Author: musicahumana PM
A bloody abduction in the night threatens McGee's and Abby's lives. Team Fic. McAbby. Tiva? Post Judgment Day.Rated: Fiction T - English - Drama/Angst - Tim M. & Abby S. - Chapters: 8 - Words: 19,315 - Reviews: 91 - Favs: 23 - Follows: 49 - Updated: 06-28-08 - Published: 05-24-08 - id: 4276448
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Hi, all! Well, this starts some time after the events of Judgment Day. I hope you enjoy!
(And—I own nothing in this story except the plot.)
Ah, god, his head hurt, and damn but there was an awful, unholy ringing in his ears. He moved his arm to reach his head and bumped something heavy and cold and smooth, sending it from the wooden workbench to the floor with a splintering crunch.
The ringing was his phone, and its vibrator was sending it dancing across the table. He rubbed his face roughly as the smell of spilt bourbon lifted from the concrete. What time was it? He blinked and checked his watch.
He flipped open the phone.
"Boss?" The voice was a harsh whisper.
"Who?..." He took the phone away from his ear for a moment to check the caller ID. "McGee? It's four in the morning. Why the hell are..."
"Boss, someone's at my place, and I don't think they..."
"Someone's breaking in?"
"Yeah." A dog's growl cut through and a loud din of angry barks continued in the background. "They must've bypassed my security because Jethro's going nuts and I haven't heard a peep from the control system."
Gibbs stood and grabbed his keys, already three steps up the basement stairs before McGee finished. "Did you call the police?"
"Uh, no." There was a bit of scuffling, a smattering of barks, and he heard a gun cock. "These guys must really know what they're doing if they were able to hack the circuitry without setting it off. The cops would take too long at this point."
He had his car door open and the keys in the ignition. "Are you still over on Brighton?" His tires squealed. He heard another voice. "Shit, McGee. Who's there with you?"
McGee whispered instructions away from the phone for a moment before Gibbs heard the answer. "Abby, Boss. Abby's here, too."
Shit. He punched the palm of his hand into the steering wheel, careening to his right to catch a shortcut to McGee's side of town. Shit. "Okay. I'm on my way. You get her a gun and you get her hidden, and then you call the cops. I'll make some calls from my end."
"Already on it, Boss."
He couldn't think of anything to say that McGee wouldn't already know, so he just hung up.
"Gibbs, do you know what time it is?"
"Get up and get your team over to McGee's. Now."
"It's four in the morning!...ish."
"He's got an intruder. Abby's there."
"Got it. On my way."
Abby gripped the sword hilt tightly, crouched and rocking back and forth on her feet behind the shower curtain. The first gunshot nearly made her squeal, but the second and third, coupled with the angry and agonizing screams coming from the adjacent bedroom made her wish once more that McGee had stashed another gun in the bedroom. But he was right. Both he and Jethro were trained for this, had been in these situations before, and a sword against a gun—let alone multiple guns—was no fair fight.
Jethro's angry snarls stopped with a gunshot and an abrupt whine and she squeezed her eyes shut in the darkened bathroom, as if doing so could shut out the mad shouting and sounds of death.
She knew what Tim wanted her to do. They hadn't known how many had entered the house, but she knew that Timmy hadn't changed his plan when the trespassers charged into the bedroom. He didn't want them to know she was there, and that meant he wanted her to stay hidden while they took shot after bloodthirsty, window-rattling shot at him. Judging from the thumps and yells coming through the wall, there had to be at least five men in the room, and he was facing them basically alone, hoping that Jethro could last long enough to confuse them and let him get some shots off. Well, he wasn't going to get what he wanted. She couldn't let him die while she cowered next to his Head and Shoulders.
Another shot cracked and she heard a horrifying scream through the door. It was McGee.
She pursed her lips and leapt from the bathtub, fumbling in the dark for the door before she could lose her nerve. Throwing it open and snarling, holding the sword in front of her as an impotent sort of shield, she lunged at the nearest intruder. The edge of the weapon wasn't sharp, but that made it all the more destructive as she ripped it down across his face. She'd lifted it again and jammed it with a wet crunch above the man's left hip when a thick arm wrapped around her neck and pulled her backwards and towards the bed, yanking the sword away.
She yelled and writhed as best she could, but despite the numerous times she almost wriggled free, the large man on top of her managed to pin her face down in the sheets.
McGee was wrestling two men, half yelling and half mumbling something that sounded like her name; it took her several seconds to realize that she was yelling his back. She went still, however, when the hot muzzle of a Beretta was pressed against the back of her head. She closed her eyes and swallowed down sick fear. This was all happening too fast.
"No, stop!" she heard McGee press, his words slurred together in pain. "Don't hurt her."
"Why should he not?" one of the men holding him back growled. He had a thick, snappy accent, made slightly breathy by the fight's exertion. "She skewered Marcus."
McGee paused and took a labored breath. "You...you shot...her dog."
Abby almost laughed at the lame defense, but it came out as a sob. They'd shot Jethro and Timmy.
The man on top of her did laugh. He pulled her up by the dog collar she'd left around her neck, causing it to tighten and constrict both blood and air. She could see the horror in McGee's unfocused eyes as she was forced to stand, the dark, mottled blood that swirled across his chest and down his right arm. She wanted to cry, wanted to run each of these black-clothed villains through with her christened sword, wanted to rush across the room and make sure that Tim was okay, but all she could do was reach up towards her neck and try to pull the collar down so she could breath.
"You like this bitch, McGee?" The man shook her a bit, the cold malevolence in his gravely voice finally bringing tears to her eyes. "This is Ms. Sciuto, no?" He addressed the only other men standing, the two who were now, instead of holding McGee back, holding him up. "We'll take her with us, too."
Okay, so if you're interested in reading more of this story, you gotta let me know! Reviews help me write...and they make me very happy.
Here's a point I feel I should make: If you're in a dangerous situation, always call the cops first. Period. For the purposes of this story, I had McGee do something else. But if there had been a cop car even a few blocks away, they would have gotten to his place more quickly. So, yeah. If you're ever in a similar situation (and I really hope you never are) do the right thing that Probie didn't do and dial 911.
One last note: I will not be neglecting other members of the cast! (You know who I mean...)