Tim slapped the hand of the wearied doctor once more and glared with a venom that few people could possibly attest to. His jaw tightened and tautened with every passing moment, and his eyes seemed to be transfixed upon the glaringly sterile clock that hung in the hospital room. Staring over the exasperated medic's head, he shot Gibbs a look no-one, in their right mind and in normal circumstances would dare dream of.

"Boss, if you do not bust me out of here in the next five minutes, I will do it myself. It's as simple as that. Tony is out there somewhere….and….you have no idea what he is going through." He paused just long enough to stare the attending out of any notions of placing the needle he was holding anywhere but the medical tray, before continuing. "I can come back here and get all patched and beautified when we find him. I am not dying right now," he paused again to stare at the doctor. "Right?" he demanded meaningfully.

Finding the patient, admittedly sympathetic but nerve grating, Dr Baker nodded tersely.

"Not at this very minute, no," he conceded, "but you do require an incredibly intensive physical recuperation, a serious stint in the burn unit, a full work up…not to mention the ahh, mental health implications and necessary care." Gibbs' approving nod delivered the last kick into Tim's tenuous hold on his temper as his lips bared back in a snarl.

"I am an adult, in possession of a mind sound enough to make logical and informed decisions for my own health and well being. I am not a risk to myself, nor anyone else…and you people cannot keep me here against my will." He glanced meaningfully down at the IV's in his arm. "So either you take these out, nice and medical like, or I'm going to rip them out in the next five seconds."

The doctor sighed and swivelled his head round to look at the obvious boss of the agent with a raised brow. The grey haired man was clearly in deep contemplation as he ran blazingly blue eyes over his man. The battle that was going on within him was apparent, and the irritation the medic felt suddenly dissipated. This poor soul had to balance the health of his agent in front of him against the health of another, of whom he had no idea of his location and condition.

Dr Baker didn't envy the guy.

Gibbs held his breath.

Tim…was in the worst of bad ways. He was a bloodied, battered version of himself. His eyes however, that had been deadened and listless when they first found him, were now shining with fervour and fear. He was terrified for Tony, and that alone rose the panic levels in Gibbs' chest to off the chart territory. He had of course imagined the worse, but it had been so much more terrible than he had imagined. Having Tim back was a staggering relief, but…Tony still being out there had the hairs on the back of his neck on a permanent high.

Tim…had intricate knowledge of how those animals operated, what their end game was. So wrapped up was he in getting McGee to the hospital Gibbs hadn't asked a single question related to the cause of his capture. He knew that the rest the doctor spoke of wouldn't come to Tim when he knew Tony was still out there, no matter what drugs they pumped him full of. He had been in enough chemically altered states to know that they only made one look peaceful, but inside…the war raged on.

He felt his heart quicken as he tried to come to a decision.

Though part of him knew, it wasn't really his decision to make. Tim was merely giving him the opportunity to grant his blessing, whatever he said…he was getting out of that bed. Rationalising, Gibbs knew it would be the lesser of two evils that McGee stick with them rather than go haring off on his own which may occur if he tried to force him to lay down and recover while Tony was still missing.

He took in a tortured breath and turned his attention to the doctor.

"If I were to take him out of here, what can you do for him in the short term, before I can get him back? Is there…medication he can take?"

The medic pursed his lips disapprovingly and barely resisted the knee jerk expletive.

"He has undergone terrible physical trauma," he clipped, "his body is severely lacerated, he is immunocompromised, he remains dehydrated and his organs are in poor condition. His vision is damaged, his sense of balance is skewed and that's just the tip of the ice berg. His mental health…I don't even pretend to have the expertise to touch the tip of that iceberg."

Gibbs blinked under the weight of this horrifyingly frank assessment and cursed himself.

His raging terror for Tony had allowed him to participate in the madness that Tim was in any sort of fit state to go anywhere, or do anything. His sick to the core feeling that only came from having your worst nightmares confirmed as he had stared at McGee, knowing what had or what was befalling Tony, had blinded him to the fact that the junior agent barely qualified as alive. He felt self disgust rise in him as he battled. He could see, that the younger man could see the decision forming in his eyes, and the anger that appeared in the battered, tattered face made him feel faint.

"McGee," he began, before being vehemently cut off.

"Screw you Gibbs," the rescued agent spat, "you took nearly a year to find me…you think I'm going to sit in this bed and watch you take another year to find him? Do you have…any idea what they're probably doing to him, as we speak, this very second? Do you have any idea what they've already done to him? Do you have a single thought as to what they're going to do to him now that I've been found? Assuming…" his voice choked off and he looked even more broken than humanly possible, "assuming he's even still alive, that is."

Gibbs and Ziva flinched.

Ziva's movement seemed to catch Tim's eye, and he rested his bloodied gaze on her for a moment as if surprised she was there. He quickly dropped his stare down to the floor when she looked at him, indecipherable emotions burning in her dark eyes. "We would feel it…if here were…no longer here," she murmured softly, and the catch in her voice was enough to have Tim's eyes swivelling upwards.

.

His heart was still hammering in his chest. The forms of Gibbs and Ziva in front of him still weren't solidified in reality for him as of yet. He didn't know then, but it would take nearly a year for him to look at either of them without incurring a sense of panic stricken fleetingness. Like they could be snatched from him at any moment, in a labyrinth full of abducting vans and grinning assailants. Not knowing what to say in response to her unusually emotional speech, he once again averted his gaze.

Gibbs filled the void.

"I know the idea of staying here while he's out there is killing you Tim," he murmured softly, "but you're… barely functioning. You need serious rest and you need to be here to get it. I swear, we will come to you for help. But advice based help. We will find him, and you don't need to physically be there to be a part of it. You see?"

Tim looked at him blankly.

"Where's Abby?"

This thought had only occurred to him as he sat in a swill of his own drying blood.

This time Ziva filled the void.

"She is trying…she is still trying to run down every possible technical lead. We rang to say we had found you. She…had somewhat of a uhm…breakdown I believe. Ducky is tending to her back at the yard. She hasn't stopped searching for you since the day you both went missing. She has not slept more than three or four hours a night."

There was an iceberg of cold in Tim's being, that had been put there by Vlada. But at Ziva's words, the very most tip of the glacial substance thawed somewhat. He could easily picture a manic, frenzied Abby day in day out in her lab. Ignoring all orders and instructions to rest. He managed to nod in acceptance of Ziva's explanation, before looking back at the nearly forgotten doctor with a grim line to his jaw.

"Are you going to clear me to leave or aren't you?"

With one look at a determined looking Gibbs, the doctor shook his head.

"No, I am not."

Before Tim's furious replies could fill the room, they were all diverted by the loud shrilling of his cell in his pocket. Sighing, he fished it out and answered with his usual terse "Gibbs." The other occupants of the room fell silent, not knowing what to say. No one had the expertise on hand to know the words that ought to be spoken in a situation like they were in. No one had had experience of having a close friend snatched from them, and tortured for a year.

No one had the words.

But no words were needed, as the medic in the room felt his brows knit together at the rapidly paling expression on the head agent's face. The colour was draining so rapidly he felt concern well up inside him. But it was nothing compared to the turmoil that was going on inside Gibbs' head. In deference to the clipped, precise instructions on the other end of the line, he placed the cell on Tim's bedside hanging table, and placed the call on loudspeaker.

The questioning looks he was sent were soon answered.

But not by him.

The voice that filled the room affected them all. It did. But none more so than Tim. Although it was not the voice of his own abuser, it bore a striking, horrifying resemblance. He let out a small groan, before pushing himself as far and as fast away from the phone as possible. Seeing this distress, Gibbs' already alarming rage at the low life scum that had torn their loves apart, moved forwards. Sitting on the bed beside his shaking, shivering junior agent, he placed a warm hand around his shoulders as the voice continued to echo around the room.

"I take it," Pyotr's croon voiced, "that we are all connected now? Agent Gibbs, Officer David…and of course, my own personal favourite, Agent McGee? Are you all there? I assume of course that your other rather odd members of your team are still frantically typing away back at your HQ…" he let out a soft chuckle, "their determination is surely adorable."

He paused.

"Please voice your presence, my friends…it is very disconcerting not to be able to see your pain."

He paused again.

"But I should be able to hear it."

The doctor backed away, but still kept an eye on his patient. The voice that was coming through the line was oddly soothing, and oddly horrifying. It was velvety, and rough all at the same time. The medic didn't know how he knew, but he just knew that the owner of this voice was capable of great damage. Looking at the young man that was now being nearly held by the older one, he knew that he was looking at the kind of damage the owner of such a voice could inflict.

Tim and Ziva looked at Gibbs for direction.

And he was struggling to give it.

Playing along with this animal's demands may only feed into his frenzy. Not playing along with his demands may bear catastrophic consequences for Tony. Biting his lip, he nodded jerkily at his agent's.

They didn't have much of a choice.

"We're all here," Gibbs ground out roughly, followed by a slow "here," from both Tim and Ziva. Hearing the quake in McGee's monosyllabic fear, Gibbs squeezed his shoulder tighter still. The throaty chortle on the other end made the already alarmed doctor want to bolt from the room. "Good, good," Pyotr breathed, "now…how is it you Americans put it? Ahh…let me see, oh yes…shall we get down to business now?"

Gibbs felt his teeth tingle with rage.

"Where is Tony?" he demanded, barely keeping control of himself, "what do you want? I want to hear his voice." The silence that followed was haunting, and Gibbs felt Tim shiver beside him. His hatred levels instantly rose. "Tony…is, let us say indisposed at the moment and cannot come to the phone," Pyotr taunted, "but if you would like him to continue being indisposed, as opposed to you know…dead, then you will listen to me carefully."

Out of the corner of his eye, Gibbs saw Ziva pale an impossible white as the air caught in his throat.

"There are codes. Codes that we have tried, if I do say so myself rather valiantly to glean from your two puppies, Agent Gibbs. We, I regret to say, appear to have been unsuccessful with our traditional methods, which I must confess is highly unusual." Gibbs felt a rush of almost dizzying pride. "But…we are out of time I am afraid. I need answers, and I need them today. You will give me these answers Agent Gibbs, or I will send you back your brave little soldier…piece by piece."

He paused as if deep in thought.

"Do you think he would like a movie themed funeral? He seems to like movies, this one."

His next chuckle seemed to shake the very foundations of the room.

"You have one hour from now, my patriots. We are closer to you than you think. We could really only afford to house your Timmy so far away from the good ole US of A. Your Tony, has never left American soil. I must say, we did so laugh over our coffee in the morning when we received intel that you were scouring the Iran wilderness for your poodle."

He paused again as Gibbs felt an anger so intense surge through him his whole being trembled.

"Anyhow, I digress. He's given me that poor habit you know? Digression. But yes…we are out of time. I need the codes that will give me remote control of your most overt surveillance ships."

They didn't need to see him to imagine the manic glint in his eye.

"And of course…full control over their launch missile codes, and a full dossier on each and every agent, both afloat and stationed, undercover and field."

His sickly smile didn't need to be visible to be seen.

"I am sure you will have that rather insane little forensics woman trace this call, we've been on long enough. You have one hour to get here, alone Agent Gibbs. You will leave the Israeli, our released puppy and the strange girl at home. I trust you know that we are not men to be tested. I will be able to tell from one hundred yards out if you have or have not done as commanded. You follow these instructions, give me the codes that are inside your head, and I give you back your man."

The pause was deafening.

"If sixty one minutes should pass, and you are not here…you can expect Agent DiNozzo's right ear, special delivery."

The click of the phone disconnecting was equally as earth shattering.

The doctor, and three agents stared at the cell for a moment. As if it were some form of bizarre object from the future, before their sensibilities kicked back in. Tim snapped the phone up and instantly flipped through the contacts to get to Abby. Gibbs leapt up from the bed and thought furiously. Ziva ran a hand through her tangled mop of curls, wincing as her heart beat painfully against her chest.

Tim was speaking in low, rapid tones trying to convince Abby that he was both alive, though not entirely well and that time was of the absolute essence. The two were soon immersed in technical interchange, and Gibbs seized his moment. He pulled Ziva aside and forced himself into boss mode. "Tim is to co-ordinate with Abby on the technical side. You are to stay here and ensure he does not leave that bed. You understand me Ziva?"

The look she threw at him was answer enough.

"I know," he assured through gritted teeth, "I know you want to take down these sons of bitches. But…I can't take any risks. They're the most professional of professionals and they will know if I bring you in. You have to keep Tim safe. That's your job now….to keep him safe and to trust me to bring Tony home."

He paused for breath.

"Can you do that?"

She stared for a moment, a battle raging within her, before nodding curtly, with a desperately pleading look in her eye. Understanding what she couldn't say, Gibbs nodded and shouted "send those coordinates to my other cell Tim," over his shoulder as he sprinted from the room. He didn't stop to hear the war that's instantly raged in the room, and he was in the lift before the doctor could even blink in the din.

He made it to his car in record time and throwing himself behind the wheel, the cell that always lived in the glove compartment shrieked into life. The address that beamed up at him made his mouth instantly run dry and his mind spin. He had driven past that place, every single morning for the last year. Had Tony been in there that whole time? Had he been screaming in pain just meters away from him whilst he forced himself to turn up in the morning?

A pain that had nothing to do with a lack of food blazed in his abdomen.

The tires burned as they screeched from the lot. He would make it there if he floored it, in about fifty four minutes. He didn't dare call it in. There was still the question of a mole back at the agency. He knew he couldn't trust anyone but the people he had left in the hospital room. He knew very well that he was more than likely walking into a grab. That, having exhausted their efforts with his men, they were going after him. He had the codes they sought, but like Tony and Tim he would quite literally die before handing them over. The fallout for countries, continents and civilisation as a whole would be unthinkable.

He felt another streak of pride for what his agents' had achieved, marred with a tarring of agony for all that they had endured.

He had one him but one gun. One solitary pistol against what was most likely an arsenal. He was walking into a lion's den. He felt in his gut that Tony was still alive, but his gut was also telling him that getting him out of that industrial unit in the same condition was not at all likely. Nor was getting himself out either. The choice of their set up was quite brilliant. Hiding in plain view, amongst a new development of pharmaceutical research plants. Glass upon glass rows of clinics and centres.

Not the place you'd look for a captured, domiciled agent.

His hands gripped the steering wheel so tight his knuckled glared white. The image of Tim's face swum in his mind. Bloodied and battered, bruised and beleaguered. What state would he find Tony in? What condition would the man be in? Would he even recognise him? Gibbs knew enough of the scale of the operation he was facing to know their resources were unlimited, and their ruthlessness unleashed.

No man could go through it and be the same.

He knew Tim would never be the same.

But he didn't know would Tony even get the opportunity to never be the same.

He made it in fifty two minutes.

His weapon drawn, he exited the car. The particular coordinates pointed to a large, domed building that sat slightly apart from the rest. Gravel crunched beneath his feet as he cautiously neared the dwelling, his snipers experience telling him that he had, for some reason, no armed shooters on the rooftops looking down on him. There was no door, or obvious point of entry to the building and for a moment he stood, bewildered. But then…a smooth action sent a secreted pane of glass gushing upwards, revealing a clinically white entrance within.

Gibbs took a deep breath.

He was potentially, if not probably walking into his own death. He could accept that…if he could make it count. If he could get back his man…it would be worth it. The moment he stepped inside the cool atrium, the pane descended…sealing his fate. Blinking in the face of all the whiteness he kept his weapon poised and ready. He refused to physically startle, but the voice when it rang out forced his heart into an unnatural rhythm.

Echoing out from nowhere, and yet everywhere, the voice on the phone called to him.

"Two hundred feet ahead, take a right. Another hundred feet, and take a left."

The chuckle was as unearthly as ever.

"Tick tock now Agent Gibbs, tick tock."

Clenching his teeth, he did as he was instructed. His movement made no noise as he glided across the sterile floor, and followed the precise directions. Two minutes later and he found himself outside a glaringly white door. He took a breath, and reached out. The handle was cold to his touch as he turned it cautiously, raising his gun even higher. It made no noise as it glided open, revealing the room within.

Gibbs' heart went into a state of spasm.

The reason for his lack of Arial coverage became apparent. Bodies littered the floor, blood festooned the walls and a sense of despair clung to every crevice. The room had but a chair and an odd buffet style table in it. And there…in the centre of the room, attached to the chair sat…

"Tony."

The gasp was out of his mouth before he could help it, and he cursed himself. It reeked of personal despair and hurt. Rule number one of recovery operations…never ever indicate a personal relationship with the captive. But he couldn't help it. If he thought Tim was bad, Tony was worse. His handsome face, congealed with dried and drying blood was borderline unrecognisable. His hair was long, greasy and lank. His eyes were blackened, puffed and deadened.

He was broken.

…but he wasn't broken down.

His head, languishing on his lacerated chest twitched at the sounds of a voice that seemed to belong to another lifetime. Only when it came again, more frantic, more frenzied did he lift his heavy head. Focussing through bloodied eyes, his brows came together as he eyed this new arrival. The same eyes widened, as a clear battle between fiction and reality warred within. Before Gibbs could help, before he could physically how himself not to be a mirage, a shadow swooped down over the prone form.

Emerging from nowhere, Pyotr's grin was maniacal.

"Hello Agent Gibbs," he all but cried in twisted delight, "we are so thrilled you could join us."

A heavy calibre weapon was summoned as if out of thin air and placed against a staring Tony's temple. "Now…as you can see," the offender sighed, indicating the bodies strewn at his feet, "I have lost my patience with this lack of progress. Even my own men aren't, and as you can see weren't safe from my wrath. So…if you would Junior's head here to continue being attached to his neck, I say we get…ahh, straight to the chase. Isn't that how you say it? Straight to the chase?"

His laugh was guttural.

"I really cannot wait to leave this dump and be amongst those who speak sensible languages."

He shook his head bemusedly, and Gibbs instantly knew that this man…had cracked.

Had lost it.

"Now…there are four codes. One for each major warship. Of those four codes, there are three sub codes. So there are twenty eight codes in total. We have spent time, money and resources trying to pry these codes from your boys here…but time is now of the essence. So, excuse my curtness…but, I must insist…" he placed the gun closer to Tony's temple, "what are the codes?"

Gibbs felt his world disintegrate.

This man…had blasted away his own team. He was clearly deranged, and suffering a break. He would squeeze that trigger with an instants provocation. Tony's life hung in a very unsteady balance. On the other hand, national and international security was also in that balance. He knew he had to bluff, and buff fast…but this was a man that wouldn't be easy to fool.

"Boss…don't…."

Both men flinched.

Gibbs in agony, Pyotr in irritation. "Silence," he hissed, as the blood spewed forth down Tony's face with the exertion of his small speech. Tony shook his head feebly, his eyes bulging with the request not to break. To let him die, to not have let his years suffering be in vain. To protect that which they had sworn to protect. To tell his animal to go to hell.

But Gibbs…he couldn't.

Raising his pistol in a gesture of surrender, he took a breath. "You have something I want, and I have something you want," he said quietly, "you let Tony go…you let him get outside this…whatever the hell this place is…and I'll tell you what you want to know. I'll tell you. But he goes. He goes now, and you don't lay another finger on him. You can have me and your codes, for his freedom and safety. That's the deal."

Tony's moaned in physical and emotional agony as he shook his head vigorously.

The glint in Pyotr's eye grew more manic.

"The codes," he hissed, "and then you get your puppy back."

Before Gibbs could come up with another ploy, another bluff…there was the slightest of slight shuffling. There was the slightest of slight breezes in the windowless environments that could only be caused by human movement. There was the faintest of faint coughs, in rapid succession…one short and one long. There was the dawning of recognition in both Tony's and Gibbs' eyes as they stared at each other.

Before simultaneously ducking.

Two bullets soared through the air, cracking the sterility with their gate. The metallic blurs bursting out over the heads of a chair bound Tony, and a floor bound Gibbs. There was a dull thud as each bullet made a different point of contact. There was a moment's pause, where nothing had changed but everything had changed.

Then the figure of Pyotr fell to the floor with a resounding crash.

His gun still clutched in lifeless fingers.

For a moment, nothing or nobody moved. And then everything and everyone moved. Looking up from the floor, Gibbs felt his mouth fall open as he caught sight of Ziva pulling Tony's bounds loose, murmuring softly to him. Within a second, he was up and at her side, gently removing the chords that bit into the young agent's skin.

Within seconds, they had Tony in a seating position on the ground, supported by both their arms.

Before they could say anything, a shadow fell over them.

Looking up, the first real….the first devastatingly real Tony DiNozzo emotion crossed the newest releasee's face as he stared up, along with Gibbs, at the shadow in amazement. A silence blanketed the room, and Tony's body jerked under the effort of processing what he was seeing. His slight frame, so dilapidated through depravity shuddered in Ziva's and Gibbs' gentle grasp as he stared through a tattered, battered face at an equally tattered, battered face.

The face knelt down in front of him, a river flow of emotion brimming in the eyes.

"Probie?"

The face split into the most forcefully sincere smile he'd seen, the head nodded fiercely.

Tony gulped and gurgled on his own bodily fluids, desperate to believe all that he yearned to believe. The hands that held him were warm, they were real. The person in front of him was also warm…and also real. His lungs heaved with the effort of breathing in these realisations, as he pushed a greasy curtain of hair out of his green eyes to better see the miracle around him.

He swallowed.

"You look like McHell."

….

FIN

…