A/N: I am so sorry for the wait on this one, its a complicated explanation which involves two computers and a usb drive (seriously do not ask lol) but it's here now and hopefully the wait was worth it.

Just another thing, if you want to know what is happening with the story, I do periodic updates on my profile which will let you know how things are going, especially if I don't get an update up within a fortnight. Thought I'd let you out there know :)

Once again, thanks to everyone for reviews and alerts and favourites. You all outdid yourselves again and I am so pleased that so many of you are taking the time to let me know your thoughts on my writing. It is extremely and utterly appreciated!

Ok, enough rambling... ON WITH THE ANGST!!!


Chapter 3: Memories to Try and Forget

Present Day:

Tony sat quietly in his hospital room, the fluorescent lights offering a miniscule hum of irritation rather than relief. The smell of bleach attacked his nostrils as did the stench of death that he had scarily, become accustomed to. He wanted to go home, to his own bed, to his own apartment. After that, he would look into a transfer – effective immediately. That was if he passed his psyche eval.

His mind was left to travel, left to its own devices. He remembered the room, that dark little room, no natural light, just the voice, his voice...

He silently disciplined himself. He physically shook his head to rid himself of the memories. He had to regroup.

Nothing could make this better, not even the sun that was filtering through his room, his white, bright, clean smelling room. Even though it seemed as though the outside world was trying to warm him up, Tony drew the blanket that was wrapped around his torso tighter. He had been issued with the standard hospital garb, a pale blue apron with a hole in the back. He had none of his own clothes. They had all been sent off for processing. Nothing or no one was with him allowing the painful memories to invade his personal being. He stared absently at the little piece of plastic that identified him as Anthony DiNozzo. His eyes only saw the ropes, the ropes that had been cut from his wrist, time and time again which lead to the… the…

He internally berated himself again as he forced himself to think of happier thoughts, of more positive thoughts but the pain could stay. It was permitted to stay. He had watched as the intern has cut away the rotting flesh from his wrists, washing the skin where the chains and the ropes had constantly reminded him of why he was there. He had to remember that breaking of trust, that moment of truth, when he discovered that he had been lulled into a false sense of security. He knew the truth now. He knew what the man was capable of. He knew that Leroy Jethro Gibbs was a murderer and all he had to do was to prove it.

*******

Gibbs wiped at his brow. Even though it was only just coming into Spring, the weather was warming up a bit faster than had originally been forecast. He looked across the vast paddock and saw steam rising from the grass in an almost magical and elusive haze. He watched as cows lazily chewed the grass they could get to through the melting snow and he witnessed as the trees that stood guard at the fence line hiding the outside world from view, swayed in the subtle breeze that ran it fingers across them. If only the horror that had obviously occurred here didn't mar the image, everything may have been alright.

Gibbs took a deep breath, hoping that it would aid him to figure out what the hell had happened. He couldn't understand how Tony was still alive after they had all thought he had perished in that plane crash. He had watched as they were trying to extinguish the wreckage that lay scattered across half of Missouri. He had seen the flames, he had made the connection himself with hard copied evidence that he held in his hand. He had wiped that solitary tear away as he made the correlation that it was the plane that had taken Tony to Vegas that had crashed but he hadn't been on that plane. Gibbs had broken one of his own rules; he had assumed. He assumed that Tony got on board. He had assumed that Tony had died. He had assumed that they were never going to see the young man again, and what did all this assumption cause? It may have caused him to lose the closest thing he had to family, the closest person he had to a son.

Pushing that thought to the recesses of his mind, Gibbs downed the last mouthful of his coffee. He ignored the sensation as a shiver coursed though his body, unsure of whether it was from the bitterness of the liquid or the chill that still distantly hung in the air. Placing the lid back onto his thermal mug, Gibbs walked back into the crime scene, his hands gloved and his face a steely mask. He was hoping that his team would be able to shed some light into how they ended up in this mess.

Making his way back to the central point of the house, Gibbs followed his own made path into the abandoned living space. This time he managed to get a look in at the room around him. The positioning of the furniture, the solitary chair in the middle, an old-fashioned wood-turned, sturdy piece, surrounded by time pieces from about the same era, they all felt familiar in a similar sort of horror. Steeling his gaze he made his way over to the walls, watching the crisscross pattern that lay there, lazing in the dim light that filtered into the room. Gently he reached forward in an inquisitive motion, daring to touch it but having the common sense not to. His mind reeled with questions when suddenly a memory hit with the power of a sucker punch to the stomach. He had seen this before…

Cameron, Blackadder, Fornell and Gibbs all stood at varying points around the perimeter. Every one of them had their weapons drawn, waiting for the order to mobilize through the dilapidated and boarded up concave of the old department store. It had been a marvel of architecture in its day but bad wiring had caused it all to go up in smoke and flame in a spectacular display. A faulty light switch and cheap materials had caused the flames to smolder, causing the destruction once the fire got some oxygen, breathing life into the killer flames. Four firemen had been killed, two had been seriously injured. It had been news across the whole Eastern Seaboard and mementos and thanks had filtered in from far and wide for the tragic deaths.

After the investigation into the fire had finished up, the building company had been charged with negligence, having cut corners and used unapproved materials in a bid to save money. This disaster had also caused the collapse of the financier, having hoped that the project would help them out of their one hundred thousand dollar deficit. They had declared bankruptcy several months after the fire because the insurance they were paying had been discarded in an effort to try and pay some other bills. With no one to fund a rebuild, the building of virtue was left to rot, a cesspool in an area that held low rate accommodation, high crime rates and a girl on every corner for ever second desperate man looking for love. It had brought a new low into the derelict suburb, causing the filth to disappear into the background of a forgotten brilliance, never to shine again.

Fornell had been ordered to follow Gibbs lead, the FBI agent not taking nicely to that order. It had come directly from on high as two Directors fought for the glory of bringing down what they believed was a well trained, extremely intelligent, serial killer. Gibbs and Fornell got ready at the front entrance while Cameron and Blackadder were situated at the back. Hollow voices could be heard echoing from inside the battered up walls, one a female whimpering in what sounded like pain. Gibbs and Fornell had waited for the order but Cameron had gotten a visual on the suspect and had acted hastily, storming through the door, yelling for the assailant to get away from the young captive…

Gibbs stood still, staring at the opposite wall, oblivious to the presence of the elderly Medical Examiner. Ducky had found there was nothing more to do as they didn't have a body to process. It seemed that Gibbs had the scene under control and there would be no more use for him and Mr. Palmer except to make their way to the hospital to see how Anthony was doing. Seeing as he had walked into the darkened space to find that Jethro was staring at nothing in particular, concerned the doctor. He had to wonder if Tony's reaction to seeing them was taking a far greater toll on his friend than they initially thought it might.

Tim and Ziva had followed through the door after Dr. Mallard, still cataloguing and inventorying the evidence they had to take back with them. Both had been discussing which one was going back with the cargo because it meant that whoever did had to tell Abby about Tony. Neither of them liked the idea of telling the Forensic Scientist that – for lack of a better way to describe their relationship – her big brother was indeed alive and that they hadn't been looking for him. That was the hardest thing to fathom. None of them considered the fact that Tony could still be alive. None of them had considered that their friend would return to them only to leave him stranded with whoever did this to him for three months. Well the guilt was almost too much to bear. It hung heavy over the team and none of them knew how to fix it. They had no idea how to start, let alone what their next step was, especially if Tony really did hate Gibbs the way that he had shown. It was hard to judge which was the more surreal, the fact that Tony had flinched away from Gibbs touch, knowing full well who the man was that had stood in front of him, or simply the fact that Tony was actually alive. It was definitely a tossup and no one, not even the good old Doctor, was willing to place any bets.

Gibbs still stared vaguely at the wall, his voice loud in the hollow room.

"We've seen this before, Duck."

They were all the words that needed to be said. Ducky instantly moved back from where he was standing in an effort to get a better look at the whole picture. Moving so that he was shoulder to, well, not exactly shoulder with the Lead Agent, Ducky flicked though his memoirs as he tried to recall what exactly he was meant to be seeing. After a few moments of silence, Ducky finally placed his sight on the area that had positioned the chair Tony had been tied to. An image fell into reality through younger looking eyes. The chair had been the focal point in a room, the pivot from where all the pain and suffering of several people had been. The last time had been after a week of desperation as NCIS was looking for one of their own. Gibbs had been unbearable, his guilt outweighing anything else. It had been torturous and methodical and Gibbs was barely hanging onto his sanity. They had finally gotten into that room, Ducky was almost sick with rage when he saw the shape of the body before him. It was a single gunshot wound to the head, male, Caucasian and wearing the clothes they had been last seen in. Ducky came back to reality with a thud, a thought of utter hatred filled his being as the coppery smell of the blood hit his nostrils as did the putrid stench of urine.

Looking back in Gibbs' direction, all Ducky could do was place his hand onto the nearest shoulder that had slumped with the guilt that all this was his doing.

"Oh Jethro, I'm so sorry."

The slumped form of the Team Leader stiffened as though a spark of electricity had shot through him. His eyes became bright blue pools of desperation as he turned to his friend. Dr. Mallard now knew what was happening and who the target had really been. Tony was not the intended target. They were always meant to find Tony. They were probably premature in finding him alive but they could take that under their wing as one for their team. The question now was, however, if they had not thought that Tony was already dead, would they have had the chance to find him at all. This was for Gibbs. This was torture in another form. Gibbs had to pay like he had to last time. This time, Ducky knew, the bastard wouldn't be walking away in cuffs. This time it would be in a body bag.

"He's not getting away with it again, Duck. I will not lose Tony too."

With that statement, Gibbs walked back out the door, pushing through his two junior agents. After looking at each other, Ducky gestured for Ziva and Tim to follow him, an order neither would disregard twice.

Both had overheard the conversation, or lack there of, between the two men, wondering what on earth the pair were referring to. Following the hall back down to the front door, Tim and Ziva found Gibbs just standing, looking into the distance as though there were something out there that they were missing. Gibbs showed off his uncanny ability to stalk intended prey but this was different, this was a challenge. His stance was proud; his ears were cocked to listen for any unusual sound. Then as swiftly as the motion came, the two agents witnessed an uneasy calm rest over their colleague. They both watched as Gibbs absently massaged his gun hand with the thumb of the other. Both were brought to attention at the sound of his tone.

"McGee! I need you to get in contact with dispatch. Tell them we need numbers."

"What for?"

The stare that Tim received was well noted.

"We may have located the hide out of a Serial Killer…"

Tim's and Ziva's eyes met in confusion. Tim's asked the question and Ziva answered with a slight shrug of her shoulders.

"…One that has been on the run for close to three months. Let Mulvaney know to contact the Director and appraise him. He will need to get in touch with the Director of the FBI. We will need Agent Fornell's help on this one too."

McGee stood, dumbstruck. How did Gibbs know it was a Serial Killer? They'd only found evidence of one body and although he hadn't been overly pleased to see them, he was alive and on his way to a DC hospital, more than likely Bethesda.

Noticing Tim's lack of response, Gibbs barked again at the more junior member of his team.

"That's an order, McGee!"

"On it!"

Tim walked back towards the house, pulling out his cell as he did. Hoping he could get some sort of signal out here in the back of nowhere, Tim gently pushed past Ziva to get to his task at hand. Ziva just stood silently, awaiting her orders.

"David! You need to go to the hospital. I need you with Tony. I want you to know everything that he does. Tony is still Tony, just a little angrier. He won't talk to me. Maybe you might have better luck."

Ziva turned on her heel, heading towards the Charger on the other side of the grounds. She was almost out of sight when Gibbs yelled again.

"David?"

Ziva turned swiftly again, her eyes locking with the closest thing she had to a father. Gibbs opened his mouth but no sound came out, unsure of what he had wanted to say. Ziva just simply nodded.

"I will be gentle with him, Gibbs. He is my friend also."

Gibbs smiled slightly, knowing that she understood the gesture.

Tim rounded the corner, still looking at his phone, laughing slightly. Ziva stopped and regarded Tim, a look of death entering his realm from the former Moussad Officer.

"This is not funny, McGee!"

Tim, still lost in thought, started laughing a little louder, drawing Gibbs attention.

"You really have been doing this job too long." Ziva stormed off towards the car, shaking her head because she was sure that Tim was losing it.

Tim just laughed harder as she walked away, trying with all his might to stem the sound. He stopped abruptly when the calloused hand of his Boss whacked him upside the head.

"What is so funny, McGee."

Tim's laughter slowed and he swallowed hard. Gibbs stood well within Tim's personal space, their eyes interlocked in a battle of wits.

Trying to explain what he had been thinking about to Gibbs, Tim got lost somewhere between trying to stop laughing and hyperventilating in the process.

"Well, you see Boss…" Tim wondered if this was a good time to try and explain this idea, seeing as Gibbs was so close to him. He figured he would take the risk simply because there had been a void of laughter for a long time now and Tim felt he should try and break it.

"I was thinking about Tony and how we thought he was dead."

Gibbs eyes grew darker, also inviting Tim to continue. He wanted to know what he was killing the boy for before he suffered the life sentence.

"Well, you… you see, Tony by all accounts died but he survived and now we've found him alive but I realized just how funny it is to find him alive even though we all thought he was dead."

Gibbs was so close to McGee now that Tim could feel the hot breath of his boss on his face, the smell of coffee and the intensity of the moment causing Tim to open his mouth again, disregarding his brain's orders to keep his mouth shut. He had to get Gibbs to understand how hurt they would have been if they hadn't of found Tony when they did. When he finally got the majority of the thought across, Gibbs' look of shock was quickly turned into a look of intense anger.

"I don't find that remotely funny, Ma-Gee!"

Tim shrank as Gibbs words hit base but instead of shutting up like the rest of his body was trying to do, Tim couldn't help but open his mouth again, almost in the fashion of Anthony DiNozzo.

"B-But Boss! You don't understand!"

Gibbs walked back, squinting his intimidation in Tim's direction.

"Who else could live through two more deaths and live to tell the story?"

Gibbs eyes softened, offering another smack to the back of his head, this one not as hard as the first but a wake up call just the same.

Tim nodded in acknowledgement, agreeing to never speak of it again. Gibbs turned around, a small smile evident on his face. Only his loyal St. Bernard he thought as he started the search.

********

Gibbs hit him again. He opened his mouth yet again to ask why and was once more met with a fist to the face. Gibbs had belittled him, humiliated him... left him for dead. Obviously there was so much pent up anger behind the stillness of the Team Leader that Tony had been lulled into a false sense of security.

"You're worthless, DiNozzo!"

Gibbs words vibrated throughout his being. How could he have been so wrong? He trusted Gibbs, with his life of all things and then he turned around and ended up belting the living crap out of him. It didn't make any sense. He would not have believed it but he saw it with his own two eyes, felt it with the force of the hammer that had broken his ribs. The pain as the whacks to the jaw hit again and again and again. Then there was the continuous pain that emanated from his back with every movement. He didn't know what damage lay there and Tony wasn't sure if he actually wanted to know.

Tony awoke to staggered breathing and the need to throw up. In an attempt to control the first, he had uncontrollably achieved the second. He had to get out of there, he couldn't handle it. He needed to go home and get some rest, away from the constant interruptions and the smell.

Tony pressed the buzzer to alert a nurse. One came in about a minute later, looking as though she was immensely pissed off with the patient. The manner of her voice clearly stated it.

"What is it this time, Mr. DiNozzo?"

"I need to see a doctor. I'm signing myself out."

The look on the nurse's face was one of incredulity. He had only been found twelve hours ago and he wanted to leave. He had a partial fracture to his skull, it was only minute but the doctor had wanted to keep him in for observation. The wounds on his wrists needed constant care, the flesh so rotten that it was feared that gangrene might set in. The most worrisome was the massive gash that ran down the length of his back. It had been deep and was the newest of the battle scars laden across his body. It had required close to forty sutures and the pain levels would be unbearable if the high dose of morphine wasn't constant. The other worrisome thing was that there were burn sights across different areas of his torso and the surgical team tad used a good couple of hours getting the slivers of metal out of his back, some of them actually having been healed into the wounds they had created. This man had gone through hell, for months and he wanted to sign himself out. This man was definitely stubborn if he wasn't a little bit insane.

"Mr. DiNozzo…"

"I'm fine."

Nurse Ratchett made her way across to the edge of the bed, hoping to offer some sense to the boy.

"Do you even know what's going on in that head of yours?"

Tony stared at the short, stout woman in front of him. She was shaped a lot like a teapot, he thought, except she had short brown hair and both her hands were on her hips. Tony silently laughed to himself. Instead of the teapot, she was the sugar bowl.

"Mr. DiNozzo, you haven't even been in hospital for twenty-four hours. We keep telling you we can't release you because you have no next of kin to take you in and we sure as hell..." Nurse Ratchett whispered as she said the next bit, "…aren't letting you out of here in your condition."

"And what condition would that be, Ma'am?"

Nurse Ratchett regretted saying it after it flew out of her mouth.

"I'm sorry, Sir. We have no cure for plain stupidity!"

That was it! Tony had had enough. He was not going to stay here with a nurse who felt compelled to belittle him. He was a grown man! He had been in similar situations before and he had survived. He had managed to go home and sleep it off. Hell, he'd been taken hostage for three months and here he was, still alive, still fighting and she had the gall to call him stupid.

Tony stood up abruptly and stared the woman down, which wasn't hard as she was immensely shorter than her patient. The moment that Tony stood to his full height above her, he was surprised she stood her ground. However, the look of fear in her eyes could not be hidden. She looked into his eyes and saw the haunted look behind them, the determination and the anger, the immense amount of anger that lay just below the surface. Better to be done with him then. She didn't need an unstable patient on her ward, let alone one that had suffered whatever sort of torture for how ever many months. If he didn't want to be taken care of, so be it. She left the room to look for a doctor. She knew what the man wanted, an AMA form.

Tony slumped back down onto his bed. That little altercation had taken a lot out of the man, leaving him wondering whether he should actually reconsider and stay in the hospital another night. The smell of bleach hit his nostrils again and that clenched it. That smell was going to haunt him forever now. The room he sat in reeked of it, sometimes the smell was so strong it burnt the back of his throat. He couldn't stay here. He had to get back to his apartment and grab some things. He just couldn't stay here.

Tony started pulling at cords, detaching himself from monitors and drips, dislodging the cannula in the back of his hand, ignoring the blood now seeping from the site. He was getting out of here, permission or not.

To hell with them all! They didn't look for him before. They sure as hell won't miss him now. With that thought, Tony hopped out of his bed and tied his attire tighter, trying to stem the coolness around his body. He shivered involuntarily and looked back to the bed and grabbed the blanket that draped haphazardly across it. Wrapping himself up in it, he walked back towards the nurse's station, noticing that it was empty. He could hear feint beeping emanating from one of the screens. Tony slowly crept down the hallway, being careful not to move his back too much for fear he might cause more damage. The soft padding from his feet as they stuck silently to the lino floor meant he was able to creep up on anyone that may be in the vicinity. Once he reached the circular desk, he looked over and noticed that the screen marked five was softly screaming for attention and flashing like a slow strobe light. Bed five had been the one that he was in. Slowly, Tony reached over and turned the monitor off, causing an eerie stillness about the vacant room.

Tony etched his way down the corridor, his back pressed gently against the wall in an action to try and stay inconspicuous. It was early morning, he surmised given that most of the lights were off in the individual rooms and there was minimal lighting in the hallways. He snuck down towards the exit sign that lit up his escape route. Suddenly, Tony heard the familiar squeak of plastic shoes coming swiftly and in short steps down the hall as though they were determined to get to their destination in a hurry. Tony slipped into an open family room, his training as a Federal Agent having enabled him hide in silence. He watched the mini Hitler as she stormed down the corridor, obviously annoyed because Tony hadn't been co-operating with her earlier. He watched as she huffed down the corridor and turned towards his room. He had to be quick if he was going to make it out of there. Tony started half running through the hospital, his desperation to get out of the hospital evident in the long strides he took. He was only a few meters from the front door when he heard someone yelling behind him.

Tony turned swiftly in the direction of the broad-shouldered security guard that was looking in his direction. His yellow shirt hugged his frame snugly and the baton placed at his hip swung loosely.

"Where ya going, buddy?"

With his rapid fire training and quick wit under his belt, Tony stayed calm as he motioned to his mouth with his index and middle finger in a gesture saying he was in need of a cigarette.

The guard simply smiled and waved his hand in a shooing motion, giving Tony permission to stroll comfortably out the front door of the hospital and into the dark and crisp night.

A/N: please let me know your thoughts, they are all very much appreciated :D

Sal