Imperfect Men

Summary: The body of a young petty officer is found in Theatre Park. Then it explodes. One of the team becomes a victim. Now more body bombs are showing up, and Gibbs in on the hunt.

AN: If the technobabble makes no sense, it's because my knowledge of computers is limited to…well, a few things.

Also, the text in italics is exactly what you think it is. If you've seen the show, that is. If you haven't…why…are you here?

This will contain some usual Tiva, etc. what you'd find in the show...I'm not a shipper, really. The main focus of this fic is the team's relationships, not series of love stories. Ducky's closeness with the team will stand out, as well as a lot of Gibbs under pressure handling a city-wide threat. That said, there is no slash, or notable OCs (other than the usual tossed-in suspect, witness, etc.). I'm going to write this as though it were a long, long episode. The overall theme will be, as noted above, friendship, serious crime, vengeance and suspense. I'm putting this all in my author's note, because I know many a reader appreciate knowing what they're headed into before they dive into a story. Like reading the foreword of a novel. Or something. Let's just begin...

Disclaimer: Not mine.

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Chapter One: The Park

-

As he stood up, Gibbs turned his head to survey the faces of the crowd with a deadpan expression. Somehow, he knew the killer was right there.

Murder had arrived in Theatre Park.

One glance at the crime scene was all it took to put Gibbs in a wretched mood. Sixteen minutes ago, someone had tried to tap into Abby's computer from outside the lab. He didn't care if the hacker got in or not—Abby was hysterical and overtired, too juiced up on Caf-Pow! to make any sense and he had to send her home to get some sleep. Now he and DiNozzo were now standing next to a body with a slightly disoriented medical examiner crouched at their feet, and he still hadn't had his coffee.

"That's all, I'm afraid," Dr. Donald 'Ducky' Mallard announced, yawning greatly thereafter. "Other than these lacerations in her abdomen and bruising around her jaw, there doesn't appear to be any more external injuries. Judging by the amount of blood and the severity of the wounds, I think it's safe to say that she died of massive internal bleeding. There's enough blood on the ground to indicate that she died here." He paused a moment, hovering over the corpse with a dour expression. "Yes, whoever decided to cut up our poor petty officer was either very thorough…or very, very disturbed."

He was referring to the state of the victim's body. Petty Officer Amy Simpson had been cut up inside the public park area sometime during the night, shirtless, aside from the heavily bloodstained bra. Of course, she had to be moved to autopsy before any circumstantial evidence could be logged and...it was six in the morning—the "body movers" were late, and probably wouldn't be ready for hours.

"DiNozzo," Gibbs said without so much as a glance towards the younger agent. "We're gonna need photos. Call Abby back. "

Agent Tim McGee approached them from behind, keying in on the conversation. "But you just sent her home—"

"Tell her I'm sorry," Gibbs snapped, rounding on McGee with no trace of humor in his eyes, voice or other form of expression.

"Right. Sorry. I mean—yes. Boss." McGee winced. Mornings were not his thing.

"Boss, I could call Abby if the probie here—"

"Photos, DiNozzo."

"Yes, boss."

DiNozzo and McGee exchanged grimaces. The senior field agent of the two gripped the camera tightly and moved away. He circled around the corpse and the squatting medical examiner, before starting his routine. He took exactly three photos before his curiosity overrode the motor functions in his mouth and he lowered the lens.

"There's blood on her hands," he observed, unaware of the non-criticality of the statement.

Ducky glanced over at him, just as McGee snapped his cell shut and wandered over. "Well, clearly I'm no expert in this field, Agent DiNozzo, but I would assume that Petty Officer Simpson was still mobile while she was bleeding to death."

Anthony's cringe was not dissimilar from the many he had pulled after irritating Gibbs.

"Why did no one hear her scream?" Gibbs asked from his place by the NCIS vehicle. He had been eyeing the growing crowd beyond the yellow tape until now, sinking deeper into a black mood that would ultimately be used against his team. He wasn't truly asking the question, because he already knew the answer. The question was meant to interrogate his subordinates, to make them think about the situation from a non-linear perspective. That was a textbook explanation, anyway. Gibbs just liked to make them guess.

After a brief silence, he turned back to the gathering around the body with a creased brow. "I'm waiting."

"Uh…" McGee looked at Ducky, who simply raised his eyebrows and went back to work. "Because…she was gagged. Killer could have taken the gag out after the murder."

"Why?" The question was simple. Gibbs now stood four feet away from them.

"That's a good question, probie," DiNozzo looked up from another snapshot. "Dead people don't scream."

A hand came flying at DiNozzo's head and slapped him from behind. "Ahh!" Anthony cringed, and directed a glare at McGee. The MIT graduate pretended to ignore him.

"There are no marks on her wrists or ankles to indicate she was in captivity," Ducky pointed out, gently lifting one of the victim's uninjured arms. "Oh, hello. I think I just found our murder weapon."

The 'murder weapon' was an Exacto knife, small enough to be hidden underneath the bloody wrist of the young woman. The examiner took a moment to explain that the wounds in the young woman's stomach were messy and deep, suggesting there had been no careful deliberation when it came to her murder. Someone had taken this knife to her in a hurry, and the jumble of clotted blood and tissue that was now her stomach was their first indication of the murder's psyche.

"He was vicious, Jethro," Ducky finalized, sounding mostly disgusted himself. "What you are looking for is a sociopath. Though I can't say much more than that without an autopsy."

As he stood up, Gibbs turned his head to survey the faces of the crowd with a deadpan expression. Somehow, he knew the killer was right there.

-

Tony covered his face with one hand, feeling the horror overcome him…

"DiNozzo!"

Anthony leapt from his dream world into the vat of reality at the sound of Gibb's voice. His leg twisted painfully as he tried to pull it, along with its partner, off of his desk. After nearly falling out of his chair, he purposely straightened himself out and looked across the office at the older agent as he walked past.

"I'm awake," he lied, blinking in retaliation to the sudden onslaught of light. "What's…ow…"

"Don't worry, Tony—McGee and I took care of that BOLO on the victim's stolen truck that Agents Gibbs asked for. I've just finished talking to all five of the witnesses who discovered crime scene," Ziva put forth mildly from her own desk. "Yes, including the twins."

DiNozzo winced and cursed to himself. He'd made special plans for those twins. Special 'Anthony DiNozzo' plans…

"Somebody found us another witness," Gibbs interrupted his thought, slapping the folder that he had been carrying down on Tony's desk before sauntering back to his corner, steaming coffee in hand. "Find her and bring her in."

Tony squinted down at the name and picture on the first page of the folder, feeling the dread overcome him already. "Black Betty…?"

His co-worked and forever tormenter smiled from across the aisle. "Yes, according to the other witnesses in the park, she is a Hell's Heaven."

"Hell's Angel," McGee corrected with a dead serious tone, entirely engrossed by his computer screen. He didn't even try to shoot that one in Tony's face.

"You like biker girls, don't you, DiNozzo?" Gibbs asked.

"Sure do, boss," he lied with a forcibly fake grin and pulled the file closer to him. Betty Jenkins looked like a two hundred pound, forty-six-year-old woman with bad acne and a maniacal hair stylist.

"Good," his boss replied, sitting down in his chair. Then he lapsed into his silent mode, which was typically of him during his rare periods of deskwork. Tony had been anxiously waiting for him to leave again. Now he had no choice but to get by the bear in the photograph on his desk.

His eyes flickered up, and saw Ziva staring at him. "Going to tell me how I deserve this, Ziva? Break out one more maniacal pun before I'm shipped off to my doom? It just wouldn't be the same without you."

"Well, Tony, I would if I wasn't trying to do my job," she replied.

"Which is exactly what you should be doing, DiNozzo."

Tony jumped at the unexpected comment from his boss and got out of his chair. "On it, boss," he said quickly, picking up the first page from the witness folder, gathering his usual equipment and heading towards the elevator. Once inside, he let out a long sigh, glanced down at the photo again, and grimaced.

Tony covered his face with one hand, feeling the horror overcome him…

-

Palmer lay, half-sprawled and tangled on the floor with his palms flat under him. He gaped over his shoulder at the sight…

The only brightness inside the autopsy room was credited to the overhanging light, illuminating the torso of their most recent visitor. Ducky's mood was the opposite. Understanding the mind of killers, or at least being able to identify them, certainly made undressing and mutilating the remains of their victims even harder. Especially when it came to young women like this petty officer. Jethro had been right—there was no equality with chivalrous men like himself, and the dour Agent Leroy Jethro Gibbs. It was times like these that he regretting knowing as much as he did.

Jimmy Palmer, his assistant, understood this much of his mentor and kept silent for the most part. They had already cleaned most of the blood and discovered clear evidence that the scarring on her abdomen was not all brand new. Some of it had healed. At least a few weeks of healing had allowed some old wounds to close, and fresh ones had been added. This woman was tortured to death. In the middle of Theatre Park.

Their quiet assortment of tasks flew by, and the autopsy was now lingering in front of them. Palmer had just retrieved the autopsy tools from their drawer and Ducky had only just picked one up, when he heard something that was not typically heard in a morgue: a faint beeping sound, like that of a micro-oven or a wristwatch. Furling his brow, he looked around, but couldn't pinpoint its location.

"Mister Palmer, are you wearing a watch?" Ducky cast a narrowed glance at his assistant, stumped as to where the sound was coming from.

The young examiner-in-training froze, as he usually did hen confronted by unexpected questions from his usually talkative counterpart. "N-No," he replied slowly. "We're not allowed…to…"

"Then where on Earth is that noise coming—" The good doctor paused, scalpel raised in hand slightly. He turned around. "Do you hear that?"

"I…don't hear anything," said Jimmy. The autopsy room was flooded by silence. They exchanged glances, looked at the body, which was naturally not uttering so much as a decimal of sound.

"Clearly, I must be more worn-out than I realize." Ducky chuckled half-heartedly and set the scalpel down in the tray with the remaining tools. He had only need to put on a pair of laytex and they could begin this grueling task. It would not be long at all before Jethro came downstairs looking for an answer or two, and rarely had he let the stalwart man down in their decade and more of experience together.

Preparation for the autopsy went as usual, as Jimmy was already adorned for the task. Ducky returned to the smooth metal sporting a mask and the proper gloves. He was about to ask Mr. Palmer to check the time, when he heard that peculiar beeping again; this time, louder.

"Wait, do you hear that?" Jimmy asked this time. Now it was apparent the sound wasn't a trick of an aging mind—this was quite real, and quite invisible.

"Yes, Mr. Palmer, I do." Ducky moved towards the table and the body, the only one of the pair to recognize the source. The beeping stopped a moment later, but the examiner's eyes were fixed on the soft, red light flickering, just barely visible under the freshly washed skin of the young Amy's abdomen. Ducky backed away a few, stiff paces. Mr. Palmer's back was turned now, he not realize just yet what was happening.

"Yeah, I hear it now. Did someone leave their cell ph—" As the young man turned back to face the table, he saw the look on the examiner's face. "Are you okay, Dr. Mallard?"

Ducky glanced up, "Get down, Mr. Palmer!"

Yet Jimmy, who was nearly three body-lengths away from the victim's body barely had a moment to comprehend the warning when an ear-splitting eruption filled the room. His slight frame was thrown clear off the ground and several yards through the air. The heat of the initial explosion faded after what seemed like forever, leaving him with a severely ringing head, stabbing pains in his chest and the feeling of something wet on his face.

Palmer lay, half-sprawled and tangled on the floor with his palms flat under him. He gaped over his shoulder at the sight of what used to be a cadaver and an autopsy table. It was nothing more than a hunk of metal with a charred hole in it. Smoke billowed everywhere, and worst of all, he could not see Dr. Mallard.

He couldn't see Dr. Mallard. Or hear him. Coughing, Jimmy tried to push up on one of his arms, but the agony in his ribs felled him like a kick to the head.

With a groan, he just managed to roll over onto his back when the edges of his vision darkened. Then he was out.

-

Smoke masked almost everything in sight, but Gibbs, for one of the few times in his lifetime, felt true terror sink into his heart…

He came back and the office was half-empty. Fifteen minutes to drive to Betty Jenkin's apartment only to find out that she no longer lived in said apartment, and fifteen minutes of silently celebrating to himself later, DiNozzo was back at his desk. Well, standing in front of it. The only one here was McGee; Ziva and Gibbs were gone. Gibbs he expected. But where was elusive little Ziva David…?

Black Betty had taken most of her stuff from her place and told the superintendent that she was leaving for good. 'Stuff' pretty much meant her keys, wallet, a packet of cigarettes, a few CDs, her old-fashioned CD player, and not much else. She had moved out in a hurry, leaving everything else behind. He supposed if she had been a witness at the crime this morning, she didn't meant to be. He smelled a suspect.

"Hello, McGee," he greeted, sitting down in his chair. "I got a job for you, little buddy."

"Kinda busy, Tony," the robotic reply came. His teammate was very fixed on whatever computerized task he was given. That wasn't going to stop Tony, of course.

"Turns out our Hell's Angel has flown the coop, just a few days ago. I don't suppose you could do something magical and find out where she lives, so Gibbs doesn't disembowel me. I'd really appreciate it."

There was a significant pause. McGee wasn't even listening. Then:

"Uh oh."

It was a simple enough statement that needed no further explanation, but Tony had to ask anyway. After all, this was McGeek speaking. It had to be something good. Well, bad…but good.

"What's the matter, McGoo?" he asked, springing lightly out of his chair and gliding over to the other desk.

McGee made an annoyed wince and glanced over his shoulder at DiNozzo. "Go away, Tony. This is serious. I think I may have accidentally…"

His would-be tormentor's eyebrow perked. "Accidentally what, McGuinness?"

There came a troubled pause after that. McGee's fingers stopped typing for a moment before he reluctantly replied, "…hacked into Abby's computer."

That would have been enough to attract even Gibb's attention, had he been present to hear it. He was, in fact. Their boss was just arriving at their little workspace with Ziva in tow, the latter casting a narrowed look over her two male associates. She could smell trouble. They reeked of it. And Gibbs was not blind—a moment later, both the former member of Mossad and the special agent were standing in front of McGee's desk with varied intensity in their gazes.

"Did you just say 'accidentally' hacked, McGee?" Gibbs demanded firmly, leaning over.

"Uhhhh…" McGee was too bus furiously drumming at his keyboard to form an immediate answer to that. His screen was going crazy with randomly selected files and he was losing them all. "Somehow, yes, I think…my computer has a Trojan that's systematically locating and deleting evidence from her hardrive, yes…"

"Well, put a stop to it!" Gibbs slapped the back of the monitor angrily. Even Tony shut his mouth, gouging the extreme weight of the situation.

"I don't know how…this is even—" Every time he tracked it down, it loaded up another program and its associated files, extinguishing them before he could lock on. "I can't! It's too fast for my—"

His screen went black; the lights on his CPU died. For a moment, McGee just stared at the dark panel, mouth slightly agape. When he finally turned his head to look up, he saw Gibbs stand up straight with his computer's power cord in hand. Gibbs then dropped it on the floor. "How about now?"

"You can't hack into Abby's computer from here, can you?" Tony asked, before the storm could take place. "That just doesn't sound…"

"It was a malicious program designed to use my algorithms to hack into the NCIS evidence records, which are conveniently linked to Abby's hardrive, Tony," McGee told him quickly. His heart was still beating furiously and his head was swimming with the suddenness of the attack. "But there's no way a virus could have…I've never seen something jump around like that."

"What did you lose, McGee?" is what Gibbs would have asked then. Ziva's mouth was opened partially, as though to remark on the situation. But a slight tremor in the floor and the muffled sound of something violent erupting under their feet seized them. It only lasted a few seconds, but the effect was instantaneous.

Everyone in the office felt it, as though it had been an earthquake that just didn't happen in D.C. The air was cut with startled comments, but Gibbs's team felt frozen to the Earth. After a few short seconds, the surprised silence was broken by Tony.

"Boss…what was that?"

Gibbs already felt the cold dread crawling up his spine. "I know what it sounded like," he said through half-gritted teeth as he pushed back from the desk. One glance around at the faces of his agents, and he knew they'd clued in. Dread just wasn't something he wanted to deal with right now. Over the chatter of the office, said, "Ziva…with me. DiNozzo, McGee, stay here. Fix this virus thing."

"But—"

"That's an order, McGee."

Right about then, all four sets of eyes witnessed as a pair of security guards rushed past the cubicles and desks halfway across the room and disappeared through a door marked with an 'Exit' sign. Without another word, Gibbs grabbed Ziva with a look, and they both sprinted for the stairwell.

Gibbs was dragging about then thousand pounds of bad air with him. The dusky gray walls of the stairwell blurred together as he raced to the basement level of the building. Even through the window to the autopsy corridor showed no sign of wreckage or disaster, his very accurate experience told him that the unquestionable explosion had happened further in. His crime-confident brain had already figured out how a bomb could have reached the inside of his jurisdiction. It was pounding inside of his chest, and he was incapable of giving himself the hope that it had somehow, been in some way, someone else's fault but his.

But that's not how it was.

Both he and Ziva drew their guns after they burst through the stairwell door and into the pristine hallway. The security guards had already opened the door to the autopsy room, and smoke was flowing out in a hazy river. He had to swallow down the lump in his throat as, per procedure, Gibbs signaled to them both and assigned them to cover duty. He held his breath and moved into the devastated room.

He didn't see either of the bodies yet, or evidence that they were alive. He stepped in further, with Ziva close behind. She turned and circled around the first table, keep her gun trained on the obvious source of the explosion. They were silent, in the event this was an intrusion…but then they both spotted the first victim lying on his back, several yards away.

Smoke masked almost everything in sight, but Gibbs, for one of the few times in his lifetime, felt true terror sink into his heart…

--

TBC