Written for "The Last Word" challenge and "The Titular" challenge on NFA.
I used the last words of a novel called "The Long Walk" written by Richard Bachman/Stephen King. The quote will appear below. "Semper Fortis" is the title of an actual NCIS episode. That's a requirement of the "Titular Challenge." This story (to my knowledge) has nothing to do with that episode.
Please read the rating.
Title: "Semper Fortis"
Rating: FR18 for pretty awful graphic imagery/violence (and some swearing.) I am NOT nice to these characters.
Genre: Horror, action, drama
Spoilers: Season 12 (the naming of the Palmer baby.)
Characters: Jimmy Palmer, Tony DiNozzo, Gibbs (briefly), Dr. Mallard (mention), Breena Palmer and baby Victoria (mention)
Summary: A crime scene explodes. DiNozzo and Palmer are trapped. The wolves are at the door. Will they save each other, or just themselves? Is running away ever considered courageous?
"And, when the hand touched his shoulder again,
he somehow found the strength to run."
SEMPER FORTIS
Jimmy Palmer thought it was funny at first. Not "ha-ha funny," more like "gotcha funny."
He thought he was having another panic attack. He hadn't gone through one in years, not since he'd seen his first dismembered corpse. Brutally dismembered, mind you, not clinically dismembered. And he thought that would be his last - panic attack, not dismembered corpse.
He had hoped so, because the feeling was like none other - like all of the air was being sucked out of a small closet, like the weight of a building was pressing down onto him, and like he was being momentarily deafened by the thud thud thud of his panicked pulse.
Thud thud thud.
He was still alive. The panic might be real, but he wasn't dying. He wasn't dying.
He wasn't dying; he didn't think so, anyway.
There were shouts, muffled by distance and sheet rock and his own muzzy, cotton-filled head.
"DiNozzo!" Insistent, repetitive yelling. "Palmer!"
And then from right next to him: "Hey! In here!" The explosive bellowing brought Jimmy back from whatever precipice he clung to.
Breena, Jimmy thought. Where's Breena?
At home. With the baby, foggy memory supplied.
Where am I?
He couldn't give himself an answer for that. The last thing he remembered was kissing Breena and Victoria goodbye. Kissing Tory's perfect little hands, perfect little stockinged feet, eyes filled with baby laughter, clear blue like an autumn sky. Like Breena's.
His chest ached.
Then he remembered driving to work, radio on low, seatbelt on, gas tank more than half full. He used his turn signal even when the nearest traffic was a mile back. He remembered being at work, going to a crime scene, in the van with Dr. Mallard. I'll meet you inside, Dr. Mallard had said because he'd wanted a brief word with Agent Gibbs before meeting with the dead body.
"Palmer. You awake?"
He remembered Tony rushing through the door and screaming at him, grabbing for him, all but frothing at the mouth with naked urgency. We have to get out! This place is gonna blow! Move!
This was a panic attack. Just a simple panic attack. Afraid that he might be proven wrong, Jimmy kept his eyes firmly shut. Hang in there, James, he told himself. This would pass. It would pass, eventually.
"I know you're awake."
Jimmy looked up through dusty space to stare at Agent DiNozzo. Gray grit clung to his eyeballs, and he had to blink it away. Tony sat cross-legged nearby, blood caked in his hair and smeared on his mouth, a dazed expression on his face. He'd never seen Tony sit like that before, cross-legged on a floor.
The stench of vomit clung to his nose hairs. There was a fire alarm going off somewhere.
Maybe the panic attack hypothesis had been incorrect. Maybe this whole place - and not just his nervous mind - had been rigged to blow. He felt himself breathe. In, out. In, out. Felt his heart beating. He was still alive. He had survived.
DiNozzo was calling out again, at nothing, screaming at the ceiling, or what had been the ceiling, or it could have once been a wall. Whatever it was, he yelled at it, into it, hopefully through it, voice cracking. "Hey! In here! Trapped!" And so on, until he had to stop and catch his breath. Wheezing, nasally breaths, like an over-stimulated dog.
"Hey, take it easy," Jimmy spoke for the first time.
Tony worked through it. "The crime scene was rigged," he then muttered. "Stupid. I thought they'd checked it. I thought they'd checked it."
"You're bleeding," Jimmy croaked.
Tony looked down at him and cocked his head, remembering again that he wasn't the only one trapped in here.
Jimmy watched Tony's mouth. "And you're missing a tooth."
"You're pinned between a shelving unit and a corpse," Tony said through his bloody mouth, words slurred.
Was that true? Jimmy couldn't feel much, except for the galloping beat of his own heart. His legs felt numb, though there were the occasional twinges of sharp, stabbing pain. Something hard and solid pressed against his back. And something soft and pliable was stuck under him, slightly warm. The dead body? Oh yeah, and something hairy under his cheek that smelled of fresh shampoo. Oh my god. Somebody's head. Somebody's dead head. Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god.
"Tony!" Jimmy choked on the name. "Get me out! Oh god, get me out!" He tried to keep his face away from the body, but the shelf crushing him didn't give much in the way of range of motion.
Obedient and ever-helpful, Tony responded by lurching to his knees, and then to his feet. He'd lost a shoe at some point, and his white sock had turned gray with dust. He staggered a bit like a newborn foal. "Okay. Okay. I'll try," he said gamely.
And he did try, heaving at the shelf with dogged, herculean effort, all while Jimmy worked through the shock and disgust of this current situation. One of the body's bony hips - a woman, Jimmy remembered as much - was pushing up into his groin. And now that he realized this, it was all he could think about. Obsess about. Until the shelf on his back lightened, only by a hair, and the logical part of his brain took over. "Stop!" he shouted. "Stop!"
Tony stopped and sank panting and red-faced onto his haunches. His knees popped loudly. "What happened?"
"I just thought of something," Jimmy said, words coming out fast. "Even if you could lift this thing - which you can't - I don't think I could crawl out on my own. Not fast enough, at least."
"I can-" Tony argued.
"No, you can't." Both of them were panting now, and when Jimmy stared at Tony long and hard, he could tell something was seriously wrong with DiNozzo. He swallowed a lump of dusty saliva. "You have a head injury."
Tony scoffed, "I'm fine, Palmer. It's you who's crushed between a shelf and a dead body. I'm the agent here. Let me handle the-" He had to stop just to suck in some breath and to correct a sudden loss of balance, "-situation."
Jimmy swallowed again - this time to keep the nausea at bay - because he was looking at Tony's head and seeing an injury he'd only seen on dead people. Very dead people. "No. You need to sit down," he insisted. "Right now." He never thought he'd ever order DiNozzo around, but this was definitely the time and the place. Because there was a dent in Tony's head, and how the guy was still functioning at the level he was, Jimmy couldn't know.
I remember a soldier who hiked for miles holding his entrails in his hands, Dr. Mallard told him once. Just another of his tangential tales, often meant to add perspective to a situation. Jimmy couldn't remember the context, but this single vision was enough. Just kept going because he had a duty to fulfill. Organs falling out of his body. Never underestimate the human will, Mr. Palmer.
But right now, it wasn't entirely amazing as it was disturbing. At least, Jimmy thought, Tony's organs were safely on the inside, with the exception of his brain maybe.
"I'm fine," Tony repeated. "Just hit my head on something. I'm fine." His hands were shaking. The parts of his face that weren't bloody were paper white. He listed to one side, yet always seemed to catch himself. "But I don't think they could hear me outside. We're trapped, you know. Like rats. The explosion rattled this old building apart. Someone didn't want us to find... something. Someone." Tony had moved out of Jimmy's limited range of vision, looking for the way out, maybe. Jimmy knew, however, that the only door in and out was located on the opposite wall.
This was just their luck. Jimmy measured his breaths. Stay calm. Stay calm. Stay focused. You'll have to get the both of us out. You can't rely on DiNozzo. You'll have to do this yourself.
From where he was pinned, Jimmy took stock in what was left of this room. It used to be an old storeroom, files stacked high along the walls. Now the files were everywhere. Paper everywhere. The wall behind them had been blasted inward, which was why the shelving unit had toppled over onto him. The drop ceiling above had sagged, tiles falling out of place and laying amongst the other debris. Amazingly, the emergency lights still functioned. Agent Gibbs and the others knew where they were, at least, and they'd been outside before the blast. Unless they'd already made their way inside. Unless they too were trapped, or otherwise incapacitated.
Jimmy shut his eyes and thought of Tory, his sweet baby. And Breena. She was probably sitting at home in her favorite chair, reading, watching over their child, and waiting for her husband to return from work. Whenever that would be. Never, maybe, Jimmy thought morbidly. He needed to see them. Needed to touch them. Instead he was trapped in rubble. Under a shelf, on top of a corpse. Trapped with Tony, who he liked as a co-worker and sometimes friend, but Jimmy couldn't lie to himself, or anybody really. He wished he'd stayed behind with Dr. Mallard. Wished he'd waited outside. Even if it meant that Tony would've gone in here alone, to be trapped alone, to suffer and die alone. He could've lived with that. He liked to think he could have. Especially if it meant he'd go home tonight to Breena and their child.
No, Jimmy wouldn't lie. Maybe he was a selfish coward, but all he wished for was his little family. Even his asshole father-in-law. He loved this job, but he loved them more. He knew, as soon as he saw baby Victoria's face for the first time, red and crying and vulnerable, that his priorities in life would be changing.
Okay. Focus. I have to get out of here alive.
A sudden wet horking noise came from a corner of the room Jimmy could not see. Then the sound of liquid slapping tile floor. A groan and more gagging. "Tony," Jimmy said. "You have to sit down." The smell of vomit was thick and nauseating, and Jimmy had to swallow down the acid rising in his own throat.
The lights flickered. Tony moaned.
There was a fleshy thump, then what sounded like a slow sliding of a jacket against a wall. Then more erratic thumps. Gutteral, choking half-grunts.
Jimmy tried twisting his head as far as he could, but he still couldn't see that part of the room. "Tony?" he called out. "You okay?"
No answer. Just a strangled inhuman vocalization followed by more violent shuddering and sick choking noises.
Fuck. Jimmy now had a fairly good idea what was happening. He started counting out loud, timing the seizure without the aid of a watch, because it was the first response that came to mind. At the same time, he struggled, squirming against the corpse and using its pliability to allow him some room.
"Thirty, thirty-one, thirty-two, thirty-three, thirty-four-"
The wild thumping broke off, replaced now with heavy, noisy breathing. The smell of urine now mixed with the vomit in the small space. Jimmy continued to struggle until he felt his body able to shift somewhat. He strained already aching muscles as he dragged himself free. "C'mon," he chanted to himself. "C'mon." Pain tingled in his legs as he managed to roll over.
He could now bear witness to Tony's misery. His body had wedged itself awkwardly against the wall and some other piece of debris. The rough breathing had created a bloody foam of drool around his mouth. He'd thrown up on himself, pissed himself, and the seizure had rendered him unaware of the fact that he'd been flopping around in the mess. Right now, he didn't know any better, as his body was at the mercy of the erratic electrical pulses firing around in his injured head.
"Hey, it's okay," Jimmy soothed, trying to keep the horror of what he was witnessing out of his voice. "You're coming out of it. Just a seizure."
And Tony did seem to be coming out of it, in Jimmy's opinion. His eyes stared ahead, without much awareness. His breathing calmed, and eventually his eyes shut in exhaustion.
Suddenly, Jimmy fully realized that he'd succeeded in freeing himself. He looked back at the fallen shelving unit, and the dead woman beneath. The piece of furniture had been large. Huge. At least eight feet wide, six feet tall, pure steel and stacked full with old paperwork. It should have killed him. Or at least broken some bones. His back, most likely. How he'd wormed out on his own from under it - or how Tony had managed to lift it even an inch - he'd never know.
Never underestimate the human will, Mr. Palmer.
Jimmy felt himself all over. He was sore. Cuts. Bruises. Abrasions. But nothing broken.
Tony grunted and shifted. It looked like a weak attempt to sit up.
"Hey, no," Jimmy said, kneeling closer. "Be still."
Tony's response was to try to get up again, but Jimmy put a firm hand on his shoulder. "Stop."
As much as he would've liked to move DiNozzo to a cleaner, dryer spot, he knew he wasn't strong enough to pull the other man's dead weight across all of the debris laying around. Instead, he made the laborious effort of moving him away from the wall at least. Tony's body was limp and heavy and his bones seemed to move and shift in ways they shouldn't, like a dead body before rigor set in, and that thought bothered Jimmy greatly. He'd handled enough dead bodies to know what they felt like, what hefting them around was like, how gravity seemed to pull, pull, pull harder than normal, as if the Earth itself was attempting to lay claim to them, the dead and lifeless things. Jimmy didn't want to put Tony in that category. Not now, not ever.
He took off his jacket and carefully bunched it under Tony's head. At least now there would be some sort of protective barrier should he be gripped by another seizure, which seemed likely due to the occasional twitching of limbs.
They'd find help. Jimmy would find help, and Tony would be fine. He would. He'd be fine no matter how many brain cells the seizure burned through.
But Jimmy knew the logical and realistic implications of this condition. More than likely, the seizure activity would continue until DiNozzo was dead, mercifully. Or until someone could inject him full of anticonvulsant drugs and work on patching together his head. And even then, the body could keep living while the soul had long departed. He could end up just as good as dead, in a state that would be quite unmerciful for a spirit like DiNozzo's, so full of piss and vinegar and plain old joie de vivre.
He shook his head and gave Tony's hand a quick, warm squeeze. His medical training had made him pessimistic in some ways. He'd take some of Dr. Mallard's "the body works in mysterious ways" lessons right about now. "Hang in there," he whispered. "I'll find a way out of this mess."
A way back to Breena and Tory. God help him.
He stood and looked down at Tony's body. It was unnerving seeing somebody once so proud struck down like this, lying soaked through in a puddle of urine and vomit. He clenched his jaw. It was time to get resourceful. Time to bring out James "heart of a lion" Palmer.
Yeah...
Easier said than done, and he has to admit that his particular brand of courage tended to be more spontaneous than planned. It was an "against the wall, no where else to run" type of courage. Still useful, but a bit harder to summon.
He took a deep, calming breath. In, out. In, out. "Okay. Okay, James. Calm down. Gotta get to work. Keep it together. You can figure this out." But Tony kept catching his eye. He'd woken up a bit, but he hadn't moved to get up. He kept groaning and chewing and licking his lips. Unconscious movements caused by misfiring synapses in his brain. Nothing he could do about that now.
Jimmy knew where the door was, so that's where he went first. He had to climb over a few things, and just as he'd been straddling a broken desk, he heard the tinny jingle of a ringtone, muffled but audible.
I'm bringing sexy back,
Them other boys don't know how to act.
He paused. Cell phone. Duh. Cell phone! Jimmy nearly tripped and fell as he rushed to find the phone and its ridiculous ringtone. It came from Tony's pants' pocket.
"Don't worry. I'm not feeling you up," Jimmy babbled as he dug for the phone. It stopped ringing by the time he finally pulled it free. Taking a moment to get oriented to it - Jimmy was strictly an Android man - he quickly re-dialed the missed call, on speaker. It rang and rang.
"'S Gibbs," Tony suddenly slurred, recognizing that pre-set ringtone.
"Why didn't I think of a fucking cell phone," Jimmy cursed under his breath. "Stupid."
Someone picked up. "Tony?" Gibbs' voice asked urgently. "Tony you okay? Is Palmer with you?"
"This is Jimmy," he croaked, feeling a strange and sudden welling of emotion in his chest. "We're trapped in the storeroom. Tony's here. He's uh- He's not doing so well."
"We're working on getting to you two," Gibbs then said. All business, just the way he usually conducted himself. "Hang tight. Give the phone to DiNozzo."
Jimmy looked Tony's way. His body had stiffened up, like it was about to enter another seizure. "He can't really talk right now," Jimmy answered as he placed a hand on Tony's shoulder. "Hey, Tony. Stay with me here. What's up with Sexy Back as Gibbs' ringtone, huh?" He'd read somewhere that engaging someone in talk could help mitigate the onset of a seizure, but he doubted it would work in this case.
"Tell Tony that I-" Gibbs started to say. But then Tony's iPhone gave a little chirp and the screen went gray and then black.
"Fuck," Jimmy swore. "I mean... Damn. Dang." He cursed himself because he'd left his own phone back in the van. "Should've charged your phone," he muttered at Tony.
Pap, pap, pap. Jimmy nearly leapt out of his skin. Gunfire? Could the situation get any worse?
Tony began convulsing again on his side, choking and gagging all the while. Yes. Yes, it could get worse.
"Jesus," Jimmy prayed. This was an entirely new dimension of hell.
Pap, pap.
He couldn't tell which direction it came from. Beyond the door, from the hallway, maybe. There was yelling in a language Jimmy couldn't understand. He stayed crouched next to Tony as he worked through the seizure. Thirty seconds, sixty seconds, one hundred sixty seconds. "C'mon, buddy," Jimmy said in frustration as he wiped a hand over gritty and suddenly wet eyes. Finally, the spasms loosened their hold, and Tony started the noisy, gutteral breathing.
Pap.
A bullet punched through the door and splintered the corner of the desk, right where Jimmy had been standing just a few minutes ago. "Looks like our escape route is a no-go." My escape route, Jimmy thought. Tony didn't look he was going to be escaping anywhere without the aid of a whole team of paramedics.
A sudden aching soreness wrapped around Jimmy as he sank onto his tailbone against the wall. Tony's breathing had gone quiet, and now he was simply lying there in an insensate state. The building creaked and groaned ominously. The emergency lights flickered, but remained on. The noise of gushing water came from behind the far wall. A pipe must have broken. And that alarm continued to sound. But other than these noises, silence. No more gunfire. No voices.
Jimmy barely breathed as he kept his eyes on the door. The anxiety roiled in his stomach. He had to swallow to keep it at bay. Minutes slid by. Why hadn't he grabbed his cell phone before getting out of the van? He knew exactly where it was. In the cupholder, where he always kept it. If he'd just taken the time to grab it, he could have called Gibbs back. He could have called Breena to tell her how much he loved her, how she'd enriched his life in so many ways. She had to already know, but he wanted to tell her over and over again. I love you.
"Gibbs," Tony said suddenly.
Jimmy looked down at him, surprised to see he was aware enough to speak. "He called. Your phone battery died."
"Gibbs," Tony repeated.
"He knows where we are." He has to know. He said he did.
"Nobody knows."
"He knows," Jimmy assured.
"Of course he knows," Tony snorted.
It took Jimmy a moment to realize that Tony was laughing. A weak and tired chuckle.
"Yeah," Jimmy said wryly. "This situation is hilarious."
"I meant," Tony said. "Nobody knows. About us."
Jimmy shook his head. Tony wasn't making sense. He knew there were moments before death from traumatic brain injury when the victim could speak - clearly and coherently even - but the words were nonsense, another kind of neurological misfire.
"About us," Tony went on. "Not you. Gibbs. Me. People should know. Friends. Always told him that." He groaned. "No, he said. Not yet." He paused. "Not ever."
Jimmy didn't understand.
"I'm sorry. I pissed myself."
"It's okay," Jimmy whispered. "I think this place is a total loss anyway."
"Wild night, huh. Knew all those coco locos were a bad idea."
"They usually are."
"You're a good man, Jimmy. The best."
"I'm average." Jimmy shook his head as he looked up at the crumbling ceiling.
"Good people deserve good things. You got Breena, and now a kid. You're good people."
"I'm blessed."
"Gibbs and I deserve each other," Tony then said.
Jimmy looked at him in confusion. The nonsense was back.
"Rip each other apart. It's what I deserve." He wheezed out another dark chuckle.
"Gibbs is coming for you," Jimmy insisted. "He's coming for us."
"Sure. But listen, Jimmy. When you get a chance, you need to run. You need to run."
Jimmy stared at Tony, searching his green eyes for clarity and finding it. "There may not be a chance to run."
"There will be. I'll make one for you."
Jimmy looked down at see Tony's hand clutching his gun with surprising steadiness. He blurted, "Can you even-"
Too late. The door knob rattled, and Jimmy's heart torpedoed into his throat. I'll make one for you, Tony had said. Jimmy believed him. A heavy thud, like a boot rammed at the door's weakest point. Another thud.
Jimmy got to his feet.
I'll make one for you.
"And I'll run," Jimmy told himself, inwardly. This time, running wouldn't be cowardly. It would take courage. Tony didn't need him; his family needed him. Tory wasn't going to lose her father today.
Thud. Crack. The door flew open two feet where it slammed against the desk. Jimmy flinched. From the corner of his eye, he could see Tony concealing the gun under a rumpled flap of his jacket.
"Just like Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid," Tony remarked.
Hope not, Jimmy thought. They both died.
A large man squeezed past the door and clambered over the desk blocking his path. When he and Jimmy met each other's eyes, they both froze. The man seemed surprised to come face-to-face with an occupant; he'd clearly expected this room to be empty. He shouted something over his shoulder, then looked back at Jimmy, shouting something else at his face.
It wasn't English, and Jimmy could only shake his head and raise his hands slightly. "I'm not armed!" he said.
The man shouted again, this time louder. Then another man squeezed into the room. They both wore black fatigues and black ski masks over their faces. This man also shouted at Jimmy, but this time, it was mercifully in English: "Where is she?"
Jimmy shook his head. He didn't know. Where was who?
The second man shouted again, "Where is she?"
Something in Jimmy's head clicked. The dead body. He quickly pointed at the shelving unit still crushing the dead woman.
Both men turned to look at the fallen piece of furniture, like two dogs that had just discovered a much coveted bone. They went for it, the second man reaching out to grab the dead body's arm and drag it out by brute force alone. Jimmy felt his own feet moving for the door. But the first man caught on, and went to stop him.
Click. Pow. The gunshot in close quarters seemed to bounce around forever. Jimmy's ears rang as he stumbled back in alarm. Blood splashed on the dusty floor, the wall beyond, everywhere. Jimmy stared as the first man wheeled around and around drunkenly, hands clutching his torn throat, gurgling sickly.
Tony had made his shot, but his aim was off.
Pow. Another shot, this one meant for the second man, but it went extremely wide, instead taking out one of the emergency lights. There was a shower of sparks as the room plunged into semi-darkness.
There was shouting, screaming, clearly audible even though Jimmy had gone half-deaf. He saw the second man surge at Tony, who'd accidentally dropped the gun due to wildly shaking hands. He saw that man grab Tony ruthlessly by the throat and lift him off the floor by it. Shaking and thrashing. Jimmy rushed to put a stop to the violence, but an elbow to the sternum threw him against the desk, where he huffed and fought back the thick nothingness crowding around at the edges of his vision.
You need to run.
Jimmy took a split second glance at a situation he couldn't stop. The man, purple veins popping out from his forehead, dug his thumbs into Tony's throat, and Tony, drool sliding in thick ropes from his gaping mouth, clawed wildly at the man's eyes with chewed-blunt fingernails.
I'll make one for you.
Feeling a sudden and unexplainable nudge against his shoulder, Jimmy finally stumbled over the desk, dodged a smoking canister of something that sailed past his head, and he ran. He ran and ran and ran. Down the hallway, spicy smoke everywhere, what sounded like fire crackers. Everything lighting up like the Fourth of July. Yells of "Federal agents! Federal agents! Get the fuck down!"
He ran.
