Summary: A protection detail quickly turns into a deadly game of cat and mouse. When the bullets start flying will Tony and Ziva be able to protect their charges? Will they be able to protect each other...A sequel to Anguish.
Disclaimer: NCIS is the property of CBS. Any copyright infringement was not intentional. Any characters that resemble people living or dead were also unintentional.
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Terror. Sheer unbridled, unrestrained terror filled his chest as he strode rapidly down the dark, dirty, street. It was like a scene from some bad horror film, the condensation reflecting the harsh glow of the orange lights as he passed by. But this wasn't a horror film. This was real.
He shoved his hands into his pockets and hunched down into his pea coat. The heavy, frigid air pressed against him like a blanket, making his breath fog.
It was all too surreal. He shouldn't be scared of them. He was a petty officer first class, for crying out loud.
He knew he was only fooling himself though. Neither his rank nor his training would help him. Neither would save him. He wasn't even sure the Navy could help him. The people he had gotten involved with knew no fear. They would settle this debt they would silence him, once and for all.
Still he had to try. If anyone could help him, if anyone could stop this, and save her, it was the Navy.
He turned a corner and the Navy Yard loomed out of the fog. Relief spread through him and he walked faster. The sound of his footsteps reverberated off the close buildings. Maybe he could make it. Maybe he would survive this after all.
But then he saw him; a single silhouette of a man, standing half hidden in the shadows of a building just beyond the gate. There was a baseball bat in his hand. He was only one. There would be others.
His relief evaporated like smoke as his eyes scanned the nearby buildings. There was another man, and another, still a third appeared on the roof, perched easily against the downward slope. All of them were armed. They watched him, silently, as he approached and passed by. Not a one of them moved. They were savoring the moment, drawing it out like a cat taunting a mouse.
Passing through the gate would be sheer suicide at this point. He froze just before the gate staring longingly at the familiar outlines of buildings and ships. The smell of industry; of metal, and oil, and sea brine, filled his nose. He inhaled it deeply, relishing it for what would probably be the last time. The hum of electricity filled his ears. It was strange noting these minute, but treasured details. The treasured details that had made up his life before it had gone crazy. Before he had gone crazy.
He could feel their eyes fixed on him through the darkness, waiting for him to make a move; waiting for him to make his play.
He flexed his toes, feeling the road through the soles of his track shoes. Every muscle in his body was strung tight. Every sense aware. The air had a strange tension about it as each party waited to see what the other would do. Then he turned and he ran. He ran for all he was worth.
As he ran he thought. He thought of the day when he had made the biggest mistake of his life
He'd been an idiot to get involved. An idiot to think he could get escape; that he could get away from it. Now they were after him. They would find him eventually. They always found the ones they searched for. All he could do was run. Run as far away and as fast as he could. Lead them away from her.
All he had wanted, when he had signed up, was to provide a better life for her. Be worthy of her. But that had been before. That had been before things had gotten serious. That had been before things had turned bad, and before he had gotten in so deep that he couldn't get out. Not without forfeiting his life and his life was what they wanted. His life and hers.
She wasn't involved in this. She never had been and would never be involved in this. She was too good, to honest, to pure to be involved in something like this. Still they would take her life because, indirectly, she was involved; through him. They would take her life because she was important to him. She mattered to him. She was the only one who really mattered in the end. They could take his car, his house, his job, even his life. As long as she was safe none of that would matter. But they would take her life to. Just to teach him, and anyone else who would betray them a lesson.
That was their mantra, and their creed, one did not betray ones family.
He turned sharply down a corner and the naval yard once again loomed before him, this time blocked by a high fence with barbed wire on the top. He must have come full circle. He sprinted towards it, climbing quickly. He could hear their shouts and the sounds of their pursuit behind him. They weren't far.
He dropped down, landing hard, and then was on his feet and running again, albeit a bit slower. He had sprained his ankle in the fall and it hurt to run. Still he pressed on. He had to. For her.
If he could just find help, maybe he could stop this. Maybe he could survive. That was when the shot rang out and searing pain spread through his chest. He crumbled to the ground, clutching at his breast. Blood, his blood, spread rapidly from beneath his fingers.
The thought registered that he had been shot. He was dying. He would never see her again.
His eyes fell on a multistoried building just a few hundred meters away. A sign out front read Naval Criminal Investigative Services. NCIS. If anyone in the Navy could help him, it was these guys. He had to get to them. But he didn't think he could move.
Then the door opened and several people streamed out. They must have heard the gunshot. They saw him and came running towards him, weapons drawn. They were too late. He was dying. He could feel his life slowly trickling away. There was no saving him now. But maybe, just maybe they could save her. Save her and end this.
The first person to reach him was a tall man with platinum gray hair. If it hadn't been for the gun in his hand and the look in his eyes as he crouched near him, the petty officer would have thought he was the night janitor.
"Tony, Ziva, check the area. McGee call an ambulance, this man is still alive." The older man barked the authority in his voice unquestionable. This man was clearly the team lead and definitely not the night janitor. This was the man who would help him.
With slow sluggish movements the petty officer reached for the gun tucked into the waistband of his pants. It was the only thing he had to offer.
"Try not to move, son" the gray haired man said with surprising gentleness, his big hand stopping the petty officers movements.
He was too weak to resist. He laid still, tears filling his eyes, as he gasped for air. His breathing was wet and ragged in his ears. "Please…" he croaked. The sounded of his own voice was strange to him.
"Please….. you hav…have…t…to…'elp me…." He was shaking and panting and the pain was so bad it almost eliminated everything else. The only thing that kept him tethered were thoughts of her.
"Help is on the way. You just hold on sailor, that's an order." The man replied he set aside his gun and pressed his hands over the wound in his chest.
He swallowed and swallowed again. It was growing more and more difficult to breath. "Please…please…you…you…have t'…to…ke…ke…keep her safe. You have to…." He stammered, his voice gurgling.
"Keep who safe?"
"Her…her…n…na…name is Chi….Chiara Jen…Jensen…. The…they will try t…to kill her….Please…she…she's m…my wife…please…pro...protect her…." A small bubble of blood formed at the corner of his mouth. His lips were stained with it. He didn't have much longer. He knew it.
"Who? Who's going to try and kill her?" the man asked urgently.
"The…the family…." It was all the wounded man could manage. He didn't have enough life left to fully explain. Instead he slowly reached down and pulled the one thing he had that could help from the waistline of his jeans. With numb fingers he pressed the gun into the man's hand.
"Evidence…" he mumbled, his vision starting to go dark at the edges.
"Evidence of what, son?" the man asked.
"Murder…."
"Who'd they kill?"
He just shook his head. It was getting harder and harder to focus. "Clopper Lake…Northeast end…. I'm sorry….never meant to… hurt anyone…."
"I know son…I know…can you tell me who did this…?" The man who had tried to save his life asked.
But the petty officer could only mumble incoherently. The man holding him shook him slightly and he forced his eyes open. The world looked strange through dying eyes. Everything was brighter, and louder and yet surrounded by a strange fog.
"Where is Chiara? We'll protect her don't you worry…." It was the best the man could do. He probably knew from experience that he was beyond saving.
"Douthat State Park…number seven…."He managed to mumble, closing his eyes. It was too much effort to keep them open. He lay there and thought of her. He dreamt of the life they could have had.
It seemed odd to him that dying didn't hurt. It was supposed to hurt wasn't it? But it didn't not in the least little bit. Not as long as he focused on her face. Her memory was so beautiful that it could have been real. He wanted to reach out and touch it. But he couldn't. His arms wouldn't obey him. He should have at least been able to reach out, shouldn't he? But he couldn't.
He was tired so very tired. More tired than he could ever remember being. He wanted nothing more than to fall asleep with her in his arms and stay that way forever. Maybe he would do just that… it sounded so nice. So peaceful. No more running. No more fear.
"I love you, my sweet." He whispered.
They were the last words he would ever speak.