Those Prison Blues
By: Mahiri Chuma
Rating: T
Disclaimer: I don't own anything NCIS related – though I really wish I did, and *if* I did, oh the whumpage there would be!
A/N: Hey ya'll, I'm here for another update. Just wanted to say my prayers go out to everyone in Haiti and I encourage you all to do whatever you can to help. Ensemble, nous pouvons faire une différence Allez! Il nous faut des bénévoles pour aider les peuple Haïtien - donnez votre argent, votre aide, votre prières …

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Those Prison Blues
Chapter Three: Rusty Cage

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Twenty-Four hours, only twenty-four hours.

Tony repeated the mantra in his head as he sat silently on the indescribably uncomfortable cot attached to the room's western wall. Solitary confinement was a terrible thing and that was a plain fact. The room was terribly cramped, the bed ending a hand length from the floor and the width of the room shorter than his arm span.

Twenty-four hours. He had once read that every man needed a mantra to repeat to himself if he wanted to survive in the world. This was his. He didn't expect the twenty-four hours to be terribly long but the fact that he was unable to inquire about his fellow agents health and receive updates from Gibbs was slightly maddening. Twenty-four hours in investigative time was equivalent to a week, as far as he was concerned.

It also didn't help much that he had a few childhood memories that involved himself and a few days locked in a closet or the DiNozzo wine cellar, something he tried very hard not to think about and something he would never, ever discuss with anyone.

He looked up at the small window that provided a miniscule amount of light, just barely enough to read by, and ran a hand through his hair. He reached up and scrubbed his face, scraping off the dried blood that caked his mouth and nose. If he thought he had a headache before he was sadly mistaken. The current throbbing in his temples, nose and jaw was a force to be reckoned with.

They hadn't offered him a stop at the medical bay and hadn't said so much as a word as they deposited him into the cell.

Inmates that caused this kind of trouble, that attacked COs weren't given much room to move, nor were they given the more ''civil' treatment given to those in the general population. But that was the point of solitary; break you down and give you the incentive to never do whatever you did again. It was seemingly a good idea in theory, but when it came down to it there was an 80% return rate.

If Tony was learning anything about the prison system it was that prison was even more of a giant, failed and corrupt mess than he thought it was, and he didn't think too highly of it before.

The thought brought him back to Giuseppe. Seeing that he hadn't yet been released he could only guess that his cover, amongst the guards at the very least, had not been blown … but, what about his fellow inmates?

Surely someone must have witnessed his intervention in the yard and if not, Tommy sure as hell did. He did tackle the man, after all.

However, the situation, should he play his cards right, could turn into the perfect way to get an in on Giuseppe's dealings. Giuseppe would undoubtedly confront him, something he had to be sure to watch out for, for at this point he couldn't know whether it would be verbal or physical, and when he did, Tony had to be prepared.

He would have to make it seem like he wanted to take the fall, that he wanted to make himself known to Giuseppe; he would make it work, he had to, he couldn't let Gibbs down.

He leaned backwards, resting his back on the small cot while keeping his feet on the ground. He was exhausted. He ached to the bone and his vision blurred uncomfortably with each small movement. He sniffed loudly, wincing as his swollen, broken nose began to throb as he attempted to breath though the inflamed airway. He licked his chapped, split lips, his mouth feeling terribly dry. Solitary provided its prisoners with a waterless toilet but no sink. Prisoners often rebelled by flooding their cells, forcing the guards to extract them, freeing them temporarily of their prisons and infuriating the staff.

He would kill for a bottle of water right about now and if not to drink at least to rinse his mouth and wash his face. He was grimy and itchy and as he lay there staring at the grey ceiling he could smell how funky his blue prison top was becoming. He ran his tongue along the backs of his teeth; at least he still had all of them, the baton to the face could have ended far worse.

As he worked his plan over and over again in his head, to the point of exhaustion, he allowed his mind to drift – in his experience, allowing one's mind to drift was never a good thing as the mind tended to go to dark places.

It started innocently as he replayed several movie scenes in his head, quoting them aloud as he picked at the ratty blanket.

"Rehabilitated?" He shouted, no doubt warranting the attention of the silent guard that he knew to be standing near his cell, "It's just a bullshit word. So you go on and stamp your form, sonny, and stop wasting my time. Because to tell you the truth, I don't give a shit."

He heard the sounds of feet shuffling outside his cell and allowed himself a grin. If they didn't think he was crazy before they sure did now. Unless, of course, they loved the art of cinema as much as he did and recognized his tribute to the Shawshank Redemption.

"This guy 's nuts." He heard the guard mutter.

After shouting a few more memorable quotes he quieted down, his mind seemingly without effort drifting from Tony Curtis of the Defiant Ones to Tony DiNozzo Sr. From there his mind took him on a trip down memory lane, from a hotel room in Maui to the faux Civil War battlegrounds, from the impromptu four hour limo drive around NYC – he would never understand how his father had continually forgot about him – to the entire day he spent in the cold wine cellar looking for the one-thousand dollar bottle of 1998 Chateau Petrus, a luxurious wine his father had forgotten he had imbibed a year prior.

He lay there for another three hours entertaining his demons and watching the beam of sunlight move slowly across the ceiling before vanishing completely, plunging the room into darkness.

Only twenty-four hours…

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McGee watched as Tony was hauled away, his face covered in an angry splash of red and disorientation clear in his eyes.

He lost sight of him as he was ushered from the yard by his 'colleagues', his arm burning as the rusty shrapnel moved around with each step. His arm was throbbing fiercely and he was hardly aware of the short trip to the medical wing and being told to take a seat in a plastic chair.

The metal had bit into him quickly before lodging itself in the bone. He had felt a terrible pain as he fell as the weapon jerked in his skin, widening the gash as it tore the flesh around the puncture.

He watched the Nurse Practitioner as she eyed the blade or screwdriver –whatever it was - testing it carefully before reaching over for a syringe of local anesthetic.

"When was your last tetanus booster?" She asked while she injected the cool liquid into his arm. He winced as the needle penetrated his skin uncomfortably close to the wound.

"Uh, two years ago. Yeah, two years." The nurse nodded as she disposed of the needle and took a seat across from him, waiting for the drug to take effect.

"This is your first incident?" It was more of a statement than a question. She smiled prettily at McGee as he sat stiffly trying his best to keep from disturbing the grimy looking weapon.

"Yes, it is." She nodded sympathetically, "But it's not the first time something like this has happened." He quickly corrected, something inside of him pushing him to impress her.

"Oh?" She touched his arm lightly and pulled back when the muscle twitched slightly; he needed another 5 minutes.

"You could say that I had more than a couple of run-ins at my previous job."

"Is that so?" She smiled but was unimpressed. She dealt with a handful of rather grim injuries each day, those that were far more serious than a yard shanking.

"Well, I don't know how you boys do it, especially after the incident with Officer Wright." Her face fell into a thoughtful frown before she moved to collect alcohol and gauze.

"Officer Wright?" McGee inquired. He ad heard the name once in passing but since then hadn't seen nor heard of the officer again.

"You don't know? You must be new then." She paused for a moment as if contemplating whether to continue, "He had his throat cut on duty five months ago while working D Block. We lost four COs that month, they just couldn't take the stress."

McGee pondered the information and was somewhat shocked that he hadn't heard about this, neither from their case file nor his fellow COs. He was working D-Block, along with Tony, and hadn't heard a single word of an attack.

"I'm sorry to hear. What happened?" He pushed. The information could prove valuable if relevant to any proceedings in their case.

She tested the object in his arm and pulled on a new pair of gloves ready to remove the offending object.

"No nerve damage. It sure will hurt for a while." She muttered as she gripped the 'handle.' "An inmate approached him through the bars, Officer Wright didn't see the weapon. It was a piece of a mirror and a toothbrush. They can make a weapon out of anything in here. Ready? It's deep in there and you'll feel some pressure and pain."

McGee nodded, biting the inside of his cheek as he took a deep breath.

She wiggled the piece slightly before taking a firm grip and pulling hard. McGee forced himself not to flinch as he felt a pull against his bone. She was right, it was painful and he did his best to sit still.

She placed it on the supply table and smiled as she quickly wiped the blood away and began to clean the wound.

"You did well." McGee gave her a weak smile as he observed her gentile administrations.

"Who attacked the CO?" He continued hoping to procure more information, his voice tight with the throbbing pain as she made quick work of five stiches.

"An LCN. We know who was behind it but he didn't do it so they can't do much with him."

"An LCN?" McGee's eyes widened for a moment as she taped down a bandage, oblivious to his shock. Tony had warned him and Gibbs of his suspicions concerning the gang and here he was hearing about an attempt on a COs life made by a member of La Cosa Nostra.

"La Costa Nostra, yes. Inmate Delicate, Giuseppe. They know it's him, the problem is, he never actually does anything."

McGee nodded, trying to seem only morbidly curious. He needed to talk to Tony, he didn't know where he had been dragged off to but he had to talk to him.

"It's strange," He looked up as she paused for a moment as she stood in thought, a crumbled 4x4 bandage wrapper in her hand, "they said you were attacked by a scram, someone unaffiliated. Doesn't happen much."

McGee felt his stomach drop as he realized what happened. He had seen Tony being dragged away and in the chaos he wasn't sure what it had meant. He had seen the blood and assumed that he was being escorted to the inmate medical wing. He didn't see Tony get hit, one minute he was there the next he was being hauled away. Now he knew why.

They thought Tony had stabbed him. So where was he now and who had actually attacked him?

"A scram, huh?" The nurse searched through a cabinet that held a variety of medications, clicking her tongue as she searched for an ample painkiller.

"Yes, a bold move. He'll have a lot to deal with after the lockdown. The inmates don't appreciate them, not at all. And without protection, well, we'll see."

McGee could feel the panic blossoming in his chest. He forced a smile as she handed him a bottle of antibiotics and pain pills and explained when to take them and what he should do should the wound turn infected.

She ushered him towards the door and McGee thanked her. He was almost out the door when a question came to mind.

"What happened to Officer Wright?"

"He died."

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Gibbs was just in time to meet McGee as he exited the medical wing. The younger agent looked exhausted. His left hand would occasionally come up to his bicep to finger the thick bandage causing him to wince.

He was far from happy with what happened to his two undercover agents. He had one in solitary confinement and another injured from what could have been a fatal attack. He observed McGee for a moment, looking for any signs that he needed to pull the man from the operation; despite his obvious fatigue and fine lines in his forehead that spoke of pain he knew younger agent wouldn't have any of that. McGee had become a formidable and competent agent – Gibbs wasn't worried.

"Officer McGregor." He called, maintaining the man's cover. McGee looked up at the sound of the familiar voice and could have sighed in relief.

"Sir."

"Come with me. We need to discuss this afternoons events."

McGee followed Gibbs to the room that served as there own MTAC and once inside, immediately began to brief his Boss on what he had happened.

"They think Tony did it, Boss." He stood anxiously in front of Gibbs who looked about ready to kill.

"I know, McGee."

"Well, where is he?" Gibbs wanted to wring the Warden's neck just at the mere thought of where Tony was.

"He's in solitary."

"Solitary?" McGee exclaimed, surprised by the answer. He knew the consequences for attacking a guard or for causing a lockdown but he was sure they would have pulled him out after a few hours, "We're leaving him in there?"

"Yep." Gibb's answered, his voice tight and restrained as he pulled a case file from the desk in front of him.

"Boss," McGee decided to move on. Tony was relatively safe for now – if you could call anywhere in prison safe, solitary was it - and he had a lot to discuss with Gibbs, "I need to pull up the case file on an Officer Wright, he was murdered here …"

Gibbs tossed a file labeled 'Wright' into his lap.

"… six months ago…" He picked up the file and began to thumb through it, "Umm, thanks, Boss."

Gibbs nodded and took the file back, putting it back on the desk.

"Later, McGee. You need to rest." McGee shook his head and opened his mouth to protest.

"Boss, I …"

"It wasn't a suggestion, McGee. Take those pills. Get some shut eye." Gibbs headed for the door, his expression dangerous. He stopped for a moment and turned back to the impossibly tired agent.

"McGee, you did good."

With one agent safe he had to have a chat with the Warden.

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Gibbs entered the Warden's office without knocking, much to the other man's chagrin. The two men were far too alike to make this easy; they both had terribly strong personalities, refused to step down and enjoyed their coffee blacker than black.

"What the hell is this about, Agent Gibbs?"

"It's about my Agent in solitary, Warden!" Gibbs stood threateningly over the man seated behind his overly large oak bureau.

"Agent Gibbs, I would think that you of all people would understand the necessity of keeping up appearances in an undercover situation."

Gibbs eyes became flinty and dangerous.

"Well sure, Warden, but I expected him to receive some medical attention before being locked up for twenty four hours."

He knew from McGee and from the scuttlebutt traveling around the prison that a CO had gotten to use his baton quite liberally on the 'escaping convict.' He didn't have to guess who that 'convict' was. In his experience, it was always Tony.

"This is a prison, Agent Gibbs. Unless one of the inmates is seriously injured we prefer to put them in the hole as soon after the incident as possible," the two men eyed each other, the tension in the room building to a near toxic level, "and in experience leaving them to lick their own wounds gives 'em time to think."

As much as Gibbs wanted to fight the Warden on this, he knew it was irrational and that he was right. He couldn't stand to just leave Tony in whatever state he was in in that concrete hell-hole but if they wanted to maintain a cover the younger agent would just have to stick it out.

Didn't mean he had to like it.

"If we do anything that goes against protocol I assure you that my officers will be suspicious."

"I want to see him as soon as he's out, protocol or not." Gibbs pointed a threatening finger at the man. The Warden shook his head but relented when he saw that the Agent before him was unlikely to accept no as an answer.

"Don't forget who's in charge here, Agent Gibbs. This is my prison. If your agent can't handle twenty-four hours on his own then maybe they sent me the wrong team."

"That agent is the best damn agent I've ever worked with. There's no one I trust more than Agent DiNozzo for this job."

The man shook his head. He wasn't so sure; he had seen the strongest men break down after ten hours in the hole. He didn't expect this agent to be much different, the two NCIS agents were hardly two weeks in and already one had been stabbed and the other was in the hole.

"We'll see, Agent Gibbs. Now if we're done here I have a rather large file to compose concerning the mess your two agents got themselves into. If you'll excuse me."

He nodded towards the door.

"Once those twenty-four hours are up, you send him to me." Gibbs left no room for further discussion as he exited the man's lavish office.

He and the Warden would not be getting along.

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Tony eyed the dirty looking tray, his appetite completely nonexistent. It had sat over night and was now laying stagnant in front of the door. He knew he should eat, especially after a night spent staring at the ceiling, but he simply wasn't hungry.

The sun was just beginning to peak over the horizon – or at least he though it was, the room was still dark but there was an inkling of warmth that suggested day had come.

He stretched his sore muscles and wondered how long he had left; so much could have happened during the short – or long – amount of time he had been in solitary confinement. It also didn't help that the boredom was starting to become a bit of a nuisance.

It was almost funny, almost hysterical, how boring it was; near maddening. There was nothing to even look at. It was almost worse than the few times he spent tied to a chair as a hostage or spent in a hospital bed.

He couldn't even practice running his mouth, there was no one listening to hear him quote movies or ramble aimlessly. He had to do what he did worst; sit still and shut up.

The complete lack of sleep had also brought the fury of his wounds to the forefront. His left eye was swollen uncomfortably, the scrapes on his face stinging relentlessly. The pain in his nose had migrated into his sinuses giving him a headache of monstrous proportions. He breathed in and gently prodded his face. Except for the nose, nothing else seemed to be broken; just bruised and bloodied. In a moment of vanity he briefly wondered if the damage was permanent and if he should try and fix it himself.

He hissed in pain as he poked the bridge of his nose a little too hard and promptly decided against it as his eyes watered involuntarily.

Tony stood up and paced for a moment before realizing there wasn't even enough room to effectively pace. So, he sat back down, this time on the floor for a change of scenery.

At some point another meal tray had been slipped into his cell, a sloppy looking breakfast that was more unappetizing then the dinner.

He watched the dust float in the beams of sunlight through the tiny window. We watched a cockroach skitter across the wall and then to make things more interesting he picked a loose button off his shirt.

He sat there for what could have been half an hour or seven, it was all the same – think about the case, think about his daddy issues, think about the case, pick lint, think about Ziva's daddy issues, case, daddy issues, and so on – until he heard a raking against his door, the sound of the heavy lock being displaced.

"Stand away from the door, hands on your head."

Tony didn't move, for a moment he was so shocked that his twenty-four were up he just sat there. Then he realized what the impending liberation meant and he hastily got to his feet, his hands on his head as they had ordered.

"Whoo boy, aren't you a sorry sight. Rios got you good." The CO laughed. Tony blinked as the world outside the cell rushed in, uncomfortably bright and loud. The CO roughly cuffed him, clearly sore over his apparent attack on a fellow CO.

"Don't expect anyone to feel sorry, DeMarco. What were you thinking, that's what we wanna know, attacking a newjack as a scram? You just made your life a whole lot harder."

The man continued to laugh at Tony's apparent misfortune while he led him down the corridor into the general population building.

Tony narrowed his eyes as they passed D-Block. So he wasn't being returned to his cell…

"Taking a detour, are we?"

"Oh yeah, you have a meeting with one of the head honchos here, you're in a world of trouble, DeMarco."

Tony snorted.

"What, they gonna throw me in prison?" The man grunted, giving him a light shove, telling him to shut his mouth.

They walked for another few minutes before stopping in front of a large, key-pad protected door. The guard punched in a number and led his prisoner inside, locking him to a chair before nodding to the man seated across from the prisoner and promptly exiting.

"Boss," Tony grinned, "long time no see."

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Thanks for all your lovely reviews everyone. I really appreciate them and they really make me want to write faster – that and that fact that I am still on a break from Grad. School..

I hope ya'll enjoyed this chapter and if you have a moment, a review would be most appreciated. I will not be updating for a week or two as I'm going over to Haiti to work with PIH. Please keep Haiti in your prayers and if you can offer any help, please do so!