WOWWWWW! 35 reviews in just a few days! WOW! That's easily the most response I've ever gotten for a fic! Thank you guys so much! I will definitely be working on this more often :)
The general consensus seems to be for no Tiva or McAbby, so that's what I'm going to do. For those who really wanted Tiva, well, this is a story that will be told in two parts: one part will be continuing on from last chapter, after McGee was found, the other half will be following McGee and the team when he was first abducted. I will be setting up that intro last chapter in the latter, and resolving it in the former. So there will be a little Tiva in some segments of this even if it will not end that way. (Nothing explicit)
A couple people suggested McGiva, which honestly had not even crossed my mind. I looked through a few of McGiva oneshots I could find to see what the pairing was all about- I knew nothing about it- but most were pretty OoC, and I also have zero ideas of how to implement it, so this fic won't have any pairings. Plenty of Papa Bear Gibbs, though :)
There are a few errors last chapter; most obviously, the dates. I put them in as placeholders before I knew what season I wanted this to take place in, then forgot to change them when I decided. Sorry about that! It takes places in the beginning of season 6/end of season 5, but the whole thing with Agent Lee isn't going to happen. So, no Agent Afloat for Tony, no Cyber Crimes for McGee, etc.. Also, I don't know what the heck is going on with the cover; it keeps alternating between my avatar and the screencap of McGee that I want it to be. It seems to be a problem multiple people are having: when you log out, the covers switches back to your avatar, for stories posted in the last several days. I guess I'll reset it with every update but when it inevitably fails again, enjoy Prince Zuko from Avatar, I guess.
Hope you all enjoy this one!
August 18th, 2008
Gibbs didn't dare leave the hospital until the Marine guard arrived to stand at McGee's door. He'd ordered his agent be placed under round the clock guard- officially, in case the officially unknown kidnappers returned.
Unofficially, it wasn't just to keep anyone unwanted from getting in- it was to keep McGee from getting out.
He also wouldn't leave until the doctor assured him his agent was now sedated, and wouldn't wake up until the next morning at least.
Even then, he still had one thing to do before leaving the hospital.
"Tim," he muttered in his ear, eyes on the door but arm in a protective grip on his slack shoulder. "You will stay put. I will find him, I will take care of this, but you will stay. put." Gibbs pulled his knife out and, without hesitation, slipped it under the blanket to press the closed weapon into Tim's limp hand. He patted the fist closed. "For protection."
It still took an unbelievable effort for him to rip himself away, and even more so to not look back and instead, turn to the elevator- already on a mission.
He paused for only a second when he pulled out his phone, torn over the consequences. He'd learned enough to know that text messages never disappeared, even when deleted; it was a risk to leave any more of this in writing than there already was.
Then he scowled, punched the elevator so hard his knuckles hurt, and started composing the message before the ache had even started to ease.
To DiNozzo, David, Abby, Ducky, Palmer:
Autopsy. 30 minutes.
The days of secrecy were over.
"One more movie reference, Tony, and I will-"
"Kill me with a paperclip? Credit card? Come onnnn, Ziva, get some new threats; your usual ones are getting old."
"Don't shove it!"
Ducky raised an eyebrow, taking one final look at the X-ray before turning to face the invasion to autopsy. "I believe you mean don't push it, my dear," he corrected gently, and the woman turned gestured wildly in his general direction in the barest form of acknowledgement.
"Yes, do not push it," she snarled at her partner, who just rolled his eyes.
Ducky glanced amusedly at Jimmy, who looked like the sight of the two agents fighting this viciously, even with words, was enough to keep him with zipped lips until they left. He returned to his table, then frowned, glancing around in bemusement. "Anthony, Ziva, not that I do not appreciate the visit, but why have you graced autopsy with your presence this fine morning? I do not have any bodies for Gibbs- or, do I?"
The two agents moved to stand, not next to his opened up body, but over an empty table. They stood, not side by side, but each at one end of the table, and he frowned again, looking between the two hard, unyielding stares- neither one looking about to speak any time soon.
"Ah..." He cleared his throat. "Any sort of an answer would be welcome."
Before either one of them could even attempt to reply, there was the ding of the elevator again, this time to bring Abby. The forensic scientist jogged into the room, stopping short when she saw who was there. "Where is Gibbs? I've only got a ten minute window before Major Maspec finishes! And why the sudden meeting in autopsy? We better not be doing any of that shadow black ops stuff again; I don't like keeping secrets like that-"
"Abigail, what secret meeting?"
Abby stopped again, turning to look at him quizzically. "Didn't you see his message?"
"I'm just surprised the Bossman managed to send a mass text in the first place," Tony muttered, leaving Ducky only more confused than before.
"I believe there has been a breakdown in communication. I have received no message from Jethro. See?" Ducky pulled out his phone and showed it to everyone. "No message. ...Surely, Jethro did not have the audacity to convene a meeting in autopsy without inviting me."
His assistant took his phone from his hand before Abby could, clicking through a few screens, then stared at him over his glasses. "Dr. Mallard, that was your sent messages screen."
"My what?"
Jimmy waved the phone a little. "You have a new message from Agent Gibbs right here." He turned the phone around to show him, and there it was- Autopsy. 30 minutes.
"Oh. So I do!"
"Who still has a sent messages screen?"
"Dr. Mallard," Jimmy replied to Abby, pushing at his glasses with a shrug. "On his flip phone. Which, I'm kind've wanting myself right now; it manages to have better battery than mine, which is currently dead."
Grimacing, Ducky put his phone back in his pocket, mentally taking a step back from the conversation. Another secret meeting in his autopsy did not sound like something he would enjoy. He glanced at his watch unhappily; based off the time stamp on the message, Jethro should've been arriving-
Ding!
-right now, he thought, smiling. Punctual, if not polite.
Gibbs moved out of the elevator straight into autopsy, the look on his face somehow even more no-nonsense than usual; the moment he was inside he smacked the button for an infectious autopsy, then the lights. The doors sealed shut and locked, the lights shut off, and the man moved forward on a warpath to stand at the table Tony and Ziva had already claimed, arms folded, eyes down in an unwavering, icy stare.
No one spoke.
Completely dark save for the flashing, red warning at the doors, entrance locked, and Jethro, having mastered the art of escalating from a constant aura of seriousness to managing to bring an oppressive air of something is wrong with him just by walking into a room.
Ducky sighed inwardly.
It did indeed seem that the secretive missions of NCIS had returned once again- even while he dearly wished that such manner of operations had died with the previous administration.
"Tony, Ziva," Gibbs said abruptly, voice rough but, strangely preoccupied, "what'd you two find out from the surveillance?"
The two agents, previous hostility put on hold, apparently, by the complete unexpectedness on this new venture, glanced at each other in confusion. "Uh, Boss? Why the cloak and dagger?"
Tony barely held out for three seconds under the flat, piercing stare.
"Right, not important now." Tony sighed, scratching at his unruly hair. "Surveillance from the base showed that there was no driver."
Gibbs blinked, and the tired cast to his face suddenly vanished in place of a very rare surprise. He looked at Tony, eyes wide. "What?"
Ziva jumped in. "He is right, Gibbs. We are waiting for the footage to be cleaned up, but no one exited the vehicle upon it hitting the wall of the base until the marines arrived, six minutes after impact; then, there was someone watching it at all times. No one could have left."
"Looks like our John Doe is the drunk driver," Tony finished with a shrug. "Doesn't explain the blood in the trunk, or how he got out of the front seat before the paramedics got there."
Ducky wasn't sure what they were talking about, but it didn't seem like it warranted such subterfuge. It sounded like a normal case. Except, Jethro was definitely not taking the news as such. His friend's eyes were back down on the table, narrowed in concentration; he appeared to be in deep thought, about what, Ducky had no idea, and it didn't look like he was about to start explaining. After a few awkward moments passed in silence, he cleared his throat. "Your taciturnity is characteristic, Jethro, but, since you called this little meeting..."
Gibbs didn't even respond.
At least, not to him.
"He knew we were on call this weekend," he muttered under his breath, to himself. "Unbelievable... he drove himself into the Navy base. He knew we'd be called in..."
"Uh, Boss?"
"Gibbs, you're not making any sense!"
"Jethro, who is this he that you speak of?"
Cautiously, Gibbs raised his famous stare from the table to look around at them all. It wasn't the intimidating variant he used on suspects or Tony, but instead just a long, serious look that betrayed nothing but the gravity of the situation. He seemed to be stuck on how much to tell them, and that, in and of itself, was worrisome. Above their pay grade was typical for the major case response team to run into; subterfuge like this behind locked doors and hidden from even the director's knowledge was not.
"Early this morning," Gibbs began at last, and only when he had impressed on them all how serious this was with nothing more than a look, "someone drove themselves straight into a Navy base. We were called in. Officially, the driver is comatose at Bethesda, and unidentified."
"Comatose? The crash did not look that serious," Ziva said, frowning.
Tony nodded along with her. "Guessing there's an unofficially?"
"...Unofficially: the driver is not comatose; he's going to be fine. ...Unofficially- it's McGee."
A stunned silence fell.
McGee was alive?
Not just alive- but after three months of absolutely nothing, just an endless trail of dead ends and cold leads, to suddenly just appear again, finally safe, and back firmly within reach where Gibbs would sooner shoot himself than let someone get to him again?
It easily seemed to be much too good to be true, and as Gibbs always said, if something seemed too good to be true, it probably was- but Ducky was having trouble caring.
McGee was alive.
He beamed.
The others, meanwhile, were struggling to process it with their own methods. Abby stumbled back from the table, hands over her mouth. Ziva just stared blankly at Gibbs, mouth open but the woman too shocked to show any emotion but a blank surprise; it was Tony who overcame the revelation first, leaning forward with a light in his eyes Ducky had not seen for a long time. "Our McGee?! Probie! McMissing is McBack?! Gibbs! Yes!" He punched the air a couple times, brimming over with excitement and beaming bright enough to light up the entire room.
His burst broke the spell and Abby jumped forward, eyes already brimming over with tears. The first thing she did was throw herself at Gibbs in one of her most ferocious hugs yet and Ducky couldn't but laugh aloud, watching as his friend staggered to catch the woman who was already nearly sobbing, phrases of I knew you'd find him! and thank you, Gibbs scattered amongst ragged, pained gasps mixed with tears.
Gibbs didn't even crack a smile- and that was the first sign to Ducky that something was wrong.
Abruptly Abby pulled back, wiping her face stained with makeup and tears. "What are we doing here?! We need to go see him!" She turned, already starting to run for the door- Gibbs caught her by the wrist, holding steady even when she tried to jerk away.
"Abby," he was all he said. A low call infused with warning, and with such a lack of any kind of positive emotion that, to Ducky, it was downright disturbing.
"Gibbs!" Abby complained, the subtleties of the situation flying straight over her head in her hyperemotional state. "I- I've got to go see him! Now!"
Gibbs just pulled her back towards the table, as gently as he could manage with her struggling all the way, then turned back to face them all. "I know you're all eager to leave, but there are some details you all have to hear before you leave this room! Details that cannot leave this room with you, you understand?"
The growl was met with a series of shocked, still joyful nods, and one more feeble tug from Abby. Steel blue eyes moved around the table, focusing in on each one of them until even Tony's energy was calmed, and it was only then that he went on.
"For the past several weeks, McGee was been on the run from a fed- someone planted undercover but that got flipped against us. Unknown agency. We've got very little to go on, but if he finds out McGee's back, he becomes an instant target. We have got to keep this quiet- no one outside of this room knows. Everyone clear?"
There was a small cough from behind Ducky, and he glanced back to see his assistant looking more nervous than ever. "U-um, Agent Gibbs," he started, pushing at his glasses anxiously.
"Not now, Palmer. I said, everyone, clear?"
It was Tony's turn to step in, now frowning deeply. "Hang on, what am I missing? Why can't we just put him in protective custody?"
"Negative. If the bad egg's at NCIS, it would be far too easy to find out his location. Until we find this bastard, the man from today is a comatose John Doe, and McGee is still in the wind. He's gonna be in the hospital for at least a week- by the time he's released, we will have found this guy. Got it?"
The group all looked between each other and nodded together, the seething consensus only too clear. Ducky could already imagine the carnage the agents were planning on creating for the man who'd had McGee on the run; Tony would likely go old fashioned and just beat him, likely to death, Ziva'd go with any number of her unconventional methods, likely picking one of the most drawn out and painful, Abby, of course, could kill him and leave no forensic evidence- and Gibbs... Ducky shuddered to think of how Gibbs would handle him.
He concentrated on Gibbs, then, keying in on a piece of his explanation that hadn't added up. "Why is he in the hospital? I thought Ziva said the crash wasn't serious?"
Gibbs blinked, then shook his head slightly. He rubbed a hand tiredly over his face, seeming unfocused- and that lack of focus was troubling indeed. "No- an untreated bullet wound led to an infection-"
"This monster shot Timmy?!"
"I will kill him," Ziva promised darkly, but while the threats of murder continued, Ducky stayed silent, his mind racing.
"Well, if this infection is serious enough to have him hospitalized for a week," he mused aloud, confused, interrupting Abby's in depth description of just how she was going to take care of the man who had shot her Timothy, "then I doubt he would've been lucid enough to tell you all of this." He listed off the probable symptoms, ticking off his fingers as he went. "High fever, lethargic, very low blood pressure... if he is being properly medicated, he will likely be unconscious right now."
Gibbs shifted uneasily and folded his arms, putting off the feel of an unapproachable wall. Ducky had been expecting some sore of reasonable explanation to follow- but with his friend looking like that, he suddenly felt uneasy himself. Leroy Jethro Gibbs did not look like that, not without very, very good reason.
"McGee didn't tell me this now, Duck." He paused, looking around the table again, expression unreadable. "...He told me this four weeks ago."
Another stunned silence fell.
This time, however, it was utterly drained of any positive influence whatsoever.
Four weeks. McGee had been missing for at least twelve.
Ducky swiftly turned himself outwards before he could grasp the implications of that, the looming sense of betrayal, and instead looked around the small, tightly knit group with narrowed eyes. Shock was mirrored everywhere he turned, shock that morphed into hurt at varying rates- and Gibbs just stood there unreadable as ever, both silent and patient.
Waiting for the storm to come.
"You... you knew?" Ziva stammered at last. "You knew McGee was alive?"
Gibbs gave one, short nod- eyes hard as ice. "He made contact with me four weeks ago, via email," he said, voice flat. "He explained the situation then; that he had escaped from the people holding him but that there was a fed somewhere looking for him, and he insisted it was too dangerous for him to come in without more information. He-"
Tony pushed himself away from the table and turned away in a violent twist, radiating nothing short of fury. He stormed towards the exit without a word and slammed the button for infectious autopsy again, unlocking the door, then hit the elevator button. He waited only a few seconds to pull away and head for the stairs, yanking open the door so hard it hit the wall with a bang.
In the uncomfortable silence that followed, Ziva shifted, then cleared her throat. It was clear she was none too happy right now, either, but she just held up a hand, emotions retained, and said, "I will go get him." She glanced at Gibbs, eyes narrowed, then quickly turned her back, giving off the same feeling of hurt and anger as Tony had all the while, and left.
With her gone, Abby was left to stand stock still, hands again clapped over her mouth- and eyes, once more overflowing with tears.
"G- Gibbs..."
At long last the cold mask slipped and Gibbs just looked tired- very, very tired- and he turned towards the her, already reaching out a hand. "Abby-"
She slapped him across the face.
The sound reverberated in a cold, lonely echo throughout the room, and Abby just stood there, staring at him- undeniably, unbearably, hurt. Her hand shook, and she dropped it, the tears still running.
"How could you, Gibbs?"
The broken whisper was met by nothing more than a helpless stare. And when Gibbs was unable to muster up anything more than that, Abby turned away and left herself. The door shut with an air of finality, leaving Gibbs standing alone in the darkness, head still whipped to the side from the force of Abby's slap.
Ducky found it rather difficult to find any sympathy.
He cleared his throat when his friend made no move to leave himself and simply stood there, motionless. "Jethro," he prodded coldly, watching him from a few feet back. "...You should've-"
"If you don't think I ordered him to come in, if you don't think I did everything I could to figure out where the hell he was hiding, Duck-!" His eyes flashed in sudden, extreme emotion and he pounded a fist against one of the tables in a metallic smash. "God damn it, McGee!"
Gibbs just stood there for a moment, breathing hard and glaring at the table like it had wrought him some great personal wrong; then, with another violent exhale, he turned to leave himself, leaving the two medical examiners behind.
"Spent months with the secret assignment for director, and how'd that end? Blown up car, brokenhearted Jeanne, and almost no more Tony DiNozzo." Tony stomped the ground for emphasis, seething. "Director goes off the reservation, clearly something is wrong but she orders us to stay quiet about it, and how'd that end up? Jenny killed in a complete massacre and Gibbs spending weeks looking like he wants to kill someone." He exited the building into the burning sun and cut a line straight for his car, fists clenched around his key so tight the sharp edge drew blood. "But yeah! It makes total sense, let's just go black ops again, keep more secrets, leave agents alone in the field to get mowed down- because it worked out so damn well last time!"
The small collection of agents staring at him from the sidewalk, wide-eyed, only managed to incense him more. "Go back to your coffee, rookies," he snapped, and turned away to glare at his car.
Shit like this worked out real great for Bond. Turned out, in real life, it was more complicated than that, and ended as nothing better than a complete nightmare.
"Tony!"
Oh, hell no. He knew that accent. He knew that voice. And hell no, he was not getting into this right now.
"Tony!"
Hell. No.
When she called out to him again, Tony groaned aloud, leaning against his hot car with his fists, all his irritation channeling into one rapidly tapping foot. He was just gonna stand there, and pretend not to hear her, and she would go away. And if she didn't, he was calmly going to tell her of his plans, then just leave, because he was really not getting into this right now.
The hurried footsteps that approached from behind made him groan again. Great. Plan B. Because his Plan Bs always worked so well.
"Tony."
"Really not in the mood now, Ziva."
He heard her huff. "Where are you going?" she asked, completely sidestepping his blatant attempt to get out of any and all conversations, and he shook his head, staring at the glare of the sun on his car.
"I don't know." He paused, shuddering at the thought of going back into NCIS right now. His aversion to that place was so strong right now he'd sooner trade in his beloved mustang than go back in there. "Somewhere. Anywhere but here."
"Tony..." Ziva sighed, clearly trying to think of the right thing to say- too bad for her, but Tony didn't think there was anything right thing in this situation, not unless she went for the cliche it's all been a dream. But he didn't think he was so messed up to dream something like this.
"Look, I am as unhappy with Gibbs as you. But you are not thinking clearly-"
"Not thinking clearly?!" he spun back around at last to stand face to face with Ziva, and something about seeing her standing there so composed when he felt one more blow away from falling apart just broke the wall, and all the pent up emotions that he'd meant to keep just that, pent up, came pouring out. "Well, Ms. Clear Headed, tell me what I should be thinking right now, since you seem to know just everything."
She glared at him, and he took pleasure in the crack in her mask he'd made, a bit of the anger he knew was real shining through. "No, Tony, I do not know everything, but I do know you!" She jabbed him sharply in his chest. "In times of stress, you get angry, you take it out on others, and you do not. think. clearly."
"And you're thinking straight now? Because if I recall, last night you were plenty eager to assert that he was dead, and Abby and I were just in denial. Now we find out he's alive, and you're still somehow the smart one, is that it?!"
"You are doing it again!" she cried, exasperated. "You are angry at Gibbs, and you are taking it out on me."
"You're damn right I'm angry at Gibbs!" He pointed towards NCIS with one broad and wild wave of his hand. "He hid this from us! You know, Ziva, I got more than my fill of secret operations and lies during the previous administration. I was hoping things would be different; evidently, that was a bad idea, because this time it wasn't the director but Gibbs. ...Gibbs, about McGee. That makes it worse. Way worse."
"Yes. Yes, it does." Ziva ran a shaking hand through her wild hair, and in the motion he saw just a hint of lack of control. It somehow made him feel better, if only barely, to know he wasn't the only one losing it here, and he forced himself to let out a tense breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding.
"It makes it worse, Tony," she said, "but you can not just go off to the hospital and leave. I know you want to see McGee, I want to see him, too, but you heard Ducky. He will not be coherent for days, and we are needed here! Sitting with McGee will not find the man who shot him."
Tony sighed, dropping back against his car to bow his head, staring at the asphalt. She was right. He hated that she was right. He hated that it did nothing for his complete aversion to even seeing Gibbs' face was right now- he wanted to punch the bastard- or his draw towards the hospital. Damn it, he wanted to go see McGee with his own two eyes, he wanted to hear him breathing, he wanted to be there when he woke up and stand there at the door to take care of fed that was after him.
...Then headslap McGee into next week.
Because, the blame wasn't all Gibbs', was it? McGee had contacted Gibbs when he'd escapec. That meant he'd chosen not to contact anyone else.
He bit his lip, trying not to feel the hurt he knew was simmering safely under anger right now. Of course Probie would contact Gibbs first. They all would. But he damn well should've been McGee's second person to contact- and not four weeks after the fact!
None of this was making sense- and it seemed like more information was just going to make it worse, not better.
"How are you not angry right now?" he asked at length, despondent, and made no move to push himself off his car. He looked over Ziva's shoulder at NCIS and sighed. "After what Gibbs did- and McGee, by not telling us anything!"
"I am not angry because I am not you, Tony," she replied succinctly. Then she paused, features softening at last. "...And, because this is not something the director ordered. I believe in Gibbs. I do not know why he didn't tell us about McGee- I do not know why McGee did not contact us- but I believe they would not have kept this secret unless it was absolutely necessary, Tony. Gibbs has not yet explained himself. We need to give him that chance."
"Yeah, well I'm not too keen on that right now, Ziva."
There was a long silence through which he just squinted through the sun at NCIS, and Ziva said nothing, head down. He saw Abby slip out the door and make for her car and found himself totally unsurprised, and kept his mouth shut. If he was angry right now, Abby was bound to be completely irrational. If Ziva tried to stop her, it would only end in a catfight.
It would be a tough wager for Abby, because he knew she would be angry and confused over McGee too, right now. And she had a startling talent for letting emotions rule for her; he still remembered how badly she'd freaked out when her precious probie been mauled by a wild dog. Freaked out for exactly ten seconds, anyway, until she realized he'd dared to shoot his attacker; then she'd practically shunned him.
What McGee and Gibbs had done was way worse than shooting a dog.
What McGee had gone through, though, whatever that was- was also guaranteed to be way worse than playing chew toy.
He sighed again. He didn't know about Abby, but after three months, the relief that his probie was all right was just going to win out over everything else.
For now.
"Tony."
Ziva had tilted her head back, just slightly, so she could look him in the eye; now she stood waiting for him to meet her halfway. One more look at NCIS, and he nodded, mentally steeling himself. He could do this.
He looked down at Ziva. There was a warm glimmer in dark brown that he was glad to be one of the privileged few to see, and when the stab of longing came, because of course it would, he braced himself for it. Ziva was off limits now; she'd made it clear what she wanted, or rather, didn't want to risk. But she was close now, invading his personal space in the way only Ziva could without truly making it sexual, and it took an effort not to back away.
"Do you think Gibbs would have hid this if it was not necessary?"
If she was going to ask questions like that, then never mind, hee was getting out of here; he wanted to actually think, which he wouldn't do with her face an inch away from his. He took her by the shoulders and moved her aside so he could breathe; she raised an eyebrow but didn't comment, and he chuckled in bitter amusement. Gibbs had nearly skewered the director when he'd found out about his secret assignment with La Grenouille, and practically bitten McGee's head off when he'd learned how the then green agent had hid facts about his sister during a murder investigation. There was no lying on this team; that was number one of the unspoken rules. And when Gibbs made rules, they weren't just for his agents; he followed them, too.
"...No," he grunted, through extreme reluctance. Whatever reason Gibbs had had for hiding this, it had to be good.
That didn't make it right.
Ziva nodded back. "Then, come back inside, and let him explain. ...Besides, the sooner we get to work on McGee's case, the sooner I can kill the man who shot him."
She wasn't joking, but Tony laughed all the same and pushed himself off his car. "Yeah, one problem with that, Ziva." He started to lead the way back to NCIS, shoving his keys back in his pocket. "Gibbs is going to kill him first."
May 2nd, 2008
"I told you, corner of... but I can't wait that long, I... please, can you get out here a little sooner? I'm a federal agent, I-" McGee stopped, pulled his phone back, then sighed despondently. "Great. You hung up. That's just great. Very polite."
He leaned back against his car, looking warily around the street. Dead engine, in the middle of one of the worst neighborhoods of DC, and triple A stalling for three more hours, at best. Tonight was shaping up to be just fantastic.
He'd briefly considered calling one of the team to help, but dismissed the notion just as quick. Tony would've shown up, but then ragged him for it endlessly. By the end of the week the rumor of the office would be he'd gotten his panties in a twist and had to call the great Tony DiNozzo to his recuse. He did not need or want that. Abby was also a no, but for different reasons; no way was he calling her out in the middle of the night to a neighborhood this dangerous. There was a rape reported here every week; he shuddered at the thought and shook his head again. No. No Abby.
Had Ziva been in town, he would have called her; while he knew Abby could take care of herself, the idea of her being assaulted by any of the thugs that had made this street their turf sent a chill down his spine. The idea of those same thugs going at Ziva was laughable. But, she was in Tel Aviv visiting family, set to fly back in- just his luck- the next morning. So, no Ziva for him.
Calling Gibbs...
For car trouble...
In the middle of the night...
"God, no," he muttered under his breath, and shivered. He could picture it now- that wordless, cold stare all the way home, the unbearable silence as he tried to make small talk and Gibbs did not respond in the slightest- not to mention it'd smash whatever parts of his reputation he'd managed to build up. Tony was Tony; held the team together when Gibbs had hightailed it to Mexico, worked as the director's classified undercover spy; his reputation was solid. Ziva was Ziva. God only knew what she'd done with Mossad.
And, he was still killer on the computer and in the lab- and, not so stellar in the field.
He was an NCIS agent, for god's sakes; he'd be fine. It was just a bad neighborhood for a few hours. He'd done worse his first year in DC- and he'd sooner sit out here all night then call Gibbs for this.
As if on cue, a gunshot cracked out over the night, and he groaned again.
"Perfect."
There wasn't much use in reporting gunshots out here; the response time would be dismal. By the time any cops made their way out here, not only would the shooter be long gone, but, hopefully, would he. He checked his watch again and grimaced; this night was a complete and utter disaster.
McGee jumped when there was another shot, this one closer than the last. The sound was different than before... like a much bigger caliber.
One gun meant the beginning and end of a fight. It didn't have to mean the escalation of violence in turf where everyone was armed; it could mean anything from an accident to a warning shot.
Two guns meant two shooters.
Two guns meant a problem.
"Oh, no..." He hesitantly touched his weapon, looking anxiously around the street, searching for anything abnormal.
Two more shots, and he pushed himself away from his car, gun in hand, moving down the street at a run. He zeroed in on an alley at the sound of a panicked shout and took off at a run, hugging the wall. At least two shooters, one still alive and conscious; he analyzed his options, mind racing. Calling in a request for backup would take half an hour at least, by then anyone injured would have long bled out, and any shooters well enough to run would be gone.
"This is insane," he muttered under his breath, but no matter how true that was, it did nothing to drive him away from the alley.
He drew closer and the shouting morphed into coherent words- first a flurry of Spanish, then a frantic, "What the hell, man, what the hell?! We were supposed to wait- why'd you kill them?!"
"I didn't mean to!" This voice was younger and even more panicked than the first one. "I- I just- I don't know! Oh my god, are they dead?! Carlos, are they dead?!"
He frowned. Hardly hardened killers. But two armed targets, already nervous, already out of control... swallowing the rising anxiety, McGee stood back from the wall, gun held at the ready, then pushed himself into the fray with nothing more than a deep breath to prepare himself.
"NCIS, drop your weapons!"
There was no slow motion bullet-travels-while-he-flashbacks-on-whole-life moment. There was no second for him to watch the bullet move, there was no time for him to think or prepare or even breath.
One of the men had jumped a mile at his order, whirling in a burst of terror and the moment McGee saw the gun pointed his way, he fired.
So did the other man.
Screeching tires screamed out behind him and McGee jumped back, moving so his back was to the wall and swiveling in alarm between the two targets. The shooter had dropped while his friend stayed put, gun still out; McGee turned from him to the black van that skidded to a stop at the head of the alley, taking aim at the door. "Stop! NCIS! All of you, freeze!"
The driver's door opened and another man stepped out, latino, like the others, gun stuck in his waistband. "Stop!" McGee screamed desperately. The more people that showed up the less his chances got of salvaging this; he needed to control this situation now.
Far from taking his desperation as an order, the driver stared at him wild disbelief, then whirled on the others. "What the hell is this?! I said wait! Is this guy a cop?!"
There was another burst of Spanish, increasingly anxious this time, and McGee moved between the two targets, starting to really panic now. "Both of you, put your weapons down now, or I will shoot!"
Neither one paid him any attention, and, shaking, McGee turned to take aim at the driver- and that was when he felt something wet running down his leg.
His blood ran cold.
Now, it felt like it was in slow motion- the realization, the horrified down tilt of his head to stare- the sudden unbearable flare of sheer agony...
His white shirt had blossomed red from the blood that bubbled up underneath. The stuff had dribbled out from the untucked hem to drip down his right leg, his abdomen soaked scarlet, the color such a bright, poisonous red- and god, there was just so much of it... his head spun, and what came with it was nothing short of anguish.
Oh my god, I've been shot.
Oh my god, I'VE BEEN SHOT.
His gun dropped from numb fingers seconds before his strength fled, and his legs turned to jelly. He collapsed and when his head hit the ground, the blackness came. The last thing he felt was a rough, calloused hand clasping around his wrists and dragging him over the ground before the pain burst into an all encompassing fire, and then, there was nothing.