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Help, I Need Somebody

by: BuffyAngel68 (Send Feedback)

Series: - No Series - #1
Chapters: 041 Word Count: 76064
Rating: MATURE
Warning(s): Disturbing Imagery or Content, Other (See Author's Note)
Character(s): Jethro Gibbs, Tony DiNozzo, Abby Sciuto, Timothy McGee, Ensemble
Category(ies): Alternate Universe, Angst/Drama, Episode Related, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Romance
Pairing(s): Gibbs/DiNozzo, Abby/McGee
Episode(s): 3-12 Boxed In
Summary: My version of where Tony might have ended up after the crappy treatment he received in Boxed In. This is a bit dark, but I have to go with the muse and this is what she provided. The thought woke me up crying, as a matter of fact. Triple Kleenex warning...

Chapters: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | 25 | 26 | 27 | 28 | 29 | 30 | 31 | 32 | 33 | 34 | 35 | 36 | 37 | 38 | 39 | 40 | 41

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Help, I Need Somebody 27/?



When Tim arrived at work, he found Gibbs in a familiar state, making very familiar sounds. The older man was leaning close to his computer screen, growling and muttering under his breath. Grinning, McGee approached with caution and spoke quietly.

"Boss? Can I help?"

"Stupid... machines are supposed to *help* you, not make you wanna start a bonfire with 'em..."

"What are you trying to... oh, I think I see. If you want I can do that on mine."

"Yeah... why not? Go on..."

Tim moved back to his desk, powered up his system and pulled up the website Gibbs had been trying to enter.

"See. With all the lawsuits from the artists... you have to pay for this kind of thing now. I have an account on this site. The price is minimal... like a buck a song, and it's really worth it, at least for me, since I don't download a lot... there we go. Signed in. What artist were you looking for?"

Gibbs gazed around quickly, as if he were worried about being overheard, then took the extra precaution of lowering his voice a little, just to be sure.

"One smirk, one giggle..."

"Of course not, boss. I take my music seriously."

"Billy Joel."

"One of my favorites. I have a lot of his CD's at home." Tim responded, typing the search request in and bringing up a list of albums and the songs they contained. "Any song in particular?"

"I wish I knew. It was one of those where the title isn't real obvious. I heard it on the way in this morning on the oldies station. Something about how the simple lines are already written and the radio just repeats them..."

Tim's grin returned full force.

"I know just which one you mean... here. This is it, right?" he said, waving Gibbs over.

" 'If I Only Had the Words'... yeah, I should've guessed that. He says it enough in the course of the song. It just doesn't *sound* like a title..."

"Billy has a way of putting out songs like that. Some of his titles are easy to pick out, some you really have to work at it."

"Can I... how do I get this so I can take it home?"

"I'll burn the song to a CD for you."

"Burn? I didn't mean it about the bonfire, McGee..."

"Burn like transfer the song to a disk that will play in a CD stereo or a portable... please, don't hit me, boss, but I have to ask..."

"Yeah, I have a CD player at home. You won't get smacked, 'cause you begged me not to, but just for future reference, age and or techno-phobe comments..."

"Smack is imminent. I understand."

Directing one ear behind them, still listening for Ziva or anyone else that might be getting in earshot, Gibbs asked another question.

"So... you can do more than one song?"

"Yeah. Up to twenty, maybe, on a regular CD. Way more than that on a quality MP3 player. See, an MP3..."

"Whoa! I don't ask, you don't explain."

"Got it."

"Is there someplace where I can just go read lyrics?"

"Sure. Hang on..."

Moving back to Gibbs' desk, Tim typed in the address of his favorite lyric site and bookmarked it so Gibbs could go back and check it again if a case interrupted his search. The older man followed, examining the images and text and liking what he found.

"Here. This is the best one I know of. It's easy to navigate, they have a huge collection of artists and titles, and I've only found flubbed lyrics two or three times. Pick which ones you want and I'll download them for you anytime."

"That'll work. Damn... elevator. Must be Ziva. If she catches you with that on your screen I may have to get verbally medieval on your ass..." Gibbs warned him, reclaiming his seat and sending Tim scurrying back to his area.

"It's all for show, I understand. No problem, boss. One repentant flunky geek coming up..."



Lewiston entered Tony's room with Brad right behind him and their mutual patient groaned and turned over in bed so that he faced away from them.

"Oh, hell..."

"Pardon him. Manners haven't been high on our list of discussion topics. Now I see I'll have to correct that oversight." Lewiston quipped to his colleague.

"Don't bother. He'd only ignore you."

Tony produced a sound that was half laughter, half sheer pathos.

"You're not here. I'm hallucinating."

"You only wish that was true."

"And if I had a genie's cell number, you'd be in Antarctica instead of here, torturing me."

"Tony, give it a rest, okay?" Brad warned. "You agreed to this and you know how important it is."

"I'll give it a rest when you promise me there are no sharp objects anywhere on your person."

"The needles again..."

"Yes, the needles again!" Tony asserted, rolling back over and sitting up to confront Brad. "You *never* took me seriously when I tried to tell you I was developing a phobia about the damn things."

Brad sighed and moved to perch on the edge of the bed.

"I did believe you, Tony, I swear I did. With something like pneumonic plague, there was just no way around the frequent blood tests. Neither one of us had a choice then... and we don't now."

"You can do anything you want, including a hernia check. I'll turn my head and cough as many times as you want..."

"You don't have a hernia."

"Find me something heavy, I'll give myself one!"


"I can't, Brad. I just can't. Look at me, I'm already freaking out..."

"Tony, people with Y-Pestis, if they recover, can relapse without warning. Having a new infection, even one that barely got started, increases the chance of that happening. Too many people care about you and want you home for me to just give in on this."

"Relapse? You never told me that. Why didn't you say something?"

"You've done so well... I guess I hoped I'd never *need* to tell you. I was wrong not to warn you that it could happen, I admit that. I'm sorry..."

"God... I could be that sick again? At a moment's notice?"

"I won't allow it, Tony."

"Neither of us will." Lewiston added.

Staring blankly at a wall, Tony continued to speak as if the others had not made any reassurances at all.

"I won't go back there. The creepy blue lights, the fear, the loneliness... I won't go back. Never..."

Lewiston moved to kneel by the bed and turned Tony by the shoulders so that they were face to face. The contact brought the young man out of his momentary state of shock.

"It's okay, Tony. You'll never go through that again if we have anything to say about it."

"I can't face that a second time... but the needle is... What am I supposed to do, here?"

"Let me help you through it."

"It's too big. I've tried over and over..."

"Talk to me about it. Talk to me, Tony. This is all we've been doing since the start, right? You know how the process works by now. Trust me... open up to me and we'll fix this."

Below Tony's line of sight, Lewiston shifted his hand subtly and tapped Brad's ankle. The other man instantly understood that he was being given the gift of a few minutes distraction and he'd better take advantage of it quickly.

"You know how I feel about the whole modern medicine thing... and why. I spent days and days in that isolation unit and that... damn IV never left my arm. Once I got out, I would've blown off after-care altogether, but my job was on the line. I had to go, or I would've gotten ratted out for my own good. Thing is, every time I showed for a check-up, there he was with another needle... it got so I hated the sight of the building and the parking lot..."

Feeling the rubber strip being knotted around his arm, Tony whipped his head sideways and started to protest, but Lewiston drew him right back.

"No. Over here Tony. Tony... don't look at what he's doing, pay attention to me. That's right... keep talking. Tell me the whole story."

"I can't... he..."

"Yes, you can. Focus, Tony. You hated the building and the parking lot..."

"It... it got harder and harder to make myself go. Finally... I just stopped. I kept waiting for the hammer to fall, for some memo to come down saying I was in trouble... but it never happened. Like Brad said, he... he let me slide. He settled for hearing from me over the phone... I figured out how to sound happy and healthy even when I was far from it..."

Despite Brad's best efforts, Tony was so on edge anticipating the needle that when it slid under his skin he cried out and would have pulled away if Lewiston hadn't grasped his free hand. "God... get him off me... make him stop! Please..."

"Name the seven dwarves, Tony."


"It's not that hard. Name the seven dwarves. C'mon. You can do that..."

"Bashful, Dopey, Doc, Grumpy... Sneezy, Sleepy and Happy."

"Perfect. Now give me all the factors of forty-eight."

"Shit... you want me to do math *now*?"

"Absolutely. Let's go. Factors of forty-eight."

"Um... One, two, three, four, six, eight, twelve, sixteen, twenty-four, forty-eight."

"Fantastic. Ah-ah, eyes front, okay? Brad's almost finished, but not quite. Tell me about Gibbs. What's he really like?"

"He... he's strong... strongest, most intuitive investigator I've ever known. He loves boats. He's building one... in his basement, of all places. How he'll ever get it out is one of the... the world's great mysteries... God almighty, Pitt, will you hurry up?!"

"Okay, okay. Almost... there. Everything's sealed and put away. Bend your arm to hold... good. Now we band-aid over the cotton... done. I'm sorry, Tony. You know I mean that, don't you?"

Tony refused to look at Brad for a long stretch of minutes, but finally he sighed, rubbed his eyes and faced his friend.

"Hey, irresistible force always wins, right? One more point on your side of the scoreboard. I won't hold it against you."

"That's not what this was about. You're not just a patient to me, you're a friend. With a lot of help and your unbelievable determination I saw you recover from a disease you shouldn't have had a chance against. I won't lose you now to something I might be able to prevent with a simple test. I truly do regret the pain you just went through. All I can say is that... I did it because I care about you, too, Tony... and I want you back in my life as much as everybody at NCIS does."

"I've missed our friendship. Nobody else can keep up with me on the basketball court..."

"I'll give you all the games you can handle when you get out of here. That's a promise." Brad chuckled, holding out his hand sideways. Tony wrapped his around it and used it to pull his friend in for a brief one-armed hug. "You ready for the rest of this exam, buddy?"

"You've already done your worst. Anything else you do to me will feel like the Fourth of July and a bachelor party rolled into one..."



The pretty young woman looked over at the intercom on her desk as her boss' disembodied voice floated out of it.

"I'll be working through lunch today, Marci, but order yourself anything you want. My treat."

"Thank you, sir. You have a visitor. He doesn't have an appointment, but..."


"I'm not really sure, sir. I just think you should see him. He seems familiar, but I can't place him."

The door to the inner office opened a moment later and the sec-nav strode out into the small reception area, stopping short when he realized who his visitor was.

"Director David. What a surprise. A pleasant one, of course..."

"Yes. Not this time I'm afraid. If we could go to your office, please? We must speak and it must be in private."

"Well... yes. Absolutely. Whatever you need. Marci, no calls until we're finished."

"Yes, sir."



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