Tony

Tony stared at the phone. He willed it to ring, though he imagined if he had that sort of power of suggestion, it would have already shown itself by now. Still, he stared. He had been doing the same thing-fists curled up in his lap, heart pounding in his chest-since he had forced himself into the elevator, dropped his weight back into his chair.

Tony didn't want to be up here, of course. He wanted to be down in the action, out in the field, but that would be far too close-at the moment, anyway. He had learned that much from Gibbs, learned when to step away from a case to let it breathe.

Tony uncurled his hand, grabbed his coffee off the desk. His fingers dug into the Styrofoam. The contents had gone cold somewhere in the last hour, but it didn't matter that much to him anymore. He'd drank enough of it over the last few days, at a wide range of temperatures, to find that it didn't matter much in the end. It would get his heart pumping, and keep his brain able to think. Tony tipped the last of it into his mouth, swallowed, and dropped the empty cup into his trash.

He sat up straighter, shifted his weight back to settle against his chair. Tony took in a long, slow, breath. He gave in to the inevitable-let his eyes fall over their desks once more. Tony blinked back moisture, his jaw clenching up tight, despite the muscles there complaining against recent treatment. He'd give just about anything for a head slap right now, one more fight with Kate about anything at all.

Tony exhaled roughly, scrubbed a hand over his face. He tried to force himself to let some of it go, let it fade away from him. It didn't work. He reached out for his phone. His fingers brushed over it, slid down to rest against the base, but he didn't let himself lift it.

He could call Abby. It would be all too easy to do, even justifiable, without having to tip over face first into a gray area.

He swallowed, forced his hand away, fist closing up again at once. He dropped his arm down onto the desk with a dull thud, his monitor rattling before him. Abby would call when she knew something, and he couldn't do a thing until she did. She'd call.

Ring, damn it.

Tony jumped-looked around to make sure no one had witnessed-when the phone responded to the thought. He reached out, snatched it off the base, and pulled it to his ear. Tony pushed it against his shoulder, held it with his head, while leaned over for the drawer that held his gun.

"Abby?" he breathed out.

"Tony," Abby said. He could hear tension in her voice, hope not completely masked. "They're about to move. McGee is on his way up."

"Thanks, Abby," he said, pulling the gun out, flicking the drawer shut again with his fingers.

"Tony."

Tony paused, adjusted his grip on the phone.

"Yeah?"

"Bring them back."

"I will, Abby," he said, hung up.

They're coming home, Abby. I promise.

Gibbs

"Ajax," Brad cried out-nearly a scream, close enough to one for Gibbs to feel satisfaction, without crossing the line he had so carefully drawn. "I already told you it was him. I told you everything. Please, let me go."

Gibbs narrowed his eyes, moved them down to study Brad. He could feel Kate's gaze on his back, heavy and unwavering. He had no idea how she felt about his current actions (didn't dare ask her, and so far she hadn't done anything to try to stop him or this).

Gibbs had gritted his teeth a little harder, shoved down and buried words that would cut into her, when he realized she wouldn't just walk away and let him do what he needed to do. He had forced himself steady, let something far too close to gentleness take over this interrogation.

"So you've said," Gibbs agreed.

He let go of Brad's hair, flexed his fingers and stepped away. He considered Brad a moment longer, watched as Brad's chest finally stopped heaving with rapid breaths.

Brad would never survive a moment of actual torture, the kind that could be found in the middle of hell, where the bad guys didn't have a conscience sitting a few feet away from them. Truth be told, though, Brad had been all too happy to talk to them-to spill everything. It didn't settle right with Gibbs. Brad had given up Ajax's name before Gibbs had even reached him, the single word rolling off Brad's tongue before the glossiness had even had time to clear from his eyes.

I'm gettin' way too old for this...

"Gibbs," Kate said. Her voice carried over to him, and he swallowed against it. Gibbs took in a breath, debated whether he'd allow himself to give in and look at her.

His fear hadn't diminished by gaining the upper hand (as if they actually had it)-his stomach still held itself in large, single knot, convinced of the only way to relieve the gnawing he felt. He couldn't form a real plan, hindered by the drugs that muffled his senses. He didn't think he'd ever felt the years he carried so intensely.

Gibbs sighed. Even with Brad pinning everything on Ajax-something Gibbs could no longer fully embrace, at least not with Ajax as ringleader-Gibbs had no way of getting that information (or a single damn thing) to his team.

He could only hope they were ahead of the game, that he'd taught them enough (used his time with them well enough) to last, even if he didn't. They already had some many skills he didn't have a single hand in, all of them. Gibbs hadn't picked any of them by accident, had always known they were worth the time he'd pour into them. He wondered if they knew. He knew he should tell them sometime, Kate included. Not today.

"Gibbs," Kate said, again. The chair legs slid against the floor, and Gibbs turned to her.

He bit against his tongue, held himself still. Gibbs wanted to step closer, to brush his fingers over her cheek-a subtle check of her temperature, an act of comfort, he hardly cared what excuse her brain might provide for any uncharacteristic softness he laid over her.

"What are we going to do, Gibbs?" she asked. Her voice was hushed, her eyes wide and careful. He stood still, tried to get his body to respond, to move.

"You got those phone working?" Gibbs asked. He moved forward.

Kate rolled her eyes.

"No, Gibbs," Kate said. "Probably would have mentioned it before now, if I had."

He aimed for a glare, fell considerably short of it, and had to settle with a rough exhale to cover an almost-smile. He reached out for the phone she'd been holding.

Kate met his eye, lowered her gaze to his outstretched hand. She shifted up off the chair, the squeak loud in the quiet room (Brad wisely stayed silent behind his back) and took the steps that separated them. She slid the phone into his palm, fingers chasing it, so hot and heavy against his skin.

Gibbs closed his fingers up over hers, wondering how he'd go back to normal after this. The phone kept her skin too far from his, but it couldn't stop the wave of affection that nearly overtook him. He took a short step forward, drew in a breath.

Her eyes met his, nails pressing against his palm. He held her hand tightly, his body tighter-inches away, but a gap he couldn't cross. It wasn't supposed to be like this, Katie. He squeezed her hand, his eyes leaving her face to study the space behind her.

It wasn't supposed to be like this...

He couldn't apologize, his pride had returned to attention (she wouldn't let him anyway, he knew). He hoped she'd understand him anyway, know that he had nothing left to offer for the last few days, for the million times he owed her something far more than he gave her and she stayed by his side anyway. Thank you would never be enough, so he said nothing instead. Nothing was an old friend. Gibbs forced himself to let her go again, left her hand hovering in the air, stepped around her.

She seemed to understand (or maybe she had just grown far too used to his shortcomings) because she returned to him silently, grabbed another phone.

"I tried extending the antenna range, didn't have a lot to work with though," Kate said. He didn't look at her, nodded at the table. "Didn't seem to help, we're in a dead zone."

He scrolled through the phone in his hand. Most numbers had names attached, names he recognized largely-and he wondered again how deep this ran. Gibbs focused on the numbers without a name. He looked at Kate, she had returned to fiddling with the phones on the table.

"This his?" Gibbs asked, gesturing with the phone.

Kate nodded, and he moved around her, squeezing her fingers as he passed. He was trying for focus-bastard mode, but Kate floated at the edges of his thoughts, and he couldn't even begin to shake her off.

He stopped in front of Brad, who looked back up at him at once. Gibbs held the phone out, a single number filling the screen. Brad's throat bobbed with a rough swallow, before he looked back up at Gibbs.

"Whose number is it?" Gibbs asked, keeping the phone in place.

Brad swallowed again, shifted in the limited give of his ropes. Gibbs gripped the phone tightly, and if they didn't need it for the evidence, he'd take his rage out on it.

"Ajax," Brad said, eyes searching for Kate, for someone to save him.

Gibbs moved in front of him again. He didn't have to look back at her to know she stood strong. He hoped he was doing Kate a favor by being the bad guy here. Kate would have guilt later, a particularly heavy confession to follow. Gibbs could drown himself in another drink, sand away at the boat and himself until he could live with what remained-no one would know the difference.

"Ajax's number is programmed in, "Gibbs said, glaring down at him. His heart hammered at his ribs, felt like it might shatter them if he didn't get the answers he needed. He leaned in closer, hand gripped the chair next to Brad's ear. "Tell me who it is, Brad. Last chance."

"I...I can't, "Brad said. Something close to a whimper fell out of his mouth, his head tilted away from Gibbs' hand. Gibbs almost felt bad for the man. Almost.

"Who do you call all the time, but not put into your phone," Gibbs said, trying to form the answer in his own mind.

"Maybe it's a lover," Kate suggested from behind him. "Doesn't want anyone to know."

Gibbs blinked, glanced over his shoulder.

"She's not my-" Brad said, then paled and fell silent again.

"Who is she then?" Gibbs asked, forcing himself to turn way-to stop looking at Kate.

Brad swallowed, met his eye, looked away.

"She'll kill me," Brad said.

"She won't get the chance if you don't start talking," Gibbs said, slamming his palm against the chair next to Brad's head.

Kate

They still didn't have a name. Brad refused to speak it, as if that would somehow keep him safe. He looked like he could wet the chair at any moment, kept trying to shift and found no room to do so. Brad wouldn't look at Gibbs, alternating between staring up at the ceiling and seeking her out. She didn't know what he wanted from her-though she could guess- but she didn't meet his eyes, couldn't stand the desperation that filled them.

Is this who I'm becoming?

Kate paced the distance between the table and the counter. Ten steps, then ten more. She felt a little lost, pushed too far past a place where faith could still reach-not that she actually believed that place existed. The thought shook her all the way down, made her want to seek out Gibbs. He couldn't offer her forgiveness- peace- not the kind she sought, but he could drive away the thoughts, show her how to live when her foundation threatened to crumble and leave her with ashes to rebuild.

Gibbs stepped back into the kitchen-a box with a red cross held in his hand- pulling her from despair, saving her in the silent way he had. His eyes fell over her, the corner of his mouth pulling up. Gentle, and soft, and she could just slug him for the way he bounced between steel and fluff. The trouble with that, though, was that she honestly couldn't say that she didn't need them both right now, and maybe he knew that.

"Didn't forget," he said, nodding to the counter.

She moved at once, couldn't think of a good reason to argue. She couldn't think about much, honestly. How long has it been since that night? Time had slipped away from her, ran between her fingers, until she had nothing but empty palms to judge by.

Gibbs stood close, the latches on the first aid kit flipping open, contents shifted inside. She looked at him, leaned against the counter.

"Still couldn't get the phones," she offered.

Gibbs pulled out bandages, gauze, antiseptic wipes. Her eyes burned, she wondered if there was a pain reliever in there. Something to bring this fever down, until she could get some proper medical care.

"I know, Katie," he said.

He reached out, turned her face to him. She let him work, he liked silence best, and she didn't have the energy to try to reach him anywhere but here.

"They're going to come, Gibbs," she said, as he wound the bandage around her hair.

"I know," he said, again. He tucked the end under, brushed his fingers over her hair. "Need to get your temperature down."

"We should set up some sort of barricade," she suggested, as he stepped around her.

He made a noise. She wouldn't put money on it being one of agreement. Kate shifted, watched as he grabbed a cloth off the counter and walked to the sink. He dipped it beneath the stream of water, turned the flow back off and wrung out the water. He headed back over to her.

Gibbs wrapped the cloth around the back of her neck.

"It's freezing, Gibbs," she said, reaching up for it, a shiver rolling up her spine.

"It's not," he said. He pushed her hand back down, brushed his thumb over the back of it. "It's not."

He watched her, Kate swallowed. She felt his thumb ghost over her spine, and then his hand was gone, leaving only the cloth against her skin.

"Your turn," Kate said, her voice nearly lost from the tightness that had taken over her throat.

Gibbs nodded, leaned his head down for her to work. She bit her lip, cleaned his head, wrapped it up carefully. He had to have a plan, or at least a suggestion of one, and she was debating on how best to pull it from him when he shifted away, up. He tucked in the rest of his own bandage, fingers moving easily, calmly.

"I want you and Brad to wait in the room," he said, turned from her, started to load supplies back into the box.

Kate blinked. Really, Gibbs? We're still doing this?

Maybe she had ignored his body over hers when something exploded, or the way his hand pushed her back, pulled her closer when danger found them. It had annoyed her at first, she had never needed that, but Gibbs had soothed it way by repetition. He had made that the place where she saw how much he cared, that those were the moments where Gibbs was soft. His life, he'd lay that down for her, for his team in a moment. She had long since forgiven (loved)him for it. This, though, this was not that.

"Like hell I am," Kate said, stepping into his space. Gibbs swallowed. "I'm not leaving you out here alone, Gibbs. We're a team, you know? Better together. I'm not a fragile little girl."

"Damn it, Kate, "Gibbs exhaled. "Don't you think I know that?"

"You wouldn't do this if it were Tony," Kate said, refusing to back down. "Tim too. You don't trust me?"

"I-" Gibbs stared. " I trust you, Katie. But...you're not them. You're...I can't...don't want to lose you. Can't lose you."

"Don't you think I feel the same! Like losing you wouldn't kill me?"

Gibbs took in a sharp breath, and Kate swallowed the rest of her words.

"Together, Gibbs," Kate said, taking a step back.

"Together, Katie," Gibbs said, and his hand closed against her own again.