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Chapter Fifteen

I Got Friends in Low Places

It was the insistent pain in his chest that finally drew Tony back to consciousness. It was sharp and unrelenting, demanding his attention, making it hard to focus on anything aside from the need for relief. He groaned. It took him a moment to fully awaken and asses his situation. He was lying on the cold, concrete floor beneath a metal chute of some sort. The room was dark and musty-smelling, but he could see beams of light through small cracks in a doorway not far from where he was lying. The room itself was bare save that metal chute above him and a few dryer vents.

His memories gradually came into sharper focus – being assaulted at the bar – awakening in a darkened room – a plastic tarp – threats – desperation. He'd escaped, ducking down a laundry chute, and hoping for the best.

Well, he was alive, anyway, but as his thoughts formed, it was as if all his other senses came online.

The additional pain in his head, hand, and now his ankle made itself known, all duller than the pain in his ribs, but still noteworthy. The ankle pain must've come from landing. He was shivering, although he wasn't entirely sure if it was cold or shock. The musty smell that permeated the air was joined by other scents – rotting and decay, perhaps from other victims who'd met their demise here. He could vaguely hear the sounds of shouts and cars from outside. He wondered if his captors were still close by, searching for him.

That thought made him sit up with a panicked jolt.

Bad idea.

His head spun, stomach roiled, and he proceeded to throw up what little he had left in his system all over the floor. He had no idea how much time had passed since his abduction, or if his captors were even still hunting him.

Perhaps they'd gone to ground, deciding to lay low until they were prepared to strike. If he'd been too slow and lost them before they could be stopped, Gibbs would kill him… and Sully might've run out of time.

Dragging his sleeve across his mouth, he was surprised to see it come away with blood stains. Right, his face went a few rounds with Sonny or Matt, he couldn't really remember. For all he knew, it might've been Rocky Balboa.

Slowly this time, he pulled himself to his feet, breathing heavily. His ribs protested fiercely, nearly knocking him out again. He staggered to the doorway on his swollen ankle, hoping there wouldn't be someone waiting on the other side. He didn't think he had it in him to escape again. Gibbs must be looking for him by now, right?

For once this night, something went his way. He pulled the door open, the rotting wood giving little resistance, and looked out onto an empty street. The brightness of the day surprised him. How long had he been out? The night was long over. He could see a few cars driving by on the street further away to his left, but his location down this smaller road seemed rundown and deserted. A chilly wind blew across his face, causing him to break out in goosebumps.

He tried to figure out where he was, searching for any known landmarks. There were several areas in the city that had seen better days, but he didn't recognize anything familiar. Deciding the risk of his captors still patrolling the main street in search of him was too great, he went in the other direction.

His breathing labored and swaying on his feet, he began to move. His ankle protested every step, and he knew it must be pretty swollen since his shoe felt uncomfortably tight. There were still clumps of dirty snow and ice along the curb. He wasn't going to go far in the shape he was in, and he really wished payphones were still a thing. It would make his life much easier.

It was very cold, and his teeth began to chatter. He was immensely glad he'd never had a chance to remove his flannel overshirt at the bar. He'd probably have frostbite by now – and it still was a distinct possibility if he passed out on this deserted street.

His progress was slow as he limped along, certain he was screwed if any of his captors turned down the street. He was dizzy, and he kept having to steady himself against the buildings he passed. Eventually, though, he made it to an ally running along the right side of the road. Tony paused, trying to catch his breath. His chest felt really tight, and a sharp pain tightened it every time he tried to take a deep breath. It reminded him of when he had the plague.

Blinking, he took another good look around, startled to realize he knew this place. For a night that seemed to have lasted a hundred years, he really wasn't all that far from the Vault Tavern. He knew there was a spot in the building at the end of this ally where the homeless often took shelter. He'd brought a few strays there a time or two when the local shelters were at capacity. At least there was some protection from the elements.

Chico used to stay there a lot – and Tony did run into him recently in this neighborhood. Could he get lucky twice in a row? That wasn't usually how his luck worked.

He began to walk towards the building, but he was so wobbly, he lurched into the side of a building, jarring his ribs. Crying out, he breathed through it, knowing it wasn't all that much further to go. He moved slowly, each step bringing more pain, and his breathing becoming more labored.

He limped past a chain-link fence, clutching the fingers of his good hand through the wire to remain on his feet. Before he reached the end however, his knees gave out, and he sank to the ground below. The pavement was icy, wetting his jeans from the knees down, his legs rapidly becoming numb.

As his vision began to grey, he saw a dark, blurry outline lumbering towards him. Someone was bending down, trying to get a look at his face. Tony didn't recognize him, but it looked like he might be a street person.

"Chico," he gasped.

The bum's bearded face crinkled, staring silently before turning and walking away. He wore a long, tattered coat and a red woolen hat with a sad excuse for a pompom still clinging to the top. Tony tried to gasp for help, but he didn't have the breath to form the word. He remained, crumpled against the fence, trying to gather enough strength to get up.

"Dino?" another voice asked questioningly.

Tony forced his eyes open. As if by miracle, only a few feet away stood Chico, along with the other man and his sad pompom.

He nodded weakly, resting his weary head against the chain-link fence.

"Dino. What happened to you?" Chico asked, moving closer and hoisting Tony's arm up to swing over his shoulder.

Tony groaned in pain, vision blurring.

"Help me get 'im inside, Johnny. I can't lift him meself," Chico said, now also panting.

Barely conscious, Tony was unable to assist them at all, but eventually, they dragged him into their hiding spot. They stopped when they reached a pile of dirty rags that had once been blankets, or maybe rugs, resting against the far wall. They eased Tony down upon the pile.

Vaguely, he remembered that some of the local street girls often brought their "dates" around here if the john didn't have a car. He really didn't want to think about it since he didn't have a choice. He couldn't move if you paid him.

There was a fire burning in the middle of the space, providing at least a bit of warmth from the frigid temperatures. Several people were huddled around it, hidden away from the world during the middle of the day, either sleeping off the night's activities or awaiting closing time so they could solicit the workers and business folk heading home.

"Dino? That really you?" a husky female voice asked.

Blinking to clear his vision, Tony's eyes focused on a gaunt woman wearing skin-tight jeans and a faux fur coat. She was a call girl he'd once known well. She'd been just a teenager at the time, and he'd tried repeatedly, whenever she'd been brought to the station, to let him call her parents or get her into a foster home. She'd have none of it and always ran away again.

"Silly Wabbit," he gasped, a trace of a smile tugging at his split lip.

Despite his situation, he was pleased to see she was still alive. He didn't know her real name, but she called herself Trixie LaBeau. It always reminded him of Trix breakfast cereal.

A grin bloomed across her heavily made-up, time-ravaged face. "You always were too clever," she said. "You look terrible. What happened?"

Tony knew this was his best chance, but unconsciousness was insistently calling him. He could only hope they'd agree to help.

"Case," he said. "Bad guys. Vault Tavern. Cops."

Chico nodded enthusiastically. "I know! The fuzz are all over the fuckin' place. I 'ad to stop work early and take cover."

"Yeah, I saw 'em, too – scarin' away all my customers," Trixie said, pouting.

"Need… favor," Tony said, panting.

"O'course, Dino – I owe you," Trixie said, ruffling his hair fondly.

"Look for cops 'tween here and club. Older guy… grumpy, silver hair, blue eyes. Looks like… he's in charge. Gibbs. Only one… trust," he said, winded.

Both Chico and Trixie glanced at one another warily. Approaching cops usually didn't work out well for them.

"Please. Gibbs won't… bust you," Tony said, his eyes growing heavier. "Trust him… with my life."

"Okay, Dino. I'll do it," Trixie said, nodding as if to help her make up her mind.

Chico nodded, patting Tony roughly on his shoulder.

"Careful. Talk… no one… else," Tony said, his eyes fluttering shut and finally giving in to the bone-deep fatigue that had dogged him.

/* /* /* /*

Looking down a dark hole cut into the floor suited Gibbs' mood perfectly. He was nearly vibrating with fury as he followed Fornell down the crumbling wooden stairs into what had probably once been a wine cellar. His mind turned over the conversation he'd just had with his junior agents. What were they thinking? How could two highly trained special agents do something so reckless? There had to be more to the story than what they'd volunteered. McGee looked deservedly abashed, but Gibbs' thoughts kept being drawn back to Ziva. She was angry and having difficulty suppressing it.

She gave into her emotions too easily, and those same emotions usually led to violence. It's why he'd argued with Jenny about her decision to have the liaison officer work undercover on this case. He'd pulled rank on Ziva back in the office about the pecking order amongst them, which he shouldn't have to do, but he assumed was the cause of her anger. He knew her Mossad instincts and reactions were deeply ingrained, but she valued herself too highly. She wasn't Gibbs' partner; she was his subordinate – and part of a team. A lone wolf isn't part of a team.

She wasn't coping with the team aspect. DiNozzo had seen it – why hadn't he?

"We're going to need flashlights. It goes on much longer that I can see," Fornell said, sticking his head back out of the tunnel.

One of Fornell's agents stood above them in the supply room. He nodded and went out to the truck to get the supplies they'd need. As soon as he stepped away, Sacks, McGee, and Ziva all gathered around the opening, looking down.

"See anything, Boss?" McGee asked, looking very pale and rather sick.

Gibbs was too angry to bother with an answer.

"Sacks, you stay here and put together a team to question all these witnesses. Find out if they know about this tunnel, or where it leads. Send more agents down to accompany us through. We'll search the area where it ends. Have Kehoe take the rest and search locally around this building. Be sure none of our suspects slipped through any cracks. Let me know if you find anything, and I'll do the same," Fornell instructed.

"Boss, I want to come and help you search," McGee said, eyes pleading.

Gibbs knew he felt guilty. He could understand the feeling, but he was still too angry and not inclined to make his junior agent feel better.

"I will come, too," Ziva said.

That was the last straw. A statement rather than a request.

"No. You won't. You go outside with Kehoe. McGee, you're with me," he barked.

McGee nodded gratefully and scrambled down the ladder, but Ziva attempted to change his mind.

"The area here is covered. I think I would be of more use searching with you. I have excellent tracking skills and have been trained to see what others miss," she said.

"Not a request. Kehoe has lead," Gibbs said, turning his back on her in dismissal.

Maybe the cold air would cool her off. He was sure Kehoe would let him know if she gave her any trouble or disobeyed any orders.

Once Fornell's team arrived with the flashlights and supplies, they made a trek through the tunnel. Gibbs hoped that with this many people using it, the ceiling would hold and not collapse down around them. He kept that thought to himself.

There was a bend in the path, but it eventually came to a stop after about a quarter mile. There was another splintering ladder, but the rest of the tunnel was blocked by rocks and earth. It must've caved in at some point since the Civil War ended.

Gibbs took the lead and ascended, followed quickly by the rest of the team. He pushed on the ceiling above the ladder, which opened as another trap door. There was nothing on top of this one to hold it shut. He moved away from the door so the others could climb out behind him.

They'd ended up in what looked like an abandoned convenience store. It was empty, long fleeced of anything useful, and the walls and shelving that remained had been vandalized. The windows were boarded up, but not very well. There was a small amount of light coming through cracks in the wood indicating the sun was coming up. The thorough search of the club took longer than he'd realized.

"Boss, we've got blood spatter here," McGee said tensely, leaning over a spot on the floor.

It was still bright red and not completely dry, but minimal. The direction of the spatter pointed toward the doorway – and it was recent.

One of the FBI agents took out gloves and collection swabs to get a sample.

"I've got more over here, but this looks older," Fornell said.

Without a word, Gibbs pushed the door open and stepped outside. They were in a seedy area of the city, although he knew they hadn't come far from the club. A good number of the buildings were abandoned, appearing as if they were awaiting a wrecking ball. The few places still in use had metal bars across the windows and doors after the shopkeepers locked up for the night. The sidewalk was icy, mud-splattered snow lay in clumps where it had been shoveled aside. He supposed a bright blood trail leading him straight to DiNozzo was too much to ask, but there wasn't a single trace of him having been there. They could've hustled him into a car and sped off. By now, they could be anywhere.

Not that he wanted DiNozzo to be hurt, but the longer he was missing, the odds of finding him grew slim. Gibbs wished he'd disregarded his concern that the perps were watching DiNozzo and gone to meet him at the diner before his shift, like Kehoe wanted to do. Perhaps DiNozzo could've told him about the tunnel and saved some time in beginning their search.

"Anything?" Fornell asked, stepping out of the store behind him.

Gibbs remained silent.

"We'll find him. I'm going to call the local PD and have them cordon off this area, so we can search in a grid pattern," Fornell said, pulling out his phone.

"Check the abandoned buildings first. DiNozzo found the last bodies in an abandoned building," Gibbs said.

He kicked a clump of snow, only it was too frozen by the cold to do more than hurt his foot. He gazed up and down the street, hoping his gut would give him some sort of hint on which direction to head.

He'd been the one who insisted to Jenny that DiNozzo was the one for this job. That he could handle it better than anyone. Had he pushed too hard? There had been a string of undercover ops in the past few years that hadn't gone that well for DiNozzo, although each time, they got their man.

DiNozzo nearly died from the plague less than a year ago, and here Gibbs was again, looking for the culprit that hurt him. He hadn't been fair to his SFA lately, suspecting he was the one causing the disharmony on the team rather than where the problem really lay. Why did it always take DiNozzo being injured or in trouble to remind Gibbs how much he meant to them… to the team as a whole… to him.

He was a bastard, and he knew it. Always had been, although perhaps he'd mellowed some when Shannon was alive. Her image, forever young, appeared to him now, as it always did when he needed solace, and he smiled sadly. She'd always had a mischievous sparkle in her eyes making it appear she was up to something.

DiNozzo's had that same sparkle, and sometimes it made Gibbs wonder if he and Shannon ever had a son, if he would've had those same impish eyes. Kelly had his eyes, although a darker color – somber, more serious. He'd always wished she'd inherited Shannon's instead.

After the loss of his family, Gibbs found a job where he could do some good, and it helped fill the emptiness. But he knew he was impossible to work with – Tom Morrow told him that often enough. Impossible, until he'd teamed up with a hotshot cop from Baltimore. DiNozzo never seemed fazed by his glares, snarls, and insults – whether they were deserved or not. Gibbs knew he'd hit his mark on occasion, and DiNozzo wasn't as Teflon-coated as he appeared. Still, he'd always shown up for work the next day.

Had he used up too many chances? Pushed his luck too far once too often? He hoped not. He needed another opportunity to make it up to his agent, the best one he'd ever known.

Ah, Shannon, can you just keep an eye on him until I get there?

Once the various police departments showed up that morning, they began cordoning off the area. They paired off in twos to begin searching the buildings. As the day wore on, and they turned up nothing, Gibbs' anger and frustration continued to grow. He was short with everyone, furious and enraged by their lack of progress. Even Fornell was giving him a wide berth.

The sun was beginning to set, and they'd just finished sweeping yet another building, still coming up empty.

McGee had been eyeing him nervously all afternoon. Every time he started to approach, he shook his head, turned around, and found something else to do. They'd been up all night, they were running on fumes, and they'd found nothing. Gibbs didn't have the time or inclination to hold McGee's hand and soothe his anxiety.

Still, he had to give the younger man credit when he eventually bucked up and approached him.

"Er… Boss," McGee said, swallowing convulsively. "I'm… er… I know I shouldn't have been dancing."

"Ya think?" Gibbs asked, unable to control the heat behind his words.

McGee flinched. "I know, and I'm beating myself up over it…but… I had Tony in my sight the whole time while I was on the dance floor," he said miserably.

"Then how did he end up missing?" Gibbs asked.

McGee's shoulders slumped. "I should've followed him to the men's room. I know that," he said.

"Yeah, you should've. What possessed you to dance? That's not like you," Gibbs said.

"I know," he moaned. "Ziva said it would help me work on my undercover skills since I was so bad at it. I knew I needed to improve–" McGee stopped, halting abruptly. His eyes grew wide and panicked as soon as he realized he'd let slip it was Ziva's suggestion.

"She's been grooming him."

DiNozzo's accusations from that night in his basement rang in his ears.

Gibbs was more at fault than McGee. Dancing while undercover wasn't the problem, if, as the younger man said, he'd kept his eyes on DiNozzo. The problem was listening to Ziva's decision to not follow him into the men's room. McGee was there as a bar patron; there was nothing out of the ordinary about dancing or wanting to take a leak. He needed to learn to stand up for himself. Even Abby knew exactly how to get what she wanted from him. He had a problem with domineering women.

Gibbs should've already broken him of that. It was time to start.

"And what would you have done if she told you to turn off the radio on a stakeout? Demanded you do it. Would you have stood up to her or gone along?" he asked, shouting.

McGee's face colored brilliantly. Even his ears turned red. "I.. ah.. I'd like to think I w-wouldn't," he said quietly.

He was so earnest, so sincere, Gibbs couldn't keep at it. Berating McGee didn't do anything to quell the raging anger he felt. He had to walk away, leaving his junior agent standing there, before he said something McGee would never recover from.

He noticed Fornell on the street corner with the captain from one of the precincts that had been helping in the search. DiNozzo's old department wasn't there.

He'd asked.

That would've at least given him a target for his rage.

"We've still got nothing. Some of my guys have been on duty since yesterday. I have to send them home for some sleep. I'll have replacements here within the hour," the captain said.

Gibbs' fury erupted. He went storming up, grabbed the man's arm and spun him around. "An hour? Do you have any idea what can happen in an hour? Keep your men here until their replacements arrive," he shouted.

"Gibbs!" Fornell said, grabbing his shoulder and trying to pull him back.

"Hey! Who the hell are you to tell me my job? Get your hands off me," the Captain said, bright red spots of anger appearing on his cheeks as he shoved Gibbs off.

"Jethro, stand down, or you'll have to be removed," Fornell said, sternly, still holding him back.

He glared at Gibbs, and Gibbs knew him well enough to know when he couldn't be pushed. Jerking away from the hand on his shoulder, he stormed away, toward another one of the buildings that hadn't yet been searched. Night had fallen, and the temperature plummeted even further.

As he was walking away, he heard Fornell mutter, "Don't mind him. It's one of his pups who's missing."

Gibbs kept walking. They were nearing the end of the squalid area they'd been searching. There was a street running perpendicular that had more traffic, and there were more businesses and occupied buildings that way. The few shopkeepers who had businesses in this end had gone home for the night, putting the security bars back in place. Still, with the steady police presence all day, there were more people around. Their curiosity made them brave the cold to gawk at all the activity from behind the barrier the local PD put up.

As he rounded a corner, he stopped, breathing in deep gulps of the night air. They were no further along than they'd been that morning, and DiNozzo had been missing for nearly twenty-four hours. Bad things tended to happen after twenty-four hours. He knew that on a professional level, but he refused to believe DiNozzo had run out of time. The guy was quick on his feet and had talked his way out of bad situations before – particularly during undercover work. That was a bad trend that should've been considered. Gibbs felt powerless, not a feeling he was used to having.

They'd located Barrows and Evans' cars in the lot at Vault Tavern. They hadn't been moved or approached all day. Warren's car was still in his driveway. They'd even tracked down Sonny Warren's address and put a BOLO on his car. Nothing yet. They could be anywhere right now, but his gut kept telling him they were close.

DiNozzo was here, somewhere. He just had to find him.

While he'd been lost in thought, he'd let his guard down. Suddenly, he detected a presence stealthily approaching him from the right. He grabbed his weapon and spun around.

"Freeze," he said coldly.

The woman – a street walker – gasped but stopped moving, her eyes widening like saucers. She was painfully thin and had the haggard appearance of too much drug use. She wore jeans and a lot of make-up, teetering on the ice in her high-heeled-boots.

He put his gun away, deciding she wasn't a threat. "You're going to have to go back behind the police tape," he said wearily.

"Are you Gibbs?" she asked, her voice trembling.

His exhaustion instantly evaporated, and he looked at her more carefully. She was spooked, ready to bolt in an instant.

"Who wants to know?" he asked carefully.

How could she possibly know his name unless someone told her? Finally. He had to restrain himself from grabbing her and shaking the information he wanted from her, but he knew that would be a mistake.

"Are you Gibbs?" she repeated, her voice growing stronger but her eyes moving quickly from side-to-side.

He nodded. "I am."

She breathed a sigh of relief, her body sagging. "You come with me."

"Did Tony send you?" he asked, already sure of the answer but needing to hear it. If he'd sent her – he was alive.

"Come with me," she repeated.

"Okay. Let me just go get my partner and–"

"No!" she shouted, taking a step back and shaking her head forcefully.

He watched her, considering.

"He said to only trust you," she whispered.

There was never any question he was going to go with her. Fornell and McGee would panic, but they'd be happy if he came back with DiNozzo.

He swung his arm out invitingly, "Lead the way."

Note: This story does have vague inspiration from Dead Air. It was after watching a re-run that it began taking shape. As always, I love to hear your thoughts. Thanks for sharing.