AN: Here there be NCIS!

Chapter title from 'Nightingale' by Norah Jones.

"Nightingale, sing us a song of a love that once belonged. Does it seem like I'm looking for an answer to a question I can't ask? All the voices spinning around me, trying to tell me what to say. Can I fly right behind you? You can take me away."

Chapter 2: Nightingale

I was sick to death of being cold.

I had been cold locked in the back of the police car.

I was cold in booking, when they took my fingerprints, and when they threw me in a cell that reminded me of the basement- except crowded.

I was cold when they dragged me out of the cell and into another police car.

I was cold now, waiting in this interrogation room in the building with the orange walls and the cops without uniforms.

The room was dark and the mirror was dark. I stared at myself in it wondering where all the blood had come from and that was probably why none of the women wanted to come near me.

An older man walked in, his eyes as bright blue as Carlton's and I felt my heart stop within my chest for one, painful beat as I looked at him and remembered.

Was that what Carlton would have looked like when his hair turned grey? Would he have had that same hard stare that was so familiar and so chilling?

The man slapped down the file he was carrying, the sound echoing in the barren room and jerking me back to the present.

He sat across from me, leaning back in his chair. I saw a badge clipped to his belt. NCIS. Wonder what that meant?

"My name's Gibbs. What's yours?" he said quietly, his voice deep.

I remained stubbornly silent.

The cops couldn't get me to speak, what made him think he could?

He leaned forward and opened the file, peering down at it myopically for a moment before looking up at me.

"Your fingerprints aren't on file anywhere, but we do have them on six wallets and a Lieutenant's dead body. Care to explain?"

I stared at him, my arms crossed.

I had already begun to analyze him. He was in power, nearly top but not quite, but not because he couldn't- just because he didn't want to be. He wouldn't respect anything less than honesty or...

"How does someone not show up in any database anywhere?" he asked, not really expecting an answer as he leaned forward.

"I'll tell you," he said quietly, and I nearly rolled my eyes, "You're not here legally. That means you could be a terrorist. Which means I could have you sent to Gitmo faster than you can blink. So, I'll ask you again, who are you?"

Was that some sort of threat? What was Gitmo? Honestly curious and reading the determination in his shoulders, I broke my vow of silence.

"What's Gitmo?" I asked quietly, my voice cracking from lack of use.

He looked at me incredulously.

"Guantanamo Bay," he clarified.

I cocked my head and raised an eyebrow. A bay was supposed to threaten me somehow?

He leaned back in his chair, his eyes narrowing.

"You honestly have no idea, do you?" he asked.

I shrugged and shook my head.

He sighed deeply and pushed forward a photo. I glanced down at it and then closed my eyes.

The military guy. The Lieutenant, I guess. Dead and cold and naked now, lying on a metal table with a hole in him.

"Why did you shoot him?" Gibbs asked.

I opened my eyes, staring over at him.

I didn't. I couldn't. How…

But I was covered in his blood, he was shot in my hotel room, and I ran away.

Of course they think I did it.

And I couldn't tell them otherwise. Daemon ordered me not to. He was my master, I couldn't disobey him.

"Was it another shake-down gone wrong?" Gibbs continued, "Did he follow you home?"

I stayed silent, staring down at my lap.

He laid down some more papers and I glanced up at them. Familiar faces stared back.

"We have multiple reports of your operation," Gibbs said, "You lure men out of clubs and bars and then steal their money."

I held my breath, waiting for the next line. What was my punishment? Would they send me to prison forever, like my brother? Would they kill me? I heard that killers got killed sometimes, and they thought I killed that military man.

Where was Tim? Would he come? Would he help me? Could he?

Had Juliet even gotten my message? Could she find him, somehow? I didn't give her much before I was caught.

"Look at me!" Gibbs demanded, his hand striking the table.

I flinched and looked up at him, my breath coming in short, sharp pants.

This was it. This was it.

I saw it in his eyes. The same cold look I saw in Daemon's eyes as he held the knife to my throat and demanded that I choose.

What would I choose now?

The door flew open and I flinched, looking over, half-expecting Daemon to be there, gun still smoking.

Tim.

I heard Gibbs snap something but it didn't matter.

I jumped to my feet and ran over to Tim, hugging him tightly and reveling in the safe, familiar scent.

"Tim, Tim, thank you, thank you," I murmured.

His arms went around me, his calloused hands warm on my bare back.

"Shh, Angel, it'll be okay," he said.

"McGee!" Gibbs yelled and I flinched, clinging closer to Tim.

He'd help me. He'd save me. He was a cop, I knew, but he was a good guy. He'd wanted to help me when he was undercover at John's place. Surely he'd come to help me now. Juliet must have found him somehow.

"Boss…" Tim said and I froze.

No.

No, it couldn't be.

Gibbs couldn't be his boss. If Gibbs was his boss, then he couldn't help me. Then he wasn't there for me at all.

I pulled away, unconsciously hugging myself as I looked up at Tim, betrayed.

"Sit down!" Gibbs ordered and I went back to my seat, fighting back tears.

He pulled Tim from the room and I was left all alone again.

Alone and cold.

-000-

A woman was sent in later.

She was frighteningly beautiful, dark and dangerous.

Her hair was back in a tight ponytail and I self-consciously pulled my frizzy braid over my shoulder. Her clothes were black, like mine, but looked soft and expensive and warm. My short leather skirt and matching vest barely covered the essentials.

I was standing now, sick of being stuck in the chair in the empty room.

I saw her gaze flit down to my high-heeled leather boots, rising above my knees. She ran her eyes along my bare midriff and up to the thick black collar around my throat.

It wasn't like the men looked at me. It was more appraising, like she was seeing if I was hiding anything.

"I am Ziva," he said simply, "And you are Angel?"

I nodded.

"Sit, please," she said, gesturing to the chair and taking a seat herself.

I sat, watching her warily.

Where was Tim? Was he in trouble?

"What can you tell us about Lieutenant James?" she asked.

I blanked for a moment. Oh. The military guy.

I shrugged, crossing my arms.

"Timothy told us about your… work. He also said something about it not being voluntary. Is that right?"

I said nothing.

"Your collar is interesting. I have a friend who would like to look at it. Is that okay?" Ziva asked.

I wondered why she was being so nice. She didn't seem like a naturally nice person, but her eyes looked… soft. Like she felt sorry for me, somehow.

I didn't answer, but she gestured towards the mirror anyway.

A second later another woman entered the room.

She was as far from Ziva as night and day.

Her dark hair was in two short pigtails, framing her face and green, green eyes. Tattoos peeked out from under her black t-shirt, decorated with a smiley-face skull, and her short pleated plaid skirt was matched by bright red stockings. Her feet were clad in clunky be-chained boots and, like me, she wore a thick leather collar, but white.

"Hi!" she greeted, smiling, "I'm Abby! Tim's told me so much about you!"

She hugged me and I just froze, looking over at Ziva.

She moved behind me and I watched her in the mirror.

"I'm going to take a look at your collar, 'kay?" Abby said, not waiting for a reply.

Her fingers ghosted around the edge of my collar and I shuddered lightly.

"Sorry," she said, "Cold fingers."

She lifted my long, heavy braid and bent down to look closer. I leaned forward, allowing her to examine the lock.

She was peering at it intently, and I could see her mind spinning as her warm breath ghosted across my neck.

"There's a lock here," she muttered.

I nodded slightly.

She looked up at the mirror, meeting my eyes.

"Do you have the key?"

I shook my head.

She bit her lip, black lipstick smudging.

I saw Gibbs appear in the doorway and watched as she threw a look of concern in his direction.

Oh.

My eyes widened as a thought struck me, and I turned slightly in my chair, my back to Gibbs.

"Abby?" I whispered.

She took her attention off my collar and smiled gently at me.

"Is Gibbs your master?"