Kate: How did you get into NCIS?

Tony: I smiled.

I know the odds.   I don’t need one more person telling me the god damn odds. I know it’s been more than forty-eight hours, and I know what that little factoid means to the men and women of the Baltimore Police Department. But there haven’t been any bodies. So, I have to ignore the odds.

I have to ignore the feeling gnawing at my gut that tells me that my team is no longer complete.

I want to slam my fist into the wall and scream out my frustration.  Hell, I want to go home, go down to the basement, and never emerge.

Instead, I hold my ground; I can’t show my weakness. Not now. Not if it means being tossed off the case, and there is no way I am getting tossed. Not with that bastard still out there. Not with my people out there, counting on me to bring them home.

I can’t lose another family. I should be with them.

I should have seen it coming. We knew it had to be someone in law enforcement or military, someone familiar with crime scenes and forensic investigations. He knew too much and covered his tracks far too well to be anything but. All the pieces were right there in front of me and I missed it. I missed it because

I trusted him.

That’s the worst part. I trusted him. And I. Don’t. Trust. People.

But that smile. That god damn disarming smile.

I let him into my house. I practically handed Abby, Pig, and Ducky to him before sending Fi and Baker off to protect him. And the irony is that the only people in this world that I truly believe could catch this guy are presumably his latest victims. The Baltimore PD sure as hell isn’t going to get him at the rate they’re going. Not unless some sort of miracle happens or he turns himself in.

I look up as a familiar figure appears before me, pressing a cup of hot coffee into my hands before dropping down into the seat beside mine.

“Fornell,” I greet dully, not even bothering to look at him. I know why he’s here. I’m being relieved of duty.

“Gibbs,” he replies, his voice equally dull. I hear him take a swig of his coffee as I do the same.

“You’re not taking me off the case,” I tell him, challenging him to tell me differently.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he assures me and I relax a little bit. “Thomas is down in interrogation.” I look up sharply. “Patrick Thomas, not Baker,” he clarifies, his unspoken apology spread across his face. Baker’s brother and the bastard’s partner. I cover my disappointment with another sip of coffee. “If he knows anything, we’ll get it,” he gives me the requisite empty assurance. “They didn’t find anything else at the safe house,” he admits with a wary sigh.

Safe house.

I smile bitterly at the term. It wasn’t exactly safe, now, was it? Not judging from the amount of blood Baker left behind. In another cruel twist, it’s the first time there’s been any trace of any of the victims left at a scene. The first time anyone has even been able to prove that there’s been foul play at all. Up to now, the bastard’s been too careful. The only thing linking the cases together at all has been the distinct lack of crime scene evidence, and the failure to find even a trace of the victims after they’re reported missing.

The victims themselves don’t even have links other than being young and beautiful men and women. Factoring in my team, there are now a couple anomalies in that data. Ducky’s a solid forty years older than any of the previous victims--forty-five if omitting Fi and Baker. Pig isn’t really the right look to fit the profile, either. But Abby? Abby fits the victim profile perfectly, and I may as well have gift wrapped her for him when I invited him into the lab.

“Jethro…” I look up again at the informal address. “Go home. Get some sleep.” Before I can protest, he adds, “I will call you if we get anything.” I keep his gaze for a few moments and see the earnestness. The last thing I want to do is sleep, but I haven’t done so in almost three days now. I’ve been over and over the scenes at the safe house and the bastard’s apartment and have come up empty. I’m no good to my team while I’m dead on my feet. Maybe a couple hours of sleep will help me get a fresh look when I go back for another sweep.

“You’ll call immediately. No matter how small it seems,” I state my terms.

He agrees with a nod and raises back to his feet. My jaw clenches as he turns and places his hand on my shoulder. “They’re good people,” he tells me what I already know. “We’ll find them.” I have no doubt of that; I will search until my dying day if I have to. It’s whether or not we find them in time to do anything more than bring them to their final resting places that concerns me.

I’m almost home when my cell phone rings. I snatch it up and flip it open.

True to his word, Fornell informs me, “We got an alert. John Doe brought in to County ER; fits his description.” It’s a tiny lead. An even tinier spark of hope. But it’s more than I had a moment ago. I snap the phone shut before he can instruct me to wait for his agents.   Making a U-Turn and flooring it, I head back toward the hospital at top speed. I want a chance to crack him before the FBI gets to him.

“Sir, you can’t go back there,” I hear someone calling after me as I breeze past the triage desk at County. I’d like to see them try to stop me. I push open the first exam room door, but it’s not the right one. I’ll apologize later, but for now I move on toward the next room. “Sir!” I keep walking even as I pull my credentials and flash the badge at her. I’ll make my introduction once I’ve got him in my sights.

I find him in the fourth exam room.

“Where is my team?” I demand without even announcing my presence. I angrily grit my teeth when he doesn’t even open his eyes.

“What team is that, special agent?” he sneers. Playing dumb.

I force out a fake chuckle as I take a step closer, examining the work my agents have clearly made of him. His face is a mottled mess. Probably Fi’s work, though part of me really hopes that at least some of it came from Abby. I feel a lump in my throat as for the first time I let myself acknowledge the fact that she’s his type and he’s had her for over two days. I don’t know the fate of his victims, and the possibilities torture me.

“Baker?” he prompts, one of his eyes opening to a slit as he looks toward me.  “Perhaps Little Piggy who went wee-wee-wee all the way home?” he suggests, his mouth stretching into a grotesque parody of a grin that holds none of the charm I once observed in him. His other eye opens and he studies me intently, not recoiling even slightly as I take another step closer. “Or how about sweet little Abby?” he needles, raising his eyebrow suggestively.

I snap and am on him immediately, my fist gathering in his gown as I drag him bodily from the bed and shove him to the wall, pinning him with my full weight, my free arm across his throat. “If you have hurt one hair on her head!” I spit, feeling slight satisfaction as his head cracks against the plaster. “I will rip you limb from limb.”

I’m almost impressed as he meets my gaze without so much as flinching. There’s something in his expression, though, that catches me by complete surprise. Beneath the calm, cocky exterior he’s maintaining, I can see it. The devastated look of hurt…betrayal. I’m so startled, I almost let go of him.  

“Where’s my team?” I ask again, barely able to keep the exhaustion and fear out of my voice. He continues to stare at me, searching me. I close my eyes for just a moment. It’s a move that if I’m wrong, could prove to be fatal, but I’m not wrong. You can’t fake the haunted look I saw in his eyes. I open my eyes again and look at him warily, trying one last time.

“Where is Abby, Detective DiNozzo?”

He stares at me a few moments, and I see a small spark of understanding.

And then he smiles.

“You have to do something about this, Gibbs!”

I look up as NCIS Forensic Scientist Abby Sciuto storms toward my desk, her brow furrowed and mouth drawn tight in an unusual display of fury. I maintain eye contact with her as I return briefly to my phone call. “I’ll have to call you back, Director.” Abby dares to be not even remotely fazed at learning she’s interrupted an important conversation. Though I don’t let it show in my expression as I stare her down, it’s one of the things I love most about her.

“No need, Jethro. You know what to do,” Director Morrow dismisses me.

I continue to give Abby an impassive stare, concealing my amusement at the fact that the head of NCIS doesn’t even bother questioning that pacifying her is a higher priority to me than talking to him anymore.

“Impeccable timing, Abbs” I inform her dryly. “Now what is it I ‘have to do something’ about?”

“It’s not fair!” she blurts out, folding her arms across her chest, covering the image of the skull and crossbones that adorns her otherwise tasteful blouse. “Every department has at least two people, right? You’ve even got four, Gibbs. Well that’s if you include you, which of course you do because you’re the Bossman. And--well, okay, there’s really only three if you consider that Stan, Stan, the Burley Man’s gone, but they’re letting you replace him, so really there’s four people on your team--and I’m only one person and there’s always a really big backlog of tests and--" I hold up my hand to stop her.

“Take a breath, Abby,” I try to lull her into focusing. She obediently draws in a deep breath, and as she lets it out, her anger deflates with it. I sit up straighter, tensing as that anger is replaced by obvious distress. “Abby?”

“They’re firing Pig,” she reveals, her face contorting with emotion. It takes me a moment to realize she’s talking about Enzo Pigotti, her most recent lab assistant. I can’t help but wonder if he actually likes the nickname Abby has bestowed upon him. Not that it matters; once Abby chooses your name, it has a way of sticking.

“Oh, Abs, I’m sorry!” Agent Fiora sympathizes as she looks up from her computer. “But…wait. Didn’t you tell me not too long ago that he’s really annoying?”

“He is, Probie. And I don’t think the guy even knows what the words ‘personal hygiene’ mean,” Senior Field Agent Thomas snidely adds, his nose wrinkling in disgust. The words may be accurate, but considering how upset Abby is at the moment, they were better left unspoken.

“Well…yeah,” Abby reluctantly admits. “But he kind of grows on you.”

Fi snorts lightly. “Like a fungus?” she teases, her eyes gleaming with mischief.

“He’s an acquired taste,” Abby agrees with a wry smile.

“So more like lutefisk, then?” Baker injects. As it so often does, his attempt at bantering with the women falls flat.

“You have lutefisk growing on you? And you say Piggy has poor hygiene?” Abby shoots back at him, her voice light, but I can hear the belying tension.

I see Fi covering her smile as Baker scowls and rises from his chair, incensed at the gibe. Abby’s eyebrows rise as she waits for him to launch into a typical Baker tirade, but before he can launch into it, I silence him with a look. For just a moment he seems as though he’s going to ignore me, but after his initial hesitation, he sighs and sinks back into his chair.

Abby appears triumphant until she remembers why she’s here. She turns back to me with a pleading look.

“Why are they firing him?” I inquire. If I’m going to go out on a limb, I want to have the facts.

“Well, they say it’s because of the budget, but I know there has to be some other way for them to make the cut! They can’t just fire him, Gibbs! He’s only been here a couple months, and I know he left a really good job to work here and--”

“I’ll talk to the director and see what I can do,” I cut her off smoothly as I turn my attention back to my desk. Knowing that she’s not yet appeased, I wait the requisite moments for her shoulders to slump in defeat and for her to turn away before I look up again and add, “I’ll offer to use some of my budget allotment toward paying his salary until I find a replacement for Burley.” That will only delay the lay-off, but perhaps will buy enough time to find another way to fit the assistant into the budget.

Abby lets out a squeal that seems completely out of place coming from a girl wearing a spiked dog collar. I can’t help but smile as she bounces around my desk to give me a quick hug and peck on the cheek before she glides away with a fresh spring in her step. “Thank you, Gibbs!” she calls over her shoulder before she disappears into the stairwell.

“Gear up,” I command my agents as I rise to my feet and grab my coffee, ready to move out. “We’ve got a missing Marine.”

I smile slightly to myself as I hear Fi and Baker scrambling to grab their belongings and reach the elevator before the doors close. I let out an exaggerated sigh as I have to reach out to stop the door from closing just before they arrive. Fi’s eyes drop to the floor and she appears sufficiently chastised as she shuffles into the elevator, Baker on her heels.

Once we’re loaded into the van and well on our way to the crime scene, I begin filling my team in on the information I received from Director Morrow. “Lance Corporal Blake Richmond, UA since 0800 this morning.”

“That’s only a few hours,” Baker states the obvious.

I glare pointedly at him in the rear view mirror for a few moments as though offering to let him continue speaking, though I know that he knows better. He flushes slightly and mumbles, “Seems like a lot of fuss for a Lance Corporal running late…”

“Were there signs of struggle?” Fi suggests, trying to smooth things over.

“No obvious signs of struggle,” I refute. “No obvious signs of foul play,” I add.

“Then why are we…” Baker stops himself before I even get a chance to glare. “No obvious signs,” he acknowledges the distinction. I can tell he really wants to ask why we’re being called in on the case, but to his credit, he holds his tongue. I give him a small nod of confirmation.

“Lance Corporal Richmond,” Fi repeats the officer’s name, her brow furrowing thoughtfully. “As in…?”

“General Theodore Richmond,” I concede the connection. “Blake is his son.”

Baker lets out a small huff. “That explains it,” he mutters, just loud enough for me to hear, though I pretend for the moment not to. Fi looks over her shoulder and I see shake her head slightly as she mouths something to him. Unfortunately he ignores her signal and continues to dig himself into a deeper hole. “So we have to waste a day because some General’s son decides to play hooky?”

“We are wasting a day,” I emphasize his words sharply, “because The Director determined that this case warrants looking into.” Though I see Baker shaking his head in a display of disgust, this time he’s wise enough not to say anything and we complete the trip in silence.

“Thank you for meeting me here, Gentlemen,” General Richmond greets us upon our arrival. “And Lady,” he amends as he catches sight of Fi as she begins unloading equipment from the truck.

“General,” I return his greeting. “Special Agent Jethro Gibbs. These are Special Agents Ghislaine Fiora and Barker Thomas.” I purposely introduce Baker with the wrong name. I hide my smile as I see Baker gritting his teeth, clearly wanting to correct my ‘mistake’ but adhering, instead, to protocol and not calling out his superior in front of the General. “When was the last time you saw your son?”

“I have not seen Blake since Friday afternoon. When he did not report this morning, and wouldn’t answer his phone or his cell, I took the liberty of calling his girlfriend Shelley. She was with him Friday night until she had to report to work at 11pm,” he continues. “She did some checking for me, but says that none of their friends have seen or talked to him since that time.” According to that timeline, Lance Corporal Richmond has been missing only slightly longer than 48 hours at most. Just long enough to make the investigation official. “That is when I decided to come here and check on him.”

“Permission to speak freely, General?” Fi asks him, tucking a strand of her blonde hair behind her ear. Even after he nods his affirmation, she glances at me as if requesting the same permission. When I grant it, she looks back to the General. “Do you always…?” she hesitates and I suspect she is searching for the right words to use in hopes that they won’t sound offensive.

General Richmond smiles at her obvious discomfort. “You’re asking if I always jump when my son is two minutes late?”

Fi grins at his unexpected but kind bluntness, and immediately relaxes. “Yes, sir.”

“If we were talking about my older son, Joseph, I wouldn’t be worried. But Blake is very…punctual,” he explains, also choosing his words carefully. “If he is going to be even one minute late, he calls.” After a moment he adds, “Without fail.”

“Understood,” Fi jots that in her notes as we make our way toward the Lance Corporal’s apartment.

“When he didn’t answer after I knocked, I let myself in,” General Richmond reports. “I was concerned that he was sick or injured and couldn’t reach the phone.” He pushes open the apartment door to reveal an immaculately kept apartment. I stop him from re-entering the possible crime scene before stepping aside to let Baker and Fi through.

“Did you bring in the paper?” Fi asks immediately, spotting the newspaper set on the corner of his coffee table and snapping the picture.

Surprised by the question, the General frowns. He looks at it for a moment then shakes his head. “No. No I didn’t.”

“It’s today’s,” Fi notes aloud. “Which means that he must have been here this morning.” While that might seem like good news, it also means unless we find compelling evidence to suggest foul play, the case is no longer an official investigation. Still, there is a missing marine, and my gut tells me that we should continue, if only as a ‘favor’ to The General, who does not appear any less worried than when his son had potentially been missing 48 hours. In fact, his expression seems to darken with this revelation.

I catch Fi glancing at me, biting her bottom lip and can almost feel the tension radiating from her. I can see the unspoken question in her eyes. “I knew there was a reason I picked you for my team. Good eye,” I reassure her and am rewarded as she relaxes a bit and smiles. Her observation skills test had, indeed, drawn my attention to her application and had earned her an interview with myself and Director Morrow. In her few months on the team she had more than proven the exceptional score had not been a fluke. She had a keen eye, indeed. “Put it to more use.”

As Fi’s questioning look, I motion for her to continue photographing the scene.

“Have you checked with the police and the hospitals?” Baker barely makes an attempt to hide his irritation as he asks. He receives twin glares from General Richmond and me for his effort. “I’m sorry, Sir, but I have to ask. How do you know that he didn’t just take a personal day?”

“I don’t. What I know, Agent Thomas,” General Richmond relays warily, “is that my son didn’t leave this apartment.” At our trio of curious looks, he continues. “When I got here, I let myself in. The door was locked, but he gave me a key for emergencies.”

“What do you mean that he didn’t leave the apartment?” Fi pauses with her work to inquire when he doesn’t continue.

“I know that sounds crazy, and I know that it’s not true; obviously he’s not here, but all the evidence...” he trails off and shakes his head, at a loss. “Blake’s car is in the parking lot. His wallet and ID are on his nightstand. His weapon is in its lockbox,” he proceeds with his explanation.

“Maybe he went for a walk,” Baker’s annoyance rings loud and clear.

“You should start calling the hospitals,” I calmly direct his attention away from the interview. When he opens his mouth to protest, I stop him. “That wasn’t a suggestion.” His mouth snaps shut and after a moment, he slinks a short distance down the hall so he can start making the usual round of calls.

“He didn’t go for a walk, Agent Gibbs,” General Richmond declares in a tone that brokers no argument. “His keys are hanging right over there,” he motions to the hook a few inches away from the door, “and I know he gave the spare to Joe. He’s been having some trouble at home and thought he might need to crash here for a night or two. And before you ask, I did talk to him this morning and he hasn’t been here or seen Blake at all this weekend.”

“We’re going to need Shelley’s phone number, as well as your sons’,” I inform him, mostly just to assure him that we are still investigating despite the determination that Blake has only been missing a few hours.

“Of course,” he replies, his stance relaxing slightly as the implication of that request sets in. “Thank you, Agent Gibbs,” he adds, his sincere gratitude palpable.

After wrapping up the preliminary questioning with General Richmond and promising that I’d keep him in the loop, I head into the apartment for my first walk through.

The place is clean; almost to the point of obsession. The books are lined up evenly on the shelves--perfectly alphabetized, I note. The shelves have been recently dusted, as has the mantle, which is sparsely decorated with only a handful of photographs and a couple small knick-knacks. There’s not a single item that appears out of place. In addition, there are no dishes in the sink or on the counter. A peek into his bedroom reveals that his bed is made with military precision, and aside from his wallet and military ID, there is nothing visible on his nightstand. Only his cell phone sits atop his dresser. Even his desk has minimal clutter, with only his laptop and printer set out on top. A quick scan of the drawers indicates that he is extremely organized and every item has its place. His closet is tidy; his clothing is hung with care, his shoes carefully lined up.

Likewise, his bathroom is immaculate. The porcelain fixtures gleam. It even appears as though the mirror has been recently Windexed.

I snap on a pair of gloves and carefully open the medicine cabinet. There is only one toothbrush, so it does not appear that the girlfriend is a frequent houseguest. There are no medications, not even over-the-counter. Just the toothbrush, dental floss, a razor, shaving cream, after shave, and deodorant.

“No John Does at any of the area hospitals,” Baker announces as I return to the living room. “And the place is clean,” he adds, his arm making a wide sweeping motion. “No signs of struggle obvious or otherwise.”

“It’s too clean,” Fi counters with her assessment. “There’s not even trash in the bins. There are no papers that need recycling other than today’s. And--"

“So he’s a neat freak!” Baker argues. “Come on, his dad pretty much said that the kid is anal.”

“Just because he’s punctual, doesn’t mean he’s anal.”

Baker snorts, but doesn’t reply. Instead he looks to me. “Why are we still here, Boss? We don’t even know that he’s missing!” He pales slightly at my glare. “We’re here because Director Morrow wants us to look into it,” he backpedals quickly. “The carpet is freshly vacuumed,” he changes his tactic and appears to be getting with the investigation. “There are normal walk patterns but no sign of anything or anyone being dragged. I don’t smell bleach or shampoo, so it’s a waste of time to check for spatter.” He corrects himself before I get the chance, “But I’ll check the kitchen and bathroom.”

While he works on that, I make a second round of the apartment. I tag, document, and collect the few stray items that Richmond has left behind: his keys, his ID, the newspaper, and his wallet. Before I bag the wallet, I carefully thumb through it, taking note of a receipt from ‘Club Fiasco’ dated Friday night. According to the address, the club is located in Baltimore. Considering the distance back to DC, the timestamp that shows the tab was paid shortly after 10pm seems to be about the right time Shelley would have needed to leave to get to work. There are no more recent receipts.

“No spatter,” Baker announces as I return to the living room again.

“Not in the bathroom, either,” Fi corroborates his findings. “I don’t even really know what else we should look for,” she admits guiltily.

“The place is clean, Boss.”

“Well then, wrap it up,” I command them.

“You know, this does kind of remind me of some cases Pat was telling me about the other day,” Baker mentions as he starts packing away his equipment. “I’m sure it’s nothing since he’s down in Baltimore,” he starts to shrug it off, but then reconsiders as he notices that I’m suddenly paying his chatter attention, “but he was talking about some cases that have them totally stumped. It’s like the vics just disappear into thin air.”

“Your brother works homicide, doesn’t he?” Fi asks quietly. “Did they find bodies?”

“Nah. They’re not Pat’s cases, yet. He figures they will be soon enough, but officially they’re still Missing Person cases. The people are just gone. One day they’re there, the next they’re gone, leaving behind everything including cars, wallets, purses…and there’s been no trace of them after that. They’re not using cell phones or credit cards.”

“Just like Lance Corporal Richmond.”

“Yeah, but like I said, they’re down in Baltimore. Besides, we don’t even know for sure that Richmond is missing.”

“Richmond was in Baltimore Friday night,” I reveal to my team.

“That could just be a coincidence,” Fi suggests.

“Could be.” Except that I don’t believe in coincidences.

“I could call Pat and see who’s working the cases,” Baker offers.

I shake my head. “More likely to get answers in person.” It’ll be a lot harder for them to say no when they can’t just hang up on us. Since our case is not yet official, we won’t have any clout for taking over jurisdiction, and there’s also absolutely no chance that they’ll willingly just hand us the case files. I want to have a look at those records, anyway, to see if we can find any sort of link between Lance Corporal Richmond and any of their possible victims.

As we finish sealing the crime scene, Baker pretends to make small talk, asking the question I’m sure he’s been dying to ask for quite some time. “So, you picked Fi for her ‘good eye’,” he reminds us of the earlier comment I’d made. “Why’d you pick me?” he asks, clearly fishing for compliments.

I cock my head to the side and impassively study him as though considering for a few moment, but the truth is, “I didn’t.” I allow a tiny smile as I turn to lead them back through the hall. I could have told him that his aptitude and proficiency test scores had been far above any of the other applicants at the time of his hiring, but the truth was those scores don’t mean all that much to me other than to decide whether or not to grant an interview. Truth be told, his interview had not impressed me. But then neither had any of the other interviews I’d conducted at that time. If it had been up to me, I would have waited for a better candidate; the decision to hire Baker was ultimately made by Director Morrow.

“Sir, you can’t just go back there,” the precinct clerk tries to stop us as I bypass his desk on the way into the Baltimore Police Precinct 921. I simply flash my credentials and continue on my way, knowing that going straight to the source will cut down on at least some of the red tape.

“We’re here to see my brother, Detective Thomas,” I hear Baker excusing us as I breeze past the desk and into the bullpen.

I scan the area and scowl as my sight sets on the nearest desk’s occupant. One of Baltimore’s finest, indeed. The young man’s loafer adorned feet are propped up on his desk and he is leaning back in his chair with his hands tucked behind his head and his eyes closed, a magazine with a questionable cover spread open across his chest. The pristine suit and designer silk tie complete the picture of a wet behind the ears Probie who has no idea what the real world has in store for him once he finally gets away from the desk and makes his way into the field. I suspect, however, that he has no intention of ever doing that, having landed what appears to be a pretty comfortable desk job. My guess is he’s the Captain’s son, or perhaps a nephew.

“Comfortable?” I ask in a low voice as I stop before his desk. I almost smile at the way he scrambles, shoving the magazine under his desk and rolling to his feet in one fluid motion.

He smiles brightly, completely unabashed at having been caught sleeping on the job. “Detective Anthony DiNozzo,” he introduces himself, reaching out his hand for a formal greeting. In order to attain his title, he must have spent at least the requisite amount of time in the field. Huh. My initial impressions are rarely far off, though, and my initial surprise wanes as I notice the well manicured hand extended toward me. Evidently since his promotion in rank, he spends as much time as possible lazing at his desk.

When his offer of a handshake goes unheeded, Detective DiNozzo casually drops his hand to his side, unruffled and handling the should-have-been awkward moment with ease. “What can I do for you today, Mr…” he trails off, prompting me for my name.

Once again I leave him hanging. “I’m looking for the detective in charge of Missing Persons.”

I watch curiously as Detective DiNozzo’s smile falters ever so slightly. “Then you’re looking for Detective Gale. He’s over in the Special Investigations Department,” he informs me, a hint of disappointment in his voice. His eyes flit past me, becoming more vibrant as his gaze settles on Fi. His grin slides firmly back in place, wider than it was before. “I’d be happy to escort you,” he adds, though I suspect he is no longer talking to me. The way Fi blushes slightly even as her lips curl into a tiny smile confirms it.

“Not necessary, DiNozzo,” Baker turns down the offer before I have a chance to accept it.

“Baaaker,” DiNozzo draws out his greeting with exaggerated delight as he snags the apple from the corner of his desk and nonchalantly tosses it from one hand to the other. “Pat didn’t tell me you’d be here today. Afraid he’s not gonna be in until later. We had a late night.”

“Partying on a school night, Tony?” They may be on a first name basis, but my senior field agent doesn’t seem all that pleased to see the younger detective.

“Stakeout,” DiNozzo corrects him, surprising me once again as he debunks my theory about riding his desk and offers an explanation for why he’d be sleeping ‘on the job’ with one simple word. He tosses the apple again as though he’s juggling it.

“Right,” Baker snorts, unimpressed. “Let me guess. You needed to do some ‘recon work’ at one of the clubs downtown?” DiNozzo’s jaw tightens at the insinuation, but he seems content to let it go, even when Baker adds, “Can’t believe my brother hasn’t put in for a different partner yet. He’s gotta be tired of carrying you by now.” After just a moment of hesitation, DiNozzo seems to just accept the other man’s assessment of him with a small shrug and a smile that doesn’t quite match the expression in his eyes. “What’s it been, about two years?”

Before DiNozzo can answer, I clear my throat to reign in their attention. “Detective Gale,” I pointedly remind them why we’re here.

“Of course, Agent…Sir.”

“Gibbs,” I offer, adding, “The last name’s not ‘Sir’,” at his questioning glance.

“Of course, Agent Gibbs,” he amends as he flashes his grin once more and motions for us to follow him.

As we walk, he continues pitching the apple back and forth and I begin to wonder if it’s a nervous habit or just simply a way to burn off some excess energy. Curiosity gets the better of me and my hand darts out, plucking the apple from the air before it can complete its latest journey. I can’t stop my own grin as his eyes widen and his jaw drops for just a split second before he can recover. I’m not sure exactly what I expected, but I didn’t expect his eyes to light up with genuine mirth even as he tries to cover his astonishment.

Yes, my initial impressions are rarely far off, but I get the feeling that this may just be one of those rare times.

“Hey, Bobby,” DiNozzo calls out as he leads us into the Special Investigations Division.

“How many times I got to tell you my name is Robert or Detective Gale?” the detective at the desk asks him, dully, not even looking up from the file he’s reading. He looks far more like a detective who has spent the night on stakeout than DiNozzo does. “Hey, weren’t you due in court this morning?”

“Not for another hour.” Well, now. That explains both the expensive suit and why he didn’t just stay home this morning like his partner had; seems I’m 0 for 4 on my assessment of the young detective. “Got some visitors for you, Detective Gale. Detective Gale, these are Agents Gibbs, Thomas, and…” he turns to Fi. “I’m sorry, I’m afraid I didn’t catch your name.”

“Fiora,” she supplies.

“Agent Fiora,” he repeats back to her silkily as he reaches out to grasp her hand. “Hi, I’m Tony,” he introduces himself directly to her as if the rest of us aren’t waiting on him, holding her hand a few moments longer than what would constitute a traditional handshake. I watch incredulously as his thumb caresses the back of her hand just before he lets it go and turns back to Detective Gale. “And Agent Fiora,” he completes our introductions.

“FBI?” Gale looks confused as he looks up at us. “Thought I knew all you guys.”

“They’re from NCIS,” DiNozzo corrects before I can. I raise my eyebrows as I look at him piercingly. He has the grace to look slightly uncomfortable before he steps back, giving me the floor.

“So what is it that I can do for…NCIS?”

“Naval Criminal Investigation Services,” I explain, showing him my credentials. “We’d like to look at some of your open case files,” I get directly to the point.

“Which cases would those be?” Gale asks guardedly. I can see him tensing as I begin to describe the cases that Baker relayed to me earlier. For a moment he looks like he’s going to deny knowledge of the cases, but when I glare at him in warning, he gives a reluctant nod. “I know the ones,” he grudgingly admits. “What, uh, does NCIS want with ‘em?”

“We’re working an ongoing investigation,” I exaggerate our involvement, “and I do believe that it may be connected to your cases.”

Gale shakes his head. “You’re not taking over. They’re out of your jurisdiction…unless you got proof of military involvement?” he challenges.

“A missing Marine,” I answer, hoping it will be enough, but knowing it won’t be.

“Look, we haven’t been able to connect any of the cases to each other. What makes you think that your case is related to any of ‘em?”

“Hey, even if there isn’t a link between the, it never hurts to have a fresh set of eyes looking at ‘em,” DiNozzo surprises me by making the suggestion. The police aren’t exactly known for handing over their cases any more than NCIS is known for it. Especially not potentially high profile cases like serial kidnappings that tend to lead to promotions and commendations for those who solve them.

Gale glares at DiNozzo icily. “This isn’t your department or your business, DiNozzo. Why are you still here?”

“He’s got my apple,” DiNozzo replies casually, cocking his head to the side as he looks at me expectantly. I almost hand it to him before I realize that he’s not asking for the apple back; he’s asking my permission to stay. All right, DiNozzo. I think maybe I’ll just hang onto it for a little while. I lob it from one hand to the other as I turn my attention back to Gale.

Out of the corner of my eye, I notice DiNozzo shrug innocently at Gale before he pretends to turn his attention to something else. Then again, he’s looking at Fi, so perhaps he’s not pretending. It’s hard not to roll my eyes just a little bit before I begin campaigning for the files again. The more Gale wants to keep the coveted files protected, the more I want access to them.

“Look, we’re not trying to take your case. We just want to find out if there’s a link,” Fi tries to assist and I silently curse her for it. I know she’s trying to help, but she just admitted that we’re completely fishing.

Knowing he has us, Gale makes his ultimatum, “You get me a warrant, and I’ll get you copies of the files. Until then, you’ve got no jurisdiction here.”

I heatedly start to move toward him when suddenly DiNozzo steps between us, giving me a barely perceptible nod before he turns to Gale. “Sorry we wasted your time.” He bodily turns me away from Gales desk and gives me a little nudge to direct me away from the stubborn detective’s desk.

“I want those files, DiNozzo,” I reiterate to him as soon as we’re out of Special Investigations.

“You’re not going to get them that way, Agent Gibbs.” The way says it leaves me little doubt that our unexpected ally has a plan. I give him an impatient glare, waiting to hear it. Instead of answering to me, however, he turns once again to Fi. “What do you say we meet for a late lunch,” he proposes, flashing what I’m sure he believes is his most dazzling grin and raising his eyebrows suggestively.

I blink. He’s making a date. Now? “Lunch, DiNozzo? Make a date on your own time!” I chastise him. Though he completely ignores me, Fi looks at me as though asking for permission to answer him. “Well, go ahead.” Maybe once he gets his answer, he’ll come through for us.

“Um. Yes. Sure, I-I’d love to meet for lunch,” Fi stammers.

“Then meet me at Café Blanc at 2:00,” he requests before providing her with quick directions. “Looking forward to it.” I roll my eyes as they continue to moon at each other for a few moments.

“The files, DiNozzo?” I prompt exasperatedly.

DiNozzo gives me an apologetic smile as he sinks into his chair. “Got you covered. I’m due in court in just a few, but I’ll make a few calls…pull a few strings. Should have something for you this afternoon.”

It’s more than he’s required to do, so we’ll have to take it. For now. I toss the apple up and catch it one more time, pointedly not returning it to him.

He nods his acknowledgement before he returns to his attention to his desk.

“Oh, and, DiNozzo?”

“Yeah, Boss?” he answers, looking slightly startled by the slip. “I mean Agent Gibbs,” he corrects himself, shaking his head a little as if to clear it.

“Try to have something for us before lunch.”

“On it, Gibbs,” he assures me, brandishing his patented grin once more.

“I’ll take this one,” I request as I select the best of the lavender roses.  

Even in just our brief meeting, there was something about Agent Fiora that made me think ‘hopeless romantic’. Maybe it was something in the way she dressed--a professional skirt and matching business jacket that didn’t completely hide the pink cashmere sweater she wore beneath that made her seem more…soft, sensual. Or maybe it was something in her nervous but excited mannerisms as I’d paid her attention--the shy blushes, the way she tucked the stray stand of hair behind her ear. Either way, my instincts when it comes to impressing women are rarely far off the mark and she strikes me as a classic rose sort of girl.

“And this one,” I add, picking out a white one and handing both to the clerk. I should get a third. Two would just be awkward. I frown as I look over the selection one more time. None of them make quite the statement I’m going for.

“Anything else for you?” the clerk asks her voice monotone, bored. Can’t have that. I cock my head as if I’m thinking hard about it.

“How about a cute blonde? About yay high,” I hold up my hand to about half an inch shorter than she is. For just a moment she just looks startled, and then laughs as I flash a cheeky grin. “No? Okay then. As for flowers…”  I’m about to say ‘no’ when I spot the perfect third in the cooler behind the counter. “That one right there should do it.”

She raises an eyebrow at my choice but is happy to add it to my order. “Anything else?” she asks, her voice far more animated this time. My work here is done.

“Would you wrap those separately?”

“Oh…of course,” she agrees, slightly thrown by the request.

“First date,” I offer as an explanation, giving her my most dazzling smile. “Not sure which one will suit the occasion best.”

She laughs. “Quite the range,” she agrees. My smirk widens as I catch her looking me over. She blushes slightly at having been caught. “Bet you’re going to impress her. Nice suit. Looks good on you.” It better; it’s Versace. Cost almost half a month’s salary but worth every penny. I pick up the largest of the empty gift boxes and set it on the counter to add to my order. “She must be special,” the clerk surmises, eyeing me as she finishes wrapping the last of the roses.

I shrug noncommittally. “We’ll just have to wait and see.”

“Well if it doesn’t work out…” the clerk leaves the unspoken offer hanging, a glint in her eyes and a mischievous grin tugging at her lips. Minx.

“Does your boss know you drive away repeat business?” I tease as she hands me my receipt. While I sign it my eyes flick to her nametag, which reads ‘Martabelle’. Yikes. That just doesn’t fit. “Thanks, Marti,” I amend her name a bit as I hand her the signed receipt. She presses a business card into my hand along with the bag. 

“Good luck!” she calls after me as I collect my purchases and head out.

I dart across the street to stop in the precinct. I should have just enough time to collect my stuff and get over to Café Blanc on time.

My partner looks up and lets out a wolf whistle as I enter the bullpen. “Lookin’ sharp, Kid.” Kid. I’m only a few years…well, maybe a decade younger than him. Give a couple years. Not that I really mind the nickname; it’s just Pat’s thing. “I take it tonight’s off?” he asks gruffly.  We have an unspoken tradition that whenever we score a win in court, as we’ve done today, we do a little celebrating at his place after work. Grab a pizza, a few beers, and an action flick or two.

“Like I’d miss a post-game party?” I reject the idea.

 “So you’re dressing like that for me, Kiddo?”

“Why, Detective, Thomas,” I drawl just a little bit. “Cute as you are, you’re just not my type.  I prefer ‘em younger. A little more hairy up top, a little less hairy elsewhere…not so pronounced of a beer gut,” I mock haughtily.

“You’re breakin’ my heart, here,” he grumbles at me good-naturedly. “So what’s with the duds?” Only Pat would actually call a Versace suit ‘duds’.  I think he may actually have watched too many ‘hard-boiled detective’ movies growing up. And it takes a lot for me to say such a blasphemous thing.

“Got a lunch date.”

“So should I be ordering pizza for three? Pick up the fixin’s for omelets in the morning?”

“Yeah. That’s so not gonna happen,” I admit, covering my sudden unease with a casual wave.

Truth is, despite my impeccable instincts and my usually fail proof charm, it’s never going to work out and I know it. It never does with girls like Agent Fiora. I’m like the perfect Summer Blockbuster.  Nice packaging, some awesome special effects, a flair for keeping things exciting. But when you get right down to it?  Very little actual content, I realistically assess myself. Not proud of that last thing, but it is what it is. Girls like Fiora? They might give the blockbuster a once-over, but they prefer the Classics. Possibly the Chick-Flicks. Or, God forbid, the Art House.

It’s not that she’s not my type. Despite my probably well deserved reputation for dating airheads, I prefer girls I can really have intelligent conversations with. Unfortunately, the smart ones, which Fiora must be if she’s working for NCIS, tend to see through me way too fast. Besides, she’s the insecure type, which makes the odds of us working even slimmer. While I wouldn’t mean to, it’d inevitably be only a matter of time before I end up hurting her. Generally, it’s better for everyone involved if I just live up to my reputation. My relationships still don’t last long, but they generally last long enough to at least have a bit of fun. With Fiora, though, lunch was almost certain to be our first and only date.

“So, then why…?” he asks, motioning to the flowers and gift box.

“Hey. Just because it’s not going to go anywhere doesn’t mean it’s not fun to try,” I reply candidly.

Pat chuckles. “Yeah, yeah. I know.  ‘Thrill of the chase’. When are you just going to find a nice girl and settle down?”

“Wouldn’t wish me on a nice girl,” I reply lightly as I begin gathering my things. “But hey, if you can find me a naughty one…”

“Like you need my help finding those,” Pat groans as he rolls his eyes. “So what’s this I hear about you takin’ over Gale’s cases? Something you want to tell me? Got your sights on movin’ departments? Do I need to start lookin’ for a new partner?” He tries to sound light, but I can hear the tension behind it.

“Your brother thinks you should,” I (don’t) answer evasively.

“Yeah, so he tells me,” Pat dismisses the notion. “That’s just him bein’…him. Sometimes wonder how we came from the same parents. Seriously, what’re you doing with Missing Persons? Don’t think we’re busy enough?”

I shrug. “You know the odds of finding them alive after 48 hours.  Figure they’re going to be our cases soon enough. May as well get a head start before the trail gets any colder.” That’s what I told the Captain as I pled my case earlier, and he bought it. Pat, on the other hand, looks doubtful. “Okay, so having a little leverage with Agent Fiora doesn’t hurt.”

“Shoulda known; it’s always about a girl. Wait. Fiora? As in Baker’s girl?”

I groan inwardly. Baker’s girl? Crap. Well, just one more reason for him to hate me, I guess. Still, I’m a bit surprised that neither of them said anything earlier. “Didn’t know they were together,” I try to sound casual, but even I can hear the disappointment resonating in my voice. I don’t know why I’m disappointed, really.  It wasn’t going to work out, anyway. Still…kind of takes the fun out of the game to know that there never was even a slight chance.

“Oh-ho, he wishes!” Pat laughs. “Nah, they’re not together. You’re okay. But you’re right. It ain’t gonna work.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” I reply sarcastically as I select the items for the gift box and begin arranging it.

“He’s pretty pissed, you know. Gale.”

I wince. I really didn’t mean to step on toes, but the cases weren’t going anywhere and he was just sitting on them. If there was a serial killer--or even just a serial kidnapper--out there, it was only a matter of time before there was another victim. Maybe nothing would come of my…of NCIS’s involvement. But, as I told Gale and the captain when I campaigned for approval to at least run a concurrent investigation, sometimes you just need a fresh set of eyes to see things in a whole different light.  I’m still not sure that anything I’ve come up with in the past few hours will pan out, but it’s still better than doing nothing. “He’ll get over it. I told him if I found anything he’d get the credit.”

“What the hell would you go and do that for?” I look over to see Pat gaping at me incredulously. “You really are gunnin’ for Gale’s job ain’t you?”

As close as we are, there are times that I wonder if my partner actually knows me. The rest of the time I’m pretty sure he doesn’t. Don’t get me wrong, awards and commendations are nice, but they’re just the icing on the cake. And, okay, they’re really cool things to impress girls. I know I should be saying it’s all about seeing justice served, and that is at least part of it. But for me, it’s more about the game. The thrill of the hunt. The capture. Being there and witnessing the moment when the bad guy finally realizes that it’s over and he’s screwed. There’s nothing like that feeling.

Except maybe sex.

Oh, yeah. Sex is up there.

“Nah,” I pass off Pat’s concern. “You can’t get rid of me that easy.” I pack up the last of my things. “Sometimes it really is just about the girl,” I add as I head out, grinning as I can actually feel him staring after me.

“You’ve got a table for DiNozzo,” I inform the maitre d’ as I arrive at the café a few minutes early.

He nods and motions for me to follow him to the table I have reserved. As requested, there’s a bottle chilling beside the semi-private table. I take the seat facing the door as the maitre d’ lights the candles. They’re completely unnecessary in the daylight, but there’s nothing like a classic presentation. I carefully tuck my gifts out of sight, under the table, and not a moment too soon because as I look up, I see Agent Fiora at the café entrance.

And right behind her are Agents Gibbs and Baker. I raise my hand to cover my amused smile as they approach the table. Never once have I been on a date with another guy, let alone two, nor have I ever once had the desire to, but this should be interesting. I pluck the lavender rose from my arsenal and rise to my feet. Let the games begin.

The news of chivalry’s death has been exaggerated, and while it may not be every girl’s thing, my gut tells me that it is Fiora’s. With that in mind, I pull her chair out for her while the two men drop heavily into the remaining chairs at our table. My instinct proves to be correct as Fiora smiles appreciatively at me. I hand her the rose and place my hand at the small of her back as I guide her to her chair.

“You look fantastic, Agent Fiora,” I compliment her, even though with the exception of having removed her business jacket, looks pretty much exactly like she did earlier.

“Thank you,” she murmurs as I carefully ease her chair in. “Call me, Fi.” She smiles up at me, but I can see how nervous she is. It might be about our date, but I’m guessing it’s probably more about how I’m going to handle the presence of our unexpected guests.  I nod to each of them, acknowledging their presence. Gibbs eyes the chilling bottle with a skeptical eyebrow raised, then glances sideways at Fi. Baker scowls as he stares at the candles. Yes, this was going to be a fun date.  I let my hand graze Fi’s shoulder before I move back to my own seat.  

“What, not red?” Baker asks me contemptuously, as the rose Fi now holds in her hands catches his attention.

“Of course not.” I look across the table, meeting Fi’s eyes and holding the contact. “Red,” I explain, “is the color of passionate love.” She looks at me quizzically. “It’s a little soon for that. Maybe next week,” I add lightly, flashing my patented grin. She blushes and looks away for a moment. “Lavender, on the other hand,” I continue, “represents enchantment.”

“Oh for the love of…” Baker mutters and folds his arms as he leans back in his chair.

I reach under the table and try not to grin as I get ready to play my next card. From the looks she’s frequently giving Gibbs, I’d have to guess that his approval means a lot to Fi. Impressing her may heavily rely on impressing him. I’m up to the challenge.  “Don’t worry. I didn’t forget about you,” I maintain a straight face as I look over at him.

Gibbs eyes me warily, his expression becoming even more guarded as I extend to him the white rose. “The color of honor,” I explain the significance. He maintains intense eye contact as he slowly reaches to take it. To my disappointment, he doesn’t even crack a smile. Tough nut to crack. Interestingly, however, he doesn’t seem all that surprised that I may just have been expecting him to be along on this date. 

“And for you,” I turn toward Baker, who rolls his eyes. I pull out the last rose. I hadn’t thought it possible, but his scowl deepens as I extend it toward him.

“Black. Death wish. Ha, ha. I get it,” he grits out, before I can offer my reasoning.  “Just keep it, DiNozzo.”

I shrug as I set it beside my plate. To each their own.

“Would any of you care for--” I start reaching for the bottle.

“We’re on duty,” Gibbs rejects it for them all. I pull the bottle, exposing it as ginger ale. The corners of his mouth twitch and a moment later he turns his wine glass up. I fill each of our glasses then return the bottle to the chiller.

“So. The case. What’ve you got for us?” Baker immediately cuts to the chase.

“You always this impatient on a date, Baker?” I scold him lightly. “Don’t you know talking about work is a mood killer?” Then again, he probably doesn’t know that; I don’t think he actually does date much. Maybe that’s why he’s such an ass.

“We’re not on a date, DiNozzo,” he retorts, his eyes blazing.

I raise my eyebrows before pointedly glancing around at the scene before settling my gaze briefly on the candles. “Are you sure you don’t want to reconsider…” I start to pick up my rose again, but when he glares back, I hold up my hands in mock surrender. Don’t say I didn’t offer. “There’ll be plenty of time to talk shop,” I assure him. “But don’t you think we should order first?” I suggest smoothly, and wave the waiter over to present us with the day’s specials.

I watch my guests carefully as the list is presented. I can tell exactly when Fi hears the one she wants, as can I with Baker. Gibbs, on the other hand, is a much harder read. Still, as the waiter turns to me expectantly to take my order, I use another classic move picked up from my days in ‘polite society’ (okay, admittedly more from watching too much Cary Grant, but who’s counting?) and expertly proceed to place orders for each of my “dates”.  While it’s an outdated chivalrous tradition and I wouldn’t dare try it with most girls, I venture that Fi’s the type that will find it charming and romantic rather than creepy or controlling.

I can tell immediately that my risk has paid off and that I’ve and ordered correctly for Fi, who looks rather impressed, if I may say so myself. I also know I’m right on Baker as well by the decisively pissed off look he throws me. Still as I pause to allow him a moment to correct any mistakes in his order, he nods, though his jaw remains tightly clenched.

I look then to Gibbs and he looks back at me, meticulously studying me but otherwise giving away nothing with his expression as he waits for me to make my move.

“Well, Detective?” he prompts when I hesitate. For a moment I think he looks greatly amused but then I think maybe I just imagined it.

“Agent Gibbs will have the steak,” I take another gamble. He strikes me as a no-nonsense, meat and potatoes sort of guy.  “Medium-rare,” I add, watching him closely for any reaction. Still no give-aways. “With the baked potato. Butter only.” His head tilts slightly as we continue to study each other. For just a moment I think everyone at the table, including our waiter, holds their breath waiting for the verdict.

“Well done,” he says at last.

YES! It takes all my willpower not to leap into the air and pump my fist in victory. Round one goes to DiNozzo!

But then Gibbs looks at the waiter and clarifies. “I prefer my steak ‘well-done’.”

I suddenly feel like a complete fool. At least I didn’t actually leap out of my chair. I cover my embarrassment by proceeding to place my own order, which nearly mirrors Gibbs’. Except that I can’t resist ordering the fries. Perhaps not the most debonair of foods, but they’re damn tasty.

“Anything else for you, Sir…s? Madam?”

Once we dismiss the waiter, I decide it’s time to get down to business before my dates lose their patience.  

Baker groans as I pull out the gift box.

 “Oh now, come on! First you reject my rose, now you don’t like my gift…” I let out an exaggerated sigh. “Fine, but don’t expect me to ask you out again.”  I look across the table to Fi. “I’m afraid I didn’t know your size…” I apologize as I start to hand the box to her, but she suddenly looks so uncomfortable that I change destinations and hand it off to Gibbs instead.  I know I’ve done the right thing when Fiora visibly relaxes again. 

Gibbs accepts the box, keeping his eyes on me until he has it open far enough for him to examine its contents. “Size looks fine, but blue’s more my color,” he comments dryly as he peeks inside. “Brings out the color of my eyes, so they tell me.”  Baker pales at least a couple shades before Gibbs reaches in and pulls out the manila folders and hands one to each of the rest of us.  He sets the box that still contains a few evidence bags down beside his chair.

“There’s not a whole lot in the files,” I inform them as each of them begins going through the copies I’ve made of the case files and the notes I’ve added to them. “Crime scenes have been pretty clean. All of them have been released except for the most recent victim, Lauren Howe’s. Interviews haven’t turned up anything suspicious or any viable witnesses. No connections between all of the victims,” I sum up the original findings.

“No viable witnesses?” Gibbs asks, without looking up from the file.

“We ruled out the alien abduction described by one of victim number four’s neighbors. The timeline was off, and the neighbor has a file full of similar false reports.”

“So what we’ve got is nothing,” Baker complains. “Thanks for this colossal waste of time, DiNozzo, but we--"

“If we remove victims number two and five, I may have found something,” I cut him off.

“You can’t just remove victims.”

“Actually until we prove a link, we have to assume that all of these cases are separate,” I counter. “But if you remove those two cases, I think we might just have one.”

“But the circumstances are all identical,” Fiora points out. “The MOs match. There are too many coincidences for these cases not to be connected.”

“Except that they’re not identical,” I reply. “Victim number two, we didn’t find a wallet.” At Baker’s snort, I defend this detail. “Every single other case here, it seems like the victims left behind absolutely everything except the clothes on their backs. Keys, wallets, purses, even cash has always been left behind. The vic’s credit cards haven’t been used, but it’s still entirely possible that this one left home on his own before he disappeared.”

“Yeah, maybe,” Baker agrees, though I hear the doubt in his voice. “But what about victim five?”

“I’m not sure yet. I left a message for the people who last saw her to contact me and set up another round of interviews, see if anyone can remember anything else.” We pause as the server returns to our table with our bread and salads.

“So If we exclude these two cases, you think you might have a link?” Fiora asks once the server leaves.

“Maybe. It’s…flimsy,” I admit. “But without those two, we’ve got victims who all fit a similar profile. They’re all in a pretty close age-range. Early to mid twenties. They’re all physically attractive and described by their families and friends as being friendly and outgoing.”

“Lance Corporal Richmond doesn’t fit that profile,” Baker rejects my theory. Since I don’t recognize the name, I have to assume he’s their missing Marine and the reason they want to look into the possible connection.

“How do you know that?” Fi asks the question for me.

“Come on, you saw his place. And he calls his daddy if he’s going to be even a minute late.”

“Being tidy and courteous doesn’t mean that he can’t also be friendly and outgoing,” Fi argues. “He was out clubbing on Friday night.”

“There’s the other thing that ties the cases together,” I cut back in. “All of the victims except two and five disappeared after a night out with a group of friends. Two of them even disappeared after visiting the same club. I’m thinking he picks his victims out at the clubs and follows them home, where he takes them. Probably after they’re asleep, since there’s never sign of struggle.”

“Club Fiasco?” Gibbs asks.

“Vaughn’s,” I correct, though I frown as the name he mentioned seems to ring a bell. I flip quickly through my notes to confirm. “But that’s right across the street from Fiasco. And another victim disappeared after partying at a club a couple streets over.”

“So someone is club hopping,” Baker surmises. “Changes their location each time so the pattern is less likely to be noticed.”

“Lauren Howe wasn’t at a club,” I have to point out an anomaly in the theory. “She and her friends attended a poetry reading at the Baltimore Public Library the last time they saw her. Not exactly party central. But,” I add the good news, “it is only a few blocks out of the club district.”

“Is it possible that she went out after the reading?” Fi proposes.

“Unlikely. Her friends said that they were going to go, but she declined because she had to be up early the next morning.”

“Maybe she changed her mind and tried to catch up with them.”

“Even if she did,” Baker voiced his observation, “she didn’t find them, so she wouldn’t have been with a group at the clubs. So again, we got nothing.”

“Unless the perp happened to spot her group of friends around the library somewhere and followed her home from there,” I suggest the possibility.

“It is the same general vicinity,” Fi agrees.

We continue to go through the files and the notes I’d made on them until our meal arrives. And then after a brief break, we theorize some more while we dine. Through it all, Gibbs remains silent; though I’m pretty sure he’s taking everything in, what we’re saying, and what we’re not. It’s not until the rest of us fall silent that he turns to me.

“You’ve got something else for us,” he says, not even questioning it. At my momentary confusion he looks pointedly down at the gift box. Oh. Right.

“All of the crime scenes except Howe’s have already been released, but I stopped there on my way back from court. This is a total long shot, but…Lauren lives alone. None of the friends or family we talked with had dinner with her that night, or even the night before. But there were two sets of dishes in her sink; same food stuck to them, I think, though…well…they’re a bit moldy and gross, but looks like it might’ve been pasta sauce at some point. No breakfast or lunch dishes suggesting that maybe she ate the same thing two nights in a row. The rest of her place was pretty tidy, so it just didn’t seem like she’d leave them sit like that.”

“You’re thinking that what? The guy follows her home; she invites him in for dinner?” Baker balks.

I smile tolerantly at him. “That would be *awesome*, but no. I’m thinking we’re missing a possible witness. Someone who might be able to help us pin down a more accurate timeline. Maybe someone who saw her later than her poetry reading friends. Or who went out with her somewhere that she got the perp’s attention.” I look back to Gibbs. “I stopped by the BPD Lab, see if they could get anything off the dishes, but they’re pretty backed up and I don’t have enough to put a rush on it.” And, though I keep it to myself, I’ve more than run out of favors with our lab tech. Knew I shouldn’t have gone out with his sister…

“You want us to have our tech take a look,” Gibbs states. Again it’s not a question, but I nod in answer, anyway. He takes the last bite of his steak before he does ask a question. “Anything else for us?”

I have the distinct feeling that they’re about to do the dine-and-dash, leaving me in the dust, but I don’t really have much else to offer except one last theory. “It’s flimsy,” I apologize before I begin to present it.

“So’s everything else,” Baker reminds me.

“I think he’s escalating. Trying to find bigger challenges.”

“Why do you say that?” Fi asks curiously.

“For one, the disappearances seem to be happening more frequently. The first victims were all younger and physically smaller. They’d be likely easier to subdue quickly and probably rather easily. The last few, though, have been a little older and bigger. Lauren Howe is not only a lot taller than the other women, but she’s a fitness instructor over at the Y, and quite muscular. She’d likely be a lot harder to control once she was captured. Your missing man’s military, right? It’s safe to say he’s had some defense training?”

At Gibbs’ nod, I continue, feeling a bit uncomfortable with where I’m about to go. “I think our motivation is probably sexual.” I see Baker start to protest, but I cut him off. “There’re only a few reasons to kidnap someone. We haven’t had any ransom demands, he didn’t take any money, credit or ATM cards, and it’s pretty unlikely that they’re all being used to intimidate friends or relatives to be quiet about something. My guess is that this guy is probably sadistic and gets off on controlling others, torturing them and probably eventually killing them. It probably gets him more…excited the more his victim tries to fight him. The earlier victims were no longer satisfying him, so he started looking for ‘bigger’ prey.”

For a few moments that thought just hangs in the air. Fi and Baker look slightly sick, but I suspect that this thought had already crossed Gibbs’ mind. Then again, I doubt his expression ever gives away much of what he’s thinking.

I’m a little startled as suddenly Gibbs rises from his chair. As a force of habit, I stand up politely while Fi and Baker follow suit.

“Thank you for lunch, Detective,” Gibbs acknowledges, extending his hand to finally shake mine. His shake is impressively firm and strong without crushing my hand. I only hope he finds mine to be similar.

“Thank you,” Fi adds as she extends her hand to me as well.

I take it firmly between my hands, gazing down into her eyes. “Perhaps we can do this again some time?” I suggest, knowing that it will probably never happen, but taking her enthusiastic nod at face value. When I release her hand, she quickly starts going through her purse, even as her two escorts start heading for the door. I’m about to tell her that the check is on me (which apparently Gibbs and Baker have already assumed) when she hands me a business card. “I’ll call you,” I promise her as I lean down and give her a chaste kiss on the cheek.

She smiles brightly at me for a moment before she realizes that she’s being left behind. “Sorry! I’ve got to--“ I give her a wave as she rushes after the others.

I sigh as I place Fi’s card in my pocket and turn to sit back down to wait for the bill. On my plate there now sits an apple. My apple. I smile wanly as I pick it up, recognizing it as Gibbs’ way of dismissing me. I can’t help but feel a little disappointed at being left behind, but it’s not like I didn’t expect it. It’s not like they were ever going to keep me around during their investigation. Why would they? I’ve already given them everything I have to offer. Still I feel used. And more than a little bit…empty.

It’s only a minute or so later when I see the server approaching the table. I ready my card but he waves it away. “It’s been taken care of, Sir.” I blink in confusion. “The gentleman wished me to tell you to stop at the gate; you’ll need a visitor’s pass and someone to direct you to the lab.”

I can’t help but grin as I grab the black rose and take off after the NCIS team.

“…And lycopersicon esculentum,” Piggy concludes the report of his findings.

“Gesundheit,” an unfamiliar voice calls out from behind me. I whirl around and gape at the invader lurking just inside the door. Piggy squeals as he quickly ducks behind me. Bravery is clearly not one of his virtues. Given, the man in the doorway is at least half a foot taller than Pig, though I’d venture their weights are pretty similar.

“Hm. Perhaps I should have said ‘Bless you’?” the guy offers an alternative, flashing a grin as he steps a little farther into the room and I get a better look at him. Tall, boyishly handsome, perfect hair, perfect teeth…Ugh! I know his type: absurdly good looking--and something about him just screams that he knows it--but he looks like he’s all trying to impress people by wearing some ridiculously expensive looking suit and what I’m betting are Italian leather shoes. Talk about a total sleazoid! Just where does he think he is?

Actually, I don’t care where he thinks he is. What matters is he’s in my lab. What is he doing in my lab? He’s wearing a visitor’s badge, but nobody, and I mean nobody, comes into the lab without an escort. I don’t care if he’s the Director’s nephew or…or whoever he is, he’s not supposed to be here!

I glance around for a weapon of some sort. Snatching up the fire extinguisher, I point it at him, ready to fire.

The man’s hands fly up as if in surrender, but he looks far more amused than frightened. Okay, so fire extinguishers aren’t that scary, and he probably knows that the carbon dioxide foamy stuff isn’t harmful, but still!

I narrow my eyes as I take a step toward him, silently threatening to release my wrath upon him if he doesn’t get out. Obviously, it won’t cause any permanent damage, but it’ll probably make a really awesome splotch on the overpriced suit.

His mouth falls open slightly as if he’s going to protest, but he doesn’t. Still, he looks far closer to laughing than he does to leaving. In fact, infuriatingly, he lets out a small chuckle. My hand starts to tighten on the trigger.

“Hi. I’m Detective DiNozzo,” the guy introduces himself, his smarmy look not faltering. He slowly reaches down and opens his jacket enough to show me the badge fastened to his belt. I step threateningly toward him again, extinguisher still at the ready.

“Sorry if I scared you,” he adds, though he doesn’t look even the remotest bit repentant. “I’m guessing that nobody told you that I’m meeting Agents Fiora, Gibbs, and Thomas here.”

No. Nobody told me anything like that, I’m pretty sure I’d remember something like ‘Hey, Abs, some strange guy is going to randomly wander into the lab today’. The guy might know the right names to say, but how did he get down here without an escort?

As if he can hear my silent question, he answers. “ Mickey…” he motions behind him, though I don’t see any sign of the guard in question, “showed me down here.” He seems to be on the level, and he had to have had someone with him to get to our floor, but I still don’t quite trust him. What if he’s done something to Mickey? My God, the man could be like lying in a pool of blood in the elevators or stairway or something!

I spare a glance at Piggy, hoping that by now he’s pulling the alarm or something, but he’s actually cowering behind the desk. “Piggy, call Gibbs!” I hear him scurry as I return my full glare to the man in front of me. We stare at each other in silence as Piggy makes the call.

“They’re on their way down,” Piggy announces. “Said they’ve been expecting him.”

Yeah, okay, so maybe they were, but did anyone bother to tell me? Noooo.

“I know I’m hot and all…” the supposed detective prattles arrogantly. I raise an eyebrow as I scrutinize him, relaxing slightly as I notice that his piercingly green eyes are dancing with amusement. He motions to the extinguisher, “…but I think maybe you can put that away now.”

I hesitantly lower the extinguisher a little bit, but still don’t trust him enough to actually set it down. It’ll probably be a better weapon swinging it at him than spraying him with it anyway. So you better not make a move, Buster…

“Abby!” Fi admonishes me as she appears in the doorway. I glance at her long enough to see her motion for me to put the fire extinguisher away. “Abby, this is Tony,” Fi introduces him in a somewhat hushed whisper. I barely stop myself from wincing as I connect the name to a conversation we had earlier in the day. This is the guy she was telling me about? The guy she was meeting for lunch? Oh…no. I would have sworn she’d have better taste than this! I really need to get her to go out clubbing with me some time, introduce her around. The last thing she needs is to hook up with some…overgrown frat boy!

I force myself to smile, though, as I put down my non-weapon. “Sorry about that, I’m just not used to random people wandering into my lab,” I apologize crisply, probably sounding just about as sincere as he was when he apologized earlier.

“It’s alright,” he replies easily, ignoring the tone of my voice. “I sure wouldn’t ever run into you in a dark alley, though,” he adds, teasing. Oh come on. Tell me he is not flirting with me, right now. And in front of Fi, no less. Did I already call him a sleazoid? If not, I’m calling him one now.

“You think I’d be hanging out in alleys?” I shoot back, shutting him up. At least I think that’s what shut him up, but it could also have been the arrival of Gibbs and Baker.

“What’ve you got for us, Abs?” Gibbs asks.

“I don’t know, what’ve you got for me?” I ask, looking pointedly at the cup in his hand. I grin as he hands it to me. Caf-Pow! Yay! I take it eagerly and take a long sip while Piggy picks up his notebook and begins listing the substances he identified. I can’t help but grin as I watch Gibbs, Fi, and Baker’s faces glaze over just a bit.

“Lycowhatsit, now?” Detective DiNozzo asks, evidently pretending to be interested.

“Well, Detective,” I start to reply.

“You can call me Tony,” he interrupts me. I’m sure he probably thinks that grin he flashes is charming. And it probably works on a lot of girls. Oh, but I can’t believe that Fi is one of them. Sad, sad, sad!

“Well, Detective,” I repeat, smirking a little when his smile falters ever so slightly. “The substance on the plate, as Piggy was saying, is pasta sauce.”

“Well then why didn’t Pig just say it was pasta sauce?” Baker mutters under his breath.

“Come on, what’s the fun in that?” I ask cheekily. At Gibbs’ warning look, I continue with the analysis. “The good news is there’s no trace of any drugs or anything like that. Well, at least I think that’s good news. I mean, it could be bad because at least if there were signs of drugs you might have a lead to work with, but I’m glad that nobody actually got drugged. At least not by the pasta sauce…” When Gibbs clears his throat, sounding rather strained, I realize that I’ve let myself get carried away in thought again. Oops! Back to, “There weren’t any full prints on either plate,” I continue reporting our findings. “But I did find a couple partials. I’m running them now, but it’ll take a while.”

“Define ‘a while’,” Gibbs requests dryly.

“Well, we already did match one of the partials to Lauren Howe because we just did a comparison between her known print and these. The other one, though, we’re running through AFIS.” I point toward the computer screen as it’s scanning the database. “AFIS is the Automated Fingerprint Identification System,” I explain to Tony.

“I think I might possibly be familiar,” he replies sardonically.

“How long, Abby?” Gibbs asks.

“It depends. We don’t know if the person is even in the system. And with only a partial…” I can see Gibbs’ impatience growing and get directly to the answer, even though I know it won’t make him any happier. “Probably won’t have anything until at least tomorrow morning. And that’s even if this person is in the system.”

“So what you’re saying is, we’re at a stand-still,” Baker announces, earning himself a Gibbs-Glare Special.

“Have you tried comparing the partial to any of the ones found at other scenes?” Tony asks. “The record numbers should be in my notes there…”

Hm. Interesting. It won’t give us a name, but it might place someone at more than one scene…I quickly bring up a new screen and type in the new search parameters and wait as Gibbs looks on, over my shoulder.

“No match,” I announce, disappointed as the message flashes on my screen. “Good thought, though,” I compliment the detective before I notice that he’s not behind me anymore. I look around for him and my eyes widen as I notice him looking at Lieutenant Mass Spectrometer (hmm, he’s due for a promotion soon), his hand reaching toward it. Hey! “Don’t touch that!” I snap, launching myself across the room toward him.

He looks up, startled as I slap his hand before it can reach its destination. For just a moment I swear he looks just like my little 4 year old nephew when he’s just been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. And then he just beams innocently at me. “What is this thing?”

“It’s a mass spectrometer. It identifies molecules. And it’s really expensive,” I inform him tersely.

“Okay. No touching. I got you.”

I start to turn back to the others but stop again as out of the corner of my eye I see Tony starting to lean in toward my microscope. Okay, that’s it.

“The full database search isn’t going to complete until morning, so the lab is now closing. You don’t have to go home, but you can’t stay here,” I abruptly announce, looking pointedly at Fi and nodding toward Tony, hoping she’ll take the HINT and get him out of here.

“So, we’re at a standstill,” Baker confirms his earlier assessment as he glances at his watch. “You know, Sir, it’s after 5…” I flinch a little bit as Baker calls Gibbs ‘Sir’. After all this time, you’d think he’d know better! Especially when he’s asking for something he knows Gibbs isn’t going to go for!

“We should check out the club,” Fi cuts his wheedling to go home short.

“Club?” I ask, perking up a little. I could go for a little bit of clubbing.

“Club Fiasco,” Fi informs me. “It’s where our Lance Corporal was last seen.” “We’ll get Friday night’s receipts and ask around, see if anyone saw anything.” She turns to Gibbs, seeking his permission. When he nods, she looks longingly over at Tony, who is…

“Hey! Don’t touch that!” I cry out, as I spot him hovering over the degausser. He looks up guiltily, then flashes me another of his “charming” grins. Ugh! He is just like a little kid! What does Fi see in him? I don’t get it! But…she does like him, and apparently she’s too shy to ask him to go with her to the club.

“We should all go,” I suggest for her. “Get the info and then maybe have a little fun.”

Tony’s grin widens and he looks over at Baker. “Yeah, I’ll give my partner a call, have him meet us there for a little reconnaissance mission.” Baker groans, but Fi laughs a little bit. There’s got to be a story behind that somewhere…

“So, we’re going?”

Tony glances at each of us and I can see him weighing the decision, looking suddenly a little bit nervous. Probably worried about going on a second date with the same person, I bet; I know his type. I wonder if it counts as a second date if it’s still the same day. Or if the first one was crashed by someone’s boss and partner. I’ll have to ask Fi how that went. I wish I could have seen the look on his face! Maybe this should count as their first date. If Fi has any sense, maybe it’ll be their last, too. I swear, if he hurts her I’ll…I don’t know what, but he’ll be sorry. And nobody will ever be able to trace it back to me.

“Yeah, we’re going,” he decides aloud. “I just have to make a quick stop at home, but I’ll meet you there.”

“How about you, Gibbs?” I cheerfully ask, though I know he’ll never agree to it. I give him an extra disappointed look when he just shakes his head, but it only makes him smile. I turn to my assistant. “You coming, Piggy?”

Piggy looks really surprised by the invitation. He nervously adjusts his glasses and sweeps the long strand of hair out of his face. I try not to stare at the oily spot that stays behind but it really is kind of gross. I sort of hope that he’ll say no to the invite, but it just didn’t seem right not to ask. “Sure. Where is this place?”

I start to explain, but stop as Tony reaches for Pig’s notebook and pen. Yeah, that’s probably a better idea. I’m a little surprised that he’s actually helping Pig. His type usually just tries to pretend that guys like Piggy don’t exist, but Tony quickly sketches out a little map, marking the exit number and street names. I wonder how often he must go there to just know that stuff.

“Think I should ask Ducky?” I suggest, knowing full well that he won’t come, but feeling like we should at least make the invite.

“Ducky?” Tony asks.

“Our medical examiner. You’re going to love him,” I explain.

“So…Piggy and Ducky,” he mulls over the names while I make the call down to autopsy. “Does that make you Doggy?” he asks Baker and gets a rude gesture in reply. “Perhaps Assy…” Tony amends, grinning at Baker’s borderline murderous look. He quickly turns back to Fi. “Helloooo, Kitty!”

As I expected, Ducky declines the invite to join us. “I would love to, Abigail, and I thank you for thinking of me, but I’m afraid it’s Mother’s bridge night. I don’t trust her lot to not make off with our silver,” he begs off, and I’m fairly certain that he’s not kidding. I’ve got to meet Mrs. Mallard some day…

I almost suggest to Fi that we drive down to Baltimore together so that I can grill her about the sort-of date, but decide against it. She’ll probably want to leave a lot earlier than I will. Besides, while I was hoping to go out and happen to have my club attire with me, I’m sure she’ll want to go home and change.

Except that she doesn’t. I groan as I see her entering the club an hour and a half later wearing her work outfit. Oh, Fi, that is so not club worthy! I wave her over. When she reaches me, I tug at her jacket, trying to get her to take the ugly thing off. That only helps so much, though; the skirt is still pretty frumpy, and the sweater’s nice and all, but a little out of place at a club like this.

“Want to borrow my collar?” I offer, trying to help her fit in.

“No. Thanks, though,” she replies, stopping me before I can get it unsnapped. I almost laugh at how uncomfortable she appears about the idea of wearing it. “Are the others here yet?” she asks, quickly changing the topic.

“You mean is Tony here yet?” I tease her just a little bit. “No, I haven’t seen him. Baker’s over there, though,” I point out where Baker is talking with a group of older guys. I think I might recognize one of the guys as Baker’s brother, so I’m guessing that they’re probably cops. They’re not in uniform but they really don’t look like they belong in a club like this; they look way too clean cut. Then again, so do Baker and Fi.

“We should probably go let him know we’re here…”

I smile at the reluctant tone in her voice. “Oh give him a few minutes,” I suggest, but she shakes her head.

“I’m going to go get him and then go talk to the owner, get the receipts, see if we can find anything. If you see Tony, tell him…”

“That you think he’s totally hot and you want to take him home?” I finish for her, even though I know that’s not what she was going to say. I smirk as she blushes a deeper shade of red. “Don’t worry, I’ll keep him occupied for you,” I assure her. And keep his eyes from wandering to any of the other women here, I silently add.

I sit at the table for a couple minutes while Fi goes to talk to Baker, but I can only sit alone for so long, so I check to be sure there’s nothing that might get stolen from Fi’s jacket pockets, and then abandon it at the table. If someone takes the jacket itself, it’ll be doing her a favor, I decide as I head onto the dance floor to have a little fun.

It’s during the fourth song that I happen to spot Tony standing at the entrance. Unlike Fi and Baker, he’s taken the time to go home and dress more appropriately for clubbing. He still looks a bit too preppy for my tastes, but I have to say he looks much better in a black T, casual jacket, and jeans than he did in the old fogey suit. I see him scanning the crowd and I jump up a few times, waving to him. A wide grin spreads across his face as he sees me and he starts heading closer, dancing his way toward me.

“Hey, Abby!” he greets, yelling over the noise of the crowd as he falls into place beside me. His dance moves have a lot to be desired, but I credit him for at least trying. Not enough to be seen dancing with him, though. I grab his wrist and lead him back to our table. Unfortunately, nobody has touched Fi’s jacket, but at least it’s stopped someone else from taking our table.

I wave to Fi to make sure she sees that Tony’s arrived. She and Baker look like they’re just wrapping up talking with a guy I assume to be the club manager. She gives me a little wave and smiles radiantly at Tony, who practically glows as he waves back at her.

“Nice collar,” Tony comments as he plops into the chair next to mine.

“Well, of course it is,” I reply with a smirk. It’s mine after all. “Want to borrow it?” I test him. To my surprise, his eyes light up and he nods. I hesitate, not sure if I actually want to hand it over. He just doesn’t strike me as even remotely close to being into the Goth scene, and he’s probably just going to make fun of it. Guys like him always do. Except that there doesn’t look like there’s any malice in his expression. He’s probably testing me every bit as much as I’m testing him, I realize and call his bluff. I reach up and take off the collar, extending it toward him.

“What do you think: is it me?” he asks, tipping his chin up and turning to show me his profile, modeling the collar for me. “Does it turn you on?” he mockingly flirts in a low voice.

“Not even a little,” I reply, exaggerating my disinterest. He may not be my type, but I admit that he does look kind of hot. In fact, he’d look awesome if we spiked his hair just a little and maybe got him some guyliner. Ooh. Yeah, that’d rock. I’m sure his ego doesn’t need any stroking from me, though.

“Ah well, can’t blame a guy for trying,” he says with a faux wistful sigh. “Hey, about earlier…I kind of got the feeling that we started off on the wrong foot.”

“Now what could possibly have given you that idea?” I ask wryly. He only grins, though, taking my sarcasm in his stride as he plucks something from his belt and extends it toward me. A black rose. I look at him in confusion.

“Hey!” Baker snaps angrily as he reaches our table and sees what Tony’s handing to me. He reaches to grab it from Tony, who swiftly pulls it out of his reach.

“You didn’t want it when I offered, you can’t have it now,” Tony taunts lightly. I raise an eyebrow, wondering what the story there is. Neither one tells me, but the look of sheer embarrassment on Baker’s face says as much as I really need to know, anyway.

Tony looks back to me and once again presents the rose. “A black rose is a symbol of a new beginning, or starting over. Or starting a new adventure,” he explains, and I’m pleasantly surprised he knows that; most people always assume it’s some sort of death threat or something. Tony’s not that bad, I decide. As long as he stays out of my lab.

“Thanks!” I accept the rose and break off most of the stem so that I can tuck the bud it into my hair. Tony nods appreciatively before rising to his feet as he sees Fi approaching. I quickly scoot over to give her the chair next to his.

“Did you guys get what you needed?” I ask as she reaches us.

“The manager is getting Friday’s receipts together,” she replies. “It’ll probably be a little while, though.”

“Then we should totally dance,” I ‘suggest’ as I take her wrist and start tugging her toward the floor, motioning for Tony to come with us. I figure it’ll save them a bit of time since Fi will probably never ask him and most guys are too dense to figure out that a girl might want him to ask her.

We start dancing as a group, but after a short time I make my escape. Mission accomplished. I watch for a few moments to make sure they don’t just head back to the table or something lame before seeking out a partner or two of my own.

“Abby!” someone interrupts me a few songs later.

“Pig, you came!” I greet him as I turn around. I give him a quick hug and then tug on his arm, trying to get him to start moving with the music. It quickly becomes clear that he is a man with absolutely no rhythm. He looks incredibly uncomfortable every time anyone else gets too close, which is pretty much a constant.

Much as I’d rather dance, it doesn’t seem right to abandon Pig or make him stay on the floor when he’s clearly not having any fun. I look around to see if maybe Fi and Tony have gone back to the table yet, or if I can find someone else that Pig could hang around with. Nobody is back at our table, but after a few moments, I spot the pair talking to some of the guys Baker was talking with earlier. I don’t really feel like hanging out with the mod squad, but I lead Pig over to them anyway.

“Hey, Enzo! Long time no see!” one of the guys greets.

“Hey, Will,” Pig greets. For a moment I’m just glad that there are other people here that he knows, but then I realize he doesn’t look any more comfortable here than he did on the dance floor. Hm. Guess I probably shouldn’t leave them just yet, then.

“You two know each other?” I ask them, hoping to get a good conversation going so that I can duck out.

“Yeah, Enzo here used to work down in the lab. Baltimore PD,” Will informs me. I knew he’d given up a good job to work at NCIS. It just sucks that they’re talking about letting him go, but at least I know Gibbs’ll make sure that he doesn’t get fired. “Officer Will Grant,” the officer introduces himself to me.

“Oh, hey,” Tony notices our arrival. “Abby, Pig, these are some of the guys from the station.”

One of the officers burst out laughing as he looks at Piggy. “Pig? Oh that’s rich…”

Tony looks slightly startled, then a little bit guilty as Pig blanches. Tony’s not the one who should feel guilty; he didn’t know that was just my little nickname for my assistant. Besides, Tony’s not the jerk laughing at Piggy about it. I glare at the officer as I sling my arm around Piggy’s shoulders, challenging him to say something more. He pales a little bit himself and mutters something that probably is supposed to be an apology.

In an attempt to ease the awkwardness, Tony quickly begins to introduce us both to everyone at the table, including his partner, who I recognize as Baker’s brother, Pat. I appreciate Tony’s effort, but frankly, most of the officers’ names go in one ear and out the other. “And last, quite possibly least, this is Det. Bobby Gale.”

“Robert,” Detective Gale corrects sharply, otherwise ignoring Tony’s jab. “Hey, Enzo.”

Pig nods amicably at Gale, but still looks incredibly uneasy about being here. I sigh, realizing that I’m probably not going to be able to get back on the dance floor any time soon since I just wouldn’t feel right ditching him.

“Anyone need anything from the bar?” I ask and am quickly inundated with requests. “Come help me carry?” I ask Piggy, who looks relieved to have an excuse to get away from the group for a little while. I can’t help but wonder why he decided to come if he didn’t want to be around people. The more the merrier doesn’t seem to be a philosophy that agrees with him.

I’m a little surprised when we reach the bar to find that Tony has followed us. “Figured you could use a bit of my muscle to help out,” he says lightly as he flexes a little for show. I roll my eyes even though I can tell he isn’t being serious about it. At least I don’t think he is. I hope not, because frankly it’s not that impressive. Still, a couple extra hands would be good. “Sorry about that back there,” I hear him quietly saying to Piggy as I wave to get the bartender’s attention. Yeah, he really isn’t that bad.

“It’s okay, Detective.”

“Call me Tony.”

“Enzo…or Pig’s fine,” he adds. “I think I remember you from the station…”

For a moment, Tony looks slightly guilty and I’m guessing he doesn’t remember Pig, but he quickly recovers and asks if Pig assisted at all on some case or another that I quickly tune out. I smile as I hear Piggy relaxing a little bit as the two of them start chattering about ‘old times’ at the BPD. Maybe I’ll get a chance to dance some more, after all. While we wait for our drinks I scan the dance floor looking for a promising partner.

By the time we get the drinks back to the table, I think Piggy has completely forgotten I’m here--not that I mind at all. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him more animated than he is as he regales some story about another case he assisted on before he’d come to NCIS.

My work here is done, and with him occupied I don’t feel any guilt at all as I slip away into the crowd and don’t return until the DJ decides it’s time for some slow dancing. I do feel a little bit guilty, though, when I finally return to the table and discover that Piggy has been completely monopolizing Tony’s time. Oops. It appears that while I was gone, most of the party has dispersed, but Tony, Baker, Pat, Gale, and Pig still remain.

“This rounds on me!” Det. Thomas loudly announces as he gets up from the table.

“Nah, thanks, Pat, but I think I better not if I’m gonna drive,” Tony declines.

Pat nods good-naturedly. “Yeah, you’re probably right, Kid. Actually, if we’re still gonna get that pizza, we should probably just have a round of sodas then call it a night.” Tony nods. “Anyone else?”

“I think I’m just going to head out,” Baker informs the others. “I’m fine,” he adds as his brother looks at him pointedly. “Only had one, and it’s been half an hour. I’m not stupid.”

“Yeah, sure you’re not,” Pat mocks him, but nods. “See you later, bro,” he calls as Baker takes his leave.

“I should probably get going, too,” Gale announces as he gets to his feet.

“Me, too,” Piggy agrees, though he looks a little reluctant.

“I got our tab,” Tony announces as he pulls a few bills from his wallet and slaps them down on the table. “You get the pizza,” he adds, looking over at Pat as he shoves his wallet back into his pocket.

“No complaints here. Pretty sure I got the better deal. Anything for you, Doll?” Pat asks me as he notices me. Doll? I cock my eyebrow a bit, but smile anyway.

“Thanks, but I’m good,” I assure him.

“Damn straight you are,” he winks at me as he heads up to the bar.

Tony starts to rise to his feet as I reach the table, but is suddenly thrown off balance as Gale accidentally knocks into Piggy, who takes Tony down with him when he falls. I can’t help but laugh as they struggle to disentangle themselves.

“You sure you should be driving, Bobby?” Tony asks cheerfully as he helps Piggy to his feet.

“Robert,” Gale growls, ignoring the question, even though it’s a good one.

“You sure?” Tony pushes, all traces of humor suddenly absent from his voice. The detective just shakes his head and walks away. For a few moments Tony appears to be weighing his options before reluctantly turning his attention back to Pig, instead. “You okay?”

“Yeah. Don’t worry, your friend only had one drink and it’s been over an hour,” Pig assures him, smiling at Tony’s relieved expression. “Thanks for inviting me out tonight,” he says to both of us before he trails after Gale.

“So…have fun?” Tony asks, the lightness back in his voice. He pulls out the chair next to his for me.

“Yeah, great crowd tonight. Thanks for…” I motion toward Pig as he’s walking away.

Tony lets out a little chuckle. “He’s okay…for a brainiac.” I narrow my eyes, wondering if he’s lumping me into the ‘brainiac’ category. His grin widens and he cocks an eyebrow as if in challenge. I poke him, giving him the evil eye. “You’re an exception, cuz you’re a hot gothy brainiac,” he exempts me flirtatiously.

I pretend to swoon.

“Yeah, I have that effect on all the girls,” he gloats. “Women,” he quickly amends as I mock glare at him.

“So, how’d it go with Fi?” I eagerly awaiting the scoop on whether or not there’ll be a third date in their future. That is if either this afternoon or tonight can actually be counted as a date. Which really, they probably shouldn't count since they didn’t really end up getting any time alone at all. At least they did dance a little.

“She found someone a little more her speed,” he says, nodding briefly toward the dance floor. I blink as I turn and see that Fi’s there, slow dancing with Officer Grant.

“Oh.” I don’t really know what else to say as I watch them, feeling suddenly quite awkward.

“Knew I shouldn’t have introduced them.” I can’t quite tell if his smile is genuine or not.

“She’s too old for him anyway, right, Kid?” Pat teases as he sets a soda down in front of Tony and plops down next to us. “Hell, I bet she’s old enough to be one of your usual date’s mamas.” Either Pat is exaggerating, or Tony dates eight year olds. Ew. I think I’ll give him the benefit of the doubt.

“Coo coo ca-choo, Mrs. Robinson,” Tony replies with a grin and raises his glass as if toasting. “The Graduate,” he explains to me as Pat knocks his glass against Tony’s to complete the toast. “1967. Dustin Hoffman has an affair with his girlfriend’s mom, Anne Bancroft, aka Mrs. Robinson.” He wags his eyebrows a couple times for emphasis.

“Ugh,” I groan in mock disgust, which turns at least slightly real as I watch the both men guzzle down their entire sodas without even pausing to take a breath. Yikes.

“Well, it’s been nice meetin’ you, Doll,” Pat says to me as he slams the empty glass down on the table and rises to his feet. “See you later, Kid.” I catch him arching an eyebrow at Tony and nodding toward me before he heads out.

Tony shakes his head in amusement as sets his empty glass down on the table. “Don’t suppose you want to dance a bit more?” he asks. He’s nice and all, but I don’t want to give him the wrong idea. He’s still just not my type. Plus, even though it appears things aren’t going to work out between him and Fi, I don’t want to cause any awkwardness there. ”Just friends,” he assures me quietly when he notices my hesitation. “Okay, and maybe a little to make all the other guys jealous,” Tony adds mischievously.

“Ooh. Flattery will get you… well, maybe a dance or two,” I accept his offer and follow him back to the floor. I try to catch Fi’s attention to make sure it’s okay, but she’s far too wrapped up with Officer Grant to notice. At least I tried.

Dancing with Tony turns out to be really…comfortable. He’s a lot better than I expected him to be after witnessing his ‘moves’ earlier. And, faithful to his assurance that we dance just as friends, I never once have to stop him from having wandering hands.

“I should probably go,” I reluctantly admit when the music turns wild again a couple songs later. “Gibbs is going to want a report early in the morning.” I decide to let Tony assume that that means I intend to actually sleep before going in, but I’ll probably just head back to the lab for a few hours to run a few more tests.

“I’ll walk you to your car,” he offers.

“Ooh, a gentleman,” I tease lightly.

“Hey, it’s for my own protection. Dark alley and all,” he scoffs. And that megawatt smile is back again.

“I should at least let Fi know I’m going.”

“I could use a bit of fresh air,” he declines to follow me, making me wonder if he’s really all that okay with being jilted after all. “I’ll wait right outside.”

It takes me a couple minutes to find Fi, and another minute to pry her attention away from Officer Grant long enough to talk to alert her, “I’m taking off. You okay to get home?” I ask. I figure even though we don’t really know him, it’s probably safe enough to leave her in the company of a police officer. Besides, Tony knows him and didn’t seem to worry about it. Then again, we don’t really know Tony, either...I frown, looking past her to the guy and sizing him up again, wary about breaking the cardinal rule of not leaving friends alone with strange guys.

Fi sees my look and laughs lightly. “I’ll be fine,” she promises me. “Don’t worry, I have backup.” And then she frowns. “What about you? Should we walk you out?”

“Nah, I got it covered.”

At least I thought I did, but when I get outside, I find no sign of Tony. Would he really offer to walk me to my car and then just leave? It’s possible, but I kind of doubt it. I frown as I scan the area, searching for him to no avail. “Great. Just great.” It’s a little bit chilly out, and I wonder if maybe he went back inside and I missed him somehow. Or maybe he stopped into the bathroom? Should I wait for him or just go on? I don’t really feel threatened walking to my car alone, but I don’t want to leave him hanging if he is still around.

I jump as I hear a loud clanging sound coming from the alley.

“Tony?” I cautiously move a little closer to the corner. I feel safe enough out here, but I don’t exactly feel like tempting fate. “I thought you didn’t want to meet me in a dark alley,” I call out as I pull out my cell phone, poised to dial Fi. She’s just inside and has backup. That’s far better than investigating alone. When I hear a muffled yelp and some scuffling, I immediately hit SEND. “Just so you know, the police are on their way!” I lie as I step just a little bit closer, listening for further sounds of struggle. I almost turn and flee as I hear someone running, but then I realize whoever it is sounds like they’re moving further down the alley rather than toward me.

“Abby, are you okay?” I hear Fi answering her phone but before I can answer I hear something else. Someone is still in the alley. Alternately coughing and gasping as they stagger closer.

“Trouble in the alley. Get out here,” I quickly explain as I decide to take a chance and peek around the corner, ready to run away if the situation warrants. My eyes widen, though, as I see Tony lurching toward me. I drop my phone and leap forward, moving to support him before he collapses. Before I reach him though, he steps back, raising his hands in a defensive gesture warning me to stay back, to not touch him.

“What happened?” I blurt out and wince at the stupidity of the question. Clearly he’s been attacked. His lip is split and his clothes are in complete disarray. He must have fought hard, because his face is unnaturally red and he’s clearly having trouble catching his breath.

I know he doesn’t want me to touch him, but when he pitches forward, dropping to his knees, I quickly move to his side. “Don’t,” he warns me again, his voice raspy. “Crime scene.” Such a cop! Worried about that at a time like this?

“I’ll make sure no one gets back here,” I assure him, reaching to help him up again.

“No.” He jerks away again, and I notice that he’s being really careful not to let his hands touch the ground even as he sways, clearly struggling to stay even partially upright. “Me.” I don’t understand until he adds. “Think I scratched one. Make sure they get scrapings.”

“Abby!” I hear Fi’s yelling my name.

“Over here! It’s Tony!” I call back to her. A few moments later she rounds the corner and see us.

“I’ll call for an ambulance,” Fi announces as she takes in Tony’s appearance.

“No, I’m fine,” he protests. “Just…need to catch my breath.”

“We should get the collar off,” I realize that it might be a little bit restricting.

“No, don’t touch,” he stops me again. “Fingerprints.” On the collar? My eyes widen as I notice that there’s chafing on his neck from where the collar must have been digging into his skin.

“Did you see him?” Fi asks.

“Them,” Tony corrects. “At least two. But no.” He sounds extremely frustrated with the admission. His breath is slowly returning to normal, but he still looks ready to drop over.

“I think you really need to go to Emergency.”

Again he shakes his head. “No. Just process me,” he insists. “Be gentle,” he adds with a little grin.

Fi hesitates for a moment. “I’ll call Ducky, have him meet you in autopsy,” she says to me.

“I’m not dead,” Tony objects. “Not planning on being so any time soon.”

“If you’re not going to the hospital, you’re at least being seen by Ducky,” she insists. “You take him in. I’ll get Baker and Gibbs here to see if we can find anything.”

“The bag,” Tony informs her and nods toward a dark object on the ground a few yards behind us. “Had it over my head. Might be some trace on it.” Oh my God! I fight the urge to hug him. I can’t believe someone attacked him like this!

“Any idea…” Fi starts to ask.

“Why?” he finishes, his grin fading again. He shakes his head. “Might’ve just been a random mugging,” he says, though he sounds doubtful. “Thought I heard someone call for help, got blindsided when I came around the corner. Damn it, I should have known better,” he chides himself.

“They take anything?”

Tony glances at me. “Check my pocket? I don’t want to…” he looks pointedly at his hands.

“Yeah, you’re just hoping I try to cop a feel,” I tease, even though my heart isn’t really in it. I slip my hand into his pocket, but don’t feel anything. “Nada.”

“My wallet,” he grumbles. “My keys. And cell.” He seems to be mulling something over before he speaks again. “I don’t think that’s what they were after, though,” he admits softly. He suddenly looks really uncomfortable. “I’m pretty sure they were trying to take me.”

 “Nuh-uh uh!  Leave it. You know it looks better on me,” I hear a young man’s taunting voice as I approach the doors to Autopsy.

“It so does not,” Abby immediately denies the charge, an indignant growl in her voice. “Now turn around so I can get it off.”

“You just want to undress me.”

Oh my. I raise my eyebrows and peek through the window to make sure I’m not interrupting anything.

“Shut up and turn around,” Abby demands, her countenance determined yet her amusement quite evident.  “You said there might be prints on it, so give me the collar.”

“Is the patient giving you a hard time, Abby?” I inquire as I push open the door and make my way into the room.  I frown slightly as the young man spins to face me, clearly startled by my sudden appearance. He nearly topples as he takes a quick step backward. “Oh, I do apologize,” I soothe, feeling slightly guilty that I didn’t approach more carefully. Abby did warn me when she called that the poor boy had just been attacked. “I’m not used to having to alert my patients of my presence. I’m Doctor Donald Mallard,” I introduce myself.

“Detective Anthony DiNozzo,” he returns. “Tony.” Abby takes advantage of the detective’s distraction and quickly reaches to remove the collar he is wearing. As the disconcerting purpling marks the studded leather was concealing briefly come into view the young man’s hands reflexively reach up to hide the damage. I quickly realize as his attention darts briefly from me to Abby that it is not for my benefit that he is trying to cover up.

Alas, his effort is in vain and he looks guilty as she lets out a sympathetic gasp. “Why didn’t you tell us it was that bad? I knew we should have taken you to the hospital!” She starts to move closer and I recognize an impending Abby-hug, but Anthony stops her, motioning toward the collar she has in her hands. Her lips purse and I can see her weighing the decision for a moment before she turns back to her task of placing it into an evidence bag, not tearing her eyes away from him for a moment.

“Sorry for calling you out of bed at this hour, Doctor Mallard,” Tony apologizes and for the first time the slight rasp in his voice catches my attention. I wonder if his voice is naturally hoarse or if it’s a possible side effect from his near-strangulation.  “It really wasn’t necessary,” he adds bashfully.

“Please, call me ‘Ducky’. And I’m afraid that your wounds tell me another story,” I grimly disagree with his assessment. “Besides, although I must say I would rather have met you under different circumstances, I cannot thank you and Abigail enough for giving me an excuse to end my mother’s bridge party early.” I smile as he tilts his head slightly and his eyes flick up toward the clock, squinting as he tries to gauge the time. “They usually don’t clear out until the wee hours, and they are a scary lot when the gin runs dry,” I elaborate for him. “Now, how about you have a lie down,” I pat the exam table. When he hesitates, I think I realize the problem. “Abby, why don’t you go on up and start some of those tests?”

For a few moments her brow furrows, but then she gets it. “Oh! Sure. Yeah. Me. Here. Exam. Awkward.” Awkward, yes; much like her present use of the English language, I suppose. I smile patiently as she turns to gather the evidence bags she’s collected.

“Oh wait!” She grabs a large evidence bag and turns back to Tony. “There might be trace.”

She grins mischievously as she motions for him to hand over his jacket.

“See, I knew you just wanted to undress me,” he teases as he relinquishes it. Though I presumed the young detective’s discomfort to be reluctance at being examined whilst in Abigail’s presence, he does not seem to be ill at ease disrobing in front of her. There may be another reason then, perhaps.

“I think I may have an extra jumper in my office. Won’t be a proper fit, of course…” I offer as I move to retrieve the clothing without waiting for response.

“Got an extra set of those gloves?” I hear him request.  

“No need. Your trace is already on ‘em, so hand ‘em over,” Abby taunts as she bags his newly removed shirt.

“He may have…I think one of them…” he stumbles on the words, his voice overly quiet and devoid of the confident humor that had, until now, graced it. I turn back toward them, concerned at the sudden change in the young man’s demeanor. “I wasn’t the one who unbuckled my belt,” he finally settles on an explanation for his request, his voice strengthening again as his discomfort makes way for anger. “There are possibly some prints on it.”

I frown as I now see that there is some pebbling across his back, indicating that he was likely heavily pinned either down on the pavement or perhaps against a wall. There is also some faint bruising on his hips, dipping below the waistline of his jeans.  Oh. I feel a surge of sympathy as I consider the implication of the direction his assault may have taken had his struggles and Abigail’s intervention not halted it.

“On the button, too. I probably already messed it up; I wasn’t thinking,” he adds contritely. The way he avoids looking at either of us makes me wonder if he expects us to chastise him for possibly damaging evidence. It looks as though he may be doing enough of that nonsense to himself.  Between the strangulation and the other assault, I believe we were lucky that he had the wits about him to think about preserving evidence at all.

I shake my head as I continue into my office, providing him a small bit of privacy. While I collect the jumper, the pair of them continue speaking though I cannot hear them quite well enough to understand. That is until I hear him protest, “Hey! Careful there! Do you really have to--”

“If there is a latent print, we don’t want to risk losing it. Just hold still.”

“Holding still. Holding perfectly still.” He repeats the words as if reciting a mantra. I realize why as I return from my office to find Abby kneeling before the young man as she carefully cuts the fabric around the button of his jeans. He absently crosses his arms across his abdomen, covering a few scrapes that echo the ones from his back. As discomfited as he was by his revelation, he once again seems at ease even as the remains of his jeans pool at his feet.  “You know,” he laments conversationally, “I don’t usually get this intimate on a first date.”

“Date? Since when were we on any sort of date? As if I’d even think of going out with a guy like you,” Abby teases, though there’s an edge to her voice that leads me to believe that she is more upset than she wants to appear. Despite her words, and their outward appearances, it would not surprise me in the slightest if something were to develop between them. At the very least, they seem to share a rather unique sense of humor.

“As if you wouldn’t,” he either proves my point or shows himself to be rather conceited.

“I bet you don’t even have any tattoos,” Abby derides him. I happen to know that is not a requisite in the men Abby does go out with but considering her own, it does not seem far-fetched that she would require them. “Are those silk?” she asks, tugging at his black shorts.

“Of course,” he replies indignantly, as though the answer should be obvious. “You won’t be needing them,” he adds quickly, giving her hand a slight tap.  “But if you want them off me, arrangements can be made.”

“Ach! You wish!”

His only answer is a wag of his eyebrows.

When he sees the jumper in my hands he steps out of his jeans and reaches for it. I set it aside, however. “It will be easier to examine you without this for now,” I explain. “All right then, Anthony. On the table you go. Let’s have a look at you.”

I watch curiously as the young man turns, swaying slightly before steadying himself. I frown as I recall his stumble upon my arrival. He has remained fairly stationary since that time, I realize. I wonder if perhaps his balance may be impaired. They were at a bar this evening, so there is a possibility that he is simply suffering the effects of inebriation, but I best check for head injuries.

“Do you need assistance?” I ask, noting his hesitation.

He lets out an indignant huff. “No. ‘Course not,” he insists quickly, though methinks he doth protest too much. I prepare myself to catch him should he slip as he clumsily hops up to sit on the exam table. “Whoa!” he blurts out, jumping slightly and his eyes widen. “Cold!” he complains and I can’t help but chuckle a little bit.

“Sorry, never have to worry about that with most of my visitors.” He sways dangerously but manages to stabilize before Abby or I reach him. “You look ready to keel over; perhaps you should have a lie down.”

He lets out a small uncomfortable laugh that sounds quite forced. “You’ll have to pardon me if I feel a little uneasy about doing that here, Doc…Ducky.”

“Hmm?” I ask absently as I gather my exam tools together. Then I realize what has him bothered: the autopsy table. I smile faintly. “Oh. Yes. Well, I’m sure Abigail will stop me before I get carried away and make a Y incision or anything…” I can’t resist pulling his leg just a little bit.

He grimaces, but lies back, closing his eyes as he rests his head against the table. He remains silent as I quickly perform the initial exam. I’m most concerned about the possible injuries caused by strangulation, so I use my stethoscope to listen to his lungs, making sure there are no signs of pulmonary edema. Though I do not hear any crackles as of yet, he will need to be vigilant as pneumonia often develops after such attacks. He will need to be watched over for at least the next 36 hours in case the condition worsens.

“Are you having any pain or problems swallowing?” I inquire casually as I peer at the faint circular bruises on his neck. Likely caused by his own hands as he tried to stop the collar from cutting off his air supply, I grimly note as I pull on a pair of gloves so that I can feel his neck for unusual swelling.

“Not really…well, a little maybe,” he revises as his eyes meet mine. So there is possible damage to his larynx cartilage or possibly even the hyoid bone. It is fortunate he is young, as the two halves of the hyoid generally don’t fuse until one is in their 30s. Still, we’ll want to get a soft tissue neck x-ray to be sure.

“A little pain? Difficulty? Both?”

“If you start having any, no matter how ‘insignificant’ you believe it to be, I need you to tell me immediately.” He nods seriously. “Now, this is very important. Did you at any time lose consciousness?” It takes only 10 seconds for one to lose consciousness if both carotid arteries were blocked, or if the trachea was closed off. In either case, the odds of internal damage greatly increase.

He considers for a moment before answering. “No. I started to, I think. Everything was a little gray around the edges, you know?” his voice is noticeably shaky at the disclosure. I believe it to be more a case of nerves than due to any damage, however.  The reality of how close he came to not being here with us must be hitting home.  As if to confirm my suspicion, his breath starts coming out in quick shallow huffs. “I…think I’m having trouble breathing.”

I chuckle a little despite the seriousness of the situation. “I do believe that would be because you’re starting to panic,” I inform him gently. “You need to try to relax before you hyperventilate.” I glance up at Abby, who is still worriedly watching.  I give her a small nod and she quickly moves closer, reaching out and soothingly stroking his hair. “You know this reminds me of an old friend of mine while I was studying at Eton…”

“Ducky,” Abby cuts me off softly. Yes. Perhaps now is not a good time to regale the tale of my unfortunate classmate who frequently worked himself into a vicious cycle of panicking until he couldn’t breathe and then panicking about not being able to breathe, usually ending the cycle only when the poor lad passed out cold. Another time, perhaps.  

Tony’s breath slowly evens out until he has it back under control. Satisfied that he’s prepared to continue, I pick up my pen light and lean closer to him, pointing it first into his left eye, then into his right. Pupil size equal, but reaction is somewhat more sluggish than I’d like. Petechiae is present, which is highly common in ligature strangulation cases. Thankfully, there does not appear to be any subconjunctival hemorrhaging. I notice as I peer into his eyes that he is not wearing contacts. I think back to how he had to squint to look at the clock. Did he lose glasses in the struggle, or is he experiencing blurry vision perhaps? “How is your vision now?”

“Still kind of fuzzy,” he confesses. Then he frowns a little. “Actually you know it’s weird because that actually happened before…” His brow furrows.

“Before?” I prompt.

“Before I went outside. I started feeling a little light headed.”

“I thought you just didn’t want to talk to Fi,” Abby blurts out. “Oh! I should have seen it. I could have done something. I should have--"

Tony looks up at her, a faint smile once again gracing his lips. “You should have known I was coming down with something? I just felt a little tired. A little nauseous is all. Figured some fresh air would wake me up for the drive home. Seriously, I think it’s just the flu or something,” he tries to pass off the concern.

“Maybe,” I concede, though I have my doubts. Sudden light-headedness, nausea, loss of balance, blurry vision; the symptoms are pointing to something much more nefarious than the onset of a flu or virus. “I think perhaps we should collect some samples.”

“Samples?” he asks, sounding slightly wary.

“Blood. And…” I reach for a urine cup and hand it to him with a smile.

 He looks at it for a few moments then he suddenly pales. “They did try to drug me.” I nod compassionately. “No. Not inside,” he clarifies. “In the alley. I felt a prick, but I thought I knocked the syringe away from him before he got a chance to…what if I didn’t?” He struggles to sit up as he pushes the side of his silk boxers down just enough to expose a spot on his hip. Sure enough there is a tiny needle mark directly over the ventrogluteal muscle. It was likely done by someone experienced with giving shots, then, I surmise. “I can’t believe I forgot about it but I was so busy trying to get the collar off and trying to stop him from…” He pauses and takes a deep calming breath even as his eyes widen. “What if I didn’t knock it away in time? What did they give me…?”

“It’ll be okay, Anthony.” He does calm somewhat, but the look he gives me is one of incredulity. Hmm. My platitude does seem rather paltry now that I think about it. “Let us get some samples for Abby to take up to the lab.” The sooner we find out if he was drugged and with what we’ll know if there are any counter-measures we need to perform.

“I’ll go get a kit for the blood,” Abby offers, giving Tony a couple minutes of privacy to produce the other necessary sample. By the time she returns, we have it ready for her and Tony is seated back at the edge of the exam table.  She waits while I perform the venepuncture, obtaining enough blood for her to perform the necessary tests.

“Anything in particular I should test for?” she asks quietly, pulling me away from the patient.

“The usual,” I say carefully, pointedly looking at the evidence bags containing the detective’s clothing. She swallows hard and I can see she understands my directive to check for some of the more reprehensible ‘club drugs’. Despite his theory that he is experiencing early flu symptoms, I strongly suspect that he may have ingested something before the attack in the alleyway even began. Although he does act a little uninhibited, it seems more natural than drug-induced by nature. He also seems a little too responsive and aware of his predicament for me to conclude use of a club drug, but if the dosage was low enough, those are still possibilities. “You will want to check for generic barbiturates and anesthetics as well,” I add, calculating some of the possible symptoms. One of those is more likely our culprit. We can try to discern the specific type later.  “Best get started right away,” I add as she looks reluctant to leave.

She nods, but heads instead back over to the exam table.  “You going to be okay if I go up to my lab for a while?”

“I think so…though you know, I think something is wrong with me,” he admits. At her increasingly concerned expression he grins and nods toward the samples she is holding. “I mean I just know I should be making some sort of joke about exchanging bodily fluids right now, but my brain just isn’t…"

She scowls good-naturedly at him before she turns to gather all the evidence to take back to her lab. “You sure you’re okay?” she checks again before making her exit.

“I’m fine,” he insists, waving her off. I’ll have to be the judge of that, but before I can resume my exam my cell phone begins to ring.

“Got anything, Duck?” Jethro asks immediately as I pick up, not bothering with phone etiquette.

“Oh, hello, Jethro,” I greet him emphatically. He does not respond except to let out a sigh, clearly not in the mood for a lesson in good manners. “I’m with him now, but let me go to my office for a few moments,” I implore him before I cover the mouthpiece to add, “If you’ll excuse me, Anthony?”  

Though the young man waves me off just as he did Abby, I can’t help but feel a bit of trepidation at leaving him by himself. Perhaps I should continue the call in his presence, but I don’t want to cause him any undue stress nor do I want him to start experiencing any psychosomatic symptoms as he hears me discuss the possibilities of his condition with Jethro.  From my office I should be able to keep an eye on him while still allotting for some amount of privacy, I compromise.

It is a good thing I decided to keep an eye on him, too, I realize as I begin filling Jethro in on the young man’s injuries and my theory about the detective being drugged. As soon as Tony no longer realizes that anyone is observing him, he lets down his guard. No longer schooling his features, his exhaustion rapidly becomes apparent. Even from the distance, I can see his hand shaking as he reaches up and touches first the cut on his lip and then the still purpling marks on his throat. He looks increasingly vulnerable as he slowly draws his legs up to his chest and wraps his arms around them, letting his head rest against his raised knees. I should have offered him a blanket; I guiltily reprimand myself as I pull two of the rescue blankets down from the shelf. I also should not have left him alone to with his thoughts.  He may have talked a good game, but I have doubts about just how ‘fine’ he is.

“You’ll have to excuse me, Jethro, but I think I best be getting back to my patient.”

“Think he’s up for an interview?”

“No, but I imagine he’ll fake his way through one,” I reply honestly.

“He hiding something, Duck?”

“Nothing you wouldn’t, I believe. I didn’t mean to imply otherwise.”

“I’ll be there in a little while to get his statement.”

“My exam hasn’t been completed,” I warn him. “He needs rest. And he will need to be watched in case there’s any further swelling in his throat.”

“I can watch him while I debrief him,” he counters as he hangs up, terminating our conversation before I can make any further objections. He may sound gruff, but Jethro does not fool me. He will do what is necessary to work the case, but I have no doubt that he will make sure that the detective is taken care of as well.

As not to startle Tony again, I purposely make excessive noise as I make my way back into the room. He quickly shifts into a more casual position, and looks back at me, his face once again bright and inquisitive as I drape the first blanket around his shoulders. His transformation back to ‘fine’ was almost instantaneous. My suspicions notwithstanding, if I hadn’t been watching him, I may not ever have known he wasn’t. “Did they find anything?”

“We didn’t discuss that, I’m afraid,” I inform him as I spread the second blanket out on the table behind him. He shifts over on top of it so I can cover the rest of the cold metal. I really should have thought of this earlier.

“Anthony,” I address him gently. “Are there any other injuries you want me to be aware of?” He scoffs impishly in denial but I decide I best press the issue. “Are there any injuries you don’t want me to be aware of?” At that he deflates a little bit and I see the fatigue once again appearing around the edges.

“I’m fine,” he repeats earnestly, looking me in the eyes this time. “Just tired. And a little freaked out,” he admits sheepishly, absently tugging the blanket tightly around himself.

“As anyone in your position might be,” I reassure him kindly, though my words only serve to make him appear even more self-conscious.

“Why don’t you lie back and rest while I take a few pictures?” I suggest. He looks hesitant but after a few moments he obeys. Because he did not seem to welcome my feeble attempt at comfort, I tactfully ignore the fear in his eyes as I move the portable x-ray into place to take images of his neck. It is rather unfortunate that Abby needs to focus on the lab work because I suspect her presence would soothe him far better than mine.

Hmm.

I frown as I realize something I should have asked long before now. “Is there someone we should be calling for you?” I ask. “Someone you would like with you while we do this?” I clarify at his confused expression. “Or while you give Agent Gibbs your statement?”

Tony just shakes his head and smiles, though this time I notice that it doesn’t reach his eyes. “I was supposed to meet up with my partner after I left the club. I should probably call him and let him know not to expect me. Or I’ll probably need him to come pick me up in a couple hours?” He looks rather hopeful with that estimate.

“That’s being a bit optimistic I’m afraid.”

“Not to expect me, then,” he grumbles. “Can I use your phone?”

I hand him the phone and busy myself writing up a report on my findings so far while he makes the call.

“I know it should be a BPD case, Pat. But come on, would you want to give your statement to Phil or Grant?” I overhear him a couple minutes later. “Besides, you know exactly where that report would end up. They’d take my statement but that’s all the time they’d waste on it. It’d end up at the bottom of the pile and you know it; it’s not like anything really happened…” I frown at his downplaying of the events. “Really, don’t worry…nothing lost but my pride.”

Your pride and nearly your life, young man. I wonder if he realizes how serious his own injuries are. I don’t want to alarm him, but perhaps I should.

“Okay my pride, my keys and my--Oh! My cell phone. If they didn’t turn it off, they should be able to track it! I can’t believe I didn’t think of this before! Abby should be able to…yes, the ‘Goth babe’.”  He grins. “Yeah, you got me. I did just make this up so I could ditch you and run off with her. Have you looked in the mirror lately, Thomas? She’s way hotter than you.”  He listens for a moment, his grin fading, still his voice is light as he replies, “Yeah, yeah, I  know it’d never work. I’m not inked enough for her. So don’t go getting all jealous on me. Odds are good if you save me some of that pizza and sit around pining and waiting for me to call you back, you might be able to pick me up on the rebound when she gives me the boot…Sometime in the morning…Oh you better wait up for me! I’m totally worth a sleepless night.” He laughs at whatever his friend says in response. “I owe you one.” After a few moments he revises, “Yeah, I know. Add it to my tab.”

He hangs up the phone and lies silently for a few moments while I finish up my report.

“Ready to take a few pictures?” I ask as I approach the exam table. When he doesn’t answer, I realize that his exhaustion has caught up with him and he has fallen asleep. I take a quick listen to his lungs, verifying that they still sound clear. Then I carefully drape the blanket over him.

Everything else can wait.

“Why are we even here?” Baker grumbles under his breath as we slowly progress the alley, processing the scene. “I can’t believe you called me back for this. Besides, shouldn’t this be BPD’s job? DiNozzo’s a civilian, and even if he wasn’t, this is total overkill for a mugging. Officer Grant was right inside; he should have taken the statement.” Although he doesn’t say it out loud, I can glean from his tone the unspoken, “And be doing the grunt work.”

“Will is off duty,” Fi counters brusquely. “He’s being really generous getting the names and contact information from everyone still inside,” she adds emphatically, not pausing as she continues to sweep the area for fresh blood from either DiNozzo or his attackers and taking swabs samples.

It is an exercise in futility.

Abby wonders why I don’t ever join her on her club excursions; I think the samples we collect tonight should sufficiently answer her question.  Our black lights reveal traces of bodily fluids strewn throughout the entire length of the alley. Due to the sheer number of ‘donors’ present, Fi’s collected samples alone won’t do us much good unless we can connect one directly to DiNozzo’s assault. Placing someone in the alley won’t be enough to obtain any sort of warrant. The best we can hope is that we can match something to skin under DiNozzo’s fingernails or some other trace found directly on him.  The alternative will mean a lot of extra work for Abby, with little chance of paying off.

“It wasn’t just a mugging. Tony thinks they were trying to abduct him,” Fi continues justifying our efforts.

“DiNozzo’s got delusions of grandeur. Why would someone want to grab him? It’s not like they’d get much of a ransom,” Baker scoffs.

I smile thinly as I consider Baker’s comment. It’s this sort of assumption that reminds me about what I don’t like the NCIS hiring process. Baker’s aptitude and proficiency scores may have been through the roof in several categories, but those numbers don’t convey anything about his attitude or the way he often stubbornly clings to his baseless postulation. I did a little bit of background checking this afternoon and found a few interesting details about the young detective that might just astonish Baker.  I know it surprises me to find someone of DiNozzo’s background working Homicide with the Baltimore Police Department. Regardless of how he came to his conclusion this time, however, I do agree with Baker that it’s unlikely that ransom was the motive behind the alleyway attack.

“Even if someone did try to kidnap him, there’s no reason to think that it has anything to do with Lance Corporal Richmond,” Baker adds.

“You don’t think it’s a bit suspicious that we’re at a club investigating several unexplained disappearances when someone is nearly abducted right outside?” Fi asks, talking to Baker but looking to me. They both know how I feel about ‘coincidences’.

“Yeah, it’s weird--if it’s actually what happened. But I bet anything that DiNozzo’s embellishing a bit to get your sympathy. I wouldn’t be at all surprised if he staged this just to get your attention.”

“You’re right. I’m sure he beat himself up to impress me,” Fi pretends to agree even as she rolls her eyes.

“With him, it wouldn’t surprise me.” At Fi’s skeptical look, his expression softens, “I just don’t want you to get hurt.” He sounds completely sincere as he adds, “You don’t know him like I do. I get it; he’s ‘charming’ and he talks a good game, but that’s all anything is to him--a game. And trust me; he’ll play you any chance he gets.”

I may not have all that much faith in Baker’s instincts, but his earnestness is convincing enough that I make a mental note to be extra vigilant when dealing with DiNozzo. The detective had better not be exaggerating his story for attention or he’ll find himself charged with filing a false report and I’ll see to it that he’s charged for the testing for every single DNA sample we’ve gathered here tonight.

Fi’s gaze lowers for a few moments before she abruptly turns away and tries to change the subject. “Abby said she heard a clanging,” she recalls as she looks farther down the alleyway. One of the garbage cans near the rear entrance of the club has been knocked over and the side of it has been crushed in. No matter how frugal the establishment, I can’t imagine they’d continue to use a can in the condition that one is in so it seems a fairly safe guess that it was damaged during the attack. We’ll want to take it in to have Abby take a look, see if she can find anything useful.

“Even if DiNozzo didn’t fake this, it doesn’t fit the case profile,” Baker reminds us, even as he follows Fi further down the alley, snapping pictures as she kneels down to examine the can. “Our perp’s MO is stalking his victims and following them home--not attacking them out in the open where anyone can witness it.”

He does have a good point, but something in my gut still tells me that the attack was connected somehow to our investigation. Perhaps DiNozzo stumbled onto something during his investigation and hadn’t realized the significance of it yet. It’s entirely possible that his botched abduction doesn’t share the same MO as the others because it has an entirely different motive driving it.

“The alley is hardly out in the open,” Fi contradicts Baker stubbornly. “It’s not like people just hang around out here.”

“Explain all that, then,” Baker argues as he turns his black light back on long enough to illuminate all the residual bodily fluid stains, again. Fi looks slightly ill and brokers no further dispute, Baker’s point having been made. “This was just a mugging, plain and simple. They were after his wallet and they got it. End of story.”

I tune out any further squabbling as I make my way further down the alley. Abby said she thought she heard someone running away from her. I reach the end of the alley and scout out the immediate area for anything that might help track down the assailants.

I keep my eyes peeled as I walk to the street corner, then turn around and walk back to the opposite one. All the stores are dark with security doors locked down. I peer into the storefront windows, seeking security cameras, but spotting none. I’ll have Baker stop by in the morning to double check when the stores are open, but it is unlikely that our suspects were inadvertently caught on any security footage.

On-street parking is off-limits after 10pm to prevent club patrons from leaving their cars overnight and taking up the business parking come morning. I’ll have Fi check with BPD to find out if any cars were ticketed between 10pm and the time the assault took place. There’s only an outside chance, but it’s worth looking into.

As I walk back to where I left my agents, I give Ducky a quick call to get an update on DiNozzo. The description Ducky provides of the detective’s injuries certainly doesn’t lend any credence to Baker’s theory that DiNozzo somehow did this to himself in some sort of attention seeking scheme. I can tell that Ducky is quite concerned by the severity of the assault and by the presence of a needle mark indicating that DiNozzo may well have been drugged.

I frown at Ducky’s theory that DiNozzo was also possibly drugged while still inside the club. If his hypothesis turns out to be correct, it confirms that this was not just a random mugging. Unfortunately, any physical evidence inside the club is long gone by now. Assuming DiNozzo wasn’t careless enough to leave his drink unattended, however, we might at least be able to discern those who had the opportunity to slip something to him. We’ll need a list of the bartenders and wait staff, as well as anyone he came into contact with. If he drank anything from a bottle, we’ll need to impound the club’s recycle bin and trash, but if he drank out of glasses odds are that it’d have been washed and reused by now.  Either way, finding the right bottle or glass is a long shot.

“You’ll have to excuse me, Jethro, but I think I best be getting back to my patient,” Ducky suddenly sounds anxious to wrap up our conversation. Considering my friend’s penchant for long conversation, that doesn’t bode well.

“Think he’s up for an interview?” I ask, knowing that the sooner I can conduct one the fresher DiNozzo’s memory will be and the more likely he’ll be able to recall little details--any one of which could develop into a lead or help facilitate a conviction.

“No, but I imagine he’ll fake his way through one.”

I don’t like the sound of that at all. “He hiding something, Duck?”

“Nothing you wouldn’t, I believe. I didn’t mean to imply otherwise.”

“I’ll be there in a little while to get his statement.”

“My exam hasn’t been completed,” Ducky warns. “He needs rest. And he will need to be watched in case there’s any further swelling in his throat.”

“I can watch him while I debrief him,” I wearily allow, hanging up my cell before Ducky can object. I know he’s looking out for the detective, and I wish this could wait, but I don’t want to risk waiting until morning. There was no telling which little detail DiNozzo could provide might give us a lead. If his assault is connected to the other disappearances, time is of the essence; it seems our perpetrator is stepping up his timetable again.

I return to the alley to check on my agents’ progress.

“Got some pretty good prints on the lid. No way to tell if they’re from one of the attackers, though. Probably just one of the employees taking out the trash,” Baker informs me.

“That’s the best you got, Thomas?” I ask, not able to keep the irritation from my voice. It’s not my agent that has me frustrated, but the lack of anything tangible to work with.

“We also have the bag that Tony said they forced over his head,” Fi reminds us both.

“I’ll take these to Abby and check on DiNozzo, you two wrap it up here, then call it a night,” I command, wanting them to be at least reasonably well rested by the time either DiNozzo or Abby gives us something to work with in the morning. “Be sure to get the receipts from the manager and the possible witness list from your friend,” I add as I collect the swab samples and meager evidence together to take back to the lab for processing.

Remembering Ducky’s mention of a needle mark, I issue one last order. “Oh, and Baker, you’ll need to search the dumpster, see if you can’t find a syringe.” I hide my smile until my back is to them, and walk away to the sound of Baker’s irritated growling.

I frown as I notice that the shade is drawn on the pathology lab window when I arrive a short time later.  I set down the evidence box as I listen carefully for anything out of the ordinary. My hand hovers over my side arm as I ease the door open and peek inside to assess the situation. The lights are out and my eyes haven’t quite adjusted to it before Ducky appears before me.

“Don’t give me that look, Jethro,” Ducky quietly chides me as he ushers me back out into the hallway without even bothering to look up at me to find out just what sort of look I’m giving him. I raise an eyebrow and he has the grace to look sheepish as he does look up at me.

“How is he, Duck?” I ask, peering past him but unable to get a clear view of DiNozzo before the door swings shut.

“Sleeping soundly,” he informs me, guardedly.  “He should be all right with some rest. And someone should stay with him for at least the next 36 hours in case his throat starts to swell,” he repeats his earlier caution, eyeing me expectantly.

“Think you can get him up to the conference room?” 

Ducky purses his lips and says nothing.

“I need to get his statement as soon as possible,” I justify myself, though I can see that is not impressed with my response. “As soon as we’re done here, I’ll put him up in my guest room,” I relent in an attempt to appease my friend.  

Ducky smiles knowingly as he nods, satisfied at last. “Do try not to keep him up too long.”

“I’ll meet you upstairs.”

“You’re early,” Abby informs me, not even turning as I step into her lab a few minutes later. I set the evidence box down and silently wait for her explanation regarding my ‘earliness’. When I don’t answer, she turns to look at me suspiciously. I raise an eyebrow, prompting her. “I don’t have anything for you yet. Well, I can tell you that there is some hinky substance showing up in Tony’s drug tests. I did the color tests and narrowed it down to a benzodiazepine class, but it’s not one of the obvious.” At my second raised eyebrow, she spells out to me what would be ‘the obvious’, “No roofies, xanax, or valium. And the Lieutenant hasn’t been able to identify what it is yet.”

“The Lieutenant?” I ask dryly, though I’m not sure I want to know. She only grins, but doesn’t answer as the machine next to her makes some sort of noise to draw her attention.

Her head cocks to the side and she frowns slightly as she peers at me, her eyes narrowing with suspicion for just a moment before she turns her attention to the display on the machine’s screen.  I watch quietly as her brow furrows with determination and she begins typing furiously into her computer. Several windows pop up but she expertly responds to each of them before I can squint enough to see what they’re talking about. I’m starting to get impatient waiting for her to clue me in and step closer, hoping to get a clear view of the screen, but she stops me. “Go over there,” she points to the doorway, in a no-nonsense tone. I frown but reluctantly do as she asks. Even backing up a step as she motions for me to do so. She turns back to the screen before calling back to me. “Okay, you can come in now!”

When I do, she turns around, her face lit up like a child’s on Christmas morning. “Gibbs! You’re right on time!” she announces as though she hadn’t just seen me moments before.

“What’ve you got, Abs?”

“Chlordiazepoxide HCI clidinium bromide!” she informs me happily as she pulls the just-printed fact sheet from her printer and hands it to me. “Also known as Librax. It’s an anti-anxiety medication prescribed when treating ulcers. Seems like a slightly higher than normal dosage, but shouldn’t have any lasting effects at this level.” Suddenly her face falls, her excitement suddenly turning to concern. “You don’t think Tony has ulcers, do you? Maybe he took the prescription himself.  I mean he seems like a really happy person, but then you can’t always tell by looking at someone, but he was really fun out tonight...until the alley thing of course, but--"

“Abby,” I cut her off and she looks at me with wide-eyed innocence. “I’ll be sure to ask when I talk to him.”

She looks like she wants to say something, but before she can, I draw her attention to the box of evidence and hand her the form to sign to take possession. Unlike Baker she looks somewhat excited as she eyes the contents. 

“I better call Pig.”

I almost tell her to let him sleep a while longer before calling him in, but it would be best if we could get something to work with before Baker and Fi get in. I’ll see to it that they get some time to rest later.

“Did you find any trace on DiNozzo that you might be able to match some of this to?”

“Found some skin under his nails. Running DNA on it now, but so far it’s not turning up anything. No matches from any of the crime scenes, either. Other than that...I’m pretty sure our guys were wearing gloves. Couldn’t get anything off the collar, the belt, or the jeans. I’ve still got some tests to run, but so far everything’s clean.”

“You’ll find something, Abby,” I assure her, trying to ease her disappointment. She nods, her mouth set with determination as she pulls on a pair of gloves and reaches into the box.

I leave her to her work and head up to the conference room to meet DiNozzo for his debriefing. Unfortunately, he isn’t there waiting as I’d hoped. I scowl as I head back to the elevator to return to Autopsy.

“Sorry, Jethro. I’m afraid he’s a little more out of it than I hoped,” Ducky informs me.

“I can see that,” I dryly answer as I look at the detective who is leaning heavily against the exam table. It appears that it was all they could do to get him dressed in what I can only guess by the extremely odd fit to be Ducky’s spares.

“Sorry,” DiNozzo mumbles blearily, clearly not focusing as he looks toward me. It’s on the tip of my tongue to rebuff his apology as unnecessary but realize that in his current condition, it’s highly unlikely that it’ll even register.

“Did you talk to Abby?” I ask Ducky, who nods the affirmative. “Anything you can give him to wake him up?” I stifle a smile at the indignant look that slowly crosses the detective’s face.

“Not much to do at this point, I’m afraid. The best thing for him would be to get a good rest and sleep off the effects,” the medical examiner replies pointedly. “Now, he’s free to stay here…”

“But he’d be a lot more comfortable in my guest room,” I complete his sentence warily. On the bright side, I’ll at least be able to interview him first thing in the morning.

“I’ll help you get him to your car,” Ducky breezes, smiling smugly as he collects his belongings.

DiNozzo’s awake enough to shuffle out to my car without physical assistance, but he barely manages to slide into the passenger seat before his eyes drift shut again, and he seems completely out by the time I say goodnight to Ducky and get behind the wheel. Seems I’m not going to be getting any answers tonight. I sigh as I reach over to buckle his seatbelt before starting the car.

As I lean over him, however, he lashes out and grabs my wrist, squeezing tightly as his other hand awkwardly swings toward my head.  I grab it easily, stopping before his fist can hit its mark. His jaw clenches and his eyes blaze with fury as he weakly struggles to free himself from my grip.

“Hey!” I bark, gripping him tighter as he lowers his head and clumsily lunges, presumably trying head-butt me. At the sound of my voice his body stiffens. A moment later, he releases my wrist, pushing it away as though it’s poisonous as he shrinks back against the car door, his hand fumbling behind him, seeking the door handle. I swiftly hit the child-lock, not wanting to have to chase him down should he manage to get a hold on it. His eyes widen at the sound and his breath comes in short pants as his hand flies up defensively. I let go of his fist, certain that he’s no longer in fight mode, but flight.

“Hey,” I speak again, softer this time.

He blinks a couple times and focuses on me at last.  His transformation is almost instantaneous as he squares himself back in the seat and he schools his expression to be completely guarded, then after a few moments into what now seems to be his carefully constructed mask of complete ease.

I watch him curiously as Baker’s assessment of him comes back to mind. He plays people. And part of that means being a good actor.  Then again, while he might be an actor, there’s very little chance that he’d go so far as to let someone cause serious injury just for the sake of getting some attention.  Or so one would think. I study him a few moments longer hoping that under the weight of my scrutiny he’ll let down his guard and give me some sort of clue to what makes him tick.  But he gives me nothing.

“Buckle your belt,” I command him, deciding not to comment on what just happened.

He grins sheepishly before obeying. “Think maybe we could swing by the club and pick up my car? I don’t really want to leave it--" at my pointed look, he backpedals, “--but I probably shouldn’t be driving. Under the influence and all.” He lets out a heavy sigh as he settles back in the seat again. “I know Dr. Mallard…Ducky said you should stay with me tonight, but if you want, you can just drop me off at home,” he suggests. Again I settle my gaze on him and he shifts uncomfortably. “I’m fine,” he insists. “I don’t need a babysitter,” he adds.

“Do I look like a babysitter, DiNozzo?”

At that his head cocks and he looks at me curiously, a mischievous glint suddenly appearing in his eyes. “Now that you mention it, you do look a little like the Dick Van Dyke as the chimney sweep in Mary Poppins…” he trails off as my gaze hardens and amends, “Actually you look like someone who doesn’t babysit, Sir…I mean Gibbs.” He smiles innocently at me.

The first few minutes of the trip, we drive in silence and at first I assume that DiNozzo has fallen asleep again, but as I glance over to check on him, I find that he’s watching me, seemingly trying to decide whether or not he should say anything. “Spit it out,” I ‘encourage him’.

“I know it’s out of your way, but any chance we could swing by my place and pick up some stuff?”

“Stuff?”

“Not that this isn’t the finest of high fashion and all,” he sarcastically motions to his rather ridiculous attire, “but I’d really like to wear my own clothes. And I suspect you don’t really want me using your toothbrush,” he adds, raising his brows pointedly.  “If you want, we can just stay at my place; there’s a fold-out…which I’ll sleep on,” he adds hastily, though it’s obvious he’s not happy about the prospect. I imagine that he’s probably hoping that I’ll defer his own bed to him due to his injuries, but it’s moot; I’m going to spend the night in my own bed, even if it does mean another half hour drive back.

“I’ve got a perfectly good guest room.”

I see him gritting his teeth a little bit as he sits back in his seat, clearly not happy with my decision but sufficiently intimidated not to argue. He hadn’t given me the impression that he was the sort to be easily rattled; quite the opposite in fact. The attack may have taken a lot more out of him than even Ducky suggested.

“I’ll need directions,” I inform him.  He glances at me, surprised, and quickly begins rattling them off.

Fortunately he does live on the near side of Baltimore, but it’s late enough that I’m tempted to take him up on his suggestion of spending the night at his place. At least I am until we wake the manager to be let into his apartment.

There is no way I’m spending the night in this sty.

DiNozzo doesn’t seem at all embarrassed about the mess as he shoves a pile of dirty clothing to one end of the sofa, clearing a spot for me to sit. “Want something to eat? Drink?” he asks, hospitably. When I shake my head, he swipes the television remote from the floor and extends it toward me. “Make yourself comfortable…” he suggests. As if that were actually possible.

“Not going to be here that long,” I turn it down.

“Right. Okay. So, I’m just going to change and I’ll be right out…”

He ducks into his room and I take a few moments glancing around the room curiously. On his mantle are several awards, most of them sports related, though apparently he is the Beer Bong Champ as well. Interestingly, he also has a couple Commendation Awards; they look freshly dusted. I wonder how he earned them.

One entire wall of his apartment is filled with bookshelves, though only a couple of the shelves actually contain books. The rest are filled with the most massive movie collection I’ve ever seen shy of a rental store.

“Gibbs…?” I hear him call from the other room and the hair on back of my neck stands up at the choked tone of his voice. He appears in the doorway, his face unnaturally pale, the bruises on his neck vividly clear as I get my first really good look at them. I stiffen as I try to assess the situation quickly, wondering if Ducky’s prediction of swelling has come true and whether I’ll need to call for an ambulance. He mutely motions for me to follow him into his room. Once I’m in motion, he absently folds his arms across his chest as though somehow holding himself together, though he makes no move to re-enter his room, himself.

His room is considerably cleaner than his living room, though that’s not saying much. I look around, assessing the room, but have to concede after a few moments that I have absolutely no idea what it is that has him so distressed.  I look to him for an explanation, tactfully ignoring the positively sick look on his face.

He closes his eyes for a moment and he takes a deep breath. By the time his eyes reopen, his expression is once again back to normal, though there’s a dangerous spark in his eyes. “Guess we can officially add me to list,” he says, his mouth spreading into a grin despite the gravity of his words. His hand tremors only slightly as he motions toward his nightstand.

I don’t understand for a few moments, but then I realize what has him bothered.

On his nightstand are his wallet and keys.

Chapter Six (Tony)

I can’t sleep.

How am I supposed to sleep at a time like this?

I can’t believe I was attacked like that.

I’m no stranger to physical violence, but usually I go into such situations with my eyes wide open. Last night, though? I was totally, completely, humiliatingly blindsided. And it was my own damn fault that I walked right into the trap my assailants set. Whether the trap was meant for me specifically or not, I don’t know, but it was definitely designed to catch someone like me. Someone who stupidly goes racing headlong into danger instead of away from it.

I’d prefer to think of it as bravery, but tonight it really was plain old idiocy.

For one thing, I knew I wasn’t in fighting shape. I felt more than a little woozy and my vision was kind of swimming. For another, I didn’t follow protocol to call for backup. There wasn’t time! I heard…or at least I thought I heard someone calling for help. So, ignoring every damn bit of training and throwing all caution to the wind I ran blindly into the situation.

Stupid, stupid, stupid!

My gut instincts had told me that I had no time to waste, that I had to rescue the victim. Unfortunately, my fickle gut didn’t fill me in on the whole story or warn me that the victim was actually me. Or that an attacker was just waiting for me to round that corner. I was on the ground, bag over my head before I even knew what was happening.

My stomach roils as I try not to think about what happened next.

Damn. I can’t sleep.

And if I just keep lying here, I’ll drive myself crazy. Thinking about everything I did wrong. About how close I came to…I don’t want to think about it. I need to get up. I need to do something. I shouldn’t be here. I should be…I don’t know. I can’t go home; I can’t be part of the team that goes through my apartment searching for evidence. Not that they’re going to find any. Gibbs already tagged and bagged my wallet and keys. And when we found my car parked out in the lot, he called and made arrangements for it to be towed in to the Navy Yard to be gone over.

I can’t believe they drove my car! I don’t let anyone drive my car! I feel so violated!

I feel sick to my stomach as I consider how really violated I almost became.

I don’t want to think about this. Not now. Not ever. I know I’ll have to when I give my statement, but for now…I just need to get up and do something. Get my mind off of everything, even though what I should be doing is writing it all down, making sure that it’s all still fresh in my head. I should have done that immediately. I should’ve stayed awake and told Gibbs every stupid little detail. How could I have fallen asleep?

Oh right. The drugs.

I can’t believe I let myself get drugged.

Stupid!

Yeah, this isn’t helping anyone. I need to get up. Find a piece of paper and a pencil. Start writing my statement while everything is still relatively fresh.

I throw back the covers and roll from the bed. There’s no desk or even a dresser in Gibbs’ guest room, which isn’t terribly surprising considering the rest of the house.

I pad out to the living room.

I can’t believe anyone lives like this. The place is so clean it could be a museum…except that it doesn’t have any exhibits.

Perhaps it’s like the Gandhi Museum of Minimalist Habitation.

Seriously, Gibbs leaves absolutely nothing out on his coffee table. Or on his fireplace mantel.

Which brings me to his living room. If you can even call it that. I mean seriously? A lamp. A couch. A rather uncomfortable couch, I might add. But no TV, no DVD player. Not even a VCR! For some reason, it wouldn’t surprise me to find the guy has a BetaMax hidden somewhere, though. Probably lurking somewhere in the basement that he expressly declared off limits.

Really, Gibbs? Off limits? Like I’m a little kid or something?

What do you expect? Sometime in the middle of the night I’ll sneak down there and get myself completely soused on your secret stash of expensive wines? Or maybe that’s where you keep your real furniture. I mean, come on. Who lives like this?

It shouldn’t surprise me, I suppose; Gibbs doesn’t really strike me as the type who entertains a lot of company. Or, considering the lack of seating--there's only one chair sitting at his perfectly square dining table--perhaps I should assume that to be any company. His guest room was in a pretty sorry state, too. Bed was made to military perfection, of course, but the layer of dust covering the thin blanket spoke volumes about the last time it was actually used.

And my gracious host’s response to that?

“Shake it out, DiNozzo.” In a rather annoyed voice.

I guess I should probably feel a little honored about the fact that he actually let me into his house at all. Never mind that I’m probably only here at the cajoling of Ducky and his insistence that someone check every once in a while to make sure I’m not dead. Which, he hasn’t actually done. I’m feeling the love, really.

Okay, so the man was obviously tired. It’d been a long day for me and probably more so for him; I’m betting he’s probably the type who gets up at some ungodly hour to go to work early. Hell, it’s 4:30, so it’s probably nearing his waking hour about now. But still, you’d think he’d have at least a little sympathy for his injured houseguest. He could’ve offered me a clean blanket or use of the Master bedroom for the night or something. But no, just “shake it out, DiNozzo,” and then disappears into his own room. Where he’s probably actually sleeping.

I sigh as I make my way into the kitchen, hoping I’ll find a notepad by the phone. It’s a no-go, but it was a nice thought. If I were paper in this house, where would I be hiding?

The basement perhaps?

The “off limits” basement. I glance toward the forbidden door and am tempted, but for the moment I hold off.

A kitchen like this is bound to have a junk drawer, I figure. I begin trying to discern which one it might be. The first few drawers I try, though, are filled only with proper eating utensils.

Which reminds me that I haven’t eaten yet. I never got over to Pat’s for that pizza.

I should probably call him and let him know what’s going on. Then again I told him not to expect me until morning. I doubt he really did stay awake waiting for me to call, so I’ll give him a few more hours before bugging him.

That aside, though…I’m really hungry.

I make my way to the fridge and pull it open, wondering what kind of leftovers Gibbs might be hoarding.

I’m not sure why it surprises me to find his refrigerator to be mostly empty, but it does. I groan as I eye the half loaf of bread. With no signs of lunch meat to be found.

Maybe there’s some peanut butter somewhere?

I begin opening the cupboards, which are rather sparsely “filled” with canned soups and vegetables. Beets? The guy has canned beets but no peanut butter? I open the next cupboard.

“DiNozzo!”

I jump at Gibbs’ sharp bark.

Oh. Crap.

I plaster on a smile as I turn to face him. “Good morning!” I greet as casually as I can.

His eyes squeeze shut. “What are you doing?”

“Couldn’t sleep, so I thought I’d grab some breakfast…”

“Not that. What. Are. You. Doing?” His eyes remain firmly closed as he motions toward me and I realize what has him so bothered. Right. Probably should’ve gotten dressed before coming out here.

“You said to make myself comfortable…” I remind him.

“That’s a little too comfortable,” he growls, rubbing his temple as though alleviating a headache. “I need coffee…” he grunts as I duck past him and head back to the guest room to grab the ridiculous NCIS jumper Ducky had graciously provided me when they’d taken my own clothes as evidence. Once we’d found out that my assailant had been in my apartment and that it had to be declared a crime scene I hadn’t been allowed to grab any of my own clothes or anything else for that matter. Gibbs even took my regulation Sig into evidence even though my lockbox hadn’t been disturbed and was completely secured. I know it’s procedure, but that doesn’t mean I have to be happy about it. With my wallet currently being held as evidence I don’t even have money to go buy a fresh change of clothes or replace my weapons.

While I’m certain he’s not about to help me with the latter, maybe Gibbs has some clean (and less tacky) clothes I can borrow. I’m a couple inches taller, and he’s a bit stockier, but still his clothes have to fit me better than Ducky’s.

I make my way into Gibbs’ room, toss the jumper into his laundry basket, and grab a sweatshirt and a pair of jeans from his drawers, and a belt from his closet.

“DiNozzo!”

I probably should have asked him first.

I plaster on another smile as I turn to him, ready to explain myself, but my mouth snaps shut as I see the infuriated look on his face. I gulp. “I thought these might fit me better than…” I start to explain, but when his glare doesn’t lessen I know it’s time to backpedal a little. “…But these are probably your favorites, so…here.” I hastily thrust the small pile of clothes into his hands and turn to fish the jumper back out of the laundry.

“DiNozzo,” Gibbs stops me, sounding weary. “Take them. They’re yours,” he insists as he presses the clothes back into my hands. I see him rubbing his temple again as he turns to give me enough privacy to get dressed.

He should really see someone about those headaches…

By the time I’ve dressed and returned to the kitchen, Gibbs is sitting in the lone chair and savoring a cup of coffee. Though there isn’t a place for me to sit, he does have a mug set out for me on the counter. I pick it up and take a big gulp.

It takes all of my willpower not to spit it right back out. What the hell? Does the guy drink battery acid? I swallow as best as I can. Maybe some cream and sugar will help. I pull open the fridge and search the shelves. No cream, but he does have some milk. Skim. Better than nothing. As I start pouring some of it into my mug I realize that Gibbs is staring at me.

I probably should have asked if it was okay, first.

I offer a weak smile and he rolls his eyes but nods.

“Don’t suppose you have any hazelnut creamer?” I ask. I take his blank stare as a resounding ‘no’. “Sugar?”

He raises an eyebrow, and then motions toward a canister. I eagerly dig into it, scooping out several spoonfuls, hoping it will help cut the excessively bitter taste.

I take a test sip. And add a few more spoonfuls. And make another test…

Much better.

I turn back to Gibbs to find that he’s looking at me as though I’m some sort of alien.

“You usually up this early?” I casually question Gibbs as I take another sip of the “coffee”. He raises an eyebrow at me again, looking rather disgruntled. I’ll take that as another ‘no’. “So I was thinking, since we’re up, we should probably take the evidence to Abby and…”

“You ready to give a statement?” Gibbs asks.

“Right now?” I hedge.

He smiles faintly. “Thought we’d wait for the interview room.”

I take a calming breath before answering, “Yeah. I’m ready.”

It wasn’t entirely true, but there was no point in putting it off.

On the way back to the Navy Yard, we stop at a convenience store where I pick up a couple breakfast burritos, an apple, and a blueberry muffin for breakfast. Gibbs eyes my stash, but says nothing as I set it on the counter. I eye the fruity punch drink that he’s buying. I never would have pegged Gibbs as a fruit punch sort of guy, but I say nothing. At least not until I realize that I don’t have any way to pay for my own items. Crap. “Seems I left my wallet in the other evidence bag…” I inform Gibbs, hoping he’ll take pity. When he only stares back, I sigh and start to gather the items back up to return to the shelves. Gibbs’ hand flicks out and slaps mine. I grin as he fishes out his wallet to pay for my breakfast.

Once we arrive at the Navy Yard, Gibbs drops off the evidence we picked up at my apartment--and the fruit punch--with Baker to take down to Abby to process. And then Gibbs leads me to an interview room and immediately starts the recording process.

“This is Special Agent Leroy Jethro Gibbs conducting an interview with…” he nods to me, knowing I know the drill.

“Detective Anthony D DiNozzo,” I speak into the microphone. When he doesn’t prompt me with a question I admit, “I don’t know where to start.”

“Do you have ulcers?” he asks me, and I blink at the complete randomness of the question.

“What?”

He smiles faintly. “Abby wanted me to ask.”

I can’t help but grin a little bit at that. She’s worried about me.

“Do you take any anti-anxiety medication?”

I quirk an eyebrow. “Abby want you to ask me that, too? Just tell her that I’m a perfectly healthy boy; mentally and physically…”

“Found traces of a drug in your system; just want to be sure you didn’t take it yourself.”

I sober quickly. I already figured that I’d been drugged, of course, but having it confirmed was another thing entirely. “No. I don’t take any drugs. But I must’ve been slipped something. I started feeling a little…’off’. Right before we were going to leave the club.”

“Tell me about that.”

I nod and take a deep breath, steeling myself to tell the tale.

***

“See you later, Kid,” Pat acknowledged me as he got ready to head out. I didn’t miss the way he nodded toward Abby with a ‘wink, wink, nudge, nudge’ conspiratorial expression on his face. I rolled my eyes slightly at his blatancy and shook my head. Like that would ever happen. Not that I wouldn’t be up for it; Abby’s fun, she’s smart and sassy and adventurous, and she’s damn hot. So yeah, even though I never would’ve pictured myself with a gothy girlfriend, I’d go out with her in a heartbeat. Unfortunately I really don’t have anything to offer her and she’s made it pretty clear that I’m not even remotely her type--even with the collar on. Besides, she’s far too smart to waste time with a guy like me. Such is life.

Still, that didn’t mean we couldn’t have a little bit of fun before calling it a night. I needed to blow a few minutes to give Pat a chance to pick up the pizza, anyway.

“Don’t suppose you want to dance a bit more?” I suggested. The look of discomfort on her face should probably have been a blow to my ego, except that I already knew she wasn’t interested. “Just as friends,” I assured, letting her off the hook a bit. And then because I can’t resist flirting a little, I add, “Okay, and maybe a little to make all the other guys jealous.”

“Ooh. Flattery will get you…well, maybe a dance or two,” she agreed gamely and allowed me to lead her back out on the floor. It took only a few moments for us to fall into sync with each other and the rhythm of the music. And for just a few minutes, everything else just seemed to disappear as I got lost in the beat, growing dizzy with the hedonistic effects of dancing with Abby.

Although I was having fun, I was relieved when Abby finally decided it was time to stop. We may have stopped moving, but it seemed the floor was still spinning just a bit.

“I should probably go,” she announced, though I was pleased to hear at least a hint of reluctance in her voice. The DiNozzo charm may not have won her over completely, but at least she wasn’t entirely immune to it. “Gibbs is going to want a report early in the morning.”

I nodded, regretting the movement when I was hit with a wave of nausea. Whoa. Yeah, good thing we were calling it a night. Strong as it was, even the DiNozzo charm lost its effect once I vomited in front of a girl. I hadn’t even had that much to drink! Maybe I was coming down with the flu or something.

***

“Sorry to interrupt,” Piggy apologizes, his face turning bright red as he hovers in the doorway, looking unsure of his welcome. Then again, a glance at Gibbs tells me that the lab assistant isn’t particularly welcome at the moment.

“What do you need?” Gibbs asks testily.

“Sorry, it’s just Abby needs Detective DiNozzo to sign this…” he limps into the room and thrusts a pen and a clipboard toward me. “It’s just a chain of evidence thing, and a release form for some of the testing…” he explains hastily, avoiding Gibbs’ gaze.

“Couldn’t wait until we were done, Pigotti?” Piggy’s blush deepens at Gibbs’ scolding. I rapidly sign the forms and hand them back to him.

“Abby hasn’t been home and she wants to get a little rest, but she can’t until--"

Gibbs cuts him off with a wave and a nod, his expression lightening considerably at the explanation for the interruption.

Once Piggy is out of the room, he turns back to me to continue.

“I thought maybe I was coming down with the flu or something…” I pick up where I left off.

***

“I’ll walk you to your car,” I offered to Abby.

“Ooh, a gentleman,” she cooed.

“Hey, it’s for my own protection. Dark alley and all,” I replied haughtily, offering her a grin as she raised her eyebrows at that.

“I should at least let Fi know I’m going.”

“I could use a bit of fresh air.” Although I didn’t begrudge Fi or Grant, or their budding romance--they were probably a much better fit than Fi and I would ever have been--I wasn’t really in the mood to face them. Besides, I really was feeling light headed. And my vision was kind of swimming a bit. And graying at the edges. If I didn’t know better, I was about to pass out. “I’ll wait right outside.”

There were surprisingly few people hanging around outside when I got there. Apparently I was the only one who found the club to be kind of hot and stuffy. I leaned against the railing to steady myself as my vision once again went completely out of focus.

That’s when I heard it. A soft mewling coming from the alleyway. At first I thought maybe it was a cat, perhaps a kitten that had strayed from home and was lost. I glanced toward the club; Fi and Abby both struck me as women who would totally mother-hen a lost kitten.

My attention was drawn back to the alley as I heard a yelp that sounded far more human than feline. I blinked a few times, trying to clear my vision as I cautiously made my way toward the alley. I should call for backup. Grant was just inside. I just needed to get my cell phone from my pocket and--

--then I heard the soft muffled cry, “help!”.

Most definitely human. There wasn’t time to think. There wasn’t time to call Grant. Whoever was there was in trouble and I was the only one in a position to stop it. I had to stop it.

I broke into a run, rounding the corner into the alley. I made it only a couple of feet before I felt someone tackle me from behind, taking me down before I had a chance to catch my balance. And just that fast something--a bag of some sort--was thrust over my head. Blinding me. I started to reach up to rip it away when I felt someone grab the collar around my neck and yank it hard, choking me as they dragged me further into the alley.

I struggled to get my feet under me so I could get a little bit of leverage, lessen the pressure on my throat so that I could breathe, but I was being hauled too fast and my feet failed to make purchase. Frantically I began trying to claw at the collar, but it was no use. I couldn’t breathe! Worse, I could feel all the strength rapidly depleting from my body and knew I was fading fast. I couldn’t even call out for help. In a matter of moments I would be unconscious and completely at the mercy of my assailant.

Instead of feeding my panic, with that realization came a complete calm. Don’t try to pull away from an attack, a piece of my training came to mind. Step into it; use the momentum to throw your assailant off balance.

No longer trying to gain a foothold I instead used every bit of my remaining strength to push off from the pavement and throw myself at my attacker. I gulped in air as his hold on my collar slipped just enough to give me a few moments of reprieve. Not giving him a chance to recover, I pushed off the cement again, taking him down this time.

Unfortunately my upper hand wasn’t nearly as upper as I’d hoped it would be and before I could even roll over and try to subdue him he rolled us both over and I found myself pinned beneath him. I felt all the wind being knocked out of me as he slammed me hard against the pavement. Once again I couldn’t breathe as he bore down with all his weight, grinding my chest and stomach into the rough cement.

Momentarily unable to fight, I forced myself to relax and let my body go limp. I needed a moment to regroup. Let him think I was giving up and maybe he’d let his guard down. At first, I thought it was working as he slowly eased off of me. He gripped under my arms and started to lift me to my knees. As tempted as I was to make a move, I knew I needed to wait just a little longer, let him feel more confident about my cooperation.

The hair on the back of my neck raised and I became aware that we weren’t alone in the alley. It took all my willpower not to flinch as I heard someone moving toward us and then into my personal space. My heart pounded as my brain frantically scrambled for a new plan. Two against one wasn’t necessarily a problem; I’d faced worse odds before. Being blinded, however, pitted the odds further against me. My best chances of getting out relatively unscathed would still be to catch them off guard, make them think I was cooperating. So for the time being, I forced myself to remain submissive.

That was the plan until I felt the hands on my belt. It took a few moments for it to register what was happening, but as I felt the buckle being undone I began to panic, realizing where this assault was likely leading.

NO!

That couldn’t happen. I began to struggle against my captor, redoubling my efforts as I felt and heard my zipper being undone.

I leaned into the man holding me, using him as support as I lashed out with my legs, kicking the second assailant away from me. The tactic granted me only a few seconds reprieve before the goon holding me bodily lifted me and then slammed me hard to the ground again, this time on my back.

I couldn’t completely contain the yelp of pain, but I’d barely gotten out a sound before a hand brutally slammed over my mouth. I could taste the bitter coppery taste of blood as my teeth cut sharply into my lip. A knee planted firmly in my diaphragm, preventing me from getting in enough air to even try to call out.

And then the second man was back. I thrashed my body as I felt his groping hands roughly dragging at my jeans. The man on top of me lifted his knee just long enough to jerk my shirt up a little bit before bringing it down again, jabbing painfully into my gut before he moved lower, knees digging sharply into my thighs as his hands cruelly bore down on my hips.

When I felt the sharp prick of a needle penetrating my skin I knew I’d just crossed into a life-or-death situation. Adrenaline flooded my body with an intensity I’d never experienced in my life. I lashed out desperately, trying to knock the hypodermic away before whatever drug they intended to give me did its damage.

I didn’t allow myself to celebrate my victory as I felt the sting as the needle was ripped from my skin and I heard the slight echo as the syringe hit the pavement and rolled away. I didn’t know how much, if any of the drug had been injected; I wasn’t sure how much time I had before I became incapacitated…or worse.

I didn’t have time to think, only to act. I thrashed wildly, swinging my fists and striking as hard and as fast as I could, not caring where the blows landed so long as they forced the man pinning my legs to go on the defensive. It quickly became apparent that even with my adrenaline rush I was at a significant disadvantage. And my strength was waning. Brute force was not going to work in my favor.

Which left fighting dirty.

I uncurled my fists and began clawing at the man holding me down, blindly seeking to gouge his eyes. I felt a feral satisfaction as I my fingernails tore through the skin on his face. If nothing else, I was going to make sure that if someone found my body they’d be able to find all the evidence they needed against my attackers. I recalculated my aim and took another swing.

The assailant on top of me grunted furiously and shifted his body, letting go of my hips as he tried to grab hold of my arms. For just that moment I knew he’d be off balance and used it to my advantage, using every ounce of my strength to buck him off of me.

Momentarily freed, I scrambled, stumbling as I tried to launch myself to my feet. Almost immediately one of them was grabbing me again and I was spun, my body shoved backward against the brick wall of the building. I swiftly ducked to my right, knocking into something; a garbage can, I recognized from the feel and the sound it made as it bounced off the wall.

And that’s when I heard Abby calling out my name.

***

“And that’s when I heard Abby calling out my name,” I wrap up my statement.

Gibbs peers at me for a few moments, and I can feel the weight of his scrutiny. I hold his gaze, refusing to let myself buckle. “And they just let you go.”

“Pretty much.”

He smiles wanly. “Define ‘pretty much’.”

I shift uncomfortably. “We…struggled a little bit.”

He looks at me expectantly.

I purse my lips, and close my eyes, absently running my hand across my forehead. Much as I don’t want to talk about it, I know it is important. Not the details, but the implications. I shove aside any feelings of embarrassment and focus instead on my anger at what my near-kidnappers likely had in store for me if they’d succeeded. “If these are the same guys as the other cases…and I think we can be pretty sure that they are…I’m at least partially right about their motivation.” I glance up at Gibbs, gauging his reaction. He remains silent, and keeps his features carefully schooled as not to influence me. I take a deep breath and continue. “I wanted to call out to Abby, but before I could…”

***

I wanted to call out to Abby, but before I could, one of my attackers barreled into me, knocking me back against the wall. He clamped one hand over my mouth as his other arm wrapped around my waist. I felt the weight of his entire body pressing against mine, crushing me against the bricks.

“I thought you didn’t want to meet me in a dark alley,” I heard Abby’s voice again as she called out bravely, only the slight wavering of her voice hinting at any fear. She sounded like she was moving closer. On one hand I was relieved; her arrival would be a game changer. On the other, if she got hurt trying to help me, I’d never forgive myself.

I bit down on the hand covering my mouth, needing to signal to Abby that she should run. My assailant cried out in pained anger as he flinched away. Before I could call out, I felt the collar once again being pulled tight to my throat. Instinctively I began to claw at it, trying to lessen the pressure, but within only a few moments I could feel my body giving out. My legs suddenly seemed too weak to hold me up.

My captor hissed under his breath and I felt myself being dragged further down the alley. Dragged toward a fate I knew I didn’t want to experience. I had very little fight left in me, but what I had I used. I jammed my elbow back into my assailant’s gut. He lost his grip on my collar and I took the opportunity to put a step between us. I laced my fingers together and swung my arms as if I were swinging a bat. I took great satisfaction as I heard him grunt as he staggered back.

“Just so you know, the police are on their way!” I heard Abby calling out, sounding as though she were miles away.

I didn’t want to lead them to Abby or put her in further danger, but since my attackers seemed to want to force me further down the alley I also knew I didn’t want to go that direction. So I scrambled, fumbling blindly as I sought something solid and stationary that I could latch onto. Finding what I guessed to be a fire escape ladder I quickly wrapped my arms around it and tucked my head down, bracing myself for another attack.

When I once again felt arms wrapping around my waist and pulling, I clung to the ladder, refusing to be taken. I grit my teeth with feral pleasure as my attacker let out a frustrated growl. My stomach twisted, though, as he tried a different tactic to get me to let go.

I shivered involuntarily as I felt his ragged breath against my skin as he pressed against me and used his legs to lock mine in place. I could feel him getting…excited as he trailed one of his hands lightly across my belly, chuckling softly as I flinched at the gentle contact. Much as all my instincts screamed at me to push him away, I knew I couldn’t let go of the ladder; there was little to no chance that I’d be able to fight them off me again. It was either hang on and endure the molestation now or let go, get kidnapped and...I couldn’t let my mind go there. My best chance was to just hold tight and hope that Abby was right about the police.

***

I bristle as I recall just how incredibly powerless I’d felt in those next moments. How completely helpless I’d been to do anything to stop my captor’s horrifying invasion as his hand slid lower…

I don’t realize that I’ve fallen silent until Gibbs speaks again. “You okay, DiNozzo?”

I force a grin and a small shrug. “Yeah. Not like anything...really happened,” I pass it off, as though it was no big deal. It wasn’t. So I got groped a little. It wasn’t a big deal. It wasn’t.

I shift uneasily in my chair and try not to think about how I cringed as I felt something wet brush against the back of my neck and realized that it was his tongue. Even now I feel goosebumps rising on my skin when I think (don’t think) about it.

“I guess they must’ve finally realized that I wasn’t going to go easily, that even if they could get me loose I’d do everything in my power to slow them down. So, if Abby was right and the police were on their way…” I sum up the rest of it, glossing over the unpleasantries. “I should’ve gotten the bag off faster, tried to get a look at them, but…” But I was afraid to let go of the ladder. Just in case I was wrong and I wasn’t hearing them running the other direction.

Gibbs doesn’t comment on that, though I swear that I can feel his disapproval. Still, he only gives me a small nod, his expression not betraying it if he’s really thinking it. “Did either of them say anything?”

I shook my head. “Only when I thought I heard someone call for help.” I scowl as I have to admit, “I don’t think I’d be able to recognize the voice, though. He purposely muffled it.”

Gibbs scribbles a few notes before closing the folder and reaching for a fresh legal pad.

“Wait,” I stop him, reaching out to flip the folder back open. “I didn’t see them, but I can still tell you at least a few things about them.”

Gibbs raises an eyebrow, but settles back into his seat.

“The first guy, the one I had the most…contact with. He’s really close to my height, I’d say somewhere between 6’0 and 6’2 at most. If I had to guess, I’d say probably about 210-220 pounds,” I estimate, adding a solid 40-50 pounds to my own weight. “No beard, but a little 5’oclock stubble going on. Probably shaves in the morning, but didn’t before going out at night.” I can’t help but smirk a little as I add, “Has a few deep scratches on his cheek this morning.” Sobering, I continue my observations. “His hands…they’re strong, but not very rough. He likely does not work in any sort of manual labor position. He was fairly proficient at subduing me,” I reluctantly admit, “so if I had to guess I’d say probably works security or in a similar field.”

Gibbs studies me for a moment. I can’t decide if he’s impressed, or if he thinks I’m making it all up. I prefer to think he’s impressed. “Anything else?” he prompts.

“That wasn’t enough?” I shoot back, hoping that I’ll lighten my mood.

Gibbs offers a half smile. “And the other man?”

“I didn’t have much contact with him...”

“Try,” Gibbs encourages dryly.

I think for a few moments before shaking my head. “I can’t say for sure. For the most part, he was pretty hesitant to get too close to me. I’m not sure why, but I have the feeling that he was shorter…” I raise to my feet and pace for a few moments before an idea hits me. “You’re what…6’0?” I guesstimate, motioning for him to get up.

He nods and rises to his feet. I lean back against the wall and raise my leg as though I’m kicking at him. “I hit pretty much soft…he’s on the pudgy side.” I note where my foot would’ve hit Gibbs had he been my assailant and make a few mental adjustments. “He’s shorter than you,” I figure as I lower my leg. “Maybe 5’10, or so. Smooth hands…He seemed to want to stay away from me as much as possible, so I’d say he’s far more likely to have a desk job, or possibly since he was pretty good with the needle he’s in the medical profession somewhere?” Or a lab tech, I almost say the words before I realize the implication of that.

There’s a suspect right here in the building. An unlikely suspect, though…right? I mean come on, Piggy was hardly a threatening man. On the other hand, he did have the socially awkward creepy stranger vibe going for him. And he was at the scene only a few minutes earlier. What would’ve stopped him from pretending to leave only to lay in wait? I almost blurt out my theory, but…I don’t want to accuse one of Gibbs’ men without at least having something more substantial to back it up. I shake my head. “That’s all I’ve got.” It’s actually more than I thought I’d be able to give.

If Gibbs is impressed, though, he keeps it to himself.

For what seems like hours Gibbs has me go back over my statement again and again. I’d be annoyed except that I know it’s standard procedure. Each time someone tells their story, they may think of things they forgot to mention, and possibly reveal details that may turn out to make or break the case.

I’m exhausted by the time Gibbs finally wraps up the interview and turns off the tape.

When he catches me yawning, Gibbs suggests that I go back to the lab and lie down for a while.

“The lab?” I ask as he begins escorting me to the elevators.

“Abby has a futon…or you could go to Autopsy. I’m sure Duck has an open table for you,” he proposes wryly, smirking at my visible discomfort at that idea.

“Or I could go home…except that home is a crime scene.” I still can’t believe they actually invaded my home. Yet another way they’ve violated me. I frown as I consider that for a moment. Something still doesn’t add up, but I can’t quite put my finger on just what. Maybe after I get a little rest it’ll come to me. “I should call Pat,” I realize aloud, wincing as I realize that I still haven’t gotten around to doing that and it’s no longer morning. “He can probably put me up for a few days.”

“You’re under NCIS protective custody,” Gibbs informs me, clearly not leaving any room for argument.

“Oh. So…I’m going back to your place?”

Gibbs lets out a small amused huff and shakes his head. “Don’t think so, DiNozzo. Got a safe house in mind, though. I’ll send Baker and Fiora down to get you when it’s set up.”

When I get to the lab, I find that Abby’s futon is already in use.

“She didn’t go to bed last night,” Piggy excuses her as he catches me looking down at her.

“Yeah…I kinda kept her busy,” I reply breezily. “Why doesn’t she go home?”

Piggy shrugs. “She said she was too tired to drive. I just have to run a couple more tests and then I’m going to take her if I can wake her up. She sleeps like the dead. Uh…literally,” he adds, and I suspect there’s supposed to be a joke there somewhere, but it’s just awkward. I glance at him questioningly. “Um. She…uh…sleeps in a coffin.”

Right.

Okay, then.

“Maybe you can wake her? I just have to…” he nearly topples over as he stands up. I quickly reach out to steady him. He smiles nervously. “Thanks.”

“You okay?”

“Yeah. Just…hurt my knee,” he explains, limping across the lab to check on one of the machines. “Last night when your friend knocked me over.”

I decide not to correct him about Bobby’s ‘friend’ status. “So…anything I can help you with?”

He frowns as he considers. “Well, I do need to go pick up a few things from evidence...except that you can’t do that because you’re not on the approved…I’m just not sure I can carry it all in one…maybe if I take a bag…” he awkwardly babbles as he picks up a backpack.

“I can go with you and help you carry it back,” I put him out of his misery.

“Would you?” he sounds as though I’ve just offered to paint his house or something.

As he leads me to the evidence lockup, Piggy’s limp gets visibly worse. I can sympathize. I totally blew my knee out in college. He should probably be wearing a brace, using crutches. “Here,” I offer to let him lean on me. “You should probably stay off that as much as possible.”

I try not to cringe as Piggy takes me up on my offer of support and I realize just how bad he smells. And I’m actually afraid he might leave sweat stains on my shirt. But it’s too late to rescind the offer. I’m grateful for a short reprieve as we reach lockup and I have to stay back while he exchanges his forms for the items he’s there to pick up.

It’s probably for the best that I didn’t mention my theory about Piggy’s involvement to Gibbs. There is no way that man could have been as close to me last night as my attacker was without me *knowing* it was him. He has a very…unique and pungent odor about him. I blink a few times to make my eyes stop watering.

Once he’s signed for the evidence and has it packed into his bag, I take it from him for the trek back to the lab.

Abby’s still fast asleep when we get back. She hasn’t even budged. I can’t help but smile at how cute she is when she sleeps; looking so young and innocent with her pigtails still tied.

“Why don’t you just go ahead,” Piggy suggests as he catches me watching at her.

I blink. “What?”

“Abby won’t mind sharing the futon. You can’t have gotten much sleep last night, either.”

“Oh,” I let out a small chuckle, feeling slightly foolish for the completely inappropriate thoughts that had popped into my head at his first words. I consider for a few moments. Abby might not mind sharing with one of her coworkers, but I’m not so sure she’d like waking up next to a guy she’s known less than a day. Then again, I really am tired. And Abby does strike me as someone who honestly wouldn’t think twice about it. I’m careful not to wake her as I stretch out beside her.

Sleeps like the dead, indeed.

“DiNozzo!” Baker sounds really irritated as he wakes me some time later.

“Ungh…” I grumble as I force one eye open. Yep, he’s irritated all right.

Downright furious, it seems. “Get up!” he growls as he grabs my arm and pulls me to my feet.

“What?

“You can’t just…” he motions to where Abby is still sleeping soundly.

“Oh! Baker!” Piggy cuts him off. “Sorry! I told him he could; you know Abby--"

Baker scowls but waves off Piggy’s explanation. “You ready to go, DiNozzo?” I pretend to look around for my belongings. Oh right. I don’t have any. Baker rolls his eyes. “Let’s go, then.”

“You need help getting that stuff back to lockup?” I ask Piggy.

“Hmm? Oh…no. I was feeling a bit better and I already took it back,” he replies, his face pinking a little bit at the odd look Baker was giving us. Piggy turns and almost goes down as his knee twists. He face pinks more as he catches himself on the desk.

“You really should stay off that leg.”

Piggy agrees, “I will, once I get home.” He glances at his watch, then wistfully at the futon. “I promised I’d take her home, but I really do hate to wake her…”

“Oh for the love of…” Baker reaches down and gives Abby a little shake. “Abby! Wake up!”

She makes a small gabbling sound, but otherwise doesn’t respond.

“Abby? You okay?” Baker sounds slightly panicked as he taps her cheek lightly.

“She was up all night and has only had one Caf-Pow! today,” Piggy informs us, as though that will explain why she’s so dead to the world. “She usually drinks about twelve of them,” Piggy enlightens me about the significance. Baker rolls his eyes.

“C’mon, Abby,” Baker tries again to wake her.

“Wha?” she murmurs, her eyes opening just slightly.

“Time to go home.”

Her eyes open a bit more as she groggily sits up. Her eyes flit from one machine to the next. “Guess it’ll be a couple more hours before any more results are ready…” she assesses before accepting Baker’s outstretched hand to help her up.

She yawns as she takes a wobbly step. I quickly lurch forward to catch her before she goes down. “My hero,” she pretends to swoon as she curls her arms around mine and leans her head on my shoulder and smiles sleepily.

It’s impossible to miss the evil eye Baker is giving us, but Abby doesn’t seem even slightly fazed by it. Then again, she’s probably even more familiar with his moodiness than I am.

“Still want me to give you a ride home?” Piggy asks nervously.

“Yeah…I’m too tired to drive.” Abby frowns. “Looks like I picked the wrong week to give up caffeine.”

“And sniffing glue,” I agree, grinning as she lights up a little bit at the shared Airplane! reference.

Piggy hoists his backpack over his shoulder, but when he staggers I reach out, offering to take it from him. I feel slightly guilty that I don’t offer to assist him walking, but…I’d far rather help Abby out to the car. And she seems quite content to let me.

Once we see Abby and Pig off, Baker directs me to his waiting car. It’s not until I move to get in that I realize that I still have Piggy’s backpack. Crap. I’m sure Baker can get it back to him in the morning, though, I guess.

“So, where are we going?” I ask as I climb into the passenger seat.

“Safe house,” he answers simply as he climbs in. I roll my eyes, but I do know the drill.

Still, I can’t resist attempting to break another rule of protective custody. “I should really call your brother; you got your cell on you?”

Baker only glares at me in the rearview.

“Fine, but you get to be the one to deal with him when he gets pissy about being stood up. Again.” My stomach rumbles. “Don’t suppose we could swing by his place and pick up last night’s pizza?” Yeah, okay, from the look he gives me, I figure that’s not happening, either. My stomach rumbles again.

“Can we stop at--"

“No!” Baker snaps. “I don’t know why the hell Gibbs thinks you need to be in protective, but since you are, I’m stuck with you. You will follow the rules because I am not risking my job for you.”

I hold up my hands in mock surrender and settle back in the seat and wait for him to visibly relax before suggesting, “How about a drive-thru?” I can’t resist needling him just a little bit.

The murderous look he gives me convinces me to stay quiet. At least for a couple minutes.

“So…just you and me tonight? Pat’s going to be jealous, you know.”

Baker gnashes his teeth, but answers, “Fi’s waiting at the safe house.”

“Rrrooow,” I purr, purely to rile him. And, like a charm, it works.

“You stay away from her,” he growls threateningly. “I swear to God, DiNozzo, if you so much as--"

“Relax!” I cut him off. Knowing that I’ve pushed him as far (and possibly a little farther) than I should I back off and admit, “There’s nothing between Fi and I.” He doesn’t look any happier, so I extend the proverbial olive branch a little further. “And there isn’t going to be,” I assure him seriously.

For a few moments he remains silent, as though he’s waiting for the punchline, but then he visibly relaxes.

“Uh…for real, I’m starved. Any chance of picking something up?”

Baker smiles a little bit, but shakes his head. “Sorry...gotta go straight there. But after you’re settled I’ll go pick something up, okay?”

It’ll have to be.

“How do tofu burgers sound?” he asks, grinning slightly as he catches my startled expression.

“Wait. So…you do have a sense of humor?”

“Shut up, DiNozzo,” he replies, though for once it doesn’t sound like he actually means it.

We ride in amicable silence the rest of the way to the safe house, and true to his word, once he officially turns me over to Fi’s custody, Baker heads out to pick up dinner, leaving Fi and I alone.

“So…we’re going to be sleeping together and it’s only our second date,” I break the awkward silence…by creating an even awkwarder silence. Turns out Fi and I really don’t share the same sense of humor.

Fi shifts uncomfortably, and reaches up to sweep a lock of her hair behind her ear. “Um…Tony? I…” she stammers.

“It’s okay,” I swiftly let her off the hook. “Grant’s a great guy.”

She smiles shyly and nods. “I never meant to…”

“It’s okay,” I reiterate, and it really is. I’d have to stay on my best behavior at all times with her, and that wouldn’t last longer than…well…the one “date” we already had.

“I kind of got the idea you two might’ve hit it off last night,” I add with a wink. I feel a little bad that once again Baker isn’t going to get the girl, but to be honest, the two of them would make a horrible match anyway. At least it’s not me who’s standing in his way. “So…where’s your first date going to be?”

She blushes.

“Make him take you to Pasquale’s,” I suggest as I kick off my boots and settle onto the sofa as I look around the room, mentally taking inventory and locating all possible exits and attack points. And oooh. The big screen and DVD player; if I’d known that’d be here, I would’ve had Baker pick up a few flicks when he went out.

Turns out he came up with the idea on his own. Rather, I suspect my partner foisted the idea on him when he apparently decided to take the cheap way out and went to pick up the leftover pizza from Pat. Fi wrinkles her nose as she peers into the boxes, but selects a piece of my pepperoni-sausage anyway. She picks at the one piece while I devour three myself.

Pizza and a movie just isn’t the same without Pat around to join me in a running commentary. Every time I started to offer anecdotes or behind-the-scenes info, Fi chews her lip, as though contemplating whether or not to ask me to be quiet. And Baker, though he surprisingly doesn’t tell me to shut up, doesn’t seem to be paying even a slight bit of attention, which takes all the fun out of it.

I sigh as I quietly watch the movie, trying not to let boredom seep in. I’ve seen the flick a few times before, and without all the jabber, it’s just not really all that interesting. So I’m not disappointed at all as I get drowsy and start to drift off.

“Think I’m going to turn in,” I inform them, yawning and stretching as I get up. “Which room’s mine?”

Baker smirks, “You’re in it.” He tosses a pillow at me and motions to the blanket draped over the back of the couch. “Make yourself comfortable!”

I groan as I realize that he means I’m relegated to sleeping on the sofa. I glance pointedly toward the bedroom.

“Sorry. You’re under protective; there’s only one bed in there and I’m not sharing it with you,” Baker gleefully turns down my silent request.

“That’s okay,” I reply, smirking as my eyes flit over to Fi. And then I remember that she just doesn’t share my humor at all. I stop leering and give her a real smile. “Couch it is,” I resign myself to the idea.

I wince as I struggle to get my shirt off, irritating all the bruises and sore muscles.

“What are you doing?!” Baker balks.

“I can’t sleep in these; I don’t exactly have anything to change into, do I?” I can’t resist tormenting him slightly and lie, “I’m already going commando…” and I reach for the button on the jeans. Fi’s face turns bright red and Baker springs to his feet, looking ready to pummel me.

I dismiss him with a roll of my eyes as I drop my pants and revealing that I am still wearing my boxers.

“Jesus, DiNozzo!”

“Don’t be such a prude; there’s nothing wrong with the human body,” I inform him. “Especially one like mine…” I add, unable to resist irritating him. I grab the blanket and wrap it around myself before dropping back onto my bed for the night.

I’m still drifting between consciousness and sleep when I hear Fi’s voice coming as though from miles away. “Did you hear that?”

“Hear what?” Baker drowsily replies.

“I think…”

I struggle to wake as I see Fi rising to her feet, drawing her weapon. I hear Baker clambering to get up as well.

“Stay here,” Fi hisses at him. “Stay with Tony!”

Crap.

We’re under attack?

But I can’t…I can’t seem to make myself move.

I’m just so tired…my eyes drift closed.

I force them open again as I hear what I instantly recognize as a gunshot. I try to throw back the blanket so I can get up and follow Fi. I know it’s her job to ‘protect’ me, but someone needs to cover her six, too, and Baker can’t leave me behind to do it. I try, but I’m so exhausted that my body feels as though I’ve gained about 600 pounds.

Something’s wrong.

My adrenaline should be…

should be…

I can’t keep my eyes open.

Something’s not righ…

I try to call out, but my tongue…it’s so big…I can’t…I can’t talk…around it...

Have to…concentrate for…just a minute longer.

“Baaeer,” I slur as I manage to fling one arm free of the blanket.

“Stay down!” I feel his hand on my hip, holding me in place.

“G…”

“Shhh.”

“G…o,” I manage to choke out. “Fff...”

I can’t even finish her name.

I’m just so…

My eyes won’t open.

And I’m…

I’m…

Gone.

Christ. Something’s wrong.

Shots have been fired. Fi could be dead or dying. And I’m sleeping?

I can’t…wake up. I shouldn’t be…sleeping. I should be…

I unsuccessfully try to force my eyes open as I struggle back toward consciousness.

It takes a moment for me to realize that I’m not on a sofa.

I’m…in bed.

And I’m not alone, there’s someone curled against me, an arm flung over my waist, a face buried against my neck.

What the…hell?

Whoever it is against me seems to realize that I’m waking and shifts.

“Tony?” her voice is miles away.

And then it’s not, “Tony?”

I manage to open my eyes a slit and see Abby’s green eyes peering down into mine.