Kelly Brook Farm 2 - Changes
by rose malmaison
Rated: M
Pairing: Gibbs/DiNozzo
Genre: slash, angst, romance, first time, h/c, AU
Warnings: sexual situations, non-con
Chapters: 20
Words: 65,000
Sequel to: Kelly Brook Farm
Spoilers: Mild spoilers up to Season 11 but it's an AU with some changes.
Takes Place: 2014
Characters: Gibbs, Tony, Senior, Abby, Tim, Jimmy, Ducky, Wendy, various original supporting characters, Jethro's horses
Written for NCIS-Bang at LiveJournal
Posted already in its entirety at AO3
Art by: rose_malmaison
Synopsis: After Congressman Tony DiNozzo is kidnapped, and finds refuge at retired NCIS Agent Gibbs' horse farm, he has to put his life back together. First, he has to recover from his injuries, and work with FBI Agent Fornell to figure out if the now-dead kidnapper worked alone. Jethro is there to help Tony discover himself and find a new path to follow. Includes Tony divorcing Wendy, their 10-year-old son Zack, and Senator DiNozzo (Senior).
Thanks to Annie B for betaing! Comments are always appreciated.
~ • ~ ~ • ~ ~ • ~
Notes: First of all, I made this all up. I know, that's obvious, but I know very little about the subjects I weave into this story: medical, political, and equine. I do a lot of quick research as I write - so please allow for any inaccuracies. You can, of course, bring them to my attention, and I'll make necessary changes. Same goes for plot holes.
I wrote this right up to the deadline, so I am updating it as I polish each chapter, with only minor changes. Enjoy!
This is an AU, focuses on Jethro and Tony, and the world of Kelly Brook Farm, and the story has what you might call a very, very slow burn. Tony never worked at NCIS though he was a detective, went to FLETC and is an expert in threat assessment. Up until now, he has never met any of the NCIS people except for Jethro, and him only for a brief time.
~ • ~ ~ • ~ ~ • ~
KELLY BROOK FARM 2 - CHANGES
~ • ~ ~ • ~ ~ • ~
CHAPTER 1
Tony ran, ran as fast and as far as he could, heart pounding and lungs aching, every long stride taking him one step further away from danger. It was raining heavily, dark and cold...God, it was cold. Intent upon escaping, running for his life, he didn't even think about where he was running. To anywhere but back there. Away, get away, don't stop…
He saw a light, just ahead, and for a moment he honestly believed it was his imagination. But it was real, a beacon shining brightly in the pitch-black, stormy night. He slipped in mud as he made the turn down the lane, and barely recovered. After opening the gate with frozen, fumbling fingers, he sloshed through puddles in his borrowed boots, and finally made it to safety of the big old farmhouse.
Tony banged on the door, calling out for help, but as soon as he heard footsteps within approaching the door, he took a step back, his sides heaving as he tried to catch his breath. For a terrible, heart-stopping moment, as the door started to open, Tony was sure he was about to be faced with the man who'd abducted him, Beals, intent upon killing him.
No, that wasn't possible. He was dead… dead! He'd killed him, bashed his head in, and left him lying in a pool of blood. Panic rising, Tony poised to run.
Before he could move, the door opened fully, and he was faced with a white-haired man with piercing blue eyes. He still could have taken off. All it would have taken was for him to turn and step off that porch, and he would have been gone, disappearing into the downpour. He could have run, but he didn't. It was strange. Once he'd looked into the man's eyes, he found he couldn't move. The man's expression was far from welcoming, yet something behind his intense stare told Tony he would be safe here. So when the man stood aside and invited Tony into his home, Tony accepted the offer, accepting that he no longer needed to run.
It was that man, Jethro Gibbs, who provided Tony a hot shower and a razor, hot food and drink, and later, a supportive arm around his shoulders when he lost his first meal in days into the kitchen sink.
It was Jethro who talked to him and calmed his fears, and Jethro who proved to be a true friend at a time when Tony was in desperate need of one. It was Jethro, the former Marine and retired NCIS agent, who stalked the kidnapper through the house when Beals turned up alive and tried to take Tony by force. And finally, it was Jethro who had killed the man, blown his brains out, right there on the front porch of Kelly Brook Farm.
~ • ~ ~ • ~ ~ • ~
Tony woke up coughing. He raised a hand to his sore throat and encountered something hard, plastic, around his neck – a collar, the kind paramedics immobilized you with when they suspect a broken neck. Shit. Shit. Am I…am I paralyzed? Trying not to panic, he quickly checked that his legs worked, and sighed in relief when he felt his bare feet move against the sheet. Okay…good…nothing too bad, then. There was something pinching the skin at the crook of his left arm, and when he went to check it out, he discovered a needle embedded in his arm. It hurt like a bitch. A half-empty bag of fluid hung from a metal pole next to the bed, medication making its way down a clear tube and into his vein.
Tony tried to raise his head to get his bearings, but it was impossible to get more than a couple of inches off the pillow with the brace around his neck. Between the twinges in his neck muscles and the way the room swam, he gave up.
A woman spoke from nearby, assuring him, "You're going to be just fine, Congressman DiNozzo. You need to remain still though."
"Wha…?" he croaked, straining to see her. There was the whirring sound and the head of the bed rose a few degrees, giving Tony a clearer picture of the room – an emergency room with the usual equipment, pale yellow walls and a curtain for a door. No surprise there. He could hear rapid beeping somewhere above his head. Heart monitor, he thought, while cautiously feeling around and discovering several small tabs stuck to his chest and ribs, wires sprouting out of them. "I am the Borg," Tony muttered, with a small laugh. Turned out laughing was a bad idea; he started coughing and had a hard time catching his breath, but the nurse was right there, easing him through it and slipping an oxygen mask over his lower face.
As Tony stopped hacking and got his breathing back under control, a conversation going on out in the corridor caught his attention. It sounded serious. He thought he recognized the FBI agent, Fornell, and sure enough, Tony caught a glimpse of him through a crack in the curtains at the door. He heard his name mentioned, and then 'Frank Beals,' and all of a sudden the memories came rushing back: being kidnapped, drugged and beaten by that certifiable nutcase with a twisted agenda, Frank Beals.
Tony hadn't known his name until one of the FBI agents had told him his captor's identity. Throughout his ordeal, Tony had thought of his kidnapper as Him, and plenty of far worse names, too: Colonel Kurtz, Norman Bates, Jack Torrrance. It was unsettling, knowing His name. It somehow made the whole thing seem worse.
Tony didn't want to think of Him as a real person, someone with a job and a car and bills to pay, and presumably a family. No, Tony didn't want to think of Him at all. It was all in the past now, done and gone. Jethro had taken care of it, killed Him. Done and gone. Move along folks. Nothing to see here.
~ • ~ ~ • ~ ~ • ~
A few days into his captivity, He became careless and let Tony see his face. Or maybe it wasn't carelessness at all. Tony knew what it meant, either way: He was going to kill him as soon as he got his hands on the ransom money, as soon as he didn't need to provide daily proof-of-life.
That was when Tony stopped playing nice. He talked incessantly, quoted lines from every kidnapping movie he could think of (the 1938 version of Kidnapped with Freddie Bartholomew; the classic Ransom of Red Chief, where the kid is such a pain, the kidnappers pay the parents to take him back; Trespass with Nicholas Cage and a really hot Nicole Kidman; The Last House on the Left; Ransom, with a surprisingly effective Mel Gibson; the brilliant Bette Midler in 1986's Ruthless People; and the movie that ties with it as one of Tony's favorites: Panic Room (although it wasn't really a kidnapping film, more of a home invasion (though that applied, too). Jodi Foster was kick-ass protective of her daughter against the bad guys, and the cinematography was beautiful with that long, continuous shot through the house, a veritable film student's wet dream. Besides, who could not love a film directed by David Fincher, fresh off Fight Club?)
Tony debated with his kidnapper over every whacko conspiracy theory He rambled on about, and got beaten up for his troubles, several times, which wasn't entirely unexpected. Every blow to his abdomen, kidney or head, every welt and bruise, came with the prize of knowing he had truly pissed off his tormentor. As his dad had pointed out on more than one occasion, "Junior, one day you'll come to your senses and stop poking at ant hills." Apparently that day had not yet arrived.
He was pretty sure there was a strong sedative in the strawberry-flavored power drink he was given twice a day, and not in the peanut butter sandwiches or bottled water, but just to be sure, Tony stopped eating and drinking everything. It took a good eighteen hours, but soon as he regained the ability to think clearly and walk a few steps without falling over, Tony tried to escape.
He broke the zip ties binding his wrists together, following instructions he'd once seen on YouTube, and ran for the door. He almost made it, too.
They fought within the close confines of the trailer where he'd been held; it was a frenzied, desperate, 'last chance or else I'm gonna die' kind of fight. Tony won, barely. He bashed the man over the head, killed Him…No, he had only thought he'd killed Him.
Should have made sure. Should have hit Him harder. Should have smashed in His skull. Should have…
Tony ran out into the stormy night, and kept on running through the drenching rain, not knowing or caring where he was going, away, away, his heart pounding and lungs aching as he gasped for air. Fear drove him on whenever lightning bolts lit up the sky, picked him up when he stumbled. He never stopped running. He would rather have died than be caught.
Away, just get away, put distance between you… Average foot speed over uneven ground, barring injuries, is four miles per hour…so if I've been running…how long? Hours…days? Just keep running…
He was out of steam and about to collapse, hating himself for his weakness when he saw it: a light. Then a house. A brightly lit porch. A door that opened and a man who let him in.
~ • ~ ~ • ~ ~ • ~
As a cop, Tony had visited ERs enough times to know where he was before even opening his eyes. There was no mistaking the smell of disinfectant and vomit, the cries of pain, the sound of doctors being paged, along with hurried footsteps out in the corridor, and the brisk, caring words of overworked medical staff as they tried to bring a modicum of comfort to the ill and injured.
All too often, he'd been the one being wheeled into the emergency department on a gurney: in agony from a gunshot wound in his side, and unable to stop shaking; with broken ribs after a hopped-up druggie had smashed a heavy metal bar across his back, back when he was a rookie beat cop; bleeding out from a knife wound to the thigh that, when they finally released him, took ages to heal; a dislocated shoulder (twice); broken bones (hand, arm, ribs, collarbone – Jesus, the collarbone was the worst pain ever); and a few blows to the head resulting in concussions that ranged from mild to a three-day coma.
The guys in Homicide had kept a scoreboard of the more serious injuries the cops in the 7th suffered. Tony's IQ (injury quotient) had been the highest in the precinct, but since he'd left the force six years ago, he'd been pretty much injury-free. The only time he'd set foot in a hospital recently was when he'd officiated at the ribbon-cutting ceremony for the new Defense and Veterans Brain Injury Center at Walter Reed.
Tony was pretty sure he didn't have a concussion; he couldn't recall there being any blows to his head. He couldn't believe that he had any injuries serious enough to warrant being brought to the ER. Okay, so his entire body ached, and his throat hurt a bit, especially when he swallowed. Being held in a chokehold will do that to you, he thought. "Where 'm I?" Tony asked, wheezing a bit.
"You're at Bowie Community Hospital." A nurse, wearing sky-blue scrubs, moved into his field of vision. Her name, according to her ID badge, was RRaammoonnaa. Tony blinked a few times and the letters came into focus: Ramona. Oh. That was more like it.
"What's with the collar? Nothing's…broken?" Tony asked, trying not to sound too anxious. He couldn't remember if anyone had told him what was going on. He'd been sort of out of it when they'd brought him in, but he was pretty sure he'd been seen by a doctor right away.
"You're wearing the cervical collar as a precaution, Mr. DiNozzo. Try not to move your head until we get the all-clear from the doctor, okay?" The nurse, whose curly auburn brown hair escaped a loose bun to frame her face, as if it had a mind of its own, spooned ice chips into Tony's eager mouth. She watched him attentively as he swallowed. "Dr. Mason will be in to talk to you, as soon as he gets your test results."
"Test results?" He remembered taking a swallowing test while they scanned his neck. The stuff they'd made him drink had tasted unpleasantly like chalk.
After examining him from head to toe, the doctors had talked within earshot. They had seemed inclined to put him under and hook him up to a ventilator to preserve his airway. Tony got it. Emergency procedure 101: don't let your patient choke to death. Breathing is important. Still, he didn't care that the docs were concerned that his throat might to swell. Sticking a tube down Tony's throat was on the thanks-but-no-thanks list. He might have become agitated, and grabbed at the doctor's sleeve and told them what they could do with the damned tube. All Tony knew for certain was that they'd backed off, albeit reluctantly, and had given him additional medications in the hopes of reducing the swelling in his neck. Hey, looks like it worked.
"You had blood work done, scans and…" Ramona reviewed Tony's paperwork. "…you had an MRI. It shouldn't be long now. Oh, your friend said to tell you that he'd be back to see you–"
Jethro? Grasping the side rail of the bed, Tony asked, "My friend?"
"The guy with the silver hair and intense blue eyes? He came in with you, in the same ambulance." Ramona looked to Tony for confirmation.
"Jethro? He okay?"
"Nothing life-threatening. Dr. Rayid took the case. He had a hard time convincing him to leave your side, but his shoulder needed attention," Ramona said, as she typed Tony's stats into a computer attached to a rolling table. She looked up and met Tony's gaze, giving him an amused smile. "I thought they were going to have to call in security, but Agent Fornell stepped in." She said with a shrug, "Military types, police officers, those guys are all the same. They always think there's nothing wrong with them, or that they can tough it out. Your friend, he was about the worse case I've seen." She smiled, her eyes twinkling. "Worse case this week, anyway."
Tony couldn't help but chuckle, pleased to hear about his new friend's stubborn streak. "That sounds like Jethro." He'd only met the man last night, but Tony felt as though he had known him for a long time. It turned out that laughing, even mildly, hurt, and it made him cough, and that hurt even more.
Tony closed his eyes and tried to control the pain, which was escalating quickly. It felt as though someone had hit him in the chest with a sledgehammer, and not only was his neck aching badly, but a big headache was threatening to turn into a migraine. The damned neck brace wasn't helping any. "I'm getting a cramp in my neck," Tony complained, his voice cracking.
The nurse asked, "You want something for the pain, honey?"
Normally he would have said no, and would smile and insist he was fine. Like Jethro had. But this wasn't one of those times. "Okay," Tony whispered, giving in. "Guess you can tell I'm not an ex-Marine."
"That's okay. One Marine per shift is plenty for me." Ramona injected something into Tony's IV. "This works fast. You rest until Dr. Mason comes in, okay?"
Not liking the burning feeling traveling up his arm, Tony asked, "Has my wife…has she…"
"I'll ask Agent Fornell," Ramona replied.
"Is Jethro coming back?"
"That's what he said. Mr. Gibbs…Jethro…told me to take extra special care of you. He was very reluctant to leave you. Everyone is saying he's quite a hero."
"Yeah, he is," Tony said with a tired smile. He didn't want to fall asleep and miss Jethro, but his eyelids felt so heavy and he couldn't keep them open. His aches and pains diminished, and soon he was in such a fog that he didn't care about much of anything.
~ • ~ ~ • ~ ~ • ~
He dreamed that someone, a man, was standing at his bedside, patting his arm and saying, "Hang in there. You'll be just fine."
"Jethro?" Tony mumbled, unable to open his eyes.
"No, it's me. Don't you worry. I'll take care of everything."
~ • ~ ~ • ~ ~ • ~