McGee kept one hand on the steering wheel and used the other to press the receiver tighter against his ear. Even so, the broadcast crackled and popped. He could tell Tony had been ... surprised when both men climbed into the car with him. The blond in leather driving and the other – the one that kept calling DiNozzo "Big Boy" – shoving next to him in the back.

"You coming with?" asked Tony. There were the sounds of Tony moving awkwardly across the backseat to give the man room.

"Suicide's into threesomes."

McGee heard DiNozzo say "ah" and then that was quickly replaced by a muffled groan ... McGee squinted at the far off and darkened car, worried.

"Starting a little early, aren't we?" gasped DiNozzo.

"No need to waste time."

The other man's voice was slightly high-pitched and his laugh – McGee found himself shuddering – it was more like a cackle. Every time he watched Tony practice his own brand of the undercover art he wondered just how far the agent would actually go in pursuit of a suspect. He suspected the answer might well be "too far". He also suspected that's exactly why Gibbs had hired him.

"Len," the blond's voice cut in sharply. "Don't wear him out. We want him ... fresh for our little adventure."

"McGee!"

On a DC side street, the NCIS van swerved dangerously.

"Here, boss ... Gibbs ... sir."

A hapless Cooper Mini narrowly missed destruction on the grill of the Ford as McGee struggled to the get the van back under control.

"Is the idiot saying anything?" a disembodied Gibbs growled from the cell flipped open in his lap.

"Just making ... conversation." Like he was going to repeat anything he was hearing to the already prickly senior agent.

Ahead of him the taillights of the sedan flickered.

"They're turning, boss."

"Unobtrusive surveillance. Unobtrusive, McGee," reminded Gibbs.

"Won't know I'm even on the same planet, sir."

In the sedan barreling down Andersonville, Gibbs rolled his eyes.

Getting out of the car wasn't the problem that Tony had envisioned. Adrenaline was definitely improving his strength and coordination. Although the crash, when it came, would be ugly. But right now the familiar excitement of a hot case pumped through his veins. Plus there were strong hands all over him, lending accidental support in their groping.

Across the lot a small neon sign flickered elegant script, leaving the green afterimage of an "M" flashing in the haze of his vision.

Time to push a button or two.

"I think Everett Cole mentioned this place." He felt the hand on his right arm tighten just a bit.

There was a protracted silence as if looks were being exchanged.

"You know Cole?"

The one who kept calling him "Big Boy" scoffed, "Who didn't fuckin' know Cole? Who didn't fuckin' fuck Cole?"

"Pity what happened to him and Reynaldo," observed Tony.

Still apparently trying to diffuse the tension that now wrapped like a cloud around them "Big Boy" muttered, "A good fuck is such a terrible thing to waste."

"You know," Suicide put in, his voice suddenly low and serious, "I think I recognize that van."

"Van?" asked Tony, working hard to remain nonchalant.

"Across the street. White minivan."

Controlling the breath of relief that wanted to sigh out his chest, Tony shook his head, replying honestly, "Don't know anybody with a white van."

Black, yeah. He was well acquainted with a certain black van.

"We going in?" he asked lightly.

The steel band around his wrist tightened and the blond growled in his ear. "It was in the parking lot and now it's here. Now why would that make me think we're being followed? And why would you bring up the dearly departed Everett Cole?"

Gibbs parked a few spaces behind the dark van and had just gotten out when a nearly frantic McGee plunged out of the van's driver's side and stumbled his way toward him.

"We got a problem, boss. They've made a tail."

"McGee," hissed Gibbs. "You have trouble with covert surveillance?"

"No, not me. White van."

Gibbs looked sharply toward DeSade's parking lot. The trio was still in sight, standing close, their bodies barely separate. Satisfied, momentarily, that DiNozzo was all right, he scanned the street ahead of them, fixing on a minivan gleaming whitely under the streetlight.

"Stay here, "he ordered, sparing a brief glance in Haskins' direction. He pulled his weapon from its holster. "With me, McGee."

They'd barely made it halfway to their target when the suspect exited from the passenger door, away from them, into the street.

"Fuck," murmured Gibbs, using the front of an SUV for cover, watching a well-built silhouette – a silhouette he recognized -- move rapidly across the street.

"Just what is this?" The blond jerked Tony roughly and his left leg caved under the assault, the hand on his forearm not enough to keep him off the asphalt.

Oddly, the only thought Tony could muster at the disaster his little side trip was rapidly disintegrating into was if these guys didn't kill him, Gibbs would.

Kneeling now, one hand, along with the constant pressure on his arm, keeping him upright, Tony frowned up at the shadow above him. "What the fuck are you doing?"

"What the fuck am I doing?" snarled the blond. "What the fuck are you doing?"

"I'm not doing anything, man," returned Tony, trying to give as good as he got, struggling to get his suddenly rubbery legs back under him so he could face the bastard on his feet.

The man crossing the street had broken into a loping run.

An arm locked around his chest and Tony felt the cold business end of a pistol press against his temple.

Crap. Could things get any worse?

"You fucking fag!" thundered angrily across the parking lot.

In a too familiar voice.

Greg Hale's voice.

Oh yeah. It could get worse.

Much worse.

More than once lately he'd had a ... feeling of being observed, one he would have trusted if he could see clearly more than six feet in front of him. He should have told Gibbs that he thought someone was watching him. That he thought he could feel eyes on him. Only he hadn't wanted to look like he needed someone, particularly Gibbs, watching out for him.

"God," groaned DiNozzo, shaking his head. The pistol was pressed more firmly against his skin.

"I told you Cole and Reynaldo was a mistake!" screamed "Big Boy" in unexpected hysteria as the Baltimore cop bore down on them.

"Shut up!" hissed the blond.

The arm binding Tony slid painfully further up under his arms, the fist pressed against his chest dangerously close to where the wire was taped. As if he could possibly be any more royally screwed than he was already...

"Come any closer and I blow his fucking brains out."

Tony tried to squint at the new member of their little group, make out that it really was his ex-partner.

"A fucking fruit kills a fucking fruit and I'd care?" A foot – Hale's he assumed from the trajectory – took Tony firmly in the solar plexus.

Unable to curl over his aching gut, unable to breath, Tony felt reality waiver.

"You knock up my wife and it turns out you're a fucking homo?"

Still gasping, kept upright only by the arm encircling him, Tony observed the truly laughable mess he found himself in. Here was Greg Hale, alpha- male pride so damaged he ready to beat him to death, oblivious to the fact someone already had a weapon pointed at his head. He felt himself jerked back and was helpless to anything but flinch when the gun brushing his temple was arced away.

He shuddered four times – once for each shot fired – and when the arm holding him up abruptly released he crumpled face first into the asphalt, head hitting hard and the fuzzy constellation of the parking lot lights fading to almost complete darkness.

"Move!" hissed Gibbs as the first shot rang out, crouching low as he crossed the four lanes of oblivious traffic, aware McGee was somewhere behind him doing the same.

Whatever the hell Hale thought he was doing, he wasn't doing it quietly. Gibbs fleetingly wondered how the hell he'd let Hale get that close but that was something he could flagellate himself for later, after he'd sorted this fucking mess out.

There was no way the blond would have gotten the drop on Tony so easily ... before. Something else he could beat himself up for, and would, later, as well. Right now there was only time to take in the scene, figure trajectories. Pray Hale wouldn't provoke the blond to fire before he could get into position.

Undeterred by the gun being pressed to Tony's temple, Hale landed a kick in Tony's midsection and Tony folded in the gunman's grasp.

"You knock up my wife and it turns out you're a fucking homo?" reverberated across the parking lot.

"Shit," Gibbs muttered, softy, to himself.

Fifteen more feet or so and he'd feel sure he could get the shot. And he had to get the shot. Tony was still half-limp in the blond's clutches, clearly dazed, unable to help Gibbs in any way.

The gun moved and, even though he needed the few extra feet he hadn't yet traversed, Gibbs drew a bead. In the second it took for him to take aim, though, the weapon swung in Hale's direction. The first two shots rocked the big cop but didn't take him down. By the third, Gibbs was within range. He fired almost simultaneously with the fourth shot.

The bullet took the blond, dead center of the forehead. With satisfaction, he watched the body fly backwards from the force of the projectile, only to see Tony crumple into a disorganized tangle of limbs as his support was pulled away. A cowering "Big Boy" held up his hands and backed slowly away from the carnage in front of him.

"Don't fucking move!" he ordered the only man still standing. "McGee, get the weapons."

Kneeling beside DiNozzo, eyes never leaving "Big Boy", pistol never wavering, he laid his free hand on an unresponsive arm and followed it up until he could find the curve of the neck, the slow pulse of the carotid.

"I got him, boss."

He realized McGee had been repeating this particular phrase for several seconds now and he spared a glance to the right to verify the young agent did indeed have the suspect in his sights.

"Christ," muttered Gibbs, finally looking down. "Why the hell does this keep happening?"

"I called 911."

Gibbs jumped, refixing the weapon with one hand as Haskins appeared with a stealthiness worthy of their ME. He somehow enjoyed the way the professor's eyes widened as the gun swung expertly in his direction.

"Get off my crime scene." Gibbs ordered, turning to make sure McGee now had the only remaining healthy suspect properly cuffed. Satisfied, he clicked the safety on and re-holstered the pistol. "McGee, when the cops get here, make sure they don't wind up shooting us. And check that asshole," he ordered, waving a hand in Hale's direction.

Slight movement from the living body beside him then took his sole attention. Tony made a small moaning complaint and tried to roll over.

"Easy." Gibbs slipped a hand behind Tony's neck to support his head and stop the uncoordinated attempts at rising. "Lie still. Let me check you out."

"Hey, Hale's alive."

"Good, that means I can kill him later," Gibbs replied to McGee's report, brushing Tony's hair back from the bleeding wound on his temple.

"Gibbs?" whispered Tony.

"Where does it hurt?" Gibbs ran tentative hands over Tony's shoulder and collarbone, then down his hip.

He intercepted the hand Tony tried to bring to his forehead.

"Just my head."

Tony squeezed the fingers now holding his.

"And my pride."

The hand squeezed back. "Yeah, well, we'll talk about proper procedure later."

Tony's head dropped back toward the hard surface of the parking lot and Gibbs had to scramble to soften the impact with his hand.

"Looking forward to that one, boss," murmured Tony, closing his eyes.

(tbc)

Thanks as always to the tenth muse for making the story decidely better. Anything still screwed up is solely my fault. Thanks for the wonderful feedback, too!