Fifteen Minutes to Midnight - Chapter 4
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.
-oooooooo-ooooooooo-ooooooooo-
Chapter Four
“Hey, Ken,” I say, as conversationally as I can, “how’d you get up here so fast?”
“I said, ‘drop the phone,’” he growls again, his voice deeper and gruffer.
I hit send anyway. Then it lands on the ground with a soft thud and Ken gestures to my Sig with the barrel of his weapon.
“Kick that over here.”
I pluck the gun out of my holster, carefully and slowly with two fingers, but he still grips his weapon like he might just use it. His finger hovers dangerously over the trigger and he’s so twitchy I think he could to blow me away by accident. Actually, some grey matter might actually be an improvement on the décor up here.
“So, Ken,” I say, “how did you get up here so quick? Did you teleport or something? And what’s with all the weapons? Are you planning a party and forget to invite us?”
“Just pass me you gun.”
I stoop to the ground and slide the Sig towards him. “You know what, I bet it was magic. You’re a regular David Copperfield, aren’t ya, Ken?”
“For the love of G-d, stop calling me that!” When the shotgun snaps up, I stand to my full height with my hands raised. “People get me confused me with that dumbass all the time. It’s not my fault I lost the genetic lottery and have to look like that moron.”
Ken Gentry has an identical twin. Great. That’s just fucking perfect.
“Who the hell are you?” Not-Ken growls.
“Very Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo, NCIS, at your service. I’d show you my badge, but-” I gesture to the shotgun “-I’m a little concerned you might shoot me, if I do.” When he doesn’t say anything, I motion with my hand. “This is the part where you’re supposed to introduce yourself.” He still remains silent. “Unless you want me to call you David Copperfield or - “ I raise my eyebrows “- Ken 2.0.”
His jaw works like a spring. “Greg Gentry.”
“See? Was that so hard?”
Greg glares at me as though he’s trying to decide what to do with me. The look on his face send my heart skipping into my throat and I hope to hell it doesn’t involve using me-and Tim-for target practice. I don’t want to be the one to have to explain to Gibbs why we would both be on indefinite leave.
Then again, if I’m dead….I wouldn’t have to, right? But then again, that doesn’t sound particularly appealing either.
“So who’s older?” I ask. “You or Ken?”
His stare turns more lethal than his weapon. “It doesn’t matter.”
“Ah, that explains a-“
“Just shut up!” When I do, he immediately asks: “What the hell are the feds doing here?”
“What do you want me to do? Shut up or talk?”
He tightens his grip on the gun. “Answer the damn question.”
“If you expect me to share my secrets, why don’t you tell me why you’ve got enough firepower for your own army?” I shoot him a sideways glance. “Then maybe we can braid each other’s hair.”
When his grip jerks on the gun, I hold my breath. While I’m not trying to earn myself a bullet, Tim needs to keep the situation under control downstairs. I really hope he bothered to read my text.
“Why are you here?” he growls through clenched teeth.
Even I can’t deny the deranged look in Greg’s eye, so I launch into a convoluted and overly detailed rehashing of last night’s murder scene, Charlene Moser’s arrest, and our little trip to the middle of nowhere. At the mention of Petty Officer Lake, Greg’s face turns disgusted, but I don’t bother with follow-up questions. His answer would probably be a gut full of buck-shot.
I just prattle on about our case, hoping all the while Tim will sneak up on Greg at any moment. I’m in the middle of telling Greg about how Abby’s new PCR machine will get us enough DNA from our trace blood to get a match on the killer when his eyes glaze over. I bet his mind is a million miles away by now, probably somewhere in the land of NASCAR and Budweiser.
Seeing my first opening, I sneak an inch forward. When he doesn’t react, I steal another, trying to creep far enough until I can-hopefully-grab the gun.
At that moment, a crash, followed by a shout, echoes from downstairs.
Greg snaps back to life. “What the hell? Did you warn your friend?”
“No.” The gun lines up with my heart. “No way. He probably got suspicious because I’ve been in the head for like a half an hour. I’m usually an in-and-out kinda guy.”
His looks calls me a liar, but he jerks his head towards the door. “Let’s go, Fed, but don’t do anything stupid.”
I decide not to tell him that Gibbs thinks stupid is my middle name.
I slide around him in a huge semi-circle until I’m the one in front of the door. My muscles are tense and tight, aching for action. If we were side-by-side, I doubt Greg would be a tough adversary. Soft and pudgy, he looks more like a punching bag than an all-star fighter. But add a shotgun to the mix and all bets are on him.
“Move,” he snaps.
Being one to always follow orders, I bolt down the hallway.
“Hey, Fed, stop!” Greg shouts.
When I don’t, he fires his gun. The shot echoes through the house like a cannon. Bits of drywall rain down on me in a powdery snowstorm. I press my hands to my head, my back, my ass to make sure I haven’t been hit. Even if I am, it wouldn’t matter. I need to keep moving.
I run straight down the stairs, all hopped up on adrenaline and raw fear.
“McGee,” I shout. “Run!”
But as I race towards the door, I nearly barrel into Ken. He holds a gun up at eye-level and it stops me dead in my tracks. My breath comes in strident gasps, panicked and deranged.
“Where’s my partner?” I say.
Ken jerks his head towards the living room. “Why don’t we have another chat about my sister, Agent DiNozzo? One without any lies this time.”
When Greg joins us and sidles up next to Ken, my blood turns to ice. Two identical crazy bastards stand shoulder to shoulder, their guns pointed at my heart and my head. Two kill shots. Swallowing hard, I try not to imagine what they might’ve done to Tim.
Greg’s shotgun in my side spurs me into the living room. I walk into it with my eyes closed because I’m just not ready to see Tim bleeding out on the floor.
Poor Ellie is going to get stuck doing all the paperwork when we’re dead.
For a moment, I can picture our funerals with the 21-gun salute, the flag ceremony, and Taps. All of the stereotypical bullshit that agents swear they never want, but wouldn’t be buried without. Just like Kate swore up and down that she didn’t until it was her turn to visit to the gun range in the sky.
“Tony,” I hear Tim say. His voice is tight and worried.
Oh thank G-d, my partner is still alive.
I breathe for the first time since I met Greg upstairs. Maybe Tim and I will still have a chance to get out of here unscathed. I open my eyes to find Tim on the sofa with his hands flat against his legs. Nasty purple bruising has already started to claim his jawline and his lower lip swells up like a balloon. His empty holster lies on the coffee table along with his wallet, badge, phone, and knife.
By the other side of the sofa, another man stands at attention with a handgun pointed at Tim. He is a far younger version of Ken and Greg.
I can’t help myself. “Triplets? That’s a great twist. I didn’t see that coming. At all.”
Greg’s eyelid twitches. “Kenneth and I are the twins, Sammy’s the youngest.”
“Ah, nice to meet you, Sammy. I’d shake your hand, but-“ I gesture to the gun “-well, you know.”
“Just clean out your pockets and sit down,” Greg orders.
Certain I’m already on thin ice, I add most of my stuff into the pile next to Tim’s. After I sink into the seat next to him, we apprehensively watch the trio of brothers have a family meeting right in front of us. Tim struggles to stay cool and collected, but his veneer cracks with every passing second.
“What should we do, Tony?” he asks.
The way he says my name makes my heart skip a beat. He sounds exactly like he used to back in his Probie days, back when he used to come to me for help, back when the only real threat was Gibbs on a warpath over a cold case and a lead’s dead end.
Now, real terror burns like fire in his eyes.
“Wait for an opening and run like hell,” I say.
He nods tightly. “Did you call Gibbs?”
“Didn’t get a chance. Did you?”
“No. When I went to use the phone, Sammy came out from the kitchen. I think he saw me get your text and when I reached for my weapon…” Tim works his jaw, wincing. “What was upstairs?”
“Enough weapons for an army.”
We share a tense silence.
Eventually, he says: “Like Call of Duty?” When I blink, he smiles lopsidedly. “It’s a video game, Tony. You aren’t the only one who gets to reference your hobby for the hell of it.”
“If there are M9’s in that game, McGamer, I’ll give you get a pass on the crappy timing.”
Tim’s face pales. “That’s not good.”
“No shit. These guys are about to go to war for something, their sister is covering up a murder, and they just took us hostage.” I press my lips together. “I think this ranks up in terms of major suckage.”
He sneaks a tight smile. “Like Twilight bad or Gigli bad?”
“Both of them combined with an extra pinch of J.Lo and K. Stew for good measure.” When Tim’s cheeks go even whiter, I grin. “But if you ever admit that you’ve seen either one of those movies, I’ll shoot you myself.”
While we talk, the brothers actively discuss our fate. Both Sammy and Ken make one argument while Greg’s face twist into a scowl so deep I think his face might disappear.
I catch Ken whisper, “…trade them for her.”
When they glance back at us, it’s clear they have plans. Tim draws a deep, shaking breath. The brothers come closer, guns drawn and ready, and Tim forgets to inhale. I tap his shoulder with my elbow, spurring him back to life.
He works his hands into fists. His back goes rigid as he gears up for a fight.
“Whatever happens, follow my lead.” When he doesn’t relax, I lean closer. “That’s an order, McGee.”
Click to Read Chapter Five
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.
-oooooooo-ooooooooo-ooooooooo-
Chapter Four
“Hey, Ken,” I say, as conversationally as I can, “how’d you get up here so fast?”
“I said, ‘drop the phone,’” he growls again, his voice deeper and gruffer.
I hit send anyway. Then it lands on the ground with a soft thud and Ken gestures to my Sig with the barrel of his weapon.
“Kick that over here.”
I pluck the gun out of my holster, carefully and slowly with two fingers, but he still grips his weapon like he might just use it. His finger hovers dangerously over the trigger and he’s so twitchy I think he could to blow me away by accident. Actually, some grey matter might actually be an improvement on the décor up here.
“So, Ken,” I say, “how did you get up here so quick? Did you teleport or something? And what’s with all the weapons? Are you planning a party and forget to invite us?”
“Just pass me you gun.”
I stoop to the ground and slide the Sig towards him. “You know what, I bet it was magic. You’re a regular David Copperfield, aren’t ya, Ken?”
“For the love of G-d, stop calling me that!” When the shotgun snaps up, I stand to my full height with my hands raised. “People get me confused me with that dumbass all the time. It’s not my fault I lost the genetic lottery and have to look like that moron.”
Ken Gentry has an identical twin. Great. That’s just fucking perfect.
“Who the hell are you?” Not-Ken growls.
“Very Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo, NCIS, at your service. I’d show you my badge, but-” I gesture to the shotgun “-I’m a little concerned you might shoot me, if I do.” When he doesn’t say anything, I motion with my hand. “This is the part where you’re supposed to introduce yourself.” He still remains silent. “Unless you want me to call you David Copperfield or - “ I raise my eyebrows “- Ken 2.0.”
His jaw works like a spring. “Greg Gentry.”
“See? Was that so hard?”
Greg glares at me as though he’s trying to decide what to do with me. The look on his face send my heart skipping into my throat and I hope to hell it doesn’t involve using me-and Tim-for target practice. I don’t want to be the one to have to explain to Gibbs why we would both be on indefinite leave.
Then again, if I’m dead….I wouldn’t have to, right? But then again, that doesn’t sound particularly appealing either.
“So who’s older?” I ask. “You or Ken?”
His stare turns more lethal than his weapon. “It doesn’t matter.”
“Ah, that explains a-“
“Just shut up!” When I do, he immediately asks: “What the hell are the feds doing here?”
“What do you want me to do? Shut up or talk?”
He tightens his grip on the gun. “Answer the damn question.”
“If you expect me to share my secrets, why don’t you tell me why you’ve got enough firepower for your own army?” I shoot him a sideways glance. “Then maybe we can braid each other’s hair.”
When his grip jerks on the gun, I hold my breath. While I’m not trying to earn myself a bullet, Tim needs to keep the situation under control downstairs. I really hope he bothered to read my text.
“Why are you here?” he growls through clenched teeth.
Even I can’t deny the deranged look in Greg’s eye, so I launch into a convoluted and overly detailed rehashing of last night’s murder scene, Charlene Moser’s arrest, and our little trip to the middle of nowhere. At the mention of Petty Officer Lake, Greg’s face turns disgusted, but I don’t bother with follow-up questions. His answer would probably be a gut full of buck-shot.
I just prattle on about our case, hoping all the while Tim will sneak up on Greg at any moment. I’m in the middle of telling Greg about how Abby’s new PCR machine will get us enough DNA from our trace blood to get a match on the killer when his eyes glaze over. I bet his mind is a million miles away by now, probably somewhere in the land of NASCAR and Budweiser.
Seeing my first opening, I sneak an inch forward. When he doesn’t react, I steal another, trying to creep far enough until I can-hopefully-grab the gun.
At that moment, a crash, followed by a shout, echoes from downstairs.
Greg snaps back to life. “What the hell? Did you warn your friend?”
“No.” The gun lines up with my heart. “No way. He probably got suspicious because I’ve been in the head for like a half an hour. I’m usually an in-and-out kinda guy.”
His looks calls me a liar, but he jerks his head towards the door. “Let’s go, Fed, but don’t do anything stupid.”
I decide not to tell him that Gibbs thinks stupid is my middle name.
I slide around him in a huge semi-circle until I’m the one in front of the door. My muscles are tense and tight, aching for action. If we were side-by-side, I doubt Greg would be a tough adversary. Soft and pudgy, he looks more like a punching bag than an all-star fighter. But add a shotgun to the mix and all bets are on him.
“Move,” he snaps.
Being one to always follow orders, I bolt down the hallway.
“Hey, Fed, stop!” Greg shouts.
When I don’t, he fires his gun. The shot echoes through the house like a cannon. Bits of drywall rain down on me in a powdery snowstorm. I press my hands to my head, my back, my ass to make sure I haven’t been hit. Even if I am, it wouldn’t matter. I need to keep moving.
I run straight down the stairs, all hopped up on adrenaline and raw fear.
“McGee,” I shout. “Run!”
But as I race towards the door, I nearly barrel into Ken. He holds a gun up at eye-level and it stops me dead in my tracks. My breath comes in strident gasps, panicked and deranged.
“Where’s my partner?” I say.
Ken jerks his head towards the living room. “Why don’t we have another chat about my sister, Agent DiNozzo? One without any lies this time.”
When Greg joins us and sidles up next to Ken, my blood turns to ice. Two identical crazy bastards stand shoulder to shoulder, their guns pointed at my heart and my head. Two kill shots. Swallowing hard, I try not to imagine what they might’ve done to Tim.
Greg’s shotgun in my side spurs me into the living room. I walk into it with my eyes closed because I’m just not ready to see Tim bleeding out on the floor.
Poor Ellie is going to get stuck doing all the paperwork when we’re dead.
For a moment, I can picture our funerals with the 21-gun salute, the flag ceremony, and Taps. All of the stereotypical bullshit that agents swear they never want, but wouldn’t be buried without. Just like Kate swore up and down that she didn’t until it was her turn to visit to the gun range in the sky.
“Tony,” I hear Tim say. His voice is tight and worried.
Oh thank G-d, my partner is still alive.
I breathe for the first time since I met Greg upstairs. Maybe Tim and I will still have a chance to get out of here unscathed. I open my eyes to find Tim on the sofa with his hands flat against his legs. Nasty purple bruising has already started to claim his jawline and his lower lip swells up like a balloon. His empty holster lies on the coffee table along with his wallet, badge, phone, and knife.
By the other side of the sofa, another man stands at attention with a handgun pointed at Tim. He is a far younger version of Ken and Greg.
I can’t help myself. “Triplets? That’s a great twist. I didn’t see that coming. At all.”
Greg’s eyelid twitches. “Kenneth and I are the twins, Sammy’s the youngest.”
“Ah, nice to meet you, Sammy. I’d shake your hand, but-“ I gesture to the gun “-well, you know.”
“Just clean out your pockets and sit down,” Greg orders.
Certain I’m already on thin ice, I add most of my stuff into the pile next to Tim’s. After I sink into the seat next to him, we apprehensively watch the trio of brothers have a family meeting right in front of us. Tim struggles to stay cool and collected, but his veneer cracks with every passing second.
“What should we do, Tony?” he asks.
The way he says my name makes my heart skip a beat. He sounds exactly like he used to back in his Probie days, back when he used to come to me for help, back when the only real threat was Gibbs on a warpath over a cold case and a lead’s dead end.
Now, real terror burns like fire in his eyes.
“Wait for an opening and run like hell,” I say.
He nods tightly. “Did you call Gibbs?”
“Didn’t get a chance. Did you?”
“No. When I went to use the phone, Sammy came out from the kitchen. I think he saw me get your text and when I reached for my weapon…” Tim works his jaw, wincing. “What was upstairs?”
“Enough weapons for an army.”
We share a tense silence.
Eventually, he says: “Like Call of Duty?” When I blink, he smiles lopsidedly. “It’s a video game, Tony. You aren’t the only one who gets to reference your hobby for the hell of it.”
“If there are M9’s in that game, McGamer, I’ll give you get a pass on the crappy timing.”
Tim’s face pales. “That’s not good.”
“No shit. These guys are about to go to war for something, their sister is covering up a murder, and they just took us hostage.” I press my lips together. “I think this ranks up in terms of major suckage.”
He sneaks a tight smile. “Like Twilight bad or Gigli bad?”
“Both of them combined with an extra pinch of J.Lo and K. Stew for good measure.” When Tim’s cheeks go even whiter, I grin. “But if you ever admit that you’ve seen either one of those movies, I’ll shoot you myself.”
While we talk, the brothers actively discuss our fate. Both Sammy and Ken make one argument while Greg’s face twist into a scowl so deep I think his face might disappear.
I catch Ken whisper, “…trade them for her.”
When they glance back at us, it’s clear they have plans. Tim draws a deep, shaking breath. The brothers come closer, guns drawn and ready, and Tim forgets to inhale. I tap his shoulder with my elbow, spurring him back to life.
He works his hands into fists. His back goes rigid as he gears up for a fight.
“Whatever happens, follow my lead.” When he doesn’t relax, I lean closer. “That’s an order, McGee.”
Click to Read Chapter Five