So I've noticed, Tony's always the one to get his butt saved. Figured it would be fun if it were the other way around. Oh and this is set at season 4 shortly after Gibbs's return. Enjoy :)
Thursday, 2:17 P.M.
It was cold.
No, a man who looked to be in his late forties let out a sharp gasp as his senses came flooding back to him. It was freezing.
The air was chilly with a bite that made the man instinctively shove his fingers in his armpits. Using what little body warmth he had, the man tried to calm the shaking from his hands but soon realized the problem was not from the cold.
It was from the hot sticky substance on his hands that smelled suspiciously like steel.
I'm bleeding The man realized. He cracked one eyelid open in an attempt to confirm but quickly closed it again. The whole ordeal of waking up to look for an open wound when it was so utterly dark, and when every part of his body was screaming in pain just seemed like a waste of the scarce energy he had left. But then again, if he bled out and died, it would defeat the purpose of saving his energy.
Biting down a groan, the injured man opened his eyes once more and very slowly, began to pull himself up. It was a painful procedure, but he found that while his left wrist was probably sprained, his right arm was in good use. And that most of the pain, was coming from his leg. Specifically, his right thigh. His pants were already soaked and judging from the fresh smell of blood, it hadn't been long since he'd been hurt.
Thursday, 2:17 P.M.
"Agent DiNozzo! Sit-rep!" The Director of NCIS demanded as she stepped off the elevator. Unlike her usually professional self, she was in casual apparel, but the faded jeans and box T-shirt did not lessen the sting of the glare she threw at the agents on the dim-litted floor. "Why is it only NOW that I hear about Agent Gibbs's disappearance?"
"I don't know Director," Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo swiftly walked towards her and stepped into her line of sight, effectively blocking her way into the bullpit. His voice was sweet as-no sweeter than- honey but Jenny Shepherd was close enough to see into the agent's eyes. The green eyes reflected determination so fierce it boarded an icy coldness she didn't know the Italian was capable of. "Maybe it's because we were out of stock on straws and nobody had the guts to wake the Director at one in the morning-"
"Special Agent DiNozzo!"
"Or maybe it's because we were informed barely thirty minutes ago and didn't have the time!" Tony snapped as he glared right back at the woman. He was being rude but they would have to deal about it later. The only thing that mattered right now was not Tony's ass, but Gibbs'. Gibbs was missing with possibly a life-threatening injury and Tony was not going to let the Director take the lead; he had to have Gibbs's six.
Jenny nodded curtly, understanding the reason behind the agent's snarl. However she felt inclined to grab his arm and ask.
"If I hadn't called you, would you have told me?"
The answer was clear from the sly smile the Italian gave her but before anything, Agent Timothy McGee interrupted.
"Wait, you called Tony? At two in the morning? Why?"
Busted. Jenny winced inwardly as she realized her mistake. She would just glare McGee away if she could, but Ziva was watching with a raised eyebrow, a sure sign of interest. Of course if asked, the Mossad Agent would keep her silence but Jenny wasn't ready to let anybody else in; Rule 4 existed for a reason.
"Excellent point McGee," Tony broke into Jenny's thoughts when he replied smoothly as he grinned at the Director. "Why call so early in the morning Director? Did we have something to discuss, purr-ivately?"
The waggling eyebrows and exaggerated accent had just the right effect. Jenny having recognized the opening, smiled smoothly as she answered.
"I guess we'll never find out now will we? Is there a problem Agent McGee?"
"Uh, uh," Timothy stammered before turning to his computer. He could have definitely lived the rest of his life happily without knowing that little tidbit of his co-workers' personal lives. "Nothing ma'am."
"McGee," Tony was back to business. "Cellphone!"
"The phone we found at the scene is down with Abby," McGee responded instantly. "And she's double checking but she told me it's Gibbs'. It's the standard NCIS issued cellphone, the serial numbers match the one we gave Gibbs, and there's even the good luck sticker Abby had added inside. Abby's also checking if she can get any information of who Gibbs called last but I doubt we'll find anything. The cellphone was damaged badly, almost shattered in half," Timothy grimaced at the memory of the blood smattered across the broken screen. "Abby'll call us when she gets anything."
"Alright, so Gibbs's cellphone is with us. Then where's Layman's phone?" Tony turned to Ziva. "You guys didn't find it at the scene?"
"No," Ziva answered steely. "We've looked everywhere and although the lack of light limited our view we searched the place downside up."
"Upside down," Tony corrected absentmindedly as he rubbed his chin. "What are the chances of Layman not having a cellphone at all?"
"Not impossible but slim," Ziva answered. "If they wanted to eliminate all traces then meeting in person would have been the safest way. However if they were to meet without any sort of communication beforehand they would have had to choose a location. It would have been difficult for Layman to keep a low profile if he were to meet somebody often.
"It would be safe to say that Gibbs took Layman's cellphone," Ziva reasoned as she wrung her hands together, pacing back and forth. "They got in a fight, Gibbs' phone broke in the process. Gibbs sees Layman's phone and takes it. It's perfectly logical and it would explain the call we received forty minutes ago. You know, the call McGee can't track."
"Thanks a lot," Timothy muttered from his desk. "He hung up before we could pick up the signal. She has a point though. The time frame fits; Layman's TOD was about zero-one-thirty and somebody called the NCIS building at zero-one-thirty-eight. It could be Gibbs."
"But why run?" Tony grabbed the remote and flipped through the pictures of the crime scene on the plasma screen. "If he waited twenty minutes, we would have been there to back him up. Something happened that he couldn't stay there. He had to move."
"Maybe to keep his cover?" Ziva suggested.
"The mission was over the moment Layman died. Gibbs would have known that Zee-vah."
"Then to take cover."
"That's what I've been thinking," Tony ran his fingers through his hair as he sighed. "But from what?"
Thursday 2:31 P.M.
He had a phone. It was the kind you could get at any store without even ID and though it was badly battered, it didn't seem to be broken. While waiting for the phone to turn on, the man closed his eyes and tried to calm the aching in his head. Tiny voices were screaming for attention but he chose to ignore them all; his bleeding leg was first.
By the time he managed to pull himself up and lean against the wall, the cellphone had fully turned on. He realized with only one good arm he couldn't apply pressure to his wound and use the phone at the same time. He grimaced as he wiped the blood on his shirt before picking up the mobile phone.
Great, all dressed up but no where to go. The man thought glumly as he looked through the cellphone number directory. There wasn't a single number saved in the phone, not a single number he could call for help. Sure there always was the option of calling 911 but he felt that he would rather not. The reason for such a preference mostly had to do with the gun he had in his hand when he woke up.
8345. He noticed a number that caught his eye in the history list. At around one fourty, a phone call had been made once. He couldn't remember actually making the phone call but judging from the time it must have been a call he made before he fell unconscious. There was no time for doubts and second guessing; he was starting to lose feeling in his leg. He pressed 'redial' and gingerly brought the phone to his ear.
On the first ring, a man picked up. The voice was mature, but young enough to make the man wonder if he had made the right call; he had been expecting a friend, preferably around the same generation.
"Hello? Who is this?"
At the question, he searched for an answer.
"Boss? Is it you? Answer me if it is Boss."
"Who..." The injured man managed to heave before breaking into coughs.
"It's me McGee Boss- Ow! That's my foot Tony! Don't push-"
"Gibbs!" A second voice broke into the conversation, another male voice but with a deeper touch of maturity. Gibbs took a deep breath as the rising panic in his chest died down. "Boss it's me Tony! Where are you? Can you hear us? The signal from your phone is weak and we can't find trace you."
The voices were turning into buzzes as the pain he had kept at bay wrapped themselves around him. He struggled to keep grip of the phone but the wave of security was sucking his will to stay awake.
"Hey, Boss? Boss?"
He was safe now. An overwhelming wave of relief told him that and it was merely seconds before he would fall prey to the darkness closing in. However before he gave in, he realized he wanted the answer to one question.
"Boss, don't pass out on us-"
"Who.." He asked weakly. "Am I?"
When nothing but stunned silence answered, a blood stained cellphone clattered to the ground as Leroy Jethro Gibbs closed his eyes.
Yes sadly Gibbs is concussed (again) and is suffering partial memory loss(again).