Disclaimer : I own nothing, but the typos.
Warnings : Rated T for language.
Author's Note : I uploaded two chapters today. This is chapter 3.
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Getting through customs takes forever. When Tony escapes—okay, so he might've lied to expedite things. But who was the agent to say that he wasn't set to do research in the rainforest?—the welcome reception isn't quite what he expected.
Nick Torres greets him, two coffee cups in hand. For someone Tony has only seen on a computer screen, the man looks completely different in real life. He is shorter with thicker muscles and a fuller face. A two-day old shadow overgrows his normal well-maintained, yeah, I'm so cool scruff. There is something about looking at his replacement, in the flesh, that freaks Tony the hell out.
Nodding, Nick waggles the coffee in front of Tony.
Before he even says hello, Tony takes it and starts chugging. It tastes like the shit they used to have at NCIS, but he'll drink anything as long as it has caffeine in it.
Nick watches him with rapt interest.
"You're the infamous Tony DiNozzo, huh?" he says, almost like he's disappointed.
Tony crooks an eyebrow. He is used to people underestimating him, but damn, he only met Nick thirty seconds ago.
"That wasn't what I meant." Nick flinches. "It came out wrong." Clearing his throat, he looks away. "It's been a rough couple of days. And now, with the SEALs. I'm just glad to see a sorta familiar face."
"Yeah, it wasn't too long ago that we Skyped."
"McGee's wedding last week." Nick nods. "Nice best man speech, by the way. I never knew you could add Mc in front of so many words."
Tony laughs at the memory, fast and fleeting. The boozy smiles of his friends, halfway around the world, as he razzed Tim with everything from his Probie baby steps to how he met Delilah to the respect Tony has for him. Tony wasn't supposed to see them again until McGee's official wedding at the end of June.
Nick is still talking. "I tried calling him McGoober the next day. Man, I thought McGee was gonna punch my lights out."
That doesn't sound like McGee.
"What did he do to you?" Tony asks.
"He made me search every dumpster on our next case. Even after we found our weapon," Nick says, nose wrinkling. "Just in case we missed something."
Tony bites back a laugh. "Good thing to know Probie learned a few tricks."
Nick makes a face. It's enough to get Tony back on track.
"What the hell happened out here?" Tony asks.
"It'll be better if I catch you up on the drive."
After a quick nod, Tony follows Nick out of the airport and towards a rickety, rusted out Land Rover. For a hemisphere that is well on its way to winter, the air is still scorching and sticky. Pollution hangs around them, catching the greenhouse gases and making it feel even hotter. The sun beats down on them. Instantly, Tony starts sweating through his button down, flannel shirt.
He blinks owlishly.
Nick chuckles. "It's Tuesday morning. Around 10AM."
"Christ, I feel like I already lived through this."
"Groundhog Day?" Nick offers.
Tony's brow pinches. "That's the same day in some little town place over and over. We're in Paraguay. Try a bad episode of the Twilight Zone."
Overtop of the car, Nick gives it some thought. "If you say so."
Then with a shrug, he slips into the SUV. Tony hops into the passenger seat, straps his safety belt.
Nick just laughs. "Where we're headed, that's not going to help."
"And where are we going?" Tony asks.
"Las Rexachitas. Rebel territory."
Before Tony has a chance to respond, Nick puts the car in gear and it lurches forward. Once they leave the modern four lane highways, the paved roads give way to pot-hole laden dirt roads while eventually blend into treacherous mountain passes that pitch into the jungle below. The only thing the safety belt does is keep Tony firmly planted in his seat as the SUV bounces around like a leaf in a hurricane. He holds onto the door with white knuckles, willing himself not to look at the drop off.
Thankfully, Nick gives Tony the long version on the way. It's almost like interviewing a witness. He explains what the hell the team was doing out in this G-dforsaken place. He tells Tony about their one-handed Petty Officer, Matthew Dean, and his vigilante mission to rob the rebels. The missing boys. The rescue mission that went to hell. And Tim. Tim leaping off that helo.
"Why would he do that?" After considering for a moment, Nick shakes his head. "And you? Why would you leave your little girl to come here?"
"It's the way Gibbs trained me. Never leave a man behind." Tony shrugs. "The team's like my family."
Nick takes his eyes off the road to give Tony a look. Tony grabs onto the door handle with both hands just in case they pitch off the side of the road. Not that it would help. At all.
"I think it's…" Nick pauses as though think of the right word.
Stupid. Crazy. Suicidal.
"…honorable," Nick finishes.
Tony half-smiles. "That's not the word I would use."
After a quiet laugh and over a few more bumpy miles, Nick regals Tony with stories about SEAL Team Three sent for the rescue mission. Eight men, Nick says, will be doing reconnaissance in the brush and trying to piece together where the rebels could have taken Gibbs and Tim. Outside the car window, the jungle reaches all the way to the mountain peaks and beyond.
They could be anywhere.
Tony's heart sinks.
Suddenly, the ride grows less ragged and bone-jarring. The steep drop offs turn into a mountain pass and the trees spread before them like Moses parting the Red Sea. And they find salvation in the little town, Las Rexachitas.
Nick deftly maneuvers the SUV up to a small well.
"Alright. We're here," he announces.
As though here is any place other than at the edge of the world. Calling Las Rexachitas a town is like calling a recruit a Navy SEAL. It is a collection of run-down buildings and thatched roof lean-tos that could be considered houses. There is a canteen with a weathered sign that proclaims Cervezas. A shanty town in the middle of the jungle. The only place that appears to be well-maintained is a sun-baked, white-faced church built in a mission style with a stark crucifix that cracks against the cloudless sky.
There are a few people lingering by the well, chatting. At the sight of Tony and Nick, they share hasty goodbyes before slipping away without looking over. In a few moments, a pair of long-horned cows are the only signs of life.
When Nick slides out of the car, Tony follows. As soon as his feet touch the ground, he struggles to catch his step.
Nick laughs. "You won't be able to feel your ass for while."
"That ride is rough," Tony says.
"Tell me about it." Grinning, Nick rubs his own ass. "Does this remind you of a movie or what? Because I've got one in mind."
Tony smiles. "The Rundown with the Rock and Christopher Walkin?"
"That's it. How did you know?"
"You seem like someone who would be a fan of The Rock."
Nick nods. "I take that as a compliment."
Tony changes the subject. "So where do we go now?"
With the wave of his hand, Nick leads Tony towards a shack on the other side of the well. They slip through a piece of sheet metal that serves as a door.
"Welcome to HQ, my friend," Nick announces.
Inside, it looks like a modern Naval station. Pop-up beds line the walls along with folding tables and laptop computers. There are four SEALs already here, two working at the computers and two sleeping on the cots.
On the far wall hangs a geographical map marked with yellow, red, and blue thumbtacks. Next to it are Tim and Gibbs' old personnel photos. They are exactly how Tony remembers them. Tim with those sallow and sunken cheeks from the—no sugar, no alcohol, no fun—diet du jour and Gibbs with his haunted, stand-offish stare. Based on their last Skype conversation, neither of them look remotely like that anymore.
Tony's heart kicks up.
Maybe it's the crushing realization that Tim and Gibbs are other there, lost in that jungle. Or perhaps it's the excitement of getting back into the action Tony thought he left behind for good.
I can't believe this is happening.
He takes a steadying breath.
This happened.
One of the SEALs rises from his computer. He is far taller than he looks, besting Tony by a few inches. His face, like is body, is thick and square, with a touch of wrinkles hinting at the experience of missions past. His hulking muscles strain to escape his green fatigues. Blonde peach fuzz covers his nearly bald head. Military runs like blood in his veins.
When he heads over, Tony holds his hand out. Ignoring it, the SEAL gives Tony a once over. He half-shrugs to himself, as though he doesn't expect Tony to do anything anyway.
"So you're the personnel expert they flew in from Paris," the SEAL says.
Tony shakes his head. "Not quite an expert. More like a former NCIS agent."
The SEAL shrugs. "It doesn't matter what you are, if you can help. I heard your man Gibbs is a loose cannon. I need someone to help ensure that he doesn't fuck up my mission."
Tony disguises a laugh as a cough.
Even when he worked side-by-side with his former boss, he still couldn't rein Gibbs in no matter how hard he tried. On his best days, Gibbs was a powder keg, itching to blow a suspect to bits. On his worst, he was suicidal SOB who wanted to go out with a blaze of glory.
"As always, his reputation precedes him," Tony says.
"Director Vance had some choice words." The SEAL genuinely laughs. "Either way, I'm glad to have you on board, DiNozzo. I am MPO Grange." He points to the two sleeping SEALs. "That's Miller and Ashwood." Then he gestures to the other SEAL behind a computer, who waves a bandaged stump of his right hand. "That's Dean."
Before Tony has a chance to ask, Nick leans over. "He was our case"
"Ah," Tony says, nodding.
"Let's get you caught up." As Grange leads them to the map, he recounts details that Tony already gleaned from the file and Nick. Then he points to a red pushpin on the map. "We have reason to believe the rebels are holding Gibbs and McGee here."
"How far is that?" Tony asks.
"Two clicks. Southwest."
Tony presses his lips together.
Crossing his arms, Grange narrows his eyes. "You don't seem convinced."
"If they were there, McGee would be back by now."
Grange shoots Tony an Alright, I'm listening look.
"McGee might look like a desk jockey, but he is a lot tougher than that. He could make that hike alone. It might take a while, but he'd do it. And we know Gibbs is going to do everything to save him." Pausing for a moment, Tony looks away. "Gibbs has a hero complex. He wants to go out guns blazing. If he knew McGee could make it back on his own, he would do what he needed to."
Grange's brow furrows as he stares back at the map.
"It makes sense," Nick says. "The rebels could be setting up another trap. After all, it did seem like they knew we were coming the first time."
Grange looks over. "You did say earlier you thought there was a leak in the village. We haven't had an opportunity to interview anyone yet."
"With all due respect, sir," Nick says, "these people won't talk to outsiders."
"And you're one of them?" Grange asks.
Nick wavers for a moment. "No, not really. But they already trust me."
Tony and Grange just stare at him.
Nick holds his hands up. "What can I say? I just have the touch."
Not quite sure what to do, Grange rolls his eyes. "Fine, the last platoon is due tomorrow at 1400 anyway. It'll keep you two busy while we consider DiNozzo's theory."
Tony squares his shoulders. "It's possible that when we find the leak, they'll know where McGee and Gibbs are being held. It'll probably take a few days to really dig in and – "
Grange interrupts: "You have 24 hours."