"Fairy tales do not tell children dragons exist. Children already know dragons exist. Fairy tales tell children dragons can be killed." G. K. Chesterson

.***.

Jay was glaring at Tony before he even walked in the room. "You want to know the story you ask me, okay? Don't bug the little kids about it. They're starting to forget already and it'd be nice to keep it that way."

Of course Jay would know that Tony had to get statements from all of them, but the fact that he was trying to look out for the others made Tony smile a bit. How the heck could he be proud of a kid he'd met the day before?

He settled himself in a chair that he had pulled around to the front of the room, intensely aware of Adam and Donkor's quiet gazes. "You know I can't do that, buddy, but I'll make you a deal. You guys tell me the whole thing – you can take your time, there's no rush -" Which was, of course, a lie, but Tony wasn't about to make this harder than it already was, "and I'll make sure the kids only have to answer a few questions."

Jay pondered this for a moment, looking doubtful. "Deal." It was Adam who said this, and Jay glared, then suddenly looked defeated. "Fine. Deal. Whatever."

Ziva slipped quietly into the room and took a seat next to Donkor, who she greeted in what even Tony recognized to be Arabic. The dark boy seemed incredibly happy to have someone who knew his native language and rolled off a few quick sentences to her. To Tony's ears, it sounded like he was singing.

Ziva cleared her throat, looking at Tony. "Donkor would like to begin. He says that his family recently immigrated to the United States."

"Yeah," Jay put in, "Three years ago. 'Cept his pop couldn't get a job and he has, like, ten other siblings. The older ones all split, and Don did too. Ended up on the streets. Like us."

"Should have stayed in Egypt." Don said in lilting English. From the wry, bitter smiles on all three boys' faces, Tony guessed that this was an oft-expressed sentiment. "But I met Adam…"

"You guys knew each other before this?" Tony asked, wondering why he was so surprised. He'd worked a Baltimore beat as a cop, had seen the gangs street urchins ran in. Some were loose alliances, others were strong as blood bonds.

"Jay knew Bobby and I knew Don. Charlie and Jordan were picked up in Camden, I think, but they didn't know each other or us." Adam shrugged lightly. He was fourteen, as was Donkor, and Jay was fifteen. In the basement, Tony had pegged them all at no older than thirteen. They'd starved on the streets, for sure, but not as badly as they'd starved in recent weeks. The obvious malnourishment – protruding ribs, cheekbones, hips – was hard to look at.

Still, these three acted older than their years. Street life and being kidnapped for other men's sexual amusement would do that to you. Either you found a way to cope or you broke, and these six boys, as messed up as they would be for the rest of their lives, were far from broken.

"They took us all together – I don't know any names, but the little ones might have picked up some. They were less careful around the kids." Tony didn't like the way Jay said 'kids', implying that he wasn't one. "We went into the basement months ago."

"Nine weeks, Jay, don't exaggerate."

"Don't need to exaggerate man, this is already the saddest story in the world." Jay looked down at his fingers, examined the IV, the bandages wrapped around his body, before moving on. "I mean, it's sad because it happened, but it's really sad because they took the kids. We tried to help, we really did, but some guys are just sick. Some like them little – like, Bobby little."

Ziva, who had been conversing quietly with Donkor in Arabic (the sound of the language calmed him enough for him to speak freely about the ordeal. If it wasn't in English, perhaps it wasn't real), looked up at Tony. "Apparently every night they'd line up and be sold by the hour."

"There was strategy to it." Adam said quietly. "I mean…if someone was having a really bad couple of nights, we'd put them in between Don and Jay. If you get Don talking…well, the men wouldn't leave him alone once they heard the accent. And Jay…" Adam smiled, tipping a head in his friend's direction. "Well, you can tell he's the embodiment of the brooding handsome type."

"Thanks dude."

"No problem man."

"You're cute, too."

"You're so not my type." Adam looked relaxed, the easy exchange calming his nerves. It calmed Tony's, too. It would be easier for these guys if they had a coping mechanism. Humor, as dark as it would no doubt be, was a good a defense as any. But Adam continued to talk, his voice wistful. "We haven't seen any girls in…months."

"You are forgetting Ziva." Donkor added, smiling shyly at the woman who, uncharacteristically, smiled back. "And she is very beautiful."

Tony cleared his throat. The general picture was already shaping up, but he needed specifics, especially because he didn't want to grill a six year old about how many times he was raped each night. "How often…?"

"Two or three times a night. Those two," Adam said, jerking his head in the direction of his friends, "sometimes had four or five 'customers.' If we wanted to help someone out – Charlie especially was a wreck. He's a baby, too – we could maybe go for a night without having them picked. But everyone else suffered."

"You dig?" Jay asked softly, his eyes meeting Tony's. They'd offer more information if it was necessary, but Tony's mind could easily fill in the gaps.

"I dig."

"We'd mostly block the nights out." Jay said, shrugging. "I mean, they were god-awful, and sometimes people were hurt and stuff – I mean, I have nine broken bones. It got rough. But during the day…"

"It was almost bearable." Adam interjected. "We'd tell stories. Talk. Sing. There was never much to eat, and of course Jay would give his share to the kids if me and Don didn't watch him, but we'd eat about once a day. Bread, water…"

"Baloney." Donkor said, shuddering. "I will never eat baloney again."

"Don was the best." Jay said, smiling in the direction of the Egyptian, who ducked his head shyly. "He has this great way of telling stories, and he's the only one who'd ever been anywhere. He's been on a plane and stuff, and he'd tell us about that."

"A lot of the talk centered around food. Stuff we wanted to eat if we ever got to become people again. It was bearable. And then we'd do Nights and it would be another nightmare." Adam folded his hands. "Is there anything else you want to know?"

"No." Tony said, clearing his throat. "No, you guys did good. Thanks." He started to get up when the boys asked questions of their own.

"That guy you were with when you found us…" Adam started, looking suddenly concerned, and that touched Tony more than anything else. That this kid, who'd been through so much, had that kind of empathy. "He's okay?"

"He's pretty hurt, but he'll be okay." Tony couldn't shake the guilt he still carried about McGee's condition. He'd been shot, and Tony had dragged him across town into a potentially dangerous situation, where he'd fallen through the floor, hurt his shot shoulder again, and impaled his side. There was a lot of room for guilt.

"Hey, mister?" This time it was Jay, his expression bleak. "What's gonna happen to us? They're splitting us up, aren't they?"

Tony could lie very, very well. It was what made him a good agent, a good cop. It was also what made him single. But it was a gift that helped when dealing with abused kids, especially those still drugged up to their eyeballs from surgery. "No, kid. They're not going to split you up."

There was no way he could keep that promise, but the flicker of happiness that ran across the three boys' faces was well worth it.

Ah, NCIS. No McGee/Tony love in this one, but we promise that's, like, the entire rest of the story.

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