Disclaimer: NCIS is not mine. If it were, NCIS personal would need a much higher health plan.
A/N I'm back . . . finally. School's over so I'm back into the fic. I want to thank everyone who reviewed and read the prologue. The response I got for the prologue was mind-blowing, so I thank you and hope you continue to read it. Here's the next chapter. Thanks, as always, to my beta, Kandon Kuuson.
Chapter One: Stranger Danger
"Seriously Tony, is that all you think about?" Ziva rolled her eyes, gesturing to the roses and the box of chocolates sitting on his desk.
Tony smiled suggestively as he rested on top of her desk. "Well, you know. Hot chick, hot date, you know where it leads to."
Ziva sighed. "And you think these 'gifts' will speed things along, yes?"
"You never know," Tony replied with a smile. "Like I always say . . ." He leant over and whispered something into Ziva's ear.
"You're a disgusting pig, Anthony DiNozzo," Ziva muttered, pulling away from Tony and glaring at him.
"Awww, Zee-vah," Tony faked whined and then changed his tone to a very fake sounding masculine voice. "You know I aim to please!"
"Aargh." Ziva flexed her hands in annoyance. "McGee, help me out here." She looked pointedly at McGee who was trying to hide himself behind his computer, unwilling to get involved.
"Leave me out of this, guys," he suggested weakly. "I . . . I have a report to finish?
"Report, shemort," Tony said with a smile. "It's Friday night, Probie. Live a little . . . go out . . . get laid." McGee blinked. "No, no, probably you'll go home and work on that so-called fiction book of yours."
"It's not about you guys," McGee tried.
"Sorry, McGee." Ziva looked at him almost sympathetically. "But Tony's right. Your book, it's very . . . how do you say . . ."
". . . Totally unrealistic," Tony offered. "Fake?"
"Nooo . . ." Ziva muttered. "Heavily . . . reliant on poetic permission, yes?"
"Poetic licence, Zee-vah," Tony corrected.
"Yes, that, poetic licence," Ziva amended. "You depend on poetic licence."
McGee briefly closed his eyes before opening them again. "How many times . . ."
"You pretty much admitted, McGeek," Tony countered, looking thoughtful. "During that case with the loony coffee worker who was killing characters in your book."
"He wasn't loony, Tony, mentally disturbed," McGee corrected.
"If that makes you feel better, go for it," Tony smiled. "Hey . . . you know what, McAuthor. If you books are based on us –"
"They're not," McGee interjected swiftly, but Tony ignored him.
"– We should get some kind of royalties, or commission, or copyright fee," he finished.
Ziva snorted. "Copyright fee?"
"Yes, I am a uniquely, self-efficient, wonderful, loving, humorous . . . did I mention handsome . . . one-of-a-kind very Special Agent," he announced to Ziva and McGee who both looked at each other. "There is no one like me."
"I'd say that's a very, very good thing," Ziva emphasised good. "And I think you left off . . . self-centred, egotistical kid whose mind is forever in his pants, yes."
"He-ey, not always," Tony defended himself. "There's other stuff too."
"Like flashy cars and extensive suits," Ziva countered.
"And the booze, you don't forget the booze," Tony added good-naturedly. "Sex, booze and cars, it's a male's mantra."
Ziva let out an exasperated sigh. "Not all men are like you, Tony. Take McGee for example."
"Yeah, I'd rather not." McGee tried to convince Ziva not to go any further. She ignored him.
"McGee is a gentleman," Ziva continued. "You don't see him flaunting his sex life around the office. Or talking about male mantra. Or being a chauvinistic idiot."
"Why, Officer David, I am hurt," Tony said in a fake hurt voice and dramatically placed his hand over his heart. "You have crushed my very soul!"
Ziva rolled her eyes. "I feel very sorry for the poor, poor girl who actually said yes to you."
"Who would reject this handsome face?" Tony questioned, framing his face with his hands. "They'd be an idiot."
"Yeah, an idiot for saying yes," Ziva muttered.
"You're both idiots for even talking about DiNozzo's sex life," Gibbs said, strolling into the bullpen, shocking the three agents. He whacked Tony and Ziva on the head as he passed.
"Yes, boss, right, boss," Tony muttered as Ziva smiled. He looked at her. "What are you smiling about, Zee-vah." Ziva chuckled.
"You finished your reports?" Gibbs barked.
Ziva nodded. "All done, Gibbs."
"Then why are you still standing here, go." He nodded towards the elevator.
"Right, see you all on Monday. Shalom," she farewelled as she picked up her jacket and bag and headed to the elevator.
"McGee?" Gibbs questioned.
"All done now, boss," McGee replied as he picked up the loose sheets of paper from the printer and handed them to Gibbs. He walked back to his desk and gathered his things. "Night, and . . . err . . . have a good date, Tony."
"Oh, I will, Probie," Tony answered and Gibbs just nodded.
"What about you, DiNozzo?" He turned to his remaining agent.
"Err . . ." Tony looked sheepish. "I started . . ."
"Then finish them," Gibbs ordered.
"But my date . . ." Tony said weakly.
"Finish those reports, DiNozzo," Gibbs ordered again as he rose from his desk. "I'll see you on Monday with completed reports."
"Yes, boss, have a good weekend," Tony muttered as Gibbs exited the bullpen.
He turned and looked at the unfinished reports on this desk. "I'm sure they can wait till Monday," he reasoned. "I'll come in early and finish them, or tomorrow. Yes, that'll work."
He walked over to his desk and picked up the roses and the box of chocolates. Switching off his light and having a last guilty look at the paperwork, he walked out of the bullpen and headed for the elevator.
'Beep, beep,' his Mustang sounded as he automatically unlocked the doors. Slipping into the driver's side, Tony turned the ignition and the car rumbled to a start. He checked his watch. There was just enough time to go home and get changed before he was due to meet Marie.
Reversing out of his parking space, Tony switched on his radio. A local jazz station was playing. Tony sighed happily, his paperwork troubles forgotten with the sound of Coltrane. Humming along to the song, Tony waved at the guard who controlled the entry and exit gates and turned left onto the street. He didn't notice the dark Sedan pull out behind him.
He was about half way home when his Mustang shuddered to a halt. Cursing under his breath, he yanked open the door and stepped out onto the road. He made his way over to the smoking bonnet of the car. Gently lifting the lid, a whole cloud of smoke floated into his face. He coughed.
"Damn," he muttered angrily. "I have a date."
He pulled out his cell phone and dialed his local garage, hoping they would know a tow service nearby. He let it ring for a while before giving up. He thought about his options. He didn't know any tow services that were in the general vicinity and his normal garage wasn't picking up.
He kicked a lone rock and watched as it bounced along the gutter.
"Desperate times call for desperate measures," he muttered and called another number. He heard the other end pick and was about to open his mouth when he heard the recorded message.
"Hello, you've reached Timothy McGee," McGee's mechanical voice said. "I'm sorry, but I'm not available at the moment. Please leave your name and number after the beep and I'll get back to you as soon as possible. Thank you. BEEP!"
"Probie, why the hell aren't you picking up your phone," Tony said. "Look my car has broken down. I need a lift . . . or the name of a garage or tow service. Call me back when you get this." He hung up. McGee was going to be no use. He tried another number.
"Yo, Abby Sciuto's phone," came Abby's recorded message. "I'm not here at the moment, as you can probably tell 'cos I'm not picking up. Leave a message, or not. I'll get back to you when I can. It might be awhile, 'cos if I'm not home, I'm with my babies at work or with my nuns or on a date with a totally luscious guy or . . ." Abby was cut off by another voice.
"I think they get the picture, Abby." Tony smiled slightly at the sound of McGee's voice. "Okay then, leave a message after the beep. BEEP!"
"Well, if you're not too busy with your nuns or on a hot date, Abs," Tony started. "You could come and rescue me. My car's busted. Call me." He hung up.
"Okay, please, please pick up," Tony muttered as he dialed another number.
"You have reached Ziva David. I'm not available at the moment, but you can leave a message after the beep. Toda. BEEP!"
"Not you too, Zee-vah," Tony grumbled into the phone. "My car broke down . . . stop laughing . . . I need a lift . . . please. Ring me back."
Tony sighed in frustration.
He wasn't about to call Gibbs, he would be so busted for not finishing his paperwork. Just as he was about to climb back into his car and wallow in self-pity, another car drove up beside him.
"You need some help, pal?" the dark-haired driver asked as he pushed some of his hair out of his face.
Tony looked at the car warily. "My car has broken down," he said carefully. "You wouldn't happen to know a garage close by or a tow service, would you? I'm . . . I'm late for a date." He smiled sheepishly.
The man in the car smiled. "Yeah, I know a place. Hop in and I'll take you."
"Ah, that's okay," Tony said hesitantly, knowing it wasn't a good idea to get into a car with someone he didn't know, especially down a dark street. "If you just give me the number, I can call."
"That wasn't a suggestion . . ." The tone of the man's voice changed from friendly to threatening. " . . . Agent DiNozzo . . ."
At the sound of his name, Tony immediately reached to his side in order to draw his gun.
"Wrong move, Agent DiNozzo," murmured a new voice behind him. Before Tony could get a firm grip on his gun, he felt a small prick at the base of his neck.
"Oh," he muttered before his vision blurred and he toppled forwards, hitting his head on the side view mirror.
Keller reached under Tony's arms and heaved the unconscious agent into the boot of the Sedan. A small river of blood was trickling down his face from where he'd hit the side view mirror; he wasn't going to be waking up any time soon.
Once Keller was sure the agent was securely in the boot of the Sedan, he reached for a red container and doused the Mustang with kerosene. Reaching into his pocket, Keller pulled out a box of matches and lit the first one. He threw it into the passenger's seat. The car ignited as flames danced through the interior of the car. Keller smiled, he liked fire.
Pleased with his work, he opened the passenger door and slid into the seat.
"Move it," he ordered and the driver nodded. "You know, the Naval Yard really does need better security." He laughed humourlessly as the dark Sedan speed off down the road, leaving the flaming car behind.
A/N2: Dun, dun, dun! The story has begun. What do Keller and McIntyre have in store for Tony? How will the team react when they find out their lovable agent has been kidnapped? How guilty will McGee, Abby and Ziva feel when they ignore Tony's messages? And what will Gibbs do when he finds out that Tony has been kidnapped because of him? Tune in for the next instalment of Tower of Strength.