Chapter 7
She'd only known the guy for, what, ten minutes? Already, though, Abby had gone from feeling angry, to thirsting for his blood with a passion.
Avery was just so smooth about manipulating. It made her want to beat him bloody, but he'd backed her into a corner before she could even get half the things she was burning to say off her chest. The way he treated Tony like…a thing, to be instructed, and labeled "Sentinel" just like you'd label a single specimen of some fascinating new species. Well, that was actually probably pretty close to how Mr. Thomas Avery did view Tony.
Yeah, back to carving out his heart with a dull spoon—all a fantasy. For now.
Truthfully, though, she was scared. However much she smiled and assured Tony, her instincts were panicking about everything to do with the situation. Maybe she'd spent so much time with Gibbs she had developed her own "gut feeling" meter. She was scared for herself, sure. It's not like she didn't have a healthy desire for self-preservation, and if this guy found out she wasn't Tony's Guide…well, she really beginning to believe he would get rid of her. And not by sending her home with an apology.
But there were just gazillions of other problems, more frightening, for her to worry about than preserving her own skin. Sitting handcuffed to the chair, watching Tony sniff things out for Avery, her mind was running the gamut of fearful possibilities.
What did this guy have in store for Tony? What if Tony zoned? Spiked? She might do her best to be there for Gibbs and Tony—happily dub herself "Keeper"—but this was like being taken from preschool and suddenly asked to jump ten grades and survive high school without a gradual transition. Figuring out things like which detergent kept Tony from breaking out in a rash, or authoritatively talking sense into Tony when he doubted himself, or even telling off Gibbs when he, of all people, doubted his ability to do what was right by Tony—those were all things she could do. But this, being out in the field, figuring out what to say to help him, like Gibbs helped him...it made her feel small, and useless, and terrified, to think that Tony had only her to rely on.
She knew Tony was afraid for her, too, and, somewhere, afraid for himself as well, though he tended to stow his own self-preservation instincts like unnecessary luggage that just got in the way of his performing at the top of his game. Gibbs hated it when he did that, and so did she.
Still, she couldn't help but feel satisfaction as she watched Tony easily label the contents of each container Avery presented to him. That's it Tony, show that Avery-man what you're made of.
She felt like a proud parent, as he ticked off the ingredients of the last mixture, and was filled with smugness when Avery's expression became truly awed. Wait till he starts shooting lasers out of his eyes and fries you on the spot. Ever stop to think he might have a few super-powers up his sleeve that you don't know about? Huh? Come to think of it, being able to shoot lazers out of his eyes would have come in pretty handy right about now. But, if nothing else, they both had some one else coming for them; wait until this guy saw the super-power that was Gibbs' Wrath. Oh yes, that would be one ugly confrontation—and it was only a matter of time. She was as sure of that as she was of anything.
Then something went terribly wrong, and Tony was hunched in on himself, free hand grabbing for the table. When Avery had said "There's no poison in it," he may have been telling the truth as he knew it. But there was what was poisonous to humans, and then there was what was damaging to Sentinels, and there was obviously something in the concoction that didn't mix well with this Sentinel, at least.
Abby was intently on her feet, belatedly remembering that her left arm was anchored to the chair, her movement jerked short by the cuff. The chair was heavy, but regardless she dragged it with her an inch or so, before demanding, "Get this thing off me."
Tom Avery was on his feet—and even Avery Junior was looking surprised from his chair—but he only stammered, "Ah..ah…I, don't think—"
"Get. It. Off." The only thing keeping her from yelling it at the man was Tony's condition, and not knowing whether or not his hearing might be going super-sensitive.
In a rare act of wisdom, Avery motioned for one of the Goons to undo the cuff. Abby was instantly at Tony's side, on her knees, but not daring to immediately touch him. In his concise but detailed way, Gibbs had related to her exactly what had happened with Tony in that alley outside of the bar, way back before any of them really knew what this Sentinel stuff was. When she'd heard about it, Abby had hoped never to see Tony go through a sensory spike—hoped he'd never have to go through even one sense spiking, ever again—and prayed she wasn't witnessing one now, either. But she wouldn't add to the problem, if that was what this was. If it were the case, who knew which of his senses might be causing him the obvious pain he was experiencing.
But somehow she had to find out, from him, what was going on. In a whisper of a whisper, she spoke in his ear, "Tony?"
Tony was breathing heavily, but the sound of her voice didn't seem to hurt him. He acknowledged her with a husky-sounding, "Abbs."
She laid her hand on his shoulder lightly, and he didn't jerk away. "What is it?"
"Not…spike," Tony said between a heavy intake of breath. "Or…dunno, don't think it is. It's…"
"It's what?" she prodded, when he trailed off.
"It's…" He gave a gasp, and she could feel him shiver. "Can't breath…so good. Things…look…sound…strange."
"Tony? Tony…" With a gentle hand, she guided his face so that she could meet his eyes. He didn't have them squeezed shut, as she'd expected. They were wide with confusion…and fear?
He met her gaze for moment, words a disjointed jumble, a small shudder in his voice breaking her name into two syllables, "Ab-by, I dunno wha's'happening…everything feels…"
With her free hand, Abby took Tony's un-cuffed hand, at a loss what to do, but imbuing her voice, and expression, and her grip with all the caring she could. "Hold on, Tony, focus—"
But he couldn't seem to focus at all, and interrupted her with small cry of distress. He didn't pull away, but his eyes seemed to glaze over, and she could feel his panic.
Many a time Abby had wished her stalwart Tony would be a bit more receptive to things like hugging, or just a bit of human contact, given by people 'cause they cared about him. Good grief, even Gibbs—especially Gibbs—knew how to give and take pats, parting kisses on the forehead, and other causal but genuine signs of affection. But Tony always seemed to shy away a little from that sort of thing. It wasn't quite as if he didn't like it, necessarily, but kinda like he thought of himself as having some disease he was afraid of passing on, even through a brief hug. Maybe he didn't think people would like him so much if he let them see him up close. Abby had noticed the trend a long time ago, and found it as ridiculous as it was cute, in a pathetic way: it wasn't other people Tony held at arms' length, it was himself he kept back from others.
But right then, as Abby guided Tony forward into an embrace, with his head willingly resting against her shoulder, she would've given a whole lot for him to be his strong, independent self, capable of shrugging of the most vicious inner pain with a shrug of his shoulders and a bright smile.
"C'mon, Tony, it's gonna be all right," she whispered, and couldn't help but feel susceptible to the self-doubts assaulting her. I'm sorry I'm not Gibbs.
Ziva was not so sure this idea was a good one. But she was not about to question Gibbs, and McGee had not shown such an inclination, either.
It was true, since they'd been thrown the figurative "bone" by Miss Fabian, he had been much more his usual, merely irritable, self. But, as ever, that snarling tiger was only a minute—one delay—away from making a reappearance, re-immersing Gibbs in his righteous crusade against criminals, or bureaucracy, or legal "technicalities"—or anything that stood in the way of him finding his people.
Glancing at Gibbs, as he turned the wheel hand over hand, swinging the car in a sharp left, Ziva realized the tiger never really left. It was only on the prowl now: it had prey to stalk. Having prey always gave the tiger enough grim satisfaction to keep it from snarling quite so undifferentiatingly at anyone in close proximity.
And if Gibbs could hear her thoughts making elaborate analogies between him and a tiger he might just turn and give her a feral smile.
It was only early afternoon, and already Gibbs' third cup of coffee was in the cup-holder. Third cup of coffee that she'd seen. This meeting they were driving to did not bode well at all for Mr. Edward Collins, but Ziva was not about to waste any pity on him. Even if here were not involved in Abby or Tony's disappearance, well…he was still very, very annoying. Perhaps not annoying enough to merit a full measure of Gibbs' anger but, she supposed, him seeing her back Gibbs up on this might just dissuade him from making any more advances toward her. There was a thought that brought a bit of a feral smile to her face. And, if Collins was involved in this, she might not leave him at large to ever make advances on any woman ever again.
Gibbs pulled a sudden right turn, and Ziva braced herself against the door. Her teammates had told her tales about famed Gibbs' rampages of the past, two examples being with Ari, and against the deranged woman who'd mailed NCIS the Y Pestis, infecting Tony. She wondered how this recent rampage compared.
She did feel a bit at fault for not having volunteered herself, and McGee, to have gone alone to get Mr. Collins. After all, McGee had already suffered under more than his fair share of Gibbs' impatience today while finding the signal from Collin's computer (apparently Nerdy Ned's smarts had their limits: he'd run and left no credit card trail, but brought his laptop and used his NCIS employee mail account).
However, Ziva had founded her own excuse on the perfectly reasonable grounds that stepping in front of a moving Gibbs was about as likely to get you mown down as stepping in front of a moving train.
Their goal was a Starbucks on the corner of a congested intersection. Parking in any of the cramped spaces left was a proposition just this side of impossible. But never let it be said Gibbs wasn't determined in the face of a challenge, or used to making things work. The narrow parking space that had obviously intimidated some other costumer wasn't able to get rid of Gibbs so easily.
It only took a cursory glance around the interior of the mildly busy coffee shop to spot the object of their search. Ziva let Gibbs take the lead (she, unlike Collins, didn't have a death wish), staying just behind him as they came up silently upon the man.
"We'd like to have a word with you, Mister Collins."
Collins had his back to them, and when Gibbs spoke in his ear he, literally, jumped, whirling on them with wide eyes.
"Who—" Gibbs held his badge up, close to the man's face, interrupting the question before it could fully form. Collins stammered, "Agent Gibbs—"
"—Special Agent DiNozzo's boss." Gibbs left no room for the man to wonder why he was there.
If the darting look in Ziva's direction was to assess whether or not he might find in her an ally against the man baring down on him with steely grey eyes, all he got from her was scrutiny from pair of equally steely brown eyes.
People were staring at the confrontation, though, and Ziva displayed her own badge, proclaiming their business "official," and assuring them everything was under control. She smiled benignly at Collins. "The man is coming with us quietly, yes?" That was for the room at large. More privately, she advised Collins, "Agent Gibbs has not killed anyone this week, but I think he would like to. I would not try anything if I were you."
Collins nodded wordlessly, though he did look ready run when Gibbs produced handcuffs, none-too-gently turning him around and ordering him to put his hands behind his back, securing the cuffs with even less gentleness while Ziva searched Collins for weapons.
"I didn't do anything," Collins said, defiance coming a little late after his all-too-evident terror at their arrival. "You guys can't have any proof. I'm just cooperating because I don't want any trouble." Collins asked, voice taking on a definite edge of panic when they didn't respond to any of his false bravado, "You guys just want to…talk, right?"
Cuffs secured, and with Ziva gathering the man's laptop, Gibbs directed Collins towards the door with a firm hand on his back. He was making no promises, and let the man squirm for a minute before answering with sinister ambiguity, "For a start."
TBC
A/N: I really don't have anything intelligent to say, other than just...thank you to all you who continue to read and review! I'll try to have more up soon. ;)
