Stalker In Our Midst

by Yanagi-wa

Tim has a stalker ... again. No one is really pleased.

1. Chapter 1

For some reason this story fought me every inch of the way. I'm not really pleased with it but I've tweaked it until it screamed.

As usual, thanks to my lovely betas Jake and Jordre for all their hard work.

Stalker In Our Midst.

[Chapter 1]

Gibbs eyed the letter on McGee's desk. He didn't like the look of it at all. There had been some rather vicious pranks played on his junior agent in the last few weeks, and he didn't like it. McGee had blamed the itching powder on AJ, but AJ had denied it and proven he hadn't done it. Now things were getting worse. And the notes were just downright creepy.

He still shuddered every time he remembered the letter that Tony had opened. Y. pestis in a letter was no joke. And this was beginning to look like that sort of thing.

Tim eyed the letter on his blotter. "Is that vetted?" He wasn't about to open any letter that hadn't gone through the NCIS mail room. Not after the itching powder.

Gibbs put on a pair of gloves and carefully turned the letter over. "Nope." He eased it into an evidence bag that Tony produced. "Thanks, AJ. Call Abby up to collect this piece a' shit."

Tony made the call on his desk phone. None of them made interoffice calls on their cells; it was a nuisance, as they usually had to go find the damn thing, especially Abby. She kept her cell in her pack in her office, as she didn't want it exposed to the chemicals in her lab. She also kept one desk phone in her office and another in the lab; the one in the lab had to be replaced on a regular basis.

Abby scurried into her office and shut the sliding glass door. "Labby. Speak."

"Abs, come up and get a letter. Someone left it on McGee's desk. Wasn't vetted. I wanna know who left it." Gibbs hung up.

Abby eyed the phone in her hand for a moment then sighed. "Gibbs. A little more information would be helpful. Really." She shrugged and picked up her kit.

She went up and collected the letter, irradiated it, then opened it in a safe box. She hated the gloves, they made her clumsy, but she knew better than to open anything like that bare-handed. The last time she'd done that, Gibbs hadn't brought her a Caf-Pow in a week, Tony had given her a sad head shake, and Dean and Cosmo had put shaving cream in her locker, her shoes, and her purse. Remy had told her that doing that was as bad as burning the roux. Tim and Jimmy had both taken the opportunity to lecture her, while Ducky had just tut-tutted and offered her tea. She'd taken a calming sip, only to realize that it had been salted.

So now she used the hated plexiglass box with the weird rubber gloves and opened the letter. It was a big disappointment. It was written on cheap printer paper, and the envelope was the common, self-sealing sort you could buy at Wal-mart or Target, the sort with the blue pattern on the inside. She didn't read the letter; it wasn't hers. She checked for fingerprints, hairs, fibers, and chemicals. She even sampled the adhesive, not that that was going to do any good. She actually hated self-sealing envelopes, as they weren't that valuable for evidence. With the kind you had to moisten, lots of people forgot and actually licked them; it made them a great way to get DNA― saliva was full of that.

It turned out that there was nothing dangerous in the letter; no powders, no letter bomb, not even a glitter bomb. Abby was also pissed to find that there wasn't anything else either; no DNA, no hairs, fibers, fingerprints or anything else useful. The paper was poor quality printer paper, the envelope the most common self-stick on the market. No help there either. Abby grumbled, "I could buy shit at Wal-mart and leave more clues." She wrote up her report and took the whole thing up herself; the mail guy was nice, but he'd lost a report last week, and she was punishing him by taking things up herself. She actually might continue that, as it was more fun than having people invade her lab, or just handing things off to the mail guy or sending off an email.

Abby trotted off the elevator, saw Remy at Gibbs' desk, and sighed. "Ok, what's AJ done now?"

Remy frowned down at her, then said, "Can't find 'im. Makes me nervous. Jet's lookin' for him."

Abby winced, "Ouch. Well, here's Timmy's letter. Not a damn thing worth messing with."

"What's it say?" Remy craned his neck to try to read it.

Abby dropped the evidence envelope on Tim's desk. "Don't know. Not mine, so I didn't read it. You're not reading it either. Nosy."

Remy shook his head. "Ya'll's no fun."

Abby swatted him on the arm, saying, "Am too. Ya'll's just a damn swamp trottin' redneck."

Remy snorted, then allowed, "Yes'm, am that. So, anything good?"

Abby pouted. "Not a thing. Not even the teensiest bit of fiber. Whoever sent that is good."

Dean eyed the letter with disfavor. "Too good. I don't like it."

Cosmo nodded at the letter. "Gibbs'll have a cow."

Tony walked up behind him and offered, "One with mad cow disease."

Cosmo and Dean both jumped. Dean yelped, "Damn it, AJ. Bell ... seriously."

Gibbs appeared just then with an envelope in his gloved hand. "I remembered this. It's not junk mail." He eyed the envelope with some suspicion. "It was on the seat of my truck. Tim sat on it, I told him to toss it; just fished it out of the trash bag."

He listened as Abby gave him a run-down of what she knew, which, she admitted, wasn't much.

"So, okay, not much of anything. Everything's common as dirt. What's that?" She eyed the dark envelope in Gibbs' hand well aware that she really hadn't been paying attention to him the first time.

"Not sure if it's anything. Like I said, Tim sat on it in my truck. Thought it was junk mail, but ... on further consideration, it needs a look-see." He handed it to Abby, who took it by opening an evidence bag she pulled from a pocket and waiting while Gibbs put the envelope in it.

"Ok, I'll take it down and go over it. Someone tell me what's in that letter. I'll be back in ... about an hour." She padded away, surprisingly quiet on her platform soles.

Gibbs, meanwhile, was having the aforementioned cow. "What the hell? What's going on? McGee?"

Tim was reading the letter with a scowl on his face. "Boss, I don't like this." He handed the letter to Gibbs.

Gibbs read the letter then handed it off to Tony. "AJ, I really don't like the tone of that at all."

Tony read and passed it on again. Dean and Cosmo stood on either side of Remy, and all three men read the letter together. When they finished Remy said, "Well, that's just tasty."

Dean sighed. "We takin' this seriously?"

Cosmo whacked him in the head, "Yes, jackass, we're takin' this very seriously."

"Ow! Damn it! Just askin'. I'd be takin' it serious if it was me, but who the hell knows what NCIS might consider serious and what ... some sort of joke or something." Dean gave Cosmo an indignant look. "Jerk."

Tony offered, "This blows on an epic scale. 'If you're not careful, you'll be sorry.' Careful of what? Sorry ... how? And it's so damn vague." He looked at Tim. "You officially have a fucking stalker. Damn it."

Tim frowned, "Won't be the first one. My publisher has a whole file of nut letters. That doesn't take into account the email. She says they're mostly fluff ... marry me or I'll die ... that sort of shit. But there's a few she turned over to the police. I'll have her email copies. Nothing much to most of them." He didn't notice the irritated looks the other men were giving him.

.

Leon Vance wasn't pleased to find Abby in his office. It wasn't that he disliked Abby, quite the contrary, but her in his office was never a good thing.

"Ok, Gibbs will throw a conniption fit but ..." she handed him a folder. "I went over all this with a fine tooth comb ... nothing, zip, zilch, fuck all ... whatever..." She waved a hand. "I copied the letters but didn't read them. Not my business but ... I think we have a problem."

Leon Vance was no one's fool; mistaken, misinformed, or biased, at times, but not a fool. Anytime Abby made that face, he worried.

"Very well, Miss Sciuto. What do we have?" He picked up the folder and examined the copies of ... letters? "I see. Copies?"

"The originals are in evidence at DCPD and I'm thinking there are more out there that we don't know about. I'm just not sure where." Abby bit her lip as she tried to figure out where else Tim would be getting letters. She decided the best thing was just to ask him.

She was a bit late to the party as the saying goes. She got to the bullpen just in time to hear Gibbs ask exactly that.

Tim sighed. "My old apartment is gone; they declared the building unsalvageable and tore it down. So, here, my publishing house, Mallard Manor, and GHQ. I'll call my editor and ask her to send the crazy file over."

Gibbs shook his head. "That'll take three or four days. I ... Remy, Dean?"

Remy shook his head, "Dean and Cos. I'm stayin' here with AJ."

Tony took exception to that, saying, "Damn it, LeBeau, I'm not helpless. You're hoverin'."

Remy just shrugged in an elegant, French way and replied, "I am, Badger, that I am. Deal."

Gibbs looked from one to the other. "McGee doesn't go take a shit without someone there to smell it." He glared at Tim as he opened his mouth to say something. "Shut up. Abby's idiot, stalking ex-boyfriend nearly killed her. Not goin' through that shit with you."

Tim shut up.

Then Tony chimed in, "And remember that nutjob ... what was his name? The one who got your typewriter ribbons and read them, then killed ..." He glanced up from his iPhone to see the look on Tim's face. "Well, never mind that. Point is ... you're squirrel bait. Deal."

Gibbs looked the group over, then obviously did some quick thinking. "Okay. Tim, Jimmy, and you live with Ducky; that makes it easy to keep an eye on him," he jerked his thumb at Tim. "He doesn't leave the house alone, ever, until we find this nutjob and figure out what his agenda is. If the Pod has to go on an op, I'll come live at Mallard Manor until you're all back."

Tim started to argue and got a smack in the back of his head from Remy. "Do'an argue. You mess wit' us, we'll put ya on watch n' watch protection, fully armed."

Tim whined; that would be a royal nuisance. He really didn't want to be followed around by two fully armed and armored SEALs. He knew they'd actually do exactly that. "Okay, okay. All right, I give. But ... how long do we have to do this?"

Tony barked, "Until we catch this jackwad. Deal, damn it."

Tim flushed at Tony's harsh tone. Tony sighed, ran a hand over his face then said, softly, "Aw, hell, Probie, just ... I'm sorry. Not gonna have another Kate on my hands."

Tim sagged a bit, shoulders slumping, "It's okay. I shouldn't be arguing about it."

Gibbs expected someone to ask about Kate but, from their expressions, it was obvious that Tony had told them about Kate and her assassination by Ari Haswari when it had happened.

It was late afternoon when the boxes came from Tim's publisher. They were delivered by one of those bright young things that usually wind up perennial assistants. Tony flirted with her in a rather absent-minded way until Gibbs swatted him on the shoulder. "Pay attention."

"I am, Jet. Just habit. Workin' on it."

Sophia sighed. She liked the look of Mr. DiNozzo, but he wasn't really paying her any attention. His flattery was of the 'I'm being nice' variety instead of the 'I want to date you' kind, and he was more distracted than not. "Well, Mr. DiNozzo. If you'll tell me what you're looking for, maybe I can help you find it?"

Tony eyed the sophisticated suit, power pumps, and polished makeup and decided she wasn't going to be much help, but told her, "We're looking for viable threats to Special Agent McGee. And please address me as either special agent or Lieutenant Commander. I've earned both titles, and Mr. is my sperm donor."

"Oh. I see." It was obvious from her expression that she didn't, but she offered. "If you have parameters, I can do a search on our database. We enter all this sort of thing into a special file and run it through an FBI threat assessment program. Anything that 'dings' is sent to the police, and we keep a copy in a special file." She pulled out a tablet. "And anything ... oh ... ick!"

Gibbs pounced on that. "Ick? What brought that on."

She frowned at her tablet for a moment. "It seems that there are a few ... um ... individuals that send ... inappropriate garments to Thom E. Gemcity. Totally inappropriate. We do not send them on." She made a face.

Tony blinked, "Like unmentionables?"

"Yes ... worn. Thus ... ick."

Remy, Dean, and Cosmo, who'd been sorting through boxes all gave her wide-eyed looks, then cracked up completely.

Tim flushed deeply and turned to his computer. "I need a password to get into your database." Sophia looked like she was going to refuse, so Tim continued, "I could just hack it, but I'd rather use a password."

Sophia gave him hers and said, "I don't think you could actually hack us."

Gibbs snorted. "Ya think? He can hack just about anything."

Tony nodded. "And if he can't, I know people who can for sure. But they'll fuck you up just for spite. They like him."

Sophia meeped and said, "I'll tell my boss."

"Ooo, so scared." Remy snickered.

Cosmo offered, "Do tell ... your boss, I mean. See ... we really only care about Tim. Your data base can go fuck itself sideways."

Dean didn't bother to comment; he was too busy sorting through a box full of odd junk. "What the hell?" he eyed what could only be a Bible turned into some sort of stiff sculpture. He put that aside, only to be confronted with a marriage certificate that said Tim was married to the Pope. He shook his head. "My God, what a bunch of dumbass nutjobs. Seriously?"

Tim began his search so they could compare their own findings with those of the publishing house. He also sent a request to the DCPD for their input. Remy, Cosmo, and Gibbs each took a box and started to work. Tony went down to talk to Ducky and Jimmy about a profile.

By the time they were done, they'd eliminated most of the people who had sent Tim letters or emails. Ninety-five percent were just a bit nuts and had only sent one letter. Of the other five percent, it was equally divided between Bible-banging nutjobs who thought he was going to hell and wanted him to repent—of what, they weren't telling. The other group were sending out-and-out threats, for different reasons.

Anything that was an original went to Abby for her fine touch.

It was late when Gibbs got the fax from DCPD telling him that all those letters had been shredded. He nearly had apoplexy.

"What the fuckin' hell are they thinkin'? It's in the database so we don't need hard copy? How the hell can it be in evidence if they've shredded it? Jesus Christ on a cracker. DiNozzo, go." Gibbs snatched up his phone and called a contact in the department.

Tony just grabbed his gear and left; when Gibbs was mad enough to last-name him, that was bad. He was also pissed; why anyone would destroy the originals of threat letters escaped him completely.

Gibbs wasn't as clueless about politics as he seemed; he just didn't have the patience. Now, he used CoC to bump his complaint up to Vance and let him handle whatever idiot had decided that all original letters could be shredded.

Leon Vance gave Gibbs a fish eye and snarled, "You better be shittin' me."

"Not." Gibbs fish-eyed right back. "Call 'em. Ask 'em who the hell decided that particular bit of brick-headed stupidity. "

"I will. You be ready to explain to me why I'm just now finding out about this particular cluster-fuck." Vance hated being out of the loop on anything, but out of the loop on his MCRT? As Tony would say, big ol' no.

"I was going to present you with a report this afternoon. As soon as we had something solid to show. Now ... all I've got is a bunch of copies of nut-case letters and emails sent to the publishing house. All we got that's real evidence is two letters left on Tim's desk and one possible left in my truck. The fire letter that wasn't supposed to go off until Tim read it, and some vague threats. We're still trying to decide whether this person is a 'person of interest' or just your garden-variety stalkerish, fruitcake fan." Gibbs glared out the window.

Vance handed Gibbs a cup of coffee, then said, "Jethro, have Ducky do a profile as soon as you have enough information. Set Ms. Sciuto to analyzing what we have. I know you've already thought four steps ahead of me, but this way I can tell SecNav that I've set things in motion. But what the hell is the motive?"

"No idea. Someone he helped send up, someone in the Internet underground that has a grudge for some reason. There's also psycho fans who want him to write his stories their way and take exception when he doesn't. Others who think he's in love with them and just shy. Still others who love him and are furious that he pretends he doesn't know they exist, never mind that he actually doesn't. You come up with a few." Gibbs sipped the coffee and realized that he had a headache building behind his eyes. "Fuck."

"I don't want him ..." Vance shrugged at Gibbs glare. "Okay, okay. I know you've probably got all the bases covered. I'm just glad he's living at ... Mallard Manor?" At Gibbs' nod he continued, "Security will be easier to manage than it would with him living in an apartment building, especially one with no security of its own."

Gibbs eyed his empty mug, then the coffee pot, rather pointedly, so Vance got up and gave him a refill. After a sip Gibbs went on, "If AJ and the others have to go on a mission, I'll move in with Ducky, Tim, and Jimmy until they get back. I want his car gone over with a fine-tooth comb; look for trackers, bugs ..." he waved a hand. "Anything."

Vance nodded. "Everyone's vehicle. Had a case where the bug was in a CO's ruck. See to it."

Gibbs nodded and left. He pulled his phone from a pocket and dialed. "Gibbs. I need a team to go over everyone's car, truck, or whatever, and their personal rucks. The team truck and car and all the desks. Look for bugs." He listened for a moment. "McGee's got a stalker. Not sure what the jackoff wants ... yet."

He listened for a few minutes, then said, "No; I want to know who planted anything you find, so send it all to Abby. No smashing anything." He hung up with a muttered, "Those jackwads watch way too much James Bond. Idiots." He returned to his desk.

Tim was scowling at his monitor when Gibbs looked up from getting settled. "McGee?"

"Well, just fuck this shit. I swear ... really fuckin' nice." Gibbs eyed him, waiting for him to calm down. "No, do not give me the fisheye. My publisher turned all the letters that they thought were threatening over to DCPD. But they shredded the rest. What we've got here arrived in the last month. Now we need to look them over, and we can't even get copies." He rubbed the back of his neck. "I'm so pissed I could ... shooting's too good for them. There has to be some hell or other for idiots and fools. I told Melanie to tell their mail room to send every single thing that isn't just fan mail here from now on."

Gibbs just rubbed his face with one hand. "I swear, stupidity must be catching. DCPD shredded everything they had. I sent DiNozzo over to give someone an ass-chewing. I don't dare go myself; I'd shoot someone."

Tim sighed softly. "Boss, I'm sorry. This is..." he flinched as Gibbs gave him a smack in the head. "Ow."

"It. Is. Not. Your. Fault. Some jackwad has decided that you aren't paying her, or him, enough attention for whatever reason. It's all on them. We just have to figure out who they are and what they want, specifically. So ... have you found anything?" Gibbs settled behind his desk.

"No. Any evidence we need is either destroyed or corrupted. I don't understand what part of 'digital doesn't equal evidence' these idiots don't understand. How the hell are we supposed to present evidence if we don't have it? A printout of a digital file is not evidence. Damn it!" Tim sent a memo to evidence with a reminder of exactly that, appending the comment, "I know you don't need this, but it's CYA."

Meanwhile, at the Sixth District Central Headquarters, Tony was beginning to lose his patience. "Look, I know you don't know anything about this; I just need to speak to someone in your IT department." Tony glowered at the desk sergeant, well aware that he was stalling for some reason.

The desk sergeant sighed, rubbed his face, then said, "Okay, the Captain doesn't like Feds at the best of times, and he's really pissed right now. Something about evidence being destroyed. No idea. I'll call again. Have a seat."

Tony decided to loom instead. "I'll just stand here."

"Fine. Whatever." The sergeant went back to his work, grumbling under his breath.

Tony stood stock still, watching the sergeant like the sniper he was, until the man was sweating and squirming. It didn't help that this was one of the days that Tony had chosen to wear his blacks with ribbon rack. He'd been expecting to be called down to Yorktown or to MTAC for an interview; instead, he was standing in the Sixth District HQ waiting to find out why some... he took a deep breath and searched for calm; it wouldn't do to punch out some bean-counter the second he met him. Finally the sergeant called someone and said, "If you don't come down and get him, I'll bring him up. I'm tired of cock-blocking for you."

Three minutes later, some junior officer came to get Tony. He took one look at the 6'2", 215 pounds of broad-shouldered, deep-chested, pissed-off SEAL and nearly cried. "I'm sorry you had to wait, sir. If I'd known ..."

Tony eyed the man, then barked, "Not your fault. You're small potatoes. Show me to your evidence department supervisor. Now." Tony eyed the scared kid for a second then snarled, "Can we move it some time this century?"

The man scurried ahead of Tony, calling over his shoulder, "This way, please."

He led Tony down two flights of stairs and into a rather large open room. "Here we are, sir."

Tony eyed the room. It was filled with desks occupied by busily typing people who seemed oblivious to everything around them. Finally, Tony had had enough. "Okay, people! Front and center! Now! Where the fuck is the boss of this circus?"

Three men took one look at Tony and snapped to attention. "Sir!"

Tony eyeballed them in obvious displeasure. "Who the hell are you?"

The one who seemed to be most senior replied, "Seaman Edward Hand, sir." He paused, but when Tony raised an eyebrow, he continued, "And on my right is Seaman Jack Rand, and behind me, Seaman Pete March."

"Duty station?" Tony wondered what these men were doing here, if they were Navy.

"We're reservists, sir." Seaman Hand was beginning to sweat.

"As you were, gentlemen." Tony looked them over then said, "Hand, with me. The rest of you, back to work."

Seaman Hand did not look happy about Tony's "request," but he obediently trotted ahead of Tony when requested to show him to the boss's office. He then beat a hasty retreat and returned to his desk, immediately announcing, "I'm going on break; do not expect me back on time."

One of his co-workers said, "Okay, but you're gonna get flack."

"I don't care. I'm not going to be anywhere around when a pissed-off LtCmdr from Team Six goes off. I'd rather handle hot nitro." And with that he grabbed his wallet and left, followed by the other two reservists.

Tony, willing to give almost anyone the benefit of the doubt, knocked on the door frame. "Hello."

"Sit." The man didn't even look up from his monitor.

"Don't think so. You got time, I got problems. We need to deal." Tony eyed the man with some disfavor. It was courteous to at least look up at your guest.

"I said, sit." Again the man didn't look up.

Tony eyed the thin haired, hunch-shouldered man for a moment, then barked, "I'm talking to you, and I expect your full attention! Stand up! Look at me!"

The head of the evidence department jumped as if someone had stabbed him in the butt. "What? Who? Excuse me?"

"I was going to give you the benefit of the doubt, but now ... I'm not so sure. I want to know who the fuck ordered evidentiary documents to be shredded. And I want them here ... now. Go." Tony gave the man a look usually referred to as bitch-face and waited.

"Now see here..."

Tony glanced at the name tag on the desk. "No ... you see here, Mr. Pedderson. It seems that someone, here, has shredded evidence for some unknown reason. I'm here to find out who, why, and how much trouble I can get them in. You either help or get out of the way. Unless it was you. In which case, I'm takin' you back to NCIS an' fryin' you like an egg. So ... speak."

Mr. Pedderson was a pedantic, hide-bound, bean counter of the worst sort, but he wasn't an idiot. He realized that he had, somehow, created a mess. "I'm not sure what the problem is. We've got digital copies of everything right here in our database."

Tony rolled his eyes then snarled, "So, you've got copies of everything, but the actual evidence is shredded? In what world is that going to work?"

"The information is easily retrievable. Just print it out." Pedderson was still not getting the problem.

"Ok, print out the invisible fingerprints that we need. Print out the fibers that are stuck to the envelope. Print out the chemicals that permeate the papers. Print out the type of glue on the cut-out letters." Tony was getting loud and Pedderson was beginning to get the idea that he, Tony, was not happy. "If you're the jackhole who authorized shredding evidence, I'll have your job. Then your head." Tony calmed himself with visible effort then continued, "I want to speak to your boss, whoever he is."

Pedderson gulped, reached for his phone and dialed. "Captain Jenkins. Pedderson in Evidence. I need you down here. I've got ... someone ... Navy. I don't know." He listened, obviously interrupted then replied, "I think you should come down here. He seems to be ... irritated." He listened again then hung up. "The District Commander will be down in a few moments. Would you like something to drink? Perhaps some tea?"

Tony snorted. "Tea? Don't think so. Coffee. Black." Anyone who knew Tony would be looking for cover; Tony only drank black coffee when he felt like he was in enemy territory. He motioned for Pedderson to go get the coffee, then settled into the only chair on that side of the desk.

Pedderson was still gone when Captain Jenkins arrived. He showed up with coffee and a chagrined expression. He handed Tony the coffee, eyed his rack, then sighed, "Ok, what's going on?"

By the time Tony was through speaking, Captain Jenkins was livid. "Well, fuck me with a torpedo. What the hell was someone thinking? I'll get to the bottom of this fast. Come up to my office and help me intimidate a few people."

Tony almost balked at being dragged to yet another office. He'd already been from the front desk to a detective's office, back to the front desk, then down here to Data Processing/Electronic Evidence; now they wanted him to go to another office. The expression on the Captain's face changed his mind.

"Okay. I'll come. But I'm not promising anything else." Tony sipped the coffee, then eyed the cup. It was typical PD sludge and nearly undrinkable. He surreptitiously dropped the cup into a trash can.

They got to the office, and Captain Jenkins went to pick up a file. "Please tell me this is wrong." He handed the file to Tony.

Tony opened the file and read the summary. "Nope. Right on the spot. And that's why I'm here. We're investigating a threat to a Federal Agent. We need all the letters that were sent here by Random House Publishing Re: Thom E. Gemcity. We're doing a threat assessment."

"So that guy is really a Fed? Wow. And ... damn. All documents in any stalker case were scanned into our system, then shredded. I'm still trying to find out who the fuck authorized that, because I sure didn't, and nothing like that should have been done without my direct say-so." Jenkins looked as if he wanted to say more, but he pressed his lips together, swallowing his words. He took a deep breath. "I'm waiting on the Evidence Department head to come up."

Tony leaned back in his chair, tapping the folder on his knee. "All I want to know is how we're going to recover from this mess. I need the originals as evidence. No prosecutor worth the name is going to do anything from printouts of letters. Email, Facebook, Twitter; maybe." He banged his head against the wall with a dull thud. "Fuck."

Captain Jenkins agreed. "Yeah. And you think it's bad on your end. I just found out about this cluster-fuck. The Prosecutor is gonna have my head on a plate. I'm really hoping to save my ass by finding out how the hell this happened and ..." He made a face. "Guess there's no fixin' it."

Tony shook his head. "Nope, no fixin' this. Whatever evidence there was is gone."

The Captain looked disgusted, then sighed, "Okay. So we move on. I need to find out who decided this was a good idea and why. What do you need?" He cleared his throat. "Other than things we don't have."

"Printouts of all the documents pertaining to NCIS Special Agent Timothy McGee, A.K.A. Thom E. Gemcity. And five minutes in a gym with the dickwad that shredded the originals."

"Well, I can get you the printouts. But ... five seconds on the mats with you and whoever it is will be dead." The Captain shrugged. "Sorry. No death on my watch."

Tony smirked at him and returned to his file. He was just finishing when there was a sharp knock on the door. Whoever it was didn't wait to be told to enter, they just banged the door open and charged in.

Captain Jenkins just barked, "Did I say enter? I don't remember saying enter. You knock and wait. I don't give a damn what kind of paper you've got from where, you knock and wait."

The woman who'd entered so rudely cleared her throat then said, "Look. I'm sorry about that but I've been on the phone with the Commissioner and he was ... just furious. I don't understand what the problem is. It's all digitized and available for review at any time."

Captain Jenkins just shook his head. "You do realize that you've compromised hundreds of cases. The Prosecution is going to crucify us. They want the actual paper copy, not a printout." The woman started to say something but the Captain went on to explain the rules of evidence in detail, loudly. He finished up by saying, 'Now tell me it wasn't your damn idea to destroy evidence."

The woman sighed. "It wasn't, but I didn't see any reason to keep hard copies of paper when you can see the data electronically. Fingerprints and fibers and all that sort of thing are recorded and linked in the database. So ... but ..." she frowned as she tried to explain why she didn't see the sense in keeping such things.

Tony helped Captain Jenkins out. "It doesn't make any difference if you understand it or not. It's the law. Evidence, original evidence, has to be made available to both parties. They have to be able to verify the findings. You can't do that from a printout. So, we've gone past SNAFU, well into TARFUN, and on our way to FUBAR. Fuck." He stood up, making the woman squeak, and announced. "I came to retrieve hard copy of everything I mentioned. But it's gone. We'll have to make do with what we've got. If you don't stop shredding procedures at once, I'll have words with the Public Defender's Office, and the District Attorney as well." He didn't raise his voice, but he made it plain that he wasn't best pleased, and that displeasure was liable to slop all over someone ― soon.

Miss Adams cleared her throat, then said, "I don't think you realize how much paperwork there is..."

Tony eyed her in a manner that had made hardened chief petty officers cringe. "I don't fucking care. I am an NCIS special agent. You want to talk about paperwork?" He obviously controlled himself. "But that's neither here nor there in this cluster-fuck."

Miss Adams blinked for a moment, then asked, "If you're a special agent, why are you wearing uniform?"

"Because I'm also a SEAL. Now, I really don't care why some bean-counter decided that it wasn't important to keep the actual evidence; I just need copies of what you HAD, so I can get out of this insane asylum before you screw the pooch any worse than you already have." He turned to Captain Jenkins. "This bunch of oxygen thieves ..." he shook his head. "I'd call in a Predator, paint the whole lot of 'em, and light 'em all up." He eyed both people, then, when no one moved, barked, "Well? Someone get me that intel! And you!" he turned to Miss Adams. "Get outta my damn face. Seriously, you qualify for extinction."

Miss Adams meeped, but stood staring at Tony, transfixed.

"Well? Snap to! Move it. Get my damn paper, or sent a fax, or an email. Just go!" He glowered down at the woman, wondering what he had to do to get her moving.

Before he could do anything else, she jerked, then scrambled to reach the door, exclaiming, "I'll send Agent McGee an email; I've got his addy. Excuse me. And I'll make sure that no one shreds anything else without making sure to get permission first. Excuse me. I'm going. Excuse me." She scrambled out the door, slamming it behind her.

Tony eyed the closed door for a moment then snarled, "POGs. I swear. What a NUB. REMF doesn't begin to describe it. You're writin' her a GOMAR, right? You are so UFO it's not funny. You do know that, right?" He turned to see Captain Jenkins eyeing him. "What?"

Jenkins just said, "SEAL? And what the hell are you doing at NCIS, chasin' jerkwater psychos?"

Tony shrugged. "I'm double Type-A personality. If I don't keep busy between ops, I usually manage to over-train and hurt myself. So I keep busy there. Besides, I like it. Now I'm Oscar Mike, make sure I've got whatever you've got left before close of business today."

Captain Jenkins sighed. "You got it. And I'm really sorry about this whole mess. I'll keep you informed."

Tony eyed him for a moment then said, "Don't bother. If you need to talk to someone, call Vance. He's in a mood. I'm gone." And with that, he walked out the door and out of Captain Jenkins' life, leaving behind a very unhappy man, who made sure that Miss Adams was unhappy, and she made sure that Mr. Pedderson was cleaning out his desk by the end of business that day. Then both the District Attorney's Office and the Public Defender's office got hold of him, and her.

Tony sat in his Humvee for a few moments, then drove back to NCIS. He couldn't believe that their investigation had been set back so badly. He seriously wanted to shoot someone.

.