Fifteen Minutes to Midnight - Chapter 7
Title: Fifteen Minutes to Midnight
Author: fulltobursting aka unilocular
Artist:
hinky_hippo
Summary: In the midst of a case, Tim and Tony are at each others' throats...like usual. But when a routine interview takes a potentially deadly turn, they both learn the true meaning of friendship.
Rating: Strong Teen
Spoilers/Warnings: General spoilers up to 12x10: House Rules. General violence, whump, bad language, and lots of movie references.
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Chapter Seven
Without so much as a glance back at Tim and me, the brothers dart out of the barn to make their preparations for our move. They slide the door closed behind them, its rickety hinges screaming bloody murder as the entire space falls into near darkness.
Closing my eyes, I wait for minute and then, I force myself to stretch it to two. Even though my body is begging for action, I need to ensure that Tim and I are truly alone. If one of the brothers catches us sneaking to the Charger, they’ll probably kill us.
As soon as I’m sure no one stayed behind, I scramble to my feet. I grab the bucket from Tim’s side and sneak towards the entrance. Someone patrols outside; his shadow breaks up the light that filters through the slotted wood. The figure sneaks back and forth like a solider on guard duty.
Gripping the bucket handle so tightly my knuckles ache, I desperately scrabble for a plan: brain the guy outside, steal his gun, sneak Tim to the car, and hightail it out of Hicks-ville.
That should be easy enough, right?
Yeah right, I think Tom Cruise in Mission: Impossible might’ve had the easier job.
But nonetheless, I press my back against the barn door. There’s a gap at the end, just big enough for me to slither through when I need to. From there, I watch the world outside. It looks like Greg-or Ken?-was the one chosen to stay behind. In his hands, a shotgun is poised for action.
I hold my breath as he drifts closer. I lift the bucket, wait for the opportune moment.
At the perfect time, Tim gives a loud, mournful gasp. His breathing goes ragged before it morphs into a harsh moan.
Greg spins around on high-alert, his head whipping towards the barn.
“Shit,” I mutter.
When his footsteps draw closer, I retreat back to Tim’s side. Even though he’s barely awake, my partner tries to push himself up. I squeeze his shoulder, and his unfocused eyes flutter open.
“Relax, Tim,” I say. “Just relax.”
“T-Tony? Are we…are we still…” His voice trails off into a hiss.
“Yeah, we’re still playing on the Little House on the Prairie, but Gibbs knows about everything.” I force the bravest grin I can manage.
“Everything’s going to be fine, Tim.”
He sinks against the hay. “Thanks.”
I blink. “For what?”
“Lying to make me feel better.” He pulls a shuddering breath, braces himself as he shifts his weight. “If they called Gibbs, you and I both know they’re just going to move us.”
“He’ll get here before that.”
Tim’s tiny smile humors us both. Just as I’m about to match it, he groans again and reaches for his the back of his leg. With the towel and duct tape, it looks like something out of low-budget mummy movie.
“What the hell is that?” he asks.
“That’s what happens at the hillbilly doctor. If you’d listened to country music with me, you would’ve known all about it,” I shoot back.
He tries to laugh, but it comes out as a yelp. That’s when I notice the bottle of Advil and water by his side. After sliding over to retrieve it, I hold it up into his view.
“Why don’t we try a couple of these?” I suggest.
Tim stares back with hooded eyes. “I don’t think it’s going to help.”
“It’s better than nothing, isn’t it?”
He half nods while I struggle to remove the lid with my bound hands. After several failed attempts, it pops off and vanishes into the hay pile. I rub my sore thumb before I shake out four pills into Tim’s trembling hand. Only three of them make it into his mouth, but he swallows then before I even pick up the water bottle. I open it with my teeth and spit the cap onto the floor. When I offer it to him, Tim looks at me like I might be trying to poison him.
“Don’t worry, McGee, I’ve had all my shots.”
“You don’t know if they put something in there.”
I shrug. “Right now, you should take your chances.”
He takes the bottle of water from my hand, but his grip is so shaky that the liquid sloshes all over the floor. I grab it from him, ease it to his mouth. He takes a few deep sips until the bottle is nearly empty. Then I place it on the floor by my knees.
“You should drink something, Tony,” he says quietly.
I shake my head. “I’m fine.”
“So you get to play DiDoctor, but not follow your own advice?” He huffs. “Typical.”
I laugh. “You know the name game only works if it makes sense, McPatient?”
As he sinks back against the hay, obviously spent, I take a half-sip of water to appease him. When he slumps further down in the hay, Tim manages to land in a patch of sunlight. I notice a slight color returning to his cheeks, but rivers of sweat roll off down his face.
I place my hand on his forehead. His skin is on fire.
“Oh shit, Tim,” I whisper.
“I’m feeling better.” His tone tells me that he’s a big, fat liar. “Say, Tony, could you do me a favor?”
If he asks me to give up McNicknames, I might be worried enough to oblige. For a few days. But the look on his face tells me it’s something far more serious than that. My chest tightens at the thought of how he’s going to ask me to fulfill some sort of last wish bullshit. Tell my mom I love her, donate all of my money to charity, make sure my friends know I cared, blah…blah…blah.
Speaking of last wishes, I really need to ask him to find a home for my fish.
I lick my lips, feign nonchalance. “As long as it doesn’t involve rebooting your computer, I’ll see what I can do.”
The silence lingers for a long time as Tim’s breathing grows more ragged. He goes slack, but I shake his shoulder until his eyes flutter open. If he’s lost as much blood as I think, it’s only a matter of time before he goes into shock. I have to keep him awake and talking, no matter how morbid or depressing the subject might be.
He stares up at me. “Tell Gibbs that I enjoyed working with him. Tell my dad that I’m sorry that I didn’t live up to the family name. And tell Sarah, I’m sure she’ll be…” he coughs again, hard enough to rattle his bones “…a better writer than I ever was. And Delilah…” He draws her name into a regretful sigh. “Tell her I never should’ve let her move halfway around the world.”
I nod. “And if I don’t make it, tell my dad that I never hated him and Gibbs that those headslaps caused permanent brain damage. And my fish have expensive tastes. So make sure you feed Kate and Ziva the best food money can buy. Nothing is too good for my girls."
Tim genuinely laughs. “What about Zoe?
Something that feels a lot like regret wells in my chest. “I’ve been head over heels in love with her since Philly, but I never knew how to tell her.”
Tim smiles knowingly. He goes to tap my shoulder, but misses by a mile. “You were one hell of a teacher, Tony. Thanks for everything…even the tough love.”
“Are you planning on dying on me, McGee?” When he weakly shakes his head, I add: “Then save all of this last word crap for when it’s actually over. I haven’t heard the fat lady sing yet, so I think we’re safe. For now.”
He tries to laugh again, but it comes out as a gasp.
“I think we should plan for something when we get out of here.”
He tries to slip away. “A movie…night…like we…used to?”
“How about a double date with our ladies?” I shake his arm. “When Delilah comes home to visit. Or we could always go to Dubai. Did you hear they have an indoor ski resort over there?”
“Yeah…I think…that sounds nice. As long as Zoe…promises not to…” The last dredges of consciousness begin to fade from his eyes.
“Beat you to a pulp again,” I say. “I know.”
He half-laughs as he passes out. Pressing my lips together, I grab his shoulder. Underneath my fingertips, his body trembles like we’ve been out in the cold for far too long. And while the air in the barn hovers just above freezing and we’re still soaking wet, I’m worried there’s more to it than that.
I squeeze his arm, but it doesn’t wake him up.
So I try something I picked learned from Gibbs in his ‘interrogation’ techniques class. A sternal rub, I think he called it. Whatever it is, digging your knuckles into someone’s sternum is a surefire to wake up anyone who isn’t dead.
Making a fist, I press my knuckles against Tim’s chest. He bucks against the touch, groaning.
“Come on, Tim, you’ve got to wake up,” I say, pressing just a bit harder.
His eyes open, hands flapping to chase mine away. “To…ny…what..was…that…for?”
“I need you to stay with me. We’ve got work to do.”
“But I’m tired...” He sounds piteous, like a child or a Probie. “There…is…always work. Can’t we…” he takes a heaving breath “…just rest for a little? Please…”
His voice breaks my heart, but I push. “Do you want me to tell Gibbs you said that?”
He tries to sit up. “No…no. I’ll…I’ll…”
“Write my report.”
His eyes instantly snap back at me, hazy and pissed. “Bishop…does…both.”
Half-nodding, I shrug like he outwitted me. “Okay, fine, but you buy lunch.”
“No, you.”
Sighing, I hang my head to hide my smile. “Fine, fine, I’ll buy lunch and convince Bishop to write our reports. But if you fall asleep again, the bet’s off, got it? Then you’ll probably have to write hers too.”
Aggravation chases the agony off his face for a split second. I breathe a sigh of relief at the glimpse of my determined and ready partner. Pushing himself higher in the hay, he glances towards the door.
“What…should…I do?”
“Be ready to run.” He stares at me like I just told him Gibbs invited us to a tea party. “Be awake so I can help you get out of here?”
Once he sits up completely, the little color in his cheeks drains away. He pitches to the side, but he manages to stay upright. I hold my bound hands up, begging him to stay there, stay with me, as I scramble to my feet. I sneak across the barn, grab the bucket from where I left it. When I check on Tim, he gives me the weakest thumbs up I’ve ever seen.
So I glance out the door, just in time to see the shotgun aimed at my chest.
The bucket lands on the ground, rolling away with a loud plunk. Hands raised, I backpedal into the barn.
“Tony?” Tim calls.
I don’t get a chance to reply because the brothers sweep in after me. Greg keeps his shotgun pointed at his heart while Ken and Sammy stand by his side.
“Sammy, go help Agent McGee,” Ken says. “I don’t think he’ll be able to manage on his own.”
At least Sammy has the grace to look at the floor on his way past. When he pulls Tim to his feet, my partner yelps loudly. I take a reflexive step forward, but Greg slides into my path and presses the shotgun against my chest. I don’t move again.
By the time Sammy and Tim join us, my partner is ghastly white and panting with effort. Guilt reads heavy on Sammy’s face and he makes no attempt to hide it.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers.
“Apologies are a sign of weakness,” Tim retorts, more vitriolic than I thought him capable of.
Greg moves the gun away from my chest, takes a step towards Tim. But he doesn’t make it because I jump forward to smash my elbow against his nose. Something cracks underneath my strike. Greg and his shotgun topple to the ground.
When I scramble for the weapon, Ken steps on the barrel. “That’s a bad idea, Agent DiNozzo.”
He points to the opposite side of the barn where Sammy holds a gun against Tim’s temple. Even though the look on Tim’s face implores me onward, I hold my hands up and step back. Our last escape attempt slips away as Ken picks up the shotgun.
Climbing to his feet, Greg keeps one hand presses against his nose. Blood flows freely down his cheeks and I feel oddly triumphant.
Until he sucker-punches me in the jaw.
I tumble to my knees and use my hands to brace myself against the ground. Stars dance in my vision, right before pain bursts across my face. I close my eyes, feeling myself start to drift away.
Stay awake, I tell myself. Just stay awake.
“Tony,” Tim says.
The sound of his voice snaps me out of my stupor and I push my body up, just in time for Greg to kick me in the gut. I collapse back to the ground, gasping for air. Out of the corner of my eye, I see him wind up for another hit. I brace myself.
“I think you’re done, Greg,” Ken snaps.
“Why do you always get to boss me around, Kenneth?” Greg huffs, voice bordering dangerously near a whine.
“Because I’m older and Mother said that you have to listen to me, that’s why.” When his brother gives him the death stare, Ken rolls his eyes. “Look, let’s just get them in the car so we can take them to the rendez-vous point. I’ll catch up in a few minutes.”
There’s another huff before I’m pulled to my feet. Even though my legs are wobbly, I put on a brave face when I glance over at Tim. I shoot him a broad smile like I planned this all along and I know exactly what the fuck I’m doing. But the truth is that I’m scared shitless.
We’re out of options and time. So we have no choice but to see how this plays out.
Greg shoves me forward and I stumble out of the barn. Outside, the sun is blinding. It dips closer to the tree line and I realize it’s far later in the day than I originally thought. When I don’t keep moving, Greg grabs my upper arm and forces me forward. Behind us, Tim leans against Sammy as we’re escorted to G-d knows where.
“So our agency decided we are worth trading for?” I ask.
“Not the agency, but your boss did,” Greg says. “He was a bigger softie than you lead us to believe.”
For a moment, I wonder whether they called the right number because that sure as hell doesn’t sound like Gibbs.
“He offered us whatever we wanted. Our sister’s freedom, getaway car, and cash. Lots of cash.” His smile is predatory as he grips the back of my neck, hard. I guess he doesn’t know bad guys only get the loot in movies. Real life ends in prison or a body bag.
“If I’d known one of you were so valuable,” he continues, “I’d have done something like this sooner.”
We head around the back of the house to reach a black cargo van. Ken is already busy loading the assault rifles from upstairs into the back of the vehicle.
“Getting ready for that party, huh?” I ask.
Greg nods. “Yeah, you could call it that. We’re planning a little celebration at Merliee’s base. The bastards never took us seriously after she died, but now, they’ll see we’re as serious as a heart attack.”
He says it so easily, so conversationally, that I instantly realize we aren’t going to a meet. We’re headed somewhere far different, but I can’t break the news to Tim.
Holding my breath, I glance back at my partner. Somehow, his face has gone even whiter, his lips completely bloodless and his eyes glazed. But he still wears an expression of determination like he knows that if he passes out again, we’re both as good as dead.
And if I fight back now, we are.
Greg gestures to the back of the van. “Get in.”
Without protest, I climb into the back of the van and take a seat on the floor. If it weren’t for the gun Greg points on me, I would’ve scrambled for one of the weapons. Seconds later, Tim collapses onto the floor next to me. He lands flat on his back and stops moving. Even though his eyes are closed, his hitched breathing tells me that he’s still awake. And in agony.
Greg follows us inside. He slams the door and then perches himself next to the guns.
We sit in heavy silence until the two doors up front open and the other brothers scramble in. Ken fires up the engine and the van bounces down the driveway. For the entire trip, Greg keeps his gun pointed in our direction. Every bump and every pothole makes Tim groan and sends my heart into throat like one wrong jostle could set that gun off again.
During the trip, I keep my leg pressed up against Tim’s side, tapping a rhythm to keep him conscious. Occasionally, he gives a slit-eyed glare because I interrupt his nap. None of us speak, but I think he still believes everything will be okay. At least, I hope he does.
After a half hour or so, we take a right off the main road onto a winding, bouncy one. I slide between Greg’s gun and Tim, just in case. The last thing my partner needs right now is another bullet.
Eventually, the van slams to a stop.
By my calculations, we should be smack dab in the middle of nowhere.
Oh G-d, they’re planning on dumping us.
Sammy climbs out of the passenger seat and rounds the van to open the back door. His face is grim as he steps aside. Greg tucks his weapon away long enough to undo the cuffs on my wrists.
I stare blankly at my hands, then back up at him.
“This is the part where you two get out,” he says, gesturing with his head.
But there’s nothing out there except for the dirt road, open sky, and trees. Miles and miles of fucking trees. I bet these bastards are dropping us off in the middle of Shenandoah Park.
I should’ve seen it coming. Its standard kidnappers 101: drop your hostages off in the middle of nowhere, get to safety, and then call in their location, if you want your hostages to live. If not, you just let nature take its course and hide the bodies.
My mind struggles to come up with a new plan, but Tim and I reached the end of the line.
“Where’s our boss?” I ask, already knowing the answer.
“If he plays ball, he’ll be here to pick up soon.”
“Take McGee with you.” I swallow hard, realizing I’m not above begging at this point. “Please take my partner. He needs a doctor.”
Greg’s gun in my face doesn’t make me move. But when he takes careful aim at Tim, I’m on my knees to help my partner out of the vehicle. I ease Tim to his feet, taking the brunt of his weight as he struggles to keep his head up. Sammy won’t look at us when he moves back to the passenger seat.
The back doors slam shut. Then, the van takes a right turn around us before it disappears down the dirt road, kicking up bits of mud on the way. As it snakes through the trees, every hope I had of getting Tim out of this alive evaporates into nothingness.
Tim sways into me. “Tony, what…are…we going to…do?”
Click to Read Chapter Eight
Author: fulltobursting aka unilocular
Artist:
hinky_hippo
Summary: In the midst of a case, Tim and Tony are at each others' throats...like usual. But when a routine interview takes a potentially deadly turn, they both learn the true meaning of friendship.
Rating: Strong Teen
Spoilers/Warnings: General spoilers up to 12x10: House Rules. General violence, whump, bad language, and lots of movie references.
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Chapter Seven
Without so much as a glance back at Tim and me, the brothers dart out of the barn to make their preparations for our move. They slide the door closed behind them, its rickety hinges screaming bloody murder as the entire space falls into near darkness.
Closing my eyes, I wait for minute and then, I force myself to stretch it to two. Even though my body is begging for action, I need to ensure that Tim and I are truly alone. If one of the brothers catches us sneaking to the Charger, they’ll probably kill us.
As soon as I’m sure no one stayed behind, I scramble to my feet. I grab the bucket from Tim’s side and sneak towards the entrance. Someone patrols outside; his shadow breaks up the light that filters through the slotted wood. The figure sneaks back and forth like a solider on guard duty.
Gripping the bucket handle so tightly my knuckles ache, I desperately scrabble for a plan: brain the guy outside, steal his gun, sneak Tim to the car, and hightail it out of Hicks-ville.
That should be easy enough, right?
Yeah right, I think Tom Cruise in Mission: Impossible might’ve had the easier job.
But nonetheless, I press my back against the barn door. There’s a gap at the end, just big enough for me to slither through when I need to. From there, I watch the world outside. It looks like Greg-or Ken?-was the one chosen to stay behind. In his hands, a shotgun is poised for action.
I hold my breath as he drifts closer. I lift the bucket, wait for the opportune moment.
At the perfect time, Tim gives a loud, mournful gasp. His breathing goes ragged before it morphs into a harsh moan.
Greg spins around on high-alert, his head whipping towards the barn.
“Shit,” I mutter.
When his footsteps draw closer, I retreat back to Tim’s side. Even though he’s barely awake, my partner tries to push himself up. I squeeze his shoulder, and his unfocused eyes flutter open.
“Relax, Tim,” I say. “Just relax.”
“T-Tony? Are we…are we still…” His voice trails off into a hiss.
“Yeah, we’re still playing on the Little House on the Prairie, but Gibbs knows about everything.” I force the bravest grin I can manage.
“Everything’s going to be fine, Tim.”
He sinks against the hay. “Thanks.”
I blink. “For what?”
“Lying to make me feel better.” He pulls a shuddering breath, braces himself as he shifts his weight. “If they called Gibbs, you and I both know they’re just going to move us.”
“He’ll get here before that.”
Tim’s tiny smile humors us both. Just as I’m about to match it, he groans again and reaches for his the back of his leg. With the towel and duct tape, it looks like something out of low-budget mummy movie.
“What the hell is that?” he asks.
“That’s what happens at the hillbilly doctor. If you’d listened to country music with me, you would’ve known all about it,” I shoot back.
He tries to laugh, but it comes out as a yelp. That’s when I notice the bottle of Advil and water by his side. After sliding over to retrieve it, I hold it up into his view.
“Why don’t we try a couple of these?” I suggest.
Tim stares back with hooded eyes. “I don’t think it’s going to help.”
“It’s better than nothing, isn’t it?”
He half nods while I struggle to remove the lid with my bound hands. After several failed attempts, it pops off and vanishes into the hay pile. I rub my sore thumb before I shake out four pills into Tim’s trembling hand. Only three of them make it into his mouth, but he swallows then before I even pick up the water bottle. I open it with my teeth and spit the cap onto the floor. When I offer it to him, Tim looks at me like I might be trying to poison him.
“Don’t worry, McGee, I’ve had all my shots.”
“You don’t know if they put something in there.”
I shrug. “Right now, you should take your chances.”
He takes the bottle of water from my hand, but his grip is so shaky that the liquid sloshes all over the floor. I grab it from him, ease it to his mouth. He takes a few deep sips until the bottle is nearly empty. Then I place it on the floor by my knees.
“You should drink something, Tony,” he says quietly.
I shake my head. “I’m fine.”
“So you get to play DiDoctor, but not follow your own advice?” He huffs. “Typical.”
I laugh. “You know the name game only works if it makes sense, McPatient?”
As he sinks back against the hay, obviously spent, I take a half-sip of water to appease him. When he slumps further down in the hay, Tim manages to land in a patch of sunlight. I notice a slight color returning to his cheeks, but rivers of sweat roll off down his face.
I place my hand on his forehead. His skin is on fire.
“Oh shit, Tim,” I whisper.
“I’m feeling better.” His tone tells me that he’s a big, fat liar. “Say, Tony, could you do me a favor?”
If he asks me to give up McNicknames, I might be worried enough to oblige. For a few days. But the look on his face tells me it’s something far more serious than that. My chest tightens at the thought of how he’s going to ask me to fulfill some sort of last wish bullshit. Tell my mom I love her, donate all of my money to charity, make sure my friends know I cared, blah…blah…blah.
Speaking of last wishes, I really need to ask him to find a home for my fish.
I lick my lips, feign nonchalance. “As long as it doesn’t involve rebooting your computer, I’ll see what I can do.”
The silence lingers for a long time as Tim’s breathing grows more ragged. He goes slack, but I shake his shoulder until his eyes flutter open. If he’s lost as much blood as I think, it’s only a matter of time before he goes into shock. I have to keep him awake and talking, no matter how morbid or depressing the subject might be.
He stares up at me. “Tell Gibbs that I enjoyed working with him. Tell my dad that I’m sorry that I didn’t live up to the family name. And tell Sarah, I’m sure she’ll be…” he coughs again, hard enough to rattle his bones “…a better writer than I ever was. And Delilah…” He draws her name into a regretful sigh. “Tell her I never should’ve let her move halfway around the world.”
I nod. “And if I don’t make it, tell my dad that I never hated him and Gibbs that those headslaps caused permanent brain damage. And my fish have expensive tastes. So make sure you feed Kate and Ziva the best food money can buy. Nothing is too good for my girls."
Tim genuinely laughs. “What about Zoe?
Something that feels a lot like regret wells in my chest. “I’ve been head over heels in love with her since Philly, but I never knew how to tell her.”
Tim smiles knowingly. He goes to tap my shoulder, but misses by a mile. “You were one hell of a teacher, Tony. Thanks for everything…even the tough love.”
“Are you planning on dying on me, McGee?” When he weakly shakes his head, I add: “Then save all of this last word crap for when it’s actually over. I haven’t heard the fat lady sing yet, so I think we’re safe. For now.”
He tries to laugh again, but it comes out as a gasp.
“I think we should plan for something when we get out of here.”
He tries to slip away. “A movie…night…like we…used to?”
“How about a double date with our ladies?” I shake his arm. “When Delilah comes home to visit. Or we could always go to Dubai. Did you hear they have an indoor ski resort over there?”
“Yeah…I think…that sounds nice. As long as Zoe…promises not to…” The last dredges of consciousness begin to fade from his eyes.
“Beat you to a pulp again,” I say. “I know.”
He half-laughs as he passes out. Pressing my lips together, I grab his shoulder. Underneath my fingertips, his body trembles like we’ve been out in the cold for far too long. And while the air in the barn hovers just above freezing and we’re still soaking wet, I’m worried there’s more to it than that.
I squeeze his arm, but it doesn’t wake him up.
So I try something I picked learned from Gibbs in his ‘interrogation’ techniques class. A sternal rub, I think he called it. Whatever it is, digging your knuckles into someone’s sternum is a surefire to wake up anyone who isn’t dead.
Making a fist, I press my knuckles against Tim’s chest. He bucks against the touch, groaning.
“Come on, Tim, you’ve got to wake up,” I say, pressing just a bit harder.
His eyes open, hands flapping to chase mine away. “To…ny…what..was…that…for?”
“I need you to stay with me. We’ve got work to do.”
“But I’m tired...” He sounds piteous, like a child or a Probie. “There…is…always work. Can’t we…” he takes a heaving breath “…just rest for a little? Please…”
His voice breaks my heart, but I push. “Do you want me to tell Gibbs you said that?”
He tries to sit up. “No…no. I’ll…I’ll…”
“Write my report.”
His eyes instantly snap back at me, hazy and pissed. “Bishop…does…both.”
Half-nodding, I shrug like he outwitted me. “Okay, fine, but you buy lunch.”
“No, you.”
Sighing, I hang my head to hide my smile. “Fine, fine, I’ll buy lunch and convince Bishop to write our reports. But if you fall asleep again, the bet’s off, got it? Then you’ll probably have to write hers too.”
Aggravation chases the agony off his face for a split second. I breathe a sigh of relief at the glimpse of my determined and ready partner. Pushing himself higher in the hay, he glances towards the door.
“What…should…I do?”
“Be ready to run.” He stares at me like I just told him Gibbs invited us to a tea party. “Be awake so I can help you get out of here?”
Once he sits up completely, the little color in his cheeks drains away. He pitches to the side, but he manages to stay upright. I hold my bound hands up, begging him to stay there, stay with me, as I scramble to my feet. I sneak across the barn, grab the bucket from where I left it. When I check on Tim, he gives me the weakest thumbs up I’ve ever seen.
So I glance out the door, just in time to see the shotgun aimed at my chest.
The bucket lands on the ground, rolling away with a loud plunk. Hands raised, I backpedal into the barn.
“Tony?” Tim calls.
I don’t get a chance to reply because the brothers sweep in after me. Greg keeps his shotgun pointed at his heart while Ken and Sammy stand by his side.
“Sammy, go help Agent McGee,” Ken says. “I don’t think he’ll be able to manage on his own.”
At least Sammy has the grace to look at the floor on his way past. When he pulls Tim to his feet, my partner yelps loudly. I take a reflexive step forward, but Greg slides into my path and presses the shotgun against my chest. I don’t move again.
By the time Sammy and Tim join us, my partner is ghastly white and panting with effort. Guilt reads heavy on Sammy’s face and he makes no attempt to hide it.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers.
“Apologies are a sign of weakness,” Tim retorts, more vitriolic than I thought him capable of.
Greg moves the gun away from my chest, takes a step towards Tim. But he doesn’t make it because I jump forward to smash my elbow against his nose. Something cracks underneath my strike. Greg and his shotgun topple to the ground.
When I scramble for the weapon, Ken steps on the barrel. “That’s a bad idea, Agent DiNozzo.”
He points to the opposite side of the barn where Sammy holds a gun against Tim’s temple. Even though the look on Tim’s face implores me onward, I hold my hands up and step back. Our last escape attempt slips away as Ken picks up the shotgun.
Climbing to his feet, Greg keeps one hand presses against his nose. Blood flows freely down his cheeks and I feel oddly triumphant.
Until he sucker-punches me in the jaw.
I tumble to my knees and use my hands to brace myself against the ground. Stars dance in my vision, right before pain bursts across my face. I close my eyes, feeling myself start to drift away.
Stay awake, I tell myself. Just stay awake.
“Tony,” Tim says.
The sound of his voice snaps me out of my stupor and I push my body up, just in time for Greg to kick me in the gut. I collapse back to the ground, gasping for air. Out of the corner of my eye, I see him wind up for another hit. I brace myself.
“I think you’re done, Greg,” Ken snaps.
“Why do you always get to boss me around, Kenneth?” Greg huffs, voice bordering dangerously near a whine.
“Because I’m older and Mother said that you have to listen to me, that’s why.” When his brother gives him the death stare, Ken rolls his eyes. “Look, let’s just get them in the car so we can take them to the rendez-vous point. I’ll catch up in a few minutes.”
There’s another huff before I’m pulled to my feet. Even though my legs are wobbly, I put on a brave face when I glance over at Tim. I shoot him a broad smile like I planned this all along and I know exactly what the fuck I’m doing. But the truth is that I’m scared shitless.
We’re out of options and time. So we have no choice but to see how this plays out.
Greg shoves me forward and I stumble out of the barn. Outside, the sun is blinding. It dips closer to the tree line and I realize it’s far later in the day than I originally thought. When I don’t keep moving, Greg grabs my upper arm and forces me forward. Behind us, Tim leans against Sammy as we’re escorted to G-d knows where.
“So our agency decided we are worth trading for?” I ask.
“Not the agency, but your boss did,” Greg says. “He was a bigger softie than you lead us to believe.”
For a moment, I wonder whether they called the right number because that sure as hell doesn’t sound like Gibbs.
“He offered us whatever we wanted. Our sister’s freedom, getaway car, and cash. Lots of cash.” His smile is predatory as he grips the back of my neck, hard. I guess he doesn’t know bad guys only get the loot in movies. Real life ends in prison or a body bag.
“If I’d known one of you were so valuable,” he continues, “I’d have done something like this sooner.”
We head around the back of the house to reach a black cargo van. Ken is already busy loading the assault rifles from upstairs into the back of the vehicle.
“Getting ready for that party, huh?” I ask.
Greg nods. “Yeah, you could call it that. We’re planning a little celebration at Merliee’s base. The bastards never took us seriously after she died, but now, they’ll see we’re as serious as a heart attack.”
He says it so easily, so conversationally, that I instantly realize we aren’t going to a meet. We’re headed somewhere far different, but I can’t break the news to Tim.
Holding my breath, I glance back at my partner. Somehow, his face has gone even whiter, his lips completely bloodless and his eyes glazed. But he still wears an expression of determination like he knows that if he passes out again, we’re both as good as dead.
And if I fight back now, we are.
Greg gestures to the back of the van. “Get in.”
Without protest, I climb into the back of the van and take a seat on the floor. If it weren’t for the gun Greg points on me, I would’ve scrambled for one of the weapons. Seconds later, Tim collapses onto the floor next to me. He lands flat on his back and stops moving. Even though his eyes are closed, his hitched breathing tells me that he’s still awake. And in agony.
Greg follows us inside. He slams the door and then perches himself next to the guns.
We sit in heavy silence until the two doors up front open and the other brothers scramble in. Ken fires up the engine and the van bounces down the driveway. For the entire trip, Greg keeps his gun pointed in our direction. Every bump and every pothole makes Tim groan and sends my heart into throat like one wrong jostle could set that gun off again.
During the trip, I keep my leg pressed up against Tim’s side, tapping a rhythm to keep him conscious. Occasionally, he gives a slit-eyed glare because I interrupt his nap. None of us speak, but I think he still believes everything will be okay. At least, I hope he does.
After a half hour or so, we take a right off the main road onto a winding, bouncy one. I slide between Greg’s gun and Tim, just in case. The last thing my partner needs right now is another bullet.
Eventually, the van slams to a stop.
By my calculations, we should be smack dab in the middle of nowhere.
Oh G-d, they’re planning on dumping us.
Sammy climbs out of the passenger seat and rounds the van to open the back door. His face is grim as he steps aside. Greg tucks his weapon away long enough to undo the cuffs on my wrists.
I stare blankly at my hands, then back up at him.
“This is the part where you two get out,” he says, gesturing with his head.
But there’s nothing out there except for the dirt road, open sky, and trees. Miles and miles of fucking trees. I bet these bastards are dropping us off in the middle of Shenandoah Park.
I should’ve seen it coming. Its standard kidnappers 101: drop your hostages off in the middle of nowhere, get to safety, and then call in their location, if you want your hostages to live. If not, you just let nature take its course and hide the bodies.
My mind struggles to come up with a new plan, but Tim and I reached the end of the line.
“Where’s our boss?” I ask, already knowing the answer.
“If he plays ball, he’ll be here to pick up soon.”
“Take McGee with you.” I swallow hard, realizing I’m not above begging at this point. “Please take my partner. He needs a doctor.”
Greg’s gun in my face doesn’t make me move. But when he takes careful aim at Tim, I’m on my knees to help my partner out of the vehicle. I ease Tim to his feet, taking the brunt of his weight as he struggles to keep his head up. Sammy won’t look at us when he moves back to the passenger seat.
The back doors slam shut. Then, the van takes a right turn around us before it disappears down the dirt road, kicking up bits of mud on the way. As it snakes through the trees, every hope I had of getting Tim out of this alive evaporates into nothingness.
Tim sways into me. “Tony, what…are…we going to…do?”
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