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Chapter 3

Ziva followed Gibbs into the bull pen. "If he knows," she stated, "then why didn't he tell anyone?"

Gibbs often felt exasperated when talking to the Mossad officer about children, and ignored her question. Instead he asked, "Where's Tony now?"

McGee stared at his computer screen and answered, "He left for the airport."

Gibbs looked up to see Palmer hurrying in, "Agent Gibbs, I tried to stall him, but he left the key with a neighbor instead of waiting for me to pick it up. I'm sorry I couldn't keep him—"

"Ziva, I want you to intercept him. Bring him back."

"How am I supposed to do that?"

Ducky walked up behind her and pressed a small vial into her hands, "I think this may help. Not too much, otherwise you'll be carrying him. Just enough to make it look like he's had a few too many."

"Thanks, Ducky." She grabbed her purse and looked at McGee.

"I'll book a flight that intercepts his once I'm sure he's boarded it. Just go to the airport and wait. It'll either be to LA or Chicago, depending on which one he decides."

"Thanks. I will be waiting." And she left the bullpen.

Ducky loitered around Gibbs' desk, eventually asking, "Did Agent Finley shed any light on the matter?"

"Yeah. Tony knows who kidnapped him."

"Oh. That makes it all the more challenging."

"It doesn't make sense to me, Duck. I understand at ten why he would shut down. But now? Why run now? Why not go after the bastards?"

McGee looked up at the anger in his boss' voice.

Ducky shrugged, "Getting inside a person's head is difficult. There's no telling what the kidnapper's said to him, or how they impressed their threats upon him."

"Still, Tony's a cop, trained to bring in these guys. Sworn to bring in these guys."

"Yes, but let's not forget something. We see Tony as an adult, as a highly skilled agent, second to none in solving crimes, yet carefree in life as well as in love. His easy going façade may just be that, a mask he wears to protect himself. We forget that he was once a boy, innocent and chaste. If a child is threatened with the one thing that means more to him than anything else, it's possible to get that child to do just about anything, even forgetting names and faces."

It dawned on Gibbs what the threat was, "His father."

Having overheard the conversation, McGee argued, "But I didn't think Tony had a good relationship with his father growing up."

"My dear boy," Ducky said, turning around, "having a good relationship is not essential to wanting to protect someone. Having lost his mother, it's possible that Tony gave everything he had to his father, even if his father didn't reciprocate. Sometimes a child is capable of doing just about anything to avoid experiencing the death of another parent. The only way Tony knew to keep his father safe, was to stop talking."

"But now, the only way is to run," McGee surmised.

Gibbs contemplated the comment. What if he weren't running? The answer to that didn't bode well for the young agent.

**************************************8

It was just by luck that Ziva spied Tony sitting in the corner of a dimly lit airport lounge. He sat staring out the window at the 747 jumbo planes being filled with luggage and fuel. In front of him sat a half empty drink. Ziva called the waitress over and displayed her badge. "What's that man in the corner drinking?"

"Gin and Tonic."

"Bring me one, please."

The waitress returned with the drink. As soon as she turned her back, Ziva tipped the vial and dropped a splash into the drink, then quickly shoved the vial back into her jacket. "Excuse me, again," Ziva smiled. "Would you give this to him and say it's on the house?" Ziva laid a twenty dollar bill next to it.

The waitress' eyes lingered on the twenty. She tucked it into her pocket and said, "Sure." As she walked away, Ziva disappeared into the concourse, subtly observing her partner between the throngs of people making their way to their gates.

Tony was a slow drinker today, but eventually he looked at his watch, and Ziva could tell he was having trouble focusing. He shook the dizziness from his head, laid down some cash and picked up his bag, but the dizziness didn't abate, and the walk between the tables was proving difficult. By the time he made it to the corridor, he was leaning heavily against the wall, pinching the bridge of his nose and trying desperately to shake the feeling that he'd just been drugged.

Ziva slid under his arm and said, "I've got you, Tony. Let's go."

Too weak to argue and barely having the legs to walk, he leaned on her and mumbled, "Did zuu do dis?"

"Yes."

"You should'nt have," he slurred.

"You can have that discussion with Gibbs. Now, I would appreciate it if you would help me because I can't very well carry you out of here." She struggled with him, almost tumbling to the floor on top of him at one point. He argued with her; he pleaded with her; he even threatened her. But she remained steadfast in her goal and managed to push, shove, bundle, jostle and basically manhandle her partner down the concourse and into her car.

***************************************8

When Tony finally came to, it was dark, and he discovered that he was wrapped in a blanket and lying on someone's sofa. Like a sharp pain to the head, he thought the worst. Throwing the blanket off, he sat up, bracing for the unexpected.

"Relax, Tony," Gibbs said and clicked on the soft incandescent light, but for some reason, he was not prepared for the look on his agent's face.

Tony took a deep shaky breath and rubbed his hands over his face. "What'd you do to me?"

"Just gave you something to sleep."

"How'd I get here?"

"Ziva brought you."

He slapped his hands on his knees and slowly blinked away the fuzziness. "Ziva," his tone hinted at anger. "This isn't LA."

"Nope."

Standing unsteadily, he searched the room, "Once I find my shoes, I'm leaving."

"No, you aren't."

Tony tilted his head, annoyed. "I no longer work for you, Jethro, so I don't need your permission to leave. I'll leave with or without my shoes."

Gibbs leaned back and let Tony stumble to the front door. He listened as is opened, and then figured he'd probably get about two steps before two NCIS agents turned him back. A sad smile creased his lips as he listened to a few expletives and waited for his agent to return.

"What the hell is this?" Tony said.

"We need to talk. Sit down."

"There's nothing to talk about."

"I don't agree."

"Vance accused me of being a dirty cop… I'm not working under those conditions."

"It's not about Vance."

Tony continued to hunt for his belongings. So far, he'd only found his wallet, but his shoes, phone and keys were still missing. Even his duffle bag wasn't anywhere to be found. "And I've missed my flight. You owe me airfare."

Gibbs snickered slightly at his agent's priorities, but basically didn't give a damn about the flight or the airfare. He only cared about understanding his agent's behavior. But first, he'd have to let him burn some of the agitation off before he pressed him for answers. There's one thing that Gibbs knew to be true and that was Tony didn't like being too far into the negative zone. He might slip into it once in a while, but he'd bring himself back fairly quickly. In the meantime, Gibbs just had to make sure he didn't do any permanent damage while he was there.

The fire cracked and popped and the air filled with the aroma of grilled meat. Gibbs walked to the fireplace, picked up a spatula, and pulled off a two inch thick Porterhouse steak.

"Sit down. Eat something."

"I'm not hungry."

Gibbs stopped carving and stared up at his agent.

Tony looked down at the perfectly broiled steak, oozing rich red juices, and titillating his nostrils with the charbroiled aroma worthy of a top cut of meat, and rethought his position. "Okay, maybe a small piece."

Gibbs allowed a slow smile to form as he sliced the steak in two and slapped half on a plate. Then he went to the kitchen and brought back two beers, sitting one on the table. They ate in a comfortable silence. Tony ate slowly, broodingly; Gibbs ate faster, patiently. Sleep, food, warmth and beer were ingredients to a calming atmosphere, but not necessarily conducive for dialogue, which in most circumstances suited Gibbs just fine. There were many things he liked about his senior agent, but he found he particularly enjoyed their verbal exchanges, however one-sided they may be. Tony could keep up with him in a way others couldn't, even challenge him when necessary. It's not that he said more, or was more profound, it was that they were in sync with their thoughts and didn't need a lot of words to get their message across.

Gibbs replaced his empty beer bottle with a full one and brought one for Tony. He wondered what his agent was going to do next. He'd only half eaten his steak, seemed content to take on another bottle of beer, and didn't look too interested in resuming his search for his shoes. Convinced he wasn't in any hurry to leave, Gibbs returned from taking the plates to the kitchen and sat down in a chair, staring at the slow burning fire, and waiting.

Tony too stared at the fire. It felt good to feel the warmth against his skin. He felt safe again, but he still wasn't quite there, wherever there was? His head space was all mixed up and his thoughts were in hyper drive. How much was the affects of the drug and how much was the result of the last 24 hours was anybody's guess, but he didn't want to think too hard about his life right now. He wanted to let the warm air flow over his body and remember the finer moments of his life. The first seven years.

Gibbs watched in fascination. His agent was never easy to read. Hell, he wasn't ever easy to handle either, but that was because he had a streak in him that defied logic. There were times when the young agent would push people to the boundary of their limits, and then pull back just before the moment of no return. He decided his agent had had enough time to mull things over, and stood. Approaching the fire, he stoked it a few times, making the flames burn brighter and the hot coals dance and glow under the wood.

Tony watched him intently.

He replaced the tongs and returned to his chair. On the way, he quietly said, "I know what happened."

Tony didn't look surprised. He leaned his head back and closed his eyes.

If Gibbs didn't know better, he'd swear he looked relieved.

"Care to talk about it?"

"You already know what happened."

"I know what's in the case file."

But Tony didn't respond to that opening. After a few minutes of silence, Gibbs pressed, "You know who did it, Tony. You've always known who your kidnappers were."

Tony lulled his head and stared at the fire. He was embarrassed, anxious and, although his appetite had been sated, his head now pounded from the after affects of the drug. "You got anything for a headache?"

Gibbs left and returned with a bottle.

Tony took a handful and washed them down with beer. Leaning back, he stared at the fire again. Finally he answered, "My father made many enemies building his businesses, but none as perverted or distorted as the Spence family from Jamaica."

Gibbs leaned forward now, making it easier to hear the whisperings of his agent.

"We had met them while taking a vacation there—well, not exactly a vacation, it was more like a business trip. My father had told me we were going on a vacation, but we weren't. It was one of his deals…one of his many deals that promised millions." He stared at the flames a minute, reflecting on the moment.

"He had hired this family to watch me, and told me to mind them, but the Spence family scared me from the first time I laid eyes on them, and I didn't want to be with them. While my father shook hands, solidified deals, and signed contracts, Derrick and Deshane treated me like a…" he broke off his thought.

Gibbs gave him a minute, studying his eyes as they darted back and forth at the fire, seeing something that wasn't there.

Resuming his story a minute later, he continued, "Indecent Liberties is the crime the authorities would have charged them with had their actions ever been brought to anyone's attention, but they threatened to do worse things to me if I said anything. They showed me pictures of what they'd done to a couple of boys who tried to rat them out once, and told me that's what they would do to me if I said anything. And if that wasn't enough to deter me, they told me what they'd do to my father." Tony finally looked at his boss and said, "And they were very explicit. Seemed they hated him just for having money, and taking it out on me made my father's wealth just a little easier to swallow."

"I handled it the only way I knew how: I buried it. Like a dead animal, I tucked what they had done to me so far inside my head that there were times when I wondered if it had all been some sort of nightmare. And besides, that's just what my family did. If something bothered us, we ignored it; if something angered us, we ignored it; if something scared us, we ignored it." Tony took a long swallow from his beer and let it warm the back of his throat. "My father's dealings in Jamaica eventually came to an end, and we went back home where I tried to forget what they'd done, but that's the sort of thing that's almost impossible to forget.

"A year went by and I actually thought I was doing okay, at least until one day in late November. My father sent his driver to school every day to pick me up, but I hated being picked up in a limousine so I would meet him a block away. I would pretend to walk home, and Richard, my dad's chauffeur, would park a couple blocks away and I would double back and meet him. Only this time, it wasn't Richard who met me. By the time I saw Derrick, it was too late as I was already inside the limo. My first thought was that they'd done something to my father, but they laughed and told me that my father had hired them again to take care of me. I didn't know whether or not to believe them. They took me to an estate, not too far from where I lived, but it looked vacant or something, being sold I think. They locked me in the cellar and told me that my father had to take an unexpected trip and had flown them up since I had such a good time with them before.

Tony scratched his head, trying to push thoughts away. Then he fidgeted with the sleeve of his shirt, struggling with words, memories, feelings. "Deshane had different plans for me, and that's when the abuse really began. At first it was mental, they played with my mind by reminding me what they'd done to me the year before. Then it became sexual—" he swallowed, eyes flicked around the room trying to escape the ingrained images. "Then it became physical. I didn't know why they were doing these things to me. I soon realized that my father wasn't on a business trip. The fact was I had been kidnapped and was being held for ransom. But what I didn't understand was why my father wasn't paying the ransom? They—" He broke off, wincing at the memory. Taking a breath, he continued, "They hurt me. A lot. They did— they did unspeakable things..." Tony's words got swallowed in the back of his throat preventing him from finishing his thoughts."

"Take your time," Gibbs gently said.

Taking a shaky breath, he continued, "Tied up in a cold room and waiting for the next time they came for me, I learned something about myself. I learned that it's possible for something inside you to snap. When you finally realize that nobody's coming to help you, you also realize that there are no rules to follow… it was actually quite liberating. And that's what I did; I snapped."

"It wasn't that difficult getting away once I decided to do it. It really came down to timing. I waited patiently for my first opportunity, and then I snuck out. The bastards would get drunk and…well, it's easy to find an escape route if you're duly motivated. When I walked into my dad's study, I didn't expect to see it filled with equipment and people." Tony smiled at the memory and said, "I even think my father was actually glad to see me. One of the few times he hugged me."

Gibbs listened, remaining impassive to the news, or at least trying to. The flames of the fire had been reduced to hot ashes and the room had cooled. He couldn't hold back asking the one question that begged to be answered. "So why didn't you tell the police who did it?"

Gibbs wasn't sure Tony had heard the question because he remained frozen, staring at the hot coals. Eventually, he answered, "At first, I believed them. I was ten years old and didn't want to lose my father; after all, he was all I had left after my mother died. From the time I was kidnapped until the time I escaped, they filled my head with images of what they'd do to him if I mentioned their names. They knew things about me that surprised me, and that gave them the advantage. They threatened everyone and everything that I ever valued. It was enough to keep me quiet; at least until I got older." He paused again, thinking. "When I got older, the ordeal found a way of creeping into my dreams. Occasionally, my father would ask me about it, but I suspected he never really wanted to know what all I went through. He sort of asked out obligation, knowing I had nothing to say on the subject. But as the images crept from my subconscious world into my conscious world, I began to want revenge. I never even though about wanting justice… hell, I didn't even know what justice was back then. I just wanted revenge." Tony stopped talking, and rubbed his fingers over his eyes to relieve their fatigue, but Gibbs suspected it was more to rid his mind of the thoughts he shouldn't have been having.

"So what happened?"

"I did a better job a burying the pain than I thought possible… until I talked to my dad yesterday and he told me about the warnings. Believe it or not, Gibbs, I've kept up with the Spence family. They happen to be part of one of the largest Jamaican drug cartels in the Caribbean. They must have seen easy money passing through my dad's Jamaican account, and they were going to get a piece of it."

"Why did you run?"

Surprised, he looked at his boss. "I didn't run. I had to put distance between myself and anyone I ever cared about: you, Ziva, McGee, Abby…even my father. Once I'd done that, then I was going after them. One by one I was going to make Derrick, Deshane, and Rashel pay for what they did."

"And ruin your own life?"

Tony's anger flashed, but then he reeled it back in. "Maybe. But my way protects me from having to testify in an open court. My way protests me from having to relive all that they ever did to me. And my way protects me from having to look over my shoulder anymore, and worry about people I care about. I haven't been a cop for almost fifteen years and not learn a thing or two about crime."

Gibbs leaned back, remembering his own wayward days of vengeance. Like Tony, he used his highly honed skills to his advantage, but the results weren't pretty, and the action has haunted him for life. There were some redeeming qualities though. The actual planning of the murder helped him through the grieving period. Knowing that the man responsible for killing his girls would never see his own children grow up had its value. But in the end, the actual feelings were never as good as what he thought he would feel. "You're going to need help," he stated, non chalantly.

Tony wasn't sure he heard correctly. "No way, Gibbs, no way are you getting involved. This is my problem, not yours."

"You just quit my team. You made it my problem."

"No, I don't want you involved."

"I'm already involved. You think you're going to be able to take on an entire Jamaican drug cartel alone?"

"I don't plan on taking on an entire drug cartel. I plan on taking on three people: Derrick, Deshane, and Rashel Spence."

"Oh, I get it. And when the cartel comes after you, what then?"

Tony was confused by the affront. "They won't come after me."

"Oh? Then they'll go after your father."

"They won't do that either."

"How can you be sure? How can you know that your plan won't backfire in some way?"

"Mainly because I don't have a plan, yet! But rest assured that whatever plan I come up with will be foolproof. Not even Abby will be able to trace evidence back to me."

"I can help with that."

"You are not getting involved!"

"Too late for that."

Exasperated, Tony resumed his search for his belongings.

"You can run, Tony, but you can't hide. I'll track you every step of the way, and I'll follow your movements. I'll know everything you're going to do even before you know. I'll make it so hard on you that taking a breath is going to feel like work. Unless, of course, you let me help."

"No way!"

"Suit yourself, but I have to warn you, I'll be on you like Goth on Abby."

Tony glared, wondering why Gibbs was doing this. He couldn't drag anyone else down the path he was taking. "Where the hell are my shoes!"

Gibbs shrugged, "Get used to it, Tony. Either you and I go after them together, or it becomes a race to see who gets to them first, you or NCIS." Gibbs stood slowly, warily following his young agent with his eyes, fully aware that he'd just thrown down the gauntlet. Two alpha dogs in a small room fighting over a bone could get messy. As he stared, he wondered if Tony was going to rise to the occasion. Then he wondered if he could take Tony if he did. The fact is he knew he couldn't; he just hoped Tony didn't bust him up too badly.

Taking two steps forward, Tony toned, "You wouldn't."

"I would."

There was a flash of uncertainty on Tony's part. Gibbs stood his ground, knowing a cornered man was as dangerous as a desperate one. He thought about giving him some space, but then something happened to Tony that he didn't see coming. Like air being let out of a balloon, he deflated. He lowered himself to the sofa and swallowed his emotions.

"I can't fight you, Jethro. I won't," he whispered.

The relief that Leroy Jethro Gibbs felt was visibly noticeable had anyone been looking. "I'm glad you can't. I wasn't looking forward to it."

Emotionally exhausted and physically spent, Tony closed his eyes. The events of the past two hours seemed to have drained him of whatever reserve he had been using, and the taunt muscles and tense jaw line melted away as he sunk into the sofa.

"Relax," Gibbs soothed, knowing a reassuring tone was as good as a shot of whiskey. "Rest up, and then you and I will talk more in the morning." He thinks Tony was asleep before he'd finished his sentence.

TBC