Background/Introduction: This story would take place sometime around the end of Season 15. They seem to be setting up Gabriel Hicks from 15x07 as this season's Big Bad, so this is my version of how it all might come to a head. In that episode ("Burden of Proof"), did anyone else notice that the NCIS team member who most accurately fit the killer's victim profile was Torres? Male, "notably strong," young, dark hair, etc. So, if Hicks were to pick a team member to attack (obviously to hurt/one-up Gibbs), he would be my most logical guess. The actual storyline on the show probably won't turn out this way, but what the heck, I'll give it a go anyway.

"Always keep your hands up, Nicky!" his father urged. He held his hands palms-up. "Try again."

Nick took a breath, his bare toes digging into the scraggly grass of their tiny front yard. He bounced a couple times like the fighters he saw on TV, clenched his hands into fists, and punched his father's hand with all his nine-year-old might.

Before he could recover, his father's right hand lashed out, smacking him lightly in the ear. Not hard enough to hurt, just enough to give him a little wake-up call.

"You're still dropping your left," his dad said patiently. "You have to keep your guard up at all times, mijo. Otherwise you leave yourself open to a counterstrike every time you attack. Try again."

Nick scowled in concentration, and punched again. This time, he kept his other elbow up, and was able to block his father's attempt to hit back. He smirked.

His dad smiled. "There you go. Remember, defense is just as important as offense. This time do a right-left combo. And—"

"Keep my hands up," Nick finished. He punched with his right, then his left, his fists dwarfed by his father's calloused palms. His father surprised him with a swipe at his head, but Nick was able to duck just in time.

"Good!" his dad said, beaming. "Always listen to your instincts. They'll see a hit coming before your eyes will."

His father placed his hands on Nick's slim shoulders and looked him square in the eye, man to man. "The outcome of a fight isn't decided by whoever hits first, or harder. It's not even about who's physically stronger. It all comes down to whoever figures out their opponent's weakness and how to use it against him. Being able to take a punch is a much greater skill than being able to throw one. Got it?"

Nick nodded, understanding as best as a mere child could.

His father smiled, clapping his son's shoulders one more time, then settling back into his boxer's stance. "Again."

-(x)-

Nick jolted awake, his head smacking against something hard. He became immediately aware of a pain in his head, somehow both sharp and throbbing at the same time. He groaned, lifting his hands to rub his eyes.

Except, his hands couldn't move. Instead he felt the burn of rope chafing his wrists, secured behind his back to the point that his shoulders ached. He froze.

Nick took a breath, tamping down on his rapidly accelerating heartbeat, systematically reviewing every single bit of training that had been drummed into him at FLETC. First step: Take stock of the situation. His hands were tied, as were his ankles. He'd obviously been knocked out with a blow to the head. And he was most definitely in the trunk of a moving car. Bad news all around.

What the hell happened?

The last thing he remembered… He'd been following a lead on their current case: tracking down Gabriel Hicks. They'd finally discovered evidence linking Hicks to the four unsolved serial murders that had been committed all over the DC area over a decade ago. Hicks had known they were on his ass, and seemed determined to burn the whole world to the ground rather than come quietly. He'd even gone so far as to target his former attorney, Jessica Schafer, but Gibbs had made it to her in time to stop him. And then Hicks had vanished. They hadn't been able to catch even the slightest trace of him in over a week.

Nick blinked hard a couple times, trying to clear his concussion-addled thoughts. He could figure out what had happened to get him into this mess later. Right now he needed to get free. Getting tied up and thrown into a trunk was never something you wanted to stick around for.

He tried kicking at the trunk lid above him, but whoever had taken him hadn't just tied his wrists and ankles—they'd tied them together. He could barely wriggle around, let alone have a chance at breaking out.

Just then, the car took a hard right turn, slamming Nick's head against the side of the trunk. Through his own muffled curse, he could hear the tires rumbling along an uneven surface, the car shaking and creaking. They must have left pavement behind and gone off-road.

This was just getting worse and worse.

After a couple more minutes of fruitless pulling at his bonds, he felt the car slow down, then ease into a stop.

A door opened, then slammed shut. Slow, even footsteps crunched lightly toward the back of the car. Nick tried to roll into a position that would allow him to launch himself at his captor once the trunk was opened, but tied up like that he simply couldn't support his own weight in any position.

A key grated in the trunk's lock, and then it popped open. Golden evening light cut through the dusty darkness, and Nick blinked up at the smiling person holding up the lid.

"Hello, Agent Torres," Gabriel Hicks said.