Title: Inked
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Abby in eventual peril!
Summary: Tattooed girls are dying, and Abby is the perfect bait to draw out the murderer...
Another four a.m. wakeup call…
As I flick on my music, letting the soothing wail of Collide fill the lab, I stifle a yawn. Okay, maybe I need something a little more extreme. Where's my Plastic Death wake-up compilation?
Ahh, cacophonous screams. Much better! I'm still way too tired, though. Wish the evidence would get here. And Gibbs. Preferably with Caf-Pow!.
I wait a couple of songs, but with nothing to do I'm practically falling asleep. If I'd have known I'd be woken up after half an hour, I'd have gone to bed way earlier.
Another jaw-dislocating yawn forces me to get out of my chair and head for the elevator. If the work's not coming to me, I'll have to go to the work. Ducky and Palmer, here I come…
As the doors to the morgue hiss open, I realise that everyone's already here, standing around the freshly autopsied body. "Whoa. It's a party down here. Hey, everyone!"
Tony, McGee and Ziva all tell me hi. Gibbs doesn't even spare me a glance, which isn't unusual when he's hounding Ducky for answers.
"Cause of death: strangulation," Ducky concludes sombrely. "As were his other three victims."
Youch, a serial killer. This might take a while!
"Thanks, Duck," Gibbs answers, his eyes on the young woman laid out on the mortuary slab.
"Abigail, my dear. Blood and tissue samples, as promised." Ducky smiles at me, handing me evidence bags and a pen.
"Aww, Ducky, you give me all the best gifts." I press the chain-of-evidence voucher against Gibbs' back, signing my name with a flourish.
"Hey, Abby, you should check out these tattoos. They're very… you," Tony says, gesturing to the table.
"Ooh, where?" I know it's ghoulish, but tatts are the same whether someone's alive or dead. For the first time, I take a good look at the body. A trail of stars above the left breast, nicely detailed if a little clichéd. An elaborate, grinning skull on the upper right arm, a snarling panther with bat-wings crouched at her navel… oh, god, no. My eyes flick up to the dead girl's face, and my stomach turns over.
"Gibbs?" I whisper, forcing the words out. "I… I know this girl."
"You do?" McGee asks. I hardly hear him.
Hands grip my shoulders and pull me a little way back from the table, and Gibbs moves between me and the body, blocking my horrified gaze. I blink up at him as he speaks the name thundering through my mind. "Serena Matheson?"
I nod, stricken. "She's a friend of a friend. We've been out in the same group once or twice. We compared tattoos; that's why I remember her. Where… where was she found?"
"A club called Black Sunday," Ziva tells me.
Black Sunday? Then that means…? "No way. I thought Metro Police were handling that case?"
"They were," Gibbs says. "Until Seaman Serena Matheson turned up dead. They were falling over each other to turn over jurisdiction."
"Oh." On top of everything else, that's a fresh shocker. For Metro to turn over a case, they must really be out of leads. But this is the fourth dead girl in as many weeks. And there's gonna be a truckload of evidence for me to sift through… "Four crime scenes? I better get to work."
Gibbs nods, following me out of the morgue. The rest of the team stay with Ducky, guessing that the boss-man wants to speak to me alone. We step into the elevator, and as soon as the doors have closed Gibbs hits the emergency stop button. "You okay?"
Now the initial shock has worn off, I am. I'm sad for my friend Nina – she was close to Serena – but I only spoke to her a couple times in passing. I tell Gibbs, "Yeah. It was just unexpected. I'm fine."
"Why didn't you tell me?"
Gibbs, it's like five in the morning. I don't wanna hash this out with you now! Time to play stupid. "I did."
He doesn't let up. Did I ever think he would? "Not about the girl. About the murders happening around a club you go to practically every weekend."
How does he know I go to Black Sunday so often? "It was outta your hands," I defend myself. "NCIS didn't have any jurisdictional rights, and I didn't actually know any of the victims, until tonight."
"Girls around you were getting murdered, girls who fit your general description, and you didn't think I needed to know? It could have been you lying on that slab down there!" His intense stare bores into me, and I shift uncomfortably.
"I just…" Oh, hell, just say it, Abby. "After what happened with Mikel, I didn't want to drag you into any more of my problems."
Gibbs pulls me into a hug. "If you keep something like this from me again, I will fire you, Abby."
"No, you won't," I mumble into his shoulder with a wan smile. When he releases me, hitting the emergency stop switch again, I feel a little more at ease. "Thanks, Gibbs."
As the elevator arrives at the evidence garage, Gibbs squeezes my shoulder. "I'm gonna find who did this."
"I know you will." With a small wave, I head towards the evidence lockup to collect the samples from the three previous murders. It's gonna be a really long night. At least I'm not tired any more.
As another negative fingerprint match blinks up onscreen, I bite back a groan of frustration. Two solid days of testing and retesting evidence from all four crime scenes are starting to take their toll, and I'm no closer to finding a lead. Gibbs and his team don't seem to be having much luck either. All their tentative guesswork's come to nothing, and Gibbs visits me often to get away from DiNozzo and McGee's constant bickering.
Now, as I sigh and begin to gather up another batch of failed samples, the entire gang walk through the door.
"Any luck?" Ziva asks, sounding as if she already knows the answer.
"I got nothing. Sorry, guys."
"Nothing?" Tony asks, looking at the heaps of evidence bags piled on the workbench. "How can you have nothing when there's all this stuff here? You never have nothing."
"Yeah, well," I snap at him, "This time I do, Tony." Hmm, that doesn't sound right. "Don't. Do, don't, do?"
McGee takes a breath to clarify the situation, but Gibbs cuts him off. "Can you tell us anything at all, Abby?"
I shake my head, a little frustrated. "I've quadruple-checked everything. Nothing hinky or helpful as far as I can tell. Run everything by me again?"
"Four girls, dark-haired, Goth, tattooed," Tony starts.
"All killed having just been at the club, Black Sunday," McGee chips in.
"They did not know each other, and their tattoos were all done at different studios, so there are no links there," Ziva continues. "There do not appear to be motives amongst friends, colleagues or family."
"And no one seems to have a grudge against the owner of the club," Gibbs finishes.
No surprises there. Billy is a great guy, gets along with everyone. Hey, what about…? "How about the DJs? Black Sunday has a few. If the same DJ was playing the night of each murder…"
"Checked it," Tony says, shooting down my theory. "Four murders, four different DJs."
I sigh, burying yet another theory. "And there's no forensic evidence – which, by the way, I blame shows like CSI for. Before that show, nobody knew the first thing about forensics, but now everyone seems to be cleaning up after themselves. It's really irritatin–"
"Abby," Gibbs warns me gently.
"Okay. So. We have a boatload of evidence but nothing gives us any kind of clue who did this, or why. The tox screens all showed traces of GHB – it metabolises really quickly in living victims, but since they died before it got out of their systems, I managed to find it."
"That would tie in with my findings. There were no defensive wounds on any of the bodies. These poor girls clearly didn't have the strength to fight off their attacker," Ducky confirms.
"The only things that link the victims are tattoos and Black Sunday. We do not know any more than that," Ziva sums up.
For a few moments, everyone is silent, disheartened. Suddenly Tony snaps his fingers, brightening. "So we send in Ziva as bait. You must have tattoos, right, Ziva?"
She frowns at him, confused. "I have one on my ankle…" Pulling up her pants leg, she shows him the lizard arching over her anklebone. It's gorgeous, and I tell her so. "Why, thank you, Abby."
Tony examines the design for a moment longer, probably committing it to memory, before asking, "How does a bad-ass like you only have one tattoo?"
Without missing a beat, Ziva tells him, "Because it's stereotypical. I do not measure my effectiveness in combat by how I look."
Before Tony can pursue the subject, McGee hastily changes topic, no doubt remembering the hassle Tony gave Kate when she got her tatt. "We could use henna to give her a few more?"
"That won't work." All eyes turn to me as I take a deep breath. I don't wanna make this suggestion, but Nina's tear-streaked face has been etched into my memory for the past two days. I need this case to be over so I can start being there for my friend and not cooped up in my lab surrounded by negative results.
"Okay, Ducky, correct me if I'm wrong. I know I haven't studied much psychology, but these girls have been playing in the Tattoo Superbowl. They got noticed because their tatts were conspicuous. Our killer needs his victims to be inked, and more than just a little bit."
I glance at Gibbs; already I can read the refusal on his face. I plough on anyway. "Ziva's not gonna cut it. I'd be able to catch his attention, no problem. Let me go in there."
Ziva frowns. "Abby…"
"You're not an agent," Gibbs cuts in brusquely, his voice leaving no room for argument. I knew it was coming, and part of me is ecstatic that he wants to protect me, but at the same time I'm frustrated at him.
"Gibbs!" I protest. "D'you have a better plan?"
"I'm not risking you, Abbs. You don't have the experience or the training."
"But I have the tatts. This killer? He wants real ink. Tattoos hurt – that's part of the reason he gets off on this. He's a sadist. Right, Ducky?"
"Unfortunately, Abby is correct," Ducky says reluctantly. "However, I wouldn't recommend leaving her in harm's way."
"So send someone in with me," I say. "If I can stop him from killing any more girls, why wouldn't I take that chance? I'm the perfect bait, Gibbs. Now put me on your hook and let me wriggle."
There's a moment of silence as everyone processes that last statement. I can feel the beginnings of a blush warm my cheeks as I drop my gaze to the floor. "And that came out really wrong."
When I dare to look up, Tony is smirking, enjoying the imagery. Gibbs gives me a long, impassive stare, giving no sign that he's affected by my last words. I've almost given up hope that he'll relent when he gives an almost imperceptible nod, and I relax a little. "Thanks, Gibbs."
"Don't give me a reason to regret this," is all he says as he leaves the lab. He's not happy, but he's gonna have to live with it.
"What do you think?" Smiling to cover my anxiety, I twirl in the middle of the room, feeling five pairs of eyes follow me.
The top's a scarlet halter-neck, tying at my waist, leaving the majority of my back bare. The stick figures on my shoulders and the ornate cross tattoo on my back stand out in sharp relief against my pale skin. I really should ditch the parasol and get some sun every now and then – yeah, right.
The tiny skirt I'm wearing with it covers only the top third of my thighs, revealing the tattoo of a snake coiled around my left leg, fangs out in preparation to strike. I usually respect NCIS' dress code just enough to keep it covered, but not tonight. My hair's up, showing off my spiderweb to best advantage, and the tatts down my arms are easily visible as I move.
"Wow!" Tony whispers. McGee grins stupidly – I've seen that look before – and Ziva nods appreciatively.
It's Gibbs' reaction I'm most worried about, though.
"You'll do," he tells me as his gaze sweeps down my body, his mouth turned up slightly in a smile. I tingle all over at his perusal, and shake my head, forcing the totally inappropriate thoughts I'm having way, way away.
Now I'm dressed, I look over at Tony and Ziva, who are gonna be my bodyguards for the night. I was a little sceptical at first, but it looks like they're gonna blend right in.
"Lookin' good, DiNozzo!" I compliment him, grinning. He's scrubbed up well in a black shirt and tight black jeans.
"Thanks," he deadpans, preening a little. "I try."
Ziva's wearing black cargo pants, chunky black boots and a dark green cami emblazoned with a blood-stained butterfly. I hand her one of my more conservative collars and she fastens it around her neck, taking care not to dislodge the tiny camera lodged within one of the studs. Yeah, I know, I have way too much free time on my hands sometimes.
"Will I do?" Ziva asks, tucking her firearm into the back of her pants and pulling the shirt down to obscure it.
"Totally," I reassure her, handing her an earwig and mic to complete her surveillance set. With these nifty babies, Gibbs and McGee will be able to see and hear everything we do.
Speaking of which… I tap a few commands out on my keyboard, pulling up the feeds from each of us in turn. First Ziva, who's looking at Tony. Now myself – a shot of my computer fills the screen. And now–
"Tony, quit looking at my ass," I tell him good-naturedly, rolling my eyes as I show up on-screen. Or rather, the bottom half of me does.
He sheepishly shrugs at me. "Sorry. In my defence, every guy in this room is looking at your ass right now." Gibbs thwacks the back of his head, and he winces. "'Cept you, Boss."
"Then, mission accomplished. Every guy in the club will be, too. And Gibbs, you weren't checking me out? I'm hurt!"
"McGee," Gibbs says, stifling a smile. "Bring up the feed in the van."
McGee nods, squeezing my shoulder on the way past. "Be careful, Abby."
Aww… "I will." I smile, hoping my nerves don't show, and he leaves.
"Abby." Gibbs' eyes on me send a shiver through my skin. "C'mere."
Leaving Tony and Ziva behind, I follow him into my office. He sits on the edge of my desk, and I stand in front of him, fidgeting, finally allowing my nerves to come to the fore.
"How're you feeling?" he asks, not wasting any time beating around the bush.
"Scared," I admit awkwardly. "But I need to do this."
"I know," he says, and in that moment I know he's thinking of Ari. "Abbs, I need you to promise me something."
Giddy with apprehension and the intensity of the attention he's giving me, I swallow a hysterical giggle. "Okay, okay, I'll marry you, but only if we get to go to Vegas to do it."
For a split-second, he just stares at me, his brain trying to make the jump from serious conversation to ridiculous babble. Then he pulls me into a hug, the walls he keeps around himself falling just enough for me to see the concern on his face. "Calm down. You're gonna be fine."
I let my eyes drift shut as his arms close around me. A moment too late, he realises how little I'm wearing, and that he's going to have to touch the bare flesh of my back – either that, or grab my ass. His hands are hesitant, lightly placed on the small of my back, at the base of my cross tatt. I force myself to breathe normally, hoping he won't notice the tiny ripple of pleasure that thrills through my skin, and snuggle closer – just to show him that the contact doesn't bother me.
"I'm calm," I mumble into his shirt. I'm not. I'm anything but calm right now, and not for the reason he thinks. Suddenly my role of bait doesn't seem as important or terrifying.
He releases me, and I step back, trying to get my thoughts on track. "Okay. What am I really promising you?"
"Make sure Tony and Ziva can see you at all times. If the guy makes contact and tries to get you to leave with him, do it, but walk slow. Don't get into a car with him unless you absolutely have to, and don't drink anything he offers unless you've seen the bartender pour it."
It's such unnecessary advice that I'm tempted to ask him whether I'm allowed to take candy from strangers, but I know he's just worried about me. "I promise."
"Uh… Boss?" Tony leans around the door. "Sorry to interrupt, but… we should probably get going."
Pissed off at being interrupted, Gibbs glowers at him. "Ziva. You're driving."
Patting Tony's cheek with a dazzling smile, Ziva heads for the door.
"I thought your intention was for Abby to live?" Tony complains. Gibbs only stares at him, and he sighs. "Shutting up, Boss."
"Don't let Abby out of your sight," Gibbs orders as we begin to make for the elevator. As I walk, I can feel Tony's appreciative gaze on my butt again, but after that hug from Gibbs, it barely even registers.
His voice follows us as the elevator doors slide shut. "And, DiNozzo? Keep your hands to your damn self."
Thanks for reading! There will be more to this one - let me know any suggestions you might have!
