I do not own NCIS because when life gave me lemons I threw them at people.
Antonella- I read your review (it said don't beg for reviews, it makes them angry) and I was like who's 'them'. Suddenly I had this perfect image of a bunch of people with pitchforks going "WE WON'T REVIEW!" and I cracked myself up. Anyway, thanks for reviewing.
After nearly an hour of complaining, Tony had managed to convince Gibbs that he felt ready to go back to work. He hated just sleeping all the time and waiting for all the drugs to be flushed out of his system. Admittedly, now that he was on the elevator to work, he was unfortunately exhausted. His eyelids were extremely heavy, as if they were weights and the urge to sleep was tempting. However, in an stubborn effort to not be sent home, Tony hid his emotions deep beneath the surface. He had been undercover many times and was exceptional at it, allowing him to maintain an unafflicted face.
However, when the elevator reached the bullpen, suddenly Tony regretted coming back to work so early. When he had come back from having the plague all he had to do was paste a huge smile on his face and make a dramatic entrance. But now, he did not feel like himself, and while he could hide his sleepiness, acting himself might just push him over the edge. He did not want their predicted worry or pity when they found him quite and without jokes.
Well, too late now, Tony thought as the door opened revealing the busy bullpen. He managed a small smile before making his way over to his desk. Auspiciously, he was saved, at least at the moment, when he found the desks empty suggesting they had caught a case. He felt childishly left out though, even despite the fact he was confined to desk work, that he had not been called.
Finding himself without much to do, he picked up a file from Ziva's desk. Leaning against the desk, he flipped through it absentmindedly when suddenly a picture caught his eye. It was obvious Ziva had taken it because in the corner a finger blocked the lens, but that was not what interested Tony. What interested Tony was that there Sam lay dead with eyes staring up into emptiness. Wait, why is that interesting? He knew Sam had died… But still something tugged at his memory. It was like when you're dreaming and a noise filters through from the outside, except it was like a faded memory coming into your life. His brow furrowed and he paced back and forth, lost in his thoughts. Suddenly, a light bulb clicked on deep within his subconscious, and the memories broke threw the block so abruptly that Tony sat plopped down in his chair. He held his head with one hand while leaning on his elbow, and thought through what he thought happened multiple times to make sure he truly had everything straight. First, he came to the conclusion that Sam had been strangled, yet there Sam laid definitely not strangled and most definitely shot. Second, he connected the pieces that Sam had been the one who had knocked him out. He made a frantic snatch for the phone and dialed speed dial number one. One ring… silence. Two rings… silence. Three rings… come on Gibbs!
Finally, just before Tony's resolve dissolved, Gibbs answered. "Gibbs."
"Okay, you know when I said I didn't know who knocked me out?" Tony asked.
"Spit it out, DiNozzo."
"It was Sam and a couple muscley dudes."
"Are you sure?"
"Gee, Gibbs, now that you mention it, it could have been Ducky and a couple young ladies." Tony sarcastically replied. He smirked when he could perfectly picture Gibbs' eye roll, but then quickly wiped it off his face when the next vision was Gibbs head slapping him.
"We're coming back." Gibbs said after a pause. Tony opened his mouth to continue speaking when the other line disconnected signalling Gibbs had hung up. He closed his mouth again and it morphed into a frown. Gibbs' second b could really stand out sometimes.
Tony set the phone back in its cradle and returned to pacing. Now that he had figured out his memory mystery, his energy was renewed to the point where he felt as if he had drunk several cups of coffee. His mind worked furiously, trying to connect the dots of Sam and his kidnapping. He produced a few theories, but quickly discarded them, due to the insanity of them. He sighed and rubbed his temples, even though that did nothing to help his forming headache. When completely honest, he would admit he was quickly wearying of not understanding.
He had probably been moving for ten minutes without pause when the elevator door opened. Expecting the team to walk in, Tony made a quick attempt to make himself not look like a squirrel on caffeine. His attempts would have been futile, so it was beneficial that good luck was once again on his side. Instead of his team, a hyper, black-haired scientist came bursting in. She threw her arms around him and squeezed as tight as she could while burying her head in his shoulder. Tony tried attempted to rub her back as a reassuring gesture, but he couldn't really see past the two pig tails that covered his vision.
Tony made an indignant sound of pain when the grip around his midsection managed to constrict further, which resulted in his release. He simultaneously did his best to slow down his breathing so he did not gasp for air, while giving Abby one of his best smiles. If there was anyone he did not want to worry about him, it was Abby. She was like his little sister, but she did get a little frantic when she was worried.
Without warning Abby slapped his bicep, and with her strength, it hurt more than the blow most of the criminals he had arrested could give.
"Ow! What was that for?" Tony cried while rubbing his arm.
"For making me worry about you! Do you know that we had to send a description to you to every local morgue within thirty miles? There was seven matches! The director thought you were dead!"
"Sorry, Abby. I didn't really ask to be kidnapped though."
"I know," Abby declared while embracing him once again. "I just knew you weren't dead, but he wouldn't believe me!" She sounded nearly hysterical and Tony hugged her back tightly.
"I couldn't die, you know that. Gibbs didn't give me permission," Tony attempted to make her feel better. "Hey, look behind you."
"Huh?" she asked but complied anyway without receiving an explanation. When she saw the Caf!Pow sitting on the edge of the desk she grinned. "I'm glad you're not dead," Abby informed him while taking a long sip.
"Me too, Abby. I haven't put my movie collection in my will, and I would hate for them to fall into the wrong hands."
"That right, DiNozzo?" Gibbs asked, causing Tony to jump. He walked out of the elevator, which he had not heard arrive, with the rest of his team. He looked worn down and had most likely been wearing the same outfit for several days judging by his disheveled wardrobe. In an attempt to make a good impression on Gibbs in order to make the day more bearable, he had bought a cup of coffee for him. The steaming hot and bitter liquid was now sitting on Gibbs' desk, and when Gibbs saw it, Tony could have sworn the corners of his mouth quirked up slightly. Before Tony could mention it though, Gibbs spoke.
"Sam knocked you out," he said and it was impossible to tell if it was a question or a statement.
"Well, not really Sam. One of the burly dudes did it, but Sam was the one who put his hand on my shoulder."
"Did you get any information?" Gibbs asked hopefully.
"Not really. He knew where the video cameras were. He knew you were my boss and your name."
"You were really unconscious for three weeks?" Tony figured he meant that he hadn't remembered anything else from the time he was taken.
"Yeah, I was really out cold. You know, this reminds me of the movie The Invisible-" Tony would have happily continued with a detailed description and imitations, except he was cut of with groans from his teammates. He opened his mouth to explain why it was an apt comparison, but before words could come out, the room started spinning. He clutched the side of his desk, doing his best to not appear ailing, and waited for it to subside. His stomach turned nauseously, forcing Tony to either throw up or swallow down bile. With too much dignity to vomit in front of his entire team, he obviously chose the latter. It receded to a bearable level without warning, just as it had come. He took a deep breath while wondering what come have made his feel so unwell.
Gibbs watched Tony while something strange happened to him. With Tony's knack of hiding what he was feeling, no one noticed how uncomfortable he was. However, after close examination, you could see he was not casually holding onto his desk as he was trying to deceive. His knuckles were white from his death grip on the table top, as if he would fall if he let go. Almost nonexistent lines formed at the the corners of his eyes and mouth as he rode out whatever had hit him.
"DiNozzo?" Gibbs called out. There was a worrying pause before Tony responded without a hint of discomfort.
"I wasn't asking, DiNozzo." Tony shot a glare that would have made any less of a man flinch. He hated being sent home, and being ordered home infuriated him. His eyes narrowed while his eyebrows lowered and drew close together. His jaw clenched, and everyone paused their work to see if Tony would dare to disrespect a direct order. Finally, after what could be described as a stand-off, Tony snatched his jacket without loosing the rage in his eyes. He slammed the chair into its place beneath the desk, and took the stairs out of the building opposed to the expected elevator.
When no one returned to what they were doing, Gibbs snapped. "Get back to work," he ordered loudly.
Tony drove recklessly and far past the speed limit, letting his anger control him. Unfortunately, he had to stop at Gibbs's house to pick up his belongings that he had been keeping there. He wasn't sure if he could handle even going to work with Gibbs tomorrow, much less stay with him. Overall, he needed to be alone with some privacy without the constant pressure to appear as if he was fine. He arrived at the house and was glad to see all of the lights were off. Tony knew that recently, though not while he had been there, Jackson had been staying over. Being alone was the best healing property he could think of.
He walked up to the red door and went to grab the key from his jeans, but after checking each pocket, he concluded he left it at work. He smiled wrily as he thought of how every time he left his keys at work he always ended it up feeling like crap. He extracted his lock pick from the inside of his jacket and pushed the thin piece of metal into the lock. In case of the prying eyes of neighbors, he put his body very close to the door to hide his tools. Within two minutes, all of the pins had been pushed up, and Tony swung the door open. He flicked on the light and went to go to the upstairs spare bedroom to get his bag. However, when Tony had made it to the the third step, a terrible wave of whatever had hit him earlier seized him. His knees buckled inducing him to land painfully kneeling on the next step. His head felt like it was filled of cotton which would not allow any form of logical thought. Tony tried to sit down properly, but the attempt failed and he went falling backwards. He couldn't break his fall so the back of his head connected with the wooden floor with considerable force. The impact mixed with the overwhelming sense of nausea was enough to knock him out; mercifully saving him from his ailing self.
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