xanthefic | Two Wolves

After showering, they’re escorted at gunpoint into the dining room for breakfast. The food is healthy – wholegrain bread, low-fat milk, cereal, fruit, eggs – it’s all deliberately calculated to keep them in the best physical condition possible. Not for their own sake, but so they’re the best fighting machines they can be.

There’s a kind of irony in how healthy the food is in juxtaposition to the injuries they all bear and the drugs they are made to take on a daily basis. Looking around the table, Gibbs can see black eyes, missing teeth, bruises, scratches and even some sutured wounds. He’s got off relatively lightly himself. He always does; he knows that the longer a fight lasts, the more injuries he’ll sustain and the harder it will be for him to recover. He has to take his opponents down quickly and ruthlessly; it’s what’s kept him alive all this time.

The choice of food irritates him. He longs for coffee, but that’s never been on the menu. There’s only fruit juice. He wants to taste pancakes and chocolate sauce and cookies – anything but the dour, worthy food that’s placed in front of him. And it’s not even as if he wants to taste them for their own sake – that ornery part of himself that has always hated being constricted and told what to do by people he doesn’t respect wants to taste them precisely because they are being denied.

He squashes down the anger, as he has to do a thousand times a day, and eats the food. He’s seen the results of a hunger strike, and it wasn’t pretty. Watching a man being held down and force-fed through a tube is enough to turn anyone’s stomach.

After breakfast, Tanner examines them and determines what they’re capable of in their training regime for the day.

Gibbs is cleared for his usual heavy workout. He’s aware of the other fighters watching him as he enters the gym and heads for the weights. He tries to keep himself separate from them. The more they know about him, the more they’ll see his weaknesses. He has to stay in control of himself at all times, so he doesn’t give too much away.

It’s hard to keep up that level of control, to never let them see that he has a weak knee and his eyesight isn’t as good as it used to be. Today, these fighters are in Scott’s stable – but next Fight Night they could lose and go to another stable, and the week after that he could be facing them in the pit. They are all potential opponents.

Steve jogs over to him, limping slightly on his injured ankle. “Hey, Wolfman!” The way he calls him by his fight name irritates Gibbs, just like the choice of food at breakfast irritated him, and the constant presence of the guards irritates him. He takes those small irritations and nurses them, so he can use them during the next Fight Night to give his anger edge and improve his performance.

“I was thinking; that advice you gave me before I went into the pit last night, you know, about keeping focused – well that really helped. So I was wondering if you could coach me. I know I’m scrappy – I’m not a good fighter like you – but I could learn. You could teach me.”

Steve puts up his fists and does a little dance, and Gibbs has a moment of déjà vu so strong it almost overwhelms him. He remembers Tony dancing around in front of him in the boxing ring in the NCIS gym a few years back, and how he took him down. He remembers the look of surprise on Tony’s face as he landed on his back, and the feeling of pride he’d taken in training his second in command. He enjoyed training Tony the way he always enjoyed training his men in the Marines, making them into strong soldiers to give them a fighting chance on the battlefield. Isn’t this exactly the same thing?

“No,” he snaps, glaring at Steve. He isn’t doing that again. He isn’t going to open himself up to how it feels to train these young men and then watch them fight in the pit. He doesn’t want to watch them lose and suffer the indignity of the rape that inevitably follows – or worse. He doesn’t want any of that to be his fault for not teaching them well enough and not making them strong enough. “Do your own damn training. I’m not here to nursemaid you.”

He sees the flash of hurt in Steve’s eyes but ignores it. Maybe the kid thought their conversation in the showers this morning and their brief rapport in the holding pen last night made them friends, but Gibbs doesn’t make friends that easily. He can count his real friends on the fingers of one hand, and none of them are in this building.

“I’ll help you,” Hurrell says quietly to Steve. “Go get into the ring. I’ll just go tape my hands, and then I’ll come show you some moves I learned in the Marines.”

Gibbs turns away and goes over to the weight stack to begin his prescribed workout, and Sam Hurrell follows him.

“Why did you talk to the kid like that?” Hurrell asks softly as Gibbs sits down and begins lifting. “You were in the Corps once, just like me, weren’t you, Gibbs? I know you were. I can tell. I can always tell another Marine when I see one.”

Gibbs raises an eyebrow but makes no reply.

“What I mean is ‘Semper fi’, Gibbs. We’re all in this together. We have to help each other.”

Gibbs snorts. “No, we’re all in this alone, Hurrell.”

“Are you scared you’ll teach him too well and if you ever have to face him in the pit he might beat you?” Hurrell pushes, his nostrils flaring angrily.

Gibbs drops his weights with a loud crash and turns to glare at the lieutenant.

“No…I’m more worried that if I ever meet him in the pit again I might have started to care about him too much and not be able to do what I have to damn well do,” Gibbs hisses. “Same for all of you.”

“You think that’s keeping us safe – and you too – but it’s not. It’s just another way they’re dehumanizing us,” Hurrell tells him in a low, angry voice. “They want us to forget our humanity, Gibbs. They want to turn us into these efficient fighting machines. The rapes are part of that – a way of making us ashamed of ourselves, a way to turn us from ourselves. We have to be better than them. We have to remember who we are, who we really are inside. We can’t let them strip that away from us.”

“Who you are,” Gibbs snaps. “That’s who you are, Hurrell. You need to justify everything in your own head, to somehow make it okay. You have this little system of checks and balances, don’t you? It’s okay to fuck this guy today as long as I help him tomorrow. It’s okay to beat this guy to a pulp if I teach that guy a few moves. It’s a constant stream of justifications and excuses and if that’s what gets you through, then fine. But don’t kid yourself that it’s nobler, or more human, or just plain better than my way of handling it.”

He stalks over to the treadmill, feeling angrier than he has all morning. The minor irritations were bad enough, but Hurrell just pressed all his buttons, and he’s not even sure why.

If only he could think straight. If only the damn drugs didn’t make him feel so angry and horny the whole time, and if only he could have some goddamn coffee!

~*~

There’s a giant bowl of popcorn, two big pizzas, and a case of beer on his coffee table. It could almost be movie night with a group of friends, but it isn’t. More like the last supper, Tony thinks as he takes his seat on the couch between Abby and McGee. Ducky is sitting opposite, on the armchair, bow tie slightly askew, an anxious frown on his face. Jimmy is sitting on the floor at Ducky’s feet, and Ziva is perched on the edge of his armchair.

Tony throws the bulging case file onto the table and extracts the latest updates from it, which he passes around. He’s already emailed them the information he received from Fornell a few nights ago.

“I took these photos yesterday. I couldn’t get access – I had no warrant and it was private land, heavily guarded by armed men.”

He gestures to the pictures of a large metal structure, as big as an aircraft hangar.

“It remained locked nearly all day – I watched,” he explains. “But at one point they opened it up to let in a truck of what might have been food and other supplies. The truck was unmarked so there’s no way of telling for sure.”

“And you think this is where they keep the fighters?” Ziva asks, studying the photograph.

“I think it’s one possible stable of fighters. There are clearly many, at many different locations.” Tony shrugs. “No telling where they’re holding Gibbs.”

“Why don’t we just go out there and storm the place?” Abby demands.

“No warrant for a start – and no judge apparently willing to sign off on one – and they’re armed, Abby. That’d just end in a gunfight that I’m not sure we could win. Also…” Tony sighs. “They saw me snooping around and chased me off, and when I went back this morning…” He puts another photo down on the table. “Gone. Not a trace of them. That structure is clearly portable.”

“These people are slippery like…like…slippery things!” Ziva exclaims, making frustrated gestures with her hands.

“I agree. Which is why we have to be just as slippery, Ziva,” Tony tells her. “So, here’s the plan.” He leans forward and begins explaining it to them, watching their faces become progressively more troubled with every word he says.

“I don’t like this, Tony,” Abby says when he’s finished.

“It’s not a great plan, Tony,” McGee agrees, his pale face more anxious than usual.

“Look, I’m not exactly thrilled about it, either, but we’ve spent the past five months drawing blanks, and I have no expectation that’s going to change,” Tony says firmly. “We’re running out of options, guys.”

“But this…this is so reckless, Tony,” Jimmy says, shaking his head.

“Your entire plan does rather rest on a cell phone, Anthony,” Ducky murmurs. “And on your own ingenuity of course. Not that I’m impugning that; I think we all agree that you have the best improvisational skills on the team. But still, I fear it leaves much to chance.”

“And to Tim,” Tony says, flashing McGee a quick smile. McGee doesn’t return it. “Look, like I said, it’s not great, but it’s all I’ve got. If anyone else has got anything better then I’m happy to hear it.”

There is silence. The entire team is gazing at him with doubtful looks on their faces, and Tony realizes just how scared they are right now.

“Hey! You’re forgetting one important part of the plan!” he tells them.

“We are?” Jimmy asks, looking confused.

“Yes – in fact you’re forgetting the most important part of the plan.” Tony pauses for dramatic effect and milks it for so long that in the end Abby elbows him in the ribs to make him get on with it. He grins. “It’s Gibbs, people! Gibbs is the most important part of the plan! He’s my secret weapon. I mean, c’mon, this is Leroy Jethro himself we’re talking about! If anyone can outwit these bastards, it’s him!”

“I don’t know, Tony,” McGee says, manfully ignoring Abby’s glare at him for doubting Gibbs’s superhero status. “Uh…it’s just…Gibbs has been missing for five months. You’d think if he could have gotten out of there then he would have done it by now.”

He doesn’t say what Tony knows they’re all thinking, what Fornell was thinking too, and what Tony refuses to acknowledge.

“Gibbs is NOT dead,” Abby says helpfully, saving him from having to say it. Of them all, it’s the two of them who are most convinced of that fact. “We would know if he was dead, wouldn’t we, Tony?”

“Yes,” Tony replies in such a firm and final voice that nobody argues again.

“I think it is a viable plan,” Ziva says unexpectedly. The others all look at her, and she shrugs and flicks her long dark hair impatiently. “Tony is right – we have run out of other options and it is time for a bold move. This is certainly that. It will move things along, change things, if nothing else. It is simply what we must do.”

“I agree. Thank you, Ziva.” Tony flashes her a smile. “So, it’s settled.”

They don’t look too happy about it, but then he didn’t expect them to be. He goes through the plan with them again, talking them through some of the details he’s uncovered over the past few days since he took his leave from NCIS.

Then he gets up and goes into the kitchen to get more beer, leaving them to talk about it amongst themselves. When he turns around he finds Ducky standing right behind him.

“You do realize the possible cost of this, don’t you, Anthony?” Ducky asks, gazing at him quizzically.

“C’mon, Ducky – you know I have to do this!”

“Yes, I do.” Ducky’s eyes are serious and concerned behind his spectacles. “I just wanted to be sure you know precisely what it is you are risking.”

“My life?” Tony raises an eyebrow. “Don’t we all risk that, every day on the job?”

“Yes, we do, but I fear in this instance you might be risking something a good deal more, in a way,” Ducky says quietly.

“I know I’ll probably have to fight…”

“And risk serious injury. This won’t be anything like the brawls you might have encountered in your job, my dear boy. I once witnessed this kind of pugilism as a young man on a trip to the Gorbals area of Glasgow, and it’s brutal. I know you have faith in your own prowess, and with good reason, but do not be under any false illusions about what you’ll face if your plan works. You could end up maimed for life, or brain damaged, if you are not killed.”

“Gibbs has been doing this for five months, Ducky. He’s had to handle it – why the hell shouldn’t I?”

He knows the answer. He can see it in Ducky’s eyes. Because Gibbs is Gibbs; he’s larger than life, invincible, and Tony has never yet seen him lose a fight.

“Hero-worship is all very well, my boy,” Ducky says quietly, “and maybe in this case even well justified. But at the end of the day Gibbs is still just a man, like the rest of us, and he possesses the same frailties that we do too.”

“Gibbs is a man?” Tony feigns shock. “You’re kidding me right, Duck? I always thought he was a god!”

They stare at each other for a moment, and Tony begins to regret his facetious comment as Ducky’s searching look penetrates all his defences. Tony looks down, unsettled, and Ducky touches his arm gently.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t realize,” Ducky says, in barely more than a whisper. “And I should have, of course, long before now.”

Tony keeps his gaze fixed on the floor. First Jan, and now Ducky; when did he become so damn transparent? Or maybe it’s this situation making him that way. He promised himself that he wasn’t going to hide anymore; he’s not even sure it’s possible anyway. Jan was right – losing someone you’ve loved so steadfastly for so long hurts – and it’s far easier to hide love than pain.

He jerks his head up to look at Ducky defiantly…only to find a sadly benign expression in the other man’s eyes that completely takes the wind out of his sails.

“So you can see why it has to be this way?” Tony says seriously, dropping all trace of his usual deflecting mask.

“Yes. We are all fools where love is concerned.” Ducky gives a little smile and pats his arm. “But you…all these years to love where you saw no hope of it being returned, and now, to make what might be the ultimate sacrifice for a man who has shown no sign…”

“I know,” Tony says abruptly. “It doesn’t matter. I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t do this. I’m not doing it to win his love, or any shit like that. I won’t lay this on him, or make him feel guilty, even if we do make it out of this alive. It just is what it is.” He shrugs.

“Yes. It is.” Ducky surprises him by putting his hands on either side of Tony’s face and drawing his head down. Then he bestows a gentle kiss on Tony’s forehead. “You’re a brave man, Anthony DiNozzo.”

Tony doesn’t feel brave. He feels stupid and full of doubts, the way he’s always been, his entire life. But he does know there is no other choice. If he loved Gibbs less then maybe he could choose a different path, but he won’t lie to himself about that, the way he’s lied to everyone else all these years. He loves the man, and he’ll throw himself straight into this lion’s den if it’s the only way to save him.

Ducky releases Tony and then he takes a couple of the bottles of beer from Tony’s hands and carries them out to the living room, talking aimlessly as he goes, giving away nothing of the conversation they just had.

Tony follows him. He hands out the beer, and then he beckons McGee over to one side and gives him the file.

“You’ll need this. Fornell has another copy with everything I know in it.”

“Don’t do this, Tony,” McGee says, and Tony can see just how frightened he is.

“I have to, Tim.” He gives what he hopes is a reassuring smile.

“At least let us follow you when they come for you. We can find out who they are and…”

“No.” Tony shakes his head firmly. “For a start, I think they’re too good to allow themselves to be followed judging by how smooth Hurrell’s and Gibbs’s abductions were – and I can’t risk you and Ziva getting hurt in the process because I need you both out here. But also, we’ve seen how quickly they can move their operations. If they think you’re onto them, they’ll shut things down before we get anywhere near Gibbs, and then we’ll never find him.”

“You don’t know you’ll get anywhere near Gibbs as it is,” McGee points out.

“But I have to try. I’m viewing this as being deep undercover, Tim. I’m not going to make a move to get out of there until I find Gibbs.”

“You’re really serious about this, aren’t you?” McGee has a look of respect in his eyes. “I mean, I know you’ve done brave things before, Tony, but this…”

“Has to be done.” Tony pats his arm firmly. “Now look, you and Fornell are the next two heads on the hydra.”

“On the what?”

“Never mind. Just…if this doesn’t work, if you don’t hear from me within the agreed timescale, or if you or any of the rest of the team is threatened, then you go to the press.”

“The press?”

“Yeah. If these guys have taken out both me and Gibbs, then there’s no point risking the rest of you in the same way. You’ll find it hard to get the press on board – for the same reason that investigating this case has been so damn hard. There are too many backhanders involved and too much corruption at the highest level. Talking of which…” He takes a much slimmer file out of his jacket and hands it to McGee. “This is important. I did some digging on SecNav…”

“You did WHAT?” McGee asks, a horrified look on his face.

Tony puts a finger under his chin and pushes his jaw shut. “Come on, Tim. Think! Vance shut me down and his orders clearly came from higher up. These guys pretty much own the planet, Tim. They have enough money to buy anyone – and SecNav clearly has a secret they’ve uncovered that he doesn’t want to get out.”

“How do you know that?”

“Because everyone has secrets, Tim.” Tony grins.

“Do you?” McGee asks, a challenge in his eyes.

Tony laughs. “Ooh boy, yes! Question is – how much are you prepared to corrupt yourself to protect your secret? In my case…I’m not. If my secret comes out, then I’ll handle it and be damned with the consequences. I have a feeling that SecNav’s secret is much bigger and more damaging than mine though.” Tony gestures to the file he’s stuffed into McGee’s hands. “I haven’t figured it all out, but there’s something there – something to do with money and defence contracts – that’s my gut feeling. I want you to continue digging – discreetly. Do not put yourself in danger. Do not ask questions in the wrong places. Just do that computer geek thing you do so well. Do your digging electronically.”

“I will, Tony.” McGee folds the slim file and tucks it in his jacket pocket. “Look, Tony, in case I don’t have the chance…”

“Don’t say it, Tim.” Tony slaps McGee’s arm cheerfully. “I’ll be back. Just make sure that gizmo you created works.”

“It will. It does.”

“Good. I’ll be relying on it.”

Tony goes and sits back down on the couch. He puts his arm around Abby and draws her close, knowing that she’s as afraid as he is right now, and all they can do is comfort each other.

She snuggles in close, and he kisses her hair, wondering when he’ll see her again. It might not be for some time. He refuses to believe it’s never. He can’t go into this with that kind of negative attitude. He has to be strong for the rest of them – and for Gibbs.

He’s spent the past few days asking all the right questions in all the right places. He’s irritated the exact same people Gibbs irritated. And he’s off the grid. He doesn’t have the protection of NCIS. He’s a loose cannon with no backup, no support, and no friends in high places – or at least that’s what they think.

So very soon they will be coming for him, to silence him the same way they silenced Gibbs.

But unlike Gibbs, he’ll be ready for them. And if he gets cut down then he’s got two others to put in his place – Fornell and McGee.

“Like a many-headed hydra,” he mutters to himself.

Abby glances up at him, a questioning look in her eyes, but he just smiles one of his big, bright smiles to try and reassure her.

It won’t be long now. He’s sure about that.

~*~

Scott turns up at the stable the day before the next fight. Gibbs is called out of training and escorted into the dining room at gunpoint by one of the guards. He sees Hurrell, Steve, and a couple of the other fighters at one set of tables, on one of their routine breaks, and he can feel Hurrell’s eyes on him as he’s escorted over to where Scott is sitting. He wishes Hurrell would stop looking at him like that, as if he wants something from him or is expecting something of him.

Scott gives that big, amiable smile of his and waves his hand at the bench across the table from him. The guard begins to push Gibbs into the seat, and Gibbs turns, a growl on his lips. The guard draws back slightly, and Scott laughs.

“It’s good to see you’re in a fighting mood, Leroy,” he says. He’s always called him Leroy; Gibbs has never told him his preference is to be called by his second name. He doesn’t want that degree of intimacy with this bastard.

Gibbs takes his seat on the bench opposite Scott as if by his own choice, which it clearly isn’t.

Scott smiles at him benignly. He reaches into his pocket and draws out a whisky flask.

“I believe I promised you this!” he says, twisting off the lid. He gestures with his hand and one of the guards brings over a couple of plastic cups and puts them down on the table. There are no glasses in this place, and the knives and forks are plastic too – there is nothing that could be used as a weapon.

Scott pours a small amount of the bourbon into each of the cups and then hands one to Gibbs.

Gibbs raises it to his face and takes a cautious sniff. It’s good stuff – Gibbs can tell that just by smelling it – and it’s been so long since he last tasted bourbon. He wants to throw the amber liquid in Scott’s smug face, but he craves the liquor too much. He takes a sip, feeling like he’s supping with the devil, and Scott grins at him, clearly delighted by this small victory.

“See – you and me can be friends, Leroy,” he says.

Gibbs says nothing. He just concentrates on the way the fiery liquid feels on his tongue and how good it feels warming his body as it goes down.

“We should be friends. Our partnership has been very beneficial to me,” Scott tells him.

Partnership? Gibbs raises an eyebrow at that, but still he says nothing. He takes another sip, running it around his mouth, savouring it. It’s a taste of normality, a reminder of what seems like a different lifetime, and in that sense it hurts, but he can’t stop wanting to taste it all the same.

“See, you’ve brought me a certain amount of kudos, my friend,” Scott continues. “I’ll be honest with you, I only bought you because you were cheap. I wasn’t able to compete with the big boys in this game, but I wanted to be part of it all the same. And you…you were this washed up old wolf of a man. Nobody thought you’d turn into the great Wolfman!” He laughs out loud at his play on words.

Gibbs looks back at him without moving a muscle, still relishing the warm tang of the bourbon on his tongue. It’s the smoothest, most expensive bourbon he’s ever tasted.

“Good huh?” Scott takes a sip from his own cup. “Only the finest for my best fighter, Leroy!”

Gibbs takes another sip, still ignoring him.

Scott leans forward. “I’ve had offers to buy you,” he says. Gibbs raises an unimpressed eyebrow. “Big offers too, but I turned them all down. I don’t want the money – I want the triumph of owning the best fighter in the pit!” Scott crows. Then his smile fades. “Of course, it’s risky…if you lose a fight, then I lose you. But you won’t lose, will you, Leroy? You want to win too much.”

Scott sits back, looking pleased with himself. “I recognize that in you, Leroy. I can see it, burning inside you, like a hunger. I find you intriguing, my friend, so I had one of my people do some digging on you.”

Gibbs can feel the growl rising in his throat and it’s out before he can stop it.

Scott laughs. “Oh, I’ve made you angry now. You’re such a private person, and you hate anyone knowing you, really knowing you, don’t you, Leroy?”

Gibbs bites back another growl and downs the rest of his drink in one gulp.

“But I know you very well,” Scott says, a twisted little smile on his fat face. “I know about your lovely wife Shannon, and your beautiful daughter, Kelly, and how they were murdered.”

Gibbs crushes the plastic cup in his hand with vicious force, squashing it into oblivion. Scott glances down at his tightly clenched fist, nodding to himself.

“You killed the bastard drug dealer who murdered your family, didn’t you?” Scott says silkily. “That’s what you think about when you’re in the pit, isn’t it, Leroy? You’re an angry man, and I think that anger is the source of your strength.”

Gibbs throws the plastic cup onto the floor and then speaks for the first time since he was brought in here, forcing himself to keep his voice steady.

“You think you know me, but you don’t. You can’t know me from reading a dossier, Scott.”

“That’s where you’re wrong.” Scott has that smug look on his face again. “I read your school reports. You were always getting into fights even when you were a kid. Your mom was killed by a drunk driver when you were eight, and you were angry about that. You wanted vengeance, and you hit out at everyone around you.”

Gibbs finds his hands curling into fists and longs to smash them into Scott’s smirking, self-satisfied face.

“Your folks were separated, and you’d been living with your mom when she died. So you had to go live with your dad, and you were angry about that too, because you blamed him for not making it work with your mom, who you adored. You’ve been angry your entire life, Leroy. It’s what you are. It defines you.”

Scott has a point. Maybe that’s why his words are making Gibbs so angry, or maybe it’s the drugs; Gibbs isn’t sure he can tell the difference these days.

“So?”

“Oh, it’s not a bad thing!” Scott laughs. “It’s a good thing. A very good thing. You’re mad right now, Leroy. You’re mad at me for keeping you here and making you fight because you don’t like not being in control of your own destiny. But, see, here’s the thing…”

Scott leans forward again and beckons Gibbs forward too. Gibbs stays sitting stiffly in his seat. Behind him, the guard shoves the gun into the back of his neck and forces him forward, so that his nose is almost touching Scott’s.

“See, I think there’s a part of you that likes what I make you do every Fight Night, out there in the pit,” Scott says silkily into his ear. “I think it gives you a chance to really enjoy all that anger inside you. You’ve always had to rein it in and control it before, but I give you permission to enjoy it.”

Scott sits back, a triumphant gleam in his eyes. “I make it possible for you to become that anger, to feel it running through your veins, as fiery as the bourbon inside you right now. It warms you, Leroy. You’re hungry – hungry like the wolf you were named for. When you walk into that pit we all see that, and that’s why you’ve gained such a reputation on the circuit. And you will always be that way. It’s who you are. So you should be thanking me really.”

Gibbs raises a questioning eyebrow, and Scott shrugs.

“Because I’m giving you the chance to be who you are – who you really are inside, Leroy.”

“You’re a sick bastard, Scott,” Gibbs replies stonily, but there is no passion in his words. Maybe Scott has a point. Maybe he’s right.

“And so, my friend, are you.” Scott beams. He raises his cup in a mock toast and downs the contents in one go. Then he glances around the room, his gaze lingering on Hurrell and Steve.

“McGuire tells me you never fuck any of the other fighters,” he says abruptly.

Gibbs frowns. “So what?”

“You should.” Scott shrugs. “You’re the alpha around here, Leroy, and it’s a way of reminding them of that and keeping them in line. They should know you have the right to fuck them, whenever you want. That’s what you get for being a winner.”

“I don’t want to fuck any of them.” Gibbs knows what the man is doing. He’s trying to make him complicit in this world, to make him believe he’s part of it, that he accepts its warped morality, and that he even enjoys it.

“Yeah, you do. I know you’d probably prefer a woman, but Tanner has been feeding you enough drugs to make you want to fuck anything with a pulse.”

“Your point?”

Scott smiles. “Fuck any of them you want. Just ask for them to be put in your stall and fuck them all night long. You deserve it.”

“No thanks.”

Scott lets out a long sigh. “Stubborn bastard. Look, Leroy, you have some big fights coming up.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes – and you can win them too, but you need to stoke yourself up. I want you pumped, Leroy. I want you to feel like the big banana around here. I want you to enjoy that status so much that you never want to let it go. See, I think you can win the whole season for me.”

“And what’s in it for me? You gonna set me free if I do that, Scott?” Gibbs gives an ironic grunt.

Scott waves his hand expansively in the air. “You know I can’t do that, Leroy. You know too much about us. But I can promise this – during the off-season, I’ll let you live a life of luxury. You’ll still have to train, but it’ll be a much looser regime than this. I’ll set you up in one of the houses I own – you’ll have a pool, and you’ll be allowed out into the yard.”

Gibbs thinks, briefly, of how good it’d be to feel the sun on his skin again.

“You’ll still be under lock and key and guarded 24/7, of course,” Scott says. “But it’ll be much nicer than it is here. You win the season for me, and I’ll give you that, Leroy.”

Gibbs gazes at him impassively. He’ll win because he’s made a vow to himself that he won’t let any of the other fighters defeat and rape him; Scott’s incentives are irrelevant.

Scott stands up and grabs his hat. He’s wearing a cream-coloured suit and the hat matches it. He looks like a standard dapper businessman, and Gibbs wonders how the hell he got caught up in this obscene game in the first place.

“You’re a winner, Leroy. That’s what you are in your heart,” Scott tells him firmly. “You’re an angry man who can’t bear to lose and who refuses to bow his head to anyone. Not to me, and not to any of those other fighters in the pit. That is what will make you the greatest winner this tournament has ever seen.”

He tips his hat to Gibbs and then leaves, taking his whisky flask with him.

Gibbs gets up, and as he does so he catches Hurrell’s eye. He wonders how much of that conversation the lieutenant heard and feels an odd sense of shame. Does Hurrell think of him the same way Scott does? An angry man who can’t bear to lose?

He sees something in Hurrell’s eyes that rouses the fury always simmering inside him these days, and he turns away, growling to himself as he’s escorted back to the gym.

~*~

It’s nearly midnight when Tony gets home the following evening, and he’s tired after another fruitless day trying to find the stable where they might be holding Gibbs. All he wants to do is take a hot shower and sink into bed…but he knows immediately that won’t be happening tonight.

His apartment is just as he left it. There is nothing suspicious about it. But Tony hasn’t worked with Gibbs all these years and not developed a gut instinct, and right now that instinct is making all the hairs on the back on his neck stand on end and his spine tingle.

So it’s going to be tonight. He can’t pretend he isn’t scared, but he’s relieved too, in a way. The game of cat and mouse was becoming tiring. He’s good at being annoying, and God knows he’s tried his best to annoy the hell out of whoever is running this game, but he’s glad that particular phase of his plan is coming to an end.

He goes into the kitchen and turns on the light. His gaze flickers briefly around the room and comes to rest on the fridge. This morning, using one of his favourite James Bond movies as inspiration, he took a single strand of his own hair, wet it, and placed it across the fridge door. Nobody would have noticed it. And now it’s not there; someone has been here and opened his fridge, dislodging the hair.

He goes over to the fridge and opens the door. There are two pieces of leftover pizza from last night sitting on a plate and his guess is that’s the most obvious item of food to have been drugged.

He gets out the plate and puts it on the small kitchen table. Then he gives an extravagant yawn and glances around the room. His gaze finds the tiny black dot above the door; a camera. That means they’re waiting outside, watching him.

He gets out his cell phone. He could scrap the plan. He could call McGee and Ziva right now, and they could go out there and find whoever is spying on him…but that wouldn’t get them close to Gibbs, and he’s pretty damn sure there is nothing he could threaten these bastards with that would make them reveal whoever is behind this.

Even if they did, he knows no judge will give him a warrant to go in there and search. He’s equally sure that if he did go in, with or without a warrant, Gibbs would be long gone before he got there. Gibbs would be gone the minute he arrested whoever is sitting outside his apartment right now. No, he’ll have to find Gibbs the hard way, by catching an actual fight in progress. That’s the only way to nail these bastards.

He texts McGee the coded word that will let him know that the plan has worked. It’ll be torture for his probie to sit on his hands and wait for the next phase of the plan to kick in, but he’ll do it because Tony has ordered him, and McGee won’t let him down. For all their bickering, McGee has never let him down when it mattered most.

Tony sits down at the table, picks up a slice of pizza, and takes a bite. Then he glances up at the tiny camera above the door…and smiles.

~*~

Gibbs feels restless, the way he always does the night before a fight. It’s probably the middle of the day out there, but in here it’s night and his windowless stall is in semi-darkness as usual, lit only by the glow cast by the muted light in the hallway filtering through the small window on the door.

Tonight’s guard, Ellis, likes listening to music during his night shifts, and that means they all have to listen to the medley of mellow, cheerful songs that blare out all night long from the radio in the hallway. Gibbs feels an almost overwhelming urge to go out there and slam his fist into the damn thing, then throw it repeatedly against the wall until it’s crushed to a pulp.

He turns onto his side and stares at the wall in front of him, trying to control his growing sense of frustration. There’s no point to it; he knows that from experience. He just has to find a way to shove the anger down and then bring it back out when it’ll be the most use – in the pit.

There are hooks in the wall; in the beginning, before he learned there was no point to resistance, he used to cause the guards trouble all the time. They frequently chained him to the wall in his own stall, often for nights on end. He felt like a stallion they were breaking in, flanks heaving, head down, fighting them with every ounce of his will.

Does that mean he’s broken now? It’s been weeks since they last chained him to the wall, or tazered him, or beat him with the whips they carry tucked into their pants.

The music is almost unbearably cheerful, and it’s such an incongruous counterpoint to his misery that he can’t stand it. He turns back the other way on his thin mattress…and now he can hear a different sound coming from the next stall. The walls are thin – just hollow metal – and he finds himself listening to the sounds of two people having sex. Someone moans and another murmurs something in reply. Gibbs hears little whimpers of pleasure, accompanied by the slick sound of balls slapping on skin. It’s not a rape; God knows, those are common enough around here, but this is clearly consensual.

“Oh shit…yeah…that’s good…you’re good,” a voice moans, and he recognizes it as belonging to Steve.

“Fuck me harder,” another voice rasps. “Please…Christ…fuck me, Steve…fuck me…”

“You got it, Sam. Hold still…gonna fuck you good…”

Gibbs gazes blankly at the wall. He isn’t surprised that Steve is fucking Sam Hurrell. Nothing about this nightmare surprises him anymore. Hurrell is bigger, stronger, and a much better fighter than Steve, so there’s no way Steve has overpowered him and forced him into this. They’re both willing.

Gibbs almost envies them. Maybe sex would take the edge off the combined horniness and anger that he feels all the time. Maybe Scott is right, and he should take one of these men and fuck him into the mattress. It wouldn’t have to be rape, judging by those ecstatic little noises Hurrell is making right now. There are probably plenty of fighters in Scott’s stable who’d suck his cock or let him take them up the ass…and it’s so tempting.

His cock is hard just thinking about it, but it’s just one more way they’re manipulating him, and he refuses to let them beat him, just as he refuses to let anyone beat him in the pit. He has to hang on to some shred of who and what he is. He has so little control over anything these days, least of all his own body, but this, here, is one way he can get a little control back, by fighting the drugs coursing through his body, and struggling, in this small way, to be his own man.

Besides, fucking might create caring. He could have some kid’s soft lips around his dick one day and be smashing his fist into his face in the pit the next. He can’t do that. He doesn’t know how Hurrell can do that, either. He has to wall off those parts of himself that he can’t afford to acknowledge right now, those parts that are weak and scared and could bring him down. He has to stay strong.

His cock is still hard and aching, but he refuses to jerk off tonight. In a few hours he’ll be fighting in the pit, and he wants to channel all that anger and sexual frustration into the men he fights…and to the fucking that comes after each victory.

He hates the little part of him that is looking forward to the fucking. He’s always tried so hard not to take pleasure in it, but he can’t help himself. He wants to fuck so badly it’s all he can do not to grab his dick and masturbate fast and furiously to the sound of Steve fucking Sam Hurrell in the adjacent stall.

The sweat is running down his body, every muscle strained and aching with the struggle not to jerk off. He grabs the thin pillow and bites down hard, and then roars out his rage, helplessness and frustration into it, in a long, silent scream that nobody hears.

~*~
End of Part Three
Part Four
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Posted by

kateri-e.livejournal.com

Oh my...... that was...... well...... really good doesn't do it justice but it's all I can come up with at the moment.

I can't wait for the next part. Now it's off to bed for a few hours before I have to get up... damn you times zones ;-)

Posted by

xanthestories.livejournal.com

Wow - you read all three chapters really fast!

So glad you're enjoying it - there's an absolute rollercoaster to come *g*

Posted by

bellalaine.livejournal.com

::bounces::

Awesome awesome awesome! I love how dark and erotic it is.

Posted by

xanthestories.livejournal.com

Thank you! It is very dark - eep!

Posted by

winter-elf.livejournal.com

Wow. I hope Gibbs takes these people who run this apart with his bare hands!

Very interesting.. and oh wow Tony - I hope everyone can follow you!!

Posted by

xanthestories.livejournal.com

Heh - he's Gibbs so... *g*. But he can't be Gibbs without Tony!

Posted by

clucksy.livejournal.com

I love this. Gibbs is so messed up I think he's getting close to losing himself. I don't know if I want tony to get there before or after that. But its definitely exciting.

Posted by

xanthestories.livejournal.com

Thank you! And yes, Gibbs is really close to losing himself. That was part of what I really enjoyed about writing this :-)

Posted by

leodragon1.livejournal.com

WHY DID I NOT WAIT UNTIL YOU HAD POSTED THE WHOLE THING? DAMMIT.

Posted by

ferneberga.livejournal.com

Because a Xanthe story is too good to wait for the whole thing, we need them in dosed versions too - lol

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