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It was just Tony’s luck the Shields family had such a busy weekend planned, one Gibbs advised they stick to to maintain as much normalcy as possible. Daughter Jen had a mandatory study group at her friend’s home—small home, small numbers, clean background checks all around—that Kate would be tagging along to, at the same time son Willy had a soccer game. Naturally, the kid had to be on the field early to warm-up, and while the parents had opted to drive him like they usually did, Gibbs thought it would be better for Micki and David to show up last minute to limit their public exposure. Which left Tony yawning into the sleeve of his NCIS windbreaker at six AM while doing a lap around the sedan, making sure it was safe to use to take Willy to his game.
He had considered asking McGee to switch with him, since the Probie had a better rapport with the kid, but then he remembered the “Kate, McGee, DiNozzo” ordering from a couple weeks back. Deep down, he knew Gibbs didn’t mean it, not the way his father had, but it still stung more than Tony cared to admit. He knew his history with Gibbs stood stronger than the others, but he didn’t want to do anything to call that history into question.
So he shrugged on his jacket, flipped his ball cap, and did his job, including getting on his knees on the freezing ground to check under the sedan for bombs. Once he was sure the car was safe, he went back in to fetch the kid while Kate kept an eye on the sedan.
Then he waited, and waited, and waited, painfully aware of each minute passing by. At least they were being unpredictable, which definitely helped with the 'keeping the family alive' objective.
Just as Tony was ready to haul the kid out to the sedan—ready or not—Willy trudged down the steps, dragging his gear on the ground behind him so it crashed into each solid wood stair. Willy’s grin only widened as his sister began screaming words that would have gotten Tony's mouth washed out as a child, at a volume loud enough to be heard all the way outside the house.
It wasn't too late to change with McGee, Tony thought again as the spawn of Satan turned his toothy grin toward Tony.
Kate, McGee, DiNozzo.
Fiiiinnnneeeeee.
“Got all your stuff?” Tony asked thinly, not wanting to risk more time out in the open than necessary.
Ignoring him, Willy tried to push past Tony to the front stoop, but Tony grabbed the back of Willy’s warmup and slotted himself in front of the kid.
“Don’t you think this is overkill?” Willy groaned as he regained his balance.
“Depends on if you want to live to see seventh grade,” Tony snapped, all but shoving the kid and his gear into the car the second he got a chance.
“They’re after my mom, not me.”
“You’re the best way to get to your mom,” Tony replied before he could stop himself. At least, that’s how other families worked, right? It wouldn’t have worked for his mom or dad, but it seemed like Micki and David were at least trying, no matter how ineffectually.
“That implies she actually cares,” Willy mumbled. He stuck his ear buds in before Tony could try to put the lid back on the can of worms he’d opened—not that he'd have known what to say anyway.
All business, he pulled out of the driveway and into traffic. His eyes flickered from mirror to mirror as he drove safely but unpredictably, switching lanes whenever he could, going above and then below the speed limit, all to try and discern a tail. Thankfully, by the time they’d reached the forest surrounding the park, there wasn’t a single car that had stuck with them.
“They teach you to drive that way at NCIS?” Willy piped up from the backseat, his eyes glued to his mp3 player.
Tony didn’t have time to respond. A truck came barreling in from the other direction, turning sharply into the sedan and sending it careening off the road. Tony did his best to avoid a crash, but his hand-eye coordination was slowed by the collision, and eventually the sedan ended up sideswiping a tree.
Head throbbing, Tony ran the back of his hand along his brow, skin coming away wet and sticky. He didn’t remember hitting his head but that explained the bongos banging around in his skull.
Willy.
He whirled around, gasping as the seat belt dug into his bruised ribs, to see the kid conscious, crying and staring wide-eyed at him.
“Are you hurt?” Tony demanded, fumbling with the release on his seat belt. He looked back over his left shoulder to see the van coming to a stop on the shoulder, horns honking as other cars swerved around it, and its doors beginning to open.
“Willy! Are you hurt!?”
“No,” the kid said shakily.
“Good. Unbuckle. And step on it.” Tony’s seat belt finally popped open and he crawled across the console to the passenger’s side door, which was no longer fitting in frame. Tony kicked it open with his right leg, then reached back for Willy, who was still belted in.
“It’s stuck!” Willy cried, jabbing his finger repeatedly into the release with no result.
“Okay, kid, sit back.” Tony undid his belt with shaky hands and freed the hidden knife.
Rule #9 saves the day again.
After blinking hard to clear his vision, he sliced through Willy’s seat belt then pulled the kid into the front seat, well aware of sounds of the men from the van arming themselves.
Straight in front of him, the copse that separated the residential block from the local park was the thickest. It was their only option for cover.
“When I say go, you run for the trees,” Tony ordered as he hauled them both out of the car, shoving Willy down behind the tree their car was wrapped around, as gunfire rained around them. He pulled out his SIG and ratcheted a bullet into the chamber. “Zig and zag, but stay hidden. The soccer field is about half mile northwest if you can make it without becoming a target. Otherwise, find a place to hide and don’t come out unless you see me or one of my team.”
“What about you?”
As the gunfire paused, Tony risked a quick glance through the sedan to see four men using the doors of two vans as shields while firing through the open windows. He closed the eye that wasn’t throbbing and the number of men and vans halved.
Stupid head trauma.
The kid’s hands were on his arm, shaking harshly. “Tony, what about you?”
“I’m going to cover you. Just like in that game you played with McGee.”
“But you can’t leave me. You’re supposed to protect me.”
Tony shoved Willy’s head down as bullets slammed into the car again. He heard the metal groan, knew it wasn’t going to hold up to much more. “On the count of three, you have to go. Straight shot, don’t stop running.”
He swiped the back of his hand along his brow again, cursing the wound which wouldn’t stop bleeding.
“Tony!”
“One.” He dislodged his arm from Willy’s.
“Two.”
“Three.” One eye still closed, Tony raised himself up and fired through the broken driver’s side window, spraying bullets between the two shooters.
He heard Willy take off behind him, though he was making much more noise than Tony would have liked. When his gun clicked empty, Tony swapped it for the other one in his shoulder holster while risking a quick sideways glance toward the trees, thankfully unable to spot the kid.
As more bullets thunked into the car, one embedding itself in the cockeyed passenger’s door, Tony started thinking he was going to have to make that run himself. He rolled into a kneeling position and almost immediately crashed forward into the grass, his left knee, silent up until this point, screaming in pain. His teeth dug into his lower lip as all the sensations crashed back at once: heat, stabbing, swelling, agony, but inexplicably nothing below his knee.
Please not the ACL, he begged, knowing something serious was wrong. It felt like it had back in ’92: loose, unstable… broken.
As more rounds pierced the car, Tony threw himself into a sitting position behind the tree, breathing through the pain.
Survive.
It was all he had to do at this point.
His car was LoJack’d—he was sure it’d set out an alert on impact. Then between the crash and the gunfire, the LEOs had to have been called. He just needed to stay alive until then.
So no firing back; he needed to preserve his ammo until the men came closer and he could make better use of it.
Tony pulled in a breath, forced his heart to stop racing, and checked the woods again for Willy, who was still mercifully absent.
Another spurt of gunfire crashed into the car, some embedding themselves in the tree. Tony doubled over to minimize himself as a target and from this partially upside-down angle, he spotted a set of shoes approaching. He fired without hesitation, hitting the man in the calf.
The goon went down, blood spurting from his leg. Tony didn’t understand the language, but it was easy to pick up on the derogatory gist.
Bullets strafed the back of the car, causing Tony to straighten up behind the tree again, unable to fire back as one of the men stormed in to save his friend.
Then he heard the sirens. The car which all but jumped the curb. The gunfire moving away from him, instead of at him. The screams as one, then two men went down. The bullets stopping.
Someone was approaching, running. Tony recognized the footfalls even as the man called out, “NCIS. Don’t shoot.”
“Not gonna shoot you, boss,” Tony said as a pair of Gibbses rounded the car, their guns immediately dropping to their side. All four eyebrows lifted, eyes widening slightly, as they reached for their phones.
“I look that bad?” Tony asked, only then realizing he was slurring.
The Gibbses came closer, merged into one.
“Where’s Willy, DiNozzo?” Gibbs asked, pushing Tony’s head gently back against the tree and applying pressure to his eyebrow.
“In the forest. Told him…” he hissed as Gibbs’ hand slipped down to his temple, taking what felt like some skin with it. “Run, don’t look back.”
“’s a good job, Tony,” Gibbs said before barking orders into a cell phone—too sharp and loud for Tony to understand.
“Where else you hurt?”
“Knee.”
Gibbs’ hand was already on the move—injured, injured. Pain, pain, pain!—and Tony, with his last shred of consciousness, just barely managed to pull his left leg out of reach. He doubled over as white-hot agony raced through his lower body and focused intensely on not hurling.
“No touching, got it,” Gibbs muttered. He shrugged off his shirt and after gently guiding Tony back upright, pushed it against the side of Tony’s face.
“Gotta… find… Willy.”
“Kate is on it. You just worry about you, now.”
Gibbs sounded… really worried. That was… not good.
“Am I gonna die?” Tony grimaced as the unwanted words left his mouth but found himself eagerly awaiting Gibbs' answer.
Gibbs actually smiled. “Not on my watch, DiNozzo.”
Tony relaxed, marginally. “’s good, boss.” His eyelids were suddenly as heavy as lead weights. “Gettin’… sleepy… boss.”
“No, Tony, stay with me!”
But it was too late. Tony was already lost to the world.
He jerked into a sitting position, stopped by a warm hand against his chest.
Breathing hard, he glanced around the room, seeing nothing but a series of blurs. Blinked hard, he grimaced as pain lanced through his head. His hand went up to his brow, feeling a patch of gauze over… ow, a wound.
“Di-no-zzo!”
Gibbs.
Tony whipped his head around again, biting back nausea as the world spun uncontrollably, his eyes eventually focusing on a grey blob.
“Breathe, Tony.”
He was… wasn’t he?
“Slower.”
A hand grabbed his, placed it against something else warm, something else that was moving rhythmically. In and out.
Oh God. His hand was pinned against Gibbs’ chest while his boss took slow, steady breaths.
Tony’s head was fuzzy, thoughts floating just out of his reach, giving him glimpses, flashes, but not sticking around long enough for him to actually process them. Except one:
Kate, McGee, DiNozzo.
He couldn’t show weakness, especially not in front of Gibbs.
He fought more desperately to regulate his breathing, and all but yanked his hand out of Gibbs’ as quickly as he was able.
“Good job,” he heard faintly through the pounding in his ears. “You’re in the ER—”
Tony's brow furrowed, sending pain shooting through his forehead, as he saw the tight expression on Gibbs’ face, the way his jaw was clenched.
Had he…
“You got hurt on the Shields’ assignment.”
It all crashed back to him like the cymbals at the end of a rock set: Willy, the car crash.
He barely absorbed Gibbs saying “saved the kid’s life” before he remembered his knee.
Tony ripped off the sheet covering his lower body, in the process discovering an IV in the back of his right hand, and found his left knee wrapped in Ace bandages, propped up on a pillow and encased in a hinged, metal brace. It didn’t hurt but at this point he wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not.
He swallowed hard, fast, as he dragged his eyes up to Gibbs’. “What’s wrong with it?” he asked, all moisture gone from his mouth.
“Too swollen to tell.”
Right, they wouldn’t be able to do any real tests for a few days. But he kinda knew, based on past experience. Hoped he was wrong.
Tony bit back the wave of despair that washed over him, up his throat, begging to be let out. He clamped his jaw closed and let his body fall back against the bed, screwing his eyes closed as his brain bounced around in his skull.
It would be okay. It wouldn’t be like last time. He’d actually get to rehab it right…
But still. He’d be out for six to nine months if he was lucky. More like a year to pass the fitness reqs.
He didn’t even know if Morrow would keep him around for that long if he couldn’t be on active duty.
“It’s gonna be okay,” Gibbs was saying as he rested a hand on Tony’s shoulder, after a second, squeezing once.
“Boss, if it’s my ACL—”
“You get a medical degree sometime in the last six hours?”
Tony lifted one eyelid, letting the banter pull him out of his thought spiral... for a like a second. “Boss, I did it before in college. I know what it feels like.”
“Let’s just wait to see what the test says.” Gibbs squeezed his shoulder again then let his hand fall away.
“But boss, it could be a year!”
“DiNozzo. Look at me.”
Tony very reluctantly opened both eyes, knowing he’d see nothing but kindness on his boss’s usually stony expression. It was always that way when he was hurt on a case. Today was no different.
“I don’t care how long it is.”
“Might not be up to you.”
Gibbs chuckled. “We’ll see about that.”
His phone chirped then, sending a hot poker stabbing through Tony’s left eye. As he flinched away from the sound, Gibbs quickly pulled the phone from his belt, flipped it open and squinted at the screen.
“Got a visitor for you, if you’re up for it.”
“A what?” was about all Tony was able to get out before a small mass sprinted in from the hallway.
It stood in the doorway, saying “Agent DiNozzo?” hesitantly, before Tony heard a hitched sob and the blob latched itself to his front.
“I’m so sorry!” A boy was crying, wetness pooling on Tony’s… hospital gown?? Damn.
He blinked at the kid in his arms, disbelief washing over him as he recognized—
“Willy?”
The kid looked up, eyes shiny with tears. “I’m so sorry for everything I said, everything I did, how I treated you. You got hurt protecting me and—”
Tony grabbed the kid’s arms, pushing him away until he could see almost all of him. “You’re okay?” he asked, gaze shooting over to Gibbs.
“Besides some bruising from the seat belt, there isn’t a scratch on him. Thanks to you.”
The kid nodded fervently as he swiped at his eyes.
“Hey, hey.” Tony quickly pulled the kid back into his side, ignoring the panic building within him. He was so not good at these situations, especially when tears were involved. Never quite knew what to say. “You’re okay, I’m okay, we’re both okay. It’s all okay.” Public speaking award, it wasn’t, and all it seemed to do was ratchet up the kid’s panicked breathing.
Gibbs moved to the other side of his bed, grabbed the kid's hand, then walked Willy through pretty much the same breathing exercise as he had with Tony. The drugs coursing through Tony's IV had too many emotions flowing through his system for him to be embarrassed about that for any length of time.
After a long few moments, the kid had calmed enough to clear his throat and swipe his hand across his eyes. “Do, uh, do we have to mention this to anyone?” he asked, eyes glued to the floor.
Tony looked over-dramatically at Gibbs and shook his head. “Secret’s safe with me.”
Willy nodded. “Cool. Then, thankyouforsavingmylife. I’m just gonna—” he pointed at the door and bolted.
“McGee!” Gibbs called, still kneeling on the hospital floor.
“Got him, boss!”
Gibbs nodded then grabbed the railing of Tony’s bed and hauled himself to his feet. “Don’t, DiNozzo,” he warned, just as Tony opened his mouth.
Despite the ache in his head, Tony found himself grinning. “We could be a matched set depending on what the tests say.”
“Don’t go there, DiNozzo. Not yet.”
“But boss…”
“If you want something to worry about, worry about how you’re going to do all the stairs at my place.”
“Your place? Boss…”
“Well yeah, Tony, I’m not going to let you drag yourself up four flights at yours.”
“I have an elevator.”
“You remember the last time it actually worked?”
“Well, no, but—”
Fixing Tony with a slightly amused look, Gibbs sat back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest, as if the matter had been settled.
Tony scrubbed at the bridge of his nose with his good hand to relieve the not-at-all-related-to-his-concussion pressure building there, then tried again. “Boss, last time you said—”
“Concussion protocol, DiNozzo. Apparently, they could see your skull.”
Tony frowned, his non-IV'd hand moving to worry the gauze on his forehead.
“Don’t worry, there was enough skin to close it nicely. Doc says if you leave it alone, you’ll barely be able to see the scar.”
Well, that was… something.
He winced as another thought lanced through his head, his hands instinctively pressing against his temples to relieve the ache.
“DiNozzo!”
“We get them?” he asked, fully aware he was doing what sounded like shouting. “Boss, did we get them?”
“All of them. And their leader. The Shields are safe.”
Tony stayed doubled over, elbows digging into his chest, until the pain subsided. Point one for the drugs.
“Wow, you work quick,” he muttered, once he could think clearly again. He risked opening his eyes and could have cried with joy when his headache didn’t worsen.
Lowering himself back into his chair, Gibbs shrugged. “SIC rolled on his boss for a reduced sentence. Sped the process up quite a bit.”
“Love it when that happens.”
As silence fell on the room, Tony slowly laid back, eyes open this time, taking another more pointed look around the room. He tilted his head at his IV, whose bag was thankfully almost empty. “So am I stuck here, or...”
“As soon as you get your head examined, I can take you home.” Gibbs held up his hand. “Don’t even start, DiNozzo. It’s not negotiable.”
Never one to blindly follow instructions, especially related to his health, Tony opened his mouth to argue, but a quirked eyebrow and lopsided, almost challenging, smile from his boss was enough to stop the protest before it even began. “Okay, boss,” he grumbled.
“Neither are the crutches 'til you can get that knee tested.”
Tony counted to three. Let out a thin breath. “Fine.”
“Or the—”
“If you say ‘wheelchair’, Gibbs, I will not be responsible for my actions.”
Gibbs just met Tony's eyes, waiting silently.
“You know I can check myself out AMA.”
“Not if you want me to sign your return to work form.”
Tony scowled at Gibbs until his head started to hurt then muttered, “Fine. But only to the car and not a single roll more.”
“We’ll see how your balance is,” Gibbs said, his tone signaling the end of the conversation.
Tony didn’t press, knowing it was as good as he was going to get out of his boss at this point.
Gibbs gently clasped Tony's shoulder then reached over and grabbed a remote, turning on a TV mounted over the doorway. Tony watched him flip channels until the bright colors made his head hurt, at which point he stared at the unmoving tiled ceiling instead.
At some point, Gibbs settled on what sounded like an old-fashioned western, southern drawls and all. Tony gave watching it a shot until the ache in his brain ratcheted up, at which point he closed his eyes and gave in to just listening. Besides, he wanted to spend his concentration elsewhere: there was this thought stirred in the back of his brain, like an itch, not fully forming. Minus one point for the drugs.
It hit him somewhere around the next commercial break. Tony sat up with a yelp, his eyes shooting open. “Wait, boss! Don’t you have an interrogation to do?”
“Kate and McGee have it,” Gibbs said without looking away from the television.
Kate, McGee, DiNozzo.
Tony scrubbed at his ears, gently, mindful of his definitely-a-concussion. “Did you just say you trust the Probie to run an interrogation?”
“You want to sit here alone, DiNozzo?”
“Well, no, but I would if it means we get their confessions.”
“They got it,” Gibbs said confidently. He turned up the volume and leaned further back in his chair, interlacing his hands over his chest.
Tony felt like a rug had been pulled out from under him, the list of things he knew to be certainties, right up there with death and taxes, drawing even shorter for reasons that didn’t include him—that he’d hoped would have included him.
A beat later, Gibbs exhaled loudly. “You should have seen Kate, Tony. Didn’t leave your room for hours. Never seen her so focused. Same with McGee. Calling and texting non-stop, getting every last detail, to be sure this sticks.”
“And you’re okay with that?” Tony heard himself squeak. It had been three years and he’d only done interrogations when absolutely necessary (read that: when Gibbs was otherwise incapacitated). For Gibbs to be relinquishing that control… “You positive I’m not dying, boss?”
Gibbs craned his neck to look back at Tony, letting a soft grin flit across his face. “Already told ya no, DiNozzo.”
Tony was sure he still looked shocked, his addled brain racing to figure out what this all meant. He startled as Gibbs’ elbow knocked into his. “Just lay down and listen to the movie, Tony.”
Still slightly stunned, Tony did as he was instructed, clocking someone in the film ordering a sarsaparilla at a bar. But his brain refused to shut off. His fingers tapped against the sheet as he tried to—
“You’re supposed to be resting.”
“I am, boss. I’m just—”
“Let it go, DiNozzo.”
Tony forced his eyes open and looked down at Gibbs. “I can’t, boss. You never let someone else do your interrogations. It’s like your thing. Just like Magnum’s mustache, and MacGyver’s ability to get out of any situation, or Hannibal saying ‘I love it when a plan comes together’—”
He trailed off, braced for a head slap, but instead, Gibbs muted the movie and turned in his chair to face Tony. “You know me to do a lot of things I don’t want to do?”
Tony considered this for a minute. “The intern Morrow made you take last summer?”
Gibbs rolled his eyes and huffed out what might have been a laugh. “Other than orders from my direct superior.”
Tony slowly and gently shook his head. “Then, no, boss.”
Gibbs nodded. “So listen to me when I say: I’m right where I’m supposed to be.”
A warmth spread through Tony’s chest, and he was almost a hundred percent sure it wasn’t related to whatever was flowing through his IV. “I gotcha boss.”
“Good.” With that, Gibbs turned back to the movie and unmuted it, the two of them watching, or in Tony’s case listening to, Shane in silence while they waited for the doctor came by to do Tony’s final check-up and hopefully clear him to leave.