Author's Note: Written for the White Elephant Exchange on NFA.
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Alice fights through the fogginess of her mind and struggles to wake. Once she opens her eyes, it takes her quite a while to figure out what she's seeing. It's dark, and she blinks to distinguish certain shapes: a table with a cloth draped over it, a high-backed chair padded in red velvet that seems distinctly out of place, a high window that's been boarded.
The smell hits her hard and fast. Pungent. Thick.
The pain registers quickly after.
Alice looks down at her body and gasps. She's lying on a medical cot, her wrists, forearms, ankles and thighs are strapped down. She's nude and her body is riddled with cuts, the blood dripping down her skin and soaking the thin mattress below her. She can feel the blood that has pooled beneath her left shoulder, no doubt leaking from her untreated gunshot wound. How long has it been now? Hours? Days? It is impossible to keep track of time in the hell she finds herself trapped.
There is a scraping sound behind her, and she strains her neck to look but she can't see a thing. Another scraping sound, then scuffling of feet, and it isn't long before two men enter her field of vision. Her body starts to shake as she recognizes her abductor, who is currently dragging the second man to the high-backed chair in the center of the room. Her torturer works in silence, settling the other man into the chair. Alice locks eyes with the apparent other captive and the dead look in the man's eyes send shivers down her spine.
He is a perfect reflection of how hopeless and helpless she feels in this moment.
"Good, you're awake," she hears her captor say and she forces herself to look at him. He smiles at her, his thin lips pulled over perfect teeth, before turning his back and removing the sheet from the table. "I was hoping you'd be awake for this part."
When he turns back around, he's caressing a dagger. Alice fights back the urge to cry, perhaps beg for her life or even a quick end, but she refuses to give in.
"This is going to be painful," he says with false cheer as he pulls the dull edge of the dagger along her collarbone, each of her breasts, and then her stomach.
Alice's breath hitches and she begins to silently sob, but she bites the inside of her cheeks to stop herself from crying out. Panicking, she looks to the man seated in the chair, but he doesn't react. Though his face reflects a sickening apathy, it's his body that gives away his uncomfortableness. He is rocking back and forth and his hands are clenched into fists so tight that his nails are biting into his palms and Alice can see the blood as it drips down through his fingers.
"He won't help you," the man above her says matter-of-factly, and Alice's trembling grows tenfold as the blade is pressed against her skin. "No one can help you."
She screams.
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Tim hits enter on his keyboard and closes his eyes in relief. He's spent the past couple of hours putting the finishing touches on his program and finally it's ready to go. He watches as lines of computer code dash across his monitor before glancing up at the clock. It's just before midnight, and if everything goes according to plan, he will have something workable to present to Gibbs tomorrow.
Tim stretches his arms up and then out, wincing at the pops in his back. He is going to be feeling sore for a while, but if his new program can get a better image out of that grainy traffic cam photo, then it will all be worth it.
Somewhere behind him, Jethro whines and Tim stands, pushes his desk chair in, and goes to search for his unhappy dog.
"Jethro?" Tim finds Jethro in his small kitchen. He's lying on the rug in his favorite corner – the one with the vent that expels warm heat in the winter and cool air conditioning in the summer. His tail wags pitifully when Tim enters and knees next to him, petting behind his downturned ears. "What's up, boy?"
An odd clanking noise reaches his ears, and Tim shifts back onto his feet to peer around the corner. The window behind his computer desk is cracked open, but no wind seems to be disturbing anything. There is another noise, this time coming from his bedroom, and Jethro is by his side in a second, a deep growl rumbling past his curled lips.
"Hey, it's alright," Tim says, ruffling his fur. "It's nothing."
Tim walks into his bedroom, flipping on the light. His room looks normal, but he does a full sweep anyway.
Jethro's behavior has been off all night, and it has put him a little bit more on edge than he'd already been. When working on his program earlier, he couldn't shake the feeling that someone was watching him. It was ridiculous, of course. Still, as he looks out his bedroom window onto the darkened street below, he doesn't feel any better.
Tim closes his window and locks it, doing the same to the window in his living room. Jethro whines at him one more time and Tim smiles.
"Alright, c'mon." Tim motions into his room and Jethro runs inside and leaps on the bed as if he owns it. Tim gets ready for bed quickly and slides in next to his dog, petting him absently as he stares out his window. If there are any more strange noises, they are too quiet for him to hear, and too subtle to bother Jethro, and he eventually falls into a restless sleep.
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"Tony!"
Tony keeps his eyes closed and his breathing as even as possible. Perhaps if he doesn't move, McGee will go away and he can get another hour or three of sleep.
"I know you're awake, Tony. C'mon, get up."
Tony grumbles as he pulls his comforter up and over his head. "It's times like these that I really regret giving you a key to my apartment." He rolls over so his back is hopefully to McGee. "What time is it?"
Tony feels the end of his bed dip as McGee sits down. "Six thirty."
Under his covers, Tony lets loose a loud sigh, wanting to make it extremely clear just how put out he is at McGee for being his personal alarm clock this morning. "And why are you here at six thirty in the morning, McGee?"
When Tim doesn't answer, Tony lifts the blanket off his face and rolls back over, propping himself up on his elbow. McGee is looking anywhere but at Tony, and he has the sudden realization that whatever the reason for his friend's visit, he's probably not going to like it.
"Tim…" Tony prompts in a low voice.
"I spent the night designing a new enhancement program," McGee says quickly, apparently sensing Tony's rising level of displeasure. "With it, I think I can get a clearer picture of that sticker. Maybe even get a number or two off the license plate."
Tony stares at McGee in disbelief.
"You made a new enhancement program," he dryly repeats.
"Yes," McGee confirms with an enthusiastic nod.
"Last night?"
A small smile appears on McGee's face. "Yup."
Tony leans on one elbow to bring his free hand up to his face, pinching the bridge of his nose. "And I'm needed for this… why?"
The smile on McGee's face falls and he worries his lower lip for a moment. He looks away when he responds, and it's so quiet and mumbled that Tony cannot catch a single word of what he says. When McGee turns back to see Tony's reaction to whatever it is he's revealed, Tony only raises a single eyebrow in the hopes that he's adequately conveying his question of you expect me to understand a word you just said?
McGee takes a deep breath and says rather sheepishly, "I don't want to head in alone. I think… I think someone's watching me."
Tony raises his second eyebrow to join the first. "What?"
"All night," Tim continues, "I couldn't shake the feeling that I was being watched. And Jethro wouldn't settle… he just kept pacing and whining. Not to mention that the fire escape outside my living room window kept creaking, and-"
"Tim," Tony interrupts, and McGee trails off.
Tony drops his elbow and flops down onto his back, squeezing his eyes shut and rubbing a hand through his already mussed up hair. He swallows down his immediate, acerbic response that is begging to be said at this preposterous hour of the morning, because a small part of him understands how Tim feels. Though he hasn't felt fear or paranoia to the degree that Tim is currently displaying, the case has certainly put him on a higher alert than he would otherwise feel.
And he knows he's not the only one. The entire team is on edge, even if Gibbs and Ziva are better at hiding it and will deny any uneasiness until they are blue in the face.
Tony grabs his pillow and smashes it against his face. "Tim, it's Sunday, and I distinctly remember Gibbs telling us not to come in until after lunch," Tony says petulantly.
Tony feels his bed shift again as McGee stands. "Fine," he says so sadly that Tony lifts up one corner of his pillow just enough to peek at him with one eye. Tim smiles to himself and shakes his head, walking backward toward Tony's bedroom door. "Sorry to have woken you."
"McGee, wait," Tony hollers and McGee's head pokes back in his bedroom and Tony inwardly cringes at the hopeful expression on his face. Tony sighs and tosses his pillow at his friend, who catches it easily.
"Give me ten minutes," Tony mumbles as he climbs out of bed and stumbles toward his bathroom. "And there better be coffee ready when I'm done!"
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This is his favorite part.
The discovery.
The choosing.
The waiting.
People are bustling by him, not even bothering to look his way. He always finds their rushing around so amusing. If they would only slow down a little bit and look around, who knows what they would notice. Perhaps they would see him, sitting on this bench, waiting. What else could they deduce about him if they stopped and simply observed?
He shakes his head and pulls himself out of those useless thoughts. No one will notice him. Not right now. It's a shame, really. No one to see him. No one to stop him.
He sits a little straighter when he sees the car pull into the lot. It's the one he's been waiting for, he's sure of it. He holds his breath in anticipation as he watches the individual exit the lot and step into the warm sunshine. Suddenly, the person slows and scans the surrounding area.
Interesting.
Then again, he knows he made a tricky choice this time around. Someone with a little bit more training. Someone fully aware of what he is capable of.
It will be dangerous, snagging this one.
But it will be worth it.
His quarry seems content and eventually moves on, strolling confidently toward the building across the street, eventually disappearing inside. The man sighs.
Disappointed? Maybe. He's not sure how to classify this reaction. He's certain there was a moment where they locked gazes, but perhaps that was his own hopes clouding his judgment.
Someday, though.
Someday someone will see him for who he is.
And on that day, he will finally be stopped.
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"You two got here quick," Gibbs observes as Tony walks up to the crime scene, McGee lagging slowly behind.
"We were already in the office," Tony remarks with a yawn. Gibbs looks over Tony's shoulder at an obviously lagging McGee, and raises a single eyebrow in question. Tony shakes his head. "Don't even ask, boss."
"Let's go," Gibbs says, pointing down the slope where the body is roped off. Tony passes quickly by, hearing Gibbs order Tim to the van to pick up some gear.
Tony takes the last few steps toward the body slowly, mentally preparing himself for what he's about to see. The victim looks the same as the others, and even though this is the fifth female they've found, it isn't getting any easier. Ducky is kneeling next to her, liver probe already out and in use. Jimmy is standing a good ten feet away, his knuckles white around the body bag he's gripping.
"What have we got?" Gibbs asks when he joins Tony at the scene.
"Female between the age of twenty-five and thirty," Ducky reports from the ground. "Wounds are consistent with previous victims, but of course I'll have to get her back to autopsy to determine her official cause of death."
"Unofficial cause, Duck?"
"Exsanguination," Ducky says grimly as he stands. "For goodness sakes, Mr. Palmer, bring that bag over here." Palmer rushes forward and sets to his task, lying the bag beside the victim. "No need to leave her out here longer than she needs to be," Ducky adds softly.
"Photos, DiNozzo," Gibbs orders, gesturing to the woman's body. Tony remains silent but quickly starts with his task, stepping around McGee who has finally arrived and is scanning the victim's fingerprints.
"Got a hit, boss," McGee reports, turning his device around to show Gibbs the results. "Her name is Josefine Lange. Petty Officer stationed at NSF Anacostia."
Tony shakes his head sadly as he takes a few more photos of the body before moving into the surrounding area. He knows the details of Petty Officer Lange's life, even though he's never met the woman. She'll be married, or engaged, but have no children. She won't have any family in the area, outside of her husband or fiancé. She will have served one tour abroad, and only returned within the past six months. She's probably been missing for less than 48 hours, and most likely wasn't even reported missing. She's been tortured and murdered, and there won't be a single piece of evidence left behind to link her to the killer.
It's been a frustrating couple of weeks, and Tony just prays as he stomps through the undergrowth of this random patch of forest in the middle of Garrett Park that this time will be different. Maybe this time their serial killer will have slipped up and left behind something to lead the team in the right direction.
"Tony," Ziva greets as she walks up behind him.
"Nice of you to join us," Tony says sarcastically, but he gives her a small smile.
"Have you found anything?"
"Not yet."
They work in silence, fanning out in a standard search pattern around the body. A few minutes go by before they are joined by McGee, who slides in without comment. It takes a while for him to notice, but soon Tony realizes that Tim is making his way closer and closer to Tony's search grid. They are barely three feet apart when Tony huffs in annoyance.
"McGee, what are you doing?"
To Tim's credit, he doesn't even try to act like he doesn't know what Tony is talking about. "Did you notice that car following us on the way here?"
"What car?"
"The car," McGee says rather unhelpfully. "It looks just like the one in the traffic cam image."
"You mean the traffic cam image that is so grainy that we can't even tell what kind of car it is?"
McGee is undeterred. "First there were strange noises coming from outside my apartment. Now that car. Tony, what if I'm being followed? What if it's him?"
Tony lets go of the camera and it hangs from the leather strap around his neck. He pinches the bridge of his nose briefly before looking Tim square in the face.
"McGee, I don't know if you've looked in the mirror lately, but you aren't a woman."
"But, those two men who went missing-"
"Haven't officially been linked to this case," Tony finishes for him. "Nor have their bodies been found like the five women have."
"They were taken in the same way," Tim retorts. "We can't just ignore the evidence because they aren't women! What if the guy has a pattern! Two women, and then one man. Two more women, and one man. Two more…"
"I get it," Tony grumbles.
"Tony, you-"
"Tim, this is ridiculous," he says loudly, throwing his hands up wildly. "No one is watching you! No one is following you!"
Ziva appears out of nowhere. "What are you two doing?"
"Nothing," Tony says, throwing Tim a significant glance. McGee looks stung and Tony tries unsuccessfully to not feel guilty.
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It's dark and cold, and though the numbness is probably masking quite a bit of pain, the lack of light is certainly a hindrance.
She isn't sure where she is, but she doesn't stop walking. She stumbles over rocks and tree roots, but she keeps her eyes on the horizon. She's certain that she saw a flicker of light off in the distance, and though she can't see it now, she continues to push herself in what she hopes is the right direction.
Light could mean people. And people will mean help.
She's lightheaded and so tired, and she absently wonders if she's going into shock.
She trips and falls and she's too slow to brace herself before she slams into the ground. She wants to scream and cry out, but her voice left her too long ago during torments she knows she will never forgot. Darkness is creeping into the edges of her vision, but she refuses to give in.
She blindly lifts a hand and places it on a nearby tree, using it for balance as she pulls herself upward. Pain lances through her body and she gasps, her breathing harsh around her thudding pulse roaring loudly in her ears. She forces herself to move, her hand pulling away from the tree. Bits of bark and dirt cling to her bloody hand, but she will deal with that later.
Right now, her priority is getting to that light. Taking a deep breath, she takes one shaky step, then another, and keeps moving forward.
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Tim sighs, glancing at the clock on his computer. It's just past nine, and though the rest of the team has gone home for the night, he's not alone in the bullpen. There are a few other agents milling around, 'burning the midnight oil' as Ducky had mentioned before heading home. Tim is ready to head out too, now that his program has been hooked up to the NCIS servers and is running. Gibbs had been impressed with Tim's work, and was eager to see its results.
It shouldn't take too long for the program to clean up the traffic cam's image, and then maybe they will finally have a break in this case. He should head home and catch a few hours of sleep, just like Gibbs had ordered…
For a moment he considers staying within the building entirely… perhaps getting a few hours of sleep in Abby's lab. He is still trying to shake this feeling of being watched, but he is finding it harder to do than it should be. His conversation with Tony at his apartment that morning hadn't helped, but he isn't sure what he expected. Serial killer cases are always hard, especially ones that hit a little too close to home. Tim knows that Tony is right – the two missing men really have no concrete link to the case.
Yet Tim has a persistent, niggling feeling that they are related. He just isn't sure how yet.
But even if they are related, it certainly doesn't mean Tim is being followed.
He is slightly embarrassed about his scene in Tony's bedroom, not to mention at the crime scene. The truth is, he hadn't planned on stopping by Tony's place on his way in to work. He had been feeling uneasy about his experiences during the night and his car almost seemed to have driven itself to Tony's apartment. His desire to feel safe had led to his fearful confession, with all the good that it has done.
Absently, Tim wonders how long it will before Tony lets this go, and what creative methods of tormenting him will be unleashed.
Exhausted, Tim tidies up his desk and ultimately decides to head home. He nods to the few agents he passes on his way down the corridor before descending the stairs toward the parking garage. His phone beeps from his back pocket and he pulls it out just as he's reaching the exit door, rolling his eyes as he reads the message from Tony.
[2114 - TONY: Did you see the boogie man today? Did he follow you home from work?]
Tim rolls his eyes in exasperation. And so it begins, he thinks. Tim opens the door, keeping it propped with his hip as he types back a reply.
[2114 – Sent: No, but I saw Agent Wilkers. He says you owe him $5.]
Tim starts walking across the mostly deserted garage, hitching his laptop bag a little higher up his shoulder. He's fairly certain he'll be back in the office before his program has finished tomorrow morning, but he doesn't want to leave anything to chance. He's set up a remote desktop connection to his laptop so he can keep an eye on his program from home.
Tim's phone beeps twice in quick succession and he lifts his phone as he walks.
[2115 - TONY: Lies.]
[2115 - TONY: Wilkers is a cheating cheater who cheats.]
Tim shakes his head, but slows to start typing out his own reply when he hears the stairwell door close behind him. He doesn't even think, he just reacts, and spins around to see who else is walking out with him this morning. There isn't anyone there. Narrowing his eyes suspiciously, Tim does a quick visual sweep of the area around him. Satisfied that the door must have simply taken awhile to close completely after he'd walked through, he lowers his eyes back to his phone.
[2116 – Sent: I'm not even going to ask.]
Tim hits 'send' just as a loud clanging noise echoes through the garage, and he almost drops his phone in surprise. He spins in a tight circle, looking for anything that could have caused such a sound, but there is nothing.
"Hello?" he calls out, but he doesn't get a reply. His phone beeps again, and this time he startles so badly that he does drop it, and it clatters loudly on the ground. Tim bends over and picks it up, trying his best to read Tony's reply through shaking fingers.
[2116 – TONY: Why aren't you home yet?]
Tim's racing heart immediately begins to slow, because of course. Wasn't he just contemplating how Tony was going to exploit Tim's weakness this evening? Tim lifts his head and looks around again, and a small smile starts to form.
"Okay, Tony, very funny!" Tim shouts into the void. "You can come out now. You got me. Har har har," he finishes with a sarcastic flourish. Of course Tony doesn't respond, because Tim's certain he wants to drag this out as long as possible, so Tim types out another reply, perking his ears for the sound of Tony's distinct ring tone.
[2117 – Sent: Very funny, DiNozzo. You've been waiting for me to leave this whole time? You left hours ago.]
Tim doesn't hear anything near him as his text is sent, and Tony's reply is nearly instantaneous.
[2117 – TONY: I'm at home, McParanoid.]
Tim rolls his eyes, unwilling to let this continue. He speaks aloud his next text as he sends it.
[2117 – Sent: Knock it off Tony. I know you're here.]
Tim shifts his laptop bag to his other shoulder, debating on whether or not heading home is even worth it anymore. Though his hands have stopped shaking and his breathing is under control, he still has a sick feeling in his stomach about this whole situation and he isn't looking forward to the length of time it's going to take him to get to sleep now. Tim resumes his walk towards his car, a bit more slowly this time, glancing at his phone every few seconds to see how Tony will respond. Perhaps he's given up the charade now that Tim is on to him. Honestly, it isn't even one of Tony's more creative pranks, though Tim will never admit the few moments of terror he had felt initially…
[2119 – TONY: Tim what are you talking about? I'm at home. See?]
[2119 – TONY: {attachment} – homesweethome . jpg ]
A chill runs down Tim's spine as he looks at Tony's selfie that was clearly taken in his kitchen. Tim sends off another text, reaching for another explanation.
[2120 – Sent: Then how did you know I'm not home yet?]
Tim impulsively looks around again as he waits for Tony's reply, but other than his car that's parked 25 yards in front of him, he sees nothing. It doesn't feel right though, because he knows he's not alone.
[2120 – TONY: It's called the Find My Friends app, remember? You showed me how to use it last week.]
Tim doesn't think, he just starts jogging towards his car as his numb fingers pull up Tony's contact information on his phone. He yanks open the door and dives inside, locking the door behind him to give himself a sense of security. His heart pounds in his chest and he takes several wheezing breaths, his ragged exhales sounding abnormally loud in his small car.
"Special Agent DiNozzo," Tony answers and Tim gulps down a hysterical sob.
"Tony," he whispers shakily. "Tony, there's someone here."
"Okay," Tony replies, drawing out the syllables. "Where is here exactly? Cuz it looks to me like you're still at work, and I'm sure there's lots of other agents-"
"I'm in my car." Tim's interruption is harsh and he can't get his breathing under control. His hands are shaking so badly that it takes him three tries to fit his key into the ignition. He senses movement in his rear view mirror and he looks frantically over his shoulder. Nothing but shadows greet him.
"McGee, what's going on?"
Tim twists his keys but his car doesn't respond. He tries again and again, but absolutely nothing happens. The terror he feels is overwhelming, and it takes him far too long to remember that he's still gripping his phone, and he can hear the tinny sound of Tony's panicked voice calling out to him.
"McGee! Tim!"
"It won't start!" Tim shouts. "Tony, please! He's here! I'm next! I'm-"
The window next to his head shatters and Tim's phone falls to the floor as he tries to protect his face from the flying shards of glass. For a moment the only sound Tim hears is his own breathing, but then there is the deafening sound of a gunshot, immediately followed by searing pain, and then blackness.
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