True Colours
Disclaimer – I do not in any way own NCIS or its characters – they belong to others.
The soft grey fur of Bert tickled Abby's nose. She drew her hand along her face softly to brush away the mild annoyance, her ring catching on her dark fringe and pulling out a few strands of hair. In her sleep she frowned and rolled over onto the cold floor of her lab. The sudden iciness of the laminate floor on her cheek shocked her awake, with her sudden movement jarring Bert, forcing a deep gastric noise from inside his greyish green stuffing. She sat up slowly as she rubbed her eyes. Bright rays of sunlight shone through the high windows and refracted through beakers and off her numerous computers. She stifled a yawn while she stretched out her other pale arm. The silver studded band on her wrist shone the harsh light into her face and she recoiled out of the sunshine.
Her head hurt, Abby realised as she pushed herself out of the makeshift bed on the floor. As the lab came into better focus she saw a large bottle of vanilla vodka sitting on the work bench above her. Empty – she thought to herself as she tentatively picked it up. She set it back down again, and it sounded like a gunshot right next her ear, and she slapped her hands over her ears. In pain, she flopped back onto Bert, who made his gastric music once more. A new sound alerted Abby a few moments after she closed her eyes.
"Morning Abs."
She groaned and covered her face with her arms. Opening her eyes a fraction she saw the shiny shoes of Gibbs standing next to her.
"Gibbs, can you please not shout?" Her reply came muffled from behind her limbs.
"Sorry, Abs."
Cold air brushed her arm, followed by a cold drip of water. One heavily mascara-ed eye opened. This tiny effort was rewarded by the sight of a tall red and white cup. It was her beloved Caff-Pow.
Black-nailed fingers extended towards the beacon of consciousness. Abby sat up again as she drew the drink to her lips. As she quietly sucked through the straw, Gibbs crouched down in front of her. He watched her patiently as she finished drinking.
Finally Abby dropped the over-sized cup from her mouth and set it on the floor loudly, hardly cringing at the noise it made. The caffeine had started to kick in. Gibbs offered his hand to Abby once he had stood up, and she gratefully accepted his assistance. Abby wobbled slightly as she stood. She looked down at her feet; she had no shoes on, and only wore one black and red stripy sock. Raising her eyes to meet her friend's, she bit her lip, silently apologising for her state.
Gibbs shook his head with a crooked smile and reached behind him. He placed another giant red and white cup in her hands and gently directed her towards her computer. Abby opened her eyes wide and looked at Gibbs, trying to give him her full attention.
"What have you got for me, Gibbs?" She asked in a semi-seriously way.
"I need you to find out who has access to the Avalanche case files." Gibbs said as he placed a brown folder on her steel bench. Abby frowned slightly.
"Why do you want me to do it, Gibbs? Can't a normal agent do this? It isn't forensics."
"I know Abs, but your also pretty good at computers." Abby raised her eyebrows, clearly asking – Only 'pretty good'? "Someone has been accessing these files that shouldn't have, and the files are on computers as well."
Abby wasn't satisfied.
"Gibbs, why do you want me to do this? What is Avalanche?"
He looked at her plainly. His expression shouted at Abby to just get on with it and don't ask any more questions.
"Can you just do this for me, Abby? It's important."
Abby searched his face for a clue that could tell her more. She found none and sighed in resignation. It was not that she was unhappy about the job, but the secrecy of it made her uneasy. She became even more uncomfortable when Gibbs muttered to her- "There is no need to tell anyone else about this."
Gibbs quit from Abby's presence wordlessly, the sound of his shoes tapping on the floor getting quieter the only sign of his departure. Abby bit her lip thoughtfully and picked up the fat brown folder. She flicked the cover open and turned over the front page, full of uselessly self important words like confidential, and NCIS page livery. The next page had a short paragraph – the only thing she would bother to read out of the hundreds of pages beneath it.
She skimmed over the words, her caffeinated brain not taking in a word. Slapping herself in the face to calm herself down, she began again, muttering the odd word as she read them.
NCIS… FBI… MI5… naval bases…security…new codes…new shared technology… stealth weaponry…international cooperation…dates of transfer…
Abby shook her head. How big was this? She dragged her keyboard closer to the edge of the desk and jabbed the on button of her computer. Her rolling chair was dragged from its curiously new place – upside down in the gap between Major Mass Spec and the wall.
What did I do last night? She wondered as she spied her waste paper basket, filled with coloured light bulbs and sticky tape. Shrugging off her curiosity away she logged into her computer and began her search in the NCIS database access logs.
Tim pressed his fore head onto the cool metal of the elevator walls. His head ache radiated into his shoulders and down his back. The soft ding of the elevator thundered through his ears, forcing him to close his eyes, begging for the pain to subside.
Thank god the floor is carpet on our level, he thought to himself. His shirt was slightly rumpled and his tie was slightly crooked. Sleeping in his car had not been the best idea he had ever had. He caught his reflection in the shiny steel doors and straightened himself up, even though he knew every one in his team would notice he was in yesterday's clothes, and he would be pounced upon the second he entered the bull pen. The only way he could possibly get away with it was if he could get to his desk before anyone else and pretend he had pulled an all nighter.
He crept down the corridor, not to hide his approach – that would just draw more attention to himself – but to prevent his head getting shaken by his steps. As he rounded the corner he saw no one from his team. No Gibbs, no Ziva, no T…
McGee stumbled as he walked between his and Tony's desk. Papers and his stapler fell from onto the floor loudly. Barely stopping himself from crashing to the floor he saw a sleeping Tony spread out under his desk, his legs reaching out across the carpet. Tony groaned softly and rolled over, his face now mashed up against his filing cabinet. Tim breathed out in relief. He flopped down into his chair, which squeaked softly.
Tony jerked up off the floor, wrinkles imprinted on his face from being slept on for too long.
"Yeah Boss!"
He blinked stupidly as he pushed himself into a seal-like position, looking around for the source of the noise. When he spied McGee sitting at his desk, he grinned sheepishly.
"Hi, McMorning. You're not Gibbs."
"You don't say," Tim shook his head.
"What are you doing here so early?"
Tony rolled over and sat splay legged on the floor, scratching his head. Tim sat up straighter in his chair and looked down at his fellow agent.
"I think the more pertinent question, is what are you doing here so late?"
McGee smirked. Tony smiled as he rolled his eyes. He opened his mouth to reply but stopped just before he could for his words. He cocked his head to the side and closed his lips, confused.
"I… uh… don't actually know." He began to worry.
"What don't you know, DiNozzo?" Gibbs appeared in the bull pen, standing with his cup of coffee in his hand between his two agents' desks. "It's a pretty broad statement Tony, do you want to be a bit more specific?"
"Uh, what I did last night." Tony replied, scratching his head again.
"How is that unusual, Tony?" A new, deep feminine voice joined the conversation. Ziva threw her bag down and hopped up onto her desk.
"It's unusual, Zee-vah, because I was here last night, and I am still here. I don't usually have a shot or ten at my desk at work." He jumped up off the floor and breathed on Ziva's face. "No scotch. See? Or any other drinks."
Ziva pulled a sour face as she kicked Tony off her.
"All I smell is morning breath."
"DiNozzo!" Gibbs slapped Tony on his head hard. "Don't do that."
Tony rubbed the back of his scalp. Gibbs turned away from Tony and looked McGee up and down. "What, did you sleep the night here too?"
McGee stopped smiling at the taunting Tony had just received and once again became conscious of his dishevelled clothes.
"I… uh… slept in my car…" Tim stammered. He tried to continue but saw out of the corner of his eye Ziva jump off her desk and grab Tony by the shirt.
"Ziva? What are you doing?" Tony asked nervously.
"I did not smell alcohol on your breath, Tony. But there is something else." She held her face so close to DiNozzo's mouth that they almost touched. She sniffed sharply.
"It is not on your breath."
Slowly she moved down Tony's body, and reached his naval, then began to move back up towards his shoulders. When she was almost resting her head on his shoulder, she stopped, and pressed her nose into his collar. She drew back sharply.
"Tony, where did you get this shirt?"
"Emporium on Main street, yesterday."
"No, not where you bought it, where did you get it before you put it on?"
Tony pulled his collar up to his nose and sniffed thickly. He made a face, stretching his nose down and his eyebrows up. "Ewwwwww… what is that?"
"I do not know. But…" she paused and blinked – she was getting light headed. "Tony, take off your shirt. Now!"
She didn't wait for Tony to act and ripped the buttons from his shirt and tore it from his shoulders.
"Hey! Expensive shirt!" Tony cried indignantly. Gibbs snatched the long sleeved shirt from Ziva's hands and inspected it closely.
"Answer her question, DiNozzo." Gibbs commanded, as he walked to his desk. He pulled an evidence bag from his cabinet. Tony's shirt was sealed in a plastic bag, and he was left standing in the middle of the room topless.
"I told you, the Emporium. I bought it yesterday. Remember? I came to work with that paper bag, and hit McGee with it? I got sauce on the one I was wearing at lunch and changed into my new one."
Gibbs, Ziva and Tim looked at one another, trying to remember. One by one, they remembered having seen the black bag beside Tony's desk during the day.
"What's on it? A drug?"
"We won't know until Abby does a tox report on it, but it looks like it. Take this down to Abby…"
"Gibbs! Gibbs!" Abby skidded into the bull pen. Her face was pink as though she had run all the way from her lab to the bull pen, and she looked worried.
"I did that thing you asked, and I found the person that had done that thing that you asked me to find was happening."
"Woah Abs. Stop. Slow down." Abby slapped her hands to her mouth. He looked at agents and decided it was OK for them to know. Gibbs softly took her hands down.
"It's ok, tell me."
"Gibbs, that person made a copy of the files. And they emailed it to an unauthorised person." She began to talk with her hands. Abby was speaking sign to Gibbs at the same time she was talking out loud. "I traced the receiver. They are a known terrorist cell. And I know who sent it. It was really easy because they used my computer." She looked down at the floor.
"Who Abs?"
Abby stared at the floor, seeing her shoeless feet and one stripy sock. Now she could remember what she had been doing last night. She and her drinking friend had gotten really drunk, and that was when they had used her computer. She looked up a little.
"Why doesn't Tony have a shirt on?"
"We think he was drugged, some one put a sedative on his collar." Gibbs replied.
Abby dropped her head again, her black pigtails blocking the people on either side of her. She knew that there was a bottle of chloroform missing from her lab. Straightening up, she turned to face Gibbs, blocking every one elses view of her front. Abby lifted her hands to just below her chin and began to finger spell. Gibbs read closely as she slowly formed the letters.
T……I……M…..
A/N – I would love to hear what you think of it. There are more chapters on the way, I have a plan.