Authors' Note-I do not own NCIS

This will be a love triangle.

He laid on the cold ground shivering. He was naked, cold and wet. It felt like the warmth was being sucked right out of his body by a vacuum. Like a kiss of death. He laughed humorlessly, like they had enough mercy to let him die. No, they enjoyed this. For months he'd been kept locked up in a cold metal storage container. It had been renovated and remodeled to hold three tiny cells, currently the other two were vacant, but when he had first been captured there had been a little girl, no older than seven years old that lived in the cell next to his. He use to hear her crying for her parents every night, it broke his heart. He had made up stories to tell her every night, the only comfort he could give.

He wished he could have done more for the girl, but he was just as trapped as she was. It killed him to here the men abusing her, and her desperate little pleas for them to stop. It was only after they had killed her that he found out she was the daughter of a rival gang, and had been used as leverage until they finally had no use for her and sent her dead body in bits as a message to the opposing family. They use to taunt him for hours about it, knowing how he had grown to care for the little one. Eventually he just ignored them and would fall into a daze everytime someone mentioned her. They didn't bother now. No, now they just got on with it.

At first they had tortured him for information, but eventually they realized he wasn't going to speak. Now they did it for the kicks, and when the boss felt like giving it another go they'd bring him out for a session of questioning. Not that it ever did them any good, he was determined his lips weren't going to sink any ships. Literally. They had been investigating a murder of a marine when they found links to a deadly gang that moved all around the world. Apparently they had been selling and pushing cocaine, the Marine had been their middle man in the Corps. We had asked around base and eventually found out that a few had bought stuff from the dead marine, and that instead of giving the money to the dealers he had been laundering some, just enough to skim by without getting caught. Until he had a nice round sum of five mill in the bank.

The man that had come forward was the dead marine's best buddy. When asked if he would go undercover with an NCIS agent and play middle man for the NCIS agent he had readily agreed. And so Special Agent Leroy Jethro Gibbs had chosen Tony to pose as a marine wanting to buy a large amount of cocaine, and the other marine, Marcus, would take Tony to meet the people that his best buddy had done business with, after being trusted into the middle man position by the gang. Thus was how Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo had ended up in the position he found himself in currently. It was suppose to be just a routine bust. Get in, get enough evidence to convict, then in swooped the calvary to take down the bad guys.

But like usual in his life things never did go as planned. His earwig fell out when he had been slammed against the wall to be searched, these weren't gentle men. They had seen it and soon stepped on it. They instantly killed Marcus on the spot, and though he now wished they had done the same to him, they kept him alive for information. They didn't stop to torture him then, no. They had an aircraft waiting, tying him up they shoved him on it, and flew with him to a different location where the torture had began. It had been months since he had been taken, and he doubted they were still looking for him-well officially at least. He knew Gibbs would never stop looking for him. He shivered. best to forget his family, to forget them and everything else about his life.

He knew he'd never see them again, no, the last people he'd ever see were his captors. He was in no doubt about his fate. He had been there long enough to know when some of their birthdays were. They would never let him go, even if they wanted to, which of course they didn't. He needed to forget, because thinking about the people he loved only made it all hurt worse. Especially when he thought about Gibbs. Everything hurt then. Just his name made him home sick, god he wished he could just speak to him once more. To tell him how he felt about him, to tell him to not feel bad when he died, to tell him to not quit. There was so much that needed to be said, it filled him with regret that he'd die without ever getting a chance to speak them.

Which is why he spoke them to the night air every night before he tried getting to sleep, hoping the wind would carry them to Gibbs' ears. He shifted, groaning in pain as he tried to crawl to a cleaner part of the cell, but no matter where he went his blood stained and pooled on the floor. He looked at his broken body, he could see the bones of his legs sticking out, the muscles and tendons and skin hanging off the bones, an ugly infection turning the surrounding skin green and black, cuts littered his body, as did blister and welts. Healing burns disfigured his entire left side, holes healing where they had hammered nails into him. He was soaking wet from them shoving him into a tub full of boiling water. Skin sliding off of him as blisters formed. His body was a mess.

He hardly felt the pain anymore. All he could feel was tired, pain was as normal to him now as breathing. Just a background feeling. No matter what they did to him he wouldn't speak. But it was only a matter of time, he knew this. Every man had their breaking point, eventually everyone would break under torture, some just lasted longer, and he was no superman. But the longer he held out the longer he'd stay alive. And even though he longed for death or the strong arms of Gibbs to envelop him in safety, he would not betray his friends to achieve it. His world was nothing but agony and hopelessness. He felt pathetic that every time someone would come to his cell he'd light up even if it was one of his torturers, so starved was he of human contact. It was always so quiet, the only sound he could hear was the growling of his hungry stomach.

He was allowed a single cup of water every two days, and a piece of bread every three days. After two weeks they'd allow him soup and half a sandwich. It was the highlight of his life in this dim chamber of hell. He cried out silently as he rolled onto his broken ribs. He knew better than to be loud, it only got him punished. He silently prayed even though he knew it was futile, he had given up on being saved a while ago, the last time he heard they were in Paris. Gibbs would still be looking in the States. Gibbs. He had to stop saying the name, it brought tears to his eyes as he fantasized once more about the door bursting open and looking up into his boss's striking blue eyes as he leaned down and gathered him in his strong arms, carrying him to safety. He also needed to stop fantasizing. It gave him hope when there was none.

But it was the only thing that seemed to pass the time and he was so unbearably lonely that even imaginary conversations with the man he secretly loved helped pass the time. There were times he thought he was losing his mind, but crazy people don't think they're crazy, right? He knew that he was close to breaking. He could feel it inside, but he tried holding on to himself, hugging himself as much as possible, as if he would physically fall apart if he didn't-although that wasn't far from the truth. He had screamed at first, the first few weeks had been pure hell, but he grew use to the pain, he didn't enjoy it but he had grown to tolerate it as a condition of being alive. Now he didn't make a sound other than a grunt and gasp of misery, which drove his captors crazy but also challenged them to find new ways of causing him pain.

Just yesterday they had forced him to give each one of them a blow job, he had burned red in humiliation and shame. When they had brought him back to his cell he lay in the corner silently crying, hoping for a quick death as they stood in the doorway talking about all the sexual positions he'd be in soon enough. He had only gotten through it by imagining the cocks were Gibbs. If his boss ever found that out though he'd be deader then dead. He shuddered, it seemed that tonight they were going to leave him alone. Suddenly the sound of a door opening proved him wrong. He sighed praying they'd brought the whip and nothing more. He tuned his ears in, there was an extra set of steps with them, he tried thinking about what day it was, they only came in pairs at night, not in triplets.

The only times he had ever seen them come in threes was when someone was being initiated into the gang. They had to prepare the newbies for the job they would be doing, seeing if they were hardened enough to get the job done. If they weren't they were killed to keep their mouths shut. He shuddered, just what he needed another monster to torment him. He closed his eyes, facing away as he heard them unlocking the padlock on the door, he could hear them talking about him.

"I wonder if the filthy pig cop is even awake. Especially after todays excursions." The one called Alistair said. He had been the one to first pop his mouth open and shove his cock in the Agent's mouth. He could hear the others snickering as the door swung open.

"Hey, cop, roll over, let the newb see your beautiful face lover boy." His captor taunted.

Sighing he rolled over as they walked to his side, he opened his eyes slowly, looking up at the three men that were staring down at him. "Who knew a cop could give such excellent blow jobs. If you want to play with him you'll have to wait for us to be through with him." Alistair continued.

"Navy Cop." He corrected numbly. Too shocked to really care, he never expected the man above him to find him. He probably wasn't here to save him, he was probably handling Devon, the ringleader of the whole organization but still, to see even this man's face made him feel like weeping. He tried not to show the hope that beamed through him. They may not get along, and he may in fact not save him at all, maybe even help them torture him, but so long as he was around there was some sort of hope. He felt his eyes burn and this time he couldn't stop the tears from rolling down his face.

Alistair laughed, "First day on the job and you already made him cry Jordan. We may keep you yet, if for nothing other than to make his life hell."

Anthony DiNozzo couldn't stop himself, he turned his teary gaze onto the one man that could save him, gathering his courage, and cutting down his pride, he sent a pleading look up at Trent Kort.

...

Special Agent Leroy Jethro Gibbs was tired. There was no other way of putting it, and his team-well what was left of it anyways-was beginning to notice. He was slowly losing grip, but who could blame him? His Senior Field Agent had been taken from him months ago, seven months ago to be exact. Vance had forced him to officially pronounce him dead and return to working on cases, but that didn't stop him from calling in favors and searching for his loyal St. Bernard in his spare time. He hardly slept, hardly ever ate, he couldn't stop thinking about Tony. His right hand man.

He may never admit this to anyone but he missed the man dearly, the office was too quiet, the agent Vance called into replace DiNozzo-Gibbs had refused to do it himself-was arrogant and unreliable. He knew the psychiatrists that lingered in the hallways and just outside the bullpen were concerned about his obsessing over his 'dead' agent. Obsessing. He snorted. He might be over-obsessing but what else could you do when one of your own was taken by a gang? DiNozzo wasn't dead, he would know if his best agent was dead. Tony had been with him for ages, longer than any other agent had dared stay on with him, and he satisfied himself with the knowledge that he, the notorious LJ Gibbs, was the only boss who managed to keep DiNozzo for more than two years.

The only fallback in having a man around that long was that you get attached, and he was definitely attached to DiNozzo, ovely-attached in fact. He cared for DiNozzo in a different way then he cared for his other people. He loved him. He didn't know how long he had loved him for but he could remember when he first labelled his feelings for Tony as love. Tony had been with him for four years at the time, and he had been sent undercover as a convict chained to Jeffrey-a sociopath who was smuggling butt loads of history out of the middle east. They had lost Tony and only caught up to him after he was nearly killed. He had opened the door after seeing the blood splattered on the window behind him, his heart beating wildly with panic, Tony looked up at him and said, "I really liked him."

And that's the moment I knew I loved him. Only DiNozzo, someone so pure and good could befriend a sociopath. He needed that, after everything he'd done, both in the Marine's, in his black op days and in his more recent position of Team Leader of the MCRT. He had been tainted by the world, evil stained upon him as he committed monstrosities that riveled that of DiNozzo's adversary Trent Kort. If only DiNozzo knew. He was always afraid that the young man would, eventually, stumble across his past and he'd lose whatever affection DiNozzo had for him-and he knew Tony cared for him, it was all too obvious with the stares and how much fear his eyes would show when something was wrong with him, how he always had his back, how he followed him around like a puppy dog. Losing that, losing Tony would hurt more than losing his three ex-wives had hurt.

But now, it seemed like he had lost him for good, without ever getting to tell Tony that he loved him. Even if Tony wasn't dead he had no new leads, the gang had been moving quietly, they hadn't left a trail of body's like before. Probably were laying low until they thought it was safe to resume business, little did they know that he would never stop searching for his man. Sometimes he lay awake imagining all the horrors they were putting Tony through as he slept. The guilt gnawed at him, the nightmares ate him alive. His heart nearly broke at the idea of anything happening to Tony, but to see him tortured would be too much. God knew what the hell they had already done to him, just contemplating all the possibilites made his head and heart hurt. He prayed for help every night. He hoped when he found Tony, not if but when, that the beautiful agent would still be the same as he was before they took him.

Hopefully he'd be spared the pain of brain damage or a psychotic break. And when he found Tony the first thing he would do was hold him in his arms and kiss him, he didn't care who else was there to witness it. But first they needed to find the gang who had the love of his life and with them being so quiet lately it seemed unlikely. He knew it was only a matter of time but that wasn't something Tony had alot of. Taking another swig of his whiskey he sat in his empty basement. Usually there'd be a boat where he sat, but he didn't have time to build a boat, and wouldn't until he found Tony. He was beyond too exhausted to do anything but drink himself into oblivion like he had been the past several months. It was a temptation he found hard to resist without Tony around. He missed the man something fierce, and at times the memories would suffocate him, how Tony looked when he smiled, all his jokes and pranks, his movie quotes and his innocent goodness, his cunning eye and mind, his everything. Everything about Tony would suffocate him, and the only way to forget, to not feel the emptiness was to drink, which made him forget about Tony, and wiped away all the pain but it just left him feeling emptier in the end.

Yet that didn't detur him from polishing off a few bottles of whiskey a night. He knew Ducky was concerned about him, the old doctor kept lecturing him about how he couldn't find Tony if he was in the hospital dying of liver failure. But didn't he see he couldn't live without it? If he let Tony suffocate him he'd go insane, and Tony would be left to suffer at those man's hands forever and he couldn't allow that. He looked gloomily around the empty room and laid back on the small cot he had set up in the corner, it was covered in Tony's clothes, the man's scent drenched into them. Which is exactly why he slept there instead of in his own bed. He had told his team to put some clothes of theirs in his extra room in case any of them needed a place to stay and he was glad he did or this comfort may not be afforded to him.

He buried his face deep into one of Tony's shirts, inhaling deeply he felt a warm buzz in his head. He sunk into a relaxed sleep. But that only lasted for a few hours before the nightmares began like clock work.

Tony was on the floor, his eyes raked over the bruised and battered body, heart breaking he tried to reach out to him but no matter how close he got he could never feel the silky warm skin beneath his hands. How he longed to comfort the broken man in front of him, to swoop in and save him. His heart bled as he watched the man he loved bleed and gasp for breathe between broken ribs. That's when the door opened, a shadowy figure entered, it was a man, he could hear the deep chuckle, he could see everything but the face.

The man kicked Tony over before straddling his waist, and before Gibbs could scream out the man was thrusting into Tony. He tried to rip the man off of his love, but he couldn't touch him either. He watched hopelessly as the man held Tony down and raped him, it broke him to watch this happen to his man, to see him laying lifeless, silent tears dripping down his agents face as the beast on top of him moaned. "No..." He said in agony, it felt like white hot knives in the heart, "Not my Tony, oh please no. Let it be me."

Something was different tonight though as the mystery man finished off inside of Tony he looked up, and Gibbs felt a scream issue from his throat as he realized the man raping Tony was himself.

He jolted up in the small cot, screaming his man's name. Standing up, he started roaming the house, looking for him, hoping to turn a corner and lay his gaze on the beloved man. He would do this all night, like he did every night since Tony was taken.

Because it was all his fault.

A/N Please Review!