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Two Wolves - 15/19
Tony is taken up onto the bleachers, just the same as last time. Scott is so nervous there’s a sheen of sweat on his forehead that he keeps dabbing away, despite the coolness of the night air. There’s a wind rustling around them, the clouds scurrying fast overhead, and Tony can sense an impending storm.
He hopes that won’t interfere with the cell phone reception. There’s no way of knowing if this is the same venue as last week; the venues change fairly frequently, but from up in the bleachers, with the floodlights beaming down onto the pit, it always looks the same.
There is a carnival atmosphere here tonight. People have clearly started drinking early, and there is an abundance of costumes. Tony counts dozens of wolves and just as many firemen costumes. It would be ludicrous if the situation were less horrific. As it is, it just lends the occasion a sense of the macabre. There is singing, and chanting, and people banging on drums, and Tony feels like he’s in the middle of some ghoulish festival of evil.
The commentator starts cranking the crowd up even more, telling them what they have in store for them, and the crowd cheers and catcalls in response. There is a feeling of menace about the place, a certain kind of tension, and a thought occurs to Tony.
He leans across to speak to Scott, who is sipping on his flask of whisky, the nerves clearly getting to him. “Is this going to be the same as the other Fight Nights?” Tony asks.
“Not exactly, no.” Scott wipes some more sweat from his forehead. “You see, during the week Prince Walid decided that our normal finale isn’t exciting enough.”
Tony feels his stomach doing a nervous flip.
“He decided we need more of a climax to the big fight between Mac and Jethro. Now, after the losing fighter has…uh…well…”
“Been raped?” Tony suggests.
Scott shrugs that off. “After the usual end of fight climax…” He says that without any hint of irony at all about the play on words, and Tony almost admires him for that. “Then Prince Walid intends to dispatch the losing fighter himself.”
“And by ‘dispatch’ you mean ‘kill’?”
Scott shrugs. “His Royal Highness felt the audience deserved something more on finale night. He felt they should have the promise of knowing that blood will be spilled, not just the possibility of it. He also wanted to feel more personally involved in the proceedings. He’s tired of just watching.”
“He could always go out there and fight himself if he really wanted to feel it,” Tony offers facetiously.
“Well, in any case, he felt this was the kind of grand climax the audience deserves. After all, they’ve been loyal followers of our little tournament for several months now, and he wants them to leave the pit talking about what a wonderful night it’s been so that they come back next year.”
“Hang on, these fighters are worth a lot of money. It’s all very well him killing his own property – but supposing he has to kill yours? If Gibbs wins, Mac belongs to you,” Tony points out.
“Well, yes.” Scott looks pained. “He did promise me appropriate recompense though, and he’s a man of his word.”
“Oh yeah. Whatever else you might say about Walid, he’s definitely that.” Tony glances over at where Walid is making his grand entrance. The crowd goes wild, chanting his name over and over again. “Looks like Walid knows his audience well,” Tony mutters. The promise of an actual death at the end of the contest seems to have electrified them.
“I should remind you,” Scott says peevishly. “That my bargain with Leroy still stands. If he loses, then before Walid shoots him, I will take you down to the pit, invite anyone who wants you to fuck you, and then shoot you myself.”
“Sounds like a real party.” Tony gives his brightest, shiniest grin because he’s not letting this bastard think he’s scared. “Can’t wait.”
So that’s it. If Gibbs loses then both he and Tony will die out here tonight. So if the plan doesn’t work, if Sam doesn't manage to overcome the guard and free the fighters, and if McGee and the cavalry don’t show up in time, then this is it.
Scott dabs his forehead with his handkerchief again and then raises his flask of whisky to his mouth.
“So, I was wondering…” Tony raises his hands into the air and one of his chains catches on Scott’s arm, jolting it and causing him to spill the whisky. In the ensuing confusion and spluttering, Tony slips his hand into Scott’s nearest jacket pocket, hoping against hope that the cell phone isn’t in the other one. He’s in luck and his hand closes around the hard edge of the phone.
He removes it stealthily and slips it up his sleeve, while simultaneously mopping Scott’s trademark cream-coloured suit with his other hand, making a big fuss over the large brown stain on the lapel.
“Get off me, you idiot!” Scott roars, pushing him away.
“Sorry…so sorry…” Tony makes a face. “Damn it, all that talk of being raped and murdered later has made me want to piss.”
“Now?” Scott asks irritably. “The fighting is just about to start!”
“Sorry.” Tony bites on his lip and shrugs helplessly. “Should I do it in my pants maybe?”
“You really are the most infuriating man I’ve ever met! I have no idea what Leroy sees in you!”
“Really? But you’ve seen how cute my ass is, right?” Tony grins. “That’s what Leroy sees in me.”
“Oh, just go!”
This time it’s Ellis who escorts him down to the toilets. He keeps one hand on Tony’s shoulder as they walk down the stairs, and he shoves him irritably into a toilet when they get there. Tony starts to close the door, but Ellis puts his foot in it, keeping it open.
“I want to keep an eye on you.”
“Ah, that might be a problem. See…I can never pee when anyone’s watching,” Tony says apologetically, thinking on his feet.
“Get the fuck on with it.” Ellis remains there, foot jammed in the door.
Tony makes a big show of standing over the toilet, whistling to himself. “Nope…it’s not working. We could stay here all night looking at my dick hoping it’ll spring a leak, but you’ll miss the fighting. Why don’t you just let me shut the door and get on with it?” he suggests. “It’s not as if I can go anywhere.”
Ellis glares at him but finally he removes his foot, and Tony closes the door. He rests his back against it, heaving a sigh of relief. Then, with shaking fingers, he removes the cell phone from his sleeve.
“Please let there be service…please,” he whispers under his breath. There was last week, but that could have been at a different venue, or a different part of the grounds.
The phone lights up as he presses a button and…yes! Service! Five strong, healthy bars, indicating there shouldn’t be any problems connecting.
He looks at his still shaking fingers, takes a deep breath, and calms himself down.
“You are not going to fuck it up this time, like you did last time,” he tells himself sternly. His fingers stop shaking, and he begins pressing in the number. He finishes, jams his finger on the green telephone on the display screen, and the phone starts to ring.
It’s answered immediately although there’s nobody there – Tony knows it’s automated. He watches the seconds counting up on the phone’s display.
“Eighteen, nineteen…come on…come on…twenty…twenty-one…”
“Hurry the fuck up! The fighting’s about to start!” Ellis bangs impatiently on the toilet door, making Tony jump, and he drops the phone.
“No!” He scrambles after it and picks it up, hoping the connection hasn’t been lost. “Twenty-six…twenty-seven…twenty-eight…Yes!”
He gives it another few seconds, just to be safe, and then he disconnects. He takes a quick moment to delete all trace of the call, and then, taking a risk, he goes to the text function and sends a quick text to McGee’s cell. Just one word: “Hurry.”
He deletes that too and slides the phone back up his sleeve again, just as Ellis bangs on the door a second time.
Tony opens it, smiling. “Sorry…nerves,” he says apologetically.
Ellis grabs him by the collar of his shirt and begins hauling him back to the stands. Over in the distance, Tony can see Gibbs and Hurrell and the others in the holding pen, watching him. He shoots off a quick salute – that’s the signal that all is going to plan. He sees Gibbs straighten up, and then he gives him a salute back in return. Message received and understood.
Ellis drags him back up the stairs. He can hear from the sounds in the pit behind him that they’ve missed the beginning of the first fight.
He shuffles apologetically along the row of seats back to where Scott is sitting and, upon reaching the man, opens his arms and envelops him in a big bear hug. “Scott! I missed you!”
Scott shoves him off irritably, but not before Tony has slipped the phone back into his pocket.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Scott demands.
“Nothing…being nervous always makes me a bit loopy.” Tony grins. “Ask Leroy. Oh, well, you can’t, because he’s down there, and I’m up here, but he’d tell you…”
Ellis delivers such a forceful backhander across his mouth that he falls sideways. “Shut the fuck up and watch the fighting, pussy boy. You might learn something,” Ellis growls.
Tony nurses his split lip, a satisfied smile on his face. Phase one of the mission accomplished. Now it’s down to Hurrell and the other fighters.
And Gibbs.
And McGee.
And Fornell.
There are so many pieces to fall into place; Tony wonders if this plan stands a hope in hell of working. He has no idea where the venue is, or how far McGee will have to travel. He also has no idea if Fornell will make good on his promise to get the FBI involved. Otherwise McGee is likely to turn up with just Ziva, Abby, Ducky, and Jimmy in his NCIS truck, and frankly, Tony doesn’t think that’s going to do them much good against all the people here, however welcome it would be to see their faces.
Tony licks away at his bloody lip, feeling more anxious than ever. He hasn’t even told Gibbs that the cavalry McGee will be bringing with him is the FBI and not NCIS. He knows Gibbs doesn’t like or trust the FBI, even if he does have some kind of weird, odd couple friendship going on with Fornell.
They’re probably all going to hell tonight, but maybe there’s just a glimmer of hope that somehow it’ll all work out.
Tony crosses his fingers behind his back and waits.
The wind is blowing harder now and there are spots of rain in the air. Some nearby trees are thrashing around as the storm starts to pick up pace.
Gibbs hunkers down beside Hurrell in the holding pen, out of earshot of the guard. “Go through it with me one more time,” he says.
“After my fight, when the guard takes me back to the truck, I overpower him and steal the keys to the chains and his gun.”
“Make sure you kill him or knock him out,” Gibbs says grimly. “So he can’t sound the alarm. Chain him in the back of the truck and gag him if need be. Killing’s a last resort, but do it if you have to.”
Hurrell nods. “I take his clothes, pretend to be him, and free the rest of our fighters. Then we take out the guards around the other holding pens and trucks, but quietly, so nobody hears. We free all the fighters we can.”
“Don’t fire the guns, just use them to knock the guards out; we can’t afford for the guards in the pit to hear them being fired and come out and investigate,” Gibbs instructs.
“I’ll do my best, but if all goes well then by this time I’ll have freed a hell of a lot of fighters from different stables, and they might not want to take orders from me.”
“Make them.”
Hurrell gazes at him uncertainly and then his eyes clear, and he nods again. “Yes, Gunny.”
“Then what?” Gibbs asks.
“Then we surround the outside of the pit, overpowering any guards we find there.”
Gibbs nods. “I’ll do my bit. I’ll hold out against Mac for as long as I can to give you time to overpower the guard and get the fighters free.”
That’s important. Hurrell can’t start his escape attempt until Gibbs goes into the pit to fight Mac because that’s when there will be the fewest guards around out back. Gibbs is counting on them all wanting to watch the big fight, leaving a skeleton guard detail on the pens and the trucks. This plan wouldn’t work on a normal Fight Night, when the holding pens are heavily guarded.
“And Tony did his bit – he got the phone call taken care of early, so we have a few hours,” Gibbs adds.
It might not be enough. He knows that. McGee has to track them down, organize a rescue mission, and get out here – and all before the grand finale comes to a close. It’s a tall order. If NCIS doesn't turn up, then Sam, Gibbs, Tony and the other men will just have to fight it out with the rest of the guards, the crowd, and all Walid's bodyguards themselves - and Gibbs has a feeling that'll turn into a bloodbath.
“Organise your men. Lead them with confidence. Make them obey you,” Gibbs tells Hurrell.
“They’re not exactly my men…”
“A good leader can lead anyone,” Gibbs says firmly. He’s not entirely sure that’s true, but he wants Hurrell to believe it. The man’s biggest obstacle is his own lack of confidence.
“Yes.” Hurrell gazes at him with the same look of total belief Tony always gives him. “We really are going to do this, aren’t we, Gibbs?”
“Yeah, Sam.” Gibbs squeezes his shoulder. “We really are.”
The night wears on, and the audience becomes more and more excited leading up to the big finish. Tony’s legs jog up and down anxiously as he wonders where the hell McGee is.
“C’mon…c’mon…c’mon…” he mutters under his breath. The wind is cold, and he’s glad he’s at least wearing a shirt. The fighters in the holdings pens out back will be feeling it.
The penultimate fight arrives – and it’s Hurrell. That works out well for their plan. All the fighters will now be chained back in the truck. Hurrell will make his move when they take him back out there, before they put the chains on him. It gives him more of a chance. But first he has to win…
Hurrell enters the pit confidently and fights the best Tony has ever seen him fight. He easily beats his opponent and before long he’s striding out of the pit.
“And now, ladies and gentlemen, the moment we’ve all been waiting for! The big one, the finale, the clash of the Titans!” The commentator pauses for dramatic effect. “It’s the showdown between the wolfman and the fireman!”
The crowd goes berserk and it takes several minutes for them to calm down again. There’s whistling, and screaming, and someone’s banging on those damn drums again. A loud chanting starts up as fans of the wolfman scream at fans of the fireman, and the tension on the bleachers mounts.
Tony takes a deep breath and offers up a prayer to the heavens.
Gibbs stands in the holding pen on the edge of the pit, waiting his turn. He can see Mac, over at the opposite end of the pit, glaring through the bars of his pen, looking straight at him.
Mac makes an ‘L’ sign with his hands. “Loser!” he screams. “I’m coming for you, Wolfman!”
His pen is opened, and Mac bounds out into the pit. “Who’s afraid of the big, bad wolf?” he screams to the crowd. “Not me! I’m gonna yank on his tail so hard he cries like a baby!” He makes an obscene gesture with his hand on his cock as he says that.
The crowd goes wild, standing up and chanting “Fire-man, Fire-man, Fire-man!” over and over again.
Gibbs thinks about what he’s going to do out there. This isn’t like a normal fight in the pit. He’s not going out there to win, but to buy time for Hurrell to free the fighters. Unfortunately for him, he knows that the longer the fight continues the more disadvantaged he is, because of his age. Mac is a good twenty years younger than him and both taller and heavier. Everything is stacked against Gibbs.
For the first time, Gibbs knows there is a real possibility of defeat. With defeat comes Tony’s death, and that’s not something he can contemplate. But if he wins time for Hurrell to free the fighters, then maybe they’ll storm the pit before it comes to that. Or maybe McGee will show up.
Maybe, maybe, maybe…there are too many maybes in this plan. He doesn’t like it.
Mac is still screaming at the crowd, working them up into a frenzy, and then Gibbs’s pen is opened, and he prowls out into the pit.
He doesn’t work the crowd. He never has. He’s always ignored them. He glances up at where Tony is sitting, his gaze going immediately to him. Tony stands up and looks down on him, and Gibbs feels himself almost tangibly drawing strength from him.
“So, it’s the wolfman versus the fireman. Neither of them has lost a fight all season, and they’d both make worthy champions. But which one will it be? The fireman’s bigger and stronger, but the wolfman is harder and meaner – I know he scares the bejesus out of me! Who will win this epic fight?” the commentator screams, whipping up the crowd into an even bigger frenzy.
Mac comes lumbering towards him, arms outstretched. He’s a massive man, and Gibbs can see why other opponents would be intimidated, but he isn’t. Gibbs easily side-steps him, and manages to kick Mac on the ass on his way past.
Mac hollers and turns, an angry look in his eyes. “Fuck you, loser,” Mac growls as he starts stalking back towards Gibbs. “I’m gonna beat you so bad that you won’t wake up again until I stick my fat dick up your ass and screw you ‘til you scream like a little girl.”
Gibbs does a sudden, unexpected jump, kicks Mac in the balls, and lands a punch on his jaw at the same time. “You talk too much.”
Mac screams in angry pain. He lumbers back towards Gibbs, lashing out wildly with his meaty fists. Gibbs hops out of reach and goes back to jam his elbow into Mac’s kidneys. Then he manages to jump on his back, scratching at his eyes, and Mac scrabbles around blindly, trying to dislodge him.
Gibbs jumps off and in the same quick move throws himself at Mac’s ankles, bringing him down. He has a real chance now. He has a split second to launch himself onto Mac and punch him into submission…but it’s too soon. If he wins this early, Hurrell won’t have enough time to free the fighters.
If he wins then it’s over, and within fifteen minutes the trucks will be driving home. If McGee is on his way, then he’ll show up to find the place deserted.
Yet if he doesn’t defeat Mac, then Scott will kill Tony. What is most important? The needs of the one, or the needs of the many? The needs of justice, or the needs of his own heart? In the end, he hesitates for too long and the decision is taken out of his hands as Mac twists away and gets to his feet with surprising agility for such a big man.
Hesitation is not part of Gibbs’s fighting repertoire. He’s always taken any opportunity that presented itself before and gone in for the win. That has always been the killer instinct that gave him his edge. Without it, he doesn’t stand a chance.
Damn it. He’s fighting on two levels here. He’s fighting Mac in the pit, and he’s fighting Walid outside it. It might not be possible for him to win both fights; he might have to make a choice. But which one should he choose?
Mac charges at him, faster than Gibbs was expecting, and lands a cracking punch to his jaw that sends him flying. He manages to get up before Mac can throw himself on top of him, but it’s close.
Gibbs dances out of reach, and somewhere in the distance he can hear the crowd chanting:
“Wolf-man, Wolf-man, Wolf-man…”
Gibbs makes his choice. He will keep this fight going as long as possible, to give Hurrell time to storm the pit, and McGee time to show up, and if he loses then he loses. He remembers that mental vow he made, never to be raped out here in the pit, and he tears it up inside his own mind.
This isn’t about him or Tony anymore. It’s about freedom and justice for all the fighters. God knows, nobody has been on their side throughout all this, but they are his people, and he will be their champion.
He will fight for them even if it costs him his life. He will die for them if need be. That is the man Tony fell in love with, and that is the man Tony came here to save.
It’s who he is.
Tony watches helplessly as Gibbs goes down – and then gets up again, just in time. He knows what Gibbs is doing. He knows he’s trying to draw this out for as long as he can. He also knows that Gibbs could win this if he wasn’t trying to save them all.
He’s often wondered if Gibbs could defeat Mac in a straight fight, but watching them in the pit the answer to that question is clear, beyond any shadow of a doubt. Gibbs looks like a sleek, dangerous predator, whereas Mac looks like a lumbering rhino by comparison. He bellows and roars as he storms around the pit, but he doesn’t have a good fighting brain. He’s all brute force and no finesse. Gibbs is a fighter down to his bones. He’s been fighting all his life, and nobody has ever defeated him yet.
The crowd is on its feet, screaming and whistling as Mac takes Gibbs down again. Tony stands up, his heart in his mouth, but Gibbs scrambles free, and the crowd goes wild. It’s the longest, most exciting fight they’ve ever seen, with everything hanging on the victory, and they’re loving it.
He’s tired. He’s taken several punishing punches, and he’s been thrown a few times. Gibbs shakes his head, trying to clear it, feeling the blood running down the side of his face.
It’s raining hard now, washing the oil from his body. If Mac catches hold of him, he might not be oily enough to wriggle free another time.
Where is Hurrell? Maybe he failed. Maybe he couldn’t free the fighters. Maybe he's lying dead out back by the trucks at this very moment.
Where is McGee? Maybe Tony’s call failed, and he’s not even on his way here.
Or maybe the failure is his own. Maybe Leroy Jethro Gibbs has failed, and Tony will pay the ultimate price for that failure.
Lightning flashes across the sky, blinding him for a moment, and Mac makes another lunge. Gibbs manages to twist away, but his feet are slowing down. This is the longest fight the pit has seen, but even so, it might not be long enough to save them.
He turns…and Mac is upon him. Gibbs throws punch after punch but nothing seems to dent the man’s huge bulk. Mac grins at him, and the rainwater mingles with the blood streaking down his face and runs into his teeth, giving him a macabre look.
“Night, night, Wolfman. Time you went down and stayed down.” Mac swings a massive fist, and Gibbs’s feet are too heavy, and he can’t quite get out of the way in time. He hears a sharp cracking sound, feels his head snap back as a blow connects with his jaw…and then he’s falling.
“Shit!” Tony jumps to his feet as Gibbs lands on his back in the sawdust, and Mac throws himself on top of him. “Get up…get up!” he urges, but Mac is too big, and anyone can see that’s not going to happen. Damn it, where’s Hurrell?
“He’s going to lose! The stupid bastard’s gonna lose!” Ellis screams.
Scott has gone pale, gripping the sides of his seat so hard that his knuckles are white. Frank is nibbling ferociously on his nails, a look of anxiety on his wizened old face.
Tony looks away as Gibbs takes punch after punch. He’s lost now, for sure. Nobody can take that kind of beating and get up again.
The referee runs up to Mac and drags him off, and the crowd erupts into raucous cheering. The entire arena seems to explode as they are presented with their winner.
“I don’t understand!” Frank is yelling. “He had him. He had him…right at the beginning. Why didn’t he finish him off then?”
Tony knows why, but he’s not saying. Scott looks like a broken man sitting there, head down, muttering to himself.
“Ladies and gentlemen, behold your winner! He’s big, he’s mean, he’s a fighting machine! He’s…the fireman!” the commentator yells.
Mac does his usual victory lap around the pit, screaming at the crowd, and they scream back at him, loving it.
The commentator lets him have his moment, before hushing the crowd again. “Before the fireman finishes the fight in his usual entertaining way, our generous host, Prince Walid, would like to say a few words to you all,” he announces.
He can’t see. One of his eyes is swollen shut, and there’s blood and rain in the other one, blinding him. He’s lying on his back, looking up, barely conscious. His ears are ringing, and he feels like he’s been hit by a truck.
He blinks his good eye and his vision clears. He sees Walid walking out into the pit, and in his confused state he notices stupid things, like the way the sawdust clings to the hem of Walid’s expensive pants. One of Walid’s lackeys is holding a black umbrella over his head, and to Gibbs’s barely conscious mind it gives Walid the look of a cobra poised to strike.
Walid takes the microphone from the commentator.
“Thank you, everyone, for making this season the most entertaining to date,” he says, inclining his head at the crowd. “Now, I promised you blood, and I always deliver on my promises.” Walid gives a tight, deadly smile. “First, we will allow Mac the pleasure of his victory; he’s earned it, as I’m sure you will agree.” The crowd laughs, and Walid gives a knowing little smirk. “Later, I will put this sorry specimen out of his misery in the way he deserves.” He nudges Gibbs with his toe. “I’m sure you’ll also agree that the loser deserves to pay the ultimate price for his loss.”
The crowd erupts in a fit of excited cheers, and Gibbs realizes that the same fate awaits him as awaits Tony: rape, followed by a bullet to the brain.
They’ve lost.
Scott gets up and grabs hold of Tony’s shirt.
“He’ll pay, and you’ll pay – both of you will pay with your lives!” he screams. “I’m ruined because of him…because of you both.”
Tony snorts. “If you’re ruined, it’s because of your own damn greed.”
Scott slaps him hard across the face. “I’m going to take you down there, so you can watch Leroy being fucked and pissed on by Mac, and then I’m going to take you out into the pit, so Leroy can watch you being fucked by anyone who wants you. If you’re still breathing after the audience is done with you, I’ll take great pleasure in putting a bullet through your head just before Prince Walid does the same to Leroy.”
“Is that so?” Tony raises an eyebrow, grinning as he looks over Scott’s shoulder.
“Yes, it is. You’re dead, DiNozzo.”
“Oh, I don’t think so,” Tony says, and at that moment Sam Hurrell pokes the barrel of a gun into the back of Scott’s neck.
Gibbs looks up blearily as a large, black umbrella blocks out the harsh glare of the floodlights.
“Poor Jethro. He lost,” Walid says, removing his sunglasses and gazing down on Gibbs. “I must say, you’ve been a worthy adversary, Wolfman. You’ve made this season the most exciting one I can remember. I was becoming so bored with it all, but then you came along and made it all so much more interesting.”
“Fuck you.”
“No, my dear Wolfman, you are going to be fucked by Mac here, and then I’m going to take great pleasure in shooting you.” Walid holds out a gloved hand, and his henchman places a sleek black gun in it.
“Really?” Gibbs gazes up into the night sky.
“Oh yes. You see, the big bad wolf turned out not to be quite so big or so bad after all.” Walid gives a slow, vicious smile.
“But he still managed to blow your house down, Walid,” Gibbs tells him, looking up at the helicopters flying in towards them, with FBI emblazoned all over them in big, white lettering.
“What?” Walid whirls around as he hears the helicopters, and at that moment chaos breaks out all around them.
Suddenly there are fighters swarming through the bleachers with guns, and overhead the helicopters are flying in low, and on the ground Gibbs can see, through the bars of the pit-side holding pens, that there are trucks pulling up with NCIS and FBI written all over the side. He watches as agents scramble out of them by the dozen and run across the ground towards the pit, and, in the middle of it all, Walid is just standing there, as the whole damn freak show falls down around his ears.
Gibbs scrambles to his feet. He’s naked, he’s covered in blood mingled with oil and rainwater, and he’s barely able to stand, but still he manages to stagger over to where Walid is standing and yank the gun out of his hand. Walid doesn’t even put up a fight; he just stands there, looking shocked.
Gibbs staggers away from him and then stops in the middle of the pit, unable to take another step. The gun slips from his nerveless fingers, and he throws up his arms to the skies, to the whirling helicopters swooping in like angry birds, and to the scurrying storm clouds above. At that moment the clouds part, revealing the bright full moon hanging in the dark night sky.
This is his moment. He's beaten the most formidable opponent he’s ever faced and been triumphant here tonight. He's won.
Gibbs sinks to his knees, flings back his head, and howls out his victory to the moon.
Hurrell’s freed fighters are storming through the pit, targeting all the stable owners, each group making for the one who owned them.
The FBI helicopters are overhead, the noise of their whirring blades combining with the wind and the rain to create a confusing chaos of sound.
And there are agents running into the bleachers in Kevlar jackets with NCIS and FBI emblazoned on them.
Tony doesn’t care about any of that. He only cares about Gibbs, alone down there in the pit with Walid. He’s taken too many blows to the head this evening; who knows if he’s still conscious, or even alive. It’s impossible to see what’s going on in all the confusion. He has to go to him and make sure he’s okay.
“Get me out of these chains!” he yells to Hurrell. He’s freed quickly from his chains, and he looks around, trying to figure out the best way down to the pit.
He sees Ellis trying to flee down the side stairs, and he runs after him. He jumps over seats and down rows, clumsily pursuing Ellis as fast as he can. He manages to get to the bottom first and crouches down behind a row of seats, waiting for him.
Ellis comes shoving his way through the crowd, and Tony leaps up and slams his fist slap bang into the middle of Ellis’s face. Ellis goes down with a thud, looking completely surprised. Tony snatches the gun out of his hand and tucks it into the pocket of his jeans. Then he grabs Ellis’s shirt and pulls him up, so he can see who took him down.
“Going somewhere, Ellis?” he asks, a smug grin on his face.
“Fuck you!” Ellis kicks him viciously, struggling to get free, but Tony punches him once, twice, three times, taking great pleasure in the crunching sound he hears as his fist connects with Ellis’s nose.
He stops when Ellis goes limp, blood spraying from his nose. Then he lets him fall to the floor. He draws the gun and points it at Ellis’s head, seeing the man’s eyes widen in fear.
Tony leans in close, pressing the gun right into Ellis’s forehead. He sees Ellis flinch, expecting the final shot, but instead Tony just laughs and says: “Give me your clothes.”
“What?” Ellis’s mouth opens and shuts like a fish.
“Now!” Tony orders, waving the gun around impatiently. “Or I shoot your head off and take them from your corpse.”
Ellis strips fast, and Tony grabs the jeans and shirt from him. “You can keep the underwear,” he says, wrinkling up his nose in distaste. He turns away, and then, in one smooth move, turns back and delivers a cracking punch to Ellis’s jaw, sending the man back down again. Ellis groans, clutching his jaw, and Tony suspects he’s broken that as well as his nose.
“Aw, did that hurt, pussy boy?” he says mockingly, and then he runs down to the pit, grinning from ear to ear.
Walid’s entourage has fled, and Mac is nowhere to be seen, either. There is just the two of them, alone out here in the pit, waiting for the final curtain. Walid is standing there, arms folded over his chest, watching him musingly.
“It’s such a shame that it had to end this way,” Walid says. “It was such good fun while it lasted. Still…” he shrugs. “I was defeated by a worthy opponent; I give you that, Jethro.”
“It’s Gibbs to you, Walid.”
“You want us to be so formal after what we’ve been through together? That makes me sad.” Walid sighs. "Did you not find me a fascinating adversary, Jethro? Did it not take all your ingenuity to bring this to pass?" He waves at the helicopters above. "I must say, I am most impressed. I knew you were good, but I had no idea you'd prove to be this good. I wonder where I made a mistake," Walid says thoughtfully. "I thought I was playing such a good game."
"Oh, I can tell you your mistake," Gibbs growls. "And it's one that's brought down better men than you, Walid. Your mistake – your giant, mother-fucking mistake – was Tony."
"Tony?" Walid raises an intrigued eyebrow.
"Yeah, you mistook him for an idiot, the way everyone always does – and that's what he wants, Walid. And then you gave him to me. You gave him...to me." Gibbs pauses, his chest heaving, his throat hurting. "He's the joker, the wild card, the single most important card in this whole fucked-up game, and you didn't realise it, so you went and gave him to me." Gibbs shakes his head incredulously.
"Tony," Walid repeats, looking dumbstruck. "You're right, Jethro. I had no idea he was so important."
"You thought you could use him to fuck with my head, but all that did was make me grow stronger. Tony reminded me who I am, and once I remembered that, you didn't stand a fucking chance," Gibbs says scornfully. "You thought I was just a wolf to be brought down. You forgot a wolf is at his most dangerous when he has a mate to protect."
"Really? How very touching," Walid sneers.
"You wouldn't know because you've never cared – really cared – about anyone except yourself in your entire life. You don't know how it feels to have a big, brave, loyal heart like Tony. You can't even begin to understand just how powerful that makes him. That was your mistake."
Walid shrugs. "All very interesting. Now, I expect your people will have some questions for me, but after that I must get on a flight back home. Did I mention that I have diplomatic immunity? They won’t be detaining me for long.”
He inclines his head at Gibbs and starts to walk towards the edge of the pit. Gibbs feels a surge of white hot fury and goes after him with a roar of rage. He throws himself on Walid, brings him down, and straddles him. It’s like every other fight out here; this is how they always end, with him banging his fist into someone’s face over and over again.
First, he does what he’s wanted to do for a long time; he tears those sunglasses off Walid’s head, snaps them with his fingers, and tosses them away. Walid looks up at him and his dark eyes are surprised, and, for the first time, filled with genuine fear.
Gibbs is pleased; he likes the way it feels to have this man in his power at last, after so many months of dancing to his tune and playing the game by his rules. He raises his fist and punches hard, connecting with Walid’s jaw. Walid screams and tries to turn his head away.
“What’s the matter, Walid? Not a fighter?” Gibbs grins down on him. “You’re not though, are you? You prefer to make others do your fighting for you.”
Walid twists and struggles beneath him, but he’s no match for Gibbs who is battle-hardened from fighting out here, week after week, for six long months. Gibbs shows no mercy. He sinks his fist into Walid’s face over and over again, thinking of Steve, Rajul, Brian, Ben, and all the people this man’s evil has destroyed.
He doesn’t ever want to stop. He wants to keep punching until Walid suffers the same fate they all did. He wants him obliterated, smashed into the ground, and removed from the face of the Earth. His anger rises up, and this time he can’t control it. It’s too much and it consumes him, overwhelming him completely.
“Jethro,” a voice says.
He almost doesn’t hear it at first, and he keeps on punching.
“Jethro,” that voice says again, quietly insistent, demanding his attention.
He pauses, looking down on Walid’s bloody face.
“Jethro.”
He looks up and sees Tony walking towards him, the glare of the floodlights giving him in a hazy halo.
Gibbs looks down on Walid again and raises his fist.
“Jethro.” Tony stops in front of him, making no movement. “Don’t do it. It’s not who you are.”
It is though. He looks up at Tony, remembering Hernandez. He put a bullet in that bastard’s head and has never regretted it for a moment. He won’t regret killing Walid, either.
He clenches his fist, wanting to strike.
“Every time they sent you out into the pit you didn’t have a choice; you had to fight. Now you don’t,” Tony says quietly. “This time it’s your choice.”
The anger rises up inside him again, making him shake. He wants this; he wants it so bad.
“Control the anger or it will destroy you,” Tony says, quoting his own words back at him. “I think it already has a bit, hasn’t it?”
He thinks of his mother, and the rage he felt at her death that has never gone away. That rage ruined his relationship with his father for a long time. Then there’s his family, and the rage that he turned in on himself. He locked himself up in a life of loneliness for twenty years, keeping everyone out. He even kept Tony out for ten of those years – ten years when they could have been together. And now there is this. He has so much anger; it feels like a bottomless pit.
“Where does it end, Jethro?” Tony asks, crouching down in front of him. “I’ve often wondered. Do you go to jail? Do you end up with a bullet through your head from taking on one fight too many? When will it ever be enough? Will you ever be able to get all the anger out? And why keep doing it? Does it make you feel alive?”
Yes.
He has never felt more alive than when fighting in the pit, allowing the fury to course through him.
He remembers walking home with his mom, and how she used to draw him out, encouraging him to laugh and talk with her, despite his shyness. He felt alive then. He remembers making love to Shannon, her white skin so soft against his; he felt alive then. And he remembers swinging Kelly around and around, until she was giggling and giddy; he felt alive then too.
Then he remembers dancing with Tony, locked up in a stall at night, taking comfort in each other. He remembers kissing him and making love to him. He definitely felt alive then.
The rage seems to collapse in on itself and then it’s gone. He looks down on Walid and feels nothing. He’s completely numb. It’s over.
Tony holds out his hand, and slowly, aching all over, Gibbs takes it. Tony’s hand is warm and strong and it will never let him fall. Tony helps him up, pulls him away from Walid, and takes him into a corner of the pit, away from harsh glare of the floodlights. All around them is chaos, noise and confusion, but here, with Tony, it seems almost quiet.
“Here. Clothes.” Tony hands him a plain black shirt. Gibbs stares at it. It’s been so long since he wore clothes that he’s almost forgotten how. “I think you should put it on.” Tony grins. “Unless you want Fornell to see you naked. Hmm, actually, I think you should put it on because I don’t want Fornell seeing you naked. You’re mine, and I don’t want him ogling you.”
“Fornell…” Gibbs finds his voice at last.
“Ah…right…yes…I forgot to tell you about that. Um…with Vance being so unhelpful, I wasn’t sure we could rely on NCIS to provide much by way of backup. So I went to see Fornell. Gave him a cell phone and told him to keep it on him night and day and be ready, when he got the call from McGee, to send in every single resource he could lay his hands on, at a moment’s notice.”
Gibbs looks around them, at the FBI agents swarming all over the pit, and the FBI helicopters overhead. “Looks like he delivered.”
“He said he would.” Tony shrugs. “I like him a bit more now. But not much. I’m still kinda jealous of him.” He makes a little face.
“NCIS is here too. I saw the trucks.”
“I know. Looks like McGee worked a little miracle of his own.” Tony gives a proud little smile. “That’s my probie!”
McGee. NCIS. Fornell. Probie. They’re like words from another lifetime. They should have some meaning for him, but somehow they don’t. What the hell is wrong with him? He’s free. After six months of a living hell, he’s finally free.
So why can’t he feel anything right now?
Gibbs is badly beaten up. He’s covered in blood and bruises, and Tony thinks it’s very likely he has a concussion from the repeated blows he took from Mac.
“C’mon – we need to get you dressed,” Tony says firmly.
He holds out the pants, and Gibbs steps into them. Tony pulls them up around his waist and fastens them for him. They’re too big on his flat, washboard stomach, but they’ll do. Then Tony shakes out the shirt and guides Gibbs’s arms into the sleeves. He stands in front of him and does up the shirt for him as if Gibbs is a child. Right now he seems as helpless as one.
He’s just finished when something comes hurtling towards them, screaming loudly, a creature seemingly constructed of whirling black pigtails and big, black leather boots.
Abby launches herself into his arms. “TONY! I was so worried! Oh, Tony!” She hangs around his neck, hugging him so tight he can hardly breathe.
He finally manages to disengage himself enough to look at her. “Hey, Abs! Good to see you. And that is the understatement of the year, trust me.” He grins at her.
“Where’s Gibbs? Is he okay? Please tell me he’s okay! Where is he, Tony?” she asks, looking around, not even seeing the man standing right beside them. Tony doesn’t blame her; Gibbs has a shaved head, a badly bruised and bloodied face, one of his eyes is closed, and he’s wearing clothes he wouldn’t be seen dead in at home. He’s also got that same lost, confused expression in his eyes that he’s had ever since Tony pulled him off Walid.
“He’s right here, Abs,” Tony says, taking her hand and guiding it gently to rest on Gibbs’s chest.
He sees the look of shock in her eyes, closely followed by a sadness so profound it makes a lump rise in the back of his throat.
“Gibbs…oh Gibbs.” Abby doesn’t launch herself at Gibbs as she did with Tony. She simply puts her arms gently around him, like he’s made of china, pulls him close, and holds him there.
At that moment McGee comes hurrying over, accompanied by Fornell, and, much to Tony’s surprise, Vance.
“Tony! Thank God you’re okay! We’ve been looking all over for you. Is Gibbs here? Is he okay?” McGee asks breathlessly.
Tony jerks a thumb over his shoulder at where Abby is still gently holding Gibbs, rocking him against her, talking softly into his ear. He sees the shock on all their faces at how Gibbs looks, and while he doesn’t blame them, it makes him angry all the same. Gibbs has been through hell and all they can do is look at him as if he’s a stranger. They have no idea what he’s been through, but in the coming few days they’re going to find out.
“He’s right here,” he replies, stepping in front of Gibbs and Abby to give them some privacy. “I’m surprised you are though,” he says to Vance.
Vance looks both angry and contrite at the same time – which Tony thinks is quite a feat to pull off.
“Agent McGee presented me with compelling evidence to show that SecNav was dirty. I called in Agent Fornell to conduct an investigation,” he says tightly.
“Way to go, McWhistleblower!” Tony says, with an admiring glance at McGee.
McGee flushes and rolls his eyes. “You left me a good place to start. I just did a lot more digging and found what we were looking for.”
“NCIS and the FBI joined forces to conduct a top level investigation into Walid’s little setup,” Fornell butts in. “We had a task force assembled to deploy immediately we got your call. We were closing in on them in any case, but it looks like you’ve delivered them all up to us on a plate.”
Tony glances over his shoulder again to see that Abby has released Gibbs, and he’s standing there, swaying gently in the wind.
“I’ve got a lot of questions for you,” Fornell says. “We’re going to need your help unravelling this mess, figuring out who the key players are, what the criminal charges are…”
Tony doesn’t hear the rest of that. He runs to Gibbs just in time to catch him as he falls.
“Get me a paramedic! I need the damn paramedics over here now!” he screams, and McGee goes running off to call an ambulance over.
Tony sweeps Gibbs up into his arms, ignoring the way his muscles protest at the weight. Gibbs carried him when he was hurt, and he’s damn well going to return the favour. Gibbs is unconscious, and his face is a worrying grey colour.
A paramedic team comes rushing over with a gurney, and they try to take Gibbs from him.
“Careful!” Tony shoves them away so he can gently place Gibbs on the gurney himself. He goes with the gurney back to the ambulance, holding Gibbs’s hand. “You give him the best treatment in the whole damn world,” Tony tells the paramedics fiercely as they bustle around Gibbs. “Because he’s the bravest bastard in the whole damn world, and he just saved us all.”
End of Part Fifteen
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Part Sixteen
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