Disclaimer: I do not own NCIS nor any of the characters from it.

A/N: I finally got off my lazy ass and wrote this chapter, and I know it's short but I didn't want to pack it full of too much or else I won't get a chance to write more the way I've planned. R&R

Chapter 15

Tony opened his eyes slowly, they felt like they were made of lead as he struggled to peer out of the slits. His head was throbbing and the back of his neck felt damp, like someone had poured something down the back of his shirt. It stuck to his back as Tong tried to move, wriggling his fingers and toes to make sure nothing was broken. His movement was restricted, although he wasn't sure why.

He tried to open his eyes but all he saw was blackness. He moved his head to the side and felt the tug of a tightly bound material over his eyes. The material was light in colour but he could smell the pungent odour of motor oil on it. It was secured at the back in a tight knot, not leaving much space for circulation. The knot was firmly digging into the back of his skull, pressing against a tender spot, the pain becoming worse if he attempted to move.

He shuffled in his position, feeling the pull of rough ropes that secured his wrists together behind his back. He could feel the same pressure of the rough rope around his ankles, securing his to what he guessed was a wooden chair. When he moved there was a sharp grating noise which he recognised from when he was a homicide detective in Baltimore, he had to sit in an uncomfortable wooden chair when one of his colleagues got too enthusiastic with his revolver, puncturing a 5 inch hole in the back of Tony's comfortable office chair. There wasn't a spare, so Tony was left with an uncomfortable wooden chair that had chipped paint and sandpaper-like edges. The over-enthusiastic young officer was a probie, of course. It was lucky that Tony wasn't sitting in the chair at the time or else he would have a 5 inch hole in his back himself.

Over-enthusiastic probies should be the last thing on his mind, but for some reason they weren't. He kept thinking of the last thing he said to McGee, he couldn't remember the exact words, but the tone was still etched in his mind. He snapped at the young probie, taking out his anger on him. It wasn't his fault, and Tony immediately regretted taking his anger out on the young agent.

Tony stopped himself; he didn't want to think like this. He didn't know where he was, but it was obvious that he was being held captive for one reason or another. He tried to get the negative thoughts out of his head and concentrated on manoeuvring himself to see if he could get out of his restraints.

He wasn't going to give up this easily.

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Tony slumped in his chair, realising that there was no point struggling, he would need the strength later if his captor came back. Unbeknown to Tony, his captor sat silently, running a silver blade along a velvet cloth, cleaning the blade until it shone in the stream of light trailing from a gap in the roof.

His captor slumped uneasily in a thatched wooden chair, one leg resting on a pillar that held up a retaining wall in the building. He reached calmly across the table for a silver flask, taking big mouthfuls of the alcoholic substance inside. He would need the extra boost for later.

Tony breathed deeply, using all his senses to take in everything he could, afraid to call out in case his captor was indeed present. He sucked in the crisp air, smelling a strange pungent odour. He guessed his sense of smell wasn't as good as it could be, especially with the blindfold wrapped firmly over his eyes, the stench of motor oil enveloping him. He couldn't make out the strange odour, and concentrated on his remaining senses.

He listened carefully for any indication of where he was being held captive, his ears picking up the sound of water draining slowly from a high place. The water dripped slowly, the droplets landing with a splash in a metal container, the hollow drip, drip sound echoing throughout the building.

Tony sat uncomfortably, not sensing his captor sitting nearby. He sat quietly for what seemed like hours, the rope rubbing against his skin like sandpaper.

He felt his eyes drifting shut; the painful throbbing in the back of his skull, the gnaw of hunger, the rubbing of the rope on his wrists and ankles and the fear – they all swirled around inside him at this moment, painfully and slowly like he was being tortured.

His captor still sat nearby, years of pain and torture inflicted on himself were reaching boiling point. He had waited so long for this opportunity – the opportunity to find his daughter again. He needed to find her, to explain to her why all these terrible things had happened over the years to her. He wanted to apologise to her for causing her so much pain, but, most of all – he wanted revenge. It was that little girl that had forced him into hiding, forced him to do these things, and she needed to be punished. He was not going to let a little girl get the better of him.

A/N: Yes it is a painfully short chapter, but there are a lot of chapters to follow this one, as I have decided to leave my other stories for a while and concentrate on Grace. I'll finish this story first before I concentrate on "Allegiance", "C Is For Cyanide" and "Goodbyes" – the last one has been witting there for so long, that I have to get a move on and finish that. There's also another story I want to start, a Stargate SG-1 story about Cassandra, also a Stargate Atlantis story about John and Elizabeth that I want to start – but I won't start any of them until I finish Grace. R&R