When Candace and Jimmy Dinozzo drove away from the cabin, Tony stood silently at the front window and watched until their vehicle disappeared from sight, his small fingers gripping the sill until they were white and numb. Darkness was rapidly descending outside and the flashing of the early fireflies began glittering in the brushes and shrubs, transforming the forest surrounding the wooden structure into a strange wonderland. For any child, the sights from the window would have been cause for delight but, for this child, the growing darkness filled him with apprehension and fear. Tony pressed his forehead against the cool, glass pane and fought back the tears threatening to escape. He knew he wasn't suppose to cry, not in front of adults, anyway. Tears were only allowed when he was alone or when he could hide them.

As the wonderful smells from the kitchen area drifted into his space of solitude, Tony turned slowly to observe the two strangers he'd been left with and watched as they worked to prepare the evening meal. They moved about the small space, drifting together and then apart, sharing quiet words and laughter, smiling gently at each other. As if feeling his gaze on them, they turned their attention to him.

"Are you hungry, Tony?" Mike asked as he placed three plates on the wood table at the edge of the kitchen.

Tony looked from Mike to Jethro, seeing they both were waiting for his answer. Knowing he was expected to always respond some way to a direct question, he nodded twice.

"Good," Mike said, laying silverware next to the plates. "Why don't you come over here and see if this seat is high enough for you."

Tony moved warily to the chair Mike had pointed to and eyed it suspiciously. He looked back up into the man's face but made no move to sit down.

"What's the matter?" Mike bent slightly at the waist and rested his hands on his knees, trying to bring himself more to the child's level and make him feel more at ease.

"Here?" Tony asked carefully, pointing to the chair.

"Yes. Right here."

Tony looked like he didn't quite believe it. He touched the flat surface close to where a plate, napkin, and utensils were set and canted his small head to one side, eyes narrowing slightly.

"At the table?" There was obvious disbelief in the question.

Mike looked quickly to Jethro to make sure he wasn't reading the child's hesitation incorrectly. There was no doubt he hadn't, judging by the anger radiating in the steely-blue eyes that met his. Turning back to the boy, Mike dropped to one knee and slowly placed a hand gently on the head, carefully keeping the touch light.

"Where do you usually eat?"

The boy shifted and shrugged one shoulder, stepping back to avoid the hand on his head. He dropped his gaze to the floor and sighed, his right hand reaching to cradle his cast-encased left arm against his chest.

Mike stood and moved back to the kitchen, briefly meeting Jethro's eyes again before retrieving a basket of fragrant rolls. "Well, you can sit wherever you want but the food is going to be on the table. That's your seat if you want to eat."

Jethro was placing a huge bowl of pasta on the table when he clearly heard Tony's stomach grumble. There was no doubt the boy was ready for some food. As he turned back to get the salad, Tony quickly made up his mind and awkwardly climbed to sit atop the small stack of books placed to elevate him to an appropriate eating level. The cast made his progress a little shaky but both men let him do it by himself, ready to move to help if needed. He wobbled only once and then settled, looking up at them.

"What would you like to drink?" Jethro asked as he moved back toward the refrigerator. When no response came after several moments, he looked directly at the boy. "Tony, what do you want to drink?"

One slim shoulder lifted again in reply.

Jethro sighed, unhappy the communication had regressed back to silent gestures. He opened the refrigerator's door and looked at the available contents. "How about some milk?"

Tony's head rose fully and he fixed his eyes squarely on the Marine in the kitchen. "I can have milk?"

The blatant astonishment in the murmured question gripped both men and they didn't need to make eye contact to know the same thought was travelling through both their heads. Just what had this child been denied during his short life?

While Jethro carefully poured some milk in the boy's juiced-sized glass, Mike placed two beers at the other settings and sat down in his seat, reaching to take Tony's plate to begin filling it with a generous serving of pasta, salad, and bread. As he put the plate back, he was surprised to find Jethro still standing beside Tony's chair, watching in rapt fascination as the boy quickly gulped down the entire contents of the glass. The milk was gone fast. Way too fast. After placing the empty container back on the table, he wiped the milk-mustache away with the back of one hand, unaware of the scrutiny he was recieving from the two men. As he glanced up and caught them looking, Tony's eyes widened and he instinctively leaned away from Jethro, who was still standing close, unsure if he'd inadvertently made a mistake. His body language was alarming and both Marines could see the fear returning.

"Tony," Jethro pitched his voice as he'd been trained to do when dealing with certain situations, slowly and deliberately refilling the boy's glass, "we're glad you like milk but you've got to eat some food. Now, this glass is for you, too, but only after you've eaten. Okay?"

Taking the reprimand to heart and keeping his eyes focused solely on Jethro's face, the little voice wavered slightly.
"Okay, Gunny."

Jethro sat and they all began to eat, the men trying to keep the conversation simple enough for Tony to follow, if he decided to listen. They covertly watched as the boy lifted his fork and began poking curiously at the items on his plate. He suspiciously speared a cherry tomato, examined it carefully, and placed it into his mouth, small teeth popping through the delicate skin and allowing the flavor to burst upon his tongue. They saw his pleased surprise and watched him fumble with capturing another, finally putting the utensil down and using his fingers when frustration threatened to get the best. He seemed to savor everything he put into his mouth, chewing slowly and delightfully.

The meal progressed nicely until Tony aborted his movement toward the glass of milk for the third time, shifting his focus swiftly back to the plate of food in front of him. Mike stopped him with a soft voice.

"Tony, you know if you need a drink of milk, it's okay."

Suspicious eyes held Mike's for several heartbeats before they travelled to Jethro's face, silently seeking affirmation from the one who originally set the milk-drinking guidelines. The Marine steadily met the boy's direct gaze but found he had to swallow around the lump in his throat before he could speak.

"Mike's right, Tony. Just don't chug it all down at once."

Tony nodded, satisfied with the instructions, and happily reached for the milk, carefully limiting himself to two swallows. It was clearly evident he wanted more. Remembering Gunny's directions, he knew better than to disobey.

The meal ended with Tony only able to consume a small part of the portions he had been given, his tiny stomach rounding slightly under the thin, blue t-shirt. When the plate was removed and a bowl of vanilla ice cream placed before him, he eyed the dish cautiously. The two men watched as he touched the dish with one slender finger, turning it slightly, before looking up at them. It was clearly evident he didn't know what it was.

It was almost too much for Mike to comprehend and he had to avert his face, feeling a swift surge of hatred grow for the DiNozzo family. What kind of people would do this to an innocent child?

"Tony," Jethro cleared his throat while placing a comforting hand on Mike's arm, waiting until he had the boy's total attention, "this is ice cream. Have you ever had ice cream?"

Tony stared at Jethro, his eyes darting once to where the man's hand was resting on the other's arm, and then swiftly back to the piercing blue gaze. He shifted uncomfortably, knowing he was expected to respond. He shook his head and waited for whatever was to come.

"Well," Jethro smiled and, after giving Mike's arm one last squeeze, reached for his own bowl, "it's really good stuff. Just scoop some with your spoon and have a taste."

Jethro saw the boy's hesitation and decided to demonstrate, taking a spoonful of the creamy coldness and placing it in his mouth, smiling at the burst of sweetness he was sure Tony would like. What kid didn't like ice cream?

Having carefully observed the Marine, Tony picked up his spoon and, as directed, captured a small amount on the tip and brought it to his mouth. His reaction was immediate and priceless. The small head came up fully, eyes locking onto Jethro's. There was a minute lift at the corners of his mouth and he blinked in wonder. Suddenly, his whole attention became focused on the bowl. The spoon returned again and again, an expression of sheer bliss transforming the serious, young face into that of a delighted six-year old.

"Pretty good, huh?" Mike asked, gladdened by the child's pleasure.

"Good," Tony agreed, then proceeded to touch a finger to his tongue. "Cold."

"Yep," Jethro confirmed the observation, "very cold."

"Like snow," Tony offered softly, spooning more from his bowl, not aware the men were hoping for more conversation. "Snow's real cold."

"Yep," Jethro agreed again. "You know what else is cold? Ice."

Tony nodded as he tried to capture more on his spoon, his tongue licking a bit of residual sweetness from his swollen bottom lip. A small shiver went through his frame.

"I get cold sometimes."

"Yeah?" Mike prompted, a flare of dread appearing again. He looked to Jethro and was grateful to see the understanding reflected back. "When do you get cold?"

The mouthful of ice cream was swallowed before Tony responded. "When there's snow outside. I get cold then. Sometimes."

Stated matter-of-factly, with no emotion, the men waited to see if he would elaborate. When nothing else was forthcoming, Mike sighed and rose from his seat, taking his dinner plate to the sink, glad to have a moment away from the child and all the implications his presence brought. He immediately felt Jethro at his side and knew his friend was near to do more than just return the used dishes to the soapy water in the sink. They leaned together, side by side, for only a moment, drawing strength from each other. The familiar warmth and scent was comforting. Mike offered a smile of gratitude and turned back toward the table, catching Tony's interested gaze before the young eyes dropped back to his now-empty bowl.

"Finished?" Mike asked softly.

Tony nodded in response and looked up. Mike could see that now the meal was over, the child was again waiting for further instructions.

"Right," Mike went into motion. "Let's get you cleaned up and into your pajamas."

The change in the boy's demeanor was immediate.

Tony slowly and carefully slipped off his chair and stood warily in place, his shoulders growing stiff and tense. His eyes darted back and forth between the two, big men, the anxiousness that had disappeared during supper returning way too quickly. When the young eyes tracked the distance to the front door, Mike quickly stepped forward as Jethro moved to rapidly to place himself between the child and the only means of escape. Both men could easily read the intention of flight radiating from the boy's body but didn't dwell on those implications. Not now.

"Tony?" Mike kept his voice as gentle as possible, waiting until the scared eyes refocused on him again. "We're not going to do anything to hurt you. It's just time to get you ready for sleep and, before we can do that, you've got to get out of those dirty clothes and into some warm water. Jeth's going to stay here and clean up the dishes and you and I are going back into the bathroom. You can run the water, you can undress yourself, you can do as much as you can all by yourself but, Tony, you've got that big, heavy cast on your arm now and you're going to need some help keeping it from getting wet. You just can't do that by yourself right now. Do you understand?"

The swollen bottom lip trembled and the shoulders drooped. Once again, Tony cradled the cast-encased arm against his chest and, finally, nodded.

Mike met Jethro's eyes as he stepped calmly toward Tony, silent understanding passing between them. Neither man needed to voice their concerns at this point. When Mike offered a hand to the boy, it was pointedly ignored and Tony stepped around him and headed back in the direction of the bathroom, eyes trained on the floor.

Jethro watched them go and quickly set to work, determined to whip the kitchen back into shape in record time. He wanted to be available if something occurred and his assistance needed. He didn't believe Tony would give Mike any trouble but the thought of what his friend might discover under the baggy t-shirt and sweatpants was unsettling. The imagination could lead to places where monsters live and, unfortunately, Tony's monsters had names.

Not two minutes after he'd put the last plate away, Jethro heard his name being called quietly from down the hallway. He walked quickly in that direction and stopped in the bathroom entrance, taking in the sight before him.

Kneeling beside the old-fashioned claw-footed tub, Mike was bent forward, the sleeves of his soft shirt pushed up to his elbows, as he gently rubbed a soapy washcloth over Tony's slim shoulders. He didn't acknowledge Jethro's arrival but knew instinctively his friend was there.

"Can you hold Tony's arm out of the water while I wash his hair?" Mike's request was pitched whisper-soft.

"Sure."

Jethro joined the other Marine on the floor, listening as Mike began to explain to the boy what he was about to do. Gently, Jethro reached for the cast-encased arm that was hovering dangerously close to the warm bath water.

"Tony, I'm going to need you to lay back in the tub so I can wet and wash your hair. I'll hold you up and Jeth's going to make sure your cast stays dry. Okay?"

"'kay," came the shaky reply.

As Tony eased out of his protective position, legs stretching out away from where he'd kept them tucked up against his chest, both men were able to get a sense of some of what the boy had endured. Leaning back and somehow trusting Mike to keep him from going under the water, Tony squeezed his eyes shut and blocked out the sight of the two men. Suddenly, Jethro realized what he was seeing in Tony's face wasn't trust. It was resignation.

The boy was small, thin, and very pale for a child of six. Numerous bruises appeared across his body, some in areas expected on young boys, like knees and elbows, but there were others that couldn't be regulated to childhood play. Especially the one so prominent on the wan cheek and the two fist-size ones on the soft belly. Worse, yet, was the scarring across the legs and thighs, obviously caused by something like a belt or strap.

"His back?" Jethro asked Mike softly, pretty sure he already knew what the response would be.

"The same."

The reply, though expected, made Jethro sick to his stomach and he closed his eyes to block out the sight of the small body in the tub. At least, there was no visible marks or bruises around the boy's genitalia and, for that, he was extremely grateful. The thought of what could have, and still might have, occurred turned his stomach. No one had the right to do these things to a helpless child. No one.

"What's wrong, Gunny?" A small voice asked, breaking into his dark thoughts.

Sometime during his musings, Mike had eased Tony back into a sitting position, bringing the boy's head relatively close to Jethro without the man noticing and, now, he was
face to face with a pair of intensely concerned eyes. The Marine was surprised at the soft inquiry and by the close proximity. Even with the damage to his cheek, the child was beautiful. He cleared his throat and offered a smile.

"I think I ate too much ice cream," he lied kindly, watching the boy's serious expression clear and the lips quirk at the corners again.

"It was good," came the honest response.

Jethro nodded his agreement and released his grip on the cast. Mike had produced a large towel and was rising to his feet.

"Okay, buddy," Mike prompted, "let's get you out and dried off."

As he was lifted, Tony began to squirm, making a frustrated sound in the back of his throat, obviously not happy with being held so close by the man. His small fingers tugged at the towel.

"Not a baby," he finally stated, feeling Mike relent but looking to make sure there was no anger in the man's face. The Marine eased back, surprised by this bold act of independence.

"No," he agreed with the boy, "you're not."

Smirking at Jethro, who was just as surprised, Mike reached out to put the boy's pajamas over the closed lid of the toilet. Both men slipped out into the hallway and tried not to watch too closely as Tony finished drying off and began to struggle into a pair of well-worn pajamas that might have had images of airplanes on them. The fabric was frayed where the left sleeve had been cut away to accommodate the new bulky cast but, all in all, they appeared clean and smelled slightly of fabric softener. Water from his still-damp hair dripped periodically down his face and chin to make dark spots on the shirt around the neckline but Tony ignored everything except trying to snap the closures down the front. This was obviously something he had mastered well before the arm was broken and, now, the situation was nothing but frustrating. After struggling for several minutes, Tony made a quiet, strangled sound and suddenly just sat on the floor, covering his face with his good hand. He began to rock slightly back and forth, the slim shoulders hunched in defeat.

When Jethro moved to assist, Mike quickly stopped him with a hand to his chest. Looking at his friend in confusion, he saw the slight shake of the head and caught the quick chin lift that indicated they should move out. Jethro looked once more to the dejected sight of the child on the floor before following Mike out.

Once in the living area, he demanded an explanation. "What was that all about? He needed help."

"Jeth," Mike moved close, touching his friend's face lightly, "he's probably use to doing things for himself and just needs a little time and space alone to figure this problem out. I think he can do it and will respond to us better if we at least give him the chance. If we start to do everything for him now, we may take away any security he may still have."

"Security? Mike, his whole world has changed, yanked right out from under him."

"Exactly. His world has changed but he's still here. He needs to do these things, no matter how simple we think they are, for himself. They're just going to take him a little more time right now. You saw how he was about drying himself."

Jethro gazed into the other man's eyes and leaned forward to kiss him tenderly, pulling back afterward to rest his forehead against Mike's. "When did you get so wise?"

Mike chuckled, stepping slightly away from the tempting body. "Easy, Jeth. We need to be careful of little eyes now."

"I know," he sighed, rubbing a hand through his short hair. "You make alot of sense and I think your right. It's just..."

"What?"

"God, Mike, he's so young."

"Yeah, I know. You think we're up to this?"

"I don't think we've got much of a choice right now. Besides, I couldn't knowingly send any kid back into that hellhole of a situation and I sure..."

Mike glanced to quickly see what had stopped his friend's words and caught sight of Tony standing almost in the same spot he had earlier in the day, when Candace and Jimmy were still there. The boy's eyes were wide and jumping between the two men. He may have witnessed the brief kiss or he may have just arrived but neither man was going to inquire. Jethro moved slowly toward the fireplace, assured Mike would handle the boy."

"I think I'll get a fire going," was all he offered as he began the familiar motions used to accomplish the task, turning his back on the other two.

"Tony," Mike spoke evenly, moving to sit on the large, comfortable couch facing the rock hearth, "come over here and let's talk a little bit. I think there's some things you need to know."

There was a moment's hesitation but the years of learning harsh lessons obviously prevailed and soon Tony was padding barefoot into the living area, stopping at the farthest end of the sofa away from Mike. His eyes tracked once to Jethro's position before taking two more steps closer and easing up to sit on the couch, pushing back as far as possible until his small legs were sticking out straight. He glanced at Mike and then back to Jethro, satisfied the man was indeed building a fire.

Mike noticed Tony had mis-snapped his pajama top but let it go unmentioned, happy the boy had not given up his efforts all together. It was a clear mark of the boy's determination. He focused on the sweet face and took a deep, steadying breath before speaking.

"You know Candace and Jimmy took you from the hospital and brought you here for a reason. They want you to be safe. Do you understand?"

Tony stared at Mike. Slowly, he pulled the broken arm close to his body and drew his legs up, the protective position appearing again. Tired green eyes glanced to the fireplace and then back, assured Jethro was still involved in his task. Neither man appeared upset or angry but it seemed better to stay silent.

At the hearth, Jethro could feel the young eyes on his back. He struck a match under the tender and watched as the flames took hold, determined to remain as he was until he could get some sense of what Mike needed. He calmly grabbed the metal poker and prodded at the logs, biding his time and forcing himself to keep his back turned to them.

"Jeth and I want you to stay here for awhile."

The reaction was startling.

Tony's eyes widened and went wild and he began to shake his head at the man, pleading silently, his face rapidly losing any color the warm bath had put into his cheeks. The lips parted but, instead of speaking, he began to draw ragged, uneven breaths into his lungs.

"Tony, Tony," Mike tried to calm the boy, shifting his weight on the couch but remaining in place. He looked quickly to see Jethro turning around from the fire and motioned for him to stay where he was. "Tony, it will be alright. We want you to stay."

"No...no...no..." came the soft plea, the frail voice full of panic. The upset child dropped his face to hide behind the security of the drawn-up legs and the slight rocking began again. The quiet litany of 'no' continued unabated.

"Your Uncle Robert doesn't even know you're here with us. You'll be safe here. Tony, you are safe here."

"Not safe," the muffled voice shook with terror. "Not safe."

"Yes, Tony, you are safe with us," Mike assured again, trying to break through the child's fear. "Candace and Jimmy will make sure he won't find out where you are. Jeth...Gunny and I will take care of you while you're here, just until Candace and Jimmy come back for you, and we'll make sure nothing happens. Right, Gunny?"

Jethro finally allowed himself to speak, trying to convey all his sincerity into his simple words. "He's right, Tony. You fell asleep on the drive out here so you don't know it but we're real far away from your Uncle Robert right now. He will never be able to find you."

The face rose tentatively from its protection and both men could clearly see the eyes swimming with unshed tears. Pulling his lower lip into his mouth, Tony looked at Jethro, searching the man's face for some sign of the truth. The sad, green eyes pleaded for something Jethro couldn't identify and he felt his chest tighten.

"Far away?" The boy's voice shook, the tears finally spilling free and coursing down the smooth skin, dropping to end their journey on his mis-snapped pajama top.

Jethro nodded his head. "Very far away."

Both men held their breath as the boy struggled to understand and, more importantly, to believe what he was being told. Mike could see the child was connecting with Jethro, so was surprised when the young eyes suddenly turned back his way.

"You..you won't," the tears spilled again and he choked on the words. The tears were roughly scrubbed away with the back of his hand and both men saw the cut on the lower lip reopen under the harsh action. The boy seemed unaware of the aggravated injury as he continued to struggle with his words. "You won't...hurt me?"

The question was like a punch to the gut.

"Gunny and I will never hurt you. Never."

Tony's eyes went immediately back to Jethro's, looking for confirmation. The Marine slipped from the fireplace and was on his knees beside the couch, one large hand resting on the cushion beside the boy.

"I will never hurt you, Tony, and I will hurt anyone who ever tries to hurt you again. I promise."

The boy was silent as he studied the man for several long minutes, quiet tears still flowing from his reddened eyes. Then, quite suddenly, he just seemed to fold over, all fight and energy draining away, his body going limp like a rag. The crying became more natural, an outpouring of sorrow and loss and grief.

Jethro eased up and carefully took the small body into his arms, cradling the crying child. Mike grabbed the lightweight blanket from the back of the couch as Jethro sat, tucking it neatly over the boy and making sure the bare feet were covered. The crying continued and Mike could hear Jethro murmuring softly against the boy's hair, one hand rubbing soothing circles over the small back. It was heartbreaking but it was a relief to see the child finally allowing physical comfort.

Mike rose from the couch and walked around until he was standing behind Jethro. He rested his hands on the man's shoulders, bent over, and placed a brief kiss to his temple, knowing his friend would sit with the boy all night, if necessary. When Jethro turned his head to acknowledge Mike's gesture, there were visible tears in the Marine's blue eyes, making them seem like the sea itself: wild, restless, angry. Mike kissed the lips, wanting to drive those emotions away, knowing it would take much more than the press of his mouth to exorcise these demons.

Moving away from the couch, Mike realized they probably hadn't seen the worse yet, that this was only the tip of the iceberg. He sighed, knowing they'd have handle each trama as they came. Silently, he prayed for this night to go by fast...there was always time to face tomorrow.


TBC