“Can you get out?” The gentle, yet insistent voice, broke through the darkness surrounding Gibbs. He opened his eyes wilt a jolt, the strobing red lights hurting his eyes. Ambulance—there was an ambulance or two nearby. He turned his head slowly, painfully, and waited a moment for his gaze to focus. Tony’s father, he realized, trying to twist to look in the backseat to look at Tony.
“We’re at the hospital. They have him, Gibbs,” Tony’s father said, motioning ahead. “Can you get out?” he repeated. There was a wheelchair and a concerned orderly standing at the side of the car.
“Ya go to him,” Gibbs said, waving his hand, dismissing Tony’s father “I want updates.”
“You’ll get them.” Senior gave him a gentle smile before hurrying over as quickly as it looked as if he could manage, following the stretcher carrying his son. Gibbs didn’t know what hospital Senior had found, but it didn’t matter—as log as they’d take good care of DiNozzo, that was all that mattered.
The next couple hours were a whirl of tests—CAT scan, X-rays—Gibbs fading in and out despite his worry about Tony. Somehow, it seemed to be enough that Mr. DiNozzo was looking after Tony. Finally, they stopped dragging him from one diagnostic machine to another and put him in a room, the second bed in it empty. Gibbs reached for his cell phone before realizing that someone had taken it and his clothes, his weapon, his badge. His eyes closed against Gibbs’ best intentions, and the questions swirling through his head.
“Ah, there you are, Jethro. Back with us, I see. You took quite a knock to the head.”
Gibbs blinked his eyes open and lifted his head gingerly, looking over at the other bed—and the very welcome sight of Tony sleeping in it. He had a bandage over one eye, and he looked pale, but outside of a pulse monitor on his finger and a blood pressure cuff around one arm, he looked okay.
“How is he?” he asked, his voice raspy. Ducky lifted a cup of water, but Gibbs waved him off. “DiNozzo, Duck. How bad?”
“He’ll be just fine, Jethro,” Senior said, coming into view. The man didn’t look as impeccable as usual; his suit was streaked with mud and a few spatters of blood. “Thank you for your help in getting him out of there.” He turned to Ducky. “Perhaps you might want to get Gibbs some juice. I’m certain he could use some sugar after his ordeal.”
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Steady Hands part 1
Date: 2012-08-15 01:53 am (UTC)Sequel to http://taylorgibbs.livejournal.com/102508.html?view=1141100#t1141100
“Can you get out?” The gentle, yet insistent voice, broke through the darkness surrounding Gibbs. He opened his eyes wilt a jolt, the strobing red lights hurting his eyes. Ambulance—there was an ambulance or two nearby. He turned his head slowly, painfully, and waited a moment for his gaze to focus. Tony’s father, he realized, trying to twist to look in the backseat to look at Tony.
“We’re at the hospital. They have him, Gibbs,” Tony’s father said, motioning ahead. “Can you get out?” he repeated. There was a wheelchair and a concerned orderly standing at the side of the car.
“Ya go to him,” Gibbs said, waving his hand, dismissing Tony’s father “I want updates.”
“You’ll get them.” Senior gave him a gentle smile before hurrying over as quickly as it looked as if he could manage, following the stretcher carrying his son. Gibbs didn’t know what hospital Senior had found, but it didn’t matter—as log as they’d take good care of DiNozzo, that was all that mattered.
The next couple hours were a whirl of tests—CAT scan, X-rays—Gibbs fading in and out despite his worry about Tony. Somehow, it seemed to be enough that Mr. DiNozzo was looking after Tony. Finally, they stopped dragging him from one diagnostic machine to another and put him in a room, the second bed in it empty. Gibbs reached for his cell phone before realizing that someone had taken it and his clothes, his weapon, his badge. His eyes closed against Gibbs’ best intentions, and the questions swirling through his head.
“Ah, there you are, Jethro. Back with us, I see. You took quite a knock to the head.”
Gibbs blinked his eyes open and lifted his head gingerly, looking over at the other bed—and the very welcome sight of Tony sleeping in it. He had a bandage over one eye, and he looked pale, but outside of a pulse monitor on his finger and a blood pressure cuff around one arm, he looked okay.
“How is he?” he asked, his voice raspy. Ducky lifted a cup of water, but Gibbs waved him off. “DiNozzo, Duck. How bad?”
“He’ll be just fine, Jethro,” Senior said, coming into view. The man didn’t look as impeccable as usual; his suit was streaked with mud and a few spatters of blood. “Thank you for your help in getting him out of there.” He turned to Ducky. “Perhaps you might want to get Gibbs some juice. I’m certain he could use some sugar after his ordeal.”