Disclaimer: I own nothing of NCIS.

A/N: This is a repost of Chapter Seven – "Clues." There were a few typos in it (thanks DarkRose2006 for your editing skills), and also I made some storyline errors. I forgot to deal with Sarah McGee in this chapter, and I needed to do that.

Chapter Eight is finished and I'll post it in just a few minutes. Thanks for reading.

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Twisted Brother

Chapter Seven

"Clues"

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The next awareness Tony had was incongruous to say the least. He felt his hot forehead being sponged with something cold and soft and then felt a cool liquid at his lips, being trickled down his throat. Though his eyelids felt as heavy as lead weights, he forced them open slightly. For one moment he allowed himself to hope that he'd been rescued and was home, or even in the hospital. Anything would be better than where he'd last been.

But as his eyes fluttered, and his senses returned, he noted several things as once. First, his left was on fire. He was pretty sure it was literally burning up. Second, what little he could see of the room looked just like the one he'd been in when he'd passed out. And third, the person holding the cup to his lips was the ubiquitous Adam. With a sigh, he accepted the cold water and did his best to swallow it without choking. After a few sips, he shook his head. His stomach was rebelling at even that little bit.

"Wha's goin' on?" he meant his voice to be strong and forceful, but to his disgust it came out raspy and hoarse. Adam stood up and gazed at him for almost a full minute before shaking his head. "You'll have to wait for the boss to get back. I don't know nothin'; jus' do what 'm told." Tony wondered if he was imagining it, or if Adam's voice sounded a little slurred.

DiNozzo watched as Adam left the room, then he stayed still for a moment more, taking stock of his surroundings and his condition. To his amazement, he found his arms were free; the handcuffs nowhere in sight. He listened intently, growing more alert as the moments went by. Hearing nothing except Adam moving around in the other room, then the soft sound of a TV coming on, he figured maybe Blake was gone. Now might be his best chance at escape, if he just had the strength.

Waiting a few more minutes and hearing nothing else, he carefully eased his way to a sitting position, thankful that though it appeared to be getting darker outside, there was still enough light coming through the small window to let him see without turning a light on. He pulled the blanket back that had been covering his lower body and looked for the first time since wakening, at his leg. It was tightly bandaged again, and no blood was seeping through. Taking a deep breath, he gently tried moving his leg and almost screamed out loud at the resulting pain. The darkness came roaring back and for a few minutes, he knew nothing.

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With Timothy McGee's outburst and the way all the blood drained from his face, the rest of team quickly returned to the bullpen. Gibbs, though he had been the first one into the elevator, nevertheless managed to be the first one to McGee's desk. Ziva was fast on his heels, and she made sure Sarah McGee was with her. For reasons yet unknown to Ziva, she and Balboa had been assigned protection duty. Mallory had disappeared earlier in the day; right after Gibbs had come up from Abby's lab and had closeted himself with Director Vance for almost an hour.

"What is it, Tim?" Gibbs asked, in an unaccountably gentle voice. Tim could say nothing for a moment. His shock at the pictures that had greeted him when he'd opened an innocuous appearing message was too great. He just gestured at the horrible images on his screen. "Put it up," Gibbs commanded. Getting control of himself, McGee quickly moved back into agent mode. With a few clicks, the big screen lit up.

NCIS Team Gibbs was used to seeing horrific pictures and crime scenes. None of them were particularly squeamish, though each member had their own particular quirks–things that bothered them more than others. But as jaded as they all thought themselves to be, none of them were prepared for the pictures that appeared before them.

The first one showed Tony lying on a bed, a full body shot. There was blood—a lot of blood, pooled around his left leg from a wound on his thigh, about 8 inches above the knee. It seemed obvious he'd been shot, and because of the bloody knife lying in close proximity to the wound, it seemed equally obvious someone had done some kind of crude surgery. Gibb's pursed his lips in absolute cold anger when he saw that his Senior Field Agent was handcuffed to the bed. There was a large bruise on his forehead, and his head lolled to one side. At first glance it was very difficult to tell if he was unconscious or dead.

The next photo showed a close-up of the wound itself. While it was obvious it had bled a lot, and red streaks were still visible leading away from the bullet hole, this picture showed flesh that appeared blackened and burned. Gibbs leaned closer, trying to get a better look. However, the next shot showed all too well what must have happened. A piece of burned wood lay on some bloody cloths, next to the knife. Gibbs swore, realizing they had cauterized the wound. He hoped his agent had been unconscious, but the sickness in his gut told him otherwise.

The last picture showed a close up of Tony's face. Here, the bruise was dark purple and prominent and it was obvious he was flushed with fever; though that in itself must have meant he was still alive. Just as Gibbs was about to order Tim to scroll through the pictures again, he heard a sound that made him close his eyes.

From a few feet behind him, where she had quietly come on the group standing in horrified silence, Abby's small voice could be heard. "Gibbs, what have they done to him?"

Gibbs looked up, wishing Abby could have been spared the sight of Tony's injuries. But since she was there, he decided she would just have to deal with it, the same as the rest of them. "Abs," his voice was deceptively mild. "Would you go get Ducky and Palmer please? If they have already left, call them back. We're all going to be needed tonight."

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Adam knew he was supposed to leave the pills and alcohol alone. He knew he was in charge of the sick agent, but when he'd last checked on the man, he'd seemed in no condition to try anything. He was still burning up with fever and though he'd taken a few sips of water and had asked a question, he'd appeared weak as a kitten. And the pull of the Vodka was just so strong. He was sure he'd only drunk a little of it, and he'd taken only a couple of pills. He'd replaced the lost fluid in the Vodka bottle with water, and since Blake didn't know about his hidden stash of pills, he figured his secret was safe. He'd used greater quantities before and still functioned just fine. After all, he'd been drunk when he'd helped kill the Lieutenant, the one Blake had said looked like McGee's sister. And both he and Blake had taken a turn on her before killing her. Since he'd had less this time, he was sure he wasn't that impaired now. He listened for any sounds from the bedroom and even checked one more time. But though DiNozzo had apparently thrashed around some, he was definitely unconscious again. So Adam felt perfectly safe leaving him un-cuffed, as he went back to his TV show. Blake was due back within the hour, and he'd find everything under control when he returned.

Tony's return to wakefulness was slow and once again he had a hard time remembering exactly where he was at first. But it all came rushing back as soon as he shifted even a little, after trying to determine how much time had passed. He lay quietly for a moment, listening and hearing nothing but the soft drone of the TV. This time he knew he had to brace himself for the pain. He managed to stay conscious as he once again tested his ability to move. Bolstering himself with thoughts of how Gibbs would handle the situation, he eased his leg onto the floor, then paused a moment to get a grip on the pain that ensued with the movement. As soon as he felt it was manageable he gritted his teeth, told himself not to pass out and stood up.

The resulting throbbing in his leg made his head swim and nearly swamped him, but by sheer force of will, he hung on. He kept himself from reaching for the bed posts, knowing that if he was going to do this, he had to be able to walk unassisted. Finally gaining control, he took first one tentative step, then another and another. He found himself at the door, and couldn't stop himself from grasping the knob tightly in the continuing effort to keep to his feet. But once again the worst of it passed and he listened at the door for any sign that he'd been heard. When all remained quiet, he turned the door knob as quietly as he could, and inched the door open slightly, praying it wouldn't creak. For once, luck was on his side and it made no sound. Waiting a moment more, he pushed it open and stepped gingerly into the hall, trying to remember the layout of the house.

Again, his luck held. He was in a hallway and had a clear view into the living room. He couldn't believe it when he saw Adam slumped back on the sofa, TV remote hanging from lax fingers, mouth open as he softly snored. DiNozzo paused a moment more, both to thank whatever God was listening to him and to gather his strength. He knew he'd have to make his way silently into the kitchen and out the back door without waking his captor. He uttered one more heartfelt prayer, both that Adam would remain asleep and that Blake wouldn't suddenly appear to stop him.

Ten agonizing minutes later, he was at the kitchen door, easing it open and hoping for freedom. But that is where his luck ran out. Just as he stepped down off the porch and squinted around in the waning light, looking for the quickest way to get to help, he heard the garage door open and knew his time was up. Deciding he had nothing to lose now, he shut the door and took off at a lumbering half run, hoping Blake would not check the bedroom too soon.

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As everyone was returning to the bullpen, Gibbs peered over McGee's shoulder. "Is there any message with the pictures, Tim?" McGee clicked through, first quickly, then more slowly. Finally, at the end of the last picture, he saw a tag. Clicking on it, he sighed as he saw the words appear. "Guess we know what we'll be working on the rest of the night, don't we?"

Bending in and looking closer, Gibbs saw the words scroll across the bottom of the screen. "Damn it, McGee. Can't you make them any bigger?" He squinted at them, desperate to make them out. "Sorry, boss," Tim didn't even realizing he was breaking rule number six as he increased the font size.

Gibbs ignored him as he read the words now visible to him. They did not make much sense, but at least now he had something to work on. Ziva leaned in and read along with him.

Clues:

heather jp lying writing brothers choate

"When u figure it out, call me. Maybee i'll x change ur agent 4 McGee – if DiNozzo's still alive. Better hurry – because he only has until tomorrow at sunset."

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DiNozzo felt the wound on his leg break open and the warm blood begin to drip down. But he ignored it, hoping to get to some kind of cover before he was discovered. He was almost to the edge of the yard when he heard the sound of the "pop" of a gun with a silencer. Throwing himself to the ground, hoping to avoid more injury, he saw the bullet gouge a hole in the tree in front of him. Light suddenly burst into the yard and the voice he'd hoped never to hear again broke over him.

"DiNozzo – you're going to regret this. Almost as much as Mr. Choate already does. Now get up and put your hands where I can see them." Tony let his head hit the ground for a moment, and considered just ignoring the command. But when another bullet hit the ground, only an inch or two from his right ear, he changed his mind. Pushing himself up on his elbows, he called back over his shoulder, "I'm getting up. Give me a second." Using the tree for leverage, he pushed himself to his feet, trying not to topple to the ground again as his leg wanted to give way beneath him. Leaning back slightly until he was in contact with the tree for support, he raised his arms and gave a slight parody of his normal grin. "Well, Blakey-boy, come on now. You can't blame a man for trying, can you?"

Blake did not find his answer amusing. "Keep your hands where I can see them." He advanced, the gun trained squarely on DiNozzo's chest. "Again, I'd just as soon not kill you yet, but I will if necessary." Getting to within 3 feet of the wounded man, he reached around and pulled the handcuffs from behind his back. Tossing them at Tony who reflectively caught them, he demanded. "Cuff yourself. Behind your back. And I want to hear both clicks."

Sighing, Tony did as ordered. He could see a look on Blake's face he didn't like, and decided that pushing the man further into insanity might not be such a good idea. As soon as he was cuffed, Blake stuffed the gun into his belt behind his own back and grabbed DiNozzo none too gently. Jerking hard, he pushed him ahead of him and Tony just managed not to stumble and fall. As it was, he felt more blood dripping down his leg. All in all, the escape attempt hadn't turned out quite like he had in mind.

But thoughts of his own wounds receded from his mind as he was shoved up the two stairs to the kitchen, and on into the living room. Blake kept a death grip on his left arm, but using his free hand, he grabbed DiNozzo by his hair and made him look at the man he'd only known as Adam. Adam was sprawled on the couch, and there were two bullet holes in his forehead. His eyes were wide and staring and he had a look of permanent surprise on his face.

Mehi's body radiated with his fury. "That's what happens when someone really, really pisses me off, DiNozzo. And just so you know, right now you have really pissed me off." With that he yanked him again and pushed him down the stairs to the original room he'd been imprisoned in. "Hope you like it here. It isn't likely you'll ever see the light of day again."

Blake shoved him onto the bed, unlocked the cuffs, only to refasten Tony's left arm to the bedpost again. He left his right arm free, for reasons Tony couldn't at that moment fathom. But before he had much time to contemplate it, Blake began to systematically beat him. He hit him in the face, the stomach, chest and arms. As the blows rained down on the injured man he punctuated each one with a remark.

"That's for my brother. That's for making me kill Comstock – I didn't want her to have to die. That's for everything McGee and his sister did to me. That's for Adam's death. And this—this is a present from John Patters. He'll be happy to know I delivered it for him."

With that remark, Blake removed the gun and pointed it at Tony's face. Tony looked up at him, dazed and bleeding, but unflinching. If this was the way he was going to die, he would face it like Gibbs would. Waiting for the sound that would end his life seemed to take forever. "Just get it over with, Blakey. I'm tired of looking at your ugly mug. And tell Patters that Gibbs will kill him for this."

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"Boss, what the hell does it mean?" Tim was so tired that the words seemed to swim in front of him.

"It means we are dragging an all nighter, that is what it means, McGee." Ziva was already jotting down the words on the message. "I will compare these words, Gibbs and see what they have in common."

Gibbs and McGee didn't bother to correct her grammar, but Ducky, coming into the room with Jimmy Palmer did. "I believe you mean we are pulling an all nighter, Ms. David. So what is so urgent that we are all required to give up our night's sleep this time?" Ducky had been out in the parking lot, getting ready to turn left and head for home and a hot bath when his phone had begun ringing. He had thought about ignoring it, but not wanting to break Gibbs' rule number three – "never be unreachable," he had answered. Abby's excited voice had him turning around and meeting up with her and Jimmy at the elevator, and they had ridden up together.

But then he caught sight of the pictures of Tony, still displayed on the big screen and reaching a hand out to take hold of Abby's arm, he could feel the blood leaving his face." Oh dear. The poor boy. Jethro, tell me we know where he is."

"Not yet, Ducky. But we're going to find him. And soon." With that Gibbs began handing out assignments. Leon Vance came down the stairs in time to hear the end of the list of duties. Glancing up at the screen, he did a double take. "Gibbs, I need to see you. Now. It's pertinent to this case. Alone."

Gibbs paused one moment, watching his team in action. Ziva and Tim were furiously typing into their computers, running down every possible lead the puzzling words in the clue produced, with Sarah looking over McGee's shoulder and offering her own take on things. Ducky was examining the pictures of Tony closely, trying to determine how bad his condition was. And Jimmy and Abby were pulling up computer models of the next day's weather, trying to settle on exactly when sunset would occur. Leon had already disappeared, heading back upstairs. Gibbs followed, expecting that Vance would have some information on Agent Mallory.

When Gibbs had finished listening to the tape of Tony's whispered words, he had finally figured out what was bothering him. He was sure Tony had been about to say, "It's him. It's Mallory." The only thing that bothered him about that theory was that Gibbs' gut kept telling him Bryce was one of the good guys. So he and Vance had decided to do some deep digging of their own, using resources that were only available to someone like the Director of NCIS. Gibbs figured Leon had uncovered something and was about to reveal it. They had sent Mallory on an errand earlier, under the discreet surveillance of Balboa and Gibbs didn't expect him back until the morning. Mallory had been told Balboa and Agent David would take over the protective detail for the night.

So he was very surprised to open the door to Vance's office and see Agent Mallory sitting in a chair, looking miserable and exhausted. He stood up as soon as Gibbs entered the room.

"Agent Gibbs, I have something I need to tell you."

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The shot Tony expected did not come. Instead, Blake's handsome face was contorted by an evil smile. He reversed his hold on the gun, and brought the handle down across the wound in his thigh with a vengeance. Tony did not even try to restrain the cry of agony that burst from him. He tried to stop Blake from raising the gun again by using his unrestrained right arm to hold it back. But Blake was a man crazed with rage.

He took a step back and pistol whipped Tony across the face, dazing him. Then, using the gun as a club, he again hit him in the thigh, twice and a third time. The wound burst open, bleeding freely. The pain brought DiNozzo around one more time. This time he calculated his strength, and waited for just the right second. As Blake raised his arm to strike the seemingly helpless man again, using force he didn't know he had, but spurred on by pain and adrenalin, Tony grabbed his tormenter's wrist, held on and began to twist, frantically trying to either get hold of the gun or at least make Mehi drop it.

The struggle continued for what seemed an eternity to Agent DiNozzo, but finally, in a last burst of energy, he felt the gun slide around. Twisting Mehi's wrist a little farther, he felt the shock as the gun suddenly discharged. A moment later, the light faded from Tony's eyes and his world became quiet and dark.

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A/N: Okay, sorry. That was one evil cliffy, I know. But I haven't really done that yet with this story, and couldn't resist. Chapter 8 is being written now and I'll post as quickly as I get it finished. I'll try for later this weekend, but no guarantees. Thanks for reading.