Disclaimer: We do not own NCIS. We do not own the television show produced by Don Bellasario or any of the characters, events, and storylines depicted therein, nor do we own the agency called NCIS which we assume is a real agency existing in the United States, a country in which we also do not reside and do not own. In fact, we do not own any countries. Also, we do not own anything that may for any reason resemble the writings of William Shakespeare. We do not even own our own house. This concludes our very long and excessive obligatory disclaimer for this chapter.
WARNING: contains death, weird naming schemes, Jenny/Gibbs, more death, Tiva, death, unrealistic timelines, death, Christmas in June, and Romeo and Juliet!
A C T I
s c e n e i
Tsukisuki's Asian Style Cuisine was a modest little restaurant on the wayside of town, the interior of which was currently decorated in dozens of twinkling little white lights and strings of silver and gold tinsel. A tiny lop-sided Christmas tree sat in a pot on the front counter beside the hostess, who smiled nearly as brightly as the lights at any and all customers who walked through the door – currently, that was no one.
In fact, the small restaurant was seeing very little business tonight, a sad tradition for this time of year. Despite the decorations and the bubbly hostess, Tsukisuki's Asian Style Cuisine did not boast an especially festive atmosphere.
But this did not deter former Commander Mac Scott, now Captain, and his buddy Lieutenant-Commander Quinn Banks from waltzing into the dingy restaurant after shift and staying an extra hour after their meal to laugh over drinks. Captain Scott was still riding on the thrill of his recent promotion and Banks was swept along with him with the help of a shot or two. Even the slightly creepy twin waitresses who appeared in matching green and red frocks to serve them the bill and fortune cookies could not sink their mood.
"I'm telling you Banks, the cookies at this place are really something."
"You don't say?" Banks remarked dryly, glancing over Scott's shoulder at the hostess, who was boucing lightly on the balls of her feet and looking somewhat bored.
"No, I mean it," Scott insisted. His voice dropped to a low, conspiratorial whisper. "Just last week I came here, I got a fortune telling me I would advance in my career. How's that for prophetic? Huh?"
Banks snorted. "Coincidence. They all say crap like that."
Scott continued grinning as he cracked his cookie open. He pried out the little slip of paper and read it slowly. "Your good luck will continue until you are where you want to be. How's that? It's like it knew my last fortune came true!"
"I think you need to lay off the gin," Banks told him seriously. Then he grinned and smashed his own cookie on the table, sending fragments of cookie crumbs everywhere.
One of the twins glared at him from the kitchen, but he didn't notice.
Banks held up his own fortune and read out, "Your children will achieve what you cannot. Ha! So basically, if I ever screw-up, Freddie'll fix it for me."
"Poor kid," Scott said emphatically, "He's got his work cut out for him already."
Banks reached over the table to cuff the Captain's arm, and ended up knocking a bottle of soy sauce to the floor. The two naval officers hardly noticed, already descending into raucous drunken, laughter. The twins appeared once more to take their bill and subtlely usher them out the door.
Captain Scott was clearly confident of his luck, cryptic fortune cookie or no, because he invited all his shipmates and their families over to his house in a thinly-veiled celebration of his promotion masquerading as a Christmas party. Having no children of their own, Scott and his wife were able to devote a generous portion of their house to entertaining guests, and Mrs. Scott ordered an impressive dinner through a fancy catering company. If any of his colleagues thought he was showing off, they kept their disgruntled remarks to themselves.
Banks was there with his son Freddie, a hyperactive four-year-old who easily made the heart of the party until he fell asleep on a sofa just before eight. Once he was out, drinks were popped open and the adults, with a couple of bored teenagers, carried on the party until well after midnight.
The festivities ended abruptly at two-twenty that morning with Mrs. Scott's screams.
Lieutenant Duff was the first to rush upstairs to see what was going on, but Mrs. Scott was hysterical.
"He's dead!" she screamed, waving wildly at the open bedroom door. "Oh my god, he's dead! He's dead!" This was all that could be gotten from her before she gave a short sob and fainted.
Looking into the room, Duff saw immediately what she was talking about. A body lay sprawled across the bed in a tangle of bloodied sheets, having been stabbed several times. It was a man whom Duff recognised all too well. He backed away from the door, face pale.
"What's going on?" One of the admiral's teenage sons had bounded up the stairs, stopping just short of Mrs. Scott's prone form on the floor, eyes wide.
"Get out! Don't come in here!" Duff roared, panic making him shout louder than he meant to. "Get Captain Scott!"
The boy didn't need to. A crowd was already forming at the end of the hall and Captain Scott was pushing his way to the front.
"Kevin! What the hell is— Beth? Beth!"
"She's fine, sir. She fainted," Duff assured him. He pulled Scott aside and whispered urgently. "Sir, it's the admiral. He's been murdered."
The colour seemed to drain from Scott's face, and for a moment he didn't say anything. Finally he mustered a feeble, "Are you sure? How can he be – maybe he's not – we need to call the hospital."
By this time Lieutenant-Commander Banks and the rest of the men in the crew had made their way to the top of the stairs. Lieutenant Duff shook his head grimly, and though looking a little sick himself, lead Scott into the bedroom. The captain gave a small cry and rushed to the admiral's side, turning him over and trying to rececitate him.
"Are you crazy!" Lieutenant Duff hissed, prying him away from the body. "He's dead! We can't touch him – it's a crime scene now!"
He turned to Banks who had just entered the room with a horrified expression.
"Call NCIS."
A C T I
s c e n e ii
Abigail Sciuto bounced eagerly into the NCIS bullpen and dropped into Tony's empty chair. "Hi Ziva!" she called out, greeting the sole member of Gibbs' team present.
"Good morning Abby," Ziva replied looking up from her desk, and giving the hyper tech a questioning look. "What brings you up here?"
"Don't you know what today is, Ziva?" Abby asked incredulously, as she began to spin slowly in the chair.
Ziva tilted her head to one side at the strange question. "Thursday?" she replied.
Abby shook her head, causing her pigtails to swing wildly. "No, Ziva," she said, before pausing. "Well, okay, it is Thursday. But that's not what I meant! Today's the day the boys come back."
"Ah, of course," Ziva replied, before returning her attention back to the paper work on her desk.
Abby brought the chair to a halt and looked at Ziva darkly, "Don't tell me you didn't miss them," she demanded. "It just isn't the same around here without them. It's been so quiet."
"I know," Ziva replied happily. "An entire week without Tony's constant chattering, without his juvenile little games, and most wonderfully of all, without his stupid pranks. It has been heaven."
"Ziva," Abby said tossing a pen from Tony's desk her way. "How can you even say that!"
Easily catching the pen out of the air, Ziva just smirked. Behind her, the elevator dinged and Abby jumped out of her chair.
"Gibbs!" she squealed rushing forward to greet him. "You're back!" Before he had any chance to return her greeting she bounded past him and flung her arms around Tony. "I missed you Tony! Ziva did too."
Still seated at her desk, Ziva snorted loudly. "Like one misses a tooth canal," she replied sardonically.
"Root canal, Zee-va," Tony corrected once Abby had let go of him to hug McGee.
"Whatever," she mumbled, "I'd sooner have one than continue this conversation."
Tony flashed her a grin, as he dropped into his chair, "Just admit it Ziva, you're lost without me."
"Oh, of course, I have been so desperately lost all week," Ziva told him seriously, "Utterly lost as to what to do with all the spare time I had, seeing as I actually managed to work while you were gone."
Tony opened his mouth to respond but a glare from Gibbs changed his mind. "Shutting up now, Boss."
"David, report," Gibbs barked as he settled at his own desk.
Ziva stood up and stopped by Gibbs' desk. "While you three were off at training, I have spent the last week filing backlogged paper-work. Mostly Tony's," she added. "I still do not understand why I got stuck here."
"Well, Officer David," Gibbs replied glancing up, "seeing as we spent the last week at a mandatory NCIS agent training seminar, and seeing as you are not an NCIS agent . . ." he let his statement hang until Ziva nodded and headed back to her desk.
"Agent Gibbs," the director of NCIS, Jenny Shepard, called from the landing half-way down the stairs. "I see your team is back from the training seminar." Gibbs' only response was a look that clearly said 'ya-think?' so Jenny continued, "Logan's team was called out last night, a Vice Admiral was killed, but his team's already got a full load so I'm passing it off to you. You can get the preliminaries from Logan and the body is down in autopsy."
Gibbs nodded to the rest of the team, who immediately jumped up to do whatever it was they were supposed to be doing as if he had telepathically ordered them to. He then walked briskly across the bullpen and into the elevator, presumably on his way to autopsy.
As soon as he was gone and the director was back in her office, Abby turned to the rest of the team and rubbed her hands, a cheeky gleam in her eye. "Who else saw that look Gibbs just gave the director?"
"What, you mean that very annoyed, 'I'd head-slap you if you weren't my boss' look?" Tony quipped.
"No, Tony! He was looking at her like a man in love – like he hadn't seen Jenny in a thousand years."
Tony took a step back. "Okay, Abs. You've been hitting the Caf-Pow a little too hard today."
"I haven't had any!" Abby insisted, eyes wide with genuinely fake sincerity. "Besides, you know those two have a history. And what better time for them to reconcile than Christmas? They totally need to get together."
"I repeat: Too much Caf-Pow."
Abby narrowed her eyes and pouted. "Fine! I'll see you later, Scrooge." She marched to the elevator, turning to glare at Tony as she waited for the doors to open.
"Cause of death was multiple stab wounds to the chest," Dr. Donald Mallard informed Gibbs, just as Abby exited the elevator and entered the autopsy room.
"You got something for me, Abs?" Gibbs asked her.
"No," said Abby cheerfully, "I just came to collect trace on the body from Ducky, since he hasn't sent it to me yet."
Dr. "Ducky" Mallard looked terribly confused. "But I—"
"You haven't sent it to me yet," Abby repeated firmly.
Gibbs ignored them both. "Weapon?" he prompted Ducky, turning back to the body of the deceased Vice-Admiral lying on the autopsy table.
"Appears to be a blade," Ducky replied, regaining his composure, "Judging from the size of the wound I'd say a standard size kitchen knife. There are few defensive wounds on his hands or arms, suggesting that he may not have had time to fight back."
Gibbs nodded. "He knew his attacker."
"Quite possibly," Ducky agreed. "Whoever it was who murdered our poor admiral, he certainly was not expecting it."
He looked up, waiting for Gibbs to reply, only to discover that Gibbs had gone.
No sooner had this registered, when he was almost instantly ambushed by Abby.
"Ducky! You have to help me. We need to set up Gibbs and the director!"
"What are you talking about, Abigail? And why on earth would you tell Gibbs that I hadn't sent you anything? I sent you hair fibers and trace from under the victim's fingernails as well as blood samples—"
Abby waved him off. "Oh, I know all that, Ducky. I had to throw Gibbs off! I can't let him know about our secret plot."
"What secret plot?" Ducky asked in utter bewilderment.
"Gibbs! And Jenny! They're in love."
"Are they? Well, that's wonderful news. I'm very happy for them."
Abby groaned. "No, Ducky. They're in love, but they don't know they're in love. That's why we have to help them! We have to make them see they're meant to be together, and we have to do it before Christmas."
Ducky raised an eyebrow. "Whatever for?"
"Because it's Christmas!" Abby said, as if this statement cemented her argument so solidly no come-back or counter-argument could be made.
And indeed, Ducky could think of nothing to say.
ACT I
s c e n e iii
"Logan's team interviewed everyone at the house," Tony explained to Gibbs upon his return to the bullpen. "Vice-Admiral King's body was found by the host's wife, Beth Scott. They didn't get much out of questioning her – apparently she was hysterical."
"One of the admiral's sons mentioned that his father left the main room to go to the bathroom. He was only gone ten minutes before the wife started screaming," Ziva added.
Gibbs nodded. "Did they release the crime scene yet?"
Tony and Ziva simultaneously shook their heads, caught each others gaze and glared at one another.
McGee spoke up, "Logan already sent all evidence he collected down to Abby's lab, Boss. I have his folder with all the crime scene photos and his team's notes. The knife used to stab Vice-Admiral King was never found."
Nodding once again, Gibbs brushed past the rest of his team on the way to the elevator. "Grab your gear. DiNozzo, you're with me. David and McGee, go see the Vice-Admiral's family and see what you can find out."
"Where are we going, Boss?" Tony asked hopefully, but the only response he got was a pointed look.
He soon found out when they arrived at the hotel where Captain Scott and his wife were staying until their home was released. Apparently, Gibbs had expected the wife to be over her hysteria now that several hours had passed since the murder, but it seemed that was not the case. Throughout the interview she was constantly bordering on tears, looking pale and about to faint.
Gibbs turned to her husband instead.
"I can't imagine who could have done it," Captain Scott said sombrely, looking very nearly as shaken as his wife, if holding it together slightly better. "The whole crew was there, and none of them would have. . . well, I saw them! I was with the other men the whole time. . . someone must have broken in. . . it's all my fault. . . my house, my fault."
"In our own home," Mrs. Scott said tearfully, "It's terrible. . ."
"And the rest of your crew can verify that you were in the main room the entire time?" Gibbs prompted.
The captain looked up, startled for a few moments, before finally answering distractedly. "Yes. Yes, of course. Ask any of them."
Tony studied him. "We understand that you moved the body before NCIS arrived?"
Captain Scott looked between the two of them guiltily. "Yeah. . . I did. I know I shouldn't have. . . it's just when I saw him. . . I wanted to. . . I thought I could—help. You. . . You haven't lost any important evidence because of what I did? Oh god, I'm such an idiot!"
"We don't know," Gibbs said shortly as the captain buried his head in his hands. "But we will find out who did this."
The captain gripped his wife's hand and said nothing. Gibbs frowned slightly, reached into his pocket and handed Tony his cell phone. "Fix this," he muttered.
"Boss," Tony said uncertainly, trying to keep his voice hushed and steadily serious, lest he laugh at the great and terrible Leroy Jethro Gibbs and wind up with a fresh bruise on the back of his head. "It's just vibrating. It means you have a call?"
Gibbs shot a glare at him, which Tony immediately interpreted as an order to "Answer the damn call, then." He stood up as smoothly as he could manage and smiled lightly at the distraught couple, before waltzing a few paces down the hall to answer the phone.
It was a testament to how often he did this that he knew the buttons as well as his own phone.
"Gibbs," Ziva's clipped voice said on the other line, "We have a problem."
"Ziva?" Tony said before he could stop himself.
There was a pause.
Then, "Tony? Why are you answering Gibbs's cell phone?"
"What can I say? The boss-man trusts me. I am the senior very special agent. So, what's your problem?"
"Oh, my problem is that I am now stuck talking to you. As for our problem, it seems that both the vice-admiral's sons have vanished. We searched the house, but it looks like they packed and left in a hurry, probably earlier this morning."
"Right. I'll tell Gibbs."
"Ah, that's it!" Ziva said suddenly, with an air of triumph in her voice. "I get why you are answering his calls. You are his little pet grocer, yes?"
It took Tony a bit longer than usual to catch that one, possibly because his mind was busy stumbling over the ugly implications of being Gibb's little pet anything. "Gofer, Ziva. As in, to 'go for' something?"
"Whatever," Ziva replied, and promptly ended the call.
"Charming as ever," Tony muttered to himself as he walked back into the other room. He was just in time to catch what seemed to be the wrap-up of the interview. The captain was looking pleadingly with Gibbs.
"Duncan was my commanding officer, but he was also. . . a friend. If there's anything – anything I can do to help, please let me know."
Gibbs nodded curtly, and gestured to Tony that it was time for them to leave. Tony smiled once again at the couple as they excused themselves, and once they were outside he gave Gibbs the news from Ziva's call.
"Boss, we've got a problem. Ziva called from the admiral's place, and she says Malcolm and Donald King are both missing."
~tbc~