“Nuh-uh uh!  Leave it. You know it looks better on me,” I hear a young man’s taunting voice as I approach the doors to Autopsy.

“It so does not,” Abby immediately denies the charge, an indignant growl in her voice. “Now turn around so I can get it off.”

“You just want to undress me.”

Oh my. I raise my eyebrows and peek through the window to make sure I’m not interrupting anything.

“Shut up and turn around,” Abby demands, her countenance determined yet her amusement quite evident.  “You said there might be prints on it, so give me the collar.”

“Is the patient giving you a hard time, Abby?” I inquire as I push open the door and make my way into the room.  I frown slightly as the young man spins to face me, clearly startled by my sudden appearance. He nearly topples as he takes a quick step backward. “Oh, I do apologize,” I soothe, feeling slightly guilty that I didn’t approach more carefully. Abby did warn me when she called that the poor boy had just been attacked. “I’m not used to having to alert my patients of my presence. I’m Doctor Donald Mallard,” I introduce myself.

“Detective Anthony DiNozzo,” he returns. “Tony.” Abby takes advantage of the detective’s distraction and quickly reaches to remove the collar he is wearing. As the disconcerting purpling marks the studded leather was concealing briefly come into view the young man’s hands reflexively reach up to hide the damage. I quickly realize as his attention darts briefly from me to Abby that it is not for my benefit that he is trying to cover up.

Alas, his effort is in vain and he looks guilty as she lets out a sympathetic gasp. “Why didn’t you tell us it was that bad? I knew we should have taken you to the hospital!” She starts to move closer and I recognize an impending Abby-hug, but Anthony stops her, motioning toward the collar she has in her hands. Her lips purse and I can see her weighing the decision for a moment before she turns back to her task of placing it into an evidence bag, not tearing her eyes away from him for a moment.

“Sorry for calling you out of bed at this hour, Doctor Mallard,” Tony apologizes and for the first time the slight rasp in his voice catches my attention. I wonder if his voice is naturally hoarse or if it’s a possible side effect from his near-strangulation.  “It really wasn’t necessary,” he adds bashfully.

“Please, call me ‘Ducky’. And I’m afraid that your wounds tell me another story,” I grimly disagree with his assessment. “Besides, although I must say I would rather have met you under different circumstances, I cannot thank you and Abigail enough for giving me an excuse to end my mother’s bridge party early.” I smile as he tilts his head slightly and his eyes flick up toward the clock, squinting as he tries to gauge the time. “They usually don’t clear out until the wee hours, and they are a scary lot when the gin runs dry,” I elaborate for him. “Now, how about you have a lie down,” I pat the exam table. When he hesitates, I think I realize the problem. “Abby, why don’t you go on up and start some of those tests?”

For a few moments her brow furrows, but then she gets it. “Oh! Sure. Yeah. Me. Here. Exam. Awkward.” Awkward, yes; much like her present use of the English language, I suppose. I smile patiently as she turns to gather the evidence bags she’s collected.

“Oh wait!” She grabs a large evidence bag and turns back to Tony. “There might be trace.”

She grins mischievously as she motions for him to hand over his jacket.

“See, I knew you just wanted to undress me,” he teases as he relinquishes it. Though I presumed the young detective’s discomfort to be reluctance at being examined whilst in Abigail’s presence, he does not seem to be ill at ease disrobing in front of her. There may be another reason then, perhaps.

“I think I may have an extra jumper in my office. Won’t be a proper fit, of course…” I offer as I move to retrieve the clothing without waiting for response.

“Got an extra set of those gloves?” I hear him request.  

“No need. Your trace is already on ‘em, so hand ‘em over,” Abby taunts as she bags his newly removed shirt.

“He may have…I think one of them…” he stumbles on the words, his voice overly quiet and devoid of the confident humor that had, until now, graced it. I turn back toward them, concerned at the sudden change in the young man’s demeanor. “I wasn’t the one who unbuckled my belt,” he finally settles on an explanation for his request, his voice strengthening again as his discomfort makes way for anger. “There are possibly some prints on it.”

I frown as I now see that there is some pebbling across his back, indicating that he was likely heavily pinned either down on the pavement or perhaps against a wall. There is also some faint bruising on his hips, dipping below the waistline of his jeans.  Oh. I feel a surge of sympathy as I consider the implication of the direction his assault may have taken had his struggles and Abigail’s intervention not halted it.

“On the button, too. I probably already messed it up; I wasn’t thinking,” he adds contritely. The way he avoids looking at either of us makes me wonder if he expects us to chastise him for possibly damaging evidence. It looks as though he may be doing enough of that nonsense to himself.  Between the strangulation and the other assault, I believe we were lucky that he had the wits about him to think about preserving evidence at all.

I shake my head as I continue into my office, providing him a small bit of privacy. While I collect the jumper, the pair of them continue speaking though I cannot hear them quite well enough to understand. That is until I hear him protest, “Hey! Careful there! Do you really have to--”

“If there is a latent print, we don’t want to risk losing it. Just hold still.”

“Holding still. Holding perfectly still.” He repeats the words as if reciting a mantra. I realize why as I return from my office to find Abby kneeling before the young man as she carefully cuts the fabric around the button of his jeans. He absently crosses his arms across his abdomen, covering a few scrapes that echo the ones from his back. As discomfited as he was by his revelation, he once again seems at ease even as the remains of his jeans pool at his feet.  “You know,” he laments conversationally, “I don’t usually get this intimate on a first date.”

“Date? Since when were we on any sort of date? As if I’d even think of going out with a guy like you,” Abby teases, though there’s an edge to her voice that leads me to believe that she is more upset than she wants to appear. Despite her words, and their outward appearances, it would not surprise me in the slightest if something were to develop between them. At the very least, they seem to share a rather unique sense of humor.

“As if you wouldn’t,” he either proves my point or shows himself to be rather conceited.

“I bet you don’t even have any tattoos,” Abby derides him. I happen to know that is not a requisite in the men Abby does go out with but considering her own, it does not seem far-fetched that she would require them. “Are those silk?” she asks, tugging at his black shorts.

“Of course,” he replies indignantly, as though the answer should be obvious. “You won’t be needing them,” he adds quickly, giving her hand a slight tap.  “But if you want them off me, arrangements can be made.”

“Ach! You wish!”

His only answer is a wag of his eyebrows.

When he sees the jumper in my hands he steps out of his jeans and reaches for it. I set it aside, however. “It will be easier to examine you without this for now,” I explain. “All right then, Anthony. On the table you go. Let’s have a look at you.”

I watch curiously as the young man turns, swaying slightly before steadying himself. I frown as I recall his stumble upon my arrival. He has remained fairly stationary since that time, I realize. I wonder if perhaps his balance may be impaired. They were at a bar this evening, so there is a possibility that he is simply suffering the effects of inebriation, but I best check for head injuries.

“Do you need assistance?” I ask, noting his hesitation.

He lets out an indignant huff. “No. ‘Course not,” he insists quickly, though methinks he doth protest too much. I prepare myself to catch him should he slip as he clumsily hops up to sit on the exam table. “Whoa!” he blurts out, jumping slightly and his eyes widen. “Cold!” he complains and I can’t help but chuckle a little bit.

“Sorry, never have to worry about that with most of my visitors.” He sways dangerously but manages to stabilize before Abby or I reach him. “You look ready to keel over; perhaps you should have a lie down.”

He lets out a small uncomfortable laugh that sounds quite forced. “You’ll have to pardon me if I feel a little uneasy about doing that here, Doc…Ducky.”

“Hmm?” I ask absently as I gather my exam tools together. Then I realize what has him bothered: the autopsy table. I smile faintly. “Oh. Yes. Well, I’m sure Abigail will stop me before I get carried away and make a Y incision or anything…” I can’t resist pulling his leg just a little bit.

He grimaces, but lies back, closing his eyes as he rests his head against the table. He remains silent as I quickly perform the initial exam. I’m most concerned about the possible injuries caused by strangulation, so I use my stethoscope to listen to his lungs, making sure there are no signs of pulmonary edema. Though I do not hear any crackles as of yet, he will need to be vigilant as pneumonia often develops after such attacks. He will need to be watched over for at least the next 36 hours in case the condition worsens.

“Are you having any pain or problems swallowing?” I inquire casually as I peer at the faint circular bruises on his neck. Likely caused by his own hands as he tried to stop the collar from cutting off his air supply, I grimly note as I pull on a pair of gloves so that I can feel his neck for unusual swelling.

“Not really…well, a little maybe,” he revises as his eyes meet mine. So there is possible damage to his larynx cartilage or possibly even the hyoid bone. It is fortunate he is young, as the two halves of the hyoid generally don’t fuse until one is in their 30s. Still, we’ll want to get a soft tissue neck x-ray to be sure.

“A little pain? Difficulty? Both?”

“If you start having any, no matter how ‘insignificant’ you believe it to be, I need you to tell me immediately.” He nods seriously. “Now, this is very important. Did you at any time lose consciousness?” It takes only 10 seconds for one to lose consciousness if both carotid arteries were blocked, or if the trachea was closed off. In either case, the odds of internal damage greatly increase.

He considers for a moment before answering. “No. I started to, I think. Everything was a little gray around the edges, you know?” his voice is noticeably shaky at the disclosure. I believe it to be more a case of nerves than due to any damage, however.  The reality of how close he came to not being here with us must be hitting home.  As if to confirm my suspicion, his breath starts coming out in quick shallow huffs. “I…think I’m having trouble breathing.”

I chuckle a little despite the seriousness of the situation. “I do believe that would be because you’re starting to panic,” I inform him gently. “You need to try to relax before you hyperventilate.” I glance up at Abby, who is still worriedly watching.  I give her a small nod and she quickly moves closer, reaching out and soothingly stroking his hair. “You know this reminds me of an old friend of mine while I was studying at Eton…”

“Ducky,” Abby cuts me off softly. Yes. Perhaps now is not a good time to regale the tale of my unfortunate classmate who frequently worked himself into a vicious cycle of panicking until he couldn’t breathe and then panicking about not being able to breathe, usually ending the cycle only when the poor lad passed out cold. Another time, perhaps.  

Tony’s breath slowly evens out until he has it back under control. Satisfied that he’s prepared to continue, I pick up my pen light and lean closer to him, pointing it first into his left eye, then into his right. Pupil size equal, but reaction is somewhat more sluggish than I’d like. Petechiae is present, which is highly common in ligature strangulation cases. Thankfully, there does not appear to be any subconjunctival hemorrhaging. I notice as I peer into his eyes that he is not wearing contacts. I think back to how he had to squint to look at the clock. Did he lose glasses in the struggle, or is he experiencing blurry vision perhaps? “How is your vision now?”

“Still kind of fuzzy,” he confesses. Then he frowns a little. “Actually you know it’s weird because that actually happened before…” His brow furrows.

“Before?” I prompt.

“Before I went outside. I started feeling a little light headed.”

“I thought you just didn’t want to talk to Fi,” Abby blurts out. “Oh! I should have seen it. I could have done something. I should have--"

Tony looks up at her, a faint smile once again gracing his lips. “You should have known I was coming down with something? I just felt a little tired. A little nauseous is all. Figured some fresh air would wake me up for the drive home. Seriously, I think it’s just the flu or something,” he tries to pass off the concern.

“Maybe,” I concede, though I have my doubts. Sudden light-headedness, nausea, loss of balance, blurry vision; the symptoms are pointing to something much more nefarious than the onset of a flu or virus. “I think perhaps we should collect some samples.”

“Samples?” he asks, sounding slightly wary.

“Blood. And…” I reach for a urine cup and hand it to him with a smile.

 He looks at it for a few moments then he suddenly pales. “They did try to drug me.” I nod compassionately. “No. Not inside,” he clarifies. “In the alley. I felt a prick, but I thought I knocked the syringe away from him before he got a chance to…what if I didn’t?” He struggles to sit up as he pushes the side of his silk boxers down just enough to expose a spot on his hip. Sure enough there is a tiny needle mark directly over the ventrogluteal muscle. It was likely done by someone experienced with giving shots, then, I surmise. “I can’t believe I forgot about it but I was so busy trying to get the collar off and trying to stop him from…” He pauses and takes a deep calming breath even as his eyes widen. “What if I didn’t knock it away in time? What did they give me…?”

“It’ll be okay, Anthony.” He does calm somewhat, but the look he gives me is one of incredulity. Hmm. My platitude does seem rather paltry now that I think about it. “Let us get some samples for Abby to take up to the lab.” The sooner we find out if he was drugged and with what we’ll know if there are any counter-measures we need to perform.

“I’ll go get a kit for the blood,” Abby offers, giving Tony a couple minutes of privacy to produce the other necessary sample. By the time she returns, we have it ready for her and Tony is seated back at the edge of the exam table.  She waits while I perform the venepuncture, obtaining enough blood for her to perform the necessary tests.

“Anything in particular I should test for?” she asks quietly, pulling me away from the patient.

“The usual,” I say carefully, pointedly looking at the evidence bags containing the detective’s clothing. She swallows hard and I can see she understands my directive to check for some of the more reprehensible ‘club drugs’. Despite his theory that he is experiencing early flu symptoms, I strongly suspect that he may have ingested something before the attack in the alleyway even began. Although he does act a little uninhibited, it seems more natural than drug-induced by nature. He also seems a little too responsive and aware of his predicament for me to conclude use of a club drug, but if the dosage was low enough, those are still possibilities. “You will want to check for generic barbiturates and anesthetics as well,” I add, calculating some of the possible symptoms. One of those is more likely our culprit. We can try to discern the specific type later.  “Best get started right away,” I add as she looks reluctant to leave.

She nods, but heads instead back over to the exam table.  “You going to be okay if I go up to my lab for a while?”

“I think so…though you know, I think something is wrong with me,” he admits. At her increasingly concerned expression he grins and nods toward the samples she is holding. “I mean I just know I should be making some sort of joke about exchanging bodily fluids right now, but my brain just isn’t…"

She scowls good-naturedly at him before she turns to gather all the evidence to take back to her lab. “You sure you’re okay?” she checks again before making her exit.

“I’m fine,” he insists, waving her off. I’ll have to be the judge of that, but before I can resume my exam my cell phone begins to ring.

“Got anything, Duck?” Jethro asks immediately as I pick up, not bothering with phone etiquette.

“Oh, hello, Jethro,” I greet him emphatically. He does not respond except to let out a sigh, clearly not in the mood for a lesson in good manners. “I’m with him now, but let me go to my office for a few moments,” I implore him before I cover the mouthpiece to add, “If you’ll excuse me, Anthony?”  

Though the young man waves me off just as he did Abby, I can’t help but feel a bit of trepidation at leaving him by himself. Perhaps I should continue the call in his presence, but I don’t want to cause him any undue stress nor do I want him to start experiencing any psychosomatic symptoms as he hears me discuss the possibilities of his condition with Jethro.  From my office I should be able to keep an eye on him while still allotting for some amount of privacy, I compromise.

It is a good thing I decided to keep an eye on him, too, I realize as I begin filling Jethro in on the young man’s injuries and my theory about the detective being drugged. As soon as Tony no longer realizes that anyone is observing him, he lets down his guard. No longer schooling his features, his exhaustion rapidly becomes apparent. Even from the distance, I can see his hand shaking as he reaches up and touches first the cut on his lip and then the still purpling marks on his throat. He looks increasingly vulnerable as he slowly draws his legs up to his chest and wraps his arms around them, letting his head rest against his raised knees. I should have offered him a blanket; I guiltily reprimand myself as I pull two of the rescue blankets down from the shelf. I also should not have left him alone to with his thoughts.  He may have talked a good game, but I have doubts about just how ‘fine’ he is.

“You’ll have to excuse me, Jethro, but I think I best be getting back to my patient.”

“Think he’s up for an interview?”

“No, but I imagine he’ll fake his way through one,” I reply honestly.

“He hiding something, Duck?”

“Nothing you wouldn’t, I believe. I didn’t mean to imply otherwise.”

“I’ll be there in a little while to get his statement.”

“My exam hasn’t been completed,” I warn him. “He needs rest. And he will need to be watched in case there’s any further swelling in his throat.”

“I can watch him while I debrief him,” he counters as he hangs up, terminating our conversation before I can make any further objections. He may sound gruff, but Jethro does not fool me. He will do what is necessary to work the case, but I have no doubt that he will make sure that the detective is taken care of as well.

As not to startle Tony again, I purposely make excessive noise as I make my way back into the room. He quickly shifts into a more casual position, and looks back at me, his face once again bright and inquisitive as I drape the first blanket around his shoulders. His transformation back to ‘fine’ was almost instantaneous. My suspicions notwithstanding, if I hadn’t been watching him, I may not ever have known he wasn’t. “Did they find anything?”

“We didn’t discuss that, I’m afraid,” I inform him as I spread the second blanket out on the table behind him. He shifts over on top of it so I can cover the rest of the cold metal. I really should have thought of this earlier.

“Anthony,” I address him gently. “Are there any other injuries you want me to be aware of?” He scoffs impishly in denial but I decide I best press the issue. “Are there any injuries you don’t want me to be aware of?” At that he deflates a little bit and I see the fatigue once again appearing around the edges.

“I’m fine,” he repeats earnestly, looking me in the eyes this time. “Just tired. And a little freaked out,” he admits sheepishly, absently tugging the blanket tightly around himself.

“As anyone in your position might be,” I reassure him kindly, though my words only serve to make him appear even more self-conscious.

“Why don’t you lie back and rest while I take a few pictures?” I suggest. He looks hesitant but after a few moments he obeys. Because he did not seem to welcome my feeble attempt at comfort, I tactfully ignore the fear in his eyes as I move the portable x-ray into place to take images of his neck. It is rather unfortunate that Abby needs to focus on the lab work because I suspect her presence would soothe him far better than mine.

Hmm.

I frown as I realize something I should have asked long before now. “Is there someone we should be calling for you?” I ask. “Someone you would like with you while we do this?” I clarify at his confused expression. “Or while you give Agent Gibbs your statement?”

Tony just shakes his head and smiles, though this time I notice that it doesn’t reach his eyes. “I was supposed to meet up with my partner after I left the club. I should probably call him and let him know not to expect me. Or I’ll probably need him to come pick me up in a couple hours?” He looks rather hopeful with that estimate.

“That’s being a bit optimistic I’m afraid.”

“Not to expect me, then,” he grumbles. “Can I use your phone?”

I hand him the phone and busy myself writing up a report on my findings so far while he makes the call.

“I know it should be a BPD case, Pat. But come on, would you want to give your statement to Phil or Grant?” I overhear him a couple minutes later. “Besides, you know exactly where that report would end up. They’d take my statement but that’s all the time they’d waste on it. It’d end up at the bottom of the pile and you know it; it’s not like anything really happened…” I frown at his downplaying of the events. “Really, don’t worry…nothing lost but my pride.”

Your pride and nearly your life, young man. I wonder if he realizes how serious his own injuries are. I don’t want to alarm him, but perhaps I should.

“Okay my pride, my keys and my--Oh! My cell phone. If they didn’t turn it off, they should be able to track it! I can’t believe I didn’t think of this before! Abby should be able to…yes, the ‘Goth babe’.”  He grins. “Yeah, you got me. I did just make this up so I could ditch you and run off with her. Have you looked in the mirror lately, Thomas? She’s way hotter than you.”  He listens for a moment, his grin fading, still his voice is light as he replies, “Yeah, yeah, I  know it’d never work. I’m not inked enough for her. So don’t go getting all jealous on me. Odds are good if you save me some of that pizza and sit around pining and waiting for me to call you back, you might be able to pick me up on the rebound when she gives me the boot…Sometime in the morning…Oh you better wait up for me! I’m totally worth a sleepless night.” He laughs at whatever his friend says in response. “I owe you one.” After a few moments he revises, “Yeah, I know. Add it to my tab.”

He hangs up the phone and lies silently for a few moments while I finish up my report.

“Ready to take a few pictures?” I ask as I approach the exam table. When he doesn’t answer, I realize that his exhaustion has caught up with him and he has fallen asleep. I take a quick listen to his lungs, verifying that they still sound clear. Then I carefully drape the blanket over him.

Everything else can wait.