NCIS Special Agent Leroy Jethro Gibbs suddenly decided he'd had just about enough of this shit.

As he crouched uncomfortably on the hard, metal edge at the bottom of the tall staircase fixed to the side of the decaying, almost-deserted warehouse his team had under surveillance, Gibbs touched a damp fingertip to the wick in his left ear, closed his eyes to aid his concentration, and strained to hear something of the muted conversation taking place within the semi-darkened interior of the building. The continual distracting rhythm of the unexpected downpour was not only thoroughly soaking him but, worse, was interfering with the reception needed to hear clearly and, above all else, *that* was unexceptable.

The murky illumination from a distant street lamp threw the surrounding water-covered concrete and asphalt into mirrored pools of liquid silver and turned the old, brick facade into a slick, wet surface of shimmering luminosity. Glancing quickly around, he checked the security of his position and determined he was still concealed and well within parameters to safely move, if necessary, without being detected. He realized he needed to get closer...the noises coming through the earpiece, though sporadic and jumbled, didn't bode well for the undercover agent inside but he understood the importance of not intervening until all the incriminating evidence was presented and secured.

Raising a hand close to his mouth, Gibbs spoke into the small mic strapped to the inside of his wrist and hoped the occupants of the unmarked van parked at the very end of the long block were picking up a clearer signal. With the force of the rain now, he supposed the inside of the vehicle probably sounded much like the interior of a tin-roofed barn during a hail storm. Momentarily pressing his lips together into a grim line, Gibbs, nonetheless, attempted communication.

"McPherson, you copy?" He asked as loud as he dared under the circumstances.

A brief moment of static erupted before a clear voice responded. "I copy, Gibbs."

"What do you hear from inside?"

Another pause. "Our man's being questioned again. Same stuff as before." McPherson's words faded for an instant and Gibbs frowned. "...sounds pretty angry. Martinez is speaking to his guards in Spanish...his tone is agitated. Can you hear any of this at all?" There was an exasperated sigh. "Our agent is responding in Spanish now. Hell, Gibbs, how am I suppose..."

"Just listen for the damn signal, McPherson!" Gibbs barked in frustration, allowing his discontent to bleed over the wire. He hated having to rely on members from another team, much less another agency, and, even though both were profecient in their jobs, he couldn't help wishing Tim McGee could be in two places at once. Yep, a cloned McGee sure would be handy right about now...

"Gibbs," Ziva David's accented voice sounded in his ear.

"Go ahead," he quickly responded, eyes continually scanning the immediate area.

"I'm moving closer. Sounds to me like things are getting a bit rough in there."

Gibbs felt the fine hairs on the back of his neck rise and touched the ear wick again, straining to get some sense from the man in the command van of just exactly what was happening. He could barely make out the conversation being relayed to the recording devices in the vehicle but thought he could detect the sound of his agent's voice or the words of the Bralizian chemist they'd been tracking in partnership with the FBI but, one thing was certain, the tone of the dialogue coming from the inside the warehouse wasn't good.

"Fornell," Gibbs spoke again into his wrist mic, "things are heating up. I'm not going to wait much longer."

Another round of static assailed his ear and he grimaced, wanting nothing more than to rip the damned device away and toss it into the nearest puddle. A bright flash of lightening split the dark sky and illuminated his position, momentarily blinding him with it's intensity.

"Gibbs, wait!" Fornell's strident tones were suddenly very clear. "We need Martinez to willingly make the exchange. If he doesn't hand over those documents and discs, this whole operation will have been for nothing."

"Well, does it *sound* like he's about to give DiNozzo anything willingly?" The NCIS agent sneered at his FBI counterpart, pulling his weapon from the holster, and stepping clear of the metal staircase at his back. "McGee?"

"Here, Boss," came the quick reply, clear and void of any worrisome noise.

"Tighten up and wait for my go."

"Got it, Boss."

"Ziva?"

"Here," the alert response was immediate.

"Get ready."

"Gibbs!" Fornell's voice was almost shrill. "You can't..."

The unexpected screech of static sent Gibbs reaching hastily for the ear wick, the sudden shriek piercing painfully, making the ex-Marine grunt in discomfort. He tore at the device and yanked it out, biting back his moan when the disturbing sound of gunfire erupted from within the warehouse. Quickly raising the mic to his lips and sprinting toward the closest entrance, he pushed the thoughts of what he might find inside away and focused on the job.

"Go! Go!" Gibbs yelled, hearing more gunfire and the urgent shouts of the others involved.

Kicking in the flimsy panel, Gibbs immediately met an unknown trying to allude capture and wrestled the him to the floor, finally clipping the big man with the butt of his pistol and sending him sprawling. Clicking the cuffs around one of the meaty wrists as swiftly as he could, Gibbs secured the other end to a heavy, metal ring imbedded conveniently in the cold, concrete and moved on, determined to get to his agent as quickly as possible. He could hear the yells of the other agents as they plainly identified themselves and shouted the requisite 'clear!', rounding a corner just in time to see his undercover agent rise from the floor, yanking a smaller, balding man up by the scruff of his coat and giving him a good shake. Gibbs' eyes tracked to the other two unknowns, satisfied they were no longer any trouble and being secured by Fornell and his team. He caught sight of McGee and David approaching but focused totally on his undercover agent.

"You all right, DiNozzo?" he asked briskly, holstering his weapon and stepping closer to examine the small gash on the younger man's chin, quickly dismissing it as too minor for concern.

"Yeah, Boss," the green eyes flashed in anger as the man in his hold tried to squirm loose, "but Doctor Martinez here seems to think he doesn't need to behave." DiNozzo shook the man again. "Hold still, you little shit! Can't you see it's all over now?"

The Brazilian blinked angrily up at DiNozzo, swiveled his head just enough to glance at Gibbs, and suddenly began to laugh, the small chuckles and snickers growing rapidly into loud, almost uncontrollable braying, the intensity and volume making him appear quite wild and extremely insane. Between the spasms of mirth, he began to speak to no one in particular but to everyone in general, the Spanish coming rapidly, in bursts like machine gun fire, peppered with a sprinkling of English and Portuguese that made DiNozzo frown and step suddenly away, his face twisting with something akin to disbelief.

DiNozzo's rapid and unexpected retreat forced Gibbs to step forward and take control of the chemist, shoving him into the arms of McGee and David, and carefully watching as his senior field agent slowly reached around with one hand to pluck something like a dart from the back of his left thigh. DiNozzo's face blanched, eyes lifting to meet the concerned gaze of his boss, and then offered a bleak smile.

"Well, this is just great," he whispered with a touch of sarcasm, fingers releasing the object into the outstretched hand of his superior, cool digits caressing the warmer palm for only a second before dropping away.

Gibbs immediately looked down and bit back a scream of denial. He swiftly turned to where McGee and David had herded the crazed Brazilian and grabbed the smaller man by the front of the coat, giving the still-babbling doctor a rough shake of his own, determined to get all the necessary information he could, no matter what he had to do. He knew the chemist could see the resolve in his cold, blue eyes but could only growl when the unsane laughing intensified as the little man continued to stare at DiNozzo.

"Enjoy the trip," Martinez giggled crazily, his broken English even harder to understand through the continual laughter.

Gibbs slammed a fist hard into the soft, unprotected belly, effectively stopping the sounds coming from the little man, and immediately heard the startled surprise from those around him. He ignored McGee's gasped exclamation and David's hiss of astonishment but couldn't keep the two FBI agents from pulling him away from his intended target, especially with Fornell all but yelling some nonsense about filing charges of brutality against his team. Gibbs shook loose from the pairs of strong hands and whirled to confront Fornell, shoving the retrieved item into the man's face.

"The bastard's injected something into DiNozzo, Tobias!" He seethed, handing the FBI agent the now-empty syringe and watching as the other man's eyes rounded with sudden understanding. "We need to find out what was in this thing or we may *all* be in a world of hurt."

"Killing him isn't going to get you any answers, Jethro," Fornell tried to sympathize and looked closer at the wicked-looking instrument in his hand.

"Boss..."

"Well, it's a lot better than just letting him stand there laughing like some damned hyena!" He reached for the impliment but Fornell eluded the move. "Give it to me, Tobias."

"Boss..."

"Martinez is important to the government, Gibbs. You know we can't harm him in any way, that we have to turn him over...and we have to keep this," he indicated the object in his hand, "as evidence."

"I'm not letting him or that syringe out of my sight!" Gibbs hissed, standing toe to toe with his counterpart. "I don't give a damn what kind of information he has our government is so keen on collecting, he assaulted an agent with a concealed weapon and..."

"Boss, please..."

Gibbs whirled at the sound of the plea and cursed under his breath, stepping away from Fornell and back toward his agent. He could plainly see the apprehension and the confusion in the younger man's face but also saw a hint of something he didn't like. He reached to place a tentative hand on DiNozzo's arm and was surprised when the touch was easily avoided.

"DiNozzo?" He questioned the evasive move with a frown.

"Ah, might be a good idea if you didn't touch me now, Boss," the younger man's eyes pleaded for understanding. He took a deep, steadying breath and shifted nervously from foot to foot. "I'm beginning to feel a little strange..."

Martinez's renewed laugh was like a knife to the gut.

"...and I know I'm usually the last one to admit it but, you know, maybe I should be getting to the hospital or something...now."

Again Martinez laughed and said something in Spanish. Gibbs saw his agent's face grow tight and pale and he stepped closer, ready to offer aid.

"What he say?" He demanded, waiting until the green eyes focused on his face.

"He told me," DiNozzo swallowed thickly and rubbed a shaky hand across his mouth, eyes suddenly losing their focus, "I should...thank him for the journey I'm going to be taking, that I would soon...feel like a kid again."

"Tony," Gibbs began and was almost caught off-guard when the agent's eyes abruptly rolled up whitely, the lanky body slumping and heading fast to the floor. The former Marine quickly threw his arms around DiNozzo and turned, easing the unresisting form slowly the rest of the way and in a better position to monitor his condition. "McGee!"

"EMTs are just coming in now, Boss," McGee reported efficiently, voice quavering slightly, dropping to the ground on the other side of DiNozzo's shivering form and immediately placing a hand on his fallen co-worker's shoulder. "They've been on stand-by for..."

"We need to know what was in that syringe," Gibbs interrupted with a hiss and looked at McGee pointedly. "We need to get it to Abby."

McGee's eyes went wide. "Boss, that's...that's FBI evidence."

"It's evidence that just may save DiNozzo's life!" He barked and watched as the young man flinched back.

"Hey...hey," came a mumbled rebuke from the man under their hands, his awareness surprising them both, "no fighting allowed..."

"DiNozzo?"

"Yeah...I'm still here," came the slow, slurred response. "Feel kind of...funny..."

Gibbs gritted his teeth at the soft confession but hardened his heart and his resolve. "I need for you to stay with me, DiNozzo. Do you understand? No more passing out or falling to the floor. You hear me?"

"Hhhmmm...yeah, I..." another thick swallow and the eyes finally slit open, "...I got it."

Gibbs became vaguely aware of Fornell and his team, along with Officer David, sweeping the rest of the area and securing the surviving prisoners, evidence, and, more importantly, the briefcase they all knew belonged to Doctor Emilio Martinez. He wanted to get up and snatch the newly-bagged syringe from Fornell's fingers and have McGee run it to their lab as quickly as possible, he wanted to take his gun and fill that laughing Brazilian's mouth with every round he still had in his weapon, and he wanted to hold on to DiNozzo and assure him everything would be okay. Instead, Gibbs lowered his mouth close to DiNozzo's ear and spoke.

"What else did Martinez say?" He insisted, pulling the body a bit snugger, fighting the urge to just give the comfort the way he truly wanted. "Come on, Tony, this is important."

DiNozzo shivered and pressed his face against Gibbs' jacket-covered chest. "Why...why are you all wet, Boss?"

Gibbs sighed and gave the trembling man a brief squeeze. "Because it's raining, DiNozzo. Come on...concentrate for me. What else did Martinez say?"

The shivering increased but DiNozzo focused his glazed green gaze on his boss. "Said Petty Officer...Stanfield was just a...diversion...the briefcase..." He suddenly was trying to push up, eyes roaming wildly around. "Boss...you need...to get the...breifcase."

"Okay, okay," Gibbs soothed and easily kept the man in place, readjusting his grip before continuing. "What else?"

"Um...I..." DiNozzo's body suddenly spasmed, arching and tightening, breath catching in his throat. His fingers clutched at Gibbs' sleeve and held firmly until the tremor slowly subsided. "Sh...shit. Not...feeling too good...Boss."

As the EMTs finally made their appearance, both Gibbs and McGee were jostled aside, the former-Marine losing his connection with the downed man after a quick moment of hesitation and a huge serving of regret. He moved reluctantly toward Fornell and swiftly caught the other man's eye, jerking his head in a direction away from Martinez and the rest of the agents on the job. It was time for a little one-on-one.

"How's he doing?" Fornell asked with obvious concern as he joined Gibbs by a vacant wall.

"You really care?" The former Marine asked icily.

"Look, Gibbs..."

"No, *you* look, Fornell," Gibbs stood inches away, nose to nose, using every bit of his stature and personality to transmit his irritation. "I know you're not going to allow me to take that syringe back to NCIS for analysis but, at least, let it go with the emergency personnel to the hospital. It may be the only thing which can help the doctors with DiNozzo. You know if it was one of *your* agents you'd do it."

Fornell's expression darkened. "It's not about *your* agents or *my* agents, Jethro, and you know that. It's all about procedure. Just let me call the Assistant Director, run it by him first, and we'll get this all straightened out. Christ," he sighed in exasperation, "I don't want to see anyone harmed but we have to do this right this time or we may forfeit another ace in the case we have against this lunatic."

Gibbs swallowed his anger and bit back his rampant thoughts as McGee approached cautiously, the young agent's face pale and concerned. Immediately dismissing Fornell, Gibbs gave his agent his full attention.

"I took the liberty of calling Ducky, Boss," McGee offered quickly, eyes locking on and holding the blue gaze steadily. "He's going on to the hospital to get things set up for Tony's arrival. The EMTs have already informed Little Creek of the potential biological hazard and, from what I heard, the CDC is being called in."

Gibbs swore under his breath. It just kept getting worse and worse. He saw McGee fidget and knew there was more.

"What else?"

"Ducky said Director Shepard is upset with the turn of events and wants an immediate investigation into what happened with our communications."

"Like hell she does," Gibbs spat and turned to watch as DiNozzo was lifted and loaded onto a stretcher, his body swathed with a peculiar type of blanket and face all but covered with a mask. His frown of discontent grew. "What's DiNozzo wrapped in?"

McGee followed Gibbs' line of sight and sighed. "It's some new type of containment blanket, I think, used for handling suspicious or potentially dangerous bodies."

"They think he may be contagious?"

"I don't know, Boss," McGee admitted, shifting from foot to foot, "I guess they don't want to take any chances. But, if they were really concerned, I think they would have had all of us who's had any contact with him since the injection wrapped up too."

Swearing again, Gibbs could only stand helplessly by and watch as his senior field agent, the man he'd just started an intimate relationship with just a wekk past, was whisked from the scene, leaving those behind to wonder and worry about this strange turn of events. He glanced once at McGee and turned away. Angrily pulling his cell phone from a pocket, Gibbs took a deep breath and prepared to face the wrath of Director Shepard.

Almost a full hour later, after spending too much time at the warehouse, cleaning up too many loose ends, with too many seemingly inept representatives of the FBI in his way, Gibbs was finally pulling an agency car into the parking lot of Little Creek Naval Hospital and slamming it into the first available spot he could find, disregarding the sign clearly marking the area for physician's use only. Sprinting from the car, he made his way quickly to the emergency room entrance, bypassing the nightly regiment of drunks and drug addicts, of hapless accident victims, and worried parents cradling sick children. He moved straight for the large, automated double-doors, slapped the silver entry disc on the wall, and barreled through, catching sight of Doctor Donald Mallard involved in a deep conversation with two white-coated figures, the older man's worried expression shifting immediately at his arrival.

"Ah, good, Jethro, you're here," Ducky breathed quickly, his relief apparent. He gestured hastily to the physicians flanking him. "This is Doctor Hamilton and Doctor Phillips. They were the first to examine Anthony when he was brought in and..."

"Where is he?" Gibbs demanded, eyes scanning the immediate area, all but ignoring the man and woman his medical examiner was introducing.

"He's being prepared for isolation," Doctor Phillips replied, not seeming to take offense at the snub, her dark eyes serious and her mouth forming a grim line. "Until we can make the arrangements to get him to Bethesda, we can't take the risk of contamination."

"Bethesda?" Gibbs' scowl deepened, heart beginning to pound wildly in his chest.

"They're better equipped to handle the type of containment needed in this instance, Jethro," Ducky spoke gently. "The CDC wants him there and the staff here agrees it would be better, too."

Better for who? Gibbs wanted to ask. Instead, he tilted his head to one side, watching covertly as several members of the medical staff scurried back and forth from one of the curtained-off cubicles at the very end of the hallway, their masks, gloves, and full gowns easily giving away the identity of the patient on the other side of the heavy drape. Before he could take a step in that direction, Gibbs felt Ducky's restraining hand on his forearm, the touch firm and solid.

"I wouldn't recommend it, Jethro, and certainly not without the proper protective gear," Ducky's tone was kind but resolute. "He's already running a low-grade fever. The good doctors here feel the less people he comes into contact with now, the better it will be for everyone."

"I've already had contact with him," Gibbs growled, "and I *am* going to see him."

"Yes, well, be that as it may, you'll still need to wait until he's ensconced in isolation," Ducky shifted and then thought of something else the doctors had voiced their concern about. "Jethro, Timothy mentioned something concerning an attache case belonging to Doctor Martinez. I assume it must contain information only another chemist of that vile man's caliber could comprehend but having it here, and especially the hypodermic used to inject Anthony, would be very helpful. I understand Agent Fornell took possession?"

"Fornell isn't here?" This was not the news he wanted to hear.

Ducky shook his head. "Unfortunately, no. Everyone here is in agreement: having those items could be vitally important when the transfer to Bethesda occurs."

Gibbs nodded his understanding but Doctor Hamilton seemed to be getting angry. "I can't comprehend why the FBI would deny us the opportunity to begin some type of treatment for Agent DiNozzo. We've got some top-notch people here and, if he's been injected with something...insidious...that briefcase just might contain the documentation needed to produce a control or a cure. We're virtually working blind right now and only taking Doctor Mallard's word that this Doctor Martinez you've been chasing has produced some fairly nasty things for his government but, I can tell you, without that briefcase and the information it may contain, or even the syringe used, we just don't know what to do for your agent."

Gibbs felt the doctor's frustration acutely. Before he could respond, a flurry of activity from the direction of the cubicle caught everyone's attention, and a gurney was suddenly being wheeled out, the occupant swathed in mask and blankets. His pale face all but hidden, Tony DiNozzo's green eyes instantly found and locked on Gibbs' location and he struggled a moment to pull one of his hands free from the cocoon of covers. A big, male nurse was quickly at his side, speaking earnestly, holding the exposed wrist down and trying to get the irritable man to settle. DiNozzo seemed to rebel at what he was being instructed to do but with the IV ports in both hands and the threat of being physically restrained if the resistance continued hanging over his head, there wasn't much else he could do but comply. As the gurney began down the long hallway, the young agent flopped back in resignation and voiced his opinion...loudly.

"This really sucks, Boss!" He all but shouted, voice much stronger than it had been earlier in the warehouse. "I don't want to be anyone's lab rat!!"

When the unhappy man and his entourage of carefully protected nurses disappeared around a nearby corner that led to a bank of elevators, Gibbs frowned again and turned to face his medical examiner. "What's he talking about, Duck?"

"Until someone can figure out exactly what Agent DiNozzo was injected with," Doctor Phillips interjected hastily and ignored the sour look she received for interrupting, "and determine if it's potentially dangerous to the general population, he must be kept under close observation...like a lab rat." She shrugged at the term. "It's the only way to insure there won't be the spread of some contagion."

"Boss!"

Gibbs turned his unhappy face away from the group of doctors and watched as McGee and David hustled his way. His youngest agent looked slightly frazzled, eyes large with worry and stress, but Officer David appeared to be fairly vibrating with restrained anger.

"How's Tony?" McGee asked somewhat breathlessly.

Gibbs had other things on his mind and blatantly ignored the inquiry. "Where the hell is Fornell? Or, better still, where the hell is that syringe?"

McGee looked like he'd been caught with his pants down around his ankles and he nervously shifted from foot to foot. "I...don't exactly know, Boss."

"Well," this was not what Gibbs wanted to hear either, "what *exactly* do you know, McGee?"

McGee nodded and swallowed. "I know Fornell bagged the syringe, along with Doctor Martinez's attache, and intended to bring them here as soon as it was cleared by his supervisor."

"There's no way Fornell, or anyone else at the FBI, is going to allow someone in the general population access to Martinez's data, Gibbs," David cut in, shaking her head at the ridiculous assumption, her dark eyes flashing with irritation. "The life of one, insignificant, NCIS agent isn't enough to sway them to bring such potentially sensitive information to a place like Little Creek, even though it is a military hospital. They won't take that risk."

The coldness of her statement did nothing to concealed her bitterness and both Gibbs and McGee could see the fury boiling just under her carefully erected facade. They both knew she was probably right but Gibbs was depending on Fornell's turbulent friendship to find some way to get the information or the syringe here...before it was too late. He turned back to face Ducky and saw only compassion in the blue eyes.

I need to talk to DiNozzo again, as soon as possible."

The older man sighed and nodded, facing the other two doctors and quickly trying to explain the situation while Gibbs turned back to address his agents. He could see their fatigue but could also see the concern for their teammate and knew they would do anything and everything in their power to help, even if it meant turning away from the situation here and going back out to track down the evidence.

"Find Fornell," Gibbs ordered and nailed them with his patented 'or else' glare, "and tell that sonofabitch to get that damned hypodermic here pronto or, so help me, if I have to leave and come take it from him myself, I'll rip his weaseling little head off and shove it up his ass! You got that?"

"Yes, Boss," came McGee's quick reply while David nodded her understanding and, together, they whirled and moved to do as bid, their shoes echoing hollowly on the shiny, linoleum floor.

Gibbs turned away and refocused on Ducky. "Take me to DiNozzo."

Approximately ten minutes later and after receiving explicit instructions on maintaining the isolation field, Gibbs was dressed in all the necessary gear and getting his first real, good look at his senior field agent through the clear glass of the thick window of the secluded room. DiNozzo didn't appear to be sick or suffering in any way but Gibbs could tell something just wasn't quite right with the younger man. He stepped into the sealed room, heard the faint 'whoosh' of processed air, and moved toward the bed, watching as the man there opened his tired eyes and focused.

"I'd know those baby-blues anywhere," DiNozzo smirked and shifted on the mattress, trying to keep the ports in the back of his hands from accidentally snagging on any of the covers. He was secretly glad he hadn't been attached to anything confining yet but knew it was only a matter of time before that happened. Whatever was coursing through his bloodstream right now couldn't be good. Determinedly pushing those bleak thoughts away, he looked toward his supervisor and raised an eyebrow. "Gee, this seems just like old times, doesn't it?"

Gibbs grunted but bit back the reply he wanted to voice. He wished he could deny the similarities between this occasion and DiNozzo's last experience in isolation but knew he couldn't lie to the young man. Not now, not ever, not to him. Instead, he looked over the edge of his mask and took a safer, more familiar route.

"What the hell happened?"

DiNozzo sighed but understood the need for following procedure. Shifting once again, he looked away to collect his thoughts before speaking.

"Hell if I know, Boss. Everything seemed to be going just like we'd expected: we exchanged some last-minute posturing, poked fun at each other's country...you know, all the stuff that makes undercover work so much fun." He saw Gibbs' eyes grow dark. "Right. Martinez was ready to hand over the information concerning the shipments arriving at Newport News and then...wham! All hell breaks loose. I remember hearing this strange noise from somewhere, like a burst of static or a screech," he seemed to consider the thought for a moment, "you know, now that I think about it, it kind of sounded like a mic blasting through an ear wick." He shook the thought away but didn't see Gibbs' frown. "Anyway, Martinez's goons drew their guns, I heard someone yell 'FBI', and then I was pulling our mad scientist down and covering his scrawny ass so it wouldn't get blown off in the crossfire. Bullets were whizzing everywhere. The cavalry arrived, saved the day, and the little bastard repays my kindness by sticking his needle in my leg. End of story."

Gibbs watched as his usually unflappable agent digested his own words and lapsed into silence, the green eyes suddenly growing anxious before flicking away, moving to study a particularly interesting bit of lint on the blanket covering his chest. The former Marine closed the small distance separating them and bent close, bringing his face within inches of DiNozzo's.

"You're going to be fine, Tony," he whispered with a spark of heat. "I'm not going to let you get away from me this easily. Do you hear?"

The green eyes snapped up and searched what he could see of the masked man's face, fighting the urge to reach out and pull the solid body in for a nice, reassuring embrace. But their relationship was still too new, still too uncertain, so DiNozzo could only take a slow, calming breath and try to appease his traitorous thoughts by focusing on Jethro Gibbs' confidence.

"I hear you, Boss," he agreed, wishing he was bold enough to move his fingers from the blanket to Gibbs' hand. "I just...I just don't know where all this is going to end."

Gibbs straightened and placed a gloved hand on one of DiNozzo's bare wrists, just above where the identification band from the emergency room encircled, knowing the contact was needed, craved. He wanted to rip the glove off and touch flesh to flesh but knew, realistically, he couldn't help either one of them if he, too, contracted whatever the young agent was potentially carrying.

"Let me tell you the plan, as I understand it," he suddenly realized he could aleviate much of the apprehension he saw by simply taking the time to explain the proposed arrangements. He watched DiNozzo nod and settle. "The talk is the CDC has been called in for advice," the swift grimace of distaste appeared but was gone in a heartbeat, "and you're going to be transferred to Bethesda, as soon as transportation can be arranged."

"Well, shit..."

Gibbs eyed his agent and saw the forlorn look. "They're familiar with you there and, if I recall correctly, you're familar with several of them." He saw the green eyes roll in exasperation and bit back a smile. Oh,yeah...DiNozzo was *very* familiar with several of the staff. "So, how are you feeling?"

"Like an ass," DiNozzo quipped but instantly sobered, knowing the importance of answering honestly at this point in the game. "A little fuzzy around the edges, maybe a little achy, too, but lots better than I was earlier. Oh, yeah...no pain in the chest, no shortness of breath, and no coughing up blood. All in all, I'd say I'm doing just swell."

Gibbs nodded, catching the reference to his bout with the plague and could only hope they weren't about to face anything like that again. Never again.

"McGee and Ziva are tracking down Fornell right now...the FBI ended up with all the evidence."

"Of course," DiNozzo mumbled distractedly, hand pulling from Gibbs' grip and reaching to toy absently with the disposable gown the older man was wearing. "I, eh...I'm sorry, Boss."

"This wasn't your fault," he wanted to snap at the younger man but the words, somehow, came out more sedately than intended, the need to assure his agent, his new, younger lover, that things would be all right for them, no matter what. Realistically, he couldn't. No one, except Doctor Emilio Martinez, knew what had been contained in that damned syringe and that bastard would probably hold out for some kind of sweet deal with the American government before giving up any of his secrets. Gibbs grabbed the hand fiddling nervously with the protective gown and squeezed hard. "You listen to me, DiNozzo, you're going to cooperate with the doctors, here and at Bethesda, and do everything they tell you to do. We'll get to Martinez, we'll find out what he injected you with, and we'll get the antidote or cure or whatever you need to beat this thing. I just need for you to hang in there, have a little faith, and don't give up. Just...just don't give up!"

DiNozzo's expression slowly changed from quiet shock to growing surprise and, finally, to soft happiness. The shy smile erupting on his face made him appear years younger than his actual age.

"You really want me to stick around, don't you?" He asked almost bashfully.

Gibbs pushed a gloved hand over the young man's head, wishing he could feel the texture of the soft strands between his fingers. "Let's just say, I'm planning..."

The remainder of Gibbs' thought was silenced with the arrival of two like-garbed nurses, both moving toward the bed, effectively bringing the private conversation to an end. Gibbs watched one approach with a bag of some clear fluid and saw her reach to hook it to the nearby IV stand.

"Well, crap," DiNozzo griped, knowing he was now going to be, pretty much, tied to the equipment. The oxygen monitor and the blood pressure cuff could both be easily removed but an IV...well...DiNozzo squirmed uncomfortably at the thought.

"Party's over, sweetheart," one of the nurses spoke kindly, her eyes filled with understanding as she reached for one of the patient's hands. "Time to get some broad-spectrum antibiotics into you to see if we can keep that temperature from rising any higher."

"Antibiotics, huh?" DiNozzo grinned and cast a sweet look her way, catching her eyes and obviously trying to see how far his charm would take him with this woman. He lowered his voice seductively. "Don't suppose I could finagle a nice, warm sponge bath afterwards, could I?"

"Oh, honey," the woman's amused eyes crinkled above the mask as the other nurse snickered where she worked, checking readings and recording information, "you'd better be careful what you ask for around here."

"Yeah?" DiNozzo watched avidly as she competently inserted the needle into the port, still aware of Gibbs standing somewhere near the foot of the bed. He let his eyes travel from the back on his hand and rise to meet the frosty, blue gaze, offering a smile and a wink but continuing his converstaion with the woman. He kind of liked the idea of Gibbs being a bit jealous. "So, you going to do the honors?"

The nurse finished her task, checked the drip line, and looked pointedly at the young man, shaking her head with regret. "Not today, honey, but I *am* going to have to insert a catheter."

DiNozzo's right hand jerked to cup the blanket-covered area over his crotch in mock-protection, all humor and playfulness instantly fleeing at the announcement. "Why? I'm ambulatory...there's no reason why I can't get up to use the..."

"You see a restroom anywhere in here, darling?" The nurse cut off the young agent's thought and patted his arm in a gesture meant to soothe. Turning, she gathered the items necessary to do the deed and caught Gibbs' grim look. "Besides, you're no longer allowed to get out of bed."

"But..." DiNozzo was actually scanning the room to see if he was being told the truth about the absence of any facilities, his expression morphing swiftly into open anxiety. He didn't see the look exchanged between the nurse and his boss. "But...I can use a bedpan or a hand-held urinal or..."

"Agent DiNozzo, the doctors want to be prepared in case your body...well, in case there are complications," she explained as calmly as she could. She saw the two men exchange significant glances and knew they had experience with situations like this. At the younger man's crestfallen look, she sighed and patted him again, giving the shoulder a gentle squeeze as well. "If it's any consolation, I'm very good at doing the procedure and can promise I'll make you as comfortable as possible."

DiNozzo's bleak expression would have been laughable, if the situation hadn't been so serious. Gibbs stepped close again, itching to put his own hand back on the agent.

"I guess I'll just step out and let you have a little privacy..."

"What for? It's not like you haven't seen everything I've got already," DiNozzo pouted before he could think what the declaration would sound like to the two strangers in the room and almost missed the slight hesitation in their assigned tasks. Almost. The green eyes rose in silent apology but Gibbs kept his usual stoic expression firmly in place.

"Actually," the kind nurse was speaking again, ignoring the discomfort, "it would probably be best if you did leave, sir. The doctors indicated the CDC wants us to run some preliminary tests before Agent DiNozzo leaves for Bethesda."

"The CDC not coming here?" This was news to Gibbs.

"No, sir. They'll be waiting in Maryland. Doctor Phillips can fill you in with all the specifics, I believe. The orders came in a short while ago, just before we got the orders for the antibiodics and the catheter. I think there was a representative from your office speaking with her...a Doctor Mallard...so he should be able to answer all your questions."

Gibbs nodded and stepped back to speak to his agent again before departing. He could clearly read the apprehension in the miserable expression and knew it wasn't the time or the place to remind DiNozzo how his flirting ways always seemed to backfire and get him into a bigger mess.

"I'll see you again after I've had the chance to speak to Ducky and after these...nice people," he couldn't contain the small grin from escaping, "finish their tasks."

"Ha, ha...very funny," DiNozzo whispered and laid his head back against the pillow, closing his eyes in resignation. "It's not *your* dick that's going to be impaled."

Gibbs felt a twinge of sympathy, even though he knew the procedure wasn't anything as dramatic as the young man was making it out to be, and returned his hand to the strong wrist. "Remember what I said to you, DiNozzo. You do everything you're told to do. Understand?"

The green eyes reopened and his acceptance of the situation could be seen clearly. "Got it, Boss."

The quiet affirmation did nothing to settle the growing dread within Gibbs' belly but he nodded once more and turned away, never looking back or hesitating, and kept walking until he'd vacated the isolation area, angrily stripping off the protective gear and dumping it in the appropriate bin, taking only a moment to calm himself...now that he was alone. He worked to put on his game face, to get his mind-set focused, and ruthlessly pushed all thoughts of his personal feelings to one corner. He had a job to do and, as always, the job came first.

Almost ninety minutes later, while being loaded onto the Naval helicopter awaiting to take him to Bethesda, DiNozzo suddenly had a seizure, the unexpectedness and severity of the fit taking eveyone by surprise. The flight doctor and attending nurse hustled with the hospital staff on the landing pad, trying to keep the patient from harming himself and dosing him quickly with an anti-convulsant, waiting patiently and monitoring until he finally calmed.

Stepping back and turning to where Jethro Gibbs and Donald Mallard stood helplessly to one side, Doctor Phillips shook her head and sighed. She folded her arms, almost hugging herself, the gravity of her expression not lost on either of them.

"We need that syringe, Agent Gibbs," she stressed again. "If Agent DiNozzo is going to survive this, we need to have that syringe."

The copter's engine ignited and it's main propeller started to slowly rotate, the revolutions coming quicker and faster with each passing moment. The two men watched as DiNozzo's still form was loaded and secured into the containment berth, the displaced air from the rotor pushing against their bodies and whipping their jackets into a frenzy. At a signal from the pilot, they moved carefully toward the still-open hatchway and stopped to peer inside, both sets of blue eyes falling to rest on the young man inside.

Ducky's hand was suddenly on Gibbs' arm, grip tight and unforgiving. "Come as soon as you can."

"Not without that syringe," Gibbs' gaze never left DiNozzo's still face, now covered with an oxygen mask and almost as pale as the blanket on his body. "Not until I find that damned syringe."

Ducky nodded and released his hold, reaching for the handhold and pulling up into the body of the helicopter, strapping himself in securely. When he met Gibbs' eyes again, he expression was as grim as the NCIS agent had ever seen.

"Don't take too long, Jethro," Ducky warned before the doors closed. "Whatever you do, don't take too long."

And, as the speed of the main rotor built, Gibbs stepped back into the relative safety against a far wall with Doctor Phillips and waited until the helicopter finally rose and moved out into the night sky, taking away his agent, his friend, and his heart.

TBC

'What the *hell* is wrong with my body?'

Not a good thought to have at any time but it was Tony DiNozzo's first impression as he struggled up from the depths of unconsciousness, limbs leaden and totally unresponsive, and any attempt to shift into a more comfortable position failing miserably and repeatedly. The mattress under his back seemed too firm, to restrictive, too...unfamiliar, and he slowly realized he was *not* in his own bed or his own apartment. There were some strange, distant whisperings coming from somewhere, everywhere, but he couldn't comprehend what, exactly, what was making the noises. Blinking back the haze that seemed to have settled over his vision like a soft, gray fog and trying to clear the hollow echo plaguing his ears, DiNozzo managed to get his head to roll minutely to one side and focus just enough to realize he didn't know where the fuck he was.

'We're not in Kansas anymore, Toto,' was his second bleary thought.

Someone, or something, was suddenly at his side but, male or female, human or monster, he just didn't know. In fact, with the figure covered from head to foot in some strange, futuristic garb, and with the smooth, slick faceplate over the facial features, DiNozzo considered the possibility he'd been abducted by aliens and taken away for experimentation on some high orbiting mothership in a galaxy far, far away. Yeah, that was it...aliens. Heh. But not the chest-bursting, acidic saliva-dripping kind. He tried to grin but the effort just seemed too great. Plus, it made his skull pound and his head spin in a really weird kind of amusement park ride kind of way.

Blinking purposefully, DiNozzo tried to clear his vision again, wishing he could muster the strength to bring a hand up to wipe the cobwebs away. Maybe he was on an episode of The X-Files and Mulder and Scully would be busting down the door at any moment, guns drawn and ready for action. Yeah, that would be cool. He'd like to have the chance to tell Scully just how hot she was with that fine, tight body and that fine, red hair and that fine, pouty, little mouth that looked like it was perfect for sucking some fine cock. Oh, baby, yeah. Maybe alien abduction wouldn't be so bad, if he could be rescued by Scully. The urge to laugh was just a heartbeat from happening but he didn't want to risk setting the room to spinning any faster than it already was so he narrowed his eyes and peered at the masked apparition.

Or, maybe, he'd been transported to another reality after mistakenly stepping through a Stargate somewhere and he'd have to prove to everyone he was, in fact, the real Anthony DiNozzo, and not some stupid clone or cyborg or replicant or whatever else they thought he was...wasn't. Then, he'd be able to go a couple rounds with that big Jaffa or, better yet, that ripe, young archeologist with the tight, little ass. What was his name? Johnson or Jefferson or, shit, why couldn't he remember the name? Fuck it...he was going to giggle like a girl if he couldn't get a handle on this soon.

He stifled the nervous laugh of panic threatening to bubble up from deep within his chest as the mysterious shape at his side suddenly moved even closer, bending low and bringing the scary reflective mask nearer, just mere inches away from his face. He could barely make out his own reflection on the glossy covering and what he could see made him flinchback with surprise, his own mirrored image staring back, dotted with small, flat pads and long, wire leads that spidered away from his flesh in several directions. Shit, it looked like they were either going to attempt to jump-start his brain or fry it with bursts of electrical current. Either way, it didn't look good for the home team. DiNozzo wanted to turn away but, because this all appeared so out-of-body and other-worldly to him and, because he knew he'd never, in a million years, get to have this opportunity again, offered what he hoped was a jaunty, carefree grin and spoke as best as he could to the spooky figure.

"Take me...to your...leader." he rasped dryly, the coarseness of his own voice surprising even him. He tried to swallow but his tongue got lodged somewhere on this side of his throat and he ended up coughing feebly and, to his chagrin, almost pathetically.

"Anthony."

A disembodied voice spoke his name and DiNozzo thought the tone sounded vaguely human and almost familiar, even to his clogged ears. He tried again to blink the persistent fog away, tried to swallow around the parched, desert-like conditions in his mouth and throat, and attempted to identify, somehow, the figure hovering so near. He wanted to reach up, to actually make contact with the ambiguous shape but, for some reason, he couldn't lift either of his arms from their positions on the bed. For that matter, he couldn't get his legs to cooperate either. Shit. DiNozzo didn't think he was paralyzed, couldn't recall experiencing any accident or incident that would cause this dysfunction, so this strange turn of events just added to his confusion and apprehension and, unfortunately, sent a sharp stab of fear to his soul. Unable to help himself in any way, he began to struggle.

"What..." he tried again but ended up hacking and choking and sputtering and having a really difficult time regaining his breath.

There suddenly seemed to be several other of these strange beings all around him, on both sides of the bed, pressing close, suffocating with their nearness, stealing the precious oxygen from the room, and they were all speaking so rapidly and touching him, moving him, putting something over his face, and, oh, God, please, couldn't anyone see he just needed a little space to get some air? And, for that matter, why was it suddenly getting so dark in here and...and...

Ducky was gently but firmly elbowed away from the hub of activity around DiNozzo's bed and felt the wash of cold fear run down his back. He didn't like standing on the sidelines like some casual observer, unable to help or contribute in any fashion, but he knew the people in this special room were the best in their field and were working to assist and stabilize his younger co-worker as quickly as they could. He sighed behind the faceplate of his protective gear and knew this new turn of events did not bode well for the agent but, thankfully, this didn't appear to be another one of those dreadful seizures and, for that, he was extremely grateful.

It didn't take long, the potent sedative a member of the medical team had administered immediately beginning to calm and settle the restless patient, and one of the other occupants from around the bed withdrew to come join the aging NCIS medical examiner against the wall. Ducky could tell by the set if the physician's shoulders she didn't like the lack of progress they were having in determining an exact diagnosis for DiNozzo's symptoms nor the fact they'd been unsuccessful in identifying the unknown substance now flowing through his veins. He touched her arm in a kind gesture of compassion and understanding and saw a small, grateful smile momentarily lighten the hard line of her mouth but her tired, red eyes reflected what everyone, at this point, was feeling.

"His fever is rising again, Doctor Mallard," Lieutenant Commander Wainwright sighed, crossing her arms over her ample chest, and looking back toward the now-still figure on the bed. "Just when we think he's making a little progress and showing signs of stabilizing, his blood pressure and heart rate and temperature go haywire. The lab techs are working round the clock with the CDC expert but, so far, they haven't been able to make hide nor hair of this. I don't need to tell you, we're all kind of stymied by the lack of cooperation from the FBI."

He nodded his agreement. Everyone was baffled but, when even the CDC couldn't get the FBI to respond to the inquires concerning the whereabouts of Emilio Martinez's documents, bewilderment had quickly turned into suspicion and anxiety and the whispers of some type of government cover-up began to float around, especially when orders had been delivered from someone, somewhere, keeping the staff assigned to the care of the young agent to only a select but highly qualified few. He cast another frustrated glance back to DiNozzo, keen eyes taking in the oxygen mask, the assorted cannulae running from machines or drip bags to various ports and positions on the young man's body, and couldn't help but wonder what in the world was going on.

"I'm going to step out for a few moments, Roberta," he spoke softly to the woman, giving her arm one last squeeze. "I need to contact Anthony's supervisor and let him know what's happening." He sighed, dreading the phone call he knew he couldn't put off any longer. "I think I'll pop down to your office and fix myself a spot of tea first, if that's acceptable to you."

"Of course, Doctor Mallard," she readily agreed, knowing the past eighteen hours had been harder on him than he was willing to admit. It had been obvious, from the start, this young, sick agent held a special place in the older doctor's heart and everyone here would be hard-pressed to break the news to him when orders came barring him from entering the isolation area again. Roberta Wainwright knew that time was rapidly approaching and could only pray it didn't fall on her shoulders to deliver the message when it came. "Make yourself at home and take all the time you need."

"Thank you, my dear. I shall endeavor to keep my mess to a minimum," he gave a quick, little mock bow, cast one last look at the bed-ridden half of Jethro Gibbs' heart, and turned to begin the tedious process of carefully removing all the shielding garb he wore in one of the outer rooms specifically designed to function as a catch-all for equipment disposal.

Twenty minutes later, ensconced on Roberta Wainwright's office couch with a hot mug of strong, dark tea, Ducky placed his call and wasn't surprised when the connection was established after just the first ring of the phone. The terse 'Gibbs' that immediately greeted the medical examiner was a good indicator things were not going well on that end of the line either.

"Hello, Jethro," Ducky spoke quietly, "I just wanted to check in and give you an up-date. Is this a good time?"

"Any time is good for you, Duck, though," Gibbs' tone betrayed his worry, "from the sound of your voice, I can tell I'm not going to like what you have to say."

"No, I'm afraid not," Ducky agreed and took a small sip from his steaming mug before continuing. "Unfortunately, there's been no breakthroughs and I can't express how all this subterfuge and secrecy concerning Doctor Martinez's documents is effecting the staff here. What in the world do..."

"Ducky," Gibbs broke in quickly, "how's DiNozzo?"

The medical examiner immediately realized his error. "Oh, my goodness, Jethro. I'm so sorry. That was very inconsiderate of me. I should have instantly..."

"Ducky, please."

The older man sighed. "Yes, well, there's not been any improvement, Jethro. There are moments when it seems he's regaining some coherence and actually tries to communicate and, then, it just dissolves away before our very eyes. The staff is doing their level best and trying to keep him comfortable but, I can tell you this much, everyone here feels they're doing nothing more than observing and documenting a test subject."

The silence at the other end of the connection was grimly expected but, still, he knew the sentiment had to be voiced. Why else would the FBI and the other governmental offices the CDC had been badgering for information and assistance remain so stoically closed-mouth and uncooperative?

"I think you're right, Duck," came Gibbs' bleak reply. "I think that's *exactly* what's happening. The only thing I can't figure out is why he's being quarantined at Bethesda. Seems to me, if they wanted to keep a closer eye on their lab rat, they'd provide their own space, use their own people, and keep better control over who's permitted to see him."

"Good Lord, I hadn't thought of that. Jethro, do you think that's still a possibility?"

"Hell, yeah, I do," the angry affirmation quickly changed. "Listen, I know you're probably wiped out right now and I know you haven't been away from his side for any length of time, but would you..."

"You don't even need to ask," Ducky interrupted gently. He didn't need to hear the remainder of the question to know what was on Jethro Gibbs' mind and knew how difficult it was for the agent to stay so far away from the young man now residing in isolation. "I have a fairly good professional relationship with the doctor in charge of his care right now, so I believe she'll permit me to stay close by. I can't promise I'll be allowed to remain inside the isolation unit itself but I suspect I can manage to convince her of the necessity for me to 'set up shop', if you will, in the adjoining observation room."

"That would be great," the blatant appreciation was apparent in Gibbs' voice. "Just so you know, Director Shepard thinks you're on your way back here now but I've got Palmer covering for you and he's willing to do whatever needs to be done until you do come back."

"Mr. Palmer will do just fine but, Jethro, my mother..."

"Abby and I are seeing to her care," Gibbs' tone held a note of apology. "I don't know how this will all end, Duck, but I'm depending on you to be my eyes and ears until I can get to Fornell and find out what the hell is going on."

"You still haven't located him?"

"No," the frustration was palpable. "This isn't like him, no matter what anyone else thinks. Tobias and I may not always get along but he and I have a professional understanding and have never resorted to witholding information or evidence, especially when one of our own is involved. Plus, I know how Fornell thinks. He wouldn't want Tony to go through this without offering us some kind of assistance. There's got to be something deeper going on here and I think we're all being shut out because of it."

"I have a very bad feeling about this, Jethro," Ducky watched the rain begin to splash against the windowpane behind Wainwright's desk, an ominous, dark sensation growing in the pit of his stomach.

"Me, too, Duck," Gibbs was beginning to sound very tired.

"Doctor Mallard!"

A young corpsman was pushing hurriedly into the semi-darkened office, his face alive with concern. Ducky instantly recognized him as one of the technical assistants used to monitor the equipment in the isolation area and, if he was here now, something was obviously wrong.

"Jethro, hold on," Ducky ordered as he rose quickly to his feet and focused on the young man. "What is it?"

"Sir, Lieutenant Commander Wainwright told me to come get you as quickly as I could," he panted raggedly, brown eyes wide with emotion. It was easy to tell he'd run all the way with his message. "Doctor Mallard, orders just came through. We're to begin preparations for Agent DiNozzo's immediate transfer!"

"To where?" Ducky demanded hotly, already in motion, joining the young man in the open doorway. "Who placed these orders? Where did they come from?"

"I don't know, sir," he swallowed anxiously. "I...I was only sent to get you."

Ducky nodded his understanding and remembered the phone still clutched in his hand. "Jethro..."

"I heard," came the clear growl from the man miles away. "God damn it! Find out what you can, Duck. Don't let them take him away without getting some sense of where he's going."

Ducky was matching the corpsman's walk, stride for stride, cell phone pressed firmly to one ear and a very determined look on his face. "You can count on me, Jethro. I'll be in contact as soon as I know something certain."

******************

Gibbs stood by his car in the provided lot and snapped his cell closed, wanting nothing more than to hurl the vile hunk of technology as far as possible and watch it smash to bits against some hard concrete surface. A wall would be good. Sighing, he resisted the urge, knowing it was still his only link with DiNozzo...but even that was through Ducky. Yanking open the door and throwing himself inside, the ex-Marine took a few moments to ineffectively slam his fists against the steering wheel, teeth gritted tightly together, and barely, just barely, containing the roar of frustration threatening to explode from his mouth.

Dropping his head back against the padding of the high seat, Gibbs wearily closed his eyes and tried to bring up an image of the DiNozzo he'd seen and held and kissed last weekend instead of the pale, trembling form he'd observed less than twenty-four hours earlier at Little Creek. The DiNozzo from Saturday night had been quieter and less playful than usual but had merely brushed off his uncharacteristic behavior by chalking it up to his current undercover assignment and the added stress of having to deal with so many different governmental agencies. They'd been able to laugh, finally, following several good, cold beers and after DiNozzo had confessed Emilio Martinez had started speaking Spanish to him, instead of his native Portuguese, because 'anyone raised in America couldn't possibly comprehend the delicate intricacies and nuaunces of *his* beautiful language'. They'd both smiled at that bastard's assumption because, if there was one thing DiNozzo was good at, it was languages. It was not something he bragged about to other people but Gibbs knew exactly how many tongues his senior field agent could speak and how many more he could understand.

But it hadn't been until later the same night, as DiNozzo had stood at Gibbs' sink, washing out a dirty glass, looking too serious and lost in his own thoughts, that the former Marine had brazenly stepped up close behind the younger man, reached around the strong, fine body, and plunged his own hands into the warm, soapy water caught in the basin of the sink, tangling his fingers with DiNozzo's and listening to the quick inhale of surprise. They'd stood, silently, for several long moments until, finally, DiNozzo had eased slightly back and rested some of his weight against the older man, letting the warmth and comfort and contentment ooze between them. It had been strangely comforting and arousing at the same time and, when DiNozzo had finally started drawing lazy patterns on Gibbs' sensitive palms and probe gently between the individual digits, pressing the tips of his slick, wet fingers into the web of softer skin, Gibbs had growled low in his throat and latched on to the side of DiNozzo's exposed neck, teeth and tongue and lips ready to mark new territory.

And the night had only gotten better from there.

DiNozzo had slowly turned away from the sink, staying within the soothing circle of arms, and had unflinchingly and unerringly pressed his mouth to Gibbs', immediately opening his lips and licking a wet, wicked, probbing path from top to bottom, corner to corner, and every spot in between. Twice. Thoroughly. There'd been no hesitation or second-guessing and the subsequent reaction had been something akin to fireworks going off in a closed, windowless room. Not spectacularly colorful or brilliantly shimmering but quick, loud, and hugely explosive. A firecracker. A cherry bomb. Or, better yet, a M-80.

Gibbs had surged forward, trapping the younger body against the sink, rocking and rubbing his pelvis until he was able to work a leg between DiNozzo's thighs, feeling the heat of the body and hearing the need in the voice. Because, between the kissing and the sucking and the biting, DiNozzo had spoken the language he was more proficient in than any other, the demanding words inflaming and scorching Gibbs' senses, coaxing and convincing, igniting a fire that could only be extinguished through release.

Gibbs sighed as he remembered watching DiNozzo push back and fall gracefully to his knees, their eyes never breaking contact, slim, able fingers expertly flipping the button of his slacks loose and tugging the zipper down, reaching inside to grasp his hard, aching cock. With his hands still braced on the edge of the sink, Gibbs had only been able to gaze down, gritting his teeth at the hot wash of sensation, as DiNozzo had flattened his wet, nasty tongue and licked a...

"Gibbs!"

The sudden hiss of his name and the quick opening of the passenger-side door brought the former Marine swiftly back to the present and he whipped his head to the right, immediately recognizing Tobias Fornell. Before he could think of the consequences, or even before inquiring why Fornell was sneaking into his vehicle like this, Gibbs was surging over to wrap his hands around the unsuspecting FBI agent's neck, squeezing tightly and perversely enjoying every second of the contact.

"Gibbs!" Fornell gasped, fingers digging at and trying to pry the vise from his throat, eyes bulging and face quickly turning red. "Gibbs...I've got...information..."

"It had better be about Martinez's briefcase or that damned syringe used on DiNozzo or you're shit out of luck, Fornell," Gibbs spat angrily in the agent's wheezing face.

"Yes...yes..." Fornell managed to choke and was immediately released. He coughed and sputtered, rubbing at the tender flesh, trying to draw huge drafts of oxygen into his lungs. "But...not here. Drive."

"Where?" Gibbs was instantly suspicious.

"Anywhere but here," the FBI agent shifted as far away from the dangerous man as he could and slouched down in the seat, eyes tracking from one end of the parking structure to the other. "I may have been followed."

Gibbs frowned and started the car, swiftly directing the vehicle from his spot and out into the gloom of the evening. He kept checking the rearview mirror and saw no indication of a tail but continued to drive aimlessly with purpose...if anyone was following them, they'd have a hell of a time staying close.

"You'd better start talking, Tobias, or I'll just pull over right here and finish the job I started earlier."

"Look, Gibbs, I know you're plenty pissed with me right now..."

"You think?" The NCIS agent snarled.

"...but all this was taken out of my hands after we got Martinez back to the Hoover Building. I've been all but confined to my office, gone through the most intense debriefing I've ever experienced since joining the agency, and very nearly subjected to some good, old-fashioned brainwashing."

Gibbs snorted in disbelief. "You expect me to believe that load of crap?"

"Well," Fornell turned to face the driver, "here's something you can believe: the Bureau has already turned Martinez and his documents and discs over to another agengy and, before you ask, I don't know which one. The Director, himself, paid me and my team a little visit to let us know, even though he was proud of the way we handled Martinez's capture, we now needed to forget all about the Brazilian 'for the good of national security'. He stressed we should put the whole ordeal from our minds and 'urged' us not to have contact with any of the other agencies involved in the capture, that 'those directors would handle the situation internally', and for us to get busy with other cases." He shook his head in amazement. "Just like that, Jethro, and he expected us to never think or talk about what had happened. Ever."

"What about DiNozzo?" Gibbs was furious. "You just going to conveniently forget bout him as well? Martinez injected him with something and, right now, someone has ordered him moved from Bethesda."

"What? To where?" Fornell was genuinely surprised by the news. "How do you know he's being moved?"

"Ducky's been with him all the way, ever since Little Creek. He called me a little while ago to let me know how things were going and we got interrupted when someone delivered the news to him."

"Shit," Fornell cursed and eyed Gibbs carefully. "How is he?"

The quiet, concerned question caught Gibbs unawares and he had to take his gaze momentarily from the road to look at the other man's eyes. Gibbs had learned a lot about Tobias Fornell, especially after the man married one of Gibbs' ex-wives, and he could tell the worry was real. Bringing his eyes back to the road in front of them, Gibbs sighed loudly before responding.

"Not good. Ducky says he sort of comes and goes. Fever is still up."

"Well, shit," Fornell cursed again. "Jethro, why do you suppose they sent him to Bethesda if they were just going to move him again so soon? Does that make any sense to you at all?"

"No, it doesn't," Gibbs agreed readily, "and it's been bothering me since I got the news. There's a team of specialists and a CDC rep at Bethesda right now. People have been in constant contact with him, have done a battery of tests on him, have tried to help him, and *now* someone decides he needs to be moved again? I don't like the implications."

Fornell looked away from the rage just boiling under the surface of Gibbs' facade. "You think they're going to make him disappear."

"Yes." There was no question about it. " Or worse."

Fornell's eyes swung back to study Gibbs' profile. "What could be worse?"

Gibbs swallowed and slowed the vehicle, pulling over to the side of the deserted street and throwing the transmission into park. He shifted his body so he could face Fornell, the dim illumination from a distant streetlamp casting shadows across most of his cheek and chin, leaving only the eyes visible. It made the former Marine look other-worldly and sinister.

"When I was still on active duty in Iraq, my platoon was sent on a special recon. We didn't really know where the hell we were going, just followed our CO, kept our asses low, and did a quick snatch and grab from right out under the noses of the enemy. It was a simple op, we'd done pick-ups like this before, but this one...well...it seemed a bit off from the getgo. We infiltrated a hospital, or what we assumed was a hospital because of all the medical equipment and crap, but there was only one patient in the whole stinking building. Struck most of us as pretty odd at the time but, hell, we just did what we'd been ordered to do and, if HQ said grab and go, that's what we did."

Gibbs turned away so he was in profile again and Fornell was honestly glad he didn't have to look into those hard eyes for the rest of the tale. The FBI agent could see Gibbs' throat work as he swallowed and began to speak again.

"We had to slit a few throats to get the patient out quietly but we managed. When we were finally clear and heading back with our package, our CO gets new orders, and we had to wait two two days out in the middle of nowhere for 'special transportation'. Everyone was confused, even the CO. We'd gone in most of the way by chopper and expected to go out exactly the same way. Hell, we could have hoofed it all the way home in two days but, no, we had to wait.

"To make a long story short, we hunkered down and dug in for the wait and our medic gets his first real good look at our 'guest'. Before you know it, he's in deep converstaion with the CO, they're having this private, little examination of the guy we rescued, and Cap is suddenly contacting HQ again, wanting to have 'clarification' of his orders, asking why we needed to wait for 'special transportation'. HQ went ballistic, told him he'd received all the orders he needed, and for him to do as instructed.

"Well, pick-up finally arrives and we get back to HQ and are dumped immediately into quarantine, without explanation, and don't find out until a month and a half later our package had been used as a guinea pig for these Iraqi scientists trying to develop some kind of biological agent capable of being transported inside a human host. They'd been experimenting on farmers and peasants and just about anyone they could get their hands on and our intel decided it would be wise to send a team in to see what was being cooked up. Six days after we'd rescued our package, we'd heard the whole place had been deemed a prime target and was bombed but, at the time, we didn't know why."

Gibbs fell silent and Fornell could only stare, his brain jumping from one conclusion to another. "You think that's what's happening to DiNozzo? That the government wants to use him as some kind of guinea pig?"

Gibbs turned to fix his cold gaze on the agent in the passenger seat. "Tobias, what's Martinez's specialty? Do you even know?"

"I'm not certain," Fornell was shaking his head. "Chemical warfare, for sure, but he also had his hand in other things as well. A lot of superficial things like anti-aging serums and memory-recovery agents and stuff we all thought he was tinkering with because he was getting so old and trying to recapture his own youth."

"Why did he leave Brazil?" Gibbs asked quietly. "What happened there that caused him to leave his native country and come to one he so obviously hates?"

Fornell leaned forward a bit and shook his head. "He was working at a government-run hospital and there were some suspicious deaths, including the wife of some high-ranking, local official. He should have stood trial but, because of his other work for the military, the government covered it up and allowed him to continue at a different facility. More deaths followed and, when he found out he was going to be arrested, he fled the country, stopping at several others along the way, sharpeneing his skills and killing a few more before, finally, entering here illegally and settling, we thought, in up-state New York."

"But he's suddenly in the Norfolk area and shows up in an old warehouse with a briefacse full of documents, wanting to sell what he's got, or so we were told, to someone who he thought was going to make him very rich. Why?"

Fornell could only shake his head again. "I just don't know, Jethro."

Gibbs' cell took the moment to chirp and he snatched it quickly from his pocket, levering it open with one hand. "Gibbs."

Fornell watched and listened, seeing the tension grow and coil tight, the former Marine's grip on his phone turning white under the pressure of his grasp. It was obvious, the news was not good. Within moments, the phone was snapped close and Gibbs' head fell forward to rest on the steering wheel and Fornell had never seen the NCIS agent look so defeated.

"Gibbs?" He asked tentatively. "Is it DiNozzo?"

"Yes," came the whispered response. "He's gone."


TBC

Current NCIS Director Jen Shepard closed her weary eyes and sighed with relief, leaning back into the comfortable confines of the backseat of the agency's provided car and trusting the competent driver behind the steering wheel to get her where she needed to be. She wanted to suggest he just head the non-descript vehicle out of the city, get on the closest strip of blacktop, and keep driving until they either ran out of road or out of gas, whichever came first. A this moment, she really didn't care. And, as tempting as the idea was to her, Shepard knew she'd never be desperate enough to do something so outrageous, so spontaneous, and so out-of-character, and let the whim evaporate almost as quickly as it had formed.

She chalked her prevailing frame of mind up to her fatigue. She was tired...no, more than tired...but, as exhausted as she was, Shepard knew there was no possible way she'd be getting any rest until personally delivering the tragic news she'd recently received to Jethro Gibbs and the remainder of his investigative team. Pinching the bridge of her nose between forefinger and thumb, she tried to mentally brace herself for the storm she knew would come once returning to NCIS Headquarters and prayed she'd be able to make the announcement with just the right amount of needed sympathic concern. It would be difficult, to say the least, but Shepard realized she had to put her own personal feelings regarding the agent in question aside and focus on those who remained behind. They'd probably all be devastated by the news and, except for Officer Ziva David, who'd only been with the team for a brief span of time, would probably also request and need to be given some bereavement leave...at least until Anthony DiNozzo's ashes could be passed on to a member of his surviving family and his final memorial services completed. She'd work it out to give them each a few days, if need be.

Sighing again, Shepard re-opened her eyes and watched the passing scenery without any real interest. The late-afternoon traffic would have been bothersome if she'd been the one behind the wheel but, as a passenger, all she was required to do was sit back and enjoy the ride...and try not to dwell on the morning she'd just spent on The Hill.

Glancing quickly to the briefcase resting against her right thigh on the seat beside her, Shepard knew the confidential documents tucked safely inside would bear another, more intense examination before she filed them away forever. Her copies of the joint-agency capture of Brazilain chemist and doctor, Emilio Martinez, the unexpected infection of NCIS Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo with one of Martinez's deadly serums, and the agent's subsequent final hours while under the care of some of the government's top physicians would, undoubtably, be requested by Gibbs for his own assessment. Unfortunately, Shepard would have to deny his access.

These were sensitive documents and included classified information he wasn't permitted to read but, she suspected, he would push her hard to get all the answers he needed to satisfy his curiosity. Shaking her head slightly at the thought of having a confrontation with Gibbs right now, Shepard knew she'd have to convince him it served absolutely no purpose to know the details anyway. DiNozzo was gone, the remnants of the earthly body held within the standard, requisite container at the crematorium near the hospital he'd received treatment at in Pennsylvania, awaiting to be claimed by his next of kin or an appropriate substitution. Shepard had no doubt Gibbs would volunteer to recover and deliver the ashes of his senior field agent to the proper relative himself. It was just in his nature to take full responsibility for those under his command and, even though DiNozzo was dead, Jethro Gibbs would probably not rest until his agent's ashes were in the hands of those who knew and loved him most.

Glancing again out into the traffic, Shepard frowned. This whole, unfortunate, sordid mess and the unexpected involvement of several directors from other top agencies, made her all the more fretful of the decision she'd made to become a top administrator at NCIS. It was hard enough being a beautiful, intelligent woman within the 'boy's club' mentality of the Navy's investigatory services but to actually be in a command position over so many dedicated, educated, and highly capable people, including one of her ex-lovers, made her job even more stressful and, on some days, just set her teeth on edge. Like today. Today, she would have to deny Jethro Gibbs the information concerning his agent because it was her job to do so and, no matter what anyone else thought, Jen Shepard took her job and her hard-earned position very seriously.

Besides, she thought absently, letting her mind track in a totally different direction for a moment, with DiNozzo gone, Jetho Gibbs just might need a little tender comfort and a warm, sympathetic ear to bend. Letting that thought grow, Shepard hummed contently to herself and considered all the doors that just might open wider. She hadn't been on the job when Agent Caitlin Todd had taken a round in the head while chasing terrorists with Gibbs but had, of course, read the evaluation reports from the mental health specialists assigned to the remaining team members. Things had, obviously, not been good for Gibbs and his people and, after studying those reports, Shepard had secretly wished she'd been around to offer her own brand of comfort to the man. Maybe having this newest tragedy so soon after the Todd woman's death would turn out to be a very good thing indeed...at least, for her.

Smiling at the new thought and eyes bright with an eager gleam, Shepard reconsidered her original assessment of the whole Martinez situation and, instead, now contemplated all the wonderful possibilities awaiting, simply because of the loss of Anthony DiNozzo. The situation was unfortunate, true, but, for her, it was nothing more than just a small, insignificant bump in the long road of life.

*************

Finally, four long, agonizing days after DiNozzo's ashes had been claimed by his father's personal secretary, and after being denied the requests made to the family for some type of memorial service specifically for those who had known and had worked with the young agent, Jethro Gibbs and his remaining team returned to their jobs and tried to pick up the pieces. They'd heard rumors of a quick, private family service in Connecticut, somewhere on a rolling estate near Hartford, and had grudgingly appreciated the elder DiNozzo's final gesture for his only son...until they heard the rest of the story.

Directly after the final words had been spoken and the last of the small family group had departed, DiNozzo's father had turned the agent's ashes over to his personal ground's keeper with instructions to dump the remains over some back acreage in a place he's never have to see again. Gibbs had bristled at hearing the news but, realistically knew it really didn't matter. Dead was dead and DiNozzo, wherever he was now, wouldn't give a rat's ass fuck anyway. But for some reason, the thought of DiNozzo being regulated to some back spot by his father, even in death, made Gibbs grit his teeth and seethe silently in anger.

Now, sitting at DiNozzo's desk in the padded chair adjusted to his height and comfort level, Jethro Gibbs began the painful task of clearing out what remained of Tony's belongings. Gibbs purposefully ignored Ziva David's dark, curious gaze from her position at her own desk and focused on the job at hand, pulling open the bottom drawer and slowly, gently, removing the items he found. He tossed away the expected magazine with the scantily-clad, busty female adorning the glossy cover but had to pause as he uncovered an assortment of LEO periodicals stacked neatly beneath. He casually thumbed through one, not really seeing the printed information, but merely trying to absorb a sense of the agent he'd worked with for the past several years. A good man, a caring friend, a devilish rogue...DiNozzo had been all those things...but he was a damned good investigator and one of the best undercover agents Gibbs had ever worked with in all his years in law enforcement as well.

And a tender and giving lover.

Gibbs angrily pushed those traitorous thoughts away and continued his task, removing the odd candy bar or the pack of chewing gum where they lodged to one side but it wasn't until he had his hand on the metal box stuffed deep to the back of the drawer that he finally paused, a sharp prickling of a strange sensation running up the length of his back and settling across his shoulders. He rested his fingers on the non-descript package, skimming his roughened pads over the surface, before convincing himself he wasn't about to open something that belonged to Pandora and should be left alone. No, this was DiNozzo's stuff and he just *had* to see what it contained. Pulling the box out of the drawer and resting it on the surface of the desk, Gibbs opened the top and froze.

*No.*

Biting back the quick moan of denial and wrestling to control the building ache in his chest, Gibbs could only stare at the contents. He forced a few deep, even breaths before going any further and, when he thought he could move his hand without it trembling, he proceeded carefully, almost reverently. Dipping his fingers into the interior, he slowly pulled out one of the cold, metal inhabitants, immediately recognizing its significance, and wondering when DiNozzo had started collecting and keeping these commendations for him. Letting his eyes drop back to peer inside, he saw there were several, and the ache intensified as the significance of his answer grew.

For years.

DiNozzo had been secretly keeping all of the medals and service awards Gibbs had earned, and so blatantly ignored, for years and, now, they were all suddenly here, exposed, to mock his impotence and laugh at his ignorance. He truly hadn't known, hadn't had one inkling of DiNozzo's honest feelings for him until just after Caitlin Todd's death, when everyone and everything seemed so raw and overwhelming. They'd danced around each other, passing significant looks and off-handed innuendos, trying to come to terms with their individual feelings over the tramatic loss of a friend and teammate. But a spark of something dangerous and forbidden had already ignited between them, growing slowly but steadily, and Gibbs had fought tooth and nail to keep his stoic professionalism to the forefront, fighting back his building need and lustful thoughts. DiNozzo was a subordinate and, therefore, strictly off-limits.

Gibbs gave a grim smile at the thought of DiNozzo ever adhering to the rules when it came to his libido and clearly remembered the very first time the young agent had actually proclaimed his real affection. The quick "I love you, Boss" had almost been lost under the sound of the rain peppering the roof of the car as Gibbs delivered the pizza he'd swiped from night shift and presented to DiNozzo at the hotel the younger agent had been staking out. He'd let the words slide at the time, brushing it off as nothing more than DiNozzo's dry wit, but vividly recalled growling some ego-bursting rejoiner, effectively killing any real significance to the softly-spoken declaration, and pushing the younger man out of the car so they both could continue their tasks.

'What a fool I was,' Gibbs thought blearily, quickly placing the useless award back into the confines of the box with all the others and snapping the lid closed, securely sealing away the reminders of DiNozzo's misguided and unrecognized affection. Carefully sliding the box to one side but still within easy reach, Gibbs continued his task.

There were several other items of interest but none that were of any great significance to him, so Gibbs finished up his task and rose from DiNozzo's now-barren desk, gently lifting the container of worthless medals and tucking it securely under one arm. He turned toward Tim McGee's desk and saw the younger man steadily meeting his gaze, a sympathetic, knowing _expression banking the sad, soulful eyes. He bristled slightly but quickly realized it was because the young agent thought Gibbs was only now finding out about DiNozzo's acute case of hero-worship and had nothing to do with the new relationship they'd started just before his death. Sighing softly, Gibbs tilted his head to one side and gave the younger agent an appraising look.

"McGee," he said calmly, "I need for you to box up and send the items I left on Tony's desk to his father..."

"Sure, Boss," McGee was immediately rising from his seat without preamble.

"...and, while you're here, take a few minutes to make sure the hard drive is clear of anything..." Gibbs searched a moment for a politically-correct word, "inappropriate. You know how DiNozzo was."

That brought a small smile to McGee's face. He knew *exactly* how DiNozzo had been but seriously doubted the senior field agent would have left anything some stranger could find. Still, it was best to be certain.

"I'll get right on it," McGee nodded and stepped forward as Gibbs vacated the area. There was no doubt of McGee's sincerity or his wish to be of assistance. He, too, had lost a friend.

Gibbs sighed again and turned away from the scene, setting his feet on the path leading him toward the elevator. He vaguely heard Ziva sofly asking McGee if he needed any help but didn't bother to listen to the young agent's response. He needed to see Abby now, to assure himself the Goth tech was all right on her first day back, but to also find out what she knew of DiNozzo's hidden affections, his penchant for collecting useless medals, and his need of keeping them squirreled away in the bottom of his drawer here at work. If anyone had been made privy to DiNozzo's thoughts, it would have been Abby, and Gibbs didn't think she'd mind, now, revealing a few of the secrets they'd shared.

The first thing he noticed upon entering the lab area was the silence, the complete absence of the music they'd grown to expect and tolerate, and that alone made his concern soar. It was...deathly...quiet and the use of that horrible adjective made him flinch.

"Abby?" He called gently but with a bit of volume, head swiveling from side to side as he searched the surrounding area.

"I'm here," came the soft, toneless response from the darkened, glass-walled office off to one side of the lab.

Gibbs turned immediately in that direction, squinting into the dimness, until he found his subordinate against the wall in one corner, legs pulled up and knees tucked under her chin, her smooth, sweet face sadder than he'd ever seen in his entire time with her at NCIS. Her expression was worse now than it had been when Caitlin Todd had died and that had been one of the most disturbing experiences of her young life.

Walking quickly to her position, he eased down beside her, wrapped a strong arm over her shoulders, and snugged her in tight, feeling the slight trembling under his hand. He gently laid the small box of medals to the floor on his other side and concentrated on the young woman. The dead could wait for awhile...the living needed him now.

"I'm sorry..."

Gibbs' arm tightened around the forensics specialist. "Don't, Abby. Don't you ever apologize for feeling like you do."

He could sense her slight nod against his shoulder and heard her sniff quietly. She seemed to struggle a bit more before speaking again but Gibbs was nothing but patient, satisfied to let her have as much time as she needed.

"I'm just so damn mad!"

Her sentiment was unexpected and he pulled back just enough to look into her eyes, seeing the tears spiking the dark lashes and the truth reflected in the stormy depths. Abby rarely cursed. She *was* well and truly mad.

"Tell me." His instructions brooked for no argument.

"When Kate died...we...we at least had a body to bury," her voice shook with emotion. "She was here, down with Ducky, and we all had the opportunity to speak with...to..her. I had time to come to terms with it, I could say goodbye the way I wanted. But this...this just sucks, Gibbs."

He couldn't agree more but chose to remain silent. This was Abby's time to vent, not his. Besides, this wasn't the way he'd do it. Hell, no...

"I grew to love Kate like a sister," Abby was continuing, voice growing a bit stronger and steadier, "but Tony...Tony was almost a soul mate. We shared so much, Gibbs. I told him things I never told Kate and he told me..." she hesitated and looked away, "well, he told me things, too."

Gibbs couldn't help but wonder if he'd ever been a topic of their conversations but didn't ask. Again, this was about Abby and her needs. He let a hand rub lazily up and down an arm, silently supporting and urging her to continue...if she wanted. They remained on the floor, side by side, lost in their own thoughts, and Gibbs began to think she'd decided not to say more. He was wrong.

"You know, there was a time I thought I'd have a go with Tony," her roughened voice held a note of playfulness. "We'd flirt and say inappropriate things to each other, just to see how far we could push it. I even got him to lay inside my coffin once!"

Her eyes were back on his face again and he could see it was a happy memory for her. He offered an indulgent smile of his own but the thought of Tony in a coffin just made his stomach hurt.

"He didn't like it very much," she conceded with a small, sly grin, "but we sure opened up about our fetishes after that."

"Fetishes?" Gibbs growled gently. "I don't even want to know." And, in all honesty, he didn't...not now.

"You sure?" She teased. "I can tell you some pretty juicy things, you know."

Gibbs nodded. "Yeah, I'm sure. No thanks."

"What I really don't understand about all this," she began after a short pause, "is why his father wouldn't even let us pay our respects. Couldn't he see how much Tony meant to all of us?"

"I don't think he cared a bit about what we thought," Gibbs' ire for the elder DiNozzo flared again, "and I don't think he cared what his son felt for us either."

Abby was nodding in agreement. ""Did you know his dad never wanted him to go into law enforcement? Tony said his father was so angry he gave him an ultimatum: he either had to drop his 'foolish idea at being a civil servant'," Abby puffed up as she repeated the words and Gibbs could almost imagine DiNozzo demonstrating his father's demeanor for her, "or he would 'no longer be considered part of the family!'. His decision cost him his inheritance and everything. His father refused to even speak to him on the phone. Not even for birthdays or holidays or anything." She curled back up and nestled her head against his shoulder. "I asked him once if he minded but, you know Tony, he just laughed it off and told me he always had plenty of other company on those special days."

Gibbs nodded but he'd observed his senior field agent on several of those 'special days', when no one else was around to see, working quietly at his desk in the all but deserted office, trying to get ahead on a case or finish up some loose ends on a report. Now, those days were gone, including the 'special ones'. No more bithdays or holidays or working alone at his desk while others were with friends or family. And no more making up cover stories to conceal his solitary life. It was all gone, now, scattered like his ashes on the wind.

"Gibbs," Abby's voice held a strange tone and he felt her shift a bit away, "can I ask you something personal?"

"You can ask, Abs," he whispered, "but that doesn't mean I'll give you an answer."

"That's okay," she put her head down again, "I think I'd be able to guess the answer without hearing you say it."

"Oh, yeah? And how would you do that?"

He felt her give a small shrug. "I don't know. I think I'd just be able to tell by the vibes you'd give off. You're a pretty 'vibing' kind of guy."

Gibbs couldn't help the grin. "Vibing?"

"Oh, yeah," she straightened a bit and turned those mischievous eyes his way again. "You *always* give off these totally awesome vibes when you feel deeply about something." She tilted her head to one side. "Though, I've got to admit, your 'truly pissed-off' vibe is stronger than most of the others, I can usually tell 'upset' or 'frustrated' or 'pleased' or..."

"Okay, I get the picture," he agreed, just to shut her up. "Go ahead...ask."

"Did you love Tony?"

He didn't look away from her penetrating gaze nor did he answer. Letting what he felt for his now-deceased lover wash over him, he could only wonder if she could see into the depths of his wounded soul and divine the answer like she professed. He and Tony hadn't had much time together in their new roles in each others personal lives but he didn't regret any single second of what they *did* have. They'd grown comfortable with each other over the years, the supervisor/subordinate relationship growing slowly into mutual admiration, then morphing into an easy friendship, and, finally, into a scary kind of wonderful affection. They'd wasted so much time before and, especially, after Kate's death. Gibbs let his eyes drop away and focused on the box at his side.

"Oh, Gibbs, I'm so sorry!" Abby was cuddling close, her arms reaching to hold the former Marine, face pressing into base of his neck. "He loved you, too."

"And how do you know that?" He asked gruffly, wanting and not wanting to hear her reasoning.

Gibbs debated telling her he was aware of DiNozzo's feelings, to let her know they'd finally gotten their heads out of their asses, and had just recently taken the first steps in building the type of relationship they both craved. Instead, he kept those memories to himself and guarded them close to his heart. They'd never, actually, spoken the word 'love' to each other, except for DiNozzo's pizza-induced declaration on that rainy night months ago, because it had been way too soon for that kind of affirmation. But, just because they hadn't spoken the words aloud, didn't mean they weren't felt inside.

"I see you found your medals."

Abby's quiet statement brought him instantly back to the present and he glanced, again, to the gray box on the floor. "Yeah, just a little while ago."

"You really didn't know he was keeping them for you?" Her soft voice held a note of disbelief.

"What?" He scowled teasingly. "You think I don't have anything better to do than dig through my agents' desks while they're away?"

"No, Gibbs," she grinned at his false indignation, "I think it's just one of the many ways you use to keep everyone on their toes around here. Besides, I think Tony was kind of hoping you'd look one day, you know, to give him a roundabout way of telling you he cared."

"I knew he cared, Abby," Gibbs sighed, resting one hand tenderly on the box, "I only hope he knew I cared, too."

They sat for a while in comfortable silence, each lost in their own thoughts, hoping the young man they'd both grown to know and care for was, finally, at peace...

Several hundred miles away, in a undisclosed location, and far from the eyes of the general public, a frightened and disoriented young man opened his eyes for the first time in a very long while and began to scream, the rough, agonized sound of his injured throat raising the hackles and sending shivers down the backs of the two technicians monitoring his progress in an observation booth above his line of sight. The sound reverberated off the cold, sterile walls, bouncing around the room and settling upon their shoulders like a heavy, unwanted blanket. They watched his body writhe and arch against the restraints holding him to the examination table in the center of the room and knew this small, sudden burst of energetic awareness would soon drain away. It couldn't last long, not in his present condition. He was too weak and, as they peered down, they saw his struggles slowly fade. These sporadic moments of wakefulness and lucidity were going to become more common soon but they both were concerned whether, in the end, any of it would really matter.

All but one of the handful of individuals involved with this project were certain the young man's consciousness wouldn't be able to tolerate what was happening to his body and seriously believed he was slowly being driven out of his mind. None of them were sure if it was a side-effect caused by the serum he'd been injected with almost a week ago or if the continued confinement and constant barrage of tests and examinations was shoving him to the brink of insanity. Either way, if something didn't change soon, he'd assuredly be dead. It was just a matter of time.

Turning toward the patient now that his useless exertions were bleeding away, a lone figure stood to one side of the table and observed, taking rapid notes on his ever-present clipboard. He heard the one word the young man had continued to repeat, over and over, since being brought to this facility uttered again and shook his head at the futility of it all. Stepping forward, the masked form gazed down into the face set in the rigor of agony and carefully watched until the glazed, green eyes drifted closed, the blessed relief of unconsciousness pulling him away from the harshness of his reality. Beneath the sterile mask, a cruel smile formed.

'Gibbs' would not be coming to the rescue, nor would anyone else for that matter. Not today, not tomorrow, not ever. To the world outside these walls, Anthony DiNozzo was dead and there was no sense in searching for a dead man, especially deep within the confines of an experimental laboratory built in an abandoned missile silo in southern Idaho. No. 'Gibbs' would *not* be coming.

Quickly jotting down a few more scribbles in a style only he could understand and glancing one last time at his only patient, Emilio Martinez quickly made his way toward the room's singular entry, extremely pleased with today's test results. If all went as planned, the world, itself, would soon know of his brilliance and his name would be synonymous with the greatest scientific minds of the time. And, more importantly, he would have all he'd ever dreamed: wealth, power, and, most of all, his long-lost youth. Barely able to control his giddy rush of glee, Martinez closed the door and sealed the fate of Anthony DiNozzo.


TBC

Flicking the still-burning stub of his last cigarette out into the vast, desolate darkness of the surrounding Idaho landscape, Andy Bowman watched the glowing embers arc gracefully away from his location and land in an orangey spray of sparks that quickly faded on the cold surface of the nearby lot. It was bitterly cold out tonight and the smoldering bits of the remaining tobacco and thin paper were helpless in their attempts to linger. Bowman watched from his perch, one leg casually bent so he could rest a foot on the lowest rung of the metal rail enclosure, and contemplated the existence of the small, insignificant smolder and it's futile endeavor to survive. It didn't take long before the butt's low glimmer faded and was gone from sight and Bowman wondered if that was the course of all things on this miserable, fucking planet.

'Burn bright, fade away, gone in an instant,' he mused and shook his head at the morose thought, stuffing his bare hands deeply into the warmer confines of his coat pockets and hunkering his chin below the raised collar. 'Shit, it's cold tonight.'

Sliding his foot from the railing, Bowman eased his body back until he could rest in relative comfort against the wall nearest the doorway he'd recently exited, knowing he was expected back inside shortly to resume his duties. These breaks always seemed so brief, especially when the activity in the lab below began to heat up. Like tonight.

Grunting to himself, Bowman forced those bleak thoughts away and tipped his head back, gazing up into the wide expanse of the velvet night sky, the small, sliver of moon reminding him, oddly enough, of a clipped section of toenail: pale, smooth, incomplete. It battled for notice, it's insignificant size dwarfed by the brilliance of stars and constellations burning brightly, and Bowman offered up a small smile of condolence.

'That's okay, pal,' he silently grinned at tonight's poor-excuse-of-a-moon, 'in a few short cycles, you'll be top dog again and will put all these wannabees to shame.'

The distant call of a wolf howling for companionship made Bowman shiver, the mournful, haunting sound quickly reminding him of the horrible noises made by the test subject while that crazy, little, motherfucking foreigner did his tests. He hunkered back down in his coat and sighed, trying not to think of what he'd, somehow, gotten involved in and felt his testicles pull up sharply, knowing he was well past the second-guessing stage in this game. He was a part of this madness now and there was no way he'd ever be permitted to just blithely walk away...no matter how much he wanted to turn tail and run.

"They got you by the nuts, Andy," he breathed into the night, seeing his words form a ghostly wisp of vapor mere inches from his mouth, "and they're not going to let go. You're as much a prisoner here as that poor bastard on that exam table in the lab."

Sighing deeply at the thought and pulling his warm hands from his pockets, Bowman touched the side of the watch strapped to his left wrist and saw the radiant indiglo disc reveal the time. His break was officially over.

'Shit,' he cursed to himself, rubbing a trembling hand across his thick moustache, and looked once more out into the dark countryside, silently wishing he had the balls to just make a run for it. Bowman wondered just how far he could get before someone caught up with him. Grimly, he knew the answer: 'Not far enough.'

Pushing the depressing thought from his mind, Andy Bowman turned away from the lure of freedom and reached for the keypad mounted on the wall, quickly typing in the appropriate numbers and hearing the snap as the doorway unlocked for him. Grabbing the heavy handle and pulling back hard, he slowly stepped through the hatchway and re-entered solemnly, imagining he could already hear the sounds from the captive so far below. This was going to be another long, rough night.

Some distance away, on a small rise amidst the barren landscape of a wide-open field, the lone wolf raised it's head and howled brokenly again into the frigid, night sky, it's desolate cry for contact with a member of it's own kind going unheard and unanswered. It listened quietly for some response, it's ears twitching and eyes searching, and, finally, when nothing could be heard except for the whisper of wind moving over the rocks, the wolf turned to move on, alone and confused in it's solitude.
________________________

Jerking spastically up from his position under the skeleton of his slowly, developing boat, Jethro Gibbs caught himself just before slipping over the edge of the rough timber he'd been sleeping upon and froze, cocking his head to one side. Something, or someone, had awoken him, a light scraping of foot against floor perhaps, and he focused on listening to the normal sounds of his house above, quickly filtering out any anomoly. He recognized the steady whir of the refrigerator's quiet motor as it stood sentinel in one corner of the kitchen and the soft tick-tick-tick of his grandmother's antique clock on the mantle above the fireplace in the living room but couldn't detect anything out of the ordinary. That, in of itself, was strangely disconcerting.

Frowning, Gibbs swung his legs around and put his feet on the basement's concrete floor, taking a moment to stretch out a tight kink that had settled somewhere between his neck and shoulders and allowing himself to fully come to his senses. He knew the hazards of falling asleep down here with the front door upstairs unlocked but couldn't quite begrudge himself the little rest he'd somehow managed, even if it was without a proper bed and a pillow under his head. Sleep was sleep and he'd take it any way it came nowadays.

The past few weeks, since learning of DiNozzo's death, had been some of the most difficult days in his life and he knew from the way he was being observed at work that he must be looking fairly ragged around the edges. Never a vain man before the incident, he'd all but stopped looking at himself in the mirror, relying on his other senses as he showered or shaved or dressed each day. He avoided any reflected surface at all costs, even the shiney, innocuous toaster in the kitchen as he made his breakfast, knowing if he looked hard enough and just at the right angle he might see the one thing in this whole world he wouldn't be able to live with: failure.

Pushing himself to his feet and running a slightly trembling hand through his sawdust-peppered hair, Gibbs sighed again and dropped his gaze to the floor at his feet. No matter what anyone tried to tell him during these last horrendous weeks, the former Marine couldn't shake the feeling he'd abandoned his new lover when he needed him most. Gibbs felt he should have pressed Shepard to release him from his duties and rushed to stay at DiNozzo's side. Instead, he'd sent Ducky to be his eyes and ears and to guard the younger man...until he'd been mysteriously moved for one, final time and taken away, never to be seen again.

For days, Gibbs and his remaining team members had tried to find who'd ordered DiNozzo's move and, more importantly, where he'd been taken. They'd hit roadblock after roadblock, until he'd began to function with an almost-panicked desperation, trying to understand why everything was being kept so hush-hush and blanketed in a veil of silence. His team had worked relentlessly for him, learning more and more about Emilio Martinez than they ever wanted through Tim McGee's web searches and Ziva David's questionable resources. Even Ducky had joined the efforts after his return from Bethesda, looking pale and sorrowful, but willing to sit next to McGee and scour medical databases until they were all sick with dread for their missing friend.

Emilio Martinez was a monster, pure and simple, and a Homeland Security Chief's worse nightmare. Hunted by several governments in several countries, including his beloved Brazil, Martinez had left a trail of corpses in his wake, ranging from the very young to the extremely aged. He didn't seem to have rhyme nor reason for his madness, just the unquenchable thirst to try his serums and compounds on as many humans as he could, willing or not. He was a master biochemist, renowned for his contributions to biological warfare, and had garnered the respect of a few countries openly at odds with the United States government, giving him easy access to things he would never have in a truly civilized society. A madman, yes, but a very captivating and sought-out madman for those who coveted his insidious and dangerous concoctions.

Then, something happened, and the whole timbre of Martinez's work shifted, taking a new direction and alienating him from the resources he so desperately needed for his experiments. He conveniently forgot what his sponsors wanted and became obsessed with his own mortality, searching for a method to curb and reverse his own advancing years, even researching the mythical Fountain of Youth. Those who once begged for his presence and the secrets he held suddenly began to turn away, condemning the man and his foolish endeavors. They thrust him away and he, in turn, embarked on a path leading him to the one country that glorified youth and beauty above all others on the face of the earth: America.

As interesting as all the information was, none of it served any purpose in finding DiNozzo so, instead, Gibbs had them shift their focus elsewhere. After all, Emilio Martinez had been arrested and was now securely in the hands of a Federal agency and, as far as they knew, far away from their missing friend.

Then, Director Shepard had arrived back after her long day on The Hill, They'd all immediately known from the look on her face something was wrong, could see it in the way she'd sought out and held Gibbs' eyes, and watched as she'd stopped at his desk.

"Agent Gibbs," she'd begun properly and then, strangely, switched into a different tone, "Jethro...I have some disturbing news."

Gibbs had pushed angrily back from his seat and risen to his full height, eyes like clear, blue chips of ice. He'd stared coldly at the woman before him for only a moment, knowing exactly what she was going to say but defying her to speak the words.

On the other side of the room, Ducky had also risen from the chair he'd pulled close to McGee's monitor, sharing space as they scoured the internet together, his own gaze locked on the unfolding scene. He'd had many years of reading people's expressions and this one he'd recognized immediately.

"He's dead, isn't he?" Gibbs had blurted abruptly, the words sounding hollow and dull.

To her credit, Jen Shepard hadn't tried to soften the blow. "Yes. I was informed of that at the Directors' meeting today. I'm so sorry."

Still seated at his desk, Tim McGee had laid his head down atop his folded hands and had fought back the hot rush of emotion, dimly aware of Ducky's conforting touch at the back of his neck. Across the room at her own desk. Ziva David had covered her open mouth with a slim hand, closed her eyes, and immediately offered up a prayer for the dead.

"Where is he?" Gibbs had bit back a snarl. "I want to see him."

"The body was cremated immediately," Shepard had responded, tuning out the shocked gasps from those close by and focused solely on the pale visage of her ex-lover. "There was a high risk of contamination and the remains had to be handled very carefully. His family was notified..."

"His family?" Gibbs had almost shouted in disbelief before catching himself. "His family doesn't give a damn about him."

"Be that as it may, Jethro, his father *is* Agent DiNozzo's closest next of kin, so he was contacted by the coroner in Philadelphia."

"Philadelphia?" Ducky had stepped forward and joined the pair at Gibbs' desk, frowning at her revelation. "Why was Anthony taken to Philadelphia?"

"I couldn't say for sure, Doctor Mallard," Shepard had nodded at him and had let her attention waver away from Gibbs. "I was under the impression it was because of the care he'd be given."

"Better care than Bethesda?" The former Marine had snapped in disbelief. "What place can offer better care than Bethesda, Jen? You tell me because that's the place *I* want to go the next time I get sick or injured!"

"Jethro..." Ducky had tried to intervene but Gibbs had just been getting started.

"He's a NCIS agent, Jen, one of *your* agents. He was taken away from Bethesda without any indication of where he was being transported and cremated before an autopsy could be performed. Something's not right here and,if you can't see it, you're not the person or agent I once thought you were!"

"Jethro..." the medical examiner had attempted again.

"It's all right, Doctor Mallard," Shepard had faced the wrath head on without flinching but her face had taken on a pinched, tight expression, like something sour had settled on her tongue. She'd leveled her gaze at Gibbs. "I know this is a blow to everyone. If you wish to continue this converstaion and find out all I'm permitted to disclose to you, I'll be in my office. I only stopped here because I thought you should know as soon as possible." She'd paused and taken a deep breath. "Agent DiNozzo is gone now. I hope you'll turn your attention to the team you have left. They're going to need your strength now."

Gibbs had jerked back as if slapped but kept his mouth wisely shut, the glint in his eyes growing dark and dangerous. He'd watched silently as she'd turned and walked toward the staircase, taking the steps at a brisk, easy pace, back straight and head held high. Gibbs had tracked her path until she'd disappeared from view and had immediately turned to his older friend.

"You know anyone in Philly, Duck?"

"Well, yes, but..."

"Call them," he'd swiftly directed before the medical examiner could continue. "I want to find out what happened. I want..."

"No."

Ducky's quiet refusal had brought Gibbs up short and forced him to look back. He'd watched as the older man had stepped close.

"Before I do anything else, I'm going to break this terrible news to dear Abby and you," he'd touched the solid chest with a warm hand and had thrown a significant look back toward McGee's miserable form, "are going to start arranging some bereavement time for the rest of your team."

Looking back now, Gibbs knew it had been Ducky's softly-worded admonishment that had made all the difference. Bereavement. How did one grieve for something held for such a brief time? Gibbs sighed at the thought and glanced back to his boat, the bare, wooden ribcage arching upwards and protecting an empty shell...like his own chest.

'Christ, Gibbs,' he chided himself, reaching for the ever-present chipped mug and taking a sip of the good, strong alcohol it still held, 'can you get anymore maudlin?'

A tiny squeak originating from the top step of the staircase leading downward put Gibbs back into action. Quickly snatching his revolver from it's resting place on the workbench to his left, he stealthily shifted back, got into a better position, and waited silently for the intruder to come the rest of the way down.

"Gibbs?"

Releasing the tense breath he'd unconsciously been holding, Gibbs lowered his weapon and grunted, recognizing the voice quickly. "Fornell, what the hell are you doing here at this hour?"

Without waiting for a reply, Gibbs turned away from the descending man, re-engaged the safety on his weapon, and placed it back on the work bench, hearing the soft footfalls as the FBI agent neared. It was extremely late...or early, if you considered any hour after midnight to be morning...and Gibbs didn't even want to consider the purpose of a two o'clock visit. He didn't have long to wait.

"I think you need to know something," Fornell began with a hint of hesitation.

"And what would that be, Tobias?" Gibbs questioned quietly, not wanting to get sucked into whatever the man was about to offer.

"It's about DiNozzo."

Gibbs froze, the name once again bringing the dreaded ache of a hurt still raw and unhealed. He took a steadying breath, emptied himself of any visible emotion, and turned to face the other man, noticing the dark circles and the fine lines that, surely, was a reflection of his own image. He took a step closer.

"What about DiNozzo?" He asked softly.

Fornell's eyes drifted to the half-full bottle of Jack Daniels resting near the edge of the rough workbench, close to collection of rasps and planes, and raised his eyebrows in appreciation. "You mind?"

"As long as there's no backwash," Gibbs could play patient.

Fornell grunted again and moved, hand reaching for the angular bottle, and quickly twisted off the top, bringing the opening to his lips and taking a partial mouthful. The accompanying burn was full of pleased satisfaction but when Fornell turned back and locked eyes with Gibbs', they held no enjoyment or pleasure. They were bleak, sympathetic, and almost apologetic.

"What?" Gibbs bristled at the look and took a step closer.

"I think we've made a terrible mistake," the words rushed from the agent's mouth.

"About?"

"About DiNozzo," Fornell hissed and watched the man's eyes harden. "I think there may be more to this whole thing than we've been led to believe."

"And why would you think that?" The whisper was almost deadly but the eyes were alight with interest. "I swear to God, Fornell, if this is just some sick, twisted..."

"No!" The quick burst of denial and the open, honest expression were enough to stop the flow of Gibbs' accusations. "You think I'd do something like that? You...you think I don't care what happened to DiNozzo? That I don't have feeling and miss..."

The words trailed off and he snapped his mouth shut, keeping the rest of the sentiment from escaping. He needn't have bothered. Gibbs understood the unspoken implications as clearly as if Fornell had uttered them aloud and the look the two men exchanged was full of anger and denial and jealousy and loss and...

"You sonofabitch," Gibbs hissed, reaching to grab a handful of starched shirt and shaking the other man soundly, their noses just inches apart. "Don't you *even* go there with me now. Don't you ever try to make me think you had some kind of warped, perverse feelings for him."

Fornell pushed back, hard, and managed to break the hold on his clothing. "What does it matter now?! That's not why I'm here!"

"Well, you've got exactly two seconds to tell me why you *are* here before I kick your sorry ass out!"

"I think he still may be alive."

For a moment, Gibbs couldn't move or even bother to breath. 'I think he still may be alive' echoed through his head, again and again. Unconsciously, he took a step back and leaned heavily against the frame of the boat, grateful for the strong, silent support. Alive? If Tony was still alive, where in the hell was he and why had they all been told he was dead? And, for that matter, who's ashes had been spread over that back acreage in Connecticut? When he got his brain to finally digest the implications, and could think past the hope flaring wildly within his soul, he sprung forward and was in Fornell's face again.

"Tell me."

Fornell took a deep breath. "Emilio Martinez is not in Federal custody."

Gibbs frowned. He didn't like the news but couldn't fathom the significance of the insinuation.

"So?" He prodded. "What's that got to do with DiNozzo?"

"Maybe nothing," Fornell confessed and immediately saw the flare again, "or just maybe *everything*. Look, Jethro, I've *never* been able to find out who signed off on the orders to move him from Bethesda and, once he supposedly arrived in Philly," he dug into a jacket pocket and pulled out a slip of paper, "at an Albert Einstein Medical Center, he was pronounced DOA and immediately cremated. Doesn't that strike you as a little odd?"

"I went over everything with Jen Shepard," Gibbs eyes lost a bit of focus as he searched to recall the specifics of the conversation in her office the day she'd broken the news of DiNozzo's death to him and his team. "She alluded there were extenuating circumstances but said all the directors of the agencies involved had been assured by the reports that DiNozzo had been injected with some virulent biological unknown and had expired in transit, leaving the medical team in Philly no choice but to destroy all remaining tissue...except for the samples collected and shipped to the CDC for examination. His body had become a health hazard, a danger to the general populace, and had to be cremated."

Fornell blinked at the unemotional recitation and waited until Gibbs' eyes cleared. Wherever the former Marine had gone, he was back now and looking more pissed than ever.

"You think the Directors were intentionally lied to?" He could barely believe his own ears, much less speaking the words aloud himself, and his eyes swiftly searched Fornell's tired face for some sign of denial.

The FBI agent nodded bleakly. "I do."

"But why?" Gibbs was trying to understand all the implications. "Why would someone go through this elaborate ruse to make us all believe DiNozzo was dead and gone?"

"Christ, Jethro, you know why!" Fornell exploded, face twisting into a mask of scorn. "We discussed this posssibility the night I snuck into your car and you told me that gruesome tale of that poor bastard you rescued from that lab in Iraq!"

The two men faced each other squarely, eyes hard but determined, bodies fairly vibrating with suppresed rage. Gibbs could almost 'see' Fornell trying to silently communicate the idea of his notion and had to force himself to recall their talk that night. When he did, his blood ran cold in his veins.

"Martinez," the sound of the name was spoken like a curse.

"Yes," Fornell breathed with a sigh of relief, glad Gibbs was catching on. "I believe so."

The NCIS agent whirled away and slammed his fist into the side of his boat, splitting the skin and bruising his knuckles, but impervious to any of the resultant pain. He didn't want to believe Fornell's explanation, didn't want to think of DiNozzo being held against his wishes, being used as a guinea pig for that madman, but, God help him, couldn't deny the surge of hope the idea brought to his shell of a heart. *If* DiNozzo was still alive...

Gibbs spun quickly back to face Fornell. "If he's being held someplace, where the hell would it be?"

Seeing the hopeful look in the agent's eyes, Fornell let his shoulders droop, shaking his head solemnly and admitting his ignorance. "God, Gibbs, if I knew that..."

"Well, we have to find out!" Gibbs exclaimed, pushing past Fornell and heading for the staircase.

The FBI Agent was hot on his heels. "How are we going to do that?"

Throwing a look back over his shoulder and pinning Fornell with a wicked gaze as they quickly ascended the steps, Gibbs' smile was wolfish and hard. "I know just the people to help us."
________________________

"I said," Emilio Martinez gritted tightly and slapped the woozy young man soundly with the palm of one open hand, "I want you to sit up!"

Head swimming drunkenly from the unkind cuff, Tony DiNozzo swallowed the sudden surge of sour bile and struggled to comply, levering himself with shaking arms until he was only partially in the desired position. He was really trying to do as directed and *really* didn't want to feel that slimy bastard's hands on his body again but just couldn't gather the energy it took to accomplish the task. He was just so weak and so tired and wanted nothing more than for that crazy prick to take all of his evil medical tools and go screw himself with them.

Grinning slightly to himself at the thought of Martinez doing a little self-rectal probing, DiNozzo realized it would only work if the instruments included a big, honking scalpel or, maybe, a nice, pointy surgical saw. Real pointy. Pointy and long.

'Oh, yeah,' the grin widened at the thought, 'where's Ducky when I need him the most?'

"You think this is funny?" Martinez squawked at the weakened man's smirk and promptly struck him again, a bit harder and with a lot more knuckle, forcing the head sharply to the right.

DiNozzo moaned...and them proceeded to vomit over the edge of the examination table, the thin, watery mess slashing lightly over Martinez's closest shoe and trouser cuff. He stayed on his side and watched the room bend and sway in a strange vertigo-kind of waltz as his tired body rebelled against the stress of the conditions. He was cold and achy and wished someone would just give him a nice, warm blanket and a big, fluffy pillow and let him sleep and sleep and sleep. He closed his eyes and ignored the Brazilian's outraged bellows, trying to sink back to that friendly, comfortable place in his mind, the place where it was warm and cozy and Gibbs had his hand right...

DiNozzo was jerked roughly upright and pulled away from the table, the thin cotton gown covering his body from neck to knees flapping open and sending another hard chill racing up his spine. He tried to get his feet to work, so he could walk instead of being dragged, but all his joints and muscles felt stiff and unresponsive. Letting his head loll to one side, he peered at the figure supporting him on the right and immediately recognized the man...or thought he did.

"Thomas!" He greeted cheerfully, thinking he'd spoken well above the true whisper that emerged from between his dried, cracked lips.

Andy Bowman glanced down at the sound of the weak voice and pressed his lips into a grim line. He didn't like the thought of putting his hands on this guy but, after being assured he wasn't carrying any form of contagion or virus, had agreed to help when necessary. He only been hired to monitor the banks of computers and to make sure all the data was flowing properly but never in his wildest dreams did he ever imagine he'd be having direct contact with a test subject. But, now that he had on several occassions, his guilt was beginning to really eat at him. And, to make matters even worse, he found he was actually beginning to admire this poor guy for his spunk and stamina.

'Shit,' Bowman thought disgustedly, 'out in the real world, we might have even been friends.'

Reaching their goal near the closest wall, Bowman and the other technician, Robertson, positioned the wobbly man over the appropriate metal plate on the floor, holding him tight until he was pretty much balancing on his own, and then swiftly recaptured the trembling form before he could collapse. Bowman hated this twice-daily weighing procedure, hated having to disturb the relatively peaceful-looking slumber, hated to see the obvious changes taking place in the weak body.

"Excellent!" Doctor Martinez crowed proudly in his thickly accented voice, pen scratching hastily on his clipboard as the data was recorded. "Two point five more pounds. That's a total of...eighteen and a half pounds in two weeks!"

Bowman watched the gleeful, little man from the corner of his eye, seeing the wicked calculating gleam, and wondered if Martinez actually thought losing so much weight so quickly was healthy. Although, as he glanced back down to the guy hanging fairly limply between him and Robertson right now, there was something different about the way he looked from the day he'd been brought in. It wasn't just the weight...something else. He couldn't quite put his finger on it but knew it was important.

DiNozzo slowly lifted his head, as though he could sense Bowman's inspection, and peered fuzzily up for several seconds before smiling anew. He licked his dry lips and tried to speak again.

"Come on, Thomas," he whispered toward Bowman, "I want to go home now. Tell T.C. I need a lift in his chopper."

Bowman felt his grin break. "I told you before, man, I'm *not* Thomas Magnum."

"No talking to him!" Martinez snapped in anger, small eyes jumping nervously between Bowman and his test subject. He pointed his pen directly in the tech's face to make him intention clear. "No. Talking. Ever. Understand?"

Bowman gritted his teeth and nodded his assent, silently seething at the doctor's reprimand and adjusting his grip, automatically pulling DiNozzo up as he began to sag. If there was one thing Bowman was certain of, it was how damned glad he'd be when this gig was over.

"Put him in the chair," Martinez ordered with a casual flick of the wrist and turned away to gather what he needed.

"No, please..."

Martinez was turning back and moving close, bending his head so he could peer into DiNozzo's downcast face, watching as his patient uselessly tried to pull away from the men on either side. It wasn't much of a struggle but the doctor seemed entranced by the effort.

"Why do you struggle so?" he questioned, reaching to grab a handful of the wildly, matted hair and pulling hard until the head rose. The eyes that greeted him were glassy and bloodshot but, unbelievably, still held a spark of defiance. "There is no escape for you."

"F...f...fuck...you," DiNozzo managed and emptied his stomach again, this time catching Martinez right across the chest before the little man could dance away from the watery baptism.

Bowman wisely lowered his eyes and hid his amusement as he watched the slight doctor jerk back and move angrily to one side, waving his arms frantically in the air as he tried to fumble the soiled lab coat away from his own clothes underneath. Foreign words poured from Martinez's mouth like a torrent of a waterfall but Bowman couldn't make hide nor hair of what was being said. Amazingly, the limp man he was holding obviously did because the tech suddenly heard a soft chuckle and a hoarsely mumbled sentence that had the doctor surging back toward them, expression contorted in fury and mouth spitting with rage. Bowman wanted to reach out and push Martinez back but quickly remembered who was throwing cash his way each week and backed down. Instead, he intervened a different way.

"Come on, Robertson," he quietly instructed the man on DiNozzo's other side, slowly beginning to pull their burden in the direction of the padded seat that looked like it belonged in a dentist's office, "let's get him in the chair."

"Yes!" Martinez agreed with a little too much delight. "Put him in the chair!"

The short burst of defiance had consumed all of DiNozzo's waning energy and he sagged heavily, depending on the men to keep him from falling to the floor on his face. They quickly manhandled him into place, strapped him down, and stepped away, both glancing warily at Martinez as he came forward with a loaded syringe, the small, innocuous instrument suddenly looking wicked and dangerous in the man's gloved hand. Or, maybe, it was the sinister _expression tinting the beady eyes that made the fine hairs on the back of his neck rise.

"Out!" Martinez ordered without glancing away from DiNozzo's pale face. "Now!"

Bowman knew what was coming and couldn't seem to follow the orders fast enough to even suit himself. He knew what the serum did to the test subject, could clearly recall the harsh grunts and loud moans of pain that always filled the hours after every injection, and just wanted to get out of this horrible room before it all started over again. Robertson seemed to fumble at the keypad leading out so Bowman could only stand anxiously at his side, shifting from foot to foot as he waited.

'Come on, come on,' he prompted silently, watching Robertson's finger hit the clear button and begin again. He tried not to look back, tried to keep focused on the slow punch of each number, tried not to think of the powerless man held in the chair behind him. He tried...but failed.

As the door finally swung open, Bowman cast one last glance back in DiNozzo's direction and was surprised to see the glazed, green eyes looking directly back at him, the raw, open expression begging for compassion, for assistance. Bowman swallowed thickly and looked away, dropping his gaze to the floor but, before they could close the door on the horrible sight within, the weak, hoarse man spoke one, final time.

"Help me..."


TBC

It was time for a gentle hand now. Time to reassure, for the moment, that all would be well, that the patient was in good hands, caring hands, concerned hands. Time to see if this would get the reaction needed. Time for a change in tactics. Time to move to the next level.

"It is a fact, you know, most changes we humans encounter in our bodies after a certain age...oh, let's say, after age thirty or thirty-five...is merely considered an unwanted side-effect of normal aging. We experience a wide variety of changes. There's a lessening of bone strength and density, we lose elasticity of skin and connective tissue, our rate of healing decreases, and our overall mental and physical energy, stamina, and resilience fades. I suspect you may have been noticing a few minor changes yourself, yes? Maybe it takes you a bit longer to climb those steps you used to bound up just five years ago or...perhaps you've noticed a lessening of your libido or in your sexual performance, hhmm? Is that so?"

Dark, beady eyes searched the face of the young man 'resting' in the special, padded chair placed to one side of the clinically equiped room and leaned closer, foul breath bathing moistly over the naked flesh, watching as he was pointedly ignored by the restless test subject, the pale, fair skin dotting with a fine sheen of perspiration and the observant green eyes clouding with a haze of fatigue. Emilio Martinez produced a small, indulgent, snake-like grin and patted the closest, cool arm in an almost-kind, gentle manner, feeling a shudder of revulsion run through the tired, reclining body. The grin spread a bit wider, exposing more teeth, as he continued to converse quietly with his 'patient'.

"Normal aging can effect the human body in so many unexpected and unwanted ways. I realize you haven't, as of yet, observed what most older individuals have begun to experience but, I can most certainly guarantee, if you were permitted to continue as you had been, one day you would not have liked the end results. No, not at all. The body begins to fail you and you become trapped inside a vessel so foreign, so unlike what you remember, you can hardly recognize it at times. You gain weight easier, your blood vessels narrow and there's increased risk of cardiovascular disease, you tire more readily, and the susceptibility to infection and cancers soar. All and all, not a very attractive forecast, no? Not the type of existence a strong, young man like you would be confortable with, I'm sure."

Martinez absently placed one latex-gloved hand on the sweating forehead and almost tenderly smoothed the wayward strands of lank, unruly hair back, making a soft sound of admonishment as the patient turned his head slowly away in an ineffective attempt to escape the suddenly too-intense attention being lavished upon him. The Brazilian chuckled softly and reached to capture the quivering chin, bring the bleak face back.

"No, no, no...do not turn away. All will be well, you will see. I have to look at you, there is no helping that. As a scientist, I must observe and study and be able to accurately record my findings. I know you do not understand what is happening here, inside this small room, and in here," his touch on the chin tighted briefly, "within your own body. I know you think the worse of me, think I use you for some terrible biological experiment but look," he gestured toward his own face, "I have no mask on, no protective gear except my gloves, and I have even removed the lab coat you like to decorate so much!" He smiled indulgently, shaking a finger as if he was correcting a wayward child and not a grown man. "Shame on you for that. But we are past that now, yes? I can assure you, if you had been infected with one of my other serums, you would be dead already. But that is not the case, no? I have shifted my focus and have, for years, studied and researched the human body for humanitarian reasons. I do not work to bring death and destruction to the world any longer, I do not seek to destroy mankind. On the contrary, I have refocused on making life more tolerable and satisfying to us as we grow older. Is that not commendable? Does that sound like something a madman would do? Hhmmm? No, of course not."

Martinez released his hold on the trembling chin and was gratified to see the glazed eyes remain focused on his face, the undeniable glint of interest now sparking behind the exhausted gaze. It wasn't much but it was something and Martinez locked onto it quickly. The test subject licked at his dry, cracked lips and tried to respond but all that emerged was a low, pitiful rasp of sound.

Grunting in understanding and turning swiftly away, Martinez reached for the glass resting atop the small, nearby bed stand and carefully retreived the container, slowly bringing it back toward the young man, bending the flexible straw it held until it was just at the right angle for comfortable sipping. Nudging the slender tube at the unresponsive mouth, he frowned when it was immediately rejected.

"Now, now...you must drink if you are to get stronger," he chided patiently and tried again. Still, he was met with a waning resistence. Sighing dramatically, he shook his head and indulgently stared down st the continuing defiance. "We must move past this nonsense, yes? It is just as easy for me to keep you hydrated through intravenous methods," a hand gestured idly toward the bags of clear fluid attached to the IV pole at one side, "if that is your wish. Is that what you truly want? Hhhmmm? I cannot see why you would turn this offer down. The water is cool and sweet and would ease the terrible thirst I know you must have at this point. And, I can promise, if you can keep this liquid down, I may even be able to locate a bit of broth for you later. How does that sound? Good?"

Martinez watched tolerantly as his proposition was carefully weighed and digested. There was a battle taking place inside the test subject's confused, tired mind but the Brazilian thought he could see the resolve waver a bit more. The green eyes clearly reflected a yearning for a taste of the offered water. He knew the young man was hungry and very, very thirsty but needed to have this persistent streak of rebellion broken and eliminated. He eased the container close again, held his breath, and waited to see what would happen. Slowly, hesitantly, the straw was accepted by slightly trembling lips and a small amount of water was drawn up and sipped. The green eyes closed in blissful relief as the first splash of cool water covered the thick tongue and was savored inside the parched mouth before being swallowed greedily.

"Easy, easy," Martinez soothed, holding the glass steady with one hand while placing the other on the man, rubbing small, calming circles on a bared shoulder. "Do not drink so quickly this first time or you will, most certainly, be ill. There will be more, I promise you. We will wait a brief period and, if you are successful in retaining it, we will try again, yes?"

As the lids fluttered back open and the bloodshot gaze returned and fixed on his face, Martinez could see the last of the patient's resistence beginning to crumble and fade away. Good, very good. He smiled benevolently and stroked a palm against the smooth, unblemished skin of one cheek, feeling a tiny, minute flinch at the contact. Yes, much better. Tears began to gather in the despondent eyes, building slowly, until they filled and broke free, spilling over spiked lashes and running down the sides of the face, traveling wetly from both cheeks to soak into the hairline by the ears. Martinez's smile widened...and the glint of something preditory shifted and emerged.

"Ah, this is good," he whispered, quickly shifting the water glass to the small side table and returning immediately back to the weak, despondent, young man, gloved hands greedily smoothing over more of the exposed skin and pushing away the lightweight, cotton gown where it got in his way. He touched the long column of the tight neck, traced across the strong, solid chest, watching the pliant, youthful skin pebble under his fingertips, and grinned again, his little teeth making him resemble a slimy, dangerous barracuda. "Be quiet now and do as I ask. Emilio will take care of you. Oh, yes, Emilio will take such good care of you now."

In the glass observation booth, behind the low cabinet holding a bank of computer monitors and processors compiling the data on Martinez's research and study, technician Andy Bowman covered his mouth with one hand and cringed at the sight before him. He didn't want to be a part of this any more...not now...not after he finally could see what these tests were doing to that poor sonofabitch's body. And now...this. Closing his eyes and unable to watch the unfolding scene any longer, he turned away from the glass divider and sent a bleak look toward his companion.

"This is getting sick, man. I didn't sign on for anything like this."

"You can say that again," Robertson readily agreed, although he didn't look away from the activity in the lab. Instead, he leaned forward and rested his folded arms on the surface of the desk he was occupying, head tilting to one side, and continued to watch, eyes narrowing as he squinted to clearly see across the distance. "That crazy fucker knows we're here, Andy, and he knows we'll see anything and everything he does."

Bowman nodded at the statement and grunted, shifting nervously in his chair. He cast a worried glance at his companion and frowned as Robertson continued to watch.

"How can you watch that? You know what he's going to do, right?" Bowman shook his head and turned further away. "I guess he doesn't care whether we're here to see or not because he knows we couldn't do anything about it. Right? Who's going to stop him? You?"

"Are you kidding?" Robertson propped his chin on one hand but still continued to watch. "I worked for a guy like this once before but, I imagine, they're all probably the same. They think they can do anything and not answer to anyone. They toy with the test subject, get them to trust, act all friendly, you know?" He shook his head and shrugged. "I've never seen one get so touchy-feely with a subject before though. At least, not like this. You think Martinez is queer or what?"

Bowman didn't respond, didn't even want to think about the possibility. A soft moan of protest from within the lab drew his unwanted attention back toward the unfolding scene and what he saw made him cringe. He quickly swallowed a surge of bile that rose unexpectedly from his stomach and was only remotely aware of Robertson's soft curse of disgust.

"Fuck, he's got his hand on the guy's dick now...and it doesn't look like it has anything to do with checking the catheter."

Bowman *really* didn't want to look but the compulsion was akin to one of those, sick disturbing forces, like rubber-necking at a gruesome accident scene somewhere on an interstate, hoping not to see any blood but looking for it just the same, and he just couldn't force himself to look away. And, Christ, Robertson was right...Martinez's hand was...was...Shit. Not only did Martinez have his hand on the guy's dick but it appeared he'd already removed the slender tubing used for urine outflow and was actually *stroking* the flaccid penis, manipulating it in a way that left no doubt he was trying to produce an erection.

"Oh, shit..." he mumbled, watching the test subject try to arch away from the obviously unwanted touches, straining against the soft bounds holding him captive in the exam chair, and softly whispering hasty, broken words in some language that probably was the Brazilian's native tongue. Bowman shuddered in revulsion and knew, from the desperate, urgent delivery the young man did *not* like nor want this type of attention. Unfortunately, Martinez didn't seemed inclined to respond to the distressed pleas and continued his assualt, both hands busying themselves on the restless, writhing body.

"...no...don't..." he could hear the young man panting, pleading, switching back to English when the Portuguese failed to get the desired reaction. "...don't..."

Bowman didn't know why Martinez would want to do something like this, not now, not after weeks spent treating the patient as nothing but the lowest form of a lab specimen, of keeping all direct communication with him to a bare minimun, and of isolating the young man from any compassionate demonstration of human contact. If this was a method of control, of dominance, it was effective. Effective but just...twisted.

The doctor removed one hand from the agitated body and reached, again, toward the nearby table, lifting a few small items and bringing them swiftly back, quickly smearing some viscous gel substance over his gloved fingers, and returning them rapidly to his subject's genitals. Bowman could see one of Martinez's hands drop away from the penis and begin probing behind the scrotum, pressing a finger into the tight opening just below. The patient arched up hard, grunting at the unexpected intrusion, and renewed his struggles, thrashing for all his worth in the constrictive confines of the chair, and using up his small reserve of strength almost instantly. Bowman wanted nothing more than to avert his eyes, to look away from the assault, but found himself virtually hypnotized by this surprising sexual attack.

"Holy shit," Robertson's voice was thick and low, "he's trying to make the poor bastard come."

Bowman wasn't watching the probing finger sliding repeatedly into the almost slack body or the hand that moved continually over the awakening length of the semi-aroused flesh. He found he couldn't, for whatever reason, tear his eyes away from the test subject's alarmed face. The green eyes were wide in silent terror and awash again in shocked tears, fixed on some point in the room that could have been a million miles away or just focused on a speck on the wall past Martinez's bowed head. His breathing was ragged and uneven and it caught repeatedly in a hurtful-sounding hitch when choking sobs or harsh grunts were forced from his throat and mouth. Bowman could see he was still trying to fight the inevitable, trying to retain this small part of himself, but knew it was a lost cause. Martinez was too unrelenting. But, above all else, Bowman could see the stark awareness of betrayal now etched into the sweating young face and knew, without a doubt, there was no way this guy would ever trust any of them again...even for something as simple as a cool sip of water.

This was going to have disastrous consequences, he could feel it.

"...God...s-s-stop..." the broken plea was whispered and, again, ignored. "...please..."

"You will give me a sample," Martinez's voice was now void of the earlier warmth and concern, his hands continuing their efforts, watching the body respond against the continued wishes of the tired mind. The probbing finger pushed deeper, searching, questing for the small gland that would bring the desired results and, when it was located, a feral grin appeared on the Brazilian's face. "Ah, there. Now, we can begin in earnest, yes?"

Bowman saw the test subject's body tighten, stomach muscles rippling and convulsing, and the watery eyes close slowly, head rolling to one side as the long neck arched with tension. He watched as Martinez redouble his efforts, hands moving, rubbing, sliding, touching, working to bring a swift conclusion to this obscene activity, only barely conscious as the machinery banked against one wall registering the patient's vitals beginning to beep a bit erratically and out of norm.

"That's right," Martinez prompted, seeing the pearl of pre-ejactuate form on the moist tip of the penis and watching as the testicles began to slowly draw upwards. He gripped the solid flesh tighter and continued stroking, catching the small bit of extra skin under the sensitive glans between two of his fingers and stimulating further with each pass of his hand. "It is good, yes?"

Bowman could see the repeated, direct stimulation was having the desired effect, could see it in the taut line of the body within the seat, could hear it in the harsh, ragged breathing, and could detect it in the bleak, pale face. It was almost over, the activity reaching its conclusion.

Somewhere to his left, a noise, a sound began to distract, to interfere. Bowman tilted his head unconsciously, knowing it needed to be addressed, but couldn't stop watching the scene within the exam room as it neared completion. Pushing a fist against his closed mouth in an attempt at keep his own sounds contained, Bowman concentrated on the test subject and silently willed him to just let go.

'Come on, buddy,' he prayed, 'just get it over with.'

Suddenly, the patient arched once, hard, flexing his hips in counterpoint to Martinez's hand, and was ejactulating, the erupting fluid being quickly captured into a small recepticle held at the tip of his pulsing flesh with one hand while the other continued, unmercifully, to stroke.

"All," Martinez was demanding, fingers never ceasing their movements. "I must have it all."

And the bank of medical machinery against the wall began to scream, shocking Bowman into action.

"Shit!" Robertson yelled, pushing back in his seat, and rising quickly, glancing once into Bowman's horrified face. "He's going into cardiac arrest!"

______________________

"So," Gibbs dropped his covered cup of coffee to the surface of the large, rectangle table and took a moment to ease out of his jacket, casting his sharp eyes around those clustered nearby, "what do we know?"

"Well," Abby immediately jumped in, dark lips forming a black pout, "not as much as we'd like. We know the helicopter service used," she glanced down at the sheaf of lavender paper under her fingers and pointed an equally dark nail at a line, "a private service called High Five Flight, to fly Tony from Bethesda to Philadelphia on the night of the sixteenth, dropped him and the supervising doctor off, refueled, and returned to Maryland immediately. What we also know is that the pilot, one Stephen Warford, who was also the sole owner of High Five Flight, was struck and killed by a hit-and-run driver the following morning."

Ducky entered the conversation. "I spoke with the coroner and she verifies Mr. Warford did, indeed, die of injuries sustained from the accident. He died almost immediately, neck..."

"Is this vital to finding DiNozzo, Duck?" Gibbs interrupted. "'Because, if it's not, I don't want to hear it." His gaze held the medical examiner's eyes for only a moment before shifting to all the others gathered around. "And that goes for everyone else. We've lost too much time already and I don't want to waste any more with useless information. Understand?"

The nods that greeted his directive were immediate. Even Doctor Mallard indicated his agreement.

"You're quite right, Jethro," he spoke softly. "It won't happen again."

Gibbs read the sincerity in the blue eyes and dipped his chin in graditude, knowing the older man understood the pressing need. "Okay, what else?"

"The supervising doctor who accompanied DiNozzo has not been located," Officer David supplied. "McGee and I have not been able to find anyone who had any contact with the doctor himself, only those who were directed to take a tissue sample from the body and prepare it for immediate shipment to the CDC, and those who disposed of the body."

"Tissue samples," Tim McGee quickly spoke, eyes glimmering hard in his young face, "that the CDC has confirmed did *not* belong to Tony. The samples belonged to a patient at Albert Einsein Medical Center who had died that same day of ovarian cancer..."

"Definately not our Anthony," Ducky piped in.

"...and who's body the hospital seems to have misplaced. It looks like that was the body that got cremated instead of Tony's."

"Well, isn't that a strange coinicidence?" Gibbs mumbled ironically and shook his head. "What about this doctor that no one seems to be able to find? He got on at Bethesda, right? Someone there has to know something. There's accurate records to keep for those flights, both for the helicopter company and the hospitals. What about those? McGee?"

The young agent sat up and looked straight at Gibbs. "I can't find a thing, Boss. It's almost as if someone's destroyed all the evidence."

"I spoke to Roberta Wainwright at Bethesda, Jethro," Ducky was speaking again, "and even she's perplexed by all this. To make matters worse, all of Anthony's charts and records were removed and taken with him on the helicopter. All we have left are Roberta's personal notes."

"You have them in your possession, Duck?" Gibbs asked quickly.

"Well, no, but..."

"Get them. Now," he directed sharply, "before they disappear, too."

Ducky was up and moving away from the group at the table, pulling his cell phone from his pocket and making the call. Everyone could see the worry clouding his lined face as he stopped by a window overlooking the parking area, his cultured voice soft in the distance.

"The helicopter, itself, contained numerous prints..." David was adding.

"...and we're running them all right now," Abby broke in, "but, Gibbs, we're talking about hundreds of prints. The list is going to be long..."

"We'll do what we have to do, Abby," Gibbs said solemnly.

The door to the conference room opened and Tobias Fornell stepped in, eyes quickly sweeping over those seated at the table and the figure speaking on a phone by the window, and moved directly to Gibbs' side. He pulled out a chair and sunk down, exhaustion fairly pouring off his body. They were all tired.

"Seems our helicopter made an unscheduled stop, Gibbs," the sharp eyes saw the immediate interest. "A patrolman just outside Philly reported seeing a chopper land in a field near the town little of Embreeville. He said it didn't stay on the ground long but he was able to see the ID number," Fornell's mouth tipped up in a bleak grin. "He said he remembered the number because it was his son's birthdate...21501."

Gibbs looked quickly toward McGee for confirmation and saw the nod. It was the same resistration number as High Five Flight's helicopter.

"The hell you say," Gibbs grunted, interest piqued. "What else?"

"And," Fornell continued, "seems there was another chopper waiting a short distance away. The patrolman," Fornell couldn't contain the real grin from emerging now, "remembered that number, too."

"Oh," Abby breathed in awe, "I *so* have to meet this guy."

McGee shot a quick look her way and arched an eyebrow, frowning at her open admiration. Almost immediately, Ducky's troubled voice had them all shifting their focus his way.

"They're gone, too!" The medical examiner was well and truly outraged by this turn of events, his smaller frame fairly vibrating in its barely constrained fury. He returned quickly to the conference table and stepped close to Gibbs, allowing the offered hand to settle on his arm in comfort. "All of Roberta's journals and personal notes have been stolen. *All* of them, Jethro, not just those focusing on Anthony but all of them!"

"It's okay, Duck," Gibbs soothed and forced the older man to sit, letting his hand linger on the closest trembling shoulder. "We may have another angle here to focus on." He looked back to Fornell. "Go on, Tobias, you've got center stage now."

Fornell nodded once. "The other helicopter belongs to billionaire recluse Franklin Wilson-Halley, who lives in a secure compound just outside of Twin Falls."

"Idaho?" McGee asked with confusion, eyes filled with disbelief. "Why would a billionaire want to live in Idaho?"

"The bigger question, I should think," David looked pointedly at Gibbs, "is why would Franlin Wilson-Halley be interested in DiNozzo...if that's who's behind this elaborate deception."

"Actually," Ducky shifted and rubbed a nervous hand across his face, "I think I may know the answer to that."

Gibbs turned his attention, as they all did, to the medical examiner and watched as he struggled to put his thoughts into words. He cleared his throat and sighed.

"When we were first looking for Anthony, right after his disappearance from Bethesda, young Timothy and I did some internet searches. He, of course, was focused on a totally different direction than mine and, I must admit, I was quite fascinated with..."

"Duck."

Gibbs' tone immediately transmitted his waning patience.

Ducky nodded and swallowed. "Mr. Wilson-Halley has been a financial supporter of many causes but, within the last several years, pooled his money in a different arena, with others searching for the same thing he was."

"Duck," Gibbs' voice had a hard edge now. "Who?"

"Emilio Martinez."


TBC

I can clearly remember something Tony once told me, a long time ago, right after Gibbs offered me a job and took me on as part of his NCIS team, and it's stuck with me ever since that day, when my unprepared body and mind quailed at the sight of my very first murder victim. I guess everyone remembers their 'firsts': first kiss, first love, first job, first sex, first murder victim. Well, okay...maybe not *everyone* has a first murder victim to remember but it's easy to understand how something like that would tend to stick as a clear memory.

The young, male Naval officer had still been in the vehicle when we'd arrived on the scene, simply sitting behind the steering wheel as he had been when driving, only his severed head was draped backward over the front seat and hanging on to the rest of the body by a thin strand of tendon or muscle or something I couldn't and, quite frankly, didn't want to identify. The whole interior was awash in blood and gore and the coppery smell was so intense I could actually taste it on my tongue. After getting more of a look than I really wanted and inhaling too much of that strong, biting odor, I had hasitly averted my eyes and found my feet just couldn't propel me away from the crime scene fast enough. In reality, I did manage to move on rubbery legs a short distance away before falling to my knees on a patch of wet grass and vomiting up my lunch, then my breakfast, and then, I swear, I was heaving so hard a bit of my supper from the night before had to have made an appearance in the mess. It hadn't been a pretty sight and I had never felt more like the green rookie I was until that very moment.

Tony had sidled right up beside my kneeling, gagging form, placed his lanky body between me and victim, probably to shield me from others, and had sighed dramatically, hands on hips and squinting down at me like some magnanimous lord overseeing one of his lowly serfs. I swear that's what he looked like but I would never admit it to him, not ever.

"Probie," he'd spoken in that infuriating, aggravating, obnoxious tone he sometimes takes with me, "if there's one thing I've learned in this job, it's that you've just got to learn to expect the unexpected."

What an understatement *that* had been and, as I sit here now in the backseat of a rented car somewhere in Southern Idaho, with Ducky at my side and Gibbs behind the wheel, driving like he was still attacking the streets of DC, I would have to agree wholeheartedly with Tony's unwanted wisdom. This is something I never would have expected to be doing in a million years. And to make it even more strange, FBI Agent Tobias Fornell is occupying the passenger seat beside Gibbs, his head lolling against the side window and all but oblivious to Gibbs' manic maneuvering and Ducky's endless droning about human growth hormones and pituitary glands and something called Somatotropin. I don't understand it all, not sure I even *want* to understand it but, for some reason, Gibbs wants to hear all about the current case studies and medical trials and that makes me realize he thinks it's all got something to do with what he supposes is happening to Tony.

Tony.

God, I hope he's all right. It's been three and a half weeks since we were told he was dead, three and a half weeks of expecting to hear him call me 'Probie' every time I made some dumb mistake, and three and a half weeks of trying not to get all choked up each time my eyes happened to drift toward his empty desk. I thought it had been bad when Caitlin Todd died but this...this is much worse. Don't get me wrong, I liked Cait a lot: she was kind and tolerant and never went out of her way to belittle me...like Tony. But I've known Tony longer now, gotten to recognize the real person behind all that bluff and ego, and have come to think of him as not only a valued colleague but as a friend, too. A friend I would like to see back at work with us, doing and saying all that annoying stuff like he use to before all this happened.

And I know I'm not the only one who misses him. Abby pretty much said she'd kick *all* our asses if we came back without Tony and, God help me, I think she'd actually attempt it...even with Gibbs. He'd just looked at her like some indulgent parent when she'd made her announcement, pulled gently on one of her pigtails, and dropped a quick kiss on the tip of her nose before turning to glare at me, growling low in his throat and all but daring me to say one word about his brief display of affection. As if. I know when to keep my mouth shut. Plus, I think it was Gibbs' non-verbal way of telling her we would all do our best to make it happen but, really, we weren't even sure what we were getting into or if Tony was, indeed, still alive. This could all be nothing more than wishful hoping on our part.

Anyway, Abby had wanted to make the trip with us but we'd all known she would be of more value if she remained in the office plus, and I guess most importantly, Gibbs knew she'd be able to feed us all the necessary information we'd be needing *and* keep an eye on Director Shepard's activities. She wasn't happy but, as we all know, some of Abby's best work is done in her lab.

Speaking of Director Shepard...I don't know what was said but, when Gibbs finally came out of MTAC, after letting us know he was going to inform her of our intentions, he'd been red in the face and Shepard'd been hot on his heels, following him all the way down the staircase, past other startled agents, and over to his desk. She was kind of flushed in the face, too, her hair all spiky and wild and I could only stare at her in open-mouth amazement, watching as she tried to intimidate Gibbs into doing what she wanted. Intimidate. Gibbs. Yeah, like *that* would ever happen. Her petite body was almost thrumming with anger and, if I'd been able to see her face, I would have bet there'd been sparks shooting out of her eyes. I'd almost called Abby to come watch the fireworks but, all of a sudden, Shepard had turned away from Gibbs and was directing her tirade toward Ziva and me, all that contained fury just ready to explode and frag us all. I know my eyes must have gotten as big as bowling balls and I knew I was having a hard time swallowing but, when I chanced a glance back to Gibbs, just to see how he was taking all this, he'd actually been grinning at us behind her back. *Grinning*. I couldn't believe it. My amazement must have shown on my face because Shepard had immediately whirled back and, as only Gibbs can manage, was met with nothing more than his cool, blue eyes and an unemotional, blank expression. I think that only angered her more.

"If you or any member of your team makes one move to follow through with those ridiculous plans of yours, Agent Gibbs, I will have all of your jobs in an instant," she'd hissed down at him as he'd sat behind his desk, folding her arms across her chest and tipping her chin slightly upwards. She'd actually dared him to defy her. Oh, boy...

I'd cast a quick look over to where Ziva was sitting at her desk and saw her surprised expression, too, but I'd also seen something dark and dangerous pass behind her eyes. I'll be the first to admit, Ziva can scare me shitless sometimes. She just makes me feel so...unsafe...like she wouldn't think twice about slitting my throat or putting a bullet through my head or cutting the brake lines in my car. She's my teammate now but I still haven't learned to trust her yet. There's just something about her that creeps me out. Gibbs seems to have accepted her, for whatever reason, and she's proven herself repeatedly in the field, so maybe I just need to make more of an effort to get to know her better. Maybe.

Anyway, Director Shepard must have caught Ziva's fleeting expression, too, because she'd suddenly stepped closer to Ziva's desk and began tearing into her. I think Tony would have just sat back in his chair and enjoyed the show but I sure didn't. Tony always use to talk about catfights and hair-pulling and other so-called 'feminine' ways of fighting but, honestly, I just knew if these two ever went at it, head to head, there'd be a fair amount of blood shed. Oh, yeah.

I think Gibbs knew it, too, because he'd been up and around his desk quicker than I'd remember seeing him move in a very long time, positioning himself between the Director and Ziva, speaking quietly and calmly into Shepard's face. Like the big lump that I am, I just sat there and watched it all.

"I'm not involving any of my agents in this, Jen," Gibbs had spoken, hands jamming into his pockets in what I really think was a move to keep them from reaching out to throttle her. "If you won't give me the resources I need to get the job done properly, I'll do it my own way."

*That* had brought me to my feet. "Boss..."

"Sit down and shut up, McGee!" Gibbs had all but yelled at me and, of course, I immediately did as he ordered. It didn't mean I liked it but I pretty much do everything he tells me to do. Pretty much.

Meantime, Ducky had come up from the morgue, seen what was going on, listened for a moment, and had immediately retreated back the way he'd come. I don't think Director Shepard saw him, not from the angle she'd been standing, but I know Gibbs did and the sight of our medical examiner must have bolstered his resolve.

"I'm going to Idaho to look for DiNozzo, Director Shepard. I don't know why you're fighting me so hard on this or why you won't even look at all the evidence we've gathered but," he'd tilted his head and looked at her intently, "what I really can't figure out is why you're so determined to abandon one of your own agents to an existence we can't even begin to imagine."

"Because Agent DiNozzo is gone!" She'd gritted, shaking her head in frustration. "The ashes were turned over to his family weeks ago."

"Ashes that probably belonged to a missing forty-nine year old ovarian cancer victim!"

Gibbs could do frustration real good, too, and he'd been *really* frustrated then. I'd caught Ziva's eyes, where she'd risen to stand by her desk when Shepard had approached, and could see her face growing pale and hard with barely contained anger. She was use to taking care of her own problems, we all knew it, but Gibbs had effectively deflected Shepard's ire away from her and back onto himself. I'd shaken my head at Ziva, trying to make her understand, and hoped she'd just remain quiet and let our boss do his thing. She did but I could tell she didn't like it.

Gibbs and Shepard had continued to exchange shots, getting absolutely nowhere, and attracting a lot more attention from the other agents in the immediate area. I had glanced around and seen four or five heads peering over dividers or around corners and knew this would be the main topic of converstion around the water-cooler for quite awhile to come. Forget about Survivor or American Idol...*this* was entertainment. It wasn't everyday you saw a Director of NCIS going a round or two with one of the agency's top investigators.

They might have gone on for some time if Ducky hadn't reappeared near the edge of my desk, pausing only briefly to take a deep breath before stepping directly and bravely imto the middle of the argument. I couldn't help it and, no matter what Gibbs had ordered, I'd just had to stand up, especially if Ducky was going to be involved.

"Excuse me," he'd tried to get their attention with his calm, gentle tone but had swiftly seen that approach wasn't going to work.

Sighing dramatically, Ducky had boldly stepped between them, placing his slighter body in the small space dividing them, and had raised both his hands, palms out and fingers spread, successfully breaking their line of sight. Both Gibbs and Shepard had taken a step back, closed their mouths, and looked down at the intruder.

"I'm so sorry to interrupt like this, Director Shepard," he'd actually managed to look contrite as he'd focused on her face, completely ignoring the fact he'd just broken up a very heated argument, "but I've recently recieved some unsetling news concerning my dear mother. I'm afraid I'm going to need a leave of absence beginning immediately."

I didn't listen to everything he'd said but whatever tale he'd told must have been a good one because Director Shepard had immediately offered her concern and blessing and had sent Ducky on his merry way with an assurance that his job would be waiting for him when he returned. I heard him mumble something in graditude and, as he'd neared my desk, his serious expression had broken into an impish grin and, unbelievably, he'd winked right at me before scurrying past. I followed his retreat with my gaze and knew he'd be heading down to speak to Abby, ready to explain the situation and how he'd successfully managed to slip under the Director's radar.

By the time I returned my attention back to Gibbs and Shepard, the Director had already been turning away and heading back upstairs, leaving us all to stare silently at her straight back. If Tony had been there, he'd probably been watching her ass but I was content just to look at her stiff spine, staying quiet, waiting until Gibbs broke our little tableau by barking at me.

"McGee!"

"Yes, Boss?"

"Get on the phone and make reservations for the evening flight to Twin Falls. I want to be in Idaho and ready to start the search as soon as possible."

"For how many, Boss?" I'd asked carefully, not realizing I was holding my breath as I waited for his response...until a burn started in my chest.

He'd looked at me, then at Ziva, and sat back down in his chair, running a hand through his short hair. I'd been able to tell he was doing some fairly serious internal debating, calmost saw the gears turning as he considered different scenarios and possibilities, and knew he'd been silently running through our individual strengths and weaknesses. I'd chanced a quick glance toward Ziva and, I swear, I think she'd been holding her breath, too.

"One for me, one for Fornell..."

"Fornell?" Ziva had questioned, her tone rife with disbelief, "Gibbs, Fornell is..."

The look Gibbs had shot her way had her silent in a second. He'd held her gaze for a few more moments before returning his look to me. I know he'd probably seen the hopeful look in my eyes, and he'd known how I felt about Tony, so I'd just put as much of my desire to go with him into my _expression and just waited.

"One for Ducky," he'd never broken eye contact with me but I could almost sense what was coming and had started grinning even before the words were all the way out of his mouth, "and one for you."

"I'm on it, Boss," I'd breathed in a relieved rush and had immediately reached for my keypad, determined to get us on the flight he wanted, my mind already thinking about what I'd be needing to throw into my duffle for the trip.

I'd been so wrapped up in my quest, I didn't realize right away that Gibbs had risen from his seat and was, once again, back by Ziva's desk, leaning on the hard, flat surface and head bent close to hers. When I did glance up and saw his position in the office, I'd gotten instantly concerned. I couldn't see his face but, from Ziva's serious expression, it looked like he was doing a lot of fast talking. Her face had gone through a wide range of emotions but it was the very last one that chilled me to the bones. It was the look she'd sometimes get when we'd had a suspect say or do something she felt deserved prompt and deadly retribution, that same look that scared me shitless. She'd had it then, while Gibbs was speaking so earnestly to her, only this time she added this creepy, sinister, little smile. I didn't know what they'd discussed until much later and, then, I'd found I really didn't want to know.

Twelve hours later, the four of us are in the car heading north on Highway 75, from Twin Falls toward Ketchum, and I'm watching the snow fall through the side window, wishing I'd packed my long johns and thermal socks. It's got to be somewhere in the mid-twenties but, with the wind chill as it is today, I bet it feels closer to zero. I can't help thinking about Tony and hoping, wherever he is at the moment, he's someplace warm and dry and out of this nasty weather but, for whatever reason, I get this awful ache in my chest and know that's probably not the case. I don't know what to expect when we find him, *if* we find him, but I just have this feeling he'll...

"Stop it, McGee."

Gibbs' voice startles me out of my morose thoughts and I quickly look up to see his eyes reflected toward me in the rearview mirror. I'm confused and I guess it shows because he lets out this big sigh and shifts a little in his seat.

"Stop what, Boss?" I ask tentatively, sensing Ducky's gaze on me now.

"Stop thinking so hard about...things," he answers hesitantly and I know I've been busted.

Ducky reaches over and gently pats my hand, the gesture almost making me tear up. I know I'm not the best at hiding my emotions but I didn't realize they showed on my face so easily. I squirm a bit and offer my own sigh.

"I'm sorry, Boss."

"Don't be," he sounds gruff and I can see his grip tighten on the steering wheel.

We're all on edge, have been since the trip plans had solidified and we'd found ourselves meeting up with Agent Fornell at Ronald Reagan National Airport. I should have slept on the flight, like Gibbs had suggested, but all I could do was close my eyes and pretend, especially when he and Fornell began discussing the plan to get in to speak with reclusive billionaire Franklin Wilson-Halley. I knew they thought he was the key to this mess...he and Doctor Emilio Martinez...but I knew we were going in under false pretenses and without the backing of our respective agencies. It was all kind of scary and exciting at the same time. But what concerned me more than anything was Wilson-Halley's power. I'd learned early on in my career that people with money could hide secrets much better than those without and those who were wealthy...well, they can hide just about anything they want. Unfortunately, Wilson-Halley was one of the riches men in the United Staes, if not the world. It only made me wonder what kind of secrets he'd want to hide and to what means he would go to keep them secret.

"How soon is our turn off, McGee?" Gibbs asked and I quickly looked at the directions I'd plotted with Abby's assistance.

"Just a couple more miles until we hit Highway 26. Then it'll be approximately fifty more before the last stretch that'll take us on in to Lost River."

Gibbs just nodded but didn't look at me in the mirror. He *did* reach over and punch Fornell pretty soundly in the arm, jerking the other man awake, and offereing an _expression that held absolutely no apology at all. Fornell made some sniffing or snorting sounds, stretched as much as he could in the confines of the front seat, and began looking blearily around.

"Where the hell are we?"

"Idaho," Gibbs responded dryly.

I almost laughed. I could see Fornell turn away from the window and track slowly back toward Gibbs, his posture growing tense.

"You know what, Gibbs? Fuck you."

Well.

Gibbs' grip tightened on the wheel again and I just kind of pushed further back in my seat, hoping to stay well out of the way when the shit hit the fan. These guys were notorious for tearing into each other but I'd actually thought they'd reached some uneasy truce because of our search for Tony. Guess I was wrong. Sure wouldn't be the first time nor the last.

"No," Gibbs said calmly, deceptively, "fuck you."

"Gentlemen," Ducky was clearing his throat, trying to diffuse the situation in his proper, refined manner...and then proceeded to drive us all crazy with his explanation on the origins of the word 'fuck' and how it's usage had changed throughout the years. All I could do was groan, turn back to look out my window at the falling snow, and wish I'd witnessed the shit hitting the fan instead. When Ducky got wound up, no one but Gibbs seemed able to turn him off and, right now, it didn't appear he was inclined to throw the switch.

We finally arrived in the tiny town of Lost River and, because there were no motels, got situated at the only bed and breakfast present. Only two of the four rooms were available for us and the owner was quick to point out we were lucky to have those, since her prior guests had left early to do some skiiing in another part of the state. I didn't care if I had to share a bed and, as long as I had a place to lay my head when I got tired, I could stand just about anything. Ducky and I took a room directly across the hallway from Gibbs and Fornell but we all knew we'd be using their room as a base for operations. In fact, as soon as we'd dumped our gear in the room, we were all huddled around a small table near a bay window in their room, looking over some surveillance photos Fornell had brought and discussing our plan.

Gibbs and Fornell were going to call the estate, explain who they were, and indicate they only wanted to speak to Mr. Wilson-Halley as soon as possible. They knew he was still on the property, or had been last night, as Fornell had used his resources and connections in Ketchum to find out the billionaire's schedule. There was no guarantee they'd be given an appointment, or whatever wealthy people grant, but they thought it best to go in and get a feel for who they were dealing with. It was worth a try and, frankly, we didn't have anything to lose.

Ducky was going to scout out the local medical facilities, if there were any, secure some rudimentary first aid gear, and set up a triage area in our room, just in case we found Tony and he needed some 'private' care. I couldn't help the shudder that ran through me as I thought of that possibility. The closest thing this town had was probably a health clinic and I didn't want to think what I might have to see if he was badly hurt. Once again, Tony's words sprung into my mind.

'Expect the unexpected.'

Good advice...if you could manage doing it. Right now, I was just trying to do everything Gibbs told me to do without messing up.

My job was to stay in the room and be the hub for today's activities. If Gibbs and Fornell got in to see Wilson-Halley, we'd go from there. I immediately set up my laptop, connected the camera, and contacted Abby. We were able to speak only briefly before Gibbs began firing questions her way about schematics for the billionaire's compound and intel about security and guards and I took it all in, wondering what we were really getting ourselves into. From the description Abby was giving, this guy was dead serious about his privacy.

When Ducky indicated he was ready to begin his search for supplies, I offered to go, but Gibbs negated the idea and told me he wanted me to stay put. I was needed here and no where else. I nodded my understanding and sat back at the computer, watching them all prepare to leave. I wanted nothing more than to be at Gibbs' side, wanted to hear what Wilson-Halley had to say, wanted to see what kind of man we were up against. Instead, I sat with my fingers barely skimming the keyboard, eyes focused on nothing, and my thoughts flying back to Tony. Sometimes doing absolutely nothing was the hardest thing in the world to do.

Several hours later, Ducky returned, his hat and coat covered with a thick dusting of snow and his hands clutching several plastic bags full of all kinds of simple, basic medical supplies. I left the laptop to help him unpack and sort through the various items but left him to arrange them on the small, round table in our room to his satisfaction. There was a method to all his fussing but I just couldn't see it.

Another hour and a half passed before Gibbs called to let us know they were on their way back and had been successful in gaining entrance to Mr. Wilson-Halley's estate. He didn't sound very enthusiastic but, with Gibbs, who could really tell?

When they arrived back, we all gathered around in the warm room and Ducky and I got the shock of our lives. I was, at first, unaware of the implications but, when I finally did comprehend the allegation, I could hardly believe what I was hearing.

"He knew we were coming," Gibbs said bitterly, his face white and strained with barely-controlled fury, as he looked hard at our medical examiner. "Someone told him we were coming out here to look for DiNozzo and I can think of only one other person who knew I suspected Wilson-Halley had any connections to Emilio Martinez."

"Director Shepard."

Just hearing Ducky speak the name confused me. That couldn't be right. Why in the world would Director Shepard pass on information like that to a man they suspected played a part in Tony's disappearance? What could she possibly hope to gain by contributing to a cover-up like this? There just had to be a more logical explanation.

Just as I got ready to voice my concerns, the shrill beep of a cell phone made us all pause, and we watched as the small device was answered. "Gibbs."

There was a strange look on Gibbs' face when he listened, like he was searching for something he couldn't quite get a handle on, and then it was instantly gone and he was snapping the phone closed. He shook his head, lips compressed into a hard, grim line, and took a moment to run a slightly shaking hand through his hair. He looked back at us and shrugged.

"Just a wrong number, I guess," he admitted tiredly, "but, for a moment there, I kind of thought..."

He let the words trail off and we all wondered what was going through his mind. We didn't get the opportunity to ask before it was trilling for attention again.

"Gibbs," his voice wasn't as sharp or cold this time and I saw him go perfectly still, bringing his free hand up to cover his open ear in an attempt to hear the caller a bit more clearly. Then, the look on his face changed and his eyes immediately sought out Ducky's. When he spoke again, his voice was full of expectant disbelief. "Tony?"

I was out of my seat and stepping closer, watching the play of emotions on Gibbs' face. I don't think I've ever seen his face so alive with so many expressions before but, seeing the open relief in his blue eyes, I knew it was true. He *was* talking to Tony.

"Where are you? Yes...yes. Wait, Tony...I can hardly hear you. Are you all right? Are you hurt? Just...just tell me where you are." He paced toward the bay window but wasn't watching the snow fall. "Well, can you see anything...like a landmark or a building or..." He was quiet for a very long time and I watched his head slowly begin to angle downward and his broad shoulders sag under some unseen weight. His voice got soft and, unbelievably, tender. "Tony...don't. Please, don't cry. I'm here now and I'm coming for you. Just...just don't hang up, okay? Just stay on the line."

He turned his bleak face to us but we were already moving. I reconnected with Abby quickly and, after she squealed in delight at my news, we immediately started working to locate the origin of Tony's call, using Gibbs' cell as the link. Fornell was pulling his wet coat back on, as was Ducky, and I realized I was going to be left behind again as they went out in the weather to track Tony down. I bristled for only a moment but knew this is where I was needed the most. I'd have the chance to see Tony when they brought him back.

When they left, I was alone but Abby's digital presence was so dynamic I almost felt she was right in the room with me. I immediately used my cell to call Ducky so we were able to coordinate their movements, directing them south toward the Snake River Plains and then on into Craters of the Moon National Preserve. Occasionally, I'd hear Fornell swear or a calming bit of reassurance from Ducky but there was a continual, steady stream of quiet words coming from Gibbs that almost sounded foreign in their affection and tenderness. Not quite the way I was use to hearing him talk, that's for sure. I found myself glancing Abby's way several times to see if she was reading the tone like I was and there no doubt she was. I could almost feel the warmth of her growing smile from here and it made me grin as well.

Finally finding Tony was fairly anti-climatic, from the sound of it, at least from my end of the cell phone. There was just a lot of grunting and shifting and doors opening and muted voices and then they were back in the car, the doors slamming shut. And that's when both Abby and I realized something had changed...they were too quiet. I looked once at her image on the screen, saw her shrug, and then took my chance.

"Uh, Ducky?"

It took a moment before I got a response and I got the impression the cell had been tossed somewhere when they's gotten out to get Tony but the voice that responded didn't belong to our medical examiner. I immedaitely recognized Agent Fornell's gruff voice.

"What is it, McGee?"

"We were...I mean, Abby and I were wondering about Tony."

There was a long pause. "We've got him."

"Is he okay?" I really wanted to know because something was giving me, as my grandmother use to say, the heebie-jeebies.

Another long pause. "Look, McGee, Gibbs and Ducky are taking care of DiNozzo and I'm driving us back as fast as I can, so how about you let me use both of my hands and we'll be there shortly. Okay?"

And then he hung up on me...just like that. I wanted to be offended and I guess I was, deep down, but I really did understand his reasoning. I looked back toward Abby's concerned face, saw her suddenly slant her eyes quickly to one side, and then whisper a swift, "I gotta go", before I lost contact with her as well. We all knew she had to be careful when communicating with us, so she'd probably had someone enter the lab.

I shut everything down, cleared up the clutter, and settled back to wait, unconsciously counting the long minutes that crawled by. I caught myself chewing nervously at a rough thumb nail, worried it until it actually bled, and then forced myself to stop before I could do any more damage. Jerking out of the chair, I began to pace the space in front of the huge king-sized bed, back and forth, watching the rug's floral pattern at my feet shift and transform each time I changed direction. I knew I was beginning to really lose it when I thought about those guys waiting in the hospital for their children to be born, pacing up and down the hallways like I was doing here right now. Expectant father...yep, that's me.

When the door finally opened and I turned to greet my recently-resurrected colleague, I had to stop dead in my tracks, getting my first real good look at him since his disappearance three and a half weeks ago. My mouth must have been hanging open because Ducky gently knuckled it closed as he passed by, moving swiftly to tug the covers back and prepare the bed to receive Tony's shivering form. And, I guess, *that's* what was making me stare: his form.

Usually as tall and as broad as Gibbs, Tony now only came up to the middle of our boss' chin and was no where as filled out as he should be. In fact, he looked like he was only...

Oh, my God, that was it! All that talk about human growth hormones and pituitary glands and Somatotropin and anti-aging and all that other stuff Ducky had droned on and on came back and hit me smack in the face. Tony now looked like he was no older than fifteen or sixteen years old, his face smoother than I've ever seen it before: no small laugh lines around his eyes, no tiny crease on his forehead, no blemishes of any kind at all!

Oh, my God...

As Gibbs and Fornell finally got him settled and tucked under the thick covers, his green gaze finally caught mine and I could see a spark of the Tony I knew. It was there, just muted with fear and fatigue and pain.

"Hey, Probie," he mumbled weakly in a slightly higher tenor voice.

Expect the unexpected. Yeah, you got *that* right.

TBC

When the door burst open, I didn't know what the hell was happening.

Entering the small room that served as our bunk and down-time area, the tech woke me from a sound sleep, disrespectfully flipping on the overhead lights, and moving to loudly bang open the metal cabinet that contained our spare clothing and other gear. I was mad at first but quickly changed my mind when I got a real good look at his face. I knew it had to be something real important from the look in his wide eyes and by the slightly-panicky sound of his voice and my first thoughts went to the young test subject held in Martinez's lab. He wasn't suppose to be having anything done to him for several more hours, and the last injection of that quack's special serum had been given two days ago, so I had no idea what could be causing all this ruckus. Surely, something *else* hadn't happened to him. I cringed thinking about that possiblity...he'd gone through so much already.

"What?" I asked irritably, immediately pushing the covers back and scrambling for my pants, pulling them on quickly and zipping up, blinking hard in the sudden illumination. I peered in his direction and tried to make sense of his actions. "What the hell are you doing? What's going on?"

"They're shutting everything down!" The tech, Anderson, sounded really sacred and *that* made me a little anxious, too. "Martinez got a call and he's furious! He's running around, yelling at everyone, shouting and acting almost like it's the end of the world or something! He's ordered everyone to be ready to evacuate in an hour! Shit, Bowman, I heard him tell someone to prepare for 'sanitation' procedures...whatever the hell that means!"

To say I was shocked would be an understatement. I watched numbly as he began yanking his spare clothing from the wire hangers and shoving them into his duffle, disregarding the stick of deodorant and the half-empty tube of toothpaste, wasting no time for non-essentials. I really didn't have anything here that mattered all that much to me, except the henley
I was now reaching to pull over my head, so I ignored the few possessions I had in the closet and, after swiftly lacing up my boots, made a mad dash straight for the lab.

Truthfully, I didn't know what I was doing heading in that direction. I guess some stupid, weak part of me wanted to check to make sure the patient was not going to be left here, strapped down to that damned table, and 'sanitized' with the rest of the facility. I didn't want to think of the implications of the word or what it could mean for him but something was just compelling me to get to him as quickly as I could.

There were more people in the stark hallways than I'd ever seen before and, even though there were no more than a half dozen total, that was about four or five more than usually occupied the area. And they were dressed strangely...in something resembling containment suits...and Anderson's word echoed in my pounding skull. 'Sanitation.' Fuck! I knew these oddly-garbed guys had to be here to do just that, so I picked up speed and ran the remaining distance.

After quickly punching in the appropriate code, I entered the lab and immediately pulled up short, my stomach clenching at the sight. Martinez was bent over the terrified test subject, carelessly ripping out IV lines and monitor leads like a man possessed by demons, tearing open the fragile skin in his reckless haste. He even yanked out the catheter that'd been so cautiously reinserted only days ago, eliciting a sharp cry of pain that was ignored as if it never occurred. I flinched at the harsh sound, feeling my own nuts draw up in sympathy, and stepped forward to offer my assistance, if only to do the job with a little more consideration. Martinez glanced up as I moved to the opposite side of the examination table and his eyes barely settled on me before he removed his blood-splattered fingers.

"Good," he grunted and waved his reddened hands over the trembling body. "Remove the rest of the equipment and prepare him for transportation."

"Transportation? To where?" I asked before thinking, my surprise over-riding any common sense. I placed a hand on the patient's closest shoulder in an effort to calm his trembling and watched the glazed, green eyes turn my way, the anguish in their depths making my stomach clench. "What's going on, Doctor Martinez?"

Martinez was turning away and moving directly to the unit housing all the samples he'd taken from the test subject during the past few weeks: blood, tissue, bone marrow, semen, urine...I really don't know how many different ones he'd accumulated but he was carefully handling the small containers and placing them all into a well-padded, alloy briefcase. He didn't even look at me when he responded to my questions.

"That is not of your concern! Just get him disconnected!"

The doorway was reopening and Robertson was suddenly entering, heading straight for me and the examine table. He looked grim and I should have known it was going to come to this sometime but, I guess, just chose to disregard the inevitable. If 'sanitation' was going to occur, *everything* was going to be eradicated in the process, even the test subject. Our eyes met briefly and I could see the stark truth: they were going to do something to ensure the young patient was never recovered. Shit. I swallowed hard and looked down into the guy's face, again amazed by the transformations I'd witnessed since his arrival.

Where that smart-mouthed, grown man had been, a scared teenager now resided and, even though I believe he still retained his adult memories and mind, he looked so young and so apprehensive all I wanted to do was protect him. And he was now in constant pain...so much pain. No matter how miraculous that fucking madman Martinez thought his 'youth serum' was, the effects on this body were devastating. I'd carefully watched the gradual diminishing of his form, the drastic weight loss, the lessening of fatty tissue and the re-emergence of more youthful muscle mass and tone. I'd seen the slightly-loose skin begin to tighten and firm and beared witness to the vanishing of the small, fine lines and blemishes on the skin. But I'd also monitored the effects on his heart and liver, seen the stress put on the bones and tissues and joints, and assisited with hasty transfusions when we all thought he was just going to lay there and bleed out.

That sonofabitch Martinez could have stopped at any time, once some of the signs of the aging process had started to reverse, especially once we all could see the visible changes, but he chose to continue with the injections, pushing the limits of his theory and the patient to the breaking point, wanting to see how far he could go before having to stop...or until death occurred. Now, it looked like the choice was being removed from his hands by some outside force.

"Where are you taking him?" I whispered to Robertson, gently removing the cuff from the bruised left wrist and wincing at the open sore I could now see on the inside edge, the white of bone slightly visible through the ruined skin.

"Someplace close to Craters, I guess," he looked anxiously about and, seeing Martinez otherwise occupied, looked me straight in the eyes. "He wants me to dump this guy somewhere and just let him die, Andy. He wants him taken to an area where the wolves will get to him quickly and eliminate any sign of the body."

"Fuck..." I breathed in disbelief.

"I...I don't think I can do it."

"Let me take him," I offered hastily and moved my hands down to the binding around the ankle, wondering if the swelling there was an indicator of a break or just a very bad sprain. I could remember how hard this guy had fought at times: fought Martinez, fought us, fought the drugs, and kept fighting until there just wasn't anymore fight left in his weakened, altered body.

"You?" I could clearly hear the doubt in Robertson's voice. When I looked up and met his gaze, I knew he was suspicious, and his huffed voice reaffirmed it. "Andy, that's not your style. You couldn't dump him as wolf chow even if they were paying you a million bucks." His eyes shifted toward Martinez but he continued to whisper. "If...if I let you do this, you'll only take him some place where he can get some help and the people footing the bill for this whole operation will track you down and kill you!"

"Well, it'll be *my* hide! Christ, I just can't let him be tossed out like some piece of garbage! He's a human being!" I hissed back and, together, we began dressing the patient in the clothing Robertson had brought in. The too-large, faded jeans slipped up the slim legs quickly and I reached to snatch the long-sleeved pullover from Robertson's hands, working it over the mop of unruly, brown hair, determined to not be sorry for my decision. "He deserves more than that."

Robertson was still watching me as I finished putting the shirt on the limp patient and I know he saw something in me *I* didn't even realize I possessed. Shit, what was I doing? Robertson was right...if I did this, I'd probably be dead, too. I should just do like everyone else was going to do: cut and run.

"Please..."

The soft plea caught me by surprise and, when I looked down, the eyes meeting mine were bleak, lost, and filled with the misery of a much older man. I chanced a quick glance, saw Martinez was still bent over his precious briefcase, and focused on the patient, lowering my face close and grimacing when he recoiled slightly from my close presence. I laid my hand gently on the crown of his head and spoke low.

"Look, I'm going to get you out of here but we've got to be very careful. They want you dead...do you understand?"

His eyes seemed to clear a bit and I saw a small nod. The tired eyes left mine and tracked toward Robertson and I had the feeling he was trying to see if we'd have assistance. Robertson grunted and looked quickly away from the assessing gaze.

"Look, Andy," he focused only on me and completely ignored the patient, "I'll help you get him into your truck but Martinez still needs to think I'm going to be the one doing the deed. If he thinks I don't have the stomach, he'll probably have me killed before I can take a step out of here. Once we're outside, I'm out of here as fast as I can go and I'm not stopping for anything. If you're smart, you'll do the same."

"You do what you've gotta do, man," I managed before Martinez suddenly turned toward us.

"Aren't you finished yet?" He snapped, and then erupted into a sudden frenzy, moving quickly to the exam table and plucking at the clothes we'd just put on the trembling young man. "What is this?! You idiots! Take these things off him immediately! There must not be any clothing during the disposal, nothing that may get in the animals' way! Take these off and get him out of here now!"

Regretfully, we stripped away the coverings as ordered but I cautiously folded them up, determined to put them back on the shaking body once we managed our escape. We sat him up and Robertson quickly maneuvered him over his shoulders and into an easy fireman's carry.

"We're going now, Doctor Martinez," I spoke to the older man, hoping my nerves would hold out.

He turned and looked shrewdly at me. "You are going, too?"

"I'm going to get our duffels and coats from the bunk area and carry Robertson's out for him."

Those dark eyes held mine and I tried not to squirm under his assessing gaze. It felt as though he could see into my soul, so I focused on remaining as still as possible and silently prayed he'd move the feral look away before I cracked. He looked over to where Robertson stood, with the patient draped over his shoulders like some obscene, human shawl, and seemed to consider us both.

"You will make sure he is placed where the animals will locate him quickly, yes? There must be a certainty of this. You understand?"

Robertson nodded and, as far as I was concerned, doing a real good job of keeping it all together. "I understand."

"Then go."

And, just like that, we were dismissed. We hustled out of the lab, stopped only to grab our coats and Robertson's duffel, and hustled up the stairs and outside into the blowing snow, moving unerringly to my old truck near the end of the small parking area. We shoved the shivering young man into the passenger seat. I met Robertson's eyes one, final time, could see the fear flare before we looked away, and just knew he thought we'd all be dead before the day was over anyway. We were well and truly fucked now.

Not bothering with meaningless goodbyes, I quickly got onto the vehicle, turned the key in the ignition, and got the hell out of Dodge, casting one glance in the rearview mirror to get my last look at a place I never wanted to see again. There didn't seem to be any other activity outside the facility, except for Robertson's immediate departure, and there wouldn't be until the true sanitation process began in about a half an hour. I had to get as far away as possible but also make it look like one of us was following orders, so I headed my truck in the direction of Craters of the Moon National Preserve and tried to think of my options.

I managed to ignore my companion and keep my eyes trained solely on the road for only about twenty miles or so and then knew I had to pull over to get the scant clothing back on his trembling body. Even with the heater blasting, he was shaking so bad I thought he'd end up curled down on the floorboard. I whipped the truck over to a clear spot on the small shoulder, thankful this stretch of county road was hardly traveled, and manhandled him quickly, abeit awkwardly, back into the jeans and shirt. I tried not to hurt him but was so desperate to get him redressed and back on the road that when I heard his hiss of pain, I had to stop and apologize.

"S'kay..." he managed to mumble, trying to assist but unable to get his shaking limbs to do much of anything.

After getting the shirt past his head, he slumped forward into my arms and I ended up hurting him again as I pulled the coarse fabric down over each of his cold arms. I think he knew I wasn't purposely trying to hurt him because, for every flinch I felt, a soft "s'kay" was whispered. I wished I had socks and shoes to cover his bare feet but knew it really didn't matter. Not now. I just had to get him further away and try to get him to someone who'd help. Pushing him slowly back, he settled gracelessly against the passenger door and slouched, watching me through bleary eyes as I returned the truck to the road and tried to put more miles between us and certain death.

"...'m...Tony..." he muttered through dry lips.

I jerked my head in his direction. "What?"

He shifted a bit but didn't seem to be able to find a comfortable position. "...Tony."

That had been clearer and I immediately understood he was giving me a name. I pressed my lips together tightly and shook my head, eyes back on the deserted strip of road stretched out through the windshield.

"I don't want to know your fucking name," I hissed and then instantly regretted it. Shit, none of this was his fault. He hadn't asked for this, and sure as hell hadn't volunteered to be Martinez's personal guinea pig, so I took a deep breath and tried to control my anger and my fear. "Look, I'm going to take you to a payphone so you can call someone. Do you understand?"

The nod was almost non-existent, more of a tiny drop of his chin, but I knew he understood. The continual shaking seemed to be diminishing, so I turned the heat down. I saw his eyes follow my movements and felt I needed to explain my actions.

"You're going to have to be back outside soon, to make your call, and you'll only feel the cold more if you get too comfortable in here. You know the number of who you're going to call?"

When he didn't answer, I chanced another glance and saw him trying to look around at his surroundings, eyes blinking at the white landscape passing by, and frowning at what he could see. He attempted to straighten up a bit, to make his observations easier, but the movement only aggravated some sore spot and he clutched feebly at his mid-section, moaning quietly, forehead pressing against the back of the seat until the pain subsided.I could hear his soft, panting breaths, knew he was bad off, but kept to he plan. There was nothing else I could do for him.

"...wh...where..." he managed and it dawned on me he probably didn't even know where the hell he was at the moment.

"Idaho," I supplied and saw him frown when the word registered, eyebrows pulling down as his gaze broke away from mine. Something shifted in his eyes before they closed and it looked like he was resigning himself to something bad. I had to know. "What? What is it?"

"...'riend...DC..." was all he could manage to mumble before the slight trembling began anew.

Well, shit.

Washington fucking DC. How in the hell was he suppose to get help from someone so far away? God damn it to hell, could this just get any more screwed up? I fisted my hand and slammed it repeatedly against the steering column in anger, my frustration bubbling up and out before I could contain it.

"Fuck!" I yelled, just to get it all out at once. Not wanting him to think I was angry at him for this unexpected turn of events, I shifted to offer my passenger a word of apology and stopped, seeing what had to be a ghost of a smile pass quickly over his lips.

"...got...that...right..." he huffed in pained agreement, eyes remaining closed the whole time.

I hated to do this but just didn't have any other option available, especially if I had any hope of getting out of this mess alive. This was all about survival now...his and mine.

I pulled into the deserted parking lot of a long-ago abandoned diner along Route 26 and drove straight for the old payphone standing silently in the barren landscape at one edge of the snow-covered asphalt. Throwing the truck into park but keeping the engine running, I ran around and hastily pulled the unresisting guy from the cab, hauled him over to the small cubicle and pushed him inside the decrepit, old-fashioned booth. I shoved him into tight corner and yanked off my coat, determined to give him at least a little more protection before I left. I could feel his eyes boring into mine as I forced his limp arms into the sleeves and quickly zipped him in but I refused to look where I knew I'd see nothing but hurt and betrayal. Shit, didn't he know I was running for my life now, too?

"Thank...you..." the whispered graditude hit me so hard upside the head I just *had* to look at him.

There was no sarcasm, no treachery, no acquisitions, just an honestly grateful _expression of understanding. It all made me so mad, I felt like I wanted to hit something again.

"Fuck you!" I shot back angrily and watched the mouth twitch in a grin again. Keeping one hand bunched in the front of the coat to keep him on his feet, I used my other to dive into the depths of my pocket, pulling a handful of change from the confines, and slamming it on to the cold, metal shelf under the hanging phone. I pushed at him again. "You've got to do the rest yourself. I've got to get out of here before they realize what I've done, man. Can you stand up by yourself and do this?"

He nodded but I wasn't so sure. I let go and took a step away, watching as he fumbled with the coins and attempted to make his call, the slim quarter and dime slipping through his fingers and clattering noisily on the concrete at his feet. Fuck a damn duck...this was not going to work either. I pushed back at him until he collapsed to sit in a huddled mass in one corner and swept the remaining change back into my palm.

I thought about dialing 9-1-1 but knew that could bring a world of other problems. Looking down into the exhausted face I sighed.

"What's the number?"

Well, we had to do it twice before he was able to connect with someone he referred to as 'Boss' and, as I saw his expression morph through a wide range of emotions, I knew I had to leave. I started to step back enough to get the rickety door closed, to keep some of the cold from invading his small space...and maybe the animals, too...but a hand was suddenly grasping at my knee, stopping me from leaving. I looked again into a face now streaked with tears and saw the appreciation shining in the dulled, green eyes. Nodding once, I closed the door and ran for my life.
____________________________________

"There!" Fornell pointed toward an ancient-looking phone booth located at one end of the abandoned cafe's parking lot. "He's got to be there!"

Gibbs directed the fast-moving car in the indicated direction and peered through the falling snow, trying to get a glimpse of something that resembled a human shape within the small confines. It was getting harder to see, the wind pushing the snow almost sideways at times, and the booth was nothing more than a dark, ominous-looking rectangle against the bleak background of snow and more snow.

Skidding slightly on the icy blacktop, Gibbs got the vehicle stopped and all three men were rolling out, all eyes trained on the closed door. Gibbs got there first and carefully folded the door open, going to his knees as he spotted a shape, and reached for the still figure pulled tight into one corner.

Fornell and Ducky watched as Gibbs carefully manuevered the lax body from it's huddled position and pushed an awkward hand through the cold, brown hair, exposing the pale, bluish-tinged lips in an almost bloodless face, and then freeze. "What the hell?"

"Jethro," Ducky was pulling at a shoulder, "let me see."

"It's not," Gibbs cupped the chilled flesh and tipped the chin up, exposing more skin to the wane light, trying to make sense of what he was actually seeing. It was Tony...wasn't it?

"Oh, my God," Fornell's shaken voice, from somewhere over Gibbs' shoulder, sounded muted and strained.

"Ducky..." Gibbs couldn't finish his thought. It *was* Tony...but not like he'd ever seen him before. This...this person was a kid, just a teenager, but he had Tony's face and...

The lids fluttered and slowly opened, revealing the eyes they all knew so well, and they held their combined breaths as the tired, green gaze worked to focus on the shapes crowding around. The look skimmed over them all but quickly returned to Gibbs' face, the expression turning solemn and wary, almost as if he wasn't sure he believed what he was seeing.

"B...Boss?" He rasped in obvious confusion, body beginning to shake and teeth starting to clatter.

"Jethro, get him off the ground and into the car immediately," Ducky urged, tugging impatiently on the agent's coat. "We've got to get him out of this weather right now!"

Gibbs reached in and pulled the smaller body from the enclosed space and, even though there was significant weight still present, the older man instantly knew the body now pressed so close felt nothing like it should. He heard Fornell say something about the lack of footwear and frostbite and...oh, God, what had been done to him? Gibbs bit back his anger: this could *not* be Tony. Tony was bigger and stronger and older and they had been intimate...

"You drive, Tobias," Gibbs ordered sharply as he moved past the driver's door, cradling the shivering form close, trying to lift enough to get the exposed feet out of the snow. "Ducky, get in the back with me so you can take a look."

Fornell had them on the road in a flash, heading quickly back toward the town of Lost River, busily trying to assure McGee on the cell phone of DiNozzo's recovery and letting him know they were on their way. He fought the compulsion to turn around and look at DiNozzo's condition himself, especially when Ducky requested the illumination of the dome light, but settled himself on listening to the soothing sounds of the medical examiner's cultured voice as he spoke to the younger man, working to get some indications of what condition he was truly in...beside the blatantly obvious.

There were plenty of muffled groans and hisses of pain but, through it all, Gibbs remained eeriely quiet and subdued, completely at odds to how he'd been on the trip out. Fornell flashed a quick glance into the rearview mirror and realized Gibbs was not taking this new development well: the blue eyes were like chips of ice and the face was a mask of undisguised fury. This did not bode well for any of them, especially not the trembling, injured agent now reclining in Gibbs' lap.

They arrived at the bed and breakfast and Ducky took a moment to speak with the owner, explaining the reasoning for the sudden appearance of the beraggled teenager in their midst without giving away any of the real story. Gibbs heard something about runaways and religious cults and intervention but tuned it all out when DiNozzo began to droop heavily between him and the FBI agent.

"Almost there, DiNozzo," he spoke low, grasping a handful of the loose pants near the waistline and pulling, trying to keep him upright and mobile. He winced at the hiss of pain the maneuver elicited but kept going, taking the short flight of steps as quickly as possible.

As they entered the doorway, Ducky hurried past and entered first, brushing by a stunned, open-mouthed McGee, and reaching to yank the bedcovers back, exposing a wide expanse of clean, sweet-smelling linens. The two men tactically moved the nearly-limp form over to the bed and eased him down, tucking the thick covers around his pale, trembling form without even bothring to remove any clothing.

DiNozzo's eyes blinked lazily for a few moments, as Ducky and Fornell left to get the medical supplies from the other room, and his gaze finally tracked to where McGee still stood uncertainly by a table. He studied the young man and sighed.

"Hey, Probie," he mumbled weakly, his usually mellow voice altered by his condition.

Gibbs stepped forward and into McGee's line of sight, making the young man refocus his attention. "Go downstairs and ask Mr. or Mrs. Harrison for a large, clean bucket and as many towels as they can spare. Then, go to the bathroom and fill the bucket with hot water and bring everything back here. We're not going to risk putting him into that claw-footed monstrosity in the bathroom until we can assess the seriousness of all his injuries."

The younger man took off as Gibbs turned back toward the bed and toed out of his shoes and peeled off his wet jacket. He met Ducky's appraising eyes as he and Fornell re-entered with the supplies, dragging the small table closer to the bed for easier access.

"McGee's gone to get some hot water and towels," Gibbs informed as he crawled onto the bed at the foot and settled on his knees just to DiNozzo's left, seeing the green gaze grow anxious and wary.

"Good," Ducky nodded and rolled his sleeves up, turning to sit on the edge of the bed so he could comfortably look down into DiNozzo's face. "Anthony?"

He waited patiently until the head rolled slowly his way and offered a gentle smile of approval when the tired gaze finally met his. His practiced eyes took in the exhaustion, the pain, and the worrisome glint of fear. This was not good.

"Do you know who I am?" He asked quietly and studiosly ignored Gibbs' bristle of impatience.

DiNozzo nodded slightly, the cracked, dry lips parting, the wish to communicate something very clear. Ducky leaned closer.

"...w...water..." he managed.

"Christ," Gibbs hissed angrily and shifted away to grab a bottle of unopened water from an end table, missing the flinch of nervousness the word and movement brought to the injured agent. Ducky frowned but remained silent.

Twisting the lid open, Gibbs worked with the medical examiner to get DiNozzo levered into enough of an upright position to receive the fluid without choking, and then brought the narrow opening to the waiting mouth. Carefully, he made sure only a trickle escaped.

"Easy, now," Ducky soothed, watching diligently. "Not too much this first time, my boy. We don't want to cause any other damage by unknowingly trying to quench your thirst. I promise you, we'll get the necessary fluids back into you're body...just give me a little time to assess your injuries. All right?"

When the water bottle was removed, DiNozzo sighed, but kept quiet. He started to look back toward Gibbs but was stopped by Ducky's firm but gentle hand on his chin.

"Anthony," The medical examiner waited until the eyes shifted back, "we're going to remove these damp clothes so I can examine you thoroughly." A sudden pinched look appeared on the tired face and DiNozzo turned away from Gibbs to push his cheek against the softness of the pillow, breath hitching in his throat. Ducky tsked quietly. "Now, now...it's not as if I've never seen all of your assets before, Anthony. You know I will take the utmost care to ensure your modesty will stay intact."

The lttle bit of humor did nothing to ease the tension and Ducky looked to Gibbs for support. There was no humor in the blue eyes either but the senior agent took the initiative and began to speak.

"Let Ducky do this, DiNozzo," he whispered, trying to pitch his voice more like Ducky's. When that didn't seem to be doing the trick, he reverted back to what he knew best, letting his usual growl emerge. "Suck it up, DiNozzo. It's going to happen whether you want it or not."

There was another short moment of hesitation before the head rolled back and the eyes turned to seek out those of the older agent. He studied the face carefully, as if searching for something, before agreeing. "'kay..."

Together, Ducky and Gibbs began the arduous task of carefully removing the baggy items of clothing while keeping most of the chilled body covered, giving the young man a chance to recover after each new injury or hurt was discovered and evaluated. This was just a quick, preliminary assessment that served to show what needed to be treated first. As more and more injuries were uncovered, Ducky's face got slowly tighter and bleaker and, when McGee finally arrived with the water and towels, he stopped the young agent before he could approach the bed.

"Timothy, if you wouldn't mind waiting with Tobias in our room, Jethro and I can handle this for now."

Up to this point, Fornell had just been a quiet presence to one side of the room but, at Ducky's sudden request, he bridled and huffed a little at being dismissed so casually. "Now, wait a minute..."

"Thank you, Tobias," Ducky interjected before the FBI agent could continue any further, his tone brooking no argument or discussion and his pale, blue eyes letting everyone know he meant business. "Just put the towels on the end of the bed where I can reach them and give me the container. And, Timothy, make sure you close the door as you leave. Thank you, gentlemen."

Gibbs couldn't help the small surge of pride for his medical examiner's temerity but kept it well hidden, turning his attention back to DiNozzo, surprised to see a spark of amusement in the glassy depths. He raised his hand to push a lock of lank hair from the cool forehead and felt his chest constrict with worry when DiNozzo flinched away from the movement. Swallowing his worry, he gritted his teeth and tried to act as if nothing had occurred.

When they were alone and the door closed, Ducky retrieved some of the towels, passed a few to Gibbs, and carefully pulled the arm on his side from under the covers, indicating for the former Marine to do the same on his side. He watched as the young man squirmed slightly at the contact.

"Anthony, we're just going to wash you off a bit, help to get you warmed up and cleaned. We're going to start with your arms, all right?" He waited until the frightened eyes closed in resignation.

The two older men exchanged knowing looks over the tense body and began their tasks. Carefully, Gibbs cradled the left arm and passed the moist, warm cloth over the skin, bit by bit, slowly removing dried, red smears and uncovering bruises and wounds. Clearing his throat, he spoke low.

"Looks like there's been an IV line or something here," he indicated the torn bit of flesh on the delicate area just to the inside the elbow. It began to bleed sluggishly as the dried patches were cleared away. "And there's several old puncture marks...assorted bruising and..." He broke off when he found the injury on the left wrist. "Duck."

The doctor immediately stopped his own assessment at the tone of Gibbs' voice and looked at the wound, frowning even more. "Oh, dear, I was afraid of that. There's something similar on this wrist, as well, but not nearly as severe. I suspect he's been restrained for a very long time, Jethro."

Ducky reached for another clean towel and laid it on the area over DiNozzo's blanket-covered abdomen and indicated for Gibbs to gently hold the wrist suspended while he carefully began to clean it. He looked back into the young man's face and saw a few beads of perspiration begin to appear.

"Did you hear about the incident over at Lincoln Center last weekend, Jethro?" Ducky asked off-handedly, getting ready to launch into one of his winding tales, using it to lull DiNozzo away from the assorted aches and pains he had to be feeling, even though he was eerily quiet and subdued. The treatment of this open area would most certainly hurt but the tale would give them all something else to concentrate on. "The guest tenor...his name escapes me at the moment...accidentally knocked the lead soprano back into an amazingly realistic fountain that, of course, as only a stage prop, held no water but *did* contain the sleeping form of a drunken stage hand who'd..."

The story washed over them, calming in it's normalacy and allowing them to focus on the task without getting sucked under by the inhumanity of all they encountered. Gibbs and Ducky took their time, rinsing the wash cloths repeatedly until, finally, they had to call on McGee to fetch some more clean water from the bedroom. The young agent had taken one look at the red color in the bucket and blanched but hurried to do as asked. Ducky continued to treat the wounds he and Gibbs could see but soon realized there had to be more complex problems because of the 'reversal' process itself. He wasn't even sure *anyone* would know what to do about them, so he pushed the depressing thought away for the moment and focused on what he could do. They kept DiNozzo warm, tucking the sheet and blankets around him tightly as they worked from one point of the body to the next, careful to dry the wet skin and gently massage the chilled flesh until the natural warmth began to return.

Finally, when Ducky was satisfied they'd done all could do for the time being, they'd given DiNozzo a few more sips of the bottled water and retucked the thick comforter up under the quaking chin, watching the eyes fill slowly with tears and overflow into fat drops that ran down the sides of his face.

"Here, now," Ducky chided softly as Gibbs averted his face, unable to bear the raw emotion he was witnessing, "we'll be having none of that. Just sleep, Anthony, and we'll be right here when you awaken.

The tired, wet eyes gradually tracked back toward Gibbs but only encountered the hard, clenched profile and, in his weakened and confused state, could only read disappointment and rejection. Biting back a sob, DiNozzo let his lids slide shut and blocked out the agonizing sight. For once, the pain in his heart was worse than the pain in the rest of his body and the thought of death suddenly didn't seem so bad.


TBC

"I'm terribly sorry, Jethro, but he needs more assistance than I'm capable of providing or qualified to give. His body is in a precariously delicate state right now, as I'm sure you can imagine, and I just don't know what else I can do for him except merely try to make him comfortable. He needs to be in a hospital, receiving fluids and antibiotics and having trained specialists monitor and evaluate and treat his condition. As much as I wish it were different, I feel as though I'm doing nothing more than placing a band-aid over a severed limb and expecting the patient to make some type of miraculous recovery. He needs help desperately, Jethro, and he needs it now."

Jethro Gibbs was sprawled exhaustedly in a large, floral-print armchair by the small, round table near the room's only window and was absently watching the light snow continue drifting down from the heavens. It was so peaceful, so tranquil, and it was almost impossible to believe such imhumane actions could have been perpetrated by anyone residing in such a hauntingly beautiful area of the country. This was a place of cleanliness and wide-open spaces and astounding vistas of landscapes so breath-taking, it was almost obscene to imagine it was even on the same planet as some of the filthy, smoggy, litter-ridden cities he'd experienced during his lifetime. He rolled his head against the padded back of the chair and turned away from the view outside, bringing a hand up from the armrest to rub wearily at his bloodshot eyes and taking a moment to consider the medical examiner's whispered words before looking directly at the older man.

"I know he does, Ducky," Gibbs agreed just as quietly, not wanting to disturb the sleeping figure nestled under the thick blanket and comforter on the big bed just a few feet away from where they sat conversing, "but I keep having the feeling he's still in danger, that we need to keep him hidden, and that taking him to some hospital will just put him right back into the hands of those who did this to him in the first place."

Ducky sat back in his matching chair on the other side of the table and absorbed the words, his lined face growing hard and bitter. "Good lord, I hadn't even considered that possibility. So, what do you propose? We just can't keep him here in the condition he's in. We've got to find someplace safe where he can receive the care he needs. Jethro, I really don't think you fully understand the amount of damage his body surely..."

"I understand well enough!" Gibbs hissed angrily and pulled himself forward, elbows on knees, and hands clenched tightly together in the space formed between his spread legs. The figure on the bed stirred slightly, only a bit of dark hair visible at the top of the white sheet, and both men watched tensely until it was motionless once more, the older man arching an accusing eyebrow in silent reprimand at his companion. Gibbs grunted and leaned back again but his body still reflected his tension and irritation. "We've got a huge dilemma here, Duck. If we take him to a hospital and explain what we *think* has happened to him..."

"I should think it's fairly obvious," Ducky threw in tartly.

"...and turn his care over to someone else, one of three things could happen. One," he raised a lone finger, "they don't believe a single word we say, they call the appropriate authorities, and Child Services becomes responsible for him or, two," another finger joined the first, "they do believe us, contact a different set of appropriate authorities because of the unusual nature of his medical condition, and is, once again, studied like some lab specimen in a cage."

When Gibbs hesitated, Ducky leaned forward and cocked his head to one side. "You said three things could happen. What's the third?"

If possible, Gibbs looked even more grim as he raised a final finger. "Or whoever contacted Wilson-Halley and tipped him off to our presence here in Idaho will be looking for a way to get DiNozzo back to Martinez, so he can finish what he started and probably end up killing him in the process."

Still leaning forward, Ducky slowly reached out with one hand and placed it on Gibbs' closest knee, looking across the small space dividing them, hoping to convey his petition to the man even clearer. "Jethro, if he doesn't get some help very soon, he'll more than likely die right here in this bed."

Gibbs swallowed thickly. Letting his eyes track back to the huddled shape under the warm covers, and wanting nothing more than to slide right into the sheets with the injured man, the agent shook his head at their quandry.

"Hell, we're damned if we do and damned if we don't."

Ducky nodded in agreement but kept his hand lightly on the other man's knee, his _expression changing as he considered his next thought. "Jethro, I must ask you something, and I will understand perfectly if you think it none of my business, but it's something that's concerned me ever since our dear Caitlin's untimely death."

Gibbs shifted a little in the chair but met the curious gaze of the older man steadily. "What is it?"

"You and young Anthony have become much closer since that terrible event," Ducky watched as Gibbs averted his gaze, the blue eyes suddenly dropping to some spot on the carpeted floor, "and I've noticed how you both interact while in each other's company..."

"I don't know what you're talking about, Duck," Gibbs denied quickly.

"...and I couldn't help but hear the endearing manner in which you spoke to him as we were on our way to rescue him from that awful phone booth. Jethro, are you and Anthony involved?"

Gibbs jerked up and out of the chair and turned toward the bay window, roughly pushing aside the partially opened drapes and glaring out at nothing. "We can't be having this conversation."

"And why is that?" The gentle voice was calm but persistent.

"Because there's nothing to talk about," Gibbs gritted.

"Jethro..." the tone now held a slight note of reprimand.

Gibbs spun to face the seated man, crossing his arms defensively over his chest, and leaning a hip back against the windowsill. "What do you expect me to say? What good would it do me to confirm or deny anything to you at this point? What possible difference would it make now? Look at him, Duck. Look at him!" Gibbs pushed away from the sill and stalked closer to the foot of the bed, pointing down at the figure all but hidden under the substantial covering. "He looks like he's about sixteen years old now! I was always older than him before all this happened but, now...now I look like his fucking grandfather!"

Ducky raised both hands in a calming, soothing gesture, pointedly ignoring the unnecessary use of profanity, eyes swiftly moving to sweep the bedridden form before coming back to the angry face of the younger agent. He rose from his seat and advanced toward Gibbs quickly.

"He's changed on the outside, yes, but, Jethro, what about what he still *feels* on the inside?"

"Well, that's probably a lot younger, too!"

"Don't be so obtuse," the medical examiner snapped in annoyance."Have you even taken the time to speak privately with him, to listen to what he has to say, to take any consideration for his feelings? Have you?"

"You don't understand..."

"What's there to understand?" Ducky's voice almost rose above a heated whisper. Almost. The older man took a deep breath to control his rising temper before trying to speak again. "I've known you a very long time, Jethro, and I've never known you to back down from any obstacle, no matter how big or how small, so forgive me for not quite comprehending what I'm witnessing from you right now. Yes, I know you're concerned for his safety and, yes, I know you want to make sure he doesn't fall back into that madman's hands but his mind...ah, Jethro, his mind is still intact and he remembers everything, including his time with Doctor Martinez."

This news came as a huge surprise to the agent. "You've spoken to him about that? What did he say?"

Ducky could see the renewed interest but it certainly wasn't for what he'd hoped it would be for. He sighed again and slanted his eyes back in the direction of the young man buried under the blankets.

"I'm going to go to the other room and try to rest a bit. I suggest you try to open the lines of communication with him yourself." Ducky took a few steps toward the doorway and hesitated, looking back with bleak eyes. "Jethro, if you had any affection at all for him before this...this unfortunate affair, I would hope you'd have the decency to allow him to see that part of you again before it's too late."

"Duck..." the blue eyes were wide with renewed concern, "what do you mean, 'too late'?"

"It means exactly what it means," the medical examiner said matter-of-factly. "His body may never fully recover from what was done to it and, even if it does, his life has been changed forever. You said it yourself: look at him. Have you even considered the possibility that, if he survives this, he could very well be stuck with this body? Just think about it for a moment. He can't return to his job, he can't enjoy the relationships he once had, and he certainly can't be the independent, self-sustaining man he was. He'll have to rely on his 'elders' for everything, at least until the body begins aging again. As a society, Americans covet youth almost above all else but it is a double-edged sword for Anthony. The world, as he knew it, has stopped and reversed but, for the rest of us, life continues unchanged. Jethro, he didn't ask for this nor did he chose to be left with this body but, like it or not, unless we can find someone who may be able to help, it's all he has now."

That being said, the older man wearily turned and left the room, closing the door quietly in his wake. Gibbs stood silently and stared at the closed panel, digesting the solemn words, and fighting with his own conscience, knowing he'd been a fool to keep himself from reacting as he wanted. Turning to look down at the figure cocooned under the blankets, Gibbs walked slowly to the bedside and dropped to one knee, gently pulling the sheet back to expose the youthful face and searching the slumbering features for some sign of the man he'd been falling in love with.

Tony DiNozzo's face was smooth and unlined and, if it wasn't for the slight frowning angle of the dark eyebrows, he would seem like any other teenager taking a nap on a cold, snowy afternoon. Ducky had done a good job of tending to the scrapes and cuts and punctures that flawed assorted areas of the body but the face, itself, had been remarkably clear of injuries, except for a small, darkening bruise low on one edge of the chin. Gibbs leaned close and fought the urge to press his mouth against the tender injury and, instead, contented himself to breathing deeply of the scent he'd recently learned belonged only to this person. It was masked, somewhat, by the astringent odor of antiseptics and ointments but, beneath that, there was Tony. Just Tony.

Bringing a hand up to carefully push a strand of wild hair off the warm forehead, Gibbs held still as DiNozzo suddenly shifted and turned his face into the touch, softly pressing against the palm of the former Marine's hand and sighing quietly. It was as close to nuzzling as Gibbs had ever seen and a flare of affection bloomed brightly within his chest.

"Christ, DiNozzo," he whispered softly. dropping his forehead to rest on the closest blanket-covered arm, "what in the hell am I going to do with you?"

"You can...hold me."

The words were spoken so quietly, Gibbs wasn't, at first, sure he'd actually even heard the request. Raising his head, he let his eyes roam the still-peaceful face but saw no indication his agent was even aware of his presence by the bed. Still, he knew he hadn't imagined the words, so he moved a bit closer.

"What?" He asked calmly and was gratified when the head on the pillow rolled slowly his way and the heavy lids rose to reveal green eyes appearing somewhat clearer.

"I said," the sweet tenor of the youthful voice held a note of teasing that was so purely DiNozzo, it just couldn't be ignored, "hold me."

Gibbs looked into the expectant gaze and swallowed his trepidation, feeling the rise of hesitancy rearing it's ugly head again. "Look, Tony, I really don't think that's a very good idea right now."

A cloud of pain drifted over the youthful anticipation and, after several long moments of careful consideration, the head rolled slightly back in the opposite direction, away from Gibbs and the perceived rejection he'd seen. "Okay."

"Tony..."

"It's okay...Boss" the tired voice assured haltingly."I...understand."

"No, I don't think you do," he growled low in his throat. "I don't know what to do about us and it's eating me up alive. Give me a break here, DiNozzo, this is so far out of my scope of experience, I just don't know how to handle it!"

DiNozzo's head came shifting back and the eyes were serious and calm in their regard, roaming lazily over the older man's face from hairline to chin before resettling on the baby blues he'd grown to know anywhere. "Didn't think...I would ever...see you again. Thought I was," the eyes closed at the return of some sharp memory of what he'd endured and it took a few moments before the unwanted recollection could be pushed away. Licking his dry lips, he tried again. "Thought I was...going to die. Thought you'd...forgotten."

"I could never forget about you," he whispered adamantly and lowered his mouth to DiNozzo's, keeping the pressure light and free of any demands, feeling the immediate response from the lips under his. He pulled back and began peppering the skin with slow, languorous kisses, starting at one corner of the trembling mouth, easing across both suddenly-tearing eyes, nipping and tasting, wandering leisurely down the planes of a smooth cheek, ghosting deliberately over the bruised area of the chin, sliding lazily up the side of the exposed throat, until his path, finally, returned him to the hot, open, waiting mouth. He kissed again, deeper, and tasted the salt of DiNozzo's sorrow and the sweetness of his renewed joy. He eased back and gazed into the stormy-colored eyes. "Never."

DiNozzo's breathing was shallow, ragged, as he carefully tried to work his arms from under the protective covering of the sheet and blanket and comforter, attempting to get his hands on the one person whose memory had sustained him throughout the whole horrible ordeal. The task became close to impossible for awhile, the bedcovering and his own weakened condition hampering his final objective, and he began making small, whimpering sounds of frustration, twisting futilely in the binding covers.

"Easy, easy," Gibbs was soothing, helping, unwrapping the sheet from the struggling limbs and suddenly finding himself drawn roughly into a shaking embrace, pulled down and held fairly securely atop DiNozzo's chest. He didn't try to resist, didn't want to accidentally re-injure or cause further harm, but felt compelled to hold back. He suddenly became aware of DiNozzo's altered voice, murmuring quietly, repeatedly, near his ear.

"You came...for me...you came...for me..."

Gibbs forgot all about holding back and returned the embrace fiercely. This was all about DiNozzo, no matter what he looked like right now and, just as Ducky suggested, he deserved all the reassurance and attention Gibbs could give. Without breaking the tight embrace, Gibbs toed off his shoes and eased onto the bed, careful to keep his bulk and weight away from the slighter, weaker body. He drew DiNozzo close and rolled to his back, bringing the younger man with him until he was nestled under an arm and resting his head upon Gibbs' solid chest.

"Is this okay?" He asked in concern, trying to detect any flinch or recoil from resting so close. "I'm not hurting you, am I?"

There was a soft expelling of breath that could have been interpreted as a laugh. "Believe me...this doesn't...hurt."

They lay together peacefully, enjoying the shared warmth and affection but, in the back of his wandering mind, Gibbs was letting his thoughts travel to more pressing concerns. He snugged the body into the circle of his arms a bit closer and sighed.

"Tony..."

"I don't...remember how...I got here," DiNozzo began, spreading the fingers of one hand over Gibbs' broad chest. "In Idaho...I mean. The last thing I can...clearly recall...is you at...Little Creek." There was a momentary pause as the younger man cleared his throat. "How long...have I been...gone?"

Gone. Well, that was certainly one way to think of it.

Gibbs frowned and pressed his lips to the crown of DiNozzo's head, a little worried how the news would be taken. "Almost four weeks."

DiNozzo's fingers jerked and then tightened fractionally on the fabric of Gibbs' shirt as the number registered. The youthful voice was strained and shaky when the words were finally spoken.

"Why...so long?"

Gibbs gritted his teeth tightly together, hearing the real question being asked. 'What took you so long to find me, Boss?' echoed in that hollow place in his heart and all he could do was give the honest answer.

"We were told you died," he began softly, rubbing a hand idly up and down the tense back, careful to keep the touch light. There were strange marks and bruises on DiNozzo's back now, too. "They said you'd been injected with some biological unknown that was potentially dangerous to the population and they cremated your body...well, someone's body. They sent the ashes to your father."

At this news, a real laugh did escape and, although it erupted as nothing more than a brief huff of air and a slight shaking of the shoulders, it was enough to warm that hollow place in Gibbs' heart and fill it just a bit. "I wish I...could have seen...that. Did he even do...anything with them?"

Gibbs didn't hesitate. This was no time for lies.

"We heard there was a small, private ceremony in Connecticut on the family estate. Afterwards, the ashes were," Gibbs didn't want to use the word he'd been given, so changed it slightly, "deposited on some back property and..."

More laughter followed but it ended abruptly in a pain-filled gasp. Gibbs carefully rolled them both until DiNozzo was flat on his back and he could look down into the younger man's straining face. There was evidence again of tears, spiking the lashes, but Gibbs couldn't tell if they were caused because of some injury or from what he perceived as the humor of the tale. It didn't matter. He didn't want to see DiNozzo's tears ever again.

"Sssshhh," he soothed, dropping his lips back to DiNozzo's warm cheek and tasting the salty moisture, sipping it from the smooth skin, and taking it into his own body. "It's okay, it's okay. I've got you now."

When DiNozzo moved to align his mouth with Gibbs', the joining became different, altered, distinctive, and the whole timbre of the kiss took on an unexplained urgency. That the younger man was unclothed under the covers became instantly obvious as he took hold of one of Gibbs' strong, capable hands and began directing it downward, under the soft, cool sheet and across the expanse of warm, tender skin. He moaned into Gibbs' mouth, the sound blissfully free of all pain but laden richly with want, and the older man moved his lips to the sensitive skin of the exposed neck and throat, paying grateful homage to this living, breathing person in his arms.

Gibbs kissed and sucked and licked, reacquainting himself with the taste, the scent, the feel of the body he'd just started learning before Martinez had interferred with their lives. The form was smaller, with less mass, but the essence of the man was still present, still there under all the obvious differences, still remarkably potent. Gibbs reached to find all the similarities he could, hot mouth now on the hard ridge of the collar bone, tracing a wet, needy path from just below the neckline out toward the shoulder, letting his teeth scrape lightly on the fine texture of the skin.

DiNozzo began to move restlessly, fingers trying to guide, to pilot the questing mouth and hands, moans and pleas falling louder from his lips, body seeking, searching, arching. There was a definate need building but, where the keen mind was still willing, the new body...the younger, frailer, recently-altered body...was just too weak and hurt to continue. As his own hands drifted away from Gibbs' back and shoulders, DiNozzo found he could only let them fall limply to the sheets at his side, palms up and fingers curled slightly. He began to float in a mixture of heady sensations, some good and some bad, and belatedly realized it was all just too much, too intense, too draining.

"Fuck..." he breathed weakly in open disappointment and immediately felt the older man still.

Gibbs was suddenly rising up and pressing a tender kiss to the soft skin next to one of DiNozzo's ears, quietly murmuring an apology. "Christ, Tony...I'm sorry."

"Don't," DiNozzo whispered instantly, wishing he didn't sound so feeble and managing to get one hand to move again. He touched the solid arm where it was draped loosely across his bare belly and turned to press his cheek against the whisker-stubbled flesh. "Want to...feel you...need to...feel you."

"There will be plenty of time for all this later," Gibbs assured and pulled back just enough to look down into the glassy, glazed eyes. He saw a flash of doubt before the green gaze broke and drifted away and he felt a sudden stab of worry. Cupping the bruised chin, he forced the gaze to return and pitched his voice low and soothing. "What's wrong?"

DiNozzo swallowed and returned Gibbs' intense look. "I heard...what Ducky said. I...was awake."

Gibbs cursed silently, knowing he and Ducky should have never held their conversation within earshot of the younger man but quickly tried to put on his best game face and brush it off. He had to force the small smile.

"Hey, what does Ducky really know about live bodies anyway? His specialty is in the morgue and..."

"Don't," DiNozzo spoke again with a bit more heat, voice a little stronger, his eyes glinting with disappointment. "Don't treat me...like a kid...just because I...look like one."

Gibbs regarded the young man quietly and, finally, nodded. Now wasn't the time for duplicity. He rolled them back slowly, gently, into their original positions, with DiNozzo cradled against his chest and held the slighter body close, feeling a small tremor begin to shake the form. Quickly, he reached down, snagged a handful of the hastily discarded covers, and yanked them back up, tucking the soft material around the trembling figure.

"Okay," he agreed, closing his eyes at the sudden rush of emotion. "No lies...not now, not ever."

"Good," DiNozzo smiled as best as he could and pressed against the broader, stronger chest, curling a fist up and tucking it under his chin, eyes closing in pleased satisfaction.

They lay silently for a short while and Gibbs, thinking his bed-partner had fallen asleep again, tried to carefully remove himself from the tender trap, inching himself away bit by bit. The hand that had tucked itself so endearingly under the brused chin was suddenly reaching to grasp a handful of Gibbs' shirt.

"Where are you...going?" The sleepy, muffled voice inquired, a tinge of fear coloring the words.

Gibbs frowned and resettled his head on the pillow, tugging the younger man tighter to his side. "No where, all right? Everything's fine. I was just trying to give you a little more space."

"Got all the space...I'll ever need," came the tired response.

Gibbs closed his eyes at the honest reply, easily hearing the unspoken message, and had to push his own feelings back so they could start discussing more pertinent matters. "Tony, I don't know if I'm going to be able to protect you here. We've got to leave as soon as we can but, Christ, you're in no condition to move."

"I'm ready...whenever you need me...to be ready," DiNozzo's voice was pitched with a bit of anger and he struggled weakly to pull from the other man's embrace. "Just don't let...anyone take me away...again."

"Okay, okay," Gibbs soothed, trying to make his voice and actions reflect a calm he certainly wasn't feeling. "That's not going to happen, I swear. I've got you now and they'll have to go through me to get to you. Understand?"

"No!" The tone was firmer and, unbelievably, DiNozzo managed to slip away, face pale and beaded with a fine sheen of perspiration, eyes wide and wild. "You will *not* sacrifice yourself...for me! You will not...give that bastard...a chance to use you!"

"Tony," Gibbs was getting very concerned, not liking the direction the conversation had taken but absolutely hating the stark, unhealthy pallor creeping across DiNozzo's face, "that's not going to happen. Calm down right now..."

"No!" He continued to resist, even as a flash of pain speared through his gut, and he struggled to raise himself from his prone position on the mattress. "You've got to promise...I've got to hear...you say it!"

"What?" Gibbs was at a loss as to what to do but he knew he had to get DiNozzo to calm down. He couldn't risk grabbing the bandaged wrists and was afraid he'd unintentionally hurt the younger man, so he raised his hands in supplication and eased back, giving the flailing body more room. "What do you want me to say?"

DiNozzo got his arms to support his weight and he stared at his boss, panting at the exertion. "If they come again...if they try to...take me...use your gun on me..."

"Tony!" Gibbs was rolling out of the bed and rising to his feet, blue eyes filled with angry disbelief. He glared down at the trembling form. Watching as the younger man dropped wearily back to the mattress, Gibbs frowned at the determined set of the quivering chin. He gritted his teeth and clenched his fists hard at his sides. "Don't even suggest something like that to me! I just got you back and, if you ever say anything like that to me again, I swear to God I'll beat the shit out of you myself!"

DiNozzo was shaking his head from side to side on the pillow but his eyes remained locked on Gibbs. "You don't understand...what he did...to me."

"I don't give a fuck!" Gibbs exploded and returned to the bed, crawling on his knees and reaching to gather the unresisting body back into his embrace, holding a tad too tight and pressing DiNozzo's heated face into the crook of his neck.

"He took...everything..." DiNozzo's persistent voice was muffled against the fabric of Gibbs' shirt. "He didn't...leave anything."

"You're still here!" Gibbs' words were harsh and uncompromising, not willing or wanting to hear anything else. He pushed the compliant form back, holding him roughly by the upper arms, and looked into the pale face. "God damn it, Tony, you're still here!"

DiNozzo's head lolled to one side and his expression twisted into a mixture of pained resignation and disbelief. He moaned softly and turned his glazed, green gaze back toward Gibbs, licking his dry lips and huffing out a short, hard sound.

"Am I?"

"Yes!"

"Gibbs," the voice was much weaker now, "look at me..."

"I can see you just fine," Gibbs snarled back, not wanting to recognize the truth he knew was coming.

"No," DiNozzo was starting to drift but he managed to put one, shaking hand upon Gibbs' heaving chest, "*really*...look at me."

"Tony..." Seeing his lover like this was too much and Gibbs' resolve began to break, "you're going to be just fine, you'll see."

DiNozzo's mouth twisted briefly, fleetingly, into a semblance of a smile but it vanished before it could barely be registered. The hand on Gibbs' chest fisted weakly in the shirt and the eyes filled with tears.

"I'm dying here, Gibbs," he managed in one breath before falling into a brief fit of dry coughing, the hand on Gibbs' shirt going lax and slipping loose to limply fall away. "Martinez...made sure...of that."

Gibbs pulled the sagging body back and held tight, wanting to deny the words, wanting to assure everything would be all right, wanting to believe this was all some horrible nightmare and he'd wake up at any moment. Carefully, he eased the unresisting body back to the mattress and pushed the damp hair from the sweaty forehead, retucking the unresponsive body back under the covers.

"Tony?" He spoke quietly, his concern doubling when the eyes remained closed. "Tony?"

"...'m...here," came the slurred, sluggish whisper.

"I'll go get Ducky," Gibbs began to move away.

"...'m...fine..."

"Like hell you are."

Springing from the bed and traveling rapidly toward the doorway, he pulled back abruptly as it opened before he could even touch the handle. Gibbs immediately recognized McGee and instantly saw the worried, anxious expression the young man carried. Something was wrong.

"Boss..." McGee began but Gibbs cut him off.

"Where's Ducky?" He started to push by but was stopped when his agent reached out and grabbed a handful of his sleeve.

"Downstairs but, Boss, we've got a problem," McGee wasn't letting go, even as Gibbs turned and looked pointedly at the restraining hand on his shirt. McGee shifted nervously but doggedly held on. "The local sheriff is downstairs with a couple of his deputies and they're demanding to see Tony."

Shit. This was not good.

Gibbs nodded and yanked his arm away, reversing the hold and towing McGee into the room, shutting the door behind them. He looked back toward DiNozzo's still form.

"What's Fornell telling them?" He knew they'd all have to provide the same story or the LEO would get suspicious.

McGee swallowed once and nodded, understanding why this was essential. "Just what Ducky alluded to the Harrison's yesterday when you brought him in. He ran away from home, joined some religious cult, and we've been hired to intervene and return him to his distraught family."

"They know we're federal agents?"

"No. Just Fornell," McGee reported. "He made it sound like Tony's family is very wealthy and asked the FBI to help, in case this was really someone's attempt at kidnapping or extortion."

Gibbs was nodding again. "Anything else?"

It was important not to have any gaps and, depending on how sharp the locals were, they still needed to tread very carefully. They just couldn't tell the truth. Anyone examining the teenage-looking man now laying all but unconscious on the bed would have to a seriously question their sanity and would probably take the youth into protective custody.

"They wanted to know where Tony was recovered. Seems they found some guy in a truck out on Route 26, not too far from that phone booth where you found Tony, and he had a single gunshot wound to the head. They say it looks like a homicide. He wasn't a local either and now they're wondering if there could be a connection of some kind between his death and Tony's retrieval."

Gibbs swore under his breath and fleetingly wondered if the dead man was, somehow, connected to everything that had happened and, if he was, who had tracked him down and killed him? And why? And, to make matters even more precarious, could those same people now be looking for DiNozzo? Shit, there were too many variables right now and that always left room for mistakes.

"Okay," Gibbs looked straight at McGee and began pushing him toward the large bed, shoving him into one of the armchairs pulled close to the mattress, "you're going to stay with DiNozzo until I can get Ducky back up here to take a look at him."

"Is he all right?" It was very easy to hear the real concern in the young man's voice and to see it reflected in the uneasy eyes. Hesitantly, he reached out touch DiNozzo but stopped and cast a meaningful look toward his supervisor. "Is it okay if I..."

"Sure," Gibbs asured quickly, gladdened by the young man's precautions, "just keep him quiet, give him some water if he asks, and try to let him know what's happening."

"Will do, Boss," McGee smiled as his hand returned to it's original course, softly ghosting over the damp hair.

Gibbs took one last look at his younger agents, quickly retucked his shirt into his pants, and smoothed a hand through his hair, trying to get into the proper mindset before facing off with the officers below. Just as he opened the door, McGee cleared his throat and called out to him.

"Boss..." he sounded a bit nervous and Gibbs sighed before facing him again.

"What is it, McGee?" It was clear from his tone he was impatient to leave.

"There's just one more thing you should know."

Gibbs waited a few heartbeats and, when nothing else was spoken, he snapped a quiet bark in reprimand. "McGee!"

The young agent shifted and removed his hand from DiNozzo, moving to rest back in the chair, and turned to look over at the grim-faced man at the door. "It's about you."

"What about me?" It was more than evident Gibbs' patience was rapidly waning.

"Um, well, Ducky told the sheriff...that is, he said...well..."

"McGee! Don't make me come over there and hurt you."

McGee swallowed convulsively again, his eyes rounding with surprise. When he spoke again, they words were blurted out in a rush.

"Ducky told the sheriff you were Tony's grandfather."

Gibbs kept his eyes planted firmly on McGee's cowering figure as he straightened his posture, biting back the string of expletives that sprang into his mind. Blanking his face of all expression, he let his eyes travel over the form under the covers, shot one more significant look back at McGee, and turned to leave. As he started to pull the door closed behind him, he was stopped by a soft, muffled voice, coming from the direction of the bed.

"Could you...bring me some...ice cream...Gramps?"

Not bothering to turn back to address the speaker and risk the chance of showing McGee his face, Gibbs pulled the door closed and smiled.



TBC

"Are we...there yet?"

Jethro Gibbs bit the inside of one already sore cheek in an effort to keep his mounting frustration from bubbling to the surface and busting free and, instead, focused totally on the expanse of roadway spreading out before him, not even bothering to respond to the question voiced by the sulking young man enscounced in the back seat of the car. His low growl of discontent was barely audible as he forced himself to relax, to unclench his fists where they were gripping a bit too tightly around the hard steering wheel, and to just tune out the sporadic, juvenile comments drifting forward from the occupant in the rear of the dark sedan. But it was getting *so* much more difficult as the miles rolled on and on and he really didn't know how much longer he could go before something inside him just snapped under the pressure. Knowing himself better than just about anyone, Gibbs realized he was as close to the edge as he'd ever been.

Just two days out of Lost River, two fucking *long* days, and Gibbs was beginning to think this little plan of theirs to keep DiNozzo's whereabouts under wraps was nothing but a huge, honking mistake. He didn't like the idea of moving DiNozzo so soon after finally recovering him, he didn't like exposing the younger man to any more discomfort than was necessary, and he sure as hell didn't like being cooped up in this vehicle with a smart-mouthed, sulky, sophomoric-acting youngster and an equally smooth-talking, single-minded, slightly sympathetic FBI agent.

It was, without a doubt, the road trip from hell.

Beside him, sitting in a *somewhat* more relaxed position, Tobias Fornell forcably yanked once at the shoulder harness securing him to the front passenger seat and turned his body just enough to shoot a glare of extreme irritation toward the sound of the moody, muffled voice in the back. His face reflected the aggravation they *all* were feeling at the moment.

"You know, DiNozzo," he all but hissed between clenched teeth, "that got pretty damn old shortly after the fifth or sixth time you said it but after hearing it, oh, what is it now?...maybe five or six *dozen* times...it just gets down-right annoying. Do you think with your education and control of the English language you could possibly come up with something a little less childish and a bit more creative?"

Laid out across the narrow seat and wrapped securely in several cozy, warm blankets, head resting on a new-smelling pillow recently purchased from a local Wal-Mart, Tony DiNozzo turned just enough in his nest to peer comfortably up to where the older man was now glaring at him from over the back of the front seat and produced a sly, devilish grin. He tried to stretch out just a bit more but was immediately hindered by the confines of the vehicle and a persistent, aggravating soreness that continued to plague his joints and muscles. Ducky had said it may take awhile for his body to adjust to it's new size and to expect bouts of tenderness but he never expected to feel like this...especially if he was *supposedly* getting 'better'.

Of course, 'better' was a relative term. Better than he'd been when in the hands of Emilio Martinez, certainly, but not much better than he'd been hoping to be once well away from Idaho. As far as he was concerned, this all just sucked.

DiNozzo hated feeling so weak and he hated not being able to take care of himself but, more than anything, he hated how these two particular companions were now forced to do literally *everything* for him. There were moments when they they made him feel even less than a child...more along the line of some fucking infant...and it grated severely on the man still trapped within. Sighing loudly and wondering, not for the first time, what could possibly be making this brand-new, fine-looking, sleek-as-a-colt, youthful body he now possessed feel more like it belonged to some decrepit, old, wheelchair-bound, doddering fart, DiNozzo decided to take another shot.

"Oh, come on...*Uncle Tobie*," he wheedled softly, purposefully using the nickname the FBI agent had repeatedly told him *not* to use, and plucked nervously at a loose fiber near one of the coverlet's machine-stitched hems, trying to appear as innocent as he could under the circumstances. Unfortunately, the tone emerging was more of an immature sneer but he was inordinately pleased to hear another short, low growl from the general direction of the stoically silent driver, knowing he was doing a good job of chipping away at his boss' calm-appearing veneer, too. "I was just trying to...amuse myself," DiNozzo quickly attempted to swallow his own flare of frustration but couldn't quite pull it off. Instead, he opted for a different direction, pitched his voice low, and shifted restlessly within the nest of blankets, choosing to toss out another barb he knew would not go over well with Gibbs. "Maybe I just need...a little *company*...back here."

Fornell sucked in a quick breath, amazed to hear the sheer audacity of the underlying suggestion, and cast one, final warning glare back at the young man lounging almost seductively on the vehicle's backseat before turning to resume his original position facing forward. If he hadn't seen DiNozzo's original injuries or witnessed the almost pitiful moments of weakness, he would be hard-pressed, at the moment, to feel any sympathy or believe the younger man was anything but some flirtatous little twink. Fornell looked quickly toward Gibbs and caught sight of the livid face before the flashing, blue eyes were, once more, trained on the road ahead. Oh, shit...this was *not* good and Fornell knew something was going to have to give soon. DiNozzo continued to persistently push buttons the agent hadn't even realized he possessed and knew, if the kid didn't shut up soon and cease his tireless taunting, the fury known as Gibbs would be unleased and the resultant destruction would not be pretty.

Since renting a different car and leaving Lost River almost two short days ago, and as DiNozzo's youthful body inexplicably began to slowly heal itself of the cuts and abrasions and marks gathered during his captiviy, the men had personally witnessed personality shifts that were both frightening and amusing. There were unexplainable bouts of quite, brooding depression, of quick, seething anger, of simple, childish playfulness, and, worse of all, of coy, innuendo-laden, sexually charged propositions. They'd both been, at first, pretty much at a loss on how to respond to any of the sporadic fits, especially Fornell, and had to continually remind themselves of the precarious nature of his condition. Before leaving to pave the way for their arrival at a safer location, Ducky had surmissed the young body was merely trying to process the renewed rush of hormones and chemicals flooding through the bodily systems and, although DiNozzo certainly wasn't going through puberty again, his brain was reacting the only way it knew how: with juvenile impudence and emotional tirades.

So, the sometimes-silly, infantile verbal bouts had begun in earnest and both Gibbs and Fornell were finding it harder and harder to maintain their cool, especially when DiNozzo continually persisted in throwing such imflaming comments their way. Gibbs had done real well, at first, of deflecting and diffusing any uncomfortable situation with a word or a gesture or a look but, now, in the close confines of the rented vehicle and still several hundred miles away from where they needed to be, things seemed to be slowly spiraling out of control.

Fornell sighed. Watching the landscape pass without really noticing what he was seeing and trying to remember everything Ducky had said when they'd dropped him and McGee at the airport in Twin Falls, the agent frowned at the memory.

'Melancholy and sadness are to be expected, especially as more energy returns but be on the lookout for the more serious and telling indicators of a deeper and possibly darker despair. That young Anthony has survived this ordeal is a miracle in of itself and the amazing manner in which his body is working to repair itself is simply unbelievable but, you have to remember, the impact of his time spent in captivity and the subsequent alteration of his body will probably play havoc with his fragile mental stability. My God, I can't even imagine what must be going through his mind at times nor, I suppose, do I really want to know.'

The FBI agent shifted and looked down at his hands. All the verbal jabs DiNozzo tossed their way were nothing more than coping mechanisms but, right now, it just didn't appear DiNozzo was coping very well. Still, the young man sure didn't have to take it all out on them...they were, after all, merely trying to protect him. It was almost as if he was baiting them for another purpose but neither Gibbs or Fornell were going to hazard a guess as to why. DiNozzo's thought-processes seemed as screwed up as his body at the moment and, after nearly getting his head chewed off for jokingly murmuring some comment about PMS in adolescent boys late last night when they both thought the young man was asleep, Gibbs was sticking with the relative safety of grunts and growls to communicate his own declining temperament. Now, it looked as though even Gibbs' resolve was cracking.

In his own seat, Gibbs glanced in the rearview mirror he'd strategically tipped to angle just right and covertly watched as DiNozzo's green eyes slitted and drifted shut, the tight line of the smooth jaw and the furrowed slant of the dark eyebrows indicating some ache or pain he was trying to keep hidden from his two companions. Both men had learned pretty quickly about the muscle cramps and spasms that frequently racked the recovering body but they were just starting to recognize that the off-handed jabs and casually worded barbs were often used to deflect any unwanted attention given to his weakened state. In a way, *that* bothered Gibbs much more than any of the unkind words.

"You okay, DiNozzo?" The senior agent asked quietly, feeling his anger begin to instantly dissipate as concern jumped to the forefront, watching as the eyes lazily reopened and returned his gaze in the small, rectangular mirror.

"I'm fine," came the sharp, biting response he'd learned to expect when the younger man was anything but 'fine'.

"DiNozzo," he spoke the name like a reprimand and saw the youthful face twist in irritation, lips compressed tightly and eyes flashing hotly.

"Christ, *Gramps*...I said I was fine!" The sneer was all but yelled.

"Gibbs," Fornell was immediately trying to diffuse the potentially explosive situation, throwing a restraining hand out in the other man's direction, but it was too late...way too late.

The former Marine was instantly slowing the vehicle and quickly pulling over to the gravel shoulder of the highway, ignoring the startled hiss of alarm from the FBI agent and the small squeak of surprise from DiNozzo. As his blood pressure soared to an all-time record high, Gibbs knew he just needed to do something to get it back under control...quickly. As soon as the sedan came to a halt and he'd thrown the gear shift into park, Gibbs was rolling out and slamming the door soundly behind, stalking off in long strides down the service lane behind the vehicle in an attempt to put some distance between him and the infuriating young man still shut up within the confines of the car.

The air was brisk but, thankfully, they'd left the snow and bitter cold behind when they'd passed into Southern Utah, so he found he didn't much miss the coat he'd left behind in the haste of his getaway. In fact, it felt so good to just stretch his legs and get a taste of some fresh air that he swiftly decided he deserved a little break from the monotony of the journey.

Glancing about and spying a fairly large-sized rock sticking baldly up in a patch of low-growing grass, Gibbs paced a bit further from the nearby blacktop and eased down to sit on the small boulder's hard surface, releasing a long sigh of pent-up frustration and letting the tension roll away. Closing his eyes, Gibbs tipped his face up toward the brightly shining sun and basked in the peacefulness of the surroundings. If it hadn't been for the continual thrumming sound of the traffic moving on the section of Highway 191 just a few yards away, Gibbs could almost imagine he was somewhere far out in the country, taking in a few rays and letting the rest of the world pass by. Almost.

It didn't take long before the peacefulness was interrupted by the sound of approaching footsteps and Gibbs braced himself for a confrontation. The steps neared, closing the distance, and soon he could feel a figure blocking the sunshine from his face. Fighting the surge of irritation beginning again, he shifted on the rock and turned his back on the intruder, not willing or ready to give up his little slice of tranquility just yet.

"Gibbs." It was, of course, Fornell.

"Go away, Tobias," he spoke evenly, without letting any emotion leak out, working hard to keep his voice pitched just right. He heard the other man sigh and shift a bit closer.

"Gibbs," Fornell was going to keep trying no matter what, "the big brat in the backseat wants to talk to you."

The agent allowed a short bark of laughter at Fornell's apt description and turned his head in the direction of the other man, keeping his eyes closed. "And what makes you think *I* could even manage to talk to him right now without taking a swing at him?"

"Gibbs..."

"Go away, Fornell," he insisted with a bit more heat.

"Come on, Jethro, just come back to the car," the FBI agent was trying his best to persuade calmly, risking another step closer. "He knows he fucked up. He just wants a couple of minutes to speak with you in private."

"That's not going to happen."

Fornell squinted up at the sun and sighed again. "Shit, I can understand how you needed to clear your head...believe me, I know. The way he's been acting and the things he's been saying are wearing me out, too. I mean, he could really try the patience of the Pope right about now and..." His voice trailed off for only a moment. "Oh, hell!"

Gibbs whirled as Fornell took off at a sprint toward the car waiting by the side of the moderately busy roadway and immediately saw what had caused the interruption. DiNozzo had opened the back door and had, somehow, managed to pull himself into a standing position without assistance, shaking on wobbly legs and arms braced for support, one hand on the open back door and one on the car's roof. Each time a vehicle of any significant size rolled by on the highway, the resultant wind whipped and tore at the already-tossled hair and baggy sweatsuit, threatening to toppled the unsteady stance of the youthful figure.

Gibbs could make out the mostly contrite expression DiNozzo now wore, even from across the distance dividing them, and found himself frowning when Fornell reached out and wrapped the weakened form into a supporting embrace, one strong arm around the trembling shoulders and the other...the other was...

'Where the fuck was Fornell's *other* hand?'

Gibbs was swiftly on his feet and heading back toward the two people by the side of the car, watching as the FBI agent dipped his head lower to get closer to the younger man's face. DiNozzo was in an obviously agitated state, frowning up at the older man, and struggling weakly in the careful hold. It really didn't look like Fornell was doing anything but trying to offer assisitance but, for some reason, it just made Gibbs' skin crawl to observe them in such close proximity. Remembering Fornell's off-handed comment about his personal feelings for DiNozzo well over a month ago, the NCIS agent just couldn't hold back the growl of jealousy building up in his chest.

"I just need...to talk to him," DiNozzo was almost pleading, his green eyes wide with worry.

"He's coming back, Tony," Fornell assured quickly, arms stabilizing the tilting form. "He just needed a little space, that's all. Now, please, get back in the car."

"No..." DiNozzo again tried to pull free but immediately stopped his feeble struggling when he saw his supervisor appear.

"Get your ass back in the car, DiNozzo," Gibbs barked his order as he shoved Fornell aside, reaching to get his own hands on his agent and carefully redirecting the unresisting body until it was, once again, safely back on the rear seat.

"Boss..." DiNozzo looked up from his position and tried to explain.

"For once would you just shut up?" He snapped brusquely and immediately whirled back to face Fornell. "Give us a few minutes alone, Tobias. DiNozzo and I need to clear the air."

"Jethro," Fornell's voice and face were rife with undisguised apprehension, "he didn't mean any harm, you know that. He was just venting and I suspect he's not really feeling..."

"Fornell," Gibbs interrupted, a bit amazed the FBI agent would try to explain the situation to him and a bit angered at the man's audacity. *No one* knew DiNozzo the way he did and no testosterone-driven fibbie was going to insinuate otherwise. "Just take a little hike and let me handle this."

Relunctantly, Fornell dropped his gaze to look once more at the pale, anxious expression of the young man slouched in the backseat and then turned away, moving slowly back in the direction of Gibbs' recently vacated rock. He kept casting concerned glances back over his shoulder that Gibbs chose to pointedly ignore. When he was well enough away from the vehicle, Gibbs turned to the problem at hand.

"Slide over, Tony," Gibbs finally spoke as he nudged his agent and shifted in to sit on the back seat, too. He slammed the door shut, took a deep breath, and turned his icy gaze on the other occupant, instantly choking up at what he saw.

Pale and trembling slightly, green eyes wide with dread, DiNozzo was all but hunched into into a corner, plucking nervously at a discarded blanket. He didn't wait for the older man to speak, wanting to get his apology out while he still could.

"I'm sorry...I didn't mean to act like...such an ass."

Humbled by the contrite confession, Gibbs started to reach out to pull the young man close but instantly froze when DiNozzo misread the intentions of the upraised hand and flinched away, obviously expecting some form of physical reprimand or punishment. This had happened several times since DiNozzo's retrieval and, each time, it made Gibb' chest ache to think of what could have been done to his agent to produce this kind of reflexive defensive move. Knowing he just needed to let the younger man work through this, Gibbs remained quiet and unmoving.

It didn't take long before DiNozzo realized what he'd done and, as he finally understood the significance of his actions, the pale face flushed with embarrassment and he struggled to sit up, awkwardly tugging his sweatshirt back into place and clearing his throat. It was pretty scary for everyone to witness the swift shifts of emotions but it had to be far worse to actually be the one experiencing them.

"You okay?" Gibbs finally asked and was gratified when DiNozzo straightened even more and turned to face him, the green eyes focusing on some point close to his left shoulder but not anywhere near the worried face.

"You mean besides the fact...I'm a fucking mess? Uh...yeah, I'm just peachy," he sighed softly, wetting his lips and dropping his gaze to his hands. "Look, Boss...I'm sorry I acted..."

"Stop apologizing right now," Gibbs spoke equally quiet and risked placing a hand gently on the youth's closest knee, glad when there was no adverse reaction or shying away. "I'm tired of hearing those words from you. Either you're bitching about something or apologizing...how about you just stop doing both?"

"Boss...I was acting like...a spoiled kid," DiNozzo huffed.

"Well, yeah, you were," Gibbs agreed in bemused exasperation. "Christ, Tony, what do I have to do to make you behave? Spank you?"

DiNozzo reared slightly back again, searching the face of the man sitting so close, and then relaxed, tilting his head almost coyly to one side. There was frank appraisal and a hint of something a bit primal and then, unbelievably, the green eyes turned smoky and filled with open desire.

"You gonna pull down my pants to spank me, Boss?" The question was whispered almost like a wish and without the usual hesitation.

Again, the quick shifting of emotions should have been a warning to the older man but Gibbs found himself suddenly at a loss, his mouth going a bit dry as his young agent moved a little closer on the seat. "Tony..."

"Maybe turn me over...your lap?" A hand crept up from the blanket and traced a light but deliberate path over Gibbs' cotton-covered arm and across the chest to splay over his heart. "Rub your big hands...all over my ass?"

"Tony," the name came out as a low growl as a vivid mental picture was quickly painted, of skin on skin, of pale, smooth flesh bared for his touch, of a willing body waiting to receive him.

The wandering hand was moving south now, traveling with agonizing slowness and traversing the planes and hollows. "Maybe make me lick your fingers...get a couple good and wet...so you can slip them in and..."

When DiNozzo's wicked hand crept into the area of Gibbs' crotch, the older man jerked and quickly captured the roving fingers, breaking the spell and bringing the digits back up to the space over his pounding heart, holding tight. He frowned into the dreamy-looking, half-focused eyes and shook his head at the situation.

"What in the hell do you think you're doing?" He breathed quietly, watching the lids flutter and the glassy eyes momentarily clear. "You trying to seduce me?"

"Um, yeah..." came the honest reply, as the slightly pouting mouth lifted at the corners, "I suppose I was...thinking about it."

"In the back seat of a rental? With Fornell sitting just a few yards away?" Gibbs couldn't help the teasing smile that tugged at his own lips and he pressed a quick kiss to DiNozzo's temple.

The younger man arched into the chaste gesture and spoke before he could really think about the implications and repercussions of his playful suggestion. "We could ask him...to join us."

In a flash, DiNozzo found himself flat on his back with a very angry man looming overhead, breathing hotly down into his face, the larger, stronger body pushing all his air out in a single, sharp whoosh. The forceful, possessive look in the steely eyes set his heart hammering within his chest.

"You will *never* suggest anything like that to me ever again," he hissed heatedly before covering the surprised mouth with a deep, claiming kiss, shoving his tongue roughly between the open lips and staking ownership deep within the wet, slick confines. He easily held the slighter body down, capturing DiNozzo's face between both hands, and kept the connection intact until he tasted the ultimate sweetness of the younger man's surrender. He licked one, last, lazy swipe across the trembling lower lip, caught it briefly between his sharp teeth before releasing it, and pulled just far enough back to gaze comfortably into the liquid, dazed eyes. "You understand me, DiNozzo? Have I made myself clear about this?"

The younger man could only nod dumbly, eyes bright with passion and amazement. "O...o...okay..."

"And you're going to stop leading Fornell on," came the next instruction.

DiNozzo frowned in confusion. "But I don't..."

His mouth was recaptured and held hostage once more, tormented and assaulted, subdued and mastered, until he was all but struggling for breath. Gibbs pulled back and tried again, staring down at the panting youth.

"What were you going to say?" The former Marine taunted, arching an eyebrow and grinning almost ferally.

DiNozzo squirmed a bit and sent the older man a strangely assessing glare. "You know, Gibbs, if you're trying...to deter me...you're going about it the wrong way."

Gibbs grunted and pulled back, rising to sit upright and tugging the younger man along in his wake. He could see the erection pushing at the front of the soft, navy sweatpants DiNozzo was wearing but chose to ignore the obvious indication of the youth's arousal. He combed his fingers through the soft hair and directed his agent's head with one, big hand until it rested against his shoulder. He felt a slender arm snake out to wrap itself around his mid-section and allowed himself a small squeeze of affection before easing back.

"You know we can't do anything about this now," he waved a hand in the space directly above DiNozzo's hard length and had to forcibly keep the younger man from crawling into his lap.

"Hell," DiNozzo pouted as his movements were easily and effectively rebuffed and redirected, having nothing else to do but settle back into the seat, "you wouldn't do anything with me even if there was time."

Gibbs sighed. Even though they'd only had a few days to discuss their feelings for each other, it had been just too damned difficult to put into words how he actually felt about being physically intimate with this newer, younger DiNozzo. And, it seemed, it was rapidly becoming an old, tired argument neither was ever going to win: DiNozzo kept flaunting and offering and Gibbs kept rebuffing and declining.

"These teenage hormones are yelling out to me, Boss," DiNozzo wriggled seductively to prove his point, pushing and turning just enough to rub his erection against Gibbs' closest thigh. "Come on...just touch me. You *know* you want to."

And that was just it. Gibbs really didn't know *what* he wanted.

"No, Tony," he pushed gently at the persistent youth, looked quickly back to make sure Fornell was still well away, and scowled down into the wicked, green eyes, "I'm not going to start anything with you."

DiNozzo scooted down a bit and reclined back, dragging a palm repeatedly over his hard-on and then squeezing it tightly, forcing a low moan of aching need from his own throat. His eyes were fairly smoldering with lust as they fixed on Gibbs' face.

"I'd say...you already started something. Kissing me like that...holding me down," he pulled at the elastic at his waist and slipped a hand slowly, sensually inside the sweats, moaning again and biting at his bottom lip. He rolled his head against the back of the seat. "How did you honestly expect me to react?"

"I'm getting out of this vehicle right now," Gibbs threatened, wrapping his fingers around the door handle, determined to keep his eyes away from what that depraved hand was doing under those soft, thin pants.

DiNozzo deftly arched his hips up and quickly shoved the sweatpants down, letting the fabric catch just below his testicles and stopping the older man in an instant. The slim fingers of both hands now joined in the obscenely erotic display, dancing across the surface of the skin, skimming over hot, pulsing areas, pulling and tweaking the leaking erection, and cupping and fondling the twitching balls until it was painfully obvious how all of this was going to end.

"Christ, Jethro," DiNozzo panted raggedly, green eyes locking on and pleading with his lover, hands moving restlessly on his primed body, fingertips of one hand driting over and around the sensitive head and capturing the thick bead of moisture, "just touch me already."

Gibbs' own eyes darkened at the forbidden sight and he pressed his lips tightly together to keep his own moan of desire at bay, the feeling of unbelievable longing colliding dead-on with the overpowering sensation of innate wrongness. He let his gaze travel away from the wanton eyes and drift down to the throbbing length being stroked between the younger man's hands, immediately seing what was causing the battle within: the differences, like before, struck him full in the face and were causing these God-awful second-thoughts. The smooth skin of DiNozzo's groin was covered with a softer, thinner coating of hair than he could recall and the cock, itself, seemed slightly diminished, the length a bit shorter maybe and the girth not quite as substantial. Minimal changes...but changes nonetheless.

But the differences didn't just stop there.

There was a variance to the torso, too. Gibbs swallowed convulsively at the disparity he could plainly see. Of course, the obvious bruises and scabs were a deterent but those injuries were pretty much superficial. It was more than that. Where the 'old' Tony was buff and strong and filled out so nicely in all the right places and could give back just as hard as he could take, this 'new' Tony was slim and slight and probably couldn't fight his way out of a brown paper bag in his present condition. Gibbs had liked the feel of the 'old' Tony in his arms, liked not having to be gentle or careful or subdued. And the 'old' Tony had been a force to contend with in bed: demanding, powerful, energetic.

Gibbs let his eyes roam the youthful body and silently cursed. There were just too many things that made this all seem so wrong, so distasteful, so...perverted.

He hadn't realized he was frowning at the body laid out so lewdly before him or how his obvious relunctance to the situation was so clearly communicated by his expression alone until he saw the hand leave the rapidly-fading erection and the lightning-quick flash of devastation change the youthful, open face into a closed, blank mask of utter rejection. Scrambling backwards as quickly as he could and yanking the sweatpants back up, DiNozzo hoisted himself as far to one side of the bench seat as possible, huddled against the door and the man's evident aversion, and wrapped his arms around his torso in a clear gesture of protection. The green eyes were, at first, wide with accusation and hurt that swiftly faded into a dull, empty stare.

Swearing to himself for his stupidity, Gibbs reached out and started to speak, needing to voice his apology. "Tony..."

"Don't!" DiNozzo hissed and looked away, unable to face the revulsion he knew would be looking right back at him. The line of his jaw flexed in anger and frustration as he tried to control his emotions. "I...I get it now. I understand. You just can't get past this...this body. I'm a freak..."

"You are *not* a freak!" The older man gritted, trying to regain control of the situation but floundering slightly. "You're just...not the same."

The green eyes bored into his with terrible accusation. "I tried to tell you...but you just wouldn't listen, would you? You said I was still here," he rapped a fist against his own chest, "that I was...still *here*. But you...can't even see me anymore. All you see...is this fucking body."

Gibbs scooted a bit closer and placed a hand on the now-shaking shoulder, only to have it knocked angrily away. He could see the younger man was having a hard time holding himself together, especially when the back of the trembling hand quickly swiped roughly at the hurt-filled eyes, and he'd never felt more like the world's biggest bastard than he did at the moment.

"You can tell Fornell to...come on back," DiNozzo whispered, eyes shifting to gaze out the window on his side, closest to the lanes of the highway. "I think we're...finished...talking. I won't give you...anymore problems."

"Tony," Gibbs tried again but was ignored, "I didn't mean to hurt you..."

"I know what hurt feels like!" Came the hot reply but, still, the eyes stayed fixed on the passing traffic. "But you know what? I'm a big boy and no matter what you think...I can handle it." DiNozzo worked to pull himself up straighter in the seat and, when he spoke again, the youthful tenor was more calm, more adult, more empty. "I can handle it."

Gibbs sat for a few moments, pretty much at a loss of what to do, and watched as DiNozzo tiredly dropped his head back against the seat, the expressive eyes sliding shut and closing the rest of the world away. Gibbs picked up one of the discarded blankets and carefully draped it over the still form, tenderly tucking it around the slighter shoulders and leaning just far enough over to brush a chaste, dry kiss to the smooth forehead.

"I'm sorry," Gibbs whispered, eyes fixed on the expressionless face.

DiNozzo never opened his eyes but Gibbs saw him swallow. When he finally spoke, his tone was soft and filled with a world-weary fatigue that made Gibbs' chest ache.

"I know...but it doesn't really matter anymore."

Realizing nothing else was going to be said, Gibbs took one last look into the closed face and turned away, opening the door and stepping back out into the sunshine and fresh air. His eyes immediately tracked to Fornell's position and watched as the FBI agent rose hesitantly from the rock, the concern and worry still etched clearly in the tell-tale lines of his friend's face. Sighing loudly, pulling his sagging shoulders up, Gibbs raised a hand and signaled for Fornell to approach. They'd wasted enough time here as it was...they had to move on.

It wasn't until sometime during the mid-afternoon hours, when they stopped to get something to eat and use the facilities at a small, non-descript diner about two hours away from their intended destination, that they had their first real scare of the trip and were reminded of just how precarious DiNozzo's safety really was. As federal agents, they all knew a threat could come in any form, no matter how innocent or innocuous it appeared, but neither of them were prepared for what occured.

Sitting quietly in a window booth and gazing out through the grime-covered glass at the busy afternoon traffic on the highway, DiNozzo closed his eyes and basked in the warmth of the afternoon sun. It was mild and comfortable in here and, with his stomach as full as he could stand it without pushing past his limit into sickness, he chose to just tune out his two companions and drift within the confines of his mind. He knew Gibbs and Fornell were concerned about his continued silence but knew it really was for the best. It wasn't like they asked for his opinion or his input on anything yet, even going as far as ordering his meal for him instead of inquiring what he'd really like to have to eat. Irked beyond words at their boldness, he remained quiet and accepted their offerings, letting the seed of discontent sprout and begin to grow.

Now, with the mostly-full bowl of cold vegetable soup and a congealing mass of partially eaten grilled cheese sandwich resting on the table before him, DiNozzo just didn't think he'd be able to stand much more of this. Sighing loudly and reopening his eyes, he immediately felt the two sets of gazes shift in his direction.

"You okay, DiNozzo?" Gibbs asked from his position directly across from him at the rectangular table, the keen blue eyes taking in the subdued posture and the unreadable face.

Directly beside the young man, Fornell held his coffee cup cradled between both hands but his focus was totally on DiNozzo. He saw the slight nod of the head but had to strain to hear the whispered words.

"Yes, I'm okay."

"You sure?" Fornell asked, putting the cup down and reaching to rub gently across the too-tense shoulders. He was gratified to see the eyes close in appreciation and the lips form a small, half-smile. "You've been awfully quiet."

Across the table, Gibbs gritted his teeth and bristled at Fornell's actions, wanting nothing more than to knock the man's hand away from DiNozzo's back. But Fornell was right. DiNozzo had been too quiet and Gibbs knew it was all his fault. The problem was, he had no idea how to fix the problem...

"I need to go to the restroom," DiNozzo announced and nudged at Fornell with an elbow. "Come on, let me out."

Fornell was sliding but watching the young man carefully. "Are you going to be sick? Do you need some help?"

Huffing out a soft breath of exasperation, DiNozzo looked up as the man stood to let him out. "No, Tobias...I just need to take a leak. Okay?"

"I'll go with you," Gibbs suddenly announced, wiping his mouth with a thin, paper napkin.

"I can go by myself," DiNozzo gripped the edge of the table and fought back his anger as the discontent grew a bit more. "I'm not a fucking baby."

"Never said you were," Gibbs responded calmly. "But you're still weak and you don't eat enough to keep a kitten alive."

"Well, maybe if I'd been able to chose what I wanted I would have eaten more," the green eyes locked with the blue gaze.

Gibbs shrugged nonchalantly. "Why didn't you speak up?"

"Why didn't you at least give me a chance to speak up?"

They stared at each other across the table, only remotely aware of Fornell standing close by and watching the interaction with a keen eye, and let everything that *really* stood between them now go unspoken. Looking into the face of the man he thought he knew and loved, DiNozzo felt the discontent increase.

Suddenly, something shifted behind Gibbs' eyes and he leaned back, a soft sigh escaping. "Go ahead then. We won't stop you."

DiNozzo's eyes widened slightly at the resigned tone but pushed quickly to his feet, moving with great care toward the back of the diner where the facilities were located. He chanced a glance back and saw the two men were involved in some heated discussion, ignoring him completely.

Slipping into the small, old-fashioned restroom, DiNozzo's eyes quickly scanned the area, fighting back a surge of nausea as the smell of urine and disinfectant assaulted his nostrils. For a moment, he thought he'd hit a dead end and, then, he saw exactly what he was hoping to see. High up on one side of the wall, directly beside the stall housing the room's only toilet, was a small, rectangular window, too small for a grown man but just right for a slightly-underweight teenage boy.

Stepping into the stall and locking it closed behind him, DiNozzo took a deep breath and gathered his rapidly waning strength. Carefully easing up on the back of the toilet, he pushed against the dirty glass with one hand, and shoved the panel open. It took a bit of maneuvering, a shimmy here, and a twist there, but he finally got his body through the undersized opening and dropped unsteadily to the ground on the other side.

Feeling a bit light-headed and needing a moment to catch his breath, he was grossly unprepared for the rough shove that pushed him up against the building's uneven surface, the tight hands that forced his wrists to the small of his back, and the move that swept his legs out from underneath his shocked body. He went down hard, losing his breath, and was stunned when he felt the undeniable pinch of handcuffs being applied. Pulled roughly to his feet and lifted slightly off the ground by a set of strong hands bunched into the fabric at the front of his sweatshirt, DiNozzo was shook until his teeth rattled...and then unceremoniously dropped to land flat on his ass on the hard concrete surface.

Gulping in a huge lungful of air, DiNozzo slumped back against the solid support of the wall and looked up into the face of his captor, knowing he was now in for a world of hurt. He coughed once and spit out a small amount of blood from a cut on his tongue.

"Well," he gasped in defeat, "you can't blame a guy for trying."

Standing a few feet away and looking down at the young man in undisguised fury, Gibbs turned and pushed past the stunned FBI agent. "You handle him now, Tobias. If I do, I swear I'll kill him myself!"


TBC

"Come on, Gibbs, don't you think you're being a little extreme here? I mean, it's not like he's going to throw himself out of a moving vehicle."

Jethro Gibbs slanted his eyes away from the road for only a moment and quickly glanced at the man sitting beside him in the front seat, allowing a tight, brief sneer to flash across his otherwise-passive face. "You sure about that?"

Tobias Fornell frowned at the comment and turned to look once again into the back seat of the rental car, carefully eyeing the silent figure slumped so tiredly against the door behind the driver and studying the pale, youthful face, wondering how things had gotten so out of hand so quickly. One minute they were enjoying a little break in a roadside diner, the next they were capturing a potential runaway. *This* runaway. Staring at the profile of the bent head, Fornell could see the eyes were closed, the long lashes fanning out on the tender, bruised-looking skin high on the cheekbones and hiding the expressive, green eyes. The FBI agent thought he almost appeared to be asleep but frowned again when he saw the smooth jaw clench and the slim shoulders momentarily tense. No, not asleep...and not feeling too well by the looks of things.

"I don't care what you say. I'm taking the cuffs off him right now. He certainly doesn't deserve this...not from us."

Swiftly releasing his shoulder harness and turning to kneel up on the seat facing backwards, Fornell dug a set of keys from his jacket pocket and slowly reached toward the huddled figure, careful to keep his touch light and non-threatening. As his fingers made contact with the soft, brown hair on the downward-canted head, the young man shifted and stirred, slightly raising his chin and blinking sluggishly, lazily, until his eyes remained open. It took a few seconds for the him to recognize the man stretched over the seat and leaning in his direction but, when he did, Anthony DiNozzo let his head tilt back against the padded seat and offered a tight, fleeting smirk.

"So, are we there *now*?" He asked with the barest hint of devilment and then sighed softly in obvious exhaustion.

Fornell quirked his own quick grin, glad to see a bit of the old DiNozzo pop up, and carefully tugged at the soft fabric covering the closest shoulder he could reach. "It won't be too much longer now, I promise. Come on, lean forward and let me take those handcuffs off."

DiNozzo blinked and seemed to struggle to get his body to move as directed but, when he finally managed to comply and turned just enough to expose his restrained hands, he heard Fornell bite out a soft expletive. Wondering what the problem was now, he turned his head and tried to glance back over his shoulder, catching the FBI agent's stormy expression as he worked to release the cuffs.

"Pull over, Jethro."

"What the hell for?" Gibbs scowled as he glanced in the rearview mirror and tried to see around Fornell's body, wondering what was happening in the rear seat. "We've only got a couple of more miles and we'll be there. Can't it wait?"

Fornell suddenly shifted on the seat and reached to grab a handful of Gibbs' sleeve, fisting the fabric tightly, and shaking hard. "Not unless *you* want to explain to Ducky why we allowed DiNozzo to bleed all over the back of this car. I suggest you stop right now so we can check his wrists."

His wrists. Well, shit...

Grunting immediately in understanding, and feeling a cold wash of worry, Gibbs was instantly slowing and pulling the vehicle over to the side of the roadway once again. He heard a soft hiss of pain from DiNozzo and an equally quiet murmur of an apology from Fornell but didn't speak again until he'd stopped the car, recovered the first aid kit Ducky had assembled for them from the trunk, and was moving to slide back in beside DiNozzo, his blue eyes quickly assessing the damage done to the already-fragile skin in the area where the hands connected to the body.

The old bandage on the right wrist looked basically okay, with just a band of newly-reddened skin circling above the white binding Ducky had applied several days ago, but the left wrist was a different matter completely. Very different. Although it didn't appear to be as bad as Fornell had insinuated, there was a fair amount of fresh blood seeping through the thick dressing, spidering down the slim fingers, and puddling to form a dark, fist-sized spot on one of the blankets.

Putting his own hand out, palm up, he finally looked up into the youthful face and spoke. "Let me see it."

Without hesitation, DiNozzo obediently complied and placed his injured wrist in Gibbs' bigger hand, keeping his eyes averted and choosing, instead, to gaze toward where Fornell still sat upon he front seat, body twisted so he could watch the proceedings. The young man offered the FBI agent a wane smile before looking away and letting his eyes drift close, feeling Gibbs carefully begin unwrapping the injured area. It didn't really hurt too much but just the thought of having his ex-boss, his ex-lover, touching him so gently and with so much care was disconcerting, especially after his recent misbehavior.

"Would it help any if I said I was sorry?" He directed quietly toward Gibbs without opening his eyes.

There was a significant pause in the activity on his wrist but, when no reply was forthcoming, DiNozzo sighed and thought he was now being given the silent treatment. He shifted and bit down another flare of disappointmnt.

"Maybe."

Instantly relieved, DiNozzo quirked a crooked grin and turned his fingers over so he was grasping Gibbs' hand, palm to palm, and opened his eyes to look into the slightly startled face. "Then, I'm sorry."

Gibbs quickly recovered his momentary surprise, shot a swift look toward Fornell, and then huffed in frustration. "Just what in the hell were you thinking?"

"I don't know if I can explain it to you..."

"Well, I think you'd better try hard as hell to do your best," Gibbs growled and turned their shared grasp back to its original configuration, his touch still light and gentle and at direct odds with the gruff-sounding voice.

DiNozzo shifted again and managed a small shrug. "I'm just so tired of all this, Boss."

"Of what? Staying safe and alive?" The harsh question was laced with a healthy dose of exasperation.

"No," the youthful agent took the jab with a good measure of self-depreciatory humor, "I'm okay with the idea of being safe and alive."

"Then what is it?" Fornell piped in and both Gibbs and DiNozzo turned their surprised eyes his way. He could clearly see they'd all but forgotten about his presence and was suddenly a bit angry, especially with the cool, blue gaze the older agent was now directing his way. "Look, Gibbs, I've been with you every step of the way, right from the beginning, and I've got every right to know what's going on in that twisted, adolescent blob of tissue housed inside his head that he's trying to pass off to us as a brain!"

Before Gibbs could speak, DiNozzo was laughing good-naturedly and smiling brightly, taking a mock swing at the man in the front seat with his unoccupied hand. "Fuck you, Fornell!"

Gibbs tugged his agent back and tried to ignore the spark of genuine comaraderie he could detect in DiNozzo's voice and actions but couldn't hide his ire when he saw a flash of something heated and intimate flare in Fornell's frank appraisal of the young man. He growled low in his throat and forced his eyes back to the injured wrist, deciding he needed to let DiNozzo explain his warped reasoning to both of them and get everything out in the open. And if, by chance, more was revealed of the true nature of their personal relationship, he'd get through it. Maybe Fornell would back off or, just maybe, it would be the catalyst needed for the FBI agent to start weaseling his way closer to DiNozzo. Gibbs shook his head at the dilemma, finished applying the last strip of tape to the freshly bandaged wrist, and closed the first aid kit with a snap.

"Well?" He prompted and sat back, giving the younger man some space. "Tell us."

DiNozzo looked down at the newly wrapped wrist and took a moment to flex his fingers, absently testing the suppleness and giving himself a moment to get his scattered thoughts together. He, too, chose to lean back against the padded seat, totally unaware of the jolt of pleasure arcing through Gibbs as he absently placed a hand on the older man's closest knee. Gibbs let his expressive eyes slowly track toward Fornell and saw the man staring openly at the hand on his leg, a tight, angry tension causing the thin lips to press even more firmly together and the eyes narrowing with undisguised jealousy. As the hard eyes rose and met his stare, Gibbs kept his cool and blatantly smirked before fixing his blue gaze on the younger man.

"I guess after I had a chance to talk to Abby on the phone a few days ago, I really began to understand what my life was going to be like now," DiNozzo was speaking quietly but without any hesitation, unaware of the tension flowing between his two companions, his eyes focused on some spot far away. "I asked her about some things I suppose I just should have waited to hear about later but, you know me, I insisted and she told me all she could." He paused and shook his head slightly, casting his eyes toward Gibbs. "I knew, of course, what you'd told me but Abby and I...well, she knows me pretty good and knew what I really wanted to find out." He looked away and continued. "Anyway, she found out that my father had sent someone to clean out my apartment the day after he got word of my so-called death...had all my stuff either thrown away or given to charity...except for my car." There was a brief, brittle laugh that held no humor. "My car. *That* he gave as a gift to a business associate, a *female* business associate. Bastard." There wasn't much heat behind the curse but it still struck a cord with both listeners. "I don't have an apartment any more, I don't have any clothes except those McGee got me in Idaho, and I don't have a penny to my name. Dear old dad took good care of that, too. He withdrew all I had in my checking and savings accounts and closed them out, he cashed in the CDs my mother set up for me before I went to college, and he even took the great little nest-egg my grandmother left me and had everything transferred over into his own assets. To top all that," his soft voice wavered slightly with emotion, "I never made out a will...I guess I always thought there'd be plenty of time...so, as my closest surviving relative, he was entitled to the death benefits covered by the job. Hell, business as usual for him. It didn't matter if I was dead or not, as long as he could turn a profit from it."

Both men could only sit and listen as DiNozzo poured out his story. There was nothing they could offer right now, except a willing ear, and they remained still as he continued.

"And then I realized something yesterday, something I hadn't even considered since you found me back...in that place," the young voice was steadily getting weaker and more uncertain and the green eyes tracked to the window on his side of the vehicle. "I knew you were taking me to spend some time with someone Ducky thought could be of some help and, if you found everything there to be acceptable, you'd be leaving to get back to DC, back to your life and the job." His eyes swiftly came back to meet Gibbs' but they held no accusations or recriminations, only understanding and acceptance. "Hell, I don't blame you...if I could go back, I would, too. I mean, you're nothing more but a glorified babysitter at this point." He shrugged with one shoulder and looked quickly away. "Plus, I know I've sure made a horse's ass out of myself recently and have said and...done...some pretty stupid things."

DiNozzo finally realized his hand was on Gibbs' knee and quickly moved it away, shifting the restless fingers back to the security of the familiar, discarded blanket, and working to keep the flush of embarrassment from his pale cheeks. He knew he couldn't look at Fornell, knew the FBI agent would be able to read the signs clearly, and knew Gibbs would be pissed as hell if he made a big deal about it now. Instead, he cleared his throat and pushed himself awkwardly up on the seat, sitting a bit straighter.

"When we got to that diner earlier, everything just kind of washed all over me: the changes in my body, the changes in my life, even the changes in my position with you...with both of you," he added quickly and sighed. "You treated me just like the kid I now look like...ordering my food without letting me have any input, boxing me into that booth so I couldn't have any direct contact with strangers, even wanting to escort me to the restroom..."

"And we all know how *that* turned out," Gibbs huffed and boldly covered the nervous hands with one of his own, seeing the pleased surprise flood the green eyes that quickly found his. "I knew you were going to try something stupid."

DiNozzo stared at his ex-boss and saw the truth: Gibbs wasn't angry any longer...just very disappointed with the choice of actions. Nodding slightly and feeling a little more than uncomfortable, he pulled his hands relunctantly away and sighed again.

"I *am* sorry about that but I did't think either one of you would have just let me take a walk by myself, even if I had asked," he glanced between the two men. "Do you know how long it's been since I've been able to just be by myself, free and unsupervised, breathing in the fresh air and taking in the sunshine?"

And they did know, had counted each and every day and week until they'd finally been able to get to him. It *had* been a long time and, now, he was being taken to another unfamiliar place, to live with another unfamiliar person, in another unfamiliar part of the country and would, probably, be denied the freedom and privacy he still craved so much.

"Tony," Fornell finally felt compelled to speak, "we know this has been tougher on you than either one of us could ever imagine but, you've got to understand, we aren't even sure you'll ever be safe again...at least not until we can figure out who and why someone tipped off Wilson-Halley and until we can get our hands back on Emilio Martinez."

A sharp shiver of revulsion coursed through the slight body but he resolutely held their gaze, eyes turning a bit fearful. "What could he possibly do to me that he didn't already do?"

Gibbs frowned, not liking the the sudden flash of fear or the strange undercurrent he detected in the soft question. There was something there that needed closer inspection, something dark, but Gibbs knew this wasn't the time nor the place to delve deeper.

"He could kill you," was all he said, the bold, hard fact carrying enough power to quell any further argument. Or so he thought.

"I think that was his plan all along," DiNozzo whispered after a few moments of silence and quickly looked away, not able to continue seeing the raw, open concern reflected in the other face.

Gibbs' cell was suddenly thrilling for attention and he dug it out of his pocket, eyes falling immediately to the unfamiliar piece of technology. His own phone, which housed a standard GPS chip, had been given to McGee and was now somewhere back in DC, where anyone looking for him would find it. This strange, disposable piece of crap would get tossed as soon as he got home. Grunting as he squinted to see the correct button, he held in a sigh and hoped he was pressing the right one.

"Gibbs," he spoke into the device and let his gaze track toward Fornell as he recognized Ducky's voice, watching as the FBI agent covertly began studying the slender figure in the back seat. Gibbs saw the dark eyes skim downward from the face, taking in every inch from head to toe, and then lazily make its way back up. "We're almost there now...just a few minutes away really." Without thinking, he reached out and smacked the older man on the back of the head, seeing the startled, angry eyes sweep away from the young man and pin him with a furious glare. "Yep, we'll see you soon. Bye."

"What the fuck was that for?" Fornell fumed, raising a hand to touch the area of impact with a careful hand.

Gibbs smiled evilly as he re-pocketed the phone and grabbed for the first aid kit. He didn't need to explain himself to anyone, much less Fornell, so he just ignored the question. Turning back to look at DiNozzo before moving to slide out of the car, the older man caught the slightly bemused expression and paused, raising a warning finger and pointing it toward the impish face.

"Don't think for one moment I wouldn't nail you either."

DiNozzo's green eyes sparkled wickedly. "Oh, I'm counting on it, Boss. Believe me, I'm counting on it."

_________________________________

Doctor Victoria Sebastian was as an impressive looking woman as DiNozzo had ever seen in his life. Not quite as tall as Gibbs but certainly possessing the same coloring of hair, she carried her trim figure with an easy air of regal splendor: back straight, chest out, and chin high. She was dressed in apparel looking vaguely similar to something he remembered seeing his mother wear, long ago during the time she was interested in learning how to ride, but never had seen her look as relaxed and at home in them as this woman surely did. These clothes were obviously used often and a part of her daily wardrobe, from the wide-brimmed hat placed so jauntily on the silver hair to the well-worn, knee-high, brown boots. She was a tad intimidating to the young man, until she turned her warm, brown eyes his way and offered a perfectly brilliant smile of genuine, heart-felt greeting.

"Welcome, Anthony," her cultured voice was fairly reminiscent of Ducky's but sounded more New England than it did of Great Britian. "I'm so very pleased to be finally meeting you."

DiNozzo took the offered hand and smiled back, letting himself relax a little as he looked into her attractive face, immediately wondering just how much he'd be able to get away with if he turned on the charm. "Thanks for letting me stay."

Doctor Sebastian kept the younger hand in her grip and gently tugged him closer, ignoring the sudden look of surprise, and peering intently into the wary, green eyes, studying the face until she saw what she needed. Her mouth formed a little pout and she tsked softly.

"I thought you said they were going to be stopping to get a bite to eat before they got here, Donald," she directed toward Ducky but kept her eyes solely on DiNozzo. "Young man, when was the last time you had a decent meal?"

"Uh..." DiNozzo shifted under her observant scrutiny and tried to look back toward Gibbs for some kind of support. Doctor Sebastian immediately tightened her grip and quickly tugged his attention back where she wanted it, solely on her. He swallowed and answered hesitantly. "We did stop..."

"And he only had a couple of spoonfuls of soup and few bites of a grilled cheese sandwich," Gibbs ratted him out quickly.

Doctor Sebastian turned her gaze to Gibbs and saw the smug expression on the handsome face. She arched a fine eyebrow and frowned at him.

"Well, if that was all I was offered, I wouldn't have had much either," she scoffed with distaste, watching the smug expression fade, and then turned back to smile sweetly at DiNozzo. "It will be hours until dinner is ready, Anthony, but I have a wonderful chef who makes the thickest, creamiest, most decadent chocolate milkshakes you've ever tasted. Let's go see if she'll whip us up one, shall we?"

DiNozzo had just enough time to throw a quick, confused look back in the general direction of the other men before he was being guided out of the living area, across a beautifully tiled hallway, and through a set of swinging doors seperating the kitchen from the rest of the home. When they disappeared from view, Ducky immediately rounded on Gibbs and Fornell, his blue eyes filled with angry accusations.

"Just what in God's good name has happened since I left you in Idaho?" He took a step closer to Gibbs, his lined face clearly displaying his concern and demanding an immediate response. "He looks like bloody hell!"

Gibbs grunted and cast a glance at Fornell. "We had an...incident...earlier."

"An incident," Ducky repeated the word without inflection, crossing his arms over his chest and tilting his head to one side. "Could you possibly be a bit more specific?"

Sighing in defeat and moving to sit on the big, comfortable-looking sofa placed directly in front of a huge, rock fireplace, Gibbs angled his head and looked up at his old friend. "He's been acting like a complete ass, imitating the kid he looks like better than most teenagers I know, and driving us both out of our minds. We stopped a couple of hours ago at a diner and he tried to get away from us. I got mad, lost my temper, and shook the shit out of him." He hesitated before continuing with the rest of the tale, looking pointedly away from the medical examiner's face. "I handcuffed him."

"You did what?!" Ducky's outrage was evident and, as he took a step closer, he looked down at Gibbs like the agent had suddenly sprouted another head. "Are you insane? After all he's already been through, after all you know that's been done to him, why would you even..."

"I *know* it was a stupid thing to do!" Gibbs interrupted hotly, glaring up at the older man. "But it was either that or..."

"Or what, Jethro?" Ducky prodded when Gibbs faltered but wasn't going to let this drop, "Or *what*, Jethro?"

Gibbs closed his eyes and sighed, shoulders sagging slightly. "I think I would have hurt him, Duck. I think I would have actually physically hurt him."

The confession was met with stony silence. Ducky swiveled his head to look at Fornell and saw the truth reflected in the agent's bleak eyes.

"Oh, my goodness," he breathed and sank down onto one of the armchairs placed near the sofa, trying to understand what was really happening. He looked back at Gibbs' anguished face and cleared his throat. "He tried to run away from you?"

Gibbs nodded but didn't speak. Fornell stepped closer, shoving his hands deep within his pockets, and finally joined the conversation.

"I don't think he was really going to run away, Ducky. I mean, we had a pretty good conversation a couple of miles back and DiNozzo had the opportunity to let us in on what he's been feeling since we found him. I think...well, I think he just needed to get some things off his chest."

Fornell finished and shifted his gaze to Gibbs, expecting to see some reinforcement, and was met with a cold, calculating glare that sent a shiver of a chill running the length of his spine. He swallowed at the primal, possessive expression and had to force his eyes away.

"Was he injured in any way?" Ducky asked quietly, well aware of the strange, silent interaction between the two men but not ready to step into that hornets nest just yet. Maybe never.

"I, uh, think he may have a couple of new bruises, especially on his ass," Gibbs answered honestly, eyes drifting back to Ducky. "And the wound on his left wrist started bleeding again."

"Jethro..." the reprimand was clear.

"Okay, so I fucked up...I get it!" Gibbs snapped and pushed up from the couch, moving to stand next to the cold fireplace and look down into the small pile of gray ashes collected within. "I can't do anything about that now." He shook his head and turned his blue gaze on Ducky. "Tell me what's happening here? Is Doctor Sebastian willing to take DiNozzo on?"

Ducky allowed the shift in topic without pushing any further...for now...and forced a small smile. "I should think the answer to that is fairly obvious, even to you, given the reception she just lavished upon him but, yes, Vicki is more than happy to open her home and share her expertise, though she will be the first to tell you he's much younger than her usual clients...even if he had't been regressed into a teenager. Still, she's anxious to see what she can do and to learn all she can about what was done. She does have a basic working knowledge of Emilio Martinez's research."

"I don't know if I like the sound of that, Duck," Gibbs admitted grimly, shaking his head again. "I don't know a thing about her or the work she does and she could just as easily decide to make DiNozzo her own new, special, little research project, too."

Ducky studied the face of his friend for a few moments and stood to join him by the fireplace, slowly bringing a gentle hand to rest lightly on the tense shoulder. There was more happening here than what he was being told and, between the strange posturing he'd witnessed between Gibbs and Fornell, and now this hesitancy on Jethro's part, Ducky was beginning to think they all needed some help.

"What's really going on here, Jethro?" He asked quietly, pitching his voice for Gibbs' ears only.

"Christ, Duck, we just got him back and now were going to have to leave him," Gibbs spoke quietly and with more emotion than the older man had heard in a very long time but stopped before going any further and tossed a look back toward Fornell. "Tobias, I need to speak to Ducky alone."

"Jesus H. Christ, Gibbs!" Fornell exploded and took a step closer to the two men, hands clenched at his sides. "Haven't we had enough of all these secrets and innuendos? Do you actually think there's anything you could say to Ducky that I don't already know? Do you think I haven't seen all those looks you've..."

Gibbs was suddenly standing toe to toe with the FBI agent, eyes burning with fury. "If you even hint at what I think you plan on saying, I swear, Fornell, I'll kick your ass so hard, you'll be shitting out your nose for weeks!"

"Excuse me!"

A cold, sharp, feminine voice snapped them immediately away from their confrontation and they whirled to glare at the very irate face of Victoria Sebastian. She took a few steps into her living area and eyed the two federal agents with open distain but cast her verbal directions only toward her friend.

"Donald, I think you should go out to the kitchen. Anthony seems to be in need of some medical attention and, although I could handle it very well all on my own, I thought it best if you had a chance to see what was done to him while I have a word with these two...people."

Ducky raised a bemused eyebrow and nodded. "Of course, my dear. I would be happy to check on young Anthony."

The trio left in the living area faced off but it was the woman who quickly took control. She frowned again and shook her head.

"This is my home. Do you either even have the slightest idea what that word means? I do not tolerate violence of any kind and, if you plan to remain under my roof tonight, I suggest you get yourselves under control. You've brought your collegue here with hopes I could help in some way and I will do everything in my power because of the circumstances and because he seems like an extremely sweet boy but I will not tolerate any continued aggression. Is that clear?"

Both men nodded their understanding but it was Gibbs who spoke. "I'm sorry, Doctor Sebastian. It's been a long and very tiring trip for all of us. I can assure you," he cast a quick glance at Fornell, "we won't be having this conversation again...ever."

Giving them both a thorough assessing look, Doctor Sebastian narrowed her eyes and shook her head. "You may not be 'having' it again here but it's plain to see you're far from finished with your argument." She took another step closer and crossed her arms over her chest. "There's a very damaged young man sitting in my kitchen who, from what I've been told by Donald, has lost a great deal and has been treated deplorably. All I ask is, for the sake of his continued well-being and, hopefully, his recovery, you will both keep whatever is causing this friction between youselves unders wraps and well away from him."

Gibbs cocked his head and looked intently into her chocolate-colored eyes, his face changing subtly at her words. "You...you really think you can help him?"

Doctor Sebastian could clearly hear the wistful, wishful tone and could easily see the small spark of hope flare in the fair, blue eyes. She immediately changed her opinion of the man, seeing his true, honest concern for the teenager in the other room.

"I don't know, Agent Gibbs," she answered truthfully, "but I'm going to do everything in my power to try. That's all I can offer you now."

Gibbs nodded. "That's all I really needed to hear."
_______________________________

It was close to midnight when Gibbs heard the door to his room open quietly. He sat as he was, near one end of a small couch placed against a far wall, and continued to scan through the papers Doctor Sebastian had printed out for him, waiting patiently to see the indentity of his late-night visitor...though, in all honesty, he had a pretty good idea who it was even before he caught sight of the slim figure standing in the shadowed hallway. He sighed and lowered the stack of papers to his lap.

"What are you doing?" DiNozzo asked softly.

"You should be asleep," he offered in return.

The figure moved a bit closer but stopped just before stepping into the puddle of light pooling onto the floor from the lamp placed on the end table just to the right of Gibbs' elbow. It was quiet out here in the guest house, away from the sounds of the main home, and lulled by the gentle splashing of water running over the fountain just outside the partially-opened window.

"I couldn't sleep...not until I had a chance to talk to you alone."

"Tony..."

"I'm not going to jump your bones. I promise." There was a significant pause before DiNozzo spoke again but, this time, there was a clear note of playfulness in the tone. "Although, I have to admit, seeing you sitting there in nothing but your boxers *is* pretty arousing."

Gibbs couldn't help the small grin from escaping and shook his head at the young man. "You'd get turned on even if I was wearing..." He stopped abruptly and cut the rest of his thought off, looking away. "No, never mind."

"Tell me," DiNozzo whispered, almost pleading, and stepped closer, his bare feet looking inordinately erotic in the warm, soft glow cast on the hardwood floor under his toes.

Gibbs shook his head again and resolutely forced his eyes back up. "No, it doesn't matter. What do you want?"

DiNozzo was bare-chested, his clean sweatpants riding low on the slim hips, and Gibbs couldn't shake the impression that, in this light, the white bandages encircling the injured wrists looked almost like bracelets or adornments or some other exotic ornamentation designed to enhance the seductive qualities of the wearer. He swallowed the thought and watched as DiNozzo took another step closer to the small sofa, green eyes tracking around the area, and quickly stopping to study the position of the large bed well to one side of the room.

"Victoria said I could move out here after you leave tomorrow," he offered lamely and shifted a bit from foot to foot.

"You didn't come out here, in the middle of the night, to scope out your new digs," Gibbs prodded.

"No, you're right, I didn't," DiNozzo seemed to make a decision and moved until he was directly in front of Gibbs, gracefully going to his knees, and looking up into the older man's face. "I just wanted you to know how much I appreciate you going out on a limb for me like you did."

Gibbs frowned at their new position, immediately aware of the sexual connotations, but was glad DiNozzo hadn't attempted to make physical contact. "What are you talking about?"

One slim shoulder rose and fell. "Ducky told me how you never stopped trying to figure out what happened to me, even after...even after you were told of my...death."

"That's not completely true," Gibbs confessed softly, bending forward to rest his elbows on his knees, bringing himself a bit closer to the serious, young face. "There was a time when I had to accept it, after your father got your ashes and had his little..." he hesitated, unsure of the needed wording, "ceremony."

DiNozzo snorted with a tinge of bitterness. "You mean *celebration*, don't you?"

"It was Fornell who changed my mind," Gibbs ignored the disparaging remark and continued. "He got the ball rolling again."

A true smile lit the young face and Gibbs had to swallow back another unwanted surge of jealousy. He knew he had to get a handle on this because there was no reason to keep reacting to the FBI agent like this now.

"Yeah," Dinozzo's smile softened, "Tobias has been great but, let's face it, it took you and the team to come up with the plan. Right? Ducky told me how you all got together behind Shepard's back and decided what to do." He sobered quickly and placed a hand lightly on one of Gibbs' knees. "I want you to thank them for me, Boss. If I could do it myself, I would but it doesn't look like I'll ever be seeing any of them again so..."

"Tony," Gibbs hissed and covered the warm hand with his own, "don't say things like that."

DiNozzo frowned and pulled his hand free, eyes pleading for understanding. "I can't afford to think any other way. I can't allow myself to hope for things that will never come true. Don't you understand? It hurts too much to keep thinking about what's gone...I have to accept and focus on what I still have."

"Christ, Tony..." Gibbs was appalled. "What do you still have?"

DiNozzo all but exploded. "What the fuck do you expect me to do? Tell me! If I keep that little flame of hope burning, praying someday, somehow, everything will magically go back to the way it was and I can come back to DC and you..." He bit off the rest and pushed to his feet, turning away from the seated man, unable to look in that face any longer. "Shit, it's just not going to happen. I just don't fit in that world anymore and, truthfully, I'm not even sure I'll fit *anywhere* anymore."

Gibbs looked at the youthful figure standing a few yards away, half hidden in the dimness, back bent slightly and head bowed with the weight of the world, and knew he had never seen anything so tragic in all his life...or anything as powerful. Somehow, someway, through all the experiments and tests, through all the mistreatment and abuse, this wonderful young man had found a way to survive and had fought to carry on, to take and accept whatever now waited for him, and was bravely coming to offer his thanks and his goodbyes.

Gibbs placed the small stack of papers to one side and pushed to his feet, quickly traveling the short distance and silently moving until he stood just behind the smaller figure. This was DiNozzo: his friend, his comrade, his collegue. More importantly, this was the young man who'd offered his body and heart at a time when they both needed to connect, to feel *alive* again. He leaned forward and pressed his nose into the soft, brown hair.

DiNozzo stiffened at the unexpected contact and turned his head slightly to one side, looking at the other man through the corner of one eye. He gazed up as the soft touch drifted to his forehead and sighed when the warm breath ghosted over the shell of the ear, sending a shiver of a thrill. His toes curled slightly against the cool, hardwood flooring.

Gibbs inhaled the familiar scent, taking in the soap and the shampoo and the beginnings of a smell that he knew belonged only to DiNozzo. It would get stronger, if he continued this close examination, so he let the tip of his nose glide across the soft skin of the exposed ear, sliding gently, nudging around and over and under. He heard a soft moan and looked at the youthful profile, watching as the eyes closed and the mouth parted, seeing the wet tongue dart out to moisten the suddenly dry lower lip. He pressed closer, letting his chest tease the smooth skin of the smaller back, and the moan became a groan.

DiNozzo let his head roll back, against the solid shoulder, feeling the strength against his length and couldn't help craving more. He snuggled back, hands reaching awkwardly, fingers brushing against the skin of Gibbs thighs, wanting the contact to be closer. Dropping his head to one side, he exposed his neck, offering more, and felt a shot of pure pleasure when the nose by his ear roamed downward.

Gibbs raised his hands slowly and placed them lightly on the slim hips pressed against his groin, holding steady, and explored the soft, smooth skin of the neck. He could smell the arousal more clearly now. His mouth took over, lips brushing and licking and tasting, senses remembering, body beginning to burn. This was DiNozzo.

Raising the hands away from the hips, Gibbs encircled the slighter body, holding tight, pressing forward and pulling close. The body shook and trembled and another moan escaped. Gibbs bit at the tender neck and then licked an apology, only to bite again to feel the younger body shudder harder, undulating against his groin. He held tight, wrapping around the slender form like a human coat, trapping his captive and squeezing tight.

There was a moment of struggle, of discomfort, and Gibbs loosened his hold only enough to let the younger man breathe, and suddenly found himself face to face with an armful of squirming DiNozzo, hot mouth locked to his, lips pressing, seeking, searching...devouring. When that slick, clever tongue invaded, Gibbs bent slightly, secured his grip, and lifted, pulling them flush, kissing back until all he wanted was to crawl inside to stay.

As his feet left the floor, DiNozzo locked his legs around Gibbs' hips and squeezed, trapping his hardening cock and pressing it against the older man's stomach. He opened his mouth as wide as he could, feeling the invasion, welcoming the assault, and wanting to engage in a deeper communion. He grabbed at the strong shoulders as he was carried toward the bed, wrapping around the fit back, refusing to let go when they reached the mattress, pulling Gibbs down and moaning at the feel of the big body covering his. He kissed back, writhing wantonly, slicking his tongue repeatedly into Gibbs' mouth, pushing against the muscle that fought for space, sharing breath and spit and sweat until he didn't know where he ended and Gibbs began.

The soft sweatpants were gone in an instant, ripped from the slim legs, thrown to one side, and completely forgotten. Gibbs shimmied from his boxers, rolling them over, pulling the slighter body on top, cupping the firm ass and squeezing the dual globes tightly. Dinozzo spread his legs and rubbed against the hardness he encountered. Feeling Gibbs pull him in tight, and answering the arch of the bigger hips, DiNozzo moaned. And, oh, it felt so good...

Gibbs hands rose and splayed across the smooth back, kneading with purpose, angling back down. When the big, blunt fingers of one hand skimmed over the crack of his ass, DiNozzo pushed back and spread his legs as wide as he could.

"Do me," he hissed and then bit at Gibbs' bottom lip.

Gibbs rolled them back, putting DiNozzo against the mattress and began a downward descent, away from the pleading mouth, across the arching neck, working the tender nipples until the younger man was cursing and groaning. He skimmed the taut belly and took the head of the weeping cock into his mouth, holding the jerking body easily down with one hand and subduing him with his greater strength. He teased the small opening, running his tongue around and around and around the glans, lapping the thick bead of fluid and sipping it into his senses.

The legs came up to frame his head as Gibbs settled between DiNozzo's thighs, engulfing the hot flesh and then retreating south, mouthing the tender testicles, licking them and seperating them, pushing his tongue lower until he found his goal. DiNozzo cried out at the wet invasion, head rolling from side to side on the thick comforter, and pulled his slim legs up, exposing himself fully to the bigger man.

The tonguing continued, wetting, soaking the small opening, and Gibbs used his thumbs to spread the tight ring as much as he could, keeping the area covered with his saliva. He pressed the tip of one finger in and suddenly felt the tug of a hand in his hair, pulling tight and not letting go.

He eased back and tenderly kissed a thigh. "Should I stop?"

"Please, no!" DiNozzo howled and thrashed. "More...God, more..."

The tongue returned, as did the finger, both working to loosen, to open, to ease the way. The younger body was so tight, so hot, and Gibbs grit his teeth against the sensation, wanting to go all the way in but holding back. As he started to pull away, DiNozzo was swarming over him, reaching to pull him back, fighting with all his strength to get the man back where he wanted.

"Easy...easy," Gibbs soothed, kissing the straining body, and holding him as still as possible. "Let me get something to help...Jesus, Tony...let me get some lube..."

It took only a moment and they were locked back together, Gibbs with his hands and his mouth back between the two spread legs, slick finger slipping in, searching, stretching, feeling the shudder of pleasure rip through the younger body. He ached now, recognizing the need, felt it reflected in the flesh he was tormenting. Another finger, not as easy, the tightness clamping and stopping the invasion, a hiss of almost-pain.

Gibbs rolled them again, feeling DiNozzo rise up, grasping for his cock, slicking it up, too. He tried to slow them down...it was too soon for this...tried to control the joining but DiNozzo was wild, pulling away, aligning the big, heavy cock with his tight opening.

"Tony..." Gibbs tried to resist. He knew he could stop this madness if he really wanted, knew he should, but could easily see DiNozzo's hungry need to reconnect.

DiNozzo pushed down, tried to relax, but could only get the tip of Gibbs' dick in before sweat broke out across his forehead. He clenched his fists against Gibbs' chest and held on. There was obvious pain and it sent a rush of cold spreading across Gibbs body when he saw it. The trembling, young body, so fresh and unspoiled, continued trying to accomplish what had been done in the past and Gibbs suddenly knew it was wrong. Once again, the differences became apparent...

Gibbs groaned and pushed the slighter body gently away, easing DiNozzo from the painful attempt at coupling, his heart breaking at the determined-looking expression on the young face. He tried to roll them slowly apart.

"No! God damn you!" DiNozzo yelled and moved again, determined to make this work. "We're doing this...don't you stop!"

"You're too tight..." Gibbs grunted, growing alarmed at the level of persistence he was witnessing. "I'll hurt you."

"No..." He moved again with purpose, eyes closing, mouth open to help his breathing, sweat running down his face and chest and back. "Don't you stop...please..."

Gibbs stroked across the wet cheeks and dipped his fingers down to DiNozzo's uninterested dick, playing with it gently, lightly teasing the tip, running it over the back of his hand as he searched to touch where they were half connected. DiNozzo moaned and looked down, watching the hand on his body, feeling the slow return of desire, relaxing a bit, and taking in a bit more of the big cock. The moan was laced with only a hint of pain now.

"Tony...look at me," Gibbs' silky voice rumbled up from his chest.

DiNozzo raised his eyes and fell into the sky, seeing all the emotions he needed in the blue gaze of the man he loved. Suddenly, he was there, seated against Gibbs' groin, fully down and filled, unable to breathe, much less move. But it was good...so good.

Keeping himself perfectly still, Gibbs could only look up into the bliss-filled face and wait. His dick was pulsing steadily along with the beat of his heart, sheated tightly within the snug confines of DiNozzo's body, and just aching for some kind of movement. But he held himself in check...and waited.

Finally, DiNozzo eased a bit forward, unclenched his fists and splayed them open on the broad chest, fingertips digging slightly in. He rose and fell slowly, letting Gibbs' cock drag in and out, sore already and not even caring. He did it again and watched the blue eye darken and knew he had to do it again...and again...

Gibbs tightened his grip around DiNozzo's slim dick as the movements got eaasier but, crap, the feel of being in the hot, tightness was too overwhelming and he found himself rapidly reaching his end. He pulled the slighter body closer with one hand, changing the angle of penetration, and met the next downward move with a slight flexing of his own hips, going deeper into the furnace. DiNozzo hissed but responded and they repeated the move, Gibbs stroking the hard length in his hand with purpose.

DiNozzo felt the first tingling nudge inside and cried out, slamming his hips back down and searching for it again. His muscles ached from the strain but the need for competion drove him on. Gibbs was moving harder now, too, driving up and striking lightning, shoving himself as far in as he could. He adjusted his grip and pulled harder and heard DiNozzo cry out. So close now...

Gibbs rolled them one final time and buried himself again and again into DiNozzo's hot, slick body, twisting his entry and pulling at the cock in his hands. He heard DiNozzo's breath catch, felt the body seize, felt the trembling and shaking and writhing and, then, the hot, wet, pulses of come spurting over his fingers, slicking between their bodies, and pooling on their skin. He released the sensitive hardness and raised his weight totally off the spent young form, looking down into the sated face, watching the dazed, green eyes bore into his, recognized the love, the devotion, the caring, and just let go, coming hard and deep and long...

...and, in the aftermath, all they could do was hold each other tightly and mourn the coming sunrise.

Early the next morning as the rented car pulled from the drive in front of Doctor Sebastian's home, Tony DiNozzo stood alone in the guest house and waited until the sound of the vehicle faded away before moving slowly toward the bedroom and letting his eyes to fall on the big, lonely bed. Feeling a burn begin at the back of his throat, he slid down the wall on the other side of the room, put his head in his hands, and allowed the tears to finally come.


TBC

Jethro Gibbs really didn't know what was worse for him at the moment: the clear memory of watching a sad, subdued DiNozzo leave his bed just before daybreak this morning, the green eyes awash in unshed tears and the young face a mask of pure misery, or having to travel all the way back to DC with Tobias Fornell at his side, trapped within the confines of this commercial airliner and flying at a height and speed he didn't even want to think about. It was a close call, either way, but for two distinctly different reasons and the NCIS agent quickly realized both situations, though totally different, just added to his stress in their own unique, individual way.

The continual strain of his association with Fornell, both from a professional and, now, personal standpoint, was firmly rooted in his relationship with DiNozzo and there was just no denying the fact the two men would, in all likelihood, come to blows sometime in the very near future if they couldn't get a handle on their rampant jealousy and spiralling anger. It was almost beginning to seem like two dogs fighting over the same bone and Gibbs was determined to keep what he'd had in his mouth first and as far away from the FBI agent as he could. This bone was just too tasty and too undeniably sweet.

But it was Fornell's continued persistence in baiting Gibbs with certain carefully worded phrases and sly innuendos which set the old blood pressure soaring and, if they hadn't been jammed into this cramped airliner at the moment, Gibbs was honestly considering wrapping his hands around the other man's throat, just as he had several weeks ago, and squeezing until he just shut up...or died... whichever came first. At this point, Gibbs believed either way would be a vast improvement.

Gibbs grunted to himself as the satisfying memory of throttling Fornell in his car filled his senses and he allowed a small smirk to form, feeling the other man shift nervously in the seat beside him. He angled his body as far away as he could and closed his eyes, blocking out the sights and muted sounds of all the other passengers and prayed Fornell would take the hint and keep his mouth shut.

He didn't.

"So," Fornell hissed in a whisper-quiet voice, tone tinged heavily with anger, "you just couldn't let him be, could you? You just had to take advantage of the whole situation before we left."

"Shut up, Fornell," Gibbs warned without twitching.

The person directly in the seat behind Gibbs happen to use the exact moment to move the tray-table back into its closed and locked position, just a little too roughly, and the resultant motion disturbed the already-angry former Marine. Shifting a bit forward and then quickly slamming back, Gibbs was rewarded nearly instantly with a quiet, muffled apology floating over the tall cushion. He almost had a chance to relish the moment...almost...and then Fornell was yapping again.

"What did you do, Gibbs? Lure him out to the guest house and then convince him you were just looking out for him, worried about his safety? Hhmm? Was that how it was?"

Gibbs tried to ignore the man, resolutely tuning him out, and attempted to banish the image of DiNozzo as he'd seen him last night: the young, smooth body stretched out under him, his tight, hot muscles grasping his hard cock, the wet, almost-frantic kisses of that lush, sweet mouth. God...

"You smelled like him this morning. Did you know that?" Fornell gritted out softly. "Even after you had a shower, I could *still* smell him all over you!" He leaned a bit closer. "Was it good, Gibbs? Did you enjoy taking him like that, in his condition, him looking like a boy instead of a man? Did you?"

Gibbs couldn't ignore the voice so close to his ear and couldn't ignore the hot flash of rage the words evoked and couldn't ignore the fact he wanted to fucking kill Fornell. Right now...on this airplane with all these witnesses...he just wanted to fucking kill Fornell. Gripping the armrests with fists that turned white under the pressure, Gibbs opened his eyes and slanted his gaze over toward the other man, bringing their noses within inches.

"If you don't shut your mouth right now," Gibbs' cold voice and steely eyes held no compromise, "I'm going to fucking rip your tongue out and shove it up your ass."

Fornell leaned back in the seat but didn't look away, wanting to say more but knowing he was tempting fate by even breathing the same air as Gibbs right now. Instead, he closed his mouth and met the cold, dangerous stare, a world of questions running through his head, some of which were reflected in his eyes.

Gibbs could see what lurked there. "When we get back to DC, we'll work to find out who did this to DiNozzo, who's behind this whole thing, and do whatever we need to do to make sure he stays safe. But I swear to God, Fornell, we are never, and I mean *never*, going to have this conversation again. Do you hear me? Never."

Fornell swallowed thickly but took a risk. "I have just one more thing I have to know and, if you answer me that, I won't ask anything about it ever again."

Gibbs studied Fornell carefully, slowly, and could see the truth in the light eyes. Taking a deep breath, the NCIS agent held the air deep within his lungs and then gradually released it, letting some of his anger go along with it. He nodded his assent.

"Ask."

"Do you love him?"
____________________________

It was really beautiful in this part of the country and so unlike anything he'd ever seen before. He'd heard Gibbs talk about the sights the older man had seen in Idaho, of wide open spaces and the clean blankets of pristine snow, but DiNozzo didn't remember much about that particular state except the icy bitterness, the pain, and the awful feeling of just slowly fading away...and not caring about anything anymore. The cold hand of death had reached out, stroked across his frail body, and he'd been fairly certain he was going to die...and had welcomed it. He shuddered and shook those bleak thoughts away, blinking out into the breaking dawn, and turning his attention back toward the building he now knew was the stable, watching Doctor Sebastian...Victoria, as he was instructed to call her...lead her large, chestnut-colored gelding out of the paddock area. She easily mounted the big horse with a natural grace that belied her advancing years and slowly walked the magnificent animal away from the building, toward an area he knew led to the well-maintained bridle path that swept over many acres of her property. It was time for her early-morning ride and, although he'd been repeatedly invited to accompany her any time he wanted, the young man didn't think he was quite ready to sit astride anything that wide...not just yet anyway.

Grinning slyly to himself and slanting his green gaze toward the big, messy bed he'd so recently vacated, DiNozzo let his mind wander back several nights and vividly recalled his final encounter with his ex-boss, his ex-lover, replaying each heated kiss and every delicious touch, and knew if he didn't stop these useless rememberances he'd have to crawl back between the rapidly cooling sheets and take himself into hand...literally. Instead, he blew out a loud, frustrated sigh, turned away from the tempting sight, and headed straight for the bathroom, knowing the sooner he got his ass into gear and got his morning routine completed, the sooner he could have the rest of the day to do as he pleased. And, he knew, there were quite a lot of things around here that pleased him.

The horseback riding would come later...much later...but, until then, there was a heated swimming pool and a billiards table and a satellite dish hooked up to an astounding plasma-screen TV and a library full of books and, best of all, a really sweet-faced, matronly chef who'd already fallen prey to his charms, willing and eager to do everything and anything in her power to fatten the young man up. All he had to do was walk into Millie's bright kitchen, cast a his pitiful, mournful, green gaze her way, and she'd magically produce some delectable morsel she'd 'whipped up just for him'. Yeah, right...

DiNozzo knew he was being slipped protein powders and wheat germ and all sorts of healthy crap but, with the manner it was presented, he didn't care. Hell, if Millie fixed it, he'd probably eat the ass end of a three day-old, dead goat. He couldn't remember a time he'd ever had an appetite like he did now...except during a hard, brief period while enrolled at OSU, when he'd resorted to donating some bodily fluids for a little spending cash...and was grateful to be provided with such tempting and varied selections. Victoria had explained her theory about his metabolism, about how she thought this new, youthful body was going to be doing all kinds of wild and crazy things, and how she wanted him to 'just go with the flow', indulging himself whenever hunger or sleep or movement called out, regardless of the time or the place. All she ever asked in exchange was for him to record what he could, without hesitation or embarrassment, into a journal she could have access to at any time and, of course, be as brutally honest about what he was feeling.

He'd balked at her request, at first, not knowing anything about this woman or her true intentions but found it extremely cathartic to just let go and get everything off his chest...everything he could recall, at least. He didn't remember much after Little Creek, didn't think he really wanted to remember, but knew he was feeling angry and resentful and just plain frustrated at what had been done to him. He also found, surprisingly, there were times when he just felt like striking out in an almost uncontrollable rage, especially when thinking about that evil, son of a bitch Emilio Martinez, and had to fight the burning desire to just beat the shit out of something or someone. Having access to the pool was very useful during those episodes and he found the water soothed his mind as much as his body, cooling the heated thoughts of revenge and retaliation and taking him to a place where all he had to do was just move and breathe, move and breathe, move and breathe...

Slipping under the warm spray of water and letting the gentle pounding beat against the top of his head and the back of his neck, DiNozzo pressed the palms of both hands against the coolness of the tiles and arched like a cat, stretching through the aches and kinks he always seemed to encounter every morning upon waking. It was strange, he thought, for his young body to have so many pains and had said as much to Victoria one night while they were enjoying the evening sky a short time after dinner. The formidable woman had tossed her head back against the chaise she was reclining upon, rolling her head to one side so she could look him straight in the eye, and laughed at his observation.

"Anthony," she'd said...because she simply refused to call him anything but his full, given name...and smiled, "I'm amazed you can even *walk* and here you are, complaining about a few aches and pains. From what Donald tells me, you've lost several inches in height. Tell me, what do you think that has done to your joints and muscles and, more importantly, to your spine?"

Her no-punches-pulled attitude and questions had made him do a lot of thinking about his situation and what he discovered was he really *didn't* want to know or even think about it too closely. It was too freaky, too confusing, and, honestly, way too scary. All he knew was he now resembled the pictures he had of himself as a teenager, pictures he'd once stored in an old photo album at the top of his coat closet in his old apartment in DC. Photos that were, by this time, long gone...either dumped or destroyed...like everything else associated with his old life.

DiNozzo sighed and shook his head. "Don't go there this morning, you moron."

Grabbing the shampoo from the rack, he lathered up his head and quickly made short work of cleaning his hair, briefly wishing he could get a trim and, almost immediately, putting the thought aside. No taking trips into town, no contact with anyone other than Victoria or Millie, and certainly no doing anything that would draw unwanted attention to himself. When Victoria's regular clients arrived at her ranch for their usual scheduled appointments during the week, he was expected to remain within the confines of the guest house or, if he got there before they arrived on her property, could hole up in the entertainment room watch TV to his heart's content...which for the past several days was the route he'd decided to take, just so he would be close to the kitchen and Millie's good treats. It was well away from Victoria's office and the area she used for examinations and therapy sessions of her elderly clientele but he knew better than to take any risks, especially after Tobias Fornell had warned him of the dangers still out there. Until Martinez could be found and the 'DC connection' identified, he needed to keep a very low profile...for his own safety and that of Victoria and Millie.

Rinsing out the suds, DiNozzo lathered up a washcloth and began his daily ritual, methodically cleaning every nook and cranny, every seam and hollow, every rise and protrusion, even going as far as scrubbing intensely between each finger and toe. After his first initial examination by Victoria, he'd been a bit embarrassed by her thoroughness and had only been assured she wasn't going to do anything hinkie or strange simply because Ducky had been there and assisted in the inspection, taking notes and making comments, comparing what they now found to what he remembered from the 'old' DiNozzo body. The medical examiner had frowned and fussed and fawned when he'd detected the first flush of humiliation on the young man's face and had immediately launched into one of his convoluted tales about some aboriginal pygmies, in some obscure part of the world, who used leaves and twigs to display and enhance the private parts of the mature males of their tribe. It was all so absurd and so like Ducky, all three of them had ended up laughing and relaxing and DiNozzo's embarrassment had all but evaporated within the span of a handful of minutes. Still, the experience had taught the young man to start his mornings with these intense cleansing rituals and to be prepared for anything. He just never knew *where* Victoria would poke or prod.

Rubbing the cloth over his chest and down the flat planes of his stomach, DiNozzo grinned and ducked his head back under the spray, letting the flow sluice over the slick skin. Victoria had sputtered her outrage during her examination the day after the other men had left, her eyes growing wide and her mouth tight, seeing the fresh, new marks and bruises left upon his body, immediately knowing they'd been produced by someone in their company. DiNozzo had decided, then and there, he was going to be completely honest about who he was and what he liked and had shocked the shit right out of the woman by looking her straight in the eyes and boldly telling her the truth. He was no little boy, regardless of what he looked like, and if he got the sudden urge to enjoy a little personal gratification, she just needed to be prepared to accept it. They'd squared off, as much as possible, with him flat on his back on the exam table and Victoria hovering over with fists planted on her hips, and stared each other down. But DiNozzo had been successful in delivering his message to the woman and it had been duly noted...with a stern warning from her to 'keep his rampaging, teenage hormones under control, his wandering penis in his pants, and to never try anything inappropriate with Millie'.

Millie. As if...

DiNozzo had looked at Victoria, aghast at the absurd suggestion, and, finally, seen the wicked twinkle in her warm, brown eyes. The resultant laughter had cleared the way for more deeper and more meaningful conversations and had allowed DiNozzo to drop a great amount of the protective barriers he still carried. A lot but certainly not all.

Finishing up and drying quickly, DiNozzo walked naked back into the bedroom area, damp towel draped carelessly around his shoulders, and went to the dresser that contained his small stash of clothing. There was no need for underwear right now, not until after Victoria had the opportunity to give him his morning once-over, so he slipped on a clean pair of sweats, a soft, cotton t-shirt, and grabbed a set of thick, white socks. Shifting to sit on the edge of the unmade bed, he pulled the socks over his feet and shoved them into a nearby pair of sneakers, not even bothering to tie them up, letting the laces flop and tangle as they pleased.

Throwing a jaundiced eye toward the disarrayed sleeping area, DiNozzo grunted once, decided he'd probably just end up disturbing the covers again in a few hours, and turned to leave, knowing he'd have Millie and her epicurean talents all to himslf for at least an hour. Victoria would ride for approximately thirty minutes, return to the stables, and spend another half hour grooming the gelding before putting him out into the pasture. Once she was ready to start the day, he'd have to leave the comfort of Millie's kitchen and head for the examination room and submit to her poking and her questions.

Sighing at the thought, DiNozzo left the guest house and quickly traversed the concrete decking surrounding the large, in-ground pool, slipping into the main house using the back entrance, and was greeted by the warm, rich smell of fresh baked cinnamon buns. He paused briefly at the threshold, closed his eyes, and breathed deeply, filling his senses with the aroma so fully he could actually taste the flavor in his watering mouth. He couldn't contain the wide grin from splitting his face and swiftly shook the stillness away, setting his feet in the direction of the kitchen and the waiting woman who baked to please.

"Honey, I'm home!" DiNozzo called out as he pushed through the set of swinging doors, like he'd done for the past several mornings, expecting to see Millie's twinkling eyes and sweet, indulgent smile in greeting as she turned from her position somewhere in the vacinity of the stove.

Instead, what greeted him was straight out of his worse nightmare.

Like some broken china doll, arms thrown outward at her sides and legs spread wide on the cold, clean linoleum, Millie lay in a growing pool of her own blood, the gaping wound across her neck clearly showing tissue and tendon and bone. DiNozzo instinctively choked off his cry of alarm and dropped to a crouch, back pressing tightly against the door to the nearest cabinet and eyes traveling rapidly around the room, looking for signs of an intruder. He could hear muffled footsteps coming from somewhere upstairs and the sounds of doors being opened and closed and knew...just *knew*...they were looking for him.

Suddenly, the words Fornell had spoken only days ago, as they were parked on the side of some busy highway, came back to haunt him. 'We aren't even sure you'll ever be safe again...at least not until we can figure out who and why someone tipped off Wilson-Halley and until we can get our hands back on Emilio Martinez'.

Fuck.

Unfortunately, no one had ever mentioned anything about keeping the lives of those who were trying to help him safe. Now, Millie was dead and Victoria was most likely in danger, too.

Casting a tight, sorrowful expression back toward the dead woman laying just a few yards away, DiNozzo bit off his growing anger and frustration. Wishing he could, at least, take the time to move to her side and close the dull, lifeless eyes, he did the only thing he knew to do...run.

"I'm so sorry, Millie," he whispered as he quietly moved back toward the door, looking once more to the dead woman and swallowing down a rush of angry tears, listening intently as the sounds of footsteps began coming from the direction close to the living area. They were close! He had to get out now.

Reaching for the handle, DiNozzo threw open the door and ran back the way he came, cursing himself for being so lazy and not taking the time to tie his shoelaces when he had the opportunity. They were going to slow him down, especially as they began to tangle around his ankles and threaten to make him stumble. He retraced his original path carefully, skirting the pool, and wishing he'd asked for a cell phone so he could call Gibbs, to let him know trouble was, once again, knocking at the door. Knocking? Hell, it had beat it down and come storming right in. He headed to the right of the guest house, deftly hopped a low row of shrubs, and raced toward the open fields, aiming to get to the wooded area and to Victoria as quickly as he could. He knew he'd never be able to catch up to her galloping gelding but, if he reversed the direction on the bridle path, he'd meet up with her eventually...hopefully, before it was too late.

DiNozzo thought he heard a raised voice coming from somewhere behind, back near the main house, but wasn't foolish enough to break his stride to look. If they were going to take him, they were going to have to catch him first.

'Come on, body...don't fail me now!' He prayed, feeling the fatigue already begin as he sprinted for the cover of the treeline, knowing he wouldn't last long if someone began a serious pursuit.

He hit the trail but kept near the trees, determined to keep as hidden from view as he could, hardly feeling the sharp slaps of twigs and low branches that struck at his face and neck and pulled at his loose t-shirt. It was cold out here this time of the morning but the exertion and fear were keeping him warm and, he knew, he'd be okay as long as he didn't head toward the higher elevation or accidentally stumble into any water. He knew he couldn't afford to get wet, not now, and resolutely made up his mind that, as soon as he found Victoria, they were going to head to town for help, even if they had to ride tandem on that damn horse all the way.

DiNozzo stumbled and fell, a shoelace finally bringing him down, and he crashed hard, the solid, rough bark at the base of a gnarly, old tree abrading the skin across one cheek before he landed in a sprawled heap on the packed earth. He gasped for breath and felt the blood pounding in his ears but pushed quickly back up to his knees, taking a precious moment to grab at the laces and finally tie them up properly. He couldn't afford a stupid injury now, couldn't let himself get caught because of his own laziness, and couldn't think past the need to get to Victoria.

Breaking through a rough patch of undergrowth, DiNozzo heard the sound of a horse snorting and whickering somewhere close and moved instantly toward the clear trail, determined not to let Victoria get past without seeing him. He hated exposing his position but knew, realistically, he'd make much better time out in the relative openness of the well-used path then stumbling as he was like some uncoordinate lout through the thicket.

The sound grew closer and, as he started around a slight bend in the route, had to quickly throw himself to one side as the chestnut gelding all but flew by, reins flapping like waving banners and flashing hooves eating up the distance. There was apparent fear in the animal...a fear that drove it away from the area just traveled...and DiNozzo's apprehension soared as the riderless mount continued away and out of sight.

"Oh, God, no..." DiNozzo breathed, turning his attention away from the retreating horse and back in the direction he had to go. He took off, without thinking of the possible danger to himself now, and ran to find the woman. "Please, no..."

Around another blind curve and there she was, just to one side of the path, hat laying a few yards away and neck twisted at an impossible angle, a small, thin trickle of blood seeping from one corner of her mouth. DiNozzo cast a quick glance wildly about and hustled to her side, dropping to his knees and reaching a shaking hand toward the lifeless figure, knowing she was dead even before his fingers brushed across her cold neck. Oh, God...

"Hello, Tony."

DiNozzo whirled around at the sound of the voice, still on his knees, and faced the intruder. His green eyes widened in disbelief and his face lost all color, watching as the figure removed itself from the safety of a huge tree and stepped slightly forward, handgun raised and pointed unerringly in his direction. He blinked hard and swallowed the rise of bile, not wanting to consider what all this now meant. Not now...not like this...not by *this* person.

"Ziva."

DiNozzo raised his hands to show he was unarmed but knew it wouldn't matter. The bitter cold of understanding filled his chest and he closed his eyes.

"Sorry, Tony," was all she offered.

And Ziva David pulled the trigger.

TBC

Ziva David cherished her gun...almost as much as she treasured her knives...but, sometimes, when forced to pull the trigger instead of whipping out a blade, she found herself gritting her teeth at the quick, impersonal manner which death was then delivered, especially if she craved nothing more than seeing her intended target bleed and suffer. A knife could do what a gun could not, unless one was planning on wasting precious ammunation by carefully placing random shots in scattered areas about the body and was vigilant in keeping well away from the major organs or arteries. It took a very steady hand and an equally steady target and, usually, most people were just not going to remain still while you delivered a bullet here or a bullet there. No, not usually...

But with a knife...ah! Such bliss in just holding and caressing the weapon in the hand. With a knife she could actually touch the target, pressing close enough to smell the terror on the skin and taste it on her tongue. She could slice just shallow enough to inflict a ghosting of potential pain without doing too much damage or, if needed, could sink the whole blade deeply into a muscle and twist the hilt just right, knowing the damaged nerve endings and tearing tissues would be alive and singing in pure agony. With a simple increase in pressure or the minute changing of her grip, Ziva could send a grown man into a screaming frenzy and she liked that...a lot.

Or, if she had a different agenda, she could merely remove a finger or two with the sharp edge and hold the amputated digits aloft to show her prey, maybe even stuffing them, one by one, into the gasping, blaring mouth until there was no room for sound or breath. Fingers were far better, she had found, than toes but she'd gone in that direction when needing to extract some written information from a mark while on assignment in Bangkok and found the man's reaction had been...intriguing.

Men or women, it really didn't matter to her at all, as long as the assigned task was accomplished successfully, though there was certainly differences in how she approached the removal of information from the two sexes. Vast differences.

A woman threatened by a knife would usually protect her face at all costs, by any means, shielding eyes and mouth, and would rather have her hands cut to shreads than take the tiniest nick to an exposed cheek or forehead. A knife, Ziva supposed, was too much like a phallic representation, a long, hard erection of danger just ready to jab and thrust into soft flesh and tissue and bone. She's never had to resort to sexually assaulting a woman with her blade...a knife near the face usually was persuasion enough...but she certainly couldn't say the same for a man.

With a man, the sight of her sharp, shiny cutting weapon nearing the general vicinity of his sexual organs would, most of the time, have her intended victim releasing the information she wanted...along with his bladder...in practically no time at all. A colleague had once told her she was too dangerous with her knives, too willing to take a risk by getting too close to her targets, and maybe just too bloodthirsty to be the type of agent needed for the job. Ziva had laughed at her absurd associate. How much was 'too much' when you were fighting for the survival of your people and your country?

Yes, Ziva knew how to make people suffer, especially if there was information to be gathered but now, here in these wooded surroundings in the far outskirts of a city called Blanding, she wasn't intent in gaining some bit of confidential knowledge or restricted data or even tracking down a suspected traitor. Today, she was here for a totally different reason. Today she was a protector.

"Tony, get up off the ground and walk over here to me," Ziva hissed. "Now!"

DiNozzo reopened his eyes and released the breathe he'd been holding, gaze tracking suspiciously back to the brown-haired woman standing several yards away but refusing to move. She still had her pistol in her grip, aimed in his direction and ready to fire again, and he could only look at her with a wide, anxious stare.

"Tony?" Ziva cocked her head to one side and frowned at him. "Are you injured? Can you move?"

DiNozzo swallowed the bile surging into the back of his throat and forced himself to speak. "Yeah, I can move. The problem is, I'm not really sure I want to."

Ziva's frown deepened but the gun stayed level. "Why not?"

"Because if you're planning to take me back to Martinez, I would rather you just shoot me right here instead."

Ziva considered his statement and shook her head, glancing around quickly and moving carefully in his direction, lowering her weapon's barrel as she neared. He watched her cautious movements but stayed on his knees beside Victoria Sebastian's body, raising his eyes to look into her sour face as she stopped directly in front of him.

"I'm not going back there," he reiterated quietly and sat back on his heels with a sigh, just letting the whole ordeal of the morning wash over his tired body. If he was going to die, this was as good a place as any...and he'd be glad for Victoria's company.

"No, you're not," Ziva agreed and reached to grab his chin tightly, forcing his eyes to meet and stay on hers as they started to drift closed again. "You're going to come back to Washington with me."

DiNozzo's head snapped up and his mouth fell slightly open, a small spark of hope now mixed with a healthy dose of uncertainty. "Why did you shoot at me, then?"

"Tony," Ziva allowed a tiny smirk but reached to move her grip from his chin to the front of his shirt, grabbing a handful of the soft cotton and tugging him up while she continued to speak, "I wasn't shooting at *you*...I was shooting at him."

With a flick of her head, Ziva was able to direct DiNozzo's attention to the collapsed figure several yards away directly behind his position, the stranger's forehead now decorated with a small, precise hole dead in the center. The young man swallowed but raised his eyebrows in surprise as he looked at the big man's ruined face, wondering if this was the intruder responsible for killing Victoria.

"Oh. Boy, you sure have gotten better with your aim," he whispered, trying to get his racing heart to calm. He shifted his eyes back to Ziva and offered a frown of his own. "Why did you apologize to *me* then?"

Ziva tsked her impatience and pulled at him again, easily getting him into motion. "I knew what you were thinking and I didn't want that piece of scum to realize I saw him. Look, we can't stay here. There's bound to be more and now that I've discharged a round..."

"Yeah, there are," DiNozzo agreed and pulled out of her grasp, wanting to walk on his own and, honestly, to put a bit more distance between himself and the dark-eyed agent. When she was like this, in her 'Officer David' mode, he wanted nothing more than to get as far away from her as possible. She was just too damned creepy for his tastes. "Someone was in the house when I went in this morning. They killed Mil..." he stopped and rephrased with a soft sigh, "they killed the cook but I guess they thought I was upstairs, so I was able to get out."

"Were you followed?" She asked, taking the lead as they started cutting a path through the thicket, heading at a right angle away from the bridle trail and Victoria's body.

"Probably. I could hear a voice when I was leaving the area right around the houses. Don't know if it was one person or more. Didn't waste the time to look."

Ziva nodded in understanding but didn't slow down, setting a pace around the trees and through the bushes that soon had DiNozzo panting for breath and fighting back the aches in his legs. Running hurriedly through the woods was not the same as swimming leisurely in the pool. He stumbled again but caught himself before going down and saw the woman throw a concerned look back over one shoulder, eyebrows canting down and lips pursing into a hard, thin line. He knew she now considered him a liability and would have to make adjustments in their trek because of his weakened condition but the thought of her taking a superior role to him now just irked the hell right out of him. Sure enough, their pace began to slow.

"Tell me you have a vehicle somewhere close," he panted as they hit the rise of a hill, eyes carefully searching for movement.

"Yes," she assured without looking directly at him, her own gaze sweeping the surroundings. "About two miles from here."

"Two miles?!" DiNozzo huffed in disbelief, immediately following as she suddenly changed directions.

"Yes," was all the explanation it seemed he was going to get.

"Fuck..." he breathed and pushed the cramping in his calves down, trying to take his mind off of his own rebelling body. Unconsciously, his eyes rose from the ground and settled on Ziva's ass, bringing an immediate smirk to his sweating face. It was a nice ass: firm and round in all the right places...probably tight, too.

"Are you staring at my rear?" Ziva asked without slowing or looking back. DiNozzo's eyes snapped up and he stumbled slightly, hearing her soft chuckle and wondering, once again, how she was able to do that. "You are such a hog, Tony."

DiNozzo frowned and repeated the slur silently to himself, trying to understand why she would equate him with a swine. Oh, okay...now he understood. He grinned and shook his head.

"I think you mean to either call me a dog or a pig...but not a hog," he tried to clarify.

"Whatever. Take your pick, I don't care. As long as you keep your eyes away from my rear, you can be what you want."

They traveled a while in silence, just the sounds of their combined breathing and the wind passing through the trees and over the rocks breaking the calm of the bright morning, until DiNozzo finally went down again. This time he stayed down on the hard ground and Ziva was several yards ahead before she even realized he wasn't making up the distance separating them. Turning swiftly, a hand dropping instinctively toward the weapon strapped to her hip, her sharp eyes swept the surrounding area again before letting her gaze return to DiNozzo's unmoving form. Quickly, she sprinted back and went to one knee beside him, reaching to place a hand lightly on his back.

"Tony. Tony, are you all right?"

There was no response. Ziva gently pushed the soft hair away from his forehead and looked into the pale, sweaty face. His eyes were open, barely, but he didn't seem to be focusing on anything, not even the small blades of grass or twiggy weeds just inches from his nose. There was a tight, pinched line to his mouth the young woman immediately recognized.

"Tony, where do you hurt?" Ziva inquired, slinging the small pack she carried from her back and reaching to zip it open. "Tony?"

"All...all over..." finally came the muffled reply.

Casting her eyes around and searching for an area more safe to rest in, Ziva cursed under her breath at the progression of events, and made sure she detected no movement of pursuit. Finally satisfied, and as kindly as possible, she rolled the young-looking man to one side and peered closer, bringing her mouth near to one of his ears.

"Can you drink some water?" She asked and watched the slow responding nod.

"I...think so," he was struggling to focus on her face. "A bit... maybe."

Helping him to recline in a more upright and stable position, Ziva dug into the pack, located the bottled water with one hand, and had the lid off in seconds, tipping the cooling liquid into his dry mouth. His hands were shaking so badly she ended up having to hold the container for him. He drank very little and turned away long before she thought he should, causing her to frown once more. Ziva knew the importance of keeping hydrated, having it ingrained since early childhood, and wanted him to take more.

"Tony, you need to drink," she tried to get the bottle to his lips but he was clumsily pushing it away.

"No...stomach hurts."

Sighing, she relented and wiped the sweat from his face with the hem of her shirt, taking a moment to really look at the youthful-looking man in her arms. Ziva had heard some of the descriptions from McGee but hadn't really believed it was possible to reverse age like this...*never* like this. This was amazing...and scary.

She could plainly see it was still the same person she'd been acquainting herself with at work but several years had obviously been erased away, the face now smoother and tighter and the body leaner and...in pain. "Tony, Ducky said you were having muscle cramps. Is that what you're feeling now?"

DiNozzo closed his eyes and released a hard, heavy sigh. "Yes...and no."

This frowning was getting to be a habit and, now, Ziva sighed. "Well, that doesn't help me much. Tony, we can't stay here. You have to get up and start moving again."

"Okay," he agreed but didn't reopen his eyes or move an inch. Finally, his tongue snaked out to wet his lips and he raised his lids just enough to look at her with a glassy gaze. "Can I have a minute more?"

Ziva looked anxiously around. They were more exposed here than they'd been during the entire trek and she didn't like the idea of waiting another second, much less a complete minute.

"Please..."

The soft plea let her know just how much he really needed the time. The 'old' DiNozzo would have never asked in that particular way but would have found some rude, suggestive comment about her actually wanting to lay down beside him in the grass and enjoy a little afternoon delight or a roll in the hay perhaps. But nothing remotely resembling that was coming from that usually-wicked mouth today.

Slipping to sit completely down beside him and pulling until she was holding him securely in her arms, Ziva relented and gave him his minute...and a few more. He turned his face toward her chest but made no other move, closing his eyes again and trying to get his protesting body to settle. This pain was different than the usual aches he'd been experiencing and DiNozzo had to wonder just what the fuck was going on. The hurt was too sharp and getting too hard to ignore and was centered deep in the pit of his belly instead of in his joints and bones. And to make matters worse, the recently ingested bit of water was suddenly getting ready to reappear.

"Fuck..." was all he managed weakly before lurching from her hold, rolling just enough to keep her from accidentally getting hit, and heaving up a watery mess, feeling some of the foul liquid splatter back on his cheeks and chin. He vomited again and again until he just wanted to lie down and...

Ziva could only hold DiNozzo's jerking body as he rid himself of the water and bile, supporting all she could and immediately realizing they weren't going to be getting much further until he had a proper rest and could manage to keep at least a bit of water down. She looked carefully around again, considering going back into the thicker cover of the woods and maybe finding a secluded spot deep in a thicket to hide for awhile. But, with the way DiNozzo was dressed and the prospect of being tracked by trained professionals, Ziva knew their best chance of survival was to reach her vehicle. So, she sat and continued to hold him until he began to settle, much weaker than she wished and now trembling in the after-effects of the purging. Somehow, he locked gazes with her and offered a very forced and feeble grin.

"Just...can't keep your...hands off me, can you?" He stuttered and snuggled closer.

"You *are* a dog, DiNozzo," she stated without any heat and saw his grin grow, albeit without it's usual spark.

"Woof."

"We can't stay," she felt he needed to hear it.

"I know," he affirmed without humor, the small smile fading, and began to try to push himself up.

"Just give yourself another minute," she offered but instantly saw his refusal.

"If I don't get up now, I may not be able to later," he accepted her assistance and, together, they got him all the way to his feet.

Standing like this, so close and bodies pressed together, Ziva could see he was now more within her own height range, still taller but not the towering man he'd been just a little over a month ago. She didn't have to break her neck, looking up into those impossibly green eyes, but could now gaze comfortably and study the youthful face. She blinked hard when she realized he was staring right back, directly into her eyes, watching and waiting.

"Can you walk now?" She needed to hear his confirmation.

"I can *walk*?" He perked up a bit at her wording. "You're not going to make me run anymore?"

"You call *that* running?" She teased good-naturedly. It was good to see the small, strained smile, even though it was still easy to read the pain. "We can walk. Any movement we can have at this point is good."

He nodded and pulled a bit away from her support. "Okay, let's do it then."

Ziva resisted his attempt to leave the security and stability of her grip and gathered him close again, letting him lean as much as he wanted her way. "I don't want you to go down again. Let me help you."

DiNozzo looked again into her dark eyes, some niggling suspicion beginning to grow. "Why are you being so nice to me?"

"I'm always nice to you," she responded with a dead-pan expression.

"Are not," he huffed petulantly and looked away.

She got them moving, one step at a time, choosing to ignore the childish tone of his comment. It wasn't that she didn't dislike the man...boy...whatever...it was the immature, egocentric, politically-incorrect statements and comments he sometimes spouted that just had a way of grating on her last nerve and made her want to whip out one of her blades to do a little 'interrogating'. Not that she would actually damage him, no, but it would be interesting to see if he'd be more protective of his face or his testicles. *Very* interesting indeed.

"So," he was panting again already, "you never answered my question."

"What question?" She kept them moving, one foot in front of the other.

"Why...why are you being so nice...to me?"

"Oh. That."

"Yeah...that"

"Gibbs ordered it."

Her response was received with a strange mixture of silence and blaring satisfaction. DiNozzo didn't have to say a word or utter a sound for Ziva to see how pleased he was with the answer. He was fairly vibrating with happiness and his step somehow seemed a bit surer...and he wore that goofy grin that always appeared whenever Gibbs happened to 'accidentally' pay him a compliment at work. Ziva cocked her head and studied him again. Hhhmmm...strange.

"How much further?" DiNozzo asked almost breathlessly after a while, still managing to match the steady walking pace, one arm slung around ZiVa's shoulder and the other pressed against the constant throb in his belly. The pains were beginning to radiate outward in the direction of each limb, small, snaking shards that communicated very clearly with his brain. He was well and truly fucked and he knew it.

"You need to rest again?" Ziva asked with obvious concern.

"No...no...I'm...okay."

Ziva cursed under her breath and halted, bringing their forward motion to an immediate and abrupt stop. "You hard-headed males are so annoying, do you know that? Why can't you just say when you're tired, hhmm?"

"Ziva..."

"Just shut up," she snapped, unwilling to let him know how alarmed she now was by his condition and the situation, angered by not being able to follow through with *all* the orders Gibbs had given before she flew out, and frustrated with her unfamiliarity of their surroundings. She knew their general location and was fairly confident of their direction but just wished she'd been able to study other areas of her map for potential hiding places. Now, it was too late and she hated being this unprepared and, more importantly, she hated the prospect of having to explain all of this to Gibbs.

Just two days ago, immediately upon his arrival back in DC, Gibbs had reported to the Director's office and had been unavailable to answer the questions both she and McGee had concerning their missing colleague. They'd erroneously thought Ducky would be back to work at the same time as well but found he wasn't going to return until his 'ailing mother' was better. He wasn't even taking phone calls from them. They both knew she wasn't ill but went along with the explanation simply because that's what the Director believed.

After finally getting away from Shepard's office a couple of hours later, an extremely angry Gibbs had barely managed to let them know he was suspended without pay for the next two weeks and would need them to 'hold down the fort' just before two Marines from the Secretary of the Navy's office had suddenly arrived to escort the man in for a special 'debriefing'. Ziva had caught Gibbs' look, knew he was activating her into the position she'd been assigned before he and the others had left for Idaho, and knew she would be given precise details of what needed to be done as soon as Gibbs could get the information safely to her. She was ready to do whatever he required of her.

As most of the office focused their attention on the duo escorting Gibbs from the building, Ziva had promptly bent to one side to keep her intentions hidden, covertly stuck a finger down her throat, and proceeded to vomit all over DiNozzo's still-vacant desk, making sure the incident was loud enough to draw all the necessary attention to make her sudden 'illness' seem real to any observer. It was a simple ploy, actually, and one she'd used only a handful of times in the past, but it always produced the desired results. Plus, the fact she'd been able to use DiNozzo's desk as a target just seemed to make a much clearer statement.

McGee had instantly sprung to her side, eyes wide with open concern and tinged with only a smattering of distaste, helped her to the restroom and sent another female agent in to 'watch over her' before sprinting to Shepard's office to report the whole nasty incident. She'd played her part well, had continued a series of faked dry heaves for the benefit of the woman assigned the task of 'helping' and had managed to get home, pack a light bag, and been ensconced in Gibbs' basement all within an hour's span from watching her boss leave NCIS headquarters.

"Ziva?"

DiNozzo's soft voice broke her momentary lapse and she swiftly turned back to look into his tired, concerned eyes, watching for only a second before blinking hard and tugging him back into motion. She didn't need to explain anything to him and they certainly didn't have time to waste.

Somehow, they managed to get where she wanted and, before he knew what was happening, Ziva was easing DiNozzo back to the ground behind the shelter of a fairly large shrub, pressing a slim finger to his mouth to indicate the need for silence, and slinking forward a few yards on her belly to peer cautiously toward some unknown destination. He watched her go for a moment, shifting uncomfortably as he tried to ease the constant pain in his gut, but only succeeded to acerbate the sensation. DiNozzo pressed his mouth against his forearm and bit back the rising need to moan, closing his eyes tightly and holding his breath. It didn't seem to hurt as badly when he didn't breathe and he found himself unconsciously trying to keep the normal reflex from happening, clenching his teeth together until the grind was sharp in his jaw.

"Tony."

Ziva was suddenly back, touching his shoulder and making him sit up, ignoring the muffled groan of resistence as she started positioning him as needed, shoving his arms into a thick, leather-like jacket and zipping it closed. The warmth it afforded was immediate and he tried to let her know he appreciated the gesture as he snuggled into the folds but, before he could speak, Ziva was tugging him roughly to his feet...and shoving a helmet into his hands.

"What's...this for?" He questioned weakly, bending slightly over and grunting through another hard stab of cramping, long fingers gripping the slick, black finish of the protective gear.

"For the rest of the trip," she offered cryptically, wrapping an arm around his torso and directing him away from the shrub, setting them both on a path toward a newly uncovered motorcycle.

DiNozzo managed to stop when his eyes fell on the sleek, two-wheeled machine, visions of Ari Haswari unexpectedly swimming up from the hidden recesses of his subconscious, and he took a small step away, gaze shifting instantly toward the startled woman standing so close. He didn't know why he suddenly put the two together, didn't know why the thought of Ziva on a motorcycle should cause such a reaction but, now, as he looked...*really* looked...into Ziva's cold, hard, dark eyes, all he could see was a resemblance to the man who'd killed Caitlin Todd. He pulled further away and staggered to one side, catching himself against the rough trunk of a near-by tree, and staring at her with a slowly building anger.

"You...you're..." he started and then had to stop, the grip of another wave ripping through his belly and catching his breath, keeping him from completing the thought. He held the breath in and squeezed his eyes shut until he thought the worse had passed and then slowly raised his gaze back to her scowling face.

Ziva shook her head in exasperation, ignoring his weak attempts to evade her grasp and easily hauling him back toward the waiting transportation, releasing him only long enough to don her own helmet and jacket that she'd retrieved from a duffle she'd hidden along with the motorcycle only a day before. Once ready to ride, she reached out and took hold of one of his arms, shaking him soundly.

"We don't have time for this nonsense," she bit out harshly, letting her voice and her eyes go colder. "I came to help but, if you want to stay here and end up captured again by Martinez's dogs, then stay...I don't care." She saw him flinch at the cruel thought but knew he needed to be pushed further. "Or did you like what he did so much you want to go back to him?"

"Shut the fuck up!" DiNozzo hissed and threw the black helmet at her feet, trying to jerk from her grip. She was holding on with firm determination and looking at him with sly, knowing eyes. "Let go of me..."

And she did, watching as he stumbled back before regaining his balance. They stood and stared at each other for a few moments and Ziva bent to retrieve the discarded helmet, holding it out toward DiNozzo.

"Put it on, Tony," she ordered.

He bristled at her tone and let the helmet fall. "No."

She took a step closer, reached into an inside pocket of her newly-donned jacket, and touched the cold hilt of one of her knives with the tips on her fingers. By-passing the weapon, she whipped out a cell phone and held the small device toward the trembling man. He was wasting precious time over nothing.

"Here then," she all but spat, tossing the phone so it landed next to the helmet, "*you* call Gibbs and explain to him why you're not coming home."

Ziva turned away and walked to the waiting motorcycle, giving the machine a quick once-over. She could hear when DiNozzo cautiously moved to pick up the cell, was aware when he finally made a connection with their boss, and waited astride the vehicle for the short conversation to be completed. Within moments, DiNozzo was carefully throwing a long leg over the back of the seat and was sliding to snug his body to her back, hands reaching tentatively to hold her waist. Ziva cocked her head to one side and glanced coolly his way.

"Now are you ready?"

DiNozzo remained silent, his face a blank mask, but flipped his visor down and nodded once to show his assent. Turning forward, Ziva copied the action, turned the key and pressed the ignition, setting them on a course that would, eventually, bring them back to their final destination.

_______________________

"How is he?"

Gibbs was still gently cradling the phone in one hand when the words were softly spoken, so he quickly shook himself into motion and snapped the device shut, tucking it into a pocket and turning to cast his gaze in the direction of the speaker. Gibbs could talk honestly and openly, now that McGee had swept his home for any concealed listening gadgets, but it pained his soul to have to deliver the news. He cleared his throat before answering.

"He sounds like he's hurting," Gibbs' candid response was low, his bleak, blue eyes rising to catch Ducky's concerned look, knowing how hopeless they were all feeling at the moment. He swallowed, knowing the information he'd just been given was going to send the medical examiner into another spiral of regret and remorse. He took a step closer and placed a gentle hand on the older man's shoulder. "Ducky..."

"Vickie is dead, isn't she?" Ducky asked quietly, without preamble, his miserable gaze searching Gibbs' face, knowing the truth even before it could be spoken but looking for some small sign of hope.

Gibbs nodded. "Ducky, I'm so sorry."

"How?" He wanted to know...felt he had to know. Victoria Sebastian had been his dear friend for many, many years and the thought of her suffering needlessly because of their folly was almost too much to bear.

Gibbs shook his head. "I don't know. I didn't have the chance to ask. All DiNozzo said was they were dead..."

"Oh...," Ducky groaned, closing his eyes and bringing a hand up to cover his mouth, only now remembering the other woman who'd worked in the house. "Dear, sweet Millie..."

"...and he wanted to make sure it was okay for him to go with Ziva."

"Why would he question that?" A different voice inquired, distracting him from the comfort he was trying to offer.

Gibbs turned toward the man seated on the lowest step of the staircase and frowned, lips compressing into a tight line. He knew he shouldn't still feel the sudden surge of jealousy when he looked into that face. They had, after all, reached an uneasy truce on the flight back to DC but the ex-Marine just couldn't shake the feeling Fornell was merely biding his time and patiently waiting to make a move. Gibbs grunted and moved away from where Ducky was resting miserably on a stool by the long, heavy workbench and turned back to the security of his boat, running a hand over a spot needing more sanding.

"I don't know," he replied bluntly, setting a scrap of sandpaper to the task, trying to recapture the tone of DiNozzo's voice as he replayed the brief exchange in his mind. There had been something different in the quality of the youthful speech, some underlying emotion that sounded a bit like anger or betrayal but the conversation had been way too short to make any sense of it. "Ziva is suppose to check in with her contact later. I'll get a better idea when the information is passed to me."

"When will that be?" Fornell asked carefully.

Gibbs didn't bother to look his way. "Sometimes tonight, I expect."

"I abhor this," Ducky suddenly mumbled brokenly.

Gibbs was immediately back at his friend's side, blocking Fornell's view, bending low and cupping the lined face within his rough palms. "Ducky, this is not your fault."

"Who then?" The medical examiner scowled, his eyes bright with unshed tears. "If not me, then whom, Jethro? *I'm* the one who suggested taking the matter to Vicki, *I'm* the one who convinced her to try and help Anthony, and *I'm* the one who told her it would probably be safe. Vicki and Millie are dead because of my foolishness..."

"And *I'm* the one who should have stayed to make certain of their safety," Gibbs stressed as he gently rubbed away a tear from one of the soft cheeks and squatted so he could look more comfortably at the distraught man. "I spoke to Doctor Sebastian before leaving. She knew there were risks, knew there was a chance someone would still try to get to DiNozzo, and *she's* the one who convinced me that we'd find no better place to get the help DiNozzo needed than with her at the ranch." He dropped his hands and ran his fingers through his own short hair, looking down and sighing. "If anything, I should have never waited until we got back before sending Ziva out there. She should have been in place before we left."

"You didn't have time for that," Fornell piped in, understanding the mood but making sure they didn't continue to dwell on what they couldn't fix now. "If you didn't come back like you did, you'd have never found out who contacted Wilson-Halley."

"We were already fairly certain of that," Gibbs shot over his shoulder.

"But you weren't *positive*," Fornell stressed, taking a step closer to the duo. "Now you are."

Gibbs nodded silently. "Yeah, now I am."

The three men remained within the confines of Gibbs' basement for several hours more, reviewing what they knew, discussing their future plans, and waiting as patiently as possible for Ziva's message to arrive. Shortly before seven, the front doorbell chimed and Gibbs quickly ascended the stairs, taking the steps two at a time, and getting there within moments. Ducky and Fornell remained below, comfortable in each other's company, content to wait until Gibbs returned.

They didn't have long.

The sounds of the squeaking floor joists, caused by by someone traveling above from the direction of the front door toward the basement stairwell, alerted them of his return. He appeared within moments, descending swiftly, a square, white, flat box gripped tightly in both hands. Ducky's eyebrows rose.

"A pizza?" He asked incredulously, wondering about the former Marine's state of mind. "Jethro, I didn't even hear you order a pizza."

"I didn't," he stepped close and dropped the box to the surface of the workbench, making sure it landed upside-down. Tapping the box once with the flat of his hand, Gibbs pulled the cardboard container open and reached for the small scrap of buff-colored paper that had been concealed under the hot crust. He winced as he unfolded the scrap, read it through, and then closed his eyes, all but ignoring the other men.

"Well?" Fornell finally prompted after getting a small shake of the head from Ducky. "What does it say?"

Gibbs passed the short missive to Fornell and turned away, walking back to retrieve the square of sandpaper and return to the rough section on the boat, eyes trained only on the wood but his thoughts flying elsewhere. As much as he tried to control it, he just couldn't stop the slight trembling that began in the hand clutching the abrasive material and had the cease his work, fisting the scrap tightly and listening as the FBI agent repeated the message to Ducky.

"Package damaged. Very fragile. Concerned it may not survive delivery. Please advise." There was a moment of utter silence as the words sunk in before Fornell could manage to speak again and, when it did, it seemed to sum up what they all were feeeling. "Well, damn."

More silence that stretched longer. It was clear to them all DiNozzo was in bad shape again and Ziva did not know what to do. Now, she needed assistance. Gibbs threw the crushed piece of sandpaper to one side and turned, looking them straight in the eyes.

"I'm going back."

"Jethro!" Ducky's voice was filled with warning.

"Are you out of your mind?" Fornell added at the same moment.

Both Ducky and Fornell couldn't believe what they were hearing and felt they had to remind him of the need to stay out of the picture. Ducky rose from his seat and paced toward his friend, stopping only when he was no more than a foot away.

"You *cannot* leave now," he urged, eyes darkening as he stared up into the frustrated face. "You have to remain visible and be available for more questioning."

Fornell was stepping close now, too. "You know Ducky's right, Gibbs. We've been over this again and again."

"I can't abandon him now!" Gibbs all but yelled, blue eyes flashing between the two men.

"Nobody said anything about abandoning him, Jethro," the medical examiner raised an appeasing hand, hoping to calm the angry man. He gentled his own voice. "Tobias can go in your stead."

The comment did nothing to soothe Gibbs' frustrationa and ire but, instead, only seemed to inflame him even more. "Tobias? Are you out of your damn mind? There's no way I'm letting..."

"Will you cease this ridiculous posturing and just listen to yourself?!" Ducky had heard and seen quite enough. "You're suppose to be thinking about what's best for Anthony, not what's going to make you happy. Jethro, for God's sake, you *cannot* go...you know this...you must maintain your visibility. I can't go, even though I'd give my eye teeth, because I don't have the necessary training needed to get him back. Neither does Abigail...or Timothy, for that matter." He saw Gibbs scowl at his blunt observation and tsked at the expression. "You know I'm right about this. Our young Timothy is a very good agent and very talented at what he does but, quite frankly, this is going to need someone with more experience and more...deviousness...than he possesses at the moment. Someone like Tobias."

"Gee, thanks...I think," Fornell smirked but understood the message. He studied Gibbs for a moment and then spoke. "I know what's really bothering you about all of this. We both know what it is. You think I'm going to go out there and make some kind of play for him, try to lure him away from you. Right? Christ, Gibbs, I'm not the one who fucked him before leaving Idaho."

Ducky quickly stepped between the two bigger men as they started to square off but his eyes were trained solely on Gibbs. His words, though, were for both.

"None of that matters anymore," he hissed and looked up into the blazing eyes that continued to stare hotly at the FBI agent. "What matters is getting Anthony as far away from harm as possible, finding a truly secure place for him, and getting him some help. Ziva may have connections but she jeopardized them enough just getting that missive to us as she did. Let Tobias go and help,let him do what he was trained to do...don't use your own anger and jealousy to lessen Anthony's chance for survival."

Gibbs glared at Fornell for only a moment more before dropping his gaze. He looked into Ducky's face, saw the continued sadness in the watery blue depths, and knew he had to relent. Eyes sweeping once more toward Fornell, Gibbs gritted his teeth and nodded once.

"Go."


TBC

I hadn't been to Farmington in almost twenty-five years and, as I came up over the rise and got my first glimpse of the bright city nightlights again, I felt the instantaneous rush of hot memories surging to the fore-front, shoving the reason for this trip far into the tight recesses of my mind. Christ, I didn't think I would ever miss a place like this. No, never like this...not in a million years. But I actually had to pause and take a deep breath before I could continue any further in my intended journey, I had to forcibly get those memories to surrender their spot and put them back where they belonged before something unexpected came up and bit me on the ass. Hard.

I've always loved being in New Mexico, loved every single thing about it, but I was especially fond of the times I'd spent here in my youth with my rowdy Aunt Emma. Shit. Emma. I hadn't thought about her in...well, in years actually. Not that I would have any reason to think of her or bring her name up in casual conversation, especially in my line of work and with the people I associate with, but Emma always had a way about her that made me want to be like her, talk like her...even think like her.

Hell, where did I go so wrong?

I knew about all Emma, of course, because she was my mother's older sister and because of all the wonderfully wicked stories I'd heard as a kid each year around the Thanksgiving or Christmas tables, when the adults thought all us youngsters weren't paying any attention to them and just fighting over who'd get the last drumstick. Yeah, right. Like I wouldn't pay attention to something like their conversations concerning Emma, especially when I was warned that what was being said wasn't for 'young ears'. Telling me that only made me want to listen so much more. I loved hearing about Emma's 'perverted' lifestyle and actually got my first hard-on while I was suppose to be playing hide and seek with my cousins, scrunched down low and tight behind the large, musty-smelling sofa in my grandmother's living room, listening as the assembled adults continued their discussion over coffee and cake.

'Emma doesn't even wear a bra...just lets them hang loose and free.'

'Emma lives on a commune with hippies and Negroes and Lord knows what else.'

'Emma sleeps with anyone she wants...men and women alike.'

Christ. My Aunt Emma was one, wicked woman and, right from the moment I could understand what all the ruckus was about, I just *knew* I had to meet her. She was everything a young boy wanted to hear about. *Everything*.

Living far away from home long before I was even born, I'd heard the tales about this glorious, imaginary creature and her escapades when I wasn't suppose to but parents can be so stupid sometimes. They would tell me to go play or go watch TV or go read a book and I would just mumble and remove myself from their line of sight, just far enough away to be hidden from thier eyes but close enough to still hear clearly. Just because a child is told to do something, doesn't automatically make it happen. Not by a long shot. Besides, even if she was the family outcast, Emma was my only aunt and I had the right to get to know her.

The summer I turned fifteen, my wish came true. It wasn't because of anything I did or said but it couldn't have happened at a better time if I had planned it all myself.

When my grandmother died, after a lengthy illness, my mother somehow tracked down and got a hold of Emma at her present residence in New Mexico and informed her of the death. Emma came immediately home...along with a huge black man sporting the biggest afro I'd ever seen in my life and carrying a small, bright-eyed, three-year old balanced comfortably on one of her slim hips. The child looked just like the big man and my mother instantly took one look at the trio, put it all together, and fainted right out there on the front porch, in front of God and the whole fucking neighborhood. Good old mom...she really should have taken her act out on the road. Could have made us rich with her dramatic skills.

Anyway, Richie was Emma's 'man' and they'd been together since...well, since right before Little Richie's conception, I guess. The math was not hard to do and it gave my mom another reason to go all Dame Judith on us. I hated when she got like that, all righteously indignant and morally condemning. I guess she didn't realize how many people knew about her own little problem with the pills she'd been taking for her 'headaches'. Headaches. *Right*.

So, I had to take the initiative and step past where my father was bent over my mother's collapsed form on the front porch that day and introduce myself like some stranger, offering a smile and a hug to Emma and an outstretched hand to the big man standing protectively at her side. It was as simple as that and my life was forever changed. I now knew my Aunt Emma.

Against my mom and dad's better judgment and with only half-hearted resistance to my pleading, I went with Emma when she and her little family left to return to New Mexico after only a handful of days. It was the start of summer and I was beginning to be a real handful for parents who had better things to do with their time than focusing on some slightly-rebellious teenager, so I was given permission to stay for a couple of weeks and catch a Greyhound home. No problem.

Except after only a few short days, I never wanted to go home again.

Life in Shiprock, which is right outside of Farmington, was ideal for a teenage boy like me: nothing but sand and sunshine and happy, groovy stoners who spent most of their time at the commune making music, making love, and making horny teenagers feel right at home. I learned how to ride a motorcycle, how to bake bread, and how to roll my own joint. Shit, I'd thought I'd died and gone to heaven.

But it wasn't all just about sex, drugs, and rock and roll, though I'd be lying if I said that wasn't a big part of it for me. I'd finally found a group of people who'd really wanted to make a difference in how they lived their lives, rejecting every stereotype they'd been confronted with, and focusing on how to be just plain, good human beings, especially to the Native Americans who populated most of the surrounding area. I didn't know much about the Navajo or the Apache or, hell, even the mysterious, vanished race called Anasazi but I'd known that I was, essentially, a stranger in an strange land...and that I loved every, single minute of it. Hell, yes.

I ended up staying a little over a month instead of the instructed two weeks before I was literally dragged home by my irate father but I continued to take trips out to visit them whenever I could scrape the time and the money together. But when the U.S. government used the Framington area as a nuclear testing site in 1967, everything changed. Emma and Richie became radicals, openly denouncing America and the president, throwing away all pretenses of peaceful demonstrations and rallying with others who wanted nothing more than to bring 'big brother' down. I didn't blame them one bit. I was royally pissed, too.

News of their deaths hit me hard. An accident, I was told but, truthfully, I don't think that's what really happened. Supposedly, they lost control of their old, VW bus on the way home from a peace march and careened off the road...a stretch that use to be called, remarkably, Highway 666, before it was renamed for obvious reasons...and everyone involved in the 'accident' was consumed in the erupting fireball...even dear, sweet, innocent Little Richie. God. The only one who'd ever called me Uncle Tobie was gone...

...until DiNozzo had opened his smart mouth.

So, now I find myself forcing those morose thoughts away and pulling from the side of the decaying blacktop road where I had paused, easily blending back into the flow of traffic and heading my Harley toward the designated motel on the outskirts of the city, determined to get to DiNozzo and David as quickly as possible. I find I'm running the gambit of emotions right now: happy to be back in Farmington, anxious at what I'll find at the motel, excited about seeing DiNozzo again, wary about the safety of this location...there's just too many things and I know I've got to get a handle on them all.

A couple more miles and I can see the dull glow of the neon illumination for the entrance of the motel. This is not a good section of the city but it's perfect for our purposes. I do have to cringe when I see what's been selected though, knowing the need for discretion and remoteness, but wishing David had chosen something a little less seedy and run-down. Hell, this place looks like it could be straight out of one of those old black and white films DiNozzo loves so much, with peeling wallpaper, bug-infested mattresses, and a manager named Norman, who just might ask if I want to walk up the hill to say hello to his mother. Yikes. I need to get a hold of myself quickly and put my imagination away. There's no problem finding which room is their's... David's dusty motorcycle is parked in front of one of the weather-beaten doors near the far end of the L-shaped building. I pull up next to it and park easily in the same spot.

Immediately, the door swings open and she's striding out to meet me, her dark eyes sweeping over my form and her gun tucked tight against her right side. She's not taking any chances but I can instantly tell something's wrong.

"What took you so long?" She hisses under her breath and, although we're practically the only guests at this flea-infested dive, she's not going to raise her voice any louder.

Huh. Well, good to see you, too. "What's the problem?" I ask instead, as calmly as I can.

She gives the area one more look, tilts her head back toward the partially-open doorway, and turns to go back inside. I swiftly pocket the keys, grab the heavy pack, and follow, closing and locking the too-thin panel after I enter and praying it will keep us all alive and safe. When I turn, I freeze.

There he is, boneless on the bed, coated in sweat and panting in rough, short, ragged gasps. God, he looks so good and so terrible at the same time. I drop my stuff at the entrance and hustle to his side, going to one knee and pushing my fingers through his wet hair, combing it roughly away from his forehead. I can feel David suddenly at my back and I get the distinct impression she may be there to keep a better eye on me. I decide not to waste any more time worrying about her right now.

"Hey," I whisper, watching his eyes trying to focus on the direction of the sound. They're glassy and filled with seven different kinds of hurt and all I want to do is pull him into my arms and hold tight. Instead, I speak again. "Tony, you know who I am?"

He struggles for a moment and I can see his knuckles turn white where his fists are gripping the ugly floral bedspread at his sides. Shit, he's in so much pain I don't know what to do for him first. I have to see if he can focus at all before I begin. Finally, his eyes seem to settle on me and I can see him trying to form an answer or a comment. I'm a patient man...I can give him all the time he needs.

His lips part but there's no sound and I can see how dried and cracked they are. Now, I'm really worried.

"He won't drink," David murmurs in my ear, like she can read my mind. "I told him he has to drink but he refuses."

He's sweating, so it's not dehydration...yet. Still, she's right. I gently smooth his hair back again and move a bit closer, keeping my eyes on his. "She's right, Tony. You have to drink."

His head moves slightly to one side, not much, but enough for me to recognize he's negating the suggestion. One of his hands releases it's grip on the blanket and moves slowly to cover a place low on his belly, just below the elastic band of the sweatpants, and I know he's trying to show me something. I ease my hand from his hair and lightly cover his shaking fingers with my own.

"Is this where you hurt?" I ask softly. His eyes look huge and green in the pale face.

"Wh...where...where's..." he begins and then has to stop, arching against something in his body, something I can't see, something that's stealing his words and his breath and I rise so I can sit on the side of the bed and put both of my hands on his shoulders just to hold him in place. It looks like he's going to scream out in agony but all that emerges is a tight, guttural, low moan. It hurts worse to hear that than a full scream, I think.

Christ.

"It's okay, it's okay. Easy now." This is bad. I glance up and see David has moved to the other side of the mattress and is hovering, her youthful face clearly displaying her helplessness. I suddenly feel a surge of compassion for her...it's only been two and a half days but I'm sure, for someone like her, not being able to find a quick solution to this problem has to have been extremely difficult. "Ziva," I get her attention, "get a cool, wet towel. Let's wipe him down."

She nods and turns to do my bidding but my eyes are already moving back to DiNozzo. He's watching me, as intently as he can, and something begins to coil in the pit of my stomach.

"Fo...Fornell?" He gasps when he can breath again and my heart swells.

"Yes, Tony, I'm here," I whisper. Jesus, even in his present condition, he's so fucking beautiful. His hands are suddenly gripping at the front of my jacket, green eyes boring keenly into mine. God, I want to cover that dry mouth with my own, pour my energy and healing into him, let him know I'm here just for him...only for him.

"Wh...where..." he stutters between gasps, fingers tightening and beginning to shake again.

"Here," David is back and trying to hand me the towel. I ignore her for a moment and wait until DiNozzo is able to release some of this awful, desperate tenseness, until the painful grip eases slightly, until he can finally relax a bit. He's breathless now and he just stares at me, dazed and bewildered.

I grab the towel from David and begin to wipe gently at DiNozzo's face. He lets me...just like a trusting child, he let's me. God, I'm lost.

"How long has he been like this?" I ask when I can control the tremor in my voice. Letting the end of the towel sweep over his sticky neck and what's exposed of his upper chest, I know it's not enough. His t-shirt is plastered to his skin, keeping him cold and clammy, and I know the clothes should have already been taken off. Just what the hell has Ziva being doing to see to his comfort? Anything?

"Since this morning," she responds and I can hear the fatigue in her voice. She eases to sit on the bed and watch. "It's gotten worse. I...I didn't know what..."

Her voice trails off but I know what she was going to say anyway. "It's okay. Ziva. You did good just getting him out alive." She has to know how glad we all are of that fact. If she hadn't been there, DiNozzo would be dead, too...or back with Emilio Martinez.

"We need to get him out of these wet clothes," I direct, already taking the towel away and pulling at the bedspread covering his body. He's shaking and twitching but I don't think it has anything to do with being cold. These movements are more like muscle spasms...painful muscle spasms...and something else. Something I don't want to think about just yet.

"He doesn't have anything else to wear," she points out needlessly to me, helping as much as she can as I begin to reach for his shirt.

"Doesn't matter. I've brought plenty of cash." I manage to get one arm out of the sleeve without too much trouble. "Get his size from these and get him something more substantial to wear from the store down the road. It's a Wal-Mart or K-Mart or something like that. I forget..."

"You forget?" She questions sharply and helps me get the other arm out. "You know this town?"

"Oh, yeah...I know this town," I can't help the small smile that escapes but she doesn't see it. The t-shirt is gone and I start to tug down the sweatpants. "He needs underwear, too."

"I'm not..." She begins to protest but stops when I nail her with a look. I really can see how tired she is. We continue to stare until her eyes suddenly fall away.

"Get everything you may be needing, too. The money's in the envelope in the zipper section at the back of my pack." I instruct as I push the damp, clingy sweats off those impossibly long legs and, although I want to let my eyes linger on his bare body, I quickly flick the covers back up. "We'll need a hotplate and some utensils...just enough to heat soup and stuff like that. May as well pick up another pack to keep all of it in, too." I turn and catch her eyes again. "Ziva, we may be on the road for awhile. Just use your training and get what ever you think we may be needing for now. Understand?"

David's a sharp cookie and I can see the gears turning in that head already. Shrugging into her leather jacket and grabbing her dark helmet from the scratched surface of the cheap table by the front window, she crouches by the doorway only long enough to fish several bills out of envelope and is gone, the thin, wood door slamming shut behind. I'm immediately up and throwing the deadbolt and securing the flimsy chain again. No one's going to get in here without a fight. No one.

I turn back and have to stop at the sight. His eyes are on mine and he's looking at me with such hope and longing and, maybe I'm only seeing what I want, but suddenly I can't help myself and I'm at the bed again, whipping the covers back, exposing him and staring...just staring...and, God help me, he's *so* fucking beautiful. He looks alarmed for an instant and then that awful, ruthless monster rears somewhere deep inside, and his exquisite face twists and distorts into something almost unrecognizable, pain resurging through his weakened body and stealing away all thoughts he might have had at my curious actions.

What the hell is wrong with me?

Forcing myself to turn away, I cross the short distance to the small antiquated bathroom, ignoring the cracked and broken tiles and the rust stains in the sink, and grab another towel, cursing at the inadequate texture but knowing it's all I've got to work with. I return to snatch my heavy pack from it's resting place and bring it back to the bed with me, too, reaching deep inside and carefully removing the small, protective case from the bottom of the duffle. Sitting down beside him, I pop the top and lay it on the bed, exposing the neatly organized contents and easily managing to rip open an alcohol swab with my teeth. I gently capture DiNozzo's closest arm, cradling it across my lap, checking for the vein on the inside of the elbow. I flinch at what I see...and at what I *don't* see. Christ, he's getting so close to being dehydrated and still carrying around the fading bruises of his recent ordeal and I realize I'm going to have to use a tourniquet for a moment to get the vein to appear.

It's all coming back to me now, like second nature, and if the Army is responsible for teaching me anything at all it was the ability to handle simple medical proceedures under duress. Like now.

The flexible band is around his bicep and tied off before he knows what's happening and I've got the top of the syringe off and the morphine dose loaded, just ready to go. I tap at the tender area of the skin, coaxing the vein to rise, and swab again...carefully, gently, softly. DiNozzo moans and I glance at his face.

His eyes...Christ, his eyes are killing me. I have to look away before I fall into them again.

I force my gaze back to his arm, slip the needle deftly in, and quickly release the constricting band, pulling the plunger slightly back until I can see the mix of his blood in the drug's solution before I slowly inject the pain killer into his system. This will help calm him, this will take away some of his hurt, this will be the death of him if I'm not careful.

I place the used syringe back into the small kit, close it securely, and return the whole thing to my pack for safe keeping. I know I'll be doing this again sometime in the near future, I know I'll have to be very observant and have to keep Ducky's explicit instructions clear in my head, and I know drugging him like this is not the solution to the problem. But everyone, and I mean *everyone* involved, Gibbs included, agreed he didn't need to be suffering needlessly anymore. Not now...not ever again.

It doesn't take long for the morphine to begin taking effect, especially in his already weakened condition, and he starts to settle, the shaking and twitching slowing and the panting gasps leveling out to something more normal...whatever *that* means for him anymore. I still haven't covered his naked body but he doesn't seem to notice and I take the time to hold a ball of cotton against the injection site as tenderly as I can with one hand while I place the other hand gently on the side of his face. That's not where I really want to put my hand but, for now, it will have to do.

I just wait and watch. The green eyes gradually begin to lose the rough edge of pain and begin to take on a dreamy, sleepy look. That's better...much better. I move my hand just a bit and my thumb can now easily reach to brush softly over his dry bottom lip. Christ. I do it again and his lips automatically part, those lazy eyes blinking slowly, languorously, and so damn erotically I go hard almost at once. I do it again and lean closer and he seems to focus on me, one eyebrow arching slightly, like he knows something is going on but can't quite get a handle on it.

"I'm going to take care of you now," I whisper, bringing my face closer, stretching my body out next to him on the bumpy mattress. This is insanity, I know it. He's in no condition for this and, somewhere deep inside, I know this is wrong but I just want a taste. Just one, little taste.

"Wh...where..." he's trying to talk and I can feel his breath ghosting warmly over my face, that's how close I am to him now.

I stop and offer a small smile. "Farmington." I assure, realizing he probably has no idea of his present location. This is good, he's coherent enough to ask an important question. I can soothe his mind and give him what he needs.

He blinks and a slight frown grows. God, his mouth...I don't want to see a frown. I want...

He manages to shake his head slightly and the frown vanishes, eyes closing for a moment. Good. I lean forward again...closer...

"N...no..." he mumbles, eyes blinking sluggishly open and trying to refocus on my face, just inches away. His lips are parting, like he has more to say, but all I can think about is getting my mouth on his, covering his with mine, touching him...

His eyes suddenly break from mine and he's looking around as much as he can. The frown is back again and I have to pull slightly away as he searches the room, looking for something.

"It's okay," I soothe him, recapturing his chin with one hand and holding him still, "we're all alone and you're safe now. I'll keep you safe. Just relax."

He looks directly at me but doesn't relax, the glassy, green eyes still searching for something. "Wh...where's..."

I offer a small indulgent smile now and push his damp hair away from his face. "Ziva's gone for supplies and to get you some clean clothes." I snug my body up close to his. "We've got some time...she won't be back for awhile yet."

But he's still looking, still searching. He shakes his head again. "N...no... not..." The drug is pulling him rapidly under but he's hanging on as best as he can. "Wh...where's...Gibbs?"

Gibbs.

He's asking for *Gibbs*.

Fuck.

___________________________________

Gibbs sat across from the Secretary of the Navy and eyed the other man with a cold, calculating stare, his cool, blue gaze locked on to eyes so dark brown they almost seemed black at times. He'd been here for the past hour, detailing his plan, taking a risk with the only person he knew in Washington with enough power to get them all through the up-coming events safely and able to bring DiNozzo back home where he could be cared for...if he chose to lend assistance. There was a real danger to what he was doing but he had to place his trust somewhere. He just *had* to.

Walter Pennington had been an acquaintance...nothing more...for several years and he could easily see how difficult it was for NCIS Special Agent Leroy Jethro Gibbs to sit across from him at this big, wide, highly-polished desk and ask for help. He knew people, knew how to clearly read what wasn't being said, and knew, just *knew*, this man was telling the truth...or his perception of the truth as he interpreted it.

"My very own second was at the same meeting your Director attended, Agent Gibbs. I received the report and found no inaccurate or misleading information and considered the matter closed. We covered all this at our last meeting."

"Yes, sir, I'm well aware of that," Gibbs responded crisply. "And I appreciate you seeing me again so soon. You did have time to read over all the other information I've gathered, haven't you?"

"I have."

The non-committal response sent a shard of anxiety coursing through Gibbs' body but he maintained an even keel. He nodded his understanding.

"And?" He prompted, although his gut was telling him to just pull back to safer waters.

Pennington frowned and tilted his head to one side, letting one big, beefy hand rest upon a slim confidential folder atop his desk blotter. "It's probably one of the best pieces of science fiction I've ever read," he saw the quick flicker of anger flash and disappear, "or it's potentially one of the most inhumane, egotistical, self-serving experiments I've ever seen."

Gibbs released a small sigh of relief. "Yes, sir."

"But which is it?" Pennington had to ask, not really expecting an answer. He *knew* what Jethro Gibbs thought, knew what this former Gunnery Sergeant had been through, was still going through, all in the service of his country, but he had to play his hand very close to his chest right now.

"I can assure you..."

"No, Agent Gibbs," Pennington quickly cut him off, "that's just it. You *can't* assure me of anything."

"Sir, Agent DiNozzo is alive," Gibbs offered with a bit of heat, trying to find a common thread of logic. "He never died as was reported. I've seen him...touched him..."

"Then where is he?"

The two men regarded each other shrewdly. There was trust...and then there was absolute trust...and Gibbs just wasn't certain he could feel that way about anyone in power ever again. After only a moment more of hesitation, he formed an answer.

"With all due respect, sir, I'd rather not divulge that information just yet."

Gibbs swallowed thickly and waited for the hammer to fall. Hell, maybe the whole damn anvil would be crashing down at any moment.

"You don't trust me, Agent Gibbs?" Pennington pushed with his words and tapped a big finger against the folder on his desk. "Yet, you bring this to me, expecting me to believe everything contained within, and render assistance?"

"Yes, sir."

Pennington's eyes grew icy and his shoulders tensed. Between the two men, it would be a close call to see who would have the straightest spine right now.

"I ought to have your ass thrown in the brig..."

"Yes, sir."

"And have the key tossed out into the middle of the Atlantic..."

"Yes, sir."

"And lock up the rest of your team right along with you."

Gibbs didn't respond and it was enough for Pennington to see he'd managed to strike a cord within the former Marine. He raised an eyebrow and waited.

"Sir," Gibbs leaned forward slightly in his seat but remainded unbent, "my team is only responsible for doing their jobs to the best of their abilities and following my orders. Nothing more, nothing less."

The finger tapping the report skillfully flipped it open. "So, Doctor Donald Mallard taking personal leave under the pretense of assisting with the care of his ill mother was your idea? And he went to Idaho because of orders from you?"

Gibbs didn't know how to respond. That was not the way it happened with Ducky but he was damn sure not going to pull his ME onto this sinking ship if he was about to go down.

Pennington eyed the silent man and flipped to another page. "Agent Timothy McGee was with you as well."

"Under my direct orders, yes, sir," Gibbs answered quickly.

"As was FBI Agent Tobias Fornell," Pennington got to where he really wanted to be and raised his dark, bottomless eyes. "Tell me, Agent Gibbs, how do you get an FBI agent to follow your orders? And for that matter, just where *is* Agent Fornell now?"

Shit. "Sir?"

"You understand my question, Agent Gibbs. Answer it."

"Sir," Gibbs mind was racing, "I don't know where Agent Fornell is right now. I saw him a few days ago, here in DC..."

"But you know where he *might* be right now, don't you?" Pennington broke in swiftly.

"Sir..."

"What about Officer Ziva David? Where is she right now?" The SecNav's voice seemed too slick, too oily.

Gibbs couldn't give this much away, not yet, no matter how much he wanted to trust Pennington. There could be help, just waiting if he responded correctly, or there could be devastating consequences. Lives could be lost...DiNozzo could be...

"Sir, with all due respect," He tried again.

And, again, Pennington cut him off. "There's nothing remotely respectful about you coming here with this, Agent Gibbs. Your own Director was informed, as were the other Directors, after that little inter-agency fiasco months ago near the docks at Little Creek, of everything pertinent. It was reviewed by Committee and deemed a closed case. But you just kept pushing."

Gibbs didn't know how to respond, could only look into the face of his last real hope, and watch it all seemingly start to crumble away. He shifted in his seat and broke the gaze, letting his eyes settle on some point directly beside Pennington's right shoulder. He'd been so sure the SecNav would sit up and take notice, would be able to get a clearer picture of what was happening after reading the report, and would be willing to get to the bottom of this conspiracy. Emilio Martinez was still out there somewhere and, even though he wasn't currently in the picture...as far as he knew...the Brazilian was still a known fugitive wanted by the Federal government. Wasn't he? Now, Gibbs had to wonder just how deep this all went.

"Where are they, Agent Gibbs?" Pennington was asking, the tone of his voice brooking no refusal or argument. "Where is Agent Fornell and Officer David right now?"

Gibbs gaze darted back to the SecNav's hard-set face, the dark eyes and the even darker hair almost looking sinister and hellish in the room's illumination. The situation was next to being consumed by the flames of Hadesand Gibbs could only wonder if he could survive by making a deal with the devil right now. Would anyone survive? Too many innocent lives had been conveniently eliminated already...what would a mere handful of pesky NCIS agents amount to in the grand scheme of all this? He quickly made up his mind and sighed, pulling himself up and squaring his shoulders.

"I can't tell you, sir."

"Can't? Or won't?"

"Both, sir," the response was immediate and Gibbs could plainly see the fury spark in those dark depths. Satan was about to pay a visit.

Pennington reached to one side of his desk and touched a button on the intercom. There was a soft buzz and, a moment later, the door behind Gibbs opened and closed quietly.

Gibbs wanted to turn and look, was trained not to have his back to any entrance, but whoever had entered was staying close to the door and had not said a word. The compulsion was like a terrible itch in the back of his brain and he could see Pennington watching, waiting, wondering just how long he'd be able to hold out before cracking under the pressure. Gibbs took a deep, steadying breath, found his center, and let the air back out slowly through his nose. Pressure? Hell, this was nothing compared to what he'd endured while in the Corps. Fuck 'em...if they wanted to play the waiting game, he'd show them how to do it.

Pennington must have detected the minute change in the NCIS agent's demeanor because he carefully laced his big fingers together over the confidential folder and arched a challenging eyebrow. "You can tell me now, Agent Gibbs, or I can have you placed in a cell until you give me the information I want. Life for me will go on as usual but for you...well, let's just say there will be no way for you to know when we finally catch up to those who are still out there following your orders. We may get them tomorrow or next week or maybe not even until next year but, I promise you, they will be found...and dealt with. Is that what you want?"

"Does it even matter what I want?" Gibbs was past the point of politeness now...anger was creeping in. Hell, if he was going to go down, he'd go down fighting. "And if you're planning on throwing me in the brig, I have a right to know the charge."

"How does conspiracy sound?"

Gibbs whipped his head around as the intruder finally spoke and rose immediately from his seat, his strong, capable body tensing with fury and disbelief and outrage. He turned back to face Pennington, not able to look at the face of the person by the door a moment longer, and clenched his fists in rage.

"You son of a bitch..."

"Careful, Agent Gibbs," Pennington warned, one hand shifting to hover over the intercom again, "there's an armed Marine guard just outside my door and another at the office entrance. Violence is not going to get you anywhere. Now, sit down...we have a lot to discuss."

Gibbs remained on his feet for a few seconds more before following the orders, completely ignoring the fact Pennington was rising to his own feet and gesturing with one hand toward the new arrival. He couldn't stand to look back up now, so let his gaze settle on a small flaw on the SecNav's desk.

"Please, come join us," Pennington was directing the person toward the seat next to Gibbs.

"Thank you."

And, as the figure moved into his line of sight and before he could stop himself, Gibbs looked up into the smirking, satisfied face of Jen Shepard, her eyes filled wirh an emotion so full of glee he couldn't even put a name on it. He felt his stomach clench as the rest of his hope crumbled into dust.

"Hello, Jethro."


TBC

Glancing distractedly at the thin, expensive band of silver encircling her left wrist, Jen Shepard frowned as she caught sight of the time and hastened her steps, silently glad she'd managed to get a hold of Rodrigo before leaving NCIS headquarters and convincing him to remain late at his salon in Alexandria to take care of her little 'problem' tonight. It was well past his normal business hours but, after offering the dark, good-looking Cuban-American twice the usual fee for his services, Shepard had been able to sway the young man fairly easily to her way of thinking. No matter what town she was in or what country the town was in, the story always seemed to remain the same: a little cold, hard cash went a very, very long way.

Gripping the collar of her flapping coat closed at the neckline, Shepard tucked her chin low against another gust of cold wind and stepped faster, hoping the heels of her new, pricey pumps wouldn't suddenly decide to slip out from under her in one of the many shallow puddles spread out on the rough, wet sidewalk ahead. She hated being so much shorter than her male counterparts and often had to resort to more mundane methods in trying to close the gap, no matter how fake or trivial it seemed, and found a higher pair of heels and her spiky, new haircut did wonders in aiding the overall, desired effect. Except for moments like now, when the heels slowed her progress and the hair, itself, needed a bit of lift and rejuvenation. Sighing at the thought, she glanced up and caught sight of her destination.

Rodrigo was at the door of his upper-class salon to meet her, quickly whisking the damp coat from her shoulders, and shaking the accumulated moisture off before hanging it on the provided stand just to one side of the doorway. He'd already closed the shades to deter any unwanted customers after his last regular client had left just before eight and was now reaching to turn the deadbolt before speaking to the new arrival, securing them safely inside.

"I almost thought you'd changed your mind and decided not to come," he tossed a dimpled smile her way, his even, white teeth so attractive against his naturally-dark skin, "especially with the weather starting to kick up like it is now. Getting pretty nasty out there, eh?"

"I'm sorry, Rod," Shepard had the grace to look embarrassed and proceeded to follow him as he started toward the back of the shop, reaching to snag a charcoal-colored smock she knew she'd be needing...nothing ruined a nice, silk blouse quicker than harsh processing chemicals...and began to disrobe under his watchful gaze. Rodrigo had seen everything before but she stepped into the doorway of the open changing alcove to give an illusion of modesty, permitting him to look at his leisure. She arched an eyebrow at him and smirked. "You've got everything ready to go?"

"Always," he grinned again, leaning a hip seductively against the waiting chair in his private work space, and skimming over the ample cleavage threatening to spill from the frilly bra before directing his gaze upwards. He arched an eyebrow right back at her and let his smile widen. "What exactly did you have in mind for tonight?"

Swiftly wrapping the appropriate protective garb around her body and tying the sash tightly closed, Shepard stepped from the alcove and moved toward the seat, standing toe to toe with the handsome man. She shook her head at his overt audacity. With her heels as high as they were, she wasn't much shorter than Rodrigo and it made her feel bold.

"Can't you see what I need?" She asked coyly, voice pitched soft and eyelashes lowered.

Rodrigo knew this game, was an expert player, and Jen Shepard was just one of several he readily took on. He loved a good challange, always had, but found he loved it even more when there were benefits. But he could easily see she was here tonight for one reason alone and that was just fine by him, too. He allowed his gaze to leave her eyes and rise to the top of her head, studying the fine strands, examining the color and the length, and sighed at what he saw.

"Why do you always wait so long before coming back to see me?" He chastised gently, shaking his head and taking a step back, all pretenses and sexual innuendos falling immediately away as he shifted into professional mode. He pointed to the vacant chair with one smoothly manicured finger. "Sit down and let me get the mix going."

Shepard smiled and took the indicated seat, watching in the mirror as Rodrigo turned away and moved toward a small back section of the salon where the stylists kept and prepared their mysterious concoctions and potions. Her eyes drifted across the broad shoulders, down the solid back, and settled on the tight, leather-covered ass as he reached to begin mixing her special blend. She considered herself very lucky for finding Rod when she had, at a time when the need was the greatest: starting a new position within the upper echelons of NCIS, feeling trapped and rutted into her antiquated and matronly appearance, knowing she needed the drive to compete with the younger, more vital subordinates she saw everyday, and, ironically, wanting to garner the attention of an ex-lover. Shepard frowned and shook her head at the last thought, shoving all consideration of Jethro Gibbs from her mind. He was well out of the picture now anyway.

"Whatever you're thinking about, you need to stop right now," Rodrigo was suddenly back, a small bowl and brush in hand, instructing the woman in his low, accented voice. "Looking like that does nothing to help all those fine lines across your forehead."

"Oh, shut up, Rod," Shepard scolded without any heat and smiled at his reflection, shifting a bit on the thickly-padded chair and getting into a more comfortable position as he placed and clipped a clean towel carefully around her neck and shoulders. She watched as he grinned and reclaimed the shallow bowl of chemicals and began to apply it systematically to her hair.

"Want to talk about it?" He asked off-handedly as he worked, dark eyes never leaving the top of her head.

"No," she sighed, even though she really would like nothing better, and let her eyes drift closed. She knew he would understand and not be offended. Rod was well aware of her profession and position and, unlike other stylists she'd gone to in the past, was comfortable with or without conversation and never asked personal or leading questions. If she felt like talking, he would always wait until she selected a topic.

After the chemical concoction had been applied, Shepard had been regulated for the requisite time under the hated, hot dryer, leafing distractedly through the pages of some magazine containing photographs of beautiful younger people and, now, reclined blissfully in the chair placed before the deep sink used for shampoos and rinses. There was just absolutely nothing better, in her opnion, about the whole ordeal of having her hair done professionally, than the time spent in this particular chair. Here, she could relax back in the cushioned seat, eyes closed against the world and the cares of the day, letting expert fingers stroke and massage and soothe every single knot and tension away, right down the drain. There was just nothing in the whole world better than this and, thankfully, Rod had some of the best fingers in the city.

So relaxed and lulled almost to the verge of sleep, Shepard hardly reacted when Rodrigo quietly excused himself to procure a clean, warm towel from the dryer situated in the back storage room, and contented herself to just rest on the threshold of slumber, floating on the cusp between wakefulness and dreamland, letting her body slump bonelessly in the chair. Unfortunately, it didn't take long before he was back, his large hands immediately stroking her wet hair but, instead of draping the expected clean towel over her head and helping her to rise, the fingers gripped onto the short strands and held tight, keeping her in place.

"Rod?" Shepard asked, confused by his actions, and opened her eyes to gaze up into the face of a stranger.

"Hello, Director Shepard."

Shepard jerked in the chair and tried to push up but the hand in her hair held her down and, frighteningly, another man was suddenly there, moving to straddle her lap, his heavy weight easily trapping her slighter frame against the seat. She didn't know them, didn't recognize them, but certainly knew their type. Her fear soared as her eyes flashed from one to the other. Assassins. As her hands came up to strike out, they were quickly captured and slammed back against the armrests, the thin bones of her wrists bruising under the terrible pressure of the big man's intense grip.

"Stop! Let me go!" She yelled frantically, trying to squirm away form their holds, eyes large and desperate. "Rod! Oh, God, Rod...where are you?!"

"Just be quiet, Director Shepard," the man holding her hair instructed with deceptive calm, gazing impassively down as she continued to struggle, his light eyes cold and unemotional. "There's nothing you can do now, so why not just stop fighting us?"

"Like hell I will!" Shepard spat and renewed her efforts, the sudden surge of adrenaline fueling her movements. She screamed for her friend again. "Rod!!"

"He's dead, so there's no reason to keep shouting for his assistance," the man hovering over her informed impassively.

Shepard was panting from the exertion and the fear but she didn't settle down, the news of Rod's death registering and disturbing her that much more. "No! Who are you?! Why are you doing this?! What's..."

"Enough of the questions," the man stopped her quickly, snapping a wicked-looking switchblade from his pocket and bringing the ugly, sharp edge close to one of her unblemished cheeks. His pale eyes seemed dull and void of any emotion as he studied her skin. "We're not here to give you any answers...just to deliver a message."

Fear ratcheted through her already tense body but she immediately stilled, the threat of being sliced open striking more terror than she'd ever imagined. The man on her lap shifted but kept her wrists pinned and immobile and all she could do was look up in horror as the terrible blade drew nearer. She knew she was shaking, knew the situation was out of her control, and knew, without a doubt, if Rodrigo was dead and these two men weren't actively trying to conceal their identities, she was probably breathing her lasts breaths on earth right now, too. Swallowing thickly against the terrifying thought, Jen Shepard tried to get her lips to form the only thing her usually quick mind could think about.

"Mess...message?" She managed, tears breaking free and streaming down the side of her cheeks and running into the hairline by her ears. The blade was touching the fragile skin now, cutting gently, shallowly, a pale imitation of a lover's caress, bringing such exquisite pain she immediately cried out.

"You fucked up good, Shepard," the sharp edge continued to slowly slice through the delicate skin and underlying tissue, going deeper, the welder unconcerned and unmoved by the rapidly growing amount of blood and the woman's agonized cries. "You couldn't rein in your own people and, now, look at the mess you're in."

"I did all I could do! Oh, please!!" She screamed as a different section of her face was carefully attended to, the horrible sensation shifting to the other cheek.

"No, you didn't," the low voice continued conversationally, never stopping the glide of the blade, "and now my boss has to find a way to clean all this up without bringing any unwanted attention to himself."

"I...I...can still help! I can find a way!! Oh, please! Please!!" She screamed anew, arching as the knife bit deeper...again and again...on her chin, across the bridge of her nose, under her right eye.

The blade was suddenly away from her line of sight and, for the span of a heartbeat, Shepard actually thought she would survive this attack...until it reappeared momentarily and moved up toward the hairline directly above her forehead, just out of the range of vision. She tried to pull free, tried to throw the heavy weight off, tried to get these two men to stop their assault.

"I just hate short hair on women, don't you, Carlo? Makes them look too much like men."

The edge was cutting, more than shallow now, curving around and down toward an ear. Shepard bucked and shrieked and she knew she was losing precious blood and that her struggles just acerbated the situation. But she couldn't just sit still and let this happen. The blade was now repeating the incision to the other side, creating a type of repulsive symmetry, and, when she screamed and jerked hard again at the horrible sensation, she felt her scalp begin to tear, ripping away from the skull below.

"Yeah, I hate this haircut," the man still held tight at the crown of her hair, fingers never easing, his hard, beady eyes now fixed on his handiwork. "Go on, bitch...help me get rid of this hair."

Shepard convulsed uncontrollably as the pain soared unbelievably, pleading and crying for mercy. "Please, stop...I'll do...anything...you want! Anything!!"

The pale eyes were on hers instantly and the vile man brought his face close. "What could you possibly do that I'd have any interest in?"

Shepard floundered in the seat and in her mind, eyes darting about, tired and confused and desperate for relief. "I...I could...I..."

The man jerked callously on the handful of hair and she arched hard against the torturous movement, her bloody, ruined face twisting into a mask of indescribable agony. There was a new, sudden pressure under her chin, pushing her head back at an even more severe angle, exposing the long line of her white throat, and she blearily realized she could almost see the back of the deep sink now.

"You could do *nothing*...except bleed," the slick voice insisted. "And I'll be sure to tell my boss how nicely you did it for me and Carlo. Though, I doubt he'll care one way or the other, just as long as you're out of the picture."

"...please..." she just had to keep trying, "...please..."

"Shhhh," the deep voice soothed falsely and then tugged hard again, "let's take a bit more off the top, shall we?"

Shepard's terrified scream was cut off as the end of a towel was jammed roughly into her open, gaping mouth, the slightly-wet bitterness exploding across her tongue and filling her senses with the taste of processing chemicals and solutions. She choked and tried to spit the course material from her mouth but it was held securely and shoved further in, invading all the space and threatening to crowd the soft tissue at the back of her throat. Raggedly, she sucked air in through her nose, trying to fill her aching lungs, wondering which way she was finally going to die. It wasn't until she saw the long, flexible spray hose rise in the man's free hand that it all became crystal clear.

"Time for a rinse," he whispered ominously and proceeded to fill her face with a hard shower of cold, bitter water, momentarily stealing away her precious need to breathe and flushing the flowing rivlets of blood into the deep basin under her head. The water pelted into her eyes, into the open wounds, into her nostrils, beating relentlessly and unending. Her vision swam and grew dim, turning gray and unfocused, and her struggles lessened...slowly, bit by bit, energy and will and fight swirling away to trickle down the drain and into the sewers below.

In the end, it didn't take very long, and the two men made short work of the final clean-up in Rodrigo's deserted salon, removing all evidence of their presence and of the evening's activities, taking the bodies away for proper disposal. They worked effeciently as a team, like always, and just as they got ready to leave the secluded outskirts on the far fringes of Alexandria, the pale-eyed man removed his cell phone from a pocket and placed the call he knew his boss was waiting to receive.

"Yes, sir," he spoke respectfully when the voice responded on the other end, "it's been done." He paused as his boss spoke to him and replied instantly. "No, no problems...just as you wanted." Another pause and then it was coming to an end. "Yes, sir. We're heading back now. See you soon."

The man pocketed his phone and slid into the passenger seat of the dark sedan, casting his eyes one last time in the general direction where they'd dumped the bodies. It was getting close to midnight and, in this remote, wooded area, it would probably be a very long time before the two corpses would be discovered. By then, the effects of the harsh chemicals stolen from the salon would have done a world of damage and, without the presence of teeth or fingers, the discarded couple just might remain unidentifiable for quite awhile. Allowing a final, satisfied sigh, the man turned to his partner and grunted.

"Let's go, Carlo...Mr. DiNozzo is waiting for us at home."
________________________________________

Ziva David sighed and glanced back over her shoulder, eyes hidden behind her dark glasses, watching as Fornell tended to DiNozzo on a small, grassy spot under the shading arms of a lone tree a short distance away from the hot tarmac, plying water with soft words and even softer touches, getting the younger man to do things she'd been unable to do since fleeing Doctor Sebastian's ranch days ago. Their motorcycles were parked close by and, again because of Fornell, the packs strapped over the seats were now filled with a few necessary items she and DiNozzo had been without. The FBI agent had brought a wad of cash and the promise of safety...and David had never felt so uneasy and suspicious since beginning this whole rescue mission. Something just wasn't right...

They'd been able to leave the relative security of Farmington earlier in the day, just as the sun was rising, heading south on the back roads and avoiding traffic, only after DiNozzo had convinced them both of his ability to travel. Fornell's morphine was doing the trick, obviously, masking the constant pain the young man was still feeling but it was clearly evident his regressed body wasn't recovering...not like she thought it should be, at any rate...but he was attempting, in his own way, to help them help him. But at what cost? David turned her brooding gaze away from the duo and climbed the rest of the way up the small, rocky rise, working toward a better vantage point, determined to focus on the job and ignore her traveling companions during this brief but necessary respite. She knew, maybe better than any, the importance of remaining vigilant...especially now that they were making a bit of headway in their progress.

The promise of an extended rest and of long, hot showers and of a bed made with clean, fresh sheets called in a siren's song continually to her. What they'd had briefly in Farmington, at the run-down, rat-trap of a dive, had been far from comfortable and just barely tolerable. David was use to hardship, was trained to ignore simple bodily wants, and could maintain her present condition as long as necessary but, as she saw it, there just wasn't any good reason for it now. Their destination was only a few hundred miles away and, if they could get DiNozzo rested and back on the motorcycle fairly soon, they would all be enjoying a hot meal at suppertime in Red Bluff, Texas, under the keen and watchful eye of one of Gibbs' old Marine buddies.

David had been curious and extremely suspicious when Fornell had informed her of the plan, had been concerned about the information leaking out to those they were trying to elude, but the FBI agent had just shaken his head and told her she needed to trust Gibbs a little more. It wasn't that she didn't trust Gibbs...it was because Gibbs wasn't here and she was having to take the word of a man she hardly knew. The Mossad officer sighed. Trust was so difficult to find and a commodity not easily come by nowadays. Casting one more look back toward the tree, David pushed those thoughts away and began to scan the surroundings. The time for more worry could come later.

In the cooler area under in shaded spot, Fornell sat on the bit of wild grass and cradled an unresisting DiNozzo close to his chest, speaking quietly and coaxing small sips of water into the partially willing mouth. The younger man seemed calm and relaxed but his smooth face was still too pale, too tense and still, occasionally, scrunched into a tight, hard clench when some new pain hit.

"Just a bit more," he requested softly. "Come on, Tony, just one more sip."

"'kay," the voice continued to be a bit weak but the lips parted to accept the fluid without argument.

Fornell quickly recapped the bottle and laid it to one side, using the moisture on his fingers to brush across DiNozzo's dry cheek. The continual wind and sun was leaching the moisture from all of them pretty quickly, so these regular stops were essential...and not just for DiNozzo. He sighed and glanced toward David's position.

"Looks like Ziva is scouting the area," he said off-handedly, just trying to make conversation...and trying to see how coherent the younger man really was at this point.

"For...what?" DiNozzo huffed softly and turned his glassy eyes in that general direction, not really seeing the woman but looking anyway. "Armadillos...and scorpions?"

Fornell chuckled at the response. It was good to see some of DiNozzo's wit still present. That he was very rational-sounding was a boon, as well.

"Maybe," he agreed, readjusting his grip as the youthful-looking man shifted slightly in his hold, "or maybe she's trying to find a nice, cool lake where we all can go skinny-dipping."

DiNozzo grinned but closed his eyes, a small, short hum of agreement sounding deep within his chest. It felt good to be off the damn motorcycle, good to be able to lay flat for awhile, and so good to be out of the blistering sun. But the thought of being immersed in a clear pool of refreshing water sounded like a little slice of heaven right now.

"Maybe later," DiNozzo mumbled softly, "when I've...regained my manly...physique."

Fornell chuckled openly and smiled down into the pale face. "Oh, I don't know...things look pretty good to me right now."

Fornell bit his tongue and looked quickly away, wondering if he was ever going to be able to stop his traitorious libido from rearing its ugly head and keeping himself from putting his foot in his mouth. Again.

"Tobias..." DiNozzo whispered, eyes open now and searching.

"I'm sorry, Tony," the FBI agent was apologizing without looking back. He didn't want or need to see the rejection again. Once had been plenty. "That was uncalled for."

"S'okay. I just...I," DiNozzo stumbled over his words and frowned, releasing a small, frustrated sigh. He pushed against the older man and tried to sit more on his own, ending up relying on Fornell's assistance to get upright and in a half-way comfortable position against the trunk of the gnarly tree. "Shit...I hate this."

"What?" Fornell asked, not sure he was going to like what was going to be revealed. He'd almost crossed the line when he'd been alone with DiNozzo two nights ago and was still reeling with the thoughts of what he'd almost done to the helpless young man. If DiNozzo wanted to say something, he just had to buck up and listen. "What do you hate?"

"Feeling so...disconnected," DiNozzo tried to explain, his green eyes glassy and dull. He rolled his head to one side and tried to capture a stalk of some weedy growth with his fingers but, with the morphine still muting his normal reflexes and responses, his hand-eye coordination was way off. Frustrated by his inability to do even the simplest task, the young man just gave up and settled for cursing again instead. "Shit..."

Fornell eyed the despondent figure. Dressed in the jeans and t-shirt David had purchased, and with the dark riding jacket gaping open across the chest as he lounged against the tree, DiNozzo looked like he'd just stepped out of the pages of some popular fashion magazine and landed in the wilds of New Mexico...all lean arms and long legs and tousled hair and Fornell knew if he didn't stop this train of thought, he'd be on the fast track for another major derailment of disappointment.

"It'll get better," Fornell said the first thing that popped into his mind. He frowned when DiNozzo closed his eyes again. "You still hurt?"

The young man was slowly shaking his head. "No...I'm good."

"You don't have to suffer, Tony..."

"No more!" He hissed with more emotion than Fornell had heard since joining them in Farmington. "Don't want...or need any more."

"Tony..."

"I said...I'm good, Tobias," he gritted and the emotion just seemed to suddenly bleed away, leaving him limp and exhausted. He panted and looked directly at the other man, a raw desperation clouding the glassy eyes. "I want to talk to Gibbs."

"We've been over this..."

"No," DiNozzo argued as best as he could, gaze flashing despite his fatigue, his tone almost childish, "*you've* been over this. That's...all you ever do. Talk and talk. I want...to talk now. To Gibbs."

"No."

DiNozzo's eyes darkened and his mouth formed a hard, thin line. "What...what do you mean 'no'? You can't just...say no."

"Why not?" Fornell knew the drug was robbing DiNozzo of his grip on reality but it was difficult to grow accustomed to witnessing these sudden shifts in his temperament again. They were hard to watch and it was growing even harder to get him to understand. "Tony, we're just trying to protect you."

"So you say," he mumbled peevishly, digging his long fingers into a spot of bare earth.

"Yes, I say," Fornell grabbed the discarded water bottle and rose swiftly to his feet, striding the short distance toward his Harley and shoving the container roughly into a pack. He needed a little space now before he ended up saying or doing something that would hurt the younger man's fragile ego or cause another fissure of misunderstanding. They'd be at Red Bluff, hopefully, by early evening and then, if everything had been going as planned in DC, DiNozzo would be able to speak to Gibbs like he wanted. He cast his gaze quickly back to David's position on the rise and sighed, moving back to squat next to DiNozzo.

"Feel like trying to stretch your legs a bit?" Fornell offered kindly.

"No," came the immediate petulant response.

Fornell's lips quirked indulgently. "Well, you need to try anyway." He started to reach toward the seated figure. "Come on, you know the old saying, 'Use it or lose it'."

DiNozzo tried to avoid the man's hands but only ended up slumping ungracefully to one side. "I've got one...for you," he offered snidely. "'fuck off'. Ever hear...that one?"

"All the time," Fornell grinned and shook his head, easily capturing the thin, youthful body by the shoulders and pulling steadily until DiNozzo was, somewhat, standing on his own two feet. They swayed together momentarily and the FBI agent couldn't help the flare of desire when the younger man leaned forward and tucked his smooth, pale face against the broader shoulder. He had to swallow roughly before he could speak. "You okay?"

There was a brief pause before DiNozzo responded but, when he did, his voice was soft and repentant. "Yeah, I'm okay. I'm...such a dick, Tobias...and I'm sorry."

Fornell pulled the slighter body in close for a sweet, fleeting embrace and then carefully eased him away, keeping his hands anchored to the slim shoulders for stability. "Yeah, you are sometimes," he agreed and then laughed when DiNozzo faked a righteously offended face, "but that doesn't mean I'm going to just give up."

DiNozzo nodded slowly and sighed. "Good. So...we just going to...stand here or should we...try moving?"

"Moving is good," Fornell agreed, not really looking forward to letting go. "Think you can do this all by yourself?"

DiNozzo shrugged with one shoulder and tested his weight and balance. "I can try...but you better not...go too far."

"Never," Fornell assured before he could think of how it might sound.

If DiNozzo considered the assurance anything other than just an agreement to stay close, he let it slide, and turned to take his first hesitant step. "You know...I was doing...so good at...Victoria's." He took another step and nodded. "Swimming every day..."

"Sounds nice," Fornell offered as he hovered to one side, watching the unsteady, faltering steps.

"Yeah," DiNozzo agreed, panting a bit more and bringing a hand up to lightly press against his stomach, "it was. I just hate...what happened."

"Don't, Tony," Fornell knew where the younger man's thoughts were heading. No one had forgotten the two lives lost back in Utah but now wasn't the time to have such morose musings. He placed a gentle hand on the nearest shoulder. "There will be plenty of time for that later."

DiNozzo nodded and stumbled and Fornell easily caught him, wrapping strong, steady arms around his mid-section and holding tight. They were both breathing a bit heavy by the time they were back in the shade of the tree. Once seated, Fornell could see the younger man was clutching more tightly at his stomach. Not a good sign.

"You can have another shot if..."

"No," DiNozzo gritted angrily again and tried to push away from Fornell's support. "I don't want...to start relying on...that shit."

"Tony..."

"I said no!" He yelled...and then crumpled sideways, legs drawing up and arms wrapping tightly. His breath hitched and he couldn't hold back the soft moan but, whether he wanted to admit it or not, he was glad for Fornell's constant supportive presence. "Gibbs...Gibbs wouldn't understand."

Fornell cursed under his breath and wrestled until he could maneuver the younger body back into his embrace, holding securely and rocking unconsciously. For better or worse, it always seemed to come back to Gibbs. Always.

"Let me tell you something," Fornell hissed close to one of DiNozzo's ears, catching sight as David began slowly making her way back to their location. "Gibbs knows about the morphine and I'm sure he knows how you feel about dependency but, as God is my witness, Tony, Gibbs doesn't want you to be in pain. Do you understand? Gibbs told me to make sure you weren't in any pain."

"You're just...telling me that," DiNozzo gasped and twisted a bit in the older man's grip, managing to look up into the angry, confused face. "He...he won't like me...becoming some...addict."

There was real fear reflected in DiNozzo's eyes and Fornell had to wonder what had happened in the young man's past that would cause this kind of reaction. Then again, it could just be the drug talking. Still...

"Gibbs doesn't want you to suffer," he tried to reason again, more calmly, trying to get DiNozzo to settle. The younger man was resisting the words and trying to resist the re-emerging pain but seemed to be failing on both accounts. He clutched at Fornell's shirt-front and gritted through the worse of it. "Christ, Tony, don't be so pig-headed. Let me help you."

Tears appeared in the glassy eyes and, before he knew what was happening, DiNozzo was clinging and trying to burrow closer, face pressing to the front of his shirt and fingers clutching hard at the fabric. Fornell just grabbed tight and held on as best as he could.

"I'm scared," the muffled confession was difficult to hear but both Fornell and the newly arrived David got the message loud and clear. "I thought I was...getting better. What's...what's wrong with...me?"

The shaking was starting again, as was the tight, jerking movements, and Fornell recognized this as a prelude of things to come. Silently indicating toward his Harley with the tip of his head, he motioned for David to retrieve the medical supplies from his pack. He watched her hesitate and frown but, ultimately, did as bid, her dark, dangerous eyes flashing her disapproval and displeasure.

"It's going to be okay," Fornell soothed DiNozzo as he accepted the small kit from the woman, ignoring her expression and the low, almost animal-like growl of censure. As far as he was concerned, David could just go fuck herself for all he cared right now.

Maneuvering DiNozzo into the desired position and getting one arm free from the confines of the jacket's full sleeve was a bit more difficult when he had to do it under these conditions and by himself but Fornell finally succeeded. The younger man was still putting up a weak, half-hearted resistence, mumbling soft words of protest, asking again and again, almost begging, for the chance to talk to Gibbs but the FBI agent persisted and kept his mind on the task at hand. Taking one of the more convenient morphine-loaded auto-injectors Ducky had indicated needed to be used after the initial dose had been given, Fornell pushed up the short sleeve of the gray t-shirt, swabbed the desired location on the solid part of the upper arm, and administered the pain-killer into the underlying muscle, ignoring the low hiss of objection and the start of the quiet, steady tears. When the task was completed, Fornell flung the disposable device angrily to one side and pulled the softly sobbing young man back into his arms.

"It's okay, Tony," he whispered, lips against the fine hair, gently rocking them both and trying to bring a measure of comfort. "It's all going to be okay."

Off to one side, standing silently and observing the scene under the tree with keen interest, David watched Fornell carefully, her dark, attentive eyes hidden once more behind a pair of concealing sunglasses. She didn't like his quick administering of the morphine, she didn't like having to follow his so-called instructions in lieu of Gibbs, and she certainly didn't like the way he continued to fawn and fondle DiNozzo. She curled her upper lip and sneered in disgust as the FBI agent moved his mouth from the young man's hair to the smooth skin of his forehead, whispering quiet words she couldn't hear but could clearly interpret.

This was not right. Fornell was over-stepping the boundaries and had to be stopped.

Turning toward her sleek Kawasaki, David slid her hand into the side pocket of her pack and let her fingers touch the cool handle of one of her knives. It would be so easy to be rid of the infuriating older man and to finish this assignment herself. She didn't need Fornell and, by the looks of it, neither did DiNozzo. Just one sharp snap of her wrist and she could send the blade flying to wedge deeply into his chest or throat but, with the man holding DiNozzo as he was, that would be too risky. The situation, she realized, called for something more up-close and personal, just like she always preferred.

Smiling grimly and quickly making her decision, Ziva David tucked the knife into the palm of her hand and turned to move back toward the tree and the duo sitting underneath...and stepped directly into the path of a coiled rattlesnake.


TBC

Oh, yeah, there we go. Feeling better now. Feeling *much* better. Kind of light and dreamy and floaty. Floaty? Is that a real word? Hell, I don't really care if it is or not because that's *exactly* how I'm feeling at the moment. Floaty and mellow. Oh, yeah. Sort of like drifting or flying or like being high...which is precisely what I am right now. High. Extremely high. High as a kite. High as the Space Shuttle. Hell, high as Uranus. Heh...your anus...

Okay, I gotta stop making stupid analogies...if I can. I'm not usually so stupid. I know why I'm feeling this way. It's because of Fornell and his fucking morphine. Shit. I hate it and crave it all at the same time and all I can think of is how well and royally screwed I am right now. And floaty...

Which I guess is good because, even with the drug, I'm not foolish enough to think my traitorous body is actually getting any better. Hell, no. I know the morphine is doing nothing more than disguising the problem...whatever it may be...and making me do nothing but lay here under this honking big tree and bask in the blessed relief. Christ, it just feels *so* good not to have those claws digging into my intestines and twisting them into square knots or half hitches or some other decorative tangle. Hmm...wonder how many plant hangers could be macramed out of one man's intestines? A bunch, I bet.

Yeah, the morphine is really doing its job and all I want to do is enjoy it. No pain. Well, none to speak of really. It's there, just muted and dull. Ghostly and diluted. Pale. Sure nothing like what it had been and that's a fact. Thank God for big favors. No, that's not quite right and I'm trying my best to figure out what it is. Oh, yeah, now I remember: thank *Fornell*. Yeah, that's right. The bastard...

Anyway, it feels so good just to lay here and let my mind wander without having to dwell on the pain anymore, especially with that nice, soft breeze blowing across my sweaty face and the dappled sunlight playing hide and seek through the leaves overhead. Peekaboo, I see you...not. Heh... Fuck, I'm so messed up. But it's really peaceful and would almost be perfect, if it wasn't for those stupid, squabbling voices. Voices? Where? Somewhere close by. Sounds like something I should take notice of. Something between Fornell and Ziva, I think...and a knife. Knife?

Shit, Ziva and a knife are a deadly mix. I hope Fornell knows that but, if he doesn't, he probably will real soon. Maybe that's what the problem is. I don't know. Fornell is a morphine-pushing bastard and Ziva is a...what? There's something about Ziva that's tapping like an ice-pick against my brain and it's really bothering me now. Something about her and her motorcycle. Oh, yeah, now I remember: Ari. Ari fucking Haswari. There's a connection between them, I just know it but what? I don't know. I'm too damn floaty. I think I had it a while ago but it's just not here now. I sure wish Gibbs was here...he'd know what to tell me...and I think he'd really know what to do about the situation. Yeah, he'd know...

Well, as much as I'd like to just lay here, I think I've got to see what happening. I push myself up as best as I can and blink in their general direction...or in the direction of the sound of their voices anyway. Huh, that's strange. They're just standing there, looking down at something...something on the ground...beside Ziva's feet. Wonder what it could be? Well, now that I'm feeling nice and floaty, I think I'll just take a closer look.

"Tony!"

Fornell is hissing at me before I can even roll over and get to my hands and knees. That's just so rude. He can't hiss at me like that. Fuck him. I manage to get into position and start to crawl their way.

"Stay back!"

I stop and blink up at him, hesitating, and wondering why they're both standing so still out here in the hot sun. Stupid idiots. And why doesn't he want me to come any closer? He's not the boss of me. My eyes aren't doing such a good job out here and don't seem to want to focus on anything for long. It's too bright and unfriendly. Squint city out here. Big time. Wish I had my sunglasses...or my cap...or both. Yeah, that'd be good.

"Why?" I manage to ask as I steady myself on my knees, feeling a slow, continual spin begin inside my head. Nothing major. No rollercoaster or whirligig...just a sluggish tilting that makes me want to close my eyes for a moment. Just a moment. So, I think I will...

"Tony!"

Fornell is snapping at me now, ragging on my last nerve, so I raise my head back up and look his way. I don't like the tone of his voice and want to tell him just to shut up. I sit back on my haunches, trying to control the spin in my head, and glare at him, squinting in the sunshine.

"What?" I try to bark at him in my best 'Gibbs' voice but I don't think it comes out that way. I think I sounded more like McGee just then. No bark...just byte. Heh...byte. I'm so fucking funny...

Fornell and Ziva are standing just like they were, facing each other, and Ziva is still staring down at the ground. What's she see? I'm closer to the ground than either one of them...hell, I'm *on* the ground...so I'm trying to see what the fascination is. All I need is to get a little bit closer.

"Tony!"

Fornell is almost yelling but not quite and his voice makes me stop. I'm confused, I admit it, but he doesn't have to treat me like this. He's been watching over me and seeing to my comfort and needs and I've been relying on him for just about everything since he showed up in...wherever the hell we were...and he holds me when I don't feel good and when the pain gets real bad, he knows and helps, even if I think I don't need it...

"Don't move!"

I'm really confused now...

"Okay." I grudgingly agree and just sit, head down and eyes looking at the dirt under my hands. The sunlight is really intense out here and I can feel it beating down on the back of my neck, heating the skin and making it feel hot and swollen, and all I really want to do is go back into the shade. But Fornell said to not move. I sigh and chance a glance their way and immediately see reflected light glinting brightly off something in Ziva's right hand. Oh, yeah...her knife. Knife! "Tobias!"

Ziva has her knife and I have to get to Fornell and why isn't he moving? Why are neither of them moving? This is crazy!

"Tobias!" I yell again because, obviously, he must not have heard me the firstb time and I start to crawl toward them, ignoring his previous instructions, and now they're both quickly moving and I can see Ziva's hand flash out and Fornell is jerking back and grunting and...and...oh, shit...my head is spinning way too fast now and the sun must have gone behind a cloud because, all of a sudden, it's not so bright out here anymore. It's gray and dim and it's a lot like looking through a long, dark tunnel. Well, shit...I think I need to lay down...right now...in the dirt...immediately...if not sooner...

When I finally manage to reopen my eyes, I'm flat on my back and in the shade under the big, honking tree again. I don't know how much time has passed but I'm glad the spinning has stopped and I'm happy the leaves overhead are rustling in the breeze but I think there's someone close by and I need to see who it is. I turn my head slowly, to keep the spinning and whirling from restarting, and blink hard to clear the haze.

It's Ziva. Fuck.

I push up as quickly as I can, which probably isn't really all that fast, forgetting about the dreaded spinning and whirling, and try to back away from her, scuttling like a bug in the dirt. She gives me the strangest look but, honestly, Ziva's looks can be pretty strange most of the time anyway, so I don't know what she's thinking or going to do. I know what *I'm* thinking and I just want to put some distance between us...and find Fornell.

Fornell!

Tobias! I remember what was happening right before my little nose- dive into the dirt and push to my knees, looking frantically around. I can't see him...or his body...anywhere. Where is he? What has she done with him?

"Tony."

Ziva is suddenly at my side, perfectly balanced in an easy squat, brown eyes looking at me like I've lost my mind. She's raising a hand and reaching out to me...

...and I jerk away, trying to get to my feet but only managing to stumble and land hard, back on my aching knees again. I don't want her to touch me. I don't want her offering some false assistance. I have to get away from her before she kills me, too. I have to...

"Tony!"

It's Fornell! He's suddenly here, by my side, pushing between Ziva and me and, God, he looks so good and so alive. He reaches out to steady me just as I reach out to touch him, to make sure he's no illusion, and we sort of just fall into each other's arms. Christ, he's real and safe and alive and I don't think I want to let go. I push my face into the space under his chin and just breathe in the scent of him, smelling sweat and sunshine and safety.

"It's okay," Fornell is whispering repeatedly against my head, lips moving in my hair, and I just tighten my grip on him more. I have to tell him about Ziva.

"Tobias..." I start but he cuts me off by trying to ease me back. I don't want that, not right now. I want to hold on for just a little while longer and tell him what I suspect about Ziva's connection to Ari Haswari. He needs to know. He's like Gibbs...he'll know what to do. I think. I struggle to maintain my hold, grasping at his shirt but he's being persistent...very persistent.

"Tony," he's almost saying my name like he's talking to some little kid now and I don't want that from him. He's never treated me that way and I sure as hell don't want him to start doing it now.

"I have to tell you something," I grab his face and hold it between both of my hands and force his eyes to meet mine. "Please! You have to listen to me!"

Fornell's eyes connect and never leave mine and I can clearly see he's silently debating something. I don't know why he just won't take the time to listen to me. I'd listen to him, if our roles were reversed.

"We don't have time for this now," Ziva hisses at us and turns away, stalking toward the waiting motorcycles and reaching for her jacket and her helmet. I drop my gaze from Fornell's face and lay the side of my head back against his chest, watching her movements and feeling the wash of relief with each step she takes. The more distance, the better...

Fornell hugs me close again and I close my eyes at the level of security I feel. This is nice but I have to get him to listen. I take a deep breath and try once more.

"Tobias," I raise my face and peer into his warm eyes, "Ziva is dangerous. She..."

"Of course she's dangerous," he's smiling indulgently. "She just killed a rattlesnake with her knife."

What? A rattlesnake? No, that's not what I was going to say.

"No, listen..." I try again but have to close my eyes as he suddenly combs his fingers gently through my hair. Oh, yeah...that feels so good and I think I'd like him to do it again but I also need to tell him about...

"We have to get moving," he interrupts my thoughts and I frown.

"But..."

He's grabbing my upper arms and pulling me steadily to my feet and I have to return my head to his chest for a moment, just until the slight spinning ends. I can feel his hand making small, soothing circles low on my back, near the base of my spine, and I just can't help moaning softly and leaning into his strength...for only a moment or two longer.

But he won't let me rest. He's tugging me into motion again, toward his Harley, carefully placing the helmet on my head and looking at me so intently before flipping the visor down, I actually think he's going to tell me something vitally important. Maybe he already knows about Ziva and maybe he doesn't need to hear my allegations but I don't think that's it. His eyes look...strange...intense...hot. Hot? I blink hard as the final word registers in my brain and I'm suddenly aware...very aware...of how close we're standing and how carefully he's touching me and how much I like it. I mean, *really* like it.

Shit, this is not good.

I know I'm relying on him to help me with the pain and I know the comfort I get from him is measured along with the drug he administers but I know exactly who *really* has control of my heart and that person isn't here right now. But I can't deny there's something calling out to me, pulling at me, and, God, I don't know if I've got the strength or the will to resist. Plus, I don't believe I'm actually using much of my brain at the moment. I like the comfort and I like his casual touches and I'm so fucking confused right now, I don't know much of anything anymore.

"Get on the motorcycle," Fornell is directing me, helping me again, guiding my leg to aid in swinging it up and over the seat.

I shift back automatically to give him room and, once he's seated before me, I slide forward and snug up tight to his solid body, wrapping my arms around his mid-section, and holding securely. It feels good. *He* feels good and, when he suddenly grips one of my hands and slowly slides it down to rest against the erection housed tight behind the denim of his jeans, I feel strangely attracted and repulsed at the same time. I try, half-heartedly, to pull away but he's got a death-grip on my fingers and he keeps them trapped there, rubbing with enough pressure I can feel the hard length jump under the fabric. Oh, yeah, it feels so good...

I glance up and see Ziva has her back to us and a sharp thrill shoots through my body. I'm getting hard now, too, and my only thought is not, 'What in the hell am I doing?' That would be what any sane and logical-thinking person would consider. Obviously, that's not me at the moment...or Fornell. No, my first thought is, 'How far can I go without getting caught?'

I press my groin tight to his ass, hoping he'll stop this now before it really gets out of hand but I hear a low groan and have to wonder if it came from Tobias or me. Maybe it was both. It doesn't matter. This is so wrong and so exciting and so unbelievably hot, I don't think it would take much to make me come. Hell, just *thinking* about coming makes me want to come.

Holy shit. There's no denying it now, no matter how much I want to pretend otherwise: I am well and truly screwed.

___________________________________

Three days later, Jethro Gibbs was, once again, sitting across from Walter Pennington in the SecNav's large office, eyeing the man with his cool, blue gaze and watching silently as the dark-haired man concluded his telephone conversation with the Vice President of the United States. He was trying to remain as unobtrusive as possible but it almost seemed irrelevant. That he was even allowed in the same room while Pennington was on the line with the VP spoke volumes.

He shifted slightly to relieve the tension in his back and cast his eyes quickly toward the seat next to his, mildly reassured and slightly amused to see Ducky's avid expression as the medical examiner openly listened to Pennington's one-sided exchange. He wasn't even trying to hide the fact he was eavesdropping and Gibbs had to force back his smile. The older man seemed to be at ease no matter where he went or what the situation and just having him within arms-reach was more comforting than Gibbs could have ever imagined.

"Yes, sir. I'll keep your office apprised of the situation," Pennington spoke clearly, eyes fixed of a sheaf of paper resting on his desk, his big fingers toying absently with one bent edge. "Thank you for your time and assistance, sir."

As the SecNav completed the call and hung up the receiver, his gaze immediately rose and locked on Gibbs, brown eyes full of concern. He shook his head and took a moment to lean back in his seat before speaking to the two men again.

"This just seems to get stranger and stranger, Agent Gibbs. If you'd only confided in me when all this began, instead of traipsing across the country to Idaho like some vigilante, we may have been able to nip this in the bud and saved us all a world of problems."

"With all due respect, sir..." Gibbs began, only to be cut quickly off by the man at his side.

"With all due respect, Walter, there was nothing else Jethro could have done at the time and you're very aware of it. He did the only thing he could under the circumstances, followed correct proceedures, went to the next person in the chain of command, and look where it got him." Ducky glanced absently toward Gibbs and frowned. "Now what was it called again? Oh, yes...'protective custody'." He rolled his expressive eyes and refocused all his attention on the man behind the large desk. "Let's just cease this senseless waste of time and move on to more important matters. We have two members of Jethro's team and an FBI agent in a relatively secure location...as least, we hope they've arrived there...but, from what we've seen in the past, it may not remain secure for very long. I've lost a dear friend and a kind acquaintance and I don't imagine any of us wants to see any more innocent blood spilled. I know *I* don't, at any rate."

Pennington had shifted his gaze away from Gibbs as soon as Ducky had begun speaking and now kept his eyes on the diminutive older man, one eyebrow arching as his lips twitched seemingly of their own accord. "Well, it was rather fortuitous Agent Gibbs was under my 'protection' at the time, Doctor Mallard. If he hadn't been, I believe we would now be questioning him about Director Shepard's disappearance."

"Still no news about her?" Gibbs asked quietly and without emotion.

Pennington let his assessing gaze drift back. "None. Phone records show she placed a call to her hair stylist, from her office, but there's no indication of her ever arriving there, if she indeed made an appointment. Unfortunately, the man who owns and runs the salon can't be located either. Could be nothing but a coincidence..."

"But that's not likely at this point," Gibbs interjected when the SecNav paused.

"No," Pennington agreed and sighed, leaning forward and resting his elbows on the desk, "not with the direction of the investigation. Look, there was a new development last night and I want you both to be aware of it, especially since it seems to have move than a passing correlation to what's going on." He stopped again before continuing. "What can you tell me about Agent DiNozzo's father?"

Emotions flooded Gibbs' usually-stoic face: anger, disbelief, contempt. He took a deep breath, forcibly pushing those feelings away and leaned forward, arms braced on his knees and fists clenched tight in the open space between them. He looked across the small expanse dividing himself from the SecNav, slowly releasing the captured air, and was only dimly aware of Ducky's gentle hand coming to rest on his closest shoulder, stopping him from answering.

"Maybe you should just tell us what *you* know," the medical examiner requested softly.

Pennington was nodding his understanding. "I see. No love lost between them then, I take it? Well, maybe that explains a lot."

"What do you mean?" Gibbs asked, not even bothering with formalities now.

The SecNav's eyes turned sharp. "There's no need for me to keep anything from either of you at this point. My Under Secretary has had a team working round the clock since you first brought your concerns to this office, Agent Gibbs," he saw the honest surprise reflected in the blue eyes. "Just because I gave the impression I was following Director Shepard's lead on this, doesn't mean I fully believed her. In my line of work, I've found it prudent to examine all possibilities. At any rate, some disturbing information was uncovered during the investigations. It seems Agent DiNozzo's father has a long and intimate business relationship with Wilson-Halley...and that Director Shepard has had contact with both of them within the past two months."

"Son of a bitch!" Gibbs swore hotly and felt Ducky's grip momentarily tighten. He shrugged the hand off and shifted back in the seat.

"And Emilio Martinez?" Ducky wasn't the least bit concerned with Gibbs' actions. "How does he fit into the picture? Is there a DiNozzo connection there, too?"

"At this time, I don't have any evidence showing Mr. DiNozzo had any contact with Martinez but Wilson-Halley certainly has and, although it was years ago, huge sums of money have somehow passed from hand to hand and ended up in accounts used by Martinez for research and travel into many countries."

"Including this one," Gibbs spat and then sighed, pulling himself up to his feet and walking the short distance to the bank of windows that filled one complete wall.

It was late again and he gazed out into the dark Washington night, watching traffic blend and flow in its own strangely hypnotic rhythm, headlights and taillights forming paths and trails against the otherwise blackness of the city streets. There were a few buildings illuminated, a scattering of flags spotlighted, but a majority of the city was getting ready for rest. Forcing his tired, burning eyes away from the scene below, Gibbs instead focused on Pennington's reflected image in the glass.

"I was suppose to hear from Agent Fornell two nights ago," he stated quietly, arms crossing over his chest and head bending at a slight angle. "I'm not even sure my people are still alive."

"They are."

The news brought Gibbs swiftly back to the area by the desk but he refused to be seated again. "How do you know?"

"It seems when Agent Fornell couldn't reach you, he contacted the only other person he knew that could be trusted to do the right thing: former NCIS Director Tom Morrow."

"Oh, this is wonderful news!" Ducky was smiling up into Gibbs' face, the blue eyes filled with relief. "Thomas is cetainly a man to be trusted."

"Well, I think the fact your former Director and the current Director of the FBI are close friends might have made a difference."

"Pardon me for saying so but it shouldn't have mattered one way or the other," Gibbs felt confident again, now that he knew his people were all right, and wanted to speak his peace. "Agents from several agencies were initially involved in what we all thought was going to be an arrest of a suspect carrying information vital to Homeland Security and then were instructed to forget about the whole incident immediately afterwards. How could we forget? How could anyone who was there that day forget about what happened to Agent DiNozzo? That, alone, should have sent warning signals to every Director involved...and they should have questioned it." He saw the frown appear on Pennington's face. "I know you probably know now who gave that order to the Directors and I know you probably can't devulge that information. It wouldn't do me any good to know anyway. But Jen Shepard is the one who came back to headquarters after that meeting on The Hill and informed us of Agent DiNozzo's death. I don't know if she knew the real truth then but I suspect she did. That has to be why she fought so hard to discredit all the information we found and probably why she refused to even bring our concerns to you."

The three men were silent for a span of a few moments and then Ducky spoke. He suddenly sounded very tired.

"Dare we even hazard a guess to what has happened to her?"

Both Gibbs and Pennington turned their eyes his way but only the SecNav responded. "I don't think guesses are going to do any good at this point, Doctor Mallard. If she's still in the country, she's either well away from the Washington area or is dead."

Gibbs nodded his agreement. "May I ask, just how well does she know Agent DiNozzo's father?"

"Social gatherings for the most part, a few fund-raisers, that type of thing...and most before she took her position at NCIS. It seems she knows the current Mrs. DiNozzo rather well...from her time spent overseas, in Paris."

Gibbs' head snapped up at that bit of information. "Paris?"

"Yes," Pennington eyed the ex-Marine carefully. "Why?"

"Sir, you know that Jen Shepard and I were partnered for awhile in Paris?"

"Yes, I was aware of that. What's your point?"

"Maybe this is someone I know, too. Maybe the current Mrs. DiNozzo is someone we both met in Paris."

"There's that possibility but I don't see how it matters much now."

"Well, Walter, what exactly does matter now?" Ducky asked succinctly, again cutting to the chase. "Just what do you expect Jethro and I to do?"

"I want you both to do something extremely difficult: I want you to step back..."

"With all due respect, sir, that's not going to happen," Gibbs gritted angrily.

"Yes, Agent Gibbs," Pennington's face settled back into the dark mask of authority, "it *is* going to happen...and I'll tell you why: this has become a matter for people higher on the chain than either of you, people with the power to get information faster and results quicker, people with connections in places outside the normal scope. You're both too close to this and that makes it too dangerous." He nailed Gibbs with a hard look. "Besides, as you said, you and Director Shepard have a history and, if she is indeed part of this whole thing, you don't need to be anywhere near her when the shit hits the fan. Am I making myself clear?"

Gibbs swallowed his ire and stood tall, fists clenched at his sides. "Yes, sir."

"And," Pennington was continuing as he moved around the side of his desk and stepped closer to Gibbs, "there's a military transport scheduled to leave for Carlsbad, New Mexico, at midnight. Red Bluff is just to the south, directly across the border in Texas. You and Doctor Mallard and the rest of your team are *encouraged* to hitch a ride out that way."

"We don't run away from any fight, sir, no matter how messy it may get."

"No one is asking you to run away, Agent Gibbs," Pennington huffed. "I assumed you would want to see to the continued safety of your missing team members...no better way than to have them all together in one place. Besides, I think you're familiar with the staff I'm sending out there. Lieutenant Commander Wainwright is going from Bethesda."

Ducky perked up at the mention of his colleague's name. "Roberta? Roberta Wainwright is going to Texas to see to Anthony's care?"

"She is. I've assigned her, since she has first-hand knowledge of the incident, and have selected a handful of topnotch people to assist. We'll do everything we can for him, though I'm not sure it will be enough." The SecNav paused and shook his head. "I have to be honest. This whole thing scares the living daylights out of me. That Martinez has actually found a way to regress a person's age is straight out of science-fiction."

"What scares me," piped in Ducky, eyes reflecting his sincerity, "is what our government was planning on doing with that knowledge."

Gibbs grunted his assent and then moved on. "Sir, the only flaw I can see in this whole plan is, with the number of people going to Red Bluff, it will be difficult to keep our presence hidden. Whoever is after Agent DiNozzo will undoubtedly see us coming. They'll be too many to hide."

"Let them see," the SecNav's eyes went cold, his tone hard and threatening. "I *want* them to see all of you...and the unit of Marines I'm sending along as 'company'."

Both Gibbs and Ducky were surprised but, once again, it was the older man who offered an observation, expressing his barely-suppressed glee. The medical examiner rose from his seat to join the others standing.

"Damn the torpedoes, full speed ahead!"

Pennington nodded and turned away, walking back to his desk and reaching for a slip of paper. "I have a car waiting to take you both home." His eyes rose. "It has a Marine escort, too."

"Sir..." Gibbs was on the verge of protesting again.

"Agent Gibbs, you do it my way or you can return to your 'protective custody' if you want. Your choice. But let's get one thing straight: there is no room for compromise. Until I feel it's safe, your agent remains in Texas. Now, either you can go there to be with him or you can stay here and do nothing."

Gibbs turned his gaze to Ducky and saw his friend was literally rocking back and forth on his feet with excitement. "Ducky?"

"Oh, my Lord, Jethro, you can't be serious!" He grinned with ferral delight, rubbing his hands together briskly. "Of course I'm going. I never wanted to leave young Anthony in the first place and, I know, neither did you. The Secretary is right, Jethro. We need to leave this in his capable hands and regroup. I don't know what kind of condition Anthony is in at the moment but I dare say he would be glad to see all of us."

Gibbs knew Ducky was right but he was still having a difficult time letting go and trusting Walter Pennington to do right by them. He locked gazes with the SecNav, studying him closely, trying to see into the man's soul. The dark eyes stared back, meeting the assessing gaze unflinchingly, calm, cool, and unaffected by the thorough examination.

"I can take the rest of my team with me," Gibbs spoke and it was more of a statement than a question.

"Of course," Pennington agreed without hesitation. "Just as I said."

"And how long will we be having to stay in Red Bluff?"

"Until I tell the Marines to bring you all home," he said and immediately saw the anger reflare. "The Commander-in-Chief, himself, has ordered a representative of the CDC to meet in Red Bluff to determine Agent DiNozzo's potential threat to others..."

"He's not contagious!" Gibbs interrupted.

"...and until that time, the President wants him to remain in Texas! Hell's bells, Gibbs, I don't know about you but *I'm* not going to be the one to tell him you're unhappy with the arrangement. I swear, throwing you back into 'protective custody' sounds better and better all the time to me!"

Gibbs and Pennington continued to to exchange stares until, finally, the former Marine nodded. "I hope I'm not making a mistake by trusting you, sir."

"Agent Gibbs," the SecNav sighed loudly, his frustration almost palatable in the confines of the spacious office, "I seriously doubt there's very many people you *do* trust in this world, so I won't take offense. Now, get the hell out of my office and get yourself to Texas."

And with that final order, Gibbs and Ducky left, taking all their hopes and many of their fears all the way to Red Bluff.


TBC

I thought I'd seen just about everything a gruff, fifty-six year old, widowered ex-jarhead could see in a lifetime. I've raised a daughter virtually by myself, I'm the owner, operator, and chief guide of the Double D Lodge, and have lived and worked in the wilds of west Texas all my life, except for the time I put in as service to my country. I've had my education, carried a rifle and killed in the name of peace, buried a young wife after watching her suffer from cancer, become a bit of a minor celebrity in the hunting and fishing world because of my outdoor skills but, until those two unfamiliar motorcycles pulled up into the circular drive outside of my establishment three days ago, I actually believed I was prepared to handle just about anything and everything thrown in my direction.

I was wrong. Just goes to show, education never stops, no matter how old you are.

Hell, I've gotten fairly use to seeing strange and unusual attire or behavior from the clients and guests who lease time at my lodge, use to having both men and women, from the very simple to the most sophisticated, expressing ideals and thoughts so contrary to my own and so far out of the 'norm' I often thought they came from a different planet instead of just a different state. Weirdos...the world is full of weirdos, I tell you. But I have to admit I was momentarily taken aback when those three strangers arrived unannounced just before dark, bearing a message from one of my oldest and closest Marine buddies. I wasn't prepared for what was being brought my way but knew I couldn't let Leroy Jethro Gibbs down, especially since I owed the man my life.

But that's another story all together...

I guess I should explain a bit more about where I live, to give a sense of the surroundings. Red Bluff is a community of weather-toughened individuals who live and work along a scattering of unpaved, primitive roads on the southern bank of the Red Bluff Reservior in the wilds of the west Texas panhandle. No interstate or blacktop out here and that alone keeps most of the nosey tourists away. These are good, hard-working, God-fearing people who eek out an existence by working in the general store or the bait shops that operate beside an old, vacant hotel that was built when the Red Bluff Reservoir was constructed back in the late 1930s, when everyone thought the area was going to boom with the influx of businesses and families seeking cheap land. Instead, those who remained found their livelihood dependent upon the whims of the seasonal changes and the hunters and fishermen which migrate our way at different times of the year. I'm not the only one in the area running a lodge catering to gamers and anglers but I've certainly been the most successful and I have to give most of the credit for that to my daughter for having such a keen business head on her shoulders. Amanda knows how to crunch numbers and advertise, I know how to handle people with rifles and very little common sense. What a team.

There are a few cattle and crop farmers around but, with the harsh, scorched land and the high salt content in the brackish water flowing in from the Pecos River, the chances for a successful and profitable livelihood from the land is almost null. My nearest neighbors, Reuben Manning and his wife, Mary, do a pretty good job of growing cotton but that's a hard, unpredictable life and not for me. I watched my Granddaddy and uncles turn into beaten, disillusioned, old men as their crops were wiped out by insects or drought or, in one instance, disease. I vowed to find a way to keep the land my parents left to me without having to kill myself in the process and, thank God, I did.

The small, close-knit population of Red Bluff has never exceeded more than seventy inhabitants at one time and, according to those who were born and raised here, it takes a *real* Texan to appreciate and remain within the community for life. I guess I'm considered a real Texan now because I don't ever intend to leave Red Bluff again.

Catering specifically to those 'tourists' interested in hunting or fishing, the Double D Lodge sits on one hundread and forty-seven acres of rolling mesquite countryside that rises and falls and slopes all the way down to the banks of the Pecos River, not far from the reservoir. This is wild, unforgiving territory, full of rough cedar breaks, gravel hills with stands of hackberry trees and plumb thickets, and, along the fifteen and a half miles where the property fronts the river itself, areas of sand so innocuous-looking any infrequent or unlucky trespasser unfamiliar with the terrain usually ends up bogging their four-wheelers down in the soft, fine particles instead of finding a safe shortcut through. Serves them right. There's nothing I hate more than a bunch of drunk youngsters thinking they have the right to disrespect another's property and, if I ever catch intruders on my place, I make sure the law is notified. Hell, my land is my livelihood and I'll be damned if anyone or anything is going to ruin it for me and what's left of my family.

I try to make my place a hunter's paradise and, I suppose, I've succeeded to provide what many are looking for because the Double D has been featured in several national outdoor and hunting magazines and I'm able to advertise well, through the publications and through word-of-mouth. The property holds an abundance of native and exotic game, from dove to quail and pheasant and progressing up to Whitetail deer, Mouflin sheep, and an occasional wild hog. Any hunter hardy enough to brave the unforgiving countryside usually returns home satisfied with their stay and, as long as they've got the money to spend, I go out of my way to insure they have a good time. Hunting is not a cheap sport, as any gamer will tell you, but it's well worth the expense. I can't help it if most of my clients seem to be wealthy city-dwellers with more cash than common sense.

At any rate, when the three individuals arrived that evening on their motorcycles, just as the sun was beginning to set over the cliffs to the west, I was outside the lodge with Amanda, checking over one of the ATVs we use regularly to traverse the property. I immediately felt a prickle of apprehension and suspicion. We were between guests, using the free time for maintenance, and weren't scheduled to see anyone until next week, when a representative from the Texas Parks and Wildlife office was suppose to swing by for a yearly inspection.

My suspicion turned to surprise when the man of the small trio left the others and stepped close to deliver a message from someone I hadn't seen or spoken to in years but who I'd thought of often, especially when the weather was changing or I'd worked too hard and my back began to hurt. I couldn't help thinking about the man who'd pulled me from that burning transport, couldn't stop thanking God for having a buddy who'd stayed by my side when we were taking heavy enemy fire, and couldn't keep my prayers from including the name of the one man who'd kept me alive until the medics arrived: Leroy Jethro Gibbs. If LJ hadn't been there for me then, I'd never be able to be here for him now.

It was time for payback and I was only too happy to oblige.

That was three days ago and, now, I'm standing on the top step of the big front porch of the lodge, eyeing the familiar man swiftly striding up the wide walkway before me, grinning like some damn fool. Hell, if it wasn't for the color of his hair or the few extra pounds, he'd look exactly the same as he did when we served together, intense blue eyes and all. I have to look away for a moment and glance quickly at the throng of people spilling from the assorted military vehicles in the circular courtyard behind him. Shit. Just what in the hell is going on? There's a small scattering of civilians in the mostly Marine mix and I just know I'm going to be playing host to a few more guests than originally expected.

"Hot damn, LJ," I bark in the intruder's direction, my easy grin belaying the deep, harsh tones of my words, "you *never* do anything half-assed, do you?"

"Hello, D," Gibbs sends a warm smile right back at me and offers his hand in greeting. "It's good to see you again."

He got to be kidding me. If he thinks for one moment I'm just going to settle for some hand shake, after all these years and after all we've gone through together, he's out of his ever-loving mind! I sneer at the open palm directed toward me and swiftly reach to pull him into a tight, fierce bearhug, squeezing hard and laughing all the while. He returns the embrace without hesitation and pats my back carefully, remembering, I'm sure, what a mess it had been in when he came to my rescue long ago. I hear him grunt in my ear.

"It's not like I had any choice. When the SecNav orders a unit of Marines along for security, there's really nothing I can say."

The SecNav. Well, holy shit...

Releasing from the joint embrace, we step back and regard each other shrewdly, those passionate blue eyes scanning and assessing my warm gaze and open smile. I know what he sees...I see it myself every time I look into the mirror each morning. Where Gibbs' hair is turning a nice silver, I lost most of mine and have taken to shaving off what's left, leaving the skin over my skull as tanned as the flesh on my weather-roughened face. He raises an expressive eyebrow and rubs a calloused palm briskly over my bald head, knowing time had changed us both, inside and out. We both grin again. It's been several years since we've communicated and almost five since we've actually seen each other, so this first greeting is especially meaningful to both of us, the memories of our time spent together in the Corps rushing back and filling our senses.

"It's so good to see you, too, LJ," I can't stop grinning, my voice low and filled with undisguised emotion. How can I not be emotional? This is the guy who saved my life. I cough and take a step back, sweeping an arm wide to usher him inside. "Now, get your ass in here."

Gibbs pauses just long enough to glance back over a shoulder and calls out to a young man now standing uncertainly beside one of the vehicles, his youthful body doing a series of contortions as he obviously tries to stretch the kinks out of his spine. Shit, I can sympathize...I know exactly how he feels.

"McGee! Get the gear together and bring our personal stuff inside!"

"I'm on it, Boss!" Comes the youngster's immediate response and I have to smile again.

"Boss?" I inquire with a laugh and watch as my old friend lowers his eyes in a brief moment of embarrassment.

"Don't start." he warns good-naturedly and places a hand on one of my shoulders. The contact feels good...natural.

"How many are going to be staying in the lodge, LJ?" I ask, eyebrows rising as I take in the sight of the sheer number of people now milling around outside. "I already gave two rooms to those who arrived three nights ago, so that leaves just four others."

Gibbs smiles and shakes his head. "The enlisted personnel will set up outside, D, and they'll take care of themselves, so it'll be just me and the rest of my team...and a rep from the CDC is suppose to meet up with us here,too." I know he sees a flash of alarm in my eyes because he's immediately shaking his head again, trying to assure me. "There's nothing contagious or dangerous about this, D, I swear, but if you've got other guests here now, I suggest you do whatever needs to be done to get them out as quickly as possible." We turn and pace a few steps away from the open doorway, shoulders brushing as we move side by side, easily falling back into old habits. "I'm so sorry to be bringing this into your home but I just didn't know of anywhere else in the area my people could go and be safe."

I stop and place a hand on Gibbs' closest arm, grabbing the shirt sleeve tightly, and waiting only until the blue eyes are, once again, focused on my weather-beaten face. I'd be lying if I said the mention of a CDC rep doesn't scare the crap out of me but it makes me a bit angry he would even *think* I wouldn't open my doors to him or his people, especially if they were in some kind of trouble.

"Just hold it right there. I don't want to *ever* hear you apologize to me again. Understand? We've been through too much together and you know I'd come to you if the shoe was on the other foot." I offer a wry grin before continuing. "I knew there was some serious shit going down when those three scraggly bikers entered the property and Agent Fornell identified himself, especially after he passed your message on." I have to shake my head at the memory. "I had Amanda make the necessary arrangements and cancel the planned yearly visit from the Wildlife rep, so the place is yours for as long as you need. You hear me? For as long as you need."

Gibbs nods and I know he's hoping I realize how much this all means to him but, at my mention of Agent Fornell, I can see his thoughts are now drifting in that direction. He shifts from foot to foot and sighs.

"How are...they?"

I shrug one shoulder and have to wonder what caused his slight hesitation. Huh. I get him moving again and we stop only when we reach the base of the sprawling wood staircase that leads up to the second floor guest quarters.

"The two adults seem just fine but the kid...well, the kid's in rough shape." I can see his expression darken with concern. "What's wrong with him, LJ? Your people won't tell me anything."

Gibbs looks into my eyes and I can see he's working through something, considering what he *can* tell me against what he *should* tell me. He knows I won't push or be offended because he has to hold some things back but I can see he wants to give me some idea of the scope of the problem.

"I can't tell you much, D, only...he's not really a kid."

What? He's watching me closely now and I know my eyebrows must have risen so high they've migrated to the back of my skull.

"Not a kid? The hell, you say! How can that be? I saw him when they brought him in, LJ. He's a teenager..."

"He's one of my best agents," Gibbs is interrupting me quickly, "my senior field agent, to be exact, and he was used in an experiment that regressed his age."

Huh. Experiment that regressed his age.

"You're shitting me, right?" It's not that I don't believe him, it's just so...unbelievable.

Before Gibbs can respond, we get distracted by the entrance of some of his civilian team and Gibbs turns briefly as they move toward our location by the staircase. He leans close and speaks intimately, making sure I'm the only one able to hear. After that other little bombshell he just dropped, I listen *very* carefully.

"We'll talk more later, I promise," he pulls back as an older man steps closer. Gibbs turns and gestures to the new arrival and I have to think hard on how this small, demure-looking, little man could ever be any assistance to Gibbs. "D, this is my medical examiner, Doctor Donald Mallard."

Medical examiner. Oh. Well, that explains...absolutely nothing.

"Ducky, please," the older man requests in a slight British accent, smiling warmly and offering his hand to me in greeting. "I believe because we're going to be under your roof for awhile we should, at the very least, be on first a first name basis."

"Ducky, huh?" I grunt and shift my gaze back to Gibbs, wondering if he knows this is even more confusing to me. I take the dry hand and shake my head. "I hate to tell you this, Ducky, but there's nobody dead here. And I'm Daniel Dunn...but you can call be Dan or D, whichever you want."

"Thank you, Daniel," he says and I have to grin at his proper use of my given name, "and although I'm pleased to hear there's no one currently needing my expertise, I'm actually here to..."

"Ducky's real good with the living, too, D," Gibbs quickly interrupts and I get my first real indication that I'm not going to be included in everything. I can see the warning glance my old friend sends his colleague and the non-verbal communication that swiftly passes between them and I can't help the slight sting I feel. I know Gibbs is withholding certain things for my own good...what I don't know won't kill me. Still...

There's more movement by the doorway now and I lift my eyes from the medical examiner's kindly face and turn my attention to the young man and woman standing just to one side of the entrance, the contrast between the assembled males and this lone female is startling, like day to night...a very, dark, disturbing night. I can't help but stare and wonder what in the hell she is suppose to be and why she's dressed like that. This...freak...can't be a part of Gibbs' team, can she? Before I can voice my concerns, we get interrupted again.

"It's about time you got here," a feminine voice bites from the top of the staircase, immediately drawing our attention up, and we collectively watch as *Officer* David comes hurrying half way down the steps, Agent Fornell hot on her heels. "Where have you been? What..."

"We'll discuss this later," Gibbs cuts her useless questions off and I can see his eyes roam quickly from her slightly distressed face over to take in Fornell. Maybe he'll see what I've been seeing for the past few days and call the FBI agent out on it. Hell, the strained, pinched quality of Fornell's face and the angry glint in his dark eyes has got to be seen by everyone. Gibbs must see something because he suddenly steps closer, looks up at the man, and speaks softly...and very ominously. "Everything okay?"

David's brown gaze flicks quickly in Fornell's direction, some odd emotion passing over her pretty, exotic face, before resettling again on Gibbs. "Just glad to see you here. All of you."

Huh. Strange. I see Gibbs' eye travel to her face but he let's the moment go. Maybe he doesn't want to deal with it quite yet. I don't know what's happening but there's a tension in the room now that wasn't there moments before and I don't know what, or who, is causing it. There's a moment of uncomfortable silence and then a new voice speaks out.

"How's Tony?"

The dark-haired, spookily dressed freak asks, all wide-eyed and anxious, her little-girl pigtails swinging as she hurries away from the casually attired young man I now know is McGee and moves to stand a few steps down from David. She's got some stupid stuffed animal gripped in her arms and, I swear to God, it sounds like the thing just farted.

"Yes," Ducky pipes in, his easy smile fading as he, too, focuses on the reason for their arrival, "where is young Anthony? I'd like to see him, as I'm sure Roberta would." He suddenly turns back toward McGee. "Timothy, would you be so kind as to locate Lieutenant Commander Wainwright and have her come inside?"

"Sure, Ducky," McGee agrees quickly, after getting a small nod of consent from Gibbs, and carefully places the gear he's packing to one side, near a wall and well away from where someone could trip over them. Good boy.

Gibbs watches him go and then is looking directly back at me...and I get the distinct impression he's disappointed somehow. I frown in confusion.

"D, there's a Marine lieutenant outside who has documentation from the SecNav offically 'requesting' the use of your property for extreme-terrain maneuvers." I bark a dry laugh at the statement and wonder if any of my neighbors will ever believe that lie. Gibbs rolls his eyes and continues. "I don't know how long we'll be here but if there's anything you need, all you have to do is tell the lieutenant and he will make sure it's delivered within hours."

I eye my old friend and shove my hands into the pockets of my jeans, keeping my expression carefully schooled as I gaze back at him. "I kind of figured this was going to be bad when Fornell gave me your message." I let my eyes flick toward the still silent FBI agent for just a moment. "I immediately sent Amanda to visit her aunt in El Paso and told her not to call or to try and come back until I said otherwise."

Gibbs is nodding his head and, at the mention of my daughter, he seems to relax a bit. "You did the right thing...though I imagine she didn't appreciate getting kicked out of her own home like this. How is she?"

"She's good," I shrug and pass it off. "And she'll get over it. She's learned to go with the flow over the years."

"Like her old man," Gibbs nods again and I can't help the proud grin that escapes.

"Yeah," I agree, "like her old man."

Gibbs turns away from me and focuses on the odd-looking, young woman, who is now openly gawking at the deer head mounted over the huge stone fireplace, her bright, wide eyes open with something akin to shock. I don't get it...I thought she'd be the first one to like the sight of dead animals.

"I know you want to see Tony," Gibbs is speaking to her, "but I think we should let Ducky and Lieutenant Commander Wainwright check him out first. You go with Ziva and get settled into her room and stay there until I tell you otherwise."

"But, Gibbs..." she starts to protest, a slight frown marring her pale, smooth face, and I wonder if Gibbs will put her in her place.

"Do as I say, Abby," he quickly but gently orders and takes a step closer, raising a hand to rest one one of her shoulders, his blue eyes swiftly transmitting his need for her to obey without question.

Huh. That's not what I expected...not from Leroy Jethro Gibbs. Maybe the years have softened him.

The girl...Abby...looks at him closely for a moment, her big eyes seeing something I obviously can't, and immediately agrees with a soft sigh. "Okay, Gibbs...whatever you say. But you'll come and get me as soon as possible, right? I mean, everyone else has had the chance to see Tony and all I've gotten to do was speak to him on the phone and that's so not fair."

Gibbs squeezes the shoulder soothingly and with a lot more care than I would use. "I know, Abs. I imagine he'll want to see you, too, but it's important we make sure the medical staff assesses him first. Plus, I want you and McGee to start setting up a command center as soon as everything is unloaded." He shifts his eyes back to me, knowing I've heard his request. "We've got a ton of tech gear and communications equipment, D. Any particular space we can use for that?"

I nod and gesture with a hand toward the large, double-door entryway just to my right. "The trophy room is used for small gatherings sometimes. It should fit the bill."

"Trophy room?" Abby squeaks, eyes growing impossibly larger. She shifts a bit closer to Gibbs and lowers her voice, speaking out of the corner of her mouth. It doesn't matter...we all can hear her words and I can't help the chuckle her discomfort brings. "He's not talking about bowling trophies or golf trophies, is he?"

Gibbs offer a sympathetic grin and just shakes his head. "No."

The young woman sighs and slants her eyes toward David. "I guess you should show me where I'll be sleeping. I think I want to change into something more...appropriate...anyway."

As Abby turns away to retrieve her large duffle from the others McGee placed by the wall, David takes a sudden step closer, her dark eyes intent on her boss. "Gibbs, I wish to speak to you. In private."

Gibbs frowns at the request but, before he can speak, Abby is turning back around and facing them, that stupid, stuffed animal making another rude noise. "Oh, come on, Ziva. It's not like I snore or anything..."

"This is not about you," David hisses quickly at the other woman but keeps her eyes firmly on the man before her. "This is about," she shifts uncomfortably, "something else."

I arch an eyebrow and chance a glance at Fornell. Something else...bet I can guess what.

Gibbs frowns again and we both can't help notice the way Fornell seems to stiffen where he's standing on the steps just behind the woman. It's strange but he hasn't said a word since Gibbs' arrival and even I can see he doesn't seem too pleased with what's happening. Maybe he and Officer David have had a spat, maybe he's concerned Gibb's arrival will signal the end of his little reign of command, or maybe, just maybe, he'll have to explain his actions concerning his 'care' of the kid...agent...he's kept virtually as a prisoner in his room since their appearance three nights ago. Whatever it is, it's Gibbs' problem, not mine. Thank God.

"Get Abby settled and then come see me," Gibbs is nodding at David.

That seems to satisfy her, for the moment anyway, and she reluctantly turns away to re-climb the staircase, brushing briskly past as eeriely quiet Fornell. Gibbs spares the FBI agent another quick, assessing look but can go no further with his concerns because McGee is back with another woman in tow, this one dressed in a Naval uniform bearing the insignia of a Lieutenant Commander. This woman is obviously a medical professional and here to see to the guy upstairs.

"Where's Agent DiNozzo, Donald?" She gets right to the point, a large, black medical bag gripped firmly in her capable hand. "The sooner we examine him, the sooner we can start looking for some type of treatment."

"I'll show you," Fornell finally offers softly, speaking up for the first time, and turns slowly to climb back up the stairs, shoulders sagging and head bent down.

Christ, it looks like he's going to a damn funeral...or his own execution. Seeing an angry glint flash in Gibbs'eyes, he may very well be wishing he was going to the gallows. Hell, if I had my pick, I'd take them over Gibbs' fists any day.

Ducky and Wainwright and, now, McGee, too, are all immediately following in his wake but, before Gibbs can start after them, I grab one of his arms and hold tight. I lower my voice and speak for his ears only.

"There's something very strange going on with that one."

Gibbs frowns and focuses on my face, tilts his head to one side, and scowls at the concern I'm sure he can see in my eyes...and at my choice of words. "Strange? How so?"

I can only shake my head. If I knew exactly what it was, I'd sure as hell tell him.

"Can't really say, LJ. Just...strange. He's been holed up there with that kid most of the time, taking care of him and all. Won't let him out of the room, says he's too sick, but he hasn't even allowed Officer David in there for any length of time. Don't *you* think that's a bit strange?"

I can see he does. His blue eyes have gone hard and steely and he's gritting his teeth so firmly together I bet I can even hear the enamel grinding away, layer by layer, if I listen close enough. He takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly but he doesn't look any calmer to me, just more determined. I know he has to have a lot on his mind right now.

"D," his voice is low but I can hear him clearly, "you need to get that formal request from the lieutenant outside and review it carefully with him. Make sure you understand everything. Ask him questions about anything you need clarified and let him know where they can set camp. They may have orders from the SecNav but this is still your property."

"Of course, LJ," I assure calmly. He knows I will...we were both good soldiers.

"Look," he leans close and his hand is back on my shoulder and I know he's going to finally say what he's been wanting to say for awhile now, "Abby is a great young lady and an invaluable asset to my team. Don't let her appearance fool you." I nod but we both know we'll be having more of a discussion about her later. He knows how I feel about people who have tattoos and dress like they don't give a shit about what other people think. Egotistical fools, all of them. "I've got to go see DiNozzo for myself and spend a little time with him but, I promise, you and I will talk about this whole situation later, after everything is set up and we're all settled. Can you give me some time?"

Shit. Of course I can.

"You don't have to ask," I just want to comfort him now, seeing the fatigue and anxiousness playing around in the depths of the usually expressive eyes. "Listen, there's a big pot of deer chili on the stove in the kitchen. Tell your people to make themselves at home and to just help themselves to anything they need." I allow a small, lopsided smile to escape. "This is my lodge but Amanda usually does the cooking, serving, and cleanups for the guests so, with her in El Paso now, it's going to be every man...or woman...for themselves."

Gibbs smiles and nods. "We'll take care of ourselves, D. Thank you."

He squeezes my shoulder one more time and the warm hand drops away. I watch as he turns and heads up the stairs, taking the risers two at a time. I can see he's in a hurry and I know it's because of the kid...DiNozzo. There's a story there but, I suppose, I'll have to wait to hear that one, too.

____________

Gibbs hustled away from his old friend and set a course in the direction of the room he'd seen Fornell take the others just moments ago, his heart pounding wildly at the thought of finally seeing DiNozzo again. He'd be lying if he said he was only interested because it was one of his team members laying sick in that bed and was merely concerned about the younger man's health. In reality, there was nothing more he wanted to do than bust through that bedroom door, tell every other person in the room to get the hell out, and just sweep DiNozzo into a hard, rough embrace, holding tight and never letting him go again. Gibbs grunted as he neared the closed door and shook his head at those traitorous thoughts.

'Get a hold of yourself, you idiot.'

Taking a deep, calming breath, he reached for the handle, gave it a sharp twist, and stepped into the quarters he now knew DiNozzo had been sharing with Fornell...for three nights. The thought of the two of them, alone and together, with DiNozzo so weak and needy, sent a swift shard of jealousy flaring in Gibbs' brain but he tamped it down and let his eyes take in the scene.

McGee was standing nervously just to one side of the entryway, his serious face pale and his expressive eyes wide with some unidentifiable emotion. He looked a bit shocky, so Gibbs took a moment to get his attention, knowing it was best to put him to work immediately and get his mind focused on something productive.

"McGee," he spoke softly, not wanting to disturb the small group huddled around the bed, their bodies all but blocking his view of DiNozzo, "I need for you to help Abby get all the tech support equipment set up in the trophy room. Take Ziva with you and tell her I'll talk to her after I've had a chance to see what the doctors say about DiNozzo. She can help you until I'm finished here."

"Wh...where's the trophy room, Boss?" The young man whispered and nodded, keen mind already turning to the task at hand.

"Get D to show you," Gibbs responded but, at McGee's blank look, knew he needed a clearer explanation. "The man who owns this place is Daniel Dunn. Ziva knows him. Hell, she's been here for several days so she probably knows where the trophy room is. Just ask her."

McGee nodded again. "On it, Boss."

Gibbs watched him leave and made sure the door was closed completely before turning back to the bed and taking his first step closer to DiNozzo. Ducky took that exact moment to shift to one side, allowing a clear, unobstructed view of the bed, and the sight of his agent's...his lover's...position on the wide mattress was almost enough to send him into a rage.

Sitting calmly on the bed, with his back against the solid, wooden headboard and both arms looped securely around DiNozzo's shivering form, Fornell was tenderly holding the trembling, sweating, young body close to his chest and whispering gentle, soothing words, his face pressing close and his lips skimming the shell of one delicate ear. It was easy to see DiNozzo was troubled and upset and wanting to resist everything Ducky and Wainwright were trying to do for him. It was also very easy to see how his slim, shaking fingers were grasping at Fornell's shirt, pulling the man close, almost appearing to be seeking protection and comfort. The green eyes were wild and awash with tears and the trembling mouth kept rasping a repeating litany of 'no' and 'please' and...'Tobias'. And through it all, Fornell's hands just kept rubbing and pressing and stroking...

Gibbs took another step closer to the bed.

"Anthony," Ducky's calm voice belied the anxious look in the older man's face, "we mean you no harm. You know we only want to help you."

"No...no..." DiNozzo was pressing his face to Fornell's chest, one leg thrown over the bigger man's thigh, begging for salvation from the only person who seemed to be able to have any success. "Please...Tobias, please..."

"Shhh, it's okay," Fornell was stroking the damp hair away from the younger man's forehead with gentle fingers, the gesture more like a caress, keeping his tone steady and light. "Come on, Tony, you remember Ducky. That's who's here. Ducky is going to take care of you now."

"No!" DiNozzo buried his face and began to pant, his voice rough and ragged, fingers digging in even tighter, holding on to Fornell like he was his last chance for survival. "*You* take care...of me. Please, Tobias. Please...don't leave me..."

Gibbs was next to the bed now, his eyes dark and dangerous, listening to every word DiNozzo said.

"We've got to get him settled down so we can get on with the examination," Wainwright was getting frustrated by having their efforts continually rebuffed. She moved to the open kit resting atop the blanket chest at the foot of the bed and began looking through her medications. "We need to administer a sedative. When's the last time he had any morphine?"

When no response was forthcoming, Ducky frowned and looked directly at the FBI agent, his distaste apparent. "Tobias! Answer Lieutenant Commander Wainwright this instant! When was the last time you administered morphine?"

Fornell seemed to shake himself out of whatever spell he was momentarily under and focused on the medical examiner's annoyed face, suddenly aware of how his over-protectiveness must seem to them. He squinted in concentration and thought hard about the response while trying to keep DiNozzo from becoming more agitated.

"About an hour ago, I think..."

"You think?" It was clear what Ducky thought about the uncertain response from the harsh tone of his voice and the hard line of his downward-turned mouth. The older man bent forward, bringing his face closer to Fornell's, his eyes sharp and unforgiving behind the lenses of his glasses. "Where's the rest of the morphine, Tobias?"

Fornell's eyes flashed to the doctor's face and he swallowed nervously. "Why?"

Gibbs was immediately on the bed, sitting on the edge opposite from where Ducky was now standing, watching closely as the older man reached out and grabbed one of Fornell's arms. It was difficult to ignore DiNozzo's sounds of distress but they could all see Fornell was holding something back from them and the fine hairs on the back of Gibbs' neck rose in alarm.

"Give him to me," Gibbs ordered, eyes boring into the FBI agent's and arms reaching out toward his ill colleague.

Fornell looked like he was going to deny the demand, like he intended to remain on the bed holding on to DiNozzo forever, and that nothing anyone said or did was going to make him leave. He squeezed his grip tighter and pressed his face against DiNozzo's hair, closing his eyes against the rush of emotion.

"I've taken care of him," he hissed in defense. "I was here for him when none of you were around. I saw to his needs and kept him safe. Not you...me. He needs *me* now, don't you, Tony?"

"Please..." DiNozzo whimpered, reacting instinctively to the sound of Fornell's voice.

Gibbs gently put one hand on DiNozzo's back. There was a slight flinch at the soft contact and another round of mumbled pleas but, other than that, the younger man remained relatively still. He wanted to snatch the slim body away from Fornell but sensed it needed to be done with more care.

"Tobias," Gibbs kept his voice as level and non-threatening as he could, "we all appreciate that you were able to do and what you continue to do for him but it's time for you to let go. You aren't helping him by doing this. He needs medical attention now. Give him to me and show Ducky where you put the rest of the morphine."

Fornell opened his eyes and peered directly into Gibbs' face. It was as close to a Mexican standoff as ever was seen but, finally, his grip around DiNozzo's body began to loosen and relax. The younger man whimpered and struggled to pull Fornell close, the almost incoherent, anxious mutterings taking on a strident and desperate sound.

Gibbs leaned close, eyes still locked with Fornell's, and whispered to his agent. "Tony? Tony, it's Gibbs. I'm here now and I'm not going to leave. Tony, do you hear me?"

DiNozzo didn't act like he heard a word the former Marine was saying and continued to clutch at Fornell's arms, face still pressing into the broader chest. If he felt when Gibbs moved in closer or when the other hand now arrived in his hair, he ignored it and continued to resist anything but Fornell.

"You're going to have to let go of him, Tobias," Gibbs said finally. "He won't let go of you as long as you continue to hold on to him in any way."

"No."

Gibb grit his teeth and shook his head at the man, feeling like he and Fornell were two old dogs fighting over the same bone. He slowly reached around and let his hands slide into the small area between Fornell and DiNozzo's bodies, letting his palms gently squeeze the overly-warm skin across the younger man's stomach and chest, his eyes still locked with his competitor. There was no mistaking this now: he and Fornell *were* fighting for DiNozzo.

"Ducky," Gibbs managed to keep his voice soft, "I think you and Roberta should step out just for a moment."

"Jethro..."

"Ducky," Gibbs voice was a bit louder, a bit harder, and, still, his eyes stayed on Fornell, "just do as I ask. Please."

Ducky sighed and, turning to face Wainwright, motioning for her to vacate the room. He could see she wasn't at all happy with this turn of events but knew she would comply.

"All right," the medical examiner conceded and began to move away, "but we need to see to Anthony as soon as possible. This whole assinine, alpha male posturing is simply..."

"Ducky!" Gibbs barked quietly, feeling DiNozzo flinch in his arms. "Please."

In only a moment, he heard the door open and close and knew they were all alone...he, DiNozzo, and Fornell...frozen in this strange tableau of a threesome on a bed. It could have been funny, under different circumstances, but was only sad now.

"Let go of him, Tobias," he ordered again and pulled slightly, feeling DiNozzo move a bit away from Fornell's loosened grip. "You've brought him this far but it's time for you to let go now."

"He doesn't belong to you," Fornell spat jealously and dipped his head to press a quick kiss to DiNozzo's forehead. "He can make his own choice."

"Not now he can't," Gibbs barely controlled his fury. "You can't take advantage of him while he's in this condition. It's not right..."

"You did in Utah!" Fornell bit back quickly. "You fucked him in Utah out in that guest house, while the rest of us were asleep."

"He came to me," Gibbs explained around his growing ire, "and he wasn't out of it like he is now. What the fuck is wrong with you?"

Fornell's mouth moved but nothing came out and his eyes began to fill with a deep, hidden anguish. He bent his head again and rested it against DiNozzo's cheek, closing his eyes and sighing.

"I...I love him, Jethro. God help me, I do."

Gibbs swallowed back his denial and waited until he could manage to speak without anger. It took awhile but, when it finally happened, he was glad he sounded so calm.

"Tobias, I know you have feelings for Tony...hell, I've known that ever since this started...but you have to understand something: Tony and I have a relationship. Granted, it's fairly new and we'd only been involved for a short time before he was infected with that crap Martinez gave him, but, nevertheless, we were together...in every sense of the word."

Fornell's eyes had opened and were now focused on Gibbs' face and it was clear he was taking in everything he was being told. He swallowed thickly. "You and Tony were...intimate...before all this?"

"Yes."

"Seriously? I mean, it wasn't something casual or meaningless or a one-time thing?"

"No, it wasn't."

Fornell seemed to consider the simple response. He looked down into DiNozzo's quiet face, taking in the sweep of lashes against the bruised-looking skin under both eyes, the slightly-opened mouth that continued to pant soft, mumbled words, and the smooth forehead that was beaded with a fine sheen of perspiration. It was the face of the one person he wanted more than anyone in the entire world. But if Gibbs was right and he and DiNozzo had been involved before all this, than what chance did he really have to win the younger man's heart? What he was being shown now was nice: DiNozzo depended on him for just about everything. He made sure he was fed and kept clean and was given the morphine when the pain got too bad. They could lay together in this big bed and hold each other and Fornell could kiss and touch and...

"Let go, Tobias," Gibbs repeated softly. "Just let go."

Taking one last look at DiNozzo and pressing another kiss to those dry, full lips, Fornell eased back slightly and finally let go.


TBC

As the sun edges up over the pale wash of cliffs just to the east of the Double D Lodge, there's a quiet music, of sorts, that begins to fill the air. It's not the sometimes-harsh notes or sounds emanating from human vocal cords or even the mechanical cadences attributed to instruments or technology but the natural, gentle harmonies of the world, itself, waking up to a brand-new day.

The signaling of the fresh morning, brought on by the appearance of Sol's earliest warmed-hued tinges across the Eastern sky, heralds the overture for the day. The morning melodies of the warblers and wrens, the sparrows and doves, at first sporadic and disjointed, become a blending of calls and answers from every point of the surrounding landscape. Even the playful mockingbird echoes the sounds he hears, responding and repeating the songs he deems notable and worthwhile.

The landscape, too, seems to join in the orchestration, accompanying the birds with and underscore of soft tones and mellow modulations. The breeze plays over the sharp rocks and tall plumes of wild grasses, setting the hard, brittle seed pods they hold to swaying and shaking and rattling. This, also, is unrecognized music, of sorts, and all part of the natural rhythms of life.

There's still a bit of chill in the air, the West Texas temperatures always capable of dropping fairly low during a cloudless overnight, but the rising sun promises a day full of warmth and comfort...for awhile, at least. As the morning is pushed away and afternoon crawls in for a visit, the thermometer will climb and force any unprotected individual back into cooler areas or will leave its mark on those foolhardy enough to venture out unguarded against the damaging rays and moisture-stealing heat. This is harsh, brutal country for anyone not accustomed to it's whims and demands but, for those with the proper mindset, the area around Red Bluff Dam and Reservoir is a haven of solitude and comfort and immeasurable peace.

Pushing open the front entry to his lodge, Daniel Dunn steadied his mug of hot, strong, black coffee and stepped out into the early morning dimness, his keen eyes drifting over and settling immediately on the scattering of military tents and structures that had sprung up since Gibbs and his Marines arrived two days prior. There was a flicker of movement just to right, near the edge of the long porch, and Dunn saw the shadowed outline of an unknown jarhead standing watch, the Marine's profile almost lost as he stood silent sentinel over the lodge and it's civilian inhabitants. Dunn nodded in that direction, just to let the man know he was spotted, but the Marine remained still and watchful, focused on his task with single-minded efficiency.

Taking a careful sip of his coffee, Dunn noticed there was some subdued activity in one of the larger tents close to the machinery shed and realized it was the place the Marines were using as their mess, the cook and his assistant obviously already up and working on the first meal of the day. The small group of individuals sent to patrol the surrounding area and protect Gibbs and his people from 'hostiles' didn't seem to need much but Dunn suspected they were being treated exceptionally well and fed accordingly. This was an unusual situation for all involved and he knew not to examine the circumstances too closely. Unfortunately, he'd already received a call from Reuben Manning about the presence of the armed Marines on his property and knew the word would spread quickly...his nearest neighbor was hard-pressed to keep any kind of news under wraps and, realistically, no one was going to believe the deception of 'extreme-terrain manuevers' for one moment.

Shit. These were Texans, not a bunch of out-of-state morons.

Moving away from the doorway and coming to rest against one of the huge, rough support posts at the front of the wide, wooden porch, Dunn leaned a shoulder heavily against the solid, course column, crossed his legs casually at the ankles, and heaved a soft sigh. Squinting toward the East, in the direction of the rapidly-approaching light, he watched as one, luminous, glowing band began peeking over a craggy rim of the canyon cliff.

"Do the days always start like this?"

The question was so quiet and so unexpected, the older man actually flinched before he could contain the action and jerked his eyes toward the sound of the restrained voice, his gaze immediately settling on the one person of Gibbs' group that made him feel the most uncomfortable. Cussing under his breath for not noticing the quiet, young woman when he came outside, Dunn debated on answering the whispered inquiry...or simply turning away and ignoring the freak all together.

Yeah, that would work. No sense in spoiling the beginning of a potentially fine day any more than necessary.

"Wait!" Abby blurted as Dunn began to move back in the direction of the door, unfolding her long legs from the security of the large, oak rocker but choosing to remain seated. Her fingers gripped the hard, solid armrests and her fuzzy-slippered feet moved restlessly on the planks below.

Dunn stopped, his back still turned toward Gibbs' forensics expert, and took a deep, calming breath. "Got nothing to say to you."

That brought the young woman up and out of the seat and to a spot directly behind the weather-toughened former Marine. She was ready for a confrontation and, although she was carrying Bert securely snuggled under one arm, her eyes were steady and serious.

"Well," she nodded and shifted from foot to foot, glancing momentarily to one side in a flash of uncertainty, "I think I've got something I need to say to you."

"No."

Abby's face scrunched into a frown, taken aback by the casual forcefulness of the simple word. "No? What do you mean 'no'?"

Dunn whirled around at the disbelief he heard, startling Abby for a moment, and curled his upper lip as he looked down at her ridiculous attire, letting his eyes distastefully rake her from head to fuzzy foot and back again. "Gibbs says you're smart. Sure doesn't seem that way to me."

"Well, what *does* it seem like?" She huffed at the disagreeable expression on his lined face, frowning anew and dropping Bert to the flooring so she could place both her fists on her hips, unintentionally looking more like a tempemental child than a grown woman. "You don't even know me..."

"And I don't plan to," Dunn cut in sharply. "Why don't you take that stupid, farting toy," he nudged it absently with the toe of one boot, "go back inside, and stay the hell away from me? I'm sure there's *something* useful Gibbs can find for you to do that doesn't involve getting anywhere near me. You've done it for the past day and a half...just keep at it and we'll have no problems."

"We *already* have a problem," Abby stressed, eyes growing dark and voice deepening even more, "and I know *exactly* why you don't like me."

"Is that so?" Dunn folded his arms across his chest, just barely keeping himself from sneering. "Well, why don't you just enlighten me then?"

Abby nodded and took a step closer, ignoring the fire she could see in the man's eyes. "It's because you're afraid of me."

The almost-sneer evaporated immediately. Dunn's mouth opened...and closed...with no sound emerging. He shook his head at the woman, visibly denying her outrageous assumption, and managed to huff a hard, quick laugh.

"Girlie," he mocked, "you are *so* wrong about that."

"Oh, I don't think I am," Abby let a majority of her anger wash away and tilted her head to one side, carefully studying the man's expression. "What? You think you're the first person who's treated me like I had a bad case of the cooties or something?"

Dunn frowned, eyebrows canting downward like the corners of his mouth. "Cooties?"

"Oh, you know what I mean," she waved a hand absently and bent to retrieve Bert, giving the stuffed hippo a hug and smiling indulgently when it made it's patented rude noise. "It's a fact of human nature that most people will ridicule and belittle the things they're most afraid of. It helps to make them feel more in control of their emotions, more powerful, more able dictate the circumstances. Like you. But at least most people are willing to look past the tats and clothing before they offer an opinion about me. Unlike you." She shook her head and set her pigtails to swinging. "You didn't even give me the benefit of the doubt...just lumped me into that old 'she's not worth the spit in my mouth' category."

"If you have a point, better get to it," Dunn hissed, uncomfortable with her evaluation.

"My point is," Abby stood tall and looked Dunn right in the eyes, "I don't deserve this kind of treatment from you or anyone else. I'm a good person, a nice person. I work hard and pay my taxes. I contribute to society. I help keep this country safe from people who want to hurt sailors and Marines and I've worked for Gibbs st NCIS for years."

"That doesn't make you a saint..."

Abby giggled and batted her eyelashes, inordinately pleased when she saw Dunn shift back a bit. "Oh, I'm far from sainthood," she cooed agreeably, "but I'm not in cahoots with Lucifer either! I just don't look at other people and lump them into some asinine category just because I don't necessarily like the way they look. Everyone has their own style...take you for instance."

"Me?" Dunn's expression rapidly morphed from anger to surprise.

"Well, sure," Abby nodded with a bright smile, pointing one black-polished fingernail toward Dunn's head. "Some may automatically assume you're a skinhead, just because you choose to shave your dome." She watched as he ran a hand absently over the smooth skin covering his skull. "I know that's not who you are because I've seen Gibbs interact with you and, if you were some neo-Nazi, narrow-minded bigot, Gibbs wouldn't even give you the time of day. Plus, I haven't seen any swastikas or hate messages or white supremacy logos tattooed across your body." She pouted her lips and gave an exaggerated impression of some serious thinking. "And although I haven't seen *all* your body yet, I'm pretty sure the only body art you may have is something related to the Marines...or your mother...or something along those lines."

"I don't..."

She wouldn't let him take back control of their conversation and just continued on her merry way. "Others could possibly believe you're a survivalist, which could go hand-in-hand with being a skinhead, especially since you can be pretty self-sustaining here at this lodge. You could live off the land, killing Bambis and Thumpers for food, using wood from the trees for energy, and protecting yourself with all that firepower you've got locked away in those gun cases in the trophy room." She scrunched her face in bewilderment. "And what's that all about anyway? All those dead animal heads hanging on the walls, staring back all the time." She shuddered. "Gives me the creeps just to work in there."

Dunn was speechless...for a moment. "You...you think I look like a skinhead?"

Abby could tell the man was appalled by the mere notion of being associated with such an organization and rushed to assure him. "No, no...I didn't say *I* thought you were a skinhead but, come on, you have to know you give out these real creepy vibes sometimes. You know, harsh and single-minded and inflexible...jumping to conclusions about people because of the way they look or dress." She offered a small smile. "But Gibbs says you're a good guy and, if he gives you his seal of approval, than I believe him. Gibbs is *the* man."

Dunn shifted a bit from foot to foot and looked at the young woman with assessing eyes. "He...he said you were okay, too."

"He did?" Abby grinned, immediately pleased by the confession and preening a bit in smug satisfaction at the reluctant
admission. "Cool."

Dunn huffed at her expression. "Well, don't go getting a big head about it now. He probably says that about all his people."

Her smile lost a bit of wattage and she looked up at the slightly taller man from under a fall of dark bangs. "Yeah, you're probably right...just like he probably says the same about *all* the guys he served with while in the Corps. Right?"

Dunn knew he'd been maneuvered into a clever trap because there had been plenty of guys Gibbs hadn't liked. They'd exchanged frowns and shared terse comments about guys in their unit, men they'd joined in combat, fellow grunts they'd thought were nothing more than simple wastes of human skin. If Gibbs didn't think a person was doing his part or pulling his weight, he made a point of steering clear and avoiding the dullard at all costs. Gibbs was *not* a man to suffer fools easily.

Eyeing the dark-haired woman again with a small measure of suspicion, and a growing bit of respect, he let his gaze drift again down the body, taking in the black shirt and black pants and the equally black, fuzzy slippers. He didn't even want to know where she'd found those but he cracked a smirk at the thought nonetheless.

"You can't wear dark clothes like this out here. You're just asking for a heat stroke."

Abby arched an eyebrow, pretending she didn't hear the beginnings of his capitulation. "Oh, yeah?"

"Yeah," Dunn hooked a thumb back in his own direction. "You got to dress light and in layers...like me. Keeps the sun and the heat from sapping out the moisture. Even those jarheads out there," his hand swept in the direction of the organized array of tents, "know which camos to wear in this terrain. Maybe you should take lessons from them."

Abby seemed to consider the notion. "Hhmm, you may be right..."

"Of course I am."

"...but I don't think they'd be willing to share their gear with me and all the clothes I've brought are dark."

"All of them?" The whole idea sounded ludicrous to him and he couldn't help but stare in bewilderment at this strange, young woman.

She could hear the disbelief clearly in his voice and had to smile coyly. "In case you haven't noticed, I'm not a pastel kind of girl."

An answering smile tugged at Dunn's mouth as he reassessed the figure before him. "No, I guess you're not."

Abby shrugged and stepped back, gaze turning in the direction of the rising sun. "I guess I'll just have to stay indoors while I'm here then." Her voice held a wispy note of disappointment. "It's not like I have to see things...even though I've never been to Texas before. There's always stuff to keep me busy. I guess..."

Dunn took another sip of his all-but-forgotten coffee and growled, eyes studying the profile of the young woman. He knew he was being expertly manipulated but, for some reason, just didn't seem to mind. Not anymore.

"You know, I have a daughter who's about your size..."

"Really?" She asked, all wide-eyed and innocent.

Duun barked a laugh and shook his head at her expression. "That wasn't a question, missy, that was a statement and I know damn well you know all about her already."

Abby wiggled a bit and smiled back at the man. "Okay, so I *do* know about Amanda. Can't blame a girl for trying."

"Oh, yes, I can," he puffed and shook his head. "Anyway, what I'm getting at is, you could probably borrow something of hers while you're here..."

Abby's eyes lit up. "You mean it? I could do like 'dress up'?"

Dunn was worriedly shaking his head, images of facing Amanda's wrath if she came home to find her old prom dresses or Sunday church garb mysteriously adorned with chains or studs flashing through his mind. "No! No dress up. Please." He sighed loudly and let his shoulders sag a bit in defeat. "You can use some of her outdoor wear. You know, jeans and..."

"Jeans?!" Abby's voice was full of aversion and she actually shivered a bit for show. She cast her soulful eyes in his direction. "Are they, at least, black?"

He couldn't help but laugh at her unhappy expression. "No."

Abby sighed forlornly. "I guess I don't have much of a choice."

"Not if you plan on seeing some of the sites while you're here."

She seemed to consider...just for another moment. "And I sure don't want to fry my behind."

"Certainly not."

Squeezing Bert hard and raising her twinkling, mischievous eyes when it rudely produced a loud, obnoxious sound, Abby nodded her head. "Okay. I guess I'll take you up on the offer."

"Okay, then," Dunn agreed and started back toward the doorway, tilting his head in a motion to get her to follow.

Extremely satisfied with herself, Abby nodded and followed in his direction, offering the man a warm, happy smile. Narrowing his eyes and looking into her pleased face, Dunn shook his head as he opened the door for her.

"Did Gibbs put you up to this?" He asked suspiciously but without rancor.

"This? No," Abby answered honestly, "but he did suggest I talk to you."

Dunn studied the dark-haired woman-child closely for a brief moment before allowing an indulgent smile to reappear. "He can be a smart man."

Abby nodded her agreement and took the arm he so galantly offered, escorting her back inside and out of the early-morning sunshine. From her point of view and after getting things straightened out with Daniel Dunn, this was, indeed, the start of a perfectly great day.

______________________________________

Jethro Gibbs quietly opened the door and eased inside, quickly closing the wooden panel behind with as much care as he could muster, his keen eyes imediately moving to fall upon the still figure on the bed situated on the other side of the room. The interior of the space had rapidly shifted from a place of rest and relaxation into the appearance of a real hospital unit in a matter of only hours. There were so many monitors and machines and IV lines and portable oxygen tanks and items surrounding the young man in the bed that Gibbs idly thought all they really needed now to make this place seem more like a real hospital was some money-eating machine in the hallway outside, disensing third-rate, bland-tasting, lukewarm coffee.

DiNozzo looked the same as he had when Gibbs had left to get some sleep several hours ago: no movement of any kind and the aura of peaceful slumber. Just to one side of the bed, Roberta Wainwright was seated in a nice, leather, winged-back chair pulled very close to the edge of the mattress and within touching distance of the figure under the covers. Gibbs caught her eye and nodded once in her direction before stepping closer. Wainwright nodded absently back but Gibbs could see she was busy recording some information on the charts she and Ducky had begun making on their patient as soon as they'd been able to get him settled and examined. Not wishing to disturb her, he paused and watched as her pen scratched fast and accurately across some thin sheaf of paper.

Stopping at the foot of the bed and eyeing the rapidly expanding chart the woman held securely upon her lap, Gibbs pursed his lips together tightly and frowned as he thought of all the medical mumbo-jumbo he'd heard the two physicians discussing since their arrival, their heads bent together as they compared results and observations and ideas. He hadn't liked their dual, grim faces, hadn't liked Ducky's frighteningly concerned words, and certainly hadn't liked the Lieutenant Commander's announcement that DiNozzo had been given too much morphine and probably now had to fight the horrors of addiction on top of all his other physical maladies. But, more than that, what had disturbed him the most was DiNozzo's continued, desperate, weakening calls for Tobias Fornell, as the FBI agent had been pulled away and escorted from the younger man's side.

That, above all else, had sent a sharp spike of agony deep into his heart.

As Fornell had been ushered away, Gibbs had held the distraught young man tightly, wrapping the trembling body safely within his strong arms, had tried to soothe the fairly wretched pleas, whispering his own words of reassurance and comfort, and had come very near hating himself when he could find no way to ease the soft, heartbroken sobs that continued from the dry, parched lips. DiNozzo had fought them all and, even in his weakened state, it had been obvious he had wanted no one but Fornell at his side and in his arms. It had hurt Gibbs then...and the memory continued to hurt him even now.

Moving slowly to the other side of the bed, directly across from Wainwright, Gibbs eased down to sit on the firm mattress and cast a wary eye in the woman's direction before refocusing totally on DiNozzo. The younger man was obviously still asleep, blissfully unaware of the turmoil surrounding his care over the past several days, and it gave Gibbs the opportunity to study the youthful face without interruption.

Reposed in slumber, DiNozzo's pale face was bathed in a fine sheen of perspiration and his eyes danced restlessly beneath the closed, bruised-looking lids. The absurdly long lashes fanned across the high cheek bones, the skin in that area just as discolored-looking and fragile, and Gibbs fought back a moment of unexpected and unnerving despair. He wanted...no, needed...to hold DiNozzo, to make him understand they were all doing what they could, under the circumstances, to help in his recovery, and to let the younger man know he still wanted to continue their repeatedly interrupted relationship. But, now, all it seemed he could do was sit idly by and observe.

"He's dreaming," Wainwright's soft voice took him by surprise and disturbed his thoughts. "That Rapid Eye Movement is a dead giveaway."

Again, Gibbs nodded but didn't look her way, keeping his gaze on his agent, hoping the dreams were kind. "How was his night?"

Wainwright shifted and closed the thick folder, interlacing her fingers over where it rested on her ample lap. "Much better than the night before."

'Hell,' thought Gibbs morosely, '*anything* had to have been better than the first night.'

The previous night had been nothing short of a waking nightmare for all of them, full of struggling and crying and pleading, and it had almost been too much even for Gibbs to witness. Almost. There had been a brief discussion about the use of restraints and bindings and Gibbs had come close to losing control of his barely constrained fury before Ducky's calming voice had reminded Wainwright of the horrors DiNozzo had endured while at the hands of Emilio Martinez. There would be no restraints for DiNozzo...not while anyone from NCIS was around...but it had been a near thing. Gibbs had grit his teeth and held on tight to his writhing agent, restricting the younger man's movements with his arms and legs until he'd, basically, just worn himself out.

"He even roused around 0300 and was lucid enough to have a few sips of water," Wainwright continued and stretched as much as she could in the confines of the thickly padded chair. She offered a small smile that Gibbs never saw. "That's a very good sign."

"If you say so."

Wainright sighed and stood stiffly, twisting a bit to place the chart on a nearby desk, and then eyed the silver-haired man solemnly. "Look, Agent Gibbs, I'd like to take a quick tip to the head and Doctor Mallard's not due to relieve me for another," she glanced quickly at her wristwatch, "forty-two minutes. Think you can hold down the fort until I can get there and back?"

"Of course," he finally turned to face the woman and watched as she rubbed her tired, red-rimmed eyes with the knuckles of both hands. She and Ducky were doing all they possibly could but, so far, it seemed like nothing more than data collecting. Gibbs frowned as he thought of a new concern. "The biologist from the CDC...when will..."

"Later today, I'm told," Wainwright cut in quickly as she reached to take a closer look at the port in DiNozzo's left hand, gently smoothing down a piece of white tape with the tip of one finger, and then straightening. "If Agent DiNozzo should awaken before I return, just be as reassuring as you can...and offer him some more water. Keep track of what he drinks, if you can." She offered a small, grim smile. "Input/output..you know how it is."

Gibbs nodded his understanding. "Will do."

Wainwright nodded again and turned, moving immdiately toward the doorway. Gibbs stayed as he was until he heard the door click closed and, when he was really sure she was gone, reached out and tenderly brushed his fingertips across DiNozzo's warm forehead, enjoying the brief moment of privacy and the direct skin-to-skin contact. Sighing, he let his hand trace down the slightly damp cheek, around the long neck, and across the slim shoulder, running his palm from bicep to wrist and holding firm. Gibbs lowered his head, closed his eyes, and willed DiNozzo to keep fighting.

When the arm under his fingers suddenly twitched slightly, Gibbs looked quickly back to the younger man's face and watched the sleepy, glazed, green eyes blink sluggishly open. He leaned closer and waited patiently, not sure if the heavy lids would remain open or re-close as sleep beckoned once again. It was a battle but when they stayed at half-mast and the dilated eyes shifted minutely his way, Gibbs was overjoyed.

"Hey," he whispered and reached acoss DiNozzo's body to snag a hold of a cup of water, getting it ready in case the younger man requested a sip. "How are you doing?"

DiNozzo blinked lazily, drugged-blurred eyes on Gibbs' mouth, almost like he hadn't heard the softly-spoken question but had only seen the movement of the man's lips. Gibbs sighed and cautiously touched a warm, sleep-kissed cheek, once more grateful for the simple contact, and tied to break through the fog again.

"Tony? Can you hear me?"

It took a few moments but the eyes slowly rose to meet his and, when they did, he couldn't contain his grin of pleasure. DiNozzo's glassy gaze roamed slowly over his face, traveling a snail-pace path from forehead to cheek to chin and back up the other side, until they dropped to remain fixed on the blue eyes hovering so close. A small wrinkle of confusion formed and settled between DiNozzo's dark eyebrows and the dry, chapped lips parted.

"G...ibbs?"

The sound was weak, slurred, and raspy and all Gibbs wanted to do was get the young man to drink. "Yeah, it's me. Here," he affirmed and quickly maneuvered until he had an arm under the slim shoulders, carefully keeping the various lines and tubes free and clear of entanglement, "try to drink some water."

The bent straw hovered close to DiNozzo's lips but he acted as though he wasn't even aware of its presence. Maybe he wasn't. Gibbs frowned and tried again.

"Tony," he whispered, bringing his face closer and elevating the shoulders slightly, "just take a small sip for me. Okay? Can you do that?"

There was a tiny, almost non-existent nod and Gibbs was directing the tip of the plastic straw between the dry lips, watching carefully as DiNozzo continued to watch him, a bit disconcerted by the dazed but intense stare. A little of the cool fluid was drawn up but it wasn't nearly as much as the former Marine thought should be drunk. He tried to gently prod the younger man into comsuming more but it was a lost cause and he finally gave up, reluctantly setting the container back on the side table. He eased DiNozzo to the pillow and brushed his fingers through the lank hair, trying not to worry too much about the continued intense stare.

"Doctor Wainwright said you had a fairly good night," he decided to fill the silence with a few positive words, not even sure if DiNozzo knew who Doctor Wainwright was. It didn't really matter. "That's exactly what you need right now: plenty of rest. And water."

DiNozzo's frown seemed to deepen a bit and his lips parted again. "G...ibs?"

The repeated inquiry rattled Gibbs but he tried to calm his concerns, knowing the drugs were dulling the ususlly sharp senses. "Yeah, Tony, it's me."

DiNozzo blinked hard and his eyes momentarily shifted from Gibbs' face to glance to the left of the bed, right where Fornell had been at one time, before resettling on the familiar blue gaze again. "Wh...what are...you...do...ing...here?"

Gibbs frowned at the question. "I'm here to be with you, Tony."

Silence stretched between them as they studied each other carefully and, when DiNozzo spoke again, his expression even more perplexed, it was not what Gibbs expected to hear. "W...why?"

'Why?' Gibbs' own frown grew as the bewildered-sounding inquiry resonated in his brain and he found himself easing a bit away. What the hell was going through DiNozzo's head?

"Where else would I be?" He asked gently, trying to keep the apprehension from his voice.

The question seemed to cause the younger man a bit of discomfort and he looked away, dazed eyes suddenly dropping shyly to one side. "I...I don't...know...but..." he swallowed thickly, "not here."

Gibbs didn't like to ever hear or ever see DiNozzo's confusion but especially not now, while he was still very weak and vulnerable. Gently, he cupped the warm cheek in the palm of one hand and forced the glazed gaze to return.

"Of course I'd be here with you," he tried to assure, stroking the hair again, watching as DiNozzo automatically pushed slightly into the movement, seeking the contact even if he was uncertain of the reason behind it. Gibbs wondered just how often Fornell had touched him like this and had to immediately force that thought away. "I want to always be here for you, no matter what. Is that all right with you?"

"I...I...guess so," the response was whispered dully.

"I want you to *know*, Tony. I don't want you to ever doubt me. Understand?"

DiNozzo tried to look away from those intense blue eyes again but was trapped by Gibbs' grip on his chin. He could feel the warm puffs of breath from the older man's mouth and could see the determined sincerity in the concerned face but just couldn't get his heart and head to believe what he was hearing and seeing and feeling. He sighed in frustration and closed his tired eyes, not wanting to face this reality...not just yet.

"What is it?" He could hear Gibbs speaking and it eased an ache, somewhat, that had grown steadily in his chest. "Tony? What's wrong? Please open your eyes and look at me."

The sound of the quiet, honest request brought prickles to the backs of his lids and he reluctantly obeyed the appeal, peering up into Gibbs' worried face. Knowing he was starting to cry but not understanding why he wasn't able to control his emotions, DiNozzo took as deep a breath as he was able and tried to get his muddled brain to explain.

"You...left...me," he choked raggedly, weak voice breaking, "and Ziva...came. But...you didn't. Only her. And...then Tobias...came. Not...you. Never you...never...you...just Tobias..."

Gibbs felt his heart twist painfully and he reached to capture DiNozzo's face in both hands, cupping the smooth skin, and holding gently, feeling very determined to have his true feelings known. "I'm here *now*, Tony, and I'm not leaving. Do you hear me? I'm not going to leave you again."

"Vic...Victoria is...dead," DiNozzo's voice wavered even more and the tears broke free from the spiky confines of his lashes, trailing down the sides of his anguished face to dampen his hairline even more. "Dead..."

"Shh, I know," Gibbs immediately reached to pull the younger man back into his arms, thinking of nothing else but comforting the wounded soul of his damaged agent...his new lover. "I know, Tony."

"And...Millie, too...she's dead...both of...them."

"I know, I know," Gibbs rocked them both gently, lips pressed against the warm forehead and strong arms holding securely. "It'll be all right...it'll be all right."

DiNozzo slowly raised his hands and gripped at the shirt stretched across Gibbs' broad back with unsure fingers, trying his best to latch on and hold tight. The pull of the IV line entering and taped to the back of his left hand went all but ignored.

"No...nothing will...be all right...again. Nothing."

The tears came harder now, the grief and pain and disillusionment seeping from the sick young man, his exhausted body beginning to go limp and his hands losing their purchase on the former Marine. Gibbs fought down his rising fear, hating to see this vibrant and lively creature laid so low, knowing the damaged body was overpowering the weakened mind and the combination of those elements could be disastrous if not countered immediately.

There was the soft sound of several people entering the doorway at his back but Gibbs ignored the intrusion and kept his focus. "You listen to me, Tony," he hissed into the closest ear and kept his hold solid and secure on the trembling form, "none of what happened was your fault. Do you hear me? None of it. Victoria and Millie were victims, just like you, but I'm telling you the truth: the people behind all this will be caught and punished. All of them. It *will* be all right...you just have to trust me now. Can you do that? Can you trust me again, Tony?"

When nothing but silence answered him, Gibbs felt his blood begin to run cold. Easing the young man back to the comfort of the pillow once more, he leaned forward and hovered over DiNozzo, willing the green eyes to recognize and accept the truth. He watched the liquid gaze blur as new tears formed.

"I...I don't...know," DiNozzo all but choked, his honesty and confusion like a knife to Gibbs' soul. "You...left me..."

Gibbs lowered his head as the accusation was repeated. He had to make DiNozzo understand, had to let him know the truth of all that had occurred, but knew this wasn't the time. He sighed and leaned back, pulling slightly away from the grieving, confused figure.

"Boss?"

McGee's muted voice caught his attention and Gibbs reluctantly turned his miserable eyes away from the desolate face of the young man in the bed and looked toward the doorway, surprised to see Ducky and Wainwright flanking the nervous-looking agent. They all wore expressions of obvious concern and the agent was immediately on his feet.

"What is it?" He asked, a prickle of dread inching up his spine.

Both Ducky and Wainwright left their places and moved to the bed, focusing on DiNozzo while McGee stepped closer to his leader. "Lieutenant Bradley says he needs to see you ASAP."

"McGee, what's happened?" Gibbs' brusque tone spoke volumes.

The younger man's eyes rounded at the sound but he obeyed. "He says he got word from one of his men out on patrol. He's spotted a group of unknowns approaching from the direction of the reservoir."

Gibbs took one last look at the figure on the bed and turned away, moving swiftly but continuing to speak as he walked. "Ducky, lock this door as soon as we leave and don't let anyone in unless it's one of us. Roberta?"

"Yes, Gibbs?" The woman looked sharply up from her position by the bed, watching as Gibbs paused and fixed her with a hard look.

"You have your weapon?" His blue eyes bored into hers.

The woman's mouth tightened fractionally but her nod was curt. "Yes."

"Don't let anyone take DiNozzo."

The implications were crystal clear. Ducky groaned quietly and dropped his chin to his chest, a hand reaching unconsciously to rest on one of DiNozzo's slim shoulders. The younger man seemed oblivious to the undercurrents swirling about in the room and the aging medical examiner could only think of it as a blessing.

Taking one last look at DiNozzo, Gibbs turned and left the room, determined to meet this new and potentially dangerous threat head on. The look on his face was clear. DiNozzo would *never* fall into the hands of Emilio Martinez again.



TBC

"No, Agent Gibbs, you will *not* leave the premises and accompany us on this recon, nor will any of your people. You *will* remain safely within the confines of the lodge, you *will* keep well away from all doors and windows, and you *will* not venture outside until either me or Sergeant Evers personally gives you the all-clear. I'm under direct orders from the SecNav on this one and I'm going to ensure you and every member of your team stays safely out of harm's way. It's my job to secure and defend, it's my job to protect from potential hostiles and apprehend any intruders, and it's my job guard against and use deadly force if faced with enemy fire. *Your* job is to make mine easier, plain and simple, and, damn it, I can't do that if you and your agents are outside and involved and I have to keep track of their movements as well as those of my own men. Do we understand each other?"

Jethro Gibbs eyed the sharp, stern visage of the Marine officer standing tensely before him, bristling at the tone of the commanding, young voice and the stiff, authoritative posture of the uniformed body, and knew he had no choice in the matter. Not this time.

"We just want to help..." he began his argument anew, knowing it sounded terribly lame and would get him absolutely nowhere in his quest to offer assistance but was unable to fight the demanding compulsion to present his case nonetheless.

"And you will," Captain Bradley assured, recognizing the angry, haunted expression in the stormy, blue eyes of the man standing in front of him. Gibbs was obviously not a man to sit idly by while others fought battles, especially when he considered them to be *his* battles. Realizing he needed to take a different tact, Bradley reached out and placed a comforting hand on the older man's shoulder, lowering his voice and changing his tone. "Gunny, you can protect and defend Agent DiNozzo a lot better from within the confines of these walls," he indicated with a sharp glance over one shoulder, "not outside of them. Leave the perimeter to us."

Gibbs studied the cool, intense gaze of the Marine, knowing the officer was right in his evaluation, but was really having a difficult time accepting it. He wanted...needed...to contribute, especially after feeling so out-of-the-loop and unnecessary with DiNozzo's comfort and care.

"Besides," Captain Bradley was continuing, his eyes flicking away to some spot just to the left of Gibbs' face, "we're not even sure these intruders that were spotted are on the property to do harm to your man. They could be nothing more than common trespassers or kids taking a short-cut."

Gibbs huffed an exasperated sigh and saw the officer's eyes immediately track back to his face. "Captain Bradley, I heard the report that came in. The intruders are carrying weapons..."

"They could be hunters."

The two men stood silently and regarded each other for several moments. They both knew the likelihood of some hunters accidentally wandering onto Double D property was slim to none. The acreage was fenced in and clearly posted and someone coming in to do some illegal hunting sure wouldn't be arriving from the direction of the reservoir. No, both men knew these particular 'hunters' were heading their way and the only game they were after was of the two-legged variety.

"Don't insult my intelligence," Gibbs smirked as he watched Bradley shift.

"All right," the Marine nodded once and conceded, cocking his head slightly to one side, "but I deserve the same consideration. Let me do my job, Gunny. That's why we're here. You know the SecNav's orders."

Gibbs swore silently, knowing the officer was right. He could see the small unit of jarheads getting ready to move out and knew he had to let this particular battle go on without him.

"All right," he acquiesced, shoving his hands hard into the pockets of his pants in a gesture of controlled anger, "but you'll be sure to let me know what you find. McGee will be manning the communications all the while."

"As soon as I know something for sure and we've got the situation under control, I'll pass the word along."

It was better than nothing. the NCIS agent nodded but, before Bradley could turn and step away, Gibbs stopped him with a hand. The Marine looked at the fingers gripping his forearm and then up into the older man's face, frowning with concern.

"Gunny?"

Gibbs gave the arm in his grasp a tight squeeze before letting go. "Be safe, Captain."

Bradley nodded and offered a small grim grin. "That's the plan."

Gibbs stood on the shaded porch and watched the small group form up and start out on foot, their light packs and weapons looking so out of place in the surrounding landscape he had to blink hard to banish the surreal image. His keen eyes shifted from the departing group and settled on the general position of the sniper he knew was perched somewhere on the roof of the machine shed just across the expanse of drive from the lodge. He and his people were not alone, not by a longshot. There was another sniper, somewhere, just as equally hidden from view, probably on the roof of the lodge itself or camouflaged in the rocky cliffs just to the east. There were eyes watching and protecting them, ready to deliver deadly force, and, even if he couldn't see them, Gibbs was very aware of their presence.

Sighing and turning away, Gibbs shifted his gaze to lock with McGee's, who was standing a bit uncertainly just to one side of the closed entryway. He could see the open apprehension in the youthful eyes regadring him and knew his agent was feeling nervous and jumpy about the situation but he could also see a frown of confusion lurking behind the anxious expression and knew McGee was pondering a problem.

"What?" Gibbs snapped brusquely, irritated for having his conversation with Captain Bradley overheard...and for feeling so antsy about DiNozzo and Fornell. "You got something to say?"

McGee shifted but didn't drop his gaze. "Um...well, actually, I do, Boss."

Gibbs moved to stand toe-to-toe with the younger man, ignoring the fact he had to bend his head slightly back to look down his nose at the smooth, unlined face, and waited. He could see McGee squirm a bit under the silent scrutiny but had to give him credit for not buckling under. The kid had certainly come a long way since Caitlin Todd's murder and his confidence was growing each day.

"How long are planning on making me wait, McGee?" Gibbs hissed and knew he'd struck a cord when the large eyes blinked rapidly.

"Sorry, Boss," he swallowed and then seemed to get his bearings. "I was thinking: if these so-called 'intruders' the Marines have located are somehow part of this whole Emilio Martinez situation, how did they find Tony so soon? I mean, it hasn't even been a week since Ziva and Fornell had him in Farmington and they used most of the backroads bringing him here. I know if someone was watching us in Washington and tracked us all the way from Carlsbad to here, they wouldn't have missed the convoy of Marines that escorted us to this lodge. But someone came after Tony when he was still in Utah, after we left him there with Victoria Sebastian, and we know how that ended. It...well, it all just seems a little too convenient for me."

Gibbs couldn't believe what he was hearing, so when he spoke, the question came out harsh and filled with uncertainty. "You think someone in our group is feeding information on his location?"

McGee swallowed nervously but quickly shook his head in denial. "No, of course not..."

"Well, it sure sounded that way to me. Just what the hell are you implying then?" Gibbs was angry at the suggestion but knew his agent had a point. He'd begun to wonder the same thing himself, in fact, but had shoved those absurd thoughts away. And McGee was getting very good at thinking outside the box, a characteristic that had, no doubt, rubbed off from DiNozzo. "Tell me!"

"What if it's Tony himself?" The younger man offered in a soft rush of speculation. He could see Gibbs' expression momentarily cloud and then harden even more as the implications sunk in and knew he had to elaborate. "What if he's been, somehow, implanted with a transmitter?"

Gibbs felt his blood turn icy in his veins. "Tagged?" He forced the word past his lips, hating the way it sounded to his ears. "You think Martinez tagged him like some damn animal?"

McGee nodded only once, seeing how the whole concept renewed the furious spark of rage in Gibbs' eyes. "Yes."

"Fuck!" Gibbs swore and pushed by his agent, moving back through the front entrance of the lodge and hastening up the huge staircase, taking them two and three at a time. He was dimly aware of McGee on his heels and of others joining in their wake but was totally focused on getting back into DiNozzo's room as quickly as possible.

Knocking several times on the locked door and quickly identifying himself to the people inside, Gibbs waited impatiently until the solid panel was unlocked and opened. He burst through and surprised everyone with the intensity of his entrance, including Tobias Fornell, who was bending over DiNozzo's reclining form and murmuring softly to the dazed, young man.

Gibbs' eyes took in the hand Fornell had gently placed against one of DiNozzo's cheeks...and the world turned a hazy red. Before anyone could step forward and intervene, Gibbs was around the bed and yanking Fornell away by the scruff of his shirt, jerking hard and sending the FBI agent stumbling into a chest of drawers near the closest wall, upsetting the various medical supplies arranged so carefully on the flat surface, sending them toppling to the floor.

"Jethro!" Ducky was yelling and moving to stop the unexpected violence, as was Lieutenant Commander Wainwright, and they managed to wedge themselves between the two struggling men, effectly keeping them apart. "Jethro! Stop this immediately!"

"Agent Gibbs!" Wainwright joined loudly, hoping the man would come to his senses before someone got seriously injured.

Gibbs was breathing hard and pointing an accusing finger in Fornell's direction, eyes hard and unforgiving. "I want you out of this room right now," he seethed, teeth flashing dangerously. "You aren't even suppose to be here!" He looked darkly down into Ducky's face. "That door was suppose to remain closed and locked until I came back!"

Fornell pulled himself upright and frowned at the ex-Marine, tugging at the neckline of his shirt to set the garment to rights. He shrugged his shoulders and sighed at the fury radiating off the man.

"Shit, Gibbs, I only came in here because Ducky asked me to," he stressed, trying to defend his presence.

Gibbs pushed slightly back and looked closely at his medical examiner, eyes filling with betrayal, wondering how Ducky could do something like this behind his back. There was no doubt Fornell was telling the truth...he could see it in the pale eyes of his old friend.

"Anthony has been very restless, Jethro," Ducky was immediately offering his explanation, calmly keeping a reassuring hand on the trembling man's forearm, "and he began to fight us when we started our morning examination. Whether you want to admit it or not, Tobias has a great soothing influence on him. We're trying to do everything we can to keep Anthony out of restraints, you know this," he saw Gibbs flinch at the reminder, "but we have to have a way to get him to relax and settle down and the only way that seems to work at this point is to have Tobias close by."

Gibbs took another step back and glanced quickly over to the bed, watching as Abby tried to soothe DiNozzo, holding his hands and speaking softly, continually trying to get him to relax. He didn't know when she'd come in and only now thought of the footsteps he'd heard following as he'd entered the room. Probably her. And Ziva. Maybe even D.

Gibbs watched as DiNozzo squirmed and shifted under the lightweight coverings and refused to follow Abby's quiet pleadings to be still, locked in his own quest, looking for the one person who seemed able to calm his fears. The large, green eyes flitted aimlessly around the room, glancing at and dismissing everyone. When those expressive eyes found his, Gibbs held his breath and felt a measure of hope surge into his chest but, all to soon, the tired eyes moved on...until they found Fornell. He struggled a bit more and then suddenly just collapsed back, head heavy against the soft pillow but gaze remaining firmly locked on the older man's position. The need was evident in his stare: he wanted Fornell and no one else.

Taking another step back and shoving the raw hurt down once more, Gibbs forced his gaze away from DiNozzo, not able to look into those beseeching eyes one moment longer. It was hard to ignore the painful squeezing in his chest and the denial screaming within his head but there was no other option. Not now. Gibbs hated this whole situation, hated DiNozzo was still relying on Fornell for comfort, and hated he just couldn't come right out and tell everyone exactly what he felt for the younger man. But, really, what did it matter now? Not wanting to let his despair gain a foothold, Gibbs pushed all personal feelings aside, took a deep breath, and refocused on the matter at hand.

"We may have another problem," he spoke directly to Ducky and Wainwright, purposefully ignoring Fornell as the man slowly eased back toward the bed and took one of DiNozzo's shaking hands into his, sinking to sit on the side of the mattress. He knew everyone would be listening. "McGee has a theory as to why we haven't been able to keep DiNozzo safe."

Ducky arched an eyebrow at the statement, eyes skimming over to the bed before resettling on Gibbs. "So, you're certain these so-called intruders the Marines are tracking now *are* part of Doctor Martinez's group, then?"

"Don't know that for sure yet, Duck," Gibbs sighed and turned his back to the bed, blocking out the hurtful sight, rubbing a hand over his face and grimacing, "but, even if they aren't, his theory still bears listening to."

"All right," Ducky nodded and turned his attention to McGee, who stepped a bit closer so he could now be included in the small group conversation. He saw the young man nod at Wainwright before looking expectantly his way. "Timothy, what is it?"

McGee took one last look at Gibbs, saw his nod, and began. "So far, everywhere Tony has been, it hasn't taken too long before someone came snooping around...or worse." He remembered how close Ducky was to Victoria Sebastian and felt a flicker of real remorse before pushing on. "He's been on the run with one of us ever since we found him in Idaho and we've been very careful about covering our trails. Theoretically, we've covered so much distance and used so many different modes of transportation and have gone back and forth across the country that no one should have been able to..."

"McGee!" Gibbs snapped irritably, "Just get to the point already!"

"Sure, Boss," the young man nodded and plunged right back in, seemingly unphased by the harsh reprimand. "I think there may have been a transmitter of some type place on Tony, used for tracking his movement. That's the only logical way I can see how they've been able to shadow him like they have."

"Oh, my Lord," Ducky whispered and looked quickly back to his patient.

Abby was suddenly joining the group, bright eyes catching and holding McGee's. "You mean like some GPS microchip? Or a RFID tag implant?"

"RFID?" Gibbs asked with another frown, not liking the sound of the young woman's questions. "What the hell is RFID?"

"Radio Freguency Identification, Boss," McGee supplied quickly. "It's an automatic identification method that relies on storing and remotely retrieving data using devices known as 'tags' or 'transponders'. They're very small and can be attached to...or incorporated into...a product or an animal or a...person."

"Fuck," Gibbs hissed almost inaudibly and fixed his gaze back on the medical examiner. "Is that possible?"

"Well, actually, yes," Ducky confirmed a bit uncomfortably, "though I've never encountered one in a human before."

"Where *have* you seen one?" Gibbs inquired as he stepped closer.

"Several years ago, one of Mother's favorite Corgis had a tendency to wander off at the most inopportune of times. I just couldn't leave Mother by herself and go traipsing after the dreadfully nomadic creature every time it decided to take a stroll off the property, so the veterinarian suggested implanting little Benedict with a microchip, to track his movements."

"Did it work?"

"Oh, yes, quite well in fact," Ducky smiled a bit shrewdly, "Up until he found himself flattened under the wheels of a delivery truck."

There was a brief moment of silence before Abby piped back in. "Tagging cattle is used as a means of livestock identification and tracking in Canada and a few states here in the US. It's becoming more popular every year. Do you know the government can track a cow born in Canada almost three years ago to the exact stall or field where she is today? Probably all her calves, too."

"Abby," Gibbs gritted his teeth and made a cutting motion with one hand, "DiNozzo is not livestock."

"Well, no, but..."

"But this technology is working it's way more and more into the human population each day, Gibbs," Wainwright added solemnly, crossing her arms over her chest as her eyes wandered back to their patient. "One of the items on the agenda at the G8 Summit back in '02 was to update work on a power source to be used in transmitters for humans. They wanted them to have a life expectancy of around eighty years or so and there were visions of every newborn being implanted immediately at birth. That idea didn't go over too well with the general population, as you can imagine." She nodded and looked back at Gibbs. "Nowadays, some parents are having them placed in their children to aid in potential kidnapping events, they're being implanted in Alzheimer's patients and those who have the tendency to take walks away from home, and even the law enforcement community has seen the value of using them in some prisoners and parolees."

"They're also used by major companies and labs all over the globe," McGee added quietly. "Toyota, Pfizer, even Wal-Mart use them as inventory tracking devices. Next-gen passports and credit cards will probably even contain RFIDs."

Gibbs stared at his youngest agent for a moment. "And now you think Martinez may have used one to track his...inventory."

McGee pressed his lips tightly together and sighed. No one in this room considered DiNozzo 'inventory' but what else could he possible be tosomeone like Emilio Martinez?

"I couldn't say for sure, Boss, but it seems like a logical explanation."

The silence that followed McGee's statement was enough for Gibbs. No one else offered a different idea or opinion and, he had to agree, all indicators pointed only in that direction.

"Okay, Duck," he finally said, "the ball is in your court again. How soon can you find this...tag...so we can dispose of it?"

"Can't we just wait until the Marines return with these intruders?" Ducky winced at the suggestion. "We would have to be very thorough in our examination, Jethro. Most probably even be invasive."

Gibbs cringed at the thought of DiNozzo having to withstand more probing and prodding. He'd been through so much already.

"Duck," Gibbs kept his voice steady and his tone even, "if these intruders are part of Martinez's organization and the Marines take them as prisoners, what's to stop more of them from following? Martinez has gone to a lot of trouble so far, why would he stop now? Until we know for sure DiNozzo is clear and free of anything that could be used as a locator for his position, we have no other choice."

Ducky nodded his understanding and reached to place a hand on Wainwright's shoulder. "We can eliminate a lot through visual examination alone and through the use of x-rays." He pulled her toward the bed and they gazed down on the young man now resting fairly comfortably with his head on Fornell's chest, fingers loosely tangled in the fabric of the man's shirt. "He won't like this, Jethro. I can tell you that much."

Gibbs hardened his heart, knowing they had to do this to keep him safe. He caught Fornell's concerned expression and stepped close.

"Tobias will help keep him calm...won't you, Tobias?"

It wasn't a challenge or a threat. It was a simple request and Fornell could see how much it was hurting Gibbs to ask for his help.

Fornell met Gibbs' direct look unflinchingly, hearing the underlying message. "You know I will do whatever I can for him."

For 'him'. Gibbs knew exactly what that meant.

Dropping his eyes back to DiNozzo's momentarily peaceful face one final time before turning away and striding purposefully to the open doorway, Gibbs barked to his remaining agents. "McGee. Ziva. You're with me."

As he passed into the outer hallway, Gibbs came face to face with Dunn, a beautifully maintained Remington 870 Wingmaster, 28 gauge, pump action shotgun cradled casually in his large, capable hands. He could see his friend was prepared to assist and had to stop at the determined look he was receiving.

"D?"

"Where do you want me, LJ?" Dunn asked without preamble.

Gibbs nodded once and put his hand on his friend's shoulder, squeezing tight. "I need you right here, protecting this doorway, D. I never wanted to get you involved in anything like this but, God help me, I need you now."

"Shut the hell up," Dunn responded without any heat...or humor. "This is my place and I'll be damned if I'm going to stand idly by while the rest of you try to stay alive."

Gibbs allowed a small smile. His eyes flicked quickly to McGee and Ziva and jerked his head toward the staircase, silently communicating his wish for them to go down to the first level and wait for more instructions. He watched them go before turning his full attention back to his friend.

"There're five people in that room," his eyes drifted to the recently-closed and locked doorway, "who need protecting right now. Lieutenant Commander Wainwright has a sidearm, as does Fornell, but they're both going to be very busy with DiNozzo for awhile."

"I heard."

Gibbs knew Dunn had been standing close enough to hear everything. "Then you know they are not to open that door again unless it's one of us but, damn it, D, I need someone here by the door in case an unfriendly somehow gets by us downstairs."

"I'm your man."

The simple, understated reply was all that was necessary. Gibbs grunted.

"Never a man of many words, were you, D?"

"Yeah, well, look who's talking," Dunn grinned slyly, reaching with one foot to hook the bottom rung of a nearby chair, pulling it close and conveniently blocking the entryway to DiNozzo's room. He eased down onto the seat and looked up at Gibbs. "No one is getting by me."

Gibbs nodded. There was never any doubt.

Without another word, Gibbs whirled and started down the stairs, eyes sweeping from left to right, brain already focusing on the potential situation. Until he heard from Captain Bradley or Sergeant Evers, this lodge was his fortress, his domain, his responsibility and he'd be damned if anyone was going to get in...and he'd be doubly damned if anyone laid another hand on DiNozzo.

DiNozzo.

Gibbs momentarily found it difficult to push the thoughts of the younger man away and all he seemed to want to remember was the feelings that'd been growing steadily between them as their relationship had moved from professional to personal. Memories rushed in to haunt him, smacking him hard in the solar plexus, and driving the air from his lungs, catching him unprepared with vivid thoughts of late night conversations, of simple, shared laughter, and of moments of undeniable closeness. They'd had it all for one bright instant and, then, it was just gone. Closing his eyes tightly against the rush of forbidden memories, Gibbs almost missed the bottom step, and ended up stumbling slightly, catching himself only at the last second.

"You okay, Boss?"

Gibbs looked up into McGee's worried eyes and shoved his wayward thoughts forcibly to the back burner, where he was certain they would remain, simmering away until they all evaporated away into nothingness. He shot the young man a dark, stern look and pushed away from the supporting banister.

"We need to make sure the front and back entrances are covered at all times," he was instructing as he took long strides across the hardwood flooring in the main entryway of the lodge and glanced at his two agents. "Make sure you have extra rounds. Ziva, I want you to take the back. McGee, you man the communications. Get a line open immediately with Bradley and his group and find out what's happening."

"You got it, Boss," McGee responded and was away to do as bid.

"What about the Marine snipers on the roof tops? Won't they be able to take out whoever approaches?" Ziva asked as she automatically pulled her handgun from the holster at the small of her back and checked the clip, mentally falling into the proper frame of mind. A confrontation was in their future and she was an essential cog in the defense machinery.

"We don't take anything for granted," Gibbs barked sharply and scowled. "You know this, Ziva. Don't get confused just because there's a unit of Marines and a couple of trained snipers somewhere outside."

Ziva's dark eyes flashed at the biting reprimand but she understood the need for his words. They were a team, defending one of their own upstairs, and they had to depend only on themselves at this point in time. And, as McGee had started telling her recently, always be prepared to expect the unexpected.

"Understood, Gibbs," she nodded calmly and turned to head toward the back of the structure.

"Ziva," Gibbs' voice brought her up sharp and she swivled her head to look back at him again, cocking an eyebrow in silent inquiry.

"Stay sharp," his tone was more intimate and less tense and she could hear the underlying message in his voice, reading the directive in his cool, blue eyes: no one else was going to be harmed because of Emilio Martinez and his henchmen. No one.

Ziva nodded again and left, knowing Gibbs was going to take the front entrance for himself. If the Marines failed in keeping the surrounding area safe, Gibbs would keep them from getting in through the front...or die trying. The dark-haired woman shivered at the thought. If Gibbs failed, they would all certainly fail, too.

Gibbs watched her go and paced to the front door, throwing the strong, heavy locks and smiling at the secure, wooden panel, knowing it was at least two inches thick. Dunn had obviously spared no expense here and, for that, he was grateful. And there were none of those asinine, decorative, glass panels on either side of the door that could easily be shot out by a simple, innocuous pellet from a BB gun.

"Boss!"

McGee's strident voice, demanding his immediate attention, brought him back to the area away from the doorway. He saw the worried frown marring the younger man's face and quickly made his way to McGee's postion.

"What is it?"

"Captain Bradley's reporting a vehicle has just been spotted coming up from the main road..."

"Could be the CDC doc," Gibbs thought out loud, trying to control a flash of worry. This was all too convenient for him: intruders coming in from the direction of the reservoir and, now, someone approaching from the main road. Yeah, too convenient.

"That's what Bradley speculated but he's not taking any chances. Says they plan on separating and sending a couple of men to intercept the vehicle and that they'll contact us again when ID's been established. But he's hesitant to send anyone on to the lodge until all the intruders are neutralized."

Gibbs grunted his approval. They didn't need anyone else in the lodge to protect at this point in time. He nodded his understanding to McGee and watched as his agent turned away and headed back into the trophy room, where all the tech equipment had been set up.

"LJ?"

Dunn's strong voice was calling from the direction of the top of the staircase. Gibbs moved so he could clearly see his friend's face, looking up at the other man from the area by the bottom riser. He could see the casual yet focused manner in which Dunn carried his shotgun and the image of his position atop that rise, and at that exact level, brought a quick flash of memory of another time and another place. Brothers in arms...always.

"What is it, D?" Gibbs inquired, seeing his friend shift and glance back in the direction of DiNozzo's doorway.

"I think they found that microchip."

My God. Already?

"McGee!" He shouted toward the trophy room, not waiting for a response, knowing the younger man would obey. "Cover the front door."

Gibbs was bounding up the staircase, heading directly back to where he'd just left only minutes before, his thoughts jumping in his head and heart pounding in his chest. As he neared, he could hear the sound of muffled crying, of hushed, calming words, of muted but recognizable arguing. He tapped soundly on the door and identified himself, waiting impatiently until it was unlocked and opened.

Abby's pale face greeted him solemnly and he couldn't ignore the tears streaking down her cheeks. He offered the visibly distraught woman a brief hug and then moved toward the bed, eyes immediately trying to see past the small group of people so he could get a clear look at DiNozzo. He tried to tamp down the surge of envy as he caught sight of Fornell's arms wrapped securely around the weakly struggling young man, obviously trying to ease the soft cries and broken pleas for help. But something was not right...DiNozzo wasn't settling.

"Ducky, what's wrong?" Gibbs demanded as he stepped close.

Both Ducky and Wainwright left their places around the confused patient and immediately turned to face Gibbs. The medical examiner sighed and shook his head.

"We've located a place on his scalp, a few inches behind his left ear. We almost missed it but we think it could possibly be one of these transmitters."

"So? What's the problem?" He tried again. "Just take it out."

"We're waiting for confirmation on the x-ray," Ducky waved a hand toward the large closet they'd somehow transformed into a suitable place for that. "We were just discussing other areas before we do any surgery."

Gibbs felt his world narrow. "Other areas? I don't understand."

"Gibbs," Wainwright jumped in, "there's a strong possiblitiy he's carrying more than one. This particular one was easy to detect, once we knew what we were looking for, but I seriously think he may have one or two others...as backups. Martinez has gone to a lot of trouble to keep Agent DiNozzo within his scope...multiple taggings would insure a more secure method of recapturing his inventory."

"Christ," Gibbs breathed in frustration, eyes roaming back to the bed and the weak struggles that still continued. "What's wrong with him? Why won't he settle down for Fornell?"

"We don't know, Jethro," Ducky was shaking his head. "We tried to explain that we needed to examine him more thoroughly and he began to fight. We don't want to sedate him any more...the morphine, thankfully, is slowly leaving his system...so we decided to use a muscle relaxer instead. His pain is minimal right now but this...this is something else."

"I think he's scared," Wainwright's soft thought almost went undetected.

Both Gibbs and Ducky turned their attention to her but it was Ducky who spoke. "Roberta? What is it?"

The woman sighed and shook her head. "I think he's scared of us. All of us. And looking at how he's resisting Agent Fornell's attempts, I don't think we can rely on him for help any longer." She nailed them both with a hard eye. "If we are to examine him for any more of these transmitters, we're going to have to restrain him."

"Roberta!"

"No."

Both Ducky and Gibbs were surprised but it was Gibbs that stepped forward into the woman's personal space. His eyes were cold and hard.

"You will *not* restrain him in any way."

"He'll only continue fighting us until he either hurts himself or exhausts himself and neither result is good for him. You have a better idea?"

The challenge made Gibbs whirl around and move toward the bed. He looked down to where Fornell was trying to gently contain DiNozzo's anxious, uneasy movements and quickly made his decision.

"Get up, Tobias."

Fornell looked over his shoulder and up into Gibbs dark expression, shaking his head. "He won't settle for you."

"Get up," Gibbs repeated with a definate edge. "Don't make me tell you again."

The threat was there, hanging clearly in the room, and Fornell wisely released his hold on DiNozzo's weakly-flailing wrists and rolled up from the bed, stepping back and watching as Gibbs toed out of his shoes and placed his handgun on the side table.

"What...what are you going to do?" He asked hesitantly, eyes taking in each movement, already knowing what was about to occur. He swallowed nervously and shook his head in denial. "He won't calm for you..."

Gibbs turned and faced Fornell, his blue eyes seeming to spark with barely contained wrath. "Get your weapon and get your ass downstairs. Tell McGee I'm up here now and have him fill you in with what's happening outside."

Fornell stood stupidly, eyes still filled with negation. "But..."

"Now, Fornell!" Gibbs ordered, turned his back, and slipped into the bed beside DiNozzo, reaching with careful hands as the younger man began to fight against this new attack.

Fornell swallowed once more, bit back another useless retort, and turned away, slinking silently toward the doorway. Abby was still there, at her post, and she immediately opened the panel and watched as he went out, closing and locking it securely behind him. Turning back toward the bed, Abby eased into a padded chair just to one side and smiled, watching as Gibbs gently took DiNozzo into his arms and began the process of helping him heal.

'Yes!,' she thought with satisfaction. 'This is how it's suppose to be.


TBC

The quiet voices were surrounding him from all sides, drifting over and around and above...soft but oh, so demanding. Not really speaking to him as much as speaking *about* him. To each other. What...what were they saying? Why..why was it so hard to understand them? They were whispering, he knew that much...whispering and murmuring...the sounds forming slowly, only to dissolve and evaporate before being recognized and understood. Why were they speaking so softly? Was there some intimate secret...some reason to keep their words from making any sense? This was all too confusing and, to make matters worse, now they were touching...

No...

"Let's roll him over just a bit that way. Easy now."

No, please...

"Wait a minute...there. Just let me pull this damn hospital gown out of the way. Good."

I said no...

"That's perfect...just like that. Keep him as still as you can."

NO!

They weren't suppose to be touching him like this, turning him so casually, positioning him so...so...so intimately. And the hands...all of them...everywhere...the hands seemingly coming from all directions at once, holding and grasping and pulling...

...and touching. God, so much touching. *Too* much touching. He didn't want or like having these touches, didn't want to be held down like this by these hands, didn't want to keep fighting and fighting to push them away...only to lose again and again. No more losing, no more just laying here and being powerless, no more giving in to the hurt and the shame and the feelings of betrayal. He just wanted to get away from the hands and the groping and the awful, unending, terrible, too thorough touches...

"NO!"

DiNozzo's sudden and very unexpected angry shout of denial...of plain, outraged refusal...took everyone in the room completely by surprise and the questing hands immediately withdrew from contact with his body, palms and fingers hovering anxiously above the weakly thrashing arms and legs, the faces of the people surrounding the bed clouding with a mixture of concern and sympathy and a good measure of tender understanding. They stepped back, away from the mattress and the tormented young patient, save for a lone individual who resolutely remained, his large, capable hands resting on his thighs as he knelt close by, knees barely brushing against his ill agent's closest leg.

Gibbs kept his eyes focused only on DiNozzo but spoke quietly and specifically to the two doctors poised so close, knowing they wanted to return to their intended task of examining the younger man's body for more of those dreaded transmitters. "Just back off for a minute. Let me," he sighed and winced as he watched DiNozzo start to curl into a tight, protective ball, "let me try to get him to calm down."

"Jethro..."

Gibbs could clearly hear the exasperated tone in the softly spoken way his name had been uttered and knew neither Ducky or Wainwright believed anyone was going to be able to have much success in reassuring their visably distraught patient at this point and had just begun discussing the real possibility of resorting to sedation...again...no matter how adverse the idea was to them now. There just had to be another way.

"Duck," Gibbs hissed irritably, eyes slanting in the direction of the older man, his own frustration momentarily bubbling to the surface, "just back the fuck away!" He ran a shaking hand through his short hair and released a hollow sigh, angry at his complete lapse of control. It wasn't like him to speak to his medical examiner like this and he was immediately contrite. "Just...give me a few minutes with him. Please."

Both Ducky and Wainwright silently observed the tired but very determined expression on Gibbs' face. It was evident he was going to try something radical...he'd all but insisted before they started their more thorough examination he thought he'd be able to control the younger man if they would just leave him alone with DiNozzo for a short while. They'd, of course, resisted the suggestion, and now were right where they'd feared they would be: locked in a stalemate and facing the use of more drugs.

Ducky pulled off his glasses and wearily rubbed at his eyes. No one had been sleeping very well of late: the short cat-naps on the flight out from DC, the drive from Carlsbad to Red Bluff, discussing medical logistics and treatments as the hours rolled by, thinking of the possibility of more danger approaching outside the lodge, all was putting too much stress on the too few people here to help. Placing the frames back on his face, he looked into Wainwright's equally fatigued eyes.

"We need to let him try, Roberta."

Wainwright's eyebrows canted downward in open displeasure. "Just what makes you think he'll be able to make any difference, Donald? Agent DiNozzo has been depending on Tobias Fornell's presence and support for days and, now, even he's being rejected."

"I'm not Fornell," Gibbs gritted softly, eyes sweeping to the woman angrily before returning to the figure on the tossed and tumbled-looking bed. "I just need for both of you to move away from here for a short while. Go over there," he gestured off-handedly toward the far side of the large room, close to the doorway, "near Abby and let me try to talk to him by myself."

"Jethro..."

"*Please*, Ducky," Gibbs almost begged but the hard, sharp sound of the request was anything but a submissive plea. No...the cold, blue eyes and the firm set to the strong jaw clearly communicated the expected consent. Gibbs was not going to settle for any form of refusal to this petition...not now.

Wainwright turned briskly away without another word, heading immediately toward the young woman seated by the door, and perched herself easily upon one arm of Abby's comfortable chair. The two females instantly bent their heads close together and began speaking very quietly. Gibbs looked away from them and refocused his attention on his old friend.

"What are you going to do, Jethro?"

There was a slight edge of unease in the medical examiner's tone and Gibbs couldn't stop the small, feral grin from crooking the corners of his mouth. "Hell, Duck, you make it sound like you expect me to hurt him or something."

"Jethro, I think you should realize that no matter what any of us do at this point, I don't believe there is any possible way *not* to bring harm to him," Ducky spoke succinctly and very carefully. "Anthony's body and mind are resisting us every step of the way now and he's trying to hold on to himself as best as he can. His mind is just not able to comprehend all that's happening and, as his body continues to fail, he just goes deeper into himself. It a matter of self-protection."

Gibbs was quiet as he absorbed Ducky's words but kept his eyes solely on DiNozzo's restless body. The flimsy hospital-style wrap they'd placed on him in a half-measure of modesty was twisted and rucked up around his thin waist, the healing bruises and abrasions from his recent escape through the woods near Victoria Sebastian's ranch still very evident on the too-pale flesh. The periodic trembling was returning, as were the horrible moments of the strange, muscle-clenching spasms, and it was all too easy to see DiNozzo had, once again, wrapped his arms in an almost-protective embrace around his mid-section. There had to be pain there again, too. Gibbs was very worried.

"I just don't understand," he whispered in a half-baffled hush and reached to place a hand lightly upon DiNozzo's nearest ankle, feeling a slight twitch under his fingers when he made contact. "He seemed so much better when he was at Doctor Sebastian's. Ziva says he started weakening during their trek from there to Farmington and then, well, just kept going downhill...fast." Gibbs hesitated and pulled the soft sheet from where it had been kicked away during the earlier struggles and drew it cautiously back up and over the clenched and tucked body. "I thought he was getting better."

Ducky nodded and laid a comforting hand on Gibbs' shoulder. "We've talked about this before, Jethro. We just don't know what's happening within his bodily systems or what Doctor Martinez did to..."

"Duck," Gibbs' voice was hard and unyeilding as he interrupted abruptly, "do me a favor."

"Of course," the medical examiner had no problem recognizing the icy tone and prepared himself accordingly. "What is it?"

"Don't *ever* refer to that fucking madman as a 'doctor' in my presence again. Understand?"

Ducky stood his ground and stared at the back of his friend's head. Sighing deeply but completely comprehending the chilly directive, he carefully let his fingers slip from their position on Gibbs' shoulder and shifted to one side, folding his arms across his chest and tilting his head downward. When he spoke again, his own tone was cool and slightly detached but just as determined.

"I will gladly refrain from using the title, Jethro, but it doesn't change the facts: *he* manipulated Anthony's body, *he* is the one responsible for what we're seeing here, and we may never know how to fix what *he* did, no matter what we do. Now," he lifted his chin, "I'm asking you again: what are you going to do?"

Letting his too-tense shoulders relax and droop just a bit, Gibbs shook his head slightly. "I'm going to try and reason with him, Duck. I'm just going to try and reconnect, man to man, and hope he can remember what we started to mean to each other. If I can do that, I'm hoping I'll be able to convince him to let you do what needs to be done."

"And just what makes you think you can succeed where Tobias failed?"

Gibbs jerked and swiveled his head around just enough to enable himself to nail Ducky with a bitter glare, lips forming a hard, thin line of anger. It was bad enough to hear such a question from Wainwright but he certainly didn't need to have it repeated or to hear it uttered from his old friend. He watched as Ducky brazenly arched an eyebrow, blatantly challenging him to give a logical, reasonable answer to the inquiry.

"Damn you," Gibbs cursed without a hint of remorse and then let his gaze resettle, once again, on DiNozzo. Shaking his head, more to himself than to anyone or anything, and watching as the young man continued to move restlessly and uncomfortably under the thin covering, Gibbs swallowed thickly and reached to touch a tremoring arm, keeping the touch a slight as possible. Ducky deserved an answer...of some kind...but these were things Gibbs had a difficult time just thinking about, much less actually trying to explain. Nevertheless, he gritted his teeth and gave it a go, keeping his eyes trained on his suffering agent. "He got in under my radar, Duck, right from the start. I didn't want him there or need him there and God knows I did everything in my power to deflect his initial approaches. I honestly don't even think he was aware of what he was doing. I berated him professionally and personally, I pushed him harder than any of the other agents I've had under my supervision, and I gave him all the shit assignments and grunt work I could find.

"Despite all that, or maybe because of all that, he just kept coming back, over and over again, a little more brash, and somehow, one day, he was just...there...wedged firmly right under my skin and no matter how much I wanted to believe I didn't want him or need him, I found the thought of *not* having him in my personal life almost unthinkable." He paused and gently rubbed the arm under his fingertips soothingly, trying to get his thoughts back to the task and give the older man a more definitive response. "The thing is, if I can get Tony to remember how things were between us before all this started, when we finally relaxed enough to really begin enjoying each other's compnay and initiated all those things that are important in a growing relationship, maybe I can convince him what you and Roberta have to do is only going to help us all. I," he swallowed and finally turned to look at Ducky again, "I think I can do it...but I need some privacy and some time. Can you let me have those things, Duck?"

The medical examiner nodded and returned his hand to Gibbs' shoulder, giving it a brief but strong squeeze of understanding and acceptance. And, when he spoke, it was filled with a quiet, warm, dignified tone.

"Take all the time you need, Jethro. Just let us know when you think he's ready."

As Ducky moved away to join the women by the doorway, Gibbs took a moment to center himself and inhaled deeply, pushing all thoughts of the others still present in the far area of the room away and focused totally on DiNozzo...only on DiNozzo. He could tune out the quiet whisperings, could ignore the curious looks he knew were being directed his way, and he could even disregard his own growing anxiety but he would never be able to close his eyes to the damaged young man on the bed before him and not do everything he could to bring even a small measure of peace to the injured body and mind.

Shifting slowly and trying to minimize the amount of jostling he was causing, Gibbs stretched out on the mattress directly beside DiNozzo's tightly curled body and placed a warm palm against a wan cheek. He let it rest there, unmoving, just allowing the younger man a chance to get familiar with the feel and to give him the opportunity to recognize there was nothing intrusive about the action...nothing more than just a simple caress. DiNozzo's lids remained closed, the lashes fanning out across the pale skin under both eyes, but Gibbs knew he wasn't asleep...probably just trying to keep the world from invading his protective, little shell and, in his own confused mind, keeping himself safe.

"Tony?" Gibbs whispered, laying his head on the pillow beside DiNozzo's, bringing their faces fairly close together. He could feel the small puffs of expelled air as the younger man panted quietly through his mouth and felt a muscle jump and twitch under his fingers. So, not everything was being successfully ignored. Good. He tried again, speaking calmly, gently, and with as much clarity as he could muster. "Tony, it's me...just me and no one else. I'm just going to lay right here beside you for awhile and keep you company. Okay? I'm not going to touch you anymore than this. Can you feel my hand on your cheek? It's just me, that's all, and I'm going to stay right here beside you. Is that okay?"

Not really expecting any type of verbal response but hoping fervently the closed eyes would open, Gibbs remained as he was and waited, watching intently, looking for some small sign he'd been heard. He could see DiNozzo's arms tighten a bit where they were wrapped protectively around his midsection, so he carefully moved the hand from its resting spot on the side of the young face and gently cupped the cap of the raised shoulder, keeping the touch as non-threatening as possible. DiNozzo pushed the side of his face further into the pillow, eyes squeezing tighter, and released a soft, almost-silent mewl of protest.

"All right, all right," Gibbs hastened quietly, removing the hand and bringing it to lay, plam downward, on the pillowcase between their faces. He huffed out a sigh and searched for something to talk about, his mind automatically rejecting subjects revolving around their present predicament or work, and finally settled on a memory from his past. This would be safe and easy to speak about...as long as the others on the far side of the room respected his privacy. "I don't think I ever told you much about my childhood but laying in bed like this reminds me a lot of something that happened when I was a kid. When I was about ten, I fell out of a tree and broke an arm and one leg. The arm thing was a compound fracture and I was pretty much laid up in bed for a short while. It happened just at the start of summer vacation and, living on a farm, there was always lots of chores to do, especially at that time of the year.

"Anyway, there I was, in bed after getting released from the hospital, feeling sorry for myself and acting like a little bastard," he looked for some response but immediately continued when none was forthcoming, "and my brother decides to take revenge on me for leaving him with double the work. You see, he had to take over all the chores I was usually responsible for, plus get all his completed as well and, believe me, he was not happy about it." Gibbs saw some of the tension leave the trembling body and the long lashes begin to flutter. "I guess you didn't know about my brother, did you, Tony? No reason for you to have heard anything about him, I suppose, since he passed away long before you ever came to work for me. He was a couple years older than me and had the darkest hair I've ever seen on anyone. Black. Not even dark brown but true, honest to God, Native American-looking black hair. You know, the kind that almost looks deep blue in some light? Well, that's what he had. I can remember Dad teasing my mother about my brother's true parentage because no one in the family had hair like his. I knew he never really meant anything by it...it was just his way of getting a rise out of her. He just liked to see her blush.

"Well, my brother Alvin," one of DiNozzo's eyes cracked open at the mention of the name and Gibbs bit back a slight grin, "would come into my room and get on the bed with me, especially early in the morning when he and Dad had to be out in the fields, and he would wake me up, just because I didn't have to get up and go work with them. His type of payback, I guess. He was never rough or tried to hurt me but he always managed some device that brought me immediately out of sleep. Always.

"One morning he actually dumped a whole tray of ice cubes under the covers on me," both of DiNozzo's eyes were now partially open and looking intently at Gibbs' mouth but the youthful body persisted in remaining tense and wary, "making sure he he'd lifted up the elstic of my pajama bottoms and getting a huge handful of cubes right on my exposed dick in the process." He grinned at the memory and was gladdened when the eyes blinked rapidly and refocused, this time on his own eyes. "Christ, that was one wake-up I'll never forget. You should have seen me scrambling: one arm in a cast, one leg in a cast, and one brother laughing hysterically as I tried to shake the ice out!"

Gibbs continued to smile softly into the dazed eyes and slowly put his hand back one DiNozzo's shoulder, testing for a reaction, and was gratified when there was no obvious jerking away or muffled rejection this time. The young body was beginning to relax a bit, too, gradually uncurling from its tight coil and losing a bit of the tenseness and trembling. Even though there was residual pain reflected in the dulled eyes, DiNozzo seemed to be focusing on Gibbs and his story. The former Marine decide to step it up a notch.

"Alvin was areal live-wire...kind of like you," Gibbs let his hand slip carefully past the slim shoulder and began to rub softly over the small expanse of exposed skin at the top of the taut back. "He really liked to have a good time, no matter where he was or who he was with...and he always had a lot of friends."

DiNozzo's lips parted slightly, as if he wanted to speak, but instead, the drained, green eyes slanted away from the intense blue gaze and the slim body tensed against some unseen hurt. Gibbs edged closer and brought his bigger body near, not yet touching with anything other than his hand but still offering silent warmth and protection. Quickly but with much care, he continued to whisper and soothe.

"My parents knew what he was doing, of course. Hell, neither one of us could ever keep anything we did from them, no matter how much we tried and, believe me, we tried," Gibbs inched his face closer on the pillow, his nose just a hand's span from DiNozzo's. Swallowing thickly and hoping he was doing the right thing, he turned the one-sided conversation in the needed direction. "Tony," he whispered with affection, trying to emphasis the truth of his words, "you *know* I'm not going to hurt you and I only want to make things easier for you." He let the hand on the slim back return to its original position on the pale cheek and waited until the green eyes gradually drifted back his way. "Will you let me help you?"

When the dazed eyes began to slowly track over his face, Gibbs got the distinct impression DiNozzo was searching for something more than the obvious. Holding steady and still, the he let the younger man have all the time he needed to complete the sweep of his features, keeping his eyes focused, seeing the confusion and the fear, but also recognizing the evident need for continued reassurance and support. He swallowed thickly when the tired eyes finally locked on his.

"Tony," he whispered the name like a prayer and watched with aching sorrow as the eyes filled once more with fresh tears. Unable to think of anything better, Gibbs carefully eased both arms around the younger man and pulled the unresisting body close, enfolding DiNozzo in a warm, secure embrace. There was a brief moment of trembling...and then an almost instantaneous wash of complete relaxation, a melting away of the contained tension, and the release of one, final shaky moan.

Gibbs slowly slipped a leg over DiNozzo's and snugged them even tighter, wrapping his bigger arms securely around and holding tight, feeling the grasp of smaller fingers across his back. He smiled into the mop of unruly hair under his mouth and pressed a quick, chaste kiss to the top of the head.

"I need to know you're really with me now, Tony," he managed softly, wanting nothing more than to just hold and comfort his lover but knew he had to press on with discovering if there were any more of those horrendous tags somewhere on the frail body. "Tony, are you with me?"

There was an instant of concern when no response immediately came but Gibbs relaxed as the weak, hesitant voice was finally heard. "Yes..."

Gibbs closed his eyes in relief and quickly sent up a silent prayer of thanks. He eased back a bit in his grip and tried to look into DiNozzo's face again but the younger man seemed determined to stay close, head tucked safely into the haven under the older man's chin, feebly grasping and clinging doggedly to the only sanctuary he could recognize and accept. There was a terribly weak sound of refusal, an awful moan of aching despair, and Gibbs immediately changed his tactic, retightening his hold and waiting until DiNozzo could feel his strength and protection again. This was not going to be easy and looked like it was going to take more time than they really could afford to use, but Gibbs was determined not to allow any fear to factor into their relationship again...ever.

From the corner of one eye, Gibbs cought sight of a flash of movement and turned his head just enough to see that Ducky had moved to the foot of the bed, the kind eyes behind the lenses reflecting his open concern. Knowing he needed to get the younger man into the proper frame of mind for what was about to occur, Gibbs began asking a series of soft questions, hoping to open the lines of communication further and allowing Ducky some sense of his condition.

"Can you tell me how you feel?" He asked quietly, letting one big hand stroke soothingly over the warm skin of DiNozzo's exposed back. He saw Ducky move a step closer and nod his agreement. Yes, this is what they needed to know. "Do you," he hated to ask but forced the words out, "do you hurt anywhere?"

Another tense moment passed and, just as he thought DiNozzo wasn't going to answer, there was a puff of moist, warm breath at the base of his throat. "Yes..."

Gibbs closed his eyes at the sound of the lost, pained tone of the simple reply, and pressed his mouth and nose into the soft hair. He didn't want to hear that DiNozzo was still suffering in some way, that the youthful body was still a cause for further torment, that none of what they'd done so far was helping in any way. Both Ducky and Wainwright had said they didn't believe him to be hurting anymore and, now, by his own word, Gibbs knew it wasn't true. He turned his accusing glare on the medical examiner and saw the older man shaking his head in puzzlement.

"Where do you hurt, Tony?" Gibbs whispered, eyes shifting away from Ducky. "Can you tell me?"

Silence...and a small tightening of the fingers...nothing more. Gibbs tried again.

"Can you tell me where you hurt the most? Tony?"

The head snugged under his chin finally moved minutely from side to side and then was still. "No..." a soft sigh escaped and the fingers relaxed a bit, "just...everywhere."

"Tony," Gibbs began and then was surprised when the younger man continued.

"Please...don't let them..." the higer-pitched voice pleaded, a real note of renewed fear slithering in before fading.

"What?" Gibbs was trying to understand. "Don't let them what?"

"Touch me," the voice gasped and wavered. "Please...don't let them...touch me...again..."

Gibbs cursed silently. This was not good and, as he slanted a look back toward Ducky once more, he easily recognized the disappointment reflected there. He watched as the older man moved silently away and could barely hear the hushed conversation taking place over by the doorway. He knew what both doctors were probably discussing and what they both were going to want to to do but Gibbs was resolute in keeping more drugs from entering DiNozzo's already wracked system. He had to get the younger man to understand.

"Will you let me touch you?" He asked carefully, feeling a moment of tenseness return. This was risky and could easily bring this renewed moment of closeness to an abrupt end.

DiNozzo stirred and moved back only a bit, the green eyes blinking lazily as he tried to focus on the man holding him so close. His dry lips parted and he moistened them with the tip of his tongue before managing to respond.

"Will...will you hurt me?" The bleary eyes were unwavering in their open observation.

Gibbs felt like he's been sucker-punched. After all he'd been through, DiNozzo was still willing to give him the benefit of the doubt. It was almost too much for Gibbs to fully comprehend. Truthfully, he didn't know if his touches would cause any pain but he damn-well knew he'd never intentionally bring anymore discomfort to DiNozzo if it could be helped. He pulled the weaker body close and held on, hoping he could communicate his true feelings through the embrace.

"God, Tony, I don't know if I will or not," he spoke with roughened emotion. "I would never, *never*, want to bring you anymore pain but...God, I just don't know."

DiNozzo's head was nodding his understanding and his grip loosened. "I trust you..."

Christ.

Gibbs felt the hot sting of tears at the back of his throat. The declaration of trust, right now, was almost too much. He pulled back and eased a hand toward DiNozzo's face, aware of how the green eyes never wavered from his. Gently, he brushed his fingers over the soft hair and worked the pads between the strands, inching slowly over the scalp until he could feel the small, unnatural bump just behind the left ear. There it was...just like he'd been told...and the bile rose unexpectedly into his throat. He forced it back and felt his gut clench as a slight frown appeared on DiNozzo's face.

"Does this hurt?" He asked softly, one fingertip resting on the scarred area near the ear.

DiNozzo blinked slowly and seemed to carefully consider his answer. "No...not really. Just..." the eyes closed and his eyebrows drew downward in concentration, "just...not right."

Gibbs waited until the green gaze was once again back on his face before nodding and offering a small, bleak smile. "You've got that right. This," he gently circled the rise with his fingertip, "is not suppose to be there."

The frown didn't disappear. "What...is it?"

Gibbs didn't even consider lying now, not when he needed to do everything in his power to maintain the precious trust he'd been handed. "McGee seems to think you've been tagged with some kind of micro-transmitter. He thinks it's why you've been followed and located so easily from one place to the next. He thinks," he paused and hardened his resolve, "he thinks you may have more than just this one."

DiNozzo's frown deepened as he fought to comprehend the last statement. One shaking hand rose and worked to move Gibbs' fingers out of the way, searching for the spot. When he found it, any color he had in his face rapidly drained away and the hand retreated, fingers moving to jam up against his trembling mouth.

"Tony?" Gibbs immediately grew concerned.

"Tagged?" The word spilled out from between the dam of the fingers and the bottom lip quavered as horrofying compreshension washed over him. "He...he tagged...me?"

Gibbs didn't have to ask who 'he' was. Just thinking of the man sent a cold rush of ice down his back and he slid his arms back around the smaller body.

"Yes. That's the only explanation we can come up with," he affirmed. "Christ, I'm so sorry, Tony."

DiNozzo's arms immediately snaked as far around the broad back as he could manage and returned the embrace, unknowingly giving as much comfort as he was receiving. He burrowed into the security and clung tight.

"More? There's...more?"

Gibbs gripped tighter. "We think so."

"Take...it out," he rasped, breath hitching, words almost lost and muffled against Gibbs strong chest. "Just...take it out..."

Gibbs could hear the pitch of panic edging into the tone and instantly sought to pacify. "That's the plan. Sshhhh, it's okay, Tony. Ducky and Roberta are going to remove it."

"Just...do it then..." he shifted restlessly again against the bigger body.

"Tony..."

"Where...where're the...others?" Real terror was rapidly beginning to set in.

"Tony, calm down," Gibbs really didn't like this swift descent into terror. "We don't know yet...we'll have to search."

"Oh, God..." the panic ratcheted up a notch.

"Tony, it's going to be all right.," he tried to soothe.

"Please, Gibbs..." the trembling voice was so weak.

Gibbs steadily worked himself loose from DiNozzo's grip and gently pushed, rolling then until the younger amn was on his back and looking worriedly up into the his concerned eyes. The green gaze was awash with emotion: shock and fear and disbelief overwhelming everything else. Gibbs growled at what he saw reflected in the tormented depths, whispering calming, assuring words, not caring who was witnessing the open display of affection now. It was way too late to worry about appearances anyway.

"Tony, listen to me," he placed his face next to DiNozzo's, pressing firmly, cheek to cheek, and willed the younger man to hear and listen. "You're going to be all right. I love you and I'm not about to loose you now, not like this. You hear me? I'm never going to let anyone ever hurt you again."

"You said...you said that...before," came the choking response, tears escaping and tracking over the pale, smooth skin. "You...promised before."

DiNozzo's accusation seared across his flesh and scorched a path clear to his soul and Gibbs moved just enough to cover the condemning mouth with his own, stopping the hurtful words and pressing in deep, pouring his own truth into the joining, willing the younger man to believe. He slicked his tongue past the dryness and delved deeper, hearing the soft, momentary moan of denial, and angled for a more convincing pathway. He breathed into DiNozzo's mouth, sharing his air, his saliva, his heart, and desperately willed the younger man to relent...and to, most of all, believe.

Another moan...but slightly different in tone...and Gibbs gentled their connection, only to instantly feel DiNozzo surge forward, trying to maintain the depth of their union. Hands clutched at his back, the weaker body shifting restlessly again but Gibbs was eager to return the passion he was receiving. So much need, so much want, and so very, very sweet. They were here together, in this strange place, joined only by mouths and hands but connected much deeper than they'd been since their brief time at Victoria Sebastian's ranch.

Hearing a muffled suffling of feet from somewhere near the foot of the bed again, Gibbs slowed the kiss, gentling the pressure, and eased away from the swollen mouth, lips trailing to the corners of DiNozzo's mouth, his chin, and finally up to each salty eyelid, offering his silent benediction of devotion. This was his lover, his partner, his life. He pulled back further and gazed down at the beloved face, watching the eyes flutter open, looking for any signs of continuing disbelief or mistrust.

There was none...and Gibbs heart soared with relief.

DiNozzo's hands fell away from the strong shoulders and he lay boneless, pliant upon the mattress, breath flowing in and out in ragged, little pants. He looked up into the hot, blue eyes and just gave himself over, surrendering himself totally.

"Do what...you have to...do," he whispered and tried to keep his fear in check. "I trust you..."

Gibbs could only nod. Without breaking his gaze with the younger man, the agent spoke softly to the medical examiner standing uncertainly at the end of the bed.

"Tell me what to do, Ducky."

Almost an hour and a half later, Gibbs rested against the headboard and held DiNozzo's exhausted body close, watching as Ducky and Wainwright turned to hand the three small devices they'd located and removed from the young man's body over to Abby. The dark-haired woman stood uncertainly by the door and accepted the tiny, sterile packages, her eyes large and awash with misery for her friends. She'd been in the room as Gibbs had taken charge of examining DiNozzo's frail body, watching as Gibbs had left no area unsearched or untouched, carefully following Ducky's and Roberta's specific instructions. She'd turned away when things had gotten too...personal... but had been unable to tune out the muffled cursing and crying when they found one of the hideous devices inserted in the soft tissue lining just inside DiNozzo's anus. Gibbs had almost come undone at the discovery and DiNozzo had sobbed anew, both men thoroughly deflated by the unbelievable cruelity of Emilio Martinez.

Seeing Gibbs gazing her way now, Abby stepped slowly in his direction, careful to keep her clunky shoes quiet on the hardwood floor, and moved until she was near the foot of the freshly-changed bed. She stood uncertainly for a few moments but, when Gibbs held out a hand, she quickly rushed forward and took his grip into hers, holding tight and pressing her lips tightly together to keep her tears in check.

"Don't ever let him see your pity, Abby," he whispered the order, seeing the sorrow in her gaze, and squeezed her fingers tightly. "He needs your strength and your support and your love, not some useless emotion. He wouldn't appreciate it."

She nodded her understanding and looked at the package in her hand. "As soon as I get the word from McGee, we'll see what we can find out about these."

Gibbs was shaking his head. "No. I want you to go out into the hallway and tell D you need someplace to crush them and I want you to do it now."

"But Gibbs..."

"Abby," he spoke and held still when DiNozzo moved slightly in his arms. He frowned and took a deep breath, remembering to keep his voice low. "Get rid of them now. We can't take any more chances with having them around."

Abby nodded and let her eyes drop to look once again at DiNozzo's peaceful face. "Would you...would you tell Tony I love him?"

"You can tell him yourself later," Gibbs stressed. "Now, go do as I ask."

Nodding once more, Abby turned and moved away, carefully unlocking the door and stepping out. When the door was locked again by Wainwright, Gibbs allowed himself to relax and closed his eyes, fighting hard to block out what he'd done to his lover today...and what the experience ultimately meant for their relationship. This experience would call for some serious, future discussion and would, no doubt, cause problems for their future intimacy issues.

But, right now, Gibbs was content to just hold DiNozzo close and block all those thoughts away. As tired as he was and as drained as the experience had made him, it was only a matter of moments before he, too, was asleep on the bed, oblivious to the gaze Ducky was directing his way.

"Sleep well, my friend," the older man whispered and then let his eyes drop to the younger man, "and sleep without dreaming."

Sighing loudly and moving toward a nearby chair, the medical examiner droppedwearily into the thick padding and settled in to watch over the two slumbering lovers. They'd successfully made it this far...but what would the new day bring? Shaking his head, Ducky tilted his head back against the soft fabric. It was best to leave tomorrow to tomorrow.


TBC

So small. So unassuming. So innocuous. And now, apparently, so very deadly.

They were just thin, tiny bits of technology, man-made slices of metal and fibers, assembled by hand under microscopes or, perhaps, by some specifically constructed robotics, deep within a sterile laboratory or facility or government structure...and used for one of the most heinous, most strangely inhumane and frightening manners she'd ever witnessed in all her young life. And, now, they were in her possession.

Abby Sciuto tilted her dark head downward to momentarily rest against the knuckles of her gloved hand and rubbed soothingly at a spot just over her right eye, fighting the tension headache that had begun building the instant she'd disobeyed Jethro Gibbs' direct order to destroy the loathsome tags they'd recently extracted from DiNozzo's frail body. She'd told him she would do as he instructed, and she'd never lied to him before in all her years at NCIS, but all she could do at the moment was hope he'd be willing to listen to her reasoning and try to understand her actions before exploding into the expected rage...once she understood it all herself first.

But for now, all her worrying was playing havoc with her body and erupting into one killer of a pain that was bordering just shy of migraine status in her book. She pressed at the throbbing area once more and sighed, easing back from her bent position at the table holding most of her mobile forensics equipment and slowly straightened her spine, eyes automatically shifting and rising to look up toward the long staircase leading to the second floor lodgings...and DiNozzo's room. It was up there the real battle was still taking place but, because of her most recent discovery, she now knew she held another potential key to the war being waged. She just had to find the right way to deliver her suspicions and be allowed to experiment further without breaking anymore of Gibbs' orders...or disturbing the tenuous and fragile moments of relative peace DiNozzo was now experiencing.

Abby shuddered slightly as she quickly recalled what she'd seen hours ago, what she'd had to witness because of their self-imposed lock-down situation, and she bit back another hot flare of anger toward the evil, cowardly, low-lives that had brought her friend and colleague so much pain and suffering. It just wasn't right...and she didn't think she'd ever be able to forget what had transpired in that room, no matter how much she wished she could.

Hours ago, she'd sat quietly in a corner closest to the doorway of DiNozzo's assigned room, on one of the thickly-padded armchairs someone had pushed aside to make more room around the bed for the various bits of medical equipment and instruments, and had become a silent witness to everything done to DiNozzo as he laid helplessly on the mattress. Time seemed to have stretched into an eternity for them all as they painstakingly searched the weakened body for implants, going over the trembling form inch by inch, leaving no area untouched or unexplored. It had been an agonizingly slow process and there'd been several delicate moments when they'd had to stop and let DiNozzo rest and recapture his composure. She'd heard the soft, sure words of guidance from both of the doctors at hand and the gentle, soothing, repeated reassurances from Gibbs. She'd also listened to DiNozzo's scared, muffled noises and the heartbreaking murmurings of his denial and horror as the hidden devices had been located and gently removed, one by one, from his violated body. She'd pulled her legs up tight and held them securely against her chest with both arms, almost as a shield, and tried to remain strong and silent and out of the way. But, above all else, Abby wanted to make sure she could accurately testify to all the atrocities committed against her good friend.

In the end, it hadn't been all that simple to do.

When Gibbs had grit his teeth and carefully lubricated one long finger to cautiously explore the rectal cavity, just as Wainwright instructed, Abby had felt her resolve waver and crumble, and had quickly averted her face to block out the dreaded sight of this new obscenity. But, as simple as shielding her eyes had been, there had been nothing she could do to block out the sounds...the horrible, wretched sounds. She'd pressed her face against her knees and wept openly but silently, her tears making dark, wet splotches on the knees of the jeans D had let her borrow earlier in the day, trying to control her emotions for the sake of her friend and all those trying to help him.

The process seemed to have taken far too long but, when that repulsive last device had finally been located and removed, she'd raised her face from her simple shelter again and observed how Gibbs had immediately and without hesitation returned to DiNozzo's side, sweeping the sobbing, trembling young man into his strong arms, ignoring the blood still staining his own hands, and had offered all the comfort and support and...love...he had to give.

Abby allowed a small, sweet smile to escape as she thought of seeing the two men together on the bed after the primitive surgery had been completed, ignoring everything and everyone around them, and focusing only on each other. Gibbs had been surprisingly gentle, his touches sweetly reverent, and his eyes had held such tender, blessed relief that Abby had found herself unable to continue looking. It had been too raw, too open, too honest...and one of the singularly most beautiful moments she'd ever witnessed in her life. She'd seen a side of Gibbs most people rarely had to opportunity to see, one she'd been sure he kept hidden away from the rest of the world, and one she'd felt most priviledged to observe, even in it's brevity.

When she'd finally managed to look back in their direction, Gibbs was quiescent against the headboard of the bed, holding an exhausted DiNozzo close, his dark head nestled comfortably but firmly against the older man's chest and his eyes closed in blissful, natural slumber. She'd finally risen from her place by the door as the two doctors had moved in her direction, giving the resting men some much-needed privacy, and had handed her a small package containing the three RDIF units. She'd swallowed convulsively as her fingers had touched the sterile, sealed package, and her eyes had immediately looked toward Ducky for some guidance.

"I think Jethro wants these destroyed," was all he'd said, his usually light voice dimmed terribly by fatigue and sorrow.

Wainwright had merely nodded her relunctant agreement but Abby had clearly detected a moment of hesitation in the older woman's eyes and, maybe, even a hint of regret. As horrendous as those tags were, they were medical evidence and worthy of further study. Wainwright had recognized it and Abby had recognized it. The only roadblock had been Gibbs.

Abby had closed her fist around the tiny parcel and looked toward the man in question, surprised to see his eyes open and resting only on her. She'd stepped quietly toward his silent beaconing and was surprised when he's actually released one hand from his grip around DiNozzo's shoulders and held it out in her direction, wanting her close and within his easy reach. She'd immediately complied and received his precise, specific orders to destroy the hideous RDIFs, ignoring her one, desperate attempt to get him to reconsider, and had dismissed her to do his bidding without further thought.

Now, as she sat forlornly on the chair in front of her temporary work station inside the lodge's trophy room, surrounded by the seemingly all-knowing eyes of a weird assortment dead animal staring down upon her from their lofty positions on the walls, Abby could only nurse her headache and wonder how she was ever going to break the news of her preliminary findings to Gibbs. The RDIFs were terrible reminders of what DiNozzo had endured and, according to her first tests, were still very much active...but they also held what she considered a possible clue to his continued weakened condition. If she destroyed them now, as instructed by Gibbs, she could potentially destroy any chance DiNozzo ever had for any kind of recovery.

Only able to come up with one viable solutuion, Abby took a deep breath and pushed herself up from the seat, her movements becoming more sure and steady with each passing moment. She quickly exited the trophy room, instantly turning to her right as she exited the area, and came face to face with the only other person she felt sure could possibly help.

"McGee," she spoke evenly, her bright eyes alight with intense purpose, "we need to talk."

________________________________________

Captain Joseph Bradley gave the strap of his slung weapon a hard tug, adjusted his military-issued sunglasses across the bridge of his sunscreen-slathered nose, and squinted up into the scorching illumination sitting high in the overhead sky, scowling openly when the intense brightness caused him to blink and quickly avert his eyes. A sharp shard of light had seemingly jolted a path straight along the optic nerve to his brain and it took a moment for his vision to clear. The sun was beating down upon him and his small band of men like a barrage of incoming missiles over the Iraqi landscape, bombarding their heads and shoulders mercilessly and wickedly licking hot flames across any area of exposed skin. Not even 1130 hours and it was already hotter than a barrel of an overworked all-terrain assault tank. Just perfect.

"Fucking Texas heat," he groused quietly to himself and then turned to face the remainder of his split unit, schooling his features into a mask a calm serenity before automatically checking their positions and status, knowing they were all very capable and highly-trained young men. And there didn't seem to be a fool among the bunch: each man was now using the temporary break in their forward movement to rest in any bit of available shade, sipping from their canteens and conserving energy, waiting to hear the order to move out again.

"Sir, Rodriquez just chirped in," Sergeant Evers spoke directly to his superior as he moved up the small rise to join the man, knowing the sharp eyes were on his, even though the dark glasses hid Bradley's usual hawk-like stare. He maneuvered until they both had visual access to the map he now held open and pointed to a spot on the flat surface, his solid body blocking out the glare from the sun. "He's got a bead on the two unknowns moving in from a southerly path," the broad finger traced a short line, "and we should intercept here. Also says they're packing assault rifles, sir."

Bradley's eyebrows rose momentarily before quickly receeding out of sight behind the dark frames once more. "Of course they are. Knew this wasn't going to be a walk in the park." He lifted his chin fractionally. "What's the news from Samuels?"

Evers immediately started refolding the map and fell into step as Bradley began to move, their booted feet kicking up small rocks and sending a flow of loose pebbles skittering down the dusty incline as they crossed to join up with the other members of their group. "The driver is alone and is identified as a Doctor Thomas Gustafson, CDC. He's got all the appropriate paperwork and identification and appears to be who he claims."

"And we all know about appearances," Bradley offered quietly as he took up a position near the feet of one of the men. "We aren't going to fall for any bum scoop on this outing."

"No, sir," Evers agreed without inflection and continued his report, watching as Bradley nodded to a Marine resting in a small area of shade. The man was immediately rising from his location, slinging his weapon, and motioning for the others to follow. "They gave the vehicle a sweep and it, too, appears clean, inside and out. The LT indicates they've secured it and will send someone back later."

"Good. Hope old Doc Gustafson is up for a stroll in the sunshine," Bradley offered with a twitch of his lips...and then was instantly back to business. "Now, let's just go see who's trying to crash our party."

Evers smirked back. "Aye, sir."

____________________________________

"What do you mean 'hike'?" Thomas Gustafson asked in barely restrained outrage, his dark eyes pinning the blatantly unconcerned Marine walking just to one side. "I...I was given that vehicle," he indicated the lonely SUV now left some distance behind and struggled to maintain his grip on the briefcase he held tight against his heaving chest, stumbling over a rock as he tried to focus on the profile of the Lieutenant's impassive face, "to get me from the airport, out to the Double D Lodge, and back again when I'm finished. I'm responsible for it and everything else we left behind."

"Sorry, sir," Samuels responded coolly, not in the least sympathetic, "the vehicle will be recovered and you will have access to everything you need. Nothing will happen to it."

"Then why do I have to walk?" He persisted with a bit of a whine. "I mean, it's a SUV, for God's sake...with air conditioning! We *all* could ride!"

"Yes, sir," was all Samuels said, choosing to ignore the cough one of the Marines to the rear offered.

They continued walking, nonetheless, and Gustafson tossed an angry look to the two Marines bringing up the rear, following several yards behind, their eyes alert and their hands ready on their weapons. The sight made the CDC doctor blink in surprise...and immediately lose some of his ire.

"Am...am I a...prisoner?" He choked nervously and stumbled again, eyes swiftly seeking those of the man at his side.

Samuels sent the twitchy man a strange look. "No, sir. We're just accompanying you to a safe place."

"A safe place?" He frowned openly, obviously not understanding the statement. "I thought I was going to see a patient at the Lodge. Isn't it a safe place?"

"I only do as I'm ordered, sir," Samuels easily deflected the inquiry and picked up the pace, knowing they had a lot of ground to cover if they were to be at the rendezvous point on time. "If you need help carryng that satchel, one of the men will..."

"No, no, no," Gustafson assured hastily...maybe a bit too hastily...and hurried to match the Marine's speed, his grip intensifying until his fingers on the slim handle appeared almost white from the pressure, "I can do it. It's...it's not all that heavy."

Samuels eyed the man and nodded, instantly noticing the way he clutched at the briefcase, and slowly and deliberately began to widen the distance between them as they walked, alert to the strange manner the man was carrying his case. His intentional movement was gradual but Samuels knew his men following behind would pick up on the gesture immediately and act accordingly.

"So," he began nonchalantly and gestured with one hand toward the small case in Gustafson's protective embrace, hoping to see if he could push the man into exposing any potential danger, "what's so important in there? Just a bunch of papers from what I could see earlier."

Gustafson all but puffed up in renewed outrage, thinking of how the Marines had callously and carelessly rummaged thoroughly through all the possessions he'd carried within the vehicle. "It's everything I need if I deem we're looking at some form of contagion or highly infectious disease. I've got to have all the appropriate forms and questionnaires ready to fill out and complete before I'll be able to get any assistance from the CDC. There's criteria to meet and parameters to fulfill and, if I don't have everything ready to present exactly as required, it could add on extra hours...or even days...before I can get the type of response necessary to meet the problem."

A damn pencil-pusher. Well, fuck a duck. Samuels relaxed his posture and allowed himself to drift back a bit closer, unable to keep the tiny note of sarcasm from his voice.

"Forms and questionnaires? Sounds...exciting."

The derision didn't go unnoticed but Gustafson was too busy to respond, concentrating on placing one foot in front of the other while mopping the perspiration from his face with his crisp, white handkerchief. He wanted to comment, to let the smug-sounding Marine know how he really felt, but knew his efforts would only be wasted. As far as he was concerned, all these gung-ho, simple-minded military men were all alike: if you weren't part of their little band of brothers, you didn't rate a second look.

Gustafson shook away his ill feelings and focused on the purpose of his visit, trying to make the most of his time. "Have you seen the patient since you arrived?"

"No, sir," Samuels responded honestly as they began to climb down a shallow ravine, the lose gravel rolling with their movements. The Marine's eyes dropped quickly to Gustafson's black wingtips and he pursed his lips together in annoyance. There'd be a blister or two under those leather shoes well before they got to the rendezvous point. "I've only been with those who flew in with me."

The answer seemed to satisfy the doctor...for awhile. As they traveled on, more and more questions popped up and, as before, Samuels deflected them all with his truthfulness: No, he didn't know how many were at the Lodge and, no, he didn't know if anyone else was suffering from some sickness and, no, he didn't see anyone wearing hazmat or any other protective gear. By the time they were nearing the designated position, Samuels was all but ready to strangle the CDC representative and stuff that stupid briefacse where the Texas sun would never shine. The Marine could only wonder if all men like Gustafson were so aggravatingly inquisitive...or just naturally talkative. Whichever, he sincerely wished he could just gag the man...with a grenade.

They stopped, finally, after traversing the wild terrain for approximately seventy minutes and Gustafson collapsed into a heap in the shade of some old, twisted hackberry tree, the rough, dry bark poking sharply through the inappropriate clothe of his fine shirt. The sweat was evaporating almost as quickly as it appeared and Samuels offered the thirsty man his canteen, turning slightly away as the CDC doctor gulped down the refreshing liquid, eyes sweeping the surrounding area instead. When he turned back, he gestured with his hand to the man.

"Keep it, sir," he offered when the canteen was held back in his direction. "I can share with one of my men."

Gustafson had the decency to look a little sheepish. "You sure? I mean, I wouldn't want you to go thirsty."

Samuels nodded, offering a fleeting smile. "It's okay, sir. Really."

Gustafson nodded back and took another long drink. The water wasn't cold but it sure was wet and the fluid felt so good traveling over his thick tongue and down his dry throat. He coughed once and realized he needed to slow down, his eyes roaming with embarrassment over to where the three Marines were huddled together around a small map, quietly discussing the situation and taking tiny sips from their canteens. He watched as Samuels glanced at the compass strapped to the back of one wrist, check the time on his watch, and then speak softly again to the other two, giving orders while stuffing the map back inside his shirt. It was plain to see a decision had been made.

Gustafson forced himself to his aching feet just as Samuels rejoined him. "Are we getting close to where we're suppose to be?"

"We're just going to move to a better location, sir. Nothing for you to worry about."

The CDC doctor nodded his understanding, hefted his briefcase once more, and followed the direction indicated, noticing immediately how one Marine now walked ahead, one by his side, and one just to his rear. Gustafson was oddly pleased by the new arrangement, realizing they no longer considered him a threat and were now grouped for his protection. He sighed in resigned contentment: if he had to go by foot, at least he'd be safe.

____________________________________

"..thrsy..."

Roberta Wainwright turned quickly at the sound of the slurred, rough voice and peered down into the pale face of her patient. The fragile-looking lids were still closed but she could see the eyes moving slowly within the sockets. She leaned forward a bit more and was visibly surprised when the lips parted and another sound emerged.

"Wa...er..."

"Ducky!" She hissed in quiet excitement toward the man napping peacefully in the armchair just on the other side of the bed, a light blanket draping most of his legs and part of his chest. She watched as their patient stirred, the face turning in her direction, and a pair of very confused eyes blearily seeking and slowly fixating on her form. There were several slow, lazy blinks but no real recognition in the tired, green depths and she was momentarily afraid her presence would upset the weak, young man. From the corner of her eye, Wainwright saw Ducky stir and move restlessly in his make-shift bed but he never came fully awake. Pursing her lips, she made a quick decision.

Turning away for only a moment, Wainwright snatched the glass containing a fair amount of cool water from the surface of the closest table and turned back toward the obviously thirsty agent in the bed, smiling in reassurance as he continued to blink in her general direction. With deft fingers, she tweaked a bend into the flexible straw and angled it just right for easy sipping.

"Here," she whispered gently and brought the straw to DiNozzo's mouth, carefully placing it directly between his cracked lips and offering a small, pleased smile of support. "Just take a small sip or two for right now. All right?"

The dazed eyes wandered slowly over her face as the lips closed around the offered straw and Wainwright could see the effort it was taking for him just to provide enough suction to draw the liquid up from the glass. Agent DiNozzo was still struggling in the simplest of tasks but the Navy doctor held her worry at bay...for the moment. At least he was attempting to drink and, after losing a fair amount of blood during the removal of those implants nearly five hours ago, it was good to see him fighting against his weakness. She could see when the fluid reached his mouth because the eyelids fluttered and closed in something akin to ecstasy and the cheeks immediately hollowed out as he strived to pull even more water up into his parched throat.

"Easy, now," she directed kindly and slipped the straw away before he could end up choking on his efforts, trying to soothe with her sweetest smile when his eyes reopened in more bewilderment. "You can have more in a few minutes, all right? I just need to make sure you keep that down first."

DiNozzo continued his mute inspection of the older woman and then just let his gaze drift away, dismissing her and never speaking again, eyes roaming slowly around until they lit and settled upon Ducky's napping form. The younger man frowned, eyebrows angling downward in concentration, and Wainwright held her breath as he struggled to turn more in the slumbering man's direction, shifting slightly before just giving up. She watched the dazed, green eyes close briefly and then reopen, a look of sheer determination lighting the tired gaze and bringing a bit of color to the too-pale cheeks. As one trembling hand rose from its resting spot atop the clean, carefully turned-back sheet and blanket, stretching and reaching uncertainly toward the unsuspecting medical examiner, Wainwright swiftly moved around the foot of the bed and grabbed Ducky's shoulder, carefully staying away from the young man's questing hand and clear of his line of sight.

"Ducky," she hissed into his ear, grip tightening on his arm, "wake up and say hello to your young agent."

The older man stirred and his head automatically turned her way, searching for the exact source of the gentle disruption. "Um...Roberta? What...is it?"

The woman smiled indulgently and rose from her squat, patting the shoulder under her hand and directing his curious gaze toward the bed. "Look who's awake again."

At her direction and smile, he pushed himself out of his slightly slouched position and sat upright, looking expectantly toward the figure on the bed. He couldn't control the wide smile that erupted and he inched forward, capturing the seeking hand within his tender grasp and holding with extreme care, wary of the IV line inserted and held into place with a piece of tape on the fragile skin.

"Anthony, my dear boy!" He grinned into the unwavering stare, allowing himself a moment to savor his relief before remembering he had to use every available opportunity to monitor DiNozzo while alert. He sighed and eased to carefully sit on the edge of the mattress, watching the youthful eyes watching him back. "Can you give me some idea of how you are feeling?"

DiNozzo took a slow, deep breath and seemed to consider the question but, instead of answering the query, the young man just blinked once and let his eyes slide shut. Unsure if DiNozzo was falling asleep again or merely trying to gather his thoughts, Ducky continued to wait, gently squeezing the hand he continued to hold, and offering his sustained, silent support. When the tired eyes reopened, they looked a bit clearer. The medical examiner tried again.

"Anthony, can you tell me how you feel right now? Are you in any discomfort at all?"

DiNozzo's bleak eyes were back on the older man's face for only a moment before they glazed over and inexplicably began to fill with tears. The dry bottom lip quavered and the chin trembled and Ducky's heart ached at the pitiful sight. He leaned close and gently began stroking a hand through the younger man's hair.

"Here, now," he soothed softly, trying to catch and hold DiNozzo's watery gaze, "everything is going to be just fine now. Just fine."

DiNozzo sucked in a shaky breath and blinked up at his friend, nodding once in understanding, his head barely moving on the soft pillowcase. The tears overflowed and tracked paths down the pale skin and Ducky could only sigh in helpless frustration, reaching to dab them away with a nearby cloth. Watching this visible emotional roller coaster was nearly as bad as observing the physical ups and downs, and the older man had to forcibly shove his own emotions aside so he could focus on the task of evaluating DiNozzo's condition.

Just to the other side of the bed, Wainwright was offering the medical examiner the digital thermometer, waiting only until he had taken it from her hands before bringing her stethoscope into position over her ears while manually inflating the blood pressure cuff already wrapped around the patient's upper arm. She and Ducky had their little medical 'dance' well-established, able to bend and sway and move around each other and the bed without awkward hesitations or stumbling movements, assisting and supporting and making the examinations as quick and as stress-free as possible.

"Thank you, my dear," Ducky murmured his pleasure as he gently coaxed the end of the thermometer past DiNozzo's lips and settled it under the tongue, keeping his eyes fixed on the younger man's changable expressions.

"You're welcome," Wainwright responded warmly, focused on her own tasks but pleased to have such an easy working rapport with the ME.

They took turns recording the gathered information and, when he'd completed their minimal evaluation by checking the pace of DiNozzo's pulse, he was gratified to see the green eyes looked a bit clearer and a lot less emotional. Smiling again at the young man, he reached for the glass of water and offered the patient a bit more liquid, pleased when a small mouthful was accepted and swallowed without too much effort. He placed the container back on the side table and donned his best 'grandfatherly' face before turning to DiNozzo again.

"Now," he spoke softly as he fussed unnecessarily with the covers, "that's much better, isn't it?"

DiNozzo nodded again and then rasped an inquiry of his own. "G...gone?"

Ducky frowned at the simple question, not at all certain what was being asked. "Is what gone, Anthony? I'm sorry but I just don't know what you're referring to."

DiNozzo weakly tugged his still-captured hand until he could get Ducky to release his hold and moved it until he could almost touch the side of his own head, around the area just behind his left ear. The ME quickly caught at the questing fingers, moving them away from the small, shaved incision site, and immediately understood the query now. He glanced quickly in Wainwright's direction and saw her frown slightly in sympathy. This was the most calm and coherent they'd seen him for quite some time and knew he deserved an honest answer,

"Yes," Ducky confirmed with absolute assurance, "it's gone now."

DiNozzo seemed to be studying his colleague carefully, looking for any sign of untruth, and finally accepted the certainty, closing his eyes and sighing in relief. He shifted a bit on the mattress and froze, holding his breath, as a flare of some unseen torment flashed quickly across his face. He squeezed his eyes tightly, grunting once, riding out the worse, and keeping any further sound trapped within his chest and throat until the discomfort slowly passed. When it did, DiNozzo lay still and quiet, his small, quick pants of stressful breathing the only sound in the room.

Wainwright efficiently snagged a soft washcloth from a basin by the bed, wrung out the excess water, and gently dabbed at DiNozzo's forehead and cheeks, taking away the dots of perspiration and the residue of his pain. At the soothing, cooling touch, and after regaining a bit of his hard-earned control, the young man opened his eyes and stared up at the woman hovering so near, her head bent close to Ducky's, and let his gaze drift slowly between them both.

There was an open, concerned kindness in both faces and the twin set of eyes spoke silently of their mutual understanding of his predicament but no where was there any sigh or hint of pity. That was good...and reassuring in it's own way. Wetting his bottom lip with the tip of his tongue, DiNozzo tried again.

"O...others?" He asked weakly. "Gone...too?"

"Yes," Ducky answered immediately.

DiNozzo nodded and frowned again, another thought intruding and making him shift slightly in discomfort. He started to speak but was silenced by a ripple of another pain, robbing him momentarily of his breath and his composure. When it, too, had passed and he was ready to try again, Ducky and the woman were waiting patiently for him to continue. He tried to offer them a small, grateful smile but, in the end, it appeared as nothing more than a slight grimace.

"Take your time," Ducky instructed gently, "Roberta and I are only too happy to sit by your side and keep you company."

DiNozzo let his eyes track over to the feminine face again but, for the life of him, he just couldn't seem to place her. He took in the severe hairdo, the smartly-pressed uniform blouse, and, finally, the insignia pins on her collar. Navy. She was Navy but...

"I'm Roberta Wainwright, Agent DiNozzo," she was introducing herself and filling in the gaps, watching as the tired, green eyes tracked over her face and neckline. "Lieutenant Commander to be exact. I was one of the first to treat you at Bethesda, after you were infected. Honestly, I'm not surprised you don't recall anything of our initial meeting."

DiNozzo nodded but immediately dismissed her, once more searching out the familiar blue of Ducky's eyes. "Tags...how...many?"

Ducky sighed and sent a quick look of apology to Wainwright but, from the set of her expression, he could see she wasn't concerned with his sudden shift in interest, and was busying herself checking the flow of the antibiotics they'd recently begun, just prior to removing the RDIFs. She was a good woman. Ducky smiled to himself and focused back on the patient.

"Three, Anthony," he said calmly. "We found and removed three. Do you remember?"

DiNozzo's eyes drifted slightly away. "Three?"

"Yes," Ducky made sure there was no tone or tinge of doubt in his voice. "All of them gone."

DiNozzo looked back and studied the older man's face again. After a few, brief moments, he nodded slightly and allowed himself to relax a bit. "Okay..."

"Okay is right, young man," Ducky smiled and patted his shoulder. "Now, I know it's been sometime since you've had anything substantial to eat but we're going to fix you a bit of broth. Do you think you can manage a few spoonfuls for us?"

DiNozzo's cheeks suddenly lost a bit of color and he slowly turned his face away, trying to control the sudden rolling, unsettling churn within his stomach from forcing the recently ingested water out again. He didn't want to be sick...not anymore. Gritting his teeth, he held on, willing himself to settle, to ride it out, to control the rebellion. He closed his eyes and moaned quietly, grateful when the cloth was pressed to his forehead, dabbing away the beads of perspiration that had sprung up immediately. This was not good...he knew it and Ducky and Wainwright knew it.

After several long and shaky moments of uncertainty, he managed to crack an eye open and blearily gaze toward the other man's wavering face. There was only kindness reflected there and DiNozzo could only hope the medical examiner wouldn't push the subject of food again any time soon.

"We'll try again later, shall we?" The words were full of soft understanding.

Extremely grateful and so relieved at Ducky's announcement, DiNozzo never heard the rapping at the door, and was only dimly aware of the slight shifting on the bed as someone moved away. He kept his eyes closed and concentrated on keeping his rebelling stomach under control, allowing a wash of relief to flow over his troubled mind as he turned his thoughts away from food and toward the recently removed tags. It'd almost been too much to bear at the time, reclining on the bed with everyone clustered about. But with Gibbs' calming voice to focus on and Gibbs' impossibly gentle hands to feel, he'd allowed and survived the bodily search solely due to the trust he carried for his lover.

Lover.

DiNozzo wanted to smile at the image the word conjured but, right now, he could only feel the residual pain in his head, in his ankle, and in his ass...and remember the sheer agony reflected in Gibbs' eyes as he'd performed the necessary tasks of finding and assisting in the removal of the RDIFs. And he'd made the task worse because he hadn't been able to stand the touch of another's hand on his body. Dimly, he remembered his anguished pleas to Gibbs and DiNozzo cringed at what the experience might have done to his lover.

'Christ, Jethro,' he thought bleakly and clenched his eyes even tighter, 'I'm so fucking sorry.'

"Tony."

And he was suddenly there, the soft voice filled with loving concern. DiNozzo immediately opened his eyes and peered up into the welcome face of the man foremost in his thoughts. Gibbs' hair was wet, his shirt was sticking to him in places, and DiNozzo fuzzily realized he must have just come from a shower...in a hurry. And the look in the blue eyes was alarming. Something was not right...something had happened...something bad...

Choking back his own concern, DiNozzo shook his head and refused to speculate. "W...what?"

"Tony," Gibbs sat on the edge of the bed and then immediately looked away, unable to keep his eyes on the younger man's face.

This wasn't good.

"No..." DiNozzo tried to make his voice sound firm but knew he was failing miserably. He grabbed at the sleeve of Gibbs' shirt and held as tight as he could, ignoring the sting as the skin around the IV line pulled against the trapped flesh. "No...you tell...me..."

Gibbs took a deep breath and turned back to face DiNozzo, his eyes bleak and his face pale. "There's a problem..."

A problem. DiNozzo nodded and studied Gibbs intently. Problems could be solved.

"Okay..." he whispered, the expression on Gibbs' face making his stomach convulse again. When Gibbs took the younger hand and raised it to press against his chest, directly over his heart, DiNozzo knew it wasn't just bad, it was going to be fucking terrible. "What...what is it?"

Gibbs swallowed once and then spoke...and the words made DiNozzo's world narrow and turn black.

"We may have to put the tags back in your body."


TBC

The mid-afternoon sun hung ominously in the pale blue sky like a fiery ball of white-hot lava, it's rays melting unmercifully down upon the desert landscape in thick, syrupy bands of stifling heat, searching for any bit of hidden moisture, and immediately leeching it out and stealing it away, leaving a dry, parched husk of lifeless, barren land in its wake. It was an invisible thief, an unseen bandit, robbing silently in it's single-minded and unrelenting pursuit. Quiet, cruel and, for any unprepared or unsuspecting lifeform, extremely deadly.

The air, itself, was hot and oppressive, like trying to breathe inside a working convection oven, the heat intensive and continual and seeming to bombard from each and every side. The act of inhaling coated the lips, the tongue, the palate with a layer of imperceptible dryness that snuck slyly into the throat and wormed covertly into the chest, making simple respiration a wearisome, tiresome, over- rated chore. It wasn't a good idea to be out in the midday sun: not wise nor healthy nor advised and only a damn fool would be out in it willingly...or one adhering to the strict dictates of a direct assigned order.

Drifting away from his designated area close to the front door of the Double D Lodge, Tobias Fornell paced anxiously over to the closest window and peered out into the blistering afternoon heat. He knew Mother Nature was at her savage best today, cranking up the heat index, and fleetingly wondered about the two Marine snipers high on the roofs outside, protecting everyone inside from any potential danger. They had to have been sweltering by now, uniforms plastered to their skin, eyes aching from the strain of watching the surrounding area for any sign of trouble.

'If they haven't fried their brains by now," he winced in silent sympathy and squinted into the pale, washed-out sky above, watching a couple of scavenging birds make lazy, looping arcs high in the distant overhead, 'they sure as hell will before this day is out.'

Regardless of what the conditions were outside, it was more than comfortable within the lodge, the central air conditioning unit working silently and efficiently at keeping the interior pleasantly cool...but there was a chill in the FBI agent's soul that had absolutely nothing to do with the ambient, artificial atmosphere. Fornell shivered and swallowed thickly against the sudden sensation, instantly recognizing the taste of fear upon his tongue: bitter, sour, and completely unwanted.

Turning abruptly away from the window and the scene outside and trying to get a handle on his wayward emotions, Fornell's eyes tracked unconsciously upward, in the direction of the second floor bedrooms, knowing what was taking place on the other side of one, particular closed doorway. He sighed deeply and tried to release his pent-up anxiety. The root cause was right there, in that horrendous room, surrounded by mobile banks of medical equipment and monitors and was now facing an even more uncertain future. With all the brainpower and resources available to them, with the full backing of two extremely powerful governmental agencies, and with everyone doing everything in their power to come up with an answer, DiNozzo was still slowly slipping away from them, one small breath at a time. He wasn't getting any better, he wasn't responding to any of the fluids or injections or supplemental concoctions administered by the doctors, nor was he able to remember anything useful about his time spent with Emilio Martinez, the 'cure' for his contnuing failing health seemingky elusive as that hideous, little Brazilian himself.

During the last communication he'd had with his section director at the FBI, Fornell had been told the hunt was still on for Martinez and, now, much of the investigation was centering around Franklin Wilson-Halley, the reclusive billionaire he and Gibbs had visited in Idaho weeks ago, the day they'd finally found DiNozzo. The report was grim and brief and did absolutely nothing to assure Fornell they were getting any closer to finding anything valuable, especially not the magic remedy for DiNozzo's mysterious illness everyone here was hoping existed somewhere out there.

All Fornell knew was DiNozzo was dying, little by little, and there wasn't a damn fucking thing anyone seemed to be able to do to stop it...not even Jethro Gibbs. That hardheaded, former Marine was still up in that room, enscounced in that bed, holding onto the frail, young man like he could just keep death away by placing himself, like some human shield, between his failing agent and the approaching end. Shaking his head at the thought and fighting back the sting suddenly rising at the back of his throat, Fornell forced the vision of the two males on the bed from his jealous mind and turned to look back out the front window.

'I should be the one up there right now,' his traitorous mind whispered in a terrible rush of envy, the thoughts slithering like a hissing viper, spitting venom, as he leaned a shoulder heavily against the edge of the sturdy window frame. 'I'm the one who brought Tony this far...not Gibbs...and I should be the one with him. Gibbs doesn't deserve to be there...doesn't deserve to hold him and touch him and...'

Raised voices from the direction of the trophy room quickly broke through his irritated and ugly musings and he focused on the rough, individual tones he could hear, easily recognizing the people involved. Ducky, Wainwright, McGee, and Abby were herded together, in the downstairs trophy room, trying to determine the exact purpose of the tiny RFIDs so recently removed from DiNozzo's body, beyond the obvious use as tracking devices, and now seemed to have reached an uneasy...and very loud...stalemate.

"But you don't know for sure that's even what was keeping him alive!" Ducky's usually calm, cultured voice was sharp and hard and laced with a heavy dose of impatience, and Fornell couldn't resist the urge to step toward the entryway to take a closer look.

As he neared the angular archway that opened into a huge, rustic sitting room, Fornell's eyes immediately focused on the duo hovering around the young forensics expert, watching carefully as she peered down into her microscope, almost as if she was trying to make herself smaller. Ducky was just to Abby's left, with Wainwright on her other side, and the two doctors were exchanging tight, frustrated looks, their bodies stiff and unyeilding. Neither one seemed to be paying the younger woman any notice and Fornell watched as she hunched forward in an almost cowering position, her slim shoulders quaking slightly under the purple T-shirt she wore. The FBI agent frowned and flashed a swift look toward McGee, finding him in his usual spot behind a computer keyboard and monitor, and saw the fatigue and worry and anxiety clearly evident his soulful, red-rimmed eyes. He looked as though he was on the brink of tears and, when he caught Fornell's gaze, there was a silent plea for help.

This was not good. He had to do something.

"What's going on in here?" He asked harshly and stepped forward, staying near the entry and his assigned post but wanting to break up this seemingly unproductive confrontation. "Would somebody mind filling me in?"

Both Ducky and Wainwright whirrled at the sound of his voice and began speaking at the same time, their words jumbling and overlapping and obliterating anything remotely coherent, and Fornell could only gape at the surreal scene as it unfolded. Both doctors were scowling openly and were red-faced and loud and adamant, neither inclined to let the other speak. It was almost like watching two spoiled, bickering children battling for a parent's attention, wanting to be first, to be heard before the other, to make their case known before the other even got the opportunity to utter a single, solitary word. It was horrifyingly bizarre and almost too unbelievable to attempt interruption and Fornell could only stare, his mouth gaping slightly open, and observe the squabbling duo as they continued to jabber away. What he *was* able to make out made absolutely no sense at all.

"The protien markers indicate..." "...there's just no assurance what they..." "...could be the reason he's not..." "...we just don't know what's..." "...and if we do, what will that..." "...ultimately, we have to..." "...can't be seriously expecting..."

"What in the *hell* is going on in here?!" A deep, booming voice cut straight through the chatter and immediately brought everything to an abrupt standstill. All eyes turned in the direction of the newest speaker, quickly taking in the shotgun cradled in the powerful arms and the deep scowl marring the weather-beaten face. "I can hear you two squabbling all the way upstairs!" He fumed and shook his head in open frustration. "Do you want that boy up there in that bed to hear what you're saying? Or better yet, do you want LJ to hear it? Do you seriously want *him* down here to settle this petty, little debate? I don't know about you but I just don't think he'd take too kindly to being forced away from that room right now."

Daniel Dunn stood stiffly tall, eyeing all those within his trophy room, especially the two doctors, but his gaze softened just a bit when it lit of Abby's grateful, relieved face. He could see where the crux of the problem rested and his assumption was only strengthened when both Ducky and Wainwright took a step toward him and began to speak again...together. D raised one hand, eyes blazing with anger, and held them at bay.

"I don't give a rat's ass fuck what the problem is between you two," he hissed with open contempt, "but *I* do care that you're doing nothing but wasting valuable time, yapping at each other like a pair of rabid coyotes, while that kid is up there is dying. Don't you think there's something better you could be doing?"

Fornell was only now aware of Officer David's presence, just to the periphery of the entryway, her dark eyes wide with shock and concern. She, too, had been lured away from her post by the sound of the angry, raised voices and, now, there was no one watching the entrances of the lodge. This was not good. The FBI agent was immediately turning away from the scene and swiftly moving to his position near the front door, cursing at his lapse, and perfectly satisfied to leave the two quarrelling doctors in D's capable hands. He glanced back once and saw David also turning away and moving again toward her post, shaking her head in confusion and mumbling something unrecognizable under her breath. It was plain to see she was just as mystified by the confrontation but still had enough sense to know where her duty lay.

Sidling back up to the window once again and looking out into the afternoon glare, with a renewed determination to keep his mind focused on the job at hand, Fornell was instantly alert when he could just make out what appeared to be a small grouping of people approaching slowly from from the east. Well in the distance and too far away to be sure without the aid of binoculars, the FBI agent wasn't prepared to take any chances.

"We've got movement outside!" He yelled back over his shoulder, eyes remaining locked on the wavering images in the distance. "McGee! See if you can contact Bradley and find out if it's them!"

D was suddenly at his side, peering out into the brightness, his sharp eyes squinting as he tried to determine if the approaching figures were friend or foe. "How many can you count?"

Fornell strained to see the ghost-like forms more clearly, watching them waver eerily in the heat, wanting to be accurate when he made his response. They almost appeared as though they consisted of some shimmering liquid, arms and head and body undulating strangely as the heat rose off the hot, reflective ground around them and formed an almost invisible barrier of rippling energy. He'd seen this many times in the past, riding his Harley along a stretch of straight highway, watching the road ahead seemingly bend and shimmer in the heat. Optical illusion. No, atmospheric illusion. Hell, som kind of damn illusiont. Right now, the only thing he wanted was to be sure of who they were seeing, illusion or not.

"Looks like..." he hesitated for a moment as the distant figures merged and seperated, "twelve. I think I can see twelve."

"That's what I got," D confirmed just as McGee stepped out of the trophy room.

"It's them," the young agent reported with an air of obvious relief, moving to stand shoulder to shoulder with the two men at the window so he, too, could look out. "Captain Bradley says they've got the intruders and the CDC doctor with them and will keep them in the Marine mess tent until it's decided what to do with them. He wants Gibbs to come out, take a look at them, ask his questions."

D grunted and spoke casually, eyes still trained on the distant, approaching group. "Someone will need to sit with the kid while he has his little chat..."

"I'll do it," Fornell rushed to volunteer, turning away to move toward the staircase. A hard grip on one bicep brought him up short and he looked quickly at the restraining hand before raising irritated eyes to D's face. "What?"

"I'm thinking that may not be a very good idea," D's voice was quiet and tight.

Fornell frowned and hissed in annoyance. "And why the hell not?"

D casually shrugged one shoulder and released his grip on the FBI agent, keen eyes narrowing on the other man's expression and adjusting the weight of his shotgun across one arm, cradling it in the bend of an elbow. "Just a feeling. I notice he tends to get real pissy whenever you get around Agent DiNozzo. Real pissy."

Fornell's frown turned into an open scowl. He shook his head, letting his angry eyes flick over to where McGee still stood, and saw the agreement reflected in the younger man's face. He sighed and took a step back, wondering if they all knew about his true feelings for DiNozzo now. He didn't seriously think Gibbs would be the type to spread the news but there'd been others present when he and the NCIS agent had, literally, all but come to blows over their 'position' in DiNozzo's life. If that was the case, there was no need to hide anything. He released a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding in and forced himself to relax.

"Look," he spoke to both D and McGee, eyes flicking back and forth between them, "I'm not going to do anything but give Gibbs the news and offer to sit with DiNozzo. If he wants someone else to watch over him, then I'll just come back down and get one of you."

"No need for that," D calmly said and stepped forward. "Agent McGee here has things to do, so I'll just come with you now. I'm suppose to be guarding the door anyway."

Fornell grit his teeth at the logic and shot the former Marine a hard glare. "Fine. Do whatever you want."

He whirled and started up the stairs, hearing D mumble something to McGee before following, the other man's footsteps light and sure as he brought up the rear. Fornell didn't want to think of possibly having another confrontation with Gibbs, especially like the one they'd already had, but, hell, everyone here was working for DiNozzo's benefit, including him. He'd helped remove and protect the young agent from harm's way many times over the course of the weeks and had personally cared for the ill man when no one else would or could. He'd seen DiNozzo at his worse: weak and tearful and racked with pain. But he'd also seen him at his best: playful and coy and wickedly funny.

Fornell banished the memory of David's sour, pinched face and remembered only what he wanted of the days before Gibbs' arrival: holding DiNozzo within the safety of his arms when the pains took all but his breath away, wiping the sweat and the tears and the urine away with a gentle, caring hand, leaning close and whispering soft words of encouragement when it appeared there was no hope of survival, and doing everything in his power to keep the younger man alive, one hard day at a time.

But above all else, Fornell remembered the sound of DiNozzo saying his name, calling out softly, wanting, needing the FBI agent close and within reach. Listening to the mumbled appreciation, brushing his lips across DiNozzo's dry, trembling mouth, urging more sounds, more responses, more connection. DiNozzo had wanted him then and, until Gibbs had stepped back into the picture, had still continued to reach out to him. Fornell believed, without a doubt, if anyone had the right to be with DiNozzo right now, it had to be him.

They approached the solid door and D knocked softly, rapping his scarred knuckles against the sturdy wood. "LJ? It's me...D. Need to speak to you a minute."

There was silence from the other side of the panel and, just as D was preparing to knock again, there was a soft sound of movement, distant and muted. The two men waited patiently as more barely perceptible noises drifted their way from the other side of the closed and locked doorway: a soft voice, the squeak of a floorboard, the turning of the lock. When the door itself opened just a hand's width, both Fornell and D could only stare silently into Gibbs' bleak, desolate eyes, his grim face immediately robbing them of their intended words.

Gibb' tired eyes tracked between the two quiet men, opening the door a bit wider after glancing quickly back toward the bed to make sure there was no disturbance, and finally spoke, his voice rough and low. "What?"

"Bradley and his unit are coming back in with the intruders," Fornell offered swiftly, watching as Gibbs absorbed the news but also trying to see into the dimly-lit room. "They also have the CDC doctor and they plan to hold all of them over in the mess tent until you come out and talk to them."

Gibbs' shoulders visibly drooped at the news and he sighed, briskly rubbing a hand through his short hair. "Why are they still holding the CDC doctor? Couldn't they clear him?"

Fornell exchanged a wary look with D and he could see the Texan's concern. D reached out slowly and laid a hand on one of Gibbs' shoulders, squeezing tight. The strain of the situation was obvious in the dulled, blue eyes which stared back at him.

"LJ," he began softly, "I think Bradley needs your input. The two intruders won't be any concern right now...though I think we'd all like to hear their story, up close and personal, if you get my drift...but the CDC doc was sent by the SecNav, right? Bradley probably has orders to let you make the call about letting him see your agent."

"He's right, Gibbs," Fornell spoke again, watching the hard eyes shift in his direction again. "No one is going to make a move toward DiNozzo without your go-ahead."

"That include you, Tobias?" The voice was immediately cold and steely and D instinctively tightened his grip on his friend's shoulder as something primitive and feral flashed in the blue depths of Gibbs' eyes. This possessive streak was strange to see and sent a flare of alarm through D's head.

"LJ," he spoke again before Fornell could respond and took a step nearer, frowning at Gibbs and placing his body slightly at an angle between the two feuding men, "there's no time for this now. Your two docs have been battling it out down in the trophy room, trying to come up with some compromise about those tags, McGee and David are guarding the entries, and poor Abby...well, she's trying just to keep everything from flying apart. They need *you* right now, LJ...and that CDC doc just might be able to get Ducky and Wainwright to decide what needs to be done."

Gibbs looked torn, his eyes tracking back toward the bed, his expression confusing D even more. "Tony..."

"Tony will be fine while you're gone," D soothed and pushed gently, forcing Gibbs to take a few steps back. Both he and Fornell could now see into the bedroom. "We'll both sit with him until you get back. Won't we, Tobias?"

The offer startled Fornell and he quickly looked toward the Texan, wanting to protest the arrangement, already planning to rebuke the idea DiNozzo needed both of them, but was silenced by Gibbs' angry, hissing voice. "I don't want him anywhere near Tony!"

D shook his head in exasperation but continued nonetheless, his tone a bit more firm. "What the hell is wrong with you? You don't have any other choice. You don't want Fornell here but *I* can't do it by myself and you'd realize it if you were thinking straight." He sighed and shook his head in irritation. "Your agent doesn't know me from squat, LJ, and if he starts getting antsy and finds a stranger keeping vigil, he may get a tad more upset than he should. Let Fornell sit with him," he quickly stopped Gibbs from speaking by rushing on with his thought, trying to maintain his cool, "and I'll sit with Fornell. I'll stay close and watch everything, make sure he's being taken care of just the way you'd want. I won't let anything happen to him, LJ. You *know* I won't."

Gibbs was quiet, pensive, rolling the idea around in his head, eyes searching D's face and seeing the truth reflected there. But, God, he didn't want to do this, that much was evident, his duty to the job and his team and the group of Marines outside all tugging against his instinct to stay here. The others were depending on him to lead, first and foremost, and if DiNozzo was going to survive this horrible ordeal, it would be through the combined efforts of everyone involved. Everyone.

Reluctantly, he nodded his agreement and stepped further back, enough so both men could enter the bedroom completely. Their eyes went immediately toward the still figure on the lone bed, seeing the weak, green gaze directed back their way, and had to force the shock from their expressions.

If it hadn't been clear before, it certainly was now: DiNozzo was dying.

Gibbs turned away from them and hurried back to the bedside, dropping to one knee and reaching to take one limp hand gently into his, holding firmly and warming the cold fingers within his tender grasp. DiNozzo's eyes seemed huge in his gaunt, pale face, their color dull and dim and so full of raw pain it was almost too much to look upon.

Fornell and D stepped closer but remained a respectful distance away, watching and listening as Gibbs began to speak to his stricken agent. There was a tenderness to his tone that neither man had ever heard and, where D was just beginning to understand the depth of his friend's emotions for his young agent, Fornell was seething with barely surpressed rage.

"Tony, I've got to go downstairs for a little while," he offered a small smile to bolster the younger man's disappointment, quickly reaching to snag a nearby washcloth and dabbing away the accumulated sweat from DiNozzo's brow and cheeks. He was extremely careful to avoid the thin tubing snaking across the pale face and looping behind both ears, bringing much-needed oxygen to the young man. "Tobias is going to sit with you..."

The limp hand in his grip suddenly tightened and the green eyes widened further, pulling Gibbs' attention away from the scattered dots of perspiration and quickly to his lover's obvious distress. He slid up onto the mattress and sat close, hip to hip, arms braced to either side of DiNozzo's head, and looked straight down into his dying agent's face. The dimming eyes never left his and it was all Gibbs could do not to press his mouth to the younger lips, to breathe some of his own energy and vitality into the falling body. Hell, Gibbs knew he would willingly give it all to him if it was humanly possible.

"What?" He asked gently, watching DiNozzo struggle to speak.

DiNozzo was working hard to get his vocal cords to function as his brain was demanding but nothing was emerging like he wanted. He was tired...so damn tired...and the internal struggling was threatening to throw his body into another unwanted fit of rebellion.

He panted quietly, eyelids fluttering, and rode out a stab of renewed pain, feeling it grow and climb slowly from the base of his spine and claw its way upward over each individual bone, sharp teeth sinking into the nerves and ligaments until it reached his neck and shoulders. From there, it bit hard again, worrying at the base of his skull, radiating outward and diving downward into his throat and chest, sucking away his ability to breathe.

'Oh...this is going to be a bad one,' he realized dimly.

He tried to stay focused on Gibbs' face, hovering so close, but the invisible spikes were sneaking lower again, jabbing at his stomach, spearing at his intestines, and stealing away his thoughts. He could only grunt when the sensations overwhelmed his desperate, feeble control and sent him reeling back into that dark, lonely place in his mind, filled with flashing memories of a terrible, little man, of being hurt and alone, and of realizing he wasn't going to be able to survive another day.

"Tony!" Gibbs all but shouted as he recognized what was happening, unable to help but needing to let the young man know he was still here. He eased down, forearms to either side on the pillow, and he gently took DiNozzo's head into his hands, cradling with utmost care, keeping his eyes focused on the face now twisted in some unspoken agony. Even the sound of the pain-filled grunting was lessening, turning instead into small, barely-perceptible rumblings. He'd witnessed these bouts before, had seen how drained they ultimately left his lover, but this one...this one seemed exceptionally bad, almost to the point where it looked like he wouldn't be able to survive it. Frightened by the prospect, Gibbs quickly glanced over a shoulder and yelled toward the two, silent spectators. "Go get Ducky! For God's sake, hurry!"

Gibbs could hear the sound of someone leaving but he didn't dare look away from DiNozzo again. Not now. The green eyes had slit open and were trying to focus on his face, the depth of desolate agony reflected all too clearly...and of a desire to just let go.

"I'm here, Tony," Gibbs whispered and pressed the side of his face to one of DiNozzo's alarmingly cold cheeks, lips just inches away from the shell of one delicate ear. Gibbs knew he was shaking but he just couldn't control the tremors, his own body reacting to the shock and the stress. He could feel soft, quick puffs of air across his exposed neck as DiNozzo struggled to breathe, the erratic, stuttering inhalations and exhalations doing nothing to provide the oxygen his depleted body was so desperately needing. "I'm here."

Gibbs pulled back just enough to look at DiNozzo, wanting, needing to memorize every detail of the beloved face, feeling the frail, young body beneath his hands begin to shiver. He pulled at the spare blanket nestled near the foot of the bed and drew it swiftly upwards, tucking securely, pressing the warmth over the chilled body, and willing the trembling to subside.

DiNozzo's gaze was unwavering, not even blinking, eyes locked on the man hovering so close. Here was his salvation, his light, his life. He knew he could no longer speak, so he settled for letting his eyes transmit his silenced emotions, inordinately grateful for what they'd been given, even in its brevity. It had been good and real and better than the young man had ever imagined he'd have, or deserve, in his strange, short life. And they had laughed...oh, God, how they had laughed...

Gibbs could see the light of life dimming now in DiNozzo's eyes and cried out his denial, pulling the young man quickly up into his desperate embrace and holding tight, rocking and soothing the limp body, all but ignoring the alarmed sounds coming from the direction of the doorway.

"No, no, no...Tony, please..." the words ached and burned within Gibbs' chest, threatening to steal his own ability to breathe. If he had to beg, he was willing. "Don't do this...please, not now...stay...stay with me..."

There were hands pulling Gibbs now, grabbing at his arms and back and trying to seperate him from DiNozzo. Gibbs fought them all, holding tight, and continued to rock the still form within his secure embrace. He ignored the confusing, jumbled words battering around his shoulders and head. He had to hold on...he couldn't let go...not now...not ever...

There was a sharp prick somewhere on his arm and a dull burn of spreading medication, rousing Gibbs momentarily from his single-minded concentration, but he resolutely pushed that feeling away and retightened his grip on DiNozzo's unmoving body. This is where he needed to be. Here. Nowhere but here.

Ducky and Wainwright watched anxiously as the powerful sedative finally began to take effect and, when Gibbs seemed relaxed enough, they quickly had D and Fornell remove the older agent from the bed, pulling DiNozzo's slack form away and lowering it back to the mattress. They could hear the two men moving Gibbs to the other side of the room and knew they would see to his care but, right now, they worked frantically around the unresponsive figure and thought only of his condition. As Ducky bent to begin CPR, Wainwright began rattling around with the equipment.

"Oh, Roberta," Ducky whispered mournfully, face bleak as he focused on the open, unseeing eyes and the quiet, slack mouth of the young agent. "Hurry..."

Wainwright shouldered the ME out of her way and took up position with the portable defibrillator, preping the machine, vaguely aware Ducky had already pulled the covers away and exposed the motionless chest. Her expression was grim but determined.

"You aren't getting away from us now, young man. Clear!"

Over by the doorway, Fornell and D lifted Gibbs' slack body and manhandled him onto the armchair by the wall, arranging him in what they thought was the most comfortable position and tilting his head back so it listed to one side. It was the best they could do for him, without removing him completely from the room, but neither actually gave voice to that option. It seemed bad enough just to have several, measly yards separating Gibbs from DiNozzo at this point and neither man wanted to face the demon if the older agent awoke, somewhere completely removed from his subordinate's general vicinity.

Fornell started to take another step back toward the bed, the need to be closer to the young man pulling hard again but, once more, D stopped him. "Wait, Fornell...they don't need you under their feet. Give them a little room to work."

Fornell eyed the other man suspiciously for a brief moment, wanting to get to DiNozzo, but relented when he recognized the truth. He nodded his reluctant assent.

Just as he turned to look back toward the bed, DiNozzo's body arched up against the first shock of the defibrillator, the sight staggering Fornell back. Fornell grimaced at the thought of that vibrant, young form reduced to this and could only stare at the monitor to one side of the bed. He saw Ducky frown and shake his head and Wainwright was immediately charging the machine again.

'Come on, Tony! Come on!' He chanted in silent desperation.

Ducky was again at DiNozzo's side, knees on bed, his deft, accurate hands applying just the right amount of pressure on the center of the still chest but it was obvious he couldn't do everything he needed. Fornell immediately broke away from his position next to D and moved to the other side of the bed, tipping DiNozzo's head back at the correct angle, and sealing his mouth over the cold, unresponsive lips. Pinching the nose closed, he exhaled deeply into the empty lungs, watching the chest expand. He and Ducky worked in tandem, aware of each other's movements, and stayed focused on the young man under their combined hands.

This close, Fornell could see DiNozzo's eyes were still partially open, the blank, dull gaze chilling his soul and bringing a surge of determination. 'You are not going to leave me now! Do you hear me, Tony? You are not going to leave!'

"Clear!" Wainwright barked again and Ducky and Fornell jerked away, watching as the woman applied the paddles, sending another strong jolt into DiNozzo's body. All eyes shifted immediately toward the monitor and, when a small blip appeared...followed closely by another and then another...there was visible relief reflected on every face in the room.

"Oh, my dear, dear Roberta," Ducky's voice was thick with emotion as he quickly returned the dislodged oxygen cannula back in its appropriate place across DiNozzo's face, "that was well done!"

Both doctors fiddled with a few more monitors and then were reaching for their stethoscopes, almost in unison, concentrating on the weak but stabilizing sound from within the young man's chest. Wainwright's gaze was fixed on some undetermined spot while Ducky merely closed his eyes, both absorbed in the simple joy of listening to a beating heart.

Fornell remained close, barely resisting the urge to touch DiNozzo's pale face again. He held himself back and stared at the relaxed lips, remembering the desperation he'd felt, forcing his breath past the slack mouth, and wanted nothing more than to place his fingertips back over that sweet, tender spot of their union. He'd done this for Tony, he'd been the one to bring him back from the brink, and Gibbs...Gibbs had been asleep through it all. Fornell's bitter eyes tracked over to the corner of the room and settled on the agent, sneering at the way things had turned out.

'I'm the one he always needs the most,' he gloated mutely to the slumbering man. '*Me*...not you.'

"Fornell."

D was suddenly standing close, his body blocking Fornell's view of Gibbs, and his glare dampening the FBI agent's barely concealed glee. Fornell focused on the weather-beaten face and held himself in check.

"What?" He managed to sound in control, nodding once to Ducky as he forced himself to move away from DiNozzo's side, stepping deliberately back toward the doorway. He knew D was right behind him.

"I think you should go out and see about the CDC doc."

D's words brought him up short and he slowly turned to face the Texan, his suspicion ratcheting up a notch. "Now, why should I do that?"

D scowled and rubbed a hand across his bare head. "Oh, hell's bells, Fornell! Gibbs certainly can't do it and I don't think any of his team can be pulled away from what they're doing now, except maybe that...eh, Officer David." He shook his head and glanced down at the floor. "You'll be able to tell if this guy is the real deal and get him in here so he can help with Agent DiNozzo. You saw how these two," he jerked his head back toward Ducky and Wainwright, "were spitting at each other earlier. They need another voice, someone who can look at the situation from a different perspective."

"I hate to tell you this," Fornell smirked but was secretly happy with his new role, "but that CDC doctor probably won't be much help. He's all about infectious diseases and biohazards and such. I don't think he knows anything about what's happening to DiNozzo."

"But you don't know for sure," D stressed and then shrugged. "Besides, what could it hurt?"

Fornell let the idea tumble around in his head for only a few moments before coming to his decision. "You're right. I'll take Ziva with me...and McGee. They both have certain skills that may prove to be useful."

He turned to address Ducky but saw both he and Wainwright were still bent over DiNozzo's form, checking vitals and quietly discussing their findings. Now wasn't the time to disturb them. They had a job to do, as did he. He let his eyes fall to the young man in the bed and allowed a few moments to silently watch as the chest under the lightweight sheet rose and fell, rose and fell. It had been close...too close...but DiNozzo was still here.

'And I'm still here, too, Tony,' he sent silently across the room to the still figure.

Allowing a small, swift smile, Fornell turned away and started out of the room, pausing only once to shake his head and cast a sneer toward Jethro Gibbs' sprawled form. He looked back at D and pointed to the NCIS agent.

"Better see to your friend, D. I can do the rest all by myself."


TBC

"If you really want my opinion, I believe you need to put the RFIDs back in or, at the very least, one of them. I mean, you've indicated the rapid decline occured almost immediately after they were removed from his body, so I don't see any other option available at this time. Maybe they *are* directly connected, somehow, to his survival. Maybe Doctor Martinez implanted them specifically to ensure his continued existence, or maybe they don't have any bearing at all with his present condition...*I* don't know...but all you have to do is look at him to see what's happening: he's dying, plain and simple. His O2 levels are extremely low, even with the oxygen cranked up, and he's showing signs of imminent organ failure, especially his kidneys. You've got life support systems standing by because there's a real possibility he's going to flatline again and the respirator is going to be the only thing keeping his body alive. To tell you the truth, I don't know why you're even debating about this. I just don't think it's going to make much difference, one way or the other but, in the long run, what's it going to hurt?"

And it had been as simple as that.

Well within the span of an hour and after hearing CDC Doctor Thomas Gustafson's grim evaluation and opinion, Emilio Martinez's test subject had been prepped, the original RFID devices properly sterilized, and their insertion back into DiNozzo's body completed...not in their original positions but placed in areas deemed easier to monitor and care for and, most importantly, less invasive: one in the meaty section of the upper left arm, another directly below the navel, and the last just above the right knee. The placement and spacing of them about DiNozzo's failing body was considered acceptable and close enough to their original positions. There was no reason to conceal them like Martinez had, under hair or inserted intimately. Everyone close to DiNozzo knew of their existence, knew he was being tracked, but it had been so difficult for those directly involved with his care to see those three, thin devices disappearing back under the tender flesh once more.

The surgery, itself, had been straight-forth and simple and without an iota of complication. Lieutenant Commander Wainwright's capable hands had been steady, sure, and completely professional and she'd been quick as humanly possible, wanting to complete the task in as brief a time as she could. Ducky had assisted his colleague, administering the local anesthetic to each designated area beforehand, and carefully closing the small, straight incisions afterwards, his tiny, precise stitches applied with considerable thoughtfulness and a good measure of pure, undisguised affection. The residual scarring, when the wounds ultimately healed, would be virtually invisible to any untrained eye.

And when it was all over and the hideous, functioning devices were successfully replaced subcutaneously and covered with thin, sterile dressings, both Ducky and Wainwright had momentarily turned away from each other, and the blissfully unconscious young man on the bed, and had sent up their own private, silent prayers to whatever deity was supposedly watching over the ailing agent. There was no way to know if DiNozzo would improve, no way to know if the devices were actually designed to to keep him alive, and no way to ignore the feeling they'd just allowed themselves to add to his tenuous condition and on-going pain. They were both well aware of the sheer horror reflected in his desperate, stricken eyes as Jethro Gibbs had broken the news of their intentions to him earlier in the day and could only hope he would, eventually, be able to forgive them for their actions.

*** Gibbs had swallowed once and then spoken...and the words made DiNozzo's world narrow and turn black.

"We may have to put the tags back in your body." ***

DiNozzo had taken one, quick, ragged breath, his green eyes widening with denial and fear, and had weakly screamed out his refusal at the idea to Gibbs...and the whole world in general...surging up from the mattress with an unexpected show of strength and striking out at the former Marine, clenched fists landing harmlessly against the broad chest, the strong shoulder, and even clipping the solid chin, trying to fight against the whole unjust situation. Gibbs had taken the physical blows stoically but, emotionally, each strike had battered against his barrier of resolve, injuring his spirit and damaging his soul. The usually impassive facade had cracked, briefly.

Gibbs had pulled the feebly struggling young man close to his chest, careful not to add more injury to the already frail body, and had listened silently to the pleas, the swearing, the God-awful, searing, name-calling, accepting the pathetic, ineffectual blows, until every hurt, imagined or real, had been purged from DiNozzo's system, leaving a fragile, weeping shell of the strong man he'd once been. Gibbs had continued to to hold on tightly, murmuring soft, soothing words of support and compassion, waiting until the body in his arms went limp and all but unresponsive. Only then had Gibbs laid DiNozzo back against the pillow and mattress, releasing him from the embrace, and had used his big, strong hands to tenderly stroke through the mussed, damp hair and lovingly caress the wet, pale cheeks.

To those in the room, it had almost been too intimate to watch. It had been simple to recognize how much the younger man meant to Gibbs...and it was much more than anyone had ever expected or thought possible. The expression on the older agent's face, the way he'd reverently touched the ailing body, and the pained, desolate look in those usually sharp, blue eyes had spoken wordlessly of a man on the brink of losing most of his heart and a great portion of his soul.

That Gibbs had been unconscious during the final discussion and resultant reinsertion of the RFIDs into DiNozzo's body had actually been a blessing in disguise. Now, as Ducky watched the former Marine begin fighting off the last dregs of the sedative he'd been given and slowly stirring back to wakefulness, his concern for his friend's state of mind was evident. They'd all been leery about making the final decision about the tags without Gibbs' input and they all certainly knew how adversely DiNozzo, himself, felt about the subject but, as Gustafson had so succintly expressed after listening to the disturbing reports and the terminal prognosis, what would it hurt? And that, in a nutshell, was what everyone had agreed upon: in the long run, what *would* it hurt?

Ducky sighed and scooted the straight-backed chair he was sitting in a bit closer to the armchair Gibbs was still sprawled upon and reached to place his hand on the other man's closest forearm, immediately feeling the twitch of the muscles beneath his fingertips. He crooked a grin and gently shook the arm.

"Jethro? I think if you try a bit harder, I do believe you'll be able to open your eyes. Come on, give it a try...open your eyes for me."

There was another twitch, in a leg this time, and the sound of a soft rumble from deep within Gibbs' chest. The head rolled slightly against the high back of the thickly-padded seat but the eyes resolutely remained closed. Ducky sighed again, moved his hand upwards, and proceeded to tap Gibbs'cheek a few times, the harder touch producing a small scowl and another, deeper, rumble.

"I know you would like to continue sleeeping, Jethro, and the good Lord knows you deserve a few more hours of blissful unconsciousness but you really need to wake up now." He tapped the cheek again and wasn't in the least surprised when his hand was quickly captured in Gibbs' grip, the blue eyes finally slitting open to peer irately at the offending digits. "Ah, there you are. Happy to see you're back with us again. Tell me, how are you feeling?"

Gibbs' eyes tracked slowly to his friend's face and he released Ducky's fingers, moving both of his hands to brace against the arms of the chair so he could begin to push himself into a more up-right position. He tested his responses and blinked sluggishly at the lethargic feel of his body, arching his back and twisting his head from side to side. There was a moment of quiet confusion and silent questions and, when the blue eyes rose and returned to focus on the ME's face, Ducky knew Gibbs was collecting his thoughts and reviewing his actions prior to the current situation. The 'click' as the memories resurfaced was almost audible and the keen eyes instantly tracked over to the bed on the other side of the room.

"Tony..." Gibbs had to clear his throat and he gratefully accepted a mug pressed into his hands, eyes still on the bed as he took a swallow of dark, strong coffee before he tried again. "Tony was dying, Duck..."

"I know, I know," the ME was reaching to take the slightly trembling cup as Gibbs pushed unsteadily up to his feet and started toward the bed. He joined Gibbs and quietly tried to fill in the worrisome, empty gaps. "We almost lost him but he seems to be holding steady right now. You wouldn't let him go when we needed to get to him, so we had to sedate you."

If Gibbs hadn't been focused on DiNozzo so intently, he might have responded to and questioned Ducky's confessed method of removing him from DiNozzo's side but, as it was, he merely nodded and redirected the conversation. "He's holding steady? I don't understand..."

"Jethro," Ducky placed a hand on Gibbs' arm to garner more of his attention, "we almost lost him and, if it hadn't been for Roberta's fine handling of defbrillator and Tobias' working knowledge of CPR, he would have been dead. He remained stable for a short while and then just declined rapidly again. We didn't know what else to do and we couldn't wait for you to awaken, so we went ahead and put the transmitting devices back into his body."

*That* captured Gibbs' full attention and he swung around, easily casting the ME's hand from his arm, and settling a hard, disbelieving glare on the older man. He shook his head slightly in negation.

"No," he whispered ferally and took a step closer to Ducky, "tell me you didn't do that to him. Tell me."

Ducky sighed but stood straight and didn't try to deny the obvious. "Yes, we did. We didn't know what else to do..."

"He didn't want them back in," Gibbs hissed in frustration and turned away from his old friend, moving to the side of the bed and sinking very carefully until he was seated next to the slumbering young man. He didn't want to have this conversation now, not with DiNozzo here...alive and breathing. Hesitantly, he reached to cautiously touch the limp hand resting atop the sheet, careful to avoid the IV line. "Tell me," he swallowed the bitterness that rose in his throat and tried again. "Tell me where you put them."

"I'll show you instead," Ducky offered softly and moved to the opposite side of the mattress, deftly easing the light blanket and sheet down and exposing DiNozzo's bare, uncovered torso. He pointed, first, to a small, square patch high on the left arm. "None of them are in their original positions and we placed them where they would be less likely to irriate. This one was originally located under his scalp behind his ear." His hand continued to move downward and hovered over the smooth, flat belly. "This one...well, let's just say it's found a better home," he ignored Gibbs' slight twitch and shifted his hand further downward, fingers floating past the genitals and thighs, stopping over the right knee, "and this one was from the ankle area. We made sure to place the devices fairly close to their initial positions but kept Anthony's comfort foremost in our minds. They were placed under local anesthesia, he felt absolutely no pain, and he's resting comfortably now. There was minimal bleeding and each incision needed only a few stitches apiece to close."

Gibbs'anxious, irratated thoughts slowly settled as Ducky talked, his eyes alert and taking in every inch of DiNozzo's frail, exposed body. The assorted tubes and wires were still present, as was a new oxygen mask, and the former Marine tilted his head slightly to one side as he examined it. Reaching out with a fingertip to gently touch the clear cup resting over DiNozzo's mouth and nose, his silent question was immediately answered.

"His oxygen level was dreadfully low, so Roberta and I decided to get the mask on him instead. It must be helping because the levels have been slowly climbing ever since." Ducky reached to pull the covering back over the younger man's form but Gibbs stopped him instantly with an outstretched arm. The ME's confusion was apparent. "Jethro?"

Gibbs could only shake his head and, after a few moments of quite, intense appraisal, he allowed Ducky to tuck DiNozzo back under the linens, his sure hands smoothing out wrinkles and carefully keeping all monitoring devices free and clear of crimps or snags. Tenderly, Gibbs took DiNozzo's slack right hand into his grasp and twined his fingers between the smaller digits, still very cognizant of the cool flesh and lack of response.

"I know you don't want to hear this," Ducky eased to sit on the other side of the patient and eyed Gibbs warily, "but we didn't believe we had any other choice at the time. He was slipping away...again...and we all thought it was worth a try."

"He didn't want them," the stubborn words were just as quiet as before but a lot less angry now.

Ducky sighed. "No, he didn't, but since they've been back in he's gotten somewhat stronger."

That got Gibbs' attention. He turned his head and fixed his gaze on his old friend.

"Stronger...since they've been back in. Ducky, just how long was I out?"

The ME twisted slightly and removed his pocket watch, peering intently at the face. "Hhmm, let's see...I'd say just a little over five hours."

"Five hours?" Gibbs was surprised...and slightly appalled. "Ducky, I should have never slept like..."

"You were exhausted," Ducky interrupted smoothly, "and, if I could have allowed you a longer rest, I would have gladly done it. Be that as it may, you need to remember you *were* given a sedative. I don't believe your body had much of a choice in the matter. Now," he braced his hands against his knees and rose from the bed, "I think you could do with some food and maybe a bit more coffee before you meet Doctor Gustafson and the two fellows Captain Bradley is holding for you. I believe he thinks you'd like to ask them a few questions before they're escorted on to Washington."

"Wait," Gibbs rose, too, but put a hand to his forehead and paused, confusion ghosting across his features once more, "Gustafson?"

"The CDC representative," Ducky assured and rounded the bed, coming to stand directly in front of the perplexed man. "I thought Tobias and Daniel told you of his arrival...and of the two intruders."

Gibbs slowly began to recall the conversation with the two men earlier in the day, remembering his anger at seeing Fornell at the door, but was still concerned with DiNozzo's condition. "You never answered my question. You think he's improving because of the tags?"

It was an honest question, delivered without heat or accusation, and it was easy to see Gibbs was trying to come to terms with all that had transpired since he'd been sedated and unceremoniously dumped in the corner like a pair of old, worn-out sneakers. The aging ME nodded and looked down on his sleeping patient, aware that Gibbs was mirroring his stance.

"I have no way to be sure of anything at this point," he confessed with the barest hint of self-reproach, "but it didn't take long for us to notice a slight improvement shortly after they were reinserted." Ducky crossed his arms over his chest and brought a hand to his chin, obviously trying to think through Gibbs' question logically. "I'm not going to lie to you about this, Jethro. Neither Roberta nor I can explain what's happening but there are small signs that point directly to that conclusion: oxygen saturation, blood pressure, electrolytes, kidney output, glucose levels...all are still dangerously low but all have shown a slight bit of improvement. His lungs are still fairly fragile, hence the continued use of the mask, but there just doesn't seem to be any other viable answer for what we're seeing. It *has* to be because of the devices."

Gibbs let the information roll about in his head as he continued his visual assessment. There did seem to be a bit more color in DiNozzo's cheeks and the steady rise and fall of the thin chest was a huge relief: no hitched breathing or soft grunts of pain or other rough sounds of discomfort...just the gentle inhale and exhale of normal breathing.

"You think..." Gibbs was hesitant to voice what was swirling around in his head and beating frantically against the inside of his chest but he just had to inquire, "you think he'll be all right now?"

Ducky leaned to the side and let his arm brush lightly against Gibbs' "I have no way to answer that for you right now, Jethro. That his heart rhythm has decided to creep back into the barely-normal range gives me hope but, honestly, I just..."

"I know, Duck," Gibbs cut him off gently, immediately contrite for putting his friend on the spot. It was obvious they were all still baffled by DiNozzo's physical condition and, although the RFIDs continued to be a danger because of their transmitting capabilities, they also seemed directly related to his continuing survival.

A soft knock at the door drew their attention and, before Gibbs could cross the room to release the lock, the handle was turning and the door was slowly opening. Gibbs instinctively reached toward the gun on his hip but was quickly stopped by the ME.

"No, Jethro!" Ducky's words halted Gibbs' action but the blue eyes locked and never wavered from the opening door. As an unfamiliar man stepped into the room and then froze in place by the expression he saw on the NCIS agent's face, Ducky rushed to explain. "This is Thomas Gustafson, from the CDC. He arrived earlier this afternoon and was escorted in by the Marines. Please, Thomas," he spoke now to the startled man, "it's all right to come the rest of the way in."

The hesitation and disbelief were still evident as Gustafson eyed Gibbs' sour expression. "Are...are you sure, Doctor Mallard? I could just come back later."

"No, no, no...it's perfectly fine," he assured and then directed his explanation toward his younger, and still suspicious, colleague. "It was decided we could relax our level of alertness within the lodge. With those two intruders being held by Captian Bradley and the rest of the Marine unit rotating watches for further signs of trouble, we decided locking the door to this room was unnecessary. In all honesty, it always caused a needless interruption if one of us was involved with young Anthony's care and we had to stop to respond to a knock on the door." He smiled at Gibbs but wasn't concerned when he didn't receive one back. "This is so much easier and, really, there's no one inside the lodge that needs to be barred from this room."

Gibbs listened to the explanation, his mind immediately flashing to Fornell, and had to force himself relax...and take a good look at this CDC representative. With keen eyes sweeping the figure from head to foot, all Gibbs could think of was 'average'. Average height, average weight, avereage coloring...just plain average looking, all the way around. There was nothing notable or remarkable and, as far as the former Marine was concerned, just another unnecessary person to have around in the lodge. Gibbs frowned but nodded in Gustafson's direction.

"Seems you made the trip all for nothing, Doctor Gustafson. There's no communicable diseases happening around here."

"Well, it certainly appears that way," Gustafson agreed with a small, tenuous smile and then shifted his eyes toward the more friendly face of the ME, shifting his briefcase from one hand to the other before speaking. "Doctor Mallard..."

"Ducky. Please," the older man insisted.

Gustafsom smiled a bit wider and nodded. "All right, if you insist. Ducky. Um, Doctor Wainwright wanted you downstairs to look at something she found on the internet, I think." He frowned and shrugged. "I'm not sure but since I was coming up here to take a look at Agent DiNozzo's charts and get the rest of my paperwork finished, I told her I would inform you of her request."

"Hhmm," Ducky frowned for a moment, "I wonder what it could be?"

"I have no idea, "Gustafson shook his head, not realizing Ducky hadn't actually expected a response. He shrugged his shoulders slightly. "She seemed a bit anxious."

"I suppose I should go and see what she wants," Ducky's face cleared and he looked at Gibbs. "She did draw more blood recently so maybe it has something to do with that."

"Duck," Gibbs spoke low, "I need to talk to Bradley and the two he's holding for me but I don't want to leave DiNozzo alone."

"Yes, quite right," the older man agreed, eyes swinging back toward the bed. "He needs to have someone with him at all times now...until we know he's really out of danger."

Gibbs looked in that direction, too, pleased to see his young lover sleeping on. His eyes rose to the bank of monitors and he studied them for a few moments, the soft hisses and quiet beeps almost imperceptible in the large room. If all went well, those damn machines could be disconnected and turned off for good soon.

"Well, I was just going to examine his charts," Gustafson was speaking quietly, still by the open doorway, "but if Agent DiNozzo needs someone to sit with him, I suppose I could just read and do the paperwork here. I don't mind...and by the looks of it, I don't think he's going to be waking up any time soon anyway."

Both Gibbs and Ducky turned back to the CDC doctor but it was the former Marine who spoke first. "No offense, Gustafson, but I don't know you from Adam."

Gustafson merely nodded and shrugged again. "Fine by me. I can concentrate more if I'm by myself anyway."

Gibbs was turning to face his friend, immediately ignoring the man by the door. "I'll send McGee up."

"He and your forensics tech have been head to head over a computer keyboard downstairs for almost an hour now, Agent Gibbs," the CDC rep was speaking again and he unconsciously took a step back when Gibbs's cool gaze resettled on him. "They've been working on identifying those other two men the Marines brought in and I think they wanted some of your time, too."

Gibbs let his eyes skim over the man once more. "Then, I'll just have Ziva..."

He didn't have the opportunity to complete his response before Gustafson was interrupting. "Uh, she's with Agent Fornell and Mister Dunn. Outside. I think they've been speaking to those men." He swallowed audibly when Gibbs scowled but pushed on. "Now, if you don't mind, if I can just have those charts, I can get out of the way and finish my report."

Gibbs was silent as he continued to regard the stranger. He didn't like this but knew both he and Ducky needed to be out of the room. He watched Gustafson shift nervously from foot to foot and adjust his grip on his attache case, the long fingers clutching the smooth handle tightly. Gibbs slowly lifted his chin toward the small case.

"What's in there?"

Gustafson scowled now and bristled sharply. "Oh, good Lord! Just take it," he walked forward and unceremoniously shoved the small, brown valise into Gibbs' hands, surprising the man instantly. "I'm so tired of everyone here all but accusing me of being some kind of criminal, hiding some kind of weapon or mysterious implement or God knows what else inside there. Between Agent Fornell and those damn Marines outside...and now *you*...pawing through all my forms and documents, I'll be lucky if I end up with one, whole sheet left intact when this assignment is completed!"

Gibbs raised an eyebrow at the unexpected outburst and came damn near backhanding the attitude right off the unhappy face scowling at him but, instead, chose to let the man's precious case fall from his grasp to land on the floor near his feet, the edge hitting just right to snap the latch open and spill the contents across the hardwood. He glanced casually down at the mess and then lifted his cool gaze to stare unemotionally at the sputtering, outraged CDC rep.

"Oops," Gibbs deadpanned perfectly.

Gustafson appeared to be preparing himself for one hell of a coronary, eyes wide with disbelief, face changing to a nice shade of red, and his fists balled tightly at his sides. "You...you...you did that on purpose!"

"Gentlemen," Ducky wisely deflected any forthcoming words or actions by physically placing his shorter stature directly between the two men. He placed a hand on Gibbs' chest and spoke up to his friend, even though the former Marine continued to glare at Gustafson over Ducky's head. "Jethro, go speak with Captain Bradley and I'll handle things here. Please."

It was easy to see Gibbs didn't want to leave the confrontation but he knew he had more important things to take care of at the moment than posturing with some snarly CDC doctor. He dropped his gaze to settle on his ME and offered the shorter man a cocky grin.

"Sure, Duck...whatever you say."

Raising his eyes one final time, and making sure his path to the door took him directly through the pool of Gustafson's paperwork, Gibbs cast a lingering look back toward DiNozzo and then briskly exited the room, carefully closing the door after him. It wasn't a grand exit but it sufficed in delivering his message.

"Well!" Gustafson sputtered in indignation as the door closed, his face livid with rage, "of all the arrogant, simple-minded..."

"Thomas," Ducky quickly cut in and bent to start retrieving the scattering of papers, "let's just get this together and I'll let you look at Anthony's charts. You can take them somewhere else or you're more than welcome to use the desk over in the far corner."

Gustafson glanced down. The ME was stooped over and reaching for the tossed papers, stacking them carefully as he went along and mumbling something under his breath about Gibbs' over-protective nature and good heart. Ducky's head was angled down and the words weren't easy to understand but Gustafson knew he it didn't matter...Jethro Gibbs could go straight to hell as far as he was concerned.

In fact, they *all* could go straight to hell...starting with Doctor Mallard.

Bending at the waist and reaching to snag the handle of his discarded briefcase, Gustafson carefully snapped the lid closed, swung it up into a wide, graceful arc, and brought it solidly down against the unsuspecting ME's head, one, sharp-angled corner impacting solidly with a dull, sickening thud and dropping the older man instantly to the floor. Gustafson blinked down at the downed man, waited several seconds to see if there was going to be any further movement and, when there was none, finally raised his eyes just enough to stare at the figure resting on the bed across the room from under his lashes, his gaze turning dark and predatory.

Without another thought to the older man, Gustafson stepped over the still body sprawled atop the ripped and twisted collection of DCD forms and quietly crossed the small distance, moving until he stood directly beside DiNozzo's sleeeping form. Eyes raking over the boyish face, Gustafson leaned close, lips mere inches from the younger man's mouth, and studied the pale, smooth features: so peaceful, so serene, so blissfully unaware of the danger...and so very, very stupid.

"Thought you could get away, didn't you?" He whispered mockingly. gently setting the briefcase on the mattress and thumbing the catch back open. "You should have known better."

Using a fingernail to pick at the edge of one of the hinges holding the back of the case together, Gustafson slowly withdrew the slender securing pin from its housing and brought it away from the slot, a sly, feral grin forming as he examined the thin, innocuous piece of metal. His eyes slid toward the peaceful face and he leaned close again, bringing his mouth against the closest ear.

"Emilio sends his regards...and his regrets."

____________________________________________

Gibbs' gaze swept over the lone man sitting in the hard, straight-backed chair in the corner of the Marine's compact Mess tent as soon as he entered and glanced quickly to the woman at his side. He could tell the prisoner's hands were secured behind his body and knew the Marine standing guard just to one side was keeping close watch over everything, ready to pull his sidearm in a moment's notice.

"Where's the other one?" He asked the dark-haired woman.

Ziva David nodded as she removed her standard NCIS cap and jerked her head back in the direction they'd just come. "Captian Bradley thought it best to keep them separated until you had the chance to speak with them. The other is under guard near the latrines...taking in the sunshine. Fornell is with him."

Gibbs grunted his approval and shot David an approving grin, glad to know his team was still doing their jobs effiently, and then refocused on the recently captured intruder in the chair. "This one say anything yet?"

"Nothing important," she looked at the man in question, keeping her expression blank, "though a little sunshine might help loosen up his tongue, too."

Gibbs nodded and gave David another sideways look. "You have your knife on you?"

"Of course."

There'd been no hesitation in the young woman's reply and Gibbs knew she would be more than willing to do a little 'interrogation' of her own, if asked, but he wasn't about to resort to that method...not just yet. But, as he thought of what he'd just read in the brief dockets collected by Abby and McGee concerning the two trespassers, he was sorely tempted to just let her do a little harmless carving to put the prisoners in the right frame of mind.

Gripping the slim folders housing the information from Abby and McGee, Gibbs moved away from the entryway and headed straight for the seated man, keeping his eyes locked on the passive face and seeing no indication of fear or worry in the cold, oddly mud-colored eyes. He knew David was keeping her position by the entrance because the prisoner's gaze shifted her way before resettling on Gibbs.

The small table and chair placed before the prisoner had been set up precisely for Gibbs' use and the former Marine went straight for it, dropping the two, slim folders to the surface and eyeing the sneering, seated man carefully. He needed to keep his focus now, to put all personal feelings aside, but it was damn difficult when he now knew who'd actually sent the two men to Texas...and why.

"Carlo Sabatini," he began levelly, seeing the dark eyes widen momentarily in surprise before growing cold and shuttered again. "You're certainly far away from your usual stomping grounds. Maybe you can clear some things up for me."

"I doubt that," the bound man scoffed and raised his chin in defiance, eyes sweeping back over to where David still stood, "but I wouldn't mind doing a little exploring with that one." His gaze dropped to the hollow of her throat where her necklace lay. "Whattaya say, little Jew girl? Wanna come over here and sit on my lap?"

The woman's eyes flashed dangerously and she took a small step in his direction, barely stopping when Gibbs' commanding voice brought her up short. "Ziva!"

She paused but kept her cold eyes on the man, deftly slipping a slender dagger from the holder at the back of her waist, and bringing it into plain view. She held the wicked-looking blade toward the seated man and pointing it purposefully toward his crotch, twisting her wrist and flicking the sharp, deadly point swiftly upward. The Marine on guard coughed quietly at the unmistakable gesture, almost disguising his laugh, and the prisoner blinked in shocked surprise, quickly averting his eyes away from the woman and her dangerous weapon.

"Seems you've been a very busy man," Gibbs continued when Sabatini's attention returned and he thumbed open the slim folder resting atop the other, breaking eye contact just long enough to scan the meager contents. "Assault with a deadly weapon, armed robbery, assorted muggings...and it seems you were in the Alexandria area recently, just outside DC."

"Hey, you know...I get around," the cockiness returned and his gaze swept, unbelievably, toward David again. "I've been to a lot of places in my life. Plan to go to a lot more real soon."

Gibbs didn't respond to the ridiculous statement but, instead, pulled out a single photo, silently thanking Abby and McGee for remaining so focused on their work and compiling all that had in such a short amount of time. "Recognize this?"

Sabatini looked relunctantly away from the woman and let his eyes drop to the photo on the table, eyebrows slanting down for a moment as he tried to make heads or tails of what he was being shown. "You're kidding me, right? I don't even know what the fuck I'm looking at."

Gibbs nodded his understanding. "I can see where you might find it a bit difficult. It's just a photo of a small, insignificant scrap of plastic...not much to look at and certainly not very remarkable."

He stopped and fixed his hard gaze on Sabatini's face and just watched silently for a few moments. The man stared back, smirk shifting, as Gibbs proiduced another slip of paper.

"Not remarkable except for one thing," he pointed to the sheaf of paper. "This."

Sabatini scowled again. "Look, I don't know what the fuck you want but I..."

"It's your finger print," Gibbs interrupted quickly, tone going cold.

"So? One of those jarheads took my prints when I got here and..."

"This print," Gibbs pointed again, "came from that small, insignificant scrap of plastic ...which was found at a crime scene on the far outskirts of Alexandria, where the decomposing remains of two bodies were found." He paused briefly to study the man before him and pushed his own personal feelings away. "One has been positively identified as the owner of an up-scale hair salon and the other was that of NCIS Director Jennifer Shepard."

Sabatini blinked, hard, and then shifted his eyes down and away, refusing to meet the agent's hard, piercing gaze. He squirmed a bit on the rigid chair and then visibly forced himself to relax, the once-cocky, self-assured smirk never achieving its original effect. When his eyes finally returned to face the man sitting behind the table, Sabatini just shrugged a shoulder in casual indifference.

"Don't know what the fuck you're talking about."

Gibbs continued to stare. Sabatini was obviously not the brains behind the venture and, therefore, not the one with the most information but it would be worth the time to see just how far he could get with this this sorry sack of shit before beginning his interrogation of the man being kept out in the late afternoon sun. If the information McGee and Abby had collected was correct, and there was no reason to doubt it wasn't, these two were nothing more than the strong-armed goons of a very powerful and extremely wealthy person...a person Gibbs wanted to nail, balls to the wall.

"You probably realize now the Federal authorities in DC are anxious to get their hands on you. If I'm not mistaken, there's even a transport flying in tonight to take you and," Gibbs glanced briefly at the other folder under his fist, "Salvatore Amato back for questioning. Very anxious."

"I don't know nothing," Sabatini reiterated, the sneer slipping a bit more.

"What were you and Amato doing out here?" Gibbs quickly shifted gears.

"Uh...," there was a lie forming, "...hunting."

"What?" Gibbs asked quickly.

"What?" Sabatini scowled, clearly confused. "What the fuck do you mean 'what'?"

Gibbs leaned his elbows nonchalantly on the table and spoke slowly and clearly, like an adult to a dull child. "What were you hunting?"

"Oh. Um..." another blatant, stumbling untruth began, "...rabbits."

The response was so absurd, the Marine by the door coughed again, and Gibbs could only shake his head at the stupidity. He allowed his gaze to flick toward David and saw her stunned, open-mouthed expression. When her dark gaze found his, her eyes said it all: how could anyone be so ignorant?

"You hunt rabbit often, Mister Sabatini?" He asked when his eyes returned to the bound man.

"Oh, yeah," he bragged, chin raising smugly. "Whenever I can."

"Always use an assault rifle when you go?"

The chilled, softly-voiced inquiry wiped a bit of the arrogance away and the brown eyes swiftly darted from side to side. Gibbs tilted his head slightly and stared at Sabatini.

"Someone sent you and Amato out here for a reason," he all but whispered, "just as he sent you out to murder Director Shepard. You see, the thing is, the person you've come out here to find and kill is one of my own agents," he looked over toward the woman by the door, "and one of Officer David's close colleagues. You were lucky, for awhile, alluding the authorities in Alexandria but, now, you've been caught...here...with me and Officer David."

Sabatini raised his gaze at the sharp, dangerous edge to Gibbs' voice and he looked directly into the eyes of a man consumed with simmering rage. The blue was glittering, cold, like chips of ice in that hard, stormy face, and Sabatini didn't doubt he was being openly threatened. He swallowed thickly and glanced swiftly toward the doorway, shocked to see the Marine guard was now gone, leaving him alone with these two intimidating people and, to make matters worse, the woman was advancing slowly with her knife drawn, pointing directly toward his face.

"I...I don't know nothing," he stammered, eyes sweeping back and forth from the man behind the table to the woman and her weapon.

"Who sent you out here?" Gibbs asked calmly, eyes on the name contained within each folder. "Come on, it will be so much easier...and much less painful if you just tell us his name."

Sabatini swallowed again and struggled in his seat, eyes staying now on David's knife. "I...I...don't know..."

Gibbs could tell the man's resolve was wavering. All Sabatini had to do was say the name...say the name...and they would have their connection. It was right there, in black and white, on the paper.

The knife was closer now, hovering just over Sabatini's face, the sharp, wicked end pointing right directly toward his right eye, like an arrow aimed at a bull's eye. Gibbs watched the man squirm, arms pulling against the zip cuffs binding his wrists behind the chair, and knew he was getting close to breaking.

'Say the name.'

The tip of the blade was sharp and clean...and deadly. Getting closer and closer.

'Say the name,' Gibbs prompted silently, sitting like a casual observer. 'Franklin Wilson-Halley is our only connection to Martinez. Just say his fucking name...'

David's blade was hovering close, her hand steady, her aim true. She would take out an eye with the flick of her wrist and think nothing of it.

'Say the name.'

"Okay! Okay!" Sabatini all but screamed as the tip of the blade was pressed gently to the closed eyelid, the fragile skin barely punctured. "I'll tell you! I'll fucking tell you! Just...just stop..."

"Tell us," Gibbs gritted and wauted. "Say the name."

Sabatini panted and huffed and stalled a second more until the blade bit the eylid again, nicking with more pressure, bringing a bead of blood welling to the surface of the flesh. He screamed anew and shouted out the name.

"Michael DiNozzo! Michael DiNozzo sent us!"


TBC

Post World War II England, after the German Blitz began with heavy, concentrated bombings of key industrial targets and civilian centers throughout London in the cold, bleak Fall of 1940, was a country ravaged by the wrath of Adolph Hitler's demonic plan for world domination. In the month of September alone, the German Air Force dropped thousands of tons of explosives on the capital for twenty-four consecutive nights, attempting to 'soften up' the British population and destroy morale before the planned invasion of their country even began. The brick and steel and concrete of the city, and of other major populated areas, were reduced to piles of rubble and debris and, many times, became death traps for those unable to make it to the relative safety and security of a shelter or nearby underground tube station. Children lost parents, husbands lost wives, and the whole country...the entire world...mourned for the losses incurred because of one madman's monsterous, inhumane plans for his own tyrannical control.

The bombings were sustained for several more years, across the British landscape, as the war continued to gain momentum and strength in Europe, and new allies and adversaries slowly emerged. The British people banded together, unified in their will for survival, and by the burning need to defend and protect what was theirs, and above all else, keep themselves free for the sake of future generations. They would not fall, they would not fail, and they would fight to the bitter end, if necessary, to do whatever was needed to keep their sons and daughters safe.

Many children were sent out of the great cities to the safety of the English countryside, away from the nightly barrages falling from the skies, to live with relatives, both close and distant, or in some instances, even taken in by perfect strangers who volunteered space for those youngsters needing sanctuary from the storm. Sacrifices were made, food became scarce, rationing was standard practice, and the horrendous gap between a child's pre-war innocence and the realities of the new, terrifying existence quickly robbed the last vestiges of the simple, pure, wide-eyed joy of growing up and living in an uncomplicated and trouble-free world. That old world was a dim, distant memory and, for many, gone forever.

But there were some children who never made it out of the heavily populated cities, children who rode the storm of uncertainty each night and lived each day among the rubble and dilapidated ruins of the buildings and homes, who watched friends or family members succumb to the horrors of daily existence. For many adults, the day-to-day strain of living was almost too much to bear but, for the children, many adapted readily to their new environment only as children can. They played among the crumbling concrete, they hunted for and collected scraps of shrapnel, and they foraged for anything that could be used for heating their homes, clothing their families, or feeding their siblings, all the while hardening their young hearts to the memories of what once had been their neighborhoods. Their new playground, now, was the devastation everywhere.

Among the ruins and debris, sometimes half-buried or sometimes fully exposed, the children periodically would find unexploded munitions, huge, cylindrical bombs with their fin-ends pointing skyward, awaiting the unknowing touch of small, straying hands. They became known as UXBs and, unfortunately, it didn't take long for the children to learn the harsh lesson of the danger of these devices nor to learn to stay well away from them but, periodically, one was inadvertently exploded, bringing more mayhem, more destruction, and, usually, more human casualities.

For a very young Donald Mallard, an afternoon spent away from his mother and in the company of his slightly older brother was always a special treat, even if the elder boy didn't always see it that way. Harold Mallard didn't usually want his little brother tagging along, especially if he was meeting his mates to spend some time exploring the outskirts of the bombed city, but he'd agreed to help his mother by keeping young Donald with him while she assisted a neighbor who'd had part of her home destroyed the previous night. Besides, another set of small, deft hands were always a welcome addition in the on-going hunt for bits of shrapnel or shell casings or other scraps of metal within the torn and twisted ruins of abandoned buildings and factories...and Donald had clever, nimble fingers.

So, Harold and Donald Mallard had happily left home on a clear winter's morning and met up with a small band of older boys near the edge of the city's recently destroyed cathedral, intent only in scavenging as they always had since the Blitz had begun. None of the boys had risen that morning expecting this to be their last day on Earth, none had expected to see their last glimpse of the sun or breathe their last lungful of air but, when one of Harold's chums had clumsily dislodged a teetering stack of bricks in an attempt to reach a shiny bit of metal, the resultant cascade of heavy mortar had set off one of the dreaded and mostly hidden UXBs, sending a rain of harsh and heavy death to those in close proximity.

Harold had been killed immediately, his young body torn almost in two, and Donald, who'd been foraging well away from his brother and mostly behind the relative safety of a strong bit of still-standing wall, had been struck soundly on the back of the head by a flying piece of concrete and knocked immediately off his feet, tumbling blissfully toward unconsciousness and thankfully unaware of the carnage surrounding him. The horror of awakening to the shrill shrieks of sirens and the anguished screams of desperate voices crying out for assistance as too surreal, especially for a very young boy, and Donald had laid silently among the devastation, blinking sluggishly against the bitter smoke and the sharp pain in his head, focusing only on the bit of shiny metal still grasped within his own clenched fist. He didn't want to move, didn't think he *could* move, and was content to just wait patiently until Harold came to find him.

But Harold had never come.

Now, as he struggled back into consciousness, the memories of that horrible time resurfaced like a shark scenting an unsuspecting swimmer, nose bumping against a leg, tormenting and prodding at the tender flesh with sharp, ragged teeth, bringing despair and fear and uncertainty. Ducky didn't want to awaken to another, similar scenario, didn't want to relive Harold's death, didn't want to feel so helpless and impotent and useless but the bright pain at the back of his skull was too familiar to ignore, too reminiscent of that horrific experience and he slowly, carefully, cracked open an eye, somehow expecting to see that very same bit of shiny metal gripped into his smallish, diminished fist.

But it wasn't there. Instead, the fingers in front of his nose were big and empty and loose...and there certainly weren't piles of rubble or stacks of salvaged bricks or the smell of recently burned buildings. There was a slick, polished, wooden floor under the press of his cheek and the cool, smooth surface was a wonderful balm to the terrible ache in his head.

His head...

Ducky blinked against the pain radiating out from where he now remembered he'd been struck...but not from a falling roof or a flying brick. Memory suddenly flooded back, rushing in to fill the recently vacated areas, and his stomach twisted with renewed fear.

Texas...

Anthony...

Gustafson!

Fighting the urge to immediately push up from the floor and confront the man who'd obviously laid him so low, the medical examiner forced himself to complete stillness and sought to listen to the sounds in the room, specifically from the area behind him where the bed...and DiNozzo...were located. Someone...most probably Gustafson...was near the bed, next to the younger man. Ducky didn't want to speculate on what the strange man could be doing to his patient but stray thoughts arose regardless: strangulation, asphyxiation, poisonous injection, morphine overdose...all ran rampant through his fertile mind. There were far too many ways to kill quietly and without bloodshed and they all suddenly emerged with ugly clarity in Ducky's thoughts. Even something as innocous as an air bubble in an IV line would do the trick, leaving a beautiful, cold corpse in it's wake, and the image of DiNozzo's lifeless form resting atop his chilled, sterile autopsy table sent Ducky into a slight panic.

Knowing he just couldn't remain on the floor and hope for salvation to arrive in the guise of an avenging Gibbs or Fornell or David, Ducky slowly forced his head up just enough to turn it over, letting his other cheek have it's chance against the cool floor, and looked toward the bed, his gut recoiling as he immediately recognized Thomas Gustafson, or whoever the hell he was, leaning over DiNozzo's defenseless form. Gustafson was facing away from the fallen ME, obviously not concerned with the downed doctor's proximity, and his hands were busy upon the bed's occupant. Ducky's gut clenched. He didn't want to think about what was happening but knew, without a shadow of a doubt, he had to do something to help DiNozzo...and he had to do it now!

Placing both palms flat on the floor and pushing a bit unsteadily upward, Ducky had to take a moment to fight against the sudden rise of bile as the pounding in his skull intensified. He swallowed thickly and willed himself to control his roiling stomach and was able to make it to his knees without a sound, eyes blurring in and out of focus, keeping his wavering gaze, somehow, locked on Gustafson's back. The bogus CDC representative was still bent over DiNozzo, still involved in his own, single-minded task, and still hadn't noticed the ME's movement. Ducky allowed himself a brief moment of respite, took a quick, deep breath, and got shakily to his feet, hands reaching out to capture the edge of a nearby chest for some much-needed support. Something warm and wet tickled agaisnt the back of his neck and, as he gently placed the fingertips of his left hand against the trickling path of new sensation, he realized he was bleeding, the moist stickiness sending a new surge of nausea coursing through his stomach. Closing his eyes against the unwanted rush, Ducky took a few steadying breaths to get himself under control, and tried to think of what he could possibly do to offer DiNozzo assistance.

The scalpels and other surgical instruments were safely in the sterilizer and the sedatives were in the top drawer of the chest next to the bed, well out of immediate reach. Ducky cast his eyes around the bedroom, looking for something, anything, he could use as a weapon...

Weapon!

Eyes flashing back to his position and head tilting downward to study the solid piece of furniture under his hands, the ME ignored the slick, wet smear of blood his fingers had unintentionally painted on the edge of the polished surface and focused on the brass handle of the top drawer. He swallowed nervously, knowing what was housed within the confines, and wondered if he could successfully complete his intended actions. Roberta Wainwright's handgun was there, unloaded and safely tucked inside, placed specifically away from the patient but close enough to be within easy reach if needed. Ducky shifted his gaze back toward Gustafson. If ever there was a need, it was now.

Letting his eyes drop quickly to the metal pull, Ducky held his breath and reached carefully to touch the slim handle, praying the antique- looking piece of furniture wasn't prone to the usual squeaks or groans of furnishings this old and wouldn't end up alerting the man near DiNozzo of his movement...or, more importantly, his intention. Deft hands grasped and pulled in a slow, deliberate pace, inching the drawer partially open until he could peer down inside. There, resting beside the clip of ammunition that needed to be slipped up into the handle to make the gun useful, was Wainwright's service revolver, just as she had placed it late last night: grip closest to the front of the drawer, the nozzle pointing toward the back wall, and the dark finish not at all resembling the bits of shrapnel he recalled having in his hand as a youth.

Sighing softly and driving down the shudder of revulsion for what he was preparing to do, Ducky slipped his hand within the tight confines and touched the cool handle for the first time, his queasy stomach taking one, last severe flip as skin made contact with the metal. The weapon was heavy, ungainly, and nothing like Ducky remembered but he knew he had no other choice but to go through with this plan.

He lifted the weapon clear of the drawer...

...and fumbled quietly with the clip, unsteadily sliding it in as he'd learned long ago but never had actually put to use, trying vainly to remember what he'd been taught, what he'd seen others do, seeking to bring the memory closer. The action wasn't as smooth or as silent as it should have been but he turned, lifting the gun, pointing it directly at Gustafson's back.

"Well, well, well," Gustafson whispered cruelly as he turned his head at the sound and met Ducky's startled eyes unflinchingly, his hands still on DiNozzo's body, fingertips pushing...something...against the newly-stitched region on the younger man's upper arm, "this is quite a surprise."

The medical examiner tightened his grip on the ungainly weapon, bringing his other hand up to cradle the butt and steady his hold. "I need you to step away from him...now."

Gustafson offered a small, feral grin, eyes dropping to glance at the ME's slightly trembling grasp on the firearm, but his fingers stayed pressed to DiNozzo's flesh, the touch firm and unmoving. "That's not going to happen, Doctor Mallard. It would be better for everyone if you just put the weapon down and sat back on the floor."

"I'm sorry but I'm not going to do that," Ducky responded, his soft, ciltured voice growing more composed and resolved with each passing moment. He didn't have to look at Gustafson's hand to know it wasn't going to be removed. "Please...don't make me shoot you."

Gustafson's smile widened, his expression morphing into a more wolfish visage, his tone smooth and silky. "Now, we both know you wouldn't do anything as violent as that. It's just not your style."

"Yes, well, you have no idea what my style is," Ducky gritted and took a hesitant step closer, keeping the gun leveled at the other man, his own ire over the situation mounting the longer it went on. "You are not going to harm him further."

The smile shifted and grew snake-like and made the fine hairs on the back of the ME's neck stand on end. "Well, I hate to break it to you like this, Doctor Mallard," and Ducky could plainly hear and see there was no real apology in the words or expression, "but I'm actually harming him right now."

Ducky sucked in a quick breath, eyes instantly dropping to Gustafson's hand, focusing on the freshly bleeding wound under the man's fingers. "Stop! I want you to stop this instant!"

"I can't do that."

"Then I *will* have to shoot you!" He was getting exasaperated with the whole situation.

"So you keep saying."

The two men eyed each other steadily, each refusing to do as the other wanted, but as Gustafson pressed his thin, needle-like prod harder into DiNozzo's skin and shoved it roughly against the RFID imbedded there, the younger man suddenly jerked and began to awaken, instinctively shying away from the renewed flash of pain and trying to shift from the touch of the strange man hovering so close.

"Anthony!" Ducky raised his voice in an effort to gain the agent's attention and took another step closer to the bed, the heavy gun wavering slightly in his grasp as he looked into the bewildered face of his awakening young colleague. "Lie still, please!"

Gustafson grinned and glanced down at the weakly struggling figure, immediately seeing the confusion in the muddled eyes. The young man was virtually defenseless, powerless to defend himself against anything being done, and the bogus CDC rep sneered at the sight.

"Yes, Anthony," he mocked and pushed the pin harder, watching the green eyes roll up whitely into the sockets, the body shuddering under the effects of the small, innocous-looking probe, "do be a good boy and be still." Gustafson shifted his eyes back to Ducky's outraged face and saw the gun waver a bit more, deciding quickly it was time to push the older man just a tad further, too. "He was such a good, obedient lad for Doctor Martinez. So biddable, so well-behaved, so," the smile was cold and cruel, "submissive."

Ducky's anger flared hot and brilliant at the outrageous statement and he could only think of nothing but forcing Gustafson away from DiNozzo. He moved close, too close...

...and that was his last mistake.

______________________________________

"Getting a little hot out there, is it, Agent Fornell?"

Tobias Fornell turned as he entered the front door of the lodge and closed the heat of the afternoon out behind the heavy, wooden panel without looking back, his eyes already adjusting from the brightness and shifting toward the entrance of the trophy room just to the left of the foyer, settling his gaze on Abby Scuito's perky face. The FBI agent couldn't contain his grin as he took in her open, easy smile, her long, dark pigtails, and her out-of-character, stone-washed, slightly too-large, light blue denim jeans. This was definately a new look for the young forensics expert and, if he was being totally honest with himself, not one he really liked on her.

"You could say that," he stated drily and controlled the grin, watching her eyes sparkle as she whipped the half-tied bandana from around her neck and extended it in his direction. He eyed it warily for a moment and then stepped close, accepting the proffered cloth and bringing it immediately to his face to wipe away the accumulated perspiration. "Thank you."

"You're quite welcome," she beamed with a slight nod and tilted her head quickly in the direction of the trophy room. "Did Doctor Wainwright tell you about the video conference coming in for you in a couple of minutes?"

"Yes, she did," Fornell assured and immediately followed as she turned and stepped back into that room, eyes scanning the equipment placed strategically around in different locations, giving each item a cursory once over before looking at the vacant computer monitor McGee was gesturing toward. "She decided to check on the prisoners...just to make sure they were being treated...well."

Abby turned her gaze back on the man, eyes narrowing slightly. "And are they?"

Fornell hesitated briefly before responding. "Ah, not especially."

Abby glanced at McGee, made eye contact, and then looked back, a quirky smile tilting one corner of her mouth. "Good."

Fornell nodded his agreement and then slipped easily into the chair placed before the computer, eyes rising to the webcam resting atop. He wasn't sure who was calling nor was he cetain of the upcoming discussion but he wanted to be ready. He wiped at his face and neck once more with the faded, red bandana and was pleasantly surprised, again, when a container of chilled bottled water was placed close to his elbow. He looked suspiciously up and caught McGee's kind expression.

"We just wanted to let you know," the young agent began softly, faltering for a moment, "that we know you've done your best by Tony and, well, Abby and I...we know this hasn't been easy and...um, that we..."

"We just wanted to say thanks," Abby jumped in happily as Fornell quickly and gratefully broke the lid seal and took a huge swallow of the cold liquid, eyes closing for a moment in relief and delight.

Fornell shrugged, slightly embarrassed, and looked away. "There's no need for that..."

"But you've been so much help," Abby stressed, crossing her arms over her chest and reaching to tug playfully at one of her pigtails, "and we know not to listen to everything Ziva says. And Gibbs...well, Gibbs has been like a big, old bear..."

"Uh, Abby," McGee tried to interrupt, shifting his gaze back and forth between his friend and the FBI agent.

"...about things for so long now that we just got use to his moods and..."

"Abby," McGee was trying again, his face taking on a bit of a flush.

"...I guess we know he's more of a barker than a biter but..."

"Abby!"

"What, McGee?!" Wide, exasperated eyes swung his way.

McGee blushed further and shifted from foot to foot. "Well, Abby, I...I just don't think Agent Fornell needs to hear all this and..."

There was a sound at the computer and Abby abruptly elbowed McGee out of the way, reaching to touch a key on the pad before Fornell. "And here's your connection."

As Fornell turned to greet the person who'd requested this conference, he was instantly relieved to see the recognizable face of his section director. He immediately tuned out the two NCIS colleagues and focused on the man's cool, terse expression.

Abby and McGee took several steps away and returned to their own work, quickly settling in and keeping their usual lively, good-natured banter to a hushed, subdued minimum. They'd already provided Gibbs with a folder of basic information on the two intruders the Marines had brought in and were now, once again, running through all the information they'd gathered concerning RFIDs, their availability and use throughout the world. Not only was the technology being used in the United States and Canada, as they'd discussed with Gibbs earlier, but almost every technologically savvy nation was marketing and selling their products on the Internet: Great Britain, Germany, China, India, South Korea, Taiwan...and the list went on and on. Animal tagging, long range locators, hospital security, pet identification...the usage list was just as long but the more they read, the more certain they became that the small devices once again housed in DiNozzo's body had been conceived, designed, and manufactured in the US. And, after comparing the images Abby had taken of the transmitters before they'd been implanted again to what they could find on the Internet, they were almost positive they'd originated from an American company called GAO Engineering...a company who's founder and major stockholder was none other than Franklin Wilson-Halley.

Everything was just falling into place, one small bit at a time.

"God damn it!"

At Fornell's unexpected and exceptionally harsh expletive, McGee and Abby instantly turned and watched with stunned expressions as the FBI agent reared up out of his seat, tipping the chair over backwards in his haste, and quickly began moving in the direction of the staircase, pulling his weapon from his holster as he went. The face of his section director was still visable on the monitor but they could only stare at Fornell's retreating back.

McGee was instantly up and following. "Fornell?"

"McGee, come with me!" He was instructing without looking back, already at the bottom of the staircase. He hesitated and looked once at the wide-eyed forensics expert, who'd managed to follow McGee to the trophy room's arched antrance. "Abby, go get Gibbs!"

"Fornell," McGee was pulling his own gun but really was in need of some type of explanation...as did Abby, "what's going on?"

Fornell looked up toward DiNozzo's room and then back to the two expectant faces, his eyes shocking them in their cold, hard edge. "That man up there with DiNozzo is an imposter."

"What?" Abby's voice was breathless and her eyes widened with alarm.

"My section director knows Doctor Thomas Gustafson personally, "he gritted, "and he asked me to remind Gustafson to stay indoors as much as possible because 'that hot Texas sun would color that red-head's pale complexion faster than a lobster taking a boiling bath'."

"But Doctor Gustafson's not a redhead," McGee frowned and then, just as quickly, understood. "Oh, my God. Tony."

"Ducky!" Abby exclaimed and grabbed at McGee's arm. "Ducky is still up there, too!"

"Go get Gibbs!" Fornell hissed at Abby again and then focused on the young agent, clearly not wanting to waste any more time with needless, useless conversation. "You and I are going up and are putting an end to this right now."

"But we should wait for Gibbs," McGee swallowed uneasily.

"We don't have any fucking time to wait for Gibbs!" Fornell was close to exploding, his face red and filled with rage. "He could have already killed both of them. Now, get your ass in gear and don't make me do this by myself."

"Okay, I'm with you," McGee swallowed and answered quietly, gun gripped in both hands, nozzle pointed downward. He'd tip the weapon up once they were safely at the top of the stairs but, for now, he knew with Ducky and DiNozzo still in that bedroom he just couldn't take the chance of tripping as he climbed the steps and accidentally discharging and striking one of them.

Following Fornell's lead, McGee mounted the stairs quickly and quietly and, when they reached the top landing, turned to receive further silent instructions. He nodded when the FBI agent signaled for him to go to the far side of the closed doorway and steathily made his way to the designated area, crowding back against the adjoining wall and watching, wide-eyed, as Fornell crouched low and pressed an ear to the door. Carefully, the FBI agent reached up and slowly tested the handle. By his expression, McGee could see it was locked. He tried to control his breathing, tried to calm his racing heart, but knew he was fighting a useless battle. When adrenaline surged in the human body, it was like trying to hold the tide back.

He swallowed thickly when Fornell's eyes rose to meet his again. The anger reflected there had turned to rage: pure, intense, chilling. He could only watch as Fornell rose from his squat, fingers starkly white against the gun's handle, and backed a few feet away.

Without preamble and with no warning, Fornell dropped his right shoulder and bulled into the closed, locked door, surprising McGee with his intensity and his strength...and, more importantly, with his success. The wood panel popped and smashed back against the interior wall with a loud smack of a sound and Fornell tumbled in, rolling once and coming up to a knee, gun pointed and leveled directly at the figure on the other side of DiNozzo's bed...

...the figure that now held Ducky securely against his own body like a human shield, one strong arm locked tightly around the aging medical examiner's neck and the other pointing Roberta Wainwright's gun at the helpless man on the bed. There was blood on Ducky's forehead and a stain across the top of one shoulder and both McGee and Fornell bristled at the sight.

"Drop the gun!" Fornell ordered fiercely. "Now!"

"You know I can't do that," came the silky, calm voice.

"You'll never get out of this room alive!"

A slow, calculating smile spread as the sly eyes angled toward the young agent still by the doorway. "Ah, Agent McGee, maybe you can convince Agent Fornell to back away."

"Now, why would I do that?" McGee managed to get his dry mouth to form the sensible question and remained alert in his position.

"Because you don't want to see either of your friends harmed. Do you?"

It was purely rhetorical. McGee shifted but didn't lower his weapon, silently praying for Gibbs' quick arrival.

"You can't hope to escape," Fornell continued. "Even if you shoot all of us, there's a unit of Marines right outside who will respond to the shots and take you out."

"No, they won't," he was too sure, too slick, and it made the FBI agent want to snarl. "They'll want to take me alive, to make sure I face 'justice', to parade me before an outraged public." His smile was making Fornell feel sick. "I'll shoot Agent DiNozzo here first," he tilted his head toward the bed, "then I'll do Agent McGee," it was spoken so casually, almost tonelessly, "and then I'll do you, Agent Fornell. The good doctor goes to his eternal rest last...that is unless he gets caught in the crossfire."

Fornell and McGee could only stand and stare, weapons trained on the man, both wondering if they could risk a shot and knowing it just wasn't possible. Ducky *would* get caught in the exchange and another lost life was just not acceptable. The situation was unbearable and, just as the two LEOs considered the plausiblity of backing away, a soft, trembling voice spoke out.

"No..."

DiNozzo shakily and totally unexpectantly reached upward, grasping clunsily at the stranger's arm, momentarily deflecting the aim of thr stolen gun and knocking the hand to one side, giving everyone a chance to move. Everyone. The aging ME was suddenly going limp, dragging against the imposter heavily, twisting and ducking to one side. Without hesitation, McGee fired toward the briefly distracted man, barely missing his intended target, and could only stare in horror as the gun rose and swung his way.

Fornell shoved to one side, firing off a round at the same time, and the CDC imposter jerked spastically, finger tightening in reflex just enough to discharge the weapon before he, too, went down, absurdly graceful in his almost-instantaneous death. The right side of his head exploded away at the violent impact, showering the wall, the bed, and both Ducky and DiNozzo in an arcing, spraying mixture of warm blood and slivered bone and bits of spongy brain matter. The thump of his handgun hitting the hardwood was just as loud as the sound of his lifeless body smacking the flooring. The FBI agent remained down by McGee's feet and the younger man instantly rushed the rest of the way into the room, making it to Ducky's side just as the ME started to waver and sag.

Gently, McGee grabbed an arm and eased Ducky to a sitting position, cast a quick look toward the dead imposter, and awkwardly kicked away the discarded handgun, before finally focusing on DiNozzo, seeing the alarm in the blood-splattered face. He patted the closest shoulder and smiled at his confused friend's expression.

"You did good, Tony," he assured softly, voice barely shaking, fingers lingering for a moment longer than necessary. "You did real good. Didn't he, Agent Fornell?"

When his question garnered no response, McGee raised his eyes from DiNozzo's confused face and turned back toward Fornell's last position, only to find the FBI agent hadn't moved since falling and firing. The pool of blood, slowly widening by the second, sent a shard of ice into McGee's chest. It was clear the wound was severe, if not fatal. The younger man blanced and, just as he began to move to assist the fallen agent, Gibbs and Ziva appeared at the doorway, guns drawn and aimed carefully, eyes sweeping the scene instantly and immediately catching McGee's eyes. Gibbs retracted his weapon, holstering it expertly, and was rushing into the room.

Relief clearly apparent when his blue gaze fell on DiNozzo's strained and slightly agitated expression, Gibbs instantly sobered as he dropped to kneel at Fornell's side, carefully turning the unmoving man over. The sight that greeted him made him flare with regret. There was no doubt the FBO agent was dead, the hole in his once-clean shirt looking so small and so insignificant, especially compared to the amount of blood soaking the clothing and puddling the floor beneath. An artery shot, no doubt...rapid blood loss...almost immediate unconsciousness.

"Ah, shit, Tobias," Gibbs whispered, surprised by the quick flash of guilt he felt. The NCIS agent knew this could have easily been him on the floor, bullet through the chest, gone in a flash. He gently reached out and pushed the lids closed with his fingertips, shutting the sightless eyes for the final time. There just wasn't anything else to do.

Other voices began to slowly filter in now and Gibbs looked up. Wainwright was there, rushing to check on Ducky and DiNozzo, Captain Bradley and Lieutenant Samuels were both entering, leaving another Marine at the doorway, weapons ready and eyes alert, sweeping the room from one side to the other. Even Abby and D were there, standing uncertainly to one side, the older man holding the young woman with a secure, comforting arm about her shoulders. The room was too full, the confusion apparent, and the voices were overlapping and competing for dominance.

Gibbs pushed to his feet and wiped Fornell's blood from his hands, fingers trailing across his own shirt and painting a sickly, dark pattern on the fabric. Eyes sweeping the room one last time, he'd finally taken all he could stand.

"Everyone just shut the fuck up!"

His tone and his volume cut through the dim immediately and all eyes turned in his direction. He heaved a ragged sigh and strode purposefully toward the bed, glancing quickly at Ducky, seeing Wainwright's capable hands working their magic, and forced his eyes to go to McGee's pale face. He would look at DiNozzo in a minute, when he had more time, and he would assure himself of the younger man's continued safety, putting his hands on the trembling body to check for himself. But, first, he had to speak to his agent.

"Tell me," was all he had to say.

And McGee did, falling into the routine, offering everything he could recall in his analytical mind: Fornell's revelation of the imposter in their midst, the FBI agent's one-man storming of the locked doorway, the stand-off while Ducky was forced to act as living armor, and the brief but slightly confusing exchange of gunfire. It had all happened so fast.

"He...he put himself in the line of fire," McGee stumbled as his gaze tracked once more to Fornell's still form. "He took a bullet that probably would have hit me, Boss."

Gibbs silently regarded his slightly stunned agent, feeling the younger man's remorse, and placed a comforting hand on one shoulder, waiting patiently until the wide, watering eyes returned to focus on his face. "He did what he had to do, McGee. Don't beat yourself up over something you had no control over."

"But..."

"No," Gibbs wouldn't let him speak. He tugged on the shoulder and drew him away from the side of the bed, making room for Wainwright to give her younger patient the once-over. When they'd reached the foot of the bed, the former Marine bodily turned McGee to face him again. "I need for you to go downstairs with Abby and get the cameras and evidence kits. We'll need to process this room now...it's a crime scene."

McGee's eyes regained a bit of focus. There was a job to do and Gibbs was relying on him. He nodded his understanding.

"Got it, Boss."

"Ziva!" Gibbs barked over a shoulder without breaking eye contact with McGee and was immediately aware when the dark-haired woman took up a position at his back. "You and McGee are going to process this scene as quickly and as effeciently as possible..."

"Of course."

"...and I want it to be accurate. No mistakes here, not for this one. Abby," he motioned for the young forensic expert to join their tight circle and eyed D when the older man remained close, "McGee and Ziva are going to bring the evidence to you. Make sure it's all in order...just like always. Log and seal everything up tight when you're finished."

"But Gibbs," Abby's voice shook just a bit, "we already know what happened here."

Gibbs' gaze was cool. "*We* know but *we* won't be the ones who look into Fornell's death. The FBI will want to investigate on their own and, even though there won't be any other agents heading our way, they're going to want to examine everything we collect and bring back to DC...including McGee and Ducky's statements."

"He died well," the ME's quiet, cultured voice drew their attenrion and they turned as he approached their position, looking a bit worse for wear. They instinctively made room for him, opening their circle to include his diminutive form. The older man's gaze dropped to rest on Fornell's lifeless body and there was an unmistakable glint of affection in the sad, pale eyes. "He knew we'd all be killed, one by one. He did the only thing possible to ensure our safety. A brave and honorable death."

Gibbs studied his friend for a moment. "The FBI needs to know that."

The soft remark was accepted quickly. "Have no worries. I'll make sure it's in my statement."

"Mine, too," McGee piped in quietly.

Gibbs nodded. "Good. Now, Ducky, I know you've been through an ordeal and I hate to ask you to do this but..."

"...but you need my expertise," the ME sighed with an agreeable tilt to his head. He looked toward the Marines hovering close. "Maybe one of these strapping, young men will be so kind as to go to my bedroom and fetch my bag and..."

"Doctor Mallard!"

Roberta Wainwright's strident voice and worried tone caught everyone's attention and, as one, the small grouping of NCIS colleagues turned to look back her way. The sight that greeted them was enough for them all to wonder if there was ever going to be an end to the suffering.

On the bed, his body jerking weakly against the sheets, DiNozzo was obviously in the throes of some type of seizure, the Naval doctor doing her best to ease the spastic, twitching man's body. Gibbs and Ducky moved as one, each to a different side of the mattress, and the formerMarine could only gaze in helpless frustration as the convulsions continued, on and on.

"Come on, Tony," he whispered as the two doctors watched and quickly discussed a plan for treatment, "you can beat this...I know you can."

As if hearing the man's quiet request, DiNozzo's head turned slightly in his general direction, body jerking hard, and eyes rolling in the sockets...and then was still.


TBC

The full moon rode low in the dark night sky, it's face a bright yellow glow against the inky blackness of the surrounding jewel-studded, velvet heavens, casting an ethereal, eerie light on all the creatures, great and small, that moved on the surface of the planet below. Some took note of it's aerial path and followed the course with alert, wonderous eyes, awed and amazed by the sheer size and the haunting beauty, while others simple ignored it's existence as a monthly, commonplace occurrence, cycling through the passage of time as it always had, week to week, month to month, year to year. To them, the phases of the moon and the rising and the setting of the sun each day were nothing more than a part of the natural order of life. It was basic and expected and a part of the very fiber of the grand design of the existence of the planet called Earth.

And just as much a part of this plan was the natural order of life and death. For if there was life, death was sure to follow.

Death.

Really nothing more than a fact of life, death occurs to each and every living being and from the exact moment of birth, from the first breath of air drawn into suddenly fuctioning lungs, death becomes a part of daily existence. There is no escaping it. It's presence is always there, always a possibility, dancing in the moon-cast shadows and slinking across landscapes mostly ignored. Most don't take the time to look in it's direction, or they actively choose to ignore it's existence completely, until a time usually late in life or when faced with sickness or disease.

Like now...

Jethro Gibbs instantly pushed away from the hallway wall he'd been leaning against for the last half an hour as soon as the handle to DiNozzo's bedroom turned, abandoning his spot and taking a hesitant step forward. With alert eyes, he carefully searched the slightly down-cast face of the older man quietly exiting the room and only waited long enough until the doorway had been sofly closed before approaching the tired-looking medical examiner.

"Well?" He asked without preamble.

Ducky's fatigued gaze swung up from a spot somewhere on the floor and eyed the tense man now standing so near, a small flash of annoyance clearly evident. "Oh, Jethro, must you continually hover so?"

"Ducky..."

"He's resting," the older man huffed with an exasperated sigh, running a hand delicately over his thinning hair, careful to avoid the recently-sutured gash at the back of his skull. The site of the injury still ached but not nearly as much as it had hours ago, long before Roberta Wainwright's easy touch had brought a soothing balm of relief. Now, it was just a dull, throbbing, well-deserved souvenir of what he considered to be his total lack of common sense and good judgment. He sighed loudly, shoulders drooping with obvious fatigue. "I'm going to get some sleep...and I suggest you do the same."

"I need to see..."

"You *need* to rest," Ducky hardened his tone, crossing his arms over his chest, and peered up at Gibbs in open defiance. "Anthony isn't going anywhere."

"I just want..."

"I really don't care *what* you want right now," Ducky finally bit out angrily, fairly vibrating with his ire, and then just seemed to fold in on himself.

Gibbs quickly reached out to steady his friend, hands strong and secure on the slighter shoulder. Turning smoothly, the former Marine slowly directed Ducky to the chair D had placed close a short time ago, and eased him down, surprised when the ME's hands reached out and grabbed at his shirt. He frowned and looked down, watching the usually stable fingers tremble against the fabric, wondering what was happening.

"Ducky? He spoke softly. "What is it? What's wrong?"

It took a few moments but, when Ducky finally raised his eyes and looked up to gaze at his friend, Gibbs could see a bleakness he'd not seen reflected there in a very long time, since around the time of Caitlin Todd's death. As much as he didn't want to acknowledge it, the sight actually scared him quite a bit.

"I...I have something I need to confess," the aging ME whispered and gradually released his grip on Gibbs, slumping back against the padding of the seat and slowly raising a hand to cover his eyes.

Gibbs didn't like what he was seeing and he sure as hell didn't like the sound of Ducky's voice. He swallowed against a flare of alarm and focused on the drooping figure, working to keep his tone even and firm.

"All right. Just take your time."

There were more moments of silence and, just as Gibbs thought he'd have to do a bit of gentle prodding, Ducky eased the hand away from his face and peered directly up at his friend...and right into his soul. "I believe it was my fault Tobias was killed."

Gibbs immediately dropped into an easy crouch in front of the seated man, bringing them to the same eye level, and placed a hand on Ducky's knee to steady his squat. "Gustafson killed Tobias, Ducky. There wasn't anything you could have done to prevent that from happening."

"You don't understand..." there was a plaintive, desperate note to the cultured voice now. His gaze fluttered over Gibbs' face before finally settling on the kind, concerned eyes. "I had Roberta's weapon in my hand," he saw a cloud of confusion appear in the former Marine's stare, "and I could have shot that man before he had the chance to shoot Tobias."

"Ducky," Gibbs' bewildered tone was evident, "just what are you saying here?"

"What I'm saying is," Ducky straightened himself in the chair and leaned slightly forward, bringing his face closer to Gibbs', "after I was struck in the head, I woke up and while Gustafson was doing...whatever he was to Tony, I was able to get Roberta's gun."

"But..."

"Just let me finish!" Ducky pleaded, a hand flashing out to grab at one of Gibbs' sleeve-covered arms again. He panted for a moment, released his grip, and then continued, shifting his gaze to stare down at his own open palms. "I had her gun in my hands, these hands, and I was...I was pointing it directly at that vile, horrible man but I...I just couldn't pull the trigger! Even with him leaning over and hurting Tony as he was, causing more pain and making those awful, untruthful insinuations, I just couldn't bring myself to pull the trigger and shoot him. Even to help Tony...I just *couldn't* do it."

The bleak eyes, when they rose to finally resettle on Gibbs' face once more, were met with a wealth of sympathetic understanding. "Ducky, none of that matters now but you know you aren't a man of violence. Your hands," he gently overlapped his own palms over Ducky's and squeezed tight, "*these* hands are for healing, not harming."

"You seem to forget I also cut open corpses and dissect bodies with these hands," his tone clearly reflected a moment of self-loathing, the words coming out clipped and short. "I hold hearts and livers and yards of intestines in these hands, I remove brains and examine them intimately, I inspect and scrutinize and study the human body, from head to toe and every point in between but, when it comes to doing the one thing that could have made a difference in the way this all turned out, and most probably would have saved Tobias' life, I failed...miserably."

Gibbs squeezed the older hands firmly and sighed, knowing he needed to tread very carefully. It was easy to see how tired and worn down the older man was right now and Gibbs knew each and every member of his team would need some time off after this mess was all cleared up, just to catch up on all their missed sleep. They were all running ragged. He only hoped none of them would break before then...or become another victim.

"Listen to me. I know you feel this way now...hell, Duck, you may feel this way for a very long time to come...but there's no proof that anything you did or did not do would have made any difference in the final outcome. McGee has already approached me with the same concerns." He saw the surprised look and knew he had to clarify. "McGee is beating himself up over the fact he missed his shot of Gustafson when he had you in that choke hold. I told him the same thing I'm going to tell you now: I have a feeling when we finally identify who our 'fake' Gustafsom is he'll most likely be a well-trained assassin on someone's payroll." Gibbs released his grip on the thinner hands and slowly moved to sit on the floor directly at Ducky's feet, a small grunt of relief easing from between his lips. "Damn knees," he complained softly and was pleased to see the ME's eyes lighten a tad. Gibbs offered his own crooked grin and looked up at his friend, sobering quickly as he got back on track. "I wish I could tell both you and McGee what you need to hear but, the truth is, I just don't know what to say right now. I'm so damn tired, Duck. I'm tired of trying to find any rhyme or reason for what's been happening, I'm tired of trying to protect DiNozzo from whoever is after him...and failing...and, God damn it, I'm tired of hiding out here. I think we're all running on empty and we just need to get home and regroup."

Ducky looked down upon the silvered head of the man sitting so close and had to ask the question foremost in his mind, since learning of Gibbs' teleconference hours ago. "What did Walter have to say about this newest development?"

Gibbs grunted and shook his head. It was still a bit difficult for him to accept his medical examiner was on a first-name basis with the Secretary of the Navy, Walter Pennington, but he pushed that thought quickly away and focused on the inquiry, trying to put his thoughts into order.

"He wasn't happy, to say the least," the former Marine was nothing but honest. "He's already contacted the FBI and made arrangements for Fornell's body to be transported back to DC, along with our two 'visitors'."

The bitterness of his voice immediately alerted the ME to a new problem. "Is there something you're not telling me?"

Gibbs ran a hand through his hair and sighed. It was almost impossible to keep secrets from Ducky and, after all the years they'd known and worked with each other, there wasn't much hidden information left between them.

"We got a name out of one of the prisoners," he hissed softly, feeling his anger returning, and met Ducky's curious eyes unflinchingly, "and you're just never going to believe who it was."

By simply observing Gibbs' rapidly hardening expression, the older man knew he wasn't going to like the news. "Good Lord, Jethro, what is it?"

Gibbs took a deep breath and cast a quick, telling look back toward the closed door not too far away. "The prisoner, Carlo Sabatini, claims he and his companion are employees of, and were sent here to eliminate Tony by Michael DiNozzo..."

"Oh, no..."

"...father of Anthony Michael DiNozzo."

"No," Ducky gasped again and sat back hard in the chair, mouth slightly open and eyes wide in shock. It was just too unbelievable, too outrageous, and too incomprehensible. Just too everything. When he was finally able to get his shocked mind to function and form his next question, it was succinct and got right to the point. "But why?"

Gibbs grunted again in frustration. "Christ, Duck, if I had the answer to that one right now I think this whole mess would be over and finished. I should have known something was up when we were in the SecNav's office and he mentioned that bastard. Remember?"

Ducky's eyes momentarily lost their focus as he recalled the evening he and Gibbs had been 'invited' to speak with Walter Pennington. Yes, he recalled the conversation...and something else the SecNav had said at the same time. "If I'm remembering correctly, Walter alluded to a business connection between Michael DiNozzo and Franklin Wilson-Halley and," his eyes swept back to the younger man's face in rising alarm, "of a connection between Mr. DiNozzo and Director Shepard. Oh, my God..."

"Yeah," Gibbs agreed somewhat bleakly. "Oh, my God, is just about right."

"Then...then they are all tied together," Ducky's mind was just catching up. "They, somehow, had this all planned right from the start, from the moment that undercover operation was planned and Martinez injected Tony with that...that serum." His eyes turned hard and his fingers dug into the arms of the chair. "Jen Shepard knew everything and she played us along, toyed with us, made us believe young Anthony was dead and gone, when all that time she *knew* the truth."

Gibbs was nodding silently and, when he spoke, his voice was soft and low. "I think she's paid for her part of the deception. I just can't figure out what everyone was going to get out of this. I mean, Wilson-Halley is filthy rich, as is Michael DiNozzo, so what could they possibly want or need in their lives that they'd risk everything they've got to get a piece of?"

"Jethro," Ducky's tone was tinged with a bit of amazement, "you can't be serious. You must indeed be very tired if you can't answer that yourself."

Gibbs arched an eyebrow at the comment and shook his head. It was obvious Ducky believed he knew the correct response.

Ducky leaned forward and spread his hands wide. "Look at me." He saw Gibbs frown and 'tsked' his impatience. "No, *really* look at me."

"O-kay," Gibbs agreed and eyed his friend carefully. "Just what am I supposed to be looking for?"

"Jethro, what's the biggest difference between you and me? Or between Tony and me, for that matter?"

Gibbs snorted. "Is this a trick question, Duck, because I'm not really...hey!"

Ducky had reached out and lightly tapped Gibbs across the head. "Pay attention and answer me."

"Ah," the former Marine frowned and eyed the man suspiciously, touching the spot where Ducky had knocked against his forehead lightly with the tips of his fingers, "is it you're about to get smacked back if you don't stop playing games with me?"

Ducky sighed loudly in frustration. "No! I'm older than both you and Tony."

"And?"

"There is no 'and'," Ducky stated levelly, warming to his idea. "Both Wilson-Halley and Tony's father are rapidly aging men, well past their primes. Yes, both have money and fine homes and beautiful, young wives...and both men have lives we'd probably enjoy living," he ignored Gibbs' sneer of disagreement, "but none of those things amount to much if they are too old to enjoy them...too old to take pleasure in what they once had and took for granted: youth and vitality and the security of knowing death is not just lurking around the next corner. They can purchase any material thing they want. They can even go as far as having cosmetic surgery performed to appear younger and swallow handfuls of Viagra, though I wouldn't recommend it, but that would never compensate for the changes happening *inside* their bodies. They needed something else, Jethro, something to help turn back the hands of time, something to keep them young and healthy and vibrant, and Emilio Martinez..."

"...has the Fountain of Youth," Gibbs finished bitterly.

Ducky nodded. "Precisely."

The two men sat in companionable silence, each lost in their own, private thoughts of this newest theory. It fit perfectly and it made sense and it was Gibbs who finally broke the stillness.

"That worthless son of a bitch took everything Tony owned, his savings, his car, hell, his whole life, and all along he knew his own son was in Martinez's hands."

"Jethro," Ducky suddenly frowned, a new thought dawning, "do you honestly believe this was the plan from the very beginning? That Director Shepard knowingly set up an undercover operation so Tony would fall into the hands of Emilio Martinez...and that Michael DiNozzo went along with this plan? Excuse me for having doubts but it all seems so...unbelievable."

Gibbs sighed heavily, tiredly rubbing at his aching eyes. "To tell you the truth, I just don't know what to think anymore...and I'm honestly glad Pennington is in charge and stepping up his efforts."

Ducky reached out and patted his friend gently on the closest shoulder, his face clearly reflecting his agreement. "As am I. How did Walter react to the news about Michael DiNozzo's involvement?"

Gibbs huffed out a breath. "He really didn't act all that surprised but it's pretty hard to read that poker-faced bastard, I think maybe he's already one step ahead of us on this, Duck...I mean, his resources are a hell of a lot better than ours. He just told me not to worry about it, that he would 'take care of everything'. Whatever that means."

The ME eyed his friend closely. "You can believe Walter but that's not what you really want, is it?"

Gibbs shrugged one shoulder but looked straight into his friend's knowing eyes. "I'd be lying if I said I didn't want to take a shot at Michael DiNozzo...or Franklin Wilson-Halley."

"Or Emilio Martinez," Ducky added quietly.

Gibbs' face hardened even more and his jaw slanted slightly to one side as he nodded his agreement. "*Especially* Emilio Martinez...but I don't want to just take a shot at that bastard, I want to get my bare hands on him and slowly squeeze the life right out of him."

"Yes," Ducky concurred with a soft sigh, "I know you would."

"Listen," Gibbs shook off those thoughts and twisted, slowly pushing himself up off the floor and pressing a hand to his arched back, "I know you don't want me to bother him but I just want to go sit with Tony for a little while."

"Jethro, really..."

"Duck," Gibbs briefly closed his eyes in an effort at retaining his calm, "I promise I won't do or say anything to disturb him. I'll just pull up a chair, watch him for a while, and then I'll get some sleep, too."

Ducky could see the sincerity clearly in the tired, blue eyes and the fatigue etched in the former Marine's expression but, above all that, he could hear the raw, aching need in the tone of Gibbs' voice. DiNozzo's last seizure had been a long, drawn-out episode that had scared them all terribly but, when it had subsided and the younger man had laid limp and sweaty against the sheets, his heart rate and respiration and blood pressure had miraculously evened out...almost to something resembling normal...and he'd drifted quickly into a quiet, peaceful, regular sleep pattern, amazing both of the doctors and the handful of observers in the room.

And he'd remained asleep as Ducky and Wainwright had scurried around, cleaning and examining and assuring themselves, and those still hovering close, of his continuing existence. DiNozzo had slept through the cleansing of Gustafson's blood and gore form his face and shoulders, through the changing of the bed linens right under his body, through the re-examination of his limp form...even through the careful, gentle removal of the tag in his arm that had been, somehow, snapped in half and destroyed by Gustafson's cruel prodding. Abby had confirmed the device was now inactive and she and McGee had taken it upon themselves to have another closer look at the remaining sections of the RFID, hoping to discover something useful to aid in their colleague's continued survival.

Through it all, Gibbs had stood silently against one of the walls and watched, still as a statue, eyes glued to the sleeping young man just a few yards away, and had waited...waited for his own chance to get close, to touch the breathing body, to assure himself of DiNozzo's life. And, just as the doctors had satisfied themselves with their patient's status and had looked toward Gibbs with consenting eyes, ready to let him close to appease his concerns, a young Marine had appeared at the doorway and quietly announced the Secretary of the Navy was requesting a conference with Agent Gibbs. Ducky had caught the quick, pained expression before it had been masked away behind the calm facade they all knew so well and had followed his friend's retreating form with a concerned and saddened gaze.

Now, many hours later, Gibbs was only asking for what he'd been denied earlier and wanted nothing more than to reclaim his role as a silent presence in DiNozzo's room...and there was just no way Ducky could refuse the request. The older man sighed and pushed himself out of the chair and stood toe to toe with the bigger man.

"I see no reason why you couldn't lie down on the bed with him," he spoke softly, soothingly, and placed a hand gently over the area of Gibbs' heart, "as long as you're very careful and avoid the leads and lines and don't do anything to disturb his rest."

For the first time in a very long while, Gibbs allowed a true smile to emerge. He shyly ducked his head and then swiftly glanced back up, eyes sparkling with graditude.

"I'll be very careful with him. I promise."

Ducky offered his own smile and nodded. "I never doubted that for a single moment."

Gibbs immediately turned away and headed toward the door, gripping the handle securely and opening it slowly. He pushed against the panel and stepped silently into the room, instantly catching the eye of Lieutenant Commander Wainwright as she stood just to one side of DiNozzo's bed, thick chart open in her hands. The older woman nodded, jotted a few more things quickly to the paper with her pen, and then placed the thick folder to one side, eyes sweeping her slumbering patient before turning and silently making her way toward the NCIS agent by the open doorway.

"Ducky said itwould be okay for me to sit with him for a while," he explained his presence in a hushed tone when Wainwright stopped to look up at him.

"That sounds fine," the woman agreed and twisted her neck once to each side, trying to ease some twinge or ache. "He sleeps a bit and then wakes for a brief period but ususally goes right back to sleep again. He hasn't spoken since the seizure but that's to be expected...it was a fairly rough episode and his brain is trying to figure out how to get all those snapses firing again."

Gibbs was nodding, listening carefully to each of the woman's words, but his eyes were glued to the unmoving figure hidden under the sheet and blanket on the bed. DiNozzo was now resting on his side, facing away from the doorway, and Gibbs wanted nothing more than to just climb onto the mattress and spoon right up behind the slighter form, pulling the younger man close and holding tight. Instead, he eyed the uncomfortable-looking chair just to one side of the bed.

"I'll just pull the chair around," he whispered and indicated with the tip of his head, "and just sit."

There were several long moments, as Gibbs continued to stare at DiNozzo's form, and Wainwright just stood and observed the former Marine. She knew a bit of what these two men felt for each other, had witnessed initmate moments and heard whispered endearments between them, but also knew how she and the military felt about such relationships. Pressing her lips firmly together and reminding herself these two agents were not technically a part of her military, Wainwright shoved her own personal feelings aside and focused on the patient, vividly remembering how the younger man had sought and received comfort from both Agent Fornell and this man, Agent Gibbs. It had been confusing, to say the least, but she'd tried to put a cap on her discomfort. Sighing, she knew she would never be able to understand that type of lifestyle...or accept those who did...but she would fight for their health every step of the way.

"Look, Agent Gibbs," she spoke low and waited until the remarkable blue gaze swept back her way. By the intensity reflected in the man's eyes, Wainwright realized some of her feelings must have bled out through her tone but she just huffed a sigh and pushed on. "I'm sure Doctor Mallard gave you instructions but you need to understand how important it is to keep Agent DiNozzo calm..."

"I don't plan on doing anything but sitting..."

"...and that means you need to keep physical contact to a minimum..."

Gibbs bristled at the implication and felt his blood pressure slowly begin to rise. "Lieutenant Commander Wainwright..."

"...he doesn't need to be disturbed in any way. He's extremely weak and even though his stats are looking fairly good right now, he could seize again at any time..."

Gibbs closed his lips and kept his mouth firmly shut, just letting the woman talk, his eyes changing rapidly as he began to understand what was really being said. Roberta Wainwright was obviously a product of her strict upbringing and conservative education, a woman who saw only black and white and never enjoyed all the shades of gray which fell in between, and took what she considered the 'true' course of nature straight to heart. In her world, there was no room for those who existed outside the 'norm' and any relationship between two adults which didn't fit nicely into the strict category she'd been taught and exposed to since childhood was probably considered abhorrent. It was too bad really because the woman had been an intricate part of DiNozzo's care from the moment he'd been transferred from Little Creek to Bethseda when this whole sordid mess began. Now, he couldn't help the wash of regret and sadness that flowed over him, like the words that continued to emerge from her mouth.

Instinctively, Gibbs reached out and laid a hand on her shoulder, choosing to ignore her slight flinch. "I *understand*," he emphasized the word and squeezed tight before releasing his grip. "There's nothing I would ever do to harm him and that includes reining in what I think you believe to be my uncontrollable libido."

"I never..." she sputtered but was immediately cut off.

"I told Ducky and I'll tell you, I just want to sit with him. That's all," he offered a tight smile and softened his tone. "I care about Agent DiNozzo much more than I suppose you can understand but I also realize you've done a bang-up job of taking care of him, to the best of your ability, since the day he was injected with that crap, and you deserve an explanation. I can't tell you how much I appreciate all you've done, and still continue to do for him, but I want you to understand this: what I feel for Agent DiNozzo, as a member of my team and as a man, means more to me than my own life. I realize now that concept may be hard for you to comprehend," he saw her shift but gave her points when the clear eyes remained steadily on his, "but I know you understand the emotion...even if you don't intellectually agree with the sentiment. So," he tilted his head toward the bed, "do I have your permission to proceed?"

Wainwright studied the man closely for a few more seconds and then sighed. "Of course, Agent Gibbs. I'll go and get myself a cup of coffee from the kitchen and be right back..."

"Take your time," he suggested evenly and watched as one of her eyebrows arched knowingly. He grinned and then turned to start toward the bed, only to be stopped by a hand on his arm. Gibbs swung his gaze back to the Navy doctor.

"I meant what I said," she stressed again, releasing his arm when she was assured of his full attention. "Don't upset or excite him in any way."

Gibbs sent his agreement visually and turned away again, making it to the bed without further incident. He lifted the straight-backed chair from against the wall, shifted it until it was directly positioned in front of DiNozzo's head, and then sat down, eyes immediately dropping and locking onto the younger man's face. He was only remotely aware of the doorway closing as Wainwright left the room.

On his side, with his head resting confortably on one of the nice pillows, DiNozzo's peaceful expression made Gibbs' heart clinch, the youthful, quiescent features blissfully unaware and undisturbed by any of the recent turmoil in the room. Even in the dimly-lit area, the only indicator of any discord was the almost-faded bruise he'd received on one cheek, while escaping from Victoria Sebastian's many days ago...and the new, fresh, sterile bandage that covered the site of the recently removed RFID. Gibbs ached to reach out and touch the wound but restrained himself by recalling Wainwright's instructions. Instead, he satisfied himself by simply looking.

There was an IV still connected to the back of the hand that lay against the sheets, close to the pillowed cheek, and Gibbs tracked the line from the tender flesh all the way up to the bag hanging from a hook on the tall pole. The steady drip, drip, drip of liquid was almost hypnotizing and the former Marine had to blink hard to chase away his fatigue. He dropped his gaze to the bank of monitors and absently checked the heart rate and blood pressure and O2 levels like he knew what he was doing. There were other machines, too, but Gibbs didn't want to spend his time trying to figure out their function...he just wanted to bask in DiNozzo's *living* presence.

As his eyes fell back to the pillowed head, he was surprised to see the drooping lids blinking in a slow, sleepy pace, like they couldn't decide which was better: staying open or staying closed. Gibbs held his breath and smiled down into the unaware face, the sheer joy of seeing DiNozzo so relaxed making him itch to reach out to the younger man. Instead, he held tight to his slipping restraint and just waited to see what would occur.

When the drowsy eyes remained open and tracked slowly to his position, Gibbs carefully leaned forward and rested his elbows upon his knees, bringing their faces much closer. He offered another smile.

"Hey," he greeted softly and could only wonder if he sounded as happy as he felt, "how you doing?"

DiNozzo continued to stare...and blink...and then inched the hand resting near his face closer to the edge of the bed...closer to Gibbs. Hesitantly, Gibbs extended one of his own hands and let their fingers meet, entwining them carefully, cautiously, keeping all pressure away from the IV. The simple caress felt so good and the older man sensed his smile had grown even wider, idly wondering if he now resembled some grinning fool...and then quickly deciding he really didn't give a damn.

He tried again. "Tony? I'm just going to sit here and keep you company. If you want to go to sleep again, that's okay. Both Ducky and Wainwright say you need to rest. I'll be here when you wake up. I promise."

DiNozzo blinked and then tugged slightly on the fingers tangled with his own and Gibbs instinctively moved closer. Gently, the former Marine pressed his lips to the back of DiNozzo's thumb and looked up expectantly.

"What?" He breathed across the warm skin. "What do you need?"

The wheels were turning, Gibbs could see that plainly reflected in the green eyes, but they moved with the consistency of molasses, the thought processes and decision-making skills slowed and dulled. Still, he was content just to sit and wait. Surprisingly, he didn't have to wait long.

"Wha..." the voice was so weak and barely audible, "...appen?"

Gibbs frowned and slid to his knees beside the bed, bringing his other hand up to push gently through the unruly mop of tangled hair, remotely thinking about how much he unexpectedly liked this new length crushed within his grasp. Maybe he could comvince DiNozzo to keep it long, maybe...

Chiding himself for his momentary slip of attention, the older man refocused on the bloodshot eyes, the color combination somehow suddenly reminding him of Christmas and setting off another burst of weirdly strange longings. Images of walking through drifts of clean, fresh snow while looking for that perfect tree to cut down and of lazy, heat-filled mornings snugged under thick quilts while pressed against an equally heat-filled body and of long, relaxing nights stretched out in front of a flame-kissed fireplace, running his fingers through a mop of unruly hair that spilled delightfully across his lap...

"What...happened?"

DiNozzo's quiet words instantly cut through the haze and Gibbs knew his own fatigue was going to get the better of him if he didn't stop to rest soon. He blinked hard and focused on the question.

"What do you mean?" He asked just as softly and rose carefully, knees popping in protest, to sit cautiously on the side of the nattress. It was much easier to look at DiNozzo like this, especially when the young man rolled just a bit to his back.

"I...I want...to know..." came the almost-breathless statement.

Gibbs sighed and pursed his lips tightly together, knowing the specific instructions he'd been given by Wainwright. 'Don't upset or excite him in any way.' Couldn't get much plainer than that.

"Everything's fine now," he tried to deflect and brought their joined hands to his mouth, pressing his lips again to the back of the exposed flesh. "You're going to be okay."

"No..." DiNozzo persisted, eyes locked on their hands, watching as Gibbs inched his lips from spot to spot "...that's...not..."

Gibbs sighed and nodded. "I know that's not what you want to hear, Tony, but everything *is* going to be fine now."

DiNozzo's gaze shifted to Gibbs' face and he stared, eyes searching, looking deep...too deep...and the former Marine had to fight to keep from squirming under the frank examination. Moments passed before the younger man sighed and closed his eyes, a brief flicker of disappointent marring the otherwise placid expression, and Gibbs knew instantly he'd lost something because of his continued silence.

When DiNozzo reopened his eyes, there was, remarkably, a harder edge to the gaze. "I want...to see...Ducky..."

Gibbs frowned. "He just left a few minutes ago, Tony. He hasn't had any rest in..."

"M...Mc...McGee..." he stuttered, eyebrows forming a frown over the worried eyes. "Then...I want...to see...McGee..."

Gibbs sat back and studied the troubled face of the younger man...and then it dawned on him where this short list of names was heading. So, DiNozzo *had* been alert and aware of what was happening in his room during Gustafson's short seige. Gibbs shifted uncomfortably and fought back his rising concern.

"He's downstairs with Abby right now," he spoke evenly and wondered if he was even capable of lying to DiNozzo now. If the next person he asked for was who he suspected it would be, Gibbs didn't know what he's do. He thought if he could just deflect the conversation, there might be a way out of this mess. "How about a drink of water? I know you must be thirsty and..."

"Fornell..."

The name sent a rush of cold over the former Marine and he looked away, breaking eye contact with the younger man, and searching for a believable answer...without giving the complete truth. Wainwright's instructions blared warningly within his skull but his own subconscious was screaming at him to not deceive...not now. Swallowing thickly, he looked back.

"Wh...where's...Fornell?" The younger man asked again, tone tighter, more suspicious.

"Tony," Gibbs tried to think of a response that wouldn't contradict what he'd been told and saw DiNozzo's eyes begin to tinge with panic.

"Where...is he?" The youthful voice caught, threatening to splinter. "You...tell me."

"Tony..." Gibbs tried to soothe, bringing a hand up to touch the fine hair again. "Just let..."

"No!" DiNozzo panted and tried to turn his head away from Gibbs' touch but just failed miserably in his weakened condition. "You...tell me...now."

Gibbs pulled both hands away and averted his eyes, dropping his gaze to focus on a swirling wood grain pattern on the floor at his feet. He just couldn't lie, not to Tony...not now, not ever.

"Tell me..." he gasped again.

"He's dead."

The stillness came immediately and Gibbs worriedly looked back to the younger man, seeing the wide, disbelieving eyes and the open, silent mouth. DiNozzo was shaking his head slightly on the pillow, mutely denying the simple words, his breathing coming in hard, short hitches and puffs, the chest under the covers rising and falling quickly and without ease.

"No..." the word emerged like a moan and the green eyes filled rapidly with tears.

Gibbs thought his own heart was breaking as he watched. Now he knew, without a doubt, how strong the bond between the deceased FBI agent and his young lover had been. He didn't want to think of what Fornell and DiNozzo had shared during their short time together but the images of the two men as he'd seen them, just days ago, were imprinted clearly in his memory and they came driving back in hard: Tony clinging to Fornell's shirt while the older man held him tenderly, Tony crying out for Fornell in his pain and confusion, and Tony accusing Gibbs of never being there, of 'never coming when he was needed', of Fornell always being near and available and so fucking affectionate it actually made Gibbs' stomach turn.

The former Marine rose abruptly to his feet and took a step away from the bed, covering his eyes with his hands, pushing his fingertips into the sockets until bright sparkles appeared, and silently willing the images of Tony and Fornell together to be gone. He couldn't take any more of this, didn't think he could ever look at DiNozzo again without feeling this terrible, biting pain, and knew there was no way he'd ever be able to compete with the memory of a dead man.

'Shit, Tobias,' he mused in frustrated irony and forced his hands away from his face, 'even in death, he wants you more than he wants me.'

Bending slightly to reach for the chair he knew needed to be moved back to it's original position and out of the natural path of traffic around the patient's bed, Gibbs was surprised when he was stopped by a light touch against his sleeve. Glancing quickly, the former Marine was slightly stunned to see DiNozzo's IV impaled hand fumbling to grip the fabric, the fingers slipping against the cotton and scrabbling for purchase. Unable to resist, Gibbs let his gaze travel from the hand and across the outstretched arm until he was looking, once again, into DiNozzo's tear-filled eyes. The green gaze was full of raw, open emotions: sadness and regret battled with annoyance and disbelief but Gibbs was shocked the most by the level of sheer anger he could see simmering just under the surface. He turned to face the younger man fully and felt the hand make one, last, desperate grab and catch hold.

"Don't...don't you...leave me...too..." DiNozzo's weak but seething voice accused raggedly, hand pulling and tugging at the older man's sleeve. "Don't you...dare..."

Gibbs shook his head at the sight but, before he could respond, DiNozzo was hissing brokenly at him again, tugging harder, and managing, somehow, to make the stronger man take a step closer. Gibbs placed his hand over DiNozzo's fingers.

"Tony..."

"No!" DiNozzo all but yelled and yanked and Gibbs didn't have the will to fight. He surrendered willingly and ended up on the bed, half-sprawled across the younger man's torso, and felt the weak arms rising to circle around his shoulders and back, clinging as hard as the weary young man could. "Don't you...give up...on us. Please, Jethro...please don't...don't give up...on us..."

It only took the span of a single heartbeat before Gibbs was returning the embrace, holding tight, showering the tear-streaked face with soft, warm kisses, murmuring quiet words of caring assurance, and working quickly until he had toed off his shoes and was ensconced under the covers with the younger man. They touched and stroked carefully and held each other with frantic hands, whispering the things they needed to hear, quickly settling down on the mattress, stilling their desperate touches, calming, until they lay almost motionless, just holding tight and breathing the same air. They were together...here...now...and no one was going to pull them apart ever again.



TBC

Conclusion

I never thought my life would turn out like this...never in any of my wildest dreams nor in my most outlandish fantasies...and I'd certainly never given one notion of spending my remaining personal, downtime days in this particular manner. Oh, I've given a lot of consideration over the years to how my last moments on Earth would be played out, believe me, but for some reason I always expected I'd end up sailing away into the proverbial setting sun, captaining my own vessel, sitting with one hand resting comfortably on the tiller arm of the craft I constructed by my own sweat, while the wind and the salt spray and the dying day's light peppered me square in my grinning, smugly-satisfied, and completely solitary face. I was going to ride the waves and travel wherever the tides and the currents and the weather took me, never considering or caring or worrying about another living soul and answering to no one but me.

Boy, did I ever get it all wrong.

Instead, I'm now sitting behind the wheel of a recently purchased SUV, watching as the darkening clouds overhead gather and grow thick and threatening, and try to decide if they're going to open up and dump a shit-load of rain on the city today or are merely hanging around in an attempt to make my day a tad more depressing. It wouldn't take much, that's for sure, and I really have to fight hard to keep all my concerns and insecurities and carefully-hidden anxiety under tight wraps, especially now.

I don't feel this way often, thank God, but even if I did I would have to keep those unwanted emotions tucked somewhere out of sight, away from the seemingly all-knowing eyes and the unwanted but gentle probbing inquiries. And God knows I wouldn't do anything intentionally to upset or confuse and I would gladly give my left nut than know I'd caused anymore pain or discord for the one person who means more to me than life itself.

My eyes automatically drop away from the dark, ominous sky and track back to the slow moving, solitary figure stepping carefully and respectfully past the rows and rows of gray and aging headstones. His own head is bent slightly downward and his shoulders are drooping and I just know if I could see his face from this angle, the tracks of hot tears would already be evident, sliding over the smooth, unblemished skin, running down the soft planes of his cheeks, momentarily clinging to the edge of his quivering chin before loosing their tenuous grip and falling unheeded to the grass below. They are his secret, silent tears and I think he'd be mortified if he ever found out I was aware of them but, hell, I'd have to be legally blind not to notice the red-rimmed eyes and the tight, hard set of his mouth each time he returns from one of these brief, difficult visits. And as tough as they are for him to endure and as much as I wish he'd abandon these heartbreaking outings, I know it's all a part of what he considers his penance for what happened to everyone almost seven months ago.

Penance. There's no other word for me to describe what he continues to do, not in my eyes, but he just doesn't seem to see it that way.

He truly believes he needs to atone, somehow, for his part in what happened and, so far, I've been unable to convince him otherwise. He resists my arguments, gets annoyed and agitated when I press the issue, and has just recently even begun to quietly suggest it may be time for him to venture out and find his own path in the world again.

Yeah, like *that* would ever happen. It would have to be over my dead body, literally. He needs me and, God help me, I need him, and I'm never going to let either of us be driven apart because of some stupid misunderstanding or misplaced emotions...if I can help it.

I only hope I can continue to stay strong enough to allow him the space he craves, when all I really want to do is wrap him up tight and hold him as close as I can, for as long as I can. But our time is running out...

He's reached the appropriate gravesite now, I can tell, and just like it was all part of some grand master plan, a light, misting rain begins to fall, settling gently on his uncovered head and unprotected shoulders in soft, silent droplets. Shit. He doesn't need to be out in weather like this, doesn't even have an umbrella or a raincoat to divert the moisture, but he'd be so pissed at me if I intruded in on what he considers his solitary responsibility to the dead and he would only end up reminding me, for about the thousandth time, that I'm not his boss anymore.

Crap, I may no longer be his boss but I sure as hell have a deep, vested interest in his continued well-being. I fought too hard and too long to keep him safe...to keep him in my life...and I'm not going to let anything or anyone interfere with our lives, especially now, when our relationship is just beginning to settle back into that comfortable place we'd been heading, all those long, miserable months ago.

I don't want to think about that time in our lives but there's just no way to avoid it now. Fuck, just look where I am at the moment: I'm parked in a cemetary, with Tony standing at the foot of Fornell's grave, and the memories just come flooding back, drowning me with suffocating, unwelcome images, covering me with thick, uninvited visions, and filling my senses with heavy, viscous, painful emotions. I huff out a loud, angry sigh and quickly avert my gaze, not wanting to see when he reaches out to reverently touch the headstone...because he invariably always does...and the sight of his light, respectful contact with that cold, unfeeling piece of granite always sends a sharp, biting pain to the middle of my chest, like the blade of one of Ziva David's knives has been slipped in to jab at the beating, bleeding organ within.

It's true: I'm still jealous of a fucking dead man. How pathetic is that?

"Christ," I mumble into the silence of the closed-up vehicle and, unable to help myself, let my gaze swing back to watch, like Tony is some kind of damn magnet and I'm made of nothing more than pure iron. I can't help myself. He's a constant pull against my senses, drawing me in and keeping me close, and I try not to think of how...unhealthy...that really sounds, even to my own ears.

Crap.

I sigh again and shake my head, debating on whether I should activate the wipers to clear the thin mist from the windshield so I can continue my observation unobstructed and then pause, just as my fingers brush against the knob. I have to stop this...I have to cease suffocating him with my hovering and my continual jealousy and my unmerited, unwanted, and certainly completely unnecessary over- protectiveness. He's a man, a grown man, and quite capable of making his own decisions. It's the fact he *still* resembles a youth just barely out of his teens that keeps me from remembering that one, small detail...

...and the fact he's been dependent on me, or another member of our tight, little circle of friends, since leaving that situation in Texas all those months ago. He's needed our aid and support to assure his continued survival in this cold and, unfortunately, very cruel world, especially when things turned out for him as they did. He may be a man, with all the knowledge and baggage and accumulated crap any normal thirty-six year old has but, physically, he was stuck with a younger and terribly damaged body.

Shit, I don't want to go there right now and I try with all my might to think of something, anything, else but I just can't. I don't want to focus on everything Emilio Martinez did that caused him to end up in this condition. I don't. The very thought of what Tony suffered and endured at that madman's hands, and continues to bear each and every day, just makes me want to puke...and then crack a few heads wide open.

It was bad enough he'd had months of his life taken and just ripped away but it killed me when I found out he actually remembered most of what had happened to him during it all. His time in Idaho was, thankfully, a bit fuzzy but he could recall with vivid clarity his brief stay with Victoria Sebastian and her personal chef, Millie, in south-eastern Utah. He could tell me all about his escape and eventual meeting with Ziva and of their trek into New Mexico and it was during that discussion I found out he'd put two and two together and figured out the connection between Ziva and Ari Haswari.

I should have known better than attempting to keep that little gem of information from him but, at the time, I'd known how close Tony was to Caitlin Todd and was really unsure of how'd he react to the news of having Ari's sister working by his side, each and every day. As usual, I should have never doubted. There's just something in Tony that allows him to accept what's tossed his way and deal with it the best way he can.

I wish I could be more like him, especially when he spoke of his short but intense relationship with Tobias Fornell, while traveling from New Mexico to Texas. He'd been honest about everything, letting me know he'd been fairly doped up most of the time, but confessed he'd been glad to have the comfort and care...and the intimacy. He'd asked for my forgiveness and, as loathe as I was at first to give it to him, I eventually understood his need for a kind, gentle touch. Martinez had hurt him so bad, had tried to strip away his humanity, and Fornell had been there to help patch him back together again. Who was I to condemn either of them?

But there were some things Tony can't recall and these bother him continually. He has flashes of events, images of strange faces, but they aren't like the wispy remains of some pleasant dream. No, these are empty, aching feelings of experiencing a hard and terrifying nightmare...and of waking up to find it all had been very real. There are times, still, when I can catch him staring off at some unknown point, his face twisted in concentration, eyes dull and turned inward, and I know he's trying his best to grab a hold of and identify some fleeting image. I hate when he does it but I can understand.

I push those thoughts away and my mind lurches, as it always does when I think of our eventual return to DC and to what we encounted when we got home. We'd quickly learned the government was prepared to offer Tony two avenues of recompense and, frankly, neither of them held any appeal. I was shocked and angered, as I'm sure Tony was, and so fucking mad I almost lost it during a brief but very informative meeting with the Vice President, late one night in Tony's well-guarded isolation room at Bethesda.

Disguised as a social call, we immediately discovered the true reason for the visit: Tony was *not* going to be allowed to pick up where he left off, which we all knew was impossible with his appearance and, more importantly, his tenuous physical condition, but neither was he going to be given his identity back. We were told it would raise too many questions and would cause unnecessary investigations into some very secretive and delicate research work being done, not just by our government but by many of our allies around the world.

The message, terribly camouflaged with a slick, oily facade of unconvincing compassion, had been delivered loud and clear: continue staying under the government's watchful, diligent care, within the protected walls of some remote, highly secure government facility, and allow a specialized unit of highly trained and extremely knowledgable government scientists to 'see to his well-being'...or... just disappear from existence.

It had been obvious the Vice President had expected Tony to meekly comply, to willingly volunteer to the horrendous plan for the remainder of his life, to humbly allow himself to be locked away from the rest of the world, and to be prodded and poked like some pet lab rat, all in the guise of doing his 'duty' for the good of his country. There had been words offered about how he'd be 'the vital key' in providing answers needed in the study of human longevity and how Tony just couldn't walk away from what both the President and Vice-President considered his obligation to mankind.

Christ. His obligation to mankind. Just how fucking warped was that?

The Vice President had even reminded Tony that, as far as all the legal documents showed, he was already dead and gone, ashes scattered into the wind, and if we attempted to contact the press or find someone we thought could help Tony recover a part of himself, the government would be forced to take matters into their own hands. There'd been a threat delivered then, subtly hinted, and I'd gotten the distinct impression Tony's ass would have been locked away from me forever if either of us even made a whisper of a suggestion of his 'resurrection' to anyone.

We were shocked, as was Walter Pennington, who'd been ordered by the Commander-in-Chief to attend the private meeting with the VP and offer his own support of the Administration's cause, and I'd actually thought the SecNav was going to bust a blood vessel in his reddened, apoplectic forehead. He was enraged by the President's offer and obviously embarrasssed to be associated with what had been decided without his knowledge but he'd remained silent in his anger and that, in my eyes, had cost him my respect.

I knew Tony wouldn't trade surviving one madman's obsession for that of another's and, God damn it, I would fight to my last, dying breath to make sure no one ever used him as a guinea pig again, no matter how important the government felt he was to some asinine research. So, with his decision quickly made, and with a brief but succinct expletive from Tony for the Vice-President to tell the President to 'just go fuck himself', we embarked on the next stage of this journey called life.

Anthony Michael DiNozzo was now legally dead and gone...for his own safety.

Right. I snort at the thought and reach to lower the window on my side just a bit, needing a little fresh air in the suddenly too-close confines of the vehicle. My eyes unerringly search through the blearing, watery transparency that's keeping me separated and dry from the elements and I can barely see his wavering image through the glass now. Before I can stop the motion, I've twisted to knob end of the wand extending from the side of the steering column and turned on the wiper blades, immediately relaxing as his hunched form comes back into focus.

Crap...just look at him...

His still-growing hair, even pulled back and tied securely at the nape of his neck with a scrap of thin, brown leather, is beginning to dampen, a few fine strands escaping and sticking in long tendrils to one side of his lowered face. I know I just can't let him continue to stand out there in that damp mist, with no protection, but I also know how much this time means to him, especially since it may be a very long time before we'll be back this way again...if we come at all.

Yeah, we're leaving the DC area and all the memories as far behind as we can. Finally.

A small surge of relief blossoms inside my chest at the thought of finally getting Tony away from here and away from the constant reminders of what he no longer has but I'm also secure enough to realize I'm really thinking of myself, too. We should have done this months ago, as soon as we returned from Texas, just should have packed our bags and escaped as soon as we could, and made our own way in the world...together.

Instead, I made a grave mistake. I thought I could handle everything all by myself, thought I could give Tony everything he needed, and thought we'd just be able to pick up where we'd left off, all those many months ago.

I was a damned fool...and my foolishness nearly cost me the one thing I refuse to give up: Tony.

I growl softly in frustration, looking at Tony by Fornell's gravesite, watching as he absently swipes the cuff of one shirt sleeve quickly across his eyes and nose, turning slightly away in a move to keep me from noticing. He does things like that more often now: a swift averting of his face or a slight moving from my line of sight, trying to keep me from seeing his emotions...or his pain.

Shit. I wonder why I ever thought I could, somehow, make everything right when, obviously, everything was so very wrong. In all honesty, I know what was driving me forward: it was pride, pure and simple. Nothing more than my own stubborn, selfish pride.

Getting back into the swing of DC had been fairly easy for me. I still had my job and my position and, even though there was a new Director to contend with, I could just slide right back into the work. Yeah, there'd been reams of paperwork and meetings to attend and special conferences my whole team had to endure as part of the investigation and debriefing sessions but it was all part of the governmental machine I'd been privy to for so long that it wasn't all that difficult to reacquaint myself with it.

I still had my home, my unfinished boat, and my bank account. My clothes were still hanging in the closet of my bedroom, my bills had been automatically deducted from my checking account, and the lone container of milk that'd been close to expiring before I left was still resting on the top shelf of the refrigerator, exactly in the same spot, stinking up the entire unit so badly I'd actually thought the stench would never leave.

But Tony...God, Tony had absolutely nothing left, not a nickel to his name. Hell, he didn't even have his name anymore. The person he'd been all those months ago was gone from the face of the Earth and this new, younger version just didn't have a place. He'd spoken of just this type of thing occuring to him, back when we'd finally found him in Idaho, and the rememberance of that poignant conversation brought a sharp ache to my gut as I thought of how right he'd been.

To make matters even worse, if that was possible, since becoming an 'unknown' there was no insurance to cover any of the medical expenses for his questionable and still-fragile health. Oh, the government had given him a few days in Bethesda for free but after the debacle with the Vice President, they'd basically tossed him out on his skinny, little ass.

So, he moved in and stayed with me, which was perfectly fine and just as I wanted it, and Ducky began to make daily housecalls, once each morning before heading to work and one immediately afterwards. He never was willing to give up, prescribing antibiotics and medicines I gladly paid for out of my own pocket or bringing vitamins and supplements he thought would help in some small way. I refused to acknowledge where some of the more expensive medications came from and, for once in my life, the 'don't ask, don't tell' credo took on new meaning.

Ducky also taught me how to recognize and handle the seizures that, thankfully, have almost disappeared and how to look for further signs of his declining health. It's been a long and torturous road, at times, but we've somehow managed to stay pretty much on course...with the help of our friends.

Even Roberta Wainwright, who'd never fully accepted my relationship with Tony, offered her own brand of support, sending suggestions and any bit of imformation she could garner concerning anti-aging theories and present studies occuring around the world. She continued to stay in touch, even after she'd been unexpectedly and very suspiciously transferred to a Naval hospital far in the Pacific Rim, emailing her findings straight to Ducky at the NCIS morgue...until his retirement.

Yeah, Doctor Donald Mallard retired with a gracious flourish of good manners that belied how disillusioned he'd, too, become after learning of the asinine offer from the Administration concerning Tony's future and of Roberta Wainwright's mysterious transfer. It was a huge shock to many but I'd kind of figured it was going to happen. Tony's condition...and Fornell's death...hit him pretty hard and, after his confession to me that night at D's lodge, his heart just didn't seem to be in his work any longer. His joy was all but gone. He began talking of wasting too much time with the dead and not enough with the living and I could tell he was just plain tired. He looked worn and, for the very frist time since I'd known him, he'd even began to look old. Gone were the dramatically delivered and highly convoluted tales, gone was the wicked sense of humor and the bitingly acerbic tingue, and I found myself, for the first time in my life, mourning for a friend who was still very much alive.

Tim McGee proved to be an invaluable asset through everything, scouring the Internet, chatting with others, tracking down and amassing a long list of researchers in the feild of Gerontology and Anti-Aging/Longevity who, in turn, pointed him in a variety of different directions. He used most of his free time to contact potential allies in our struggle and to simply offer his continued and much-appreciated support, never once asking for anything in return. I was humbled, frankly, by his devotion and doggedness to our cause and, when we'd finally had to break the news that we just had to let go of that part of the fight, I'd actually seen tears form in his kind eyes before he could successfully avert his gaze. Tony had stepped close, draping an arm around the taller figure, and softened the blow by quietly announcing the 'Elf Lord' was just going to have to learn to accept defeat a bit more gracefully and now could return his attention to rescuing damsels in distress...or whatever the hell elf lords did nowadays. His lightly worded remark had lightened the mood, for a moment, but it only took us all a split second to see how close McGee had become to Tony when he swept the slighter body into a rough embrace and allowed his tears to flow.

Tim McGee seems much changed by the whole ordeal, as anyone would rightly be, but I can't say I like the changes much. He's stayed a NCIS agent, though the fresh-faced and sweetly innocent young man of yesterday has, now, completely disappeared.

Ziva David returned to her own country shortly after we all got back from Texas. I think she was concerned about her past association with Jen Shepard and felt none of us would ever be able to truly trust her again. Maybe she was right.

I do know she and Tony had an opportunity to sit down together and have a discussion about Ari and Cait but he's never offered to tell me what exactly was said...and I don't feel I have the right to ask. That was between them and I respect his privacy.

Abby has changed, too, and I think, besides Tony, it's her transformation that hurts me the most. She stuck with us, also, lending her support and the use of her extremely intelligent mind...and that of her equally intelligent friends. She'd even used the sanctity of her lab, closing out the rest of the world, and tapped in on the resources at her disposal. Oh, she made sure her work was complete before turning her attention toward finding a cure for Tony and she never once was called on the carpet for putting in all the extra hours but even she began to show definate signs of stress.

Tony had finally reamed her good, during one of her frequent visits, and had sworn he'd just put a gun to his own head if she didn't stop what she was doing. His declaraction had scared her, and me as well, but she took his words to heart and did what he asked, content to leave the lab each day at the appropriate time and to stop by to share a meal or watch TV or, more importantly, just to talk. Their bond grew even tighter and I know he told her things he'd never share with me, things about Martinez and the testing, things he tried so hard to put behind him. I think the talks helped him do just that but I wish he'd been able to share his secrets with me.

Anyway, when he'd told her of our decision to stop chasing after a cure and of our agreement to take the time we had left to enjoy the life, she'd bawled like a baby, soaking the front of his shirt with her tears and leaving mascara smears everywhere. I didn't know what to think when I came in that evening and saw them curled up together on the couch but knew from the look in Tony's expressive eyes that everything would be all right.

Later that night, as we sat around and tried to coax Tony into eating a bit more pizza, Abby had shocked us both by informing us of her own decision to move back to Texas to be with D. Yep, that's right...D. I almost choked on my mouthful of pepperoni and cheese and crust and was grateful when she'd shoved a handful of napkins my way, listening as she explaned how she and D had connected during our stay at his lodge and that they'd talked almost every night since. He wanted her there and, with Ducky retiring and Tony and I deciding our own course of action, she just felt the time was right.

It's funny...seems like everyone around me was making all the right decisions and I was just plugging along.

Looking back, I realize I should have tendered my notice at the same time as Ducky did, should have just backed away from what was there, and embarked on a new life with Tony. It would have been the smartest thng to do, the wisest course of action but, at the time, the taste for revenge was coating my tongue with a thick, cloying, souriness that kept me from sampling the sweetness of life. I wanted to strike back at those who'd done this to my team, to all those responsible for playing their own twisted part in the lies and deceptions, and, most of all, I wanted to kill Emilio Martinez.

Gazing out the blurring windshield and studying Tony's slightly hunched form, it's almost hard for me to remember what that crazy sonofabitch looked like. Unlike Ari Haswari's image, which was seemingly burned into my very soul, Emilio Martinez's appearance is hazy, ghost-like, a thing only to be seen in nightmares or some dark, secret alleyway. Haswari was my demon...Martinez belongs to Tony.

Oh, yeah, Martinez was finally apprehended by the authorities...and then promptly deported back to his beloved Brazil to stand trial for his 'alleged' crimes against humanity. It was just another blow to my belief in and respect for the current Administration and his advisors but what I felt was nothing compared to what Tony experienced. The night terrors returned with a vengeance and, for a while, he became sullen and nervous and Ducky feared, on top of everything else his regressed body was experiencing, he'd end up with severe ulcers.

In a countermeasure undertaken to assuage his trepidation, and to try and alleviate some of Ducky's concerns, I upped my home security. Okay, hell...I invested in some home security because I never had any to begin with in the first place. For someone who would always leave the front door unlocked, I now possessed a system with alarms and codes and cameras and I felt more like a condemned prisoner there than a secure inhabitant. To add insult to injury, Tony's nightmares had just continued...right up to the moment he was finally able to confront his father.

Christ, if I'd been worried about his failing health or his tenuous safety before, it was nothing compared to what I felt for him as we prepared to meet with Michael DiNozzo. All sorts of strange scenarios had played out in my mind and I tried, really tried, to talk him out of going. Why Tony persisted on seeing that sorry excuse for a human being, I'll never know, but he did and I was with him for that little conversation as well.

We'd visited the Federal facility where DiNozzo was being held for his involvement in the horrendous murder of Jen Shepard after Walter Pennington had stuck his neck out and pulled a few strings for me. The SecNav tried to do his best to make amends and would actually call several times to check on Tony but, for me, it was a little too late to put his name back on my dance card. The damage had been done and life for everyone had just gone on as usual...except for Tony.

Anyway, Michael DiNozzo had ignored the recommendations from his phalanx of high-powered attorneys and agreed to meet with me and my 'associate'. I don't really know why he agreed, unless it was to simply gloat in my face. He knew both Carlo Sabatini and Salvatore Amato had been captured trying to sneak in to kill his son, knew Tony had been a part of my team, and he knew he'd probably manage, with his accumulated wealth, cut his time behind bars in half...at least.

What he didn't know at the time was that the 'associate' accompanying me that day was none other than Tony. Shit, I wish I'd had a camera.

The look on DiNozzo's face as his eyes swept past me to finally settle on the regressed version of his son had been priceless. The green eyes, so much like Tony's, had grown huge with shock and then, just as quickly, had skittered away. I'd stayed a few steps back and just watched, content to let the silence grow between them. It was a confrontation that spoke volumes about this strange father/son relationship.

When Tony'd finally stepped forward and moved to sit across the table from his father, the older man had shifted his gaze to idly study his fingernails with a carefree nonchalance that made my teeth ache. When he started to flick imaginary bits of lint from his pristine inmate's shirt, I thought I'd scream but Tony beat me to it, his own voice soft and calm.

"Why?" Was all he asked, his confusion leaking out just a bit.

DiNozzo had stopped his ridiculous grooming and turned his cool gaze on the young man, eyes hard and cool. When he spoke, his own voice was silky with unconcern.

"Why not?"

It was enough and Tony had immediately pushed away from the table, walking straight and proud to the doorway. We didn't speak as we traveled through the echoing hallways and past the watchful guards, nor as we stepped back out into the bright sunlight, but I could tell he wasn't well. We'd made it almost back to the vehicle when I'd seen him begin to shake.

"Tony?" I'd called quietly...and grabbed a hold of his arm just as he began to fall down.

As seizures go, it hadn't been much to talk about but after I'd gently eased him onto his side and took all the necessary precautions to ensure he wouldn't bite his tongue or bang his head on the asphalt, I'd immediately called Ducky to let him know what had happened. I'd whispered assurances to Tony, lightly touching his arm, his face, his leg, letting him feel my presence even though he couldn't respond. When it had finally subsided, I'd carefully scooped his body off the hard ground and bundled him safely into the back seat, knowing he'd sleep all the way home...and probably through Ducky's cautious examination.

I'd been so angry at Michael DiNozzo that day I'd even fleetingly thought about arranging for him to have an 'accident' while behind bars but I'd forcably pushed those thoughts away and focused on the problem at hand: getting Tony safely home.

I raise my eyes and see my little 'problem' is still standing out in the light rain, totally oblivious to the weather and the passage of time. I twist my wrist and check my watch and feel a small surge of anger when I realize we've been here for the better part of fifteen minutes...and he's been out there for about fourteen of them. Hard-headed, obstinate, little shit...

Almost as if he can hear the beginnings of my silent, inflammatory remarks, Tony's head rises slightly and swivels back in my direction. The gaze he sends my way is like a laser and, even from this distance, I can tell he just *knows* I'm not happy about the current situation and his continued vigil by Fornell's grave. Does it make a difference? Does he start heading back toward the shelter of the vehicle?

Hell, no.

Instead, he shoves his fists deeply into the front pockets of his faded jeans and just turns his back to me completely, isolating himself even more. Fuck. This day just gets better and better by the moment.

I let my head drop back against the elevated padding of the seat and close my eyes, forcing myself to ignore the sound of the light rain tapping against the roof of the SUV. I'll know when he's ready to leave, he'll wander back...and he'll be quiet and moody and introspective for hours. I've learned by now just to leave him alone and not push, even though the first thing I know I'll be tempted to do is rag at him over remaining out in the rain without protection. Hell, he knows how precarious his health is but he simply refuses to 'play a slave' to it's unrelenting demands, resolutely ignoring aches and pains, and heedlessly disregarding suggestions both Ducky and I toss his way, determined to fight the battle against his body alone and the best way he can: with single-minded fortitude and the power of positive thinking.

How many times have I heard him say, 'I'm fine, Jethro', or, 'It only hurts if I let it'? How many?

"Too damn many," I hiss into the silence and let my head roll to the left, away from Tony's position. Unbelievably, I begin to feel the sharp prick of hot, unwanted tears behind my lids. I know what his prognosis is, I'm aware of how much time we still might have together, and I swallow hard against the terrible, unwelcome impression that leads me to believe he continues to do stunts like this just to shorten his time.

I cringe at the thought but I can't deny what I feel. Do I think Tony has considered ending his own life? Yes.

Shuddering involuntarily as my mind flashes back to the night I'd accused him of trying to commit a slow suicide, I lift a hand to lightly touch my mouth, remembering the feel of Tony's fist against my flesh. He'd managed to split the skin from that one, well-placed pop. He'd screamed at me that night, telling me he didn't have to explain himself to me or to Ducky or to anyone and that he could live his damn life, what there was left of it, any way he wanted.

He'd almost managed to make it to the front door before I'd caught up and wrestled him to the floor in a pile of tangled arms and legs, his green eyes flashing dangerously and his vicious mouth spitting venomous, hurtful, spiteful words. I'd used my greater weight to merely hold him down, not wanting to injure, but he'd been *so* furious with me...and the whole fucking world...that his resisitance went on and on until I'd begun to worry he'd trigger another seizure. He'd fought me for all his worth, using teeth and nails when the conventional methods failed, and it broke my heart when I'd realized he wasn't really striking out at me or my accusation but against the situation of his life in general.

It had gone on way too long and, in my desperation to calm him, I'd reacted on instinct and grabbed his face in both of my hands, stilling his movement, and just covering his malicious-spouting mouth with mine, silencing the poisonous torrent of words and sounds, and forcing him into submission. It had been a very long time since I'd touched him any way remotely sexual in nature and I knew my move surprised the shit out of him because, honestly, I'd surprised myself as well.

I squirm on the seat of the SUV and open my eyes just a bit, barely noticing the small trickles of moisture beading up and tracking lazily down my partially-opened window. Instead, I can clearly see, in my mind's eye, the foyer of my home, can feel his struggling, outraged body beneath mine, can taste his anger and astonishment in my mouth...and a new surge of unwanted lust shocks through my body. Blindly, I reach out and grasp the steering wheel with both hands, gripping tightly, vividly recalling the sensations of that night.

At the first touch of my mouth to his, Tony had responded just as I had expected: he froze in a moment of pure shock and then, just as quickly, flew into a new rage, fighting harder and telling me to stop and to get the fuck off him. I'd ignored his demands and just kept at it, forcing his head to stillness, recapturing his lips each time he'd work free, attacking the best way I'd known, slowly battering against his resistance and showing him just how futile it was to deny the inevitable.

The ironic thing about the whole situation was he'd actually been trying for several months to convince me to be intimate with him again. I'd embarrassingly discussed the possiblity with Ducky, to get his opinion concerning Tony's stamina, and had been told it would be better to forget about that side of our relationship. Tony had never known, of course, of my talk with Ducky, so he'd stepped up his assault and pulled out all his tricks, going as far as lounging around naked whenever he could get away with it and even openly masturbating in front of me. It had been sheer hell to walk away from those open invitations and my resolve wavered many times...until I remembered Ducky's warnings. Any erection I'd developed had immediately disappeared, withering away in seconds...and every time I turned away from his advances, no matter how sweet or how seductive they were, my rejection only amplified his solitude.

Christ, we wasted so much precious time...time Tony just didn't have...because of my own fears. It had almost been too late.

I force my grip on the steering wheel to relax and flex my aching fingers but I keep my mind focused on that all-important night, concentrating on the memory, replaying the images, enjoying the resurgence of lust...and of heartfelt affection. It had all started so violently but had ended up being so damn good.

Keeping Tony flat on the hard floor and pressing my body tight against his, I'd continued the oral assault, pinning his wrists and jamming a leg between his thighs, ignoring his muffled cry of alarm and outrage. He'd squirmed and shook and fought and, when he could manage to tear his lips away from mine, he'd screamed and shouted and begged me not to do this to him...not like this...not after I'd continually turned him away and all but shut him out. His body had twisted and turned and bucked against mine and I'd known he was just wearing himself out. But if Tony is anything, it's persisitent.

Even after the physical struggles weakened, he'd continued to whisper and rant but I just kept at it, softening my kisses, licking at his lips, sucking the tender, bruising flesh into my mouth, worrying the sensitive skin at his neck and throat. His moans of protest had begun to shift, to alter, and it wasn't long before he was actively returning the kisses, seeking the connection, his arms snaking up and holding instead of pushing away or trying to escape. His whispers and pleas became moans and sighs and greedy little enticements of delight began to emerge. I'd been content to let some warm, gentle intimacy begin flowing between us but that's not what Tony had wanted...not by a long shot.

His fingers had begun to dig into my back, pulling me closer, grasping handfuls of my shirt in an attempt to bring our bodies nearer. He'd begun, also, to writhe and undulate under me, slim legs spreading wide to welcome me into his heated embrace and then wrapping seductively and closing over the backs of my knees, cradling me even tighter. Yeah, I could have gotten out of this encirclement, if I'd really wanted to, but once I 'd gotten a real taste of him again, all hot and needful and so...alive...all resistance fled, right out the window.

He'd responded to me like a live wire, arching and twisting and sending sharp, hot jolts of pure pleasure to every nerve ending in my body. I could feel him in my scalp, crawling between the individual hairs, tormenting me relentlessly...and on the soles of my feet, like an unreachable itch that continually distracts. God, he'd been *everywhere*.

He'd nipped back at my mouth playfully, only to follow with a wet, nasty swipe of his flattened tongue, like he was trying to lap the sex right out through my pores, and I was instantly reminded of the true the nature of the beast. Tony's body was still very youthful-looking and hindered by the unwanted alteration but it held all the desires and the mentality of a fully grown man...a man who'd been denied too long, a man demanding satisfaction, a man who wanted no one but me.

Christ, I'm hard as slab of concrete just remembering it now.

He'd forced his lips from mine and latched on to one of my ears, nipping at the lobe and working that talented tongue among the whorls and folds, driving me to the brink of distraction, whispering coarse, dirty instructions all the while. I'd surged roughly against our completely covered dicks, rubbing hard, bringing a harsh cry of need that seared a path straight to my soul, and I'd pushed downward, batting away his hands, carelessly shoving up his T-shirt, and latching on to the soft, hot skin of his belly.

"Fuck me," he'd taunted, the words lost somewhere over my head as his hips butted up against my chin. "Come *on*!"

I'd clearly smelled his arousal, sharp and powerful, and I'd wanted to do just that. I'd wanted to fuck him, I'd wanted to bury myself into his hot, tight ass, and I'd wanted to make him scream out his need. Instead, I'd dropped my face lower and mouthed at the hard ridge of his cock and he'd yelped, hands scrabbling at my head, trying to dislodge me, clever fingers catching in my hair and on one, painfully twisted ear.

I'd jerked at his distracting hands, forcing them away, and growled sharply at his actions but he continued to reach toward me in his continued quest for connection. I wasn't about to let him get a hold of me again, so I quickly thumbed open the button, tugged the zipper down, and released his flesh from the restricted confines on the jeans.

I'd gotten a very surprising reaction. Instead of sighing out his relief and urging me on with that wickedly descriptive vocabulary, Tony had immediately arched away and begun to fight me again, trying to drag his trapped lower body out from under mine.

"No!" He'd all but yelled, eyes growing wild and angry. "No, God damn it! I want you to *fuck* me!"

I don't know how he knew what I'd planned on doing, especially since I hadn't decided until the moment I saw his beautifully aroused cock, but somehow he sensed I was just going to suck him off...and leave it at that. He'd guessed right. As much as I wanted and, by God, needed to have him, I knew that would come a bit later, after I'd taken this desperate edge away from his tightly-strung body.

I'd wrestled him back down, holding those flailing hands in a secure grip, closed my ears to his heated, angry, betrayed voice, and taken him swiftly into my mouth. His resultant cry had sent a band of fine shivers coursing through my body and his taste...ah, God, his taste was just as I remembered.

I'd worked him hard and fast and used everything I could to get him where he needed to be. My lips, my tongue, even my teeth, traveled up one side and down the other...and then I'd sucked hard, tormenting and aggravating the sensitive bundle of nerves just below the head, worrying the fold of skin until he was gasping and pushing up into my mouth. I'd thrown an arm across his hips, effectively hindering the motion, and he'd howled out his frustration again, head slamming back against the floor and chest rising and falling like he was on the verge of death.

Death. The word came back to haunt me even in the middle of celebrating life and I'd closed my eyes tightly against a hot rush of threatening tears. There'd been no place for death that night.

He'd been getting closer by the moment, slight twists and turns of his slick, hot, cock within my mouth alerting me to event but it wasn't until I'd tasted the bitter release of his pre-come that I'd upped my efforts and just swallowed him down, sucking even harder, my cheeks hollowing and flexing in the effort. I'd scraped at the underside with my bottom teeth and felt him tense, his breath ceasing and holding for several seconds...and then he was coming, in long, hard, intense pulses that filled my mouth and dribbled from the corners before I could swallow.

I'd kept him in my mouth and continued to suck gently, pulling each and every last bit of his orgasm from his body, making him quiver and quake and shake from the overload of sensation but I didn't release him. He tried to push me away, tried to get me to move, but I'd held fast and put my tongue to better use, renewing my stroking and licking and sending him into a paradox of painful pleasure. I don't recall how long I kept at it but, when I'd finally pulled away, his eyes had been awash in tears and his face was a visage of contentment and peace.

I'd fairly clumsily pulled myself back into my original position over his reclining form and studied his face carefully. When he'd finally turned those green eyes my way, there had been no doubt in my mind what was held in his heart.

"I'm sorry," was all he'd whispered and, when I'd offered him an honest smile of forgiveness, I'd known we'd finally found our path together again.

The door on the passenger side suddenly opens and I straighten in the seat, blinking stupidly in Tony's direction as he moves to sit and close the door, ignoring the water that drips everywhere in the interior of the SUV. He's pretty soaked now and I have to bite my tongue from spouting something sharp and, instead, say something totally obvious.

"You're dripping water everywhere."

The look he shoots my way says it all: I'm a moron. But when he speaks, his voice is soft and gentle.

"Thank you for telling me."

I growl at his tone and reach quickly toward the back seat, stretching as best as I can, and snag at my gym bag resting on the bench behind me. I rifle around a bit and pull out a slightly-used towel and toss it Tony's way, glancing out of the corner of my eye to make sure he's actually using it. When I see he's bringing it up to blot against his hair, smiling shyly at me all the while, I reach out to turn the key in the ignition, ready to take us far away from here.

Before I can complete the motion, Tony has reached out and placed his cool fingers over mine, stopping the action. I turn my head and look into his eyes and...oh, God, he's staring at me *that* way again. I swallow and remain still, waiting until he decides to break the silence.

Instead of speaking, he pulls my hand away from the ignition and brings our joined fingers toward his mouth, pressing a brief, chaste kiss to one of my knuckles. There's nothing sensual about the gesture to me at all but my stomach does a slow, twisting flop just the same.

"You know I love you, don't you?"

His quiet question catches me totally unprepared and my breath catches in my throat and all I want to do is cry out my anger and my frustration and my resentment for all the injustices he's suffered in his short lifetime. We don't have much time left now, Ducky says it could be just a couple of months, six at the most, but Tony has repeatedly scoffed at those estimates, saying he's never felt better and he plans to live to be a grumpy, old man...like me. He's smiling sweetly now, like he knows what I'm thinking, and I have to smile right back.

I give his fingers a small squeeze and finally work up the courage to answer his question. "Sure...just like I love you."

And there's an ironic truth to that statement, he knows it and I know it, but it's the absolute truth. We'd die for each other and, even though we both know it's now impossible, Tony is prepared to live for me...even if it's only two months or six months or however long he can stand it. He loves me that much and I...well, let's just say when his time finally ends, I don't think there will be much reason to go on either.

I release his hand and start the ignition, waiting just long enough until Tony has secured his shoulder harness and is ready to go. We've got a lot to do before we can leave home today but I think we can beat the traffic out of the city if we time it just right. After all, it's important we start today, to take the first steps in our new life.

Besides, who knows what this new journey may bring?


FIN