First and foremost, sorry for the late delay. From now on chapters will be posted on a month by month basis because of life and college applications among other things. So they might not be as steady as they once were. On another note, I'm beginning to bring in flashbacks of events that occurred before and during Bishop and Tony's capture and that will be written in italics. I wrote an extra long chapter as an apology.
Location Navy Field Office
Forty-Eight Days Ago
Thwack* Thwack * Thwack*
It started like most days. Begrudgingly, a bit sloppily and with a huge dose of caffeine. The Navy Yard's coffee was horrifically bad this morning, but Tony had already powered through two cups of it greedily and was working his way through another. He was grateful for the extra kick of energy the steaming liquid provided him with each morning. Especially grateful that it counteracted the lack of sleep he'd been getting in the recent weeks. Tony's dreams had been getting progressively worse within the last few weeks and he's more disturbed by them than he cares to admit. He hates dreaming. Hates waking up in the middle of the night covered in sweat. He never exactly remembered what they were about, probably about whatever the current case of the week was, but it bothers him nonetheless. The brown haired agent was pretty sure he wasn't alone in his dreams, but he doesn't feel like asking around and he doesn't feel like sharing. So Dinozzo did what he does best, distracted himself with humor.
"Don't you ever wonder where those boats go, McGee? The ones Gibbs keeps 'working' on in his basement. I mean we've been going down there for years and the boats keep changing! How is he getting them out of there?" Tony wondered aloud absentmindedly as he leaned back in his rolling chair. The red beanbag he tossed rhymtically in the air came down each time with a soft thwack. The dark haired special agent couldn't even remember the last time his boss even went on a boat, much less one as big as the ones he'd been building.
Thwack* Thwack * Thwack*
"Tony, will you please stop? I can't concentrate with you throwing that thing around." McGee called irritably from his workstation, ceasing his ferocious typing just long enough to express his annoyance. Tony was not swayed.
"Concentrate? All of this bustling and rustling and you can't concentrate? We don't even have a case yet! What could you possibly be-… Wait a second, you're talking to Delilah aren't you?" Tony teased, immediately jumping to, judging by the reddening of Tim's ears, the correct conclusion.
"No! Well… maybe. You know time zones are a bitch." Tim murmured, cracking his knuckles as he leant back into his seat. "So it's emailing for the time being. Lot's and lot's of emails."
Tony heard the obvious wistfulness that dripped heavily from his phrase, but figured that intruding on Tim's relationship wasn't the best idea. The computer analyst liked keeping his work separate from his personal life anyways. That fact was cemented when his sister, Sarah, came into the picture as a supposed murder, and Tim went all rouge trying to protect her instead of just telling the team. It was to early in the morning for that crap anyway, so instead Tony kept the mood light.
"Long winded, thought provoking, heart wrenching love letters right? Because if you haven't it means you failed as a ma-" Tony started, but the men's casual workplace banter was interrupted by the newest member of the team making her way into the office.
"It's 8:12 probie!" Tony said checking his wristwatch as Eleanor Bishop collapsed into her seat. "You're late."
"Yeah." Bishop murmured distractedly, sweeping her long blonde hair over her shoulder, as she dug into her satchel and fished out her laptop. Tony watched perplexedly as the former NSA analyst gnawed on her thumbnail, something she always did when she was nervous, as she waited for her computer to start up. The usually annoyingly chipper agent hadn't even bothered to say hi. Was everyone having an internal crisis today? He turned to McGee to see if he had noticed anything off, but the computer analyst returned an equally confused look. Huh. Tony thought about asking her, but McGee beat him to the punch.
"Uh… Bishop? Everything okay?" He asked hesitantly.
"Huh? Uh…yeah… Sorry. It's just… a friend of mine- a co worker- died yesterday." The former NSA analyst murmured quietly, looking away from the computer and meeting their eyes for the first time that morning. The sadness was palpable in her silvery irises, but something else too. Something Tony couldn't quite place. Confusion? Fear?
"Oh Ellie, I'm so sorry. Should… should you be working?" McGee asked, knowing first hand how quickly personal emotions could mess up a case. Greif and guns never tended to mix well together.
"No... It's okay... We weren't close. We just… Er… We used to work together a while back. It was just kind of sudden. That's all." Bishop said, picking at the loose thread on her plaid shirt, as she spun cross-legged back to her computer. Definitely confusion, Tony decided.
A heavy silence settled over the bullpen, no one knew how to start up another conversation after that revelation. Once her computer had turned on completely, Bishop made no move to work on it. Just stared it contemplatively. Tim turned back to his email reluctantly and then steadily began typing away. And Tony set the red beanbag down, silently acknowledging, that maybe now was not the time for it. A couple of minutes passed before anyone dared to speak again. The silence was only broken when the grey haired marine rounded the corner, staple cup of coffee in hand.
"We've got a case." The trio immediately jumped to their feet, go bags ready, each of them anxious to get their minds of their own inner turmoil and on to other matters.
"Where's the body boss?" Tony asked eagerly ready to get a jump-start on the day.
"No body. Just some files." The supervisory special agent noted as he dumped a stack of beige folders onto their desks. "It's been getting passed through the agencies. Metro PD. ISB. CID. Someone from the NSA referred the case to us after some evidence showed up suggesting that the man might have been a marine. They want to see if we have any luck before they transfer it to the hire ups and the case runs cold."
Tony reached for the file. The folder was thin. It only held a few sheets of whitish yellow paper marked with the standard 'confidential' stamps and administrative seals of the agencies Gibbs had rattled off. A cursory glance revealed only a few memos, a lab report, a letter, and a couple of crime scene and autopsy photos of a cold bullet ridden body.
"Boss? This file is practically empty." McGee frowned. The lack of information wasn't giving them a lot to work with.
"They were stumped. The image was taken two months ago; they don't even know the name of the man. No one in the area has declared anyone missing that fits his description. We're just going to work with what we've got." Gibbs informed, setting his own steaming mug of coffee down on his desk.
"What's this?" McGee asked. Pointing to a small scrap of blurry paper that lay in the corner next to the body, partially obscured by the debris surrounding the man. The older agent frowned as he scrutinized the blurry object.
"Send it to the lab, let Abby clear it up." He said at last.
Hours later, when the photo was refurbished to as high definition format as it could get, the NCIS special case response team was no closer to solving the case than when Gibbs had first handed them the file. Tony groaned as Palmer approached them sheepishly, handing off the new and improved images.
"Abby was to lazy to come up." Palmer explained awkwardly as he handed the file off to Tony before quickly excusing himself back down to the autopsy room. The rest of the team was to engross in their work to even bother looking up. The new image revealed blurry and microscopic
The tiny ink lettering read: 198 Zdvklqjwrq Dyhqxh YD 22101
Gibberish. What the hell was that supposed to mean? He squinted. Looked at it closely. And when it became apparent that no sudden epiphany was going to jump out at him, Tony alerted the others for help.
"Guys. Abby cleared the image up in the lab. It reads 198 Zdvklqjwrq Dyhqxh YD 22101. It looks like a bunch of nonsense, but there has to be a reason it was left near the body. Do you think it means anything?"
Both Bishop and McGee jumped up from their desks and skimpy files to take a look at the new evidence.
"Wait a second. This is a famous code. The Caesar cipher." Tim realized after a couple minutes.
"Caesar Cipher?" Gibbs asked, brow furrowed as he wasted for an explanation.
"The Caesar Cipher. It substitutes the original letter for the third letter before it. Like A is X, B is Y, and so on…" Tim explained hastily as he grabbed a piece of scrap paper from his desk. Bishop leant over his shoulder to get a better look at the photo.
"Yeah. I remember seeing this in one of the cases at the NSA." The blonde haired agent said, snapping out of her previous funk.
Tim scrawled out the code for the cipher and hastily wrote the corresponding letters. Once he started applying the code to the scrawled out letter, slowly, but surely the gibberish began rearranging shape.
198 Zdvklqjwrq Dyhqxh YD 22101 turned into….
198 Washington Avenue VA 22101.
An address. There was silence as the team contemplated this information. An address written in code, left next to a dead body, that no one had reported missing. It was unsettling to say the least, and
"I don't feel right about this. It's too convenient." The team leader admitted, but then he turned and headed for his desk to gather his gear. " Grab your gear. McGee, you're with me. Call the Metro PD and tell them to back us up. Dinozzo, Bishop take the truck."
….
198 Washington Avenue VA 22101 ended up being a heavily forested, very secluded area, far away from the city limits and practically in the middle of nowhere. The rundown house appeared like it had been abandoned for quite some time and looked like it was about to fall apart. Two floors of rickety, shoddily put together wood looked like it was going to collapse at any moment. Overgrown grass and untended weeds threatened the overrun the entire home. And as the sun set around them, there seemed to be no lights on in the house. It didn't look as if anyone was home. The only signs of life came from the animals that inhabited the land around it. The buzzing of cicadas, the humming of birds, and the low chirps of crickets that had begun to sing as the darkness began to take precedence around them. Tony checked his watch as he slammed the car doors shut. It was getting late, but the cops hadn't arrived yet. It had taken two in a half hours to get here. If they didn't want this to be a waste of a trip, they'd have to go in now. The team was already going to be late for dinner tonight. Apparently Gibbs had the same mode of thinking.
"I want the two of you to go around back, McGee and I will take the front entrance. Use your coms to communicate, let us know if you run into any trouble."
The trio moved to take their positions, but Gibbs kept Tony back.
"You guys need to have each others backs." His boss instructed. Protect her, were the unspoken words that radiated from that sentence. Tony nodded. He wondered if Gibbs knew about her former coworker dying. He always seemed to figure out things like that on his own, like a sixth sense of some kind.
Tony kept Gibb's instructions to heart and kept a careful eye on Bishop as both agents rounded the back of the beaten down house. Ivy and kudzu wrapped thickly around the contents of what had once been a backyard. A rusty swing set and a rotting, wooden shed were among its victims. The yard was large and sprawling, indicative of the usual parameters of a typical country home. Three separate paths intertwined together, circling around a fixture of what might have been a fountain before leading out to the back fence. The previously marble paths were vastly overrun by overpowering weeds and dead grass. No one had obviously set foot there in a long time. It was reminiscent of a post apocalyptic movie scene like the one in I Am Legend. There were no obvious signs of movement, just the shifting of leaves as they rustled in the wind. No sign of life really. Even the cicadas had quieted down.
"Backyard is all cl-" Tony whispered into his comm, but barely finished the sentence before two men in masks burst out of the underbrush and sprinted across the yard, climbing effortlessly over the fence opposite them.
"NCIS! Stop!" Bishop and Tony yelled simultaneously and took off after the suspects. Bishop, being more lithe and more youthful than him, had shot ahead of Tony faster than he could comprehend and by the time he set foot on the path, the former NSA analyst was already scrambling over the fence and into the forest after the two unidentified men.
"Bishop! WAIT!" Tony yelled after her as he followed as quickly as he could. He heard distant gunfire coming from the disappearing house behind him, letting him know that McGee and Gibbs had encountered trouble of their own, but he could do nothing to help them. Tony wasz in charge of Bishop, he had and he knew she wouldn't be able to handle two fully armed, grown men on her own. It was his job to protect her. The police department backup was on the way. They would help his other teammates. As Dinozzo pulled over the fence and began sprinting after Bishop and the men who were quickly putting space in between him.
The first thing he realized as he gained ground was that trees were so thick that he lost his bearings almost immediately. The brush got thicker and thicker and the vines weaved tighter and tighter, reaching out to scratch at him as he ran by. By now, he could hear his own heartbeat pound in his ears and his lungs burned with the intense effort. He knew they had to catch up to their suspect soon. The tall trees had already obscured what was left of the light on the darkened path. The house grew more and more obscured and smaller behind him, until it almost disappeared from sight, but he could hear the police sirens approaching through his coms. Finally. The cavalry around here seemed to have a habit of coming to late.
Tony's gut growled uncomfortably as the winding passages took them further and further away from civilization. As he tried to gain ground, he realized the steps that the men were taking seemed very deliberate. They were running fast, but only fast enough to keep the NCIS agents on their tail. It was almost as if… As if the suspects were leading them somewhere. He turned onto a long stretch just in time to see Bishop disappear around a corner about two hundred meters away. The ominous feeling swelled up in as she disappeared from sight. He picked up the pace, desperate to not lose her. Because honestly he didn't know how much running he could take.
Then a sharp cry echoed throughout the forestall the wildlife in the surrounding area went silent. Followed by a loud thump, a sharp electronic shriek, then silence on his coms. Suddenly, it felt like he was alone in the big burgeoning forest. Completely alone. Adrenaline coursed through his system as he pounded after her, a sickening feeling overcoming him. There were only a few reasons that Bishop's com could have failed. And none of them had a happy ending.
Crackle "Tony? Bishop? Where are you guys?" McGee's voice rang crackily over the coms. "Metro PD is on sight. State your position!"
"Not exactly sure right now…" Tony yelled breathlessly as he followed down the path where Bishop and the suspects had disappeared. Where was she? The path ended with a cluster of bushes and tangleweeds. Where did they go? Had he passed it? No. A very visibly disturbed section stuck out noticeably against the other undisturbed areas of forest.
No.
Tony put on the last burst of energy and drew his service weapon as he rounded the corner. Exiting out of the brush and into a small clearing. As he reached it, however, he wasn't prepared enough for the situation that he was presented with. The brown haired agent skidded to a stop and hastily lifted his gun as he surveyed the situation. Nothing. No one was there. But someone had been there. There were footprints. Lots of footprints. They criss crossed over each other in odd, seemingly random directions. They blanketed the small area, but only some looked very fresh. There was a very noticeable skid mark, like someone had fallen then been dragged away. Someone small. Someone like Bishop. But it was quiet. Where did they go? Stray branches and dry leaves cracked underneath his soles as he cautiously investigated the scene. He hadn't been that slow. Maybe a minute or two behind her. Max. Where was she?
Then Dinozzo saw something that stuck out from the rest of the nature magazineesque surroundings. Partially obscured by the overgrown bushes, a black circular item threatened to be glanced over until it glinted noticeably in the moonlight. He picked the mysterious object up. The black leather ran smoothly across his fingers. The cold silver metal of the engraved bottom chilled his blood to the core. Bishop's badge.
It was then Tony felt the hot gust of breath on the back of his sweaty neck. He couldn't see who was behind him, but he had a sense of being loomed over all the same. Thanks to the moonlight, there was a grotesque shadow distorted by the light thrown across the ground to the brown haired agent's right, twisting its distorted shape up against the darkening path. He ran cold all over and felt the adrenaline rush kick in, jumpstarting his instincts that had him tightening his grip on his weapon. He stepped forward again even as he dropped his flashlight to brace his gun hand on his left forearm as he turned.
A man. Not one of the ones that they'd been chasing, but the silver revolver that glinted menacingly in the moonlight, quickly told Tony which side he was really on. Then another man emerged from shadows. Then another. Then another… who held a very familiar head of blonde hair tightly in his grip. Bishop.
Tony had to squint to really see them. Although he was out of the woods, Tony could barely make out any distinguishing features. Not with the sun setting rapidly in the distance and the ski caps and nondescript clothing they wore over their faces. The first had Bishop pinned against his chest and had her elbow twisted painfully behind her back. Her service weapon was shoved in his back pocket alongside his own silver revolver. Her com hung visibly from her ear, obviously broken, as the wires protruded from the head. Blood dripped from her skinned knees, probably from when one of the mystery men had pushed her to the ground. She looked more winded from the running, than actually scared or hurt, but Tony knew she was putting on a strong front. Because the odds of this situation were obviously not in their favor. Outnumbered and out gunned, four against two were never good odds.
"Put your gun down or we'll kill her." An obviously American accent rang out. Calm and collected. Like he'd done this all before. Like he was a professional. He couldn't tell which one said it, but Tony knew the men were serious and he couldn't afford to test their patience. Gibbs and the police were not coming anytime soon. He needed to stall.
"Hey. We can make some sort of-" Tony began. He was quickly silenced by the audible sounds of safeties being clicked off. Fuck. This situation was falling apart rapidly.
Crackle "Agent Dinozzo! State your position." It was Gibbs authoritative voice that rang over the coms this time. Tony swallowed hard. He had no idea where he was. He couldn't see the house. Nor the path he'd run down. And all the trees and vines the encompassed the mini standoff, looked exactly the same. Not did Tony would have a way to tell the remainder of his team in this precarious position anyways.
"Don't shoot. I'm putting my gun down. I'm putting it down." Tony placated, slowly lowering his service weapon to the gravely, sandy ground. . Silence momentarily reigned over the coms as he complied with their demands. Gibbs and McGee would just have to infer and they would have to infer quickly, because he was quickly losing the upper hand. His police training had told him to remain as still as possible. To make no sudden movements. To essentially comply. But most of that only made when there was backup nearby and Metro PD, while on scene, was not going to reach the duo very soon. Not with it turning very bloody and very messy. And the probability of that occurring was increasing exponentially as Tony swallowed nervously and the unwavering guns trained on him never left his face.
Crackle "Dinozzo. We're tracking your location. A search team is coming-"
It's Gibb's again, calm and serious, having apparently realized the situation and doing everything in his power to rectify it. The mystery man's voice, however, the one holding Bishop, vastly overpowered Gibbs electronic voice.
"Com too. Put it down and step on it. Or I swear to God I'll put a bullet through her head!" the man screamed. Ellie looked at him with wide, fearful eyes pleading with him to do something as the man pushed the barrel of his gun roughly against her temple. What was he supposed to do? What was he supposed to do? Follow their directions, his police training told him in the back of his head. Make sure you don't get both Bishop and yourself killed. Gibbs staticky voice faded from his ear as Tony complied with the demands. Then disappeared completely with an electric shriek as the electronic device shattered under his boot, but the guns trained on him still did not waiver. He wondered if that had been enough time to get a distinct location. Were they on there way now? Then one of them pulled the trigger.
Tony distantly heard Bishop scream in terror as a spike of white hot pain caught him in the chest and pitched him backwards. Dinozzo stumbled back a few steps, but wasn't knocked completely off his feet until another spike of white hot pain pierced him in the abdomen. His head scraped the dirt and rocks and his chest screamed in dull agony as he tumbled towards the ground. His ears rang from the bullets being fired loudly in successive order and his lungs constricted as it tried to acclimate to the pain from such a close range. They shot him? Of course they shot him, they were the bad guys. Tony thought weakly. Breathe deeply. Do it now. Dinozzo instructed himself as he probed weakly for the wound. Thank God for bulletproof vests. The bullet hadn't gone through. It was going to cause a big bruise the next morning.
'Get yourself together Dinozzo' Tony berated himself. Bishop was still in trouble.
As the ringing in his ears faded in and out so did the conversations occurring above him.
"They only needed the woman. Who the fuck is that guy?" A Hispanic accented voice demanded.
"He had to know that getting her alone was going to be impossible-" the American's protested. He saw another man forcing Bishop to the ground as he shoved a rag against her face. She struggled valiantly, but futilely, as whatever was on the rag began to take its effects. Chloroform… he realized darkly.
Have each other's backs, Gibbs previous statement rang dully throughout his head. Damn it. Why couldn't he move? Get up. The blood rushing through his already ringing ears threatened to overpower everything as he screamed silently at his laden limbs. Help her! But the pain, while it was beginning to ebb away, was too much. The blow to the head wasn't helping very much either. The world seemed to warp around him. The green trees spiraled and twisted into weird patterns and shapes. The ground beneath him felt like it was swimming. If he got up now, he would not be help to anybody.
"Running out of time… He said... ….doesn't want any liabilities or suspicious deaths… cause to many questions…" The men's words faded in and out as they argued over the duo. A sinister, but detached quality distinctly marked there words. Like they were discussing a business transaction. What the fuck did they get themselves into?. Gibbs would come. They were tracking the comms. They would come. They would get here in time. Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw one of the men, heave the now unconscious Bishop over his shoulder. Like a sack of potatoes. Like she was barely human. Just product.
"Let go of her!" Tony wheezed, but the conversing men ignored him. Where were they taking her? You were supposed to protect her, his mind screamed. Where the hell was the rest of the team? Tony closed his eyes and strained to listen for any signs of footsteps, of police sirens, of anything that signified that the cavalry was on it's way, but only silence greeted him. Even the cicadas were quiet. Shit. Maybe if he could get to his gun…
"You know… He might know something too."
A sudden immense pressure weighed onto his chest and Tony came face to face with the beady blue eyes of a captor. Hatred and disgust radiated from glare and were made obvious in his actions. Dinozzo suppressed a groan as he was flipped to his back and his arms were pulled painfully out of position. Zip ties were tugged tightly around his without discrimination. He tried to shift his position and get a better view of what they'd done with Bishop, but the man on top of him shoved his face back into the dirt. Dinozzo coughed violently of soil, pebbles, and other debris flooded his mouth and nose.
"You move a muscle," the American accented man threatened. "I put a bullet through your head."
A sickeningly sweet scent overwhelmed his senses as a rag was pressed up against his mouth. Don't breathe it in. Don't breathe it in. Tony repeated to himself, but eventually his body was forced to relent and almost immediately his vision grew fuzzy.
Where were they? Tony thought as the world darkened. Gibbs had said a search team was coming, but where were they? They were supposed to have each other's backs.
Everything went dark.
Location: Field Office in Washington Navy Yard
Present Day…
Thwack* Thwack * Thwack*
Dark, wet pellets of rain pattered miserably against the Navy Yard's office windows. Grey indifferent storm clouds had long blotted out the normally pristine, blue skies. Replacing the usual sunny weather with a dismal downpour of rain that showed no signs of letting up anytime soon. There was no thunder, no white streaks of electricity shooting across the sky, no giant bursts of wind gusting to and fro. Just steady, miserable rain falling relentlessly from the clouds above. The darkness of the stormy skies cast a dark tint on the Navy Yard and the incandescent lighting of the office floor to appear ever more artificial and unnatural. Casting a depressive aura across the already dreary environment. And as the regular nine-to-five workers made their way into the offices, shaking out rain sprayed umbrellas and walking uncomfortably in water soaked shoes, the burgeoning storms only served to worsen Tim's morale.
McGee had shoved all of the information he'd gathered from his hours of work onto a portable hard drive and had torn his way out of Sec Nav and it's claustrophobic, stiffening enclosure. He left the other technicians, allowing them to deal with Keith, the queasy computer programmer, and the rest of the files the group had been collectively combing through. He knew that they'd understand his abrupt departure. Not just because the information concerned two of his close friends and teammates, although that almost certainly was a factor, but because of that unspoken connection computer programmers and analysts shared. The idea that even if the computer specialists loved their job, spending hours upon hours in front of a screen wasn't good for anybody, and the dark, muted, claustrophobic feel of the room certainly wasn't helping. Especially when Tim had been there all night. He needed time to think.
The brown-haired computer analyst collapsed tiredly at his desk, immediately turning from Bishop and Tony's usual spots, as he buried his head in his hands. Nothing was making sense. The USB lay tauntingly on the table in front of him. The background checks, the psychological evaluations, the inconsistent time stamps. All of it presented Tim with more questions than answers, stretching an even murkier web over an already perplexing case. Then there was the footage. The goddamn fucking footage. There were forty-two photos and three videos in all. McGee had only seen two images. Two very high definition, very pixelated images that gave a horrific look into what his friends… his family had endured. And as the nausea swelled up within him it was all the agent was able to handle, however cowardly it may have been. He could not, would not look at anymore. Not until Gibbs arrived. Any minute now, but he couldn't get those images, so neatly stamped with time signatures, out of his head.
The photographs remained starkly clear in his mind, like a show on a HD television providing a picture with so much more detail than was necessary. The first had been to be taken in the early stages of their capture. Tim knew this because of the distinct lack of injuries that he and Gibbs had seen when bringing his fellow agents back home in the helicopter. The lack of severe injuries did not make to photo any easier to see. The two figures had been kneeling on their knees into an inch thick layer of sandy ground wearing dusty burlap sacks over their heads, duck tape wrapped around the base of the neck to secure it. Despite the sacks, McGee knew the identities of the individuals were, Tony and Bishop. After years of working with them as a special agent, Tim had picked up things as an investigator and a coworker. He'd noticed, for example, how Bishop always leant forward slightly when she worked, whether she was standing, sitting, or cross-legged as if she needed glasses when she technically already had them. Or how Tony always went everywhere with his shoulders up and his head held high, something Tim noticed he hadn't done since his capture, as he rambled on about Dinnozo Pride. Regardless, it was how they kneeled in the photo, same as always, as if ramifications of what had happened hadn't fully hit them.
Their hands were tightly bound with handcuffs in front of them. So tight, McGee remembered, that blood had leaked from beneath the metal of Tony's wrists. Behind them, there were three men in civilian clothing, Tim hadn't gotten a close enough look at them, clutched pistols almost lazily in their hands. It was obvious there were more men in the room at that point because Tim could see the soles of feet and the starts of pants legs in the corners of the image. How on earth had they fit so many people in that ungodly room? The trio of men had grinned brazenly at the cameras. One aiming his pistol at Tony's head, while another rested the barrel of his gun on Bishop's shoulder. All wore pictures of glee on their faces. It made McGee want to scream, pull the men out the picture, and beat the men himself. Tim had no idea of the context of the situation, but if the rest of the photos progressed like this one had to the second picture then it was going to get exponentially worse.
It was the second image that had caused, weak-stomached Keith to run for the wastebasket, the other analysts to look away with disgust, and McGee to become nauseous as well. Despite all of the cases he'd been through and all of the bodies he'd seen, the gruesome, gut-wrenching nature of the image had felt surreal. Tim couldn't place when the picture was taken, but it had certainly been further ahead than the previous one. Tony had not been in it, at least not from what the computer specialist had seen in that cursory glance, neither were the soldiers form the previous photo, but Bishop was… and she had not been alone.
The former NSA analyst had apparently been forced to sit, legs slightly bent in front of her, in the infamous 'stress position'. Forced to squat on the ball of her feet with her hands bound behind her. McGee knew from the research he'd done for his novels, that the position put an intense amount of pressure on the legs and that it was very, very painful. Thick black headphones had covered Bishop ears, and a crudely torn wool-like gag was stuffed in her mouth, as she squatted in the uncomfortable position. Sensory deprivation, Tim remembered. The deliberate removal of stimuli from one or more of the senses. A torture practice that could break even the hardest of men. While it was painful to see Ellie like that, it was not what caused the computer specialists to recoil; it was whom she was bound too. As she sat with her hands tied behind her back, there was someone else cuffed to her. A man… Or at least he might have been one at some point. Now the man was just a very mutilated, partially decayed, very dead body.
The bloated corpse had been slumped partially over Bishop's back and had quite obviously been dead for some time. The dead man's skin had stretched and spread to an odd blackish green color with splashes of yellow thrown in as the extraneous gasses swelled up within him. The tongue protruded hideously from his mouth and yellowish clear fluid oozed out from his nose and gaped upwards openly. One of the body's eyes was dark, clotting red, the other had sunken from view. Maggots poured from the chest cavity and the settling blood and bodily fluids that seeped from multiple extremities soaked the floor and anyone who dared get close enough. McGee hadn't seen a corpse in such bad shape in a long time and the computer workers had never been put in the field long enough to see a corpse. The sight alone of the decaying body was horrific, he couldn't imagine would it would have been like to be there. And it was Bishop, who had been forced to endure kneeling against it, in one of the most uncomfortable positions one could be put into.
The wounded look in Bishop's eyes was enough to make McGee want to throw the USB across the room and flip a couple of tables while he was at it. It was unfair how the universe seemed set against that one small team. The terrorist attacks, the bombings, the hostages. He supposed it was part of the job description, but all he wanted to do now was scream. McGee closed his eyes tightly blocking out the incandescent lights above him. How the hell was he supposed to look at the rest of those images, much less the videos? The clunk of two coffee mugs being placed on the desk interrupted his thoughts.
"What do you have, Tim?"
It was Gibbs, having noticed the dark circles under Tim's eyes, who had given him a fresh cup of coffee. The other steaming cup apparently belonged to him. His voice had a calming comforting tone instead of sharp edge it held during normal circumstances, as if he acknowledged that Tim had been here all night working. McGee was just grateful that someone was here to help.
"Benét and Juarez sent us data. A lot of data…" McGee began hesitantly as he gathered his thoughts. Gibbs nodded, but didn't say anything.
"The computer guys and I have been decrypting a lot of it… Based on the information we've uncovered so far, we think that Alakaso may not have been alone in his… in his actions. All his psychological reports are saying he's a follower. A temperamental one, but still a follower. I think he was only a henchman. I think-" Tim rambled as he plugged the USB into the computer and the files appeared simultaneously on the screen in front of them.
"McGee. Slow down." Gibbs ordered. Tim nodded frantically as he struggled to blink the sleep away from his eyes.
"It's all there." McGee gestured at the screen that was filled with Alakaso's field reports, time stamps, and background checks. "It doesn't add up. Palmer called up earlier. He said all of Jonathan's injuries weren't consistent with those of a car crash. Instead they were consistent with Bishop's and Tony's, but that's impossible because Alakaso wasn't there! It doesn't add up. Something's off."
There was a long silence as the retired read over the data files himself. His eyes narrowed as he did, obviously not liking what he saw. At last he spoke up.
"You're right. Something's not right." His boss affirmed. McGee's stomach sank. Although he had come to that conclusion on his own several hours before, he'd been hoping it wasn't true. The computer analyst had hoped they had ended this entire ordeal with a bullet in the head of Alakaso. Apparently, that was not the case.
"Boss… There was footage too. Forty two pictures and some videos. " McGee said quietly and pulled up the multi media files. Gibbs jaw clenched visibly as the plethora of images came up onto the screen, all to aware of the gruesome nature of events that these photos were about to reveal. The grey haired marine looked over at his younger agent and the dark circles under his eyes.
"You don't have to look at these right now, Tim. You can go get some rest. You need it." Gibbs said.
"No. Just… I… Just no." Tim said shaking his head vehemently. He needed to do this. He needed to get this over with. Gibbs nodded silently and scrolled to the list of the videos, clicking the very first on the list.
The recording was short – only a couple of minutes long – and appeared to be some type of security tape footage, but started in media res and was packed with enough brutality to make the computer specialist wince and the retired marine to seethe in anger. The clip began with a bunch of men yelling slurs at the bound and gagged duo; Alakaso's voice overpowered them all, as he took front in center.
"Stand up!" the torturer demanded over the raucous shouting of the other shoulders. "Didn't I tell you pieces of shit to stand up?" Bishop was trembling like a leaf and Tony shoulders still set, looked beaten and tired beside her. Their hands were bound behind their back, rendering them defenseless. Gibbs and McGee watched apprehensively as the agents on the screen, encumbered by their restraints, struggled to their feet. Then, as his agents were struggling to straighten up, Alakaso drove steel-toed boot into Tony's abdomen causing the brown hair agent to collapse to the floor. His pained gasps could be heard terribly loudly through the computer screen. Alakaso forcefully grabbed Bishop by the scruff of her plaid shirt, the one she'd been wearing when they'd gone missing, temporarily blocking her from view the camera. The thud could be heard, however, as he abruptly shoved her to the ground. The soldiers watching roared in laughter behind him.
"Did I say you could stand up? Don't do anything unless I tell you too!" Alakaso yelled with his heavy accent. The confusion was visible on both their faces, but only Tony had the guts to say something about it.
"You just said to stand-" Tony protested, but was quickly cut off by a sharp kick to his his jaw. Blood sprayed from Dinozzo's mouth and the roar of laughter from the soldiers around him overpowered the tiny groan the miserably let out. Bishop leant forward instinctively to check him, but Alakaso's stopped her in her tracks.
"Don't you dare touch him." The torturer snarled. A beat of silence passed.
"HEY! Didn't I tell you pieces of shit to stand up? Stand up!" Alakaso yelled at the moaning individuals on the floor. Suddenly Gibbs realized what was going on. In the very early stages, Alakaso was trying to disorient them, confuse them, and asset this domination over them. The process went on for several more cycles, each time his agents got more and more roughed up.
"Stand up." Alakaso said evenly and coldly, the smattering of soldiers had begun to move away as they lost interest. The bloodied agents stumbled to their feet, it took longer this time, longer than all the others. A lot longer, but his heart swelled with disheartened pride as his bloodied agents staggered to their feet. Alakaso snapped his fingers at the soldiers behind them, who subsequently moved closer.
"Good, boy and girl. Now I'm going to ask you one more time…" Alakaso said moving uncomfortably closer to his two agents. "What are the passwords to code file Project Dual EC BRB Sha-3?"
Both of his agents remained silent, but the retired marine didn't miss the way Bishop's eyes averted towards the floor. Or the way Tony's jaw clenched in determination. Alakaso whistled and the soldiers who had laughed cruelly throughout the entire video approached.
"Stop the video." Gibbs said at last.
"There's still three minutes left." McGee replied. The strain was palpable in his voice.
"I said stop the video." Gibbs turned away, massaging his temple as he forced himself to calm down. This video was the first of many and had barely scratched the surface of what had occurred in the month his agents had been taken away from them, but it gave them a starting point. What the hell was Project Dual EC BRB Sha-3? He had certainly never heard anything of the sort in relation to NCIS, but the supervisory special agent could tell form the reactions in the video that Bishop, if not Tony had at least some background knowledge on the matter.
"Boss?" his computer analyst questioned warily.
"Get some sleep Tim." Gibbs ordered at last..
"But there's still-" McGee began to protest.
"Get some of the other NCIS agents to sift through the rest of the information, but you need to get some sleep. You're not going to be any good dead on your feet." Gibbs shut him down quickly as he grabbed the remaining coffee mug and began to move away.
"Boss! Where are you going?"
"The NSA. Someone is going goddamn tell me what Project Dual EC BRB Sha-3 is."
The dark, wet pellets of rain continued to fall miserably against the Navy Yard's office windows. Grey and foreboding and now that he thought about it, completely indicative of what was to come.
Thwack* Thwack * Thwack*
Location Ivona Fairfax Hospital.
Present Day
Heavy boots slapped the sandy, rocky earth as they darted around outside the cell. Dry cracks, pops, and rat-tat-tats of gunfire filled the air, mixing with the shouts of men, the screams, and the explosions of flash grenades. The gear dug into him, weighed him down, made him slow. Too slow. The hot, dry air sucked the breath right from his lungs as it baked his mouth. Agony exploded in his side, white hot and consuming. He screamed Bishop's name as he hit the ground. Get off of her! Get off of her. His blood-stained hands clawed at the ground, dragging him to something to help him stand despite the inferno in his side and fight to protect his seizing partner, but the grip tightened in response. Refusing to loosen its grasp. Refusing to let him breathe.
Tony's teeth snapped together as he choked down the memories, beat them back with a stick. He didn't want to see them again or relive that Hell. He was safe. He was back and he was safe. And Bishop was too. Dinozzo drew in a deep breathe, this time it was free of the reek of gunpowder, spilled gasoline, blood, and dust. Replaced instead, with the clean, antiseptic smell of the hospital. Safe. And yet, as much as Tony tried to convince himself of this, deep in the back of his mind he almost questioned if it was all real, or if it was just too good to be true. No, Tony told himself. He knew it was real. But after all he'd been through. After all they'd been through, Tony could still felt that fear dwelling deep down in his stomach. He could still felt that uncertainty, like someone was going to run in this room and take everything away from him. He still felt that unsettling, almost crippling feeling, like he was completely and utterly alone.
"Anthony? Did you hear me Anthony?" Doctor Stedman's voice infiltrated his thoughts. Keller, his replacement, sat in the visitor's seat next to the cot. Both men scrutinized the brown haired agents scrutinized him like a zoo animal, as they waited for him to respond. If they had noticed the dark circles under his eyes, they hadn't mentioned it. Dinozzo hadn't seen a mirror, but he was exhausted and he knew his battered form would reflect that. At first, he would try to get some shut eye, but the godforsaken monster would ease his was sinisterly into his dreams. Eventually, he'd given up completely. A twinge of guilt tried to worm its way into his stomach, every time he told the doctor he felt better. But he would push the thought away because in his mind feeling better could mean a lot of things. Moving his toes without excruciating pain coursing through his body was better. Sitting up with out the heart monitors going off erratically was better. So lack of sleep was only a trivial thing in the back of his mind.
Tony's tired mind had eventually found a way to justify staying awake until the early morning hours. No sleep was good, his tortured mind told himself. Because sleeping meant vulnerability and he could not have that. There was no room for silly mistakes, no time to time to let his guard down, no respawns, no extra lives.In the cell one of them always had to stay awake because staying awake meant staying alive. Because if Alakaso and his men had been so neat, so impeccably organized, and so prepared the first time, there was no reason to doubt that he could easily do something again. So it made perfect sense in Tony's strung out, tired mind.
"Uh… I'm sorry. Could you repeat that?" Tony asked slowly. Determined not to hear his voice stutter again. Determined not to hear how weak he sounded. A whiff of desert mixed blood invaded his senses, but when he drew in another the smell was gone. Stay calm, he told himself. They both cast him looks of pity anyway.
'Your red blood cell is back up and your fever has gone down. It means we can get started on some therapy and get some range of motion back into your leg." Dr. Stedman repeated with a grim smile. "That's good news, Tony." The man told him, when he didn't visibly respond. Tony gave a jerky nod, when it became evident that they weren't going anywhere with out a proper response.
"Your friend's blood count has gone up as well. She's lost a lot of muscle mass, but you both have. It's to be expected. They moved her out of ICU earlier this week," the doctor continued, figuring that some good news about Bishop would get him to cooperate more fully. He was correct. Tony visibly perked up at the mention of Bishop's condition, but the brown haired agent inwardly scowled at how blasé the doctor was when discussing her. "You'll both be involved in therapy, but if you want to see her, we see no reason as too bring-"
"I want to see her now." Tony interrupted, sitting more upright, ignoring the painful shift in his movements, as he tried to put some authority into his voice. It had been too long. He didn't understand how the doctors could keep them away from his each other after they'd been through all that hell together. It was another form of torture in itself. Dinozzo needed to see that she was okay for himself. Not have the doctor or Gibbs or Abby or the rest of them for himself. He had to see for himself. Keller looks at the doctor, who shrugged, and told one of the nurses to bring him a wheelchair. It was a cumbersome process as the men disconnected the machines, fixed his IV drip, and helped lower him into the wheel chair. Tony fiddled anxiously. They were wasting time. He fidgeted inconsolably as they wheeled him down the hallways and stopped by the window outside her hospital room. Bishop… Tony pressed his hand up against the cool glass.
She looked pale and sickly under the single illuminated fluorescent light, the rest had been turned off to protect her eyes, but the brown haired agent could see the yellow bruises that were partially obscured by the bandages wrapped around her head. Her broken arm was incased in dark blue plaster and laid clumsily against the side of her cot, but the track marks were still slightly visible on her inner elbow just above the crook of her arm. Scarred, distorted and bumpy blackish flesh marred several areas along her shoulders and neck and disappeared under her hospital gown. Two separate IV drips fed fluids and nutrients into her body. She looked so small…The former analyst laid with her back to wall facing toward the entrance, though she wasn't look in that direction now, as she dragged her fingers lightly across the bumpy, marred burns.
He had failed, Tony realized and tidal wave of guilt hit him painfully. He was supposed to protect her. He was supposed to have her back. He had tried damn hard, but it obviously hadn't been enough.
As Joseph wheeled him into the room, Bishop visibly tensed and her gray orbs flicked up to settle on the his blue ones – rapidly deciding whether he was friend or foe. Nervous, fearful, but unwavering. Familiar eyes. Ones that helped sweep the cobwebs from his memories, stowed away for so long. Ones that lifted the heavy burdens that had weighed down upon him for so long. Ones that gave him, despite the pain that coursed through them, hope. Tony didn't dare move closer, partially because he wanted to give her time to acclimate, partially because he didn't know what to say, but Keller pushed him forward anyways. Until his wheelchair was right up against the hospital cot. Almost painfully close.
"I'll give you… I'll give you some time alone." Keller said. Tony didn't even look up as the man left the room. He trained his eyes on her, on her tear stained face, wanting her to say something, anything, to break the tension. Then recognition poured over her features and her dry, cracked lips parted.
"Tony?" Her voice was a rasp, a mere ghost of its former self. His eyes watered as he nodded frantically. The former NSA analyst smiles at him, but what should have been a happy gesture was infested with sorrow and heartbreak and pain and disbelief. But Tony can't believe it himself either.
"Hey probie." Dinozzo rasped, his voice muddled with tears that further encumbered by the soreness of his throat. But he was to exuberant to care as relief swept over him. Relief that she was alive, that they were still alive.
It was enough to open the flood gates and soon they were both crying. Not tears of pain. Not harsh sobs of anger. Not hiccupping sniffles of grief. Just silent tears of relief as they both released their cooped up vulnerabilities to each in the privacy of the hospital room, where they did not have to appear strong or face the looks of pity from anyone else. He leans forward resting his upper body against the guardrail of the hospital and rests his hand on her quivering arm, trying to bring comfort into both of them. It's the closest thing to a hug, any of them could manage. She stiffens under his touch as first, but then relaxes as she seemingly reminded herself where she was. The minutes tick by and they don't say anything further, jut content to see that they're both alive. The doctor doesn't dare come back inside anyways, not daring to interrupt the tearful reunion.
"He's dead. Tony." Bishop recounted in a tear muddled voice and Tony knows she's talking about Jake. Her husband, who she'd been convinced, had been left alone from all the horrors they'd faced.
"I-I know El. I'm sorry. I'm so so sorry." He mumbled miserably. How things had fallen apart over the last few months. How could they ever get back to normal from this? The blonde haired probationary agent, unsteadily takes a deep breathe, looking as if she wanted to say something else, but they were interrupted. The duo flinched and hastily wiped their tears away as the door craked open slowly behind them. It was Doctor Stedman.
"No." Tony shook his head vehemently. "No. I want to stay longer. I want to stay."
He doesn't care if he sounds petulant, like an angry child, but he doesn't want to back to that jail cell of a hospital room to be alone again. Alone with his thoughts, but the doctor shakes his head.
"I'm sorry Anthony, but this visitor takes precedent. He's a federal agent."
"I'm a federal agent!" Tony wanted to protest, but something stopped him. Was he really an agent anymore? No one had referred to him as one since his rescue. Gibbs had already replaced him with Keller on the team. He no longer had his badge, his service weapon, or the authority that usually came with the name. So was he really? It was a question, he didn't want answered. There was another knock at the door. Harsher and louder than Dr. Stedman's. Without waiting for a response, the person on the other side of the door let themselves in.
The black briefcase. The weathered skin. The trench coat. Jeremy Marlens. The man from the NSA, who wouldn't leave him alone. Tony's face twisted into a scowl, but Bishop looked at her former supervisor in obvious confusion.
"Boss?"
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