"Gibbs?"

Kate's voice intruded, scattering his thoughts, things he hadn't thought about for 14 years. He'd been remembering a hell he thought he'd left behind.

"Gibbs?" she asked again anxiously. "Who was that?"

"Leo Maxwell Morgan," he told her.

There was a beat as she absorbed the import of the name. "But he's dead. Isn't he?"

"Evidently not." Gibbs gripped the wheel grimly, willing a little more speed from the car. Every second passed was one more second that Leo was stalking DiNozzo and McGee.

"What happened?" she asked quietly, sensing his need to talk.

"I served in Desert Storm, Kate. We were part of an advance team. We went ahead of the strike force, scouting the area, trying to determine troop strength and position." He could still feel the sand that got into everything, the intensity of the sun as it beat down on him.

"Yes?"

"We were a four man team, deep in the occupied territory. We were surrounded on all sides by the enemy. We stumbled on a squad of Iraqi soldiers…. Leo was hit." There'd been so much blood, bright red on the beige and chocolate pattern of their BDU's, too bright.

"Thompson… Thompson checked the body. He said Leo was dead. I believed him. Why wouldn't I believe him?" His voice was bleak.

"Gibbs, you didn't know. It was war."

"I should have checked myself," he said stubbornly, refusing to be let off the hook.

Gibbs own worst critic was always himself. He shook himself and glanced toward the map showing their position. "What's our ETA?"

"Another 30 minutes."

There was silence in the car as they drove on into the night.

McGee wasn't entirely sure, but he suspected that on top of all the rest of his injuries, Tony was cracked. Completely off his rocker. Why else would he, McGee, be out in the middle of nowhere on a cold night with a branch covering their tracks?

Tony thought they were being followed was why, of course. Tony was the one with the experience and the instincts. So, although McGee seriously doubted that he was in his right mind, he was doing what Tony wanted.

He was really worried about the other man, he had to admit it, if only to himself. Tony wouldn't thank him if he were to say it out loud, he knew. Tony thought he was indestructible and insisted that he was fine. While at the same time, he put most of his weight on McGee and could barely hold his head up.

McGee really hadn't wanted to leave him alone so he could wipe out their tracks in the dirt. Tony had insisted he just needed to rest for a second. God, he hated the macho act that Tony always put on. Sometimes he wondered if there really was more there, or if what you saw was really what you got.

Then there were moments when the façade cracked and he saw the real Tony beneath. McGee wondered what had happened to him that made him think he had to maintain that façade for people to like him.

He paused to survey his work critically. He certainly couldn't see where they'd been. Hopefully no one else could either. He pulled the branch along behind him, obscuring his prints as he made his way back to where Tony waited.

He approached quietly so as not to disturb the other man if he was resting. He got to where he thought Tony should be, but there was no DiNozzo. He took a step forward, but stopped when he heard the cock of a gun.

"Tony?"

"McGee?" The voice came out of the darkness.

"Yes."

"Good, I need help."

McGee turned in a circle trying to figure out where Tony's voice was coming from.

"Over here."

McGee followed his voice to find Tony slumped against a tree several feet from where he'd been left. His face was even whiter, if that was possible, his face pinched with pain. His gun was held loosely, hanging at his side.

First order of business, McGee carefully took the gun and put on the safety before opening Tony's jacket and putting it back in its holster.

"T thought I heard something," Tony explained.

"You probably heard lots of things – birds, dogs, animals."

"No, I heard something," Tony insisted. His eyes were fever bright. "Did you make the false trails, like I told you to?"

McGee sighed, yep, Tony was cracked, completely. Thing is, you couldn't tell the difference from Tony on a good day.

"I did, although I don't know who could be following us."

"Whoever shot out our tires," Tony stubbornly asserted. "Whoever sent that body to Gibbs. There wasn't ever a witness, you know."

McGee pulled Tony's arm over his shoulder. "So, you've told me several times."

With Tony leaning heavily on McGee, they continued their halting flight into the night.

Leo really liked these boys. They were thorough, he had to give them that. He'd been able to follow their trail fairly easy for a while, but then it had disappeared, nearly completely. Any lesser man might not have been able to find it again. But he wasn't just any man. He was marine trained to track, and it was going to take someone a hell of a lot better than these two to elude him.

Still, they were doing alright. They'd slowed him up a little. He liked that. It kept the hunt going. And that's what he liked. The thrill of the hunt. Knowing that the prey was running, but they weren't going to escape. He was just too damned good. But let them think they'd outsmarted him for a little bit. Make them overconfident.

A long hunt always made the kill that much more satisfying.

He found the occasional sweep mark of the branches that wiped away their footprints, the small spot of blood here and there. Yep, he was on the right trail, right enough. They'd slowed him down, but they sure hadn't stopped him. These boys just really didn't know what was on their tails.

That was alright, they'd find out, soon enough.

To be continued...