“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.