His head was swimming. He couldn’t think. What happened? Where was he? He tried to sit up, but hands pressed him back down. What the hell? He tried to think, but everything was so blurry. The explosion! Wait…no. That wasn’t right. His head hurt, but it didn’t feel like he’d inhaled any smoke. It wasn’t an explosion.

Concentrating, he tried to come up with the last thing he could remember. He remembered fighting with a woman…couldn’t quite place her, but she was angry with him as only a girlfriend could be.  He winced as he remembered packing his bag and leaving. He remembered being in the limo. Remembered…checking into a hotel.

Then what?

Why couldn’t he remember?

His eyes flew open.

“Take it easy, Buddy, we’re almost there,” a calm voice informed him.

Almost there? Almost where? He was almost certain that he didn’t want to go wherever it was he was being taken. “Let me up,” he growled, straining against his bonds.

“Just calm down. There’s been an accident. You’re strapped down for your own safety, sir. We’re taking you to--"

An accident, his ass! “Wasn’t an accident,” he protested, ignoring the pounding in his head as he struggled again to sit up. He wasn’t sure how he knew that, but he was certain it had been no accident. His brain was still completely foggy, but very slowly more images were coming to him. There was a man. Standing over him. Speaking…Hebrew? Thick accent. Maybe Israeli.

Definitely not an accident! He didn’t believe in coincidences. Coincidence? What made that a co…damn it, why couldn’t he think straight?

“Sir, please calm down. Can you tell us your name, Sir?”

Could he tell them his…? Oh for Christ’s sake. “I need you to let me go, right now,” he added, his voice level as he glared up at the EMTs fussing over them. “I know you are doing your job, but I am fine,” he informed them tightly. The last thing he wanted was to waste hours stuck in some hospital room when what he really needed to do was get to the bottom of…whatever had happened. “It is extremely vital that you let me out, now,” he exaggerated the urgency in hopes it would startle them into complying.

“Sir, you’ve hit your head. You were out for several minutes. You have a concussion. And it looks like you might need a few stitch--”

“I’ll have my doctor check me over. Now let me out. I am refusing medical attention. If you want me to sign some AMA forms, I’ll do it, but you need to let me out.” When the EMTs only exchanged glances, he clenched his teeth. “Look--" His eyes scanned their uniforms, and he gleaned their names from their badges. “--Mika, Raymond,” he spoke in a hushed tone. His eyes scanned the ambulance for information he could use. He hid his grin as he got a glimpse of the clipboard Mika was jotting notes on. “It’s July 13th, 2009.” It had been over a month since…since what? Something important, he was sure of it. Well, a concussion would certainly explain why his brain didn’t seem to be working right. Why he couldn’t quite remember…anything clearly. Everything would come back to him soon enough, he was certain. It felt like…everything was right there on the tip of his tongue--stuck his brain, whatever--but he just couldn’t quite get to it.

“I’m in an ambulance in DC,” he recited his information to the EMTs in an effort to convince them that they could release him. “I was running in the park. Got hit by a car.” That wasn’t entirely the truth, he knew, but it was a much easier story for them than the real one. “See, I remember everything. I’m fine.” When they still hesitated, he decided to go for broke. “I’m a federal agent,” he informed them conspiratorially, in a hushed tone. Yes. That just felt right. “I need you to let me out of here or I will see to it that you are brought up on charges for impeding a federal investigation. I will sign whatever the hell you want me to sign, but you have to let me go. NOW.” He knew he was pushing it with the threat, but hoped they’d be thrown off enough by it that they’d give in.

“All right, Sir,” Raymond relented. “Harris, the patient is conscious and alert and is refusing medical attention. We need you to pull over,” she called into the front.

“Sir, I really think it’d be best if you let a doctor take a look at you,” Mika tried one more time to reason with him, even as the ambulance pulled over.

“I’m sure it would be, and thank you,” he relented a little bit. “I promise you I will have my doc check me over.”

“Just sign this,” Raymond insisted as he pressed a form into his hands while Mika began releasing him from the safety restraints.

“Sure you won’t let us at least take a look at that leg? Or your arm?” Mika asked.

He flashed the EMT a small grin as he signed the paper in his lap with a completely illegible squiggle. “Don’t worry. Just scratches,” he downplayed the injuries and gave her a wink. He hopped down out of the ambulance, doing his best not to let the pain the movement sent racing through his body show. He glanced around and realized that he must be completely disoriented. He didn’t recognize a thing around him. But he knew if he let that show, they’d probably insist on taking him in to the hospital despite the forms he’d signed. So he simply turned and began walking in the direction opposite of what they’d been taking him.

As soon as the ambulance pulled away from the curb and started pulling away from him, he stopped long enough to check his pockets, hoping to find something that would remind him just where it was he was staying.

He grinned as he pulled the only item from his pocket and discovered it to be a key card for a room at The Grand.

Now he just needed to figure out where that was from here.

“Excuse me,” he called out to a couple women who were walking toward him. He winced as he saw the way they were looking at him. He glanced down and realized that his shirt and sweatpants were both spattered with blood. “Jogging accident,” he explained it away quickly. “I got kind of lost, do you know where The Grand is?”

“Actually, it’s just around the corner and down about two blocks,” one of the women informed him nervously, looking as though she was torn between being concerned for him or scared of him. “Do you…need an ambulance?”

“Thanks, but I just got out of one of those,” he replied with a grin. He began limping in the direction she’d indicated.

As he made the seemingly long trek he began trying once again to piece together what had happened. He remembered running. Was he being chased? No…that didn’t seem right.

He was jogging, he reminded himself as he glanced down again at his attire. That would explain why he didn’t have his wallet or cell phone.

Ignoring the wide-eyed looks as he made his way into the hotel lobby, he made his way to the front desk.

“Mr. DiNozzo!” the clerk greeted him as he approached. “What happened? Are you okay?”

Mr. DiNozzo? Yeah. Okay. Worked for him. “I’m fine,” he assured the man, waving off his concern. “Just a little…accident is all.” He smiled. “I feel kind of silly but I seem to have uh…forgotten my room number,” he admitted sheepishly as he held up his key card. “Just a little disoriented…”

The man smiled warmly. “It’s okay. You’re in Suite 1301. Would you like me to send for Joshua to take you to get checked out?”

“Nah. Just scratches,” he repeated his earlier assessment. “Look worse than they are. But maybe you could send up a few bandages? I’m just going to go clean up, if someone could leave them…?”

“Of course, sir. Don’t hesitate to call if you need any further assistance.”

The bandages were waiting for him when he finished his quick shower. Mika was probably right, he needed stitches, he realized as he did his best to patch himself up. He’d have to go see Dr. Malloy…

He smiled as the familiar name popped into his head. He knew things would start clearing up after a few minutes. Soon everything would become clear. He was certain of it.

He sifted through his suitcase, scowling at the clothing it contained. He wouldn’t wear this stuff. What the hell? Everything seemed so out of date and excessively worn. Where were his Zegnas? His Brunellis? So far the only thing he recognized as his own was his lucky belt; the one he’d procured to help him adhere to Tibbs’ rule # 17 to always carry a knife.

He opened the dresser drawers, his brow furrowing as he found them to be empty. As was the wardrobe.

He also hadn’t come across his cell phone or wallet, he realized, glancing around the room once again.  Nothing sitting out. He went back to the suitcase and began pulling the clothing out piece by piece, checking pockets and tossing each article aside as he found nothing.

He gazed at the emptied suitcase for a few moments before the answer came to him.

Hidden compartment? He smirked as he examined the case again and sure enough…jackpot.

No cell phone, but he found his wallet, a visitor’s pass to the Navy Yards, and a Pre-Paid Visa card tucked into the hidden compartment. He flipped through the wallet, finding the ID confirming his name as Anthony DiNozzo.

It just didn’t feel quite right. Maybe he was a Tony? Yeah. That seemed better.

But where were his clothes?

Tony sighed as he laid back on the bed and closed his eyes, hoping that if he could relax, he’d be able to clear his head and everything would come back to him.

There was a man standing over him, he recalled again. Speaking Hebrew in a thick Israeli accent.

Israeli like Lisa.

His eyes flew open as the memories began to flow in.

Lisa.

The explosions! First his place, then Lisa’s. He gasped as he remembered how he’d searched for her until he’d collapsed from smoke inhalation. How he’d crawled through the rubble. How he’d been certain, even as they’d called out that they’d found a body that she was still alive.

He’d been the only one who had held out that hope until Mal had determined that the body was not, in fact, that of Agent Lisa Navid. Still, her true whereabouts had not yet been determined. The trail had gone completely cold. The only clue they really had was that whoever had planted the body in Lisa’s apartment had been brilliant. They’d made virtually no mistakes. The body had been perfect in almost every respect; correct height, correct build, teeth all smashed to smithereens so they couldn’t be used for identification, flesh, blood, and organs burnt away by the explosion. Any other M.E. probably would have just gone ahead and determined it to be Lisa Navid anyway, but Mal and his assistant Jalmer had meticulously gone over everything, not giving up until they could confirm one way or the other that it was Lisa. And finally it had paid off as Jalmer noticed that the healed fracture of the victim’s right ulna was in the wrong spot.

While that discovery had given them all hope, it had brought them no closer to determining what really had happened to Lisa. He’d gone over it in his head again and again, and was certain, though it was only his gut instincts that told him so, that The Mossad was somehow involved. Everything was…too clean. Too perfect. Whoever was behind her disappearance knew enough about her that they’d nearly been able to fake her death without detection. And Lisa wasn’t the sort who would have allowed many to know that much about her.

The attack today was an indication that he had to be right. If not Mossad directly, most certainly a rogue agent.

And if they’d attacked him while he was staying at this hotel that meant…they knew where he was.

His cover had been blown.

With that realization Tony rolled out of bed and scrambled to get dressed. They might’ve thought he was on his way to the hospital, but it wouldn’t take long before whoever it was figured out that he’d checked himself out AMA and came back after him.

He was in no shape to fight. He needed backup. He should call Tibbs and let him know he needed to be extracted, ASAP. 

Tony picked up the phone and dialed 9 for an outside line. And…

And…

He couldn’t remember the number. How many god damn times had he dialed it over the years? Countless! He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to come up with it, but like just about everything else in his memory, he just couldn’t quite grasp it.

Okay, so McGregor, then. Except he couldn’t remember that number either. Amy? Blank!

Tony didn’t have time for this. He had to get out now; he’d figure out how to make contact later.

Whoever was after him, knew his cover. So he’d have to burn it. After dressing in a dark hooded sweatshirt, jeans, and his lucky belt, he pulled the credit cards and cash from the wallet and then leaving the ID inside he stuffed the wallet into the pocket of his bloodied sweatpants.

Tony peeked out into the hall, scanning for any witnesses or security cameras. Seeing neither, he made a quick dash to the garbage chute and dropped the bloody clothes and wallet, leaving his room door open and the rest of his clothing behind. With any luck someone would stumble upon the scene of a ‘break-in’ and report it. When “Mr. DiNozzo’s” wallet and bloodied clothes were found in the dumpster, foul play would certainly be reported and whoever was after him would be thrown off his trail again. Sooner or later they’d find someone who remembered seeing him in the lobby, or they’d spot him on the security footage from when he’d gone through the lobby, but this would at least buy him time.

Tony took the stairs two at a time, watching carefully for security cameras. There were none in the stairwell, but he knew there was little chance there wasn’t one at the side entrance. He ducked his head, making sure that his face would not be visible to any camera and hurried outside, doing his best to stay out of the camera’s sightline as much as possible. Unlikely that he was 100% successful, but at best, they’d only catch a glimpse and that was only if they were watching carefully.

After half a block, Tony made sure to pull his hood down. People tended to notice people who were trying to hide, so now he needed to blend in. He’d just have to be vigilant to avoid camera detection until he could get a change of clothes…and maybe a haircut. Not only would he feel more like himself, but he’d be less likely to be recognized as Anthony DiNozzo.

His first stop was at a seedy little café where he ordered just a coffee and chatted up the waitress for a couple minutes before excusing himself to use the restroom. There, he sorted out what he could keep and what he needed to ditch, and fast. He pocketed the cash and the Pre-paid Visa, thankful that he’d been clever enough to set that up in case his cover got blown. The DiNozzo cards, he knew, would all have to go. He tucked those into the pocket of his hooded sweatshirt, which he then removed, hung on a hook inside one of the stalls, and ‘forgot it’ as he returned to the main room to finish his coffee. He couldn’t seem like he was in too big a hurry or they’d be more likely to remember him if someone came looking later.

After he’d finished the coffee and left an average sized tip, he made his way back out to the street.

Clothes first, then hair.

An hour and a half later and Tony was a new man. He felt much more at home in his new Zegna suit and his Magli shoes.

Unfortunately, he still hadn’t figured out how to make contact. He could just go to the Navy Yards. He didn’t have his badge, but he did have a visitor’s pass in case of an emergency, he figured. He decided against that idea, though. If someone was out looking for him that seemed like one of the first places they’d go.

Besides, it was late. Tibbs and McGregor were probably home by now. Maybe Amy was still hanging out at the lab…except that it was Thursday, so she’d be…he grinned. She’d be bowling at Star Lanes. He’d meet up with her there and she could call Tibbs to come get him. Perfect.

With that plan in mind, he hailed a cab.

“Do you know where Star Lanes is?”

“Sorry, Sir?”

“Bowling alley. Star Lanes.”

The cab driver appeared stumped for a few moments before he brightened. “Celebrity Lanes?” he suggested.

Tony frowned. He could have sworn it was Star Lanes, but celebrity was another word for star, so…maybe? “Yeah…possibly. I’m meeting a friend. Maybe she gave me the name wrong.”

He hoped that it was the right place, as it turned out to be almost half an hour away from where he started. He paid the driver in cash. He thought about having the driver wait for him, but decided against it. If he found Amy, there’d be no need. And if he didn’t, he’d just call for another cab.

As he made his way inside the bowling alley, Tony began to have second doubts about his plan. His memory was still not working right. He realized that while he could describe Amy in intimate detail…he couldn’t quite picture her. What if he couldn’t recognize her?

He needn’t have worried. He knew her the moment he saw her. He almost laughed as he took in the beautiful brunette wearing a poodle skirt, pink jacket, spiked dog collar and pigtails. There was no mistaking Amy Sutton.

“Amy!” he called out as he approached her lane. To his surprise, she didn’t even look up from her conversation with one of the sisters. He knew he should probably do the polite thing and wait for her to finish, but since when was he polite? Besides, this was important.

“Amy!” he called again. He frowned as again she didn’t look up. He sighed and moved in closer, flashing a grin at the sisters as he moved to stand right behind her. “Psst. Amy,” he hissed in her ear, grinning as she turned around, gaping at him in confusion. He motioned for her to follow him. She shook her head once, and then started to turn back around to continue her conversation.

“Amy!” he called one more time, his voice sharp. He motioned insistently for her to follow him.

She rolled her eyes, muttered something to the sisters and got up. “Can I help you?” she asked, sounding annoyed as she followed him into a quieter area.

Tony’s eyes narrowed crossly at her annoyed tone. “Amy, now’s not the--"

“Ah. There’s the problem,” Amy cut him off. “You’ve got the wrong girl.”

Tony’s brow furrowed. No way. He knew his mind was playing tricks on him, but how many goth-ish women bowled with nuns? There was no way this wasn’t Amy. “You’re not Amy Sutton?” he asked.

Her expression suddenly brightened. “Well. Yeah. Actually I am. Except my name is Abby.”

Tony blinked. Was that supposed to make any sense? Or maybe his head injury was making him remember things a little off. Abby Sutton.

“Agent Tommy,” she realized, looking him over with a grin. He was startled as she circled around him, checking him out. “Oh my God, yes! Yeah. You’re…you’re perfect.”

He snorted. “Well of course I am,” he replied, grinning back even though he was a bit mystified by her reaction. So he was Agent Tommy; Tony must have been just his cover name. His real name was Tommy. “Abby, I need you to get me in touch with Tibbs.”

“You mean Gibbs? Aw. I’m afraid he’s at…well…he’s busy tonight. Getting ready for tomorrow night.”

Tomorrow night? Tony--Tommy, he mentally corrected, though he’d rather gotten used to the other name--sighed as he tried to remember what was supposed to happen the following night. A bust of some sort maybe? For now, though, he had a more pressing matter. “How about McGregor? I really need his help.”

“And I’m positive Timmy’d love to meet you.” Her head cocked to the side as she looked him over again. Abby’s grin widened and she let out a tiny laugh. “Oh yeah. You’re perfect for the role.”

The role? He was about to ask when he realized that she’d turned around and was headed back to her lane. The forensic scientist could be so strange sometimes. He’d probably never completely figure her out.

“Abby, I really don’t have time--"

“Zzzt!” she cut him off, holding up a finger to emphasize her point. “You cannot tell him I gave it to you, but I’m giving you McGee’s address.” She grabbed up a pencil and a blank scorecard from the table and began jotting something down. McGee’s address, not McGregor’s. Why was he remembering names wrong? Maybe he should ask her for Dr. Malloy’s address, too. Or at least his number. Mal would probably be able to tell him right away why his brain was making such strange mistakes. And the medical examiner would surely be able to assure him that everything would right itself in a day or two. At least he certainly hoped so.

Right before Abby handed the card to him, she hesitated. “Wait. You’re not like some crazy obsessed fan or something, right? I mean you did know to look for me here. So you could be. But…no of course you’re not. You’re too…perfect. It’s just that…he’s seen so many in the last few days and none of them are what he’s looking for and you’re just perfect and I just know he’s going to love you.”

“A crazy obsessed fan…of McGeek?” he asked, not really able to follow her rapid babble.

“Oh!” she cried out happily as she lurched forward and threw her arms around him in a bone-crushing hug. “Don’t tell him I sent you. Just go. Be Agent Tommy. He’ll love it.”

“Yeah. I’ll…go be Agent Tommy. Thanks, Abby. You’re a life saver.”

“Of course I am! Just…remember. Tommy seems a bit brash and like a womanizer and everything, but it’s all just an act. He’s actually really sweet. You have to let Timmy see you know that. Don’t break character and he’ll totally back you.”

“…Right.”

“Break a leg!” she exclaimed happily. But her face fell as she happened to look down. “Oh! Except it looks like you already did that! Well, not that it’s broken, but it’s bleeding! Are you okay? Do you need me to--"

“I’m fine,” he insisted. “Just had a bit of an accident.”

“Awww! That’s why you didn’t make it to open call, isn’t it? Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Abby! I’m fine!” he repeated, almost laughing at how concerned she was. Abby always worried over every little bump and bruise. “Really,” he assured her.

“Yeah, that’s just totally Tommy to act like he’s not hurt that but…if you’re sure? Or I could go with you? Make sure you get there okay?”

“It’s okay. Finish your game. Looks like the sisters are waiting on you.”

“Oh!” she whirled to discover that, indeed, it was her turn. She chewed her lip as she tried to make her decision.

“Go on! I’m fine!” he couldn’t help but laugh at her concern.

“Okay. If you’re sure. Of course you’re sure,” she amended. “You probably should change before you go to McGee’s. He’s used to blood at crime scenes and all, but he still gets a little queasy sometimes when he doesn’t expect it.”

Tony nodded seriously, stifling a grin. That totally sounded like a Probie sort of thing. “Thanks for all your help, Abby,” he called after her as she returned to her game.

Hoping that he still had plenty of money left on his Visa, Tony called for a taxi. He had a few stops to make, and then he’d head to the address Abby had given him.