Nicholas: Um...yeah new chapter. Yay. -_- ...JUST KIDDING! Hope you like this next little installment. More angst and more mystery surrounding Daniel. I don't intend to answer any of those questions until much later by the way ^_^ Reviews are my lifeblood! ^_^

Groaning a soft 'ow,' Daniel twisted his wrist around in the cuff. It wasn't working and he knew that. Tony knew that he knew. Smug bastard was doing that condescending head-shake-plus-smirk for the umpteenth time, and DiNozzo had had just about enough of his smart-ass mouth. He could genuinely say he'd never thought that about a mute person before. He rolled his eyes in frustration and lifted the rock in fist. When he slammed it down onto the chain that was pulled tight between them, it didn't break. Of course it didn't.

Silently, Daniel reached out his free hand in request. He had this look on his face that said 'give me to rock before you hurt yourself,' and damn if that wasn't completely infuriating.

Out of some form of spite, Tony ignored the proffered hand and reared back to strike again. Daniel drew back and braced himself. The damn chain didn't break…again. "Fuck this," he snarled, shoving the rock at Daniel, "think you can do better?"

As Daniel took the rock—which actually seemed more like a small boulder—he hefted in his hand for a moment. Then, he tossed it to the ground and shook his head.

"No? What do you mean, no?"

He shrugged one shoulder and pulled his cuffed hand toward himself. With a soft, pained hiss, he pushed the shackle out of the way and rubbed gently at his wrist. The skin was bright red under the dried muck and looked about to bleed. Tony leaned over for a closer look and Daniel recoiled away like he thought the other man might hurt him. Which was utterly ridiculous, wasn't it? So far, Tony had been a perfect gentleman, hadn't he? Ignoring the whole, cussing at him and dragging him all over hell and gone…and that little situation with the chain around Danny-boy's neck…okay fine.

"That looks infected," Tony stated, trying to sound less than hostile. "Why didn't you say something sooner?"

Daniel shot him an ironic glare.

Raising his hands in defense, DiNozzo acknowledged that he'd been pretty much a bastard for the last twelve hours. "You know what I mean. Let me see it."

While he considered, Daniel resembled something like a cornered animal, glaring over the rims of his glasses, just short of baring teeth. His long legs were folded under him in such a way that he probably could spring up in a split second to make an escape—you know, if it weren't for the chain that stuck them together. For someone who looked so much like a book-nerd, Daniel was deceptively well-built, probably could outfight Tony on even ground. At length, he outstretched his arm.

Tony took it as gently as he could—not that he was really used to being particularly gentle. He examined the chafed, red skin and the blister that had popped up over the jut of Daniel's ulna. It must have hurt like hell; props to the kid for keeping it to himself this long. Then again, the idea that Tony was the last person in hell that he'd want to show something like weakness to at the moment wasn't all that farfetched.

"Should wrap this before it gets worse," he said, looking around fruitlessly for something that wasn't completely filthy to use. He considered ripping off a sleeve, because that might be long enough, but when he looked her realized that he was about the definition of "completely filthy" at the moment, as were his clothes.

When Tony let out a frustrated sigh, Daniel took his hand back and smirked, shaking his head in a "don't worry about it" fashion.

At that point, a thought struck Tony and he grabbed at Daniel again, this time maybe a bit harshly. "Don't give me that," he stated at the kid's bewildered stare.

He dropped Daniel's hand on his thigh and unbuttoned his shirt. One look told him that his undershirt wasn't much better, but the T-sleeves were actually still white. He ignored the questioning look from his companion as he ripped the right sleeve off at the seam and slipped it off of his arm before replacing his button-up. Then he ripped it open by its other seam and wrapped it loosely around Daniel's wrist. When he tied it off and made it just a little too snug, he quickly gave a muttered apology and re-did it.

Daniel was confused now, eyes cast down and locked on the piece of white fabric. He was squinting through his glasses, as if that made seeing through them any easier, but the surprise was faint and obvious in the dirt-covered features of his face. Slowly, Tony was starting to notice subtle things about Daniel's expressions, little nuances that meant the difference between furious and sarcastic. Back in their cell, during me-time when Tony had his one-sided conversations about absolute nonsense, he had figured out how to tell when the other man was bored with him, or when he was particularly stressed out. Now, he reckoned that there was probably a way to tell exactly what Daniel was thinking just by looking at his face. That was probably how Lu seemed to have full discussions with him.

"Oh shit," Tony said suddenly. A face flashed in his memory, pale skin covered in blood, glazed over eyes, definitely dead. "Lu."

Like the snap of a bullwhip, Daniel's eyes went wide and his entire body got so tense he looked like he was liable to shatter. He reached out and grabbed onto the unbuttoned collar of Tony's shirt. Speaking of being able to tell what he was thinking based on his face: now would have been a good time to master that particular skill. Hell though, there were so many things there, it could have been a complete science. Danielology.

"That why you were trying to run back to the truck?"

No nod, no shrug or shake of the head; Daniel just grit his teeth and held on to Tony. The grip he had could have been construed as either aggression or desperation. Even Tony wasn't sure whether or not Daniel meant to throttle him or just needed something to hold on to.

Not sure what he was expected to do, Tony decided that he was pretty good at talking. So he went with that. "You were pretty close to him?"

Daniel closed his eyes for a moment, took a few deep breaths, and nodded. Putting a hand over his chest, he let go of Tony and sat back. He dragged his fingers through his hair and pulled his knees up to his chest. Deep in his throat, he made little groaning noises, and Tony tried to identify them as something other than crying—because he really hated to see big guys like Daniel cry. It was just awkward, but the only other thing he could call it was suffocation. To be completely honest, Daniel must have been choking because there were no tears, no chest-tightening sobs. Then, suddenly, he stilled and became completely silent, head in his hands.

For a moment, Tony considered what he could say, anything to keep Daniel from breaking down any further. There wasn't anything, though. He knew that when his partner—Kate—died, it didn't matter what anyone said or did. Nothing changed the fact that she was dead, that the back of her skull had been shot out right into his face—nothing could take that image from his mind.

And it wasn't like Tony could really understand how Daniel felt. He didn't know how close Daniel had been to Lu—what their relationship had been. They must have been friends since they were kids, judging by how hard Daniel was taking it. And sure, he and Kate had been close, but it was still a professional work relationship. He couldn't try to console the man.

Eventually, his mind wandered and turned around because the one thing he could do for Daniel was give him privacy. He thought about college, about magazines, thinking, the answer to life; all that jazz. He wondered if his apartment had been sold, and if so, to whom. What about his car? He'd been away for a good three years, hopefully someone was taking care of his car. Could he go back and get it? He didn't know where it was, but he bet that Gibbs did. He could find Gibbs, ask him.

It was a good idea, in theory. Gibbs would be able to hide them, and had the right tools to get them out of these cuffs. Tony would have to tell Daniel about it, probably after the other man had that haunted look out of his eyes. Then again, how would he explain going to a Navy Cop's house after escaping from prison? Then again again, who the hell said he had to start telling the mute his plans? It must have been his empathy screwing with his mind. He didn't have to go explaining himself just because Daniel's having a bad day, Tony was in charge. Tony was in control. Fuck Daniel, anyway.

Speaking of the Devil, then next time Tony looked around to check on the other man, Daniel had moved to stand right beside him. "Woah! Shit! Warn a guy, Cujo," he snaps, but Daniel isn't paying any attention to him.

With his nose upturned, Daniel looks a bit like a stuck up, European with bad breath—except that he doesn't have bad breath, and he isn't European so far as Tony can tell. He inhaled deeply and when his eyes fluttered open, he scanned the trees around them. Then he grabbed Tony's arm lightly and pointed through the trees like before. He was basing their direction on…what? something he smelled?

"No, I don't know if you're just trying to act all tough guy and shit, but I'm done following you around without any fricken explanation. Say something, damn it! What is with you?"

A little frustrated, Daniel glared at Tony and pointed to his own stomach. Maybe it was timing, or Daniel had some weird ability, but his stomach made a loud grumble on cue. Then he pointed to his nose and then back to the woods in his chosen direction. Right then, Tony caught a whiff of something cooking. It smelled a bit like spicy mixed with red meat.

"What? How did you—? Are you some kind of dog-man?"

Rolling his eyes, Daniel snorted a laugh as he started walking again.

"Wait a second, Rambo, I want some answers, damn it!" Tony stood his ground and yanked on the chain. He winced a little bit when Danny-boy let out a sharp yelp of pain as the cuff dug into his infected wrist.

Daniel gave Tony the darkest, coldest, harshest glare that could ever be witnessed by man without causing immediate transformation into stone and pulled back on the chain in a distinct "move it, now!"

"A fucking church?"

Brow furrowed, Daniel considered Tony for a moment. He tapped the side of his nose with his index finger and then started toward the door.

"Oh yeah, I forgot you're Fido."

Daniel practically dragged Tony over to the altar and then pushed him down to his knees as he knelt. Leading by example, Daniel pressed his hands together and bowed his head. He waited a moment and jabbed his elbow into Tony's arm when he didn't move. The man had bony arms; Tony hissed in pain and recoiled.

"For cryin' out loud, what?" he snapped.

Sarcastically, Daniel rolled his eyes and clapped his hands together softly but insistently.

"No! I am not fucking praying to the Jesus corpse. Catholics are crazy, man. They eat the flesh and drink the blood of the person they worship. Creepy as hell, besides I don't like anyone who doesn't believe in condoms and birth control. 'Sides, my parents are Catholic. I remember going to mass so early in the fucking morning I was watching owls fly by. Ow!"

To shut him up, Daniel elbowed him again, harder this time. Then, he rolled his eyes and went still, hands clasped together, gaze directed up at the mahogany statue of Christ on the cross. His stomach growled quietly, but he seemed to ignore it.

The church was very small, just a single room building that looked bigger from the outside. By the large, oak double doors sat an old, stone basin on a pedestal. Upon entering, Daniel had dipped his fingers in the water and crossed himself. They walked forward down the aisle where dark-wood pews sat on either side. Against the side walls, meticulously centered, were two tall confessionals on both sides. For a Catholic church, the walls were rather sparsely decorated. There was nothing particularly gaudy, as one expects there to be in a church, until they reached the altar. Two massive tapestries depicting the Virgin Mary and the Risen Jesus Christ hung adjacent. Centered right in the middle so that all eyes fell on it was a gruesome wood-carved statue of the Crucifixion.

Despite the discomfort that all of this religious paraphernalia instilled in Tony, the stained-glass windows let in a warm gold light. The room was small enough to be nicely heated even in the cool of early morning. Added to the strong scent if bread baking and what would have been a roast cooking, the two of them did not want to leave.

"Can you tell where it's coming from?" Tony asked.

Daniel shushed him, as if the sound of him talking interrupted his sense of smell, and looked around smelling the air quietly. He glanced over his shoulder a couple of times, but mainly focused on the area behind the altar. A little put off, Tony huffed a bit and tried to follow Daniel's eyes. Of course, it was pointless venture because aside from being hidden behind foggy, dirty lenses, Daniel wasn't really looking anywhere. He was totally driven by his nose at the moment, like a dog—the dogs that felt so close on their heels right now.

They knelt side by side and Tony was so distracted, staring at the other man, he didn't see or even hear anyone approach until the last minute.

"Can I help you boys?"

Spinning around, they moved almost in unison and saw the tall man standing at the front of the church with a small pile of chopped wood over his shoulder. He was an older man, but very well built and healthy; he looked like if it came down to it he could take both of them in a fight. Add to that the fact that he had a scary looking rifle strapped to his back. His eyes flickered downward and saw the chain that bound them together and then he looked warily back at their faces.