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Tony DiNozzo, M.D., was used to patients arguing with him, either because they disagreed with his remedy for whatever ailed them, or conversely, because they agreed so heartily with his diagnosis, nothing he did matched their expectation of treatment. But rarely over his 12 years in thankless ER rotations from Philly to D.C. did he encounter the type of patient that refused his care.
As rare as they were, even rarer were they beautiful…and a pain in the ass.
The base of the patient’s balled fist slammed down on the bed railing, the plastic shivering with the force of the blow. “Why am I still here?”
“Easy, tiger!” Tony captured her gaze, the golden orbs throwing sparks. If he wasn’t careful, he was going to get burned by this one. “Cool down, alright? My name’s Dr. DiNozzo; I’m taking over your case. I’m here to help you.”
When his midnight shift at Washington General started that night, the nurses were grumbling about a disorderly patient tucked in a far exam room of the ER, and he assumed it was the typical druggy or grumpy old codger jonesing for pain meds behind the title.
Even the experienced doctor had to admit he wasn't expecting her.
Hair the color of a dying flame and dressed all in black, the last patient on his rounds stood out starkly against the bleached white surroundings. She was foreign; her accent told him that much off the bat, which wasn’t uncommon in internationally diverse D.C., but she was exotic-foreign, like Salma Hayek in Once Upon a Time In Mexico. Sexy-foreign.
And pissed off.
“You can help me by allowing me to leave,” she retorted sharply from the other side of the hospital bed. “I have been here five hours already. I want to go home.”
“Okay, okay. I hear you. Hospitals—I hate ‘em, too.” Tony punctuated with a wink; humor created rapport with patients.
This patient, however, only glared at him with displeasure for the attempt.
This was going well…
Tony cleared his throat and dropped his eyes to her chart. “Right. Let’s see, it says here you were in a car accident…Ms. David.”
“Da-veed,” she corrected the enunciation in a growl. “Yes I was, and I was seen by a nurse hours ago, so I do not—”
“You sustained four hairline fractures to your right humerus; dislocated the same shoulder; and there’s possible tissue damage around the clavicle. Aren’t you an overachiever.”
“I am fine!” The affirmation of health was accompanied by a deep wince that seized her features in a pinch. As naturally beautiful as she was, there was no hiding the shadows of fatigue under her eyes, and he noted her clutching her freshly slinged arm to her torso. She seemed like the type to refuse painkillers, as it might show a hint of weakness.
His eyebrows rose as he flipped the chart over, hanging it on the bed rail. “Fine, huh? I don’t think so. Until your pain level is down, you need to stay, and this isn’t up for debate. I’ll have a nurse bring you—”
Her unharmed hand met the mattress, a less cinematic display of aggression than the first, but she was no less emphatic, grinding through her teeth, “I am not going to sit here! If you will not release me, I would like to speak to someone who will.”
Tony scoffed, his tongue sliding up the inside of his cheek. Who did this chick think she was? He edged around the bed cautiously, setting his jaw and her in his steady sights. “Look, Ms. Da-veed, maybe you’re one of those ultra feminists who doesn’t want a man telling them what to do. But here’s the thing. I don’t care who you are.” And because he couldn’t help himself—“I don’t even care how pretty you are. I’m the doctor here.”
“And I don’t care how handsome you are,” the brunette snapped, lunging closer—if just to give her comeback weight. “I am sure you are used to getting whatever sails your ship with nothing more than a smile, but—”
“Do you mean ‘floats your boat’?”
Her dark eyes flashed. “Whatever. I am not staying here any longer, and I dare you to try and stop—”
“Ziver.”
Tony hadn’t noticed the silver-haired man with tell-tale military posture in the doorway of the exam room until the soft utterance from him quelled the fiery patient.
“Who are you?”
“Her ride,” the older man replied. “You her doc, Doc?”
“Guess you could say that.”
“He will not let me leave, Gibbs,” she announced.
Tattletale, Tony thought. “Your fare isn’t ready to be discharged yet.”
Gibbs tilted his head, beckoning for the doctor to follow him out into the hall. “NCIS,” he said once they were away from the patient, flashing a shiny gold badge.
“So not just her ride, then.”
“She’s a federal agent, too. The crash she was in pertains to an ongoing investigation.”
“Ah.” That fit a few pieces together. Tony adopted the faux-beam he used when things got absurd, as they were apt to do in the ER. “Who doesn’t love a hot chick with a gun? Am I right?”
“Careful,” Gibbs warned, stuffing both fists in his pockets; the pull on his jacket revealed the holstered weapon on his hip. “She is a trained assassin.”
“Oh.” The doctor’s mouth formed an ‘O’. “You’re not joking. Well, the ninja is in a lot of pain, even if she won’t admit it. I want to keep her for observation. Concussions can come on hours after the initial trauma.”
“Ok.” Gibbs was quick to accept the recommendation. “We got a hell of a mess to clean up back at the office.”
“And your gung-ho fellow agent would only get in the way,” the medical professional guessed. “In that case, can you be her ride again in a couple hours?”
The fed was already halfway down the hallway. “Take care of her, Doc.”
Under a noisy exhale, Tony muttered, “She’s not making it easy for me, Gibbs.”
He wanted to be annoyed, really, except that she was tapping into the hero complex that over the years many colleagues and patients alike had accused him of possessing. He was a doctor; it came with the territory, or else was exasperated by it.
It didn’t hurt that she was, yes, beautiful. He hadn’t forgotten that fact.
The one Gibbs called Ziver was halfway seated on the hospital bed, one of her boots still touching the floor, when he rejoined her in the room. She popped up.
“Where is—”
“He’ll be back to get you in a little while.” Tony watched for her reaction; sure enough, her expression narrowed dangerously. “Listen, before you start damaging any more hospital property, hear me out.”
Her face altered little, but she gave a curt nod.
“Thanks. So, I get that you’re stir-crazy from looking at these walls all night. What would you think of a change in scenery? The doctor’s lounge isn’t much, but it’s got a DVD player and I keep a stash of movies in my locker on the off-chance we’re snowed in or quarantined for a smallpox outbreak...”
A tiny, reflexive chuckle escaped her. It was like a spring breeze raising gooseflesh along Tony’s ego.
“Actually, I’m about to go on my break. I can get you all set up.”
“I do not like movies,” she countered.
“You’re entitled to your wrong preference, but come on, everyone likes It’s a Wonderful Life.”
“It is March.”
He risked a few steps, stopping at the foot rail of the bed, and a smile. “Let’s be real, you won’t be aware of much once I get the Hydrocodone in you. It really will help with the pain.”
Defiance flared in her eyes, in the tension through her slim shoulders. She frowned, assessing him like an x-ray machine. Whatever she saw beneath his white coat and scrubs and doctor persona was apparently enough because her resistance deflated. He’d put the fire out at last, and it was ridiculous how proud he was of the accomplishment.
“Do you offer this sort of…accommodation to all your patients, Dr. DiNozzo,” she challenged, her formerly blazing gaze mellowed to honey, “or only the ones you think are pretty?”
Tony shrugged, hardly blushing. “You’re my patient. It’s my job to take care of you.”
Something in the minute scrunch of her brow told him that was a foreign concept to her: people wanting nothing more than for her well-being. Her bottom lip slipped between pearly teeth. “Then I have not made your job an easy one, have I?”
His bark of a laugh echoed through the ER. “The pleasure’s been mine, Ms. David.”
“…Ziva.”
“I know. I saw it in your chart,” he said, the smile stretching his mouth taking up permanent residence. “I’m Tony.”
Side by side, they left the exam room.
“Tony,” she said softly, trying the name out on her accented tongue—and in his opinion, the auditions ended with her eloquent portrayal. “Would you mind if I choose the movie we watch?”
We.
He placed a light hand on her back, guiding her in the direction of the lounge and whatever amount of time she would allow him to be in her company in front of the TV screen’s dim glow.
His smile widened. “Consider it doctor’s orders.”