Thanks again for the kind reviews.
The quote I started this chapter with, reminded me of Tony and his eternal movie quotes. I had to use it.
Chapter 3: Standoff
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"Trying to negotiate with him there will be like trying to diffuse a bomb with a Gremlin sitting on my shoulder pulling my hair."
-Emily Lehman, movie character in "Standoff"-
~o~
Gibbs strode up to the crowd gathered at the reception desk. "What happened?"
"A man opened fired in trauma..." Tony nervously explained.
Gibbs regarded his senior agent quizzically. "Well?" Something was up. He had a sinking feeling about what was to come. He hoped it wasn't what he thought it was, but looking around the circle of worried faces, he had a pretty good idea.
"...where Tim's being treated..." Ziva continued, sharing a look with Tony.
Ducky turned around in agitation. "Oh dear."
"We have a locked-in hostage situation, Sir." The Metro police officer spoke up, looking from Tony to Gibbs and back again.
"Boss, we..."
"Don't, DiNozzo. Accidents happen, but I'd wished it didn't happen today...when..." Wished it didn't happen - period!
"But it did, Jethro. What difference would it have made if Timothy weren't injured and getting medical treatment in trauma? The man would still have done what he did, regardless."
"Well, Tim wouldn't have been in there with a madman for one!" Tony blurted out angrily.
Ducky regarded Tony. "Anthony, tell me how Timothy was when he was brought in."
"I suppose you mean if he's capable of doing something about it? I dunno, Ducky. He was in quite some pain by the time he was loaded into the ambulance."
"We have no idea about his current state, Dr. Mallard. We arrived right after the ambulance. We haven't seen him, yet. And then... Well..." Jimmy piped up.
"Damn!" Gibbs spat out.
"Have there been any demands?"
The officer shook his head. "No. Not yet. We have no idea what this is all about. The more ambulant patients and the medical personnel made it out in time, but there are still people inside. We have no clear idea of how many. Witness accounts vary. I fear there isn't much we can do at this stage..."
"Oh yes we can." Turning to Tony. "Was McGee's phone on?"
"Remember when you ribbed him out for not being reachable? After that, he's taken it to extremes. That phone's an extension of McGeek! Bet he even goes to bed with it..."
Tony wasn't smiling, this time.
"What's this about?" The Met officer asked.
"Why do you think we've taken over?"
"Ah. I see. Either you already know the hostage taker or you've got a man inside...but how...?"
Gibbs didn't bother to listen to the man and already was on the phone, hoping to talk to his agent trapped inside.
"We've got an injured agent...a friend...still in there. That's how." Tony answered while keeping his gaze expectantly on Gibbs.
"We need to find out more about that man...and soon." Ziva spoke the thoughts that had been on everyone else's minds.
"What?" Jimmy asked but quickly bit his tongue for addressing the fierce team leader in such a direct manner.
For once ignoring the young man's audacity, he simply replied: "he's not answering..."
- -.-. -. . .
"Timothy..."
As if from a distance, someone was calling his name. What? Where?
"Uh?" With awareness slowly returning, he made to raise himself on his elbows, only half conscious of why he was lying down on his back to start with.
"Whoa! You won't want to do that." Dr. Morse voice came soft and calming.
As his abused body started to protest the movement, painmeds notwithstanding, he let himself be gently pushed down again.
"Hey there! What are you doin'! No talkin'!" The angry bellow snapped him back to full consciousness the hard way and it wasn't pleasant.
Dr. Morse, though indignant, tried to add a placatory note to his voice.
"Look at him. He's hurt! And he's my patient. Surely I can check him?"
Seeing as the man didn't react straightaway, he swallowed and continued in a conversational tone as if talking to a child, doing his best to ignore the gun.
"He's concussed and I need to check on him and ask him a few questions to see how he responds."
The man squinted at Tim, as if assessing, then gave a shrug. "Don't see anything wrong with him. He looks a little banged up, is all. "
"Just because you can't see an injury doesn't necessarily mean he doesn't need close observation!"
As the drowsiness was slowly pushed to the background, Tim tried to find a more comfortable position.
He inwardly cursed the stiffness from lying in an awkward position on the hard hospital floor. Suddenly, the words of Dr. Morse penetrated his muzzy brain.
How long had he been out? What had he missed? How badly was he injured?
Knowing the first 45 minutes were the most crucial in a hostage situation, he wondered what had happened while he was out. How about his friends? Were they here at the hospital? They didn't come with him, he knew, but he was sure they would've been right behind him on the way to the hospital and harass the medical personnel...anything to find out how his status. That's what friends do, right? And they were the finest agents NCIS had to offer... Why! Wasn't Tony Agent of the Year? They surely wouldn't waste any time in trying to get him...and the hostages out of here unscathed.
"Timothy?"
He was startled from his distraction. "What?"
"You okay? How's the pain?" Dr. Morse was looking intently in his eyes, holding his wrist.
Tim looked down. Instead of answering the question, he cleared his throat before asking one of his own.
"How long was I out?"
"Uh? Oh, not that long. You only got us a little worried... You were moaning." He smiled thinly and then turned back to the hostage taker. "He shouldn't be lying on the floor."
The captor seemed to mull over this request. Finding there was no way to allow this if he wanted to watch the hostages closely, his reply was a short "no".
Dr. Morse sighed in resignation. All he could do, now, was keep an eye on his patient and hope he wouldn't deteriorate too quickly. One never knew with internal injuries.
Small whimpering noises, and a mother trying desperately to calm her little daughter, all the time casting beseeching glances at the medical personnel and the man who prevented them to take care of her feverish child.
It was there for all to see: the girl had a bad bout of measles. Bad enough to have worried her mother to such an extent that she'd rushed her little girl to the ER.
That's when an idea struck Tim and he looked at the hostage taker.
What he saw confirmed his intuition. Strange enough for the situation, the man was hardly irritated by the whimpering child. He appeared to be undecided. In fact, it looked like he was keeping himself from going to the child; not to silence it with harsh words. His eyes had become softer.
The child. Definitely the child.
The notion had quickened his breath and it hitched.
"Timothy? Tell me: what d'you feel?"
Dr. Morse checked the IV line in Tim's arm.
"Nothing. I mean...I'm okay. It's just..."
When Tim raised his face to look at the man, he noticed to his chagrin that all softness had left the eyes. They were dark and foreboding.
Time to talk, Tim thought, but wasn't there one rule about not speaking unless spoken to?
But he needed to know. Maybe...just maybe he could try to talk the man out of his intentions if he learned more about the man's issues? There must be a reason, and, according to Tim, it had everything to do with a child. And since this was a hospital... Could the loss of a child be the cause of his fragile emotional state?
Tim took a deep breath which sent a spasm through his chest. Damn ribs...
"Help me up a bit, please," he grunted.
Dr. Morse was about to protest but anything he'd wanted to say was smothered by the intense and daring look in the green eyes of his patient. They were painfilled, yet demanding.
He complied with a resigned sigh and helped Tim into a more or less sitting position against the wall. By that time, Tim was sweating profusely, his skin a pasty color.
Dr. Morse once more wanted to talk to the man and again Tim held him back.
Tim frowned and then squinted at the man, blinking his eyes for a clearer vision.
"Hey," he called softly, trying to get the man's attention.
"What?"
"C... you at least tell us what this is all about? In what way we may help?"
"What?" The man asked incredulously.
In two steps, he was hovering over Tim, wild eyed and shaking as he played nervously with the gun, causing Tim to flinch and press his back closer to the wall.
"Help! From you?" His voice had gone up at least an octave at the last note.
He turned around as if to step away and return to the pacing.
But Tim was quick to rally, his agent's training prevailing, and it impressed even himself, if not the others nearby.
"Why don't you tell us your name? I'll give you mine. I'm Tim." He pauzed,contemplated giving his profession. He didn't want to intimidate the individual. On the other hand, he might be accepted as a negotiator. After all, he was the only law-enforcement officer present on the scene. It was his duty to offer help. Rule 38? Yep. My case, my lead...in this room, at least.
"I'm a Federal Agent, so, yes, I might be of some help. That is, if you let us."
The talking, he admitted, was wearing him out. He also discovered this wasn't doing any good to his heart, feeling how it thudded against his ribs as if trying to break out and make a run for it.
However, he'd felt this increasing pressure to do something, to take action. But action – active action – was out of the question and not only to his physical inability at the moment. He knew it never was a good thing to try and solve hostage situations this way. A more delicate approach would certainly prove more effective in the end.
Suddenly, the captor spun on his heels and loomed over him as he spit out: "and what sort of help would you be able to offer anyway, eh? Nobody can help me! I'm beyond any help! Got nothing to lose. You hear me? AB-SO-LU-TE-LY NO-THING TO LOSE!"
The little girl sniffled and seemed to literally shrink when she tried to hide behind Dr. Morse, even as her mother threw protective arms around her, all the time looking at the man with frightened eyes.
The silence that followed his outburst, was that of a tomb.
"Well done, McGee," Tim thought morosely, letting his eyes fall shut as he slumped back. "So much for your negotiating tactics..."
Still, he thought about other ways of achieving a peaceful outcome for this crisis. He would need all the information he could gather.
Dr. Morse's phone rang, making him start.
"Pick it up, and no funny games, you hear me?"
The doctor mutely acquised and listened to the caller. After a short while, he put his cell on the speaker as requested by the other person.
"Hello. I'm Federal Agent Gibbs. I'm here to help you get through this. Can you answer a few questions?"
Tim heaved a sigh of relief at hearing his boss' voice. It felt as if a weight was lifted from his shoulders. His team were there and they would work this out.
"Why?"
"We've got to start somewhere, right? I'm afraid I'm the only link you'll get with the outside world, for now."
The captor let his gaze fall on Tim.
"I...I have... There's... I have a Fed here with me."
"Can you pass him on the phone for me, please?"
Tim raised an eyebrow at this. Gibbs? Saying 'please'?
With pointed gun and a hard "don't try anything" look, the man passed the cell to Tim, who swallowed before croaking out: "hi, Gibbs."
"Tim. Are you okay? How many...people are there with you?" It was clear Gibbs didn't want to antagonize the captor.
"Y...yeah... I'm...okay. We're...se...eight in here, including..." Tim looked at the man standing nearby in anticipation.
"Malcolm will do. Should be enough."
"...Malcolm."
"Any injured?"
"No. None by Malcolm. Just the...what brought some of us here to ER." Tim had ended the sentence with this little nervous giggle.
"I see." Pause. "You sure you're doing okay, Tim?"
"Yeah. I'm sure."
The fact that Tim's answer was more a sigh than anything else spoke volumes to Gibbs. He was in a way pleased to hear the young man, but he still had no idea how bad Tim's injuries were, but he sure wasn't fine. That much he knew.
"We'll get you all out, Tim. In one piece. Just...hang on, will you? We trust you. You understand?"
Malcolm snatched the cell from Tim's hands.
"That's enough chit-chat for now." And then he switched the device off, laying it on the table behind him.
The more Tim thought about this crisis, the more he realized he was to be the primary negotiator in here.
With a wince, Tim shifted to find a better position without jarring his ribs and all those other places that had started to hurt.
He let his eyes go up to the bag. Dr. Morse, keeping a professional eye on him, had followed his gaze and was about to attract Malcolm's attention to ask for a new baxter. Tim, with a quick flick of his eyes and a diminutive shake of his head, kept the physician from doing his intentions. He had to keep a clear head if he wanted to resolve this situation without any bloodshed.
"Malcolm?"
The man, having been sitting as if in a brown study, looked up. "What?"
"What is all this about? Has any injustice been done to you? What do you want?"
"Injustice? Yeah. That's what I'd call it. But it feels worse than just injustice."
Tim nodded understandingly.
"There's a lot of injustice in the world, Malcolm. Surely there's a way to deal with it?"
Tim was keeping his tone quiet, even a little sympathetic. He needed to keep the man talking. He had to gain his confidence.
His assessment so far was he was dealing with an emotional man. Obviously, Malcolm had been hit bad by some tragedy. To Tim, he came across as a reluctant hostage taker, which made him more determined than ever to bring this ordeal to a satisfactory conclusion.
The man seemed to ponder about the question and he looked at the huddled bunch of people. Terrorized faces stared back at him.
Inwardly, he was terrified himself. Slowly falling apart.
These people... Innocent people...
When he'd been planning this, it had seemed so just. Now, he saw his resolve almost crumble. And yet, he couldn't give up. He had to go on with what he was doing. What did he have to loose, anyway? He'd lost too much. His life...had so drastically and irreparably changed.
"I have no choice."
Malcolm hadn't even noticed he'd been saying this aloud.
"Then tell me what happened. Please. Can you do this?"
Malcolm looked at the girl close to Tim and saw how she cringed in fear and tried to stick to Tim, as if wanting him to save her from this angry man.
Dr. Morse tried to check the child as she clung to Tim.
Malcolm was struggling with his inner turmoil. How had it come this far that he would frighten a child?
"Okay. I'll tell you."
- -.-. -. . .
Gibbs was still staring at the phone.
"I hope your boy in there isn't thinking of playing the hero. We don't want a nervous and panicky hostage taker on our hands. It would complicate the situation when he becomes desperate and irrate." The Met officer said.
"Don't you think we know that?" Tony spat out.
"My 'boy' won't play the hero. He's the most level-headed agent I know." Gibbs pointed out.
"Yeah," Tony continued. "This is the man who's so over cautious he'd think twice about things like... tying his own shoelaces!"
*twack*
"Shutting up, boss..."
"You'd better if you don't have anything better to share."
"So, all we can do now is wait until we hear back from him or McGee, yes?"
"It will never do to precipitate the negotiations, my dear. So, yes, Ziva, that's what we'll have to do. But I do hope Timothy will be strong enough to bring about the release of the hostages."
"Well," Jimmy looked around the circle of faces, "he's the only one close enough to the captor to act as go-between."
The Gibbs turned to the Met officer. In truth, he was addressing his own two agents. "Go check the closed circuit security cameras. I want to know who went in to ER. By eliminating those who made it out in time, we should be able to find out who's still in there. Run facial recognition and background checks on all of them."
"And how about McGee?" Tony asked, now so very serious. "After all, he's our primary negotiator."
"Tony, you know McGee wasn't in such a good state. Who can tell how long he'll last?"
"You can't talk like that, Ziva."
"I'm only stating the obvious, Tony."
"Are you two done? I think I gave you both some work to do. Off with you."
The two scurried off.
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