Of all the fics I have, for some odd reason my muse decided this was the one I should work on. I wasn't going to argue.
Chapter 2
Tony leaned over the sink and splashed water on his face as he tried to bring his mind back into focus. He hadn't slept in over forty-eight hours, and even if he had been allowed to go home, he didn't think he'd be able to sleep anyway. The feeling of dread that had first hit him nearly forty-eight hours ago, when the team finally realized that one of their own was missing, was gaining ground again. His partner, his friend, had vanished and despite the best efforts of Gibbs, Ziva, Abby, and himself, they had been unable to find a single trace of McGee anywhere.
He heard the bathroom door open and turned to see Gibbs standing the doorway. When Tony saw the look on his boss' face, his heart sank.
"Got a call from the sheriff in Charlottesville. They think they found McGee."
"They think?" Tony asked as his gut started to churn. Gibbs tone had indicated the news was not good.
"They want us to confirm. Come on."
"Damn it," Tony muttered as he followed Gibbs. When they reached the truck, Ziva was already waiting, along with Ducky and Jimmy, and their expressions told Tony that they, too, knew what this trip might mean. Silently, they all climbed into their respective vehicles and headed out. No one said a word during the entire two-hour drive, their minds on what they hoped they wouldn't find when they reached their destination.
Finally they pulled into an auto-wrecking yard, already occupied by two police cruisers. One of the officers directed them to the back of the lot where the sheriff was waiting. As he climbed out of the truck Tony glanced around, but saw no evidence of a body. The sheriff waved them over to a stack of crushed cars and as they approached, Tony finally saw what had brought them to the sight and struggled against the surge of bile that boiled up from his stomach. The topmost car in the stack was still recognizable as silver, and a pale, bloody hand protruded from the wreck where the window had been.
The sheriff gave them a curt nod as they reached the gruesome discovery. "Agent Gibbs, I take it?" he asked, and Gibbs nodded, his gaze fixed on the scene behind where the sheriff stood. The sheriff held up an evidence bag, which contained a familiar black wallet. "One of the employees found this on the ground just over there," he indicated a spot next to the stack of cars. "And when he figured out what it was he called us in. Then we found…" he took a deep breath and tilted his head towards the car. "That. We don't have one of those fancy scanners, so I figured…"
"We'll take care of it," Gibbs replied, and sent Tony a look which caused the agent's stomach to twist painfully. He reached into his bag for the scanner as he struggled to keep his game face on and then pulled on a pair of gloves before he approached the hand. He carefully raised the scanner and maneuvered it so he could place the thumb on the window, flinching slightly as he touched the hand itself. He pressed the button to initiate the scan and waited for the signal to tell him the process was complete. When the scanner beeped, he checked the results, and barely managed to clamp down on the rush of nausea as he confirmed their worst fears.
"It's him." He slowly lowered the scanner into his bag before setting the bag on the ground and walking away, desperately trying to keep the images of what might have been his friend's last moments at bay, and failing miserably. He moved out of sight and fought to control his emotions: anger, grief, and the sudden empty feeling that accompanied the loss of someone close to him.
Soon he heard the crunch of gravel underfoot and turned, surprised to find Ducky approaching. The older man's face was pinched with anguish, but he spoke to Tony in a controlled, yet soothing tone.
"Are you all right, Anthony?"
"No. Ducky, please…please tell me…" Tony knew his fear was going to sound awful when voiced but he couldn't help it. "Please tell me Tim was already dead when they did that too him."
"I'm afraid I can't give a definite answer, not yet. We can only hope…these bastards showed him some modicum of mercy."
Tony took a deep breath and forced his inner turmoil to recede as much as he could. "And when we find them…no mercy."
"I couldn't agree more."
"Guess we should get working on that." Tony squared his shoulders and headed back to the scene, receiving a pat on the shoulder from Ducky as the M.E. joined him. When they returned to the site, Gibbs was standing off to the side, an arm around Ziva's shoulder, and Jimmy was simply staring at the visible remains of their team member, looking greener than he had in years. Tony turned towards Gibbs, waiting for instructions, but before the lead agent could respond they all heard several vehicles approaching and turned to see two black sedans and a dark blue van. The sight of the first person to climb out of one of the vans caused Tony to clench his teeth in anger, but before he could say anything, Gibbs was already on his way to meet the interloper.
"What in the hell are you doing here, Fornell?" Gibbs growled, and the FBI agent held up his hands in a placating gesture.
"Just following orders, Gibbs. This is our scene, now."
"Like hell it is! McGee is my agent, and—"
"—death of a federal agent is our jurisdiction. Look, I know you've handled these cases internally before, but…it's a new administration, Jethro. We're doing things by the book." He stepped closer to Gibbs and lowered his voice, but not low enough to prevent Tony from hearing him. "Do you really want your people to see this, all of this?"
"We can handle it," Tony replied, and the slight tremor in his voice caused him to wince at his own weakness.
"I'm sure you can, but you don't need to. Look: let my people handle the forensics, you can do the background on McGee for a motive to all of this. Trust me, it's better this way."
"Yeah, right. Forget it, Fornell, we—" His declaration was interrupted by the ringing of Gibbs' cell phone, and while he answered Tony continued to glare at the FBI agent, daring him to say something further. After a few heated exchanges Gibbs snapped his phone shut and sent Fornell a look that could have killed if such things were possible.
"Boss?"
"Let's go, DiNozzo."
"But—"
"We better be kept in the loop, Tobias," Gibbs said as he ignored Tony's protests and focused on the FBI agent.
"When we know, you'll know. I expect that to work both ways."
Without another word, Gibbs turned and headed for the truck, soon followed by his stunned team. When they were out of sight of the FBI, Tony tried his argument again.
"Boss, you can't just—"
"We're not gonna win this one, Tony. We need to focus on who could have done this right now."
"But—"
Finally Gibbs turned to face his senior agent and the words died in Tony's throat when he caught a glimpse of the devastation Gibbs was experiencing before it was hidden away behind the man's usual mask.
"You know what has to be done with the evidence. Do you really want Abby to have to deal with that?"
Tony was silent for a brief moment and shook his head. "No, Boss, but we owe it to Tim to find out what happened to him."
Gibbs sighed. "I know we do, Tony, and we will. Now let's get out of here, we have work to do." Gibbs started towards the driver's side of the truck and Tony turned to see how the rest of his team would react. Ducky merely shook his head and motioned to Palmer to follow him back to the M.E.'s van. Ziva avoided his gaze, but the dampness around her eyes showed that she was feeling the grief that Tony himself was experiencing.
"You OK, Ziva?"
She shook her head and opened the passenger door of the truck before silently climbing inside. Tony followed suit and shut the door, sending one last glance towards the area of activity as they drove away, feeling for all the world like he had failed his friend.
I'm so sorry, Probie…
XXX
Olivia Freeman silently observed the most recent addition to the prison. Over the years, both during her tenure at her present place of employment and the preceding years as a state prison nurse, she had learned that it was always a good idea to get a view of the prisoners in her care without them knowing. When they had an audience, their true personalities, and therefore their threat levels, were carefully disguised. Alone, the masks were off and she was better able to determine how much of a danger they posed, and also what type of attitude she would have to adopt with them to ensure her own safety. At 6'3" and nearly two hundred pounds, Olivia herself was more often than not a deterrent to aggressive behavior, but one could never be completely safe from the more hateful prisoners.
Since coming to this facility three years ago, the threats she saw had been generally mild. The prisoners here were reported to be more of the technological sort of criminal who had agreed to participate in 'special projects' as part of their sentence. While she held no illusions as to their guilt (or proclaimed innocence), she still tried to determine the sort of trouble they would give her.
The man she was currently watching was a bit of a mystery. He had barely moved since she had arrived, and his expression and posture spoke of total dejection, although if pressed, she would not have said he was feeling sorry for himself. He appeared to be struggling under a crushing sense of loss…and definitely guilt. While she had observed a similar display of emotion in other prisoners over the years, experience had taught her that in many cases, it was truly an illusion. This man, on the other hand, showed none of the subtle tells that would indicate his displayed feelings were untrue. She saw no immediate threat of danger to herself, but she wondered if he was one of those that would eventually attempt to take the easy way out. She'd have to keep an eye on this one. Administrators hated that kind of paperwork.
Finally she stepped out of the observation area and walked up to the cell door. The prisoner immediately looked up and when she opened the door he stood and turned to face her. Surprised that she might have misread him, and ready to notify the nearby guards if necessary, she paused and waited but he quickly cast his gaze to the floor and stood silently, his arms hanging loosely at his sides. With a barely repressed chuckle she realized he was merely being polite. Someone taught this boy right once. Too bad he forgot somewhere along the way. She stepped inside the cell, still keeping a safe distance, and cleared her throat before addressing him.
"Prisoner Echo-2659."
"Yes, ma'am." His voice was soft and held almost no trace of emotion. She took a moment to study him again. He was about her height, maybe an inch shorter, but she figured she had at least a good thirty pounds on him. He was pale, but otherwise appeared fairly healthy, and his prison jumpsuit was neither tight nor loose. His bright green eyes appeared to be clear, and she could not detect any outward sign of illness. Finished with her visual exam, she continued.
"I am Nurse Freeman, and yes, I am well aware of the irony of my name." She waited for the usual appreciation of humor, or confusion, but saw neither and made another mental note to keep an eye on her newest charge. "I will be monitoring your health during your stay at this facility. If you cooperate, we'll get along just fine. If not, let's just say that I'm not a fan of difficult patients. Have I made myself clear?"
"Yes, ma'am," he replied in that same emotionless voice.
"Good. I need to take your vitals. Are you going to give me any trouble?"
"No, ma'am."
"Good. Sit."
He obediently lowered himself onto his cot and held out his arm, obviously familiar with the procedure. She wrapped a blood pressure cuff around his arm and, still watching carefully, proceeded to take the reading. "One-fifteen over seventy. Not bad." She checked his pulse, and then his temperature using an aural thermometer. "Ninety-seven-point nine. A little low, but still in the normal range. Any pain?" He shook his head, but she noticed the wince he made at the movement. "I'll see about getting you an analgesic."
She tilted his head up so she could get a better look at his eyes, and carefully checked his neck for any sign of swelling. Satisfied that he was healthy, she released him.
"Looks like you're fine. I'll be back tomorrow for another check."
"Thank you," he whispered, and she felt a brief twinge something she rarely experienced when dealing with prisoners: pity. She shook her head slightly and turned to leave. Pity was something she couldn't afford.
"Goodbye, Echo-2659."
She turned to leave and caught a brief glimpse of anguish that flashed across the man's face. As the door shut behind her, leaving her prisoner to his obvious misery, she frowned in puzzlement at the sudden feeling that arose, the strange tingling of belief that this man didn't belong in prison.
TBC…