandfatherly' face before turning to DiNozzo again.
"Now," he spoke softly as he fussed unnecessarily with the covers, "that's much better, isn't it?"
DiNozzo nodded again and then rasped an inquiry of his own. "G...gone?"
Ducky frowned at the simple question, not at all certain what was being asked. "Is what gone, Anthony? I'm sorry but I just don't know what you're referring to."
DiNozzo weakly tugged his still-captured hand until he could get Ducky to release his hold and moved it until he could almost touch the side of his own head, around the area just behind his left ear. The ME quickly caught at the questing fingers, moving them away from the small, shaved incision site, and immediately understood the query now. He glanced quickly in Wainwright's direction and saw her frown slightly in sympathy. This was the most calm and coherent they'd seen him for quite some time and knew he deserved an honest answer,
"Yes," Ducky confirmed with absolute assurance, "it's gone now."
DiNozzo seemed to be studying his colleague carefully, looking for any sign of untruth, and finally accepted the certainty, closing his eyes and sighing in relief. He shifted a bit on the mattress and froze, holding his breath, as a flare of some unseen torment flashed quickly across his face. He squeezed his eyes tightly, grunting once, riding out the worse, and keeping any further sound trapped within his chest and throat until the discomfort slowly passed. When it did, DiNozzo lay still and quiet, his small, quick pants of stressful breathing the only sound in the room.
Wainwright efficiently snagged a soft washcloth from a basin by the bed, wrung out the excess water, and gently dabbed at DiNozzo's forehead and cheeks, taking away the dots of perspiration and the residue of his pain. At the soothing, cooling touch, and after regaining a bit of his hard-earned control, the young man opened his eyes and stared up at the woman hovering so near, her head bent close to Ducky's, and let his gaze drift slowly between them both.
There was an open, concerned kindness in both faces and the twin set of eyes spoke silently of their mutual understanding of his predicament but no where was there any sigh or hint of pity. That was good...and reassuring in it's own way. Wetting his bottom lip with the tip of his tongue, DiNozzo tried again.
"O...others?" He asked weakly. "Gone...too?"
"Yes," Ducky answered immediately.
DiNozzo nodded and frowned again, another thought intruding and making him shift slightly in discomfort. He started to speak but was silenced by a ripple of another pain, robbing him momentarily of his breath and his composure. When it, too, had passed and he was ready to try again, Ducky and the woman were waiting patiently for him to continue. He tried to offer them a small, grateful smile but, in the end, it appeared as nothing more than a slight grimace.
"Take your time," Ducky instructed gently, "Roberta and I are only too happy to sit by your side and keep you company."
DiNozzo let his eyes track over to the feminine face again but, for the life of him, he just couldn't seem to place her. He took in the severe hairdo, the smartly-pressed uniform blouse, and, finally, the insignia pins on her collar. Navy. She was Navy but...
"I'm Roberta Wainwright, Agent DiNozzo," she was introducing herself and filling in the gaps, watching as the tired, green eyes tracked over her face and neckline. "Lieutenant Commander to be exact. I was one of the first to treat you at Bethesda, after you were infected. Honestly, I'm not surprised you don't recall anything of our initial meeting."
DiNozzo nodded but immediately dismissed her, once more searching out the familiar blue of Ducky's eyes. "Tags...how...many?"
Ducky sighed and sent a quick look of apology to Wainwright but, from the set of her expression, he could see she wasn't concerned with his sudden shift in interest, and was busying herself checking the flow of the antibiotics they'd recently begun, just prior to removing the RDIFs. She was a good woman. Ducky smiled to himself and focused back on the patient.
"Three, Anthony," he said calmly. "We found and removed three. Do you remember?"
DiNozzo's eyes drifted slightly away. "Three?"
"Yes," Ducky made sure there was no tone or tinge of doubt in his voice. "All of them gone."
DiNozzo looked back and studied the older man's face again. After a few, brief moments, he nodded slightly and allowed himself to relax a bit. "Okay..."
"Okay is right, young man," Ducky smiled and patted his shoulder. "Now, I know it's been sometime since you've had anything substantial to eat but we're going to fix you a bit of broth. Do you think you can manage a few spoonfuls for us?"
DiNozzo's cheeks suddenly lost a bit of color and he slowly turned his face away, trying to control the sudden rolling, unsettling churn within his stomach from forcing the recently ingested water out again. He didn't want to be sick...not anymore. Gritting his teeth, he held on, willing himself to settle, to ride it out, to control the rebellion. He closed his eyes and moaned quietly, grateful when the cloth was pressed to his forehead, dabbing away the beads of perspiration that had sprung up immediately. This was not good...he knew it and Ducky and Wainwright knew it.
After several long and shaky moments of uncertainty, he managed to crack an eye open and blearily gaze toward the other man's wavering face. There was only kindness reflected there and DiNozzo could only hope the medical examiner wouldn't push the subject of food again any time soon.
"We'll try again later, shall we?" The words were full of soft understanding.
Extremely grateful and so relieved at Ducky's announcement, DiNozzo never heard the rapping at the door, and was only dimly aware of the slight shifting on the bed as someone moved away. He kept his eyes closed and concentrated on keeping his rebelling stomach under control, allowing a wash of relief to flow over his troubled mind as he turned his thoughts away from food and toward the recently removed tags. It'd almost been too much to bear at the time, reclining on the bed with everyone clustered about. But with Gibbs' calming voice to focus on and Gibbs' impossibly gentle hands to feel, he'd allowed and survived the bodily search solely due to the trust he carried for his lover.
Lover.
DiNozzo wanted to smile at the image the word conjured but, right now, he could only feel the residual pain in his head, in his ankle, and in his ass...and remember the sheer agony reflected in Gibbs' eyes as he'd performed the necessary tasks of finding and assisting in the removal of the RDIFs. And he'd made the task worse because he hadn't been able to stand the touch of another's hand on his body. Dimly, he remembered his anguished pleas to Gibbs and DiNozzo cringed at what the experience might have done to his lover.
'Christ, Jethro,' he thought bleakly and clenched his eyes even tighter, 'I'm so fucking sorry.'
"Tony."
And he was suddenly there, the soft voice filled with loving concern. DiNozzo immediately opened his eyes and peered up into the welcome face of the man foremost in his thoughts. Gibbs' hair was wet, his shirt was sticking to him in places, and DiNozzo fuzzily realized he must have just come from a shower...in a hurry. And the look in the blue eyes was alarming. Something was not right...something had happened...something bad...
Choking back his own concern, DiNozzo shook his head and refused to speculate. "W...what?"
"Tony," Gibbs sat on the edge of the bed and then immediately looked away, unable to keep his eyes on the younger man's face.
This wasn't good.
"No..." DiNozzo tried to make his voice sound firm but knew he was failing miserably. He grabbed at the sleeve of Gibbs' shirt and held as tight as he could, ignoring the sting as the skin around the IV line pulled against the trapped flesh. "No...you tell...me..."
Gibbs took a deep breath and turned back to face DiNozzo, his eyes bleak and his face pale. "There's a problem..."
A problem. DiNozzo nodded and studied Gibbs intently. Problems could be solved.
"Okay..." he whispered, the expression on Gibbs' face making his stomach convulse again. When Gibbs took the younger hand and raised it to press against his chest, directly over his heart, DiNozzo knew it wasn't just bad, it was going to be fucking terrible. "What...what is it?"
Gibbs swallowed once and then spoke...and the words made DiNozzo's world narrow and turn black.
"We may have to put the tags back in your body."
TBC
Author's Chapter Notes:
Abby discovers a dreadful secret...and the Marines see some action.