He was so still—so damn still—and Gibbs didn’t know how the hell to cope. They’d been on a routine question when bullets had started flying and he and Tony had hit the deck. Only Tony hadn’t bounced back up. Far as Gibbs could tell, he’d slammed his head on the concrete, and he was in a coma.
Eminently survivable, Ducky had said to Anthony DiNozzo Senior, who had arrived a few hours after Gibbs had called him, shaken to the core. Tony’d taken one too many bad head blows in the last couple years, and it seemed to have taken this to convince Senior that his son’s life could be in danger.
After three days of the unnatural stillness, Ducky or Abbs had called his old man in Stillwater. Jackson Gibbs had showed up with cookies and a strong shoulder that even though Gibbs knew he shouldn’t lean on, he appreciated. And he helped to distract Senior with his booming voice and looks that gave Gibbs a glimpse into what his lover would look like as an older man. If Tony lived…
“Stop it,” Gibbs muttered, headslapping himself.
There were no tubes snaking from Tony’s body, no hiss of the respirator. All the tests had shown a bad concussion, but the brain swelling wasn’t bad enough for surgery, and Tony was getting better. So Ducky said.
Until he was moving, Gibbs couldn’t allow himself to believe it.
He, Abby, and Ducky took shifts with Tony, McGee and Ziva drifting in and out. Vance had put the team in charge of cold cases, and Gibbs had racked up enough favors with him that he’d been given time off without too many comments.
“Got coffee,” Jackson said, and Gibbs looked at his father, reaching for a large cup. “And oatmeal. Gotta keep your strength up. You never want to leave here. For your agent…”
His father hadn’t pushed the issue, but Gibbs knew he had some serious questions. And suddenly, it all just seemed too much. Nobody knew about his relationship with Tony, and the worry, the stress, it was all too much, even for Gibbs.
Gibbs’ hand was shaking as he brought the cup to his mouth, and he never shook. His father followed the path of the paper cup, wincing as a little sloshed out.
“Tell me, Leroy,” his father said, the older man’s voice soft and gentle. “What’s it about this one.”
“He’s…” Gibbs began, trailing off. How could he explain what Tony was to him, for him, how the other man had saved him not only in body, but in soul as well.
“Everything, Dad. He’s everything to me.”
And as Gibbs looked up to his father, his vision blurry from unshed tears, all Gibbs could register was love and acceptance in his eyes.
“I know, Leroy,” his father said, voice quavering. “Just been waitin’ for you to say it. Your boy’s gonna be okay.”
Gibbs nodded, but couldn’t accept or admit that he didn’t believe it. Then the rasp of skin of fabric reached his ears, and he looked over to see Tony’s fingertip twitching against the sheets.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Still prompt 2
Date: 2012-01-30 11:43 pm (UTC)Eminently survivable, Ducky had said to Anthony DiNozzo Senior, who had arrived a few hours after Gibbs had called him, shaken to the core. Tony’d taken one too many bad head blows in the last couple years, and it seemed to have taken this to convince Senior that his son’s life could be in danger.
After three days of the unnatural stillness, Ducky or Abbs had called his old man in Stillwater. Jackson Gibbs had showed up with cookies and a strong shoulder that even though Gibbs knew he shouldn’t lean on, he appreciated. And he helped to distract Senior with his booming voice and looks that gave Gibbs a glimpse into what his lover would look like as an older man. If Tony lived…
“Stop it,” Gibbs muttered, headslapping himself.
There were no tubes snaking from Tony’s body, no hiss of the respirator. All the tests had shown a bad concussion, but the brain swelling wasn’t bad enough for surgery, and Tony was getting better. So Ducky said.
Until he was moving, Gibbs couldn’t allow himself to believe it.
He, Abby, and Ducky took shifts with Tony, McGee and Ziva drifting in and out. Vance had put the team in charge of cold cases, and Gibbs had racked up enough favors with him that he’d been given time off without too many comments.
“Got coffee,” Jackson said, and Gibbs looked at his father, reaching for a large cup. “And oatmeal. Gotta keep your strength up. You never want to leave here. For your agent…”
His father hadn’t pushed the issue, but Gibbs knew he had some serious questions. And suddenly, it all just seemed too much. Nobody knew about his relationship with Tony, and the worry, the stress, it was all too much, even for Gibbs.
Gibbs’ hand was shaking as he brought the cup to his mouth, and he never shook. His father followed the path of the paper cup, wincing as a little sloshed out.
“Tell me, Leroy,” his father said, the older man’s voice soft and gentle. “What’s it about this one.”
“He’s…” Gibbs began, trailing off. How could he explain what Tony was to him, for him, how the other man had saved him not only in body, but in soul as well.
“Everything, Dad. He’s everything to me.”
And as Gibbs looked up to his father, his vision blurry from unshed tears, all Gibbs could register was love and acceptance in his eyes.
“I know, Leroy,” his father said, voice quavering. “Just been waitin’ for you to say it. Your boy’s gonna be okay.”
Gibbs nodded, but couldn’t accept or admit that he didn’t believe it. Then the rasp of skin of fabric reached his ears, and he looked over to see Tony’s fingertip twitching against the sheets.
Tony was coming out of this!
Tony was still no more!