A/N Happy Spring! I wish I could say that that meant it was warm and sunny where I am...it's not and we are expecting snow and ice rain this weekend. I'm so not happy about that forecast!

Sorry, it's taken so long to post an update. My little family keeps me busy. Prom is approaching for my eldest daughter...which means dress shopping and hair and makeup and a slightly sappy mom. Two graduations this year...grade 8 and grade 12. *Sniff*

I'm still plugging away at this story and hope you are enjoying it.

Much love,

Jenny Wren :)

Rick Almeida lowered the phone from his ear and stood to stare into space for several moments, just digesting the conversation. He wished he knew how he got from being decent to where he found himself now. He used to pride himself on his work. He had been proud to tell people he worked for the Bureau. Oh, he couldn't talk about anything specifically because everything was always confidential but he always was able to look himself in the mirror each day and know he was making a difference. He always felt like what he was doing was for the greater good. Now, he wasn't so sure.

Almeida took another look at the monitor across the room seeing the child hadn't moved from the spot he'd left her. It was disconcerting how still she was. He knew he hadn't hurt her. He walked across the room and hit the buzzer on the wall.

"Yah," came a muffled voice almost consumed by static.

"Check on the kid."

"She still blindfolded?"

"She hasn't moved a muscle."

Almeida hit the button again and ended the connection. He paced the room as he waited and then several minutes later a man entered the room, pulling the blanket off the little girl's face. Her mouth was still gagged and taped and she was blindfolded. There was no movement. Almeida felt his heart rate increase as he watched her stillness. Had she choked? Was she still alive? He watched as the man in the room shoved her roughly, not even eliciting a response from her. He shrugged and left the room once more. As much as Almeida wanted to, he couldn't ask the man to remove the blindfold. It was too dangerous for him and he'd refuse anyway. Almeida couldn't blame him either. They all had a lot to lose now, and besides, Aimee had already seen Almeida. One face was enough. True be told, it probably didn't matter now if she was dead anyway. Maybe it would have been kinder if she did aspirate on her own vomit.

Almeida pinched his nose and grimaced. "Son of a bitch," he muttered before slamming his fist on the wall several times and leaving the room. If he'd known how hard this was going to be, he would have never agreed to it. To hell with the greater good. How was it okay to sacrifice one child to save others? It wasn't.

xXx—NCIS—xXx

She felt the blindfold being removed from her eyes and the duct tape being gently removed from her mouth. She fought hard at the instinct to spit out the gag, lick her lips and wipe away the Aimee lay completely still. She didn't know how long she had been lying on the cot, or at least she thought it was a cot or a portable bed of some kind. She forced herself to lie very still but she could feel herself trembling and she couldn't stop the tears from flowing from her eyes. She didn't think it was possible to cry for as long as she had. The blindfold was sopping wet on her face. Her tears had even managed to escape and travel into her ears, pooling and muffling her hearing. She'd tried to lick her lips under the duct tape and push the gag in her mouth forward so she could swallow without choking. She felt about as hopeless as hopeless could be. She heard someone enter the room and felt herself being roughly manhandled once again. She forced herself not to move move, in fact, she held her breath, hoping whoever it was would think she was sleeping or maybe even dead and go away. She heaved a sigh of relief once she heard the person leave. Her mind was muddled, and she was having a difficult time staying focused on anyone thought. She was hungry and thirsty. She wished she was at home. With her sister. With Gibbs. Her tears increased when she allowed herself to focus too much on Janessa or Gibbs. She was smart enough to know that she'd never see either one of them again and it was her own doing. She wanted to pretend she was protecting them, but she wasn't sure about anything anymore.

She heard the door open again, and she bit down on her lip hard to keep from moving. Her fingernails dug into the palms of her hand. She concentrated on the pain. The pain kept her alert and focussed on something when her mind kept drifting off into an abyss she didn't recognise, similar to when her mother was murdered. Last time, her focus on keeping Janessa safe had grounded her but this time it was harder. She didn't love herself like she loved her sister.

moisture that had settled under the tape.

"Kid, wake up." The man prodded her gently.

Suddenly the room was filled with the aroma of tomato soup. Aimee's eyes fluttered and she struggled to keep them closed but it became impossible when she felt the warm liquid being put to her lips. Her eyes bolted open and she greedily sucked at the soup. Her eyes focused on the man holding her forward and feeding her the soup. His hair was dark black, and he had facial hair just as jet black on his chin. Aimee thought the hair on his chin reminded her of a goat.

"You're hungry, aren't you?" He said softly.

Aimee kept drinking. After a few minutes, he pulled the cup away from her lips and sat her up. Aimee cried out in pain as he cut at the duct tape around her wrists.

"Sorry, kid. The tape is a little tighter than I thought."

Once the tape freed her hands, Aimee pulled her arms to her face and scrubbed at her mouth and eyes. She stared at him as he stared at her. Silence enveloped them and made Aimee feel all the more uncomfortable. She couldn't tell if he was the enemy or her hero. The warm soup churned in her stomach.

"Don't look at me like that," he snapped, standing to his feet and firing the rest of the cup of soup against the wall. Tears blurred Aimee's vision once more as she watching the red liquid drip down the wall. It was reminiscent of blood and Aimee's stomach continued to churn uncomfortably until all at once, she leaned over and vomited the contents of her stomach onto the floor.

"I wanna go home!" she bellowed between heaving and sobbing.

The man jumped back, narrowly missing the flying vomit. He cursed angrily and continued to gape at Aimee.

"Please, just let me go home!" she sobbed, wiping her face and visibly trembling.

"Shut up, Kid. You and I both know that that isn't possible. I know you're not stupid, Aimee. That chip in your head contains valuable information and your life is no more important than the thousands of girls out there that we could save. Don't you get that?"

Aimee pulled her legs up to her chin. Her face was red from crying and she couldn't stop the tears. She was terrified.

"I never asked for that chip." Her voice changed and became heartbreakingly quiet.

Almeida licked his lips and raked a shaky hand through his dark hair. He knew that was the truth. No one would want a chip containing sensitive data implanted into their head, least of all a little kid. The whole thing was insidiously heinous on every level. What would have possessed anyone to use a child as a scapegoat, knowing that her life would have to be sacrificed in order to save others? If it wasn't so pathetic, it might have been noteworthy on some insane level.

"I know, kid." Almeida's voice was kinder now, gentler. None of this was her fault.

"What's going to happen now?"

Almeida scratched his head and shrugged. He didn't have an answer to that question just yet. He was waiting for his orders.

"I was thinking we could play a little game. Do you like games, Aimee?"

Aimee wiped at the tears on her face, staring at the man in disbelief. "What kind of game?"

Almeida reached into his back pocket and pulled out a deck of cards. He held them up. "Ever played Crazy Eights?"

Aimee shrugged and dropped her shoulders. "Yah, I play that with Gibbs."

Almeida pulled the table from the corner over, along with a chair and sat down, ushering Aimee over. He pulled out a ham sandwich from inside his sports jacket and dropped it on the table.

"Eat that and you can tell me about Agent Gibbs. I hear he is one tough cookie," said Almeida while he dealt out some cards on the table.

Aimee didn't move but continued staring at Almeida. He pointed at the sandwich expectantly. Aimee sucked in her bottom lip and stood to her feet, walking over to the table. She stopped directly in front of her captor and looked at him, tears still cascading down her cheeks. She took the sandwich, unwrapping it, and hungrily taking a large bite. Her stomach had rejected the soup but she hoped it would accept the sandwich as a peace offering. She hadn't remembered being this hungry in a very long time.

Almeida dealt the cards and watched as Aimee devoured the sandwich. Aimee chewed and swallowed and eventually finished the entire sandwich.

"Will you play?"

Aimee narrowed her eyes at him. Her heart thumped against her chest in protest. She didn't want to be pacified with a card game. She wasn't a stupid nine years old. She had lived more life than most adults. She might have looked like a kid but she knew a little more than the average girl her age. She knew it was a plot to distract her. She knew it was a way to help pass the time. She knew he only wanted to ease his own mind. The question was how did she want to play along? Tears filled her eyes once more as the sandwich trundled dangerously in her gut. Aimee was tired. Maybe just maybe, she wanted to be like her sister. Janessa used her fantasies to protect her. Aimee knew she didn't realise that was what she was doing but it was true. Fairies and make-believe protected Janessa from all the scary realities.

Aimee sighed and picked up her pile of cards. Maybe just this once, she would pretend too.

xXx—NCIS—xXx

Gibbs sat at his desk reading over all he could on James Adams. It was his distraction. Keeping his mind busy allowed him peace from his unending paralyzing agony of distressing about Aimee. Any leads they turned up on Aimee always ended up cold. Gibbs hated waiting but it was all he could do at this point. His gut told him Brody was involved but now the ball was in his court. They all had to wait for the guy to make a move. The part that irritated Gibbs the most is being forced to trust. He didn't trust anyone in the FBI. He'd stop trusting them the day he found out who Brody was. As much as he understood how insidious human trafficking was, he didn't care. Aimee was his little girl. He wanted her back. Alive and well.

"Gibbs?"

Gibbs looked up to see his first in command staring down at him. Tony's face was pale. The usual playful, smart-aleck demeanour absent replaced by something Gibbs couldn't quite put his finger on.

"Something wrong, DiNozzo?"

Tony pinched his nose, blinked hard and turned away from him, staring out the large window in the bullpen. Gibbs stood to his feet and walked around his desk, stopping when he was directly in front of Tony, making a point of invading his personal space. Gibbs wasn't in the mood to play games.

"Hard of hearing, Tony?"

Tony shook his head, emitting a half laugh before brushing an unexpected tear from his cheek. Gibbs stiffened at the sight. It wasn't like Tony to be emotional about much of anything, at least not since his relationship with Jeanne Benoit. Gibbs had known Tony a long time and he could read the younger man's tells. Something was seriously wrong.

"My dad has one hell of a way of picking lousy timing…" managed Tony, turning his face further away from Gibbs.

Gibbs followed Tony until he was standing inside his personal bubble once again.

"What's going on?"

Tony half laughed again but it sounded more like a half sob this time. "Did I ever tell you about when my mom died, Gibbs?"

Gibbs nodded. "Yeah, many times, Tony. Your dad was a real piece of work back then. You didn't deserve to be treated like that. What happened wasn't your fault."

"Tell him that," scoffed Tony, his voice tight.

Gibbs frowned. "What'd he say to you?"

Tony's face tightened further and he was convulsively swallowing, struggling to keep his composure. Gibbs narrowed his eyes as he scrutinized Tony's appearance further. His pulse picked up a little in his chest when he noticed a faint bruise forming on Tony's jaw.

"He took a swing at you," Gibbs said quietly. It wasn't a question. It was a statement dripping with disheartened bitterness.

Tony nodded. "It's not what you think, Gibbs."

It was Gibbs' turn to scoff. "Then what the hell should I think, huh, DiNozzo? That the son of a bitch just accidentally took a swing at you when he really intended to hug you?"

Tony shuddered at the anger in Gibbs' voice. He was second-guessing his decision to talk to his mentor and friend. Gibbs had a lot on his plate and perhaps, he had reached his limit.

"I hit him first."

"Good."

"Good? Is that all you have to say?"

"What do you want me to say, DiNozzo?" Gibbs scrubbed a hand across his face and took a few steps backwards, all the while not taking his eyes from Tony. "I'm sorry, Tony. I get he's your ole man but you've spent too much time under his thumb. He treats you like a piece of trash and you let him."

Tony's face reddened, revealing the forming bruised on his chin. Gibbs grimaced further when he saw it so prominent on his protégés face; seeing the pain on Tony's face made Gibbs soften immediately. He hadn't intended to place blame on Tony. The kid was a survivor and in no way to blame for his crappy upbringing.

"What happened?"

Tony shook his head. He no longer wanted to talk. "Forget it. I should have known better than…"

"Shut up, DiNozzo. I'm in no mood for your theatrics," snapped Gibbs, stepping into Tony's personal bubble once more. "Why'd you hit Senior?"

Tony clenched his jaw tightly, tears swimming in his green eyes. "It's always my fault, Gibbs. I can't carry his guilt and my guilt too. I just can't do it anymore." The younger man's Adam's apple did a convulsive dance in his throat.

Gibbs put a firm hand on Tony's shoulder. "Then stop carrying it." Tears escaped down Tony's cheeks. Gibbs was the one and only person with which he allowed himself to vulnerable. Tony didn't know why but Gibbs had a way of drawing it out of him. "My mother took her own life, Tony. You know that. I blamed my father and I blamed myself. What good did it do? Nothing. It only served to tear me and my father apart."

"It's not the same, Gibbs. Jackson is a good man."

Gibbs nodded. "I know that now but, at the time, I was stupid, angry kid. The point is, Tony, Senior is not to blame any more than you are for what happened to your mother. You both have to stop carrying around that guilt."

"He blames me…"

"I know. He's wrong. Step outside yourself for a moment and stop looking at things from the perspective of an 8-year-old. Every time your father steps back into your life, you revert back to that 8-year-old boy. You're a grown man, Tony."

Tony rubbed his forehead and wiped the traitorous tears from his face. He growled loudly.

Gibbs smirked. "Why'd you hit him?"

"He pissed me off."

"He always pisses you off, DiNozzo. What was different this time?"

"He won't take no for an answer and when he gets backed into a corner, he always swings below the belt. I snapped."

"When was the last time you slept, Tony?"

Tony chuckled sardonically. "Pot calling the kettle black, Boss?"

Gibbs half smirked. "Shut up and answer the question."

"None of us are going to sleep until we find Aimee, Gibbs. Like I told my father, I don't have time for his drama in my life right now. I told him to get the hell out of my life until he can get his act together. I'm not financing his stupidity any longer."

Gibbs' smirk turned into a proud smile. He reached out and grabbed Tony by the chin, tipping it up further into the light. "Let me guess? That's when he slugged you?"

Tony pulled away, "Pretty much. It's not anything I'm not used too. I told him to get the hell out of my apartment, so he left, but not before he made his mark on my face so I wouldn't forget who was boss."

"He's not your boss anymore, Tony."

Tony nodded. "He's never been, my boss. Hell, he's never even been a father. He stopped even trying after my mom died. After that, he picked alcohol and business as his family."

"I'm sorry, Tony."

Tony licked his lips and stood a little taller in front of Gibbs. "It's all good."

"No, Tony, it's not but for what it's worth, I'm proud of you. You're a good man despite your ole man."

Tony smiled and walked towards his desk quietly. Gibbs watched him, wishing he could say something or do something to change things. He'd meant what he said. Tony was a good man despite his upbringing. Somehow, the younger man had risen above his circumstances and made something of his life. Perhaps it was the military school background that had made a difference, Gibbs didn't know. Some people were left with a bad taste in their mouths after attending military school. Gibbs had never had the pleasure or displeasure of attending one, but he'd heard stories. The right school, with the right mentors, could make a huge difference in a youth's life. Gibbs sighed and returned to his desk, his mind still on Tony as he sat down. His head was ready to explode with everything that was spinning in it. How much more uncertainty could he take?

"Jethro!"

Gibbs' eyes widened when he heard the voice coming from above him. Immediately he was on his feet so he could see Jenny on the second level of the bullpen. She was standing outside of MTAC. Gibbs took in the expression on Jenny's Shepard's face. Her face was pale and her eyes were wide. Whatever she was about to say wasn't going to be something he wanted to hear. From the corner of his eye, he saw Tony come to his side.

"It's Brody. They can't find him."

Gibbs' blood ran cold.