Warning: Dark. Graphic violence. Sexual assault.
He hated the blue juice. The stuff in the syringe.
Not the other stuff, the clear stuff. That just made him tired and loopy and quasi-paralyzed, and it made him see things that weren't necessarily there. Sometimes they were nice things. Nice people. Nice places. A small bit familiar, even.
But the Blue Juice. When the Blue Juice came, he knew things were going to get very real very soon. When the tech in blue scrubs held tight onto Tony's arm with blue latex hands, he'd learned not to fight him off, even when the Blue Juice was pulled out, when they worked on finding a vein. He'd fought the first and the second times, but they got it into him anyway, both times, and by that time he'd been so exhausted, so strung out — heart threatening to burst from his chest and gallop far, far away from here — he'd almost lost it and everything else.
So now he took it. Stood still. Let the tech stick him with that damned needle, pump that Blue Juice in. Pump it in!
Then the crazy lady grabbed him by the face, her eyes black and her lips painted that same shade of blood red, her high-heels taller, sharper than usual. Fake painted nails bit into the flesh of his cheek. He'd started breathing hard, knowing it was coming: the awful high the Blue Juice brought. Swift and violent. The physical and mental frenzy tinged in red.
She gave his face a rough shake, demanding, "Pay attention!"
Dull hazel eyes rolled around in his head, but he tried to listen and look right at her. Luckily, the three versions of her were beginning to merge into one. He mumbled, "'m here."
"You'll learn to like this," she told him. "All of this."
The crazy lady kissed him then, her mouth greedy. Even if he'd wanted to participate, he couldn't. Before she pushed his face away, she bit his lip hard until it bled.
Tony didn't even flinch.
She looked him over. He wore nothing but a pair of freshly laundered pair of scrub pants. She raised a hand.
For that, he did flinch.
But she only smiled and stroked his head. "Win us some cash, baby."
Then he was pushed past the gate and into the pit.
Detective Harvey "Harv" Prize has several ways of doing police work, and none of them are fast.
He and Gibbs clash straight out of the gate. But Harv isn't the type to bend over and take it in the ass.
He says, "Look here, Agent what was it?"
"Gibbs," Gibbs answers, looking strung out from sleepless nights and too much coffee and no fucking information on his senior field agent. Gone. Missing. Probably dead in a ditch somewhere getting pecked at by vultures.
The guilt hangs from him like cobwebs. Too much. It's sucking the life out of him, hour by hour. Day by day.
He finds he has to push Tony out of his head in order to function. Because otherwise he's paralyzed, thinking of all the what ifs, combined with the things he already knows. What he must've gone through back at that house. The dog run. The sink full of water. The blood and the piss. The beer bottle. He'd smelled fear there. Heavy and real. So much fucking fear.
Where are you, Tony? God, I'm trying…
"Okay. Look here, Agent Gibbs, we have a way of doing things, and you'd be best to take a seat there, and I'd be happy to go over some things with you."
"No, you're gonna answer my damn questions."
"Sit there," Harv repeats. "I'm the best ally you got right now, son."
Gibbs eyeballs him. They look to be the same age. If anything, Harv is a touch younger, despite the male-pattern baldness. Must be a figure of speech. Reluctantly, he sits.
"Now, who's this…" Harv has to consult the paper again, "Anthony Wagner to you."
"He's…" Gibbs pauses. He weighs the risk of sharing Tony's true identity. What if these people are in on it? What if Tony's been found out, but not found out found out?
Harv raises his brows, waiting. There are several creases in his forehead.
He goes with his gut feeling. "That's not his name. He's Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo, and he works for me. Been working undercover for a few weeks now under that name."
"Okay," Harv is frowning now, as if he's just now wrapping his mind around the severity of what potentially has transpired. "What was he workin' on?"
"Wasn't supposed to be that big a deal," Gibbs shrugs. "Just some Navy guys and their dependents laundering cash money. DiNozzo was checking it out. He's got the sleaze-factor for it. He was perfect."
"But you lost him."
Here comes the guilt. "He called us, said things were looking bad. Said he found out some other details. He couldn't elaborate," Gibbs says. "We were ready to pull him out. We had most of what we thought we needed for our case. Then… Nothing."
"Radio silence."
"We checked all of the properties tied up in the case. Found where they must've been keeping him."
"Probably been moved since then," Harv supplies.
"You know of something I don't?"
"These people…" he starts. "These people aren't to be toyed with. Bunch of country bumpkins they are not. Had a girl that disappeared not too long back. Maybe a coupla years ago. No trace of anything. Until we got a tip. Found she'd been moved all the way to Orlando. That's Florida. Can you believe that?"
Gibbs can.
"Yeah, guess they had her working the streets. She was fifteen. They traffic people, Agent Gibbs. Your guy must have figured that out."
Gibbs grunts. If there was anything to find out, Tony would've gone and found it out. "Find her alive?"
"No. Body. Dead in a park. Strangled by one of her johns most likely. Hey look, I wanna help you with your agent… the BOLO you put on that vehicle—"
"Tony gave us that information. You know, before," Gibbs said. "That's what one the guys was driving. Big guy, Tony said. Heavy set. Put BOLOs on other vehicles as well. And a man: Bradley Hood."
"Well, we got the driver of that vehicle in custody now. Not Bradley Hood, though."
Gibbs runs his hand through his hair. "Why didn't you start this off with that?"
"Needed to know what you were all about. Now that I do, I want to help you out."
"Where is he?" Gibbs demands.
"Lawyered up, I'm afraid. But, he might be willing to part with some information in exchange for, I don't know. Something. The guy is a ding-bat, Agent Gibbs. Yes sir, no sir, don't ask questions… You know the type." Harv stands up and turns to go, but then he turns back around. "His finger was bit up bad. Said it was his dog. Doc said it was a bite, but it was no dog bite."
"Ladies and gentlemen!" the announcer shouted through the bullhorn. "Are you ready for a show?"
The crowd wasn't huge, but it was sizable. A few cat-called and whistled. More clapped. Maybe twenty to thirty people. A throng had assembled in front of a booth where a harried attendant took hundred dollar bills and handed back receipts.
The pit spread in front of them. A caged in area, slightly lowered from the main level.
Tony stood alone, watching the crowd and trembling.
He could feel the Blue Juice working through him. He clenched and unclenched his fists. He should've been watching the opposite gate, where his opponent would ultimately emerge. But he found himself scanning the faces in the crowded, looking for somebody familiar. Anybody.
The crazy lady had disappeared. His lip still smarted.
"What do you think? Still like him?" Adrian asked her from their glass enclosed booth high above the fray. He sipped a glass of red wine. Straightened his tie.
The view from up here was perfect, and far away from the smell of it, and the sweat and the gory details of the event.
Tashya shrugged and blew her cigarette smoke at the ceiling. Then she grabbed her cocktail and sucked at the dregs before running a tongue over her teeth. "He's fine. I can already see he's very brave. Tenacious. Won't give up."
"Sometimes that's all you need," Adrian said.
"It never lasts," Tashya replied, her voice unenthused. Bored. "The ones that last are those sick fucks with the drive to kill."
But Adrian was ever the optimist. "The crowd seems to enjoy an underdog."
Tashya hummed. "He'll make us money. The club needs money." Then she laughed. "Consider him a marketing expense." She took a long drag from her cigarette, blew the smoke out her nostrils. "Well, he'll do that for me. When he is done, assuming he's still alive, I'll wash him out." She smiled easily and raised her glass for the attendant. "Please, dear, another."
Adrian knew what "wash him out" meant, having been present for more than one. Tashya always attended herself. She seemed to take joy in it. A large syringe of Euthasol and an 18 gauge needle was usually all it took. It was meant for animals, pets… things like cats and dogs and horses, but she'd found it equally useful on those humans who needed "washing out." She would sit there with them, stroke their heads and promise them that soon it would be over.
And it was. The pink stuff was quick. Took only seconds. Maybe some gasping was involved, but that was it. Done.
Tashya grinned at Adrian. "Guess I should thank you, then."
"It's my pleasure, Tashya."
They both watched Tony as he still stood alone in the pit, waiting for his foe. But he wasn't watching the other gate. He was watching the damn crowd, just like he did every single time.
Tashya sighed deeply. "He won't learn."
"What's that?"
"Every fight he's staring out at the crowd."
"What's he looking for."
"I don't know." Tashya again blew smoke at the ceiling. It curled around a light fixture. "His salvation, maybe." Then she laughed.
The attendant returned with her drink.
"Thanks, doll."
Adrian chuckled as well. "Oh here we go."
The opposite gate finally opened.
Tony stands alone on the periphery of an empty ballroom. It's made up fancy, like for a wedding reception. Dozens of tables and chairs are set up. Pots of deep purple orchids in the middle of each.
He's wearing a tux.
She rounds the corner, wearing a beautiful flowing blue gown. Her skin is flawless and white. Her dark brown hair falls loose around her shoulders. There's a bouquet of red flowers in her hands. He doesn't know what they are.
He stares at her, stares into her eyes. Warm and brown and familiar. He wants to crawl into them, for safety, for salvation.
"You never thought this would happen, did you, DiNozzo?" She finally speaks.
He shakes his head.
She is close enough to touch now.
He reaches out and says, "Kate."
"You're imagining this," she says.
"I know."
"Will you be okay?"
"I don't know." Tony's voice is barely above a whisper. "Don't you know?"
She shakes her head. Kate reaches out, strokes his face. "Don't cry."
Tony says, "I'm not."
They sidle in closer together. So close they can feel each other's breath.
"If anybody can get through this," Kate says, "you can."
He shakes his head.
"Look at me," she says.
He does. He wants to go to bed with her. Wants her to touch him like he wants to touch her.
But Kate's shaking her head. "It's not real. None of this is real."
"Why not?"
"It's just not."
Tony leans in. She does, too. They kiss.
It gets rough, and suddenly, she bites his lip hard enough to draw blood. He jerks open his eyes, but he doesn't see Kate's face, he see the crazy lady's. Her grin is like a cat's, opportunistic and greedy.
He backs up. The room swirls away.
She's saying, "C'mon Tony. That's what people call you, isn't it?"
He doesn't know where he is anymore. He feels naked. Exposed. There's a hand on his dick, pumping it. He can't move. He's tied up. He bucks, but she pulls hard, causing him to gasp.
"No," he slurs. "Stop."
The crazy lady sinks on top of him, eyes closing.
"Stop. Why are you— No," Tony goes on, even as she starts to thrust against him. Gently at first, then roughly.
"Shut up." She clamps a hand around his throat. That shuts him up. "You like it. Don't you?"
Yes or no. He can't say.
The brawl was surprisingly brief.
Tony spun around to meet his opponent, who came out of the gate raging hot, hell-bent on destroying. The guy bowled him over, and they tousled for several minutes on the ground, no sounds but the occasional grunt and pant of breath.
Hands grasped at each other, squeezing and tugging.
When they finally broke apart, they both were gasping for breath.
Tony didn't attack first. He never did.
His opponent came after him again, pounding him with a well-trained assault that Tony clearly hadn't been expecting. Tony extricated himself and retreated to the other end of the pit, bleeding.
Avoidance wouldn't work.
The guy came again. And again.
When they broke apart for what had to be the fifth time, Tony staggered back to his side. The other guy seemed no worse for wear. Bloody, yes, but it was Tony's, mostly.
Briefly, Tony looked at the crowd again, and that was when the other guy put out his final offensive. Tony met him, ferociously. He got lucky. Grabbed the guy by the neck with his arm, and he squeezed and squeezed.
They slipped and fell together, rolling over and over in the dirt. Tony squeezed. The other guy's sweaty hair stuck to his face. He kept squeezing and squeezing, the rage coming as hard as his breaths. Even when the other man had long gone limp, Tony kept his hold. Squeezing and shaking him
Attendants rushed the pit now to separate the two, but Tony began dragging the limp man by the neck, slowly, attempting to evade them. The body jerked a few times.
The guy's head was at an unnaturally angle now, and when Tony finally let him go, he flopped bonelessly to the dirt, dead or nearly there.
Tony felt nothing. No sorrow or regret or grief. Numb. The blood began to congeal on his face. The skin tightened and pulled.
Again, he looked at the crowd, which was now cheering wildly. It was deafening. Blinding. Hypnotizing. He began to turn around and around, to get a look at them all.
Their underdog had won. They waved their papers around.
A swell of dizziness rolled over him as the world tilted once more and he fell off the edge.
"You're imagining this," Kate says, still dressed in that blue dress. "All of this."
They're standing shoulder to shoulder on the top of a roof. The night sky stretches above, and far below are the streets, streaked with white from headlights rushing this way, that way.
Tony turns his head to look her way.
"It's not real," she says. "None of this."
Is this heaven, or is this hell?
Kate reaches out, again, just like she's done before, touches his face, wipes the tears and the dirt away. Her hands are cold.
"See it through, DiNozzo. See it through 'til the end."