Raw

Ziva finally got herself together and made her way towards Bethesda. It was well into the night. Ziva was exhausted from lack of sleep and high emotion. Getting out of the Mustang, she dragged her feet across the deserted car park and through the welcoming sliding doors of Bethesda Hospital. Walking towards the High Dependancy Unit, she was stopped in the corridor by a security guard built like a brick wall with arms and legs.

"Where are you off to, Miss?"

The guard rose from where he was seated to come out from behind his shield. Max Creswell had been a security guard at Bethesda for going on nine years. Prior to that, he had been a marine but a large piece of shrapnel in his left knee had led to an honorary discharge from the service on the basis of medical grounds. Max was good at his job. He enjoyed it. He loved working with people and for people and no matter what came up, he had no real complaints. He stood a good foot above Ziva, which for any other person would normally give him an intimidating presence. She, however, was not fazed. Holding up her badge, she announced she was off to see Tony.

"Do you have any idea what time it is?"

Max's voice was one of incredulity. It was almost loud enough to echo off the hollow walls. Being nearly one o'clock in the morning, it was well after visiting hours. Surely she didn't believe that having that shiny little piece of metal was going to deter him from following protocol.

"I am Special Agent Ziva David! I need to get in there and question Anthony DiNozzo. He's been viciously attacked and is a witness to a possible serial killer. I need to see him NOW!"

Maybe it was the lack of sleep, or maybe just the raw emotion of the day. This security guard did not understand the importance of her being able to see Tony. She needed to see him, to touch him, to hear him talk just so she could be sure that he was alive. She needed to be sure that he hadn't died on that plane!

"Not on my watch, Love. Come back tomorrow when he's had some rest. He won't be going anywhere if he's as sore as you say he is. You look like you could use a bit of a kip (sleep) yourself. Go home and get some rest. You and he will probably do better in the morning."

"You do not understand…"

"I understand perfectly well and I don't care who you are or what you do. You are not going into this hospital tonight. It is one in the morning! You need rest. He needs rest. Come back in nine hours when visitors are welcome of any variety."

"No, you do not…"

Ziva stood back as Max rose to his full height. Maybe this would deter her and she would just go home.

Normally, Ziva would just side-kick this guy and make her way through to see who she needed to see, but the guy was right. It was late. She was tired and Tony would still be at the hospital when she came back in the morning. Holding her hand up in defeat, she walked back out of the hospital towards her car, unaware that in only a couple of hours, that same security guard would allow Tony to walk voluntarily out of the hospital.

Ziva hopped into the car, the fatigue she'd been fighting finally taking its toll. She had one last thing to do.

Gibbs phone vibrated at his hip. Ziva's name and number flashed across his screen and he opened it up with a gruff, "Gibbs."

"They won't let me in to see Tony, Gibbs. They said that it would probably be in our, and his, best interests to see him tomorrow when visitors are allowed in."

Gibbs noted the tired sound emanating from her voice.

"Good work, Ziva. Go home and get some rest. McGee and I will be out here for a while. There's a motel back in South Gate that we're booked in at. Go and see Tony, first thing in the morning."

Even though Ziva didn't say anything, Gibbs could tell that she was nodding. Come to think of it, he probably could do with a bit of sleep himself. Five hours wouldn't get them that far behind. Gibbs hung up the phone knowing that Ziva had got his message. As he called the troops in from their hard day's work, Gibbs stated the plan, with Fornell beside him, for the following day.

A cold shiver ran down his spine as though someone had run their fingernails down a blackboard, while walking over his grave. Anthony DiNozzo woke with a start, his back screaming out in pain as he twisted in an awkward motion. In the shock, Tony did the same. Realising where he was, Tony quickly quietened his pain drenched yell, listening intently for any movement from above. After a few brief minutes, nothing resounded from upstairs, no children running, no loud footsteps and no whispering of "Did you hear that? What was that?"

Allowing his body to relax momentarily, Tony looked around his surroundings. He was at the lowest point of a staircase, the step being his refuge from the coldness of the concrete floor below. With the blanket wrapped tightly around his shoulders, he stood up, slowly. He deliberately made his way across the floor, his head tilted to the side as though to see the world from a different angle. He glanced around quickly, pulling out draws to see if there was any food in this God-forsaken place. Nothing jumped out as edible but the appearance of a rifle seemed to calm Tony's nerves. Thinking it may come in handy; he slid the draw shut, keeping a reference should he ever require it.

With his stomach grumbling and having not eaten for a good while, Tony decided it might actually be safe to explore quickly upstairs, at least to try and find some food.

Each thump of the step coincided with a grumbling noise emanating from his stomach. He couldn't remember the last time he ate, and if he was honest with himself, he didn't want to either. He dragged the blanket behind him and walked into a very modest kitchen. It was painted a basic yellow with cupboards that were pulled out of the middle of the 1980's. The stove and oven looked as good as new even though they matched the rest of the decor. The only item in the house that looked remotely new was the refrigerator. With its' faded opaque finish, it was the only part of the kitchen that seemed inviting. So Tony, with his stomach constantly complaining, moved across the black and white checked linoleum floor to see what he could find to eat. Opening the door without a sound, all Tony found was some out-of-date milk, a couple of slices of ham, some butter and a soft carrot. It seemed that no one had lived here for a while.

Throwing out the milk and the carrot, Tony made his way across to the tallest cupboard of them all. Opening the double doors, Tony was met with some crisp bread and cereals, some spreads and dry biscuits. With his limited options, Tony grabbed the crisp bread and decided to at least see if the ham was edible.

Tim awoke to a faded olive green curtain with, what looked like, silhouettes of orchids on it. The sun shone brightly through the minute gap in the curtains, causing his eyes to squint even though they were shut. Finally convincing himself that he should get up, he pivoted so that his legs draped over the side of the motel bed. Hunched over and looking like the living dead, Tim rubbed his eyes in an attempt to loosen the sleep within. Groggily, he stumbled across the small vicinity, and clumsily got out the kettle to attempt to make decent coffee. After waiting for the water to boil and adding it to the usual freeze-dried, Tim took a sip of the hot brew. After it hit his tongue, he froze. It tasted like thin mud that had been over heated. He stepped across to the sink and spat the foul tasting liquid from his mouth.

Tipping the rest of it down the sink, and spitting out the mouthful he had taken, Tim felt his day couldn't possibly get any worse. He was wrong. His phone started beeping and vibrating across the table. Expecting Gibbs' name to be flashing on his screen, without thinking, he answered it without checking who it was.

"Timothy McGee!"

The shrill cut of the voice and the anger laced behind it had made him wish that it had in fact been Gibbs on the other end.

"Abby?"

"McGee! Why didn't you call me, or email… or… SOMETHING!"

Tim went completely pale. Through all the chaos, no one had thought to ring Abby and tell her that Tony was actually alive.

"H-How did you find out?"

"Palmer told me. He told me and you didn't. Neither you nor Gibbs had the decency to tell me that Tony was alive! I'm preparing your death sentence as we speak!"

A thousand thoughts ran through Tim's head, most of them associated with ways he could be killed without any trace evidence. The next thing Tim realized was that he could hear sobbing down the other end of the line.

"…And we just abandoned him, didn't look or anything! He was hurt. He was alone. Oh my God, McGee! What if he had of died? He would have thought that no one loved him! He would have been gutted…"

"Abby?"

"… And what that psycho did to him? If I ever get my hands on that bas-"

"Abby?!"

"… Gonna boil him in cod liver oil with hydrochloric acid while he's still alive..."

"ABBY?!"

"What, Tim?"

"He's going to be fine. He's DiNozzo. If anyone can bounce back from this sort of problem, it's him. Repeat that back to me Abs."

"But Tim…"

"Abby!"

"Tony is going to bounce back from this problem. He will be alright."

All Tim needed to do now was believe it himself.

Gibbs had a hard time trying to track down a decent tasting coffee. His stash unfortunately had been used up. He didn't think that finding DiNozzo would put him through so much caffeine. That freeze dried stuff in his hotel room couldn't even be classed as mud, let alone coffee. So after driving for around about half an hour, he eventually resorted to the fact that he was going to have to wait.

Yesterday had taken its toll on him, not that he would admit that to anyone. Finding Tony had been a shock in itself. Locating the remains of all of Playford's victims, that was something else. This farm belonged to Playford's Uncle. He'd received it after his Uncle had passed away. It was meant to be split with his twin brother, but he had died several years prior to Playford's capture. No foul play, the report had stated, well that's what John Cameron had discovered.

"Hey Boss, you know that…"

"Playford had a twin brother? Yeah, I'm aware Cameron. What of it?"

"Well the report says suicide."

Gibbs just stared across the bullpen, waiting for the junior agent to get to his point.

"I'm thinking that his brother was his first victim."

Gibbs had been on Jeremy Playford's trail for a week or so. Once Fornell had come into the picture with Playford as his suspect, he'd needed NCIS' help to get information on the former lieutenant. Turned out he'd gone rogue after returning from Iraq. Operation Desert Storm took its toll on a lot of men. Gibbs had all but wiped memories of what happened over there, least of all getting caught up in that land mine blast. He could understand some of the chaos it caused back home but it didn't justify Playford's actions.

Gibbs swilled his coffee, enjoying the brief moment when Cameron's voice broke the reverie.

"Gibbs? You hear me?"

"Yeah I heard ya Cameron. Go see if Ducky can get hold of the coroner's report and I'll also need a warrant to exhume the body."

Blackadder listening in on the pertinent information being dealt chimed in.

"Gibbs, you can't dig him up! On what grounds would you tell the judge? I need evidence to catch his brother? Last I checked, it doesn't work that way!"

Gibbs shut his eyes, calming himself down before he did something he might later over to Blackadder's desk, Gibbs spoke softly into her ear, "Well, then Blackadder…" Gibbs paused for effect as he raised his voice so that Blackadder had to step away from him to protect not only her hearing but her ass as well, "… get me some EVIDENCE SO THAT I CAN TAKE IT TO A JUDGE SO I CAN EXHUME THE BODY! ARE… WE… CLEAR?"

Cameron watched the exchange and laughed until Gibbs turned on his heel and stared in his direction. Cameron turned around and headed towards Ducky's lab, happy to be out of the firing line of one Leroy Jethro Gibbs.

Tony after having managed to stomach a small amount of crisp bread decided that he probably should try and change his bandages. Slowly and carefully, Tony made his way upstairs, trying to locate the bathroom in the hope of maybe having a shower. Eventually, he reached the top, having to stop and catch his breath from the effort. After he regathered his strength, Tony took the time to take in the house that he was invading.

He stood on a landing, covered in a carpet that was probably the original lay when the house was built. It led down towards several doors, three of which appeared to probably be bedrooms while the fourth was clearly the bathroom. The sun shone through the window in there and reflected light off the tiles, engulfing the hallway. Opening the door to one of the bedrooms, all Tony saw was a heap of boxes from floor to ceiling as though the people that lived here had recently moved in but hadn't had time to unpack the items within. In amongst the boxes though was a neat and tidy bed that happened to look overly enticing even amongst the clutter. Closing the door, Tony moved into the bathroom, firstly noticing the mirror. Dragging the blanket behind him that was still wrapped around his torso, Tony took note of his reflection, gasping in shock at what he saw. The man that stood before him looked nothing like the man he groomed and remembered. He had lost a lot of weight, his face appearing sickly with how thin he was. His hair was displayed in every possible direction on his head, and was a lot longer than he liked to keep it. It was also greyer than he remembered but gladly, he noted, his hairline was still intact. He had masses of hair stuck together with a red coloured tinge, obviously, he said to himself, from blood. His beard was unkempt and wirey, long and tangled. It was going to take a hell of a lot of shaving cream and blades to get through this lot, he thought absently. Thinking about it, Tony started to rummage through the draws, trying to see if he could find some soap or anything to help him get tidied up. Finding soap, shaving cream, disposable razors and some spare toothbrushes, he prayed that no one would come home while he was using their shower to get rid of the evidence of the hell he had been through.

Turning on the shower, steam quickly covered every inch of the room, enveloping Tony in a warm embrace that he had missed. Dropping the blanket from around his shoulders and taking off the hospital gown, he stepped into the shower recess, letting the water run over his body momentarily feeling a freedom he forgot existed. That was until the water reached the gash on his back and the burns at his wrist. Then he yelled, the echo of the bathroom increasing with the pain as it rose with the steam into his being. That was when the lonely tears finally fell.