Chapter sixteen

The world felt empty, as though something was missing. Gibbs knew exactly what that something was.

Tony shouldn’t be lying still and inanimate on the white hospital bed. He should be up and about, making silly movie references and taunting McGee, getting himself into trouble and smiling his way out of it. Tony was never supposed to be still. Even when he’d had the plague, he’d never been still – there had always been movement, even though it had been involuntary, shaking and coughing.

The blood tests had shown traces of Ketamine and Propofol in Tony’s system. They were slowly clearing out of his system but Tony had yet to wake up. Each second ticked by, longer than the last, feeling like forever. Gibbs wanted to do something, to scream or shoot at something, because action had always been better than just waiting around.

Gibbs’ mind returned again and again to the last two words Tony had uttered.

They made his heart ache, made him hold onto Tony’s hand tighter.

He left Tony briefly to go check on McGee when he came out of surgery. Still knocked out by the anesthetics, McGee looked impossibly young and vulnerable, dressed in the light blue hospital gown. He was far too pale, the circles beneath his eyes a dark contrast.

Gibbs’ gut churned but he pushed the thoughts of failure away. McGee knew the risks of going into the field. They all knew the dangers. The risk of getting hurt always hung over them.

Yet guilt welled up.

“We were able to remove the bullet and its fragments, and repair the damage,” the surgeon told Gibbs after Gibbs asked and flashed his badge. “The CT revealed that the bullet had ruptured the spleen and we had to perform a partial splenectomy. We managed to save and repair some of it, and stopped the internal bleeding.”

“How long will he be out?” Gibbs asked.

“Another few hours, probably,” the surgeon said. “He’ll have to stay here for five to seven days, but then if he heals well, we’ll release him. I’ll give my recommendations after I’ve seen how the wound heals. The normal recovery time is four to six weeks.”

Gibbs nodded. “Keep me updated. I want to know when he wakes up.”

“I’ll have a nurse tell you,” the surgeon said readily. “Now, if you don’t mind, there’s some paperwork that needs to be filled out.”

He smiled and left, and Gibbs wondered what there was to smile about.

Further down, in the waiting area, he found Ziva still sitting. She looked like she needed a bed just as much as Tony and McGee needed theirs.

“Are they—”

“McGee’s out of surgery,” Gibbs said. “He’ll be better in a few days.”

She exhaled, some worry leaving her. “And Tony?”

“Still unconscious,” Gibbs said. He placed a hand on her shoulder, and she looked up. “Go home, Ziva.”

“Are you going home?” she asked.

He shook his head. “No. But you look like you need some sleep.”

“Have you looked at yourself in the mirror lately, Gibbs?” she asked.

“Go home,” Gibbs said. “It’s an order.”

“I just need to see them first,” Ziva said softly. “Please.”

Gibbs thought about it for a moment but he could do nothing but say yes. He understood her need to see her team mates; he wouldn’t want it any other way. Ziva might have been thrown into his team by Jenny, but she had become a part of it, just like McGee and Tony, and by extension Abby, Ducky and Palmer, were.

“Okay,” he said.

They were just about to head down when a clatter of heavy heels sped towards them.

“Gibbs!” exclaimed Abby. “Ducky said Tim—McGee—he’s hurt? Is he hurt? Oh god, please tell me he’s not—I couldn’t take it if he’s—Gibbs?”

“He’ll be fine,” Gibbs said. “He’s just got out of surgery and he’s still under, but he’ll be happy to find you with him when he wakes up.”

He found himself with an armful of Abby as she hugged him. He kissed the top of her head and held her. Ziva watched and Gibbs saw a hint of longing in her eyes. He couldn’t see her wanting to be hugged the way Abby did, though; she saw such displays as weaknesses.

“Oh, Gibbs!” Abby said, hiding her face. “What about Tony? Ducky said you found him.”

“We did,” Gibbs said. “He’s still unconscious.”

“Oh God,” Abby said, choking.

Ziva stepped forward. “We were just going to see them. Would you like to come with us?”

“Of course!” Abby said, pulling away from Gibbs. “Go!”

She grabbed Gibbs’ arm and pulled. They walked down the hall, heading to McGee’s room first.

Like Tony, McGee had a pulse monitor, an IV drip, and a set of other lines and machines that Gibbs didn’t know and didn’t care what they were. He could see the gauze wrapped around McGee’s middle beneath the hospital gown.

“Oh Tim,” Abby said softly, and reached out to touch McGee’s cheek. He didn’t stir but that didn’t deter Abby, who kept her hand to cup his face. She then turned to Gibbs. “I can’t be at two places at once. Where’s Tony?”

“Room one-eleven,” Gibbs said. “It’s just five doors down from this one.”

“You’ll come get me if he wakes up?” she asked.

“Yeah,” Gibbs said.

Ziva stood in the doorway still. She watched Abby and McGee, and there was yearning in her eyes. When she realized Gibbs was watching her, she shook it off. They headed out together and walked to Tony’s room.

Nothing had changed since Gibbs left – Tony was as frozen as he’d been before. His chest rose and fell ever so slightly with each breath and there was the beep of the machines, but other than that, it was like a still photograph.

Ziva stood at the end of the bed, hesitating. “I do not know what to say, or do.”

“I don’t either,” Gibbs said. The doctors said Tony – or comatose patients in general, anyway – might be able to hear things said but that didn’t make it any easier. What were they supposed to say? Gibbs knew Ducky would have no trouble at all with the idea, but then he talked to dead people on a daily basis.

Ziva worried her lip, frowning slightly, and then she looked at Gibbs. “You will keep me updated?”

“Yeah,” Gibbs said.

She nodded. “I will be at home.”

“Get some rest,” Gibbs said.

“I will try,” Ziva said.

Then she left, sending Tony another long look before finally disappearing.

Gibbs sat down, gaze on Tony willing him to wake up.

It didn’t work.

McGee still looked worse for wear the next morning, his face far too pale and because they had him on painkillers, he was a bit foggy. He smiled floppily at Abby, though. She had stayed by his side, curling up on his un-injured side and sleeping there. The nurses weren’t thrilled with it, but Gibbs kept them away. He knew McGee would prefer Abby to be there. McGee’s sister had been by to hover anxiously, but she was in class now. McGee’s parents had been informed and were coming, but it would take them another day to get a flight to DC.

Gibbs spent most of his time by Tony’s side, sleeping for minutes at a time, and then wandering the hallways up and down because he couldn’t sit still and simply wait.

Ziva returned at eight, two hours before official visiting hours started. She looked unusually uncertain of herself but by the looks of it she’d gotten at least a few hours of sleep and made time for a shower.

“Any change?” she asked.

Gibbs didn’t answer; he knew Ziva would understand his silence.

“And McGee?” Ziva asked.

“Abby’s with him,” Gibbs said.

“Will he be all right?”

“He’d better be,” Gibbs said.

She nodded, and they walked together to McGee’s room. He was awake, or some version of it, looking groggily around the room. One arm was wrapped around Abby’s sleeping form. He didn’t look to be in pain but that was probably more because of the drugs than because his body wasn’t hurting.

“Boss,” he said softly, voice rough with disuse. “Ziva.”

“McGee,” Ziva said.

“Doctor said they r’moved m’ spleen,” McGee said.

“Yeah,” Gibbs said. “You lost some blood and needed transfusions. The bullet ruptured your spleen, so they had to take a part of it out.”

“Oh,” said McGee. He didn’t seem very bothered.

Abby stirred, turning her head to look at Gibbs. “Gibbs.”

“Hey, Abby,” he said.

She didn’t move, resting her head on McGee’s shoulder, still carefully avoiding touching him near the area where the bullet had entered. He didn’t seem to mind her cuddling.

“Tony?” she asked.

“Still no change,” Gibbs said.

“’s Tony okay?” McGee asked softly.

“He’s unconscious,” Gibbs said.

Abby hid her face in McGee’s shoulder and she held onto the fabric of his hospital gown a little tighter. “He’ll wake up. He has to.”

“Yeah,” Gibbs said.

Abby looked up at Ziva. “Ziva, come in. We don’t bite. Well, he doesn’t, anyway.”

“I do not wish to disturb,” Ziva began but Abby interrupted her.

“You’re not. Come on.”

Gibbs left then, returning to his vigil at Tony’s bedside. Abby and McGee would make Ziva feel comfortable again, better than Gibbs would ever be able to.

He sat down in the chair, leaning forward with his elbows against his knees. He gazed at Tony, noting the rise and fall of his chest with every calm breath he took. His skin had regained some color but he was too thin. He had lost weight in the time he’d been gone, his muscle mass decreased noticeably. Of course, without the steady, questionably healthy intake of junk food, it was natural that Tony would lose weight. Gibbs studied the structure of Tony’s face, from the slight upturn of his nose, to the high cheekbones and full lips. Long, dark lashes created shadows on his cheeks.

Only because he was studying Tony so closely, did he notice the flutter of lashes, the movement beneath closed lids. A sign of awareness, of a person within the shell.

Of a spirit, returned to its proper place.

“Tony?” He tried to keep hope out of his voice in case he’d imagined it, in case it wasn’t a positive sign as he hoped.

Another flutter, and when Gibbs took Tony’s hand in his own he felt a minute tightening, fingers wrapping themselves around Gibbs’ ever so slightly. Gibbs’ heart raced, adrenaline coursing through his veins at once.

He had no idea how long it took from those first tiny signs of awareness, until the moment when Tony’s eyelids actually opened, not fully, not even halfway, but enough for Gibbs to see familiar hazel, even though the gaze was groggy and disoriented.

Dry, cracked lips moved silently, and Tony closed his eyes again, briefly, until he managed to get them open again, struggling against the obvious fatigue and unconsciousness that nagged at him.

Eventually, he managed a weak, “’oss…”

“DiNozzo,” Gibbs said roughly. “Took you long enough.”

It seemed to take forever for Tony to be able to focus on Gibbs. When his gaze finally did land on Gibbs, it nearly made Gibbs’ heart stop. He had forgotten the intensity, the rawness those eyes could express, and seeing them once more, alive and real, was nearly enough to break him.

A doctor entered followed by two nurses. Tony’s return to awareness had not gone unnoticed by the equipment he was stuck to and the doctor – not the same one that had taken care of Tony the night before – shone lights into his eyes and asked him to nod if he understood what was being said. Tony gave a small nod and it seemed to take everything out of him; his eyes were already closing again.

If the slowing heart rate was anything to go by, Tony was asleep within seconds.

The doctor turned to Gibbs. “It’s looking good, Agent Gibbs. His liver and kidney functions are surprisingly good, all things considered.”

Gibbs nodded, unable to find words.

“I’ll be back to check on him in an hour,” the doctor said. “Push the emergency button if anything happens before then.”

The doctor left, and Gibbs returned his attention to Tony. He realized he was still holding onto Tony’s hand and had done so while the doctor and nurses were in the room. He decided he didn’t care. This was their second chance – or fifteenth, perhaps, considering how many times one or both of them had been in mortal peril – and he intended to make the most of it. Tony had already said the words, had already kissed him. Gibbs knew that if Tony got out of this alive and all right, it was up to him to show Tony that he wanted the same things. He wasn’t sure how – he’d never been all that great at romance – but he would. He had to. He would not lose Tony again.

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