Tony was thankful that Gibbs had left to get coffee, make some calls, and find Ducky, who'd arrived at the hospital during the initial doctor's examination but had not been let in. The doctor had taken some blood, then tested his reflexes (which were still excellent, thankyouverymuch), his coordination and balance (he didn't do so well in that one), his gait (which Tony had been embarrassed about, since he had trouble balancing and seeing and thus could not walk with anything close to his usual swagger), sensation, speech abilities, and cognitive function. It seemed his speech and cognition were fine, as were his sensations, but he didn't understand why he had to stick his tongue out and move it to either side-did that really impact his vision? Either way, he was glad that Gibbs had not been there to witness the tests.
He was alone in a hospital room now, his hospital room. Thankfully, he had no roommate as of yet. It didn't take good vision to see that he was surrounded by sterile white walls and white sheets and white blankets, and he wished for his big, soft bed at home, even though he knew the wishing would get him nowhere. He was stuck in the little scratchy hospital bed for a while, at least until the nurses brought him lunch, and then after that, to his MRI.
Idly, Tony wondered if the team was any closer to finding Michael Barrett. He wanted to grab his cell phone and call them up, but then he would have to explain why he was lying in a hospital bed about to have an MRI and not at work-and that was not a conversation he relished having. Especially not now, when it was all so new and fresh that he wasn't sure he could muster up any good jokes about it.
He heard swift footsteps come through his open door, and was assaulted by the scent of strong coffee.
"Hey Boss," he said, turning his head in Gibbs' direction.
"How'd the tests go?" Gibbs asked, sitting heavily in the chair next to Tony's bed.
"Aced 'em," Tony said lightly. "Even though I didn't study."
Gibbs snorted and took a long drink of his coffee. "Talked to Ducky," he said conversationally, or at least as conversationally as Gibbs could get.
"Oh yeah?" Tony asked, prompting Gibbs for more information.
"Yeah," Gibbs confirmed. "He's gonna come back in a few. He had to run back and finish up some work. He can make sense of whatever the doctor tells you."
"What does he think is wrong?" Tony asked.
Gibbs didn't say anything for a moment; instead, he drank his coffee. Tony wondered if it was a real sip, or if he was stalling with a fake.
"He doesn't know, DiNozzo. Could be anything," Gibbs said. "You have your MRI soon?"
"Yeah," Tony said. "They're gonna bring me some lunch first," he added, then wrinkled his nose. "Don't suppose you're hiding a pizza somewhere, Boss...?"
"No pizza," Gibbs said. "Didn't know if you'd be able to eat it or not."
"I didn't lose my teeth or my stomach, Boss," Tony complained. "Just my vision."
Gibbs didn't reply, just took another long drink of his coffee.
"Find Michael Barrett?" Tony asked, wondering what sort of expression was on Gibbs' face.
"Not yet," Gibbs said. "Don't worry about that. You just get better," he added.
Tony frowned. "I can't help-"
"Lunch!" a perky voice interrupted, effectively stopping Tony's train of thought and subsequent frustration. Tony heard the wheels of a cart being moved in, and he felt along the side of his bed for the controls that would bring him into a seated position. He wished he could see the girl with the cart-what he could see he thought he would like-she seemed to be slim, and she had dark hair...but of course, earlier in the day he had mistaken a decorative column for Gibbs. Her voice was pleasant, though, and she babbled to him about his sandwich as she put it in front of him.
"Thank you," Tony said, flashing her a wide smile. He wished he could see if she flushed or not, but was willing to bet she did, if Gibbs' snort was anything to go by.
Once she was gone, Tony stared down at his food, and realized that he could barely see it. How was he supposed to eat something he couldn't see?
"Gonna eat that food or just stare at it?" Gibbs asked pointedly.
"Not really hungry, Boss," Tony said, still staring blankly at the plate in front of him.
Gibbs sighed. "Here," he said, putting his cup down on the table. From the hollow sound it made, Tony thought maybe it was empty already. Then, Gibbs' hand was on his, and his own hand was on top of squishy bread. "Looks like a ham and cheese," Gibbs said. "Square bread, cut in half into two triangles," he added. "See?" He took Tony's hand and ran it along the edges of the bread. "Now eat it."
Tony felt vaguely embarrassed to be sitting in a hospital bread afraid of a spongy ham and cheese sandwich, so he took his other hand and hesitantly picked it up, careful to hold the two edges so that the meat didn't fall out. He could see where his hands and the sandwich were, but they blended together into a pale colored blob, so he tried his best to watch that blob as it got closer. He took a bite, didn't miss his mouth as he feared, and continued to eat until it was gone. Gibbs didn't say anything, but Tony could hear him sipping coffee-Tony thought that he had to be faking it by now because there couldn't be any left at this point.
When his hands were empty, they sought out the other half of the sandwich, and even if it was mushy white bread instead of a nice hard roll like he would prefer, he hadn't eaten yet that day, and he finished it quickly.
"Got some mustard on your face," Gibbs said.
Tony flushed and tried to find a napkin on his tray, but only succeeded in just about knocking over what he guessed was juice, and then Gibbs reached out and up righted it before it could spill.
"Here," Gibbs said, handing him a napkin. For a moment, Tony was petrified that Gibbs was going to wipe his face for him. That fear receded quickly, though, as Gibbs' hands retreated and he quickly took care of it himself.
"Better?" he asked.
"Yeah," Gibbs said. "You got a cup of juice on that tray," he said, "And an apple."
Tony reached out to his tray, this time on the other side of the juice, and found a smooth, round object. Apple, he thought. His fingers found the stem, and he brought it to his mouth and ate it, careful to avoid the very top and very bottom.
Just as he was finishing, wondering if he should stop eating and say something to Gibbs, because the silence was just bordering on uncomfortable, there were footsteps at his door again.
"Ready for your MRI, Tony?"
Dr. Foss, then, the doctor who had administered his earlier tests and taken over his care once he'd been officially admitted to the hospital.
"Sure thing, Doc," he said. He'd gotten the doctor to call him Tony during the tests; Agent DiNozzo got old pretty quickly. He carefully replaced his apple on the tray, and looked expectantly in the doctor's direction. "Now?"
"Yes," Doctor Foss said. "We'd really like to get it done as soon as possible, and hopefully take care of your vision." Tony heard a rustle, then the sound of wheels.
"A wheelchair?" Tony asked.
"That, or we roll you down in your bed," Doctor Foss said. "Your choice." He'd been a doctor for a long time, and he knew Tony's type all too well, and so he also knew Tony would want to walk all the way down to MRI unassisted-but that was not going to work.
"I'll take the wheelchair," Tony conceded with a scowl.
"DiNozzo, I gotta head into work soon," Gibbs said suddenly. "Ducky'll be here when you're out of your MRI."
"Oh-okay," Tony said, slightly taken aback. He'd just sort of assumed Gibbs was staying, which he knew was silly-Gibbs was Gibbs, after all, and he had important things to do. "Tell me when you get Barrett?" he asked.
"Sure," Gibbs said. He reached out and squeezed Tony's shoulder. "I'll come by after work," he said.
Tony nodded, and wished that he didn't suddenly feel completely vulnerable and borderline bereft as Gibbs walked out.
Unfortunately, it must have shown on his face, because Dr. Foss said, "It can be hard when you're in the hospital by yourself," as he pulled the rails down on the side of Tony's bed.
Tony shrugged. "No big deal; it's happened plenty of times before. Gibbs is busy," he said, and swung his legs over the side of the bed, studiously not thinking about the time a doctor had told him that many years ago when he was just a kid getting his appendix out and his father left to go to a business meeting after admitting him and his mother was home drinking cocktails.
He stood cautiously, and Dr. Foss steadied him when he started to sway to one side. "Take one step forward, Tony, and I'll bring the chair behind you," he said.
Tony nodded, and did as the doctor requested, and once he was sitting in the chair, he stifled a yawn and let himself be pushed to the MRI area. He hoped Ducky could help him make sense of the results when it was time.
--
When he came back from the MRI, Ducky was waiting in his room.
"Ah, Tony!" Ducky said, sounding just as cheery and, well, Scottish as ever. "How are you doing, my boy?" he asked. The nurse pushing Tony's wheelchair smiled at Ducky, and Tony smiled in his general direction.
"Hey, Ducky," he said. "Doin' okay," he said, which in Tony's particular vernacular meant, "don't even ask, my head is killing me, I'm dizzy, I just laid in a tube for an hour while someone took pictures of my brain and spinal cord, and I can't fucking see!"
Ducky was well versed in Tony-speak, though, and he merely nodded sagely. "Ah," he said. "As to be expected." He watched as Tony stood up and grabbed onto the nurse for support, who carefully helped him over to the bed. Once Tony was settled, and they put the bars on the bed up, Ducky sat in the bedside chair that Gibbs had occupied a little while ago.
"When will they have the test results?" Ducky asked the nurse.
"I'm not sure, sir," the nurse said, "but it shouldn't be too long."
"Thank you," Ducky said, and once the nurse was gone, he turned his attention to Tony.
"Tony, how are you feeling?" he asked, and this time, he sounded more serious, as if he expected a serious response.
Tony sighed, the urge to quote a movie or make a flippant remark strong in his mind, but he knew Ducky would just keep asking. "Okay," Tony repeated. "I have a pretty bad headache," he admitted. "I'm dizzy a lot. I can't see too much."
"Sounds slightly less than 'okay' to me," Ducky observed.
"Yeah, maybe," Tony said, turning away to yawn, then turning back towards Ducky.
"Do you need to rest?" Ducky asked. "Don't stay awake on my account."
"No, that's okay, Ducky," Tony said. "The doctor said he'd be back soon with test results," he added. No matter how tired he was, he was so keyed up about finding out what was wrong with him that he didn't think he could sleep.
"You know," Ducky said, "Jethro really wished he could stay."
Tony turned towards Ducky with a smile. "No big deal," he said. "Gibbs is busy. I'm surprised he stayed as long as he did."
"If we weren't in the midst of a case, he would be here all day," Ducky said.
"But we are," Tony said, "so it's really not a big deal." He didn't know why Ducky was pushing this-it's not like Gibbs was his dad, after all, just his boss-and when did it become a requirement for bosses to bring their subordinates to the hospital, anyway?
Maybe when neither of them has a family to stay with them, a little voice in his mind thought.
Luckily, Dr. Foss chose that moment to enter the room, and so Tony was spared talking about it further.
"Hello," Ducky said, before Doctor Foss could speak. Tony saw the closest blur to him stand and move, and he assumed the two men were shaking hands. "I'm Dr. Mallard," Ducky said, "But please, feel free to call me Ducky."
Doctor Foss introduced himself in turn, and Tony could feel his heart start to beat faster. He wished Gibbs were here; he seemed to instinctively know each time Tony started to panic, and get him back out of it. He just wanted to know what was wrong with him, and now that it was so close, he was suddenly afraid to find out. He was glad he couldn't see the doctor's face; it would probably give too much away.
Perhaps, though, his anxiety was more obvious than he thought, because Ducky laid a hand on his forearm and squeezed reassuringly.
"Well," Doctor Foss said, "your decreased vision is caused by an inflamed optic nerve, as we suspected. We are going to start you on an IV of methylprednisolone for that very soon. That's good news-it means that you don't have a brain tumor, which was mostly ruled out after your neurological exams, anyway. The cause of the inflammation is what we are concerned about now." He paused for a moment, and Tony heard some papers shuffling.
"Does that mean I'll see again after you give me the methyl-whatchacallit?" Tony asked, giving up on the extensive drug name.
"Most likely," Doctor Foss said. "Your brain MRI came back normal, while the MRI of your spinal cord came back showing extensive inflammation. We need to do a spinal tap to see what's going on more clearly."
"What does that mean?" Tony asked, grateful for Ducky's hand on his arm because again, he could feel his heart beating faster-extensive inflammation of the spinal cord?
"Well, you have large patches of swelling along your spinal cord, which is why the spinal tap will really help us figure out what's going on. We'll retrieve some of your spinal fluid during the tap and test it. Honestly, we're still not quite sure of the cause of these symptoms; hopefully your spinal fluid will give us some insight," he replied, pausing and glancing at his clipboard for a moment before continuing. "When we asked you about family history earlier, you said you weren't aware of anyone having any serious illnesses, correct?" Doctor Foss asked.
"Right," Tony said, not liking where this was going. Again, Ducky squeezed his arm reassuringly, and Tony was thankful for that steady hand on his arm, grounding him in reality.
"Are you aware of anyone in your family having Multiple Sclerosis?" he asked.
Tony's heart skipped a beat. "MS?" he asked. "You think I have MS?"
"We're not quite sure," the doctor said. "MS patients do not typically have normal brain MRIs; most cases show areas of inflammation. Yours did not," he said. "Your spinal MRI is also abnormal for MS-you have extensive areas of inflammation, whereas MS patients typically have small patches."
"So why are you asking?" Tony asked.
"This could be related to MS; we're not sure. While some of your symptoms are consistent with the disease," he said, "we'd like to try and rule it out further."
Tony sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "I might've had a great-uncle who had it," he said. "But I'm not really sure."
"Is there anyone you can contact to find this information out, Tony?" the doctor asked.
Briefly, Tony thought of calling his father, but he knew that was not an option. "No," he said.
"Alright," the doctor said. "I'm going to send a nurse in to start that IV, and we'll plan to do the spinal tap later on this evening, sometime after dinner. Do you have any questions, Tony?"
"No, I don't think so," Tony said.
"Dr. Mal-Ducky? Any questions?"
Ducky, who had been unusually quiet the whole time, mulled this over. "No, not at the moment," he finally said.
"Well, if either of you think of one, please call one of the nurses, and she'll come find me," Doctor Foss said. "For now, try to rest, Tony. One of the nurses will be in momentarily with your IV."
Tony nodded, and listened intently as the doctor's footsteps trailed out of the room.
"It's a lot to take in, hmm?" Ducky said, his hand still resting reassuringly on Tony's arm.
"Yeah," Tony said, only it came out as more of a whisper than anything else.
"Perhaps you should take the doctor's advice and rest," Ducky said.
Tony's mind was reeling, and he wasn't sure he could shut it off to sleep. "Gotta wait for the IV," he said, but he knew that he was beginning to feel the effects of a long day in the hospital.
"That shouldn't be long," Ducky said.
"What's that drug they're putting in it?" Tony asked.
"Methylprednisolone," Ducky said. "It's basically an intravenous steroid."
"So I'll have 'roid rage?" Tony asked tiredly, quirking a grin despite himself.
Ducky chuckled. "Ah, I don't think so, Tony. Perhaps, instead, a return of your vision."
"That'd be nice," Tony said, and even as his thoughts raced, he could feel his eyelids begin to droop. He heard footsteps enter his room, and managed a grunt when a soft voice spoke to him and told him she was going to insert an IV. Ducky kept patting his shoulder, and he twitched when the needle entered his arm, and then finally succumbed to much-needed sleep.
--
When Tony woke again, only a few short hours later, he could hear voices having a hushed conversation near his bed. They drifted over his head like a spider web, and he listened to the timbres for a moment, unconcerned about what they were saying, until his brain began to catch up with his body and he felt more awake.
"Boss?" he said, though it came out as more of a croak. He turned his head and looked in the direction of the voices. Still blurry, he realized.
"Hey, DiNozzo," Gibbs said.
"Feeling any better, Tony?" Ducky asked.
"Still can't see," Tony said, letting his eyes fall shut again. "You bring me a pizza this time, Boss?"
Gibbs snorted. "No pizza, Tony."
Tony sighed. "What time is it?" he asked.
"6:00," Ducky said. "I believe your dinner tray should arrive momentarily. You'll be eating roast beef tonight," he added.
Tony wrinkled his nose. "I don't think I want it," he said.
"You'll eat it," Gibbs said predictably. "That's an order."
Tony sighed again and turned his head away from Gibbs and Ducky, eyes still closed. "Can't eat it if I'm sleeping," he mumbled.
Gibbs leaned forward and gently took Tony's chin in his hand, turning his face back towards himself. Tony opened his eyes and looked at the blurry swirl of colors that he knew was Gibbs.
"Ducky and I don't care if you miss your food with your fork, DiNozzo," he said. "You'll eat it even if we have to feed it to you."
Tony felt frustation mounting inside of him; he'd like to see Gibbs eat blindly in front of his team, stabbing a plate instead of meat and missing his mouth with his fork. A sandwich was one thing; roast beef was something else entirely. Didn't Gibbs get that?
Of course not, he thought a moment later, Gibbs could probably drive a car through rush hour traffic blind, let alone eat roast beef.
"Ah, Tony, while perhaps Jethro spoke a bit harshly, the sentiment is quite true," Ducky said.
"Thanks," Tony said, glad that Gibbs had moved back out of his personal space.
Tony let his eyes fall closed again; he really was tired, after all. "Is my spinal tap after dinner?" he asked through a yawn, so that it came out more like, "smyspnltapfterdner?"
"We haven't heard otherwise," Ducky said.
"Get Barrett, Boss?" Tony asked.
Tony didn't need to see Gibbs to see the anger on his face. "No," he said shortly.
"Why not?" Tony asked. He couldn't help but wonder if maybe he were at work, he would figure something out and find him, something the others would overlook-
"He's damn good at hiding," Gibbs said. "Been interviewing known buyers and other dealers who might know him, and nobody's saying a damn thing."
"What about-"
"Don't worry about the case, Tony," Gibbs interrupted. "We'll find the bastard. You just get better."
"You don't have to coddle me," Tony said sourly, eliciting a cough from Ducky that Tony was pretty sure covered a snort of laughter. Gibbs just glared at him; Tony could feel it coming from him without having to see it.
Tony heard wheels approaching his door, and again the meal cart came in. This time the woman pushing the cart sounded grumpy. Tony imagined from her rough, deep voice that she had leathery skin and smoked about a pack an hour.
"Eat up," she said. "It's roast beef. Do you need me to cut it for you?"
"No," Tony said. "Really, that's fine. I'll manage."
"Suit yourself," she said, then coughed, and it sounded harsh and grating. Tony was grateful that the plate came with a lid over it.
He heard her wheel the cart away, and pressed the control on the side of his bed once more to sit up. Gibbs reached over and pulled the lid off of his meal, and Tony stared at a plate of brown and dull green and another color he couldn't quite make out.
"Roast beef, green beans, and mashed potatoes," Gibbs said. "A dinner roll, too."
"Oh my," Ducky said, "What a lovely piece of pie you have for dessert."
Tony couldn't tell whether or not Ducky was sincere, and he didn't bother trying to figure it out. Instead, he stared at the plate in front of him and made a face of displeasure. "Is there at least a fork for this?" he asked.
Gibbs reached out and picked something up. "And a knife and spoon," he confirmed. "Hang on, DiNozzo," he said, and Tony saw the tray being pushed away from him for a moment, then he heard the distinct sound of silverware scraping against a plate. He tried desperately to make out what he was seeing, but it wasn't working too well.
"I think you'll find that it won't be quite as difficult as you think," Ducky told Tony. "Why, in fact, I had a friend in medical school who-"
"Here, Tony," Gibbs interrupted, pushing a fork into Tony's hand and sliding the tray back to its original place, eliciting a harrumph from Ducky at being cut off. Gibbs put his hand over Tony's, and led it towards where the meat was. "It's all cut up right here." He poked at the meat, and Tony felt the resistance beneath his fork. "Mashed potatoes here," he said, pushing the fork a bit further. "Green beans here," he added. "But you won't eat those."
Tony shook his head. "No, I hate 'em," he said, wrinkling his nose. "Thanks, Boss."
Gibbs didn't say anything; instead, he clapped a hand on Tony's shoulder and then sat back down in his chair while Tony pushed his fork vaguely in the direction of the brown blob he knew was his meat.
"Perhaps now I can continue on where I was before I was so rudely interrupted," Ducky said, sounding quite offended.
"By all means, Duck," Gibbs said, just a hint of sarcasm in his voice, enough to make Tony grin even as his fork scraped the empty plate looking for meat.
Maybe it wouldn't be so bad after all.
Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. No money is being made from this work. No copyright infringement is intended.