Disclaimer: If you recognize it, I don't own it. The typos though, they're all mine and I'm not sharing!
Title: Endgame
Summary: For Sergei Mishnev, Diane's death was just the beginning. His next objective is to destroy Gibbs' beloved team.
Rating: Strong Teen
Spoilers/Warnings: General spoilers up to 12x15: Cabin Fever. Canon divergence from 12x11. Copious violence, whump, bad language, and some mentions of torture.
Acknowledgements: This story wouldn't have come together like it did, if it weren't for the amazing art by hinky_hippo over on LJ. It never would've reached it's full potential without the beta work of naemi and cheerleading of jesco0307, also over on LJ. It was a joy to work with all of them on this piece.
Author's Note: I never liked the way Sergei Mishnev's story arc sizzled, then fizzled. He had so much villain potential. If I had my way, this is what we would've seen on the show, but I don't...so that's why we have fanfiction, haha.
There is a lot of violence in this story. Again, there is a lot of violence in this story. Everyone (including Bishop) gets whumped at some point and there's also a torture scene about halfway through. Nothing overly graphic, but enough that could make people uncomfortable. So if those aren't your things, this isn't the story for you.
To momcat: you left me a comment on Fathers and Other Strangers with a ton of questions, but I have no way to reach you. Just so you know, I left the ending open intentionally. It wasn't as easy as I'd expected to wrap everything up neatly. So I need a full sequel to explore the ending developments and wanted something to tie the two together. I'm still in the process of plotting it out.
Pleas enjoy this story.
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Wednesday, January 14, 2015 - 12:21pm – 2311 H St NE, Kingman Park, Washington, DC –
It all ends here. At this ordinary house on this sleepy, dead-end street.
Here, Sergei Mishnev will die for his sins.
Leroy Jethro Gibbs tightens his grip on his Sig and checks on his team. Both junior agents, Tim McGee and Ellie Bishop, hold their weapons, clearly awaiting orders. Ellie rocks in her boots, her knuckles going white against her gun. Tim worries a loose thread on his coat sleeve, the single betrayal to the easy confidence he works so hard to exude.
Several feet behind them, Tony DiNozzo speaks in clipped tones into his cell. Checking in with headquarters, as per Gibbs' order. He rakes his hand through his hair as he relays the address on the mailbox. As he slides his phone away and regroups, his face turns grim.
"Back-up is seven minutes out, Boss," he says.
"He could be gone by then," Gibbs replies. "I don't want this bastard getting away." The again goes unspoken.
Half-nodding, Tony unholsters his weapon. "Our intel shows he should be alone. So what's our play, boss?"
"McGee and Bishop will go around back. DiNozzo, with me. Standard take-down."
Gibbs grinds his teeth, determined not to tell his team today's standard take-down involves a bullet between Mishnev's eyes. Based on the way Tony shifts his weight, he already understands. But, thankfully, he doesn't say anything. Instead, he shoots his younger teammates a tight nod.
"On it, Boss," Tim and Ellie chorus.
Then they head around the back of the house with Tim in the lead.
As soon as he's sure they're in position, Gibbs motions for Tony to follow him. They slink across the snow-filled yard, the mud and slush clinging to their shoes. It soaks into Gibbs' socks, but wet feet will be a small price to pay to nail the dirtbag who killed Diane.
He silently creeps up the rotting porch steps, cringing at how they sag and groan under his weight. As though his load is too much to bear. When he leans against the vinyl siding, it cracks and pops underneath his shoulder. Tony joins him seconds later, his left hand reaching for the door knob. Their panting breaths escape in frosted plumes; the calm before the storm.
This one's for you, Diane.
"You ready, boss?" Tony asks.
Something in Gibbs' gut clenches, but he ignores it, instead giving Tony the go-ahead nod.
One flick of Tony's wrist jerks the door open. Then he shifts out of the way. Rolling onto the balls of his feet, Gibbs leads them into the house. The interior is small and cozy, a mid-century rancher with a spartan layout. Living room to the right, bedrooms to the left. Figuring Tim and Ellie will enter through the back door into the kitchen and clear the living quarters first, Gibbs and Tony head left.
All of the bedrooms are empty, bare walls stripped down to their studs. For what is supposed to be Mishnev's newest safe house, this place looks like it's been abandoned for years.
Gibbs nods at Tony, tells him to take the lead as they double-back. When they move into the living room, his shoes crunch over scattered scraps of insulation and loose nails. Gibbs shoots Tony a look as though to ask whether their intel was correct.
Raising his eyebrows, Tony returns it with a one-shouldered shrug.
But the admission of bad information doesn't alleviate the clench in Gibbs' gut. Right now, he just wants to regroup and get back to the bullpen to find out where Mishnev really is.
As they round the corner, he finds exactly what he came for.
Sergei Mishnev stands in the middle of what should be a dining room. Loose wires from a missing chandelier hang free over his head. His arms are crossed, his biceps bulging against his thin jacket. He wears a smile, foreboding and humorous. Like he has some secret that he'll never tell.
Gibbs smirks when he notices Mishnev doesn't have a weapon.
So the bastard didn't even bother to bring a gun to his own funeral.
Mishnev's smile transforms into a sadistic grin. "Thank you for joining me, Agent Gibbs."
"Didn't have much of a choice, Sergei," he says, lifting his gun.
When Mishnev raises his hands, Tony inhales sharply. Narrowing his eyes, Gibbs takes a step closer to his target and away from his senior agent.
"Boss?" Tony calls.
The title is meant to snap Gibbs back to reality, remind him to follow procedure.
But where will that get them?
Mishnev will be deported back to the Motherland as soon as his pet diplomat sets him free. While Gibbs will return to his casework, constantly checking over his shoulder until Mishnev's next attempt on his life. And next time, it might be someone closer to him than Diane who dies. One of his team or his support team could be the victim.
No, that isn't the way it's meant to end. Protocol won't get him what he wants, but revenge will. A prison cell is a welcome trade to keep his family and friends safe, the perfect alternative to letting this monster roam.
When Mishnev meets Gibbs' glare, his grin turns feral like a predator with cornered prey. Gibbs matches it, his finger tightening on the trigger. The niggling in his gut kicks up again.
He's so close to ending this.
"You know, Agent Gibbs, this went exactly as I planned."
Gibbs' grip falters as he searches Mishnev's eyes for some meaning. There's nothing there, just an unnatural blankness. Like a man who's already dead, doomed to haunt the earth until the end of time.
When Mishnev snaps his fingers, two massive and broad-shouldered henchmen drag Tim and Ellie into the room at gunpoint. One has an arm locked around Tim's neck with a gun on his temple, while the other holds Ellie tightly around her waist.
"Boss," Tim starts, "we got am – " The arm jerked against his throat cuts him off.
"You leave my team alone. This is between us."
Mishnev shakes his head. "It ceased to be when you killed my brother."
Gibbs' brow furrows. "Your brother?"
"You know who I speak of."
Squinting at the man, Gibbs wracks his brain for some connection to his past. Sure, he killed dozens of people in the service of his country, both as a sniper and an agent. He's pretty sure most of them had brothers.
But then he notices something familiar in the high forehead, those wide-set and dead eyes, the long nose. The face is nearly identical to the one in the picture that used to hang over the bullpen and terrorize his team many years ago. It's the same one he pictured again and again, hunched over the sniper rifle every time Gibbs thought about Kate's death.
He inhales. "Ari Haswari."
"Well done, Agent Gibbs," Mishnev says. "I am happy you still recall my brother's name."
"He murdered one of my agents."
"Then he served his family well." Something that might be pride passes over Mishnev's features. Like he's pleased someone in his family could intimidate Gibbs and his team, threaten to rip them apart.
Gibbs sets his jaw, tries not to think about the day Kate died and how his team nearly self-destructed in their hunt for her killer. Everything hit its climax when their newest recruit, Ziva David, put a bullet in her half-brother's head in Gibbs' basement. Even though it's been over ten years, he still smells the reek of gunpowder and blood emanating from the concrete floor on frigid nights.
The chill travels through his veins.
"Boss!" Tony calls again, his tone anxious and uneasy.
When he checks over his shoulder, another huge man holds a gun against Tony's neck.
Gibbs presses his lips together, flicks his gaze back to Mishnev. "Alright, Sergei, whaddya want? You didn't do this to catch up on old times."
"You're right, Gibbs." That sick, twisted smile returns. "You took my family away so I came to take yours."
Gibbs starts to pull the trigger, but he doesn't make it.
Something slams into his back, sending electricity coursing through his body. Every muscle spasms with a mind of its own, twitching and dancing at random. He crumples to the filthy ground, writhing and sputtering, unable to even breathe.
"Boss," Tony yells.
Then all hell breaks loose.
Shoes scuff against the hardwood floor as the henchmen hustle Gibbs' team away. Someone fights back. The sick slap of flesh on flesh from two people pounding each other fills his ears. The loser hits the ground so hard that the planks tremble, but all Gibbs can do is grunt.
He tries to get up, but none of his muscles work anymore. Even though his mind begs him to stay awake, darkness sneaks towards him. It promises to spirit him away to some place safe. To somewhere else, so he won't have to listen to his team's abduction.
That he can just rest.
But he fights it with everything he has left.
He needs to stay here. For them.
When a hand clamps down on his shoulder, he can't move away. Hot, rancid breath hits his face, smelling like the Chinese food Tony tends to leave out during their all-nighters.
"You have twenty-four hours to find me and exchange yourself for them," Mishnev says, the hint of a smile in his voice. "If not, I send your agents back to you. Piece by piece."
