Disclaimer: The usual disclaimers apply. I don't own these characters, just the original ones. This story is written for entertainment purposes only. Many thanks to my betas, Rinkle and Kate98, who were wonderful and turned this story around in record time, your comments and suggestions were the best. Thanks to ResearchGeek for encouragement.

Missing Pieces, by Tweeter

Prologue

Staff Sergeant Dennis Friberg was the picture of a perfect Marine – tall, handsome, intelligent, physically fit and respectful to superiors, women and elders. Underneath the perfect façade lay a primitive drive that made him a cold-blooded killer. He was really a suspected killer, but because the person who suspected him was Special Agent Leroy Jethro Gibbs, it seemed fairly certain that he was the one they were looking for.

Gibbs had sent his senior field agent, Tony DiNozzo, along with Officer Ziva David, to pick up the suspect and bring him to headquarters for questioning. The two argued on the way to the elevator and Tony decided to be generous and let Ziva drive.

"I'm feeling lucky today," he said, grinning down at the Mossad agent.

"I'm an excellent driver," Ziva retorted causing Tony to snort in amusement.

"Whatever you say, Rainman." The two continued to squabble good-naturedly as they headed to the car.

An hour later, Gibbs was reading through Friberg's service record when his phone rang.

"Gibbs," he said gruffly. His tone changed to one of concern. "Where?" he asked, snapping his fingers to get McGee's attention. "How serious is it?" He listened for a few seconds, then said, "We'll be right there."

Slamming the phone down, Gibbs grabbed his weapon and stood up.

"What's going on, Boss?" McGee asked, pulling his own weapon out of the desk drawer.

"DiNozzo and David were in an accident," Gibbs replied, striding out of the squad room.

McGee hurried to catch up. "Is it serious?" he asked worriedly.

"I don't know yet," replied Gibbs grimly as they entered the elevator, "but Tony's pinned in the car."

McGee was certain they were going to end up in their own wreck as he hung on to the handle of the car. Gibbs wove in and out of traffic, ignoring the blaring horns as he sped toward the accident site. They were about a quarter mile away when traffic became hopelessly gridlocked. Gibbs angrily wrestled with his seat belt, got out of the car and ran ahead, with McGee trailing in his wake.

The scene of the accident was worse than they thought. Several cars were sitting in the road at odd angles with varying degrees of damage. A large flatbed truck was jackknifed, its cargo spilling onto the road. The NCIS sedan was wedged underneath it at an angle, its front end partially crushed, windshield shattered by the truck's cargo. Emergency vehicles were on the scene, with EMTs helping the injured and firemen gathered around the NCIS vehicle.

Gibbs spotted Ziva in the back of an ambulance, arguing with the EMT who was trying to treat her.

"Officer David," he said loudly, "let the man do his job."

The EMT shot Gibbs a grateful look. "How is she?" Gibbs asked.

"She's got some cuts and contusions," replied the young man, "and a possible concussion. She may have internal injuries from the force of the crash against the seat belt. There's some pain when I press on her abdomen, even if she won't admit it."

"I'm fine," Ziva declared through gritted teeth. "I have to get to Tony. He needs someone with him."

"You'll do what the EMT tells you," replied Gibbs firmly. "McGee, make sure she behaves."

"You want me to make sure Ziva behaves?" McGee asked incredulously.

"She's got a concussion, McGee," Gibbs said, "you can take her." He turned away from them. "Maybe," he added as he headed toward the wrecked sedan.

Gibbs felt his chest tighten as he approached the car. Several firemen were standing in a group near the vehicle, talking in hushed tones, their expressions grim. A State Trooper approached Gibbs in an attempt to intercept him.

"I'm his boss," Gibbs said, flashing his badge and ID and indicating the car. "How bad is it?"

"It's pretty bad," replied the cop. "Your guy is pinned in, his legs are trapped, they could be broken or crushed, we can't tell. A piece of rebar went through the windshield and through his shoulder, right into the seat."

"Is he conscious?" Gibbs asked.

"Yeah." The cop nodded. "Poor guy's in bad shape, but he keeps joking with everyone."

Gibbs shook his head; it was so like Tony to try to lighten things up. He went to the passenger side of the car and looked in. Tony's eyes were closed, his skin ashen. He was breathing heavily through his nose as a wave of pain washed over him.

"Tony," Gibbs' voice was gentle.

Tony opened his eyes and turned his head. "Hey, Boss," he said, his grin lacking its usual cockiness.

"Here's another fine mess you've gotten yourself into," Gibbs chided.

"Laurel and Hardy," Tony said in surprise. "I didn't know you liked classic comedy."

"There's a lot you don't know, Tony," Gibbs said. His expression softened. "How you holding up?"

"Ah, well, you know," Tony said, waving his hand slightly, "I'm hanging in there, no big deal."

"You've got a half-inch metal bar through your shoulder, DiNozzo," Gibbs growled, "and your legs are somewhere under the mess that used to be the dashboard. That's a big deal."

"Well," Tony said, "I didn't want to sound like a baby."

Gibbs' hand went up, but instead of giving Tony a slap to the head, he ruffled his hair gently. "You've got a free pass, Tony," he said. "You can whine all you want."

"Thanks, Boss. How's Ziva?"

"Giving the EMTs trouble," Gibbs said. Tony chuckled, closing his eyes wearily.

"I'm going to talk to these guys, see what they're doing to get you out of here. I'll be right back." Gibbs squeezed Tony's shoulder reassuringly.

"I'll be here," Tony replied weakly.