DISCLAIMER:
I do not own the right to any of the NCIS characters (unfortunately!) They all belong to CBS.
Author's Note:
Hi everyone! I've only recently discovered NCIS (I have no idea how I could have been oblivious to this brilliant TV series for so long!). I was disappointed that certain story arcs weren't explored further, leaving me compelled to put pen to paper.
Please forgive me for any mistakes as English isn't my first language and I didn't have any Beta around to go through it. I hope you'll enjoy anyway.
Warning:
*Spoilers to Season 8. The action starts immediately after s8. ep.10 : "False Witness".
*Rating: T (for now)
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Chapter 1
Despite the rather late hour of the Friday evening, there is still life at the Navy Yard. Whilst most of the buildings stands dark and deserted, the one in which NCIS headquarters is situated, is an entirely different story altogether. And one place in particular shows signs of activity.
The Squad Room.
The heart of the building. A place where, like in any heart, action never stops. In here, there is always someone who is working night shifts or simply finishing late. The difference between day and night is mainly in the level of noise and in lighting. Every night, with the main lights turned off and the ones remaining being the emergency bulbs outside of MTAC or the personal desk lamps, the usually bee-hive busy and brightly lit area is quiet and enveloped in a soft, blueish darkness. Today, the difference is also in the added delicate glow of the tiny LED lights on the large Christmas tree.
It's quiet but not utterly silent. It's a place of business after all.
It is no different in the basement of the building. In its deepest bowels, the Autopsy is pitch black and long since deserted but the garage and the orange corridors are a different story. They are still lit by a soft, yellow lights and a distant hum of the vacuum cleaner indicates the presence of the night janitor. And the corridors of the subbasement pulse gently but palpably to the rhythm of someone's lively music, something that would seem unusual to a possible outsider. But to anyone working here it's nothing extraordinary. Music coming from the always open door of the Forensics Lab is simply a part of NCIS, just like the ever present orange paint on the walls. It simply is.
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"So, McGenius, what's all this Geeky McClicking actually about? What are you improving this time?"
"In which language do you want me to explain, Tony - Homo Sapiens Intelligens or DiNozzoandertal?"
"Yeah, very funny. Oi, Abs, I heard that!"
"Heard what?"
"You giggled like a girl."
"Oh, Tony..." the husky, female voice that replies, carries the tone of amusement, "I'm known for many things but I certainly not for girlish giggling."
"Well... okay, fine, point. You, as Ducky would have said, sniggered. Whatever you call it, you made fun. Of me. Me, your superior."
From the chair by the computer station, comes another short, throaty chuckle. "You, my superior? In your hinky kinky dreams!"
He laughs at his friend's retort and shifts his position. The work bench is definitely not the most comfortable of seats. It's hard and the chill of the stainless steel surface has already seeped through his suit pants. But it's the only place in here he can sit on and besides, from here he can monitor both of his working friends' reactions at the same time. "Gladly, yeah, but no. I don't need to dream about it. Last time I checked, my employment file did say that I am a Senior Field Agent. A very Special Agent, as you very well know it, little lady," he boasts, "oh, and also, an acting Team Leader when needed. And I'm supervising you right now so yeah, I am your superior."
"And I am Abby Sciuto," the response shot right back at him is flippant and yet, full of self-certainty. Fair enough – the name alone is enough to explain everything. "Oh, and also, I happened to be Chief Forensic Scientist. The Head of this entire department. So, go figure."
"Ah, power play…. Cute! Not that I wanna point fingers but someone here should go and check the dictionary for the meaning of the word 'humble'," he counters.
"Yeah - and that person would be you," the usually soft baritone of his other teammate has a dry, impatient tone to it. Busy with typing something away on his laptop, Tim doesn't even bother looking away from the screen. "That is, of course, if you even know how a dictionary looks like."
All of a sudden, Abby laughs openly and it startles him a little. For the cheerful creature she is, his friend rarely laughs out loud. Her smiles are mile wide, she squeals when she's delighted but even very amused, she only chuckles. But now she is laughing and it is a laughter that is bright and almost girly. He likes the sound. It's been very, very long since he had last heard it.
"You two, stop cracking me up!" Abby demands and it's clear that she is having a little trouble controlling the movements of her wireless mouse. "I can't focus on my file."
"It only means your self-control needs working on."
"Tony!"
He ignores the plea in his friend's voice. "What? Self-control is a vital skill for a Field Agent."
"I'm not a Field Agent."
"Ah, yes. Sorry, Firecracker, but you look so good with a gun in your hand that I tend to forget you are just a lab rat."
"Tony!"
He is now almost cockily pleased at the sound of his friend's now almost breathless laughter. That is, until Abby reaches out for something and a second later a pencil flies in his direction. He ducks swiftly, dodging it at the last second and Abby's makeshift missile lands with a wooden clatter somewhere behind him. Not bad, he congratulates himself that his reflexes are still sharp despite the late hour and the blueish semi-darkness that cocoons the lab. Ziva would have been impressed.
Yeah, right, he could wish. Ziva would have caught it with two fingers. With her eyes closed.
"Okay, okay, don't shoot… Ziva's padawan," he teases and Abby wags her finger at him. She is trying to look stern but it's a totally lost cause; her face contorts from the hardly restrained giggles she apparently is capable of. He just wags his eyebrows. No way he will stop teasing her now, now that he had actually managed to make her laugh. He needs it. And he knows that Abby needs it too. "You're not a lab rat," he goes on. "You're lab brat – I mean bat! You're our bat – and a very adorable one, I must add! Whoa. I am a poet and I don't even know it. Must be Ducky's bad influence."
Abby's laughter flows again as if per request, honest and bright and he is proud of himself. But as she finally stops laughing and retorts, "Aw, Tony, rhyming for me now?" her voice is once more, low and husky, like always when she speaks. "I've always suspected you had a thing for me."
"Yeah," he responds with a wide, cocky grin. "I just couldn't keep it a secret anymore!"
"I love you too, Tony," Abby flashes him one of her famous brilliant smiles. "But now shut up and let me work, okay?" then she huffs and instantaneously, a playful frown mars her face. "And don't you dare say another bad word about our dear Ducky!"
"Fine, fine. I'll let you work..." he pretends to give up, "…if you tell me what you bought Ziva for a Christmas present."
"Blackmailing me? In my lab? It can cost you your life, Signor DiNozzo," Abby blinks at him innocently. "And you know there will be no evidence left so you'd better watch it! But I like you so I will spare your life if you spare yourself from sneaking in here and trying to find the presents. FYI - I don't keep them here anyway."
He doesn't reply to that and only watches with amusement as his friend spins around in her chair, grabs the large cup of Caf-Pow! from the counter and slurps eagerly on the remains of her favorite energy drink. For a moment he thinks of teasing her about the amount of CafPow! she's had today but then gives up on the idea, for the fear of getting shivers. Never in all the years of knowing her, could he comprehend how she could pour so much caffeine into her system and survive. He occasionally, in times of a real dire need, braves half a cup – but more than that and heart, stomach and brain palpitations are guaranteed. To him, a couple of coffees or a can of good old RedBull seem like a much safer options.
As he continues to lounge on the processing table, musing about this and that, Abby's last words remind him of one of the things that has been bugging him for the past few days. "Since we're on the Christmas presents subject," he breaks the brief peace, "do any of you know who Gibbs' Secret Santa was this year?"
It works, even better than he thought it would. The staccato of the clicking of both keyboards stops nearly simultaneously and he thinks it's actually a wonder – usually, McClick doesn't need to even pause his typing to engage in something as trivial as speech.
"He really should go and check for the meaning of 'relevance'," Tim's muttered comment is addressed clearly to Abby, after which he turns in his chair. "No, Tony, I don't know and I don't feel any urge to know. Unlike you, I respect other people's privacy."
"Yeah, thanks for the reminder, Captain McObvious," he replies sarcastically. "Oh, come on, people!" he moans with a sudden impatience. For the whole of three days he had conducted himself in the 'office robot' fashion and is now almost dying for some mischief. "You know what I'm talking about here, don't pretend! We all know Gibbs got two Secret Santa presents this year, right? Forget about the first one; it's just a bottle of bourbon. A good one but just bourbon and what's more important, this was from his real Secret Santa, the one that was picked for Gibbs. I've spent the last two days working it out and I know who it was. But the other present… C'mon, we all saw it!"
"Yeah, and what of it, Tony?" Tim protests. "It's just cologne."
"Wrong! What kind of an investigator are you, McOblivious? It's not just any cologne. It's a unique, custom composed Eau de Cologne, smelling like nothing I've smelt before, bottled in something you won't get in just any store. Trust me on it. And whoever sent it, was definitely not someone chosen to be Gibbs' Santa, oh no, no, no, no, no. That mysterious someone only used the gift exchange as a cover! And unlike bourbon, her gift was complimented with a lovely card that contained a poem and was signed 'with all my love, your Secret Santa'," adjusting his voice to sound like a female comes easily to him when he quotes the signature he had spied on the card. He feels on the roll. "The wishes were nicely written, no, hold on, correction – exquisitely calligraphed – and topped up with a teeny tiny heart instead of the full stop. Looked more like a love card than a Santa gift – and you're telling me that you wouldn't like to know who this mysterious sender is?"
"What I wouldn't like to know is how you have come to know this message to such extent," Abby responds as first and her earlier cheerfulness is gone from her voice. "If I remember well, Gibbs had showed us only the bottle and then put everything away."
"Ha! That is, my lovely Miss Sciuto, because nothing, I say nothing escapes the ever watchful eye of the famous investigator, Antonio DiNozzo!" he points at himself, this time using his Italian accent as his disarming weapon. "I pride myself in having my ears always tuned to the tiniest whispers and eyes, still 20/20, by the way, always scanning for every detail of an affair."
"And what I don't want to know is when you had the time for your… scanning," McGee pipes in, "considering how busy we were with Neisler's case."
"Ha! Wonder no longer, my dear McWatson! That's a true art, in which only few excel!" the excitement makes his body tingle and as he's had enough of seating anyway, he hops of the table. "Like the famous Sherlock Holmes, I was born to it! You know, it takes a considerable skill, to be able to investigate an affair amidst of yet another affair. Or, if you prefer – same time, two affairs. Wow. I'm rhyming again!"
He paces back and forth in front of his friends but his eyes never leave them and it doesn't escape his attention that Tim rolls his eyes as he and Abby exchange gazes again. It's not hard to guess what they might think right now. And okay, maybe he is going a little too far but being the class clown flows in his veins and he had kept it bottled up for too long.
McGee turns to him and his face has this specific exasperated expression that Tim always has when he is about McLecture someone. Any second now…
"It's not an investigation, Tony. It's plain snooping around."
Of course.
"Semantics," he dismisses the comment with a wave of a hand and zeroes his eyes firmly on Abby. "Abs," he coaxes, "You must know something. Spill."
"Whatever makes you think that I know something?"
Ha! He knows Abby too well to buy her innocent reply.
"Because you're Abby Sciuto and you just know things. And everyone knows that."
Abby only shrugs again and to him, it's enough. Bullseye! His friend is never short of a witty retort and the only times she would refrain from a verbal reply are if she is either hurt or, trying very hard to keep something a secret. One of her traits is that she is virtually incapable of telling a convenient lie – and aware of this weakness, she almost always opts for silence. Silence that he now fully intends to break. If only he gets her to start talking, she'd get tangled in her own words as she usually does and he can easily connect the dots together.
"C'mon, Abs," he encourages in his best sing-song voice. "Just look me in the eye and tell me you know nothing about it and I will leave you alone."
Abby remains silent but judging by the way she is beginning to fidget under his insistent gaze, he knows he is close.
"That's what I thought... C'mon, Abster, you want to say it, you know you do..." he continues to cajole her softly. "Don't hold the truth out on us. We deserve to know it. And we all know that you do know something. Gibbs always tells you stuff... You probably know more of his secrets than any of us combined..."
That something's gone wrong, he realizes almost as soon as he's finished saying the last word. It's rather obvious; Abby's demeanor changes as if caused by a touch of some invisible hand. The hands on her lap stop fidgeting, her not very secretly crossed fingers uncurl, her body stills and as she is staring right back at him, her gaze is calm and sure.
"No, Tony, he didn't tell me anything. But let's just suppose he did... I don't want to point fingers but someone here should really go and look up the dictionary. This time, for the meaning of the word 'confidentiality'," Abby chirps sweetly at him and he inwardly braces himself for more. With her naturally husky voice, that sweet tone sounds like a dark, sensual promise – but he knows that it is anything but. It's a warning. Only those who know Abby well can recognize it – and he knows her well enough.
And yeah, he does get more.
"And in case you have trouble spelling it, Google predictive text will help," Abby's look doesn't waver. All he can do is to still himself under this glare of hers – but he's already lost, he knows it; he's lost, as he always does when it comes to him and Abby being in open opposition. For the cute and cheerful creature she genuinely is, if pushed hard enough, Abby is capable of giving a death glare that could match one of Gibbs' own – and that, whilst still smiling sweetly. It's a rather unsettling experience.
Not without a reason he had once called her a 'paradox wrapped in oxymoron'. She is exactly that.
As his best friend returns to her screen again, Tony relaxes a bit and silently berates himself for his misjudgment. He'd played the wrong card. Abby is the go-to person if one wants to learn the latest official office gossip but when it comes to any secrets that their boss himself entrusted with her personally, it's a lost cause. No one knows whether these secrets are serious matters or just some snippets of Gibbs' private life; she would sooner rather literally bite her tongue off than disclose any of them to anyone. It has always been like that and it will probably never change.
He shrugs off the lost battle with Abby. There is a quest to be solved, he tells himself. Abby has clammed up - but there is still one more person he can work on.
"Hey, McGenius, help me out in here, would ya? We can still work it out, together."
From the workstation comes an irritated groan.
"Seriously, Tony?"
"No, facetiously. C'mon! We are investigators, right? Just for a minute pretend that this is a real case and the gift is real evidence. Analyze it. What do you make of it?"
"Do you know what, Tony? For the last three days, you've been nothing but professional, focused and considerate, to the point that we were worried about you, like really, genuinely worried. But now that you're back to being you, I think Ziva should have left talking to you till at least New Year! We'd all be better off if you stayed serious for longer."
Even though his inner drive to stick his nose in just about everything is killing him, the tiny part of him that is called a reason recognizes that he's pushed a little too hard. "Alright, alright, sorry, Tim, okay?" he tries to pacify his teammate. His apology is acted only partially. As much as he enjoys tormenting McGee, he also knows when to acknowledge a valid critique when he hears one. It stings a bit – because there is some truth in it. "C'mon, man, you know me. Nosiness is in my blood. After the last few days I just have to let it out…" he admits. It costs him a little to be really honest but it pays off when he sees McGee's frown of frustration relaxing significantly. "Just humor me, please and I will leave you alone."
"Promise?"
"On Scout's honor."
"You're not a Scout."
"The DiNozzo's honor."
"Yeah, like that's any better," Tim grumbles but his voice lacks the earlier edge. "I will hold you to that! Okay then… Let's get this over with. Cologne first," he exhales protractedly and concentration shows on his tired face. "Normally, a product can be traced back to its origin through the barcode. Did you see any printed on the bottle?"
"Nope. The box, the bottle, the card… no barcodes or brands visible and that's rather rare. I told you. They all looked custom made to me."
"Well, then assuming that you are not wrong about the fragrance also being custom composed then we can say that that doesn't come cheap, right? Not usually an item you will buy as a mere Secret Santa, for someone who wouldn't even know your name. Unless... unless we consider that the sender didn't mind. Someone with enough money, maybe…? Maybe someone with income high enough? Or, maybe the sender simply comes from a well-off family?
Tim's comment makes sense and Tony nods, enjoying this makeshift campfire brainstorm. "You see? You're making me see what I've missed!" he tries a little flattery, knowing very well that that his much younger teammate still craves compliments, deep down. "What about the psychological evaluation, Dr. Watson? I know you've been consulting Ducky when you were doing your writing research."
"Yeah, I did," Tim's smile is weary but pleased, "I'm nowhere near Ducky's skills but I can try... Okay, the card. I saw it only for a split of a second but it's definitely from a woman. It looked handcrafted and statistically, women care for decorating more than men do. And then, the message… It speaks for itself, really. Clearly, it's someone who has invested emotionally. I imagine Ducky would say that a heart drawn manually is a sign of an inner need of showing that little extra, a need to add that visual effect that enhances the message. It's a need common in very young females but not exclusively. Women are all different, right? Some of them can be a bit infantile for their whole life. So, maybe our mysterious female isn't that young; just a bit infantile. Maybe she wasn't afraid of showing it, since it was all incognito? Or, maybe she didn't even realize it would come off this way? I really can't tell; I'm not Ducky. But in overall – I dare say affectionate but also shy, generous and inventive. Her age… well, hard to say but anything from twenty to forty, really. Oh, and since you mentioned calligraphy… I doubt she would use a quill at her work station but there is a chance that she uses a traditional ink pen to sign her documents."
Tony swallows his natural urge to question Tim's knowledge about women. No point undermining what he has so far achieved. After all, Tim is talking – and he does have a few valid points. "You see, McWatson? You can if you want to!" he praises. "I say this is a good start of an investigation!"
"I'm not starting anything, Tony! Quite the contrary; I want to finish - this," Tim points with his thumb at the monitor behind his back and his reply is so firm this time that Tony decides against making any more remarks for now. Even McGee has a limit of his patience. Nodding in a silent agreement, he then watches then as McGee shifts on his swiveling chair and resumes his interrupted work. Despite his visible tiredness, Tim's fingers seem to dance on the keyboard, swiftly and surely. He always makes fun of McGee's 'Geeky McClicking' but a part of him secretly wishes to be so fluent in typing on the keyboard. Damn, he thinks as he silently admires the speed at which the lines of coded commands appear on the black screen. If not for anything else, it would have made writing his reports much faster.
After a few moments of continuous typing, McGee moves the wireless mouse about, clicking here and there, then types in a few more words and finally releases a loud huff of relief. "Done and done. I will run a mock test at home and another one here, on Monday," he informs Abby. Her focus on her own screen is so absolute that at she doesn't acknowledge the words at all. Only after a second it registers because she absentmindedly murmurs, "yeah, thanks, Timmy," and goes back to her work.
As he begins to shut down whatever program he had been writing, McGee speaks again. "I know you probably won't heed my words but seriously, Tony, you should leave it. You should know better than snooping around Gibbs' business," he advises and Tony knows deep down that his teammate is right. "What is it to you? He doesn't care much about gifts and this one is no different. And if he doesn't care, why should you?"
Now, that just had to be addressed. "Oh, but he does care," he says. Maybe he will be alone on his little quest but he can't stop himself from making a final statement. "Yeah, he normally doesn't care much for any presents but with this one, he does," he accentuates, grinning triumphantly as he notices that Tim is actually listening to his words. Abby, too, surprise, surprise. She is sitting still, her back straight but she stopped typing and she is listening. She even switched her music off. So, what could it hurt to convince them, even just for the heck of it? "Just FYI – he only wears Old Spice, never anything else, right? And now, all of a sudden, he's switched to this one – and he's been wearing it Every. Day. Since. He. Got. It!"
Closing the screen of the laptop, Tim huffs goodheartedly, "Yeah, and how do you know that?"
"Yeah, how do you know that, DiNozzo?"
He winces, surprised by the sound of the deep voice that sotly breezed from behind him. In front of him, Tim winces too – but Abby remains still and it becomes clear to him just what exactly she had all of a sudden started paying attention to. After all, amongst them all, her 'Gibbso-radar' had so far proved to be the most successful.
Both embarrassed for his words and pissed off that he allowed himself to be caught yet again, he can only squeeze out two words, the same as always.
"Hi, Boss."
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