Driving down the road, Tony looked out the window, hoping to find something entertaining. It had been a long drive to the crime scene, a long day questioning witnesses, and it all ended with this: a long drive back to the crime scene. The urge to do something struck Tony as he sat in the passenger seat of the silver Volvo. He was completely and utterly bored. McGee was driving, and Ziva was in the backseat of the vehicle asleep.
The day had taken a toll on all of them. McGee and Ziva had to work hard to keep the civilians who held residency in the small town away from the crime scene, and Tony was forced to play psychologist for the victim's three grieving widows. The first two were emotional train wrecks, not even caring that their husband had dabbled in polygamy. The remaining wife was filled with hatred and rage towards her husband, but blamed Tony for the mess, giving him a headache with her nonstop rant about how horrible the government was and how it was their fault that her husband was dead and married three times. They team had to return to collect evidence, something they hadn't had an opportunity to do earlier in the day.
Tony looked at his watch. It was ten o'clock and their work had just begun. The sun had set in the sky about an hour ago, so staring at it for the sheer sake of entertainment was a lost cause. He had already tried the license plate game; there weren't many cars on the country road they had been travelling for over an hour. He remembered seeing Ziva put a book in the car before settling in the back. Unable to think of anything else he could possibly do, he pulled out the book from the glove compartment of the rental car.
It was a nice car, really. The seats were heated and extremely comfortable, not to mention the surround sound stereo they hadn't been able to use (Ziva was asleep). The vehicle was spotless. Too bad this was a rental, Tony genuinely liked it. It was much nicer than McGee's actual car. This one had four inflated tires.
He cracked the cover of his selected literature, a book about a dashing young field agent who was brave and strong. Yeah right. It was a 'Trashy Novel,' a gushy, mushy romance book about two people who fall dangerously in love. Tony winced as he heard Ziva stirring in the backseat. He hoped she wouldn't be mad that he was reading her copy of Secrets by Jude Deveraux. McGee glanced back at Ziva (who was now awake) and caught a glimpse of the book in Tony's hand.
"Ziva," McGee whispered as he sat looking towards the backseat. "Am I hallucinating, or is Tony actually reading?"
"It's a miracle! I never thought I would see the day when Anthony DiNozzo would pick up a book and read!" Ziva exclaimed loud enough for Tony to hear. He glared at them for a moment before returning his attention to the young Cassie as she hopelessly drowned, wishing for Jeff to rescue her from her facedown sinking. "Is that my book?" Ziva asked in a bewildered tone. Tony looked up to see McGee staring at him with that playful grin of his.
"Watch the road, Probie!" Tony exclaimed as the car wandered into the left lane. He sat back in his seat and closed his eyes. If he hadn't said something, they'd have been in a head on collision with a Porsche. The intended destination was the crime scene, not the side of the road.
"Sorry, guys," McGee stated apologetically.
Tony stared at him with his green eyes, his face completely expressionless. "It's fine, Probie. You didn't mean to nearly get us all killed." Tony was seething. He didn't know why he was so angry with McGee, he just was. He was exhausted and run down from the day's events; he hadn't meant to explode on McGee like that. Maybe he just needed to make like Ziva and sleep. Tony put the book away and leaned his seat back. "Wake me when we get there."
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"Clear!" Ziva shouted as they searched the house. After two more respective 'Clears' from Tony and McGee, she walked to the kitchen where the body had been previously. Ducky had taken it back to autopsy, and all that was left was the broken glass and a bloody knife. There was more evidence for sure, that was the purpose of their trip out to the abandoned building.
McGee came into the kitchen and bagged the knife. Ziva continued the search for evidence. Something wasn't right though; there was no trace of any human ever inhabiting the building. Well, except for the blood, of course. And the knife. Ziva pivoted on her heel as she noticed something in the back corner of the kitchen. Peeking out from behind the refrigerator was something she hadn't expected to see. A fabric mitten. It looked like a gardening glove of some sort, coated in dirt, presumably from long hours of gardening.
"McGee," Ziva said to the man who was collecting the shattered glass. "What is that?" She pointed to the exposed mitten that she had discovered just moments before.
"I don't know. It looks like a glove. Maybe Abby can pull some DNA off of it. We'll have to pull out the refrigerator to get it, though," McGee stated in response to Ziva's question. The two positioned themselves for the move. Ziva took a step back so McGee could try his luck at removing the appliance from its cozy home on the wall. He huffed and puffed but the appliance didn't budge.
"Tony might be able to get it out," Ziva wondered to herself. She had always had a great amount of faith in her partner, trusting him with her secrets and, more importantly, her life. She had often thought about what it would be like to be more than partners with him. She loved him irrevocably, but it could never work. Gibbs would absolutely flip if they broke rule number twelve, and her father would probably attempt to kill the man she loved. How could it be that the one man she wanted to spend her life with was the one she couldn't have?
Feeling a wave of disappointment flood her, she accepted to herself for the millionth time that what she and Tony had was not going to work out. They were coworkers, and those kinds of relationships never worked out. She supposed that was why Gibbs had a rule about it. Knowing where the boundaries were set was easy enough, but being forced to stay within them was a completely different story. She felt like a kid who had spent her entire life coloring inside the lines, desperately wanting to break free and rebel against neatness, to sloppily shade the entire page with a hodgepodge of random colors. But she couldn't. Not now, not ever. Things were not going to change because she wanted them to, so she didn't waste time pretending that her hoping and praying could make any difference.
McGee tried once again to move the bulky appliance, this time having success. His triumph at beating the metallic refrigerator was short lived. The minute the refrigerator was out from against the wall, there was a loud thump. McGee and Ziva both jumped at the sound, they weren't anticipating the glove to be attached to a large object. McGee's jaw dropped when he saw what made the sound. Turning slowly to see what the refrigerator hid behind it, Ziva tensed. The large objects was a body; a human body. The glove was worn by a human hand.
"Tony needs to see this," McGee said with a shaky voice. He was obviously disturbed by the state of the body. It was mangled and bruised, as if beaten, with a knife stabbed straight into the heart.
Ziva sighed as she decided to call Tony up from the basement. Sauntering over to the door that concealed a staircase to the lowest level of the structure, she called Tony up. When he didn't respond, she began to panic. What if he was hurt? Or there was someone else down there? What if he was dead? She didn't think she could go on without Tony by her side. Steadying her trembling body, she walked slowly down the stairs. What she saw was not what she had feared; he was not dead. He was, however, frozen stiff, as if he were petrified. When she continued her descent, it became clear why Tony was so still. He was staring at a makeshift morgue that was the basement. Ziva got chills as she counted fourteen dead bodies lining the walls, half slumped over or hung in metal chains.
This place wasn't just the scene of a murder; it was a serial killer's secret stash.
