And we're back to the guys; I could never kill Tim or Tony (At least not in this story). Thank you all so much, for your reviews and alerts. You're all a fantastic bunch.
Chapter Eight
Tony's eyes opened slowly, fluttering slightly as his mind tried to organize itself. He blinked a bit more, wondering if his eyes were actually open, for he could see nothing but a wall of darkness, pressing in upon his eyeballs. After deciding that his eyes were open, he tried to figure out why he was lying upon a concrete floor, hands tied behind his back and ankles tied together.
Ah, memory filtered in followed by a splitting headache and aching muscles. He almost wished he hadn't remembered, as he pressed his throbbing head against the cool ground. At least it wasn't as painful. And a sinking feeling, had quickly taken root in his stomach, these people were mad. Insane, nutcakes.
Tim. Tony felt fear grip him. How could he have completely forgotten about his friend? He had taken quite a few more punches than Tony had, and by the way they sounded, had broken some bones.
"Hell is the place where one has ceased to hope.'" Tony froze at the bodiless voice in the darkness. "A. J. Cronin, smart man." The voice said thoughtfully, and a bit strained, as if in pain.
"McGee?" Of course it was McGeek, who else would be nerdy enough to talk to themselves while being kidnapped, and have quotes ready no less. Tony grinned as relief washed through him, glad the darkness shrouded his facial features.
"Tony?"
"No, William Shatner. Of course it's me."
"I...I didn't know you were in here," Tim shook his head slightly, and then gave a muffled moan as his head throbbed painfully on more than one side.
"You okay?" Tim almost smiled at the concern in Tony's voice.
"Yeah, I just groan in pain normally."
"Oh, growing a sense of humor are we, McGee? A hell of a time to make jokes." Tony listened as Tim started to chuckle but stopped suddenly, and sharply drew in a breath. "Broken rib?"
"Ribs." Tony grimaced in sympathy. "And you?"
"A bump to the head, and aching a bit but that's all. Now answer the question, McDeflect. Are you okay?"
"Yeah, I'm fine." Tim closed his eyes, as the lie slipped out easily. He had learned something from Tony over the years. He had never been in this much pain in his life.
"Oh, Probie-san. You are but a padawan learner in complicated art of lying. Keep in mind you're speaking to your Jedi master."
Tim sighed. "It hurts all over, it hurts to breathe, think, pretty much do anything. I can practically feel my ribs grinding together." Tony heard the pain in Tim's voice. He needed to get to hospital before the broken ribs did any real damage. He bit his lip, thinking. Then a thought hit him, and he almost wished a light bulb would appear. At least he'd be able to see. Tim seemed to sense something amiss when he received no reply. "Tony?"
"McGee, what's rule number nine?"
"Always carry a-" Tim understood immediately. "My knife isn't on me, I think they took it." He shuddered at the thought of their captors searching their unconscious bodies.
"Didn't take mine."
"What? What do you mean they didn't take your knife? Did they take the courtesy to clean your gun too?"
Tony decided to ignore that barb. "Crawl over here. I need you to help take off my belt."
"Are you insane!"
"What? Am I not your type?" Tony grinned, razzing Tim was so easy. He listened and his grin grew bigger as he heard the slight choking sound Tim made as he tried to formulate a sentence. And then failed. "My knife is in my belt, Tim."
"Oh."
"Really though, what is your type?"
"Tony."
"Yeeeeesss?"
"You thought up a plan, right?"
"Come on over, Probie. My hands are tied."
"Tony, I'm not jostling my ribs. You're going to have to come over here."
"Wow, McGee. Do you usually move this fast?"
"For the love of- focus Tony." Tony grinned at the frustration in Tim's voice, but turned serious and began to half crawl, slide and wiggle in the direction of Tim's voice. He reached out a foot gently and prodded a soft object. "Ow! Careful."
"There you are, McGiggle." Tony sidled up next to Tim. "Keep your hands north of the equator, Probie."
"Oh, shut up Tony."
Ziva, her heart catching in her throat, and fear rising within her, sprinted up to the two motionless bodies. Observing at once that neither of the chests were rising or falling. She shined her flashlight at a different angle, and sighed in relief, and horror.
"Gibbs, it is not them." Her shoulders slumped as the tension decreased slightly but tensed up again. Tim and Tony were still missing. Gibbs had also felt relief flood through him, though he didn't show it. He joined Ziva and added his beam of light to her's. He furrowed his brow slightly, recognition flashing onto his face.
"It's the Brents." He commented quietly. Ziva gazed closer at the still, pale faces. Recognition also appeared on her face as she compared them to the photos of the Brents. The Officer walked up next to Gibbs and peered down, wrinkling his nose slightly at the sight. Someone had gone rouge on their heads and bludgeoned the backs in.
"I'll get my men, and my ME."
"They're our best lead. My ME can handle the autopsy."
"Right. Two dead civilians, and no evidence that the same person murdered both these people and your sailor. Plus the fact that your ME is three hours away. Sort of tilts the scale in our favor." The Officer stared right back as Gibbs tried to bore holes into his eyes. Finally, not dropping his gaze, Gibbs responded.
"Fine, but our ME gets the results from the autopsy, and you share any information you find."
"And vice versa?"
"Yes." Gibbs then turned to Ziva. "Ziva, go interview the neighbors. See if they saw anything at all. Anything."
"Yes, Gibbs." Ziva turned stiffly and stepped out of the room and started down the hall.
"Wait!" Ziva turned, surprised, at the Officer's voice. "One of my men is going with you." He picked up his phone and dialed a number, commanded into the phone, "Get down here." And then hung up. The young man who had discovered the barn rushed down the hallway. "Davies!"
"Sir?"
"Go with Agent David, interview the neighbors."
"Yes, sir." He promptly turned to Ziva who gazed back at him with some interest, like the way a cat surveys her prey. She scanned him, and then smiled toothily. Davies swallowed and then blushed heavily. Ziva, with a sly look on her face swept off down the hallway, the green officer in tow.
Tim winced again as a wave of pain washed through him, but continued grimly with his set task.
"Can you snap the ropes yet?" Tim asked Tony, almost desperately. Tony strained against his bonds, gaining a bit more leeway but not enough.
"You're going to have to keep going, McGee." Tim sighed and then resumed moving the knife against the ropes that bound Tony's hands. Tim grinned as he felt the ropes give way, and fall to the floor. Tony gently took the knife from Tim, freed his feet and to Tim's surprise, with the gentleness of someone handling a newborn, sawed away at the bonds on Tim's wrists.
"Didn't know you cared, Tony." Tim stated, half joking and half serious.
"I've had broken ribs before, not fun. Plus McGoo, I never kick a man when he's down. It's unsportsmanlike." Tim grinned at Tony's matter of fact, and slightly amused statement. And then gasped as the rope fell away. With the help of Tony, he raised himself unsteadily into an upright position. "See, there you go. Get your sea legs."
"Please don't talk about the sea." Tim felt nausea come over him as his vision, which was finally accustomed to the dark, spun in front of him. He closed his eyes and almost fell, before Tony, whose eyes had also adjusted, reached out to steady him.
"Easy, don't want to kill yourself and rob the opportunity from Gibbs, when he finds out we were stupid enough to get kidnapped." He lowered Tim, who had been leaning heavily on him, to the floor.
"I think I'm going to be sick."
"Oh, Probie. Don't stink up our cell." Tony gestured dramatically around the dark room. "I just cleaned up." Tim grinned at Tony's antics, focusing on them instead of his dizziness and an increasing difficulty to fill his lungs.
"Tony!" Tim whispered, stopping Tony's tirade. "Listen." Tony stood still, and then froze as he and Tim heard the same noise.
"Footsteps." Tony breathed. He then tensed up and got into a ready stance, concealing the small knife slightly. Tim whimpered as he tried to join Tony, Tony held out a hand to help him up but then gestured to a corner far from the door. "You're in no shape to take on anyone. You'd get your ass handed to you by a little girl now." Tim opened his mouth to protest, but Tony shook his head. "I'm not going to get you killed, Tim. Gibbs would have my head."
Tony turned to the door as it opened slowly, deliberately. Tony ghosted to the side, and then jumped on the advancing figure.
Daniel Hart. Tim cursed silently; Tony was completely outmatched by about half a foot and a hundred pounds. Tim tried to tell who was who as the two men struggled, intertwined in some strange, deadly dance. Hart was thrown down and Tony flew down on top of him, but was thrown off by a particularly vicious punch. The small knife, and their only weapon flew off into the darkness and was lost. Hart stood slowly, and with rage in his features stood over a dazed Tony.
Tim closed his eyes, trying to block out the thought of how much this would hurt him, and did something stupid. He charged. Full out sprinted, his ribs screaming, his head calling his subconscious a lunatic, and Tony watching with a surprised and worried expression on his face.
Though Tim was wrong in one respect, it hurt so much more than he had anticipated. But he was plowing shoulder-first into a brick wall of a man.
Breathing was no longer an option for Tim as all the breath was stolen from him by the impact, and agony ripped through his being. Tim and Hart both tumbled backward, much to Hart's surprise, and landed awkwardly in the hallway. Tony, seizing opportunity, jumped into the fray once again. His face despite the bruises, was determined and concerned at the same time. Tim lost all sense of time, the fight could have lasted two minutes or several sunlit days. Tim didn't know and lost all lucidity as yet another blow clipped his head. He mechanically lashed out at who he thought Hart was, but in the darkness and tangle of the three men, it could have been anyone.
In reality, the fight was over quickly. Tim marveled at how fast the tides had turned for and then against them, as Hart squeezed the life out of him, beneath his foot and then punched Tony back into their cell, where he lay, stirring slightly but not rising. He saw blackness hover around the edges of his vision, and sound became muffled and hollow. Then, he felt the boot on his throat draw back slightly and he was able to draw a breath. The darkness began to recede slightly, and Harts face swam across his vision. Anger and...pity? No, that wasn't it. Guilt, regret?
In a moment Tim felt the darkness fast approaching again as his body decided it had, had enough abuse. He felt his limbs, now dead weight, swing loose from where he had been trying to move Hart's shoe and drop onto the floor. His body limp, he felt himself being tossed unceremoniously back into the cell.
And joined Tony in the blissful, pain-free darkness.
Ziva jogged up to the house and looked back with some satisfaction. Anxious and worried, she was unwilling to walk to the neighbors' house, and thinking the car had been too slow, took off running. Leaving the detective surprised and in the dust. She grinned coolly as Davies, panting and clutching a stitch in his side, joined her.
"Hello, Detective."
"You could have waited." He gave her a small frown.
"We have no time to wait." She grimly stared up to the house, her small happiness before, evaporated. Davies straightened up and followed her up to the house. Walking stealthily Ziva turned once more to Davies.
"I am sorry, I...I am just frustrated. And I took it out on you."
"It's alright, it's all part of the job, right?" He gave a small grin. "Haze the newbie. I'm pretty new to this stuff, anyway. Got my badge a few weeks ago." A dash of pride entered his voice. Ziva smiled faintly, and wished Tony were here to call her a Probie, and Tim to grin knowingly and say nothing. "Ma'am."
"Ziva." Ziva responded automatically, stirred from her wishes.
"Okay. Ziva look!" She turned to the detective who was pointing to dark maroon stains along the bottom of the door. Blood. Ziva fluidly drew her weapon and twisted the doorknob, the door was open. With Davies following, they quickly cleared the house. Ziva examined the dried patch of blood in the entryway, Davies stood besides her following her gaze. Then something caught her gaze a few feet away from the bloodstain. She crouched down close to the object, her eyes widened.
Petty Officer, Benjamin Stephenson. Their petty officer's ID.
Ziva flipped open her cell. "Gibbs, we have found where Petty Officer Stephenson was killed."