CHAPTER 3

Gibbs looked past the shoulder of the man dripping all over his back porch. It was so dark and rainy, he could barely make out the gate at the end of the driveway, but it looked like it was shut. What's more, there was no vehicle in sight. Gibbs always kept the gate firmly closed because of the horses, and if anyone wanted to drive in, they had to get out of their car to unlatch it, drive in, and re-close it. The mechanism was tricky, and people often mistakenly thought it was locked. There was just enough room to one side of the gate for a person to walk through, but why would anyone be on foot in this kind of weather?

Gibbs started to ask the man where he'd come from, and what had happened to him, but the sky lit up with a bolt of lightning. It was followed by a sharp crack of thunder, too close for comfort, making the man on his doorstep jump. He was shivering pretty badly and it was clear he presented no threat, so Gibbs opened the door wide and ordered brusquely, "Get inside."

The look of intense relief on the man's face confirmed what Gibbs believed – that something pretty bad must have gone down. As soon as the guy was settled, Gibbs would give him the third degree.

The minute his wet visitor stumbled into the mudroom, he started shaking. Gibbs could see it was from more than the cold – reaction to whatever he'd been through, most likely. He took hold of the stranger's upper arm and guided him through the mudroom towards the kitchen, but the man halted, with a mumbled, "Wait," to remove his boots. They were loosely tied and slipped off easily, as if they were a size or so too big.

"In here. I have a fire going," Gibbs said, steering the man to the couch. He grabbed a blanket off the back of the couch and wrapped it around the man's shoulders, and at the same time, taking a good look at him. Even with the stubble covering the lower part of the man's face, a couple of bruises were visible on his jaw. There was another one on his cheek, close to his eye, which was turning purple. His forehead had a large scrape on it and there appeared to be dried blood in his left ear; to Gibbs, they were all signs of an altercation rather than a car crash.

The man's eyes darted around like he was assessing the place, checking out the exits. Despite his guest's nervousness, Gibbs didn't believe the man to be dangerous. More likely he was in trouble, he thought, the victim of a crime perhaps. Something bad had gone down – of that much was certain. Gibbs' sense of curiosity, and his need to get to the bottom of it, kicked in, even though his inner voice was sternly telling him, not to get involved.

His first concern was to get his visitor warm; the soaked man was still shivering and far too pale, and now he was staring at the window, where the sky lit up every couple of minutes. Thunder was still rumbling in the distance. Gibbs followed the man's gaze and said, "Let's hope that's the last of it. I'll get you a hot drink…and find you some dry clothes."

The man looked at Gibbs with a worried expression, and started to refuse the very help he'd asked for, but then he nodded, accepting what Gibbs was offering.

He's not used to being taken care of, Gibbs thought, as he put on a fresh pot of coffee and heating up the chicken noodle soup left over from his dinner. "You can use the phone. There, on the coffee table," Gibbs called out, leaning back a bit so he could peer into the living room. He had a clear view of the man, sitting hunched over on the couch, clutching at the blanket around his shoulders.

There was a moment of silence and then the man said, his voice soft, "Yeah, I g-guess…"

Gibbs poked his head into the living room, wondering why he was reluctant. "You want me to call someone? Family?" The man didn't respond so Gibbs asked, a little impatiently, "How about the police?"

Ah, that struck a chord. The man's head came up. There was fear in his eyes, no doubt about that, and Gibbs could tell the guy's brain was going a mile a minute.

Tentatively, the man huddled on his couch asked, "Y-you have anything hot to drink?"

Answering a question with a question was a standard avoidance tactic, but the man was soaked and cold, so maybe asking for some hot soup meant exactly that – he wanted something to warm his insides. Fair enough. "Yeah, got some soup already on the stove."

When Gibbs brought the man the steaming soup, he grabbed the mug with shaking hands and drank its contents as if he hadn't eaten for a week. He almost choked on the noodles swimming at the bottom of the mug, so Gibbs went and got him a spoon.

Gibbs stood over his mysterious guest and watched him eat. Without thinking, he adjusted the wool blanket that was slipping off the drenched man's shoulders, and Gibbs didn't miss the way the guy flinched at the brief contact. Trying to put his mystery guest at ease, Gibbs stopped hovering and sat on an upholstered chair nearby. He remembered they hadn't introduced themselves. "My name's Jethro, by the way."

The man put the empty mug on the coffee table with shaking hands, and offered a small smile in return. "Tony," he said. "Good soup." He looked at the phone lying on the table, but he didn't make any move to use it. His teeth were no longer chattering, and although considerable heat emanated from the fire, his clothing appeared to still be quite damp.

"You'd better get out of those wet clothes. You could do with a hot shower, to warm up your core," Gibbs said. He realized a moment later that he'd been unconsciously speaking in the calm, patient tone he used when dealing with victims of crimes. That he used to use, he corrected himself, when it had been part of his job to deal with such people. When Tony (no last name given) didn't make a move, Gibbs stood up. It was clear he had to give his visitor direction, or else they'd be sitting here all night. He spoke in a voice he hadn't used since he'd ordered his team to follow his lead. "C'mon, on your feet. You're with me, Tony."

For a moment there, it was a toss-up whether or not Tony would follow him, but Gibbs led the way to the bathroom. He made sure there were fresh towels and then turned on the shower, letting the water warm up. When he looked over his shoulder, he found Tony standing just inside the doorway, looking exhausted and unsure. He'd left the blanket behind, and Gibbs could see his clothes were still thoroughly wet.

The bathroom was pretty big, as it had once been a sitting room. A previous owner had converted it to a bathroom back in the '80s, and although the pale green and white tiles were dated, it was functional, with a big bath, plenty of counter space and a separate shower, along with a toilet. To Gibbs, it was downright luxurious.

Unsure about what he should do next, Gibbs asked, "You want me to help you?"

For a minute Tony looked at him blankly, but then he shuffled further into the bathroom, saying vaguely, "I'm leaving puddles on your floor."

He was, indeed. Gibbs replied, "Not a problem." Once again, Tony stood there, looking somewhat lost, so Gibbs took the initiative and said, "Let's get those wet clothes off you."

There was a sudden gust of wind, and the window lit up from a flash of lightning. The crash of thunder that followed on its heels startled both of the men. So much for the storm heading out of the county. It seemed to be intensifying, and just as Gibbs was thinking that maybe he should fetch a flashlight just in case, the lights flickered. He held his breath but the power remained on. "Better get a move on," he told Tony.

Tony made a feeble attempt to drag the wet sweatshirt over his head, but he was having trouble with the water-soaked material. Gibbs slowly reached out and helped him, and then together they removed Tony's t-shirt. Tony winced as he struggled to push his pants down. That was when Gibbs noticed several large bruises on Tony's back and ribs, and a raw, scraped patch on his shoulder, where a large splinter was embedded. There was no doubt in Gibbs' mind that someone had repeatedly struck the younger man, possibly with a length of wood as well as with fists. There was a big bruise in the center of his chest, others on his ribs, neck, face, some of them days old. Tony's knuckles were red, a sign he'd fought back. That damage was recent. Both of his wrists bore matching deep cuts, right across the wrist bone. If Gibbs were a betting man, he'd say those contusions had been caused by some kind of binding; not handcuffs…maybe from a type of cord.

The splinter, twice as thick as a toothpick, was lodged well under the skin at the rear of Tony's deltoid, but it was barely bleeding. The exposed skin of Tony's hip was bruised, too, and Gibbs wondered what else was going to be revealed once Tony was naked.

This was the point, Gibbs thought wryly, at which Ducky and Abby would have put their brilliant heads together and come up with the exact identity of the objects that had been used by Tony's attacker. And knowing them, they'd come up with the precise height and weight of the man as well. But Gibbs reminded himself that he was no longer part of NCIS, and he couldn't rely upon his colleagues to help him out. This wasn't an investigation either, just a curious set of circumstances regarding a cold and injured stranger who had knocked on his door, pleading for help.

Gibbs said, "You have a splinter here that needs to come out. I'll get out the first aid kit while you're showering."

Tony craned his neck to look at the wound. "I do? Oh…" He swayed like a young colt on wobbly legs. Gibbs held onto Tony's arm to steady him, ready in case he should he faint – which looked like a very real possibility at that moment.

"I'm okay," Tony said.

"Sit down," Gibbs ordered, gesturing for Tony to sit on the toilet seat. He pulled the younger man's damp socks off his feet, feeling how the frigid the skin was as he did so. As Tony didn't protest, Gibbs helped him remove his pants; Tony's wet underwear peeled off with the pants.

Tony huddled over, hugging himself, so Gibbs said matter-of-factly, "Best you get in the shower right away. You need help?"

"I can do it," Tony said, for the first time sounding sure of himself. He visibly gathered his strength and walked over to the shower, giving Gibbs a good view of his muscular ass and thighs.

Tony pulled the shower curtain over and moment later he emitted a moan as the hot water cascaded down his body. "Oh, this feels so good."

With a small smile, Gibbs retreated to the other side of the bathroom to give Tony some privacy but to be close at hand should Tony assistance. After a few minutes, it looked like his visitor wasn't going to keel over, so Gibbs called out, "I'm going to get you some clothes. You gonna be okay?"

Tony raised his voice over the noise of the water. "Yeah."

At least he now sounded a bit stronger, reassuring Gibbs. "Call me if you need help."

"Okay."

By the time Gibbs returned with a selection of his own clothing in his arms, Tony had finished showering and was seated on the toilet lid again. He was wrapped up in all three of the large towels that Gibbs had put out for him, and smelled of shampoo and pine-scented soap. Gibbs was glad to see that Tony's cheeks were slightly flushed from the heat of the shower. "Don't put the shirt on yet. Come in the kitchen and I'll fix up your shoulder."

Tony nodded and gave a small smile. He said, sounding stronger, "Thanks, Jethro…um…I hate to impose because you've been so nice, but…can I borrow a toothbrush? And…" He rubbed a hand over his jaw. "I'd love to shave."

Gibbs found a new toothbrush from his last dental visit, and he put a disposable razor and shaving supplies on the counter. After a glance at Tony's heavy beard, he left the whole bag of razors out. Tony would probably blunt a few blades when scraping off all that facial hair. Once again, Gibbs wondered what the hell the man had been doing out there on a stormy night like this, and how he'd been hurt – and by whom – but he decided to wait on any questions until Tony was dressed. "I'll be in the kitchen," Gibbs said. "Give me a shout if…"

Tony nodded. "If I need anything. I got it."

~ • ~ ~ • ~ ~ • ~

It took so long for Tony to appear that Gibbs had plenty of time to drink another cup of coffee, as well as make a couple of ham sandwiches, just in case Tony was still hungry.

He was putting the food on the table next to his large first-aid kit, when a voice from behind him said, "I'm done. Shaving this beard off was like shaving a grizzly bear…not that I've ever actually shaved a bear, but I shaved a friend's back once, and I can honestly say Steve could give any bear a run for his money and…"

Gibbs turned and faced Tony. The second he saw him, whatever he'd been about to say went right out the window. The rough, bearded, pale man had transformed into a smoothly shaved, less pale, tall and handsome man with big green eyes. He was wearing the borrowed sweatpants and socks, which reminded Gibbs that he had yet to find his visitor some shoes. The icing on the cake was the tentative smile forming on nicely shaped lips. Tony's hair looked different, lighter now that it was dry, and it was carefully combed off his face. His chest was bare and somewhat bruised, though nothing as bad as the array marking his back. Tony rubbed a hand over his chest and stomach, and for a moment Gibbs stared, fascinated by the way Tony's long fingers ruffled the thick chest hair as they passed by.

The biggest surprise at all – which, in retrospect, shouldn't have been such a surprise after watching the news earlier that evening – was that Gibbs now recognized the half-naked man standing in the middle of his kitchen.

Tony looked uneasy at Gibbs' blatant stare, but he didn't move an inch.

Gibbs blurted, "You're that kidnapped congressman. DiNozzo. Junior, not Senior."

Tony shook his head and smiled wryly. "Definitely not Senior. How do you know him?"

"I saw him on TV," Gibbs said, unable to take his eyes off his guest. He gave himself a mental headslap for gaping and pulled a chair out from the kitchen table. "Sit."

Tony did as he was told, and presented his right shoulder to Gibbs. For the next few minutes, neither man spoke as Gibbs carefully extracted the splinter and cleaned up the wound. He taped a heavy square of gauze over the oozing wound and then inspected Tony's wrists. They were raw, abraded from being tied, and the two matching cuts were quite deep, as he'd suspected. Gibbs used a liberal amount of antiseptic cream on the damaged wrists and wrapped them in gauze. Tony endured it all without flinching or making a sound.

"You should follow up with a doctor," suggested Gibbs.

Tony pulled a face. "Do I have to?"

"I don't know you well enough to make you go," Gibbs said, thinking how Tony sounded a lot like Langer. Brent had always made light of his more serious injuries, and Gibbs had become used to him waving off the need for any medical intervention.

"Are you a medic?" Tony inquired, looking curiously at Gibbs.

"No." Tony didn't take his eyes off Gibbs' face, so Gibbs said, "I run a horse rescue." Funny, he'd never actually said that straight out to anyone before. Of course Moira had introduced him to people, and had told them what he was doing, but this was the first time he'd stated his new business to an individual. "I've got six visitors out in the barn."

"Visitors…?"

"The horses."

Tony nodded, continuing to size up Gibbs out of the corner of his eye. Gibbs could feel the heat creeping up his neck; he wondered what the younger man saw.

Tony frowned a little. "What were you before?"

Gibbs asked, "Before?" Tony continued to look at him, and Gibbs eventually gave in. "Marines. Then I became a federal agent."

"Ah, a cop. I thought so. There's no such thing as an ex-cop," Tony said wisely.

Gibbs didn't correct him, because he supposed one could say he'd been a Navy cop. "Your hands," he said, reaching out. Tony hesitated for a second before allowing Gibbs to take his hands in his own. They were bruised, and the right hand had suffered a couple of split knuckles. Gibbs could make out scars on the right hand knuckles, a sign of previous barehanded fights. "They're always slow to heal," he said. Tony just nodded.

Once Gibbs had finished dabbing antiseptic on Tony's hands and applied gauze and tape, Tony said, "Thank you," with quiet sincerity.

Gibbs accepted the thank you with a small nod. "I'll get you some shoes," he said. A minute later, he was back from the mudroom, where doubled as a coat closet, with a pair of boat shoes in hand. He watched as Tony pulled them on, satisfied that they were close enough to his own size so he wouldn't trip over them.

Tony tried to thank him again, but Gibbs quickly waved him off. "You'd do the same for me, Tony."

Tony scrutinized him for a moment before nodding. "I believe I would, Jethro."

It looked like Tony had relaxed enough that he might just open up, so Gibbs asked, "How'd you end up here, anyway?"

Tony licked his lips nervously before saying, "I saw your light, and I ran towards it. It was raining so hard and…I could barely see where I was going. I was so cold." He wrapped his arms around his bare chest and immediately Gibbs fetched the dry clothes he'd put aside. Tony carefully pulled on a t-shirt, then a wool sweater and, for good measure, a sweatshirt with a hood. It was zippered down the front, and the metal teeth cut the 'MARINES' emblazoned across the chest in half. Tony gave a nervous laugh. "I don't know why I'm still cold."

"It'll take a while to warm up again. How long were you out there, in the storm?"

Tony looked around the kitchen, as if the answer lay somewhere in the room. "I don't know. A while."

That was pretty vague. Gibbs wondered if Tony was actually having trouble recalling what had occurred, with the mental and physical trauma, or if just couldn't face talking about it. Gibbs continued asking simple questions. "Where d'you come from?"

It seemed as though Tony didn't want to talk about it, judging from the way he shrugged.

Gibbs tried again. "How many of them were there?" Tony stared at him as if surprised by the interrogation, but Gibbs wanted to know what had gone down. "Should I expect someone to come looking for you? Are they after you, Tony? You were kidnapped. You've been missing for days."

There was fear in Tony's expression. He mutely shook his head before dropping his eyes. "No," he whispered.

"Go in by the fire," Gibbs said, as kindly as he could. "You want hot oatmeal or is a sandwich okay?"

"Sandwich is fine," Tony said and went into the living room.

Gibbs carried in enough sandwiches and mugs of coffee for the both of them – without asking, he added cream and sugar to Tony's, as the man was probably suffering some level of shock – and set them on the low table in front of the couch. He sat near Tony, wanting to hear his story.

Tony drank the coffee, apparently liking the way Gibbs had fixed it. He picked up a sandwich, but after a couple of bites, he seemed to lose interest. "Sorry," he said. "I'm just really…tired."

"It's okay," Gibbs assured him. "Talk to me, Tony. You've clearly been through a lot…" He really should pick up the phone and call this in. People were still out there looking for DiNozzo. And yet, he felt compelled to hear Tony's story from his own mouth, in the privacy of Gibbs' home. Once the authorities got here, it would be chaos. Reporters would follow, with cameras and with no compunction about stepping over the line. The media attention, and the FBI with their relentless questions – it would all be too much for Tony, on top of everything he'd been through.

Tony sniffed and fiddled with the edge of the sweatshirt, looking like a kid who was being coerced into a confession. In a small voice, he mumbled, "Don't know where to start."

Gibbs said, "At the beginning." He took a risk and laid a hand over Tony's, squeezing it to let him know he was there for him. As soon as he'd retracted his hand, Gibbs wondered where that gesture had come from. It wasn't like him to reach out and touch someone, not even when he felt something for a victim. It wasn't pity though, more like empathy colored by a strong urge to make things right. "Just tell me, Tony."

Nodding, Tony gave in. "Okay." He took a shaky breath and swallowed. "I don't…even remember how it happened. I think I might have been coming back from a run." After a long silence, he said, as if it were painful to speak, "I woke up in the dark, thought I was blind until I realized there was something…a blindfold over my eyes. I felt like I was going to throw up. I didn't though. And my hands were tied. So were my feet. " Tony looked down at his bandaged wrists, holding them together as if they were still bound. "He used rope at first, with my hands tied behind my back. I t-told him I had t-trouble breathing, tied that way, when I was lying down. H-he changed to zip ties and let me have my hands in front of me. It was easier, for when I had to take a piss."

"You bargained, asked for small favors," said Gibbs, thinking of the FBI Guide to Kidnapping. "That's good."

"I was really out of it at first. H-he drugged my food and water, and I couldn't think. I slept a lot."

"How did you escape?"

Tony didn't reply. Instead, he frowned, trying to recollect something. "How long have I been gone? D'you know?"

"Five days. I saw it on the news."

Tony looked shocked. "Is that all? It felt like a lot longer." He was silent for a long time, and then said, "It took a while to figure that nobody was coming, and if I wanted to get out alive, I'd have to do something. Whatever he was dosing me with, it made me so groggy, I could barely sit up. Then I started hiding the food under the bed, and I poured out the water wherever h-he w-wouldn't see it…under my pillow. I felt better after a couple of days, sharper, so when h-he untied my feet and t-took me to the toilet…that was today…I told him I had to take a big dump. H-he left me alone. I remembered how I'd seen some college guys on YouTube, trying to break zip-tie handcuffs." Tony smirked a little. "I did what they did, lifted my hands high, banged them down on my chest." He gave a small laugh, looking pleased with himself as he rubbed his sternum. "It worked, even if it hurt like crazy. Believe me, I was surprised as hell when the zip-tie snapped." Tony held up his bandaged – but free – wrists and grinned crookedly. "See? Exhibit A. Proof that it works."

"You got away," Gibbs said approvingly. He wondered if Tony knew he stuttered whenever he referred to his kidnapper; he didn't think so.

Tony blinked a few times and he licked his lips. "I didn't just walk away…It wasn't that easy," he said resentfully.

"What happened?"

Tony wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "I had to fight my way out. It was…well, let's just say that back in the day, I had a reputation for being scrappy but this…this was brutal. I think I…I sort of went off the deep end. H-he k-kept trying to get on top of me, and h-he got his hands around my neck and…and…" Tony stared into the distance with haunted eyes.

"People do extraordinary things when put in extraordinary situations, Tony," Gibbs said with sympathy and understanding.

Tony shook his head and said, "No."

"You did what you had to."

"You don't understand," said Tony, in a harsh whisper.

"Then tell me."

"You see…I grabbed him and banged his head against the floor, again and again, and…I think I k-killed him." Tony started to shake, badly enough that Gibbs thought he was going into shock, but then he saw the tears, and Tony's head came up, his eyes angry and defiant. "I killed him! I bashed his head in. And you know what? I'm glad I killed the fucker! I'm glad! And I'd do it again! Fuck him!"

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