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A car horn blared at him as he passed too close to the oncoming lane, the wheels riding that double yellow line. Tony knew he was driving badly, but he honestly didn’t care. Taking a header into a Mack Truck couldn’t be any worse than enduring his current emotional state. There was a pounding in his temples and a gripping nausea in his stomach but, even stronger than those, was the intense rage that has seized him. Everyone thought that Gibbs was the one in the office with the temper, followed closely by Ziva and the way she solved all her problems with a gun. But nothing could possibly compare to how he felt right now. He was defying a direct order from Vance, which probably meant he was out of a job already. So what did it matter?
The phone in his pocket buzzed, taking him off guard. He grabbed it, well aware that he was still in D.C. and he didn’t have damn Bluetooth set up in this car. Tony pressed the phone to his ear. “What!”
McGee’s voice was void of uncertainty. For a change, he didn’t give too much explanation or start a story ten steps behind. He said one thing and only one thing: “26007 Bowen Road SE in Anacostia.”
Tony swerved into the next lane, causing another series of honks from all lanes. He heard a screech of brakes and glanced briefly in the rear view mirror. He didn’t see an accident, but he did catch sight of his eyes. There was a devilish fire in them that he couldn’t blink away. “26007 Bowen Road,” Tony told himself. “Hang on, Gibbs. I’m coming.” Tony stamped on the gas pedal as he took the exit.
*
If he didn’t get killed on the way there, he might actually pull this rescue off. Damn Leroy Jethro Gibbs for making him venture into Anacostia at two in the morning. His phone had been buzzing and vibrating nonstop since, probably McGee or Ziva or Vance, wanting to talk to him about doing this smartly, about sending backup, about checking surveillance first. But all Tony could think about was getting to Gibbs as soon as possible. Nothing else mattered—not talking, not thinking, and not breathing.
Tony found the address, blew past it, and found parking down the street. He pulled his sidearm out as he ran. He found the door to the rundown, abandoned apartment building unlocked and panic really should have taken hold. But his anger was too strong. No one—no one—kidnapped Gibbs and got away with it.
Tony went floor by floor, listening for any sounds apart from his own footfalls, heavy and full of purpose. He watched for any movement apart from the occasional roach or spider skittering across the floor, as if sensing and fleeing Tony’s wrath.
When he got to the fifth floor, he knew he was in the right place. He could hear shouts and he could practically feel the hard slaps and punches as if they were striking him instead of Gibbs. Tony tried to compose himself, tried to tell himself to take his time with his approach.
But he heard Gibbs grunt in pain and Tony was lost to the moment. He stormed in with all of Abby’s caring, staying cautiously low with all of McGee’s logic, and with his gun raised with all of Ziva’s strength. From somewhere within him came the command to freeze and the realization that the men surrounding the gray-haired man on the far side of the room were definitely not freezing. Tony’s gun seemed drawn to the suspects’ kneecaps, firing repeatedly. There were screams and more gunshots. Tony felt a stinging in his arm and his aim went higher until the eight men sat slumped against the wall or lay face-down on the floor in surrender with their hands behind their backs. Tony didn’t have enough handcuffs for all of them, but he still had his gun and he heard sirens in the distance.
Tony went straight for Gibbs, carefully removing the gag and kneeling down in front of him. The bare bulbs in the room showed a variety of bruises and cuts upon Gibbs’ face, but the only thing Tony could see were the kidnappers. He kept his gun pointed at the suspects and his body perched in front of Gibbs as though he were worried Gibbs might vanish again.
“It’s all right,” Gibbs said as NCIS agents invaded the apartment to secure the scene. “I’m okay. It’s all right now.” His voice softened and dropped down to a whisper. “Come back down to me, DiNozzo.”
Tony still had fire in his eyes when one of the medics approached them to check on both of them. Short of growling, Tony’s body language and barrage of commands drove everyone away. He wouldn’t let anyone near. He still had his gun drawn, even though his arm was bleeding.
“Tony,” Gibbs said, and Tony’s face snapped to Gibbs’. He paused a moment, the drive to defend his boss still blinding him. There was nothing Gibbs could say to snap him out of it. But, as he looked into Gibb’s face, he saw that soft, Gibbsian smile appear. Tony wanted to feel a slap against the back of his head, telling him that he was stupid to have worried so much. He wanted to gather Gibbs up and get him out of this place. And he wanted desperately kiss those lips, to feel that smile against his mouth and let it transform him. But, somehow, just seeing that smile meant just for him was enough. Tony’s body relaxed and he laid his cheek on Gibbs’ thigh, eyes closed. He could feel Gibbs’ warmth and heartbeat. He allowed the knot in his chest to release. He was conscious of taking his first deep breath since leaving the office.