Gibbs remembered the exact moment when his world came crashing down around him. Though from his outward appearance and manner, no one would have guessed at the turmoil, hurt, and despair tearing at his heart. He had relived the events of the past few hours like a film reel set on a continuous loop. What could he have changed? What could he have done differently? Would it have, indeed, mattered?

Fifteen percent chance at life, which meant an 85% chance of dying. Surely the scientist was wrong. That was it, he had meant to say a 51% chance of survival. Sure, that was it. It had to be 51% because 15% was not possible. It was not conceivable. He could not, would not wrap his mind around that possibility. How does one overcome that?

Sure, Tony WAS young. He WAS strong. He ran every day. But he ate pizza like a fiend and in all the time Gibbs had worked with him he had never seen Tony order a salad. Unless, of course, you count the lettuce and tomato that came on his cheeseburger. Which Tony did.

Gibbs thought about the past 4 years. The young pain-in-the-ass detective he had met in Baltimore. The older, more mature man Tony had become. The one who had worked for Gibbs, with Gibbs, had Gibbs' six. And had and would again, at anytime, risk his life to save Gibbs'. That man deserved more than a 15% chance. Tony had only had his mother for what would be about 15% of his life. He had only had his father's attention for what would be about 15%. He was not going to go out on 15%, that was for damn sure. He had been short-changed enough in this life.

Gibbs burst through the doors of the isolation unit. He walked right past Ducky and Kate. The sight before him, though, nearly stopped him in his tracks. This was not Anthony DiNozzo, not the Anthony DiNozzo he knew. Even under the blue lights he could see the dire condition of his agent. He, in a way, was glad for the blue lights. They were probably saving him from getting a clearer, more disturbing, picture of Tony's condition. He paused only a second, schooling his expression and checking his emotions so Tony would not see his worry and fear. He paused again, only long enough to tell Dr. Pitt the virus was dead. He then continued on to his agent's bedside. He took the hand that was nearest him. He opened it. It was scary it was so easy, Tony's grip was so weak. He put Tony's phone in his hand and closed Tony's fingers around it so that he would not drop it. Gibbs knew the nurses and doctor would wonder at his actions. Why give a man who could barely speak a phone? But Gibbs knew Tony would understand. Gibbs knew Tony considered his phone his link to the world. It was Gibbs' way of telling Tony he was going to make it.

Gibbs bent down to Tony's level and whispered to him. Gibbs again struggled to keep his emotions in check as he heard and saw Tony struggle to speak. He gave Tony a 'modified head-slap, and again felt himself tearing up. Gibbs straightened up. He patted Tony's arm and walked away, leaving isolation. He let out a breath he did not know he had been holding as soon as he exited the room. He nodded to Kate and Ducky but did not stop. He just managed to get outside the ICU/Isolation area and into a hallway away from the main traffic before the first tear fell. He leaned back against the wall, allowing it to take his weight as he reflected on the events of the past evening. He contemplated how close his life had come to being shattered again. He then leaned his head back against the wall, sighed, and wiped his eyes.

It was up to him now. Tony, he knew, had been the glue for the team. Kate and Abby were nearly inconsolable. Tim was coping, but barely, feeling as though he would wake up any moment and this bad dream, hellish nightmare would be over. Ducky had not allowed it to hit him yet. Still spouting statistics and retelling stories he had read in long-forgotten texts about the effects of the various plague and pestilence on Europe in the Middle Ages. They all knew, deep down, that though the plague virus dead, the vessel, aka Anthony DiNozzo, still might not survive. The irreversible damage to his body had yet to be assessed.

He, ex-Marine Leroy Jethro Gibbs, was afraid. He was afraid he would lose a man he had come to depend on like a brother. Someone whom he was coming to love as a son. He was afraid Tony might die, never knowing that Kate had not been infected to begin with.

Gibbs knew what he had to do. He pushed himself off the wall and walked back into the isolation. He had ordered Tony not to die, and Tony rarely disobeyed a direct order. He, Gibbs, would order them all to not fall apart. Maybe then he, himself, would survive.

THE END