Jungle Fever (1/10)
Title: Jungle Fever
Author: Calliatra
Rating: FR15
Category: Gen
Pairing: None
Characters: Tony, the whole team
Genre: Casefile
Words: 646 (26,461 total)
Disclaimer: All recognizable NCIS characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. No money is being made from this work. No copyright infringement is intended.
Summary: When a Petty Officer’s decapitated body is found it starts an investigation that spirals out of control and places Tony in grave danger.
Written for the Can Anybody Hear Me? Challenge and the Casefile Challenge at NFA and inspired by the Chinese Whisper Challenge.
Chapter Warnings: Tony whump
Prologue | Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four | Chapter Five | Chapter Six | Chapter Seven | Chapter Eight | Chapter Nine
* * *
Dedication
To Nat,
My Beta,
For her patience, her honesty, and her encouragement.
Thank you for helping me become a better writer.
* * *
Prologue
Dark. It was dark. Dark and freezing. Instinctively, he tried to shift his body, tried to get away from the icy cold that seemed to pierce the skin on his back, and groaned as white hot pain flashed through his skull. Clearly moving was a bad idea. He settled on trying to see. Blinking several times did nothing to improve his vision, however. The world was still black. No, wait - the right of his field of vision seemed a little lighter than the other side. Mindful of the throbbing behind his eyes he turned his head slowly, carefully avoiding jerky movements. Yes, there was a definite source of light there. Rather than black, it seemed to glow dark blue. Not enough light to illuminate the rest of the darkness, but it was already comforting to know that there was something other than pure blackness.
He tried to move towards the light, mostly on instinct and with only the vague idea in the back of his head - or what was left of the back of his head, considering how loudly his nerve endings were screaming - that maybe he could see more from there, but found he couldn’t budge. His arms and legs didn’t seem to want to cooperate. Was he paralyzed? No, he could feel his legs, feel the cold digging into them, though with less of a bite than it had where his back was concerned. His arms, on the other hand, were warm. Warm was good. Unless warm meant they were simply too numb to feel the cold. In which case warm was bad, very bad.
Focusing on the good news seemed like the altogether better strategy, so he concentrated on trying to get his legs to work. They seemed to want to, he could feel his muscles straining but something was stopping them. A pressure on his ankles… ropes? And now that he knew what to look for, he could feel the same around his wrists. Cautiously, he assessed his situation.
He was lying on his back on a hard and freezing cold surface. His feet were tied together and his hands were bound in front of him. Judging by the difference in temperature on his skin, he was wearing pants, but no shirt. That was a problem, a problem that went beyond the fact that he felt like his skin was freezing to the ground below him. The shirt, there was something important about the shirt. The collar in particular. Underneath the collar… a wire! He had been wearing a wire, hidden underneath that shirt. He remembered speaking into it, and receiving a response so full of static that he could barely make out McGee’s voice… McGee’s voice! He must have been wearing an earwig, too. Was it still there, now? He couldn’t tell.
“McGee? Can you hear me?” Maybe his shirt was lying somewhere nearby. Maybe the wire was still in attached. Maybe it was still transmitting. It was only the slimmest of chances, but it was the only one he had, at the moment. His voice was raspy, but loud enough to carry. He paused, hoping, praying for a response. There was none.
“McGee? You there?” Nothing. Not even a crackle of static. Technically, that could mean anything. It could just mean he’s lost his earwig, that McGee could still hear him over the wire, that he could trace him and send someone to come find him. Somehow he didn’t think so, though.
He sighed and tugged at the ropes. They didn’t give. His voice was all he had, for now.
“Hello?” A hoarse shout this time, directed at the outside world, wherever it was. “Can anyone hear me?” There was no answer. Nothing but a slow, steady drip of water somewhere in the blackness.
Damn, Tony thought. How the hell had he gotten himself into this?
Next Chapter
Author: Calliatra
Rating: FR15
Category: Gen
Pairing: None
Characters: Tony, the whole team
Genre: Casefile
Words: 646 (26,461 total)
Disclaimer: All recognizable NCIS characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. No money is being made from this work. No copyright infringement is intended.
Summary: When a Petty Officer’s decapitated body is found it starts an investigation that spirals out of control and places Tony in grave danger.
Written for the Can Anybody Hear Me? Challenge and the Casefile Challenge at NFA and inspired by the Chinese Whisper Challenge.
Chapter Warnings: Tony whump
Prologue | Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four | Chapter Five | Chapter Six | Chapter Seven | Chapter Eight | Chapter Nine
* * *
Dedication
To Nat,
My Beta,
For her patience, her honesty, and her encouragement.
Thank you for helping me become a better writer.
* * *
Prologue
Dark. It was dark. Dark and freezing. Instinctively, he tried to shift his body, tried to get away from the icy cold that seemed to pierce the skin on his back, and groaned as white hot pain flashed through his skull. Clearly moving was a bad idea. He settled on trying to see. Blinking several times did nothing to improve his vision, however. The world was still black. No, wait - the right of his field of vision seemed a little lighter than the other side. Mindful of the throbbing behind his eyes he turned his head slowly, carefully avoiding jerky movements. Yes, there was a definite source of light there. Rather than black, it seemed to glow dark blue. Not enough light to illuminate the rest of the darkness, but it was already comforting to know that there was something other than pure blackness.
He tried to move towards the light, mostly on instinct and with only the vague idea in the back of his head - or what was left of the back of his head, considering how loudly his nerve endings were screaming - that maybe he could see more from there, but found he couldn’t budge. His arms and legs didn’t seem to want to cooperate. Was he paralyzed? No, he could feel his legs, feel the cold digging into them, though with less of a bite than it had where his back was concerned. His arms, on the other hand, were warm. Warm was good. Unless warm meant they were simply too numb to feel the cold. In which case warm was bad, very bad.
Focusing on the good news seemed like the altogether better strategy, so he concentrated on trying to get his legs to work. They seemed to want to, he could feel his muscles straining but something was stopping them. A pressure on his ankles… ropes? And now that he knew what to look for, he could feel the same around his wrists. Cautiously, he assessed his situation.
He was lying on his back on a hard and freezing cold surface. His feet were tied together and his hands were bound in front of him. Judging by the difference in temperature on his skin, he was wearing pants, but no shirt. That was a problem, a problem that went beyond the fact that he felt like his skin was freezing to the ground below him. The shirt, there was something important about the shirt. The collar in particular. Underneath the collar… a wire! He had been wearing a wire, hidden underneath that shirt. He remembered speaking into it, and receiving a response so full of static that he could barely make out McGee’s voice… McGee’s voice! He must have been wearing an earwig, too. Was it still there, now? He couldn’t tell.
“McGee? Can you hear me?” Maybe his shirt was lying somewhere nearby. Maybe the wire was still in attached. Maybe it was still transmitting. It was only the slimmest of chances, but it was the only one he had, at the moment. His voice was raspy, but loud enough to carry. He paused, hoping, praying for a response. There was none.
“McGee? You there?” Nothing. Not even a crackle of static. Technically, that could mean anything. It could just mean he’s lost his earwig, that McGee could still hear him over the wire, that he could trace him and send someone to come find him. Somehow he didn’t think so, though.
He sighed and tugged at the ropes. They didn’t give. His voice was all he had, for now.
“Hello?” A hoarse shout this time, directed at the outside world, wherever it was. “Can anyone hear me?” There was no answer. Nothing but a slow, steady drip of water somewhere in the blackness.
Damn, Tony thought. How the hell had he gotten himself into this?
Next Chapter