The first thing that registered to Tony was pain. Excruciating pain. He was almost afraid to open his eyes, but he forced them open anyway. He was more than shocked to find himself in Gibbs' living room. What had happened to him last night? How did he get here? He shivered and reached down to tug the blanket over him, and touched bare skin. He tilted his head up slowly to look at himself. He wasn't wearing anything, except for his boxer shorts.
As he pulled himself into a sitting position to look for his clothes, he heard footsteps descending the stairs. Gibbs came around the corner moment later.
"Good morning," he said gruffly to his impromptu house guest.
"Boss, what in the hell happened? And where are my clothes?"
"Do you remember anything?" Gibbs asked.
"Not a thing. Did you drag me out of a bar or something?"
Tony sat back and closed his eyes. What had he done?
"What happened to me?" he asked. "And where are my clothes?"
"You didn't have them on when I found you," Gibbs said.
"All I can tell you, DiNozzo, is that I got a call at three in the morning from a bar owner in Silver Spring. He told me he found you on the floor half naked in the men's room. You were unconscious."
"Yeah, Tony, that's all." Gibbs picked up a blue duffel he'd stashed under the coffee table, and tossed it to Tony. "Ziva brought this from your apartment. Get dressed."
Gibbs went into the kitchen to make some coffee. Tony opened the duffel and put on a pair of jeans and the sweatshirt Ziva had packed for him. It wasn't his first choice from the closet, but it was better than sitting on his Boss' couch in his underwear. As he pulled the hoodie over his head, Gibbs came back to the living room holding two cups of coffee. Tony took the coffee gratefully and sat back down on the couch.
"What do I do now, Boss? Something happened last night, and I have no memory. What if someone was hurt because of me?"
"Relax. We can figure it out." Gibbs took out his phone and flipped it open. He dialed McGee's number, hoping for the junior agent to pick up. He slammed the phone shut when it went to voice mail. "Damn it!"
"What's the matter?"
"McGee isn't answering his phone. I'll kill him," Gibbs grumbled.
At the mention of Tim's name, Tony sat up straight. A fuzzy memory came into his head.
"Boss, I remember something."
"After you let us go last night, I asked McGee to come out drinking with me."
"He came. He was there last night." Another thought occurred to Tony. "Oh my God, you don't think something happened to him-"
"God, I hope not," Gibbs said, jumping up to grab his coat. Tony was at his heels. There was no way he was sitting this out if something happened to Tim on his watch.
~ Two Hours Earlier~
When Tim came to, he found himself on the wrong side of a handgun.
"Get him up."
Strong hands grabbed Tim by the arms and pulled him to his feet. He felt very weak. He wasn't sure how he'd gotten there, or who these people were. There was a man standing in front of him, pointing a handgun at his face. The man was his height, with brown hair and eyes, and had a Spanish accent.
"What were you doing in my bar, cop?"
"What?" Tim asked, thoroughly confused. "What do you mea-" he was cut off when his captor hit him in the face. The pain brought him to his knees. Before he could regain his breath, he felt the man grab his shirt and press the gun to the side of his head.
"I ask the questions, puta, you answer. Comprende?"
Tim nodded. That earned him another bruise on his face.
"You don't nod, you answer."
"Good. Now, answer my question. What were you doing in my bar?"
"Having a drink," Tim replied. He felt the gun press into the side of his head.
"You're lying to me, cop. I don't like to be lied to."
"I'm not lying."
The next hit brought Tim crashing to the floor. The lackeys pulled him back to his knees.
"Give me one reason not to shoot you right now, cop," he said, pointing the gun directly at Tim's face this time. Tim wasn't sure what to say. He honestly had no idea what these guys wanted, how they found out he was a navy cop, and what the hell had happened the night before.
He was SO screwed.
translations from Spanish:
puta: fuck (loosely translated: he's calling Tim a fucker)
(if there is anyone out there who speaks Spanish, you are welcome to correct my translations, if they are incorrect).