Chapter 2


"I appreciate you finding the time, Jethro…"

"Yeah, well, I didn't find much, Duck."

Ducky sighed aloud. It had taken some doing to get Gibbs to come have a bite to eat with him, but it seemed now as if he hadn't convinced him so much toeat, as sit at a table with him and pick at his sandwich. Abby had been quite correct in her assessment of the situation. Things were dire indeed. Though he wasn't confident Abby's additional idea as to an, at least partial, solution was as certain a thing: "He'll listen to you, Duck-man, he always does."

Listen to, and respect him, yes—but believe? Gibbs was a not a man whose actions were predictable. Ducky might've had some skills at profiling, and he probably knew Gibbs as well as, if not better than, anyone. He knew that, right now, Gibbs was feeling the familiar pull of protectiveness toward someone for whom he was responsible. A driven Leroy Jethro Gibbs was not a new sight at all.

"You invite me out to lunch so you could stare at me?"

Ducky gave a short laugh. "Well partially, yes. You have us all very worried about you, you know. You're not sleeping, you hardly eat anything—"

"I'll survive insomnia and a few skipped meals."

And Tony might not survive whatever he's going through. If he's even still alive now. Yes, Ducky could read between the lines easily. Gibbs was good at saying what he meant without coming out and saying it. Usually he just stared at people until they figured things out themselves. But on top of actually responding to him—however minimally—Gibbs was also showing considerable respect by restraining himself from looking quite as surly as Ducky was sure he felt.

"Wherever Tony is, I know one thing for certain, Jethro."

"And what's that?"

"That he wouldn't want you to blame yourself for not finding him."

Gibbs ran a hand through his hair, which was already sticking up here-and-there in unusual disarray. "I am going to find him, Duck."

"Of course you are. Tony will not doubt it for a moment, either, I guarantee you. It's only a matter of—"

"—Time. I know. Search investigations always are." He shook his head with a mirthless smile. "And yet, somehow, time is the one thing you've never got when someone's missing." He began pushing back his chair. "Thanks for the lunch, Duck."

"You might try eating it. It'll do you more good that way; I'll stake my reputation as a doctor on it."

"I need to go."

"What you need is to sit and receive some nourishment," Ducky corrected, bearing down on the other man with a penetrating glare. He meant for it to sound stern, and sure enough, Gibbs paused.

Gibbs met his unyielding expression with impatience, which relented after a brief stare-down, in which Ducky felt himself the victor. He hardly felt triumphant, though, when the hard set of his face shifted into minutely more unguarded weariness.

"Jethro…" Why must you be so hard on yourself? There was only one other person Ducky knew who could keep up with Gibbs' often unreasonably harsh and driven self-set standards.

"You can analyze me to your heart's content. After I find Tony."

"Your team's not about to fall apart the moment you turn your back," Ducky countered. "Ziva, Timothy, Abigail, and myself are all just as eager for answers as you are, and we are all doing everything that can be done."

Gibbs conceded Ducky the point with a grunt. He couldn't argue against his team's competency, or their dedication in the search for Tony.

"Now, why don't you kill two birds with one stone, and remain where you are for two minutes together, eat your sandwich, and update me on what we know so far of young Anthony's disappearance."

Gibbs took a bite with pointed slowness, and raised his eyebrows in a "You happy now?" expression.

Ducky smiled his approval, and waited patiently as he downed a few more bites and began reporting in clipped sentences:

"Nothing out of place at DiNozzo's house. Abby traced his cell, and we found it in Tony's car, outside a Kowalski's Pub," Gibbs leaned his elbows against the table top, glancing abstractedly at the sparse number of after-lunch-hour patrons around them in the small restaurant. "Car was locked. No signs of a forced entry. The owner of the bar saw Tony late Saturday evening; Tony had a few drinks, but didn't overdo it. The girl who waited on him said he was in a good mood, talkative. Came in around nine, had his last drink at a quarter to eleven, and left. When the waitress commented on whether or not he was fit to drive, he said he'd call someone. As we speak, Abby's double-checking the security camera feed from outside the bar's entrance—but she says the tape shows DiNozzo coming and going without incident."

"He must have intended to return to his car to retrieve his cell and call someone to pick him up."

"Yeah. And never made it. Whatever happened to him, it took place between the time he walked out of the bar's camera range, and where he should've entered the range of the corner gas station's cameras."

"Ah, yes, Abby told me there was an empty lot between the gas station and bar. A small blind-spot, but all that was needed, apparently."

"No blood, or any signs of a struggle. He was a bit unsteady when he left the bar, so he could've been slipped something in one of his drinks."

"I do not suppose we are speaking of the kind of neighborhood where a helpful citizen might have taken note of suspicious activity?" Ducky asked dryly.

"Nope," Gibbs said simply, finishing his meal and sitting back in his chair. "Ziva and McGee asked around. No one's reported seeing anything out of the normal."

"So far," Ducky interjected, with more optimism than he felt. "I suppose we would've received a call by now, either from Anthony himself, or someone who recognized him from the description sent out, if he'd simply wandered off in a drunken stupor."

A small smile tugged at Gibbs' mouth, and he shook his head. "Nah, Duck, he doesn't wander off when he's drunk."

"Oh?"

"Too well trained for that."

Ducky knew he spoke not only of Tony's ingrained instincts as a cop and NCIS agent, but something else as well. It wouldn't surprise Ducky at all to discover that Gibbs was the rare possessor of enough of DiNozzo's trust that the younger man had learned to turn to his boss for help during his more vulnerable moments. Ducky knew for a fact that was what Tony had done at the pinnacle of his crisis in discovering the dangers of his newly acquired hyper-active senses.

"The waitress."

Ducky was jarred from his internal musings by the words, growled angrily by Gibbs.

Before Ducky could question him further, Gibbs had shoved back his chair and was on his feet. "She knows more. She knows a lot more."

"As I heard it, she was quite concerned and distraught to learn…"

"It seemed like it then, but now that I've had time to –" Gibbs shook his head. "Not concerned about what might've happened to Tony. Not as much as she was scared to save her own skin."

"Jethro…" But he was gone, and Ducky knew what the look in his eyes had meant. If that poor girl was scared now, she was about to become much more so. Or, if she was involved in Anthony's disappearance, Ducky could not pity her for the fate she'd brought down upon herself.


"I really do apologize for the restrains. I didn't think they'd be necessary, but I like to be prepared."

Tony's eyes were still having trouble adjusting to the onslaught of light. He squinted at the man as he chatted in an amiable tone. His captor had his back to him, and was standing in front of a desk that ran the length of the wall Tony was facing, his fingers flying with familiarity across the keyboard of one of several computers there.

It took Tony longer than usual to gather himself enough to come up with something witty, but he thought he did all right under the circumstances. "Well if you feel too bad, you could always take them off."

"Ah, a sense of humor." There was a smile in the man's voice, but it felt too correct, and from the sound of it Tony guessed his sense of humor was more stunted. "Perhaps I may be able to better accommodate you shortly. But we must get some questions out of the way first."

"Great. Could I go first?"

The man turned on him with a startled expression.

"Or…I could wait for you to ask one," Tony allowed graciously. Especially nice of him, considering what he really had in mind was something that involved him getting his fingers around the man's neck.

"Very well, if you wish you may ask a question."

It was obviously a gesture meant to humor him, and the condescension made Tony bristle. He took him up on the offer anyways. "Why don't we just get the clichés out the way right off the bat: who are you, and what do you want with me?" A few other words came to mind as appropriate supplements to the questions—ones that might've even made a Marine proud. Somehow, though, this guy didn't look like the type who'd be quite so impressed with them, and Tony got the feeling he wouldn't do himself any favors with the guy by making himself look even more vulgar and uncultured.

"That's two questions," the man observed, amusement even more apparent. "But, of course, you would want to know."

"Of course I would," Tony agreed pleasantly, smile tight.

"I am Thomas Avery, and you are here for the bettering of mankind."

If he'd known Avery wasn't going to laugh with him, he might've toned his own laughter down a bit. Or maybe not. When he could grab enough oxygen between laughs, he repeated, "'The bettering of mankind?'"

"You find the idea amusing?" Avery asked, straight-faced, still not catching on as to what was so funny, even with it pointed out for him.

"Um, no… The thought's real nice, and it's always great to feel important. It's just your vocabulary. Not to hurt your feelings, but phrases like that kinda went out of fashion some time around the middle-ages."

Avery looked down his nose at Tony critically. He had a good nose for it too—a little long, and little narrow—and small, square glasses perched on the end of it, suitable for giving narrow-eyed looks through. His eyes were pale blue, and his fair hair was in need of a trim, forelock nearly covering his eyebrows.

Without responding to his wise-crack, Avery returned his attention the computer, efficiently inputting God-knew-what.

"You a psychiatrist, or what?" Tony was getting that annoying, uncomfortable feeling that he hated, when he knew someone was trying to figure him out, and label his "issues." Like he had issues.

"I've had some small training in the area." Avery returned his attention to Tony, crossing his arms. "But I am not primarily interested in your intelligence, Sentinel, one way or the other. I am far more interested in the unique abilities provided by your heightened senses."


TBC

A/N: You guys are awesome. Your PMs and reviews made me happy like you wouldn't believe. Sorry this is short, again! Chapter 3 will be longer (although you'll have to bear with me, since I'm going to be gone for ten days, and unable to post until I get back. ;))

I probably won't be able to respond to very many reviews this time—but I do read and appreciate each and every one. To quote Abby, "I am hugging you all in my mind." Thank you!