A/N: Hi all! After a frustrating computer crash, this has been rewritten and is ready to go! So, here's your chapter :)

As always, thanks so much to every one of you who are reading, reviewing, alerting and adding to your favourites! It's so amazing, Abby's super-hugs to you all!

Shout out this chapter to all my amazing guest reviewers and those reviewers who have the PM feature turned off. Thank you all so much! Getting a review in French was so cool! I'm learning French so I could actually read it! :D

So, on with the chapter!

"Tony what?" McGee exclaimed though his desk phone, catching Ziva's attention from across the bullpen.

"He's gone McGee." Gibbs repeated frustrated, but taking pity on the youngest agent.

"I'll trace his phone Boss." Tim told him as he got the program running on his desktop.

"He doesn't have his phone."

"Actually, he does." McGee cringed, waiting for the booming yell to come though the line.

"How'd he get his cell McGee? I sure as hell didn't give it to him, thought he'd pull a boneheaded stunt like this!"

Taking a deep, nervous breath, he explained in a rush, "Well, when I visited him before he said over the weeks he'd missed some dates. He didn't want the ladies to think he'd just stood them up, he said something about rescheduling, and so he asked for his phone so he could do both that and keep himself occupied with Tetris. It seemed fine so I got it for him, I didn't think he'd run."

"Keep working on that trace. He hasn't got any cash, he won't get far."

"Damn." McGee cured, realising he'd been played twice.

Gibbs sighed, exasperated. "How much did ya give him McGee?"

"Fifty." McGee mumbled, dropping his head to rest in the hand not occupied with holding the phone. "He knew I always carry a note with my phone, for an emergency. He asked to borrow the cash so he could get some, in his words, 'real food', from the cafeteria for however long he was stuck in the hospital. I figured it couldn't do him any harm, so I gave it to him. Never gave it a second thought. Sorry Boss." He offered, truly ashamed.

"Don't apologise."

"I know, sign of weakness. I'll pay more attention next time."

"Good, but ya don't need to apologise."

"But I screwed up." McGee said, confused.

"Yeah, but DiNozzo's a slick SOB when he wants to be. You got that trace yet?"

"Uh, yeah Boss." McGee nodded pointlessly as he pulled up the trace. "Well, he's feeling alert enough to turn off his cell, that's kind of a good sign, right?" He tried to convince more himself than Gibbs, they'd lost him, but at least he was aware and well enough to hold his own until they could find him again.

Gibbs made his opinion on that quite clear; he hung up.

"Tony has fled?" Ziva asked, already knowing the answer from what she'd gathered from McGee's side of the conversation.

"Yeah." Tim muttered.

"You are angry?" She asked, expecting him to be more concerned than mad.

"Well, yeah, I am! He completely played me!" McGee said in an unusual outburst.

Slightly taken aback, Ziva quickly made her way over to sit on the edge of McGee's desk. She pressed her hand to his cheek and said softly.

"When I first began here, I would have been angry also. Though, I have learnt that Tony is protective, even as he aims to hide that trait. Yes, he tricked you, as he did us all, though I know he did this to protect us, not to hurt us."

Tim nodded. His anger calmed rapidly to leave nothing but the worry she'd first expected to see.

"You think he'll go after Stratton by himself?" McGee asked warily.

"I believe we all are aware of the answer to that McGee, it will not help for me to only confirm what you know. We must place our efforts into finding him now." She said soothingly.

He just nodded, she was right.

"He would have taken a taxi, but fifty bucks wouldn't get him far. So, where would he go?"

"Presumably, he will need his car, correct?"

"Yeah, you're right! He'd need fresh clothes and a few other things too. He'll be at his apartment."

"He will not stay there for long, call Gibbs on the way and request that he meet us there, we have very little time." Ziva instructed as she rushed back to her desk to grab her badge and gun; McGee did the same.

As they jogged to the elevator, McGee fished his phone out of his pocket and grumbled, "I hope Tony's still there."

"As do I McGee." She agreed.

"I really don't want to have to tell Abby that we lost him."

Tony had paid the taxi driver and headed into his apartment. Right now, he way trying to get his things together before Gibbs showed up. His apartment was probably one of the first places they'd look, and he couldn't let them find him.

He threw some jeans and plain T-shirts into his small, rugged backpack and kept looking. He packed some water and energy bars to keep him going, he didn't know how long it would take to break Stratton and he didn't want to risk Gibbs finding him too fast.

Having packed, the next thing Tony wanted to do was get out of the hospital gown and bloodstained jeans. He walked into the bathroom and gladly discarded the clothes, unfortunately not the memories with them. He turned the shower on full heat and just allowed the steaming water to beat down onto his battered body. It was his first proper shower in about a month and he'd almost forgotten how good it felt to allow his mind to just relax a little as the water swirled down the drain at his feet. He scrubbed at his skin and hair, making sure all of the blood was gone, even though he already knew it was.

Of all the brutalities he'd endured in the past few weeks, he found that the one that hurt the most was the only one where nothing even touched him; nothing except her blood.

He felt himself even now, so soon after, losing touch with the horrific events that created his stinging aches and pains. Thinking about the way Stratton had torn the blade down his back still made him shiver, but it was beginning to become nothing more than a memory; it felt more like a nightmare then true reality. It was the same with the beatings, the stabbing. It all haunted him still, as a fresh sensation that was still burned deeply into his being. Though somewhere deep down, he knew it would become a faint recollection of something that had once torn him down, but was no longer painful. He'd get through it on his own, silently, like he always had. He'd act as though it hadn't hurt him so deeply, like the images didn't still chase him through his haunted sleep. He'd go on pretending that all was well and that he was fine and over the whole thing. He'd keep the act up until the pain had buried itself so deep, he could no longer feel it, any of it. It would all eventually go away if he just kept faking the carefree smiles on his face, because soon he'd start to believe it himself and it wouldn't be a front anymore, it would be real happiness, just as he'd felt before.

Part of him was happy with that. The system worked, it just hurt a lot and took a while. The other half wanted his friends, surrogate family, to see past the façade he gave them, to dig a little deeper. He wondered if it would be easier if they knew, considered whether he'd find the reason to laugh and truly smile come a whole lot faster.

Either way, he knew the pain of his physical torment would ease and wither to a painless after thought. He'd get through that; he always did.

It was the attack that didn't leave a mark of his skin that had scarred and damaged him the worst.

He'd realised that many people had a resilience and determination to move forward; that they could go through just about any physical suffering and still hold on. They could beat that demon and fall into the arms of those who cared enough to help them back into life. What broke the strongest hearts and souls were the invisible, psychological torments.

Words that hold people down, memories that trap them in their painful pasts, life lessons no-one wants to get hurt enough to learn. Not understanding why others damage you, break you down when you succeed, shatter your trust in the good of the world.

But the thing that hurts the most is falling in love, growing close to, giving all your care to someone, only for fate to rip them away from your already battered heart. That's what shatters lives, dreams and souls.

It's the challenge of accepting, never forgetting and moving on that separate the strong from the weak. It draws a line in the sand between the victims and the survivors, the ones that let life's cruel twists beat them and those that stand up again and allow it to make them stronger as an individual.

Tony just hoped he could be strong enough again.

He didn't have a family that would catch him when he was just about ready to hit the ground, he just had to break the falls as best he could; it was so much more painful.

Tony felt he'd found a surrogate family at NCIS. Though he couldn't show them when he wasn't coping, when he wasn't fine. He cared for them too much to lose them over being weak.

He'd been taught a long time ago that others only wanted to know you when you were okay and smiling. As soon as you let them see your troubles, your burdens, they left you alone and they abandoned you. He couldn't risk changing his pattern, letting his guard down; just in case, like the rest of the world, they walked away.

The water had begun to run cold trails down his back, sending spiking chills down through him. Turning off the taps, Tony stepped out and wrapped a towel around his waist. He returned to his bedroom and quickly dried himself, working hard to ignore the acute pain from the material rubbing against his wounds.

He grabbed another set of clothes from his drawers, finding a plain navy blue T-shirt, denim jeans, briefs, socks and trainers, and pulled them on.

He grabbed his pack and slung it over his shoulder before heading towards the front door. He double checked that his phone was in his pack and switched off and made sure the rest of the money McGee had loaned him at the hospital was still in his pocket. As an afterthought, he dumped his pack buy the door and grabbed a fifty dollar note out of his desk door and set it down on the bench, leaving a letter with it.

Tony headed back over to the door and pulled his pack back on his shoulder. He looked around his apartment one more time before locking the door behind him and walking away.

It didn't take him long to catch another cab, and the forty minute ride to Fairfax flew buy in a blur. When they finally pulled up outside the isolated cabin, Tony paid the driver, grabbed his pack and walked over to stand behind one of the plentiful trees surrounding the wooden structure. The driver had already gone, and Tony was alone with Stratton.

He'd done his research before the rescue mission. He knew this was the closest of the 'hide-out-until-the-heat-dies-down' safe houses the assassin had. In Stratton's profession, he needed the security of a backup plan. Too bad for him Tony already knew about his little hideaway.

He saw movement though one of the small windows on the front-side of the building, and smiled. He could see Stratton there, arrogant, unsuspecting and most important of all, alone.

Tony's eyes darkened.

'Let the games begin.'

A/N: So, the plot thickens!

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