Disclaimer : If you recognize it, I still don't own it. All characters remain intellectual property of CBS and their creators.
Title : Push
Summary : In a world where mutants aren't allowed to be federal agents, Tony managed to keep his secret. Until now. After he uses his powers to protect a teammate, an internal investigation threatens to destroy his career and possibly, his life. Can the team protect him? Or will he be sacrificed to preserve NCIS' reputation?
Rating: Strong T
Author's Note : This is already completed. It was written for the Reverse Bang on LJ. I'll be posting the whole thing over on AO3 tomorrow with several pieces of beautiful art by the super talented water_soter. I'll be posting it here with 1 chapter per day. 9 chapters total.
As always with the Reverse Bang, I have to give a shout-out to water_soter for her wonderful art. Without the amazing piece, I never would have come up with this crazy idea and let a whole story grow out of it. Thank you for your wonderful art and all the time you took to make so many more pieces for my story. I was truly blown away. And as always, thanks to solariana on LJ for continuing to run all the challenges.
For the story, it's a little different than my normal stories. It's an AU with mutant powers. Think like X-men with early seasons team (including Kate and some unrequited McAbby). Hope you enjoy. Feedback is always appreciated.
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The moon hangs low and full, its reflection dancing off the water of the nearby lake. Ripples of intense light make Tony DiNozzo question whether its day, not the dead of night. It gleams against Tim McGee's trench coat as he marches down the sandy beach, the cuffs on his wrists behind his back, and the guns of the three dirtbags spurring them forward in the darkness.
Water laps around Tony's shoes, his steps squick squicking in the wet sand. Moving with his hands cuffed is difficult at best, treacherous at worst. Up ahead, Tim stumbles over a piece of driftwood. Tony is by his side instantly, helping him stay upright. Tim's wide eyes skirt from Tony to the lake house back in the distance. There, lights in the windows stretch clear from basement to roof. It beckons like it could be their salvation, but Tony already knows it doesn't hold safe harbor.
In fact, that is where the whole mess started. Tony decided an impromptu undercover stint during their current case—a missing petty officer and a shipment of high-grade heroin—would end their stakeout early. It was supposed to be easy. Tony would pretend to be a stranded motorist with a dead cell phone. He was going to borrow the lake house's phone to call a ride—Tim, obviously. And while he waited, he would case the place and find the heroin. Hell, he figured he might just turn up that petty officer too. And it might've gone smoothly if that dirtbag who looked like Charlie Chaplin—complete with mustache and tussled hair from Modern Times—hadn't gone for a smoke and found Tim a half-mile up the road. After he dragged Tim to the house at gunpoint, it didn't take them long to figure out Tony was a fed too.
Tim's gaze flicks back to Tony. Based on the look on his face, the next question will be…
"What do we do, Tony?" he whispers.
"I'm working on it," Tony hisses.
Tim just stares at him like he expected Tony to have a plan by now. Like he expected Tony to have them loose, their suspects arrested, and already contacted Gibbs. All with his hands cuffed behind his back.
Charlie Chaplin barrels into Tony. "Keep moving."
"You know," Tony starts rambling, "you really are doing this wrong. You aren't supposed to break out the cuffs until after we've had our romantic stroll on the beach. Though, this might not be my friend over there's idea of romance."
Charlie just glares at him.
Tony waggles his eyebrows. "That would probably explain why you don't get lucky."
One of the back-up dirtbags chuckles. Charlie's hard shove sends Tony staggering into Tim and they both nearly faceplant right there. That's enough to get them moving again. As they edge around the lake, the moonlight seems to highlight their destination: a small forest with trees reaching with branches like skeletal fingers. The blackness and the stillness turn Tony's body leaden.
They're going to ditch us there.
Closing his eyes, Tony struggles to come up with a plan. Preferably something that doesn't end with a shallow grave. He wiggles his hands around and then, he feels something bubble up inside him. It's instinctive and familiar, something that took a lifetime to unlearn. There's a little click, a twist somewhere deep in lock of the handcuffs. It feels like he is picking a lock except without the bobby pin. He can't concentrate while walking. His abilities just never worked like that.
I would be better off with a bobby pin than my own brain right now.
Stopping in his tracks, he forces his brain to focus on picking the lock. The abilities his father spent years beating out of him rise. He fiddles with a tumbler, his mind whirring at a million miles an hour.
Charlie pushes him again. "I said, move!"
Tony stumbles a few steps before he regains his footing. When he glares back, Charlie wears the grin of a hungry shark. The affable, bumbling silent film star has been replaced by a menacing Bond villain. The other two dirt bags laugh and waggle their guns at the agents. Like the whole thing is one big, fucking joke. Tim groans like they're about to get dead right here, but Tony holds his ground. He wiggles his right index finger as he moves through the cuff lock with his mind.
Lift that tumbler. Roll up the next pin.
So close.
Another. And another.
Almost got it.
He feels the next to last pin tremble.
Almost.
"Move!'" Charlie yells.
As if he can't watch, Tim turns back to the forest. Tony mentally hooks his finger around the last pin. He faces Charlie. He just need to buy them more time.
"Did anybody ever tell you that you look like Charlie Chaplin?" Tony blurts out.
Charlie's eye roll is so dramatic that his eyes glow white in the moonlight. The other dirtbags howl with laughter. Tony plasters his best annoying grin while he keeps working the lock.
"I told you." One dirtbag elbows the other. "I told you that he looked familiar, but I just couldn't place him. Do ya see it now?"
Charlie waves his gun at them. "Shut up, assholes."
But Tony is on a roll. "I don't know about you two, but I think it's the mustache. It's got a real City Lights vibe to it. You know, maybe if you thought about shaving it – "
The punch to the jaw sends Tony stumbling. Black, wispy stars burst in his vision. He fights to stay standing at the same moment his mind releases the lock. It clicks back into place. The closest thing he had to a plan evaporates, but he won't let it go. He starts on the lock again.
He can feel Tim's eyes boring into his back, but Tony can't—won't—look at him. Instead, he closes his eyes, presses his lips tightly together. He knows he could pick these cuffs. Maybe. Probably. Yeah, if he had complete silence and a couple cups of coffee and all the time in the world.
Time is the one thing he and Tim are rapidly running out of.
Charlie shoves Tony forward. He staggers again before moving slower this time. Baby steps while his mind whirls back through the cuff lock. If he can pick it before they make it to the forest, he and Tim might just get out of here alive.
They walk across the wet sand, the dark forest drawing closer. Mere yards now, a breath compared to the distance they already covered. Tony is stuck on the next to last pin, trying to feel his way around it. Why the hell won't it budge?
Tony freezes in his tracks. He flicks his finger wildly, trying to get a grasp on that last pin. Anything, he'll do anything to get it loose. Tim pauses too, probably thinking Tony is about to make a last stand. He wheels around to face the dirtbags while Tony keeps his eyes locked on the forest ahead.
I can get it. I know I can.
Perspiration works its way down the back of his neck. It leaves him shivering in the night air. His strident breaths curl towards the sky in long, white puffs.
For fuck's sake, come on.
"Move!" Charlie yells.
And that's the moment, Tim chooses to grow a pair. He squares his shoulders. Sets his jaw defiantly. Tony's stomach falls to his knees because Tim is going to get himself killed. He only needs a few more seconds, maybe a minute or two to get the cuffs loose.
"No," Tim says, fear thinly veiled in his voice.
Charlie cocks his gun. "What did you say, kid?"
He stands up a little straighter. "We aren't going anywhere."
Tony holds the lock in place long enough to throw Tim a Don't piss 'em off, McGee look. But it's already too late because Charlie stalks towards him. To his credit, Tim doesn't back down, doesn't flinch, doesn't even blink. Charlie cracks his gun against Tim's head. Tim falls against the sand with a soft thud, groaning and rolling to his side. Charlie looms over him, gun ready.
"Hey! Leave him alone!" Tony yells.
Charlie glances over at Tony, smirking. Their eyes meet and in that instant, Tony knows he is about to pull the trigger. Something in Tony's gut drops like an anchor. The world around him moves in a slow, staccatoed rhythm like a low budget slasher movie. He draws a deep breath before the surge of energy rolls over him. He hasn't felt this way since he was a child.
He feels the weight of a gun in his hand. He pictures himself pointing one at all three dirtbags.
Then, one by one the dirtbags gasp loudly. They give a start as their weapons are wrested from their hands to float in front of them as if by magic. One of them even raises his hands.
"What the fuck is going on?" one yelps.
"I don't know," the other blurts out.
"It's him!" Charlie points an accusing finger at Tim. "He's a fucking mutant! Kill him!"
When Charlie lunges at Tim, Tony curls his right index finger around an unseen trigger. Three gunshots ring out in the night air. Three bodies land in the wet sand with hollow smacks. Tony takes a breath, gasping at what he has done. He chases away the thought of himself holding a gun and three guns plop to the ground. He works through the lock on his cuffs quickly, easily now. Then, he does the same for Tim's cuffs. When he is finished, a raging migraine explodes behind Tony's right eye.
He topples to his knees with his head in his hands. He presses the heels of his hands against his eyes as though he could shove his brain out of his own skull. After a few moments of dead silence, Tony manages to pull his fingers away. Somehow, the moon has swollen even larger than before. The light is almost too much for Tony to bear. Tim is standing, arms hugged to his chest. His eyes are as big as the moon, his mouth pulled into a tiny o. Tony often forgets how young he really is.
"Are you okay, McGee?" he manages.
Tim licked his lips. "What just happened, Tony?"
Tony swallows hard. "I don't know."
When Tony glances over, the younger man stares at him with glassy and unfocused eyes. Bits of blood, black in the moonlight, are matted against the side of his head.
"Those guys are dead," Tim whispers. "How are they dead?"
Tony tries to play it off. "I don't know, but it's a good thing they are. They were about to do the same thing to us. How's your head, McGee?"
"How did they die?" Tim blinks slowly. "I watched their guns shoot them, but how? No one was holding them. Guns shouldn't be able to do that. They don't do that."
Tim's brain seems to be trying to process what he witnessed. His eyes never leave Tony's. It makes the older man's skin crawl.
Maybe I can convince McGee that he is hallucinating.
Tim just stares as though he knows Tony is responsible for what just happened.
Tony starts, "McGee, are you – "
The fearful look on Tim's face shuts Tony up.
"What are you?" Tim whispers.