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
Author's Chapter Notes:
While the cat's away...
Chapter End Notes:
More warnings needed: Language, violence, and description of sexual acts.