Harry stumbled into his apartment, shaking out his umbrella and fumbling with his keys. Dropping his briefcase, he shed his jacket and shoes on his way to the blinking answering machine. Grabbing a glass of water, he loosened his tie as he listened to the messages.
-Beep- {Harry, this is Peter. Kilgore wants to talk to you tomorrow about the Yarrow case. Pretty big stuff, buddy. Word is, you nail this one and you're Kilgore's favorite boy. Partner in five years, maybe. See you tomorrow.}
-Beep- {Harry, hi. This is Amy. Just wanted to chat. School's going pretty good. One of my profs is out to get me. Don't come busting up here to rescue little sister, though; I can take care of myself. How's life in the real world? Call me.}
Harry sighed as he slumped onto the couch. He was exhausted. He flipped on the TV, not knowing or really caring what he was watching. Some crime drama.
"I hate Tuesdays," he muttered to himself. "Especially rainy ones." He smiled slightly at his own joke. Watching the slowly blurring flickering image on the television, he dropped off to sleep.
He was completely unaware when a flash of lightning struck his TV antenna. The electricity traveled down the cable and exploded out of the television. The water on the floor conducted part of that electric current into Harry's body. He woke, convulsing, then dropped back onto the couch as if dead.

----------

"Mommy, is that man dead?"
"No, sweetheart, he's just sleeping. Let's go."
"Why is he sleeping here?"
"He doesn't have a home, honey. Come on, we're going to be late."
Harry opened his eyes slowly. He felt awful. He made a mental note to find a new couch; his was starting to feel very hard. Wait, hard? Couches don't feel hard. This isn't my couch! Where am I?
He sat up quickly, fully awake now. He sat on a park bench in the middle of the Washington Mall, dressed in a suit. Well, minus the shoes and jacket. He ran a hand over his face. Stubble covered his chin, but not more than one night's worth. He didn't remember anything about the night. Was I mugged? That would explain the way I feel. And the shoes and jacket...He felt in his pants pockets. Change, wallet, watch...everything still there. Not mugged, then. What happened last night?
Harry couldn't think of any possible scenario that would have landed him on a park bench with no memory of the event. He would have to figure it out later. He had to get to work. Hopping on a bus to not a few strange looks, he rode back to his apartment building. Taking the stairs two at a time, he fished for his keys. Not here. Must have left them in the apartment.
 Sighing, he ran back downstairs to find the super. He ran past the building directory with hardly a glance. Hold on, he thought. What was that? Backtracking, he gave the directory a thorough look. Where his name usually sat, next to number 316, was a different name. Anthony DiNozzo? Who the heck is Anthony DiNozzo?
An idea suddenly dawned on him. He remembered a time in college when his buddies had rearranged his furniture while he was sleeping. He had awoken completely disoriented and fearing he was in someone else's room. Grinning slightly, he ran back up the stairs.
"Hey!" he yelled as he pounded on the door. "Open up!"
"What the – " a tired voice mumbled from inside. "Hold on, I'm coming!" Harry heard footsteps inside, then several locks opening. The door flew open. "What do you want?"
"I want my apartment back! Did Peter put you up to this? How much did he pay you?" Harry tried to shove past the half-dressed, tousle-haired man in the doorway, but he was stronger than he looked.
"Hey, buddy, I don't know what you're talking about. I've lived here for two years. The only Peter I know is my cousin." The man was starting to look at him strangely. He knew that look. It was the look people had given him on the bus, the one that said, 'Pity the poor crazy guy; he can't help himself.'
"Um, look, I'm sorry," Harry started, embarrassed. "I just...I woke up on a park bench and I have no idea how I got there and I need to get to work because my boss wants to talk to me today about the Yarrow case and if I do well I could make partner in five years and I can't go to work without shoes and in the same clothes I wore yesterday and I really need to get into my apartment and shave or something and I – "
"Whoa, whoa, whoa, slow down," the man said, holding up a hand. "Look, I'm really sorry. I honestly have no idea what you're talk – " He stopped. "Did you say the Yarrow case?"
"Yes," Harry replied, wondering why that was important.
"Marine Captain Julian Yarrow, accused of murdering Petty Officer Philip Jones?"
"Yes," Harry repeated, now giving a strange look of his own. "How did you – "
"Tony DiNozzo, NCIS," the man introduced himself, sticking out his hand. "We've been working the case."
"NC..." Harry tried, shaking Tony's hand.
"...IS," Tony finished. "Naval Criminal Investigative Service. Don't worry, not many people know us. So, you a lawyer?"
"Criminal defense attorney," Harry answered automatically. It was more a matter of habit now than pride. "My name's Harry."
"Just Harry?" Tony prodded.
Harry sighed. He hated this part of meeting new people. "Harrison Ford."
"You're joking," Tony grinned. "Is your name seriously Harrison Ford?"
"Yes," Harry acknowledged. "You can see why I go by Harry."
"Yeah. That's funny, though, Harrison Ford..." Tony stopped at the look on Harry's face. "Okay. Well, um, do you want to borrow a razor and some shoes?"
"You trust me?" Harry asked incredulously.
"Hey, man, I was a cop. I can read people like a book."
"Thanks. I really appreciate it."
"No problem. Say, you oughta come in with me. Meet my boss. We've got some evidence that we don't know quite what to do with. You might like to see it."
"Oh, I don't know. I really have to get to work."
"Okay. Well, here's my card if you change your mind. Address is on there."
"Thanks."
"Now, about that razor..."