"Some people swallow the universe like a pill; they travel on through the world, like smiling images pushed from behind." - Robert Louis Stevenson
Baltimore, 5:32 A.M.
Januaries in Baltimore were like sticking your tongue out to taste snow, and then realizing the grey clouds in the sky were actually shedding Jack Frost's tears, bitter and salty.
Detective Anthony Dinozzo didn't much mind the grey or the snow or the cold in Baltimore. But he minded that the streetlamp by his crime scene was burnt out, and he'd been woken at five in the morning to come squint at his newest case in the dark.
And of course his partner couldn't be bothered to even pick up the phone, leaving Tony to run the scene by himself.
He sketched the scene as best he could from the flashlight in his hand, wondering why he even bothered when the case would be taken over soon enough.
Lance Corporal Colin Becker sat perched on a bench overlooking the Baltimore Harbor, an oversized raincoat hiding the bullet hole in his chest. No one knew yet how long the young man had been there. To any passers-by, the man would have appeared merely to be catching a nap.
Indeed, his body had been staged quite well. It was not until the early morning hours that anyone even realized he was dead. Aid workers at a local homeless shelter were doing a street outreach, offering people blankets, toiletry bags, and rides to the shelter. One of the workers happened upon the Lance Corporal and tried to wake him. It did not take long to ascertain that the man on the bench would not be waking any time soon.
The officers who responded to the call found the man's dog tags and identification information easily. No attempts had been made to hide his identity.
Three hours later, Tony had pulled up to the scene. He had one of the officers take pictures while he sketched. Though he'd probably get better photographs and sketches once the sun came out - if the case was even still theirs.
When Gibbs pulled up to the crime scene, he was not happy. The roads were just slick enough that his normal pace of driving was out of the question, and the call for the case had come so early he hadn't even gone to sleep yet as his plans for the weekend were to finish the skeleton of the boat in his basement.
He slammed the door and approached the yellow tape, hoping the local LEOs had not disrupted the scene after notifying him of its existence. He flashed his identification at the officers by the tape, taking note of the burnt out street light near the bench where the current victim still lay.
A man stood in jeans and a navy coat near the scene with a notebook, perhaps taking notes or sketching.
Gibbs approached the man at a swift pace, speaking as soon as the man was in hearing range. "This is my scene. Special Agent Gibbs, NCIS." He once again flashed his identification. "You are?"
The man glanced at Gibbs' badge. Already annoyed with how long it took NCIS to arrive and relieve him of the scene, the agent's immediate and apparent contempt prompted his own rudeness. "I am the reason you were notified of this crime scene. What took you so long to get here?" The man demanded, mirroring the agent's tone.
Gibbs responded only with a glare – a particularly intense one he hoped would silence the young man in front of him.
Instead, the young detective just rolled his eyes. "Well at least you're here now. I assume you'll want to take over from here?"
"It's my scene," he repeated with a curt nod.
"The body has only been touched by the outreach worker who found him and by the first officer on sight, briefly and only to find initial identification which is how the dog tags were located and we knew to call you. Identification reads Lance Corporal Colin Becker. The scene has been blocked off for the last five hours; first officer arrived on the scene at 0100 hours after a call from Sue Harmon, an outreach worker with a local homeless shelter.
"Yesterday, last night, and until 0600 this morning, homeless shelter volunteers and employees have been locating homeless for the annual Point in Time count. They have to record certain information about anyone they find on the streets, then they usually offer emergency assistance. Ms. Harmon thought our victim was sleeping and needed to wake him for the count.
"Temperatures were crazy cold last night, around 15 degrees at the lowest, which was Ms. Harmon's concern, and now yours because that will likely mess with time of death. We have collected contact information and preliminary statements of any witnesses who were in the vicinity, though that really only consisted of the outreach workers; any others disappeared by the time the first responder arrived. Sue Harmon is still here, but the other workers left to continue the count.
"This is a pretty common hotspot for homeless to hang around. I'd recommend a canvas of the area tomorrow night. You could ask Ms. Harmon and her fellow volunteers to provide you with the names or at least shelter locations of those who they entered into emergency shelters last night from this area. They'll probably be able to tell you more than the outreach workers can.
"Only cameras in the vicinity that I'm aware of are at an ATM on the corner of there," he pointed across the street to an intersection. "And at the traffic light by that ATM. I'm thinking that convenience store might have something inside though and maybe it caught something from the street or at least some people who were around here last night. Any questions?"
"Yeah. Just one," Gibbs said, looking at the younger man expectantly.
"I have a list here of all the names you'll need, including the first officers on the scene," he ripped a page out of his notebook, figuring the agent was referring to the names so he could start his investigation.
"Good, but I was actually referring to your name," Gibbs bit out, impatient but not quite rude. The man in front of him seemed competent enough and had actually given Gibbs more information than he usually ever hoped for from local officers, but he still hadn't answered the first question Gibbs had thrown his way.
"Detective Anthony DiNozzo, Baltimore PD. You can call me Tony." Tony responded with a smile, offering his hand for the man to shake.
Gibbs glanced at the hand, but did not take it. He'd heard the name before; he was sure of it. He just couldn't place where.
Instead, he glanced towards his car where Ducky's assistant was now parking the truck. Both men began making their way over to Gibbs.
"She was quite delightful, I must say. It's a shame he put the ring in chocolate. Marcy wasn't one to savor that particular candy. By the time he returned to the room and performed the Heimlich, she'd lost quite a bit of oxygen to the brain. Never was quite the same, but mother did love to have her over for tea. She could make a biscotti rivaled by no others," the Doctor finished his story upon reaching the two men.
"Jethro! We arrived as soon as we could. We hit a bit of a bad patch there on the highway. But if you direct us to the body, we will get to work." He took the gloves his assistant handed him and glanced at Tony. "Oh! Do forgive me. I didn't see you there. I'm Dr. Donald Mallard and this is my assistant Gerald. Who might you be, my dear boy?"
"Detective Anthony DiNozzo, Doctor. Please call me Tony. I was just giving Jethro here the last of the information I have on his case and then Baltimore PD will be out of your hair," he finished with an amused smile, genuine even, and un-phased by the subsequent glare he received at the use of Gibbs' name.
"He says the temperatures last night got down to at least 15 degrees, Duck. I think time of death might be difficult this time," Gibbs cut in on the introductions.
"Wow, Duck and Jethro. Do you have to have a funky name to get into NCIS? I'm glad they made an exception for you, Gerald," Tony shared a smile with the medical examiner's assistant.
At Gibbs' glare this time, he amended himself. "Not that Jethro isn't a great name. Because it totally has an exotic element there, almost like Pedro. Pedro, Jethro. Yeah, I'm sure it's a chick magnet," the glare did not falter, "but I'll stop now because obviously you know all this. It's your name after all." He finished with a charming smile, full on, as he seemed to do often. And perhaps Gibbs would have been more annoyed if he weren't trying so hard to place the man's name.
Still unimpressed, Gibbs thought he should nip the use of his given name in the bud, "You call me Gibbs." He used his demanding-and-dangerous voice, the one with a very high success rate for manipulating the actions of others.
The detective smiled, this time with thinner lips, and Gibbs felt his mood lift as the young man portrayed his annoyance. "How about I call you nothing since this is your case and not mine. If you don't need anything else, I'd like to be on my way." Though he sounded quite amicable, lighthearted even, Gibbs could tell the detective was losing his patience. He'd been trying to leave practically since Gibbs had arrived. Most local LEOs were not so compliant.
Then again, most local LEOs didn't quite comprehend jurisdiction. They'd try to fight for a case but have no leg to stand on. This guy probably just understood jurisdiction. That or he didn't want the case; why want what you can't have?
Didn't matter to Gibbs. Or, at least, shouldn't matter. He got what he wanted. Relevant case information and then the local law enforcement out of his way. The kid had probably just encountered enough Feds to know better than to fight-
And that's when it hit him, a memory bubbling in chest.
Dinner, Gibbs' House, 15 months ago
"You know they make grills for this kind of thing, right?" Fornell goaded as he watched his friend sit by the fireplace and turn over their steaks.
"Don't need one. Got a fireplace," Gibbs said.
"Cheap bastard. You sure it's not 'cause you got alimony payments?" Fornell smirked.
"Careful, Fornell. Wouldn't want to accidentally drop your steak in the fire. Then you'd be stuck eating beans from a can."
"Yeah, yeah. Like a cheap bastard would waste something so expensive."
"Either I waste it on you or waste it in the fireplace. Don't see much difference."
"You just don't see much. I heard you've been squinting again."
Gibbs glared, "Who told you that?"
"Abby assisted on a case a couple months ago. She's worried you're damaging the something or other in your eyes by not getting 'em checked out."
"Should've known," Gibbs sighed.
"How's the team?" Fornell asked.
"Burley's leaving. They're sticking me with green probies. I've had two so far. Both transferred out within a month."
"Gee, I wonder why," Fornell deadpanned.
Gibbs rolled his eyes. "It's for the best. How's your team?"
"Same. Still a man down."
"Can't find an agent who'll put up with you, Fornell?"
"Oh I found one, alright. He just doesn't want the job."
Gibbs raised his eyebrows, disbelief warring with curiosity.
"Case in Philly. Kid detective, DiNutzo. He's a pain in the ass who doesn't even say his own name right, but he's got a knack for making connections no one else can see."
"Why'd he say no?"
Fornell rolled his eyes and stabbed at a piece of steak with his fork. "He says he's happy where he is. He's loyal to the badge. Not so much to the precinct, but he sure as hell seems attached to the men in blue. Bad blood with feds, I think."
Fornell hadn't said much else that day. But next month, Gibbs met his friend for lunch. On the way to the deli, Fornell pulled a letter out of his coat pocket to stick into a post office box. The name read Anthony Dinozzo. Tobias told Gibbs he sent one every month, grumbling about wasted time for a man who never even responded.
If Gibbs weren't so focused on teasing the FBI agent about his unsuccessful and pathetic attempts at getting this Dinozzo guy to work for him, he would've been impressed that said man could inspire such fervent attempts at recruitment by the likes of Tobias Fornell.
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Gibbs watched the young man walk briskly away from the scene. He wanted to feel satisfied that, for once, things had gone his way. He wanted to feel relieved the locals wouldn't be a pain in his side throughout the whole investigation. Instead, he just felt a churning in his gut, and for the first time in years, Gibbs wasn't sure what his gut was trying to tell him.
But as the young man pulled away in his car and the sun began to inch its way over the water on the harbor, Gibbs turned his attention to the Lance Corporal on the bench and started processing the scene. He wasn't here to meddle with young detectives, especially not young detectives who had Fornell enamored. He was here for the marine. He was here for justice.
