Two Wolves - 7/19

[xanthefic]

Two Wolves
By Xanthe
Chapter Three: Wolf in Sheep’s Clothing


Tony is jolted awake when the truck comes to a stop. The back doors are opened, and the fighters are taken out, one by one. There’s a long wait, and then Gibbs is removed too, leaving Tony alone with Hurrell in the back of the truck.

“Are you an NCIS agent too?” Hurrell asks.

“Yeah, but they don’t know, so let’s keep it that way, huh?”

“Whatever.” Hurrell looks completely defeated.

“That guy they killed earlier – Steve? You and he were friends?” Tony asks gently.

Hurrell gives a little bark of laughter. “Yeah, Agent whoever the hell you are, we were friends. No, screw that, we were more than friends; we were fucking.”

Tony can’t hide his surprise. Over the past five months, Jan Hurrell has told him all about her love story with this guy, and he never expected to hear that.

Hurrell looks angry and shamed by his reaction. “Yeah, Jan’s faithful husband was fucking some guy in the stalls at night. Not just that guy, either – there were others, before this, when I was in other stables.”

“Hey, look, it’s none of my business,” Tony says quickly.

“You don’t know what it’s like here. It’s been months and the drugs…you have no idea what the drugs do to you. I’m horny all the time – 24/7. I try to remember who I am, but it’s so hard, Tony.”

“I’m not judging you, Sam, and I don’t think Jan would judge you, either.”

“She should. She deserves better than me.” Hurrell hunches his shoulders moodily.

“Like you said, the drugs are making you…”

“Gibbs doesn’t do it!” Hurrell snaps unexpectedly.

“Gibbs doesn’t do what?”

“Gibbs doesn’t fuck any of us, and he has his pick if he wanted – Scott’s made that damn clear. The drugs make it hard to think about anything except fighting and fucking, and that’s the way they want us. We’re like animals to them. But Gibbs never fucks anyone outside the pit. I have no idea what kind of self-control that takes, but I know that I don’t have it.”

That sounds like Gibbs. He’d view it as an act of rebellion, and a way to retain some control over his own body in a situation where that’s been ripped away from him. Tony can’t help but wonder what that bloody-minded rebellion must be costing Gibbs, if even Sam Hurrell, a faithful, loving husband, can’t hold out against the drugs.

At that moment the truck door is opened, and Tony is unchained from the wall and pushed out into a huge room, still wearing his manacles. It looks exactly like Walid’s stable, and he has a moment of disorientation, wondering if they’ve brought him back to the same place.

He’s so tired that he can barely walk, and he stumbles repeatedly as they shove him down a few hallways and into a communal shower area. His legs don’t seem to be working properly, and he aches all over. His face hurts, his hand is throbbing, and his ass is sore too, but he doesn’t want to think about that particular ache too much.

The guard removes his manacles and then nods at the shower.

“Talkative, aren’t you?” Tony mutters. He looks down on his bandaged hand, wondering how he’s going to do this without getting it wet. At that moment the door opens, and he feels a surge of relief as Gibbs walks into the shower room, accompanied by his guard.

“I told Tanner you’d need help,” he says, holding up a plastic bag and a rubber band. “I don’t think he really gave a damn, but they like keeping me sweet if it doesn’t cost them anything.”

As Gibbs is their big shining hope in the pits, Tony can believe that. Besides, most sane people are scared of the Gibbs death glare, and he’s sure even the cokehead doctor and the armed guards aren’t immune to its power.

Gibbs fastens the bag over his wrist, covering the bandage completely, and then he guides Tony under the hot water.

“So, tell me, do you ever get used to the being naked thing?” Tony asks with a grimace. In other circumstances, he’d be embarrassed about hanging out naked with his boss, but right now it’s the least of his problems.

“No,” Gibbs growls in reply. He puts a finger on Tony’s face and turns it, examining the damage. Tony’s glad there are no mirrors around, because he has a feeling he doesn’t look so pretty right now. “Christ, you look a mess.”

“Well, you were hitting me pretty hard for a while back there, before…” Before you knew who I was. He doesn’t say that out loud, because the guards are there, but it’s been bothering him. How could Gibbs NOT have known who he was? Just what is going on inside Gibbs’s head right now? He’s still there, he’s still Gibbs – Tony can see that much – but he’s not exactly the Gibbs he knew five months ago. Maybe that’s hardly surprising, but is that Gibbs still there, buried somewhere deep inside? And if he is, can Tony reach him?

Gibbs grunts but doesn’t reply. He grabs the soap, lathers some in his hands, and then gently wipes away the caked blood on Tony’s jaw. Tony mutters a feeble protest when Gibbs begins soaping his back, but he’s so tired it’s not exactly convincing.

“You’re about to fall over. Just shut up and let me get you clean,” Gibbs replies, but the flash of guilt in his eyes tells Tony that isn’t the only reason he’s doing this. “Trust me, if the guards have to do it you’ll like that even less.”

Tony closes his eyes and rests his head against the shower wall as Gibbs goes about the task. Gibbs is right – he’s so tired he can barely stand, and Gibbs is just being his usual efficient self. He can sense Gibbs’s guilt in the gentle, careful way he’s washing him – Gibbs punched him repeatedly, fucked him, and then broke his fingers, and now he feels responsible for taking care of him because of that.

The warm water is soothing on his sore muscles, and it feels good to be clean. When he’s done, Gibbs guides him out of the shower, throws a towel over him, and gently rubs him dry, and then they’re both escorted along yet more narrow hallways and into what’s clearly an infirmary.

Dr Tanner is sitting at a desk, a bright, inane grin on his face.

“Ah, good! I wondered if sending Leroy to help was a bad idea; I thought he might break the fingers on your other hand,” he announces cheerfully. “And that would have been more work for me!”

Tony has nothing to say to the idiot, so he just sits on the side of an exam table where directed. One of the guards puts a hand on Gibbs’s shoulder to push him out of the door, but Gibbs shakes it off.

“I’m staying,” he says, stony-faced.

“Now, Leroy, you know these consultations are one on one,” Tanner replies.

“I’m staying,” Gibbs repeats.

The guard’s hand goes to the whip sticking out of his belt, but Gibbs just turns towards him and gives him the death glare. The guard hesitates, and Tony bites back a grin. He was right; all the weapons and whips in the world can’t give you the confidence to stare down Leroy Jethro Gibbs when he’s in full badass mode.

“Oh, let him stay!” Tanner says with a wave of his hand, and the guard shrugs and leans back against the wall. Anything for an easy life it would seem.

Tony has no choice but to submit as he’s poked, prodded, weighed and measured, and a vial of his blood is taken.

“Standard new fighter procedure, Tony,” Tanner tells him. “I need to decide what dose of drugs to start you on.”

Tony doesn’t like the sound of that, but he’s too tired to really care right now.


"Not that there's any hurry. I'll discuss it with your owner, but with those fingers you won't be going into the pit for a while," Tanner adds.

Finally the exam is over, and Tanner pushes him towards his guard. “Off you go – time for bed, sleepyhead!” In a different time and place, Tony thinks he’d cheerfully smack the idiot in the mouth. “Is there a spare empty stall?” Tanner glances at a chart on his desk. “We lost a few fighters this evening, so there should be. Put him in one of those on his own; he needs rest.”

“He’s sleeping in my stall,” Gibbs growls. It’s the first thing he’s said in the past twenty minutes.

“Really, Leroy? You never share your stall with anyone. Did you take a liking to this pretty boy?” Tanner asks, with another one of his inane giggles. “Did you enjoy the kisses he gave you in the pit? It looked totally gay to me, but maybe that’s how you like it, Leroy.”

Gibbs gives him the same death glare he gave the guard. “My stall,” he repeats stubbornly. “Scott told me I could have any of them I want, and I want him.”

In other circumstances, Tony thinks that might sound hot, but right now, with Gibbs like this, it’s closer to scary.

Tanner gazes at him for a moment, but he’s no match for Gibbs’s death glare, either.

“Very well.” He shrugs. “I don’t care. Just don’t break him anymore than you already did, or Scott will be annoyed. It’s already doubtful whether we’ll be able to put him back in the pit before the end of the season, so Scott will have to feed him through the down season without him having earned his keep.”

Gibbs doesn’t reply. He just turns and strides out into the hallway. Tony follows him, and the guards fall into place behind them. Gibbs leads them along a few narrow hallways and stops beside a doorway. He goes inside and grabs some bedding from the floor and then moves on again, further down the hallway. They stop outside another stall, and Gibbs jerks his head at the door, gesturing that Tony should go in.

“Knew you’d change your mind, Leroy,” one of the guards says with a leering grin, and Tony wonders how Gibbs feels about all these idiots calling him by a name he doesn’t like and never uses. “I had a bet with McGuire that you would. Knew you couldn’t hold out forever. They’re all at it; fucking like rabbits in their stalls at night.”

“That why you play your damn radio so loud, Ellis?” Gibbs asks. “Drown out the sound?”

“Nah – I do that to fuck you off. ” Ellis gives a big grin and shoves Gibbs into the stall.

Then the door is slammed shut behind them, and Tony hears the jangle of keys as they’re locked in.

He looks at Gibbs, and Gibbs looks back at him. It’s the first time they’ve been alone together since Tony arrived, and he has no idea what happens next.

~*~

Gibbs slings the thin mattress, pillow and blanket down on the floor next to his own bedding. The stall is tiny, and the only space for Tony’s mattress is pressed up close against his own.

Tony looks terrible, and Gibbs knows he should let him get some sleep, but he has too many questions he needs answered first.

“The stall isn’t bugged so we can talk,” he says.

“Right.” Tony glances around and gives a little whistle. “It really is a ‘stall’ isn’t it? Like in a toilet or a horse’s stable. Not much privacy.”

“Tony, they don’t let us wear any damn clothes; that should have clued you in on how they view our ‘privacy’.”

“Sorry…I’m just tired…and oh shit…apologies are a sign of weakness, I know!” Tony adds hurriedly. He slaps the back of his own head and then winces and falls down in a heap on the mattresses. “Ow. That hurt much more than usual,” he says in such a mournful tone that Gibbs can’t help but grin. It’s just so very Tony, and it makes him acutely aware of how much he’s missed the big goofball. He suppresses an unexpected urge to hug him; he’s never been the hugging type, and it’d probably just freak Tony out.

“What’s happening, Tony? Fill me in,” Gibbs says urgently, leaning against the wall and gazing down on Tony.

“We never gave up looking for you, Gibbs – you need to understand that,” Tony says first, and the big goofball is instantly gone. Gibbs can see he’s looking at the brave, relentlessly loyal man he knows Tony also is instead. “But we were shut down every which way we turned. Oh, they let us poke around a bit – but in this soul-destroying way, always turning up blank leads, never finding anything useful. I think we got close a few times, but they were onto us and always one step ahead.”

“By ‘they’ – you mean Walid?”

“Yeah – although I didn’t know that at the time. I couldn’t figure out why we could never get warrants in time, and why the local LEOs were so damn unhelpful wherever we went. One day we’d see a sheriff, and he’d be nice as pie. Next day we’d go back, and he’d be all closed up like a clam. I think it was a combination of bribery and threats – whichever worked. Walid is seriously well-connected, and I mean *seriously*,” Tony says meaningfully.

“Are you saying he’s got Vance in his pocket?” Gibbs demands, frowning.

“Worse – SecNav. Not sure what he’s got on him, but I think SecNav’s been a naughty boy, accepting bribes over various defence contracts – Walid found out and is blackmailing him. I left McGee digging into that.”

McGee…he hasn’t heard that name in months and thinking about all the people back at NCIS makes him feel suddenly homesick. Gibbs tries to shove the feeling away, but it’s been a long, shocking day, and he can’t control his emotions as well as he’d like. The feeling persists, all the stronger for Tony being here. He’s having trouble coming to terms with the reality of Tony’s presence in what has been, up until now, his own personal nightmare. It feels so strange.

“How are they all?” Gibbs asks quietly. “Abby…Ducky…all of them?”

“They’re fine. But worried about you. All of them,” Tony repeats firmly. “Nobody gave up on you, Gibbs. Nobody forgot about you.”

Gibbs looks down, struggling as unexpected emotions surface, making a lump rise in his throat.

“Gibbs, you didn’t think we’d forgotten about you, did you?” Tony asks. “You didn’t think we’d walk away and leave you here to rot? That we’d ever just give up on you?”

Gibbs swallows hard. He can’t look up for a long time, but when he does he finds Tony’s eyes gleaming brightly in the semi-darkness.

“No,” he says hoarsely. “No. I knew that you would never give up, Tony.” But he can’t talk about all the long, lonely nights when it felt that way. They’re seared into his soul, and it hurts to even think about them. “So what happened, Tony? How did you end up here?”

“Vance tried to shut me down – on orders from SecNav,” Tony says briskly, clearly trying to move them both on from Gibbs’s uncharacteristic emotional lapse. “From talking to Walid, I think I was supposed to try and fail, and then, when I was at a low point, they offered me the bribe of a promotion and a hike in pay, on condition that I give up looking for you.”

“Boy, they really misjudged you.”

“Well, that’s the way I like it,” Tony says seriously, and Gibbs nods. He’s never misjudged Tony or been taken in by the mask Tony presents to the world. He knows Tony likes his opponents to underestimate him, and he’s seen the tactic work time and again on a variety of people from murder suspects to the director of Mossad. He’s seen Vance being fooled by it too, and he suspects Walid made the same mistake; and that could turn out be the most serious tactical error he’ll ever make.

“So, what’s the plan?” Gibbs asks, leaning back against the wall. “It can’t just be finding me – that gets us nowhere except us both being in captivity.”

“Yeah – it’s not the plan – well, it’s only part of the plan,” Tony replies. “See, everything these guys do is transportable. I even found the site of one stable a few days ago, but when I showed up again the next day it was gone. They’re wealthy men, with resources. Moving their fighters around the country for fights and to hide them is easy for them.”

“So, we need to tell someone where to find us,” Gibbs says.

“Yup. That’s where the plan comes in.” Tony pauses and takes a deep breath. “It, uh, well it involves technology, Gibbs.”

Gibbs rolls his eyes. “Tell me.”

“Okay – McGee has set up this gizmo. I won’t go into details; it was boring enough when he explained it to me. All I have to do is steal a cell phone and call a number I’ve memorized. He has this automatic trace set up – the minute that number gets called, any time, day or night, it starts locating the source automatically. Ideally he needs the line to stay open for about 28 seconds…”

“A cell phone?” Gibbs interrupts, frowning. “Christ, DiNozzo – how the hell are we going to get our hands on a cell phone? None of the guards is allowed to bring a cell phone into the building. Nobody is – not even Tanner.”

“Yeah right.” It’s Tony turn to roll his eyes now. “And I’m not supposed to play Tetris at work, Gibbs, but that’s never stopped me!”

“Worse you ever got for playing Tetris at work was a slap on the back of the head,” Gibbs retorts. “What these guys would get for bringing a cell phone to work is a bullet through the back of the head. Big difference.”

Tony makes a face. “You do make a good point there, Gibbs, but it’s the only plan I’ve got. We just need to be vigilant. At some point one of them will screw up – and we have to take advantage of that.”

“No,” Gibbs snaps.

Tony’s head jerks up. “No?”

“No. It’s too dangerous.”

“What?” Tony looks confused. “Come on, Gibbs…” then he pauses. “You have a different plan? Is that it?”

Gibbs shrugs. “When the season is over, and when I win, Scott says he’ll give me privileges – move me to a house somewhere. I figure the security will be a hell of a lot looser there, so there will be far more opportunity for escape.”

“And between now and then you have to fight that bastard Mac in the pit – and not only survive but win,” Tony points out.

“You think I can’t?” Gibbs raises an eyebrow.

Tony sighs. “I’d never bet against you, but that guy is a man mountain, and he’s a serious head case as well. I met him at Walid’s place.” He shudders theatrically. “Nice guy; told me that if I won, he’d ask for me to be put in his stall so he could fuck me.”

“I saw him fight tonight. I know he’ll be hard to beat.”

“So…”

“So, I’ll just have to beat him,” Gibbs says firmly. Tony opens his mouth to argue, but Gibbs cuts him off. “I said no, Tony, and I mean it. Do not try and steal anyone’s cell phone. That’s an order.”

“But…”

“You’ve been here for five goddamn minutes, and I’ve been here five months. You don’t know anything about this place. I do!”

Tony stares at him for a moment and then gives a reluctant nod.

“Good.” Gibbs exhales loudly. “Okay – now, is the Tony DiNardo cover watertight, or do we need to worry about Scott finding out who you really are?”

“Jenny set up a full paper trail for the cover which is still in place,” Tony replies. “There hasn’t been anything new on DiNardo for a few years since that assignment ended, but hopefully Scott won’t notice that. Man, I never thought I’d have to use that name again. What a clusterfuck of a mission that was.”

He gives an elaborate shudder, and the movement makes him sway; he looks like he’s about to pass out.

“You need to get some sleep. Now,” Gibbs orders.

Tony doesn’t argue this time. He just slides under the blanket, closes his eyes, and is asleep within seconds.

Gibbs sighs. He had hoped for more promising news. Now he has all the complications of protecting Tony without any real hope of rescue. It’s not good.

He goes over to the mattress next to Tony and lies down on it, pulling the blanket over his body. He’s spent every single night in this stall for the past five months on his own, and it feels strange having someone sleeping beside him. He can hear the soft snuffle of Tony’s breathing and can smell the scent of him – soap mingled with some smell that’s all Tony, and that reminds him vividly of their days working together at NCIS, a lifetime ago.

He closes his eyes…but all he can see is Tony lying beneath him in the pit whispering, “I won’t be raped” fiercely in his ear. He clenches his hands into fists, willing the image away. They’ve both been avoiding that subject since they’ve been alone together, but is it something that can be avoided forever?

What the hell kind of relationship can he and Tony have after this, even if they do escape? How can they ever work together again after he screwed Tony in the sawdust in front of all those people? Yes, the alternative was so much worse, but he and Tony both know one horrible truth – that a part of him enjoyed the sex. It was such a blessed relief to sink into Tony’s body and feel the tight heat of his hole milking his cock. He hates that he was forced to do it, but he hates the fact that his body took pleasure in it more. How can they ever get beyond that?

He opens his eyes and lies there, looking up at the ceiling. Christ, this is such a mess!

There’s another problem with having Tony in his stall; one that he hadn’t considered. He’s used to jerking off, often more than once a night. It only relieves the aching pressure in his balls for a short while, but it’s some respite from the constant urge to fuck. Now, with Tony here, that activity will have to be curtailed. It was bad enough being forced to fuck him in the pit, but Gibbs has his pride; he’s not going to jerk off in front of him like a randy teenager unable to control himself.

Tony mumbles something in his sleep and turns over, and one of his arms comes to rest on Gibbs’s hip. Gibbs can feel his warm breath tickling the back of his neck, and it’s more than he can stand.

He gets hold of the hand on his hip and slings it away, shoving Tony as far from him as he can in the process. Tony mumbles something again, but he doesn’t wake up.

Somewhere down the hallway, Gibbs hears a couple of fighters in their stall, fucking noisily. It’s a familiar sound, but this time it gets to him more than ever before. Presumably Ellis isn’t on hallway guard duty or the radio would be blaring out too, but tonight he’d welcome that if it shut out the noisy pants and moans and the wet, slapping sounds from down the hall.

Gibbs closes his eyes again, but this time he finds himself fantasising about turning over, grabbing Tony and sinking his hard cock into that warm, tight hole again. He knows it’s the drugs, but that doesn’t make it any easier. There is no way he’d do that to Tony, who worked so hard to make it seem like the sex they had in the pit was consensual, but the images taunt him all the same.

Gibbs takes hold of his pillow and buries his teeth in it, stifling the scream of helpless, frustrated rage.

~*~

Tony wakes up a little while later and immediately remembers where he is. It’s like waking from a nightmare to find you’re still in one. His body aches all over, and he moans as he stretches out on the thin mattress on the floor.

He can hear noises down the hallway – sex noises. He closes his eyes again and then is aware of another sound. Gibbs is breathing hard and there’s a rhythmic rustling sound emerging from under his blanket. Tony realizes that the poor bastard is trying to jerk off – quietly, so as not to wake him. He can only guess how humiliating this must be for Gibbs. He’s such a proud, private man; this must be its own special kind of torture for him.

Tony thinks about it for a minute. They’re going to be trapped here, at close quarters, for God knows how long. Hurrell told him about Gibbs’s phenomenal self-control in not fucking any of the other fighters, but the poor guy needs some release. He shouldn’t have to feel ashamed for trying to meet the needs caused by the drugs they’re pumping into him.

It’s a risk…but Tony decides it’s one worth taking. He turns over and slides his good hand under Gibbs’s blanket.

There’s a momentary startled hiss. “DiNozzo!” Gibbs growls, grabbing hold of his wrist as his hand goes lower.

“It’s okay, let me,” Tony says softly into Gibbs’s ear. “Boarding school,” he adds by way of explanation.

Gibbs releases his grip on his wrist with a sharp exhalation of breath. Tony moves his hand and finds Gibbs’s hard cock. He’s pretty good at this, knowing just the right pressure to apply in all the right places, and he rubs a firm rhythm along the hard shaft. Gibbs’s breathing gets faster and faster, and Tony can feel he’s close, but also that he’s holding on, unable to completely give into the pleasure and have his release.

“Let it go,” he whispers. “Trust me,” he adds, remembering the pit.

Gibbs gasps, his body shuddering, and then he relaxes, moaning softly and rocking into Tony’s skilful hand. A few seconds later, Tony feels his warm come spilling out over his fingers. There’s a momentary almost shocked silence, and then Gibbs gives a strangled sob and turns towards him. He buries his face in Tony’s neck, all the muscles in his back taut and quivering, and Tony wonders how much it cost him to have such a human moment.

For one horrible moment he’s afraid Gibbs is crying. Then he realizes there are no tears, but Gibbs is breathing fast, making these little gasping sounds into his neck. Tony wonders if he did the right thing, but then he suddenly understands that Gibbs isn’t upset – he’s overwhelmed. The man has suffered months of loneliness and abuse, so for someone to touch him with gentle affection and give him that kind of unselfish release…it’s all too much for him.

Tony puts his bandaged hand on the back of Gibbs’s shorn head and strokes him gently. “S’okay. Ssh, ssh…”

Gibbs slowly calms down, his breathing deepening, and at some point in the night they both fall asleep again.

Tony is woken up a few hours later by a loud klaxon blaring and the lights in the hallway outside being turned up to full brightness. He sits up blearily, to find Gibbs is already up and pissing in the toilet in the corner.

“Get up.” Gibbs finishes up and jerks his head at the door. “Time to get moving. They don’t like it if you’re slow.”

Tony gets up, every muscle protesting the movement. The door is opened by one of the guards, and Gibbs stalks out of it without a second glance at him.

“I get it,” Tony mutters under his breath as he follows on behind. “We don’t talk about what happens in the night. I get the message – loud and clear.”

He’s actually relieved; the idea of having a chat with his taciturn boss about anything involving sex would probably just about kill him on top of everything else. It’s not as if his own avoidance techniques aren’t just as finely honed as Gibbs’s, if not quite as direct. Besides, there was something so intimate and humbling about what they shared last night that he doesn’t want to drag it out into the open and ruin it by talking about it.

They’re herded back to the showers, where Gibbs helps him wash again, which feels, to Tony, just as intimate as the hand job. This whole situation is so confusing. He might have been in love with Gibbs for years, but he’s under no illusion that the man returns his feelings. Right now, Gibbs is being driven by a combination of loneliness and the drugs in his system, and Tony knows he’s treading a fine line between alleviating the effects of both those things while at the same time not taking advantage of Gibbs.

After showering, they’re prodded into another room to eat. Tony’s so hungry he doesn’t really care what’s put in front of him, but he notices there’s no coffee, which is yet another thing his caffeine addicted boss is having to manage without right now.

Breakfast over, they’re taken to a huge training room, complete with punching bags, boxing ring, treadmills, rowing machines, and every variety of gym equipment, all of it state of the art.

Tony stands and watches as the trainers set the fighters to work on various machines. Now he understands why Gibbs has that lean, muscled look; he’s been doing a fitness boot camp for the past five months. “World’s worst way to diet,” he mutters to himself.

Nobody seems interested in him, so he sits down in the corner to watch. He supposes they’ll devise a training regime for him at some point, but for now he’s being ignored. In fact, both the trainers seem far more interested in Gibbs – and he’s aware just how important Gibbs is around here. He’s Scott’s ticket to the big time, and they’re putting everything into him.

“Hey,” a voice says, and he looks around to see Hurrell coming over. “Thought I should…” Hurrell shuffles his feet. “Look, I want to apologise for last night. I was in a bad place after what happened to Steve, but I shouldn’t have taken it out on you.”

“No problem.” Tony gestures to the floor, and Hurrell crouches down beside him, his back to the wall. “Are they always all over him like this?” Tony nods at where the trainers are taping Gibbs’s fingers, talking to him intently.

“Yeah. The guards are always close by too. He’s their star asset – they guard him well, and they train him well. Can’t say I care; takes the heat off the rest of us.” Hurrell shrugs. “Look, Tony,” he glances around, lowering his voice. “Have you talked to Gibbs about getting us out of here?”

Tony chews on his lip thoughtfully. “Yeah. We talked.” He’s still having trouble making sense of Gibbs’s vehemence about not trying to escape; maybe Hurrell can shed some light on it.

“And? See, if there’s anything going down I want in on it, only he says there isn’t. Practically bit my head off when I asked him about it.”

Tony leans forward. “I had the same problem, and it threw me. Trust me, it didn’t sound like the guy I knew back at NCIS.”

Hurrell nods eagerly. “I know what you mean! I felt the same way! Look, Tony – Gibbs is a legend around here. All the fighters are in awe of him. He’s a natural born leader, and we’d do just about anything he asks.”

Tony nods thoughtfully. “Yeah – now that sounds like the Gibbs I know.”

“So, if he’s that strong, mentally as well as physically, why the hell isn’t he trying to escape?”

“I don’t know. I mean, they’ve beaten him – you can see the marks on his back – but…” Tony trails off, gazing over to where Gibbs is striding towards a punching bag, a hungry, intense look in his eyes.

“They haven’t broken him, Tony,” Hurrell tells him. “Trust me – I’ve seen men they’ve broken, and they’re useless. Gibbs isn’t like that. There’s something kind of feral and untamed about him – there’s no way these bastards have broken him.”

“Any idea what’s going on with him then?”

Hurrell gives a little sigh. “Maybe – it’s just a hunch – I don’t know the guy as well as you. But sometimes I worry that he’s got sucked into this whole thing, that he’s forgotten that it’s not about winning the fights – it’s about finding a way out of here. I wonder if, as much as he hates it, maybe he also enjoys it too. He seems to come alive in the pit, like it’s where he feels most at home and can express some truth about himself that he has to keep locked up the rest of the time.”

Tony sits back. In all his concerns over Gibbs’s mental state, that’s something he hadn’t considered. Gibbs going native – is that possible? If you’d asked him that about the man he knew a few months ago, he’d have said not only “no”, but a resounding “hell no!” But this man – the one with the prowling, wolfish intensity in his every move – the man who took several minutes to even recognize him in the pit last night? Tony is not so sure.

“Have you spoken to him about any of this?” he asks quietly.

“Yeah…but he just gets that dark, angry look, and shoots me those glares of his; the ones that are supposed to make me shut up.”

“But you don’t?”

“No. I’ve been getting in his face, calling him on it whenever I can, getting angry with him, trying to force him into facing up to it.”

“Ah.” Tony winces.

“What?”

“That’s not how you handle Gibbs, Sam. Trust me, I should know. I’ve worked with the guy for ten years.”

Hurrell gives a little grin. “Ten years – and you’re still alive? Hell, Tony, are you some kind of masochist?”

Tony laughs. “Maybe, Sam, maybe I am – where Gibbs is concerned, anyway. I think in all that time I got angry with him about…three times?” He counts in his head. “Yeah…three. It doesn’t work very well.”

“Then what does?”

“He’s an intense guy – and he’s got one hell of a temper on him. You can’t meet that anger with more anger, because trust me, no matter how angry you get he can get ten times angrier. He can do angry like nobody else I’ve ever known.”

“Yeah, I had noticed.”

“And he’s always more angry with himself than he is with anyone else. It’s no use telling him when he’s fucked up – he always knows that, and he’ll be beating himself up far worse than you ever could. So you douse the flames, you don’t fan them. You bring him out of it.”

“How?”

Tony grins. “You make him laugh. You joke around, you goof off, and you tease him, and that way you remind him that he’s human and that he needs people, no matter how much he hates that fact. He’s lost more in his life than most of us could lose and stay halfway sane or sober. Sometimes that gets to him, and he becomes lost in a dark kind of headspace – and that’s when you have to pull him out of it with a stupid joke, or a prank, or anything to distract him and make him smile.”

“He smiles? I’ve never seen it,” Hurrell says with a wry shake of his head.

“Oh yeah, he smiles! Not often, but when he does, you know you’ve done something right. You can get in his face and call him on his shit – he needs that sometimes – but don’t do it with anger. Stay calm and give him something to laugh at too.”

Tony watches as Gibbs buries a fist deep in the punching bag. “Yeah, he can be a bastard, but he’s also a guy who’ll risk his life for you, without question. He’s a guy who looks out for all kids like they’re all his own flesh and blood, who needs to see justice done like he needs to breathe, and who would never, ever leave a man behind. So you just have to remind him of that occasionally.”

Tony shrugs, never taking his eyes off Gibbs. “You help him remember that he’s not just a guy who can kill with his bare hands, but also a guy who can build these beautiful boats that actually sail on water.”

“He builds boats?” Hurrell raises a disbelieving eyebrow.

“Beautiful boats – and with his own hands. He won’t use power tools.”

“Sounds like you know him really well.”

“Yeah.” Tony looks thoughtfully across the room, to where Gibbs is pounding away at the punching bag like it’s his worst enemy. “Yeah, I do, Sam. And one thing I know is that you don’t reach Leroy Jethro Gibbs by getting angry with him and telling him what he’s not. You do it by sticking with him and reminding him what he is.”

~*~

Gibbs isn’t a runner; running bores the hell out of him, and there’s something so soulless about just pounding away on a treadmill without getting anywhere. He prefers sparring in the ring, or punching, or lifting weights, but it isn’t his choice. Frank, the chief trainer, has punched his workout into the treadmill, and Gibbs knows he won’t be allowed to eat, rest, or piss until he’s completed it.

He watches out of the corner of his eye as Tony does what Tony does best: nosing out information. Tony is busy making friends, charming everyone in the room – guards, trainers and fighters alike. Tony has various strategies at his disposal, and Gibbs is familiar with every single one of them.

There is stupid Tony – he’s deliberately idiotic, mangling movie quotes, tripping over his own toes and generally acting the idiot. That Tony is the one he starts off being, lulling his audience into a false sense of security by presenting himself as a harmless idiot.

Then there is the empathetic Tony. Gibbs watches as Tony identifies a target – one of the guards standing by the door, looking bored – and goes over to him. He makes a joke, and the guard grunts. Tony leans in, talking softly, and the guard starts to engage, nodding, talking back, holding a conversation, then smiling, and looking at Tony with genuine interest. Tony is making them see him as a real person, not just another fighter. Gibbs tried the same tactic when he first arrived too, for all the good it did him.

Finally, there is smart Tony. Gibbs speeds up on the treadmill as Tony misdirects the guard with some extravagant hand gestures, maybe doing one of his Jack Nicholson impressions. Gibbs is vaguely aware that the fighter on the treadmill next to him is breathing heavily, his face bright red, sweat flying off him, but nothing can distract him from watching what Tony is doing. He sees Tony knocking the guard’s arm and then apologising extravagantly, patting him down as he does so… and Gibbs sees one of Tony's hands slip into the man’s pocket.

Damn it! He told Tony not to go looking for a cell phone! Gibbs runs as fast as he can, keeping one eye on Tony the entire time in case his attempt at pickpocketing has been noticed. Tony is still talking manically, still waving his arms around. Gibbs can feel the sweat pouring off his body – if he can just get to the end of the session the trainer will let him take a break, and then he can go and speak to Tony

The treadmill slows and comes to a stop, and Frank comes over. He takes one look at the time and distance covered and gives a low whistle.

“That’s your best time ever, Leroy. Well done. Take ten.”

Gibbs grabs a towel and wipes the sweat off his forehead and is about to stride over to Tony when a sound behind him grabs his attention. The fighter who was on the next treadmill is standing there, head down, his chest heaving, and Frank is yelling at him.

“You’re too fucking slow, Stuart! I’ve warned you before – if you don’t cover the distance in thirty minutes, you pay for it.’

Frank waves his hand, and the guard who was talking to Tony comes striding over. Tony jogs along behind him, stopping when he reaches Gibbs’s side.

“What’s happening?” he whispers.

Gibbs gives him a hard sideways glare. “You’ll see.”

“Please…no…I’m just tired. I fought in the pit last night, and I won! Please, please…don’t…” Stuart begs pathetically. Gibbs puts a hand on Tony’s shoulder, feeling the muscles tense under his fingers.

The guard shoves Stuart to the floor and pulls the whip out of his belt. It all happens so quickly – the rise and fall of the whip, the welts rising, red and angry, on Stuart’s back, and the crescendo of Stuart’s sobs and screams as he places his arms over his head to protect himself, grovelling on the floor at the guard’s feet.

It’s not a hard whipping – Gibbs has had far worse – but it is shocking in its swift brutality. He can feel Tony pulling forward, his instinct to help the poor bastard taking the beating, and Gibbs tightens his grip and forces him to stay still. He had the same instinct himself once, back when he was new, but he learned the hard way that it helps nobody and costs you dearly.

Then it’s over. Stuart is a quivering wreck on the floor, sobbing and shaking, the red whip marks standing out in livid intensity on his white skin.

Gibbs digs his fingers into Tony’s shoulder and propels him towards the table in the corner of the room where the drinks are lined up. He shoves Tony against the wall.

“See, you stupid, dumb idiot. It’s not a game, Tony. It’s real. Do not fuck with these people.

Tony is staring at him from wide, shocked eyes. “I know…shit…that poor bastard…but I know, Gibbs…I…”

“I saw you!” Gibbs hisses. “I saw you searching the guard for a cell phone, Tony. I ordered you not to go looking for trouble, because if you do, trust me, you’ll find it.”

“I just spoke to that guy…the guard who just…he was nice…we talked about football…”

“Yeah, and if you screw up he’ll throw you down and whip you like he whipped Stuart, without hesitating. He’s not your friend, Tony, and he’s never going to be your damn friend, no matter how many of your stupid Jack Nicholson impressions you do!”

Gibbs finally releases Tony’s shoulder and grabs a bottle of water from the table. He drinks it all down, swallowing furiously, glancing around the gym. Everyone has gone back to their training regimes as if the ugly interlude with Stuart never happened. Stuart is still lying on the floor shaking. Gibbs watches as Frank goes over to him.

“Get back on the treadmill and do it again, and this time do it faster,” Frank orders, nudging Stuart with his boot. Stuart is still sobbing as he slowly gets up and walks back to the treadmill, his head down.

Gibbs hears Tony coming up behind him.

“My Jack Nicholson impressions aren’t that bad, are they?” Tony whispers in his ear.

Gibbs can’t stop the grunt of laughter that escapes from his lips; only Tony could make him laugh at a time like this.

“Worse than bad,” he growls, getting himself under control.

“Damn it. I’ll have to work on them some more,” Tony says. He puts one hand on Gibbs’s shoulder and squeezes, and then he moves away.

Gibbs stands there, breathing heavily, and not from the exertion on the treadmill. Somehow Tony just turned everything around, pulled the rug out from under him, and reminded Gibbs that now he’s here and everything has changed. He made him laugh, for God’s sake!

Gibbs watches as Tony walks over to where Sam Hurrell is standing, and he finds himself fixating on Tony’s ass as he walks. He’s been living with hairy, sweaty, naked men for months now and has never found any of them remotely attractive, but now he finds himself appreciating the sweet curve of Tony’s ass where it meets the top of his long legs. He closes his eyes, remembering the feel of Tony’s skilful fingers stroking his hard cock in the middle of the night, and the heat of his breath on the back of his neck.

Why did Tony do that, especially after he fucked him in the pit? How can Tony not hate him, at least on some level, right now? Gibbs knows how he’d feel if their roles were reversed. The pain and humiliation would rankle, even if his logical mind knew that the alternative was so much worse. Tony seems to have taken being fucked up the ass in his stride, and Gibbs can’t comprehend that. He didn’t deserve Tony’s gentle touch in the night, or the compassionate words whispered in his ear. They both know he took some pleasure in that fucking in the pit. Tony saw it in his eyes, and it shames him. It makes him feel exposed, weak and guilty, and he hates those emotions.

He watches as Tony shares a joke with Sam Hurrell and another emotion rears its ugly head, one he’s completely unprepared for: jealousy.

It’s just one more thing to feed to the dark wolf. Gibbs strides over to where Frank is waiting and channels his anger into a vigorous session with the punching bag.

“You are on fire today, Leroy,” Frank says approvingly some time later, as Gibbs wipes the sweat from his body with a towel. “Best workout I’ve ever seen from you. What’s the reason?”

Gibbs glances over to where Tony is still talking to Hurrell. “No reason,” he lies.

He puts in his best day ever in training – which is unusual after Fight Night as he’s usually too tired to do any personal bests.

He’s relieved when the day is over, and it’s time for dinner. He gets his tray of food as usual, sits down, and glances up as Tony sits down opposite him, a look of disgust on his face.

“This is food?” Tony asks dubiously, pushing a piece of carrot around the plate with his plastic knife like it’s some kind of alien life form. They’re eating the usual healthy dinner of chicken, brown rice, and a multitude of grilled vegetables. It’s fairly tasteless, but Gibbs is so hungry he doesn’t care.

“Yeah, Tony. It’s food.”

“Even this?” Tony holds up a piece of broccoli on his fork, gazing at it quizzically, and Gibbs bites back another grunt of laughter.

“It’s broccoli, Tony. Just eat it. It’s okay.”

Tony takes a mouthful and then makes an extravagantly repulsed face. “You and I have different definitions of ‘okay’, clearly,” he mutters reaching for his cup of water and gulping it down. “So tell, me, Gibbs – when’s pizza night?”

“No pizza. No popcorn, chocolate, or Chinese. No noodles, no hamburgers, and no coffee.” Gibbs sighs as he says that last item.

“Apart from all the other reasons this place sucks, this place really sucks,” Tony says mournfully.

Gibbs glances around. Usually he eats alone, his demeanour making it very clear that he doesn’t appreciate anyone sitting at his table, let alone talking to him. But tonight, a whole clutch of the other fighters have sat down around him – no, not around him – around Tony, and Tony just happens to be sitting with him.

Normally, his body language tells them to stay away, but Tony’s body language is clearly inviting them to join them. Gibbs remembers the many conversations Tony had with the other fighters during the course of the day, all the clowning around, the jokes, and the movie impressions. Back in the office, when they’re trying to get work done, Tony’s more idiotic characteristics were irritating to his co-workers, but here, where there is no entertainment, Tony is like TV.

Gibbs has a sudden impression of what Tony must have been like in the closed, confined quarters of boarding school. Tony is used to communal living, bad food, and the exclusive company of the male gender, and he knows how to handle it. Being in the Marines has equipped Gibbs to handle it too – and Hurrell – but some fighters, without that kind of background, struggle more here. Tony’s innate charisma shines very brightly in this environment, and Gibbs can see why the other fighters are drawn to him.

“So…pizza! It has to be pepperoni, sausage, and extra cheese for me – you?” Tony glances sideways at Hurrell, who is sitting next to him.

“Ham and mushroom – no question.” Hurrell grins, shovelling a forkful of rice in his mouth.

Around the table the fighters start shouting out their favourite pizza toppings, and soon Tony has got everyone talking to everyone else, instead of the usual muted dinner conversations Gibbs is more familiar with.

“Gibbs?” Tony asks, and Gibbs can sense the entire table tensing. They aren’t aware that Tony already knows him, and newbies don’t usually dare to initiate casual conversations with him. They aren’t sure how he’ll respond.

Tony leans back, a grin on his face. “Let me guess…” he murmurs thoughtfully. Gibbs glares at him some more, and Tony’s grin widens. “Pepperoni, ham, beef, pork sausage, Italian sausage, and bacon. Some would say they don’t go together, but I bet you like your pizzas as carnivorous as possible.”

Gibbs rolls his eyes. Tony knows his pizza order all too well from various late nights at the office working cases over the years. “Lucky guess,” he says, deadpan, and Tony bursts out laughing.

The rest of the table seems to view it as a good omen that Gibbs hasn’t sunk his fist into Tony’s face for his audacity, and everyone relaxes and the conversation starts flowing again. Now that Tony has shown them that he’s not the ogre of pit legend, people even include him in their conversations, and he finds himself being drawn in, despite himself.

It feels strange to be talking to people he’s seen around for weeks but never had more than a cursory exchange of words with before. He finds himself relaxing, and he’s aware of Hurrell’s surprised gaze falling upon him several times during the course of the meal. Then Hurrell looks at Tony and gives him an impressed little nod, and Gibbs wonders what the hell that was all about.

After dinner, they’re herded back to their stalls to sleep.

“They’re nice guys,” Tony says, as he shakes out his blanket.

“Yeah, and next time you meet them they could be slamming their fists into your face in the pit and then after that…” Gibbs stops, fighting down the anger. “There are ways of getting by in here, Tony.”

“I know.” Tony nods. “And yours are different to mine.”

Gibbs thinks back to how he was when he first arrived and wonders whether Tony will still view it the same way in five months’ time. That thought makes him angry again; he doesn’t want Tony to be here in five months’ time. He doesn’t damn well want Tony to be here now – and yet he doesn’t want to be here without him, either.

He bends down to grab his own blanket and can feel Tony watching him. Heat rises to his face as he remembers what happened between them the previous night.

“How did you get the scars on your back?” Tony asks unexpectedly.

“I was whipped,” Gibbs replies, turning to give him the death glare.

“Well, duh – I figured that out, Boss. Why were you whipped?”

“You know why, Tony. “ Gibbs lies down on his mattress, pulls the blanket over himself, and turns his back on Tony.

There’s silence for a bit.

“That’s cryptic, Boss, even by your standards,” Tony says eventually.

“Tony, you know me, and you’ve seen how this place works. You’re a bright boy, no matter how hard you work at trying to make people think you’re not, so you figure it out.”

There’s another silence. Then he hears Tony turning too, and a hand comes to rest casually on his hip. He thinks about it for a moment, but the truth is it’s been a tiring day, he’s exhausted, and Tony’s hand isn’t doing any harm, so he doesn’t shove it off.

The truth is also that it’s warm and comforting, and he likes it – and inside the light wolf gets thrown a little scrap of food.

He wakes up in the middle of the night and is immediately aware he has an erection. He often does – day or night. He long ago stopped being embarrassed by it, or even taking much notice of it. It’s the same for most of the fighters – it’s impossible to stop the body’s physical reactions to the drugs they keep pumping into them.

Having Tony here made it humiliating all over again at first, just like it was in the early days, but Tony’s surprising gesture last night somehow removed his shame. Tony understands. He gets it. He might not be being fed any drugs himself – yet – but he made it seem like something normal that Gibbs didn’t have to worry about or hide.

All the same, Gibbs hesitates. Beside him, he hears Tony move his head on his pillow.

“You awake?” Tony asks softly.

“Yeah. I…I’m gonna jerk off.”

“Need a hand?”

He hesitates again. It felt so much better to have Tony’s hand on his hard cock after the long nights taking care of it alone, but he doesn’t want to give in to that kind of weakness.

“No,” he says firmly.

It helps not to have to hide the tell-tale grunts and thrusts as he wraps his hand around his cock and begins to rub it. He finds his mind wandering back to earlier in the day, watching the sweet curve of Tony’s ass as he walked across the gym. He knows how it feels to be deep inside that ass, and it makes him moan softly. It feels somehow wrong to be jerking off, thinking about Tony, while Tony is lying right beside him, and he takes the pressure off, his erection wilting slightly in response.

Tony turns over and puts his hand on his hip again. Gibbs closes his eyes, fighting it, but the light wolf inside him seems determined to be fed. It wants the sense of intimacy from last night that he has been trying to deny it.

He can’t deny it anymore. He grabs Tony’s hand where it’s lying on his hip and slowly guides it down towards his cock. Tony doesn’t say a word. He just moves in close, rests his chin on Gibbs’s shoulder, and takes his cock firmly in his hand.

Gibbs arches his back. It feels so damn good. He’s hungry for human touch and companionship, and he trusts Tony. He couldn’t let his guard down in this way with anyone else. He’d punch Hurrell, or McGee, or anyone else who tried to touch him like this, but somehow with Tony it’s okay. It’s more than okay.

Tony’s hand is skilled and expert on his cock, but that isn’t what makes it so pleasurable. It’s the way Tony murmurs little words of encouragement into his ear and the warmth of his breath on the back of his neck. It’s knowing that he can relax, and that Tony will take care of it. It’s the feeling that he can let go, for just a little while; he doesn’t have to hold it in or handle it alone.

He comes with a low growl of pleasure and is immediately overwhelmed by a sensation of wellbeing. He feels warm, relaxed, and sated. There is so little kindness to be found in this place, and now he understands why Sam Hurrell has always gone looking for this kind of comfort. They are all trapped in this big, terrifying nightmare. They endure privations and ordeals on a daily basis. It feels good to take some respite wherever you can find it.

He turns over and looks at Tony’s familiar features in the dark. He won’t say thanks – not in so many words at least – that isn’t his style.

“When I first got here, I pissed them off,” he says. Not over stupid things, because he’s a pragmatist and always has been, but he asked questions and intervened when he was supposed to look the other way. “I knew how you would react to Stuart being punished earlier because that was my reaction too. That’s why I held you back.”

Tony places his good hand on Gibbs’s back, and Gibbs can feel his fingers locating one of the long scars that stretches from his shoulder to his hip. Tony traces the scar all the way down with slow, gentle sweeps of his fingertips.

“There was this kid – Brian – reminded me of Jimmy Palmer. You know the type. He didn’t belong here – nobody does, but he didn’t have a fighting bone in his body. Failed every single workout, got beaten all the time.”

“And you got these scars trying to protect him,” Tony says quietly.

“They kept beating up on him. He was going under.”

In the first couple of weeks he’d irritated the hell out of the guards. He asked awkward questions, challenged them, and made them feel uneasy. They didn’t know he was going to amount to anything in the pit, but somehow they sensed that he was a threat. Maybe because back then he didn’t know how to keep the dark wolf down and only bring it out in the pit, and it snarled at them once too often.

He took several beatings during the early days, but it was the beating over Brian that caused the scars. The guards, especially Ellis, enjoyed bullying Brian – he had victim written all over him, and they made his life a misery. When Brian failed yet another workout, Gibbs stepped in to take the heat off him, and Ellis decided he’d pissed them off once too often. They strung him up like an animal and whipped him long and hard until his back was red raw, the blood flowing freely. It was supposed to teach him a lesson. He thinks maybe it did; just not the one they expected him to learn.

There’s nothing else to say. Gibbs rests his head on Tony’s shoulder, and Tony continues tracing those languid fingers up and down his scarred back until they both fall asleep again.

~*~
End of Part Seven
Part Eight