A/N: This story is a collaboration between channeld and myself. It was written for the NFA Double Tag Team It challenge. It had to be written as a collaboration and had to star two of the NCIS characters. The story does get pretty dark...we surprised the challenge issuer, but we hope you enjoy it. It is set more or less in the present. We did as much research as we could to get stuff right, but there's a lot of extrapolation that goes on in the story...hopefully it's not too off. :)
Disclaimer: Neither channeld nor myself own NCIS and we did not make any money off this story...but if the writers wanted to use it on the show, I don't think either of us would mind. :)
The Left-Hand Path
by Channeld and Enthusiastic Fish
Chapter 1
The night was quiet. The sky, clear and sparkling with stars. It was a cold night, the snow on the ground packed and frozen hard. It had been a long winter, unseasonably cold for that year. The Appalachians were snow-covered from Maine down to the Carolinas. The deciduous trees covering the mountains of Pendleton County, West Virginia, were bare, reaching up to heaven in silent supplication.
...with one exception.
One branch on a large tree sagged beneath an uncommon weight.
The silent night air was suddenly broken by a ragged scream, one that was forcibly muffled.
Five black-clad figures moved through the silent forest, their feet making slight noises on the cold snow, but as little as was possible. They moved lightly, swiftly. Without speaking, they made a ring around the tree...around the writhing, upside-down figure whose blood was dripping down his naked body into a basin on the ground.
Beside the basin sat another man. He was clad only in a simple wrap around his waist. He stared at the blood dripping down from the deep lacerations on the naked body. He was waiting. Painted on his forehead was a large eye which almost seem alive, it had been drawn with such detail that it could have been a third eye...only it never blinked.
The man spread his hands away from his chest, revealing a vertical series of symbols, running from his neck to the top of his wrap at his waist, each painted in a different color. At the gesture, one of the black-clad figures stepped forward, pulling off the black hood...revealing long dark hair and another painted eye in the middle of her forehead.
The woman began walking forward to the trembling man in the tree, shedding her clothes as she did so.
A step and she pulled off her gloves.
A step. The warm coat fell to the ground.
A step. The black top.
A step. The boots were removed.
A step. The socks came off.
A step. The pants were carefully placed on the ground.
By the time she stood in front of the man, she, too, was naked, the same painted symbols marking her body. She reached out toward the blood running down the bare chest. With one finger she drew a symbol over his heart, tracing what had already been etched there.
One more step and she was perhaps an inch away from him. Reaching down into the catch basin, she pulled out a small object, clasping it tightly in her hand.
The man seated on the ground extended his hand. The woman kissed the object and then placed it on his palm.
"Hey! What are you doing over there?"
The woman stopped, looked at the man on the ground. He rose to his feet in one fluid motion and gestured. The others turned and ran through the forest. The woman stooped to gather her clothing, knowing that nothing could be left behind which might identify her. Without bothering to put on anything more than her boots, she and the man ran through the trees, hearing further shouts behind them, but knowing that they would elude capture.
They must elude capture and so they would.
"Hey!"
Another man, a night hunter, not one of the group, ran into the clearing and gasped in shock and revulsion.
"Help...me..."
He ran to the tree, pulled out a knife and cut the rope holding the naked man in place. Blood still streamed from ten deep lacerations.
"Okay, fella, don't worry. I'll help you."
The man pulled out his cell phone and then swore, realizing that he had no service...as was unfortunately common in this area. Cursing under his breath, he began to engage in what he knew was a futile attempt to save the life of the man currently bleeding out into the snow.
He tried. He really did, but it had been too late long before he had come. All that the man could do was be there and watch him die.
And die he did, less than five minutes after he was cut down from the tree.
x.x.x.x.x.x.x
"Oh, for Pete's sake; would you get a move on, McGee? Is it hoping too much that the food would still be a little hot by the time we got back to NCIS?" Tony stopped where Sicard Street curved and the NCIS building became visible. He had been almost warm from walking, but even a short stop let the cold winter air sting his face.
"I was the one who suggested taking a taxi, Tony, but you—"
"Stop playing the blame game, and get those feet moving! I'm hungry, and want to eat!" He tightly clutched the large take-out bags he held.
Tim started to growl something, but the growl turned into a cough. He couldn't easily walk and cough, so he halted and let the coughs come. This wasn't the first time today, or even the second. "Hey!" he managed to say, as Tony shoved him from behind. "I'm going; I'm going!"
It wasn't many more steps until they were inside NCIS' enveloping warmth. The sudden warm air made Tim cough again, although the spell was much shorter.
Tony relieved Tim of one of his take-out bags. "Okay; okay. Keep your lungs inside you. No one wants to see that."
The elevator dinged and opened. Ziva greeted them with a wide smile. "At last! Lunch! Was the new restaurant on 8th Street worth the walk in this cold?"
"Hope so," Gibbs grunted, taking the bags and pulling food out of them. "Know it's hard to park up there at this time of day, but ya still could've taken a taxi, ya know. You okay, McGee?"
"Yeah; I'm fine, boss." Tim swiveled up a couple more chairs for Ducky and Abby, who would be joining them for this late, working lunch. They had been working hard on this case since just after 6 this morning, and there were aspects of it that would be easier discussed as a group…over food.
"He's not up for a little brisk walk in the cold," Tony teased.
"You do look a little pale, Tim," said Abby.
Tim raised his hands to ward them off. "I'm fine; I'm fine. Thanks for your concern, but I'm really okay. Could I have that bread stick?"
"You went to the doctor the other day with a bad cold," said Ziva. "What did he say?"
"Uh, well…"
"Timothy?"
"I, uh, didn't have a cold, he said."
"Yes? Out with it, lad."
Inside, Tim groaned. He should have told them. He shouldn't have agreed to walk the ¾ of a mile in this cold, cold weather. He should have… "I have walking pneumonia," he said quietly. Over the cries and snorts he stared down at his lunch plate. It, at least, would place no blame on him.
"Go home, McGee," said Gibbs. "Don't need you here if you're sick."
"But boss; I spent all weekend at home, staring at my walls. I'll go nuts spending any more time there! Look; they call it walking pneumonia because you can walk around with it. It's not that serious. I'm taking antibiotics. I feel pretty good."
"Timothy, you either have some bad advice, or else you are deluding yourself," Ducky said, a touch sharply. "While it is a milder form of community-acquired pneumonia, things can still go wrong with it if you do not take proper care of yourself! And in this weather…!"
Gibbs considered. "Is he at risk in being here, Duck?"
"Safely inside? No, as long as he does not exert himself too much. But I cannot allow him to go out in the field until he has made a full recovery."
Over a forkful of food, Gibbs half-closed his eyes and nodded. Tim smiled ever-so-slightly, believing he had gotten off lightly.
Then Gibbs stood up. "McGee. My office."
Tim's spirits plummeted faster than he knew the elevator could go.
When Gibbs hit the stop switch in the elevator, his eyes were full of fury. "You tell me why I shouldn't put you on suspension for not exhibiting any common sense!"
"Boss, I—"
"If you'd gone out in the field and collapsed when someone needed you at their back—"
Tim swallowed. "That's not likely."
"But it could happen. You risk your life; you risk the life of everyone on this team by a sin of omission."
Another swallow. "Sorry, boss."
"I should just make you go home and use up all of your sick leave. But…as long as you behave yourself, you can stay here on desk duty."
"Okay, Thanks."
"You screw up and you'll wish you had never come in."
"Got it."
With a flick of the switch, the elevator resumed moving and opened up back on the squad room level.
The others noticed Tim's pinched face and Gibbs' fading steely look, but pretended not to notice.
Tim smiled wanly. "Did you guys leave any rice for me?"
x.x.x.x.x.x.x
It took a few minutes to get rid of the awkward silence, but after that, the meal resumed. Tim tried to suppress any desire to cough because whenever he did, Gibbs would give him a look. He hated getting the look from Gibbs. It said that he wasn't in the clear yet. He knew he had to toe the line...probably for the rest of his life to make up for this. Gibbs' point had been very clear and Tim had no intention of putting anyone else's life on the line.
The tightness built up in his chest and he tried to cough covertly.
He failed. Ducky actually laughed.
"For heaven's sake, lad. Let it out or it will only be worse later. No sense in trying to hide it. We all know you're ill now."
Tim tried not to, but he couldn't help it. He laughed...and then coughed. Tony unhelpfully thumped him on the back, nearly making him spill his rice on the floor, and then the conversation finally turned onto the topic at hand.
"Ducky?" Gibbs asked...succinctly as ever.
"It is an interesting case, particularly after twenty years. To search for closure so long after a death, to fixate on this case, when it is not even a parent but rather an aunt. It is quite..."
"Is there anything to this?" Gibbs asked, interrupting.
"Actually, yes. I believe there is. Petty Officer Williamson was adamant that there was more to the damage to the corpse than a fall and animals chewing on the exposed flesh. She gained access to the autopsy records and has apparently studied them in great detail."
"Timeline," Gibbs said.
Tim swallowed hurriedly, wanting to show himself to be a worthwhile addition to this discussion. In his haste, he choked and coughed. Again, Tony unhelpfully slapped him on the back.
"Careful, Probie, your lungs can't take the pressure."
Gibbs rolled his eyes but said nothing as Tim cleared his throat.
"Lt. Williamson was known to enjoy hiking in the western part of Virginia," he said, clearing his throat again. "The Petty Officer says that her aunt had been going to the Little Sluice Hike on the border between Virginia and West Virginia." He got up and grabbed for the clicker, bringing a topographical map of the hike up on the plasma. "She was going early in the spring, but she was an experienced hiker. Petty Officer Williamson says that she remembers sitting with her aunt while she was getting ready to leave. She had all the required gear, including extra clothes and food in case she decided to camp out overnight."
"Is she certain?" Ziva asked. "It has been twenty years. That is a long time to remember these details."
Tim smiled. "She had her diary. She wrote everything down because her aunt had promised to take her along the next year when she turned thirteen."
"What made her revisit it?" Abby asked. "How old is she now?"
"Thirty-three. Very nice shape," Tony said.
Thwack!
"Thanks, Boss." Tony rubbed at his head. "She said that she was reminiscing a couple of years ago and decided to go back through all the details. Williamson apparently saved her from turning into a stereotypical wild child. She wanted to know exactly what had happened and was disappointed by the few details that were given."
"I must say that her list of discrepancies is quite thorough," Ducky added. "I have never seen such attention to detail. The Petty Officer marked down every place she wanted me to reexamine the body. Not that I would have been any less than thorough, but this is on the level of an obsession with finding out the truth."
Gibbs nodded. "How is the body?"
"Not pretty, Jethro. It was partially decomposed when the poor woman's body was discovered."
"And?"
"And I'm doing my best. There are some strangely-shaped lacerations that have intrigued me. I'm hoping to get Abigail to work her magic on them."
"Lay it on me, Duckman, and I'll work miracles!"
"Interviews?" Gibbs asked.
"Petty Officer Williamson is the most eager. Much of her family seems to think that this is only going to reopen old wounds and not help in the slightest. However, Lt. Williamson's friends... You know, it's not very nice having both these women with the same last name. Couldn't either of them have got married so that we could get rid of some of the confusion?"
"Would you like to call them by their first names, DiNozzo?" Gibbs asked, his tone indicating a swiftly-approaching headslap if he didn't get on with it.
"So...Melissa's friends are willing to talk but they say that they don't remember a whole lot from back then. Most of them are nearly sixty by now."
"What does...Danielle's commanding officer have to say about her?" Ziva asked, smiling slightly.
"She's exemplary," Tim reported. "She seems intent on following in the footsteps of her aunt and do just as well in the Navy."
"Well, then, we'll have to wait on Ducky and Abby for that."
"Actually, you'll be busy elsewhere."
The whole crew turned toward the stairs. Vance finished coming down and walked over.
"What is it, Director?" Gibbs asked.
"A new case. Sergeant Marcus James went missing three days ago and has turned up murdered in West Virginia."
"Murdered?"
"Trussed upside down in a tree and left to bleed to death, apparently. I'm handing over the Williamson case to Lovitz' team and I want you guys on this one."
The working lunch broke up rather quickly. Abby swiped some spring rolls and headed back to her lair. Ducky went down to prepare Autopsy for receipt of the body. The MCRT began to gather their bags.
"Not you, McGee," Gibbs growled.
Tim flushed but nodded.
"Why not?" Vance asked mildly.
"McSicky has pneumonia," Tony said gleefully.
"Walking pneumonia," Tim corrected and then ducked his head when Gibbs glared at him.
"Just as well," Vance said. "I could use your help in MTAC for a few hours."
"We're going to need him, Vance," Gibbs said.
"And you can use him, but it will take even you a couple of hours to get out there."
"He's sick," Gibbs said.
"I'm not going to ask him to run laps, Agent Gibbs. Surely, you can handle using a keyboard, Agent McGee?"
"Yes, sir. I'm fine."
Gibbs gave Tim another glare and then looked at Tony and Ziva.
"Let's roll."
"On your six, Boss!" Tony said. "Don't let your sniffles get you down, Probie! ...and don't forget to clean up!"
Thwack!
"Thanks, Boss."
The trio got on the elevator and the doors closed, leaving the bullpen seeming very empty. Tim sighed, coughed and started cleaning up the leftover food.
"I'll give you a hand, Agent McGee," Vance said.
"Thank you, sir."
"Don't mention it. I need your assistance. Only fair to give you mine in return."
Tim smiled and tried not to feel left behind.