Rule Number Eight

by Yanagi-wa

When Ducky is attacked at a crime scene, no one's happy. In fact, they're down right hacked.

1. Chapter 1

Rule Number Eight.

Gibbs' rules: Rule #8: Never take anything for granted.

.

Beta by Jake and Jordre

Gibbs glanced around the crime scene, getting nods from the men he looked at. He keyed his mic and said, "All clear. Send Ducky in."

Jimmy replied, "Affirmative. On our way."

Gibbs looked around again. He wasn't a happy Team Lead right now. The SEALs were on a classified mission and would be gone for at least ten days. He was already missing them, and it was only day two. It didn't help that they were under radio silence, no contact. He sighed, rubbed his stomach, and went back to work.

Ned Dorneget looked down. He'd been set to Bag 'n' Tag ―the caps were his― and was taking it very seriously. This was one of the biggest cases he'd been allowed to work, and he wanted to make a good impression. Vance had instituted a new program of TDA's, Temporary Duty Agents, who could be borrowed by any team that was short for whatever reason. He decided that he'd like to stay on this assignment for a while; it was very educational. He dragged his attention back to his duty and continued to look for anything that looked like evidence.

Tim McGee glowered at the local. "Look. I'm not trying to tell you how to do your job, I'm just checking off the list ... so, you checked the whole house and all the outbuildings, right?"

The local LEO was obviously resentful; he knew that any crime involving Navy or Marines went to NCIS, but this was a big drug bust, and they were losing it to Feds. So he wasn't as accommodating as he could be. "Yeah ... we checked everywhere before we even called you in. That jerk in a uniform got himself killed over one of the biggest bales of cocaine I've ever seen. And that's all I know. You guys rode in on your ... came and took over ... put us on the sidelines right away. You got what I got. Now. I'm on crowd control until further notice, so I'm gonna go do my thing before the Chief comes and busts my ass." He strode off, back stiff.

Tim watched him for a moment, then grumbled, "Damnit, Gibbs, just a little ... just once. All those ruffled feathers." He checked his phone, checked another task off, and went to wait for Ducky and Jimmy. He knew that the locals were so outraged that they wouldn't show them where the body was; they'd just point and sulk.

.

Ducky eyed the GPS, then asked, "Are you sure, Jimmy? I believe we should have turned at that last fork."

"Yeah ... let me think ... um ... no. If we'd turned there, we'd be in the river now. You look at that GPS and seem to turn it over. North is always up, no matter what direction we're going. The arrow is us."

Ducky, who'd heard this explanation a dozen times before, demanded, "Then why is my bump of direction telling me we're going the wrong way?"

Jimmy, who'd had this argument with Ducky clear back in the days of paper maps, just sighed. He wasn't going to get into an argument with Ducky over this; it just led to hurt feelings and sulking. Only he'd deny he sulked with his last breath. "No idea, Ducky. Maybe it's still on Scottish time or something."

Ducky snorted at that, then pointed, "There's Tim."

Jimmy saw Tim and pulled in. "Hey."

"Hurry up. The locals are all flamin' pissed. Gibbs."

Jimmy grimaced. "Damn."

Ducky just shook his head. "I swear. You'd think he'd learn by now. But ... Let's get this over with." He hopped out of the truck and went to crouch over the body.

Jimmy started unloading the gurney, but something made him look up, just in time to see someone bolt out of a boat shed at the back of the property and head for a car parked on a dirt track at the side of the lot. Unfortunately, Ducky was between him and his target. The man took a wild swing, catching Ducky on the shoulder.

Ducky cried out in surprise and fell, hitting his head on something.

Jimmy swore, pulled his sidearm and took a couple of shots, which caused the perp to abandon his target vehicle and swerve into the woods instead.

The Sheriff yelled, "Cease fire! What the hell is going on?"

Jimmy eyed him for a moment then snarled, "Perp was in the damn boathouse. Took a fuckin' run for it and knocked Ducky down. Excuse me for gettin' pissed."

Jimmy hurried to Ducky, yelling for Gibbs at the same time.

He needn't have bothered, as the gunfire had Gibbs, Ned, and Tim arriving at a dead run. "What the fuckin' hell?" He got a good look at Ducky, who was lying on the ground, dazed. "Duck?"

Jimmy was too busy doing an assessment to answer.

Ducky groaned and tried to touch his head. Since he had a gash on the side of his head, this wasn't such a good idea. Jimmy blocked his hand gently. "No, don't touch. Your hands are dirty."

"Oh. Thank you, dear boy. What the devil was that all about?"

Gibbs snarled, "Evidently some fuck-wad didn't clear a boat storage shed. Our perp was hiding in there, probably under the damn boat. Decided to make a break for it and you got in his way."

A Highway Patrol Officer came over to Ducky at a dead run. "I got this. I'm EMT trained."

Jimmy nodded kindly. "And I'm a physician. You can get my kit from the bus, if you would."

"I got mine right here." The officer dropped his mini-kit on the ground. "Name's Frank Johnson."

Jimmy eyed the kit then smiled as Tim dropped his kit beside the other one.

"Here. You'll want this. I'm gonna go and rip some hick a new asshole."

The medic-trained Patrol Officer leaned in to watch Jimmy work.

The first thing he had to do was get Ducky to cooperate. He did that by simply saying, "Damnit, Ducky, a physician who treats himself has a fool for a patient. You said so yourself. Now hold still."

Ducky grumbled a bit, but submitted to the examination. He did swear at the penlight. Jimmy snorted. "I know, I know. But you are concussed. Mild, but still."

After that, Jimmy cleaned the shallow gash to get a good look. "Not deep. I'll just butterfly it for now, clean dressing. You know the drill."

Ducky submitted with ill grace, but endured the treatment.

.

Meanwhile Gibbs was giving the sheriff and the Highway Patrol lead officer all kinds of hell, with Tim standing behind him with a nasty look on his face.

"I don't know what kind of fucked-up, jack-wad, half-assed training you idiots received, but it's unacceptable. Ducky is old, and that dick could have fuckin' killed him. As it is he's got a damn concussion. I've never seen such a fuckin' useless bunch of ASVAB-waiver recipients in my whole damn life. The whole bunch of ya need a Number Ten attitude adjustment. You're also so damn dumb, if you fell in a barrel of tits, you'd come out suckin' your damn thumbs." He was really on a roll, sounding more like his SDI persona than an NCIS Senior Team Lead.

Tim walked closer and announced, "Save your breath to cool your fuckin' soup. We've got better things to do than yell at them. If they haven't got sense enough to actually fuckin' search the whole damn building, including under the fuckin' boat ... well, let it go. Come on. We need to get Ducky back to NCIS— and the body, too."

The two LEO's were looking both pissed and dismayed; pissed because both Gibbs and Tim were ripping a strip off both of them, and pissed and dismayed because they knew that someone had fucked up royally. They both vowed to find out who and have a few things to say themselves.

Jimmy helped Ducky up. "Come on. We'll get back to the Yard and you can sit at your desk ... unless you'd rather go home."

"I'll go back to the Yard and sit a bit. I'll decide in about an hour." Ducky had to admit that he was feeling very shaky, but he didn't want to go home and be alone.

Tim offered, "You could go lay down on Abby's futon. It's really comfortable, and she'll be happy to help you up if you can't manage on your own." Ducky gave him an indignant look. "Last time I got concussed, she had to help me," Tim said. "Seriously. It's really low."

Ducky shrugged, unusual for him, "Very well. Let's ... as you boys put it ... put wheels under this bitch." Everyone blinked, it was always a bit startling when Ducky used profanity.

Jimmy got their body loaded into the truck with Gibbs' help. Ducky got into the passenger seat with Tim's, and they headed back to the Yard. Ned Dorneget and Gibbs drove back in the "company" SUV. They left Tim there to oversee processing the scene.

While Gibbs drove, Ned worked on his tablet. "I think I've got a line on PO Reynolds. He and our vic are cousins. PO Jackson owns ... or owned ... the crime scene, and Reynolds lived with him. No unusual financial transactions in either account ... might want to look for a stash of cash and ... arms. What with that brick of coke. I'm gonna have the CSI's check while they process the scene. Okay?"

Gibbs nodded. "Good. Call Tim."

"On it, Boss."

Tim answered on the first ring. "Yeah. What?" He listened while Ned explained what was wanted. "Okay. I'll see to it myself. Our CSI's are all busy collecting ... garbage, basically. The whole house is a fuckin' pigsty. The locals are so pissed that they're basically useless. I really, really wish Jet would ... learn some basic public relations ... or just keep his damn mouth shut and let one of us handle relations. Seriously." Tim hung up and went to speak with the head of the CSI Team.

The CSI lead was sympathetic but frankly stated that they would be processing for the next several hours; exactly what he said was, "This garbage dump is going to take for fuckin' ever, don't expect results in less than 48 hours ... more like 72. And that's with all three labs working full time. An' that's not gonna happen."

Tim just snarled, "Damnit, how hard is it to look for guns and drugs while you pick up shit? The one bundle we found is at least 2K. I'll do a strict search myself."

Mac just shrugged. "You know how it is. Or maybe you don't. We get to concentrating on collection and inventory and don't see the obvious because we're looking for ... well, we don't miss evidence that's hidden but need to be hit in the face with the obvious. That's why we do a secondary search. If you want to do a strict search ... I'd appreciate it." and with that he walked off to oversee his team.

Tim just rubbed his face and sighed, "Getting as bad as Jet." He then started his search.

It didn't take him long to find his objective, drugs or guns; in this case, both. He opened a closet door and, instead of glancing around at the nearly empty space, he stepped in and looked carefully at everything in it. He took another step into the narrow, deep walk-in and heard a creak. He stepped back and then forward again. "What?" Tim knelt and felt the floor, glad that Gibbs had given him a lesson in flooring. It didn't take him long to find the loose floorboard and lift it. He pointed the beam of his flashlight into the cavity and saw three wrapped bundles. The shape was wrong for drugs, but right for handguns. He pulled the bundles out and called for evidence bags.

A CSI just shoved some at him, grumbling, "Prepared? Not so much."

Tim just snarled wordlessly and bagged the guns. He turned to continue his search. After looking at and feeling the top shelves he looked up. "Oh, yeah." The small square of an attic access was partially hidden by a removable shelf.

Tim looked around for a ladder or some other way to climb to the hatch. He didn't see anything for a moment then realized that all the shelves above the bottom-most one came out. He pulled them out of their slots and stacked them against the wall to the side, noticing the scuff marks there. This revealed toeholds made of two-by stock nailed to the back wall. They looked like braces for the middle of the shelves, but they could also be used to climb to the hatch. So he climbed.

It wasn't hard to push the hatch up into the attic. Tim eased his head into the space and yelped. "Holy shit! Oh my fucking God." This brought a CSI at a run.

"What? A 'coon?"

Tim yelled back. "No, a fuckin' stash. Huge. There's enough shit here to keep DC stoned for a month. Get some help, I'll start handing it down."

Dave, the CSI Team Lead, called, "Be there in a sec. You gloved?"

"Of course. But ... maybe I should double-glove?"

"Okay. I'll get some blue gloves, they're stick-proof. Don't start handing down until I get them." Dave hurried to get the gloves.

When Dave handed Tim the second pair of gloves, he put them on right over the first pair, then started carefully moving the bricks of drugs from their hiding place in the attic and handing them off to one man, who then handed them on to another CST, who put them in a bin.

It didn't take them long to recover ten bricks from the attic, three hand guns from under the floorboard, and an assortment of pills from the bathroom.

Tim nodded. "Well, that's that. And now we know why they were so determined to protect the site and why they were killing each other off. Jerks. Like there isn't enough to go around. Greedy assholes." Tim would never understand why they did what they did; as if drugs and guns weren't bad enough, they had to kill each other over them. "That still doesn't excuse hurting Ducky." Tim checked that everything was inventoried, then offered to drive the first truck of evidence back to the Yard, explaining, "I know you're not all done here, but I'd really like to get the drugs locked up ASAP and get the guns into Abby's hands. Who knows what other crimes those jackholes committed."

Dave just said, "Okay. Good idea, but send someone back with another truck, okay? We'll need it to get everyone and all that shit back."

"Okay. Why don't you call dispatch and have them do that? That way you'll get the right trucks an' shit." Tim eyed his phone and wondered why no one had called him; Gibbs would usually have been blowing his phone up by now.

.

Gibbs' group arrived at the Yard and began the tedious process of checking in. Since the last bomb threat, it was a real nuisance. The check-in crew realized that something was wrong, so they hurried as much as they could.

Ned, irritated at how long it was taking and pissed that he was irritated, decided to try to call Jimmy. "Gremlin? How's Ducky?" He listened for a minute then said, "Good. How's Abby?" He frowned at the reply, shut his phone and told Gibbs. "Abby's pissed. I ... seriously, who knocks down Ducky?"

At that, the check-in crew all gathered around the team demanding to know what had actually happened. Gibbs was getting ready to have one of his legendary epic explosions but Ned cut him off by telling the crew what had happened, ending, "He'll be okay. But we're keeping a close eye on him for a bit."

The sergeant in charge of the crew asked, "He's going to be okay. Right?"

"He'll be fine, Dr Palmer is with him. Can we go now?"

"Sure. Go catch that bitch." The crewman raised the barrier and motioned them through.

It was a short drive to the parking garage and a quick trip up in the elevator. They didn't go all the way to the squad room, just to Abby's Lab. Ducky was supposed to be there, resting.

He was. Abby had pulled her futon out of storage and put it on the floor in her office. She'd also gotten out her pillows and blankets. Ducky was curled up on his side, head on a pillow, covered with a fleece blanket.

Gibbs just nodded at Abby on his way through; she smiled, then went back to doing whatever it was she was doing. Jimmy was nearly tromping on Gibbs' heels. While Ducky had gone directly to Abby, Jimmy had had to check in the body and fill out paperwork.

Gibbs knelt down and touched Ducky on the shoulder. "Duck?"

Ducky rolled over to look up at Gibbs. He smiled a bit as he said, "Ah, Jethro. I'm fine. Bit of a headache, a bit dizzy. Mild concussion. I'll be right as rain in a trice."

Gibbs eyed Ducky for a moment then stood up, saying, "Doc Palmer will be the judge of that. And no arguments."

Ducky made a face but agreed, "Very well, just to set your mind at ease. And get a mild analgesic."

Jimmy settled crosslegged in front of Ducky and went through all the concussion checks. He stood up, telling Gibbs, "He'll be fine in a couple of days. Mild concussion."

Gibbs snarled, "So you've said ... several times. What does he need?"

"Rest. Which he's getting. Not to be left alone, also getting. And ..." Suddenly Jimmy got a terrified look on his face. "Oh, shit! AJ! AJ's gonna go mental. He'll come back from wherever he is and ... wreak havoc. OH, my God."

Gibbs actually turned pale. Tony loved Ducky like no one else on earth. When he found out, he was going to do something nasty to the stupid perp. "Christ on a mop stick."

Ned, who had been hovering in the door, announced, "We have to find this guy and lock him up before the SEALs find out. They'll ... we ..." Ned waved his hand, trying to express his fear. "I'm going up to ... do something." He scurried out mumbling to himself.

Ducky just groaned and lay back down. "Not thinking about that. I'm going to rest now." He covered his aching head with the blanket and curled up.

Abby had been watching all this with a scowl on her face. When Ducky had first shown up she'd freaked. When he'd requested her futon and quiet, she'd provided both, carefully putting out the bed and closing the office door. Now she just made fizzling noises, gestured for everyone to come into the lab and shut the door.

"Okay. What the actual fuck? Who ... who hurt my Duckman? Who do I get to make disappear? And I will. Seriously, what the hell?"

Gibbs grabbed Abby's flailing hands and held them. "We'll find that ... asswipe. You have a Foxtrot Tango of evidence to analyze, so get to it. I want to know everything about every bit of shit Tim's bringing back. I'll have Ned start on ... not sure what. Tim'll know. And ... once we find them ... I'm personally gonna fuck 'em all up." He patted her hands then released them. "Evidence should be in the garage, first load, so get busy." He headed for the door, rubbing his forehead and wishing for the rest of the Pod.

He led the way to the elevator but stopped suddenly. "Damnit. Autopsy. We need the autopsy ASAP." He looked for Jimmy but he'd disappeared, headed for the Morgue and his solo autopsy. His report was done as he went, but it was detailed and as perfect as he could make it. It really wasn't going to be much help; the PO had been shot point-blank with a small-caliber pistol, most likely a .38. The bullet had gone through his heart, then one lung, and lodged in a rib.

.

Gibbs gathered his troops at his desk; he'd discovered that Tony's campfires actually worked. "Okay. What do we know?"

Ned sighed. "I went over their pay. Nothing. They're both E-6, low man on the payroll. And their bank accounts jibe. But..." He turned to Tim.

"I checked ... other things. They both have numbered accounts ... elsewhere. And those show considerable activity. And by that, I mean 20k or more per transaction. It's all disappearing ... somewhere. I've got Cyber Crime working on it. We'll find out what and why. But they're saying it's all disappearing into Russia. So ... we'll see." He shrugged irritably then sat down.

Gibbs frowned. "Well ... it's a start. What about tracing a vehicle or bus ticket?"

Ned picked up the clicker. "We were here ..." he zoomed in on the location of the house. "The nearest bus station is three hundred miles away. I think he's stolen a vehicle locally, so we'll have to wait until it's reported ... which shouldn't be long. If we're very lucky, we'll be able to track it via an onboard GPS. I left a message for the local LEO's to let us know about any stolen vehicles."

Tim gave Gibbs a dirty look, then said, "I doubt they'll cooperate. They're all too pissed. Jet ..." He grumbled, "Never mind." and went back to his report. "So. Again ... If we're lucky, Cyber will be able to access those accounts and either freeze them or empty them. I believe this is a connection to a drug cartel. New, Colombian, ruthless. When they find out about this mess ... well, I wouldn't want to be anyone on this end of the pipeline."

Gibbs grumbled, but agreed. "I think you're right ... so, we wait until Cyber comes up with something."

"Sorry, Boss, but yeah. Um ... we contacting Tony about this?"

"No. Radio silence. Wherever they are ... they're out of contact until the mission is done. Then ... frankly, I'm worried. They're all going to go apeshit."

Ned looked blank. "And we're not?"

Tim scowled, which sat oddly on his still-boyish features. "Yeah, we are. But we're in a position to do something ... they're not, which just makes it worse. I'm gonna call Abby and check on Ducky."

Everyone waited while Tim pinged Abby on their private chat connection. It only took a minute for Abby to answer.

"Hey, Tim. What can I do you for?"

"Abby. How's Ducky? He doin' okay?"

"He's asleep. I was just about to wake him for a concussion check." They could see Abby on Tim's monitor, so everyone knew someone had come into the lab. "Oh ... never mind; Jimmy's here. I'll call you back in about five. Okay?"

"Fine." Tim cut the connection from his end and started to type. "While Jimmy's doing the check, I'm gonna email Belt. That way Tony won't have a fit because no one tried to notify him. I know he won't get it, but that's not on my head. I tried."

Gibbs smirked at Tim. "Now you're gettin' it."

.

Abby turned from her monitor to greet Jimmy. "Hey! Come to check on Ducky?"

"I did. He needs a concussion check. He still laying down in your office?" Jimmy looked at the closed office door.

"Yeah. I closed the door and turned my music way down. That's drivin' me nuts, by the way." Abby was well aware that her music wasn't to everyone's taste, but it was her lab. She tried to be considerate, since Gibbs had really chewed her out, and keep it down to what Tony called a dull roar.

Jimmy nodded. "I'm sure he appreciates it." He opened the sliding door by tapping the big button clearly labeled 'Open'. "Ducky? You awake?"

Ducky rolled over. "I am, indeed. Come for my check?"

"Yeah. Can you sit up?" Jimmy reached for Ducky, who took his hand.

"Yes. But these old bones do need a bit of help. I think I'd like to sit in the chair." Ducky accepted Jimmy's help and got up to sit in Abby's rolling chair. "Thank you."

"You're welcome. Now ... pen light." Jimmy flashed the light into Ducky's eyes. Ducky flinched a bit as the light was a bit painful after the dimness of the office. "Sorry. Pupils are equal and reactive. You know the date?" Ducky snorted and told him. "I know. It's really stupid. But ... I think you're fine. What do you want to do?"

Ducky waggled his head, shook his shoulders then said, "I'd really like a nice cup of tea, some candy, and a good whack at that ... moron."

Jimmy chuckled a bit then turned to the door. "I can manage the tea and candy; the whack? Not so much. Come on."

Ducky followed Jimmy into the lab proper, to be greeted by an ecstatic Abby.

"Oh, man, Ducky. Do not scare me like that. Hug?" Abby opened her arms waiting for Ducky's permission. She's learned her lesson when she'd hurt Tony with an over-enthusiastic hug. She asked when anyone was hurt.

"Of course, my dear, exactly what I need." Ducky accepted the careful hug with pleasure. "Nothing like a hug from a beautiful woman to cure what ails me."

Abby pushed Ducky away to look at him. "Damn that ... that jerk-wad twatwaffle. I'll ... I'll mess him up. He'll electronically disappear from the face of the earth." She touched the bandage that covered the cut on Ducky's temple. "Asshat." She blinked then said, "Not you, Ducky. That ... creep that knocked you down. You're way too nice to be an asshat. Not that you couldn't be, if you needed but ..." she caught Jimmy and Ducky's amused expressions. "Okay, shutting up now." Something pinged and she scurried off to check. "Go. Have tea. Busy now."

Ducky chuckled. "Well, we now have our marching orders, don't we?"

Jimmy hovered a bit as he replied. "We do. So ... tea. Come on."

"Don't hover, Jimmy, I'm not dizzy. Tea would be lovely." Ducky patted Jimmy on the shoulder then led the way to his desk in Autopsy and a nice cup of tea to wash down the Grunt Candy.

.

Tony eyed the ratty truck and sighed. "Well, shit. That's our ride?"

The driver shrugged. "Sorry."

"Okay, never mind. It'll get us where we're going."

Everyone climbed into the bed of the half-ton pickup and settled on the narrow wooden benches along the sides.

Remy checked his phone. "No fuckin' bars. Didn't expect any, but a man can hope."

Dean shook his head. "Don't like it, my damn gut's gone crazy. Somethin's not right."

"Join the club. This whole fuckin' mission is ... whack. Nothin's gone wrong on an epic scale, but nothin's right either."

Cosmo nodded. "Our contact just fuckin' disappeared with a damn message that the tango is dead. The pick-up failed, but left us ... this." He waved a hand. "What the actual fuck? AJ?"

Tony shook his head mournfully. "Someone hates us." He settled back, banged on the top of the cab and called, "Put wheels under this bitch." The truck pulled out with its cargo of disgusted SEAL's.

What was supposed to be a quick in-and-out pickup of a valuable asset had turned into some sort of scavenger hunt for a way out of the country. Tony was wondering what was actually going on.

.

Lieutenant Sam Brown, also known as Belt, eyed the email like it was explosive. In a way, it was. He knew that DiNozzo's team was out of contact, and he couldn't get the intel to them… but he wished he could. They were all going to go mental. He sent an email back saying that, if they needed anything he could provide, he'd send it ASAP.

When Captain Rafe McKinley, the East Coast Commander got his CC, he just sighed and said, "Well, fuck." He was pissed. He liked Ducky; everyone liked him. This resulted in his sending Gibbs an email saying the same thing Lt. Sam Brown had.

Gibbs turned to his computer as it dinged for the second time in five minutes. This sort of activity wasn't that unusual, but he was on edge and needed a distraction for a few minutes.

He smiled as he announced, "Got two emails, one from Belt, the other from Captain McKinley. They're offering us whatever we need to capture PO Reynolds. I'm sure that extends to international operations." He smirked. "I intend to follow the trail to the head. I know he, or she, didn't have anything to do with the attack on Ducky ... but I want their ass anyway. If it wasn't for them, our perps wouldn't have been on our radar, Ducky wouldn't have been looking at PO Jackson." He shut up, shrugged, and returned to his computer.

Gibbs had finally completed his computer class, due to unceasing nagging from both Tony and Tim, so he was capable of doing more than demanding something be done. Right now he was trying to trace the thefts of vehicles from a fifty-mile search area centered on their murder site. It was actually named; Churchwarden Mews. Some realtor had thought that naming the old farms would make them more attractive to new buyers. So now he was struggling with finding his info without the help of the locals. The officer in charge of vehicle thefts had actually told him, "You're so much better than we locals are, have at it. I'll give you access to our database; good luck." Gibbs hadn't liked the smirk in the man's voice. He liked it even less now that he'd gotten a good look at the spreadsheet- style data base. And now he was realizing that Tony's constant, "Be nice. It's free, and bad attitude will always come back to bite you in the ass." Only Tony had been deflecting, soothing, and otherwise fixing the consequences.

"Damn it. I can't make heads or tails of this." Gibbs eyed the spreadsheet, which was showing results sorted by vehicle type. The first entry went back to 1998 and was marked, "Totaled." "McGee! Get over here and fix this. I have no idea."

Tim got up and went to Gibbs to see what the problem was. "Oh, spreadsheet. Click here, then here. That what you want?"

Gibbs eyed the monitor for a moment; the sheet was now sorted by most recent, then location. "Yeah. Show me how you did that." Tim did, then returned to his own desk.

Gibbs spent the next two hours making calls to owners of stolen cars and trucks, trying to find someone who'd seen something, even if they didn't know what they'd seen.

Finally he contacted a woman who had reported her 2000-something Toyota Corolla stolen that morning. When he asked how she'd noticed so quickly, she replied, "Well, I heard it start up; motor's going bad. Sounds like a lawnmower with a squeak. I ran out and just caught the brake lights turning North. Called it right in. Not like I need the damn thing ... had it listed on Craigslist ... but still."

Gibbs nodded absently. "And distinguishing features? Dings, scrapes ... anything like that?"

"Not to notice. It had a bit of a sag in the back bumper, left to right facing the rear. Or driver's side to passenger. It's faded red. Nothing else. Oh, if you do find it, take some good pictures for the insurance."

"Yes, ma'am, we'll do that. Thank you for your help." Gibbs hung up. "Well, son of a bitch. Not like it's not the most damn common fuckin' piece a' shit on the planet."

Tim sighed. "No shit. BOLO?"

"Yeah, I've got it. Good luck with any results though. A red 2004 Toyota Corolla? How many thousands of them are on the highway right now? And how many people can tell a 2004 from any other year?" Gibbs' expression was more than stormy.

Ned was seated at what was now considered the bad luck desk; it had been Kate's, then Ziva's, so no one wanted to sit at it. He had been assigned to tracing any connection between Reynolds and a major drug dealer. His mother was CIA, so he had some connections he could tap.

"I've got requests for intel in with several of my contacts. I'm sorry to say that it might be tomorrow before anyone can come through for us. But ... I'm sure they will." He rubbed his face wearily. "Coffee?"

Gibbs thought for several moments. "No. Go home. Get some rest. We'll be watch an' watch for a while, so three S's when we can. I'm gonna check on Ducky."

Everyone gathered their gear and headed out. It was late afternoon by now, and everyone was hungry and tired.

Tim paced Gibbs. "Jimmy will take Ducky home. We'll take care of him. But what about you?"

"I'm coming home with you. That way we can stay up with Ducky. There's three of us, so it won't wear any of us out."

"Okay. I wasn't really worried; Jimmy and I can handle it, but this is better. Ducky's more liable to obey you than either of us." Gibbs couldn't help his disbelieving snort. "Well, he is."

They met Jimmy and Ducky at the elevator, so they just let them on and went down to the garage level.

Gibbs thought for a second then said, "Tim, Jimmy, you got your own vehicles?" Both men nodded. "Okay. Duck, you'll leave your car here."

Jimmy interrupted. "I drove him in. No need to worry about his car, it's at home."

"Great. Tim and I will drive ourselves, you bring Ducky. That okay with you, Ducky?"

"Fine. I've just about quit driving, I don't think I see well enough. I'm fine close and middle distance, but my far sight is bad. I just don't feel it's worth the risk. It's not as if I'm house-bound by it. All I have to do is ask one of the boys to take me, or call Uber." Ducky climbed into Jimmy's truck. "And I will admit that it's a bit easier to get into this truck than down into the Morgan." He shut his door and settled back to relax and enjoy his ride, if his headache would clear.

Tim grumbled, "Fuck Uber. Never, Ducky." Ducky just shrugged and smiled.

Jimmy also had a bit to say. "If you need a ride, call one of us. I don't trust Uber. I know most of them are really nice people, but I'm not about to trust anyone not us."

Ducky nodded in understanding. "I do thank you, my dear boy."

It didn't take that long to get home, and Ducky had to admit that he was glad of it. His head was throbbing still, and he was getting very stiff; his very bones ached.

Jimmy came around to help Ducky out of the truck, which Ducky accepted a bit grudgingly. "Don't be like AJ, Ducky. You're hurting still, and stiff as a board. Come on. I'll help you into the kitchen, then you can take it from there. I'd recommend a nice hot bath, supper, and early bed. Up to you, though."

Ducky sank into the nearest chair. "I believe I'll just sit here until there's tea and food. Then bath and, as you recommend, early bed. And no concussion checks. If you wake me before 0600, I shall be very displeased."

Tim walked in just then and told them, "Gibbs called me. He's stopping by the grocery store. He said he would make that pasta that you like. Chicken, peas, and ... whatever."

Ducky looked pleased, but said, "It's delicious, but he shouldn't go to so much trouble just for me."

That got him some really disgusted looks. Tim said, "Ducky. Seriously? It's not too much trouble. We could have lost you ... you're not fragile or anything like that, but a fall like that ... one-hit homicide, anyone?"

"Oh! Well. I never thought about that. I'm sorry I worried you all."

Jimmy shook his head. "Don't apologize; it's not your fault. When we catch that motherfucker, I'm gonna mess him up. Bad."

Ducky blinked at Jimmy; he was usually so very polite that when he used foul language he always shocked everyone.

Tim snorted, "Only if you get to him first. I'm worried about what AJ and the others are gonna say ... or do."

Jimmy nodded. "Probably involve a strafing run or massive quantities of C-4 or Symtex."

Tim laughed, "Well, AJ always says that nothing says 'fuck you' like a strafing run."

Jimmy snickered, then went to make tea. As he was doing that, Gibbs walked in with several grocery bags. He put them down at what they called the prep station, then started unloading them.

"Tim, we got any of AJ's noodles left?"

Tim opened the small deep freeze, rummaged a bit, then said, "Nope. Too bad. I'd say I'd make some but ..." he made a face. "Don't think anyone actually wants to eat them." His only foray into pasta-making had resulted in the toughest noodles ever. Tony had offered to use one for a bootlace.

Gibbs just shrugged. "It is too bad. But I got some store-bought. Didn't like the look of their egg noodles, so I just got Barilla spaghettini; It'll do."

Jimmy interrupted to ask, "Who wants tea?"

Gibbs actually said yes when Jimmy told him it was Earl Greyer. Tim turned it down in favor of a bottled smoothie.

So Jimmy poured tea into delicate porcelain cups, put a slice of bread and butter on Ducky's saucer, and handed them around. He also put a small cup with two pills in it by Ducky's elbow.

While he was doing that, Tim put a pot of water on the stove to boil.

Gibbs took the roasted chicken out of its box and started to debone it. "I wonder why they call it deboning? Don't want the bones."

Jimmy produced a vacuum bag and replied, "Actually, we do. AJ uses them for soup, so don't be too particular about picking off all the meat." He picked up the discarded skin and bones, shoved them into the bag and waited for the rest.

Gibbs took his time about boning the chicken but didn't pick the bones as clean as he could have. When he was finished, Jimmy took the bag and vacuum sealed it, then dropped it into the freezer. "Looks like we've got just about enough to make a nice pot of stock."

Ducky sipped his tea, sighed in satisfaction, then announced, "I do love that chicken and noodle soup that AJ makes. It's also great for pot pie. I wonder what our boys are doing now?"

.

Tony eyed the truck in disgust. He'd known it was a rust bucket, but it was also a piece of junk… and broken down out in the middle of bum-fuck some 'stan or other. And still no bars on anyone's phone. "I'd like to get my hands on the dumb mother fucker who planned this damn goat rope."

Dean nodded. "And it doesn't help that half of our fuckin' equipment wasn't on site. Including the damn sat phone. I'm a gonna mess someone up bad."

Cos moaned, "I told you we should have called this fucker off. I just knew that something wasn't right the damn second half our equipment disappeared."

Remy sighed, "So ... okay ... I tol' ya so. Shut up. The second we get bars, someone get a GPS location. Someone else call Belt direct. An' I'm a call Belt. AJ?"

"Fine. Dean and I will both try to GPS our location. So, hike it or wait?" By this time he was taking any and all suggestions, no matter how stupid.

Remy pointed, "High groun' that way. We go up, we get bars ... I hope."

Tony agreed. "Right. So, put wheels under it." And with that, they headed for the hills, literally, and hoped for bars soon.

.

Gibbs poured the cream into a pot and dropped the crushed garlic cloves in. He set that to warm while he grated the three cheeses. He'd modified Tony's basic Alfredo sauce to accommodate the milder taste of chicken. That meant that he left out the white pepper and the stronger cheese rinds, sticking with the grated cheese.

Tim watched the water, waiting for it to boil. Jimmy kept an eye on Ducky.

Ducky was feeling every second of his age just now. He hurt in ways he hadn't since his salad days when he'd been active in MI6. His last few operations had been in his 60's when he'd partnered with Gibbs. He knew he had several bruises, not just the one on his face, and the cut on his temple was throbbing. He was also hungry and feeling a bit dizzy. He decided it was low blood sugar, so he turned to Jimmy. "Jimmy, would you be so kind as to get me a glass of juice? I'm not feeling quite the thing just now. I believe my sugar has tanked, and that tea and bread didn't do the trick."

Jimmy got the juice. While he was doing that he exchanged speaking looks with Gibbs. As soon as Ducky had eaten, Gibbs was going to take him upstairs and get him into a hot bath, dose him with more Grunt Candy, and put him to bed. But he was going to have to be careful; if Ducky thought for one minute that they were managing him, he'd bull up.

But Ducky was much too smart for them to slip anything by him. "Jet, if you think you're going to get away with managing me, think again. I will, however, cooperate with a nice hot bath, more meds, and an early bed. I'm not stupid."

Tim snorted. "No, you're not, but you're as stubborn as Jet with twice the experience. So ... yeah."

Ducky managed to look both indignant and amused. "Now see here, young man…" but he trailed off into chuckles. "Never mind."

Jimmy pointed out that the water was boiling, causing Gibbs to swear and check his sauce. If it boiled, the cream would curdle and the garlic would burn. Thankfully, it was just beginning to simmer.

Gibbs started putting the cheese into the hot cream while Jimmy dropped the spaghettini.

"How long?"

Tim eyed the noodles. "About ten minutes. I'll add the frozen peas in six."

Jimmy grumbled, "Too bad there's no garlic bread."

Gibbs sighed. "I know, but they didn't have any bread in the bakery department that I'd even consider. They're always out of Italian or French, and thick-sliced sourdough just doesn't cut it. And anything else just goes to mush. So ... sorry." He dropped another handful of cheese into the cream. "Make salad."

Tim obeyed, opening the fridge to get out spring greens, onion, celery, tomatoes and iceberg lettuce. He chopped the lettuce and tomatoes into chunks, sliced the celery and onions into thin slices, and tossed it all with a generous handful of the shredded cheese, some croutons, and most of a bottle of home-made Italian dressing. "There. Pasta about done?"

Jimmy tested a noodle. "Time to add the peas. Jet?"

"I'm just pickin' out the garlic." While he liked the big chunks of garlic in his Alfredo sauce, no one else did, so he picked them out and tossed them. As soon as that was done he put the coarsely chopped chicken in, added a shake of white pepper, and then the drained spaghettini and peas. "There. All done. I'll plate it up so we don't make a mess serving it. Salad done?"

Tim called, "On the table. Want me to help with the plates?"

"Could do." Gibbs picked up two plates and carried them to the table. Tim picked up two more and followed him.

Gibbs set one plate in front of Ducky and the other at his place. Tim gave one of his plates to Jimmy and settled in.

Ducky breathed in happily. "Smells so good. Thank you, Jethro."

"Welcome, Duck. How's your head?" Gibbs poked at his food for a moment then began twisting some noodles onto his fork.

"Good. Aches, but not that badly any more. I would have gotten a bottle of wine but ... I'm a bit selfish. If I can't have any, no one else can either."

Jimmy shrugged. "I don't particularly care if I have wine or not. I know AJ really likes a good bottle, but I can't tell one from another. Uneducated pallet, so AJ says." He saluted Tim with his glass of ice tea. "This is fine with me."

Ducky frowned at the glass and muttered, "Philistine. Ice in tea. Dreadful." His twinkling eyes belied his words.

Tim just took a swallow of his coffee and kept his own opinion to himself; that was that ice tea was for summer, coffee to keep awake. He was always a bit surprised at the heat in some arguments over quality wine. It was all just grape juice when all was said and done. He could almost feel the smack AJ would land on the back of his head for that bit of sacrilege.

Gibbs shrugged, "Some people care, some are just snobs who want to show off. If you like it, drink it; if you don't, don't. Pass the pepper grinder, please."

Tim pushed it over so Gibbs could grind pepper onto his salad and pasta. "Why do you put white pepper in the sauce but black on top?"

Gibbs chewed then swallowed. "I use white so there's no little black specks in the sauce. Looks like fleas. But I like black pepper on top and on my salad. Different flavors."

"Oh. Wondered." Tim went back to his food with a slight frown on his face. "I need to get up early. I'm sure my searches will be done by 0600 or so."

Gibbs nodded. "I ordered everyone home because we're not going to do any good at all, so we might as well rest."

Ducky smiled at Gibbs. "AJ would be so proud."

Tim nodded. "He would."

They settled into silence as they finished their food.

Ducky sighed. "It was very good, Jethro, thank you very much." He eased to his feet. "I believe I'll beg off on cleanup tonight. It's a nice warm bath for me."

Gibbs stood up. "I'll come up with you."

Ducky looked indignant for a second then said, "I assure you that I'm perfectly capable of getting into and out of the tub by myself."

"I'm sure you are. Unless you fall asleep in it. Wouldn't look good in the obit. 'Dr. Donald Mallard drowns in bathtub.' Yeah. So cool."

"Damnit, Jethro," Ducky snickered. "Very well, come along, then." He ambled off in the direction of the stairs, careful to keep his stride casual.

He was well aware that Jethro would follow him up the stairs, not because of any respect but simply to make sure that he didn't crack his head open by falling down them.

Ducky went into his room, gathered his pajamas, bathrobe, and slippers. He left his dirty clothing in the hamper in his closet and went to run his bath. He was pleased to see that Jethro had started it running for him. "Wonderful," he called, "Thank you, Jethro."

"Welcome. Take some candy before you get in."

"I will. You know, this reminds me of that time in ..." Ducky continued his story about a time in his twenties when he'd done some improbable thing in a hot spring. Gibbs listened absently while he pondered his scant evidence.

This was one of those cases he hated; it probably wouldn't get solved. PO Mark Reynolds was a very tiny fish in a very big pond. A pond that was probably going to suck him in and grind him to nothing. It would be nice to solve it, though. It might lead to one or two of the bigger fish. Maybe.

What really pissed him off was, the jerk had hurt Ducky and wouldn't pay for it. Not if the Colombians decided different. Or, they might just get mad and off the fucker themselves because he'd brought attention to them. If that was the case they'd never find the body, or he'd be executed in public via Colombian Necktie.

Gibbs finally gave up his brooding to go check on Ducky. He knocked on the closed door then called, "Ducky? You okay? Need anything?"

Ducky replied, "Come in, Jethro. I'm decent."

Gibbs opened the door to see Ducky sitting on a small stool dressed in his bathrobe and slippers. He grinned. "Managed it that far?"

"Yes, but I admit that I am going to need an arm to make it to my bed. I'm so stiff. The bath helped but ... ouch." He smiled a bit then pointed. "The analgesics I want are there. If you would."

Gibbs picked up a bottle. "This one?" At Ducky's nod, he shook two into his palm and offered them to him. "Here you go."

Ducky took the pills out of Gibbs' hand and crunched them up then followed with a half glass of water. "Thank you. That should do the trick. Now, me for bed."

Gibbs helped him to his room and into bed. He pulled the covers up until Ducky could reach them while saying, "You need anything just yell. Jimmy's gonna stay up to do a concussion check in four hours, then I'll be up. Tim sleeps like a dead man, so I'll have to wake him for the last shift."

"Thank you all but I really don't feel that that will be necessary."

Gibbs just patted Ducky's shoulder. "If you were one of the boys I'd smack your head. Deal." And with that he ambled out the door, shut it quietly, and headed for his room.

Jimmy stopped him for a moment. "I'll be awake, you sleep. Don't lay there brooding over what we can't help. You need your sleep." He held up a hand. "And don't give me that Marine Sniper shit. You can, but you don't need to. You know the old saying."

Gibbs did, so he just nodded and went to bed. He'd wake up in time to change watch with Jimmy, that was just the way he was.