Angels
by channelD
written for: the Christmas season. It's also an attempt to condense a case file into a one-shot.
rating: K plus
genre: drama/case file
characters: Tony, Ziva, Tim
- - - - -
There's a kind of magical, mystical feeling that hangs in the air around the holidays. No matter where you are, you feel it. It's as if the yearning hearts of so many people have pulled us away from the Everyday and brought us a little closer to the What Could Be.
Not that that's always a good thing.
Gibbs' team was furious about being called in at the last minute to work on Christmas Eve. Gibbs wasn't pleased, either; with Vance having been sent by the SECNAV on an urgent face-saving trip to Iraq, where brawling Navy men had done serious political damage, Gibbs, too was stuck at NCIS as the Commander-in-Chief. Then when Rinaldo's team all caught the flu from each other, Gibbs had had no choice but to study the roster of who-had-worked-the-unwanted-shifts-last, and yank in his team from their holiday plans—even Tony from the airport, ten minutes before his flight was about to board.
"Where is the justice in this?" Tim griped, clad in the sweatshirt and jeans that he had been wearing when Gibbs' phone call reached him at the entrance to the gym. "And why do they need all of us? On Christmas Eve, it's not like there's a history of rampant crime for NCIS."
Ziva eyed him unpleasantly. "And how would you have handled it, McGee? If by seniority, then Tony would not have to be here. It would just be you and me."
"How cozy," Tony smirked. "At least you had no plans, McNerdy, because you have no life. You have nothing better to do on Christmas Eve than work out at the gym. Or be here."
Tim gave him a furious look, but held his tongue. What Tony said was true. Tim's parents were in Tokyo on a business conference. His sister had gone to Aspen with friends. He was stuck in DC, alone. Tomorrow his Christmas dinner would be a microwaved frozen dinner of chicken parmesan, because the loneliness of doing real cooking for himself on Christmas Day was too much to bear.
Most of the time, coming to work with Tony, Ziva and Gibbs was at least tolerable. Today was not one of those days.
Worst of all, with Gibbs having to stay at HQ, if the team was sent out, Tony would be in charge, by seniority. And he was in a terrible mood.
It looked like the evening would be quiet. This was good; if they could make it to midnight, the graveyard shift team would come on, and they could go home and salvage what remained of the holiday. A cup of eggnog from the carton in the fridge, perhaps. Some tasteless Christmas cookies bought at the supermarket. A can of soup. Christmas lacking some of the cheer, for having to work up to the minute.
The hours droned on. They were each caught up in a cold case and spoke little to each other.
Then at 10 p.m., Ziva took a call on the tip line. "Marine holding a hostage in a building on the banks of the Potomac. Looks like we are going out."
"Grab your gear," Tony said without much enthusiasm, and made a quick call up to Gibbs' office.
- - - - -
It was a short drive to the Potomac River location; the Kepstad Hotel. Police had already cordoned off the area. The night was mild but dampness added a chill. Tony conferred with the police captain. "All we know," said the captain, "is that the guy is one Dennis Wellers, Marine Lance Corporal, and he's holding a woman. We're trying to get an ID on her. Witnesses saw him rush into the hotel with her, holding a rifle, and identified the car he came in. The name on the registration and the photo on the District license match the description of the man. The manager on duty called us when screams were heard coming from the hotel room."
"Love connection, maybe?" Tony mused. "Do we have a motive? Are you in touch with him?"
"Maybe, and yes. We've reached Wellers by phone. Wellers' unit has been called back up to go to Iraq, he said, and he doesn't want to go. Says he'll kill the woman if he isn't given a full discharge."
A detective came up. "The front desk has identified the room as being rented to an Erin Shaughnessy of Augusta, Maine, Captain. We don't know if that's the woman inside there or not."
"Got a layout of the hotel? Which room are they in?" asked Tim.
"Room 412. It's not one of the ones with a view of the river. Oddly enough, for a hotel in this location, it's built in a rectangle with a number of rooms looking out over a large, inner courtyard. He's in one of those inner rooms."
"So there are rooms facing it, across the courtyard," said Ziva.
The captain smiled slightly. "That's right. A SWAT team is on the way. When they arrive—"
"Or I could do it," said Ziva, who then went to the NCIS truck for a rife and scope.
"She could, easily," Tony told the captain, smiling grimly.
- - - - -
NCIS took command of the case. Tony would act as negotiator to Wellers; Ziva would get into a room across the courtyard in case a sniper's fire was the only way to go, and Tim would be near room 412, trying to get the woman to safety if/when the opportunity presented itself.
Tony paced and called Gibbs to update him. In one free moment he thought, I could be in Cancun now, instead of working. What a way to spend Christmas Eve, trying to placate a nutjob.
He got on the captain's phone where the connection was still open. "Corporal Wellers? Dennis? This is special agent Anthony DiNozzo of NCIS. Why don't you come out before the matter gets any more complicated? Let's just talk."
"There's nothing to talk about! Meet my demands, or there will be hell to pay."
A woman's anguished scream was heard in the background, followed by Wellers' "Shut UP, Erin!"
Tony gulped. "Who's that there with you, Dennis? Is that Erin Shaughnessy?"
"Ka-ching, NCIS. Her life is your hands now. Both of their miserable lives are."
"My baby…don't harm my baby…" sobbed the woman.
Baby? "Get me the full background on Erin Shaughnessy. Stat!" Tony ordered.
In minutes they had it. "She has a daughter, Sarah, age 4. Not his; he's only known Shaughnessy for a year. They recently broke up and he moved out," reported the detective.
Tony waved Ziva and Tim to put on earwigs and get into position. The dynamics had suddenly gotten a lot worse.
- - - - -
Tim ran up the stairs to the fourth floor, to avoid the arriving ding of the elevator, in case Wellers might hear it. His heart pounded. Erin. Sarah. It seemed cruel of Fate to put those very names under his care. That was almost a dare to him to not screw up. Another Erin had died because of his inexperience, and Sarah, his sister...he didn't want to think of her ever being in danger. Not if he could help it.
- - - - -
Ziva was let into room 454 by the hotel manager. She did not turn on any lights. He was able to point out which room was 412 across the courtyard—it was dead ahead. She thanked him and sent him away, and set up the rifle. It was an older hotel, and the windows would open, she found. No sense in freezing herself yet. She would wait until it was closer to time to fire.
- - - - -
At the end of the hallway, Tim conferred quietly with the manager and two police officers that accompanied him. "Does 412 connect with the room next to it?"
The manager thought. "Yes. To 410. And 410 connects to 408. I have a master key…
Tim's eyebrows raised. He understood hotels fairly well, from his numerous stays for comic book or science fiction conventions. "Isn't that unusual, having three rooms connect?"
"It's not too common in newer hotels, but you'll sometimes find it in older ones. It's like having a suite for a large family or other group. We have another set like this on the sixth floor."
"And these rooms are unoccupied?"
The manager called the front desk to check, and a moment later, nodded.
"What about the room on the other side—414?"
"They were the ones who first alerted us to the disturbance. That couple is down in the lobby now. And that room doesn't connect to 412."
Tim nodded. It was almost too easy. "Here's the plan, then. We enter through 408. I assume the doors would be locked on each side of the connection?"
"Yes, but the master key—"
"Thanks, but I'll pick the locks. Your key would be too noisy, and give us away." Tim jerked his head toward the stairs. "We'll take it from here."
The manager understood the danger, and left without protest. Tim called Tony and told him of the plan.
Hallelujah…
- - - - -
Tony steadied his hand that held the cell phone. "Dennis? At least let Sarah go. She's just an innocent little kid."
Wellers only laughed. "Do you think I'm crazy, NCIS? Let go of one of my pathways out of the Corps?"
"Does your Marine time mean nothing to you, Dennis? You took an oath. Semper Fi."
"Uncle Sam made me a promise when I signed up, and all I got was death and agony all around! I saw buddies die. I saw civilians die. I saw those aging Sea Knight choppers still in use when Knight Hawks and Super Hawks have been long recommended. We're still using too many Humvees and not enough armored vehicles. They're sending us over there to die, man! Well, I'm not playing that game any more. I'm not going back."
- - - - -
Tim called Ziva. "Where is Wellers in the room?"
"He is in about the middle of the room," she replied, holding up binoculars in her other hand. "I see Erin Shaughnessy now. She is over to the side, in an armchair. The girl is in her lap."
"Is she on the right side of the room, or the left?"
"On my right, your left."
"You're sure Wellers can't see you?"
"I can see nothing in the rooms near him that are also darkened. He cannot possibly see me."
"Good." This was looking to be easy.
Hallelujah…
- - - - -
"Keep him talking and occupied, Tony," Tim said.
"I'm trying," Tony muttered. "How long until you're in?"
"We're in 408 now. Just getting into 410." A policeman shone a flashlight on the connecting door while Tim picked the lock. The well-oiled tumblers made no noise. "Ziva, his position?"
"Same as before."
- - - - -
"I mean it, NCIS. I've got all the power here. You might as well meet my demands. You have no choice."
"These things take time, Dennis," Tony pleaded. Hurry up. McGee…
"I decide the amount of time it takes. Or I might just want to end it in a rush."
"What's the hurry?"
- - - - -
Ziva's blood turned cold. "Tony!" she hissed. "He has a bomb strapped to his chest!"
- - - - -
"McGee! Bail! Bail! Wellers has a bomb! Get out!"
- - - - -
Hallelujah…
Too late came the warning. Tim had picked the last lock and his hand was on the door knob, edging the door open. There was no way out now.
He waved the policemen back, hoping that someone would get out alive.
- - - - -
"Ziva, can you take him?"
"I think so," she said, and with rock-hard nerves from years of training, she opened the window and put the rifle in position.
- - - - -
"Freeze! Federal officer!" Tim cried, bursting into 412, sig drawn. He was hoping that surprise would give him a second or two. It might be enough.
"What??" Wellers clearly was surprised. He reached for something—his rifle, or maybe the detonator—
- - - - -
Ziva aimed.
- - - - -
"McGee! Where are you??" Tony demanded, to no answer.
- - - - -
The shot snapped the window, and Wellers yelped as it hit his shoulder. He swore, stumbled, and reached with the other hand.
- - - - -
Tim took advantage. He snatched the petite Erin with one hand and elfin little Sarah with the other.
- - - - -
Ziva aimed again, irked that one shot hadn't done it.
- - - - -
Tim hurled the mother and daughter into the passageway to 410, and threw himself down on top of them.
- - - - -
The world ended, in fire.
- - - - -
Hallelujah…
Hallelujah…
- - - - -
When Tim came to, it was with an oxygen mask on his face. He pushed it off. He was lying on his side, with Tony and Ziva crouched beside him. "Do not move much, McGee," said Ziva in a comforting tone. "You may have shrapnel in your back, but it does not appear you are hurt badly. They are about to take you to the hospital."
"Idiot," said Tony. "I told you to bail, McGee! The guy had a bomb!" Smoke was still drifting in from the chars of room 412.
"I know," Tim said wryly, flinching from the pain. "But I was already in. I couldn't be that close and not try to get the Shaughnesseys out. Are they okay?"
"We're fine, Agent McGee. Thanks to you!" Erin Shaughnessy bent down and kissed his cheek. She was a pretty blonde, about his own age. He made a mental note of that. One Erin, saved.
"Angels, mommy," murmured Sarah, half-asleep.
"Sarah said she saw angels in that last moment, before the…b-o-m-b… went off," said Erin. "She insists it was angels who carried us to safety."
"On Christmas Eve, maybe it was," said Ziva.
"Maybe there was a reason why we had to work tonight," Tony agreed.
- - - - -
Hallelujah
Hallelujah
Hallelujah
Hallelujah…
- END -