A/N: Sorry for the delay – Someone had plagiarized this and I wasn't about to update if she was just going to steal it. Gigantic thanks to Hobbit Killer for the heads up and to Emerald1 for unleashing the horde. If it ever happens to you, remember - there are plenty of people ready to help. :)

~ Chapter Six ~

As his car followed the snowplough, he couldn't help but marvel.

Hell of a morning, thought the Sheriff.

With all that white light, it was like driving around the inside of a freezer. So clean and smooth and deceptive. It had been a pretty bad night by all accounts, but most of the damage he'd seen so far was superficial.

He turned his car off the road at the gas station, letting the plough trundle on ahead. The attendant, Don Elliot, was stamping around the pumps in a thick parker and brushing off the snow with gloved hands. He turned at the car pulling up beside him, then grinned.

"You're out early!"

"So are you!" The Sheriff got out of the car, skidded a little on a patch of ice.

"Wanted to see if there was any damage." Elliot knocked the ice off the front of the pumps. "Been lucky."

The Sheriff was cut off by a dull bark. He smiled at the wolfhound driving through the snow like an icebreaker.

"Bambi sleep through the storm?"

"Yeah. She's a real wuss of a hunting dog."

Bambi sniffed him all over, then continued to the squad car.

"She won't like this afternoon, they've forecast another storm." The Sheriff shook his head a little, looked off over the hills. With the clouds the way they were, it was going to be worse than last night. "You seen a car come through here sometime yesterday? Washington plates?"

Elliot looked at him curiously. "Why?"

"Three feds went missing sometime yesterday."

He thought about it, then shrugged. "There's been no cars along here since early yesterday mornin'."

The Sheriff sighed. "Last contact with them was late in the afternoon. Dang. If you find anything or remember anything…"

Elliot was only half listening. "Call the sheriff. Got it."

He sighed again, started back to the car. "More'n likely I'll be finding their dead bodies in a ditch somewhere." He hesitated, turned back. "Though if you see a grouchy looking guy with a marine haircut, don't tell him I said that."

"Yep. Good luck with the search."

The Sheriff pulled out of the station, continued along the road. Ice was already forming in the plough's wake.

Elliot continued dislodging the snow until he was long out of sight. Then he whistled low, his dog jumping upright and following him back into the store.

Not long after he came out again, shutting and locking the door. With one hand he propped up a sign on the window that said CLOSED DUE TO WEATHER.

In the other he held a rifle.

Tim didn't remember falling asleep; but he must have done, because then it was morning and he was jabbed hard in the stomach.

"Mmph?" He tried to open his eyes, but his face seemed to have rearranged itself during the night and they weren't where he'd left them.

"Sorry," Ziva whispered, sliding over him off the bed. He heard the creak of wood as she stepped onto the floor, followed by the whisper of the door opening. The room was still dark, harsh light glaring through narrow slits in the curtains to slice up the walls.

He shut his eyes tight and edged into the warm spot she'd left, trying to keep his mind blank so he could return to sleep.

No such luck. The memories didn't exactly flood back, but they made themselves aware through the throbbing in his hands and feet. He flexed them, hissing at the sharp pain shooting along his skin.

Better he could feel them he knew, but they hurt.

He took a rough assessment. Sharp stinging along his back, a stiffening in his ankle and knee. Not so bad, though he probably wouldn't be able to walk properly for a while. Lucky for them all Tony had been going fairly slowly down the road, otherwise they'd probably still be at the bottom of the river.

The front door shut; Ziva limped back into the room. He moved over, wincing at the sight of her swollen feet as she swung them onto the bed. Looking at his own fingers he could see a matching set of clear bubbles on his red and puckered skin.

She wriggled under the blankets. "The clothes are still damp. I restarted the fire, but there is not much we can do until they are dry."

"We could sleep some more."

She smiled. "That is an excellent idea."

They fell quiet, and McGee thought perhaps that the experience was not so bad; even with the falling out of bed and Ziva's rather loose understanding of the idea of personal space. His thoughts started to fog up, and there was the feeling of drifting…

"Ziva, you look absolutely terrible this morning," a voice breathed in his ear.

He peeled open an eye. "I'm trying to sleep."

Tony yawned, stretched. "Ouch. Rise and shine, sleepyheads, it's a beautiful freakin' cold day out there."

"We dragged you up a hill yesterday," Ziva said sleepily. "You could at least let us sleep in."

"I stopped you two freezing to death. Call us even."

"By a very Tony method, I noticed."

"At Hotel DiNozzo we have a very special way of doing things," he said cheerfully. "How is everyone? Fingers and toes in the appropriate places?" He recoiled as he spotted Tim's splayed hand. "Urgh." He pinched a finger tip.

"Ow!"

"How does that feel?"

"Painful." Tim yanked his hand back.

"What about everything else?"

"Tony, I'm fine."

"Well, you're certainly less of a blue McGoo that yesterday." Tony reached over to peer at Ziva's feet, prodding the toes. One eye opened a slit and glared at him.

He backed away. "Well, the Mossad is all there. Though when we get back they really need to check you guys out, it still looks pretty nasty."

"What about you?"

Tony waved his digits at them; his hands were if anything worse then theirs, purpled at the tip and fat like a glove. But his feet were hardly blistered at all.

Tim stared. "How the hell…?"

Tony smirked through his swollen face. "Three words for you: waterproof socks."

"That's two words."

"Three words and a hyphen?"

"No. Just two words."

"Huh." He looked puzzled for a moment. His eyes seemed unfocussed.

"How's your head?" Tim ventured.

"Fine, fine." He waved his hand. "Just a bit of a headache."

Out of the corner of his eye Tim saw Ziva's eyes open, flick to Tony.

"You sure? Hit your head pretty—what?"

Tony's head had snapped towards the window. "There was someone outside. During the night."

Ziva's eyes opened fully. "Are you sure?"

"Positive." He scrambled up, yanked opened the window and peered out.

She sat up, frowning. "I did not see any tracks when I went outside. Did they simply look in the window?"

"They tried to get in, but the door was locked." Tony pulled his head back in. "No footprints."

Tim hesitated. "Maybe someone saw us walking up…"

Ziva shook her head. "Then why did they not try to help us then?"

There was a moment of quiet while they considered the information.

Tim didn't particularly feel like sleeping anymore.

Tony grabbed the rug and moved out into the other room, an agitated look on his face. They stayed, trying to separate the tangled blankets.

She paused at his quiet gasp. "What?"

"Ziva, you've got blood…"

She looked down, touched her side. Dark brown was crusted across the ribs and hip on her left side.

"Does it hurt?"

"No…" Her eyes narrowed.
Then she wrenched off the blankets. He yelped at the sudden cold.

"Ziva!"

She shushed him. "McGee, look."

Her finger was pointing across him to the other side of the bed. He turned to look. Then his chest tightened.

Black patches like scabs, all up and down the mattress.

Tony.

The wound in his side must have kept bleeding during the night. Looking down at himself, McGee could even see parts of it on him through secondary transfer.

A lot. Enough to make him alarmed.

Ziva had already yanked one of the blankets around herself, and he scrambled to follow.

"Tony."

"Hmm?" He was stoking the fire, the rug covering any sign of the wound.

"You okay?"

"I'm fine. Head barely hurts anymore."

"Tony—"

"I'm fine." His tone much sharper.

Ziva opened her mouth to argue, but McGee gripped her by the elbow.

"Don't."

"But—"

"If that's what he thinks we need to hear," he said quietly.

He felt her hesitate. No doubt Tony thought there was no point, because there was nothing to be done. Like Ziva had not said a word of her swollen wrist, and he had not mentioned the glass cuts across his back.

Because there was nothing they could do. They could only watch him sway and eyes skitter.

Ziva's mouth shut, and she said nothing.

There were only a few bits of wood that were able to burn. They huddled around it, trying to work out what to do.

"I'm starving," Tony groaned.

Ziva yawned. "There is always the dead rat."

"I would rather eat my own hand."

"We could go out and try and find something..."

"Not a good idea," McGee shivered into the blanket. He was rubbing the phone between the fabric, brushing off the ice crystals. Come on, come on...

"…or we can wait here until someone finds us."

"We're lost in the woods. They won't know where to look." Tony shook his head, then winced.

McGee looked sidelong at Ziva, who shook her head a little.

"Yes!" McGee grinned as the phone gurgled into life.

"No reception."

"Of course."

"We must be stuck in a shadow." He held it up, but nothing changed. "We'll have to go to the top of the hill, or maybe the road."

Tony looked down at their blistered feet. "Guess that's my job for today. Abby can backtrace it and bring in a car." His eyes went misty. "Oh, a car. With heating. And seats."

"Tony, I do not think you should go outside alone."

He scowled at her. "How many different ways can I say I'm fine?"

"Once more and I might actually believe you," Ziva retorted. "What about the person you thought you heard outside?"

"It's fairly hard to sneak up on someone in the snow, ya know. It'll take me two minutes."

"No."

"Fine." He crossed his arms. "How well do you think you two can walk?"

They glanced at each other.

"Hmm?" Tony raised his eyebrows.

Tim got to his feet unsteadily, took a few steps. It was like standing on burning coals. "It's not that bad."

"Sit down, Timmy." Tony took pity on him, pulled him onto the floor. "Your eyes are screaming."

Ziva stood a little shakily, then walked to the door and back. "Easy."

"Really." Tony considered the floor.

They looked down. She'd left bloody footprints across the wood.

"You're both going to shred your feet," he said with a shrug and the slight smile of someone who knew they'd won.

By mid morning, enough of the clothes had dried out to make one full outfit, and Tony had worn Ziva down. He went through the pile of clothes gleefully.

"Ziva, thermal underwear!" He held it up. "Nice."

"You will be too big," she warned.

"We'll see."

That they certainly did.

"Ha! Told you they'd stretch," he crowed.

Ziva was laughing too hard to reply. McGee had covered his eyes.

He ended up with McGee's trousers and shirt, Ziva's coat pinched over the top and all three pairs of socks, though only two had gone to his feet. He was kind of glad there was no mirror; oversized outfit and tiny coat did not a dashing picture make.

He observed Ziva and McGee, both still wrapped in blankets and looking faintly amused.

"I feel over dressed," he said.

"You won't outside."

He considered the pile by the fire. "Maybe I should take another coat."

"They are both too damp. Just be quick," Ziva told him, zipping the coat up to his chin. "If you are not back in twenty minutes, we are coming after you."

"Are you going to tell with your magic unwaterlogged watch?"

Her eyes narrowed. "I shall count."

He opened the door, shuddered. "I'll be back soon." He was half closed the door, then gave them a disapproving look. "You two better not get up to any hanky panky while I'm gone."

Ziva's eyes narrowed.

"Right right right." He stepped outside, shut the door. He hadn't realised how much their body heat had warmed the inside the cabin; it was like being slammed in the face.

"Better be quick." He shuffled off the porch, then gave the door a dark look. "Bad stuff happens when people are standing around in their underwear."

The snow was about three feet deep; if anyone had been watching them, they'd left no trace of it that he could see.

The top of the hill was in fog above him, and was a good a place to start as any.

The snowfall was light for the moment, drifting down to sizzle on his skin. He walked slowly, his sock-for-mittens failing against the cold. It didn't take long for him to start shivering.

At the top of the rise he looked back. He thought he'd been staying relatively straight, but his steps meandered all over the place like he was drunk. "All I need to do is sing ninety-nine bottles of beer and it's just like college," he said to himself.

From here, he could see the bend in the road; slush had collected on the surface of the water. There was no sign they had left it violently, or of the car beneath the water. Had they still been in it, chances were their bodies wouldn't have been found for quite a while.

He shivered a little, checked the phone.

No signal.

He kept climbing.

Tim remained huddled in his blanket, nodding by the spluttering fire. Ziva had retreated back to the bed, and he was in half a mind to go too; though right now he'd rather be cold than risk serious injury by asking her.

He stared at the wood spread out before the fire. Damp, green and useless. They were out of matches; if the fire went out this time, it was out for good.

"We're running out of wood again."

From the other room, Ziva's voice was amused. "Do you wish me to destroy more of this property?"

"Since you're awake…"

There was a moment of silence, then the sound of wood splintering. He winced.

"McGee."

"What?"

When she didn't answer, he heaved himself to his feet.

"Ow, ow, ow," he muttered to himself, limping into the other room. Ziva was on her knees, staring down into a dark hole in the floor.

"What's that?"

"There is a loose floorboard." She reached a hand into the whole, pulled up a dusty drawstring bag. "I think I just found some child's buried treasure," she said a little guiltily.

He took it from her hand, tipped it onto the floor. A small pile of old coins skittered around their knees.

"I wonder how long they've been here...?"

He picked one up, examined it. "1854." He frowned.

"Civil War?"

"Actually, it's before the Civil War."

"Rare." She considered. He could see the thought flicker across her face. Therefore expensive. She looked over the pile, picked another out. "This one is not as old. 1933. Great Depression." She smiled.

His head shot up. "What?"

"Am I wrong?"

He stared at the coin. A golden eagle flickered with the light.

"No. That's impossible." His hand was trembling as he touched it with a finger. "Ziva, one of these sold for seven million dollars in auction."

Her eyes widened. "A coin sold for that much?"

He nodded. His chest was suddenly tight and he was glad they were sitting down. "After my book, I got into rare books and coins as an investment. I just read about this in passing."

She looked uneasy. "It might not be real."

"Then why is it hidden under a cabin in the middle of nowhere?"

She considered the coin shining between her fingers. Then her jaw tightened.

"We need to get out."

Signal.

He stopped, stared at the phone through blurry eyes. Only one bar, but it would be enough.

"Oh, thank god." He fumbled for speed dial. "Hold on, fresh pair of socks, Tony's comin'--"

He had been right, about no-one sneaking up on him in the snow. He also should have considered that the idea also extended to him as well. He had been heard a long time before he had come into view, and they had plenty of time to prepare. Where he stood was barely ten steps away, and he never saw it coming.

Arm yanked around the neck, phone flying as he grabbed for his throat, back arched back and almost lifted off the ground. All in less than a second.

Unconsciousness follows compression of the carotid arteries by seven seconds. Tony had time to notice that the man behind him was big, tall, and smelt of dog; then seven seconds were up and he slumped.

The man loosened his grip, dropped him with a thud.

He stayed down.