Soul Deep - Part One: Pack

Soul Deep - Part Four: Pride

Tony called Director Shepard, and then he called in the team. Gibbs's team. Now they were his team. For the first time in his life, he was in charge.

"You'll be fine," Shanti said, pacing to and fro around Gibbs's living room. "We'll find him. I know we'll find him."

"How can we find him if we can't feel him?" Tony snapped.

Shanti came over to him and nudged his hand reassuringly with her head. "Because you're good at finding things. You always have been. You're a cop, Tony – forget that it's Jethro and do what you do best.

Tony bit on his lip. "If I screw up, then we could lose him forever.”

"You won't screw up," she told him firmly.

“He was there for me, when I needed him most.” Her eyes whirled with anxiety, and he knew they were both remembering that night in the motel all those years ago. “I can’t let him down, Shanti.”

She got up on her hind legs and thwapped one of her paws across his head, hard. “Be who you are – who you really are. Have *pride*, Tony.”

She had never spoken to him like that before, and he felt a sense of purpose rush through his veins and a hard, cold fury rise in his chest.

Someone had taken Jethro. Some bastard had hurt the person he loved most in the world. He would get Jethro back, and he would make that bastard pay. They would regret the day they’d ever laid a finger on someone he loved.

Tony threw back his head and roared.

~*~

The cell was dark. There were no windows, and the one door was locked. His watch had been removed, along with his gun, cell phone, badge, wallet and any other identifying signs. He had no way of knowing how long he had been here.

The pain radiated out in waves from his gut, making him aware, every single second, of the fact that he had been forcibly separated from his daemon. The sense of loss hurt so much he could hardly stand it. Sweat trickled into his eyes, and he was aware of the almost constant need to touch her, speak to her, and hold her close.

He tried to concentrate. They'd had a case like this once – it had been the first case he and Tony had worked together, before that bastard Fornell had stolen it from him.

There had been a dead Marine called Paul Watson. Fornell had said the case was linked to several other crimes involving people who’d been separated from their daemons, but he hadn't given any details.

What was it Ducky had said back then? It was five years ago, but the case had been so horrific it had made a lasting impression. Ducky had said that Watson’s internal organs had been compromised by the enforced separation. People weren't supposed to live without their daemons. People *couldn’t* live for long without their daemons.

Tessa was his guiding star; his light, his soul, his inner voice – his gut. When he listened to her it always worked out so much better than when he didn’t.

He smiled as he thought about that. She had been adamant that he shouldn’t marry each and every one of his three ex-wives, but he hadn't listened. And she'd been right.

She'd been equally adamant about his feelings for Tony, and he'd been ignoring her, or laughing at her…damn it, why hadn't he listened to her? If he could have her back now, he'd listen to her. He’d hang on every word she said, and he'd do anything she asked. If only he could have her back…

Right now was when she'd usually cut into his thought process with a wry comment or a sly dig at him, and he felt that savage sensation of loss all over again, so strong it made him cry out loud. He doubled over, clutching his belly.