Two Wolves - 2/19

[xanthefic]

"Director Vance." Tony nods his head at the director as he takes his place at the conference table in his office, for their usual weekly briefing meeting.

"Agent DiNozzo." Vance nods back curtly.

Tony places the bulging case file on the table in front of him and opens it. Vance sits back in his chair, and Tony notices the toothpick between his fingers. That isn’t good. He’s become proficient at reading Vance over the past few months, and the appearance of the toothpick is never a good sign.

Tony launches into an update, talking fast, aware that he doesn't have his audience's full attention. Vance has crossed one leg over the other and is tapping the toothpick impatiently on the table.

"So, what you're saying, Agent DiNozzo, is that you're no further forward this week than last week?" Vance interrupts him.

"That's not entirely true…"

"And I have my best team working a case that's rapidly turning cold."

Tony looks up sharply. "It's not a cold case, Director. We still have leads. We will find Agent Gibbs."

"And in the meantime, this agency's solve rate is going down the pan because you and your team are occupied elsewhere."

Tony shuts the file with a terse flick of his wrist. "It would help if we got some co-operation but every warrant I file gets refused, and every avenue of investigation I open up leads to a dead end. My calls don't get returned, and the local LEOs obstruct me wherever I go. How the hell am I supposed to find Gibbs when there's a wall of silence around this case that not even my badge and this agency's name can penetrate?"

Vance sticks the toothpick in his mouth and gazes at him mutely.

"Is there something going on that I don't know about, sir?" Tony emphasizes the last word sarcastically.

"I don't know what the hell you mean," Vance says, but Tony can see a flicker of something in his almost inscrutable brown eyes. "SecNav is concerned about our solve rate. I can't keep one team working one case indefinitely. You've had five months. At some point we have to call it a day, DiNozzo."

Tony sits back in his chair. "And have we reached that point, Director? Is that what you're telling me?"

Vance has the grace to at least look uncomfortable. "Yes, I am."

"You're really telling us to give up on one of our own people? To give up on Gibbs?" Tony doesn’t raise his voice, but he thinks his white hot anger is clearly conveyed all the same.

Vance gives a heavy sigh. “It pains me, Agent DiNozzo, but you’ve tried hard enough for long enough – and it does you credit that you haven’t given up long before now. But you can’t go on forever. It’s time to move on. You’ve been running the MCRT for the past five months, so I’m going to make that official, and give you the job title and pay raise to match.” He gives a big smile. “You’re the special agent in charge as of now, DiNozzo. Congratulations on your promotion.”

Tony gives a disbelieving laugh. "Oh my God, I must have a problem with my ears!” He slaps both his ears dramatically with the palms of his hands. “Because I could have sworn I heard you trying to buy me off! Is that what I heard, Director?”

Vance grits his teeth. “Of course not. I’m just saying – it’s time you were paid your due. You’ve led that team and led it well for the past few months. Take the promotion and the pay rise, DiNozzo. You’ve earned it.”

Tony shakes his head. “Have you no shame, Director Owens?"

Vance stiffens and sits up at Tony’s use of that particular name. "What the hell…?"

"I thought it was time to stop pretending," Tony interrupts. "Your real name is Tyler Keith Owens, and unlike the real Leon Vance, you were never a Marine. Want to know how I know this?"

Vance's eyes flicker angrily. “You’re on very dangerous ground here, DiNozzo.”

"I know this because if you were, you'd never leave a man behind. ‘Semper fi’, remember? If you were missing, if you'd been taken, I can tell you without a shadow of a doubt that Gibbs would never give up on you, Director. He's a Marine. You never were."

“How did you…?”

“I’ve been through everything Gibbs ever touched with a fine toothcomb these past few months. It’s surprising what he had stashed away.” Tony shrugs.

"Damn it, DiNozzo – I'm not the one shutting this down!" There is a hint of guilt in Vance's eyes, and Tony knows his barbs have hit home. "We all have our orders, Tony," Vance adds softly.

So that's it. SecNav is behind this; he's the one shutting down the investigation. Tony isn't surprised; it's become very clear to him over the past five months that his investigation is being hampered at the highest level.

"You need to understand…" Vance begins.

"Oh, I understand, sir." Tony gives a tight smile. "You're just following orders. I understand that very well." His voice drips sarcasm.

Vance slams his fist on the table. "I don't give a damn what you think you understand, DiNozzo. Just understand *this*. Your investigation into the disappearance of Lieutenant Hurrell and Agent Gibbs is over as of now. You're done here."

Tony nods slowly. Then he stands up. He's planned for this; hell, he was expecting it. "I believe I have six weeks leave accrued, sir. I'll be taking it with immediate effect."

Vance sighs. "Fine. Do this the hard way, DiNozzo. You can have your six weeks, but when they're up I expect you back at your desk, working the cases *I* give you."

Tony gathers up the bulging file and walks stiffly towards the door.

"And DiNozzo? Don't use the badge during your leave. If I hear you've used this agency's name in your own private investigation…"

Tony turns, and for a second his usual controlled mask isn't in place, and he sees Vance visibly recoil from what he sees on his face. Then he gets himself under control and forces his mask back on.

"That's fine. Here – I'll leave it with you for safe-keeping. I’m not feeling too proud about wearing it these days anyway."

He walks back over to the table, removes the badge from his belt, and puts it down with deliberate disdain in front of Vance.

Vance reaches out and grabs his wrist. "Don't be an idiot, DiNozzo. Read between the lines; this is way out of your league."

Tony laughs, and Vance looks up at him, a surprised expression on his face.

"Sorry…" Tony says between chuckles. "See, I can live with being thought an idiot, Director. Hell, I'm used to it! That won't keep me up at night!" He snaps off the laugh and leans in close. "What I can't live with is the thought of abandoning a friend. Now that, Director, really would keep me up at night. Maybe you’ve found a way to live with yourself, but I know I never could if I did that."

Vance shakes his head. "Look, DiNozzo, I know how you feel about Gibbs…"

Tony stiffens and pulls his arm out of Vance's grasp. "No. Really. You don't. If you did, we wouldn't be having this conversation." Then he turns and walks out of Vance's office without looking back.

~*~

It’s probably mid-morning by the time they get back, but inside the stable they work to a different timetable. When it’s daytime outside, it’s nighttime within, keeping the fighters’ body clocks tuned so they’re alert to fight at night.

The venues for the fights change regularly; sometimes they’re close to the stable and other times they’re a long drive away. This one was several hours’ drive, but Gibbs has no idea where the stable or the venue are because the truck has no windows.

The truck drives straight into the stable, and the fighters are removed one by one, with a heavy escort. It’s a long, slow operation, and Gibbs snoozes through most of it. Finally it’s his turn.

He knows the routine. He’s taken to the showers first and that’s where his chains are removed. Armed guards watch him shower, and then he’s escorted along the hallway to the doctor’s office.

Dr Tanner is a young, skinny guy with red hair, and freckled skin. He’s on Scott’s payroll, and Gibbs long since stopped trying to appeal to the man’s better nature. When Gibbs first arrived, he spent some time trying to win the doctor over, but Tanner’s weak and likes his regular large pay check too much. He’s also got a gambling problem, and he loves the high he gets off the fights.

Gibbs hopes Tanner won his bets tonight. When the doc wins, he floats his way through the post-fight medical exams, and they go much easier. When he loses…then the bastard can be brutal with his patients.

He clearly won tonight. He grins as he checks Gibbs over, examining his knuckles and ribs, assessing the damage.

“Saw you take a punch here,” he says, pressing down hard on Gibbs’s ribs. Gibbs sucks in a low growl. “Not broken – just bruised. You’ll be fine to fight again next week.”

He removes his latex gloves, reaches for his clipboard, and fills in some details on Gibbs’s chart.

“I’m increasing your meds. The fights only get tougher from here on in, Leroy. Gotta make sure you’re at your best.” He gives a little giggle. The good doctor also has a coke habit, and Gibbs can see he’s been indulging tonight; he usually does on Fight Nights.

“By increasing the amount of that shit you inject into me and shove down my throat?” Gibbs growls.

Tanner shrugs and looks up, meeting his eyes, suddenly serious. “You wanna win, don’t you?”

Gibbs stares at him for a long moment and then gives a taut nod. He does. That’s a promise he made to himself during his first fight, and he intends to keep it.

“Then trust me.” Tanner giggles again. “I’ve been getting the dose right so far. I’ll keep you good and angry and horny when you step into the pit. I’ve got everything riding on you to win, Leroy! It’s in my best interest to keep you fighting fit.”

“Glad to hear it,” Gibbs says sarcastically, but it’s lost on Tanner. "These drugs even licensed, Tanner?"

Tanner shrugs. "Some of 'em."

Gibbs doesn't even want to think about what the long term side effects might be – if he lives long enough for that to ever be an issue.

The doctor mixes a concoction of drugs into a plastic cup of water and then hands it to Gibbs. When given orally, the drugs are always dissolved in liquid; there’s never any chance you can pretend to swallow but keep them in your mouth. “Drink.”

Gibbs takes the cup and gazes at it distastefully. His personal guard shifts, his hand going to the whip tucked into his belt, his meaning all too clear. Gibbs tried to get out of taking the drugs once and took a whipping for his defiance, so he knows there’s no point refusing. He downs the liquid in two gulps, refusing to gag on the vile taste. The doctor hands him a clean cup of water, and he drinks that quickly too, to wash the unpleasant taste of the drugs out of his mouth.

He’s signed off, and the guards escort him back to his stall at gunpoint. The stall is a narrow metal cell, with a toilet in one corner and a mattress on the floor. There’s one pillow and one blanket. But today, something is different. There’s another mattress on the floor and another occupant: Lieutenant Hurrell.

“Get out,” Gibbs snaps.

Hurrell sits up, looking confused. “But they said I was to sleep in here…”

“We’re running out of space because of all the fighters you keep winning for us,” McGuire tells Gibbs with a grin.

“I said, get the fuck out. I don’t share with anyone,” Gibbs growls.

“Don’t be so hasty. You might want the company,” McGuire murmurs into his ear. “Your dose just went up. You’ll be horny all the time…you’ll want someone to fuck to take the edge off it, or it’ll drive you nuts. If this one’s not your type, then how about that kid Steve?”

Gibbs makes no reply. He just turns, slowly, to glare at McGuire. They can make him fight, and they can make him fuck his defeated opponent in the pit, but they can’t make him fuck anyone just for his own pleasure, to “take the edge off it”.

McGuire shrugs. “Your choice. I just thought you’d like a fuck buddy. You’ll change your mind when your cock is hard all night long, and you wanna bury it balls deep in some piece of ass just to stop it aching like a motherfucker. I’ve seen it before.”

The guard jerks his head, and Hurrell grabs his thin mattress and bedding and scuttles out of the stall.

McGuire pushes Gibbs inside and shuts and locks the door behind him. Gibbs lies down on the mattress and gazes up at the ceiling, relieved to finally be alone.

It might have been nice to have the company though. It might have helped stop the dark thoughts he sometimes gets in the middle of the night.

“Better to be alone,” he growls, clamping down on the desire for company, conversation, and human connection. It’s a weakness he can’t afford right now.

“Is it really better to be alone?” a little voice whispers inside his head. “Or were you just afraid of the temptation? Maybe you were afraid you might wake up and find yourself holding that poor bastard down while you pump into his tight hole…”

His cock is hard and aching at the thought, the new drugs causing waves of sexual energy to sweep through his body. He ruts helplessly into his hand and even when he comes his cock remains half hard afterwards.

He closes his eyes. Sleep is the one respite he gets from this nightmare; he hopes he won’t have to wait too long for it to claim him.

~*~

Tony sits in his car for a few minutes before finally getting out and forcing himself into Starbucks. He isn’t looking forward to this.

Jan Hurrell is a neat little woman with a sleek, dark brown bob. She looks up and sees him, and her face breaks into a pathetically hopeful smile. He manages a smile in return – one of his big, bright ones that never reach his eyes – and goes over to the table. She gestures to the cup of coffee waiting for him.

“I hope that’s the way you like it. I think it is,” she says. “I’ve watched you order it often enough!”

He takes a sip and finds it’s just how he likes it. He nods and smiles his thanks, another of those big, bright smiles.

“You have bad news,” she says, and either his smile wasn’t big or bright enough, or this brave, patient woman has learned to read him too well over the past five months.

“Yes.” He’s always been honest with her; he’s not about to stop now. “I’m sorry, Jan, but the case has been shut down as of this afternoon. I’ve been forbidden to work on it.”

“Sam…?”

“Classified as officially AWOL. A deserter. The case has been closed.”

“And Gibbs?”

“A missing person.” Tony shrugs. “No link has ever been found between their disappearances. Apart from the big, fat coincidence that they both disappeared without a trace within a month of each other and nobody heard from them again,” he says bitterly. “And the fact that Gibbs disappeared while investigating your husband’s own disappearance.”

“So that’s it? I mean, there’s no recourse? Nobody we can go to? No way we can change their minds?”

“No.” Tony shakes his head. “To be honest, I’m not surprised it’s come to this, Jan. I’ve told you several times recently how hard it’s been. Everything I do, every way I turn, I come up empty. At first I thought I wasn’t trying hard enough. Now I realize it’s deliberate. Someone has something to hide; something big.”

Jan’s face is a picture of pinched misery. “Who?”

“I wish I knew.”

“I don’t understand. Do they think we can just wash our hands of them? That we can just move on and forget about Sam and Gibbs?” she asks in a tone of disbelief.

“We’re the little people. We don’t matter to them. Sam and Gibbs don’t matter to them,” Tony replies bitterly.

“Sam’s my husband! We’ve been married for nine years! I love him. It kills me every single hour of the day, knowing he’s out there, being held somewhere against his will. How can I forget him?”

“You can’t, and neither can I.” Tony shakes his head. “I’m taking the six weeks leave I’m due, so I can continue the investigation.”

“Alone?” She raises an eyebrow. “What about your team?”

“They support me, but they’re more use to me at NCIS so I told them to stay put.” He gives a rueful smile as he remembers how hard it was convincing Abby to do that. She wanted them all to resign and go looking for Gibbs, but he couldn’t see what use that would be. Haven’t they already spent virtually every waking hour for the past five months looking for Gibbs with all the facilities of NCIS at their disposal?

“And what happens when your six weeks are up?” Jan asks. “What then, Tony?”

“Then we’ll see where we’re at when we reach that point.”

Maybe then it’ll be time for the entire team to resign and go renegade in their search for Gibbs. He has to see what he can turn up during the next six weeks before he can make that decision.

She looks suddenly afraid. “Be careful, Tony. Remember what happened to Agent Gibbs when he first started poking into Sam’s disappearance – they took him too. I don’t want that to happen to you. Promise me that won’t happen to you too!”

“I can’t promise that, but I can promise that I will never, ever give up on Sam or on Gibbs. You have my word.”

“I know.” She puts her hand over his, where it’s resting on the table. “I know that, Tony.”

“Someone is shutting this down – someone at the very top,” Tony tells her. “They took away my badge, Jan.”

“As if that would stop you,” she says scornfully. “If they thought that would stop you then they don’t know Tony DiNozzo very well!”

He glances at her, a little surprised by her certainty, and she smiles at the question in his eyes.

“They can try their best to try to make us go away, but we won’t. I’m not the kind of person who would ever give up on someone I love, and neither are you, Tony.”

He blinks, startled. “How did you…?”

“I see it in your eyes every time we meet. You feel the same way about Gibbs that I feel about Sam. I saw through the big smile a long time ago. I know you’re hurting as much as I am right now. How long have you been in love with him, Tony?”

It’s the first time anyone has ever called him on it, and now that it’s happened, he finds it’s the most natural thing in the world to talk about it.

“Since the day I first met him.” He stirs his coffee aimlessly and then looks at her again. “He was undercover, but I didn’t know that at the time.” He smiles at the memory. “I had to arrest him – took him down with a full body slam, and I think the minute he looked up at me I was gone. I didn’t know it then, of course, but looking back…” He shrugs. “That was ten years ago. I was a cop at Baltimore PD, and he…kind of recruited me.”

She gives a little smile. “Ten years – that’s about the same time as I’ve been with Sam.” She squeezes his hand firmly. “He doesn’t know, does he?”

“I have no idea.” Tony shrugs. “I never told him, because he never showed any interest. Me, I’ve been sleeping with guys as well as girls since I was old enough to have sex…but he’s never shown any signs of being bisexual. It’s annoying,” he gives her a little grin, “because I was always so good at never falling for the straight boys. I used to look down on the idiots who did. And I guess I always hoped that when I did fall in love, it’d be with a girl…just because that’s easier.”

“I don’t think we can choose who we fall in love with, Tony,” she says softly.

“You think?” he laughs out loud. “’Cause if we could, I promise you I wouldn’t have fallen for an ornery Marine with a bad taste in haircuts and an even worse taste in clothes!”

She laughs too. “Sounds like Sam. I swear, when we first married I used to throw away one item of clothing per week and smuggle in new things when he wasn’t looking. No taste whatsoever!”

“Oh, if I could ever get my hands on Gibbs’s closet, I would make a bonfire of his terrible Sears collection. Then I’d take him out and buy him some silk shirts in just the right shade to show off those beautiful baby blues of his.”

They smile, faded, tight little smiles, and then they fall silent, each of them lost in their own memories.

After awhile she picks up her purse and gets up. He gets up too, and she folds him into a fierce hug, and they cling on to each other for the brief moment of comfort it affords.

“Same time next week?” she murmurs into his shoulder.

“Well…maybe…” He hesitates and then draws away from her. “If I’m not here, it’s because I’m out following a lead. Don’t worry about me if that happens. Just…wait it out.”

She knows what he has planned; he can see it in her eyes. And she’s worried for him, but she wants her husband back, so she doesn’t try to talk him out of it.

“I’ll be here,” she says firmly. “I will be here, Tony, same place, same time, every week, until you come here and tell me what happened to my husband.”

She gives him another firm hug, and then she leaves. Tony sits back down at the table after she’s gone and stares into his coffee. It feels strange, after all these years, to have been called on the one thing he has tried so hard to hide. He’s surprised to find that he feels relieved that someone finally knows. Someone knows, and understands, and isn’t shocked, or horrified, or judging him for it. It’s a small relief, in the grand scheme of things, but it unlocks something inside him.

He’s on his own now, a free agent, and it’s time to start acting like one. He’s no longer bound by the rules and regulations that came with wearing that badge, or the restrictions that came with always hiding his true feelings. He’s not going to do that again. He is who he damn well is, and he’ll be damned if he pretends to be someone else.

He isn’t an NCIS agent right now. He’s just a guy named Tony, who has been crazy in love with a guy named Gibbs for nearly ten years.

Tony downs the coffee and then gets up, a decisive new energy thrumming through his veins. What he knows, and what the people who stole Gibbs don’t know, is just how dangerous a Tony DiNozzo in love can be.

But they’re about to find out.

~*~

He’s woken by the blare of the klaxon, as he has been for the past five months and the lights are turned up to full blast in the hallway outside, flooding into the stall through the inset window in the door. There are no lights in the individual stalls; there’s no need for them as the fighters only go there to sleep – and to fuck. Gibbs often hears the unmistakable sound of them fucking each other in the adjacent stalls.

His stall door is opened, and he blinks as he steps out into the bright, artificial light in the hallway. The building is made of a lightweight metal material, clearly intended to be a temporary structure, easy to take down and reassemble somewhere else.

It’s hard to tell in here, under the constantly bright lights, but he judges that it’s probably evening outside.

There’s a subdued feeling in the air, the way there always is the day after a fight. All that adrenaline and the extra drugs they’re given on Fight Nights have left them drained. Several of them are nursing bruises, and some of them have more serious injuries.

Gibbs glances around to assess the situation; he was too out of it in the truck last night to pay much attention to who was coming back with them and who wasn’t. Steve must have won his fight because he’s there, although he’s limping badly. Gibbs glances down to see that his ankle is covered with bite marks.

“Think they’ll let me off next Fight Night?” Steve asks him, as they’re herded towards the showers.

“For just a few bites? Not a chance,” Gibbs snorts.

Several broken fingers might win you a few weeks respite – no owner wants to risk losing a fighter by fielding one too injured to stand a chance of winning. But other than that, if it’s just a pulled muscle, cuts and bruises, or a minor sprain, they’ll throw you out into the pit to fight again the following week.

Gibbs knows that any fighters requiring serious medical help for internal injuries or complex fractures are taken out back and shot. Tanner can deal with bruises, strains, and minor sutures, but Gibbs is sure that any kind of internal surgical procedure is beyond him.

They shower together as usual, and Gibbs is aware of some of the men staring hungrily at others. He meets any such impertinent gaze directed his way with a dark glare. He knows they’re all hopped up on drugs, and they’re all feeling the same strains and pressures as he is, but he wants them to be clear that he’s not an option. They’re all scared of him in any case. His reputation has been growing with each successful fight, and the way he carries himself and his frequent glares make them wary of him.

“Hey, Gibbs, how long have you been here?” Sam Hurrell asks as he soaps himself.

“Five months,” Gibbs replies tersely.

“No, I mean, how long in Scott’s stable?”

“Five months,” Gibbs repeats. “Never been anywhere else. Never lost a fight.”

“Never? Not even in the early days?” Hurrell looks surprised.

“Never.”

“I lost my first three. To be honest…” Hurrell glances down and then up again, looking ashamed. “I thought it’d be better to lose than to win and have to…” He chews on his lower lip.

Gibbs shrugs. “If I win, nobody dies, but I only have control over that if I win. If I lose, and the other guy refuses…one of us is dead.”

“So it’s pure survival?” Hurrell asks.

“Yes.” Maybe. He doesn’t like losing, and the thought of being raped out there for the pleasure of the bastards running this sick tournament doesn’t appeal, either. Maybe it’s not just survival, and maybe he’s not that altruistic.

“Took me a long time to get my head around it. Wasn’t sure if I could do it the first time…” Gibbs sees that same ashamed, almost guilty look in his eyes that he saw last night in the truck when he mentioned Hurrell’s wife. “The drugs help,” Hurrell finishes with a shrug.

“Yeah, the drugs make me so horny I’d fuck my own grandmother,” Steve butts in with a ribald laugh.

Gibbs gives Hurrell a thoughtful glance. He’s surprised the man hasn’t asked him about his wife. Jan Hurrell insisted her husband was devoted to her, so it’s only natural that he’d want whatever news he could get of home. Maybe Hurrell is biding his time, waiting to get Gibbs alone.

Gibbs glances down at his body as he soaps himself. He’s always been lean but now there’s no spare flesh on him. His muscles are tautly defined and much bigger and bulkier than they used to be, partly because of the drugs and partly because of the relentless daily exercise regime.

“You’re such a winner, Wolfman,” Steve says, daring to make conversation with him, which is unusual. Hurrell has broken the ice; usually the other fighters are too scared of him to initiate conversation – and he hasn’t exactly encouraged them. “What’s the secret? I’ve lost more times than I’ve won; been in about eight different stables.”

“Are they all like this one?” Gibbs asks.

“Pretty much.” Steve shrugs. “Some are worse. One of them had a Jacuzzi! I liked that one. I heard that in one of the stables, if you win your fight they give you a woman for the night,” Steve adds, soaping his cock obscenely. “I always wanted to end up in that stable!”

“Myth.” Gibbs shrugs. “They wouldn’t risk it. Any woman they brought in might talk to the cops, and they’ve got this whole operation nailed down tight.”

“Damn it.” Steve looks disappointed. “What is it with the whole gay thing anyway?” he asks furtively. “I mean…in the ring…what they make us do at the end of each fight?”

“It’s not about sex; it’s about domination and humiliation,” Hurrell says quietly, and Gibbs gets a sense of the man as intelligent and thoughtful, just as his wife said. “I’ve been thinking about this, and I think maybe it started out as a side effect of the drugs. They made the fighters horny, so this got to be part of the whole performance – a sort of literal climax for the audience. And it gives the fighters more incentive to put up a good fight, knowing there’s a price for losing.”

“You think it started out as just a fight club type deal?” Steve asks. “You know, like the movie?”

Gibbs gazes blankly into the distance, his stomach clenching as he remembers Tony telling him about that movie once.

Tony.

What the hell is Tony doing right now? Is he out there, looking for him, or has he given up on him and forgotten all about him? Is he even now working some other case, standing at a crime scene, handing out orders and head-slaps? No. He has to clamp down on that dark thought before it runs away with him. He doesn’t believe that. Tony is either working his ass off to find him, or he’s dead. There are no other options.

Tony wouldn’t forget about him.

Would he?

~*~

Tony opens the fridge door and fishes out the remains of a pizza. He tears off a slice and bites away a big chunk, and the cold, congealed cheese sticks to the back of his throat as he swallows. He grimaces – it’s some weird combo of olives and anchovies – not exactly his favourite choice of toppings, but hey, it’s pizza, and he’s starving. He devours the slice, then takes the box containing the rest of the pizza and a cold beer out of the fridge and goes over to the sofa to sit and wait.

It’s nearly 11 p.m. when he hears a key turning in the front door. There’s a slamming sound as the door is shut, and a few seconds later a man walks into the living room. He turns on the light, humming softly to himself, and then he sees Tony sitting on his sofa and draws his gun quickly.

“Hey, it’s only me!” Tony puts up his hands.

“DiNozzo? What the hell are you doing here?” Tony hates the way Fornell always pronounces it ‘DiNotzo’. It might be the correct Italian pronunciation, but it’s not one they use in his family, and Fornell knows that. Tony is sure he only does it to piss him off.

“What? A guy can’t visit the old friend of a friend?” Tony asks with a raised eyebrow.

“Visitors knock on the door and wait to be invited in. They don’t let themselves in and steal all my pizza and beer,” Fornell grumbles, eyeing the empty pizza box and beer bottle on the coffee table.

“I was hungry. And bored.”

“You couldn’t have called and arranged to come over some time I was home?”

“I didn’t want anyone to know I was here. And trust me, you don’t want anyone knowing I’m here, either.”

Fornell’s expression changes, and he takes off his jacket and sits down cautiously in the armchair opposite Tony.

“What’s going on, DiNozzo?”

“Gibbs is missing,” Tony says bluntly.

“I thought the bastard had been quiet. How long?”

“Five months.”

“Five months?” Fornell gets to his feet. “And you’re only just telling me now?

“I tried before, but you were unavailable.”

Fornell runs a hand through his straggly hair. “I was working an undercover case; been out of circulation for the past eight months. Only wrapped it up this week. Haven’t even damn well had a chance to get a trim.”

“I can see that. It’s a really bad look on you.” Tony makes a face.

Fornell ignores him. “Why are you here, DiNozzo? Does NCIS need the FBI’s help on this one?”

“No.” Tony shakes his head curtly. “Tony DiNozzo needs Tobias Fornell’s help. The FBI won’t help, and I’m on leave from NCIS.”

“The FBI...”

“I already asked. I got stonewalled, just like everywhere I go. Even NCIS. Vance shut me down earlier today.”

“Vance shut you down when you’re looking for Gibbs? The son of a bitch!”

Fornell goes into the kitchen, and Tony can hear him opening the fridge door. Then he returns to the living room with a beer in his hand.

“Tell me everything,” he says, sitting down.

Tony gets Gibbs’s case file out of his bag and puts it down in front of Fornell.

“He just disappeared – no sign of a struggle in his house…although…there was no bourbon in the place, and I’ve never known Gibbs not to have a bottle of bourbon in the basement.”

“You think they kidnapped Gibbs *and* his bourbon?” Fornell raises an amused eyebrow.

“No. I think they drugged his bourbon and then took it when they took him, to hide the evidence,” Tony says curtly. “He was investigating the disappearance of a Marine lieutenant called Sam Hurrell. Since then, I’ve found a number of men who went missing in the exact same way – some military, some not. A few weeks ago, we got a lead and went to this place.”

Tony opens up the file and removes a set of photographs. He points to a hollowed out pit in the ground, covered in sawdust.

“We found blood there. Did a DNA test and found it belonged to a missing army corporal called Peter Hendricks.”

“And since then?”

Tony sits back with a sigh and takes another sip of his beer. “Since then nothing. The land where we found the pit belongs to a property company waiting for permission to build. They said they didn’t have a clue about the existence of the pit. I asked around, but I keep coming up blank.”

“Well you would,” Fornell says slowly.

Tony’s head jerks up. “What makes you say that? What do you know, Fornell?”

“Nothing much. Just…a couple of years ago there were these rumours… DiNozzo, have you ever been to a dog fight?”

“Busted a few when I was a cop,” Tony replies. “Why? What the hell have dog fights got to do with this?”

“Think dog fights – but with men instead,” Fornell tells him quietly. Tony stares at him, trying to make sense of that. “I didn’t even believe them at the time,” Fornell continues, “but there were these rumours of illegal prize fights – no holds barred, that kind of thing. I heard it was highly organized and very lucrative.”

“So why the hell isn’t the FBI all over this?” Tony demands angrily.

Fornell shakes his head. “Because, from what I heard, the cartel running the fights is made up of some of the wealthiest men on the planet. There is…political pressure…from high up. Threats that investment will be withdrawn and careers destroyed if certain investigations aren’t dropped.”

“Horse-racing and gambling aren’t enough for these rich bastards then?” Tony asks sarcastically. “They want the thrill of bare knuckle fighting too?”

Fornell shrugs. “It’s kind of the rich man’s version of a dog fight. A lot of money changes hands at these fights – and there’s some kind of on-going contest, leading to one big fight at the end of the season – some kind of winner takes it all deal.”

“Christ, there’s a season for it?”

“Yeah – spring through until late fall, while the weather holds good.”

“Damn it, Fornell, you’re sitting there just telling me about this? You never did anything about it?” Tony growls.

Fornell leans forward. “I didn’t know they were kidnapping men to do the fighting. I thought the fighters chose to do it – that they got paid. And I was warned off, like everyone else.”

Tony stares at him, dumbfounded. “Five months? Gibbs has been fighting in these pits for the past five months?”

“I don’t know. I’m just saying…it sounds like the thing I heard about a couple of years ago.”

“Fuck.” Tony sits back in the couch, feeling winded.

“Yeah.” Fornell stares at him for a moment. “So what’s the plan, DiNozzo?”

“What plan?”

“Oh, you didn’t come here without a plan. I take it Vance has warned you off, so now you’re exploring other avenues.”

“Yeah, I am. That’s where you come in. And McGee. But mostly you.” Tony reaches into his pocket and then hands Fornell a cell phone.

“You’re going to do something stupid, aren’t you?” Fornell sighs.

Tony grins. “Probably. See, we need to be a hydra.”

“A what?” Fornell looks at him as if he’s gone insane.

Tony laughs. “Did you never watch those great movies as a kid? Man, I loved ‘Jason and the Argonauts’. Ray Harryhausen did these fantastic special effects – okay, so compared to today’s CGI it’s primitive – but he was a genius with what he did at the time…”

Fornell clears his throat, and Tony winces and delivers a slap to the back of his own head. “Thank you, Boss,” he mutters, knowing Gibbs would have given him the slap in person if he’d been here.

“A hydra is a monster – if you cut off one head it just grows two more. Gibbs was the head of this investigation. He was asking too many awkward questions, so they got rid of him the best way they know how – and if what you’re saying is true then they got themselves a new fighter into the bargain.”

“And you’re the second head,” Fornell says. “I have a feeling I won’t like where this is going.”

“Yup, I’m the second head,” Tony confirms. “No point in them cutting me off because I wasn’t a threat – until Vance shut me down, and I decided to investigate alone. Now I’m vulnerable – there’s no telling what I might do now I’m off the grid and outside their control, and if I keep on pushing away at this, then I figure they’ll come for me too.”

“And I’m guessing I’m the third head. This is your plan? We all get kidnapped, one by one, until there’s nobody left? Your plan sucks, DiNozzo!” Fornell glares at him.

“Keep your hair on!” Tony looks at Fornell’s haystack mess of a hairstyle and grins. “That’s not the plan. Well, it’s not the whole plan.”

“You can forget about wearing any kind of transmitter under the skin,” Fornell tells him with a snort. “I can tell you straight away, these guys will sweep you for bugs the minute they’ve got you.”

“Well duh.” Tony rolls his eyes. “That’s not the plan, either. Not that it’s a great plan…just it’s all I’ve got. I need you to be my backup, Fornell. I need to know that if McGee calls, you will come roaring in with twenty trucks full of FBI agents. I need to know that I can trust you to do that; day or night, no matter what else you’ve got going on, you have to swear you’ll do that for me – for Gibbs.”

Fornell shakes his head. “Gibbs is one of my closest friends. Don’t tell him I said that,” he adds quickly. “Of course you can damn well count on me, DiNozzo! Christ, man, do you think I’d turn my back on Gibbs if he’s really been kidnapped by these people?”

“No. I wouldn’t be here if I thought that.”

Fornell gives a slow nod. There’s silence for a moment, and then Fornell leans forward. “How do you know he’s even still alive?”

Tony feels his gut clench. “I know,” he says firmly. Fornell raises a quizzical eyebrow. “I would know if he was dead. Gibbs might be a bastard, but he’s my damn bastard. So I know he’s still alive, Fornell. I just know.”

~*~
End of Part Two
Part Three