Disclaimer : I own nothing, but the typos.

Warnings : Rated T for violence and language.

Author's Note : Thanks to all the favs, follows, and reads. And a huge thank you to everyone who's read so far. I continue to be amazed and honored by the response to this story.

There's more torture in this one...so if it isn't your thing, please don't read.

Enjoy the next chapter.

-oooooooo-ooooooooo-ooooooooo-

6:59pm – Unknown Place – Concurrent with Jethro Gibbs' Rendezvous behind Jimmy Foo's Excellent Chinese Food –

With his head resting against his chest, Tony pulls a shuddering breath. Unconsciousness reaches after him again, trying to lure him away into her soft and healing embrace. Whisk him away from the agony and anguish that is his body, extinguish the fire in his wounds from Mishnev's blade.

But if he goes now, Tim or Ellie will be next.

Neither of them deserve to be subjected to this, to be asked the same question Mishnev repeats like a mantra. Tony has heard it so many times, he knows where the inflections of Mishnev's accent fall and the way he drags 'NCIS' out into that nasty hiss.

He screws his eyes shut tighter.

He won't make the mistake of looking at himself again. The constant drip of blood from his chest, his head, his arms, - everywhere, just everywhere - is enough to tell him that he's a wreck. Nothing magically healed itself in the short break Mishnev granted him.

"You grow tired, Agent DiNozzo?" Mishnev asks, a smile in his voice.

"I...I...I…" Tony struggles to raise his head "…am fine."

Nodding unconvinced, Mishnev slides his scalpel along his hostage's shoulder. The ice thawed on the tiny blade, set ablaze by Tony's body heat. Now, it burns.

"Perhaps you are ready to answer me then?" The edge nips through his skin, just deep enough to hurt. "How do I get into the NCIS building?

"Well, I drive through the front gate, flash my badge, and oh yeah." He makes a face, clicks his tongue. "You don't have one. That could be a problem."

Leaning into Tony's face, Mishnev bares his teeth. "You think this is humorous? Like a movie?"

The agent glances around the warehouse to take in his grisly surroundings. "You know, it does, but it isn't a very funny one." He squints at Mishnev, his eyebrows jumping. "Did anyone ever tell you that you look like Laurence Olivier?"

Mishnev blinks, clearly confused. "Who is that?"

"Come on, Sergei, I don't believe you never saw Marathon Man." Tony's eyes wander around the warehouse. "So this little slice of paradise is all a coincidence? Wow, that's surprising. With that question you keep repeating and all those toys." He waves his fingers at the instrument tray. "I would've thought you were channeling Szell?"

Mishnev stands up. "Szell? I do not understand."

"Marathon Man, come on." Tony huffs like no one ever understands him. "Post-World War Two classic from 1976. Old Nazis abduct Dustin Hoffman and torture him in a warehouse. Laurence Olivier – " he jerks his chin at Mishnev " – is an old dentist and he does a root canal on Dustin Hoffman while asking a question over and over again that he doesn't know the answer to."

With his hands on his hips, Mishnev tilts his head. The gears in his brain clearly work overtime while Tony fights to keep the smile from his face. From their position several feet away, the henchman turn to find out what made their boss so quiet.

"So you have no idea how to get into the building?"

Tony shakes his head. "Not without a badge, no."

"That I do not believe."

When he shrugs, Mishnev drives his blade into Tony's shoulder again. The agent squeezes his lips shut, pulls a gasping breath through his nose. One twist and his vision blurs, nearly going black. He glances up to hold Mishnev's eyes. Anything to stay awake and in the moment.

"You will tell me now."

Tony crows in a shaky, German accent, "Is it safe?"

The backhand whips his head sideways, almost tipping the chair. But he manages to keep it upright. With his head hanging, his breaths coming in shuddered gasps.

Working his jaw, he looks up at his captor. "Did anyone ever tell you that you hit like a girl?"

The grin slithering over Mishnev's face drops Tony's heart into his stomach. "Yes, but he is dead."

"That's too bad. Maybe we would've gone out to dinner to compare notes." He blinks, desperate to chase those huge black spots out of his vision. "Do you do that, Sergei?"

Mishnev's brow furrows. "Do what?"

"Use all the same moves on your…" Tony searches for the right word, "…guests."

Instead of a backhand, Tony earns a right hook to the face this time. He rolls his tongue around his mouth, cringing at the loose molar. But to keep up appearances, he hawks a blood-laced loogie on the plastic tarp. Cracking his neck, he shrugs.

"That one was better." He grins. "But you still hit like a girl."

"Perhaps you would be a little more receptive, if I asked Agent McGee" - Tony's eyes widen - "or Agent Bishop to join us."

Pressing his lips together, Tony stares back out at the Potomac. Or at least, in the direction of the river. After the daylight faded too much to torture him, Mishnev's henchmen dragged in these flood lights like the team uses at their crime scenes. He slams his eyes shut, pictures the heavy snowfall being swallowed by the river's rolling current.

He tries to channel nature's relentless energy into his ruined body, tries to fight his decaying resolve to stay awake. And alive.

The need to protect his team, regardless of the costs, wins out over self-perseveration.

Opening his eyes, he shoots Mishnev a wicked smile. "Done already, Sergei? You gave up much easier than your brother ever did."

Mishnev's fist slams across his face, flinging Tony sideways, but he jerks his body to stay upright. Black spots pool in his vision, swarming together into one big, nasty abyss. He needs to stay awake, stay here in the moment. When he lifts his head, two Mishnevs glare back with deadly grins. Their blades glow under the lights, hungry and ravenous.

So this is what Ducky looks like to those bodies we bring back. No wonder he likes to tell them stories to make them comfortable. I bet he'd even have one for this situation.

Mishnev drives his weapon into Tony's gut before he steels himself and -

I think it's time for a Ducky story.

– he gasps involuntarily. Mishnev grins.

Once upon a time, there was a guy named John McClane. Despite all sorts of crazy shit, he took out a group of bad-ass Russians all alone and lived happily ever after.

"You will not speak ill of the dead," Mishnev growls.

Tony genuinely nods. "Nothing bad about the asshole who killed my teammate, got it."

Mishnev plunges his blade into Tony's shoulder again, twisting until the agent cries out.

Mishnev starts, "Do not call my…" but the henchmen's snickering interrupts him.

His eyes immediately target on the group loitering by the wall. They're in a tight cluster, obviously discussing something as they watch the torture session.

When Mishnev barks at them, the three freeze. Baldy and Ugly find the floor intensely interesting while Handsome chooses a spot on the wall, desperately trying to school the grin from his face. Mishnev chucks his scalpel at them, but it goes wide.

They stare back, dumbfounded, until Mishnev growls something else.

Oh shit, it sounded like he said McGee in there.

The trio leap into action, disappearing out of Tony's line of sight. When a door slams, he thinks they might've gone back into the hallway maze from earlier. He bucks against the zip-ties, trying for a better view. The shriek of his chair against the concrete rips through him, shredding his already destroyed nerves.

His head dips to his chest. His labored breath turning into shallow gasps.

So this is it.

In his fifteen years as an agent, he only lost one teammate to violence. Kate.

He still remembers the look in her eyes when the bullet ripped through her head. He can still feel the pink mist from the sniper's shot on his face sometimes. No matter how many times he scrubbed his cheeks, they just never felt clean. And some days, it's still there. Tacky and sticky, like it's a part of him. Reminding him to be a better agent and to look out for his team.

He can't let that happen again.

Not to the man he spent twelve years grooming into an effective, capable agent. Not to his friend.

Not to Tim.

But what can he really do here? In this freezing, dilapidated warehouse which is only G-d knows where. Tony's pretty sure Mishnev plans to murder the three of them here, then chuck their bodies into the Potomac. And nothing Tony does will stop him.

He couldn't even protect the team back at the house. How is he supposed to stop Mishnev when he's tied to a chair and beaten within an inch of his life?

I won't lose another teammate, even if it kills me.

And this time, it just might.

Mishnev chuckles. "So much for the challenge you promised me, Agent DiNozzo."

Tony jerks his head up, eyes searching for his captor. Mishnev looms by the flood light, terrifying and monstrous. His dark form becomes a sick and twisted shadow puppet. He removes his latex gloves and drops them to the floor. Then he dons a fresh pair for his next victim.

For Tim.

The gloves' snap steals Tony's breath away. His heart sinks as he pulls against the zip-ties that only chew his raw flesh. Grimacing, he tries again and again. But there's just no give.

Grinding his teeth, he glares at Mishnev. "Do you really think you've broken me?"

"I do not believe so, but you speak of my brother as though you do not comprehend my pain." Mishnev glides his fingers along the tray, seeming to take stock until he picks up a handgun. "I think it is time for you to understand."

Tony's eyes widen. "McGee isn't my brother."

Mishnev draws closer, transforming from monster to man. "Blood does not make you family, but your willingness to die for them does. Would you die for your team, Agent DiNozzo?"

"Yes."

"Good. Then we shall ask Agent McGee what he thinks of this."

Tony jumps in his chair. "You leave him out of this. It's between you and me."

"That is where you are wrong. This disagreement is between me and Gibbs."

Tony stills. "And us?"

Mishnev circles Tony's chair while he checks the clip in his gun. Tony strains his neck for a better view, but can't see the Russian. When the clip clicks back into place, Mishnev rests the gun against Tony's head. Body going rigid, the agent clenches his jaw.

"You are merely a pawn – " he moves the gun away " – to be sacrificed at the most opportune moment."

"No, no way. You made this personal when you abducted us."

Mishnev considers for a moment before he nods. "Then you tell me how to get into NCIS headquarters or I kill Agent McGee."

It's a deal with the devil, damned if you do and damned if you don't. To give a madman details about how to infiltrate his office or watch his friend die. For all Tony knows, Mishnev might plan to leave a bomb in the basement of the building.

But how is he supposed to sacrifice Tim?

Tony chokes on saliva or blood or who the hell knows anymore. Before he has a chance to respond, an approaching commotion grabs his attention. A loud thud echoes, followed by a yell. With his stomach rolling, Tony tries to move the chair around, but he doesn't have the energy anymore.

Moments later, he hears the door burst open.

"Where are we going? And where's DiNozzo?" Tim asks, fear thinly hidden in his voice.

Three sets of footsteps beat in a heavy staccato while a fourth scrapes across the concrete floor. There's another thud, and then curses explode like firecrackers, one in English and one in Russian.

Tony cranes his neck, desperate for a better view.

Come on, Probie. Don't piss 'em off.

When Mishnev gives a dismissive wave, the goons dump Tim on the floor by Tony's feet. The junior agent pushes to his knees and the sight makes Tony cringe. His left eye is swollen shut, that side of his face bloated like a corpse left out in the sun too long. His hair sticks out haphazardly, matted and caked with blood. His arms are bound behind him, but he fights to free them.

Tim's good eye goes wide. "Tony?"

"In the flesh." He tries to grin, but it comes off a grimace. "You okay, Tim?"

Tim blinks as though the thought never occurred to him. "Fine, I'm fine. But Tony, you're – "

"Dustin Hoffman's stunt double in Marathon Man. Believe me, I know." When Tim sets his jaw, Tony moves on. "How's Bishop?"

"Alive and – " he smiles slightly, " – very, very pissed off.'

Tony groans. "Just like the rest of us."

Hazarding a clipped nod, the junior agent looks back at the henchmen. Tony follows his gaze, finally noticing the new bruising spattered across Baldy's face and the way Handsome inspects his left hand. So all those hours in the gym after work actually paid off for Tim and Ellie.

Pride swells in Tony's chest, but he doesn't have a chance to tell Tim.

Mishnev steps forward. "Now that you have spoken, have you considered the offer?"

"Offer?" Tim asks, glancing up. "What offer?"

Tony closes his eyes, unable to look at his friend anymore. The phrases 'go to hell' and the 'easiest way into NCIS' rise to his tongue at the same time. They battle for the right to be spoken first as his brain tries to decide who he should save: Tim or the agency.

But no one deserves to play G-d, least of all him.

"Hey," he asks, "is it safe?"

All he has to fall back on in this moment of life and death is movie quotes. As though the tag line from Marathon Man will bring them both salvation. Or let someone else make the choice for him.

And Mishnev does so, by calmly aiming his gun at Tim's head. The junior agent slams his good eye shut and screws his lips into a tight line.

"That is not how I expected you to react, Agent DiNozzo. I believed you valued Agent McGee more than this," Mishnev says. "Are you sure you will not tell me how to enter the building?"

Tony's heart races as he keeps his eyes fixed on Tim's face. For all their years together, he's never seen such raw, palpable fear. Not a single muscle on Tim's body moves as though that might be him begging for a bullet. Tony thinks the younger man stopped breathing.

He takes a breath for both of them.

"Tony," Tim murmurs, "don't tell them."

When Mishnev jams his gun against Tim's temple, the junior agent stiffens.

"Last chance, Agent DiNozzo."

Pressing his lips together, Tony drags his gaze off the sight. Birds huddle in the rafters high overhead, probably too stupid to fly south for the winter. Now, they struggle to find warmth in this terrible place. Maybe one day, they'll understand why they stayed. Maybe one day, Tim will understand the choice Tony's about to make.

Maybe you'll even forgive me one day.

"Agent DiNozzo, I grow impatient."

In that moment, he notices the lick of something – entertainment? thrill? – in Mischnev's eyes.

Tony nods. "The garage is the easiest way in. You just have to – "

"Tony!" Mishnev kicks Tim in the stomach, but he still manages a breathless, doubled over: "Please…"

The senior agent flinches, fighting the rising rage in his throat. "You just have to slip past the guard when he takes his smoke break. Then sneak through the basement to the service elevator. Happy now?"

Mishnev grins like he just figured out Tony's weakness. "Quite."

When he pulls the gun away from Tim's head, the younger man slumps against the floor. His breath comes in shaking gasps as he lies there. While Mishnev rounds up his henchmen, he leaves Handsome to keep a watchful eye – and ready rifle – on his hostages.

But Tim doesn't even notice as he glares up at Tony.

"Why did you tell him?" The accusation in his voice matches the shock and anger in his eyes.

With a grin, Tony gestures towards their captor. "What do you think, man? Was it a good idea to save my partner?"

Momentary panic slides over Handsome's face, but he nods, playing along. Then he shoots Tony a thumbs up and a big grin.

Oh thank G-d, this one doesn't speak English. Now McGee and I can come up with a plan.

But Tim still isn't paying attention as he presses: "Why would you do that, Tony?"

"To save your and Bishop's asses."

Tim's face pinches. "But you didn't have to. I was ready to… I would've – "

"You would've what, McGee?"

Flinching, he glances out at the warehouse.

"Do you really think I'd let you die on my watch? You and I both know Gibbs would kill us. Well, namely me since you'd already be dead." Tony pauses at the hitch in Tim's shoulders. "Sergei already knows how to get into NCIS. I bet he has someone inside right now. You would've sacrificed yourself for nothing."

Tim looks back, good eye wide. "Tell me that's a joke, Tony. Please tell me – "

"He's screwing with us, McGee. Just like he's been screwing with Gibbs."

-oooooooo-ooooooooo-ooooooooo-

Up Next: Is Tony right about someone being inside NCIS?