The full moon rode low in the dark night sky, it's face a bright yellow glow against the inky blackness of the surrounding jewel-studded, velvet heavens, casting an ethereal, eerie light on all the creatures, great and small, that moved on the surface of the planet below. Some took note of it's aerial path and followed the course with alert, wonderous eyes, awed and amazed by the sheer size and the haunting beauty, while others simple ignored it's existence as a monthly, commonplace occurrence, cycling through the passage of time as it always had, week to week, month to month, year to year. To them, the phases of the moon and the rising and the setting of the sun each day were nothing more than a part of the natural order of life. It was basic and expected and a part of the very fiber of the grand design of the existence of the planet called Earth.
And just as much a part of this plan was the natural order of life and death. For if there was life, death was sure to follow.
Death.
Really nothing more than a fact of life, death occurs to each and every living being and from the exact moment of birth, from the first breath of air drawn into suddenly fuctioning lungs, death becomes a part of daily existence. There is no escaping it. It's presence is always there, always a possibility, dancing in the moon-cast shadows and slinking across landscapes mostly ignored. Most don't take the time to look in it's direction, or they actively choose to ignore it's existence completely, until a time usually late in life or when faced with sickness or disease.
Like now...
Jethro Gibbs instantly pushed away from the hallway wall he'd been leaning against for the last half an hour as soon as the handle to DiNozzo's bedroom turned, abandoning his spot and taking a hesitant step forward. With alert eyes, he carefully searched the slightly down-cast face of the older man quietly exiting the room and only waited long enough until the doorway had been sofly closed before approaching the tired-looking medical examiner.
"Well?" He asked without preamble.
Ducky's fatigued gaze swung up from a spot somewhere on the floor and eyed the tense man now standing so near, a small flash of annoyance clearly evident. "Oh, Jethro, must you continually hover so?"
"Ducky..."
"He's resting," the older man huffed with an exasperated sigh, running a hand delicately over his thinning hair, careful to avoid the recently-sutured gash at the back of his skull. The site of the injury still ached but not nearly as much as it had hours ago, long before Roberta Wainwright's easy touch had brought a soothing balm of relief. Now, it was just a dull, throbbing, well-deserved souvenir of what he considered to be his total lack of common sense and good judgment. He sighed loudly, shoulders drooping with obvious fatigue. "I'm going to get some sleep...and I suggest you do the same."
"I need to see..."
"You *need* to rest," Ducky hardened his tone, crossing his arms over his chest, and peered up at Gibbs in open defiance. "Anthony isn't going anywhere."
"I just want..."
"I really don't care *what* you want right now," Ducky finally bit out angrily, fairly vibrating with his ire, and then just seemed to fold in on himself.
Gibbs quickly reached out to steady his friend, hands strong and secure on the slighter shoulder. Turning smoothly, the former Marine slowly directed Ducky to the chair D had placed close a short time ago, and eased him down, surprised when the ME's hands reached out and grabbed at his shirt. He frowned and looked down, watching the usually stable fingers tremble against the fabric, wondering what was happening.
"Ducky? He spoke softly. "What is it? What's wrong?"
It took a few moments but, when Ducky finally raised his eyes and looked up to gaze at his friend, Gibbs could see a bleakness he'd not seen reflected there in a very long time, since around the time of Caitlin Todd's death. As much as he didn't want to acknowledge it, the sight actually scared him quite a bit.
"I...I have something I need to confess," the aging ME whispered and gradually released his grip on Gibbs, slumping back against the padding of the seat and slowly raising a hand to cover his eyes.
Gibbs didn't like what he was seeing and he sure as hell didn't like the sound of Ducky's voice. He swallowed against a flare of alarm and focused on the drooping figure, working to keep his tone even and firm.
"All right. Just take your time."
There were more moments of silence and, just as Gibbs thought he'd have to do a bit of gentle prodding, Ducky eased the hand away from his face and peered directly up at his friend...and right into his soul. "I believe it was my fault Tobias was killed."
Gibbs immediately dropped into an easy crouch in front of the seated man, bringing them to the same eye level, and placed a hand on Ducky's knee to steady his squat. "Gustafson killed Tobias, Ducky. There wasn't anything you could have done to prevent that from happening."
"You don't understand..." there was a plaintive, desperate note to the cultured voice now. His gaze fluttered over Gibbs' face before finally settling on the kind, concerned eyes. "I had Roberta's weapon in my hand," he saw a cloud of confusion appear in the former Marine's stare, "and I could have shot that man before he had the chance to shoot Tobias."
"Ducky," Gibbs' bewildered tone was evident, "just what are you saying here?"
"What I'm saying is," Ducky straightened himself in the chair and leaned slightly forward, bringing his face closer to Gibbs', "after I was struck in the head, I woke up and while Gustafson was doing...whatever he was to Tony, I was able to get Roberta's gun."
"But..."
"Just let me finish!" Ducky pleaded, a hand flashing out to grab at one of Gibbs' sleeve-covered arms again. He panted for a moment, released his grip, and then continued, shifting his gaze to stare down at his own open palms. "I had her gun in my hands, these hands, and I was...I was pointing it directly at that vile, horrible man but I...I just couldn't pull the trigger! Even with him leaning over and hurting Tony as he was, causing more pain and making those awful, untruthful insinuations, I just couldn't bring myself to pull the trigger and shoot him. Even to help Tony...I just *couldn't* do it."
The bleak eyes, when they rose to finally resettle on Gibbs' face once more, were met with a wealth of sympathetic understanding. "Ducky, none of that matters now but you know you aren't a man of violence. Your hands," he gently overlapped his own palms over Ducky's and squeezed tight, "*these* hands are for healing, not harming."
"You seem to forget I also cut open corpses and dissect bodies with these hands," his tone clearly reflected a moment of self-loathing, the words coming out clipped and short. "I hold hearts and livers and yards of intestines in these hands, I remove brains and examine them intimately, I inspect and scrutinize and study the human body, from head to toe and every point in between but, when it comes to doing the one thing that could have made a difference in the way this all turned out, and most probably would have saved Tobias' life, I failed...miserably."
Gibbs squeezed the older hands firmly and sighed, knowing he needed to tread very carefully. It was easy to see how tired and worn down the older man was right now and Gibbs knew each and every member of his team would need some time off after this mess was all cleared up, just to catch up on all their missed sleep. They were all running ragged. He only hoped none of them would break before then...or become another victim.
"Listen to me. I know you feel this way now...hell, Duck, you may feel this way for a very long time to come...but there's no proof that anything you did or did not do would have made any difference in the final outcome. McGee has already approached me with the same concerns." He saw the surprised look and knew he had to clarify. "McGee is beating himself up over the fact he missed his shot of Gustafson when he had you in that choke hold. I told him the same thing I'm going to tell you now: I have a feeling when we finally identify who our 'fake' Gustafsom is he'll most likely be a well-trained assassin on someone's payroll." Gibbs released his grip on the thinner hands and slowly moved to sit on the floor directly at Ducky's feet, a small grunt of relief easing from between his lips. "Damn knees," he complained softly and was pleased to see the ME's eyes lighten a tad. Gibbs offered his own crooked grin and looked up at his friend, sobering quickly as he got back on track. "I wish I could tell both you and McGee what you need to hear but, the truth is, I just don't know what to say right now. I'm so damn tired, Duck. I'm tired of trying to find any rhyme or reason for what's been happening, I'm tired of trying to protect DiNozzo from whoever is after him...and failing...and, God damn it, I'm tired of hiding out here. I think we're all running on empty and we just need to get home and regroup."
Ducky looked down upon the silvered head of the man sitting so close and had to ask the question foremost in his mind, since learning of Gibbs' teleconference hours ago. "What did Walter have to say about this newest development?"
Gibbs grunted and shook his head. It was still a bit difficult for him to accept his medical examiner was on a first-name basis with the Secretary of the Navy, Walter Pennington, but he pushed that thought quickly away and focused on the inquiry, trying to put his thoughts into order.
"He wasn't happy, to say the least," the former Marine was nothing but honest. "He's already contacted the FBI and made arrangements for Fornell's body to be transported back to DC, along with our two 'visitors'."
The bitterness of his voice immediately alerted the ME to a new problem. "Is there something you're not telling me?"
Gibbs ran a hand through his hair and sighed. It was almost impossible to keep secrets from Ducky and, after all the years they'd known and worked with each other, there wasn't much hidden information left between them.
"We got a name out of one of the prisoners," he hissed softly, feeling his anger returning, and met Ducky's curious eyes unflinchingly, "and you're just never going to believe who it was."
By simply observing Gibbs' rapidly hardening expression, the older man knew he wasn't going to like the news. "Good Lord, Jethro, what is it?"
Gibbs took a deep breath and cast a quick, telling look back toward the closed door not too far away. "The prisoner, Carlo Sabatini, claims he and his companion are employees of, and were sent here to eliminate Tony by Michael DiNozzo..."
"Oh, no..."
"...father of Anthony Michael DiNozzo."
"No," Ducky gasped again and sat back hard in the chair, mouth slightly open and eyes wide in shock. It was just too unbelievable, too outrageous, and too incomprehensible. Just too everything. When he was finally able to get his shocked mind to function and form his next question, it was succinct and got right to the point. "But why?"
Gibbs grunted again in frustration. "Christ, Duck, if I had the answer to that one right now I think this whole mess would be over and finished. I should have known something was up when we were in the SecNav's office and he mentioned that bastard. Remember?"
Ducky's eyes momentarily lost their focus as he recalled the evening he and Gibbs had been 'invited' to speak with Walter Pennington. Yes, he recalled the conversation...and something else the SecNav had said at the same time. "If I'm remembering correctly, Walter alluded to a business connection between Michael DiNozzo and Franklin Wilson-Halley and," his eyes swept back to the younger man's face in rising alarm, "of a connection between Mr. DiNozzo and Director Shepard. Oh, my God..."
"Yeah," Gibbs agreed somewhat bleakly. "Oh, my God, is just about right."
"Then...then they are all tied together," Ducky's mind was just catching up. "They, somehow, had this all planned right from the start, from the moment that undercover operation was planned and Martinez injected Tony with that...that serum." His eyes turned hard and his fingers dug into the arms of the chair. "Jen Shepard knew everything and she played us along, toyed with us, made us believe young Anthony was dead and gone, when all that time she *knew* the truth."
Gibbs was nodding silently and, when he spoke, his voice was soft and low. "I think she's paid for her part of the deception. I just can't figure out what everyone was going to get out of this. I mean, Wilson-Halley is filthy rich, as is Michael DiNozzo, so what could they possibly want or need in their lives that they'd risk everything they've got to get a piece of?"
"Jethro," Ducky's tone was tinged with a bit of amazement, "you can't be serious. You must indeed be very tired if you can't answer that yourself."
Gibbs arched an eyebrow at the comment and shook his head. It was obvious Ducky believed he knew the correct response.
Ducky leaned forward and spread his hands wide. "Look at me." He saw Gibbs frown and 'tsked' his impatience. "No, *really* look at me."
"O-kay," Gibbs agreed and eyed his friend carefully. "Just what am I supposed to be looking for?"
"Jethro, what's the biggest difference between you and me? Or between Tony and me, for that matter?"
Gibbs snorted. "Is this a trick question, Duck, because I'm not really...hey!"
Ducky had reached out and lightly tapped Gibbs across the head. "Pay attention and answer me."
"Ah," the former Marine frowned and eyed the man suspiciously, touching the spot where Ducky had knocked against his forehead lightly with the tips of his fingers, "is it you're about to get smacked back if you don't stop playing games with me?"
Ducky sighed loudly in frustration. "No! I'm older than both you and Tony."
"And?"
"There is no 'and'," Ducky stated levelly, warming to his idea. "Both Wilson-Halley and Tony's father are rapidly aging men, well past their primes. Yes, both have money and fine homes and beautiful, young wives...and both men have lives we'd probably enjoy living," he ignored Gibbs' sneer of disagreement, "but none of those things amount to much if they are too old to enjoy them...too old to take pleasure in what they once had and took for granted: youth and vitality and the security of knowing death is not just lurking around the next corner. They can purchase any material thing they want. They can even go as far as having cosmetic surgery performed to appear younger and swallow handfuls of Viagra, though I wouldn't recommend it, but that would never compensate for the changes happening *inside* their bodies. They needed something else, Jethro, something to help turn back the hands of time, something to keep them young and healthy and vibrant, and Emilio Martinez..."
"...has the Fountain of Youth," Gibbs finished bitterly.
Ducky nodded. "Precisely."
The two men sat in companionable silence, each lost in their own, private thoughts of this newest theory. It fit perfectly and it made sense and it was Gibbs who finally broke the stillness.
"That worthless son of a bitch took everything Tony owned, his savings, his car, hell, his whole life, and all along he knew his own son was in Martinez's hands."
"Jethro," Ducky suddenly frowned, a new thought dawning, "do you honestly believe this was the plan from the very beginning? That Director Shepard knowingly set up an undercover operation so Tony would fall into the hands of Emilio Martinez...and that Michael DiNozzo went along with this plan? Excuse me for having doubts but it all seems so...unbelievable."
Gibbs sighed heavily, tiredly rubbing at his aching eyes. "To tell you the truth, I just don't know what to think anymore...and I'm honestly glad Pennington is in charge and stepping up his efforts."
Ducky reached out and patted his friend gently on the closest shoulder, his face clearly reflecting his agreement. "As am I. How did Walter react to the news about Michael DiNozzo's involvement?"
Gibbs huffed out a breath. "He really didn't act all that surprised but it's pretty hard to read that poker-faced bastard, I think maybe he's already one step ahead of us on this, Duck...I mean, his resources are a hell of a lot better than ours. He just told me not to worry about it, that he would 'take care of everything'. Whatever that means."
The ME eyed his friend closely. "You can believe Walter but that's not what you really want, is it?"
Gibbs shrugged one shoulder but looked straight into his friend's knowing eyes. "I'd be lying if I said I didn't want to take a shot at Michael DiNozzo...or Franklin Wilson-Halley."
"Or Emilio Martinez," Ducky added quietly.
Gibbs' face hardened even more and his jaw slanted slightly to one side as he nodded his agreement. "*Especially* Emilio Martinez...but I don't want to just take a shot at that bastard, I want to get my bare hands on him and slowly squeeze the life right out of him."
"Yes," Ducky concurred with a soft sigh, "I know you would."
"Listen," Gibbs shook off those thoughts and twisted, slowly pushing himself up off the floor and pressing a hand to his arched back, "I know you don't want me to bother him but I just want to go sit with Tony for a little while."
"Jethro, really..."
"Duck," Gibbs briefly closed his eyes in an effort at retaining his calm, "I promise I won't do or say anything to disturb him. I'll just pull up a chair, watch him for a while, and then I'll get some sleep, too."
Ducky could see the sincerity clearly in the tired, blue eyes and the fatigue etched in the former Marine's expression but, above all that, he could hear the raw, aching need in the tone of Gibbs' voice. DiNozzo's last seizure had been a long, drawn-out episode that had scared them all terribly but, when it had subsided and the younger man had laid limp and sweaty against the sheets, his heart rate and respiration and blood pressure had miraculously evened out...almost to something resembling normal...and he'd drifted quickly into a quiet, peaceful, regular sleep pattern, amazing both of the doctors and the handful of observers in the room.
And he'd remained asleep as Ducky and Wainwright had scurried around, cleaning and examining and assuring themselves, and those still hovering close, of his continuing existence. DiNozzo had slept through the cleansing of Gustafson's blood and gore form his face and shoulders, through the changing of the bed linens right under his body, through the re-examination of his limp form...even through the careful, gentle removal of the tag in his arm that had been, somehow, snapped in half and destroyed by Gustafson's cruel prodding. Abby had confirmed the device was now inactive and she and McGee had taken it upon themselves to have another closer look at the remaining sections of the RFID, hoping to discover something useful to aid in their colleague's continued survival.
Through it all, Gibbs had stood silently against one of the walls and watched, still as a statue, eyes glued to the sleeping young man just a few yards away, and had waited...waited for his own chance to get close, to touch the breathing body, to assure himself of DiNozzo's life. And, just as the doctors had satisfied themselves with their patient's status and had looked toward Gibbs with consenting eyes, ready to let him close to appease his concerns, a young Marine had appeared at the doorway and quietly announced the Secretary of the Navy was requesting a conference with Agent Gibbs. Ducky had caught the quick, pained expression before it had been masked away behind the calm facade they all knew so well and had followed his friend's retreating form with a concerned and saddened gaze.
Now, many hours later, Gibbs was only asking for what he'd been denied earlier and wanted nothing more than to reclaim his role as a silent presence in DiNozzo's room...and there was just no way Ducky could refuse the request. The older man sighed and pushed himself out of the chair and stood toe to toe with the bigger man.
"I see no reason why you couldn't lie down on the bed with him," he spoke softly, soothingly, and placed a hand gently over the area of Gibbs' heart, "as long as you're very careful and avoid the leads and lines and don't do anything to disturb his rest."
For the first time in a very long while, Gibbs allowed a true smile to emerge. He shyly ducked his head and then swiftly glanced back up, eyes sparkling with graditude.
"I'll be very careful with him. I promise."
Ducky offered his own smile and nodded. "I never doubted that for a single moment."
Gibbs immediately turned away and headed toward the door, gripping the handle securely and opening it slowly. He pushed against the panel and stepped silently into the room, instantly catching the eye of Lieutenant Commander Wainwright as she stood just to one side of DiNozzo's bed, thick chart open in her hands. The older woman nodded, jotted a few more things quickly to the paper with her pen, and then placed the thick folder to one side, eyes sweeping her slumbering patient before turning and silently making her way toward the NCIS agent by the open doorway.
"Ducky said itwould be okay for me to sit with him for a while," he explained his presence in a hushed tone when Wainwright stopped to look up at him.
"That sounds fine," the woman agreed and twisted her neck once to each side, trying to ease some twinge or ache. "He sleeps a bit and then wakes for a brief period but ususally goes right back to sleep again. He hasn't spoken since the seizure but that's to be expected...it was a fairly rough episode and his brain is trying to figure out how to get all those snapses firing again."
Gibbs was nodding, listening carefully to each of the woman's words, but his eyes were glued to the unmoving figure hidden under the sheet and blanket on the bed. DiNozzo was now resting on his side, facing away from the doorway, and Gibbs wanted nothing more than to just climb onto the mattress and spoon right up behind the slighter form, pulling the younger man close and holding tight. Instead, he eyed the uncomfortable-looking chair just to one side of the bed.
"I'll just pull the chair around," he whispered and indicated with the tip of his head, "and just sit."
There were several long moments, as Gibbs continued to stare at DiNozzo's form, and Wainwright just stood and observed the former Marine. She knew a bit of what these two men felt for each other, had witnessed initmate moments and heard whispered endearments between them, but also knew how she and the military felt about such relationships. Pressing her lips firmly together and reminding herself these two agents were not technically a part of her military, Wainwright shoved her own personal feelings aside and focused on the patient, vividly remembering how the younger man had sought and received comfort from both Agent Fornell and this man, Agent Gibbs. It had been confusing, to say the least, but she'd tried to put a cap on her discomfort. Sighing, she knew she would never be able to understand that type of lifestyle...or accept those who did...but she would fight for their health every step of the way.
"Look, Agent Gibbs," she spoke low and waited until the remarkable blue gaze swept back her way. By the intensity reflected in the man's eyes, Wainwright realized some of her feelings must have bled out through her tone but she just huffed a sigh and pushed on. "I'm sure Doctor Mallard gave you instructions but you need to understand how important it is to keep Agent DiNozzo calm..."
"I don't plan on doing anything but sitting..."
"...and that means you need to keep physical contact to a minimum..."
Gibbs bristled at the implication and felt his blood pressure slowly begin to rise. "Lieutenant Commander Wainwright..."
"...he doesn't need to be disturbed in any way. He's extremely weak and even though his stats are looking fairly good right now, he could seize again at any time..."
Gibbs closed his lips and kept his mouth firmly shut, just letting the woman talk, his eyes changing rapidly as he began to understand what was really being said. Roberta Wainwright was obviously a product of her strict upbringing and conservative education, a woman who saw only black and white and never enjoyed all the shades of gray which fell in between, and took what she considered the 'true' course of nature straight to heart. In her world, there was no room for those who existed outside the 'norm' and any relationship between two adults which didn't fit nicely into the strict category she'd been taught and exposed to since childhood was probably considered abhorrent. It was too bad really because the woman had been an intricate part of DiNozzo's care from the moment he'd been transferred from Little Creek to Bethseda when this whole sordid mess began. Now, he couldn't help the wash of regret and sadness that flowed over him, like the words that continued to emerge from her mouth.
Instinctively, Gibbs reached out and laid a hand on her shoulder, choosing to ignore her slight flinch. "I *understand*," he emphasized the word and squeezed tight before releasing his grip. "There's nothing I would ever do to harm him and that includes reining in what I think you believe to be my uncontrollable libido."
"I never..." she sputtered but was immediately cut off.
"I told Ducky and I'll tell you, I just want to sit with him. That's all," he offered a tight smile and softened his tone. "I care about Agent DiNozzo much more than I suppose you can understand but I also realize you've done a bang-up job of taking care of him, to the best of your ability, since the day he was injected with that crap, and you deserve an explanation. I can't tell you how much I appreciate all you've done, and still continue to do for him, but I want you to understand this: what I feel for Agent DiNozzo, as a member of my team and as a man, means more to me than my own life. I realize now that concept may be hard for you to comprehend," he saw her shift but gave her points when the clear eyes remained steadily on his, "but I know you understand the emotion...even if you don't intellectually agree with the sentiment. So," he tilted his head toward the bed, "do I have your permission to proceed?"
Wainwright studied the man closely for a few more seconds and then sighed. "Of course, Agent Gibbs. I'll go and get myself a cup of coffee from the kitchen and be right back..."
"Take your time," he suggested evenly and watched as one of her eyebrows arched knowingly. He grinned and then turned to start toward the bed, only to be stopped by a hand on his arm. Gibbs swung his gaze back to the Navy doctor.
"I meant what I said," she stressed again, releasing his arm when she was assured of his full attention. "Don't upset or excite him in any way."
Gibbs sent his agreement visually and turned away again, making it to the bed without further incident. He lifted the straight-backed chair from against the wall, shifted it until it was directly positioned in front of DiNozzo's head, and then sat down, eyes immediately dropping and locking onto the younger man's face. He was only remotely aware of the doorway closing as Wainwright left the room.
On his side, with his head resting confortably on one of the nice pillows, DiNozzo's peaceful expression made Gibbs' heart clinch, the youthful, quiescent features blissfully unaware and undisturbed by any of the recent turmoil in the room. Even in the dimly-lit area, the only indicator of any discord was the almost-faded bruise he'd received on one cheek, while escaping from Victoria Sebastian's many days ago...and the new, fresh, sterile bandage that covered the site of the recently removed RFID. Gibbs ached to reach out and touch the wound but restrained himself by recalling Wainwright's instructions. Instead, he satisfied himself by simply looking.
There was an IV still connected to the back of the hand that lay against the sheets, close to the pillowed cheek, and Gibbs tracked the line from the tender flesh all the way up to the bag hanging from a hook on the tall pole. The steady drip, drip, drip of liquid was almost hypnotizing and the former Marine had to blink hard to chase away his fatigue. He dropped his gaze to the bank of monitors and absently checked the heart rate and blood pressure and O2 levels like he knew what he was doing. There were other machines, too, but Gibbs didn't want to spend his time trying to figure out their function...he just wanted to bask in DiNozzo's *living* presence.
As his eyes fell back to the pillowed head, he was surprised to see the drooping lids blinking in a slow, sleepy pace, like they couldn't decide which was better: staying open or staying closed. Gibbs held his breath and smiled down into the unaware face, the sheer joy of seeing DiNozzo so relaxed making him itch to reach out to the younger man. Instead, he held tight to his slipping restraint and just waited to see what would occur.
When the drowsy eyes remained open and tracked slowly to his position, Gibbs carefully leaned forward and rested his elbows upon his knees, bringing their faces much closer. He offered another smile.
"Hey," he greeted softly and could only wonder if he sounded as happy as he felt, "how you doing?"
DiNozzo continued to stare...and blink...and then inched the hand resting near his face closer to the edge of the bed...closer to Gibbs. Hesitantly, Gibbs extended one of his own hands and let their fingers meet, entwining them carefully, cautiously, keeping all pressure away from the IV. The simple caress felt so good and the older man sensed his smile had grown even wider, idly wondering if he now resembled some grinning fool...and then quickly deciding he really didn't give a damn.
He tried again. "Tony? I'm just going to sit here and keep you company. If you want to go to sleep again, that's okay. Both Ducky and Wainwright say you need to rest. I'll be here when you wake up. I promise."
DiNozzo blinked and then tugged slightly on the fingers tangled with his own and Gibbs instinctively moved closer. Gently, the former Marine pressed his lips to the back of DiNozzo's thumb and looked up expectantly.
"What?" He breathed across the warm skin. "What do you need?"
The wheels were turning, Gibbs could see that plainly reflected in the green eyes, but they moved with the consistency of molasses, the thought processes and decision-making skills slowed and dulled. Still, he was content just to sit and wait. Surprisingly, he didn't have to wait long.
"Wha..." the voice was so weak and barely audible, "...appen?"
Gibbs frowned and slid to his knees beside the bed, bringing his other hand up to push gently through the unruly mop of tangled hair, remotely thinking about how much he unexpectedly liked this new length crushed within his grasp. Maybe he could comvince DiNozzo to keep it long, maybe...
Chiding himself for his momentary slip of attention, the older man refocused on the bloodshot eyes, the color combination somehow suddenly reminding him of Christmas and setting off another burst of weirdly strange longings. Images of walking through drifts of clean, fresh snow while looking for that perfect tree to cut down and of lazy, heat-filled mornings snugged under thick quilts while pressed against an equally heat-filled body and of long, relaxing nights stretched out in front of a flame-kissed fireplace, running his fingers through a mop of unruly hair that spilled delightfully across his lap...
"What...happened?"
DiNozzo's quiet words instantly cut through the haze and Gibbs knew his own fatigue was going to get the better of him if he didn't stop to rest soon. He blinked hard and focused on the question.
"What do you mean?" He asked just as softly and rose carefully, knees popping in protest, to sit cautiously on the side of the nattress. It was much easier to look at DiNozzo like this, especially when the young man rolled just a bit to his back.
"I...I want...to know..." came the almost-breathless statement.
Gibbs sighed and pursed his lips tightly together, knowing the specific instructions he'd been given by Wainwright. 'Don't upset or excite him in any way.' Couldn't get much plainer than that.
"Everything's fine now," he tried to deflect and brought their joined hands to his mouth, pressing his lips again to the back of the exposed flesh. "You're going to be okay."
"No..." DiNozzo persisted, eyes locked on their hands, watching as Gibbs inched his lips from spot to spot "...that's...not..."
Gibbs sighed and nodded. "I know that's not what you want to hear, Tony, but everything *is* going to be fine now."
DiNozzo's gaze shifted to Gibbs' face and he stared, eyes searching, looking deep...too deep...and the former Marine had to fight to keep from squirming under the frank examination. Moments passed before the younger man sighed and closed his eyes, a brief flicker of disappointent marring the otherwise placid expression, and Gibbs knew instantly he'd lost something because of his continued silence.
When DiNozzo reopened his eyes, there was, remarkably, a harder edge to the gaze. "I want...to see...Ducky..."
Gibbs frowned. "He just left a few minutes ago, Tony. He hasn't had any rest in..."
"M...Mc...McGee..." he stuttered, eyebrows forming a frown over the worried eyes. "Then...I want...to see...McGee..."
Gibbs sat back and studied the troubled face of the younger man...and then it dawned on him where this short list of names was heading. So, DiNozzo *had* been alert and aware of what was happening in his room during Gustafson's short seige. Gibbs shifted uncomfortably and fought back his rising concern.
"He's downstairs with Abby right now," he spoke evenly and wondered if he was even capable of lying to DiNozzo now. If the next person he asked for was who he suspected it would be, Gibbs didn't know what he's do. He thought if he could just deflect the conversation, there might be a way out of this mess. "How about a drink of water? I know you must be thirsty and..."
"Fornell..."
The name sent a rush of cold over the former Marine and he looked away, breaking eye contact with the younger man, and searching for a believable answer...without giving the complete truth. Wainwright's instructions blared warningly within his skull but his own subconscious was screaming at him to not deceive...not now. Swallowing thickly, he looked back.
"Wh...where's...Fornell?" The younger man asked again, tone tighter, more suspicious.
"Tony," Gibbs tried to think of a response that wouldn't contradict what he'd been told and saw DiNozzo's eyes begin to tinge with panic.
"Where...is he?" The youthful voice caught, threatening to splinter. "You...tell me."
"Tony..." Gibbs tried to soothe, bringing a hand up to touch the fine hair again. "Just let..."
"No!" DiNozzo panted and tried to turn his head away from Gibbs' touch but just failed miserably in his weakened condition. "You...tell me...now."
Gibbs pulled both hands away and averted his eyes, dropping his gaze to focus on a swirling wood grain pattern on the floor at his feet. He just couldn't lie, not to Tony...not now, not ever.
"Tell me..." he gasped again.
"He's dead."
The stillness came immediately and Gibbs worriedly looked back to the younger man, seeing the wide, disbelieving eyes and the open, silent mouth. DiNozzo was shaking his head slightly on the pillow, mutely denying the simple words, his breathing coming in hard, short hitches and puffs, the chest under the covers rising and falling quickly and without ease.
"No..." the word emerged like a moan and the green eyes filled rapidly with tears.
Gibbs thought his own heart was breaking as he watched. Now he knew, without a doubt, how strong the bond between the deceased FBI agent and his young lover had been. He didn't want to think of what Fornell and DiNozzo had shared during their short time together but the images of the two men as he'd seen them, just days ago, were imprinted clearly in his memory and they came driving back in hard: Tony clinging to Fornell's shirt while the older man held him tenderly, Tony crying out for Fornell in his pain and confusion, and Tony accusing Gibbs of never being there, of 'never coming when he was needed', of Fornell always being near and available and so fucking affectionate it actually made Gibbs' stomach turn.
The former Marine rose abruptly to his feet and took a step away from the bed, covering his eyes with his hands, pushing his fingertips into the sockets until bright sparkles appeared, and silently willing the images of Tony and Fornell together to be gone. He couldn't take any more of this, didn't think he could ever look at DiNozzo again without feeling this terrible, biting pain, and knew there was no way he'd ever be able to compete with the memory of a dead man.
'Shit, Tobias,' he mused in frustrated irony and forced his hands away from his face, 'even in death, he wants you more than he wants me.'
Bending slightly to reach for the chair he knew needed to be moved back to it's original position and out of the natural path of traffic around the patient's bed, Gibbs was surprised when he was stopped by a light touch against his sleeve. Glancing quickly, the former Marine was slightly stunned to see DiNozzo's IV impaled hand fumbling to grip the fabric, the fingers slipping against the cotton and scrabbling for purchase. Unable to resist, Gibbs let his gaze travel from the hand and across the outstretched arm until he was looking, once again, into DiNozzo's tear-filled eyes. The green gaze was full of raw, open emotions: sadness and regret battled with annoyance and disbelief but Gibbs was shocked the most by the level of sheer anger he could see simmering just under the surface. He turned to face the younger man fully and felt the hand make one, last, desperate grab and catch hold.
"Don't...don't you...leave me...too..." DiNozzo's weak but seething voice accused raggedly, hand pulling and tugging at the older man's sleeve. "Don't you...dare..."
Gibbs shook his head at the sight but, before he could respond, DiNozzo was hissing brokenly at him again, tugging harder, and managing, somehow, to make the stronger man take a step closer. Gibbs placed his hand over DiNozzo's fingers.
"Tony..."
"No!" DiNozzo all but yelled and yanked and Gibbs didn't have the will to fight. He surrendered willingly and ended up on the bed, half-sprawled across the younger man's torso, and felt the weak arms rising to circle around his shoulders and back, clinging as hard as the weary young man could. "Don't you...give up...on us. Please, Jethro...please don't...don't give up...on us..."
It only took the span of a single heartbeat before Gibbs was returning the embrace, holding tight, showering the tear-streaked face with soft, warm kisses, murmuring quiet words of caring assurance, and working quickly until he had toed off his shoes and was ensconced under the covers with the younger man. They touched and stroked carefully and held each other with frantic hands, whispering the things they needed to hear, quickly settling down on the mattress, stilling their desperate touches, calming, until they lay almost motionless, just holding tight and breathing the same air. They were together...here...now...and no one was going to pull them apart ever again.
TBC
Author's Chapter Notes:
Gibbs and DiNozzo...alone at last. Sort of.