There it went again. The sound of dripping water was getting to him. Drip, drip, drip. Splash, splash, splash. It echoed within the stone room, and got into his head. He didn't like it. No, he didn't like it one bit. It was driving him crazy. Not just any kind of crazy. Completely wigged out, bat shit crazy. His throat was dry, and the dripping water was going to waste. The slimy, disgusting, piss tainted water was going to waste and there was absolutely nothing he could do about it. His throat wasn't just dry, it was raw and hurt as if he had swallowed a lit match, when was the last time he had had something to drink. The water was going to was. It wasn't fair. Life wasn't fair. The water was going to waste. Each and every drop was one drop that would not sooth his parched throat. The splashing seemed to get louder as it pounded into the concrete floor. The water was going to waste.

Beads of sweat steamed down his dirty forehead, leaving clean trails in their wake. It was so hot, and the water was going to waste. He couldn't see it. He couldn't see the water dripping, so he had no way of knowing if he was close enough to reach out with his lips and catch it. The water was going to waste. It was too dark to see the dripping, foul, disgusting, water. His eyebrows knitted together in wonder. Was he close enough? He'd never know, he didn't think anyway. His chains were probably too short to reach the water source anyway. A little bit of laughter bubbled from his mouth. Wouldn't that be the cherry on top of the cake? He was so hot, he just wanted the water. It was going to waste.

The white shirt that was no longer white clung to his body as it sweat out the little water it had in it. Now, that water was going to waste too. It was dark, he couldn't see anything, and he didn't like it. Where were his shoes? He still had one sock, yes, still one sock. All was not lost. He had his sock. He was missing a pant leg, but what did it matter? He still had his sock. Maybe everything about him wasn't a complete waste after all. The water still made him crazy though, crazy like a fox. When would it stop? When had it even started? When had the lights gone out? Had they even been on in the first place? He didn't like the dark, he couldn't see. Was there something out there waiting for him? Was something hiding in the dark ready to rip his throat out?

He was too tired to take on anything. His muscles felt like jelly. If the monsters wanted to kill him then he was at there mercy. No… No he could be saved. His…. His… The words were there in his brain, but they refused to surface, but then, there they were. His team! Yes, his team would save him from the monsters that lurked in the dark, and under the beds of innocent child. His team would come if he asked them to. His shaking hand slipped into the pocket of his raggedy pants in pursuit of his cell phone, but they returned empty, like a hook without a fish. His cell phone… He must have dropped it in the river. That's where the dripping water was coming from, the river.

Sound, he heard it. He heard sound. It was the sound of metal on stone, he didn't like it, almost as much as he didn't like the darkness. No, he didn't like either. They were both evil, they were both coming to get him. What had he done wrong this time? No, he had been good, hadn't he? He had been good. The sound continued, completely drowning the out the dripping water. His clammy hands clapped over his ears, and his head tilted back until it hit the wall behind him. It hurt, but maybe it would make the terrible sound go away. He was good. He hadn't done anything bad. At least he had his sock. Even beyond his shaking hands he could here rubber on cement. No, no! That was even worse.

"No!" He shouted. "I'm sorry! I'm sorry!"

"Mr. Leroy?" asked a small, quiet voice.

"W-who are you?" Gibbs demanded. "It's dark, I can't see!"

"Open your eyes, Mr. Leroy."

His face hurt. It was stiff. The voice told him to open his eyes. It seemed kind enough, but what if it was miss leading? What if it wanted to hurt him? Gibbs turned away from the source of the voice, and pressed himself closer to the hot wall. The voice was familiar, but he couldn't place. Gibbs couldn't remember for the life of him if it was friendly, or if he should have been afraid of it. Why should open his eyes anyway? He'd only be faced with darkness. A cold hand touched the underside of his chin, and he leaned into it. He was so hot, the touch was so cool, and welcoming. Gibbs couldn't help it. He shivered a bit, and allowed the hand to guide him away from the wall where he had been cowering.

Gibbs scared blue eyes opened to see a young man kneeling before him. He wore a green sweater vest, and brown khakis. He knew the young man, he was nice. He liked him. He liked Seymour, even if he was the biggest dork on the face of the planet. Seymour was nice to him, not just some of the time, but all of the time. He looked like his mother dressed him though. But Gibbs knew that was impossible. Seymour's mother was dead. The young man really would have been dashing if he had presented himself better. Though he had a full head of dirty-blonde hair, he combed it over like an old man with hardly any hair at all. He also had remarkable hazel eyes, but he hit them behind a pair of horrendous horn rimmed glasses.

Seymour pulled his hand away from Gibbs chin, and the older man wanted to cry. He liked it when Seymour touched him. He wasn't cold or cruel like the others. He watched as his hands moved to a silver bowl that sat by his side. What was it four? Was he in trouble? Surely not, Seymour never dished out punishment, why would he start all of a sudden? His eyes moved away from the bowl, and gazed around the room for the dripping water, but he couldn't find it. The whole river was gone. It never like it when people came. It preferred to hide in the dark, just like the monsters that wanted to get him.

"Water?" Seymour asked.

"Where is it?" Replied Gibbs. His eyes continued to scan the room, looking for the river.

"Right here, Mr. Leroy," Seymour said, holding up the silver bowl.

"I'm not in trouble?"

"No, Grayson just told me to bring you something to drink."

"I'm not thirsty."

Seymour frowned. "If it had been John who told me to bring the water, would you drink it?"

His lips pressed into a thin line. "I suppose so, John's too stupid to do anything to the water."

"I assure you, Mr. Leroy, I got this water myself. It is perfectly clean."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, sir, as sure is my name is not Shirley." Seymour said with a light laugh. "Now are you thirsty or not? It feels like Adrian pumped up the heat."

"I'm parched." Was his tired reply.

Seymour lifted a large sponge out of the bowl of water, and squeezed it over Gibbs' dirt stained face. The water trickled down on him like the fall of a gentle rain. Instinctively he opened his mouth and swallowed as much water as he could, and he moaned as it slid down his aching throat. It felt so good, like nectar from the gods. Seymour pulled the sponge away, and he reached to grab the younger man's wrist, but his own were held back by chains. Was that all he got? Before he had a chance to ask, however, the sponge was dipped back into the water, and Seymour wrung it out over his mouth again. Gibbs was in heaven, he had never felt so good in his life. As Seymour worked in putting more liquids into Gibbs, they talked.

"How are you doing?" Seymour asked, in a voice like a whisper. He felt ashamed to ask the question.

"I still have my sock," Gibbs said, which was his usual reply.

"That's good, I guess." He murmured. He was never really sure how to take it, but Gibbs nodded in agreement as if it had been the right thing to say.

"It's good," Gibbs said between gulps of water. "It's very good."

Seymour sighed. "Grayson's coming soon. He wants to talk to you, and ask you some questions."

Gibbs eyes shot to Seymour's pale face, and he let his mouth slip closed, refusing anymore water. He should have known. He should have known there was going to be a catch. There was always some catch. He was just so thirsty that he had forgotten that fact.

Seymour didn't like the distrust that his behind Gibbs' eyes. It was never there before. It killed him. It seared a hole in his heart. He liked Gibbs, he really did. The older man was his only friend, and he didn't want to lose him. His turned away, unable to hold the accusing glace any longer. He hadn't meant to break his trust, honestly. His fists clenched. He felt so used. They had used him to warm Gibbs up before they came to talk to him. It wasn't right. It wasn't fair.

Quietly, Seymour reached out to touch Gibb's stubble filled check, but the man backed away. No matter how much Gibbs longed for human touch, he would not give in. Seymour had betrayed him. But then…. Why was there sadness glistening beyond his horned rimmed glasses. Pleadingly, the younger man reached for him, and Gibbs finally complied. Seymour didn't want to hurt him. He was being forced to do it. Seymour would never hurt him, never. The cool hand that ran through his half grown beard was nice. Not in any sort of sexual way, but it was just nice, nice to have human contact again.

More footsteps, Gibbs could hear them. There were more footsteps heading in his direction. His eyes clamped shut again, and he pressed himself as flat against the wall as he possibly could. The water began to drip again, and the monsters hid in the darkness. No, he didn't like the footsteps. The footsteps meant pain. He didn't like pain, he hated it more than the footsteps and the darkness combined. He could feel Seymour reach for him, but he pulled away. He didn't want Seymour to be associated with his pain. He liked Seymour. He didn't want Seymour to hurt him. The footsteps stopped, and he let out a sound like a wounded animal. He pressed the heels of his hands into his ears and whimper. Soft, gentle hands that were not Seymour's seized his wrists, and guided them away.

"Leroy,"

"I'm sorry…" He moaned.

"Leroy, you are not in trouble."

His eyes opened. "I-I'm not?"

Before him stood three new people, but he could see Seymour hanging in the background with a concerned expression on his face. The man that knelt before him was the very person who haunted his nightmares, and his every waking moment. Grayson was a year or two older than Seymour, and he was certainly more attractive. Actually, the only thing the two men shared was blood. Grayson's father had gotten Seymour's mother knocked up when she was sixteen. Grayson's mother had run off to California, and never returned. Poor Grayson had found himself stuck with his older brother, his abusive father, and then his pregnant step mother. Life had not been easy, though it did not show. His face was smooth, not a sign of premature ageing to be seen. His hair was slightly over grown, and it was very messy, but in an attractive way. It hung in the way of his brilliant blue eyes that could rival even Gibbs'.

Behind Grayson were two more people. Each was also remarkably attractive. Adrian was a woman in her mid twenties with wavy brown hair that flowed just past her shoulder's. Every time Gibbs had seen her she had been wearing an evening gown that revealed her large, plump breasts. She also wore thick red lip stick at all times, some of it still stained Gibbs' face. Beside her stood John, who had a strong build, but was dumber than a rock. Gibbs figured they used him for all the heavy lifting. It made sense. Sometimes he had trouble pronouncing his own name right. John had short blonde hair, and dull gray eyes. Most of all he had a brain that couldn't absorb more than three words at a time. When asked a question, he would always reply "Your face".

"Can I ask you some questions, Leroy?" Grayson asked.

Gibbs wanted to say no, but he knew that would get him in trouble, and then John would have to prove his usefulness. He hated Grayson's questions. They were always confusing, and he never knew how to answer. He never knew what answer would get him in trouble. He hated Grayson's questions.

"Yes," was his automatic reply.

"Good," Grayson said, a smile playing on his lips. "Can you tell me all the names of the people who work on your team? First, and last names please."

"Tony DiNozzo… Ziva David…" He paused deep in thought. "and Timothy McGee…?" The last part came out more like a question, and Grayson's smile grew wider.

"Good, and the ME?"

"Donald Mallard." Gibbs said with confidence.

His lips quivered a bit as if he wanted to frown, but he didn't. "What about the forensic scientist girl?

"Abby…" he hesitated. "Schm… Scuito."

Grayson's smile returned. "That's fantastic. One more, Leroy. Who is the young man that works with Dr. Mallard?"

"I-I…"

"Yes?" Grayson pressed.

Gibbs felt like a deer caught in a set of headlights. Everyone was looking at him, waiting for him to answer and he wanted them all to stop. He felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end, and he slapped his hand down on them, earning him a strange look from Grayson. He wanted the man to stop smiling. It was creeping him out. He just wanted him to stop. He didn't like it. He didn't like it on bit. His eyes flashed to his sock, and he immediately tucked his foot underneath him. Only he and Seymour could know about his sock. It was a secret, no one else needed to know. He couldn't let them take his sock. It was all he had left.

"I- I don't know," He mumbled.

"What was that?" Grayson asked.

"I don't know!" Gibbs screamed. "I don't know! Why the hell are you asking me these questions!? They don't make any sense!"

"Calm down, Leroy."

"Don't tell me what to do!"

"Do not make me use unnecessary force."

"Shut up! Just shut up! I'm done!" Tears streamed down his dirty cheeks. "I'm done listening! I don't want to hear what you have to say anymore!"

"John, I believe it is your turn."

Gibbs' eyes once again snapped closed, and he curled into himself, whimpering. Rough hands seized the collar of his dirty shirt, and he was pulled up off of the ground as far as his chains would allow. John threw Gibbs' frail body with all of his might, sending the older man crashing into the wall, and then he slid to the floor none to gracefully. Pain exploded in the top of his back, right between his shoulder blades, but he did not dare make a sound. If John knew that he was hurting then he would just get a kick out of it and use more force. So he took it. A size twelve kicked him in the ribs, and all the air in his body escaped him, in a pain filled grunt. A strong hand wound its way into his over grown silver hair and yanked his head up. His eyes slowly opened to find John sneering at him, his face twisted in a sadistic smile, showing every one of his unnaturally white teeth. Gibbs would have liked to punch those pearly whites in more than anything.

In one fluid motion John snapped Gibbs head back, and sent it crashing into the wall. Stars exploded before his blue eyes, and when he blinked them away he saw a large meaty hand reaching for him once more. Even if John wasn't good with words, or anything more, he was great at dishing out a beating. The hand gripped the front of his shirt, and held him up against the stone wall, and for a moment, Gibbs thought it was done, because they just stood there and stared at each other. Then a fist connected with his sticking out ribs. A cry of pure agony ripped from his throat without his consent, as he felt a rib or two crack under the pressure.

The next thing he knew, he was back on the ground. There was a flurry of movement directly in front of him, and his silently raised his eyes to see just what the hell was going on. Seymour had jumped on John's back upon hearing Gibbs' strangled cry, and had wrapped both of his skinny legs around John's massive waist in order to stay on. John was wildly flailing his arms, trying to get the pest off of his back, but Seymour was out of his range. Finally, John got the bright idea to grab the younger man's leg, and then he sent him flying across the room. For a moment something flashed in the blonde's dull eyes, and then he turned to where Seymour was getting up off the floor, wiping blood from his nose.

"I didn't mean-," John started.

"Get out." Seymour said, in a steady, even, yet dangerous voice. "Get out, all of you. You got what you wanted, now leave him alone. He was just scared. He didn't mean to yell."

Everyone but Seymour filed out of the room quickly, without a second glace backward. Raising his eyes to meet Seymour's, Gibbs gave him a small smile and propped himself up a little. Seymour straightened his glasses, and wiped any remaining blood on his sweater vest. He quietly moved across the room, and knelt before Gibbs, who was gazing at his savior in wonder. He had never seen Seymour so assertive. It was incredible.

"Are you ok, Mr. Leroy?" He asked, lifting Gibbs' shirt to check his injuries.

"I'm fine, are you ok?"

He shrugged. "It'll be better before I'm married. At least, that's what mother used to say."

Gibbs chuckled a bit, but then he grew serious. "Why'd they listen to you?"

He shrugged again. "They got what they needed. There was no reason to hurt you further. I just had to remind them of that."

Seymour poked at Gibbs' ribs, which were already starting to turn a nasty shade of purple, and Gibbs moaned a bit. But still, he felt himself leaning into the younger man's touch, even if it hurt. Seymour seemed to notice this, and he opened his arms to Gibbs, who graciously accepted the warm hug that was awaiting him. He pressed his battered face into Seymour's boney shoulder, and just sat there, letting him hold him. He didn't know where the tears came from, but they flowed like the river in the dark down his cheeks. He was mildly aware of Seymour rubbing his back, and whispering something to him, but he was to focused on the touch to hear anything.

"Thank you," Gibbs sobbed into his shoulder. "Thank you, so much Seymour."

So uh, please review? I only got five last chapter, and I know it sounds a little snobbish, but I want more. I really hope you guys are enjoying the story. This chapter didn't come out as well as I hoped it would. But at least it came out at all.