Disclaimer: I do not own NCIS, or any of its characters, except those who periodically escape from my imagination long enough to make it into my stories. If I did own any of them, I'd certainly take a little better care of them than I do when they appear in Fan Fiction. Okay, not really – because I enjoy seeing them get a little bruised and battered.

A/N: Well, I thought this was the last chapter, but somehow it did not feel quite finished to me. That silly little plot bunny woke me up last night and added a whole new dimension. So now I'm not quite sure how many more chapters there will be.

Let me know if you enjoy the direction this takes at the end of this chapter. Thanks, as always, for reading and reviewing.

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Twisted Brother

Chapter Nine

"Really, Abby?"

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Abigail Scuito waited, and waited and waited. Vance encouraged her first to go home, promising to call when he heard any news. But the scathing look he got from her at that suggestion stopped that idea. Next, he tried getting her to at least go to her lab and rest. However, that earned him yet another contemptuous glare and he gave up. To try and make amends, he went so far as to find her a Caf-Pow, but when he presented it to her, she took one look at it and burst into tears.

Director Leon Vance awkwardly held the distraught forensic scientist lightly in his arms, patting her and feeling the urge to mutter something inane, like "There, there. Everything will be all right." He didn't realize he'd given into the desire until her tear streaked face looked up at him and she said, "You bet your sweet bippy it will, baby!"

Vance recovered nicely from the mild shock of having Abby refer to him as "baby," and managed a small grin. "So tell me, Ms. Scuito, exactly what IS a bippy, anyway?" Finally distracted, Abby launched into her version of what a bippy might be. Ten minutes later, the Director was glad to have a reason to excuse himself when a call from the Sec Nav was announced. He hugged Abby once more time before jogging up the stairs to MTAC.

"It's okay, Leon." Abby called after him, before sitting down forlornly in Tony's chair. "I'll come and get you when Gibbs calls." Vance waved a hand in her direction, finding that he not only believed she would cheerfully interrupt his time with the Secretary, but realizing he would be glad when she did.

Abby spent the next few hours reviewing everything she could on the case. She paid particular attention to the vital stats she had found and showed to Gibbs just before he and the rest had left to go find DiNozzo. From there, she pulled up records showing prison visitations and began studying them.

Printing both sets of records out so she could go over them more thoroughly, she traced the connections. Madison Johnson was first cousin to Adam Choate, which was the missing piece Gibbs had referred to earlier, just before getting on the elevator.

After checking and cross checking records, she next discovered that Choate, a low level criminal who seemed to be more interested in his next fix than anything else, had met John Patters when he was incarcerated with him for a few months, before Patters was transferred to the Petersburg facility. Records also showed that Choate had visited his cousin, Madison several times before being arrested himself.

Of particular note were accounts showing that Blake Mehi, Tate's brother, had also visited Madison Johnson several times in prison. The final piece fell into place, when Abby found evidence that Ian Patters had not only visited his brother John, but had been in to see Madison several times as well, usually within just a few days of going to see John. And Ian was recorded as having one of the same drug dealers as Choate.

Sighing, Abby closed the computer files. Somehow, understanding the connections and how everything had likely happened didn't seem to help her feel any better. Though Mehi was apparently mainly interested in getting revenge on Tim and Sarah McGee, he must have decided to use Choate and Patters to make it happen. Patters would have been easy to convince as soon as Mehi had made it clear he was more than willing to use Agent DiNozzo as part of the plan for his retribution. Mehi had mostly likely taken advantage of Madison as well, not caring what, if anything, she got out of it. He would have overlooked any hatred he held for Madison and her part in his brother's death in prison in order to use her; after all, Abby figured, she was already in prison and paying for her crime. Mehi seemed to want Sarah and Tim to suffer as he had. And he would not have cared if one Very Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo suffered in the bargain.

Tracing patterns on Tony's phone with her finger, Abby wished he was there with her. She was closest of all to Tony, next to Gibbs. Her own parents being dead, she often thought of Gibbs as the father she no longer had. And she knew Tony felt more or less the same. Though DiNozzo's relationship with his own father, "Senior," as he was known, was marginally better than it had been, she knew he'd never feel about him as he did about Gibbs.

Abby knew that she treated Tony like her own big brother, partly because she knew her "surrogate" Father, Gibbs, also considered Tony to be the son he'd never had. Gibbs and Tony's relationship might seem complicated to outsiders, but to Abby they were just one big happy family. And right now, she missed her "brother" and wanted nothing more than for him to be back, teasing Tim and flirting with Ziva. And hugging her.

"Hurry up Gibbs. You have to find him. You just have to." Abby finally laid her head down on Tony's desk, and gave in to the pull of sleep.

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Dr. Mallord rushed up the steps and into the house, hurrying behind Agent Mallory. He did pause very briefly at the sight of a dead man sprawled on the living room sofa. "Oh dear, oh dear," he muttered, before gathering himself and continuing on.

But he was brought up short again at the sight that greeted him when he hurried into the kitchen, which was now ablaze with light. Mallory had already dialed 911 and was on the phone with the local hospital, giving them the address to the house. "I don't live here!" he shouted. "I told you, I'm from DC. I don't know the directions or nearest cross street. Look it up on your damned computers and get here. NOW!"

Ducky quickly fell to his knees beside the wounded Senior Field Agent, who at that moment was being cradled very gently in Gibbs' arms. "Tell me Jethro, that he is still alive." Ducky reached out a hand that was suddenly trembling and placed two fingers on Tony's neck. "Come on Anthony, don't do this to me." For try as he might, Ducky could not feel any pulse beneath his finger tips.

After what seemed an eternity, and by shifting his hand to various places on Tony's neck, he was finally rewarded by a slight flutter. "He's alive, Duck." Gibbs grim voice would allow no other verdict. "He's alive and you're going to keep him that way."

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Special Agent Timothy McGee was hovering somewhere between extreme exhaustion and complete collapse. To say it had been a long day would be the understatement of the year. But he knew he had to hold it together; for his sister's sake and for Tony's sake. Though he and Tony fought and he found the incessant teasing and razzing sometimes bordering on intolerable, he respected the Senior Agent almost as much as he respected Gibbs. And without the fear factor Gibbs still elicited in him. If he was totally honest with himself, he considered Tony as a brother of sorts. To think that his "brother" was out there somewhere, hurting and alone, and all on account of him, was almost more than he could take.

When he and Agent David had checked the last house, the third they had been to, without any sign of their missing colleague and friend, he had wanted to sit down and weep. But the sight of Sarah doing just that in the back seat of the car had hardened his resolve. He had planned on sliding in beside Sarah, to try and reassure her when Ziva had beaten him to it.

Holstering her gun, she climbed in beside Sarah. "Drive, McGee. Let's head toward Laurel unless we hear anything different. He's got to be there." Tiredly, McGee had gotten in the front seat and started the long drive out of the city. He listened in amazement as Ziva managed to comfort his sister in ways he wouldn't have dreamed she was capable of.

About thirty minutes later, Ziva's phone rang. "It is Gibbs," she quietly told McGee, not wanting to disturb Sarah, who was finally a sleep. "David," her crisp voice answered. Listening for a moment, she closed her eyes, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Yes. I understand Gibbs. We will meet you there. No, I will call the Director. You just take care of Tony. And Gibbs, please, when he is awake, tell him I said he must get better. He owes me money, and I could not bear it, I could not stand to lose… Well, he must be well." Ziva's voice broke just the tiniest bit on that statement.

Tim had been watching her in the rear view mirror. "Ziva?" his voice sounded panicked. "They found him? Where is he? How is he? Is he…" Tim could not bring himself to finish the sentence.

"They found him, Tim." Ziva's voice was subdued. "He was at an address in Laurel. The one Bryce said belonged to Beau Tate's father. He is alive, but Gibbs says he is critical. They have called 911 and will be life-flighting him to Washington Hospital Center soon. We are to meet them there."

Agent McGee did a u-turn in the middle of the highway in a maneuver that would have made Gibbs proud. He listened as Ziva called NCIS headquarters and asked to be put through to the Director. She explained what little she knew and said Gibbs had asked for a team to be dispatched to process the scene, and promised Vance she would report from the hospital as soon as they had word.

"Oh, and director Vance?" Ziva continued. "Gibbs said to tell Abby that she should meet him at the hospital. He said to tell you, sir, that you are to drive her there."

Director Vance listened to Agent David's brief report. He was already heading down the stairs to get Abby. "Who will be staying at the sight until Balboa's team gets there?" he asked. There was a brief pause before Ziva replied, somewhat hesitantly.

"Agent Gibbs said, and I quote, 'Mallory will be securing the scene. Tell the Director if he isn't satisfied with that, he can fire me'." Ziva waited, wincing slightly as she anticipated the Director's reaction. However, all she heard was a brief, "Fine. Ms. Scuito and I will meet all of you at the hospital." Then the line went dead.

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Tony DiNozzo could not quite place the sound he was hearing. At first it reminded him of a buzz, or maybe a low hum. He frowned and tried to raise a hand to wave at whatever bug he figured must be flying around his head. But before he could register that his arm seemingly refused to cooperate, his hand was captured in a strong one. And finally the unclear noise resolved itself into a low voice. A voice he recognized and one he had wondered if he would ever hear again.

Prying his eyes open ever so slightly, he squinted up at the light being shined in them. "Boss?" his voice was barely a whisper. "How'd you; the phone. I mean, I couldn't reach it. Where?" But Gibbs was quietly reassuring him.

"Easy, son. Rest easy, I've got you now. You're going to be fine." At that moment Tony stiffened and could not restrain a cry of pain, as he felt his leg being lifted, and the belt around it being loosened.

"Aww, Boss. Hurts," was all the sick agent could get out. Not wanting to scream out loud, he clenched his teeth tightly and wrapped the fingers of his right hand around Gibbs' wrist, squeezing tightly. His left was being held down by Agent Mallory as Ducky tried to insert an IV.

Tony's confusion grew as the people around him increased in number. After three tries, Ducky finally was able to insert the needle in a very dehydrated vein. Two paramedics were working on his leg, applying a pressure bandage to stop the flow of blood that had resumed as soon as they had released his makeshift tourniquet. A third was taking his blood pressure, or attempting to. Gibbs first had to pry Tony's fingers from around his wrist.

Through it all, Tony's eyes remained locked on Gibbs, and he was able to pick the sound of his voice out over the murmurs and muted orders going on around him. Over and over he heard the same words, "I've got you now. You're going to be fine, son." When Tony wasn't sure he could stand a moment more, he zeroed in on that one word—son. And it was enough to get him through the next several hours.

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The next thing Agent DiNozzo was aware of was being in a hospital room. Though he was in pain, it wasn't nearly as excruciating as before. And sitting in a chair beside his bed, was a sleeping Gibbs.

Tony watched him for a moment, trying to remember if the boss had really called him "Son." He didn't realize he'd drifted back to sleep until he was wakened again; this time by Gibbs' hand lightly tapping him on the back of the head. When Tony opened his eyes, he saw a rare sight. Gibbs was smiling.

"I told you it would be fine. And I have a message for you. Ziva says you owe her money. Rule number 49 – never loan money to your co-workers, you got that, Son?"

"Got it, 'Dad'." Tony tentatively tried the word out, and found he liked how it sounded and felt. He closed his eyes again, knowing that neither of them would speak of this moment, at least not the "Son and Dad" part. But he also knew Gibbs was right, everything would be fine.

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A few days later, Tony knew he was on the mend. Tim and Ziva had been in to see him and had filled him in on the investigation. They had particularly enjoyed telling him all about Abby's long rant, and how she had mixed up her movie references. So when Abby showed up to see him, bringing him flowers, a chocolate bar, and Bert the Hippo to keep him company, he raised his eyebrows at her.

"Really, Abby? James Bond and Gone With the Wind?" Indiana Jones In Casablanca? Come on Abs, I taught you better than that!" Laughter broke out, and Team Gibbs was once again back to their usual bantering and good natured teasing.

Gibbs, listening from the hallway couldn't suppress his smile. He looked up as Agent Mallory came tentatively down the hall. Taking pity on the younger man, Gibbs motioned him to go on in, knowing Tony would not hold a grudge.

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Four days later, Tony was released; after successful surgery to repair the damage to his leg. Tim insisted on taking him to his place until he could get around unaided. Tony was in for a lot of physical therapy and he was already complaining about the crutches. But for once, his complaints and incessant movie rants sounded very good to one very relieved Agent McGee.

After getting Tony settled in the spare bedroom, and promising him pizza for dinner, Tim turned on his computer, and relaxed for the first time in days. Deep into his game, the one that had Gibbs and everyone else referring to him as "Elf-Lord," he looked up in surprise when the doorbell sounded.

'Hmm, pizza isn't due for half an hour,' he thought to himself. Not wanting to take any chances, especially after the last pizza delivery had gone so badly for Tony, he grabbed his gun from the shelf by the front door, and looked outside the peephole. Two Washington, D.C. police were standing outside. Cautiously, Tim opened the door and asked brusquely, "Yes, Officer, what can I do for you?"

"We have a warrant to search your home, now stand aside." But Tim wasn't about to fall for that. "Let me see your Identification," he demanded, even as he was hitting the speed dial on his phone, to call Gibbs. But before he could complete the call, a third officer appeared from the side of the house, gun pointed at him. "Drop your weapon, Agent McGee. And step inside."

Tim might have resisted, he might have tried to get a shot off if he hadn't heard Tony's voice coming from the bedroom, along with the sound of his awkward movements as he advanced into the living room on his crutches. A huge yawn sounded in Tony's voice. "What's going on, McNoisy?"

Tim whirled, shouting, "Get back, Tony; call Gibbs." But a rifle butt crashed across the back of his head and he collapsed in a boneless heap. Tony stood, watching in astonishment as three apparent police officers stormed into the room, and quickly took control of the situation.

Since Tony's cell phone was in the bedroom, and now all three guns were pointed at him, he didn't even attempt a call. Instead he just wearily shook his head and said, "Really? Again? I've got to stop ordering pizza."

The three wasted no time in manhandling both Tony and McGee into their supposed patrol car. Tony could not believe this was happening again, but in some small way, though he knew it was childish of him, he couldn't help being glad he wasn't alone this time. He held onto the thought that Gibbs had been phoning to check on him every couple of hours, and would soon know that this time two of his agents were missing.

He held onto the thought that whoever these guys were, they couldn't be as bad as Mehi had been. He held onto the thought that his "Dad" would come to his rescue, again and again; as often as was necessary.

He held onto all those positive thoughts until they pulled away into the darkness and the man in the front seat turned around and said, "Welcome to hell. I'm James Mehi and I'm going to finish what my son started."

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A/N: Okay, that's it for this chappie. Let me know what you think – too cheesy? I sense some more Tony Whump and possibly some Tim Thumping could be waiting for them in the near future. So, should I wrap it up quickly or continue on for a few more chapters?