Checkmate
By ProfessorElk
Disclaimer: The NCIS characters mentioned below are not mine and no profit has been made in the writing or posting of this story.
Summary: Set after 12x11 "Check." Not having his glasses on to check the caller i.d., he answered with his usual, "Yeah, Gibbs." "Checkmate." The voice on the other line, although only spoke one word, it was enough to make his blood run cold.
Spoilers: Set after NCIS episode 12x11, "Check." General spoilers for the previous NCIS seasons as well.
Part II
The tires of the sedan screeched to a halt, an expression of shock and horror looking back at him through the reflection of the rearview mirror.
He watched as the inside of the van was splattered with scarlet, the vehicle swerving violently out of its lane, down an embankment, flipping on its side first before coming to rest in the ravine.
He was outside running toward the van before he could put on his emergency lights, cell phone forgotten on the front passenger seat. Smoke was billowing from the engine, large puffs of white and gray against the clear blue January sky.
"No, no, no!" his heart screamed, the wreckage diminishing his hope for survival. He could see them through the spider web cracks of the windshield the three on them hanging only by their safety belts, lifeless.
"DiNozzo! Tony?" No answer.
"Ellie? Talk to me Bishop." Still no response.
"McGee? Come on Tim. Pull yourself together." He was met by silence.
He slid down the embankment, the snow covered ground making his journey faster, and stood helpless in front of the van. Where did he even start?
His only options were to either finish breaking the windshield or to try to open the driver's side door. Breaking the glass would mean risking showering his agents with more cuts, but cuts to the face would mean very little if they bled out from other unseen injuries.
Carefully, he pushed against the cracked glass with the heel of his shoe, cringing as it moaned before shattering. It took several attempts in numerous locations, but he was able to break enough glass that he could crawl inside.
All three were unconscious, or worse, and there was a large stain of red on McGee's otherwise pristine white shirt.
He was not there when it had happened so many years ago, stationed overseas fighting for others when his girls needed him to be fighting for them at home, but he had seen enough crime scene photos to know what event Michnev was recreating. He had lost his entire family then, and he did not know if he could bear it again now.
To be continued…
a/n: Thank you for all who have taken the time to read my humble little story. I so appreciate it! More is on the way :)