“We've followed the signal and found the bracelet in a dumpster downtown.”
Tony raised his head from the phone records he had been in the process of checking for what felt like the millionth time and stared at the agent who was standing in front of his desk. The anger and sorrow in the other Agent's brown eyes highlighted that this was not good news. “The kidnappers must have figured out what it was, removed it and thrown it away. No sign of your daughter or Gibbs.”
He knew this colleague quite well. The man had started at NCIS at the same time as himself. Tony had in the past gone for a drink with him regularly so they could bitch about their respective stubborn and hard to please bosses. If asked about his opinion Tony would say that Dave O'Connor was a competent, if a little bit too conservative, agent. Dave wouldn't survive one week working for someone like Gibbs, he lacked the flexibility of thought required to follow his Boss' lead. Despite all the stereotypes about Marines and their lack of creativity, former Gunnery Sergeant Gibbs didn't know what thinking inside the box was. Hell, sometimes Tony wondered if he even know what the box was supposed to look like! He just didn't care as long as your methods 'got the job done'. And Dave would take too long to get the job done.
Everything was taking too long. Which was another reason why Tony resented that he had been forbidden to take an active part in finding his missing family.
Technically Dave shouldn't even be giving this report to him, but rather to Special Agent Chance, his team leader. Chance had taken over the secondary response team after Chris Pacci had been murdered. Conveniently, her team had the aisle next to Gibbs'. A fact that made it easier for them to cooperate now and for everyone to pretend that O'Connor had meant this information to be heard by everyone involved and not primarily Tony.
Tony generally felt as if he was sitting in a cage at the zoo. Everyone, especially his temporary team, was eying him like some exotic animal that might perform a special trick any minute. Or run amok. The worst was Vance who seemed to have taken root outside MTAC and whose beady eyes watched every move Tony made.
As soon as Tony had limped into the office, glaring at anyone who looked like they might suggest he would be better off at the hospital, Director Vance had made it clear that DiNozzo, McGee and David were forbidden to actively work the case. If they didn't obey his orders Vance would stick them into a holding cell and place a Marine or three in front of it if they dared to even put a toe across the line he had drawn. Help at the office, search the databases, advice for Chance was allowed, as long as they did it from behind their desks. The head of NCIS had learned during his tenure that sending members of his flagship team home with the order to stay put would not stop them. Confined to the Yard he had them at least under his direct supervision. Vance had even made the trio hand over their keys and sent someone to their apartments for a change of clothes.
The second, sensible thing Vance had done was to make sure that one Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo was never left alone in the same room as the recalled Air Force officers. Landry had thankfully stayed gone, unfortunately his flunkies had returned. Office gossip had spread the word about how absolutely furious Gibbs' second in command had been yesterday but that was nothing when compared to the icy fury he displayed now. DiNozzo hadn't even had to say much. His coldly glittering eyes whenever he looked over at his boss' empty desk and the clipped way he demanded new information made his mood very evident. The one time he had met Harriman and Company in front of the director's office he had pointedly treated them like they weren't there at all, just taken the files they had delivered about soldiers Lindau might have had contact with and turned around again. As long as they were smart enough not to get in his way, he wouldn't waste any precious energy on them.
They had contributed to this disaster, they had better do everything they could to solve it. But even if they did, that didn't mean that Tony had to be polite. Major Harriman hadn't tried to make excuses, just nodded, grim faced, in clear understanding that such excuses wouldn't be well received. His attempts to suggested that NCIS let his people follow any leads that could be connected back to his program hadn't been very well received either. Vance had shuffled him hastily to a conference room with explanations about how Harriman and his fellow officers could use it as their base of operations. The farther away from the bullpen, the better, in Tony's thinking.
DiNozzo's behavior had everyone in sight on edge. The only ones who didn't seem to be freaked out by Tony's attitude were Ziva and McGee, but that could be attributed to their own foul disposition. The computer expert was sitting hunched over his keyboard, his fingers flying over the keys and nobody was stupid enough to ask what exactly he was doing and if it was legal. Thanks to her being a Mossad Liaison Officer and the daughter of Eli David, Ziva still had connections the regular NCIS agents didn't and was busy talking to heaven knows who on her phone. Abby had holed herself up in her lab pouring over what little evidence they had, hoping for a clue to appear.
Ducky had called in a favor and one of his M.E friends at Bethesda Hospital agreed to take over for him in autopsy. Ducky had raised one genteel eyebrow when Leon Vance opened his mouth to object, that was all it took to shut up the Director. Then the M.E proceeded to take care of his team. Ducky was the one who kept them fed, caffeinated, hydrated, and, in Tony's case, medicated to battle his upset stomach into submission. It was Ducky who made sure that they didn't collapse from lack of sleep by guilting them softly into taking occasional cat naps.
Telephones rang and agents and police officers alike hurried around, trying to find the one spec of a clue that would help retrieve their missing comrade and Tony's daughter. So far every avenue had lead to exactly nowhere, just like the broken cuff that should have kept Sam safe.
“That's all you have?” Tony asked Dave in a tone observed and learned from Gibbs.
Dave shook his head and the compassion in his eyes made Tony grind his teeth. “Not all, no. Parkinson has interviewed the regulars at Lindau's favorite bar again and one of them mentioned that he had seen him using a cell phone last weekend. I remember that-”
Like everyone else in hearing range McGee had stopped what he was doing and now he interrupted. “But according to his financial statements and phone bills he didn't receive or make any calls on his cell during the weekend, just his office phone and those were business related.”
O'Connor nodded. “Yeah, that's what I wanted to say.”
Every stupid idiot who watched one of the countless procedurals on TV knew how telling it would be to use a registered phone when involved in something shady. Why make it easier for the cops to catch you if you can use a burn phone instead? “Anything about what he talked about or who he talked to?” Tony asked.
Chance and the fourth member of her team besides O'Connor and the absent Parkinson, stood up and leaned over the divider. “It's like searching for the proverbial needle in a haystack. I think we're going at it from the wrong angle.” was Chances' opinion and it made something that had niggled at Tony become clearer.
“Maybe not the wrong angle but the wrong perspective. Before, Gibbs said something about how Lindau sees himself and how different it is from how we see him. We treat him and every bit of information we found like he is the head of his operation.”
McGee snapped his fingers. “He doesn't strike me as a mastermind capable of organizing such a complicated and multi-layered scheme on his own. He is more a fanatic follower.”
“But he is the only connection we have. Does it really matter?” Ziva threw in, which provoked a back and forth of opinions and ideas. Chance and her team observed the brainstorming that followed but they were ignored by the MCRT team members.
Suddenly, as if the proverbial light bulb had gone off in his head, Tony straightened. “No, wait! He isn't the only one involved that we know of. Remember, Sally-Ann Coultier? Lindau has to be just a tool, there's no way he has the social connections to be invited to a garden party."
“I want to find Gibbs and Sam as much as you do, but that spoiled little princess isn't a member of a conspiracy, Tony!” McGee threw up his arms and then carded his fingers through his hair in exasperation. The dark circles under his eyes betrayed how tired he was.
“I didn't say she was, Probie. She's just a spiteful girl who was easy to manipulate. Which also indicates someone smarter than Lindau, because there's no way a girl like that would do anything he suggested to her. She'd be too busy sneering at his haircut. Where's the transcript of your interview with her and did we ever get a complete guest list?” Powered by a new wave of adrenalin Tony began to dig through the pile of files on his desk. The other agents were welcome to waste hours on trying to find an electronic trail or some witness who could describe anyone who ever talked to Lindau down to the number of speckles on their noses, let them try. He knew in his gut that he was on the right path now.
“The list is as complete as possible, it was sort of an open invitation event among Coultier's circle of friends and business associates. To get all the names we've had to talk to the known guests, which is slow going. The interview, that I can sum it up for you easily. When she wasn't crying about it not being her fault, that it was supposed to be just a little harmless prank, she complained about being forced to attend boring parties.”
The updated list and file had to be somewhere here, he remembered printing it out to go through it again later. Tony's eyes had began to water from all the staring at the monitor and he'd decided to try paper for a while. They were wasting so much time, and it was time Jethro and Sam didn't have. It had been more than 30 hours since they were taken. “Nothing about who gave her the idea and when to stage her prank?”
“No, as I told you at least twice yesterday!”
“Just asking, McAngry!”
Ziva cleared her throat. “Stop biting each others faces off.”
“Heads, Ziva, it's biting each others heads off” Tony corrected.
“You three are worse without Gibbs around to hold your leashes, who would have believed it.” Chance shook her head and went back to her desk. “We'll try to find out more about who Lindau's contacts might be. You can try to find who altered the contact information in the school file. Chins up, if there is anyone who can beat the odds in any situation, it is Gibbs. Being kidnapped alongside a child and held against his will- He must be beyond furious by now. You'll see, we'll end up rescuing the criminals from him, not the other way round.”
As if. Her forced attempt at lightening the gloomy atmosphere only served to irritate Tony. If he was in a more benevolent mood, he might feel some remorse about having his usual tactics turned against him but this was as far from a joke as it could get in his eyes. Gibbs was a formidable opponent, no question. Cunning as a fox, like Abby loved to say. Case in point, the way he had managed to force the attackers to take him as well as Sam. But for him to be able to do something he had to be alive. Nobody was bulletproof, not even Gibbs. And no matter how much Abby had glossed over the facts to spare him, the tranquilizer had been dangerous as well. Tony was intelligent enough to Google a chemical compound and interpret the side effects that were listed, thank you very much. McGee would scoff, but getting a 'lowly gym degree' involved passing a lot of the same classes med students had to take. He knew that he had been lucky to suffer only from nausea and not a heart attack. Gibbs, no matter how healthy and toned his body was, had twelve years on him.
Finally Tony found the transcript he was searching for in the online files after having given up on finding the hard copy. It was like McGee said, there wasn't anything significant and new to be found in it. “Wasn't there anything you didn't include in this report? It isn't word for word.” As much as he had been furious about having his rights as a father curtailed two days ago when he was bared from witnessing the interview of his own daughter, he wished that Coultier had been less stringent about the conditions of them talking to his little brat. It would have 'made his poor Sally-Ann feel like she was treated like a criminal'. Served the brat right. “We're missing something...”
The senior agent's frustrated tone only served to rile up the younger man. “Of course not! I don't fudge my reports but word for word would have been impossible. First off, even my excellent memory doesn't allow me to remember every sobbed word Sally-Ann said and secondly she repeated herself a lot. She remembered the dress she wore better than the man she talked to. Not as tall as her father, brown hair, no beard, brown suit, polite, that's all I got out of her. Coultier is over six feet tall and the other characteristics... half of the males at NCIS would qualify as suspects! Whoever he was, wasn't someone she has seen regularly.” McGee picked up his coffee cup, found it empty and promptly sat it down with more force than was strictly necessary.
“Crap.” Tony banged his head against the divider wall behind his chair and did his best not to look forlornly at the empty chair across the aisle.
“Be lucky that we have this much. The only reason she remembered him at all was that he listened to her complaints about Sam and that he was admiring the stupid glass buttons on her dress, even knew where they came from. Lugano or whatever.” With that remark McGee turned his attention back to his files. The sharp “What!?” Tony let loose startled him so much that he nearly fell off his chair and it brought the attention of everyone in the bull pen down on their heads.
“Repeat what you just said.” Tony waved impatiently at the other agents to resume whatever they had been doing, then stood up and strode over to loom above the junior agent.
“Tony, stop your posturing. I feel with you, you've got to be on edge with not only your daughter but the boss missing, but that doesn't mean that you can shout at me.”
“That wasn't included in what you wrote down. Not Lugano, McGee, I bet she said Murano. Which is an isle near Venice, famous for its glass artists and featured as a background in nearly every gondola scene in every movie filmed anywhere near Venice. The handmade pieces of art created there are not well known in the States. The products, among them glass buttons, are very distinct and pricey.” That little speech was given in a deceptively mild voice that barely masked the sharp edge laying behind. Nevertheless these signs of imminent explosion didn't penetrate McGee's shield of indignant anger.
“For all I care those idiotic buttons come from Mars! They don't matter. And why am I not surprised that you know something insignificant like that? We should have sent you to do the interview, you could have ogled all the nice suits and dresses. Oops, too bad you and your fashionista knowledge weren't available.” The younger man sneered at Tony, his own frustration and fear getting the better of his compassion for his older colleague's situation.
Tony was standing in front of him, his lips devoid of blood and pressed into an unforgiving line. “For you, McOblivious the buttons might have been insignificant and in all your infinite wisdom you decided to leave them out of your report. Ziva has never been to FLETC and might not know it, but would you do me the favor of repeating the rules concerning the recording of informal given statements and why it should be as exact as possible and not up to creative editing?”
McGee sat as still as stone and didn't dare move a muscle.
“No? Then let me enlighten you, Junior Special Agent McGee and do excuse my paraphrasing, I'll make sure that I include all the information though, even if I don't have the exact wording. Agents should include every aspect possible, no matter how tiny or seemingly insignificant in their descriptions of crime scenes and statements so that other Agents with different skill sets and areas of expertise might be able to draw conclusions without the need of them being present at the initial interview or scene or if the case goes cold.”
Suddenly all the pent up energy left Tony's body and he slumped in on himself, rubbing tiredly over his eyes. This only showed that you shouldn't wish bad things on anyone. Hadn't he wished that McGee's belief in his superior skills would made him fuck up just enough to bring him back down to earth? Karma had granted him the first part but maliciously overlooked the second part. This would have cracked the case open days ago. “Bernadette?”
“Yes?” Agent Chance cautiously came over to stand beside him. Her eyes darted between the now gray faced DiNozzo and to the red face of McGee who was staring at Tony like a mouse that was suddenly faced with a poisonous snake.
“Concentrate on Peter Nathaniel DiNozzo, CEO of DiN Enterprises. He is nearly as tall as I am, brunet, single and as far as I know, living in Long Island, New York but has an apartment here in DC. He is well known in the family for his obsession with buttons.” A few, hurried steps brought him back to his desk and he swept all the useless files on it aside before he sat down again and pulled out the top drawer in search of some headache pills. He ignored the new mess on the floor.
Chance hadn't moved at all. “You're certain that-”
Tony slammed the drawer shut and dry-swallowed two of the pills. His coffee cup was as empty as McGee's and his water bottle was ….somewhere. It was high time for Ducky to appear again.
“Obvious familiar connection to my daughter, right social circle, rich, nuts and obsessive. Heck, he sported a boner when he was 14 because aunt Cecily got him a button from one of Marie Antoinette's evening-robes as a present!”
His words made Chance and her team sprint back to their desks. This was indeed a very promising lead.
The grin on Ziva's face would have made a shark proud. “Connection, opportunity, means and mindset. Any idea on what his motive might be?”
Tony concentrated on her and ignored McGee. He was aware that the younger man had stood up and was now standing beside him. “None. Father disinherited Sam, so she's not an heir and therefore no competition. But we can ask him, can't we?” His fingers itched to reach into the drawer and retrieve his weapon and badge, two other things Vance had confiscated, and hunt his cousin down, then throttle him until he spilled where Sam and Jethro were held.
The Mossad Officer was never one to mince her words so it didn't surprise him when Ziva just asked her next question without any hesitation. “Do you think your father is involved?”
“I doubt it, but we'll check. He told me more than once that he washed his hands of us. If he wanted her, he would have sent his lawyers, not thugs.”
“Tony.” McGee sounded contrite and desperate. Ah, it had finally dawned on the younger man that he had fucked up royally.
“Pete is arrogant, I doubt that he would think about hiding financial details and this must have cost him a pretty penny. We'll start there since we're not allowed to leave.” Tony sent a dark look in direction of MTAC and the looming figure of the director. Chance was currently giving him a personal update.
“Tony...”
Tony took a deep breath and then turned his head and looked at his young colleague, aware that Ziva was watching both of them avidly. The computer expert seemed to have aged ten years during the last minute but his eyes and his hunched and nervous shoulders reminded the senior field agent painfully of the insecure and nervous probie McGee had been when he started here. His probie, damn it. Everyone made mistakes. Didn't count for shit. If McGee's blunder cost him his family... Tony would never forgive him. Tony's stomach cramped into a hard and aching mass at the thought. He wouldn't forgive himself either.
“Tony, I am-”
No, if they failed-. “Stop. We will get them back and then we'll talk, okay, Tim? Let's concentrate on more important things first.” His green eyes searched and held the gaze of McGee's blue ones. The last thing they needed now was to have their focus divided by anything non-essential, be it attitude, anger or remorse. “Find me everything on Pete DiNozzo's whereabouts and movements during the last three days. Can you do that, Tim? Or do I have to ask someone else to do it?”
He could practically see how McGee pulled himself together. “I'll do my best.”
Ziva inclined her head, gave them both one of her typical tight smiles and began to work on her computer.
They all would do their best. And pray that it was enough.
.-#-.
“Please little one, please calm down.” Gibbs rocked them both back and forth. The slight figure in his arms had grown more silent than when they had thrown her into his cell but he suspected that this was the result of exhaustion, not acceptance of his presence. Sam was still trembling and sobbing. Being touched by an unknown person she couldn't see had to frighten her terribly but at least he could keep her warm this way. Letting her go would not only deprive her of his body heat, it would also potentially take her out of his reach and with his shackles Gibbs might not be able to grab her again.
One couldn't expect an eight-year-old to react rationally to being held captive, to keep calm and non-hysterical. Gibbs had tried to draw letters on her skin, to find a way to communicate with her, tell her whom she was with, but Sam had been much too upset to react in any other way than to flinch back when he took one of her hands and tried to use her palm as a canvas.
Gibbs sighed and stretched his legs. He guessed that it had been about an hour since they threw Sam into the cell.
He still had no idea if they were being observed. No electronic light betrayed the presence of a camera and microphone but that didn't mean that there hadn't been one capable of night vision installed. Complete darkness was an effective strategy if their captors' goal was to hide their identity and demoralize the prisoners. For Sam it must be worse than for him. “Assholes, do you like torturing kids? She's deaf and you took away another one of her senses!” Gibbs bellowed.
No answer.
Sam flinched and one of her hands tightened into a fist, Gibbs could feel the ball of muscle and small bones pressing against his left collar bone. His free hand took up a hopefully soothing rhythm, stroking her back again and again. Gibbs could hear her sniffle, and prayed that it wasn't the first sign her of getting a cold. His own back and ass weren't only numb from the hard floor and wall, they were beginning to feel like ice too. His bladder was getting full, damn it, and he could only speculate about Sam.
Since she wasn't actively fighting him anymore he could lighten his grip and reposition her so both of them could rest easier. Her face was tucked against his neck and he hoped that the distinctive smell of sawdust lingered on his shirt enough to outweigh the foul smell of the cell and give Sam some indicator that he was friend, not foe.
Being taken prisoner was always a possible fate for a soldier. One of Gibbs' instructors had given them a very blunt speech about what might happen and his no-nonsense attitude had made it unforgettable. “There are two enemies you have to expect: your captors and your mind. Not your body. It's a tool. One you can use to escape but one that can be used against you as well just because of the way it functions. A body has to breath, to eat, to drink, to shit, to piss. If it is cut, it will bleed. If it is touched, it will react. There's no shame to be found there, just facts. If the enemy makes you hallucinate because lack of hydration and food, shame on them, not you. If they make you shit and piss yourself because they didn't give you the opportunity to relieve yourself, shame on them, not your body. If they rape you and your cock get's hard, that's just the way your body reacts to certain stimulus. You don't want it, you're not asking for it. They just want to convince your mind that you are to blame for what's happening, to give in. Some of you will break sooner than others but let's don't mince words: everyone has a breaking point. You, me, even the Commandant of the Marines. Accept it, work to make it harder for them. Trust your buddies, your fellow soldiers, to get you out if you are unable to do so yourself.”
But this was not foreign soil, it was home! He wasn't a soldier anymore and neither was Sam.
“Get us a bucket, damn it! Some water and blankets! She'll get more hysterical if she wets herself and might freeze to death!”
How he would get her to use the damn bucket, that was another question. Or how he would use it himself without freaking her out further. That was one instance where the dark would be a positive thing.
The small fist had loosened again and if he wasn't wrong- Gibbs felt Sam press her face against his collarbone, then to his chest, above his heart, maybe listening to it's rhythm. He hesitated for a moment, not wanting to rile her up again and disturb this little moment of peace but he decided to take the risk and began to draw letters into the back of her hand. Nothing complicated. J. E. T.
Sam sobbed once, rubbed her nose against his shirt and then, slowly, hesitantly, drew the sign for eternity over his chest with her own finger and then a repeat of his three letters.
“That's it, sweetheart.” Gibbs whispered and pressed a kiss against her hair.
Then he heard the door open once more and tensed his grip on Sam. Again there was only sound, no light. Something dully clattered against the concrete floor near him and, with one arm securely wound around his precious burden, he reached out the other to find out what it was.
An empty bucket made out of hard plastic like the one he used in his basement to mix paint, this one with its handle removed.
A warm fleece blanket.
A plastic bottle, nearly full of liquid from the way it balanced in his hand.
It did take him a little while and some fumbling to open it one handed. He sniffed. Nothing strange to detect, so it was most likely water. But had it been tampered with? Being drugged would be preferable to dying of thirst, but he hoped that help would come before they had to chance drinking it.
Sam sniffled again and he patted her on her back. Trust your buddies to get you out indeed. Gibbs hoped that it would be sooner rather than later.
So, their captors had heard him. They might not answer directly but it gave Gibbs the chance to finally act, even if it wasn't much.
He placed bottle and bucket within easy reach and draped the blanket around himself and Sam, then began to talk, not overly loud but enough to be heard by whoever was listening, aware of how Sam moved a little bit in reaction to the vibrations in his chest.
“I will keep you safe, don't be afraid, so don't be afraid. There are lots of people looking for us by now and they will find us. Your dad is out there looking, the rest of my team, along with all of the NCIS agents they can get. Probably the FBI now too, and the police. All of them will move heaven and earth to find us. If anything happens to us, I wouldn't want to be the fool responsible. Shh...little one...”
During the next hour he talked more than he probably had in the rest of his life combined. After her terror had subsided, Sam started to get more active and restless and it had been a challenge to find ways to distract and entertain her without letting her leave the little cocoon of warmth and safety he had created for them. Skin-spelling was not ideal: it was hard to keep track of longer words and sometimes he had to do serious mental gymnastics to guess what the eight-year-old meant. Her signing might be first class, her spelling on the other hand was typical for a kid her age and mingled with net speak.
It had taken him long minutes to get what 'U puke 2?' meant exactly.
“Yes.” Gibbs murmured against Sam's hair. He tried his best to camouflage their conversations with louder ramblings about his team's adventures. One of the reasons for reuniting him with the girl might have been to calm her down and he didn't want them to decide that they could use the methods he developed now and take her away again. 'Smell it, stinks. Still sick?'
Sam shook her head and he could feel her trace new letters. 'Bad taste in mouth. Icky. Puked on baddies. A lot.'
'Atta girl!' Gibbs praised. 'Your dad did that once. “I have to teach you Morse code when we get out of here.” he wrote and then said the second part aloud, more for himself than her.
'Dad here 2?'
'No.' Gibbs didn't say more, he didn't want to lie but telling her the truth, that he had no idea where exactly Tony might be, just not in this damn cell with them, might send her back into hysterics.
'He get us out.' Sam spelled.
He marveled about how little she complained. Yes, she was obviously distressed but apart from telling him how cold she was and how tired there weren't any complaints. 'You're a very brave girl.' he whispered and spelled it out on her skin.
The whimper and wildly negating head shake nearly broke his heart. 'Scared, whimpy, stupid.'
'Normal to be scared, not stupid.' Gibbs assured her. He had to repeat it twice before he could feel her move and he was startled when he felt her clammy hand clumsily pat his cheek. Where the hell was his team, they would both catch pneumonia before long.
'Sry I said I don like U. Not angry?'
'No, Sam.' he used the eternal sign. 'Not angry. At all.'
'Tired.'
'Sleep.'
They took small naps during the next hours but the inhospitable cell didn't invite long restful sleep. And if it wasn't his legs breaking out in pins and needles sensation it was one of Sam's sharp elbows or knees poking him when she tried to turn over that kept him half awake. There was no more contact with the criminals, no more supplies or other reactions and slowly it seemed as if the whole world consisted of him, one little girl, a blanket, a bottle of water they didn't dare use and a bucket.
Translating some children stories he unearthed from where he had shoved them into a far corner of his brain into skin speak was keeping him alert and both of them occupied. He made it a game, asked Sam to guess how the story went and to take turns in making them better. In the end her princess kicked the prince in the shins and ruled her kingdom on her own.
Sam's indignation about the common fairy tale princess lured a faint smile on Gibbs' face. It didn't mean that, as soon as the damn cavalry arrived, he would allow his princess to stub her toes on some human filth though.
The damn cavalry better arrive soon or he would kick their asses too.
Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. No money is being made from this work. No copyright infringement is intended.