SPN/NCIS gen fic: Out for Blood 6/9
Apr. 26th, 2007 07:08 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
superbadgirlTitle: Out for Blood
Author: SBG
Rating: R, for language
Category: H/C, Angst, A/A, Crossover with NCIS
Season/spoilers: Sometime in S2 for Supernatural (big reference to DMB), S4 for NCIS
Word count: About 39,700
Summary: Someone from Dean and Sam Winchester’s past comes back to haunt them…and they also take a member of the NCIS team.
Disclaimer: All things Supernatural belong to Kripke Enterprises and The CW. All things NCIS belong to Bellisarius Productions and CBS.
Notes: Hugs and kisses to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
ldyanne for being so cool.
Previous parts
Part one
Part two
Part three
Part four
Part five
Unfortunately, as soon as Tony was outside the cell room, his brain started catching up with what was happening around him. If he were honest, it finally caught up all the way back to the morning on scene at Bowman’s condo. God, he didn’t even know how long ago that had been. It was as if he’d been blindfolded and was only now seeing things for how they were. He didn’t like what his brain figured out, namely that touched-in-the-head Dean Winchester wasn’t so touched after all. The crazy man had been telling him the truth, not a really elaborate and farfetched story, and this was no nightmare he was going to awaken from in a cold sweat. Tony definitely preferred it when he was ignorant and skeptical, because nasty, bloodsucking monsters were okay when they appeared on celluloid in movie theaters and not when they showed up in his city. For real.
The door slammed shut behind them, echoing loudly. Tony stopped struggling, because even if he didn’t feel like lukewarm, mostly congealed oatmeal, Alex and Duane were taller, bigger and more, well, vampirish than he was and he couldn’t break free. Expending energy on a pointless effort seemed like a bad idea, though he didn’t think he’d get the chance to actually use whatever energy he managed to conserve. He slumped slightly, and played like a kicked puppy. It was less playing than it was his actual physical state. From what little he understood about his captors (vampiresvampires holyshitvampires), he knew aggression on his part wouldn’t help anyway. There was nothing he could do to improve his situation.
“Strip off his shirt, cuff him and hang him over by the other one,” Kate said. Once upon a time Tony had thought his own Kate was kind of bitchy, sometimes falsely and sometimes not. Kate Todd, as it turned out, had been something of an angel as compared to this Kate. Wait…other one? What did she mean by that? “I haven’t decided what to do with our special agent yet. I don’t want to kill Winchester, but I have a good idea how to hurt him.”
Cold, strong fingers clawed at his chin and brought his face up. Tony looked into hard, brown eyes, then averted his own. Kate forced his head sharply to the left, and then to the right. He had the horrible realization that she was sizing him up like a piece of meat. God, that was probably what he was to her. A pre-dinner snack. Oh, shit. He was going to end up like Petty Officer Bowman, and soon. His insides felt like they were quivering, like someone had shaken the congealed bowl of oatmeal and made it ripple nauseatingly. Duane and Alex hefted him away from Kate.
Tony looked around the room wildly, suddenly very ready to expend his energy in an escape attempt. It was as useless as he’d already determined. He wasn’t going anywhere, and the room yielded nothing helpful. He searched for anything, anything at all. The only things in the room were a couple of rough pallets and dust. Except then he saw the other one, who turned out to be a man about Tony’s size and build. He hung from a large exposed pipe by his wrists, and the expression on his face epitomized what Tony felt. The guy flailed weakly, already covered in bruises and blood.
“Oh, god,” the man whimpered when Tony made eye contact with him. Kind of. There was a glazed look to the man’s eyes that made Tony think he’d checked out, which wasn’t actually a bad idea considering the circumstances. “Oh, god.”
He wanted to tell the guy he’d be okay, and not to worry. He couldn’t, because that would be an enormous lie. He had faith his team was going to figure it out. He just more than suspected they’d do it way too late, for him, for this poor schmuck, and for Dean Winchester. Tony didn’t even have the chance to ask his new fellow prisoner’s name. Alex…or maybe it was Duane wrested his shirt off of him. His own handcuffs were slapped on his wrists and then he was rigged with a chain. Tony hissed as they pulled him up by his wrists, strung him up just like the poor guy next to him. He cursed under his breath when they pulled the chain high enough that he had to stand on tiptoes.
“You shouldn’t hold your feelings in, it’s not good for you,” Kate said. She paced in front of him for a moment, then flicked her eyes toward her feral-looking companions. “Hurt this one a little. You can kill the other, but wait until I have the door open. I think Winchester might want to know what’s happening out here. Or at least he’ll think he knows.”
The nameless guy kept on sobbing quietly, and Tony couldn’t blame him. He didn’t like the words “hurt” and “kill” in any context, let alone for their situation. Kate went back into the room with the cell, at the same time as Duane smacked Poor Schmuck so hard and sudden he produced a loud wail. Tony opened his mouth to shout, but suddenly Heather pressed up against him, one hand over his mouth and the other busy…everywhere else on his body. He couldn’t see anything, but he could hear. No more punches were given, but Duane and Alex taunted Poor Schmuck with threats of all sorts of creative and apparently forthcoming torture methods.
“I hope we get to keep you,” Heather whispered in his ear. Then she stuck her tongue in it, and wriggled against him suggestively. “Duane does nothing for me, and it turns out Alex likes boys better than girls. We could have such a good time together.”
Tony shuddered in revulsion, really not down with being a vampire’s plaything…and then it dawned on him what she meant. He didn’t like that idea either. He didn’t see the point of immortality if the only way to accomplish it was to become a monster.
“I really don’t think so,” he said into her hand, so it came out more like, “Mi mimmy mone minf mo.”
Of course he didn’t have much say in the matter, unless he used his tiny reserve of energy to piss them off enough to kill him. Not a terrible idea, but definitely a last resort.
The verbal taunts to Poor Schmuck continued for a few minutes, as did Heather’s assault to his person. If she were a real live woman, he’d have a good case for harassment. The more Tony tried to move away from her, the closer Heather got up on him. She was like some super freaky octopus vampire or something. Why not? There was no way this could get any weirder or more unfortunate.
Then suddenly Poor Schmuck started screaming and screaming. God help him, he was actually a little relieved that he wasn’t the one enduring whatever was causing such howling. Kate was also suddenly back in front of him, shooing Heather out of the way. Tony opened his mouth to say something, he wasn’t sure what, but she backhanded him quickly. While he was still reeling from the blow, a large cloth something was jammed into his mouth, tape put across it.
“I had a talk with Dean. He thinks you’d be better off dead, but I’m still not so sure,” Kate said quietly. “I just can’t decide.”
Or maybe she spoke in a normal tone and he could barely hear her because Poor Schmuck was still wailing loudly. Tony winced, consciously avoided looking over when the screams softened to mere whimpers. The guy hadn’t stood a chance in hell. Aside from Kate, every member of the bloodthirsty set of vampires was focused on Poor Shmuck, and shit Tony wished he knew the guy’s name because it was damned disrespectful to keep calling him that. He looked like a Ned.
Kate toyed with his belt, unbuckling it and sliding it slowly off of his trousers. Oh, shit, not more of this. Tony tried to move away, but now his shoulders really started to feel the pressure every time he jerked. He settled for spitting insults at her, confident she knew exactly what he was saying despite the gag. She chuckled.
“You’ve got spirit, I’ll give you that.” She unbuttoned him, slid his fly down slowly. Poor Schmuck had stopped making any noise, and Tony knew what that meant. Ned was dead. Dead Ned. “Do me a favor and take off your shoes?”
“Mi momphe mou mie min ma mire,” Tony said.
She grabbed his face and squeezed. He had no idea why he wasn’t dead already, but he saw in her eyes that he was getting closer by the second. He struggled to slide his shoes off, hindered by fear and the fact he was strung up. Next to them, Duane and Alex were muttering and laughing over Poor Schm….Ned’s body.
“Duane, get that guy’s clothes off. He looks a good fit for this suit. What a happy coincidence it was we found him,” Kate said. She pulled Tony’s trousers down, staring at him with glittering, amused eyes. “Step out of them.”
He obeyed, and was left nearly naked. Kate gathered up his pants and shoes, and sidled over to pick up the shirt…his jacket had mysteriously appeared, too. Tony shivered, every draught of air making his bare skin prickle. He finally dared a quick look at Po…Ned, and instantly wished he’d just kept his eyes forward, on the open door of the cell room. The guy was on the floor now, a bloody, unmoving mess. Duane and Alex were kicking the corpse. Tony gave a little sympathetic, admittedly terror-filled moan.
It was only when Kate and Heather stopped the others from abusing the body and started putting his clothes on Ned that he realized the significance of the similarity of stature he and the guy shared. Shit, even the haircut was pretty much identical. He didn’t know how she’d managed to come up with this kind of plan so fast, or why.
He watched while Kate took out the same knife she’d used on him earlier and started slicing up Ned’s face, effectively skinning him. Hot bile rose up into his throat. Even though he knew they’d figure the truth out quickly, Tony regretted those minutes his team would think him dead and gone forever, and in such a horrible way. Gibbs would be so pissed at him for dying. He knew, though, that it would spawn even more drive to find these things…and, oh, shit, was Gibbs good enough to fight the supernatural? Considering the supernatural wasn’t supposed to even be an option, Tony doubted it.
“We’re going to run an errand now,” Kate told him. “Alex, you stay here, keep an eye on things. I don’t want you to touch super special agent man – I’ve decided to keep him, but that has to wait until later. You can play with Winchester a little if you want. I know you would love to get your hands on him.”
Duane got a hold under Ned’s arms and pulled him toward the door. Kate and Heather followed. Tony noted Ned’s feet dragged along the dirty floor, collecting evidence Abby would eventually get and use to help find this location. Whatever the final plan, Tony hoped and hoped and hoped some more that it would take long enough for his friends to come get him out of this mess. Hell, at the moment he’d be happy to see the other Winchester, whose existence he was, ironically, starting to question. Vampires, he could now believe in. He’d believe in Dean’s brother when he showed up.
Alex prowled in front of him for a moment or two, looking displeased at the no-touch rule Kate had implemented. Then he moved intently toward the cell room. Tony winced and strained against the rag in his mouth, wishing he could shout and warn Dean. Even though he’d only known Dean under odd circumstances and for a few hours, Tony somehow suspected Dean had a bit of a runaway tongue, and a propensity to not take abuse lying down. Sure enough, Tony soon heard sounds of a scuffle from within the room.
“I forgot your belt,” Kate said, as the other vampires reentered the room…building…wherever they were. “Have to make it look…”
Tony’s heart pounded as a sickening thud came from the cell room. Even if that were Dean miraculously getting the upper hand (doubtful, considering the guy looked like crap the last time Tony had seen him), he’d be screwed now that the other three were back on scene. Kate swore and raced for the door, Duane and Heather right behind her. He heard a muffled argument, and then Duane and Heather came back out with Alex in tow. A minute later, Kate also came back out.
“You jackass,” she hissed at Alex, raising a hand. “You know I wanted him alive for when his brother finally gets here.”
“I’m sorry, Kate.” Alex, big, lumbering Alex, actually looked cowed. “He…he was trying to get away, I only meant to stop him.”
“Whatever, just get in the car. Duane, can I trust you on guard duty? Hands off, and I promise we’ll go out for dinner tonight at a strip club.”
“My favorite food,” Duane said, with so much delight Tony swore if he got out of this alive he’d never objectify women by going to strip clubs again.
Duane dutifully did as instructed, thank goodness, and neither touched him nor went in to torture Dean some more. Unless that just meant Dean was dead. That idea terrified him for some reason. Tony struggled to stay on his toes for a few minutes, but now that the horror show was over (don’t think about the blood pool over there, or Ned’s face, DiNozzo) adrenaline seeped out of him. It was increasingly difficult to manage his position. His calf muscles burned, his shoulders tore. Everything hurt.
“Mey, Mane,” Tony said. “Mow momoum mou mumaim mmph?”
Duane, who had grabbed a seat on an old crate and busied himself reading the latest issue of Weekly World News, ignored him. Tony continued his tiptoe dance for as long as he could, it felt like forever, and then all his reserve energy just crapped out on him. The beatings, the blood loss, every crazy thing that had happened took its toll all at once. He sagged down, very aware of the agony doing so produced, but incapable of even groaning about it. Unconsciousness beckoned, and yet the pain was just enough to keep him from reaching it. He tuned himself out a little, started to drift into an empty space in his head. He really hoped that this was what Ned had somehow managed to escape toward the end.
He lingered in the self-created limbo, pulled out every once in a while by Duane shifting or moving about the room. Tony dazedly hung there, and his mostly numbed mind still had enough synapses firing to wander onto topics better left untouched. His looming undeath and what that might entail, specifically. Winchester, and whether or not he was okay or really was dead, as he hadn’t heard a sound from the cell room. What was left of Ned’s face in a sloppy pile off to his right. Gibbs, upon finding his but not his mutilated body. McGee on finding…well, all of them on finding his but not his mutilated body. Kate the vampire changing her mind, killing him and leaving his actually his mutilated body for his friends to find.
Tony mentally shook himself out of his thoughts, and regained his tiptoes. He could not just hang there apathetically and wait for the doom and gloom. He needed to channel some of Winchester’s optimism that his team would figure it out and find them before his foray into the world of the undead. Ducky would know it wasn’t him. Barring a rescue from his team, he conceded that if the other Winchester were as dedicated as Dean, he could show up as well. Speaking of dedicated, Tony almost couldn’t believe what his now rapidly blurring eyes saw – the cell room door inching open.
“Mey, Mane!” he said. A small burst of adrenaline fueled him, a fleeting idea that he could actually do something. “Mo, momph memphre.”
Duane looked up at him, an ugly snarl making his ugly mug even uglier. He stood and stalked over to Tony, obviously annoyed by the interruption to his enlightened reading. Tony winced automatically, expecting some kind of physical blow. Instead, Duane just stared at him.
“What do you want?”
His captor’s exasperation was almost funny. It was like Tony wasn’t meat on a hook, but really an annoying kid who responded “but why?” to everything and had driven Duane crazy. He rolled his eyes at the guy.
“Mi mamnmph mimmy mam.”
“I guess there’s no reason to keep this on,” Duane said, and proceeded to rip the tape off. Tony gave a muffled cry. “Oops.”
Tony coughed when Duane extended him the courtesy of yanking the cloth out of his mouth. And then he moaned and groaned and continued to make noise. He carefully didn’t look at Dean, who was moving very slowly. Too slowly. Tony just couldn’t tell if that was stealth or due to injuries.
“You’re a heck of a guy, Duane,” Tony said. He sounded more like crap than he’d anticipated. He cleared his throat. “I don’t suppose you’d get water for Kate’s future new deathlong companion.”
“Right.”
Duane started to turn around. Tony couldn’t think of a thing to do for a distraction. He looked at Dean, who looked about like Ned had right before...that wasn’t good at all. He helplessly watched Duane catch sight of the guy and move lightning quick in on him. He appreciated Dean’s tenacity, but it didn’t seem the smartest idea to take on a vampire when looking (and therefore probably feeling) three sheets to the wind. If ever there were a time to root for the underdog, though, this was it. Tony couldn’t bring himself to watch, too frustrated that he couldn’t do anything to help anymore. He took the easy way out and closed his eyes
The sounds of fighting weren’t much easier to handle without the visuals, especially knowing how piss-poor Dean’s chances were. The scuffle didn’t last long, ending with a terrible-sounding thump. Tony cracked open one eye, afraid to see and afraid not to see. For a moment all he saw was the dust and wood pallets, and then he caught sight of feet. He tracked up from there…and discovered it wasn’t Dean. Dean was standing, maybe wavering, above the unconscious vampire.
“Hey, you’re alive,” Winchester said.
“Yeah,” Tony croaked. Damn, his voice was still fucked up. “So are you. What the hell happened?”
Dean looked down at Ned’s face, the small pool of congealed blood there.
“Dead man’s blood,” Dean gasped, as if that should mean something really profound to Tony, and then his eyes rolled up in his head and he crumpled to the floor.
Shit, not good. The others would be back soon and would find their waylaid friend, and there would be hell to pay.
~~*~~
All the way over to Tony’s place, Gibbs watched out for traffic through a veil of red. Figuratively, of course, but that was how pissed he was. He screeched to a halt in front of the building, and for once none of his passengers made a peep about the breakneck speed in which he’d maneuvered the car. Ziva drove that way every day. He wasn’t particularly concerned with stealth at this point, hurtling himself out of the car and up the sidewalk, McGee and Ziva right on his heels. They made it to Tony’s apartment door at the exact same time.
Gibbs nodded at Ziva, who took position on one side of the door. McGee automatically took the other. As for him, he stood right in front of it, prepared to batter his way through. He didn’t get the chance. McGee cautiously tried the handle and they discovered the door was unlocked. Of course it was. It was obvious the guy had wanted them to come here, even if it made no sense that he could suss out. Gibbs nudged the door open, peering in. he couldn’t see anyone, but that didn’t mean anything. He could hear the phone’s loud off the hook tone. He pushed the door open wider and entered the apartment, gun out and at the ready.
He panned right, Ziva took left. It didn’t take them long to clear the apartment. It was empty. Gibbs ended up in Tony’s bedroom, scowling at a closet full of high-end suits Tony would never wear again, angry with that for some reason. Eventually, his companions joined him.
“Well, he’s been smart this far, so it stood to reason he wouldn’t still be here,” Ziva said.
“Even smart people slip up. Check for prints,” he said unnecessarily.
“Boss, do you really think he’d make that kind of mistake?” McGee said. Gibbs gave his sternest look, which garnered the results it always did. “Right. Assume nothing.”
McGee and Ziva wandered out of the room, steps careful and quiet. They’d all been at Tony’s home on several occasions, but it wasn’t like they were over every week. Still, they might notice something out of place where he wouldn’t. He sniffed, crinkling his nose. Some kind of funk was going on. He’d have to give Tony a hard time about not doing his laun…but then, that wasn’t going to happen. Gibbs frowned at his mental slip, frowned at the closet full of suits again for good measure.
“Gibbs,” Ziva said from the living room. “I’ve got something.”
He moved back out, holstering his weapon at last, but remaining alert. He felt ridiculous for hoping their guy was somehow hiding in a closet or something, which was not likely since he had probably heard him leave after their strange conversation. Ziva crouched near Tony’s Italian leather sofa, (everything was high-end for DiNozzo) examining a beat up looking laptop with a latex-gloved hand. McGee brushed by him, staring at the piece of equipment for a moment or two before donning gloves himself and clicking on a couple of keys.
“This is definitely what he used to break into NCIS. The files he took probably aren’t going to be on it. He knew what he was doing.”
“Gee, really? You think?” Gibbs’ head hurt like hell. “Find out what you can about where it came from, check for prints, hairs, fibers or anything at all that might be useful.”
“Yes, Boss.”
No questioning this time, good. Gibbs pinched the bridge of his nose. Ziva stood up and started moving around the room, eyes taking everything in. She went to the phone, replaced the receiver on the hook. Her eyes narrowed, opened wider and then narrowed again. She was probably thinking about the possible motivation for this wild goose chase. It was a distraction, and while he was grateful to not think about Tony’s death, he was mostly just annoyed by it.
“He wanted us to come here. There must be a reason somewhere.”
“Computer’s the best bet, Ziva,” he said. “McGee will crack it.”
“Maybe, but not from here, Boss. Name of the “owner” of the computer is Ian Anderson, but I doubt he used his real name.”
“Think it’s a coincidence that Ian Anderson is the name of the vocalist for Jethro Tull?” Gibbs said, showing his dubious musical taste along with his age, and not caring. This guy was funny. Hilarious.
“Uh,” McGee said. “Who?”
“Never mind. But let me guess – the computer was a recent purchase?”
“If the registration is anything to go by, he got this new/used this morning. Oh, you think he chose the name to give you kind of an eff you?”
“Something like that.”
“I don’t know if I should hate this guy or admire him,” McGee said. Gibbs pursed his lips and glared again. “Definitely hate.”
The proverbial bell saved McGee. Gibbs’ cell rang, and he knew it was either Ducky or Director Shepard without glancing at the screen. He looked at his watch. They still had a fair amount of time before Fornell and his henchmen swooped in, and he knew Jenny wouldn’t bother him needlessly at a time like this.
“Gibbs.”
“Jethro, I have news. I have good news,” Ducky said, much more to the point than usual. “This poor fellow on my table…whoever he is, he is most definitely not Tony.”
Gibbs snapped to attention. He wasn’t certain which emotion earned the top spot in the tumult suddenly going on inside him: relief, happiness, disbelief or shock. Shit, he really had counted Tony out too soon. Guilt was added to the mix. No matter which emotion was the strongest, all of it left him at a complete loss for words. Both Ziva and McGee had noticed his new stance and stood in front of him, waiting.
“Jethro, did you hear me?”
“Yeah, I heard you. You’re sure?”
“Fingerprints are not a match, blood type is wrong. Someone went to a lot of trouble to make this look like Tony, for whatever sick reason.” Ducky’s effusiveness was regaining its customary level. “I suspected as much moments after you left the scene, but I didn’t want to encourage hope. I wanted confirmation first.”
“Thanks, Duck.” He wouldn’t have been able to take it if it that hope had turned out misleading. “Did you let Abby know?”
“I’m about to, and I’ll notify the director as well. Do you think this means Tony could still be alive?”
McGee and Ziva stared at him, impatient and hopeful. He clenched his jaw almost spasmodically.
“I’m going to find that out.” He snapped the phone shut, and wished he could knock back a stiff drink or two, as celebration or fortification or both. He straightened his shoulders even more. “Ducky says the man down in autopsy isn’t DiNozzo.”
“What?”
They both gawped at him for a couple of seconds, then smiled as the instant shock wore off in favor of a more slow-burning variety that contained a glimmer of belief. It was really good news, but the reality was they still knew next to nothing about anything, and the outlook was not favorable. If whoever had killed the John Doe in the alley and Petty Officer Bowman had Tony, chances were he was not in good shape. And there was still the question of this punk’s involvement.
“Boss, that’s great news.”
“It is, McGee, but that means we need to get back to work,” Gibbs said. “If Tony’s still alive, I have a feeling we don’t have a lot of time.”
“Right,” McGee said, going from almost elated to pensive and worried again. He sat back down at the computer.
“Gibbs, we don’t have all of the equipment with us to treat this as a crime scene. Perhaps someone should return to NCIS and bring back the truck.”
“It’s not a bad idea, Ziva, but I don’t want to be stuck here without a vehicle. No, we take what we can get now, secure the place, and come back later.” Something about Tony’s apartment was bothering him, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on it. Or his nose on it. He sniffed. If anything, the smell was a bit stronger out here than in the bedroom. Maybe he was wrong about it being old laundry. “What is that smell?”
Everyone sniffed. The odor was faint, but distinct and pungent, and not something someone as appearance conscious as Tony would purposely have in his home.
“No one else noticed this?”
“I didn’t think anything of it,” Ziva said. “I assumed all American men’s homes smelled like this.”
“I figured it was something in Tony’s garbage,” McGee said, ducking his head like he was ashamed, though it was a reasonable conclusion. “It’s stronger in the kitchen.”
Gibbs headed that way, and learned that, yes, the smell was strong in the kitchen. He went over to the sink and opened the door to the cabinet underneath it, where the garbage can was. He recoiled slightly, heard quiet exclamations of disgust behind him. He pulled the can out, peered in carefully, breathing through his mouth. The receptacle was empty, except for what looked like ashes.
“What the hell?”
“Gibbs, look at this.” Ziva pointed to a small ashy circle on the granite countertop. Tony wouldn’t like that. “It looks like there was a small fire here.”
“I smell skunk,” McGee said randomly.
This case kept getting stranger and stranger. Fake vampires, an 80-year-old suspect, Tony dead, mystery man seriously impeding their progress, Tony not dead, campfires in kitchens. It wasn’t any wonder to him that he was developing a migraine. Ziva already had a bag out and scooped some of the ash to take to Abby.
“Why are we here? To find this? I don’t buy it. I think this guy just wanted to watch us race halfway across the city.”
“For what purpose?”
“It’s possible this really is just a distraction, and he’s using the time to put distance between him and the city,” McGee said.
“Could be, except that he’s apparently been several steps ahead of us for some time. We can’t chase what we don’t know.”
Except that’s what he felt like he’d been doing since Tony disappeared. Tony. He concentrated on that. There might still be time for him to keep this team whole. They couldn’t do that standing around in DiNozzo’s kitchen, chatting.
“Let’s bag this stuff and get back. You and Abby can really pull the computer apart, and she can find out what this stuff is in here.”
Ziva and McGee nodded and returned to work with the vigor they usually did, now that they all knew Tony could actually be alive. Gibbs could just picture Abby hopping around her lab, and thought they could afford a quick stop for a mega-sized Caf-Pow for her. What they couldn’t afford was to wonder if their new hope was misleading. Hope was hope, and sometimes it just needed to be grabbed at and held onto.
“We’re coming, Tony,” he said, a promise to himself as well as Tony. “It won’t be long now.”
His phone rang again.
“Gibbs.”
“Agent Gibbs.”
Ah, a voice he’d not forget. The guy sounded out of breath, panting slightly.
“You,” he said.
“I’m sorry I had to send you all over town like that. I needed some time.”
Gibbs bristled. The distraction angle had been correct, and he had a feeling he was about to find out what it was all for.
“Time for what, exactly?”
“I’m guessing you already know your agent’s alive,” the guy said. Gibbs stiffened.
“I didn’t have you pegged for this,” he said tersely. “Other illegal things, but not kidnapping and murder.”
“I didn’t kidnap or murder anyone. Well… no. No, I didn’t murder anyone. That’s not what we do.” There was a pause, and a slight hiss, followed by a sharp inhalation. Gibbs narrowed his eyes. That sounded like pain. “I’ve got DiNozzo here. He’s okay, mostly. Still alive, anyway. He’ll be at, uh, Delafield and…4th Street, I think?”
Damn, that was all the way in Petworth. Another pause, a panting exhalation. Gibbs heard none of the bravado that had been there in his prior conversation, any self-assuredness the guy had was masked by that deeper concern he’d also heard. He started doubting there had been any taunting and bravado before, that it might have been his own interpretation. He didn’t like the thoughts, but ultimately it didn’t matter.
“Yeah, that’s right. Delafield and 4th. I’d stick around, but there’s someplace else I have to be. I’m going to call an ambulance, so you should hurry.”
The phone disconnected. It took Gibbs a second, but then he moved on automatic pilot, confused by his own belief in this stranger’s words and yet driven to go see for himself that Tony was there, and in one piece. He felt more NASCAR-worthy feats of driving coming on.
~~*~~
To part seven
And everyone east of me has probably already seen the new ep!
Author: SBG
Rating: R, for language
Category: H/C, Angst, A/A, Crossover with NCIS
Season/spoilers: Sometime in S2 for Supernatural (big reference to DMB), S4 for NCIS
Word count: About 39,700
Summary: Someone from Dean and Sam Winchester’s past comes back to haunt them…and they also take a member of the NCIS team.
Disclaimer: All things Supernatural belong to Kripke Enterprises and The CW. All things NCIS belong to Bellisarius Productions and CBS.
Notes: Hugs and kisses to
ldyanne for being so cool.Previous parts
Part one
Part two
Part three
Part four
Part five
Unfortunately, as soon as Tony was outside the cell room, his brain started catching up with what was happening around him. If he were honest, it finally caught up all the way back to the morning on scene at Bowman’s condo. God, he didn’t even know how long ago that had been. It was as if he’d been blindfolded and was only now seeing things for how they were. He didn’t like what his brain figured out, namely that touched-in-the-head Dean Winchester wasn’t so touched after all. The crazy man had been telling him the truth, not a really elaborate and farfetched story, and this was no nightmare he was going to awaken from in a cold sweat. Tony definitely preferred it when he was ignorant and skeptical, because nasty, bloodsucking monsters were okay when they appeared on celluloid in movie theaters and not when they showed up in his city. For real.
The door slammed shut behind them, echoing loudly. Tony stopped struggling, because even if he didn’t feel like lukewarm, mostly congealed oatmeal, Alex and Duane were taller, bigger and more, well, vampirish than he was and he couldn’t break free. Expending energy on a pointless effort seemed like a bad idea, though he didn’t think he’d get the chance to actually use whatever energy he managed to conserve. He slumped slightly, and played like a kicked puppy. It was less playing than it was his actual physical state. From what little he understood about his captors (vampiresvampires holyshitvampires), he knew aggression on his part wouldn’t help anyway. There was nothing he could do to improve his situation.
“Strip off his shirt, cuff him and hang him over by the other one,” Kate said. Once upon a time Tony had thought his own Kate was kind of bitchy, sometimes falsely and sometimes not. Kate Todd, as it turned out, had been something of an angel as compared to this Kate. Wait…other one? What did she mean by that? “I haven’t decided what to do with our special agent yet. I don’t want to kill Winchester, but I have a good idea how to hurt him.”
Cold, strong fingers clawed at his chin and brought his face up. Tony looked into hard, brown eyes, then averted his own. Kate forced his head sharply to the left, and then to the right. He had the horrible realization that she was sizing him up like a piece of meat. God, that was probably what he was to her. A pre-dinner snack. Oh, shit. He was going to end up like Petty Officer Bowman, and soon. His insides felt like they were quivering, like someone had shaken the congealed bowl of oatmeal and made it ripple nauseatingly. Duane and Alex hefted him away from Kate.
Tony looked around the room wildly, suddenly very ready to expend his energy in an escape attempt. It was as useless as he’d already determined. He wasn’t going anywhere, and the room yielded nothing helpful. He searched for anything, anything at all. The only things in the room were a couple of rough pallets and dust. Except then he saw the other one, who turned out to be a man about Tony’s size and build. He hung from a large exposed pipe by his wrists, and the expression on his face epitomized what Tony felt. The guy flailed weakly, already covered in bruises and blood.
“Oh, god,” the man whimpered when Tony made eye contact with him. Kind of. There was a glazed look to the man’s eyes that made Tony think he’d checked out, which wasn’t actually a bad idea considering the circumstances. “Oh, god.”
He wanted to tell the guy he’d be okay, and not to worry. He couldn’t, because that would be an enormous lie. He had faith his team was going to figure it out. He just more than suspected they’d do it way too late, for him, for this poor schmuck, and for Dean Winchester. Tony didn’t even have the chance to ask his new fellow prisoner’s name. Alex…or maybe it was Duane wrested his shirt off of him. His own handcuffs were slapped on his wrists and then he was rigged with a chain. Tony hissed as they pulled him up by his wrists, strung him up just like the poor guy next to him. He cursed under his breath when they pulled the chain high enough that he had to stand on tiptoes.
“You shouldn’t hold your feelings in, it’s not good for you,” Kate said. She paced in front of him for a moment, then flicked her eyes toward her feral-looking companions. “Hurt this one a little. You can kill the other, but wait until I have the door open. I think Winchester might want to know what’s happening out here. Or at least he’ll think he knows.”
The nameless guy kept on sobbing quietly, and Tony couldn’t blame him. He didn’t like the words “hurt” and “kill” in any context, let alone for their situation. Kate went back into the room with the cell, at the same time as Duane smacked Poor Schmuck so hard and sudden he produced a loud wail. Tony opened his mouth to shout, but suddenly Heather pressed up against him, one hand over his mouth and the other busy…everywhere else on his body. He couldn’t see anything, but he could hear. No more punches were given, but Duane and Alex taunted Poor Schmuck with threats of all sorts of creative and apparently forthcoming torture methods.
“I hope we get to keep you,” Heather whispered in his ear. Then she stuck her tongue in it, and wriggled against him suggestively. “Duane does nothing for me, and it turns out Alex likes boys better than girls. We could have such a good time together.”
Tony shuddered in revulsion, really not down with being a vampire’s plaything…and then it dawned on him what she meant. He didn’t like that idea either. He didn’t see the point of immortality if the only way to accomplish it was to become a monster.
“I really don’t think so,” he said into her hand, so it came out more like, “Mi mimmy mone minf mo.”
Of course he didn’t have much say in the matter, unless he used his tiny reserve of energy to piss them off enough to kill him. Not a terrible idea, but definitely a last resort.
The verbal taunts to Poor Schmuck continued for a few minutes, as did Heather’s assault to his person. If she were a real live woman, he’d have a good case for harassment. The more Tony tried to move away from her, the closer Heather got up on him. She was like some super freaky octopus vampire or something. Why not? There was no way this could get any weirder or more unfortunate.
Then suddenly Poor Schmuck started screaming and screaming. God help him, he was actually a little relieved that he wasn’t the one enduring whatever was causing such howling. Kate was also suddenly back in front of him, shooing Heather out of the way. Tony opened his mouth to say something, he wasn’t sure what, but she backhanded him quickly. While he was still reeling from the blow, a large cloth something was jammed into his mouth, tape put across it.
“I had a talk with Dean. He thinks you’d be better off dead, but I’m still not so sure,” Kate said quietly. “I just can’t decide.”
Or maybe she spoke in a normal tone and he could barely hear her because Poor Schmuck was still wailing loudly. Tony winced, consciously avoided looking over when the screams softened to mere whimpers. The guy hadn’t stood a chance in hell. Aside from Kate, every member of the bloodthirsty set of vampires was focused on Poor Shmuck, and shit Tony wished he knew the guy’s name because it was damned disrespectful to keep calling him that. He looked like a Ned.
Kate toyed with his belt, unbuckling it and sliding it slowly off of his trousers. Oh, shit, not more of this. Tony tried to move away, but now his shoulders really started to feel the pressure every time he jerked. He settled for spitting insults at her, confident she knew exactly what he was saying despite the gag. She chuckled.
“You’ve got spirit, I’ll give you that.” She unbuttoned him, slid his fly down slowly. Poor Schmuck had stopped making any noise, and Tony knew what that meant. Ned was dead. Dead Ned. “Do me a favor and take off your shoes?”
“Mi momphe mou mie min ma mire,” Tony said.
She grabbed his face and squeezed. He had no idea why he wasn’t dead already, but he saw in her eyes that he was getting closer by the second. He struggled to slide his shoes off, hindered by fear and the fact he was strung up. Next to them, Duane and Alex were muttering and laughing over Poor Schm….Ned’s body.
“Duane, get that guy’s clothes off. He looks a good fit for this suit. What a happy coincidence it was we found him,” Kate said. She pulled Tony’s trousers down, staring at him with glittering, amused eyes. “Step out of them.”
He obeyed, and was left nearly naked. Kate gathered up his pants and shoes, and sidled over to pick up the shirt…his jacket had mysteriously appeared, too. Tony shivered, every draught of air making his bare skin prickle. He finally dared a quick look at Po…Ned, and instantly wished he’d just kept his eyes forward, on the open door of the cell room. The guy was on the floor now, a bloody, unmoving mess. Duane and Alex were kicking the corpse. Tony gave a little sympathetic, admittedly terror-filled moan.
It was only when Kate and Heather stopped the others from abusing the body and started putting his clothes on Ned that he realized the significance of the similarity of stature he and the guy shared. Shit, even the haircut was pretty much identical. He didn’t know how she’d managed to come up with this kind of plan so fast, or why.
He watched while Kate took out the same knife she’d used on him earlier and started slicing up Ned’s face, effectively skinning him. Hot bile rose up into his throat. Even though he knew they’d figure the truth out quickly, Tony regretted those minutes his team would think him dead and gone forever, and in such a horrible way. Gibbs would be so pissed at him for dying. He knew, though, that it would spawn even more drive to find these things…and, oh, shit, was Gibbs good enough to fight the supernatural? Considering the supernatural wasn’t supposed to even be an option, Tony doubted it.
“We’re going to run an errand now,” Kate told him. “Alex, you stay here, keep an eye on things. I don’t want you to touch super special agent man – I’ve decided to keep him, but that has to wait until later. You can play with Winchester a little if you want. I know you would love to get your hands on him.”
Duane got a hold under Ned’s arms and pulled him toward the door. Kate and Heather followed. Tony noted Ned’s feet dragged along the dirty floor, collecting evidence Abby would eventually get and use to help find this location. Whatever the final plan, Tony hoped and hoped and hoped some more that it would take long enough for his friends to come get him out of this mess. Hell, at the moment he’d be happy to see the other Winchester, whose existence he was, ironically, starting to question. Vampires, he could now believe in. He’d believe in Dean’s brother when he showed up.
Alex prowled in front of him for a moment or two, looking displeased at the no-touch rule Kate had implemented. Then he moved intently toward the cell room. Tony winced and strained against the rag in his mouth, wishing he could shout and warn Dean. Even though he’d only known Dean under odd circumstances and for a few hours, Tony somehow suspected Dean had a bit of a runaway tongue, and a propensity to not take abuse lying down. Sure enough, Tony soon heard sounds of a scuffle from within the room.
“I forgot your belt,” Kate said, as the other vampires reentered the room…building…wherever they were. “Have to make it look…”
Tony’s heart pounded as a sickening thud came from the cell room. Even if that were Dean miraculously getting the upper hand (doubtful, considering the guy looked like crap the last time Tony had seen him), he’d be screwed now that the other three were back on scene. Kate swore and raced for the door, Duane and Heather right behind her. He heard a muffled argument, and then Duane and Heather came back out with Alex in tow. A minute later, Kate also came back out.
“You jackass,” she hissed at Alex, raising a hand. “You know I wanted him alive for when his brother finally gets here.”
“I’m sorry, Kate.” Alex, big, lumbering Alex, actually looked cowed. “He…he was trying to get away, I only meant to stop him.”
“Whatever, just get in the car. Duane, can I trust you on guard duty? Hands off, and I promise we’ll go out for dinner tonight at a strip club.”
“My favorite food,” Duane said, with so much delight Tony swore if he got out of this alive he’d never objectify women by going to strip clubs again.
Duane dutifully did as instructed, thank goodness, and neither touched him nor went in to torture Dean some more. Unless that just meant Dean was dead. That idea terrified him for some reason. Tony struggled to stay on his toes for a few minutes, but now that the horror show was over (don’t think about the blood pool over there, or Ned’s face, DiNozzo) adrenaline seeped out of him. It was increasingly difficult to manage his position. His calf muscles burned, his shoulders tore. Everything hurt.
“Mey, Mane,” Tony said. “Mow momoum mou mumaim mmph?”
Duane, who had grabbed a seat on an old crate and busied himself reading the latest issue of Weekly World News, ignored him. Tony continued his tiptoe dance for as long as he could, it felt like forever, and then all his reserve energy just crapped out on him. The beatings, the blood loss, every crazy thing that had happened took its toll all at once. He sagged down, very aware of the agony doing so produced, but incapable of even groaning about it. Unconsciousness beckoned, and yet the pain was just enough to keep him from reaching it. He tuned himself out a little, started to drift into an empty space in his head. He really hoped that this was what Ned had somehow managed to escape toward the end.
He lingered in the self-created limbo, pulled out every once in a while by Duane shifting or moving about the room. Tony dazedly hung there, and his mostly numbed mind still had enough synapses firing to wander onto topics better left untouched. His looming undeath and what that might entail, specifically. Winchester, and whether or not he was okay or really was dead, as he hadn’t heard a sound from the cell room. What was left of Ned’s face in a sloppy pile off to his right. Gibbs, upon finding his but not his mutilated body. McGee on finding…well, all of them on finding his but not his mutilated body. Kate the vampire changing her mind, killing him and leaving his actually his mutilated body for his friends to find.
Tony mentally shook himself out of his thoughts, and regained his tiptoes. He could not just hang there apathetically and wait for the doom and gloom. He needed to channel some of Winchester’s optimism that his team would figure it out and find them before his foray into the world of the undead. Ducky would know it wasn’t him. Barring a rescue from his team, he conceded that if the other Winchester were as dedicated as Dean, he could show up as well. Speaking of dedicated, Tony almost couldn’t believe what his now rapidly blurring eyes saw – the cell room door inching open.
“Mey, Mane!” he said. A small burst of adrenaline fueled him, a fleeting idea that he could actually do something. “Mo, momph memphre.”
Duane looked up at him, an ugly snarl making his ugly mug even uglier. He stood and stalked over to Tony, obviously annoyed by the interruption to his enlightened reading. Tony winced automatically, expecting some kind of physical blow. Instead, Duane just stared at him.
“What do you want?”
His captor’s exasperation was almost funny. It was like Tony wasn’t meat on a hook, but really an annoying kid who responded “but why?” to everything and had driven Duane crazy. He rolled his eyes at the guy.
“Mi mamnmph mimmy mam.”
“I guess there’s no reason to keep this on,” Duane said, and proceeded to rip the tape off. Tony gave a muffled cry. “Oops.”
Tony coughed when Duane extended him the courtesy of yanking the cloth out of his mouth. And then he moaned and groaned and continued to make noise. He carefully didn’t look at Dean, who was moving very slowly. Too slowly. Tony just couldn’t tell if that was stealth or due to injuries.
“You’re a heck of a guy, Duane,” Tony said. He sounded more like crap than he’d anticipated. He cleared his throat. “I don’t suppose you’d get water for Kate’s future new deathlong companion.”
“Right.”
Duane started to turn around. Tony couldn’t think of a thing to do for a distraction. He looked at Dean, who looked about like Ned had right before...that wasn’t good at all. He helplessly watched Duane catch sight of the guy and move lightning quick in on him. He appreciated Dean’s tenacity, but it didn’t seem the smartest idea to take on a vampire when looking (and therefore probably feeling) three sheets to the wind. If ever there were a time to root for the underdog, though, this was it. Tony couldn’t bring himself to watch, too frustrated that he couldn’t do anything to help anymore. He took the easy way out and closed his eyes
The sounds of fighting weren’t much easier to handle without the visuals, especially knowing how piss-poor Dean’s chances were. The scuffle didn’t last long, ending with a terrible-sounding thump. Tony cracked open one eye, afraid to see and afraid not to see. For a moment all he saw was the dust and wood pallets, and then he caught sight of feet. He tracked up from there…and discovered it wasn’t Dean. Dean was standing, maybe wavering, above the unconscious vampire.
“Hey, you’re alive,” Winchester said.
“Yeah,” Tony croaked. Damn, his voice was still fucked up. “So are you. What the hell happened?”
Dean looked down at Ned’s face, the small pool of congealed blood there.
“Dead man’s blood,” Dean gasped, as if that should mean something really profound to Tony, and then his eyes rolled up in his head and he crumpled to the floor.
Shit, not good. The others would be back soon and would find their waylaid friend, and there would be hell to pay.
~~*~~
All the way over to Tony’s place, Gibbs watched out for traffic through a veil of red. Figuratively, of course, but that was how pissed he was. He screeched to a halt in front of the building, and for once none of his passengers made a peep about the breakneck speed in which he’d maneuvered the car. Ziva drove that way every day. He wasn’t particularly concerned with stealth at this point, hurtling himself out of the car and up the sidewalk, McGee and Ziva right on his heels. They made it to Tony’s apartment door at the exact same time.
Gibbs nodded at Ziva, who took position on one side of the door. McGee automatically took the other. As for him, he stood right in front of it, prepared to batter his way through. He didn’t get the chance. McGee cautiously tried the handle and they discovered the door was unlocked. Of course it was. It was obvious the guy had wanted them to come here, even if it made no sense that he could suss out. Gibbs nudged the door open, peering in. he couldn’t see anyone, but that didn’t mean anything. He could hear the phone’s loud off the hook tone. He pushed the door open wider and entered the apartment, gun out and at the ready.
He panned right, Ziva took left. It didn’t take them long to clear the apartment. It was empty. Gibbs ended up in Tony’s bedroom, scowling at a closet full of high-end suits Tony would never wear again, angry with that for some reason. Eventually, his companions joined him.
“Well, he’s been smart this far, so it stood to reason he wouldn’t still be here,” Ziva said.
“Even smart people slip up. Check for prints,” he said unnecessarily.
“Boss, do you really think he’d make that kind of mistake?” McGee said. Gibbs gave his sternest look, which garnered the results it always did. “Right. Assume nothing.”
McGee and Ziva wandered out of the room, steps careful and quiet. They’d all been at Tony’s home on several occasions, but it wasn’t like they were over every week. Still, they might notice something out of place where he wouldn’t. He sniffed, crinkling his nose. Some kind of funk was going on. He’d have to give Tony a hard time about not doing his laun…but then, that wasn’t going to happen. Gibbs frowned at his mental slip, frowned at the closet full of suits again for good measure.
“Gibbs,” Ziva said from the living room. “I’ve got something.”
He moved back out, holstering his weapon at last, but remaining alert. He felt ridiculous for hoping their guy was somehow hiding in a closet or something, which was not likely since he had probably heard him leave after their strange conversation. Ziva crouched near Tony’s Italian leather sofa, (everything was high-end for DiNozzo) examining a beat up looking laptop with a latex-gloved hand. McGee brushed by him, staring at the piece of equipment for a moment or two before donning gloves himself and clicking on a couple of keys.
“This is definitely what he used to break into NCIS. The files he took probably aren’t going to be on it. He knew what he was doing.”
“Gee, really? You think?” Gibbs’ head hurt like hell. “Find out what you can about where it came from, check for prints, hairs, fibers or anything at all that might be useful.”
“Yes, Boss.”
No questioning this time, good. Gibbs pinched the bridge of his nose. Ziva stood up and started moving around the room, eyes taking everything in. She went to the phone, replaced the receiver on the hook. Her eyes narrowed, opened wider and then narrowed again. She was probably thinking about the possible motivation for this wild goose chase. It was a distraction, and while he was grateful to not think about Tony’s death, he was mostly just annoyed by it.
“He wanted us to come here. There must be a reason somewhere.”
“Computer’s the best bet, Ziva,” he said. “McGee will crack it.”
“Maybe, but not from here, Boss. Name of the “owner” of the computer is Ian Anderson, but I doubt he used his real name.”
“Think it’s a coincidence that Ian Anderson is the name of the vocalist for Jethro Tull?” Gibbs said, showing his dubious musical taste along with his age, and not caring. This guy was funny. Hilarious.
“Uh,” McGee said. “Who?”
“Never mind. But let me guess – the computer was a recent purchase?”
“If the registration is anything to go by, he got this new/used this morning. Oh, you think he chose the name to give you kind of an eff you?”
“Something like that.”
“I don’t know if I should hate this guy or admire him,” McGee said. Gibbs pursed his lips and glared again. “Definitely hate.”
The proverbial bell saved McGee. Gibbs’ cell rang, and he knew it was either Ducky or Director Shepard without glancing at the screen. He looked at his watch. They still had a fair amount of time before Fornell and his henchmen swooped in, and he knew Jenny wouldn’t bother him needlessly at a time like this.
“Gibbs.”
“Jethro, I have news. I have good news,” Ducky said, much more to the point than usual. “This poor fellow on my table…whoever he is, he is most definitely not Tony.”
Gibbs snapped to attention. He wasn’t certain which emotion earned the top spot in the tumult suddenly going on inside him: relief, happiness, disbelief or shock. Shit, he really had counted Tony out too soon. Guilt was added to the mix. No matter which emotion was the strongest, all of it left him at a complete loss for words. Both Ziva and McGee had noticed his new stance and stood in front of him, waiting.
“Jethro, did you hear me?”
“Yeah, I heard you. You’re sure?”
“Fingerprints are not a match, blood type is wrong. Someone went to a lot of trouble to make this look like Tony, for whatever sick reason.” Ducky’s effusiveness was regaining its customary level. “I suspected as much moments after you left the scene, but I didn’t want to encourage hope. I wanted confirmation first.”
“Thanks, Duck.” He wouldn’t have been able to take it if it that hope had turned out misleading. “Did you let Abby know?”
“I’m about to, and I’ll notify the director as well. Do you think this means Tony could still be alive?”
McGee and Ziva stared at him, impatient and hopeful. He clenched his jaw almost spasmodically.
“I’m going to find that out.” He snapped the phone shut, and wished he could knock back a stiff drink or two, as celebration or fortification or both. He straightened his shoulders even more. “Ducky says the man down in autopsy isn’t DiNozzo.”
“What?”
They both gawped at him for a couple of seconds, then smiled as the instant shock wore off in favor of a more slow-burning variety that contained a glimmer of belief. It was really good news, but the reality was they still knew next to nothing about anything, and the outlook was not favorable. If whoever had killed the John Doe in the alley and Petty Officer Bowman had Tony, chances were he was not in good shape. And there was still the question of this punk’s involvement.
“Boss, that’s great news.”
“It is, McGee, but that means we need to get back to work,” Gibbs said. “If Tony’s still alive, I have a feeling we don’t have a lot of time.”
“Right,” McGee said, going from almost elated to pensive and worried again. He sat back down at the computer.
“Gibbs, we don’t have all of the equipment with us to treat this as a crime scene. Perhaps someone should return to NCIS and bring back the truck.”
“It’s not a bad idea, Ziva, but I don’t want to be stuck here without a vehicle. No, we take what we can get now, secure the place, and come back later.” Something about Tony’s apartment was bothering him, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on it. Or his nose on it. He sniffed. If anything, the smell was a bit stronger out here than in the bedroom. Maybe he was wrong about it being old laundry. “What is that smell?”
Everyone sniffed. The odor was faint, but distinct and pungent, and not something someone as appearance conscious as Tony would purposely have in his home.
“No one else noticed this?”
“I didn’t think anything of it,” Ziva said. “I assumed all American men’s homes smelled like this.”
“I figured it was something in Tony’s garbage,” McGee said, ducking his head like he was ashamed, though it was a reasonable conclusion. “It’s stronger in the kitchen.”
Gibbs headed that way, and learned that, yes, the smell was strong in the kitchen. He went over to the sink and opened the door to the cabinet underneath it, where the garbage can was. He recoiled slightly, heard quiet exclamations of disgust behind him. He pulled the can out, peered in carefully, breathing through his mouth. The receptacle was empty, except for what looked like ashes.
“What the hell?”
“Gibbs, look at this.” Ziva pointed to a small ashy circle on the granite countertop. Tony wouldn’t like that. “It looks like there was a small fire here.”
“I smell skunk,” McGee said randomly.
This case kept getting stranger and stranger. Fake vampires, an 80-year-old suspect, Tony dead, mystery man seriously impeding their progress, Tony not dead, campfires in kitchens. It wasn’t any wonder to him that he was developing a migraine. Ziva already had a bag out and scooped some of the ash to take to Abby.
“Why are we here? To find this? I don’t buy it. I think this guy just wanted to watch us race halfway across the city.”
“For what purpose?”
“It’s possible this really is just a distraction, and he’s using the time to put distance between him and the city,” McGee said.
“Could be, except that he’s apparently been several steps ahead of us for some time. We can’t chase what we don’t know.”
Except that’s what he felt like he’d been doing since Tony disappeared. Tony. He concentrated on that. There might still be time for him to keep this team whole. They couldn’t do that standing around in DiNozzo’s kitchen, chatting.
“Let’s bag this stuff and get back. You and Abby can really pull the computer apart, and she can find out what this stuff is in here.”
Ziva and McGee nodded and returned to work with the vigor they usually did, now that they all knew Tony could actually be alive. Gibbs could just picture Abby hopping around her lab, and thought they could afford a quick stop for a mega-sized Caf-Pow for her. What they couldn’t afford was to wonder if their new hope was misleading. Hope was hope, and sometimes it just needed to be grabbed at and held onto.
“We’re coming, Tony,” he said, a promise to himself as well as Tony. “It won’t be long now.”
His phone rang again.
“Gibbs.”
“Agent Gibbs.”
Ah, a voice he’d not forget. The guy sounded out of breath, panting slightly.
“You,” he said.
“I’m sorry I had to send you all over town like that. I needed some time.”
Gibbs bristled. The distraction angle had been correct, and he had a feeling he was about to find out what it was all for.
“Time for what, exactly?”
“I’m guessing you already know your agent’s alive,” the guy said. Gibbs stiffened.
“I didn’t have you pegged for this,” he said tersely. “Other illegal things, but not kidnapping and murder.”
“I didn’t kidnap or murder anyone. Well… no. No, I didn’t murder anyone. That’s not what we do.” There was a pause, and a slight hiss, followed by a sharp inhalation. Gibbs narrowed his eyes. That sounded like pain. “I’ve got DiNozzo here. He’s okay, mostly. Still alive, anyway. He’ll be at, uh, Delafield and…4th Street, I think?”
Damn, that was all the way in Petworth. Another pause, a panting exhalation. Gibbs heard none of the bravado that had been there in his prior conversation, any self-assuredness the guy had was masked by that deeper concern he’d also heard. He started doubting there had been any taunting and bravado before, that it might have been his own interpretation. He didn’t like the thoughts, but ultimately it didn’t matter.
“Yeah, that’s right. Delafield and 4th. I’d stick around, but there’s someplace else I have to be. I’m going to call an ambulance, so you should hurry.”
The phone disconnected. It took Gibbs a second, but then he moved on automatic pilot, confused by his own belief in this stranger’s words and yet driven to go see for himself that Tony was there, and in one piece. He felt more NASCAR-worthy feats of driving coming on.
~~*~~
To part seven
And everyone east of me has probably already seen the new ep!
