September 8, 2006: We're getting closer to the conclusion of this story - I think.

As usual, any characters you recognize belong to the NCIS universe and any you don't recognize belong to me. I write for the sheer pleasure of creating, folks - no infringement intended. This story still isn't being Betaed so any errors - including anything that contradicts facts established by the show - are my own darned fault.

My continued thanks to those who read and those who review my writing. Your comments are greatly appreciated. :)

In this chapter, we return to where we started, as it were: Tony's perspective.

Enjoy!

Tin Star

Chapter Ten

By lilmouse

"Kane will be a dead man in half an hour and nobody's gonna do anything about it. And when he dies, this town dies too. I can feel it. I am all alone in the world. I have to make a living. So I'm going someplace else. That's all."

Helen (Katy Jurado), 'High Noon', 1952

The short street is deserted. Buildings of a simple clapboard construction border it on both sides. They wait in the blazing sun, abandoned.

His feet stand on the hard soil of a well-worn dirt road. There is no asphalt here, no concrete sidewalks. A narrow wooden deck runs in front of most of the buildings, providing some semblance of haven for when the weather is bad and the road becomes impassable for pedestrians. He cocks his head to one side at the sound of a distant train whistle. There is a church at the end of the street, marking the edge of the small town. Beside it is a tower about twenty feet tall where a large clock is mounted for all to see.

It is almost noon.

Special Agent Tony DiNozzo doesn't know why everything is in black and white or why, when he looks down, he isn't dressed like a cowboy. He can taste the dust and hear the gentle rustle of tumbleweeds even though he can't see them. The wind has found a loose shutter and it starts to creak and bang with an irregular rhythm. The place seems so real, like a fragment of the Old West ripped from the memory of a late night movie. His turtleneck, dress pants, shoulder holster - Sig P-229 snugly ensconced - and fine Italian shoes tell him it must be a dream.

"It is," a voice says from somewhere to his left. He turns his head carefully, wary of what he might find but curious where the dream will take him. He knows that he should be doing something very important but he doesn't recall what it is, and he doesn't want to do anything that would end the dream before the story is complete.

Special Agent Caitlin Todd steps down from the wooden deck in front of the General Store and walks towards him. Her hair is back in a ponytail and tendrils have escaped at the sides. The wind plays with her bangs and ripples the edges of her t-shirt and sweatpants. She's wearing running shoes and a determined expression and looks prepared for a workout in the gym.

He is elated and dismayed that she is here.

These days, it can only mean that trouble has found him once more.

"Nice outfit," he says, grinning.

"Nice hat," she says, giving him a small smile.

Tony slides his eyes slowly upwards until they almost cross. He can see the brim of a black Stetson. "Black? Does this mean I'm one of the bad guys?"

Kate rolls her eyes. "It's black and white only, DiNozzo, in case you haven't noticed." She grabs her cotton sweats at the thighs and pulls on the material for emphasis. They are dark grey. There is no colour, anywhere.

He remembers she looks pretty sharp in blue.

"You got a problem with your hat, DiNozzo, talk to 'wardrobe'."

He can't believe they're wasting time discussing the lack of colour in a dream when there are so many more important things they could be talking about.

Tony sighs: First things first.

"Why are we here?"

Kate shrugs. "It's your dream, DiNozzo. You tell me."

"Hello? I'm obviously unconscious," he protests, standing toe to toe with her and looking down. He'd almost forgotten her height. Brown eyes rise to meet his with confidence as she squints against the dream sun.

"You're in trouble again," she states softly, all teasing gone from her voice. After having several conversations with her ghost recently, he has no reason to doubt that she is telling the truth.

Then the memory of the last twenty-four hours comes rushing back in jagged pieces and impacts him like a physical blow. He staggers. Kate grabs him by the upper arms and holds him steady.

He remembers to breathe. "McGee -"

"He's okay, for now." She gives him a wan smile. "He'll have quite the lump on his head for a while, though."

"Assuming we get out of this."

"Tony," she says sharply and he straightens automatically.

"You're right." He nods slightly. "Yeah, no problem. We'll get out of this just fine." He blinks. "Why does my head hurt so much?

"DiNozzo meets drywall."

"Right." Tony vaguely recalls being grabbed from behind and thrown into a coffee table. It didn't break like it always does in the movies and had hurt like hell. Then he'd been pulled up by his shoulders and rammed into a wall. And that was before I spoke with Gibbs. "And I'm unconscious right now because -"

"You played the hero and thought you were in the WWF but your manoeuvre didn't work."

"Right."

"And Rossi is in the Navy and built like a brick shithouse and you and McGee aren't."

"Right." A grin starts in spite of the pain. "I'm solid, though. Abby said so."

"I'd use the word 'thick' instead but you'd find some way to pervert anything I say."

"Probably."

They share a smile as they indulge in a familiar rapport. Tony takes a shaky breath and says, "God, I miss you…"

Kate releases her hold on his arms. "You need to focus, Tony. Focus on what's going on in the van and how you're going to get out of this mess."

Tony frowns. "I thought you said we'd get out of this just fine."

He's clinging to her presence like a lifeline and knows he shouldn't. This is a dream and as much as he'd like his dead partner to be real, she isn't.

"Actually, all I said was your name and you provided the positive reinforcement yourself."

"Uh-huh." He absently pushes his Stetson back on his head and runs a hand along his temple, thinking. "So, I'm in a van? Is McGee there, too?"

She nods. "You, McGee, Rossi and Stacey Burnett."

"Wait a minute. We were taken out by one guy and a woman?"

Kate crosses her arms and glares at him.

He flinches. "Uh, sorry."

"You should be. They did have the element of surprise, though. Stacey opened the door and invited you in while she got her coat." She shrugs. "You're you, Tony. You were looking at her legs and -"

"Yeah," he interrupts tightly. "I get the picture."

"And now they're taking you somewhere that involves water -"

"Which can't be good -"

"No." She looks left and right. He follows her gaze but there's no one else in the dream town. "You need a plan."

"Thanks for the heads-up," he replies dryly.

"Look, they killed Robert Joseph Garvey."

"I weep."

"Yeah, me too, but the point is that now it's your turn. They aren't likely to have a guilty conscience about two more bodies."

Tony laughs softly. "The profiler has spoken."

Kate just shrugs again. "It's what I do, Tony."

Only she doesn't do anything anymore, of course. She's six feet under in a satin-lined coffin waiting for Judgement Day like a good Catholic.

Damn.

"So, you're a ghost. Can you pull some spooky manoeuvre? Seize the engine? Make them have traumatic flashbacks about their childhood or something?

Kate just looks at him.

Tony spreads his arms in askance. "What? I'm in a jam. Help me out, here!"

"This isn't a TV show, DiNozzo. That kind of stuff only happened on the X-Files."

Tony wags a finger at her. "Not true. Didn't you ever see 'The Ghost and Mrs. Muir'?"

Their conversation is interrupted as the big hand on the clock clicks loudly into place at the twelve and begins to strike the hour.

One.

"You're out of time!" Kate declares, obviously distressed. "Something's happening. You have to wake up, Tony!"

Two.

"You know, as a metaphor for urgency -"

Three.

"- you think my subconscious would -"

Four.

"- pick something less obvious -"

Five.

"- than a clock."

Six.

"Okay, listen. Rossi has a baseball bat and a handgun -"

Seven.

"Have you seen 'Back to the Future'?"

Eight.

"Wake up, DiNozzo!"

Nine.

Kate slaps him hard across the face and he is suddenly very aware of the cold, damp ground.

He is lying on his stomach. He can smell exhaust and taste blood and wonders if his dental coverage has been maxed out for the year. There is no familiar weight at his side and he knows his Sig has been removed from his holster.

"Is he conscious?" It is a woman's voice but it doesn't belong to Kate.

"Let's find out."

Tony turns, anticipating the kick, but he doesn't move fast enough. At least the impact to his chest is lessened. He falls onto his back, winded and sore. When he opens his eyes, the flood of colour startles him. It's almost too intense, like having a flashlight swing across your face in the pitch of night. He tries to focus on the man standing over him, knowing there is only one of them but initially seeing three. He coughs and spits blood.

"Yeah," the man says matter-of-factly. "He's conscious."

"Don't hit his face anymore," the woman says. "He's pretty."

Oh, great, Tony thinks, feeling nauseous. I have another loopy fan.

He locates her voice. Due to his head injury, two Stacey Burnetts stand near the van, looking very happy. They are both dressed warmly in deep red pea coats and navy scarf and hat. As Tony watches, both women pull a pair of navy gloves out of a coat pocket and put them on. Then they reach back and move the same blonde hair out from where it was stuck in the collar of the coat. They notice him looking in unison and smile flirtatiously.

Insanity comes in all types of packages.

Tony closes his eyes for a moment and swallows the bile. He hopes when he opens them again there will only be one of anyone.

Fortunately, it works.

Sitting on the ground and leaning against one of the van's tires is Timothy McGee. His suit is rumpled and there is bruising already across his face. He's conscious and watching Tony with concern. McGee flicks his gaze to Federico Rossi and mouths one word: 'Gun.'

Tony presses his lips together in acknowledgement, not wanting the bad guys to know they're communicating.

"Get up," Rossi says tersely.

Tony places his hands on the ground and slowly pushes himself into a sitting position then rolls onto his knees. Still fighting for a tenuous hold on the conscious world, he looks for something to brace against when he tries to stand. There is a wall to his left. Surprised but relieved, he uses it to rise unsteadily to his feet and takes in his surroundings.

He's in East Potomac Park, not far from the Point and the sculpture he calls 'The Green Man'. He glances at his left wrist and his watch tells him it is 10:13. It's cold and the sun is weak but surely that wouldn't deter people from coming to the park. Witnesses. He notes the van is blocking the view of any casual observers and wonders if that's how they covered the disposal of Garvey's body.

A quick assessment of the immediate area determines that there doesn't appear to be anyone else braving the morning.

Rossi pulls a gun from behind him. Tony guesses it was stuck in the small of his back, held there by his belt. Not the safest or most comfortable option but the waistband can work in a pinch. Even in his condition, which can charitably be called 'confused', Tony recognizes the weapon. It is a Glock Model 21 in 45 ACP with adjustable sights.Glock pistols feature an excellent combination of reliability and accuracy. Ergonomic and able to accommodate instinctive shooting.

Tony has one of those secured in the gun locker at the bottom of his bedroom closet along with a few other handy weapon options. None of which he can reach right now.

The Petty Officer gestures with the Glock, smug and confident that he has the situation under control. "Help your friend so we can get this done." His voice brooks no argument.

"What do you hope to gain by killing two Federal agents?"

Rossi smiles. It isn't friendly. "Sat-is-fac-tion?"

It is a word Tony said not an hour before with the same inflection. He notes McGee's startled reaction and manages to suppress one of his own. He's a little spooked by it but he walks slowly towards the van. If there is an opportunity to make a move in the next few minutes, he's going to conserve his energy now. He has to at least get McGee home to his family for Christmas and ideally, be able to test the mistletoe again himself at the staff party.

Tony is the Senior Field Agent, and he'll be damned if it is going to end like this.

"That only works for Mick Jagger," he comments lightly. McGee is trying to get his feet under him, trying to use the van at his back as support. "Wait for me," Tony hisses at him. "You're in no shape to get up by yourself."

McGee's eyes narrow. "And you are?"

Tony reaches him and crouches until he can grip his friend under the arms. "You should see yourself, Probie. You look like shit. You have two beautiful black eyes developing and a goose egg on the right side of your head."

"You look like you've been hit by a truck," McGee whispers.

Between the two of them they are standing in under a minute. As they turn towards Rossi, making no sudden movements, a bright light blinds them.

Stacey Burnett is standing in the mud in size eleven hiking shoes, taking their picture.

She really is tall.

The agents exchange a glance. If they talk about it at all, it certainly won't be now.

"Over to the wall," Rossi orders.

The sound of an engine interrupts. A standard issue car from the lot at NCIS is approaching at an excessive rate, not slowing down for the speed bumps. It is difficult to see the face at a distance and through the windscreen. For one brief moment Tony thinks it is Gibbs but as the vehicle gets closer it becomes evident that someone else is driving. Once the car comes to a stop near the van, a man that is best described as 'non-descript' gets out of the driver's side.

Definitely not Gibbs.

Rossi and Stacey aren't alarmed by his arrival so that can't be good. The man is familiar but Tony can't quite place him.

"Dave Mitchell," McGee mutters, and Tony knows him in an instant. He knows everyone at the office and never forgets a face. The pain in his head must have briefly derailed his ability to recall even such a background character as Mitchell. Another piece of the puzzle clicks into place.

"Mitch," Tony calls out to him, using the name he calls himself at the office. The man has opened the passenger door and pauses, turning his head. "Nice of you to join us, buddy."

Special Agent Dave Mitchell darts a glare at Rossi. "What the hell are they doing here?"

Rossi shrugs. "You said they were coming over. We decided it was inhospitable to leave."

"I told you they were coming so you'd have time to get away!"

"This is much more fun," Stacey says firmly, obviously having given it some thought. She takes another picture.

"Did you bring us some hot chocolate, Mitch?" Never coffee or tea or apple cider. Always hot chocolate, even at the Christmas party. Tony ribs him about that on a regular basis. Why should he stop now?

Mitchell is pulling something from the passenger seat, something that struggles briefly to shrink back into the car before being half dragged, half carried over to the group at the break wall.

Tony's heart is pumping so hard that his chest aches.

Oh god, no…

She's wearing pink pajamas with little white bunnies hopping across the fabric. Her running shoes aren't tied properly and her pink terry bathrobe is about to lose the belt.

In less than a minute he is standing not ten feet from Katie Garvey.

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To Be Continued…