Rayne
"Don't be afraid, Rayne. This is going to be very quick." The man promised as he forced me along, out of the stalls and into a sandy ring where horses would train. Sitting in the middle on a concrete platform were three stools. Garrett was on one of them, counting the money he stole from the register. I tried to jerk out of the man's grasp, but that only made the rope around my wrists cut deeper into my skin. He jerked me roughly back anyway.
"She's feisty." Garrett noted as the other man sat me down on one of the stools, quickly tying my feet to it so I couldn't leap off and run away.
"Fuck you," I gasped, and he chuckled as his friend sat down, taking his gun out of his pocket. My eyes flashed down to it. I'd spent enough time at the shooting range to know that it was a .22 caliber weapon- just like the bullet that had been in the lock of the office door. Just like the bullet in my father's head.
"Maybe later, Rayne. We have business to attend to first." The man said, spinning the chamber on the gun. "My name is Dean, and this is Garrett. We were pals with your dad, weren't we, Garrett?" He asked, and they both laughed together. Instantly I understood. They were the ones who killed my dad. Why were they going after me?
"He didn't have to die you know. You don't have to either. This is simple; your fat ass father didn't seem to understand that. You have money—that life insurance policy. We want that money. Tell us where it is." Garrett said, lounging back on his stool.
"What are you talking about—what insurance policy?" I asked angrily, lying on the spot. Garrett leaned forward and decked me across the face, right across the cheekbone, breaking the skin. Gasping, I spat out blood, sitting back up straight and looking at the two men through smarting eyes. My whole head was ringing. The satisfied looks on their faces made my pulse race.
"Let's try this again, you stupid bitch. Your whore mother had a life insurance policy worth five hundred grand. Where is the money?" Dean said easily, still spinning the chamber on the revolver.
"My mother wasn't a whore, and she didn't have an insurance—" Garrett cut me off when he stood up and kicked me right in the chest, toppling the stool and sending it and me sprawling into the dirt. Ribs on fire, I heard myself groan. Uncomfortable heat was spreading from the spot where he'd kicked me, and a lump was rising on the back of my head from where it'd hit the hard ground. Hands picked me and the stool up, placing it back on the concrete. "Fuck this, let's just kill her," Garrett growled, punctuating his words with a slap that left my face stinging.
"We can't, you idiot. Not yet. Without that money, we're fucked." Dean said, adding bullets into the chamber of his pistol and closing it.
"You two really are stupid, aren't you?" I croaked, spitting out more blood- I'd bit the inside of my cheek. "Even if there had been money, the bastard used it all for booze. Besides, NCIS is still investigating. They'll be cops on your ass the minute you shoot me, I'm a suspect."
"What the fuck is NCIS?" Garrett chuckled, but Dean, the one who reminded me of marines froze, looking at me closely. His eyes narrowed.
"Naval Criminal Investigative Service. Well then, I guess we'll just have to speed things up, now won't we?" Dean said, face filling with hate. He knelt and untied me from the stool. As soon as I was free, I kicked him as hard as I could in the face, sliding off the stool and making a run for it. Hands grabbed my arms and threw me to the ground, and there was a click as a gun was cocked. A foot flipped me over.
"You move and I'll put this bullet through your shoulder. You don't need your arm to live, now do you?" Garrett said angrily, pressing a foot down on my chest to keep me from getting up. He leaned over me, face furious. Panting, I closed my eyes, hoping for the first time in my life that NCIS would show up. I heard some loud swearing, and then someone spit. "Did the bitch get any of your teeth?" Garrett asked.
"Fuck no. She broke my goddamn nose." Dean's voice was clubbed now from the swelling in his nose, and I felt a pang of satisfaction. His footsteps came over, then stopped. Then, something slammed down on my shoulder with enough force to make me scream as it dislocated. The scream echoed through the empty barn eerily. "How did you like that, huh?" He hissed, then kicked me in the ribs. Something hit my face, breaking the skin. As blood ran down my cheek, I felt someone stand me up, and I opened my eyes. Dean's nose was swelling to twice its normal size, blood spilling down his lips and chin. He leaned close, holding me by the front of the shirt. "This is the last time I'm going to ask you nicely. Where is the money?" He said softly, dangerously, blood from his nose dripping onto my shirt.
"There is no money," I croaked, and he decked me across the face again. This time, I felt the bone under my eye break. Hands caught my slumping body, and a hand grabbed my chin. I glared openly at Dean, and for the first time in my life, I wanted to hurt someone; cause them pain. Panting, I looked right into Dean's eyes, hoping to inspire any guilt or hesitation in him- I wanted him to see my defiance, my lack of fear so that maybe, just maybe, he wouldn't shoot.
"I guess I'm going to have to shoot you, Rayne. Your friends at NCIS obviously don't give a fuck about your miserable little life." Dean said, sneering into my face. He reached out with his free hand, and Garrett gave him the gun. Dean raised it to my temple, and for the briefest of seconds, I wondered if I'd finally get to meet my mother.
"Actually, we do." The hard, cold voice of Special Agent Gibbs suddenly rang through the air, and I heard the sounds of four guns being loaded—he wasn't alone. "Put your hands in the air." He continued, and Dean smirked, glancing down at me. I glared back, adrenaline rushing through me, numbing pain. Suddenly, he gave me a hard shove, forcing me to stumble backwards. Then the sound of a gun-shot exploded into the silence of the barn, and a searing hot pain spread from the center of my chest. I didn't even feel myself hit the ground as two more shots rang through the air, then shouts. "Rayne? Can you hear me? Rayne?" I heard Gibbs calling, and a small warm pressure on my chest as a coldness started to steal through me, magnifying my pain to an unbearable level. I shuddered with the effort it took just to open my eyes and look at him. His usually steely grey eyes were the first thing I noticed about Gibbs. They were uncharacteristically panicked, even when they focused on my face. He had both hands pressed dead center on my chest, trying to apply pressure to the bullet hole. Someone cut the rope off my wrists.
"The ambulance is on it's way," someone said, their voice just on the edge of panicking as I shuddered harder, still looking at Gibbs, feeling blood seep down my sides and neck.
My eyes closed.
"No!" Gibbs yelled at me, half angry, half desperate. I forced my eyes to flutter back open. It was like he was ordering me not to die. I struggled to comply.
"I'm sorry," I breathed, my body starting to go numb. Inbetween shudders, I was barely panting—it hurt too much to breathe.
"Never say you're sorry. It's a sign of weakness." Gibbs said quickly, as if from memory.
"But—I am—weak," I panted, and then groaned at the pain that exploded in my lungs from trying to talk and breathe at the same time. It felt like tiny sharp knives were piercing my lungs.
"You're not weak, Rayne. You're not weak." Gibbs repeated, shifting his hands and pressing harder, making me gasp. I could barely feel his hands anymore, just the reactionary pain that came from his movements. Against all my will, my eyes drifted shut again, and sound started to die as lots of footsteps suddenly echoed through the empty barn.
Then, silence.
Something was beeping. The sound was annoying.
I hurt all over. It felt like a giant weight was strapped to my chest—breathing was a workout. Why did it hurt so much? All of a sudden, I remembered. The two men entering the store, my attempt to escape with the wrench, waking up in a horse stall…Dean and Garrett beating the shit out of me, asking about my mother's insurance policy…being shot; the roar of the gun. Gibbs kneeling next to me, pressing hard on my chest as blood oozed down my sides, forming a puddle in the dirt…
"Hi, honey," A kind voice said as I opened my eyes. Everything was white, but directly in front of me was a nurse—I was in a hospital. My eyes slowly adjusted to pick out different shades of white, the edge of the bed, the blankets, and the cabinets on the wall. "You're in Bethesda Naval Hospital. How are you feeling?" She asked, and I closed my eyes for a second.
"Like shit," I barely had the strength to say it, but I did. The nurse lightly patted one of my hands, and I just then realized that the other was in a sling.
"I'll get your first of kin so you can see him for awhile." She said, and disappeared. Seconds later, she came back with Vinny Hughes, my best doctor friend in the universe.
"Oh God, Rayne! How do you feel?" He asked, sitting next to me and nervously patting my free hand, minding the IV.
"Not good," I croaked, and he looked at me miserably. "How—bad- am I?" I forced out, closing my eyes to avoid showing Vinny how much those four words hurt.
"Bad," He said softly. "The bullet shattered your sternum and got about a quarter of the way through your pericardium. Any farther and it would have killed you instantly. You lost a lot of blood. Your shoulder is dislocated, and you have several small cracks in the bones of your arms and legs, but they aren't breaks. God, Rayne, I'm so sorry."
"Not—your fault-, Vinny." I breathed, my whole body tense to keep out of pain as much as possible.
"Rayne? NCIS is here, and they want to talk to you. Are you too tired yet? I'll tell them to wait longer here if I have to."
"S-Send them—in," I forced out, and smiled weakly at Vinny as he leaped to his feet instantly to do as I asked.
"I'll be back," he promised, and then disappeared, just like the nurse. I closed my eyes, resisting the urge to groan in pain.
"Not too long, alright? She's due for medication soon." I heard the nurse reprimand, and then a quiet set of footsteps entered and the person took Vinny's spot.
"Rayne?" Gibbs' voice asked, and I opened my eyes again. He was sitting on the edge of the chair, either nervous or angry, I couldn't tell which. He looked like he was restraining himself from taking my hand like Vinny had.
"Hi," I rasped, tensing as usual, making me wince. Gibbs winced too.
"I came to tell you that Dean Koziol and Garrett Weber have both been arrested for your father's murder, as well as what they did to you." Gibbs started, and I squeezed my eyes shut, hastily repressing my memories of those two men before I started to cry. "I also came to apologize." Gibbs said, and I opened my eyes out of curiosity and surprise. "I was just doing my job—but I did it the worst way possible for you. I'm sorry." He repeated.
"You told—me a-apologizing—" I broke off, unable to suppress the tiny groan that escaped- talking just hurt too much. Breathing was a challenge; talking was impossible.
"That apologizing was a sign of weakness?" Gibbs quickly finished for me, and I nodded jerkily, eyes squeezing shut again. "It is. But everyone is weak. Weak is normal. We can't be superhuman all the time. Besides, sometimes you have to admit that you were wrong." He said, being uncharacteristically friendly and open.
"I didn't- make it any e-easier." I whispered, and Gibbs chuckled softly, surprising me again.
"No, you actually made me follow the law." He said, and then a nurse came in.
"I insist that Ms. Grean is left to rest. She got out of surgery only a day ago." The nurse pushed.
"That's fine. I'll be back." Gibbs promised, quickly standing up. He left with a heartfelt goodbye, surprising me further. It was amazing how his personality had seemed to do a complete 180.
"Here, this will help you sleep. It'll ease your pain," the nurse said, injecting something into my IV. Seconds later, I was at peace.
