A/N: This was written for the NFA Why Are You Torturing McGee? and Head to Head Challenges. That should basically tell you what it's about. There are spoilers for season 6 and covers my typical fare: Tim, angst, torture, H/C...the works. I do happen to think that I'm doing pretty good at coming up with a different type of plot, though. :) ...and, hey, I get to have Tim and Gibbs duking it out. That's got to be good.
Disclaimer: I do not own NCIS or the NCIS franchise. I am not making money off of any of this. I'm just writing because it takes my mind off real life...and I happen to enjoy it.
The First Rule...
by Enthusiastic Fish
Chapter 1
A woman, accompanied by two men, walked through a nondescript door. They did not seem to fit in the area, a middling low class region in eastern Pennsylvania. Still, they walked as though they knew where they were going. It was not their first trip to this house. Nor were they the first to arrive.
He who would live must fight, he who will not fight in this world where eternal struggle is the law of life, has not the right to exist.
"I do like the new motto," the woman commented as they stood in the entryway. She pulled off her coat, looking up at the archway.
One of the men glanced upward and nodded in approval.
"Where is our escort?" asked the other man. He had a slight accent in his voice, but he, like his two companions, was richly dressed, not in an ostentatious fashion, but in the kind of garb that spoke to taste, refinement...and above all, the wealth required to purchase clothing in such costly fabrics.
"I apologize for my absence," another voice chimed in. It was not subservient but welcoming. "There was a small amount of difficulty with one of our other...guests."
The three turned and gave the man standing below the archway an understanding smile.
"How many are here?" the woman asked.
"It is a new tournament. Everyone who could be here is here."
"Are there enough candidates?"
"Yes. Some acquired this very day."
"Excellent. When will the choices be made?" one man asked.
"You are the last to arrive."
"Then, let us waste no more time."
The trio was led under the archway and into the house. Once within, they did not linger on the main floor, but entered an open door and walked down the steps into the much larger basement complex. A group of men and women, just as richly dressed, were standing quietly together. Each held a drink and were chatting while casting glances at the far wall, as if expecting something to appear there. The three joined the group and talked for a few moments before a soft throat-clearing caught everyone's attention. A man, dressed all in black, had walked in front of the far wall and was smiling deferentially at those present.
"Welcome, ladies and gentlemen. A special warm welcome to our first time players." He nodded at a small group, slightly apart from the others. "I am pleased to announce that after a long hiatus, the competitions are ready to begin again. Are there any questions?"
"There was discussion previously about changing the rules to allow for switching bets should the original selection prove less than adequate. Has there been a decision?"
The man inclined his head to acknowledge the speaker.
"Yes, a decision has been made. After long debate among the founding members, it was decided that we would hold to the original rules. You may choose to ally yourself and your bets with another member should your original choice be eliminated. Otherwise, you must stick with that choice. The point of the game is not to jump around to the one currently winning but to see how much one's choice can improve...or can surprise."
There was a ripple of agreement with no dissent.
"Any other questions?"
Silence.
"Very well. Then, without further ado, we will reveal the participants."
He nodded to someone out of sight and the wall opened, revealing a group of men and women, all hanging from chains in the ceiling, all in varying degrees of consciousness. Most were in suits of some type, albeit in bad shape. Two were in running gear. Two were in casual jeans or even sweats. When the lights came on, most roused slightly, looking around themselves in confusion. As the rich men and women came closer, a few of those in restraints asked for help. They were quickly silenced.
The woman who had arrived last walked up and down the line, dissatisfied with all she saw. There was not one there who seemed to possess that hidden fire she always had searched for in choosing her participant. It was hard to pick based on appearance, based on their behavior upon their first awakening. The last winner had been a banker, seemingly soft and doughy. He had been the last chosen...and he had been the final winner. His meek exterior had hidden someone determined to survive at all costs. It had been the greatest irony when he had realized that winning didn't mean survival. However, the doughy contestants weren't always the best. Many of them went down in the first round.
Others were making their choices, examining each contestant carefully. The new members were hesitant in approaching them, even though they were all restrained and dazed.
"Slim pickings this time around," a voice whispered in her ear.
"Perhaps because we are back in America this time around. They were stronger elsewhere," she murmured back. "Have you made your choice?"
"Yes." The man pointed to a one of the women. She was lean, obviously athletic...but her eyes, which had just opened, held a certain degree of resentment. It hadn't become outright hatred because she did not understand just what was happening yet (none of them would at this point). "She will be hard to break, but when she does, she will fight better than many of these others. If you don't hurry, there will be nothing left for you to choose."
The woman nodded and moved down the line again. One of the men in the middle, ignored by most of the others, suddenly looked up as she passed and met her brief glance. She halted, arrested by the expression in those startlingly green eyes. She sent a practiced gaze over his body. Tall. Muscular. A bit of extra flesh but not enough to indicate a sedentary lifestyle. However, it was his eyes that drew her. Unlike the others, he had managed to hide his confusion tolerably well. He was in pain. That much was obvious. He was not used to that. ...but his eyes were on hers, almost insolently. No, it was not insolence. He was evaluating her. His eyes fairly sparkled with intelligence. He said nothing.
"I'll take this one," she said, her voice ringing out over the soft conversations. She had always preferred making her choices obvious rather than covert. The host glided over and cast an evaluating glance on her choice.
"A departure from your usual, madam."
"Getting in a rut will not help me win."
"Of course. Of course. You are certain? There are many others available."
"This is the one I want," she said, firmly.
"Very good, madam. I will mark him down as belonging to you." He gestured and two assistants came to remove the man from display. His chains were released and as they fell, pulling down his arms with them, she saw him wince. However, he stood as erect as he could and again, met her gaze. This time, it was insolence. He was disgusted by her. So much the better. These types were the best to watch break.
She held his gaze and then turned to rejoin her friends. As she did, she heard his voice. It was soft but full of anger.
"I do not belong to you."
A thump followed by a groan indicated his punishment, but she turned back to him. It was only the hands of the assistants which had prevented him from falling to the floor.
"You are mine," she corrected in a voice of deceptive sweetness. "You might think you are free, but you are nothing now. Nothing but my tool."
He straightened, breathing heavily.
"My name is Timothy McGee...and I am a human being."
Her smile was almost feline. "No, Timothy McGee. You are chattel."
Then, she walked away, hearing him dragged from the room. Her friends looked at her almost with envy.
"Not so slim pickings as you thought," she said with a smile. She was ready for the games to begin.