They fell into a routine… a sick and twisted routine, but a routine nonetheless.
Every few hours, one of the men would come and take Gibbs away, leaving Tim alone in overwhelming isolation. Occasionally the sounds of grunts, beatings and shouting punished his ears, and Tim did his best to lock it all away, right alongside his fear, worry and guilt. He knew what was being done to Gibbs probably wasn't as horrible as what his imagination was conjuring, but it didn't make things any easier.
He'd hoped to get a glimpse of him once when he was allowed a visit to the bathroom. But they'd passed no other rooms in the small trek, so Tim had very little to go on except evaluating his boss' condition when he was returned and re-secured to the wall.
Tim thought that last bit was overkill. Gibbs was never in any condition to escape. They'd leave them together in their prison, allowing only enough time for Gibbs to regain consciousness and speak a few words to Tim. Then they would swoop in to take him away again like beady-eyed vultures, content to peel away his resolve like flesh from bone.
Tim was left alone. Always left alone.
The hours came and went, and for Tim, each moment spent in seclusion was more difficult than the last. His mounting guilt threatened to engulf him when he had nothing but his own thoughts to keep him company. He fumed over not being touched while Gibbs bore the brunt of his unwillingness to cooperate. He worried that when they were done with Gibbs, they would move on to him, and then he felt horribly ashamed for being concerned about his well-being while his boss suffered.
But more than anything, the worry of disappointing Gibbs consumed him.
Things had been awkward since Gibbs had voiced his doubt to Tim. No, not doubt… the opposite of doubt. It was Gibbs' belief that Tim had given in so easily in the few hours that he'd been held captive here. The look on his boss' face was not one that he could ignore, or ever forget for that matter. Tim had seen his boss in action too many times to not know that look. It was the look that was given to suspects in interrogation when Gibbs was convinced of their guilt. Tim had been on the receiving end of many of his boss' patented looks… but never that one.
It was a hard pill to swallow, but Tim wasn't surprised.
Hurt? Yes.
Surprised? Not really.
For a long while, Tim wallowed in the knowledge of his boss' perception of him. He ping-ponged back and forth on the precipice of self-doubt and loathing to the peaks of convincing himself that he was good at his job, eventually landing on the singular thought that he knew what he was capable of, even if those around him didn't.
Maybe it was just in his nature to prove people wrong. His father had been the first in a long line. He hoped Gibbs would be the next. And it was that mission that helped Tim get through the hours spent stewing in lonely silence.
Guerrero seemed in no particular hurry to find his sister-in-law. Even more disconcerting was that he seemed fully confident that Tim would eventually give in and hack into WitSec to find her. Whenever Tim was in his presence, the man carried himself with pure certainty and dangerous calm, which only made Tim increasingly more nervous, momentarily forgetting his new-found agenda. It was as though his captor had an ace up his sleeve that he was saving for the perfect opportunity to pull out.
Gibbs wasn't worried. Or if he was, Tim thought, he hid it really well. When he was dragged back to the room, he'd do his best to reassure Tim to stay strong. To not give in. That everything would turn out okay.
Of course, Gibbs didn't use that many words, but Tim could hear the meaning behind what was said.
And very little was being said as it was.
If they thought that Gibbs would return from one of these torture sessions to beg McGee to do what they were asking, they clearly did not know his boss. Yet, Guerrero had been right about one thing. Gibbs didn't have to say anything to have an effect on Tim's actions. The last time his boss was brought back, there was a moment of weakness in which Tim had begged for some water for the injured man.
Surprisingly, his request was granted, but not without a price. Quid pro quo was in full effect, and Tim finally admitted that yes, he could hack into WitSec. He didn't say he would, of course, but Guerrero seemed pleased that the truth was finally out in the open. It was a small victory, of course, but one that Tim didn't relish in giving the man.
Tim was horrified by the pain he saw on Gibbs' face as he was yanked up into a sitting position, and a bottle of water was forced to his lips. He was supposed to be the strong one. The indestructible force of NCIS. Yet now here he was, unable to take a sip of water without sputtering and choking it down. It was like watching a train wreck. Tim hated it, but he couldn't tear his eyes away.
And that's when it happened. When everything suddenly became clear.
How many times had Tim relied on Gibbs to save the day? How often had the team leader been the solid rock of the team, keeping a cool head while others panicked? Used his gut and uncanny sense of perfect timing to solve a case? Save a teammate? The list went on and on…
Gibbs, whose presence was usually as powerful as an earthquake, and many times just as destructive, was in no position to do any of that now.
If they had any chance… any hope… of escaping, it would have to be up to Tim.
It was a thought that both invigorated and terrified him. But it was a thought that changed everything.
~~~NCIS~~~
Each time Gibbs woke, it took more effort to do so. He was never fully aware of where he was at first, and it often took McGee's soft voice calling out to him to shake the last vestiges of unconsciousness. When he finally managed to open his eyes fully, he noticed that once again darkness seeped through the boarded window. Another day come and gone. At least this time the room light was kept on.
Without looking over at McGee, Gibbs struggled to sit, eventually settling for a half-lean against the wall. He hated seeing the look on the younger man's face while he fought to do the most basic of tasks. McGee had always put Gibbs on a high pedestal, and he could only imagine how many rungs he'd been knocked down over the past 24 hours.
"You okay, boss?"
Gibbs hummed in reply, finally risking a glance over to his agent. McGee was still cuffed to the radiator, looking much the same as he had each previous time Gibbs woke. There were subtle differences which illustrated that the passage of time had not been easy on him either. The dark circles under his eyes were more pronounced, as was the bruising. His right wrist was raw and irritated from the handcuff.
But there was something new in Tim's expression. It wasn't anything suspicious, as Gibbs had mistakenly assumed earlier, but it wasn't something he could accurately define either.
Gibbs shifted his weight around a bit more to relieve some of the cramping in his legs, and he was surprised to see an empty water bottle near his feet. McGee must have noticed his skeptical look as he eyed it.
"It's okay, boss. You were able to get some water in you earlier. It's not poisoned, or anything."
Gibbs nodded, noticing for the first time that his mouth and throat did not seem as parched as usual. He didn't remember drinking it, but he'd come to accept the missing blocks of time in his memory. He'd had several concussions in the past, and even suffered through worse blackouts than these. He knew he'd have to rely on McGee to fill in the missing pieces for the time being.
"You get any?"
"Uh, no." McGee's stomach growled as he blushed and almost smiled. "No food either."
Another nod before Gibbs continued to work the kinks out of his body, moving on to his wrists before flexing his fingers, momentarily forgetting his broken ones, and he couldn't hold back a quiet groan.
"Boss… I'm sorry…"
Gibbs shook his head. "Not your fault, McGee."
"But, your fingers... I just…"
"What happened after I went missing?"
McGee processed the change in topic for only a moment before launching into the frantic early investigation into Gibbs' disappearance.
"When you didn't show up to work, I did a trace on your phone."
"Still in my driveway?"
"Yeah. We went out to your house… Ziva drove," a small smile graced his lips before he continued. "We didn't find anything. No blood. No signs of forced entry. No witnesses. Just your phone."
"My weapon?"
McGee shook his head. "Didn't find it."
"Keep going."
"Well, without much to go on, we processed the scene and went back to the office. Started looking into old cases, threatening letters you've gotten in the past, the usual. I went through your e-mails. Boss, you really need to clean out your inbox."
"First on my to do list when we get out of here, McGee."
McGee sat up a little straighter. "You think we'll get out of here, boss?"
Gibbs didn't answer.
"Did Guerrero's name come up?"
"No. Who is he anyway, boss? Who his is sister-in-law? Why does he want to find her?"
Gibbs sighed and let his eyes close. He was surprised that Guerrero and his thugs hadn't come for him yet, but was thankful for the reprieve. This was the most he and McGee had spoken to one another since this whole ordeal had started, and he could see that his agent was equally as grateful for the time together.
"I put his brother away, and he died in prison. His sister-in-law, Rachel, helped seal the deal with her testimony."
"He wants revenge."
Gibbs kept his eyes shut, but nodded. They were quiet for a while, each counting down the minutes until Gibbs would be taken away again.
He never told McGee what happened outside of their small room, and McGee never asked. Many times, they'd only need to hit him a few times before he lost consciousness. When he'd wake again, Guerrero was there to whisper in his ear, questioning Gibbs how long he thought his youngest agent would last. Asking Gibbs how many more bones needed to be broken before McGee would give in.
Gibbs finally opened his eyes to look over at McGee, and he silently wondered the same thing.
Yes, Gibbs had made a terrible mistake earlier in assuming McGee had already broken and given in to their demands. And he had no doubt that his agent was working hard to prove himself to Gibbs, and to his captors. He didn't want to continue to doubt McGee's ability to hold out until they could be rescued, but he also needed to be realistic. Chances of escaping were dwindling down each time Gibbs was taken away and returned with more injuries. Gibbs did his best to remain strong for McGee, and the frustration he felt over not being able to do much of anything continued to mount. He knew they'd have to rely on rescue now. And based on what McGee had told him of the team's lack of progress when Gibbs was taken, rescue may be a long time coming.
"How'd they get you?"
McGee seemed surprised at the question, and then embarrassed.
"Uh, outside of work. Tony sent me on a lunch run. Right after I left the Yard, they came out of nowhere. I didn't really have time to react." McGee paused to look at the window. "I did wonder if maybe the team was being targeted. Thought maybe they were taking me to where you were. And when I heard your voice… Well, I was glad to see you." McGee blushed again. "Sorry."
"Don't apologize, McGee. I understand."
"No, boss... I'm sorry. What they're doing… I just… I don't understand!" McGee finally looked back at Gibbs, and he was surprised to see a bit of anger there. "Why not just take me if they wanted someone to break into WitSec? Why take you first?"
Gibbs sighed.
"They're using me to get to you."
"Why not just torture me?" McGee nearly shouted. "I mean, look at me. They can't possibly think I'd last longer than you."
"Not all forms of torture are physical, McGee," Gibbs stated firmly. He scooted himself up higher on the wall and turned slightly so he was fully facing the other man. This was important. He needed McGee to understand, because his gut was telling him that there wasn't much time left.
"For you, it's psychological. They're trying to wear you down. Listen, McGee, what I said before," Gibbs began, but before he could finish, the floorboard outside of the room creaked again. Instinctively both men looked toward the door, and moments later it swung open.
Guerrero walked in, followed closely by one of his men. His piercing gaze passed over McGee with little interest before settling on Gibbs.
"No."
The command stopped Guerrero in his tracks, and he spun to face McGee, who was trying to stand, but could only rise to a half-crouch before the chain on his wrist prevented any more movement.
"Leave him alone."
Guerrero smirked before stepping forward so quickly, that McGee didn't see the punch coming. He stumbled, and the side of his head crashed against the radiator with a resounding thud. This marked the first time that Guerrero himself threw a punch, and Gibbs wasn't sure what to make of it. All he knew was that he had to stop it from happening again.
"That's enough!"
Guerrero didn't say anything as he slowly stepped away from a dazed McGee. Nodding to his partner, Gibbs didn't take his eyes off Guerrero as he was uncuffed from the wall and hauled to his feet. Hunched, but on his own two feet, Gibbs glared at the man before walking out of the room under his own power.
~~~NCIS~~~
The headache didn't help matters, but Tim tried to keep track of the passing time by devising a means of escape. He had three scenarios already planned out, and was midway through a fourth, when the door opened. Tim was prepared, as he had been each and every previous time before, to see his boss dragged in and handcuffed to the wall.
Only this time, that was not what happened.
Gibbs was carried in and deposited roughly on the floor, and no one bothered securing him to the steel bar. One look at him, and Tim could see why. If he thought Gibbs looked bad before, he'd been very mistaken. Gibbs looked alarmingly still.
Tim was so entranced with his boss' appearance that he hardly noticed Guerrero's hovering presence over his body. The toe of his shoe reached out and pushed the side of Gibbs' body so he rolled onto his back without so much of a twitch of life.
If it weren't for the slow rise and fall of his chest, Tim would have been convinced that Gibbs was dead.
"Nearly there," Guerrero said, as if he'd read Tim's mind. "The computer has been ready for hours, Agent McGee. How much more are you going to let him go through?"
Tim couldn't even acknowledge him. He only continued to monitor Gibbs' breathing.
"How much more can he take?"
Tim tore his eyes away and looked at the other man with anger and hatred.
"I won't do it," Tim said. "I won't lead you to her so you can kill her."
"I'm not going to kill Rachel, Agent McGee," Guerrero laughed. "I'm going to make her watch as I kill her sister."
He paused to lean in closer to Tim.
"She should know what it feels like to lose a sibling. She took my brother away from me. I am going to return the favor."
McGee swallowed as Guerrero reached into his pocket.
"Let's talk about your sister, Agent McGee."
Guerrero held out a picture. It was a photo of Sarah from Tim's wallet. It was an older one… her high school senior portrait. Tim's anger dissolved into horror, and he felt sick as he looked at her smiling face.
"Her name's Sarah, isn't it?" Victor turned the photo around so he was now looking at it. He smiled, and Tim's nausea doubled. "She's beautiful."
He ripped the picture in half and Tim's gaze followed the two pieces as they floated gracefully to the floor.
"And she'll be dead by morning if you don't do what I say."
He swallowed heavily, and closed his eyes. Not Sarah… Please God, not Sarah…
His boss' labored breathing was a poignant reminder that this was not a negotiation. And as Tim opened his eyes to look at the torn photo, he realized that no longer was it only Gibbs' life on the line.
"Now, Agent McGee, tell me…" Victor paused long enough for Tim to look back up into his eyes. "Are you ready to cooperate?"
And there was the ace.
TBC...