Sealed
When Tony began to regain consciousness a couple of hours later his first thought centered on his aching head. Reaching a hand up to massage a temple, he felt a dried trickle of blood outlining his eye.
It took a few more seconds for him to focus his attention enough to actually open his eyes, and when he did so, he realized that he was the sole occupant of the room.
Sitting up gingerly he braced himself against the wall, which turned out to be constructed of stone.
He shuddered when his back touched the cool material, but grimacing, he began to run his hand up and down his body, feeling for injuries.
One eye was almost shut. From the pounding and dried blood he realized his head had been cracked. His left wrist was swollen and felt sprained, and accompanied by a dull throb throughout his right leg. Gingerly examining his leg he saw a bruise spreading from below the knee to midway up his thigh. Someone had kicked him pretty badly.
Tony felt himself getting woozy once again, and realized it would take a couple of more hours to get the drug that had been used to incapacitate him out of his system. He closed his eyes and allowed himself to sink back into oblivion.
The second time he woke it was to the sound of a door opening.
He groaned.
Every part of him hurt, and he regarded the man coming towards him warily. He couldn't tell if this was the man who came up behind him. There must be another one, one who appeared as the accomplice. Really, it didn't matter. It made no difference who did what- they both had kidnapped him.
His dad would want him to memorize every detail of his surroundings and of the men.
Tony felt a stab of fear that threatened to paralyze him.
Where was his father to come and make all of this better for him- immediately?
He needed him.
Tony wiped his mouth and watched the stranger close the distance between them. No, his father was not here. For that matter, his dad might not even realize Tony was in trouble.
A gush of fear gripped him a moment later when he realized that his dad would not even know where he had been abducted. His father would only think that Tony had taken the path he had told his dad he was taking.
The calvary could not save him.
He had never really pondered the meaning of a worst case scenario, but now he understood his irresponsibility had landed him at the mercy of criminals.
The man came within two feet of him and observed him clinically. "Looks like you're awake now, so let's have a chat."
Ignoring the assessment, Tony did not respond.
The man grinned. "Not very sociable, are you, little Jethro?"
Remaining silent, Tony ran his tongue over his bloodied lip and met the speaker's gaze.
"I know your name's not Jethro," the man continued, narrowing his eyes, "but you are Jethro's kid."
He scrutinized Tony and noted that despite the boy's deliberate show of willpower, a flicker of desolation crossed his face.
The kid definitely loved his father.
"Now, you don't know me, but your father and I have had a couple of conversations."
Tony turned his head to the side and targeted his gaze to the opposite corner of the room. He mentally began to quell the terror overwhelming him. Taking a couple of deep breaths he determined that his best course was to not allow the enemy to see his weaknesses.
He fought back sudden tears as his father and abuela came to mind.
The man took offense that Tony denied him eye contact. He kicked at Tony's hurt leg and despite his best intentions to remain emotionless, the boy flinched.
"Look at me when I'm talking to you, Boy! I know that dad of yours has drilled some rules of etiquette into your head. You are the child of Leroy Jethro Gibbs, correct?"
Tony obeyed by leveling an appraising stare on the man.
The commentary continued. "Don't worry about confirming that, Kid. We did our homework. You're Jehtro, Junior, without a doubt."
The man pointed towards him.
"You're here because I figured out how to most productively enact revenge on Daddy Dearest."
Emphasizing the last two words, the kidnapper moved leisurely to the wall directly across from the teen and leaned an elbow against it, propping himself.
Trying to lessen his discomfort, Tony started to rub his leg soothingly. He regarded his opponent and began memorizing mental notes of the man's appearance and demeanor. His father had coached him over and over in honing his skills of scrutiny, and Tony realized that this was the time to put those proficiencies into practice.
He quickly imprinted a visual description of the man into his memory: six one or two, a hundred ninety pounds, muscular, brown hair and eyes. Tony scanned his face and noticed the man had a slight scar below his left eye, and a larger scar right under his chin. Further, he had the definite signs of a five o'clock shadow.
His abductor would have passed for good looking, had his face not been so pale and pasty looking.
His age was somewhere between twenty five and thirty.
"I'm sure you've got a bunch of questions for me. I'll be happy to answer them when I feel you're cooperative."
The man stretched leisurely once again, making a show of yawning loudly.
Tony did not bother to answer the invitation. Wiping his dry mouth, he eyed the man warily, instead.
The assailant smirked, "Well, ok then, little buddy. If you don't feel like joining in the chitchat I will excuse myself and go eat. I'm massively hungry. Snatching you made me work up quite the appetite."
With that, he strode to the door and opened it with a flourish, then disappeared behind it as it slammed.
Tony repositioned himself onto his hands and knees, trying to get control of the nausea and dizziness as he slowly worked his way into standing. His head pounded, and he was painfully, horribly thirsty.
Once he gained his footing he rested against the wall for a couple of minutes, as he attempted to quell a rising sense of panic. He could not inhale deeply without pain, and after a quick physical check decided that a couple of ribs had been either bruised or broken.
Navigating the room took all of his strength. It was not a surprise when the sole door refused to budge. The kidnappers probably had it double bolted from the opposite side. He checked every nook and cranny for some means of escape but none appeared. Judging from his examination his prison was the basement of a building, with the only exit the door that his assailant used.
Tony licked his lips and tasted blood. He shrugged. There was nothing he could do to treat his injuries or create bandages or splints.
He desperately wanted a drink of water. His thirst seemed overwhelming.
Gingerly he settled into one of the corners, then slid down until he reclined on the cold stone floor. His head hurt, his ribs hurt, and his whole body throbbed.
Yet again, the creak of the door woke him, and he came to consciousness slowly, using both hands to rub his temples. He groaned, but pulled himself into a sitting position.
The second kidnapper moved to stand in front of him. He held a glass of water which he thrust towards the boy. "Drink!"
Tony watched him suspiciously and weighed his options. His first response was to balk, first because he wanted to show he did not have to obey, and second, because the water could be drugged.
He licked his lips and decided to gamble. He needed hydration.
The water's healing ability seemed almost instantaneous. The young man drained his glass, then shakily set it on the floor.
"Thanks," he muttered, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
The captor regarded him critically. "I'll be back in a while to take you to the restroom, then to get you something to eat."
He picked up the glass and started towards the door.
"Wait!" Tony begged. "Tell me what this is all about."
The man turned to scrutinize him, then glanced back towards the door. Tony saw his shoulders tighten and recognized that the man was internally debating how to answer.
"What don't you understand?" A sudden play of compassion crossed his face but he quickly replaced it with one of angry demand as he regarded the boy.
Tony motioned a path from wall to wall. "This- why have you taken me? Why am I in this place?"
"It's called payback, Kid. Your daddy messed up my kid, and now I'm messing up his."
He raised his eyebrows.
Tony nodded, "How did he mess up?"
Tensing his jaw, the man elaborated. "Jethro Gibbs got my kid sent to prison for selling drugs to Navy guys. Problem is, he just targeted my boy- nobody else. So he let my son take the fall by saying he was a ringleader. He just got released from eight years of having his life snatched out from under so that he could decay in prison."
The last words really infuriated the man and he raised his voice, practically spitting them out in blasts. "Now shut up asking questions."
With that, he spun to the door and left.
Tony listened to the sound of wood being snapped into a frame and subsequently bolted from the other side as he eased himself into a reclining position. He rested his head on his arm and fell into a troubled sleep.
The next time he awoke it was because he felt a draft of air hit him. Rising groggily, he wiped his mouth as the door to his prison once again opened.
The son had been given the task of escorting Tony to the restroom. "Get up 'cause I'm giving you a chance at the toilet. You try anything, though, you'll regret it." One hand was thrust into a side pocket and grasped what appeared to be a gun.
Nodding his agreement, Tony got to his feet. He squared his shoulders and walked towards the entrance, pausing to let the man pull open the door. Tony kept his expression neutral.
The door led into a short hall with another door at the opposite end. Tony waited again for the man to pull that one open and then motion him to climb a set of unfinished stairs to the ground floor before he continued. Once the next door was accessed they stepped into a kitchen.
Sunlight streaming into the room from a window blinded him a second, and he shook his head to re-establish vision. Once he did, he realized that both kitchen windows were covered by curtains, but one had enough of a crack to let light through. Tony took an appraising look, then followed the man's gesture to veer to the right. That led to a family room with another heavily covered window. Pointing, the abductor directed him from that room to another short hall, and then to a small bathroom opposite the dwelling from the kitchen. Tony stopped at the threshold, waiting for instructions.
"Don't think of doing anything, Junior, or your next chance will involve peeing in your pants downstairs." The man's breath reeked, and Tony surmised the reason seemed to be his tobacco stained teeth.
Grabbing Tony's shoulder, he shoved him into the space and promised, "No privacy, buddy boy, just like in prison. Just do your business, and out we go."
Tattooed across the knuckles of one hand were the letters P-U-N-K, but the K appeared to have been carved with little to no ink.
Glad of the opportunity to get out of the basement jail, Tony took as much time as he dared. When his captor ordered him to hurry for the third time, the teen made his way to the sink. Glancing in the mirror he saw that the café curtains at the window behind him did not completely obstruct his view of the outdoors. Realizing that his observational skills could turn out to save him, he washed his hands slowly, rinsed out his mouth and gargled loudly, then lathered with soap and rinsed his face, all while he kept a check in the mirror.
When he rejoined the kidnapper he spoke softly, "Thanks, Man-"
There was no response, and Tony started back down the hall, reversing the first path.
As they approached the kitchen Tony begged, "Please get me something to eat. I am really hungry."
The captor grabbed him by the arm, "What do you mean that you are hungry?"
"I can't help it," the teen responded defensively.
"All right, whatever," the man grumbled.
Pointing to a chair at the kitchen table he ordered, "Sit!"
Tony chose his seat carefully, making certain that he had the best vantage point in the room.
"What about pizza?" he suggested, raising his eyebrows.
The man yanked open the refrigerator door in reply and examined the contents. "Out of luck, kid. I have no intention of calling for a delivery."
"Ok," Tony responded meekly. He repositioned himself in the chair to ease some of his body's throbbing.
"You like eggs, buddy?" The man's tone softened, and he raised his eyebrows questioningly as he drummed his fingers on top of the open refrigerator door.
"I do," Tony responded, and a sudden rush of emotion overwhelmed him. His abuela had spent many mornings preparing breakfast for him, and her eggs were one of his favorites.
He wanted her.
He wanted his dad.
He wanted to go home.
He shook his head and straightened in the chair. What he needed to do was figure out how to get home.
Gesturing with the egg carton the man ordered, "Just stay put. If you move from that seat I will lock you back up and you'll forfeit all food until your dad gets the ransom paid."
"Got it-"
Satisfied, the captor began pulling out dishes and turned himself to the cooking task.
So the deal is kidnapping, Tony pondered, kidnapping and revenge. He sat lost in thought until a plate was set down in front of him.
It surprised him that he was so ravenous.
He began to eat, grateful for any food.
The eggs were delicious.
Tony smiled, "You're a great chef –on- demand. These are great."
That pleased the kidnapper, and a flash of pride crossed his face. He responded, "Glad you like them." Then almost smiling, he added, "Used to be a short order cook, years ago."
Suddenly his mood changed, "I might have gone on to become one of those five star chefs but your dad had it out for me. He destroyed my future."
Tony tilted his head sympathetically in the man's direction. "Rotten luck, Man, because you were destined for greatness." He bestowed a beautiful grin upon him.
The man smiled, as well. "You had better gobble 'em before they get cold."
Tony did as directed, thinking to himself that he had accomplished a great deal with his refreshment break. His captor now appeared to view him as more of a person than of a victim.
"Did you teach yourself?"
"Kinda sorta, I suppose," the kidnapper kicked at the opposite chair to pull it away from the table then sat down and began to eat, as well. "My mom taught me to read before I ever went to school, reading recipes, at that. She'd have me with her in the kitchen helping."
Tony grinned, "It sounds like your mom was clever."
"She was," agreed the man.
"The man, that's your dad, right?" Tony tried to confirm the relationship.
The answer came in the form of a scowl.
Tony prodded, "She's not here though, right? You live with your dad."
That was obviously a sore point because with that, the man got to his feet so quickly that his chair toppled backwards. He snatched it upright and ordered, "Eat instead of talking. It's time you got back downstairs."
Knowing not to press his luck, Tony dutifully finished to eggs, and ten minutes later was once again locked in the basement.
He felt better, though, not physically, but emotionally. The trip upstairs had awarded him a new perspective of his situation.