Disclaimer: I do not own or profit from NCIS.

Author's Note: Well, here's my latest. It's mostly Tony Whump, with some angst and drama thrown in as well. Our poor guy does his best to maintain his dignity despite his circumstances, with some eventual help from Papa Gibbs. There's quite a bit of crime-solving to go along with poor Tony's situation. Let's just hope the team can figure it all out in time!

Let me know what you think-reviews keep me inspired and give me good ideas along the way!

As always, the story is basically done and I'll post a chapter every day or two. Enjoy!

NCIS Lead Agent Leroy Jethro Gibbs trotted down the stairs from the Major Threat Assessment Center. His steel blue eyes scanned the bullpen beneath him, immediately noticing the empty chair. Both Ziva David and Timothy McGee were seated at their respective desks, diligently following up on leads regarding their latest dead marine. However, the desk assigned to Senior Field Agent Anthony DiNozzo remained unoccupied. Gibbs checked his watch. 10:00 am.

"Any word?" the silver-haired man asked, sitting down. The other two agents glanced up, both knowing their Boss was not referring to the dead marine. "Uh," McGee said, "I checked his home and still no answer. His cell is going to voice mail."

"Either of you have any idea why this trip would have kept him over?" Gibbs questioned.

"According to Tony it should have been pretty routine. The funeral for his Great Aunt Trudy was held on Thursday, and he was scheduled to visit with an attorney to work out details of the will on Friday," Ziva explained. "I think he planned to stay and visit a few relatives on Saturday and return home Sunday. I see no reason he would not be here today."

Gibbs drummed his fingers on his desk. "What about the will? Any chance he might've inherited more than he thought and got carried away with the excitement?" Gibbs asked, knowing that even if Tony had finally hit the big one, he still would've called to check in. But he had to ask anyway.

McGee stood and walked toward Gibb's desk. "I don't think so. Tony was certain Great Aunt Trudy left the bulk of her estate to the Humane Society," he stated. Gibbs raised an eyebrow. "According to Tony, she owned and was very attached to several wire fox terriers," the junior agent added sheepishly.

"The reason Tony had to meet with an attorney was because Trudy made him executor of her estate. She seemed to be one of the few family members impressed that Tony went into law enforcement," Ziva stated. "It seems she was a big fan of mystery novels, particularly Agatha Christie. Because of that connection she trusted Tony to manage her affairs."

Gibbs stood and grabbed his jacket. "Call me if you hear anything. I'm going over to check out his place," the older man informed them and headed to the elevator.

McGee and Ziva watched their boss go. "Do you think something might be wrong?" Tim asked his partner.

Ziva tilted her head and sighed. "This is Tony we're talking about, McGee. He is an accident waiting to happen," she said.

McGee opened his mouth to correct her English, but closed it when he realized she got that one right.

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Gibb's gut churned like mad. Something was definitely hinky, as Abby would say, about the entire situation. After Gibbs let himself into the apartment with his extra key, he found everything as it should be. Except for the fact there was no sign Tony had returned since he left the previous week. The plants were still in the sink and the thermostat was turned down. Gibbs stood in the silent apartment and felt his concern grow significantly. It was not like Tony to just drop out of contact. As a matter of fact, in the entire time Gibbs had known the younger man, the only instances he had ever missed work or not answered his phone involved serious trouble. The older man checked his watch again. 11:00 am.

He realized they actually had no true idea how long Tony had been missing. The last time anyone talked to him was on Wednesday, when he left to drive to Boston for the funeral. None of the team had heard a word since then. Clenching his fists, Gibbs stormed out the door and back to his car.

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McGee and Ziva looked up as Gibbs swept back into the bullpen. "Call Aunt Trudy's house and find out when Tony was last there," he ordered Ziva. The probationary agent immediately picked up her phone and started dialing. "Then figure out where Tony was staying while he was in Boston."

The flashing blue eyes turned to McGee. "Get a trace on DiNozzo's cell. I want to know where he is right now!" the Lead Agent demanded, taking the stairs two at a time as he headed for the office of Director Leon Vance.

"On it, Boss." Tim said immediately.

The Director's secretary tried to stop the agent as he marched to the office door, "Agent Gibbs, please, Director Vance is on a phone call. You'll have to wait."

"Sorry, I can't wait," he apologized, opening the door and stepping inside.

Vance looked up, catching the intensity on the Lead Agent's face. "Yes, sir, I completely understand. I'll find out and get back to you. Yes, thank you," he finished the conversation and hung up the phone. "Is there something I can do for you, Agent Gibbs?" he inquired, steepling his fingers and leaning back in the leather chair.

"I need you to re-assign our current case to someone else," Gibbs said matter-of-factly.

"Would like to tell me why I need to do that? Has there been an emergency I'm not aware of?" he asked.

Gibbs paused. "DiNozzo was due back here today from a family funeral in Boston. As of right now, no one has seen him and we can't contact him. Something's wrong, Leon. I'm taking McGee and Ziva to Boston to find out what," he explained succinctly.

Leon thought a moment. "How can you be sure he didn't just decide to stay a few days longer?" the Director asked.

"Because, Tony always calls or answers his phone. Always. I'm telling you, something isn't right," Gibbs repeated.

"The famous Gibb's gut?" Vance asked.

The blue-eyed man gave a wry smile. "Come downstairs and let's find out," he said.

As the two men entered the bullpen, Ziva hung up the phone. "According to the maid I spoke to at Aunt Trudy's, Tony was last there on Saturday morning when he spoke to Trudy's son Evan in his study. She didn't see Tony leave, but Evan later told her Tony had decided to go home early," Ziva summarized.

"Was DiNozzo staying at the house?" Vance asked.

"Yes. And according to this woman, all of his things are gone," the agent added.

"McGee, what have you got on his phone?" Gibbs questioned.

The younger man shook his head apologetically. "Sorry, Boss…es," he added, glancing at both Gibbs and Vance, who were waiting on his information. "Either Tony's phone is turned off or out-of-service. I'm getting nothing. I also checked and found out his last call was placed to Aunt Trudy's attorney Saturday morning."

Gibbs raised his eyebrows then looked at the Director. "Well? You feelin' it yet?" he asked.

Vance scratched his head. "Ok, it is strange," he paused, thinking. "Alright, Gibbs, I'll give your dead marine to another team while you go to Boston," he approved. "But if you discover that DiNozzo is hanging out with some BU co-ed, don't bother to bring his ass back here!" the Directed threatened.

"If I find him with some co-ed I'll kick his ass so far he won't ever find it again," the Lead Agent promised. Going back to his desk to collect his gear, the ex-marine silently thought, "I hope it's something that simple and stupid." The experienced agent knew that with Tony, it was never that easy.

McGee put out a BOLO on DiNozzo and his car, while Ziva gathered some things to take with her on the trip. They weren't sure how long they would be gone. Gibbs went downstairs to tell Abby, Ducky, and Jimmy where the team was heading. "This really doesn't make sense, Gibbs," Abby exclaimed. "Tony was sad about Aunt Trudy passing away, but he said the arrangements were cut and dry and shouldn't be difficult to settle. Do you think he could've been in an accident we haven't heard about? Maybe he's lost his memory!" Gibbs could see the wheels in the pretty Goth's brain starting to whirl frantically.

Palmer didn't help, "He could be in a coma, like Gibbs was! That would explain why we haven't heard anything!"

Abby looked stricken and ready to cry. Ducky gave Palmer a disgusted stare which shut the autopsy assistant up immediately.

"There, there, Abigail, I'm sure Anthony is just fine. He probably met some attractive young woman, had a few too many drinks, and is sleeping off his good time somewhere," the old medical examiner patted her on the arm and comforted her fears. "Why, I remember a navy seal I knew who got so intoxicated while on leave he slept for three days straight and was listed as AWOL before anyone found him. It was in 1983….."

"Ducky," Gibbs interjected. "We really need to get going."

"Of course," the ME said, ending his story. "I will keep an eye on Abigail and make sure she doesn't let herself get too upset."

"Call me as soon as you know something, ok Gibbs?" Abby requested.

"You got it," the agent replied, kissing her on the forehead.

As Ducky walked the Lead Agent to the elevator, he said softly, "I'll call the local hospitals and see if anyone fitting Anthony's description has been admitted. If I find anything I'll let you know."

"Thanks, Ducky," Gibbs answered.

"You just take care of our boy," the doctor requested, as the doors slid shut behind the Lead Agent.

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The trip that would normally have taken seven hours was made in five and a half. It would have been quicker, but Gibbs finally pulled over to the side of the road to let McGee pee behind a tree. The team eventually stopped in front of an ornate gate and Gibbs poked at the speaker, announcing their arrival to the faceless voice requesting their names. A few minutes later they were parked in front of a grand mansion constructed in the style of an old English manor.

McGee put all their thoughts into words when he whistled and said, "Wow. Great Aunt Trudy really was loaded."

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A heavy-set woman wearing a traditional maid's uniform opened the door. Two small dogs sat on either side of her, assessing the visitors. "You must be Detective Gibbs," she stated with a warm smile on her broad face.

"Agent Gibbs," he corrected. "Naval Criminal Investigative Services," he informed her, displaying his badge. "These are agents McGee and David." The other agents nodded.

"Come in, please," the domestic worker requested, "Tony has told us all about you."

Ziva raised an eyebrow. "He has?" she asked as the woman led them to a small but elegantly decorated room.

"Oh, yes," she offered. "He used to sit in this very room with Miss Trudy and myself and tell us stories about your exploits. Anthony was so kind to Miss Trudy! He came by every few years to spend the day with her. Not many young men would do that for an old lady!" She hesitated. "Her own son lives in this house and he barely took time to speak with her."

"Mrs…." Gibbs left the ending open.

"Please excuse my terrible manners!" she chided herself, presenting her hand to Gibbs. "My name is Maya Hughes. I've worked with Miss Trudy for over twenty years!" She sighed sadly. "She was truly a fine woman. I miss her terribly."

They took seats to continue the conversation. "Ms. Hughes, we're very worried about Tony. He typically stays in close contact with us, and was due back to work this morning. As far as we can determine, he never returned to his apartment this weekend and the last time he was seen was Saturday morning in this house," Gibbs informed her. "Could you tell us what happened since Tony arrived here on Wednesday? It might help us figure out where Tony is now."

Trudy frowned, "Nothing seemed out-of-the-ordinary," she recalled. "Anthony arrived late Wednesday night and went straight to bed. He attended the funeral and the wake on Thursday, then spent the remainder of the evening with me and a few other members of the staff." She laughed nervously. "We weren't allowed to attend the wake, and Tony wanted to catch up with us. He knew we were close to Miss Trudy, and never seemed to mind that we were the hired help."

Gibbs patted her on the knee and smiled, "No, he wouldn't. What happened on Friday?"

She relaxed a little, "On Friday he went to see Brigham Reynolds, Miss Trudy's attorney. Anthony was there most of the day, not returning until late Friday evening." She grinned again, "We had dinner waiting for him, one of his favorites." She smiled conspiratorially, "Pizza!"

Ziva giggled and McGee laughed. Of course Tony had a posh kitchen staff making him pizza. Gibbs just shook his head, "So nothing unusual happened on Friday?" the lead investigator questioned.

Maya shifted uncomfortably, and Gibbs immediately noticed. "Ms. Hughes, please," he prompted gently, "anything you remember might make a difference for Tony."

Lowering her voice, Maya leaned forward and met the concerned blue eyes, "There was a small disagreement that occurred between Tony and Evan, Miss Trudy's son." At Gibb's nod, she continued. "When Anthony returned from the lawyers, Evan came in and started yelling. Evan's very upset that Miss Trudy left him only a small yearly allowance in the will. Mind you, the young man has enough to live on, but he cannot understand why his mother left millions to an organization like the Humane Society."

Gibbs tilted his head, "Why did she do that?" he inquired.

Maya rubbed one of the dogs on the back of the head. "These animals were her prized possessions, Agent Gibbs. They were there for her even when her son wasn't. The will provided they would be well taken care of, and the remainder of the estate, minus Evan's stipend and a little something for Tony, goes to the Humane Society. Miss Trudy admired the fact that Tony didn't rely on his family for support, which contrasted directly with Evan. She thought maybe her son would become more motivated if he had no choice and needed to work for the lifestyle he wanted," she answered and shrugged. "I don't think Evan agreed with her."

"What did Evan and Tony argue about?" asked the Lead Agent.

"I'm not sure. They went into Evan's study and shut the door. I don't know what was said after that," she detailed apologetically.

Gibbs rubbed his forehead, "Where is Evan now? Can we speak to him?"

"I haven't seen him all day," Maya replied. "I'm not sure when he'll be back. He sometimes keeps very odd hours. Perhaps you could try again in the morning."

"We'll do that," he agreed. The Lead Agent took the older woman's hands in his own. "I really appreciate everything you've done to help us, Maya."

"Anthony is a very special young man, and I will do anything I can to help you find him. Just let me know what else I can do," she said, as she led them to the door, genuine concern written on her features.

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Tony's eyes slid open and closed several times, sending fuzzy, confusing images to his brain for processing. He saw that he was in a small room, white walls, various monitors and equipment along the edges. When his eyes refused to re-open, sounds entered his consciousness; beeping monitors, the whir of an air-conditioner. He was very, very cold and shivering violently. Someone from far away asked if he was cold, and after licking his dry, cracked lips several times he managed to say, "Yes."

Several warmed, thick blankets were tucked around him and he drifted back to sleep.

He didn't know how many times this happened or how long he slept until the time came he could keep his heavy eyes open for more than a couple of minutes. The extended consciousness allowed his brain to take in some more information as it tried to figure out what was going on. His head was pounding mercilessly and he could feel the start of nausea rising up from his stomach. He tried to lift himself up, to look for a call button or something since he had to be in a hospital. That was when he realized he couldn't lift his body more than a few inches. Suddenly he noticed his arms and legs were attached to the sides of the bed. Wriggling slightly, the blankets moved so he could see wide leather restraints circling his wrists and ankles. Hospital restraints. He laid his head back and felt the nausea build some more, along with slightly rising panic. To the right he noticed an IV attached to the crook of his elbow and several bags hanging from a pole. Trying to play connect the dots wasn't working for him very well right now. Despite his desire to stay awake, sleep was pulling at him again. "There's something more than saline in those bags," he thought with concern, unable to put together more details than that before the drugs seduced him back into a dark netherworld.

The drowsy state continued for what must have been hours, leaving time with no meaning. Unable to switch position, Tony's legs and arms twitched and jerked. Every time his eyes opened completely for a few minutes, he wondered where he was, and how he had gotten there. But his mind was totally blank about the past few days. The last thing he remembered was sitting in the bullpen working a dead marine case—but when? He didn't know. The world right now was unfocused and unreal. His heart was beating so hard he could feel it through the thin gown he was wearing over his otherwise naked body. "If I'm in a hospital, why doesn't anyone come check on me? Usually it's impossible to keep doctors and nurses out," he thought as he waited for someone, anyone to tell him what was going on.

Finally, the door to the room opened. An attractive female doctor of about forty entered, wearing a lab coat with a stethoscope stuck in the pocket. She was writing on a clipboard, glancing over at Tony as she walked, but she didn't speak to him. Stepping close, she pulled out a thermometer and ran it across his forehead. Frowning slightly, she recorded something on the chart. A blood-pressure cuff was placed on his arm, tightening painfully as she then recorded those numbers as well. The stethoscope was snaked beneath his gown, while she listened carefully and charted more notes. The doctor then stepped to a small machine and checked a read-out, Tony now aware of tiny leads winding from the machine to his temples.

Eventually, she stopped and approached him, "Anthony are you awake? My name is Doctor Emily Anderson, and I need to speak to you for a few minutes. Are you up to that?"

"Yes," he answered hoarsely. "Wh-where am I…..What ha….ppe….ned?" His groggy brain was finding it difficult to locate words for a conversation.

"Well, I suppose you wouldn't remember. You were brought in on Saturday with a severe concussion. It happened during a disagreement with one of your family members," she explained. "Ring any bells?"

"No," DiNozzo replied. Where the memory should have been was a great big hole. "Wait a minute….did she say family? Who could she be talking about?" he wondered. He turned his head as a pretty young nurse entered the room carrying fresh IV bags. With a quick nod from the doctor, she began changing them.

His mouth was so dry. Licking his lips again, he asked, "Why the st…raps?" The nurse gave the doctor a look.

"Your family was very concerned about your behavior, Mr. Harrington. You quit taking your medication several months ago and they feel that's what led to yesterday's outburst," the doctor stated. "We can't let you stay here and endanger yourself or others when you violently act out."

There was a lot in the physician's short explanation for Tony's brain to process. "Who? I…..don't und…..erstand," he said worriedly. This situation was getting crazier by the minute. "Gibbs. I need them to call Gibbs," his foggy brain concluded. "Call….my….Boss," he slowly demanded. "Naval Criminal…Investigative Services." Why was that name so damn long? Leroy….Jethro….Gibbs."

The doctor smiled indulgently, the same look you would give a confused five year old. "Anthony, we've been through this all before during your previous stays with us," she disclosed. "You've created an elaborate fantasy in which you are a federal agent working for NCIS, and this Leroy Jethro Gibbs is your boss. None of it is real, dear. The quicker you accept that, the easier your overall treatment is going to be."

Tony's head was pounding and reeling. He started breathing in short, little gasps. "What is going on here? Why is she lying like this?" he thought anxiously.

"No," he said, more forcefully this time, involuntarily tugging at the straps holding him to the bed. He tried to stay calm, but it was impossible, panic was taking over again. "My name…..is Anthony…..Anthony DiNozzo," he identified. "My wallet, should have…..my badge and id card. Please." He looked at the doctor with frightened but sincere green eyes, "This….must be…..a mistake.'

Dr. Anderson touched his arm. "I'm sorry this is so difficult for you, Anthony, but you are a diagnosed schizophrenic who has created a very vivid delusion. I know it seems more real to you than all of this, but for your sake we are going to help you overcome this problem," she paused and smiled. "But first, we need to get this concussion treated and start you back on the anti-psychotic medications that work best to control these behaviors."

Tony closed his eyes. The nausea he had been holding back swept over him again with a tidal wave force. This time he knew he was going to throw up and couldn't stop it.

The pretty nurse noticed his face go even paler and mix with a pea shade of green. His adam's apple was moving up and down convulsively. Quickly she grabbed a basin. "I think he's about to vomit, doctor," she informed the physician, who was still studying the chart.

Tony could feel the straps on his wrists loosen and the doctor helped him sit up. His eyes rolled back momentarily as his equilibrium continued to wobble about. Suddenly, he hunched over and began to expel the contents of his stomach, which didn't amount to much. However, dry heaves continued to spasm though him for several more minutes. Eventually, the reflex stopped and the doctor lay him back down on the bed, completely spent. Within seconds he felt the straps tightened around his wrists again. "Where does she think I'm going? I don't even know where I am." he questioned silently.

Dr. Anderson met the nurse's gaze. "Give him some Compazine and Valium. We need to get this nausea under control and I don't want him to continue getting agitated. I'll be back to look in on him in a few minutes," she informed the nurse. Before leaving, she walked over and brushed Tony's sweaty hair back from his forehead. Smiling kindly, she took a cloth from the table and gently wiped his drawn but handsome face. "I'm going to take very good care of you, Anthony. I promise," she said softly.

Following the doctor's instructions, the nurse added the ordered doses to the patient's IV line. She didn't think the young man had been particularly agitated, but it was her job to do as Dr. Anderson requested.

The emerald eyes opened to follow her movements as she checked the straps to make sure they weren't chafing his skin. She then pulled a blanket up to his chest since he was shivering again in the cold room. The thought that he couldn't do that basic action for himself bothered her; she had never liked to see patients restrained unless it was absolutely necessary. Although his eyes were glassy and dazed, she could see the man was somewhat aware of what was happening and was fighting to stay awake.

"Please," he said again, "My name is…DiNozzo. I need you to call…call Gibbs." He was losing the battle to the drugs coursing through his veins. "He'll take care…of everything." The young man's eyes shut and stayed that way, his breathing evening out to a deep sleep.

The nurse listened, and wondered how she could consider taking a diagnosed schizophrenic seriously, even if he was drop-dead gorgeous. No, she wasn't about to risk her job for his request. Dr. Anderson had made it perfectly clear that the new patient was suffering from serious delusions. Finishing her duties she turned and left the room, the door shutting behind her with a soft click. The sound never woke the highly drugged man in the bed, who still had no idea what was happening to him or why.

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Sitting at the desk in her office, Dr. Emily Anderson dialed a very familiar number. "I wanted to let you know that everything is under control and going well so far," she stated. "He's completely out of it, and I plan to keep him that way." She laughed. "Don't you worry. By the time I'm finished with Anthony, he won't know fantasy from reality, and will never bother you again." She sighed, "I love you, too. Bye."

She looked down at the file open on her desk that said, "Anthony Harrington." Included in it was a picture of NCIS Agent Anthony DiNozzo. "And you," she ran a well-manicured nail along the photograph, "are going to make all our dreams come true."