Super sorry for the outrageously long wait for this chapter. My life has been super busy lately and I didn't have much time to write. And, just my luck, as soon as I did, my computer got a virus. I promise that you won't have to wait this long for the next chapters. Once again, I am so sorry, but I hope you enjoy this long awaited second chapter!
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Tony and Ziva had been in the basement for a long time, and McGee was getting impatient. He didn't want to be alone with the deceased for any longer than necessary; it made him nervous. He had already called Gibbs and informed him of the new body, and he was on his way with Ducky, but he was a good hour and a half out. McGee steadied himself as he began to feel lightheaded. His head throbbed; he had tried earlier to ward off an impending headache, but his efforts had been to no avail.
"What is taking Tony and Ziva so long?" McGee thought to himself. They had been down there nearly fifteen minutes. "What on earth could be so important in the basement?"
His reverie was broken by Ziva calling his name, asking him to come to the basement. Her voice sounded urgent, so he hurried without complaint. When he arrived, he was in shock at the sheer number of bodies that were down there. He was shaking as he descended the rest of the stairs.
"I'll call Gibbs," He said so quietly that it was almost a whisper. He counted the bodies so he could provide an accurate account of their findings to his boss. He shuddered at the thought that someone who had murdered so many people had stood right in the very spots he had throughout the day. The thought made him nauseous. He dialed the number into his phone and carefully brought it to his ear.
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Gibbs sat in the car with Ducky. The older man was driving, and Gibbs was attempting to tolerate the long monologue Ducky had gone into about his times back in Scotland. He was too tired to enjoy the older man's story about the time he was nearly shot by a hunter while collecting bugs as a boy. As he was beginning to drift off, his cell phone rang. He looked at the caller ID before answering the phone. It was McGee. As he picked up the phone, he thought about all the things McGee could possibly be calling about. Maybe they had found an important piece of evidence, or apprehended the murderer who returned to the site to clean up after himself. But when he heard what the man had to say, his hopes of something positive were crushed.
"Fourteen, McGee?" Gibbs clarified with the agent. Now he knew for sure they were dealing with a serial killer. He had had those suspicions when McGee had called the first time to report a new body.
"Yeah, boss, it's pretty bad. They're all up against the basement walls, I can't believe we missed it," was McGee's solemn response. Gibbs silently cursed the people who had crowded the scene earlier. If they had been absent, or at least less rambunctious, the bodies might have been discovered sooner. He frowned slightly as McGee continued his description of the bodies in the basement. Mangled and bloody, just like the one in the kitchen.
"We'll be there as soon as we-" Gibbs was cut off by a large crashing sound on the other line. He heard the clatter of the phone dropping and began to panic.
"McGee? McGee!" Gibbs called into the phone, but it was no use. The other line was dead.
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There he was, lying on the ground, motionless. No one had seen this coming. A masked man with a gun breaking through the basement window? It sounded like a scene in an action movie. It was too cliché; how could it be happening? McGee had dropped the phone as soon as he heard the crash, but when he got to the basement, it was too late. Tony was in Ziva's arms, and she was drenched in his blood.
"Dial 911!" Ziva shrieked, throwing McGee her phone. She was shaking as the unconscious man in her arms bled. She sobbed in agony. He couldn't die on her now! He had survived the plague, been drugged and kidnapped, and nearly blown up, among other things. It hurt her to see him so vulnerable; it was just unnatural. He was usually so resilient. Ziva internally kicked herself for thinking this. People don't stand up and have a conversation with you after being shot in the chest.
She ran a trembling hand through his hair, all the while thinking about everything she wanted to tell him; about the fact that it all might be left unsaid forever. She was in love with him. He was her everything, her reason to get up in the morning, the air that she breathed. It was all for him. What would she do without him? She only pretended to be annoyed when he made an obscure movie reference. She thought it was cute when he corrected her idioms and similes.
It was all very hazy, McGee shouting into the phone and the emergency vehicles arriving. It felt as if her world was in a freeze frame, never moving, like time had stopped. She whispered silent words of love into the ears of the one she loved as he was taken away by the paramedics. Minutes felt like days, and her whole world came crashing down. She was shocked back into reality when the doors to the back of the ambulance were shut.
McGee had gone with Tony to the hospital, and Ziva was staying at the scene to wait for Gibbs and Ducky.
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"DRIVE!" Gibbs shouted to Ducky in an intolerant tone. He had been very disagreeable since the most recent call from McGee. Ducky was already exceeding the speed limit by twenty miles an hour, but, in Gibbs mind, they just couldn't go fast enough. His agents were in danger and he wasn't there to save them. Just like he hadn't been for Shannon and Kelly.
He stiffened at the thought of losing one of his agents, but it was a very real possibility. Over and over again, he criticized himself. He had so many things he needed to say to his agents that he never had. He owed it to them to be completely sincere and honest.
Internally pacing, he thought about what he should have said to Ziva by now. With her incorrect phrases and attitude, she lit up his life. She was the reason he was still living it. He never thanked her for saving his life when Ari had come to town. He had just assumed that it was understood that he was thankful to her for shooting her brother to save him. But what if it wasn't?
McGee was important too. How many times had he found the murderer and saved them all from attack with his computer skills? McGee was an essential part of the team, but Gibbs had no recollection of ever telling him that.
And then there was Tony. Tony was his son in everything but blood, the first thing that had helped to fill the void inside of him since Shannon and Kelly had died. He was beyond dedicated to his job and was a damn good agent. Many a night Tony had worked on his boat with him in the basement and drowned his sorrows in bourbon. That grin of his always melted the tension in a room and his sense of humor always broke the ice. But it had taken him seven years to tell his senior field agent that he was proud of him. How long would it take for him to express to Tony that he loved him?
How could he be so heartless? This was his family, for crying out loud! Whatever he had been doing to keep his true feelings about his agents bottled up, he knew he was going to stop. He was going to be more generous with the compliments and expressions of affection, and a little less giving in the head-slap department.
While Gibbs worked all this out in his head, Ducky drove in his own cloud of horror. He was struggling to connect that one of the team, if not all of them, were hurt or in trouble. He couldn't remember feeling this immense amount terror since Kate had died. What if they were dead?
Ducky pushed the gas pedal as far down as it would go, but the vehicle only sped up minimally. His thoughts drifted back to the open coffin ceremony that had been held for Kate's funeral. He tried to repress the images that attempted to surface, but it was impossible. One by one, he pictured the team lying in the familiar coffin. Tony, Tim, Ziva… The warped images faded in his head as he pulled into the driveway. A sense of relief flooded through him; Ziva was standing there waiting for them. But it was short lived. It wasn't long before they saw the tears flooding from the Moussad operative's eyes.