A/N: I have no business with another story right now, but I couldn't get this idea out of my head. I've created a fictitious country because I don't want to create mis-information for any country currently existing. I really hope you like it and let me know. Sheila

A Man Left Behind

Chapter 1

Vance turned on the light in his office, but knew better than to flinch when he found Gibbs sitting on the black leather couch. He'd expected it, and so there was no use fussing about his privacy. He glanced up at the clock on the wall and saw that it was closing in on midnight. This was clearly going to be an unpleasant encounter, but he hoped it would be a short one. He'd been averaging less four hours of sleep a night these days, and Jackie was threatening to stage a coup if he didn't slow down.

He sighed as he threw his overcoat on the conference table, and then he crossed to a cabinet and pulled out a bottle of top shelf scotch. He poured two fingers in a couple of highball glasses and turned to offer one to Gibbs. The special agent shook his silver head sharply in reply. Vance could see that Gibbs was going to deny himself any form of relief until this was over.

Vance sat down. "I can tell you know better than to expect any good news."

Gibbs closed his eyes and shook his head. "I'd allowed myself the possibility of a miracle."

"It's the same as what I told you last week. We'll be seeking a diplomatic solution."

"That's bullshit! Navy personnel were murdered."

"After a Naval vessel accidentally destroyed two fishing boats and 35 people during a training exercise."

Gibbs looked away.

"You're too close to this. I'm too close to this. We have to understand that, Gibbs."

"I left him behind. That's all I understand."

"And it's been seven weeks. What do you expect that we would find even if we could have access? Do you think he's sitting on a beach somewhere drinking Mai Tai's; just waiting for us to show up and bring him home."

One end of his mouth curled up. "I can't imagine McGee sitting on a beach anywhere at anytime with that fair skin of his."

Vance leaned forward. "We lost him. Not just you. The mission was my call. There were risks and we were aware of them, but we took the risks 'cause that's what we do, Gibbs."

"You don't need to school me, Leon. I was there."

"Then tell me what you want. What is the end game here? What would make this better?"

"I want to know what happened to my agent, and I want to bring him home, even if it's in a body bag."

Vance threw up a hand. "Are you allowing yourself to imagine that he would be coming home any other way? He was caught in the act of smuggling Navy personnel out of a hostile country. To Berumi, it looks like espionage. If he is alive, then it's because he's being tortured. Is that what you're hoping for 'cause I'm not. I hope he died quickly. I really don't want to imagine any other outcome."

Gibbs was on his feet. "Thank God, I don't have to count you being on my six."

Seriously!? I'm your six all the damn time. It's constant. When are you not going off the reservation, Gibbs?"

He shook his head. "I want out. I want to walk out right now."

"Do it! You're a migraine to me most days of the week."

Gibbs closed his eyes.

"You can't, can you? If you leave, you don't know what will happen to the rest of them. DiNozzo is a lawsuit waiting to happen and David isn't much better. You're all grieving. Scuito looks like she's lost twenty pounds. And you- look at you. Red eyed and jittery. How many hours of sleep do you get a night?"

Gibbs didn't respond.

"If we had it all to do over again, we'd do the same. He had the crazy idea to get in as employees of Interdyne and I liked it. I'd authorize the mission, and you and he would go. It is what it is, and we have to live with the consequences of it."

"Leon, his family still doesn't even know he's missing. It's been almost two months."

"If the government of Berumi knew they had the son of a Navy Admiral, they would turn his capture into a media circus. The Berumians are desperate to spill Navy blood. They'd probably execute him in a coliseum or something. Any chance of recovering McGee alive would be lost."

"The man deserves to know. It's his son."

"It's not your decision, Gibbs. This comes straight from the Joints Chiefs. We keep this under wraps."

"That's it then. I'll just have Ducky fill a prescription for sleeping pills, and then we can all move on."

"What's the alternative? I send you and your people back undercover to an island where Americans are at risk for execution. Let's say we got back in. You wouldn't even know where to look. It's over, Gibbs!"

He shook his head. "That's not how a Marine is built. Until his people are home, it's never over."

Vance jerked when Gibbs slammed the door behind him. The Director shakily brought the highball glass to his lips. It was going to be another sleepless night.

…..

He ran his hand lightly along the exquisite curve of her hip as it sloped into her waist. "You're so beautiful."

Her dark eyes burned as she watched him.

He continued his intricate exploration of her skin with his fingers. Their coupling had been fierce; clothes pulled off as they sought immediate release. He hadn't known her naked beauty until this very moment. His long fingers moved to cup her chin. "I'd like to think that you're here for me and only me."

She pulled away. "That's not possible."

His blue eyes searched hers. "You didn't need to come to my bed to get help. I would be there regardless. Tim is my friend too."

She sighed as she rolled onto her back, her fingers resting lightly on her nipples. "It's better this way. The intimacy is crucial to our plan. It's too difficult to pretend a connection where none exists. I have to be your girlfriend in the full sense of the word."

"Do you have a passport?"

"Of course, Laurent. Do you think this is my first circus? Or is it rodeo? I am your Portuguese girlfriend traveling with you to Interdyne headquarters in Berumi."

The blonde man closed his eyes. "Okay, this is really going to happen then. I'm smuggling you into Berumi with me."

"Yes. He is my brother, my family. I have to bring him home."

"What about your team?"

She shook her head. "They are constrained by U.S. policy. Despite being an American citizen myself, I feel no such loyalty. U.S. policy doesn't recognize the obligation one has to family, but I do. What about you? You have seen him only a few times since you were friends at MIT. Why do you take this risk?"

He chuckled as he reached for her and pulled her close again. "I was surprised to hear from him after the incident in Berumi, but I was happy he wanted my help. Timmy gets under a person's skin, you know. I don't know if it's his sweetness or brilliance or his deep loyalty."

"You were older than he was in school."

"Five years. He looked like he was 14 years old when I first met him. I thought he was a typical wunderkind- arrogant and socially awkward. I was unprepared for how earnest and kind he could be." He folded his arms behind his head. "I remember once when I was struggling with a course in applied mathematics. We were both at the library. He had a huge midterm in nuclear physics the next day. He heard me cursing to myself over a problem I couldn't solve, and he came right over and offered to help. Five hours it took for him to explain the principles that I didn't understand and to show me how to apply them. He was patient and eager and he seemed to thrive on the fact that he was helping me. Wunderkinds typically aren't taught to think beyond their own brilliance. He would've stayed with me all night if I didn't hustle him back to his own studies. After that, it just felt good to have the kid around. He helped me with school and I helped him when the vultures got too close."

"Vultures?"

He sighed. "There will always be people who won't like you because you're smarter and younger and nicer. Timmy got a lot of that. I ran interference whenever I could. He clearly got under your skin too."

She smiled. "Not in the way that you think."

"I know. I've seen you with DiNozzo. The tension between the two of you is palpable."

She looked away.

"I've seen him in action, Ziva. I'd prefer not to wake up one day and find him holding a gun to my temple."

"He has no claim on me."

"Why not?" He persisted.

She closed her eyes. "We're both too vulnerable, too hurt, too angry. We'd destroy each other right now. What's happening between you and I is business, Laurent. This is a mission. Don't get distracted."

He nuzzled his face into her neck. "You make that very hard, Ziva."

…

He woke to the sun in his eyes and he cursed. In January that meant that he'd overslept by a lot. He kicked the blankets off, grabbed pants off the floor, a shirt from the closet, and stumbled to the bathroom. Minutes later, he emerged showered and dressed. Discipline was slipping away from his life like it had in the months after Shannon and Kelly were murdered.

He ran down the stairs, but stopped cold at the sight in his living room. The man was sprawled half on the couch and half on the floor, still dressed in a suit and overcoat. The scent of stale whiskey hung in the air. Gibbs stepped over to him, and picked up a fifth of Johnny Walker Red lying on its side on the floor. The good news was that he was still drinking the expensive stuff and it was only half empty.

The figure moaned and a fuzzy head lifted. "Gibbs?"

"What time did you get here?"

"3 or 4. I don't remember."

"Tell me that you didn't start drinking until you arrived." Gibbs couldn't hide the anger in his voice. It seemed to always be present in his interactions with DiNozzo of late.

Tony squinted at him and murmured. "I know better."

"Your judgment is so screwed lately I wouldn't be surprised." Gibbs turned and disappeared into the kitchen.

Tony tried to sit up and groaned at the pain in his back. He slowly leaned back until he found a comfortable position to sit. "I called you three times, Gibbs! What the hell happened?!"

He was met with silence. He slapped the couch. "I'm talking to you!"

Gibbs finally emerged with two cups of coffee. He handed one to DiNozzo. "I told that you I would call you if I knew something. Vance only had the same song and dance as he always does. Nothing new. No reason to call you."

Tony glared at him. "You should've called."

Gibbs sat down and sipped on his cup. "Where's Ziva?"

"How should I know?"

"I told you to keep an eye on her."

"You used to discourage fraternization."

"Do I gotta' play a game with you every time we have a conversation?"

Tony grimaced at the bitter taste. "You'd never make it as a barista, Gibbs."

"DiNozzo!"

Tony put the coffee down. "It's different for her, you know. She knows what it's like to be captured as a spy. She knows what he's facing or what he faced. She feels it differently than we do. Nothing matters to her but this."

"Okay, Tony, I'll play. It's different for her."

"She can't sit for it. It doesn't matter what the cost. She can't just sit and wait. I admire that about her."

"If you had your way, we'd be storming the beaches of Berumi."

"What's wrong with that?! We did it for Ziva, and we thought she was dead."

"We raided a warlord, not a government. With Ziva, we got lucky. Really lucky. We wouldn't even know where to start with McGee. There is no intelligence coming out of that country that tells us anything about where he is."

"Well, Ziva is not waiting."

"What does that mean?"

"She spent the night with Laurent Pierce, and I did some checking. Pierce is going to Berumi in a week for a four-month stint at Interdyne headquarters there. He's bringing a Portuguese girlfriend/interpreter named Cassia Alves. What do you want to bet Cassia is Ziva?"

"She's gone rogue."

"This surprises you?"

"We can't all spiral off in different directions."

"You mean, like Ducky."

Gibbs hung his head. "What?"

"Palmer overhead him on the phone with the International Red Cross. He has a connection there. He's trying to get on the Berumi team under his Scottish citizenship."

He closed his eyes. "We're not working as a team."

"That happens when you lose your leader."

Gibbs said nothing.

"Remember when we lost Kate and you got soft? You felt guilty. You're doing the same thing here. Only back then you had Ari, big and bad, in your own backyard. You were able to pull it together again. This time, the target is unclear. You can't find your focus because you can't blame a whole country. You're angry, you're hurt, and you're lost. You're paralyzed, Gibbs."

"Shut up," he said softly.

"Can't. You have to wake up. If you don't, the cost is going to be far larger than just McGee. Have you looked at Abby lately?"

"You need to look in the mirror yourself, Tony."

He snorted. "You got me. I can't sleep. I drink to keep from drowning. It's true. I love that kid. I had no idea he was buried so deep inside me. How did that happen?"

"Tony, he loved you even when you didn't know how to love yourself. He did that for all of us."

"God, I miss him!"

"We all do."

…..

Abby avoided mirrors. She had to. Mirrors told the truth of the last two months. They showed eyes tortured from crying and lack of sleep. They showed hollows in her face that came from weight loss, dark patches under her eyes that she couldn't find the energy to cover. They showed stringy hair that fell below her shoulders because pigtails were for happy people. She had no interest in her collars or jewelry or anything that marked her distinct identity. The sadness in her had settled so deep that it was a struggle to remember feeling anything else.

Every morning, she got up mechanically. Threw a t-shirt on, a pair of jeans, and went to work. Then she stayed until someone told her to leave. She didn't recognize weekends anymore, and it was only because Sister Rosita showed up Sunday mornings, that she varied her routine at all.

Abby kept his picture up on the wall, and a number every day to mark the length of his absence. It always made her teary, but she didn't know how else to hold him close. She had a key to his apartment, but going there overwhelmed her. Still, she dipped into savings and made sure his rent was paid on time.

She talked to her machines more now. It seemed like they were her only friends. Mass Spec in particular had been working hard not to let her down. He hadn't faltered once since Tim left. On the other hand, her human friends came to see her less often, and when they did, they were distant, hostages to their own sadness. Tony was the only one who came every day to hold her tightly and whisper words of comfort in her ear, but even he was no longer the brilliant goofball he'd been such a short time ago. She could smell the booze in his skin, and it left her uneasy for him.

She narrowed her eyes at the evidence on the table and tried to remember which case it was. Sometimes, it felt like she was working in a fog. She often repeated tests two-three times because she feared making a mistake so much.

"Abby."

She turned to find Gibbs standing there. He was quiet these days and stiff around her. She knew it was his grief that left him this way, but she couldn't help feeling abandoned by him.

"Come here."

She gave her head a quick jerk of defiance. He hadn't earned her compliance, but then the need for him overwhelmed her and she went to him. He placed his hands lightly on either side of her face and studied her carefully. One hand dropped and ran over the side of her torso, stopping when he felt the contour of her ribs.

He closed his eyes and pulled her close. "I'm sorry, Abby. I'm so sorry."

She breathed in his scent, and a sob broke from her throat.

"I'm lost. Tony helped me see it this morning. I left him, Abbs, and I've never done that before. I left a man behind. It's stuck in my gut, and I can't get it loose."

"You didn't have a choice," she sobbed into his chest.

He sighed. "Maybe I didn't, but now I've failed you too- and Tony and Ziva. I've abandoned you all."

She clutched him tightly. "But you're here now, and that's all that matters to me."

He pulled away enough to look in her face. "You have to start taking care of yourself. You have to eat better. I need you to be okay."

"Sister Rosita brings me soup for the week."

He stroked her face. "That's not enough. I'm going to start bringing lunch for you."

"I thought I was getting better," she hiccupped. "For awhile, Laurent was coming over to spend the night, but then he stopped."

He frowned. "Laurent Pierce was spending the night at your house?"

"Don't be mad at me. I needed comfort and none of you were there. Timmy would understand. I know he would."

"You don't know him, Abbs."

"He's Tim's friend and he saved your life. He got you on the Swissair flight just in time."

Gibbs cocked his head. "You did that. You put us on that flight. When I debriefed him, he told me that."

"He was just being modest. It was his idea. When he first suggested it, I didn't think there was enough time to get tickets for an international flight. There are always hoops to jump, but when he urged me to call the airline, it all sort of fell into place."

"I didn't know that."

"He's a hero."

"Okay. He's a hero, but you're too vulnerable right now. I don't want him coming over like that."

"But I feel safer. He lets me talk about Tim as much as l need."

He nodded. "I can do the same. You pack a bag. I'll fix up the spare room. You're coming to stay with me."

"Gibbs."

"I mean it. I'll watch over you. I'll keep you safe. You be at my house by 9 or I'm coming to get you."

Gibbs stopped outside of her lab and leaned against the wall. He could feel a fire starting to build. He'd left them all to their own grief for too long, and he needed to get back in the game. And there was something else- something that Abby said that left him feeling unsettled. Unanswered questions were exactly what he needed to give him focus. He pulled out his cell and hit a number. "Hey Tobias, I need to talk to you ASAP."

…..

Berumi was a small island nation off the coast of Brazil. It sat on the equator, and with the exception of three months out of the year, it rained almost daily. The humidity was ever present, and his clothes always felt damp. Yet he never undressed. He still wore the same clothes he'd worn in the airport waiting to board the plane. They were torn, dirty, and they smelled of mold, but they were his last reminder of who he was.

The cot in the old cell had a flea-ridden blanket on it that he used only when the hard metal gave him sores. During the day, he found the old clay floor more comfortable. He was in an old prison, clearly a leftover structure from Portuguese colonial rule. There were black metal bars on the open window and on the door to his cell. Some days, he scraped at the soft clay around the bars, but it seemed a futile effort. His body was a mass of bruises and fractures. He could barely walk let alone navigate an escape.

They weren't coming for him today. When they came for him, it was always before his first meal so he didn't vomit on them when they beat him. In the beginning, they came for him a lot, and asked questions for hours. They wanted to know the purpose of his mission. They tortured him for names of Berumian participants and possible CIA operatives. He didn't know the answers to any of those questions. When it was too painful to resist anymore, he made up stories for them, and they would leave him alone.

Each week, they came for him less and for shorter amounts of time. Their interrogations became lazy and awkward, and he could see that they had no real plan. If there was anything Gibbs taught him, it was to have a plan before you sat down with your suspect. His interrogators were young and disorganized. It was almost as if they were questioning for fun rather than with any purpose in mind.

He heard the sound of the courtyard door opening outside his window and he moaned. The sadists were planning to execute someone again. It was the only time they used that courtyard. They liked to execute prisoners where it could be seen and heard from the cells. The impact of these events on prisoners was chilling.

In the beginning, McGee had avoided going to the window. It was always a horrific scene. The executioners would taunt and tease their victims for hours before finally riddling them with bullets. It was a cruel and soulless exercise meant to terrorize the prison populace.

In recent weeks, he'd gone to the window during these times to witness it. Fear had largely been drained from his psyche and he was determined to remember the faces and names of the victims in the unlikely event he survived this experience. He also took careful note of the tormentors' faces and names. He spent hours every day dreaming of the retribution he would exact, both legal and savage, if ever given the chance.

"McGee!" sounded a disembodied voice.

McGee looked down at the corner of his cell where a crude irrigation trail ran along the clay floor between the cells. It was where the water runoff was supposed to go during hurricanes so that the cells didn't flood. The hole between the cells was barely large enough for his fist. Yet it was large enough to get a shadowed look at his neighbor Paolo Fuentes.

"McGee!" Paolo always said it in his thick accent like he was saying the name, Maggie, but McGee didn't care.

McGee crawled over to the hole. "Paolo."

"Don't watch today, my friend."

"There should be a witness."

"God is watching, McGee. That is enough, today. It is my old friend, Cantu, they have down there."

"You know this."

"My contacts have told me. Cantu doesn't want a witness."

"He's your friend?"

"We were professors together at the university. I have known him twenty five years."

"I'm sorry."

"He wants his dignity, but they won't allow that. I sent word to him telling him to scream and carry on so they have what they want. It will be quicker that way, but I don't think he will listen. He is a stubborn man, and so it will be a long afternoon."

McGee's stomach turned over at the thought of it.

"I have too many memories of Cantu, of the old days when we were building a democracy. My heart will burst. You must distract me, McGee. Today, you will tell the story of what brought you here."

McGee closed his eyes. It was an old trick to plant an informant in hopes of getting information. He'd talked to Paolo for many hours over these last weeks, but he'd told him very little about himself. They'd always stuck to conversations about literature.

"You are afraid that I will share your secrets."

"I've told them the truth, Paolo. I have nothing to hide."

"Good. Tell me that truth. Tell me the story that brought you to this terrible place. I have long waited for it. It will keep me sane, McGee."

A piercing howl issued from the courtyard as the thuds of boots on flesh could be heard.

"Please, my friend. Save me today."

McGee took a deep breath and began his story.

…..

TBC….