"Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Shit. Innocenti. Fuck,’ ran through Tony’s mind non-stop, on repeat. The continuous mental commentary barely giving him enough thinking space to process the scene, go home and tell Harry Gibbs was in the hospital, and make it back into work the next morning. He was beating himself up for not finding a way to get Gibbs a protection pendant like he wore sooner. The plan had been to get one for him for Christmas this year, especially since the Italian Ministry hadn’t approved it for general purchase yet. It seemed like the perfect present to get Gibbs after he willingly put himself in with a teen bomber earlier this year.