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
Author's Chapter Notes:
During his escape, an ill DiNozzo has a revelation.
Chapter End Notes:
More warnings for this part: Violence and language.