Disclaimer : I own nothing, but the bad guys and the typos.
Warnings : Rated T for violence and language.
Author's Note : Thanks to everyone who's favorited, followed, and read this story so far. Extra thanks to everyone who's left a review and sent a PM. I appreciate your support more than you realize. No excuses for the wait, but hopefully, this chapter was worth it.
Please enjoy.
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9:09pm – St. Boniface Medical Center – Chevy Chase, MD –
Consciousness returns to Tony in bits and pieces. First, it's the cool sheets under his fingertips, followed by the steady beat of the heart rate monitor. It takes a moment for his brain to refocus – to remember – he is safe and sound in the hospital, while Tim is still out there…somewhere.
But he doesn't have a chance to beat himself up as Abby's voice drones. He catches her tone – edgy and terrified – long before he comprehends the words.
" – can't trace it, Gibbs."
She pauses long enough for Tony to hold his breath.
Her sigh is long and low. "I know, Gibbs, I know. But these guys are good." Another pause. "Yeah, I know I'm better, but this e-mail came from an anonymous internet provider. You don't need anything, except for a computer connection to set one up. I could try to run the ISP and see if I can – " she huffs. "Okay, Gibbs, I'll try it. If not, I'll follow the money."
The clomping of her combat boots tells him she draws closer. So he eases back against the pillow, tries to even his breathing. Even though he's desperate for details, he won't blow his cover now. Not when he can get information out of Abby without harassing her.
"Tony's still asleep, Gibbs. The doctors say he probably will for a while. You know how those drugs hit him. But I'll call you as soon as he wakes up." She lets out a quiet huff. "No, you don't have to worry. I won't tell him."
She doesn't even bother with goodbye, just flips her phone closed. As she lingers by the side of the bed, Tony remains painfully still, but he feels her eyes boring a hole through him.
I guess she's practicing her Gibbs' stare too.
"Tony," she whispers. "I know you're awake."
He opens his eyes. "Morning, Abs. Do you know just lied to Gibbs?"
"Not technically." With a tight smile, she holds up her hand to display crossed fingers. "If it helps a friend, it isn't a bad thing."
"He thinks I'm going to go after McGee."
She nods, like she believes it too. "Not thinks, knows."
It's the way you trained me, Boss. Did you expect anything less?
When Abby splits into a pair of twin goths, Tony lets his gaze wander to the drop ceiling. The tiles are pockmarked but the imperfections blur together into one giant mess. He slams his eyes closed, feeling his stomach roil. Tony swallows hard, barely managing to keep the acid down.
Almost instantaneously, Abby's hand grips his shoulder.
"Tony, are you – "
"I'm fine, Abs." He flashes a playboy grin, in spite of the sweat pouring down his face. "So what aren't you supposed to tell me?"
Her grasp never wavers as she fills him in on the details of the case: the untraceable e-mail from Tim's captors to John McGee draining his retirement fund for the ransom to Gibbs' plan for the meet. She even lets the time and location – the Philadelphia Naval Yard at 7am – slip out so casually that Tony almost misses it in her barrage of details.
"But Gibbs will find Timmy before then." Her voice trails off to leave out the implied, 'I hope.'
Tony pulls her into a tight hug. "He will, Abs. But we can help from here, right?"
She nods. "I need to double-check where that e-mail came from. Maybe I find a location of the original computer from here."
"And if you can't?"
Her shoulders rise as she emits a defeated sigh. "Then we're back to square one."
"So back to our abduction?" he offers.
"Yeah, but there isn't much there."
Tony doesn't know what to say as she wriggles out of his grasp. After she heads over to her makeshift lab, the thud of her keyboard echoes through the room. He leans back on the bed, stares at the ceiling for a long time. But with her typing and his monitor competing for his attention, he just can't think.
"How about some music, Abs?"
She cocks an eyebrow. "The nurses told me to 'turn off that racket' while you were still asleep. They said it might give you a nasty headache."
While the hospital staff might be right, Tony will gladly accept one if it helps bring Tim home alive. When he waves his hand at her, she clicks on her stereo. The dull thud of the bass is so quiet that it's barely audible, but Tony focuses on the mish-mash of guitars and chainsaws. Even though he knows he heard this recently, he just can't place it.
Back to square one, to where this all began.
Suddenly, he realizes why the track sounds so familiar. It's the same one Abby listened to while she recounted their limited evidence in the Zachery Mitchell death.
What if this all started well before their abduction?
"Abs, what do you have on the Mitchell case?"
Her brow furrows as she looks over at him, almost trying to figure out what he's doing. But when he doesn't say anything else, she clicks through something on her computer.
"Powder residue on Mitchell's hand was consistent with the gun found at the scene. Only one bullet was missing from the magazine. Ballistics match the one Ducky pulled out of Mitchell's brain."
Pressing his lips together, Tony leans back against the bed. Mitchell's death has to be related to their abduction, but the pieces don't seem to fit together…yet. He stares at the ceiling, hopelessness and helplessness washing over him in waves.
How is he supposed to save Tim when he can't even make a simple connection between two cases?
"Any progress on that e-mail, Abs?" he asks, instead.
"Not yet. The ISP declined my request for information without a warrant." Her features pinch in agitation as she shakes her fist. "Lucky for us, I've got another trick up my sleeve."
Based on the way she attacks her keyboard, Tony figures she's hacking into some database. So he leaves her to her work, leaning back against the bed. His head begins to swim, just like his vision.
He's almost ready to fall asleep again when a familiar figure appears in the doorway.
"Heya, Duck," Tony breathes.
"Every time you say that, Anthony, you remind me of Jethro."
With a wry smile, Donald Mallard heads into the room. Concern wears on his aging features, making him appear far older than his years. He takes a long moment to study Tony's face before he turns to Abby.
"Hello, Abigail," he offers, but she only shoots him a distracted wave.
Ducky drops his weathered briefcase to the floor and shucks off his unseasonably warm jacket. As he eases himself in the bedside chair, he steeples his fingers under his chin.
"So how are you feeling, Anthony?"
"Just peachy," Tony lies, sitting up straighter in the bed.
"I'm surprised after your ordeal that you would feel well. With the amount of ketamine present in your system, the doctors say you're lucky to be alive, let alone awake."
Tony's eyebrows jump. "Ketamine?"
Ducky nods. "The doctors were just as surprised to find it on your blood tests. Typically, it is not present on a standard drug panel. At my inquiry, they ran a specific test and the results were quite shocking. Its use in the United States is relatively limited."
Tony glances over at Abby. "Do you think you could track it?"
"If I had the time," she says, her frantic eyes jumping to the skeleton clock on her table. "And I don't know if I have enough."
Rubbing his temple, the ache returns to Tony's brain. "Okay, stick with the e-mails for now. But - "
"I already procured a sample," Ducky interjects, pulling a vial of blood from his shirt pocket.
Grinning broadly, Abby rushes across the room to scoop the tube from Ducky's hands. As soon as she reaches her desk again, it lands on her 'to-do' pile and she dives back into her trace.
Ducky turns his attention to Tony. "So how are you dealing with Timothy's disappearance, Anthony?"
But he ignores the question. "Did you finish the Mitchell autopsy, Ducky?"
Ducky sighs. "It was what we expected, I'm afraid. Zachery Mitchell committed suicide. However, there were curious contusions scattered all over his body. Most of them were still in the early stages of healing when he took his life. They couldn't have been more than a few days old."
"So he was in a fight?"
"Probably two, maybe three, days prior to his death. Based on the extent of internal damage, it was quite a severe one at that. But he had no defensive wounds on his hands or elsewhere on his body, so I don't believe he fought back."
Tony's brow furrows. "He just let someone beat the hell out of him?"
"It would appear so."
Ducky reaches into his briefcase to pull out his autopsy photos. The extent of Mitchell's injuries shocks Tony as he hadn't viewed the corpse outside the crime scene. How a former SEAL could let someone beat him within an inch of his life makes no sense.
Unless…
Scrubbing his hands over his face, Tony forces his muddled brain through the newest information.
A dead SEAL who was in a fight before he killed himself. Four guns-for-hire with military training who abducted two NCIS agents. A ghost's fingerprints at the scene of the abduction. A covert mission tied to Mitchell and four dead SEALs in Afghanistan.
He nods slowly, making the connections he couldn't earlier.
Operation Sunfire, as Abby explained to him earlier. Mitchell filed the report that listed the SEALs as killed in action. But, Tony realizes suddenly, they weren't dead, just missing - probably held captive by the Taliban. And so, they came home to exact their revenge on Mitchell.
His heart sinks at the thought of what they might to do to Tim.
"Hey, Abs, can you show me the picture of those guys who died during Sunfire?"
Her brow furrows when she checks with Ducky.
The doctor nods carefully. "If it could help, Timothy."
After a few clicks, she lugs the laptop over. One glance at the screen turns Tony's blood to ice. Four familiar faces, clad in their military uniforms against an American flag, stare back.
Dozer. Hobgoblin. Stanford. Maui.
"Those are the ones who took us." He jabs a finger at Dozer's image. "That one's the leader. He'd probably take Tim somewhere he knows."
"Matthew Cunningham," Abby says, glancing at the screen. "His fingerprints were on the casings we found at the scene."
With a whoop, Abby scuttles back to impromptu lab with her computer and newfound determination. All it takes is a few seconds of frantic typing before she throws her arms triumphantly over her head. While she does her victory dance, exhaustion hits Tony out of nowhere. He slumps back against the pillows, barely able to keep his eyes open.
"Tony, guess where he grew up," she chirps.
"Where, Abs?" he slurs.
"Ridley Park. You know where that is, right?"
"I can't - " his exhausted brain won't process the information " – remember."
"It's a neighborhood in Philly." She squints at him, obviously confused. "You used to work there. How do you not remember?"
"Yeah, I know…"
When the world starts to spin, he closes his eyes. He slumps against the pillow, letting himself slip away momentarily. Then he bolts upright, snapping awake.
"And you'll never guess what else," she continues, unfazed.
"Abigail," Ducky warns. "Remember his doctors warned about confusion and blackouts."
"Oh yeah, I forgot." Her lips pull into a pout. "I just got so excited that I think I might have found Timmy. And thought Tony would be too."
"What'd you find, Abs?" Tony manages.
"Cunningham's parents used to own a small motel in the area. So maybe that's where they took McGee…"
"Good work, Abs." Tony fights to keep his eyes open. "Call Gibbs, now."
"I will, but don't forget Steve has lead on your case."
The thought someone other than Gibbs searching for Tim almost makes Tony laugh. But he can't even manage a chuckle before the world slips away again.
-oooooooo-ooooooooo-ooooooooo-
Thursday, August 24, 2006 - 12:41am – St. Boniface Medical Center – Chevy Chase, MD –
Something tugs on Tony's shoulder, soft at first. But when he reaches to bat it away, the yanking grows more incessant. It drags him from his comfortable dreams, back to the harsh reality of the hospital room. He tries to twist away, but there's nowhere to go in the tight bed.
"Are you awake, Junior?"
The sound of his father's voice grates on his frayed nerves, instantly putting Tony on edge. He blinks owlishly under the harsh fluorescent lights. Just at the edge of the bed, Senior stands rigidly, his concerned gaze locked on his only son.
Tony groans. "Dad, what are you doing here?"
"Trying to fix this."
"You can't fix this. Everything is already done and I don't need..." He presses his lips together, shakes his head. "I don't want you here. You need to – "
"They didn't find your friend," Senior interrupts.
Tony's mouth gapes. "What?"
"I overheard Abby and Dr. Mallard talking. They went to that hotel, but Agent McGee wasn't there. Abby got extremely upset, so Dr. Mallard took her for tea before she could wake you." Senior's gaze drops to the floor. "So I…"
"Decided to wake me up?"
Senior chuckles humorlessly. "Well, you are your mother's son, after all. She was never one to sit by idly, while others did the work. And I knew you'd want the chance to help your friend."
His father's eyes are earnest, like he's trying to prove something to Tony…and himself. As though, he can still be a good father after all those years of boarding schools and forgotten birthdays.
"I don't know when they'll be back," Senior continues. "So we should go now."
"We – " Tony's finger jumps between him and his father " - aren't going anywhere. You got me and McGee into this mess and I'm going to get us out."
Senior flinches like he's been shot. "I just thought I could help."
"You've done enough," Tony says, not bothering to look at his father.
With a defeated sigh, Senior places a set of scrubs and what might be galoshes on the bed. Just as he slinks out of the room, he pauses at the door and gives his son one last, long look.
"Tell Agent McGee, I'm sorry for everything."
"Apologizing is a sign of weakness, Dad. Never forget that."
After a tight nod, Senior slinks out of the room. Once he's alone, Tony fights with the bedrail until it slides out of his way. Then he slips out of the bed onto his unsteady legs. It takes a few tries, but he manages to pull on the scrubs. He pushes his feet into the boots, not surprised they're slightly too big. Since his father probably pinched them from a neighboring room, Tony decides not to complain. Hopefully, they won't be missed.
On his way out of the room, he pauses at the chair where Ducky left his jacket. He debates about taking it, certain that Ducky won't mind if it helps Tim. Even though it's way too small, Tony pulls it on anyway, figuring the disguise will help him sneak out of the hospital easier. Thankfully, the keys to Ducky's Morgan are in the front pocket.
Without a second though, Tony sneaks to the door. Sucking in a deep breath, he peers into the empty hallway. If any of the hospital staff catch him, he'll be under guard until he's ready for a general discharge. His vision swims and he sags against the wall, willing the spots to pass.
He doesn't have time for this. And neither does Tim.
Just as he slips into the hallway, he nearly barrels into Abby.
Standing there with her oversize CafPow, her mouth pulls into a tiny 'o' over her tear-stained eyes. She takes in his outfit - all the way down to the stolen galoshes – then nods slowly.
"You're going after McGee, aren't you?" she asks.
"Yeah, there's no way I'm leaving him out there."
Her face falls as a tear snakes down her cheek. "My lead was – "
"The best you could do with what you had."
Somehow, her frown deepens even further. "But it wasn't good enough."
"Yes, it was."
Tony pecks her cheek, feeling the trails of tears underneath his lips.
"I'll bring him back," he whispers. "I promise."
When Tony starts to sneak away, Abby drags him back into the room. They make it all the way to her makeshift lab before Tony manages to free himself from her remarkably strong grasp.
"Abs?"
She places the CafPow on her table, then digs to the bottom of her 'to-do' pile. Underneath the piles of paper and bits of evidence bags, there's a Sig Sauer nestles in a right-handed holster.
His eyes widen. "Why do you have a gun?"
"Steve left it. He figured you wouldn't wait around, so he thought you could use one." She forces a brave smile, then presses the weapon into Tony's hands. "The only condition is that whatever happens doesn't appear in the official report. You know how Steve doesn't care for Gibbs' methods."
"Or mine," Tony says, cracking a grin.
"Or yours." Abby leans into him, slips a cell phone into his jacket pocket. "I'll call you as soon as I get more information about the meeting. But you'd better go before Ducky gets back from the bathroom."
With a quick nod, Tony starts for the door. He pauses for a moment, turns back to her.
"McGee will be fine, Abs."
"I know. With you and Gibbs on the case, those bad guys better watch out." She tries to smile again, but it comes off as a grimace. "Just come home safe, okay?"
Tony flashes her a huge grin. "You bet, I will."
He peers into the hallway for anymore unexpected visitors. When he sees that it's empty, he gives Abby one last look, then darts out of the room. For the middle of the night, the hospital is surprisingly dead. The only person he sees is an overworked nurse, far too exhausted to notice him.
To play it safe, he takes the stairs to the parking garage. As soon as the door slams behind him, the hair on the pack of his neck rises. He yanks the gun from its holster and whips around. Staring down the barrel of the barrel of Tony's weapon is his father.
Senior visibly jumps, backpedaling with his hands raised.
"Dad! What the hell are you doing?"
"Coming with you," Senior offers.
"No, you're not."
Growling, Tony holsters the weapon and turns back to the parking lot. As he stalks across the garage, he hears his father's shoes reverberate on the concrete.
There's a grip on his arm. "But Junior, you're in no shape to drive. If what the doctors say is true…"
Tony whips around, wrests himself free. "Dad, that's enough. You've almost gotten me killed once this week. What do you think will happen if you follow me?"
Stopping dead, Senior drops his gaze to the ground. "Right now, I don't know. But after what's happened, I know your partner's life is more important to you than mine."
Tony lets the tension hang for a long moment. "And what are you going to do, Dad? Swindle one of those guys out of some cash? I mean, really, come on. There's nothing for you to do here."
"I could cause a distraction," Senior offers. "Or at the very least, drive you to where Agent Gibbs might be. The doctors said you blackout as a result of that drug. You can't get - "
"I'll be fine," Tony snaps. "I don't need you playing chauffeur."
There's no way Dad's telling me the truth about blackouts. He's just playing me like he has my whole life.
Once he locates the Morgan on the far side of the building, he darts towards it. Despite the rebuffs, his father tails him anyway. When he reaches the vehicle, his fingers delve into the jacket pocket for the keys. He pulls them out, trying to ignore the tremble in his hands.
As Tony fumbles with the lock, his vision tunnels to a pinprick. He focuses on the side view mirror, breathing deliberately while he yanks the door open.
"Junior." When he doesn't stop, Senior tries again: "Anthony."
Tony ignores him, instead sliding into the car. Before he has a chance to lock the doors, Senior slides into the seat next to him. When Tony notices the steering wheel isn't in front of him, he mutters a curse. Of course, Ducky imported a right-handed drive car.
Senior holds his hand out, like Tony might actually give him the keys.
"Not a chance in hell, Dad."
Reaching over, Senior manages to wrangle the keys out of his son's hands. Tony wants to fight back, but he doesn't have any left. The escape from the hospital room left him exhausted and winded. He leans back against the seat, counting the spots that collect in his vision.
Darkness flirts with him and he tries to ignore it. He needs to get his father out of the driver's seat so he can drive himself to Philadelphia. But he has no energy left; he has nothing left.
"Sleep, Anthony, I'll get you there."
It's that voice from a lifetime ago as soft and loving as the touch on his arm. The one from his childhood before his mother died and his life turned upside down.
For a fleeting moment, he believes he's safe in his father's presence.
Maybe I was wrong. Maybe Dad can get me to McGee.
Just as he starts to pass out, he hears the roar of the Morgan's engine. But even the screaming gears can't wake him when darkness drags him away again.