Disclaimer : Still own nothing but seasons 1 - 5. Maybe someday I'll own season 6 too.
Warnings : Mentions of rape.
Author's Note : As always, I want to extend a big thanks to everyone who is still reading and who has favorited/followed this story. Huge, huge thanks to RJane's Vindication, ytteb, victoriantealady, PaisleyGibbs, Gottahavemyncis, DS2010, charmed4eva112, and diana teo for commenting. I am amazed and humbled by the response this story has gotten so far. Thank you all for experiencing it with me.
As for the season premiere, I must admit that I am slightly underwhelmed. But hopefully, the season will improve.
Shooting for Sunday again.
Well, enough out of me.
Let's get on with it.
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7:41 am - unknown location -
As soon as his feet hit the ground, McGee sprinted towards the woods. He heard Hanrahan and Stoakes yelling his name behind him. The proximity of their voices propelled him forward, pushing him deeper into the forest.
Running blindly, he weaved around the trees of densely populated forest. His dress shoes provided little traction and he felt them slip repeatedly over the cold ground. Feeling himself tire, McGee paused and leaned against a tree. Lungs and muscles burning, he could go no further. He slid down the tree and rested on the ground, panting hard. On an empty stomach, his head and senses felt dull. He closed his eyes and tried to push away the black dots that were swimming in his vision. Unsure how far he had gotten, he resolved to head in the direction he thought to be north until he found someone who would call for help.
Listening intently for his pursuers, he was relieved to hear nothing but the call of birds. Relaxing slightly, he examined a bit of moss growing near his head on the tree. As he pulled himself to his feet, he recalled his Weblos troop days. Moss generally grew on the north side of a tree, at least he thought it did. Truthfully, he knew it didn't matter which direction he walked in, as long as he did not travel back towards the cabin.
McGee walked for some time and he was beginning to relax more. Even though trekking through the woods created a whole new set of problems, the potential of finding a way back to NCIS comforted him. Since he was getting an early start, he should be able to cover several miles before he needed to find shelter. Maybe he would be lucky and cross another hiker in that time.
Suddenly, a gunshot broke the forest's stillness and a tree to McGee's right exploded, sending splinters into the air. He gasped and pushed into run again as another gunshot rang through the air. A tree to his left exploded and he fell hard on his knees. Before he could get to his feet, a body tackled him to the ground. Knee in his back, he struggled to throw the weight off him. The cold barrel of a gun pushed against the back of his head ended his movements.
"Nice try, fed," Stoakes growled in McGee's ear and he felt his pulse race.
"Tim!" Hanrahan yelled, somewhere nearby.
Trying to inhale enough to call out for Hanrahan, McGee let out a loud wheeze. There was no way he was going to left alone in the woods with an armed and pissed Stoakes. A breathless gasp like that of a dying man escaped McGee's lips and he knew the same desperation.
Seconds passed and McGee could feel the perspiration freezing on his forehead. How could he be sweating so badly in the briskness of a fall morning? The sound of crunching leaves sounded and McGee knew Hanrahan had turned back towards their direction.
Hearing an annoyed exhale from above at the approaching Navyman, Stoakes called out, "Found 'im, Joey! We're over here."
As Hanrahan broke through the trees, McGee felt slightly relieved at no longer being alone with Stoakes. A part of the agent knew he'd be a dead man had Hanrahan not been nearby. Stoakes replaced the handcuffs on his wrists, hauled him to his feet and pushed him back in the direction of the cabin. As they moved, he wasn't sure what he was supposed to feel.
-oooooooo-ooooooooo-ooooooooo-
8:33am - Interrogation - NCIS Headquarters, Washington, DC -
As he stood behind the glass in the viewing room, Special Agent Leroy Jethro Gibbs stared at the ghost at the interrogation table. Fornell and Sacks had dropped off a tired-eyed Elyse Reynolds a little under an hour ago. While he had watched DiNozzo set up the young woman in interrogation, Gibbs had thought nothing of her. Though now...as he studied her movements : the way she nervously tucked her dark brown hair behind her ear, her impatient exhalation, the drumming of her fingers on the table. The young woman seemed so familiar, while being so foreign. Something about her reminded him of Kelly.
Lost in thought, Gibbs didn't hear the viewing room door open. "Ready to grill her, boss?" DiNozzo asked, startling the team leader.
Not taking his eyes off the young woman, he shook his head. "You're up first, DiNozzo."
"Boss? You sure? I - "
The look Gibbs leveled at the younger agent silenced him.
"Right," he said quietly, taking the case file and leaving the room. Several seconds later, the door to interrogation opened.
Letting out an annoyed sigh, Reynolds leaned back in the chair and crossed her arms. "Are you planning on telling me why you hauled me across the country to answer questions? I could have done this in Seattle."
"You lied to the FBI," Tony stated, sitting across from the former Marine.
She made a sour face and turned away. "I told them who raped me."
DiNozzo laughed. "Richard Reiben's boyfriend didn't appreciate you accusing him of rape."
"What? Boyfriend?" Her face paled as she locked eyes with Tony. "Well, maybe I don't exactly remember who it was. I was pretty sure he was there. Maybe not though. I don't know."
He leaned across the table. "I think you remember exactly who it was!"
Shaking her head, she covered her face with her hands and her body began to quake with sobs. Letting out a growl, Gibbs figured it was time to intervene before his senior agent screwed this up further. DiNozzo was typically a level-headed, competent investigator. Unfortunately, the case hiccup that left their youngest agent missing in the field seemed to leave Tony tightly wound.
The team leader stalked out of the viewing room and into interrogation. Motioning DiNozzo out, Tony slunk to the viewing room. Gibbs slid into his seat and stared at Reynolds. Up close, he realized his tired mind had been playing tricks on him. The young woman across the table from him was nothing like the daughter he had loved and lost. He ignored the sobs and took a deliberate sip of his coffee.
Removing her hands from her face, Reynolds looked genuinely shocked as she saw Gibbs across from her. She glanced around the room as if wondering whether Tony had vanished into thin air. Gibbs could imagine his senior field agent laughing in interrogation. Raising his arm, he knew it would serve as a warning for DiNozzo that an impending headslap was coming.
As soon as they were in close quarters...
Gibbs reached into his case file and placed multiple pictures of Wilkowski's dead body in front of her. "Look at them."
She bit her lip and shook her head. Tears were already running down her face from her closed eyes. "I can't..."
"Yes, you can!" Gibbs snapped, pounding the table. The former Marine visibly jumped and opened her eyes. Quickly scanning the pictures in front of her, she covered her mouth and began to rock in the chair. "The man who raped you in Iraq did the same thing to her." He held up a picture of a lively, smiling Wilkowski. "Then when she was home, he stabbed her and left her to die. You know who did this."
"I can't..." Reynolds hiccuped. "I can't. I can't...he said if I ever told anyone, he'd kill me."
"No, he won't. I can protect you, but I need a name."
Their eyes locked, his hard and hers hysterical. Whoever this person was, he still had considerable power over the young woman. He pushed a pad of paper and a pen towards her. Her lips moved, almost seeming to unload the name of her rapist. To give her peace and safety. A strangled cry escaped her as she began to sob again.
"I can't tell you..."
Disgusted, Gibbs kicked his chair back and stormed out of interrogation with his files. DiNozzo met him in the hallway and followed by his side as he stalked to the bullpen.
"Now what, boss?"
"Give her some time to think it over. Then we nail the bastard."
-oooooooo-ooooooooo-ooooooooo-
9:07am - Somewhere on 95, heading to Chevy Chase, MD -
Clutching the bar on the passenger side door, FBI agent Bruce Wayne squeezed his eyes shut as yet another car nearly collided with the Dodge Charger. More squealing tires and a car horn let him know they'd had a near miss. Silently, he promised G-d that if he made it to the pub owner's house in one piece that he'd rediscover his faith and call his parents every weekend. Well, almost every weekend. The car slid around a corner on two wheels as Mossad Liaison Ziva David exited the freeway and headed towards a residential area.
"Whoa! Slow down, man! You're going to kill us!" Wayne exclaimed as David blew through a stop sign, narrowly missing a Ford Explorer.
"Evasive driving is an important part of training for Mossad," Ziva said, matter-of-factly. "I am also not a man."
"We're not being chased!"
"Well, if we had been then I would have lost our tail." Suddenly, the car slammed to a stop and Ziva pulled on the emergency brake, killed the engine and climbed out in one fluid movement.
Closing his open mouth, Wayne slowly pried himself off the seat. It took him several seconds to ease his white-knuckled double handed grip off of the car handle and slid out, thankful to be on solid ground.
"What is taking so long?" Ziva asked, as Wayne meandered up the driveway to the small rancher, where the owner of the 'Founding Fathers' lived.
"Trying to get rid of my sea legs, man" Wayne explained, holding the railing as he climbed the stairs to the front door.
Shooting him a pensive look, Ziva knocked on the door. "Why would you possess sea legs? You are in the FBI and we are not near the ocean. Also, I am still not a man."
Raising his eye brows, Wayne felt confused at her references. He hoped he didn't have some kind of brain injury from his head connected with the window on that sharp turn several miles back. Or perhaps from when she had whacked him hard with that stick in Abby's lab the previous night. Maybe he had developed a concussion from those headshots. Rubbing his injured head, he was about to ask for clarification as Ziva knocked on the door a second time.
Suddenly, an aging, bald man in a pink silk bathrobe answered the door. Mouth open in shock, Wayne pulled out his badge and attempted to regain his composure.
"Maurice Zeldnick?"
The man blushed fiercely and ducked behind the door, peering his head around.
"Yeah, who's asking?"
"I'm FBI Agent Bruce Wayne and this is NCIS liaison, Ziva David. Do you own the 'Founding Fathers' pub in downtown DC?"
"Yeah, so what?"
"We're investigating a murder and we believe that the victim may have been at your bar right before she died."
Concern passed over Zeldnick's face. "Oh my. What makes you think that?"
Ziva spoke up. "She had a special beer in her stomach. Some kind of monster."
Zeldnick looked at Wayne quizzically and he corrected, "Stomach analysis showed that she had consumed a beer called the 'Loch Ness Monster' before her death. It's our understanding that it's a brew special to your place?"
"Yeah, we brew 'Loch Ness Monster' in house and it's only available in my pub."
"Did you work on Sunday night?" Ziva asked and Zeldnick shook his head. "Do you know who served on Sunday? Perhaps they could identify who she was with."
Brow furrowed in thought, Zeldnick was quiet for a moment. "Yeah, I think I know who was waiting tables on Sunday. Let me ask her...yo, Phoebe! Come here!"
Wayne and Ziva shared a questioning look, as they heard footsteps approaching the door. The face of a very young, blonde woman appeared next to Zeldnick's.
"Reesie? What's going on?"
Wayne attempted to disguise a laugh as a cough and managed to fail spectacularly. When their heads disappeared behind the door to converse, Ziva elbowed Wayne hard in the side. That would probably leave a mark.
Giggling sounded on the other side of the door and Ziva knocked again. "Excuse us? We are still present. There are still questions."
"Oh yeah," Phoebe said, airily and peered around the corner again. Well, she was good-looking Wayne figured, it didn't mean she had to be a rocket scientist. "Phoebe Daly," she held her hand out to Ziva who shook it.
"So you worked at the 'Founding Fathers' on Sunday night, correct?"
Phoebe nodded. "Yep, waited tables. Made lots of good tips. I can remember lots of stuff."
"Good." Ziva sounded like she was talking to a small child. Pulling a picture of Wilkowski out of her file, she held it up to Phoebe. "Did you serve this woman Sunday night?"
Studying the picture intently, the blonde woman bit her lip and thought hard. "Yep. Cheeseburger, hold the pickles and fries, nachos and two, no wait, three 'Loch Ness Monsters'! See? I told you I could remember lots of stuff." She grinned triumphantly and Wayne resisted the urge to pat her on the head.
"Do you remember who she was with?"
"Ohhh yeah. She looked like she was on a date with this really, really hot blonde guy. They were flirting and he kept leaning over to whisper stuff in her ear and she kept laughing. They seemed happy. He ordered a cheesesteak, extra fries and a cherry coke!"
"Do you remember anything else? Perhaps what time they left?"
Jutting her lip out, Phoebe was obviously thinking hard and Wayne feared the girl may hurt herself. Finally, she shook her head. "I only remember she had the most killer heels on. Five inch stilettos with black patent leather. Oh my G-d, I've been trying to find them for - "
Ziva held her hand up to silence the shoe tirade. If Wayne had to guess, he would bet the farm that Ziva knew nothing about shoes other then sneakers and combat boots. He wondered what she wore on court appearances, probably combat boots under her suit. Ziva held up a picture of Petty Officer Hanrahan.
"Was this her date?"
Phoebe nodded. "Yeah. He's so hot."
Unfortunately, she didn't see Zeldnick's upset face behind her.
"One more question, Miss Daly. Was she carrying a purse?"
Thinking hard, she finally shook her head. Both agents thanked the witnesses for their statements and headed back over the lawn to the car. As Ziva pulled out the keys, Wayne started feeling sick to his stomach...
-oooooooo-ooooooooo-ooooooooo-
10:28am - unknown location -
As soon as they had reached the cabin, Stoakes had strong armed McGee back into the folding chair at the card table. Now, the hulking man sat across from him, hand on the gun and staring daggers. It almost seemed that Stoakes thought McGee could rip his cuffs off and break down the wall for another ill-fated escape attempt. What could the agent really do anyway? He was just a hung-over computer geek who hadn't eaten in a day and a half.
His head had been pounding since they returned to the cabin. All the excitement of his run through the woods left him thirsty and exhausted. Maybe he could ask Hanrahan for a couple of ibuprofen. Glancing over at Stoakes, he decided against it.
The petty officer sat next to Stoakes with a laptop in front of him. Occasional clicks, followed by curses rose from the man. A part of McGee wanted to tell him that he was doing it wrong, all wrong. That he could show him how to fix his problems and make his machine run at speeds that would make Hanrahan's head spin. Too bad he couldn't offer a little IT advice for his freedom. Sighing, he slumped forward and put his head on the table.
"We're not boring you, are we?" Stoakes growled. McGee heard the chair move and imagined the man must be standing.
"N-n-n-n-n-o. I'm just a little tired." The agent sat up, forcing a tight smile.
"Well, you try that shit again and you'll be dead. You can sleep then."
The words made McGee swallow hard. Leaning uncomfortably back in the chair, his mind whirred and he knew he needed to come up with a plan, fast. Riding it out and waiting for his team surely didn't seem like the best situation at the moment.
"A-ha, okay...good," Hanrahan murmured, half to himself and half to the computer. "Relax, Stoakes. Sit down. I need to work with Tim for a moment." The other man did as asked. Hanrahan rose, carrying the computer and placed it in front of McGee. "Okay, Tim, here's what I need you to do. Look at the camera and read this." Pointing to the top of the computer and to an open Word document, he placed a hand on the agent's shoulder. "This is how I need you to help. Tell your friends I didn't do kill Leah and you can go home as soon as they prove it."
Leaning forward, Hanrahan hit the mouse button and the red record button popped on the screen. McGee felt himself look stupidly from the computer to the petty officer, who tapped his back. The agent began to read the typed words aloud.
"My name is Special Agent Timothy McGee and I work for NCIS."
He paused for a second, suddenly realizing he was recording his proof of life. Another hard tap from Hanrahan signaled to him to keep reading and he knew the situation could only get worse.