AN: I'm revising the story, since I didn't like the direction it was going in.
Trent Kort grunted as he hit the the floor, clutching his bloodied nose.
This was the result of a vicious right hook courtesy of an enraged Tony DiNozzo.
DiNozzo would've gone for another blow, if he wasn't (barely) being held back by Leroy Jethro Gibbs and Tobias Fornell. Ron Sacks had to step in to hold the enraged senior agent in place. DiNozzo snarled as he struggled against them.
"Let me at him, Boss!" DiNozzo yelled. "I haven't finished teaching the bastard a lesson yet!" DiNozzo was too pissed to maintain his usual cocky facade.
It'd been a struggle to control his temper.
Kort's little comment broke his control and sent him over the edge.
DiNozzo was a ticking time bomb ever since they returned from vacation.
Leon Vance, director of NCIS, gave Team Gibbs a week's vacation after they spent nearly a month working back to back cases. The whole thing was almost funny, really.
DiNozzo had a good time in Cabo St. Lucas.
Their first day back was supposed to be easy.
They were supposed to be working on cold cases and Balboa's team was going to be on the roster. Today was supposed to be relaxing and, well, practically boring.
All of that changed when DiNozzo retrieved his mail from the post office.
Kort slowly got to his feet, glaring at DiNozzo as he got a tissue from his pocket and pressed it to his nose. Normally, he would utter another smart-ass comment.
But something told him not to push his luck.
Snorting in disgust-wincing as that hurt his nose-Kort went to the men's room.
Gibbs tersely ordered his agent to take a few minutes outside to cool off.
DiNozzo nodded and stormed out of the bullpen, clenching and unclenching his fists.
While he regretted losing his cool, he couldn't bring himself to mourn Kort's predicament. DiNozzo emerged outside ten minutes later, not even feeling the cold.
He was too angry and distracted to care.
He paced back and forth like an angry tiger in a cage.
It all started this morning, after he got his mail and returned to his apartment. On the way home, DiNozzo fiddled with the radio dial, trying to find a song he liked. For some reason, he felt an eerie tingle go up and down his spine when he heard "What's up" from the group, 4 Non Blondes on some oldies station he couldn't recall.
DiNozzo made it back to his apartment building without fanfare.
A few minutes later, he was in his living room, sorting through his mail.
There were the usual bills and magazines he subscribed to. Then he spotted a manila envelope, with only his address written across its face. While DiNozzo didn't have his boss's infamous "gut", he wasn't stupid either. He carefully put the envelope down. He contacted his boss, who was thankfully back from his trip to Mexico.
Gibbs told him to carefully bag the evidence and head for NCIS.
Gibbs quickly contacted Ellie Bishop, a member of their team. He'd tried to contact the other member of their team, but for some reason, he wasn't answering his phone. Gibbs felt the churning in his gut increase. He had a bad feeling about this.
As usual, he would be right.
As for Ellie, she was thankfully back from her trip to London. Gibbs drove to NCIS headquarters even beyond his usual reckless speeds. It was only due to a miracle that he didn't cause an accident or get pulled over for a ticket. He didn't care.
His gut continued to churn.
He couldn't shake the feeling that his missing agent was in danger.
Gibbs quickly updated Vance.
Meanwhile, the envelope and its contents were carefully examined by Abby Sciuto, their forensic scientist. Gibbs was just finishing his explanations to Vance when he was phoned by a tearful, hysterical Abby. He couldn't get her to calm down.
Gibbs had to see her in person in her lab.
Abby couldn't calm down enough to explain.
She just gave a series of hiccupping sobs before she pointed at the contents of the manila envelope with a shaking hand. Somehow, Gibbs wasn't surprised at what the envelope contained. Grimly, Gibbs phoned DiNozzo and told him to come to the lab.
The group was soon joined by Tobias Fornell and Ron Sacks.
Both were FBI agents.
Vance contacted them. In the case of a kidnapped federal agent, the FBI had jurisdiction. DiNozzo was especially pissed off. Admittedly, he had good reason to be.
Since everything was specifically addressed to him.
The letter had been disturbing enough.
It wasn't handwritten or typed. Instead, the sender carefully cut out letters from newspapers and glued them to a white piece of paper. There was no signature.
The letter simply read, "Merry Christmas, Tony".
The envelope also contained photographs.
Disturbing photographs.
Photos which made Tony want to punch a wall.
The photos featured Timothy McGee, the last member of Team Gibbs. He was the computer expert of their group. In what seemed like a progression, the injuries he suffered got worse as they went from photo to photo. Abby was working with Ruby Denton, the FBI's forensic scientist, to carefully examine the letter, photos and envelope. Fornell already sent a couple of agents to investigate McGee's apartment.
There had been nothing.
The evidence suggested McGee never made it home after their shift ended more than a week ago.
His apartment was covered in a layer of dust. None of his clothes and toiletries were missing and his luggage was still in his closet. The implications were obvious:
He'd been abducted elsewhere.
His phone rang, jolting him from his reverie.
"DiNozzo."
"DiNozzo, get back upstairs." Gibbs said gruffly. "A pair of LEOs found McGee's car at a Burger King near Dulles International Airport. Fornell and Sacks will meet us there."
"I'll be there, Boss." DiNozzo promised.
DiNozzo jogged back inside and joined his boss in the bullpen.
On the way to the Burger King, DiNozzo remained lost in thought. Kort was an asshole with a dubious reputation who worked for the CIA. He wasn't at NCIS because of McGee's kidnapping. His presence was a coincidence as the CIA sent him to NCIS to work as a liaison on another case. Unfortunately, Kort had heard more than he should.
And let's just say he wasn't complimentary towards Gibbs' "baby agent".
DiNozzo was already pissed off over what was happening to McGee.
Needless to say, Kort picked the wrong moment to make disparaging remarks about DiNozzo's partner. DiNozzo smirked in grim satisfaction. He hoped Kort's new shiner would *convince* him not to be so *rude* in the future. He had to admit, the punch felt *good*.
DiNozzo was jolted from his reverie when Gibbs' Charger pulled to a stop.
They were at the Burger King. Hopefully, they would find something.
DiNozzo's internal clock warned him that time was running out.
I was in a bad mood as I drove back to the cabin.
It was just like Tiny Tim to ruin everything.
Fortunately, I brought a handy-dandy "stress reliever" in my duffle bag. While I try not to let my baser emotions get the better of me, there are times, however few that I succumb to weakness.
The only bright side is that I'm doing this without witnesses.
With the exception, of course, of Tiny Tim.
Not even my favorite song could calm me down. Which was yet another thing to blame the little shithead for.
It was just like him to be so incompetent.
So...ineffectual.
Finally, the cabin loomed into view. I parked, grabbed my duffle bag and exited the SUV. I pressed the fob to lock the doors and jogged to the front door. As always, I carefully peeked over my shoulder, making sure no one was looking as I unlocked it.
Once it was open, I quickly darted inside.
I locked the door after me.
By now, Tiny Tim should still be unconscious. I'd drugged his food and moved him while he was asleep. I glanced at my watch. I had about a half hour before he woke up.
Which gave me plenty of time to get things ready.
I kicked aside the persian carpet and jerked open the trapdoor.
I headed downstairs, removed the flower picture and inputted a new number in the keypad. Unlike other people, I am a genius. I always make sure to change the combination.
The panel slid aside and I quickly hurried in.
Sure enough, Tiny Tim was unconscious.
He was hanging from the ceiling. He was bound in a pair of manacles that were attached to a chain, which in turn, was secured to the ceiling. His ankles were equally bound. I wanted to limit his movements so he couldn't kick me.
I put the duffle bag on the table and opened it.
I pulled out some grey sweats and some other objects.
The boombox was resting on a TV tray in another corner. I'm a firm believer in using stuff from the good ol' days.
I have no liking or patience for the digital shit hitting the markets nowadays.
I changed after neatly folding my clothing and setting the articles aside, so they wouldn't get stained.
I glanced at Tiny Tim.
He was starting to stir.
I headed for the boombox and put a tape inside. This song always helped me "get in the zone", so to speak.
Tiny Tim grew more and more awake as the effects of the drug wore off.
I walked to the first table and grabbed a pair of boxing gloves.
By now, Tiny Tim was fully awake and I relished in the dawning horror in his eyes. He reminded me of a weak little deer, standing stark still as a pair of headlights washed over it.
Or a lost little newborn lamb, stumbling in the darkness.
I returned to the boombox and pressed the play button. The song was "Gonna Fly Now" from the movie, "Rocky".
I put on the boxing gloves and got to work.
I couldn't help myself.
I felt like a kid in a candy store as I let loose. Tiny Tim's gag has long since been removed since I wanted to hear him scream.
And scream he did.
Man, what a pussy.
He screamed and screamed like a stuck pig as I wailed on him. I relished in each punch and kick I gave him. Tears poured like rivers down his cheeks.
I could hear sickening snaps fill the air as I punched his stomach.
I knew some of his ribs were broken.
While the song was short, it was also on a loop. So Tiny Tim was out of luck as I continued to "relieve my frustrations", so to speak.
I repeatedly kicked his left leg.
Grinning sadistically as I "gifted" him with more fractures.
I really felt like Rocky Balboa. I pictured myself in the ring, going against the likes of Apollo Creed.
The only downside was that Tiny Tim didn't deserve the honor of being Apollo Creed. He was too weak to get such an appellation.
I galloped around him until I could see his back.
His screams increased in volume as I wailed on him good in and around his spine.
He began to beg for me to stop. But I was fresh out of mercy as I continued to jab and kick. Not that I had any mercy to begin with.
Mercy was reserved for weaklings.
Finally, I was spent.
I walked to the table and grabbed a towel. I wiped the sweat from my face and opened a water bottle. As I sipped, I glanced at Tiny Tim.
He was a hanging mass of bruises, welts and fractures.
I grabbed my Polaroid and took several shots for good measure.
There was no sense in wasting an opportunity and I know HE would want more pictures. I hope he liked the ones I sent him.
It *was* the Christmas season after all.
