Can you honestly imagine that I originally planned for like a 8 chapter story? This got kind of out of hand…in a good way.
You should thank the magnificent Who songs currently repeating on my itunes for the ending. Somehow, it was a ton easier to write when I was listening to 8 freakin' minute long songs. Who knew?
Chapter 14- One Little Indian
They slipped into the dank warehouse soundly, following one another in a tight, single line.
As far as the team was concerned it felt just like any other time. They didn't have any history with the suspects. It was just another time. To Tony it was different story. The man, Sera Sr. of course, had problems. His son was a loser. They always seemed to have a deep hatred for him even in the beginning. It only got worse, when he "accidentally" mentioned to that DEA agent or when he told the girlfriend.
His shoulder ached. His head ached. The pain was irritating but it was a substantial reminder of why he was following behind Gibbs and into the damp, sea smelling large central room.
He set his face into grimace and nearly stopped in his tracks as he heard the hoarse voice he unfortunately knew.
In front of him, Gibbs and Ziva stopped and McGee skidded to a stop behind him also. With a gulp Tony leaned closer against the thin wall to hear and see the conversation before they could see him.
They could barely hear it. Tony moved a little slipping a little closer but sure to stay in the shadows. He could see clearly into the room. Megan was once again tied to a chair. The hard, wooden back dug into her shoulder blades but she never once cried or pleaded. Even as they laughed and mocked her, particularly Jake, she didn't.
Tony could feel the fiery anger burning inside. He just wanted to get to the point and kill them. Both.
"It's time." The older whispered. Instantly, the four froze waiting for what was to happen. "Oh, Anthony you can come out."
Tony swallowed the need to snap a response and instead shared a single pointed nod with Gibbs before stepping out of the shadows and from behind the large bay door.
He grimaced, putting on a little show about the amount of pain he was in. It always helped to look weaker. Surprise was the key.
"Hello, Anthony." Jason Sera Sr. said pleasantly, he smoked a cigarette, wafting the smell into his direction. "Megan decided to join us. And this time without protest."
The younger cackled. "Yeah, dad. Too bad she's the prettiest. I might have wanted to keep her."
Tony dug his nails into his fist struggling hard not to grab the gun currently attached to hip and shoot both of them with Ziva's accuracy.
"You can't keep her Jakey. She's a person, not a puppy." He scoffed, taking a small step toward the chair. The sharp click of cocking the gun told him not to move any further.
Jake Sera barred his teeth, looking like a rabid dog for a second. "You can't tell me what I should do. Look at the situation you're in Dibozo."
His father coughed in agreement, taking another drag of the cigarette. He was the one that pointed the gun at him.
Tony stared at the cocky, obnoxious man his anger almost at a boiling point. He was leaning casually against a stack of crates, his Glock pointing defiantly at Tony.
"What's the matter Detective?" Jason Sr. asked. "Nothing witty grazing the brilliant little mind of yours."
Tony's fingers inched closer to the gun. He didn't answer. Jason Sr. grinned, playing with the gun, distracting Tony from what his son was doing.
Jake sneaked up, grabbing the gun and pinning it behind his head, at the base of his neck.
"You're right dad. Stealth is useful." The cool metal almost felt comfortable behind his neck. The barrel was pressed into his neck but he wasn't watching either of them. Megan was watching him and he was watching her.
Even though she couldn't speak, her eyes spoke volumes. She was watching him intently, trying to convey a special message.
"Kill her." Jason Sera insisted. "Quickly, DiNozzo's team is here."
"Course. " The younger released Tony's neck from the barrel and instead pointed his gun at her.
It happened too fast. With shouts and blaring lights, the team burst inside almost on cue. The furious bangs dropped Tony to the ground and he covered his head.
It was over before he knew it. And shockingly enough he was covered in blood.
He shuddered quietly, not feeling any pain and eventually reasoning that it wasn't his blood. He chanced a look up and regretfully he met the sickly, pain filled eyes of Megan. Bittersweet. Her life her just begun and just as quickly it was ending.
He crawled over to the small girl who was now clasping her upper chest. He tugged off the tape around her mouth before applying pressure to her wound.
It was gushing startling red blood, almost seeming like there was too much to be in her tiny body.
"Hold on, Megan. We're gonna get some help." He said. She swallowed, suddenly beginning to shake. "You're going to be okay."
She shook her head. They both knew he was lying. She wasn't going to make it. "Th—than—thank" her voice was weak and shallow, her harsh forced breaths to much to allow talk and breathing.
An unpleasant gurgling developed and she stopped making any sound. Her lips formed the word "you" before her eyes slipped shut, her life gone out with them.
He slumped back, his hands nearly burgundy. Ziva placed a hand on his shoulder and gestured to the two unconscious men handcuffed and watched carefully by the now arriving police officers.
Despite the pain of her death, a symbol of his inability to save her, he smiled. Jason Sera had a bullet between the eyes and his son seemed in a similar compromising position.
He couldn't help; something went right.
Tony collapsed at his desk, very glad that it was over. He still had blood on his hands, her blood. If he hadn't stopped to turn off his computer and grab his car keys from his desk he would have never noticed the letter that lay on his desk. The mailmen must have put it on his desk when they had all gone out.
Dear Detective DiNozzo,
It seems you just don't know when to stop. It's too bad, really. If you did we might have been able to stop you from getting yourself killed:
No little Indians left to hunt down. Guess we'll have to find you.
As threatening as it really was, Tony let out a huge booming broken laughter at the irony of the situation.
He couldn't honestly bring himself to think if he had been a little slower at realizing what was going on, or if McGee had been unable to use the phone, or if Ziva hadn't been so quick to shoot Sera in the head what might have happened.
He crumpled the letter in his hands, juggling it from one hand to the other ignoring the burn that reemerged whenever he moved his wrist. He couldn't really understand it. If he had been reasoning clearly, he would have known that never, in a million years would he be able to truly grasp the reason even if he knew why.
It was too difficult. The logic they used was so far from his own, it was hard to place. He shook his head, gently massaging the four small stitches on his hairline.
It was kind of reassuring. He would never be in the same playing field as the killers but now with the Sera fiasco he could evenly pretend to be. It would make undercover assignments that much easier.
Still, her death loomed over his shoulders. He couldn't stand feeling like he let her down. He shut his eyes briefly, relaying her last few breaths in his head.
It hurt. She had wanted to thank him. She didn't want to tell him that she hated him for not saving her; she wanted to say thanks for trying. It really hurt. She had such potential. She was so young.
The bad completely over weighed the single good reason he imagined. He drew in a shuddering breath, wishing he could scrub the blood off of his hands, but knowing firsthand that they would be raw if he tried to wash them again.
He opened his eyes. As much as it killed him that she had been the last victim, the only one that he had the possibility to save, he realized rather reluctantly that her death had given him some kind of finality. Maybe now he could move on.
Even though his head felt heavy, mentally and physically, Tony's heart was clear. It did ache for the ten girls murdered but for now, it was at peace. The day's events were finally setting in it but Tony felt renewed.
He angled his arm and threw the paper. The crumbled ball with the perfect trajectory struck the small file cabinet by McGee's desk and with practiced ease, bounced into the empty waste basket.
The perfect shot brought everything together. It was an analogy just waiting to be explicated. The shot symbolized the end. The end of a mystery. The end of case.
The closure that he longed for could finally be achieved.
I never thought I would be able to finish this. Nuts.
Please review with your opinion. I would love to know what everyone thought of the story as a whole. Even if you don't I am overjoyed with the amount of reviews/alerts/favorites this got. Thank you so much for making this a worthy cause.
As this might be my last time dwelling into NCIS, I would love to say that all the writers in this section are amazing and many of my ideas sprouted from reading other's work. Thank you.