Tony threw his small bag into the trunk, hopped into the cab and accepted the bottle of water the cab driver handed him. ‘Nice’, he thought, cracking the cap and taking a long drink. He pulled his sunglasses back down over his eyes and started humming the theme song to the 80’s TV show, Airwolf. Tony hummed that tune when he was in an extraordinarily good mood. And he was in an extraordinarily good mood because he had just spent the last ten days fucking and being fucked nearly insensate by Leroy Jethro Gibbs.

He was headed home, back to Washington with the hopes that Gibbs would soon follow. Director Sheppard had given him the days off only grudgingly and only with the warning that if he didn’t return by the 25th, he shouldn’t bother returning at all. If he wasn’t certain she was serious, DiNozzo would have stayed right where he was until neither he or Gibbs could walk.

Tony smirked to himself, Gibbs had been walking funny when they said goodbye this morning. Who knew that Gibbs would be so uninhibited in bed? The man loved to fuck and when Tony shoved his tongue in Gibbs hole, he had hollered so loud the windows had shaken. If they’d been back in DC, the cops would have been called over the noise. When they did it in Tony’s condo, he’d have to remember to use a gag on him.

A surge of desire swam through Tony’s veins at the thought of it and he pressed the heel of his hand to his crotch, dampening his arousal. Gibbs had pretty much let Tony do whatever he wanted to him… and Tony had wanted to do a lot. He’d had seven years of fantasies to excise.

The cab continued its jostling way along worn dirt roads and Tony resisted the urge to turn around in his seat and stare at where he’d come. He was already miles away from Gibbs. Tony leaned back against the ripped leatherette seat and pictured the man in his head, the way he’d last seen him. Gibbs had been pretending to sand the perfectly finished post of Franks’ front porch while Tony walked down the beach, his rucksack slung over a tanned shoulder, pretending a glib farewell he didn’t mean.

Tony’s eyes felt increasingly heavy, Playa de Oro International was a long way away and the morning sun heated up the cab and made him sleepy.

****

Tony woke slowly, he was thirsty and his eyes ached and his mouth felt as though someone had filled it with cotton. He felt sick to his stomach and woozy and would think he was hung-over but for the fact that he hadn’t drank to intoxication since high school. Tony dug his fingers into his eyes and rubbed at them. He slowly got to his feet, he had to piss something fierce. He’d made it a few feet before he was jerked backwards and he fell to the floor, knee cracking against hard concrete. The pain jerked Tony completely awake and he moved his knee to rub the aching cap only to find that he was chained, there was a thick metal cuff clasped around his ankle. The fit was tight and he pulled against the chain in dismay and rising panic, he had less than three feet of slack. Tony yanked at the chain, he followed it back and noticed that it was attached to a heavy metal D-ring that had been set into the cement foundation. He wouldn’t be using brute strength to free himself.

He looked around, he was in a small basement type room, no window, damp dirt walls, rough cement floor and the only objects outside of the narrow bed was a cheap plastic bucket and a laundry sink beneath a rusted spigot. The room was lit by overly bright fluorescents which were uncovered and buzzed loudly with electricity.

He remembered that he had been in Colima, Mexico and was on his way home when… when, what? Tony had no recollection of anything after getting into the cab.

He’d been kidnapped, it was hard to believe but for the evidence staring him in the face. He had been drugged and chained and yet he was unharmed as far as he could tell.

Tony went over it logically as he searched the area within reach, running his hands over the cracks in floor and wall. Adults were taken for three reason. Revenge, profit and obsession.

Revenge… well he was a federal agent. The men and women he’d sent to Leavenworth probably hated his guts, but anyone who had spent decades in law enforcement got their fair share of hate mail. Of course, statistically speaking it was extraordinarily rare for a disgruntled perp or victim to take physical action against a LEO.

He was set to testify next month at a cut and dry possessions charge deposition, but even if the case went to trial, its doubtful the Captain would see any prison time. No real motive there. Add to that, he was in a foreign country on an unplanned vacation. No, If anyone was after him for revenge, they’d have a much easier time taking him out in Washington.

Profit… Tony had seen the travel warnings they started issuing a few years back. A high ranking CFO of a fortune 500 company had been kidnapped during a routine business trip. The man’s company had paid the ransom and he was returned relatively unscathed. The problem, of course, was that the company paid the ‘asked for’ amount, an unheard of, three million dollars. Since then, wealthy tourists were being targeted more and more frequently. It was an idea that had been imported by the Columbian drug cartels and had begun to thrive in a number of Mexican states. Of course, he didn’t have even close to that kind of cash, despite the sizable inheritance his grandmother had left him.

Obsession…a couple of his ex girlfriends, maybe, but he couldn’t see them putting out this kind of effort. Besides, Tony thought, if anyone had somehow courted a lunatic obsessed enough to follow him to Colima it would be Gibbs. Gibbs makes an impression Tony thought with a smile. So unless they had taken him in order to bait Gibbs... Oh, man, Gibbs! The man was going to absolutely MURDER him. Outsmarted by a bottle of water… he’d never hear the end of it.

****

Gibbs got out of the cramped shower and swiped at the fog in the mirror. The expression on his face made him look almost unfamiliar to himself. The lines around his mouth and eyes were just as deep, but they were somehow, easier, as though they‘d come from good experiences and not just bad. They did, he supposed with a touch of surprise. He fingered his beard and couldn’t help the smile that began to grow.

A few nights back he had rubbed his soft beard against Tony’s sack and Tony had arched so hard into his face, he’d almost broken Gibbs nose. Tony kissed his sore nose and then laughed about it until he almost cried. Splayed across the bed, laughing and naked, his prick still hard and slapping against his belly, Gibbs was helpless before him and they kissed and rolled around naked on that too small bed until the laughter was replaced with sounds of another sort. Sex with DiNozzo had been fun, something Gibbs had never even considered before.

He wondered idly how many other kinds of sex he could discover with Tony… it was something to look forward to figuring out anyhow, Gibbs thought, once he got back to the States.

He had decided he was going back. He didn’t know if he could go back to NCIS, the crew of the Cape Fear still weighed heavily on his mind. But he wanted to go home. He wanted to see his house again and work on his boat. He wanted to see Abby and Ducky and Tony. Christ he wanted to see DiNozzo again so bad his skin itched with it and the man had only been gone for 24 hours.

If Gibbs was strictly honest with himself he would admit that he had known that he’d be following Tony back to DC from the moment the younger man had stood in his doorway, bare chest outlined in moonlight, offering Gibbs everything he had ever dreamed of.

Tony would be at work by now, Gibbs thought, settled at his desk, feet up, tan skin and white teeth flashing as he made up stories about girls and bikinis and all night parties. Assuring them that Gibbs was fine but deflecting every other question with practised ease until McGee and Ziva either gave up in exasperation or they caught a case.

Gibbs strolled into Carlos Cantina before ten, the place was deserted but for Franks sitting at the end of the bar and an indulgent looking Maria pouring more coffee into the heavy blue mug he held out.

“Franks, you bastard.” Gibbs yelled from across the bar.

The older man jerked in his seat and hot coffee splashed over his hand. He jumped up from his chair shaking the burning liquid off his skin, “What the hell, Probie?” he cursed and sucked at the red flesh of his hand.

Gibbs walked up to the man and lightly back handed his shoulder, “You’re an old busybody, Mike.”

Franks shook Gibbs arm off his shoulder, “Goddamit, kid, what the hell are you on about. I just burned by damned hand.”

Gibbs chuckled and settled himself into a seat at the bar, smiling appreciatively

when Maria placed a full blue mug in front of him.

“I said, Franks, that you’re worse than a Mother hen.”

Franks grunted and sat back down at the bar, “Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Naw, sure you don’t. DiNozzo just decided to hop on a plane and come to the middle of no where on the off chance that I’d be there.”

Franks hid a smile in his mug, taking a long drink, “So the kid showed, did he?”

Gibbs snorted in disbelief, “Of course he showed, Mike. If he hadn’t I doubt you would have spent the last week on Maria’s couch.”

“I didn’t spend no week on anyone’s couch, kid, you can guaren-goddamn-te it.”

Franks said with an affronted glare.

Gibbs laughed and raised his mug in salute to Maria who was leaning against the back counter, smiling at the men. “You could do better than this old reprobate you know,” he said.

Maria didn‘t answer but she picked up the fresh pot of coffee and topped up Franks mug, laughing when he leaned in and planted a hard kiss on her mouth.

“So ,you’re in a good mood, Jethro, I guess you and the kid worked things out.”

“Y-ep.” Gibbs smirked. “You’re a good friend, Mike.”

Franks shifted uncomfortably and flipped a cigarette into his mouth, “Now don’t go getting all mushy, Probie.”

Gibbs sat in at the bar and chatted with Franks about his deck and whether or not another addition made sense. He drank a second cup of coffee and ordered a simple breakfast which he ate slowly and he had yet another refill of Maria’s excellent coffee. And the entire time he was doing that, all he could think about was calling the airline and getting back home as quickly as possible. He didn’t think it was possible to miss someone as badly as he missed DiNozzo.

Gibbs had laughed more in the last ten days than the previous decade combined. The man was juvenile and vain and sex crazed… and he was loyal to a fault and hardworking and surprisingly sweet …and he had the filthiest tongue and the smoothest skin and a mouth that made Gibbs come so hard he’d blacked out... twice.

“Oh for crying out loud, Probie, just get off your ass and call him.”

Gibbs felt his cheeks heat and thanked God he’d grown a beard to hide it.

“You moon anymore over that kid and I’m going have to think about taking you out back and putting you out of your misery.” Franks said, crushing out another cigarette butt and coughing loudly, the phlegm in his lungs shifting.

“I’m hardly mooning, Mike,” Gibbs said sternly.

“No? Well how bout you tell me what I was just talking about.”

Gibbs thought for a moment, “Be right back,” he said, getting to his feet and pulling out his wallet.

Gibbs fed his credit card into the pay phone and flipped a chuckling Frank’s a quick middle finger.

****

Tony heard the door being unlocked seconds before the heavy wooden door swung open and a man in his early forties entered. The first thing Tony noticed were the man’s eyes. They were pale and almost colourless set against tousled black hair and an aristocratically handsome face. The man was tall and broad and was dressed in shades of grey, from pale grey shirt, tucked into dove grey pants, themselves tucked into knee high black leather riding boots.

“A couture kidnapper,” Tony said. “Very metro-sexual of you.” though he secretly thought the outfit was awesome, like he stepped right out of ‘Gosford Park’.

“Ah, I see you’re awake, good,” He said in a crisp British accent.

“I’m awake and while I can’t really thank you for your hospitality, I really should be going, now.” Tony stood up and gestured towards his ankle cuff. “If you wouldn’t mind.”

The Englishman laughed good naturedly, “I think not, Mr. DiNozzo, I’ve come to tell you a few things. Once I’ve shared this information with you, you will be the one to decide how you fare during your stay.”

“Ye-ah, that’s great. Who are you and what do you want with me, again?”

“Everything in it’s own time, Anthony.”

The man’s answer irritated him, “Alright, how about I just call you, Fancy, then. That work for you?” he asked. “So, Fancy, why am I here?”

The Englishman made “tsk”ing sound and before Tony could make fun of him for it, he felt a blade of agony lash his face.

Tony raised his hands instinctively and shut his eyes, but nothing else happened. He opened his eyes slowly and stared in disbelief at the Englishman, he was holding a black leather riding crop and stroking the end of it. He’d somehow missed it.

Gibbs would really kill him now, he’d paid too much attention to the mans outfit and not enough to what he held in his hands…but come on, seriously? A riding whip?

“You hit me with a whip?” Tony asked in disbelief. His face stung terribly, the crop had slashed down the left side of his face, abrading the thin skin of his eyelid.

“Are you fucking kidding me? That Hurt! Ow!”

The Englishman raised a lazy black brow, and brought the whip down again, the strike landing heavily on Tony’s raised forearms, a second red wheal appeared almost immediately. “You think your very clever, don’t you, Special Agent?” he asked, twirling the crop in his hand.

Goddamn that hurt, Tony thought, biting his lips so he didn’t speak the words out loud.

“Very good. Now that I have your attention. I shall begin again. As I was saying, I’m going to share some information with you and you are going to decide whether you wish to be a good boy, during your stay with us, or a bad boy. You’ve had a small taste of how I treat bad boys, Special Agent, so think carefully.”

Tony was suddenly and hysterically reminded of the villain in the movie, ‘The Princess Bride’.

“You don’t happen to have six fingers on your left hand, do you?” Tony asked, kicking himself even as the words escaped his mouth.

The Englishman’s lips turned up, just slightly, before he raised his arm and brought the whip down on Tony’s head and chest and neck. Anywhere he moved his arms to cover himself, the whip hit elsewhere. He felt his lip split open after a particularly vicious blow and he dropped to his knees covering his head with his hands and trying futilely to back away from the strikes.

“Good boy,” he shouted, “I‘ll be a fucking good boy, just stop fucking whipping me.”

The blows stopped and when Tony looked at the Englishman again, he looked utterly composed as if he hadn’t just delivered at least a dozen blows as hard as he could.

‘I am going to ram that crop so far up your ass, Ducky will find it in your throat’ , Tony thought viciously, tasting his own blood.

“Good boy, indeed, Mr. DiNozzo, I dare say you’ll fare better if you mind your sharp tongue.”

Tony didn’t respond but he brought the hem of his t-shirt up to staunch the blood that flowed freely down his chin.

“Now, where were we. Ah, that’s right,” The Englishman said, “I was just about to tell you that your Fathers lawyers have been notified of your… situation. If, and I do mean if. If you are no trouble; this means no escape attempts, no attacks on myself or your guards; no smart mouth. If you follow these simple rules, you’ll be home again within 72 hours.”

Tony started to laugh and the welts on his face twisted in agony and the blood from his lip poured from the cut, but he still laughed and choked on the metallic taste of blood, until tears rolled down his cheeks and the salt water stung even more than the movement.

The Englishman leaned against the wall and watched in bemused fascination.

“What a strange reaction. You’re a peculiar man aren’t you Special Agent DiNozzo. Of course, I shouldn’t wonder. After all what kind of man becomes a policeman when he’s heir to the 18th largest fortune in North America?”

Tony’s laughter tapered off and he spit a mouthful of blood onto the bare floor.
“You are sadly mistaken if you think you’re going to get a dime out of Raffaello DiNozzo. The reason I became a cop is because I was disinherited when I was 16.”

The Englishman pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and wet it at the laundry sink. He stepped in close, so close that Tony could smell his tobacco scented breath, and the man pressed the cool cloth against Tony’s split lip.

“I know all about that Anthony, you were caught with…” the man wiped away the blood on Tony’s chin, folded the cloth and pressed it back against the cut. “The gardeners son, is that right? A cliché, certainly, but I’ve seen pictures of the young man in question. He had a certain… common appeal, I suppose.”

A shiver of unease wound its way up Tony’s spine and he didn’t move away from the Englishman’s unwelcome touch. This man was far more dangerous than he had first thought and he swallowed down his impulse to attack.

“However, I’m not asking for your Father bring you back into the fold,” The Englishman continued, taking Tony’s chin in his hand and moving his face back and forth, taking in the swollen red wheals, his pale eyes filled with something indefinable, “You are really very pretty aren’t you? In an all-American way, of course, but still. Quite, quite pretty.” The man dropped Tony’s face and backed away, his eyes dropping to his watch as though he had a pressing engagement elsewhere.

His rapid changes in demeanour made Tony wary, unpredictable in a bad guy meant nothing good.

“No, I am simply assuming that Papa DiNozzo will pay in order to avoid the bad press not paying would ensure. After all, who wants to buy 747’s from a man who let his own son be returned to him…in pieces. No, I daresay, your Father will pay.”

Tony sat down on the bed, feeling suddenly defeated. The Englishman was wrong. His Father wouldn’t pay, no matter how many pieces Tony was ‘returned’ in. His Father was the very definition of old country Italian. He had earned every penny he‘d ever had; He did not give up, he did not change his mind and he certainly didn’t allow himself to be bilked out of money by this ponce of a man.

The man opened the door to leave, when Tony stopped him, “Speaking of strange men, how , exactly, does an Englishman find himself in Mexico kidnapping Americans?”

The Englishman simply stroked the bloodied crop against his hands, pulling at the leather thongs, coating his pale fingers in red.

“Remember what I said, Anthony, bad boys are not to be tolerated.”

The door shut with a quiet snick, before the sound of a deadlock tumbling closed followed.

Tony was left alone, his face throbbed and his headache had turned into a migraine and the bright overhead lights burned into his eyes.

“Well, Tony,” he said to himself, ‘You are truly fucked.”

****

Gibbs hung up the phone, his face pale beneath darkly tanned skin.

“Maria,” Gibbs yelled across the room, “Tony get a cab from here yesterday?”

Maria looked up, a soapy glass in her hand, “He came in early.” she said, wiping her hands on a towel tucked into the waist of her apron.

“What’s up, kid?” Franks asked.

“I know he came in early, what I’m asking is if he caught a cab from here or not?” Gibbs bit out, his fingers picking out a international number on the pay phone key pad.

“I don’t know, I can check and see if Hector knows anything.” Maria said, her and Franks heading to the kitchen at the back of the cantina.

“Do that,” Gibbs said and he forced himself not to fidget as the call went through. It was probably nothing, a missed flight or a slept through alarm, he thought.

But the moment Ziva had answered Tony’s desk phone, Gibbs’ famous gut had gone crazy.

“Abby, its Gibbs, David told me Tony didn’t show up at work this morning and he’s not answering his cell, you hear from him?”

“Gibbs! How are you doing, Boss-Man, you miss us? You coming home soon?”

“Abby. Tony. Have you heard from him?”

“Whoa, chill out, Gibbs, I thought retiring was supposed to make you, you know… relax a little,” Abby said.

“Abby!” Gibbs barked, “Have you heard from DiNozzo or not.”

“Not, Gibbs.” Abby said, her gravelled voice became softer, “Why are you so concerned about Tony being a few hours late for work?”

“Do me a favour, will ya, Ab’s?”

“Of course.”

“Find out if Tony made his flight. He was on the 10am flight out of Playa de Oro international. I don‘t know flight numbers or whether or not he had a layover.”

“Got it. Should I tell McGee and Ziva?” Abby asked.

“David’s with Sheppard right now. You’ll call me here, then?”

“Got it.”

Gibbs slammed the phone back in it’s cradle and then picked it up and tried Tony’s cell phone again. It went straight to voicemail and Gibbs slammed the cradle down again and another time.

“You break the phone Probie, your teams gonna have a hard time getting through.” Franks said, a serious faced Maria behind him.

“What’d you find out?” Gibbs asked.

“Hector saw Tony leave with a cabbie from Manzanillo,” Franks said

“What?” Gibbs asked, “Who?”

“He’s no local, but Hectors seen him here a time or two. He’s a jazz fan, likes the Ritmica Blus .

“The car had one of those magnetic signs on it, Hector said he remembered it, because it was all in English.” Maria explained, “It wouldn’t make sense for a local cab, we don’t get a lot of tourists.”

“What company was it?” Gibbs asked, staring at the payphone, willing it to ring and for Tony to be on the other end, making fun of him for worrying.

“Manzanillo Taxi, they’re pretty big, lots of drivers,” Franks said.

“Good, thanks, Mike. Call them for me, will ya?”

“Yeah, Probie, I’ll use Maria’s cell, leave the payphone for you.”

Gibbs nodded distractedly.

Gibbs waited at the bar, the sound of Mike Franks haranguing a Manzanillo Taxi employee should have brought him a wave of nostalgia if nothing else. As it was the breakfast he’s eaten a short hour ago felt like a ball of lead in his stomach.

Tony was fine, he was over-reacting, Gibbs said to himself. But he couldn’t make the ball in his stomach disappear.

Gibbs made it to the phone before the first ring had ended.

“Gibbs.”

“Jethro, it’s Jenny.”

“Yeah,” Gibbs said, swallowing past the lump in his throat. The director calling him meant Tony wasn’t just ‘late for work’.

“Anthony didn’t make his flight,” Sheppard said, “McGee is on with the LEO’s right now and Abby’s checking local hospitals.”

“Right.” Gibbs couldn’t say anything else. His instincts had been screaming at him that something had gone wrong. Now he had to calm down and figure out what happened.

“Jethro?” Sheppard said.

“Yeah.”

“I’ll have McGee call you, when we know more.”

“You do that, I’m going to start working from this end.” Gibbs said, snapping his fingers to get Maria’s attention. “Can I use your cell?” he mouthed.

Maria nodded yes and Gibbs reeled the number off to Sheppard before disconnecting the phone.

“Mike.” Gibbs yelled. “You got that hunk of rust running yet?”

Franks snapped shut Maria’s cell and reached in his pants pocket. “You want these, Probie?”

“Yeah.”

“Then I’m going with you.” Franks said, pocketing the cell phone with a quick look to Maria.

“Damn right you are.” Gibbs barked, “Lets get a move on.”

“Where we going, anyhow?”

“My gun’s back at the shack.”

Franks laughed patting the small of his back, “Mine aint.”

****

When Tony woke the next time, he awoke clear headed, the drugs had left his system. He knew he had been kidnapped and was particularly aware that he had been beaten with a fucking whip. His face killed. As did his arms and chest, he even had a lash against his belly. Everywhere the Englishman had struck him was red and welted, his left eye was almost closed shut from the swelling and his mouth ached ferociously.

Tony eased his body out of bed, aware of the chain that tethered him and made his way slowly to the laundry tub’s sink.

The water came out cold and clean and Tony dunked his face beneath the stream, letting it soothe his swollen, burning face.

He was glad there was no mirror in the small room, he didn’t need to see how awful he must look.

Tony wondered briefly if the Englishman had already taken his picture or if his beaten face was the image that would be sent to his Father’s attorney’s.

Would his Father even look at the picture of his only son? Would he feel anything? Tony could have kicked himself for even letting the question into his consciousness. He knew very well what his Father thought of him. A few bruises was unlikely to change that.

Hell, Tony’s Father hadn’t cared when he contracted the bloody plague. A little beating was nothing in comparison.

Tony remembered back to that time, when he’d been alone in that blue lit room dying. He had thought that it might be the open door his Father had been waiting for. Foolishly he had thought that, but still. Who could turn away their dying son? His Father, apparently.

If it hadn’t been for Kate and Gibbs, Tony didn’t think he would have survived at all. Everyone needed people who loved them, Tony was no different and Kate and Gibbs, Abby and even Probie, they all did. Loved him not despite who he was but because of it. Its what had sustained him as he lay in that sterile room and what kept him from running as far and as fast as he could after Kate’s death.

Gibbs loved him in a new way now, of course, Tony smiled though it pulled his swollen face painfully.

Damn, Tony thought, when Gibbs discovered what had happened to him he was going to loose it.

It would be best for Tony to make his way out of here before that happened. Tony surveyed the room again, There was no way out other than through the door. He just had to get free from his shackles and wait for the next person to come through the door…his knife. Tony reached down and fingered his belt. “Yes! Thank you rule number 9,” he crowed. He was wearing his belt knife. It had become so automatic, that he hadn’t even considered it. Tony pulled the small blade from its sheath and pressed a kiss against its cool metal. “Thanks little guy. I‘m going to call you knifey from here on in.” he whispered to it and then he kissed it again, daring himself to feel foolish.

Tony worked at the lock for half an hour, until his hands got slippery with sweat and still he got nowhere. Lunch was delivered by a man Tony hadn‘t seen before, his dark skin and hair spoke of Mexican heritage but he said nothing to Tony’s enquires and held his weapon on him the entire time. Although the man was alone, his gaze didn’t waver and his gun hand was steady. He’d have to catch this one by surprise, Tony thought.

Lunch was surprisingly good, better than what he imagined prisoners food would be, anyhow.

The single bowl was filled with Huevos rancheros topped with thick slices of avocado. Tony discovered after the first bite that he was starving and he wolfed down his food washing it down with the small decanter of coffee provided.

Tony smirked to himself triumphantly, they had provided him with a sharp pronged fork. He could work the lock open easily now that he had a second stem of metal to force into the locks opening.

Tony was just about to settle onto the floor again to work on the lock when his eyes suddenly weighed too heavy to keep open. “Fuck.” Tony slurred, he’d been drugged. He was just able to slip his knife back into its buckle holster when he slid down onto the bed and fell fast asleep.

****

The elevator opened and Tony walked into the strangely silent bullpen. McGee grinned up at him, blinding over-whitened teeth and long arms waving in enthusiastic greeting. “Probie,” Tony nodded, straightening his silk tie. He looked down at it in confusion, he was wearing the Hugo Boss suit he’d had his eye on. He passed Ziva’s desk, her legs encased in tall leather riding boots, scattering dirt onto her desk. She leaned back in her chair, shapely brow raised, sharpening a long wicked looking blade with a whet stone.

Tony heard the sound of footsteps… a heavy door open and close and he reached towards his shoulder holster. He patted his gun, but it felt soft and tender beneath his fingers, like a toy gun he’d had as a child, made of chewy black liquorice.

Arms wrapped around him from behind, they slipped under his jacket and around his waist.

It was Gibbs, he was wearing cologne and he smelled like tobacco, it was strange, but he smelled fine and Tony dropped his head back onto Gibbs’ shoulder, a lazy smile on his mouth. “Gibbs,” he murmured.

Gibbs kissed Tony’s neck, sucking the flesh into his mouth and humming around it.

Tony enjoyed the soft wet sucking and his eyes fluttered shut until he recalled where he was. He looked up and saw everyone staring at them. Ziva had stopped sharpening her knife and McGee sat at his desk his mouth open and round in a perfect o shape. He tried to get Gibbs’ attention but he kept sucking on Tony’s neck. The pressure increasing until it was no longer pleasurable.

“Hey, Gibbs, enough,” Tony said, struggling out of Gibbs embrace.

“Never enough.” Gibbs increased his grip about Tony’s waist and returned his mouth to Tony’s neck and bit hard, breaking the skin and filling his mouth with blood…

****

Tony jerked awake, his hand clamping against his neck. It was damp and bruised and Tony looked around wildly. He was alone in the small room, still chained and he didn’t want to consider what a damp, sore neck meant, but his minds eye pictured the pale cold eyes of the Englishman and he couldn’t help the shiver that travelled through his veins. His head felt as if it were filled with cotton and his breakfast dishes had been taken away and replaced with dinner.

The food was, again, well prepared and almost certainly doctored. If Tony were a different sort of man, he could see himself giving into the temptation that the drugged food offered. To be asleep, drugged and awaiting rescue or release would be so much… easier than dealing with the reality of his situation. He would be unsurprised if the others in his situation, those who had eaten the drugged food, had done so gratefully.

Tony inspected everything, hoping to spot by site or smell which items had been doctored, the pitcher of iced tea that had been left, looked cold and inviting but he couldn’t spot anything and so he dumped all of it into the sink, ripping his dinner into tiny pieces and pushing it painstakingly down the drain. He flushed everything through the pipes with a constant stream of water before leaning into the water and slaking his thirst .

Tony smiled a little as he gulped down the cold water. His captors plan to keep him continually drugged worked to his advantage. The next time someone opened the door, he would be strong and alert.



Tony waited until the man was all of the way inside the small room before slipping in behind him and pressing his knife to the mans throat.

“Put down the gun. Slowly. The tray too. On the floor,” Tony hissed into the man‘s ear.

The man tensed at the press of the blade and Tony repeated himself in Spanish, “Deje el fusil. Lentamente. La bandeja también. El uso de la palabra.”

Tony had at least a few pounds on the smaller man but his escape would be short lived if he alerted his companions and so Tony pressed the sharp blade into his captives throat until it pierced the skin, just a little bit.

“Silencio.” Tony hissed.

The man tensed and followed Tony’s directions. Tony bent down with him and retrieved the gun, snapping his blade back into place and holding his captor at gunpoint.

Tony motioned towards the bed and when the man glared at him, Tony readied the weapon and pointed it at his head.

“You’re one dead hombre,” The man said in heavily accented English. Eyes narrowing as Tony locked the leg shackle around the other man’s leg.

Tony smiled, “I bet you wont fair too well either, friend,” he said genially, before bringing the butt of his gun down hard on the man’s temple.

Tony rifled through the man’s pants and came up with a handful of bills and a set of BMW keys. Couldn’t have planned it better, he thought, pulling the thin sheet up over the unconscious man. “Sweet dreams little fella.”

Tony made it through the house easily, the hallways were deserted and Tony’s stealthy precautions seemed oddly unnecessary. He’d could only assume their were more men about. The Englishman didn’t seem the heavy lifting type. Tony could only continue on his path, despite the unease he felt. He made it out the front door, his heart pounding loud in his ears. Ther were three identical vans in the circular driveway and Tony hit the unlock button twice, eyes peeled for the tell tale flash of lights. The middle SUV blinked its lights and Tony breathed a sigh of relief, opened the door and slid into the drivers seat.

The key slipped easily into the ignition and Tony turned the key, the engine started with a roar and he almost shouted in relief.

The snick came from directly behind his left ear and his left hand froze on the wheel, while he reached slowly for the gun tucked into his waistband with the other.

“Your weapon isn’t loaded, of course.”

Tony recalled thinking back in the hallway, for just a split second, that the weapon seemed a little too light. He dropped his head against the padded steering wheel. “I knew it was too easy.” he muttered.

The Englishman laughed, “Yet, you still tried.” He dragged the nose of his gun up the side of Tony’s cheek, in a mockery of a caress. “Now do you remember what I told you about naughty boys, Anthony?”

Tony grit his teeth, “You fucking set me up.”

“Of course I did.” Satisfaction clear in the mans voice.

****

Gibbs snapped shut the cell phone and forced himself not to smash it against the dashboard until it broke into tiny little plastic pieces.

“Son of a fucking bitch! Nozzo Corp. got a ransom demand, Mike. Someone’s got Tony.”

Franks took a deep pull off his cigarette and let the smoke filter out through his nose. “Nozzo Corp? As in DiNozzo? Like the kid?”

“Yeah, the kid, or his piece of shit Father, anyhow. The man didn‘t even bother contacting us, his lawyers went to the FBI and someone there recognised Tony as one of ours.”

Franks sighed and took a final drag off his smoke before flicking it out the window. “So what how much are they after?”

Gibbs checked his gun for the third time. “Twelve million.”

Franks whistled long and low. “Kid that rich?

“Nope, he was disinherited him when he was just a kid. Nozzo Corp. lawyers already said straight up that they wont pay and that their insurance wont cover non employees.”

“Bullshit, you say.” Franks black eyebrows drawing together. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a battered back of Marlborough’s and flipped another one into his mouth, “How long we got?”

“McGee says the deadline was 36 hours…timer started about 12 hours ago.”

“What do we know, Probie?”

Gibbs gave Franks a grim smile, “Not as much as I’d like. McGee is back-tracing everything that was sent to Nozzo Corp. Ziva’s liaising with the local authorities, sussing out who the usual players are and from what McGee tells me and Sheppard’s all over Playa del Oro, figures the info had to come from them.”

“Leaked passenger list.” Franks said.

Gibbs nodded sharply, “Course, we’ll know more once we go see this driver.”

Franks stepped on the gas and the old GMC engine rattled ominously beneath its rusted hood.

Gibbs stared blindly out the window and imagined what he would do to whoever it was who had Tony.

This morning he’d woken up and stretched his pleasantly sore muscles and had smiled for no reason. Gibbs couldn’t remember the last time he’d done that. Laid abed, content to be there, at peace with his own company.

And it had lasted, what? Two hours? Three? He had been allowed ten days and three hours of happiness before the shit-hole of world he lived in decided that was it. No more for Gibbs.

“It’s not the worst case scenario, Probie.” Franks said, eyes on the road as he dodged and weaved his way around the pot holes in the dirt road.

“It’s not, Mike? Cause I was thinking it’s pretty goddamned bad. They’ve got Tony and we don’t have a clue who they are or what they’re doing to him.”

“Well that ain’t true. They want money, not revenge, not to prove a point…just money. They’ve got the goods and it don’t make no sense to injure the product, Probie.”

“Look, Mike, I appreciate what your trying to do… But you don’t have a fucking clue what your talking about. We don’t know anything about these guys.”

“I’m just saying it doesn’t help them any to hurt the kid.”

“Hope to god you’re right , Mike,” Gibbs said, checking his extra clip before shoving it into his pocket.

Franks grunted around the cigarette clenched between his teeth and pushed his truck a little bit faster.

****
Tony was angry and humiliated. He had been stripped naked but for his underwear and his hands had been strapped to a large pole dug deep into the ground. His hands had been tied a couple of inches above his natural reach, leaving him stretched on the tip of his toes and constantly off balance.

The Englishman circled him slowly, stroking Tony’s hair and skin and generally giving him the creeps.

In any other situation, Tony would have admired this man he realised. He was gorgeous and dressed beautifully. Cashmere sweater, cream tailored trousers and Ermenegildo Zegna shoes. Summer catalogue 2009, Swallowtail oxford in hand buffed calfskin suede. Bastard.

“You know,” Tony said, “If you get blood on those shoes, you’ll kick yourself.”

The Englishman laughed and reached up to test the bonds holding Tony’s hands.

“You fascinate me, Anthony. Handsome and funny as well. An unusual combination, yes?”

Tony kept his eyes on the large diamond ring the man wore on his wedding finger, its size and cut unusual enough that it might help when Tony began tracking the Englishman down.

“I’ve gotta tell you, I’m a lot funnier when my hands are free.”

“Hmm, I bet you are. Tell me Anthony. Why would you choose to escape when your freedom will be attained so shortly.” The Englishman drew his ever present whip down Tony’s side, slipping just under the waistband of his underwear and then out again.

Answering the Englishman truthfully was out of the question. Once the Englishman actually understood that his Father had no intention of paying a ransom, Tony had little doubt what would his future would be. A bullet in the head and a roadside burial. Which is why he needed to keep his cool and find a way out of this by himself. The Englishman was running the show, that much was obvious. And he was much smarter than Tony would have hoped.

“I saw an opening and thought, why not,” Tony answered.

“That’s too bad. I had hoped that perhaps you wanted to spend more time with me.”

Tony bit down on his lip to keep from speaking the words that came to mind.

“Nope, sorry.”

“Never mind, then,” The Englishman said stepping behind Tony and out of his eye line. “We’re here, now.”

The whip hissed through the air and Tony had barely enough time to tense his muscles before the lash struck his back.

It burned like fire, the pain was immediate and he bit the inside of his cheek, hard, to keep from screaming.

A half a dozen strikes fell in quick succession after that, the pain of each one as bad as the first.

It must have taken seconds for the blows to start and then stop, but it somehow lasted an eternity.

“Enough!” Tony screamed, his voice raw though he’d yet to utter out a sound.

The Englishman came to stand in front of Tony and he smoothed Tony’s hair off of his sweaty brow.

The man, himself, looked immaculate, his hair artfully tousled as though he had just stepped out of one of the expensive salons that catered to the wealthy and powerful in DC. His cool grey eyes were bright and his cheeks slightly flushed. He was aroused, Tony thought, with sudden insight and his anger turned a little into fear.

“Enough what, Tony? I did tell you what happened to naughty boys,” The Englishman said playfully.

“No, you did. I know. But… a whip. Well, that’s a lot, you know.”

The Englishman shook his head, “I don’t know, Anthony,” he said, trailing a finger down the middle of Tony’s chest until he veered off and scratched his nipple, suddenly pinching it between his finger and twisting hard.

Tony grunted low in his throat, it felt like his nipple was being twisted clear off.

“I do know, that until your Father comes to your rescue, you are mine,” The Englishman hissed into Tony’s ear, twisting his nipple harder and smiling at Tony’s sharp indrawn breath “And I say when it’s enough.”

The Englishman’s let go of Tony’s chest and ran his soft manicured hand down naked, marked back. He slipped his hand inside of Tony’s designer underwear and pushed them down to rest beneath the full cheeks of Tony’s ass.

“You have a gorgeous bottom, Anthony,” The Englishman said running his hands over the smooth skin, “Round and muscular, quite extraordinary, really. I’ve not touched it with the whip yet, Anthony, because I’m saving that particular treat for a little later.”

Tony shook his head, his breathe coming in sharp pants and it was becoming harder to ignore the fear the Englishman sent though his veins. Rape. It was never something Tony had ever considered in regards with himself. Rape happened and it was heinous, but it happened to other people. It didn’t happen to him.

Oh, fuck, what would Gibbs do? Tony asked himself as the man’s hands wandered over his ass, sliding in between his cheeks and gently brushing his hole. The man’s hands moved in a parody of lovers affection and Tony’s mouth watered suddenly and he feared he may vomit.

“I will kill you if you do that,” Tony said quietly.

The Englishman laughed again and worked the tip of one of his fingers inside of Tony’s body. “You are not in a position to be making threats, Anthony,” he said, wiggling a dry finger.

Tony met the cool pale eyes of the Englishman, “It’s not threat. It’s a promise, if you do that, I will kill you.”

The Englishman’s eyes went past cold, they looked dead and the smile he wore was terrible.

The fingertip withdrew and a hand seized Tony’s hair and wrenched his head back. “I don’t usually play with my charges Anthony, its bad for business… but for you.. for you I am going to make an exception.” The Englishman whispered gently into his ear.

Tony’s legs were shoved apart and he swayed on the tips of his toes, his calves spasming as he desperately tried to retain his balance. Pressure returned at his hole and he hissed as dry fingers forced their way inside his body. Tony couldn’t tell how much of the mans hand was inside of him but he felt all of it, thick knuckles shoving carelessly deeper, stretching him, burning him.

The fingers pulled out, in brief respite, and then rammed inside of him and although he doubted it was possible he could hear his skin rip. The diamond ring that Tony had paid so much attention to earlier tore the tender walls of his rectum and the blood that streamed down his legs seemed to do so at an alarming rate. Tony screamed through gritted teeth as the Englishman’s fist ploughed through muscle and fucked into his intestines.

Tony’s toes slipped on the sand beneath his feet as he tried to get away from the thing that split him open. He felt like he was being torn in two, that he had suddenly been dropped inside of a nightmare, his very own bete noir and there was no waking up.

The thing moved inside of him, punching in and out again and Tony recognised, with a sense of horror, that he was half hard and the Englishman’s free hand stroked his prick, urging him into unwilling erection.

Tony heard a far off keening wail and he sympathised with the sound until he realised that it came from his own throat. Gibbs, he thought, wildly, he needed Gibbs...Gibbs could wake him up.

The fist finally pulled out of his body and Tony’s flesh pulsed in agony around the emptied bloodied hole and he tried to catch his breath but the Englishman had let go of his prick and grabbed his throat, squeezing tightly.

“Do you understand now, Anthony, I can do whatever want to you… and there is a lot I want to do.”

Tony did understood then, as he slowly lost consciousness, that he had made a serious miscalculation. The man wasn’t just a kidnapper and a sadist, he was a psychopath and you couldn’t reason with a psychopath. Tony realised as the hands around his throat tightened and the light narrowed until it was just a pinpoint, that no matter what happened with his Father and his money that if he didn’t kill the Englishman, he would die here.

****

Tony regained consciousness as he was being cut down. His body felt as though it had been used as a punching bag and his guts hurt in a way that would have worried him if he was able to think straight. He was being moved by a woman and two men, the woman directing the men in their task.

His eyes flicked over them and he recognised one of the men as the man he’d got the jump on earlier in the day. His face had livid black bruise starting at the temple and ending below a sharp cheekbone. It looked like it hurt and Tony was in too much pain not to feel a strange empathy for it.

“I’m sorry for that,” he slurred, his mouth wasn’t working right.

The mans’ eyes widened and he worked his shoulders beneath Tony’s armpit while the other cut his hands free.

His arms dropped uselessly to his side and he hissed in pain as the blood rushed back into them.

“Easy, easy amigo” the woman said. She was taller than the man he had hit. Her long black hair was threaded with steal grey and was wound up in a loop behind her head.

“Angering the Jefe is a bad idea, anglo,” she chided, meeting Tony‘s gaze with saddened, tired eyes.

“My name is Tony. And I heard you call him Manuel,“ Tony said pointing first at the smaller man and then the other, “And him Jorge, what’s your name.

“Angela.” the woman said softly, ignoring the glare sent her way by the men. “You do not know when you are beaten, Tony.”

Tony laughed a little but his lungs didn’t appreciate the effort and he coughed until the woman held a plastic bottle of water to his lips. Tony drank a little but he could see blood on the lip of the bottle and realised dully that he was probably bleeding internally.

“And the Englishman, Angela, what’s his name?”

The woman frowned at him and gave instructions in rapid Spanish and Tony found himself lifted off the ground, one man at his feet the other at his shoulders and he was taken towards the house.

Tony glanced down at his body, then and discovered, to his relied that his underwear had been pulled back up. He may feel like he’d been fucked by a train but least his bits were covered.

The men dropped him back onto the bed in the small basement room and locked him back inside.

Tony lay on the bed for a while, ignoring what had been done to him.

He thought about Gibbs and how they had swum together the day before he‘d left. Well actually Gibbs had done the swimming while Tony had gambolled in the water, tugging at Gibbs feet and doing handstands in the water, his hands digging into the soft sand bottom of the ocean. Tony had waited until Gibbs had almost finished his marathon swim before tackling him in the water, rubbing his smooth wet skin against Gibbs’, inserting a leg between the other man’s and brushing his sack with a warm, lean thigh. Tony attached himself to Gibbs’ neck and chest and nipples and tried to get Gibbs to make love to him in the water but Gibbs wouldn’t give in, he’d just stared at Tony, with that look on his face, the look that made his dick jump and hauled him back to Franks shack.

When they got back to their room, it was Tony who had been surprised when Gibbs shoved his tongue down Tony throat and lubed his own ass with large knuckled fingers. Tony had almost lost his mind then, he’d thrown Gibbs down on the thin mattress, followed him down and pushed into that lubed hole so fast he thought he’d hurt Gibbs until he met the other man’s eyes and saw only fierce triumph. They’d devoured each other that afternoon. They’d bit and clawed and Tony fucked Gibbs as hard as he could and Gibbs had fucked back, screwing himself onto Tony’s cock and moaning so loud that Tony had felt it in his bones.

Tony looked over his body, ignoring the welts that covered him and found the small red mouth sized bruise on his chest . He stroked that bruise, he’d been with Gibbs, it was real. Tony rubbed the mark that his lover had left on his body and steeled himself.

He pulled the thin sheet from beneath his body and ripped it into strips.

He stripped off his bloody underwear and made his way gingerly to the sink, turned on the water and soaked the linen in icy cold water.

Tony held his breath and slowly cleaned away the blood on his anus and genitals. He was as careful as he could be until his skin was clean and he slipped a finger inside himself. He could clearly feel two large tears inside of him and he suspected there were more where he couldn’t reach but the bleeding was sluggish and so he pulled his fingers from his body and began to clean the rest of his wounds.

The Englishman had broken his skin this time and he could feel the lashes had heavily bruised the muscle beneath.

Tony almost laughed at the absurdity of his situation. He could pretend he was Wesley from the Princess Bride and that he was in the ‘Pit of Despair. He was pretty close to it, he just needed to replace Manuel with an albino…

…“I’ve just stolen one year of your life.” Tony said aloud to the empty room, wincing as he cleaned the blood and dirt from another lash stroke, “Tell me how you feel… Now be honest, it’s for posterity.”

He’d cleaned himself as best he could and found his clothing had been folded neatly and placed inside of the door. They’d taken his belt, of course, but he had never been so grateful to don clothing again as he was now. He didn’t even care that a few of the deeper lacerations were bound to dry painfully, sticking to the cotton. He didn’t care. He just wanted to be covered, wanted as many layers as possible between him and the maniac Englishman.

“I am the Dwead Piwate Woberts!” Tony yelled in a broken voice to the empty room in a terrible impression of Andre The Giant. Fuck, it had only been a day and he was loosing his mind. What would Gibbs do, he thought instead…What would Gibbs do…

****

Gibbs drove a large fist into the man’s stomach and hissed into his ear. “I’ve killed men for so much less than this, Javier.”

“He ain’t lying.” Franks added helpfully, a smirk on his mouth as he trained the gun steadily at the cab driver.

The man had been easy to locate, Hector was right, he had been an employee at Manzanillo Taxi and after only a few minutes of conversation Jethro had been convinced the man knew more than he was saying.

“I’m telling you the truth, oficial. I don’t know anymore than I already told you. This English hombre rico paid me fifty American dollars to pick your friend up, and give him a bottle of water. That’s it, I swear!”

Gibbs shoved him against the wall, pulled him close and shoved him again, cracking his head against the plaster wall.

“And where did you take him? Where is this hombre rico, this rich man?”

Javier licked his lips, his eyes darting back and forth between Gibbs and the gun in Franks hand.

“He said he’d kill me if I told anyone.”

“You think I won’t?” Gibbs snarled, “Mike, shoot him in the leg.”

Franks smiled and aimed at Javier’s thigh. “Femoral artery, do?”
“Yeah, that’s fine,” Gibbs said.

‘NO! Don’t, I’ll tell you, I’ll tell you!”

Gibbs met Franks eyes over Javier’s head and they exchanged a smile. It was good to be working together again.

****

Jenny Sheppard stared at the picture in her hand, a grim set to her mouth. Between her heavy handed use of personal and professional favours, Gibbs’ interrogation of the cab driver and McGee’s computer forensics, they’d discovered the identity of both the kidnapper and the airline official who had sold Tony’s passenger information.

The kidnappers name was Marcus Carter, a British national who had fled the UK three years ago to avoid human trafficking charges.

Connected to at least five kidnappings over the past three years, Carter had shown himself to be intelligent, highly organised and for the most part business minded.

Of the five kidnappings Carter had been likely involved with four had been returned unharmed upon receipt of ransom. The victims had been able to add little to the investigation of their cases as they’d been drugged the entire time.

It was the fourth victim, Thomas DuPont, the younger brother of a Texas oil baron, that concerned Sheppard. And it was his case file that she had withheld from Jethro.

Despite the ransom transfer, DuPont was never returned. His body was found weeks later buried in a shallow grave off a seldom travelled country road. DuPont had been tortured and raped before his body had been dumped.

There was no reason to kill the young man, his family had transferred the money to an overseas account, they had co-operated fully. The only difference between DuPont and the other hostages was age and appearance, DuPont was young and attractive.

Sheppard stared at Carters pale eyes for a moment longer before she set the picture down. She hoped she was wrong, hoped their had been another reason for DuPont’s death, that he didn’t just die because he was young and handsome and had had the misfortune to be kidnapped by a sadist.



****

Javier kicked at the sides of the pick up for the first couple of miles before he gave up.

“Gets pretty hot back there underneath the tarp, guess he decided to conserve his energy.” Franks said, flipping another smoke into his mouth and lighting the tip with a dented zippo.

Gibbs snorted, “Y-up.”

“You gonna call this in, Probie?”

“Nope,” Gibbs replied. “Sheppard’s got agreement from the LEO’s. Our man, we get to go and get him.”

“Good. Got you’re rifle, you know.”

Gibbs had checked out the truck before they had left and he’d seen a sniper rifle snugged into the narrow opening behind the back seat.

“Not going to need it, this time, Mike.”

Franks shifted his cigarette from his mouth to his hand and spit out the window, “You sure about that Probie?”

Gibbs voice was hard, “This Carter, who took Tony.”

“Uh huh.”

“I got a feeling about him.”

Franks shook his head, “That right.”

“Y-up. Sheppard was holding something back… got a feeling I’m going to want to see to him up close and personal.”

Franks looked at his friend from the corner of his eye and, for just a moment, he felt sorry for Marcus Carter.

****

Tony heard the door creak open and forced himself not to move. He lay face down on the bed and kept his breathing deep and even.

Hopefully his captors wouldn’t expect another escape attempt. His last beating was severe and every muscle in his body screamed at him not to fight. His guts ached ferociously and though the bleeding inside his rectum had slowed, it had yet to stop.

The footsteps were heavy and Tony knew it wasn’t Angela; he felt a wave of both relief and disappointment. The woman would have, more than likely, provided him with an easier target but at the same time Tony had never injured a woman on purpose and he didn’t relish the opportunity to start now.

“Wake up, lovely Anthony.”

The Englishman, Tony thought and he fought the urge to flinch with everything in him. He had yet to see a gun on the lunatic and hopefully he stayed true to form.

The footsteps moved closer and Tony could feel the weight of the man as he leaned over Tony‘s prone body.

“I have plans for you still.” The Englishman reached down and stroked Tony’s cheek.

The Englishman’s manicured fingers had just touched the curve of Tony’s lower lip when he moved.

Tony grabbed the other mans hand and flipped his body over and onto his back, twisting the wrist as hard as he could.

The feel of tendon snapping beneath his fingers was intensely satisfying and Tony’s teeth pulled back in a feral smile.

The Englishman’s weight dropped heavily on him and Tony pulled his head back and smashed the top of his skull into the man’s forehead.

The other man moaned and his sharp nails raked down Tony’s back as he tried to get a grip and Tony screamed as a myriad of welts on his back opened up again.

The Englishman used his moments of agony to his advantage and Tony’s head rocked against the bed, a heavy fist following, splitting the bruised skin of Tony’s left eye and blinding him.

Tony lost it then, half blind and maddened with pain, he kicked out at the body above him and flipped the two of them onto the floor. The Englishman bore their weight and he huffed out a pained breath. Tony grabbed the man’s thick black hair and slammed his head into the concrete floor.

Tony took another punch to his face and blood spurted out of his mouth onto the pale white skin below him and Tony smashed the man’s head into the ground again.

The Englishman bucked against Tony’s weight trying to dislodge him, but he couldn’t and Tony pulled back his fist and smashed the other man’s nose.

The sick crack of it breaking beneath his fist was loud in the room filled with groans and panting and Tony hit the man again and then again.

It took him a long while to realise that the body beneath him lay still and Tony half choked and half sobbed his breath.

Someone would be coming soon, Tony thought dazedly and he rifled through the Englishman’s pockets, his bloody knuckles leaving wet red smears on expensive fabric.

Tony pulled out a billfold and opened it only to see his own face and badge staring back at him.

He slowly got to his feet and he spit a mouthful of blood onto the floor and noticed, a little hysterically, that he had hit the Englishman’s Ermenegildo Zegna shoes.

****

Gibbs and Franks left the old pick up down the street and made it the rest of the way to the ranch on foot.

The men worked easily together, a hand signal and a flick of an eye all they needed to communicate their plan. They moved low and fast, guns drawn around the side of the ranch house.

Gibbs sharp eyes, noting the blood splattered ground and the rough twine that fluttered in the wind off of a bare pole.

His mouth hardened and he touched the extra clip tucked into his pants.

They sighted their first suspect a few feet away from that pole. The man was short and he puffed a hand rolled cigar that sent waves of sweet tobacco scent into the air.

Franks hit him with the butt of his care worn Winchester and the man dropped like a rock.

Gibbs kicked him over, and bent down to collect his weapon.

“Looks like we found the place,” he whispered, pointing out the purple and blue bruise covering half the man’s face.

Franks kept their cover with his rifle and once Gibbs had retrieved a small handgun and a large wicked looking knife they moved on.

Franks opened the door slowly and Gibbs took the lead, gun sweeping the hallway and leading their way into the kitchen.

Franks came in seconds later to see Gibbs raise his finger to his lip and close in on a tall Mexican woman standing at the kitchen sink.

Her eyes were large and frightened and she pointed down the hall, “Tony’s with the Jefe. He’s loco.”

Gibbs blood iced in his veins at how quickly the woman had given up her employee…and how relieved she looked to see to strange armed men in her kitchen. Gibbs left Franks to tie the woman up and he moved down the hall, quickly. The ranch house was large and well appointed and Gibbs was surprised by how empty it was.

The ransom request was for over ten million dollars; Tony was an awfully important hostage to be guarded by so few.

Gibbs moved silently and eased open a heavy wooden door following it down into the basement. This is where they’d have Tony, he thought, taking in the bare functionality of the space.

A door at the end was open just a bit and Gibbs peered in cautiously.

It was empty and the hair on the back of his neck stood up, he turned back around and just ducked as a heavy metal poker slammed into the wall behind him.

“Tony.” Gibbs put his hands up, “Tony, it’s me. It’s OK, DiNozzo, I’m here. You’re OK.”

Tony looked at the man in front of him through one eye and that one through a veil of blood and sweat.

“Gibbs,” he choked out, his voice broken and raw. “You get him, Boss?”

Gibbs ripped his eyes away from Tony’s brutalised face and raised his gun.

“Where is he?” he questioned, manoeuvring himself in front of Tony, putting the younger man between him and the adobe wall.

There was only one other doorway and Gibbs moved towards it, pushing the heavy door slowly inwards.

The room was empty, a narrow bed filled half of it and Gibbs could see from the doorway that the thin sheets were ripped and bloodied. Christ their seemed to be a lot of blood.



***

Franks found the third man, who Tony later identified only as Jorge, dead at the front entrance to the house. A single bullet hole centered neatly in the middle of his forehead. Manuel lay dead where Franks had dropped him, he too had been executed.

The Englishman had left only Angela and Tony alive and the woman only survived because she’d been in Franks custody at the time.

Of Marcus Carter their was no sign. Tony had left him unconscious on the floor of the room that had been his prison. How he had escaped so cleanly was a source of concern for Gibbs but not one that took his full attention.

Tony had collapsed before they got him into one of Carter’s commandeered SUV’s. Franks pushed the expensive ride as fast as it would go, back into the city, while Gibbs cradled Tony in the large backseat. He held Tony’s body in his arms and fought not to break down as blood soaked through Tony’s worn shorts and onto Gibb’s khakis.

****

After spending eighteen days in the hospital, Tony was finally home. He’d survived his kidnapping with a perforated bowel, two broken ribs, one of which had punctured his lung and more than two dozen lacerations on his face back and chest, a few of which had decided to get infected.

Gibbs had been there the entire time and hadn’t left the hospital, except to shower and change, until Tony had.



“I don’t want any more fucking soup, Gibbs. How bout that! I’m not eating any more fucking soup, either. I haven’t had anything to eat BUT FUCKING Soup, for weeks and I’m HUNGRY!”
Blue eyes sparkled with humour at the man on the bed. “Do you realise what you just said, DiNozzo?”

Tony folded his arms over his chest and glared, “What?”

Gibbs bit down on a smile, “You just said you didn’t want to eat But-fucking-soup. I gotta tell you, DiNozzo, I haven’t gotten any in a while either, but come on…show a little restraint, would ya?”

Tony held his glare for the smallest moment before his lips turned up at the corners and his green eyes narrowed in amusement, crinkling at the corners.

“I never thought I’d see the day, Gibbs.”

Gibbs dropped onto the bed and pulled the lid off a takeaway container of sweet and sour soup.

“Never thought you’d see what, DiNozzo?” Gibbs asked spooning a mouthful of soup into Tony’s mouth, catching the drop that slipped down his chin with a quick flick of his spoon.

Tony stuck out his tongue after he swallowed another mouthful. “Of you resorting to fifth grader humour.”

Gibbs smirked and filled the spoon again. “I thought you’d appreciate the fact that I’m meeting you on your level.”

Tony glared and pulled the styrofoam container out of Gibbs hands. “Fine, I’ll eat the soup, Gibbs, but don’t expect me to like it.”

Tony tilted back his head and drank the hot liquid down, his throat muscles working and a small stream of soup running back out of his mouth and onto the sheets of Gibbs’s bed.

“There, happy now?” Tony asked petulantly, “You know, Probie said he’d sneak me in a steak sandwich if I wanted.”

Gibbs took the carton from Tony’s hands and settled it on the night table before crawling in behind Tony and pulling the younger man back against his chest.

“McGee does that and he’ll find himself back in Norfolk before you can eat it. Ducky says you get real food again in three days, DiNozzo. You wait til then and I’ll get you anything you want.” Gibbs nuzzled Tony’s neck and placed a row of small wet kisses down his throat.

Tony grinned and stretched, rubbing his back against Gibbs chest wishing there weren’t so many layers of clothing between them.

Tony leaned in to Gibbs warm mouth, arching his neck.

“You might as well be purring, DiNozzo,” Gibbs chuckled.

“Mmmm.”

They laid in silence for a little while, just enjoying the silence and the safety in each other arms.

“We’re going to get him, Tony.” Gibbs said quietly, wrapping both arms around Tony shoulders, leaning his bearded chin on the top of Tony’s head.

“I know we will, Boss.“ Tony murmured, his eyes dropping closed as he drifted off to sleep to the steady sound of Gibbs’ heartbeat.

Light blue eyes roved over Tony’s sleeping body. Taking in the bumps beneath a worn Ohio State Sweatshirt, where bandages wrapped around a scarred and scabbing chest. Those eyes moved over the rest of the lean rangy body stopping at the apex of his thighs where, deep inside, there had been so much damage.

Had the infection that set in been any more severe, Tony could have spent the next fifty years or so attached to a colostomy bag.

Gibbs fingers flexed in the soft cotton of Tony’s shirt, his teeth ground against themselves and the rage inside of him built until he forced himself to swallow it down, so as not to wake Tony.

“I’m going to kill him for you.” Gibbs promised, his voice barely more than a breath. “I’m going to make him suffer.”



The End.