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
Author's Chapter Notes:
Time to say goodbye and good riddance...
Chapter End Notes:
Extra warning: Extreme violence and character death in this part.