Chapter 1

*five days earlier*

"Gear up. Body at Quantico."

Tony automatically grabbed his knapsack and hurried after Gibbs as the lead agent strode towards the elevator. He didn't even have to look to know his partner and the newest member of the team were right behind him.

"What happened, Boss?"

"Someone tried to get in the front gate without ID. Guards shot him."

"Civilian?" McGee asked, his face pinched with worry.

"That's what we're going to find out."

"Great. Press will have field day with this one," Tony muttered and Ellie send him a questioning look.

"Why? The guards were just doing their job."

"One thing you learn on this job, Bishop: the Press is not your friend."

"I used to work for the NSA, Tony. I already knew that."

"Then why did you ask?"

"Are you two done?"

"Yes, Boss."

"Good. DiNozzo, McGee, take the truck. Bishop, you're with me."

"On it."

After making sure the tank was full, Tony handed McGee the keys and they headed for Quantico.

As expected, the Press was already out in full force and it took a bit of maneuvering the get past them and close to the group of Marines guarding the scene. Someone had set up screens to block the view of the scene from the expected gathering of rubberneckers, a small measure of relief for the team. Finally they were able to view the body and received a rather unpleasant surprise.

"I thought you said he'd been shot, Boss," Tony question as he got his first look at the unmarked body and the lack of blood surrounding it.

Gibbs signaled to one of the Marine guards and when he joined the team Gibbs asked him the same question.

"No, sir, I'm sorry, that was a miscommunication. We threatened to shoot him if he didn't stop and identify himself, but he collapsed before anyone got a shot off."

"Tell me exactly what happened."

The guard shifted uneasily before replying. "We noticed a man acting...off. He was wandering around across the street, looking around like he didn't really know where he was. We thought he might be homeless, or on something, or both, and we were ready to call in the local police to come pick him up when he started walking towards the gate. We called out a warning and the order to stop and he just...dropped like a stone. By the time we got to him he didn't have a pulse and wasn't breathing." He glanced at the body. "It was...I never saw anything like it."

"Have you seen him before?" Gibbs asked, and the guard shook his head.

"No, sir. I've been on duty here for the past month. He's never passed by, or through."

"Alright corporal. As you were."

"Yes, sir." The guard returned to his station just as Ducky and Palmer arrived at the scene.

"I thought this man had been shot," Ducky exclaimed as caught his first glimpse of the body.

"Bad intel. Apparently he dropped dead before they could shoot him. What can you tell me?"

Ducky started his examination. The dead man was gaunt, with dark skin stretched tight over high cheekbones, and his long, matted black hair was shot through with grey. His face, head, and neck bore no obvious signs of trauma, but he had the overall appearance of someone who had been forced into a rough existence. His clothing was worn and dirty and his callused hands displayed the hallmarks of hard labor.

After checking what he could without disturbing anything, Ducky started to search through the man's clothing, letting out a small exclamation of surprise when he opened the man's shirt.

"He's wearing dog tags. Maurice Saintilaire, USN. We'll need to confirm that. Timothy?" McGee didn't respond, and they all turned to see him staring at the body, a clear expression of shock on his face.

"McGee? You know this guy?" Gibbs asked and it took McGee a moment to answer as he shook his head.

"No, Boss. Sorry, the name sounded familiar, but this couldn't be the same person. He's been dead for almost twenty years." He pulled the fingerprint scanner from his bag and carefully placed the dead man's thumb on the screen. "Huh. Not in the system. Must not be his tags." He sounded relieved.

"We'll have to determine his ID later, then," Ducky offered as he continued to examine the body.

"Cause of death?"

"Not immediately apparent. Again, we'll know more once we get him back to Autopsy. Let's get him ready for transport, Mr. Palmer."

"Yes, Doctor."

"DiNozzo, Bishop, shoot and sketch. McGee, bag and tag."

"Boss, there's-"

"Not much, yeah I know. Track down the owner of those dog tags when you're done."

"Yes, Boss."

There was something in McGee's tone that caused them all to turn and look at him. He blushed slightly under the scrutiny and knelt next to his kit, checking the contents.

"Is there something you want to tell me, McGee?"

"No, Boss. Bag and tag. On it." He headed to the truck to retrieve the rest of the equipment as Gibbs turned to Tony.

"DiNozzo, when you're done…"

"Try to figure out why McGee just lied to you. On it, Boss."

XXX

*present*

"Sir? Sir? Are you still there? Do you need help?"

Tony finally managed to tear his gaze away from the body of his teammate to answer the voice on the other end of the line. "No, I don't need help. Sorry." He ended the call and pressed the first number on speed dial.

"Yeah, Gibbs."

"Boss…" Tony's voice cracked on the first syllable and he took a deep breath, barely managing to pull himself together. "I'm at Tim's. You need to get here. Bring Ducky."

Gibbs remained silent for a few heartbeats before Tony heard a response.

"What happened?"

Tony let out a soft, watery chuckle. "I don't know, Boss. I stopped by his apartment to talk to him and...I just found him like this." Tony forced himself to look at McGee. "I don't see anything that could have… He's just...gone."

"On my way."

Tony slipped his phone back in his pocket and rubbed a shaking hand over his mouth. How had this happened? McGee had been fine when Tony saw him last night, albeit tired from working their usual hours. Tony knew there was more to his connection to the case than Tim had told them, but he had no idea why the younger man had been so reticent to tell what he knew.

"Damn it, Tim. What happened? Why couldn't you tell us?" Tony allowed his gaze to roam over the apartment, searching for some sign of what could have caused his partner's demise.

XXX

*four days earlier*

Tony dashed out of the elevator and made it to his desk barely a few seconds before Gibbs walked into the bullpen.

"What do you got?" He barked, his glare directed at Tony.

"Ah, well, the neighborhood canvas didn't turn up anything. No one's seen our dead guy in the area before. I talked to the local bus drivers, but he was never a passenger. No record of him for any type of public transportation in the area."

"Bishop."

"Nothing so far on his prints or facial recognition. I checked Interpol, nothing, and I'm working my way through the law enforcement agencies in the Caribbean, South America and Africa. It's taking a while."

"McGee?"

"I checked the name and social security number on the dog tags, Boss. Maurice Saintilaire died in Haiti in 1996. He was a naturalized American citizen, came to this country with his parents in 1980. Both parents predeceased him. Apparently he was visiting other family when he died and they kept him in country, since he had no relatives left in the U.S. at the time."

"So how did our dead guy get his dog tags?"

"I'm still waiting to hear back from the authorities in Haiti. They've been trying to track down the family."

"Was he the guy you knew. McGee?"

"I didn't know him, Bishop. I...just heard the name from a friend. Saintilaire was his cousin."

"And where did you meet the cousin?"

"College," McGee replied, and once again Tony got the impression that there was more to it than McGee was willing to admit. He filed the thought away for later.

"How did Saintilaire die?"

"'Suddenly' is all the file said. Death certificate filled out by the local...coroner, I'd guess you'd call it, lists the cause of death as cardiac arrest. No autopsy. Apparently that's not so unusual for the region. It's pretty rural."

"All right, keep working on it."

"Yes, Boss."

"Gibbs, Gibbs, Gibbs! I figured it out. I know who our dead guy is!" Abby dashed into the bullpen, waiving a printout. "And you'll never believe it. This is beyond hinky!"

"Who is he, Abbs?"

"Maurice Saintilaire."

"T-that's impossible!" McGee stammered, his face draining of color.

"Apparently not. Fingerprints don't lie, McGee."

"But they weren't on file. I double-checked."

"Electronic file, no. They were expunged from the database. I managed to get a hold of his paper files, and they're a dead-on match...no pun intended." Abby giggled, but her grin quickly faded under Gibbs' glare, a gaze which was soon turned on McGee.

"Boss, I'm just going by what the records said…"

"Someone screwed up. It happens. Better call them back."

"Yes, Boss." McGee quickly picked up his phone, dialed a number and tucked the receiver under his ear. He made a quick request and waited, typing frantically on his keyboard as he did so. Gibbs sent Tony a knowing look and he nodded. He'd have quite a bit to interrogate McGee about before this case was over.

XXX

*present*

Tony heard a knock on the door and checked his watch, a sad smile appearing on his face. Gibbs had made good time.

"Hey, Boss." He opened the door to allow the older man admittance.

"Where?"

Tony led Gibbs to the spot where McGee had fallen. "I rolled him over to check on him, but that's how I found him."

Gibbs knelt down next to the body of his agent, his gaze traveling over the figure with a practiced eye before he rubbed a rough hand over his face. "Damn it. No sign of-?"

"Nothing, Boss. No evidence that he took, ate, or drank anything here. Guess we'll have to figure out where else he was last night. You...you're thinking poison, or something like that, right? I mean, McGee is...was healthy. He didn't look sick or anything yesterday."

"No, he didn't."

"You think this is related to our case? I mean...it looks like what happened to Saintilaire could have… But we don't what happened to him, either. Damn it…"

"Did you ever get him to tell you what was bothering him?"

"No. I tried asking a few times but he always clammed up or tried to brush it off. I thought I'd have more time to get him to open up, Boss."

"It's not your fault, Tony."

"Feels like it is. He...he was my probie, Boss. I'm supposed to have his six, always."

Gibbs just shook his head and started to survey the apartment. "You find his phone?"

"No. I figured Ducky would be mad enough that I moved him, didn't want to disturb anything else looking for it. It's not anywhere else in the apartment, that I did check."

The two men did another search of the apartment but found nothing to indicate anyone besides McGee had been there recently. Gibbs said Ducky would be bringing the kits when he arrived with the van, but until then there was nothing they could do but wait.

Twenty minutes later another knock sounded on the door and Gibbs opened it to admit the M.E. He made his way over to McGee's body and sighed when he caught sight of the still figure.

"Was this the position in which you found him?"

"No, Ducky, I rolled him over to see if… To check him. That's all. We need to see if he has his phone on him, but figured we should wait…"

"Yes, that's understandable. I'll see what I can find. I've called Mr. Palmer and he will be here shortly." Ducky searched through Tim's pockets-the same clothes he'd been wearing the last time they had seen him-and soon retrieved his cell phone.

"Last number dialed?"

Tony accepted a pair of gloves from Ducky and slipped them on before taking the phone. He tapped a few keys and sighed. "Password protected. I guess we'll have to get Abby to… God. She's going to freak out."

"Perhaps she can be of additional assistance. I got the impression that something had disturbed Timothy about this case."

"And maybe he confided in her. Of course…"

Gibbs pulled out his own phone and pressed a number. "Abbs? Need you to come in today. I'll tell you when I see you. No, new case. OK. Thanks, Abbs. She'll meet us at the Yard," Gibbs explained as he ended the call.

"I don't envy you that conversation, Jethro." He returned to his examination as a rather timid series of knocks sounded on the door. "That must be Mr. Palmer." Tony opened the door to find Jimmy standing in the hallway.

"What happened? Is McGee…?"

"I'm afraid so."

"Oh, God...I didn't...I never expected…"

"None of us did, Palmer."

"Right. Sorry." He hurried over to help Ducky as the M.E. started to search through his bag. Gibbs and Tony moved further away, neither wanting to witness a more invasive examination. They started to unpack the second bag Ducky had brought with him but were interrupted by an angry voice.

"Mr. Palmer, how many times to I have to tell you, check the equipment before you put it away!"

"I-I'm sorry, Dr. Mallard, I thought I had checked it."

"What's wrong, Duck?"

"The liver probe is not working. I suspect a dead battery." He sighed. "We'll have to determine time of death by other means, then, back at Autopsy."

"Yes, Dr. Mallard."

"Finish the photos, then go retrieve the gurney."

Jimmy nodded and returned to his job while Tony and Gibbs did theirs. Soon Jimmy left and returned with the requested gurney, and he and Ducky began the unpleasant task of moving their friend and teammate into a body bag. Tony had to turn away while they zipped the bag shut,

surreptitiously taking a few deep breaths to calm himself. He felt a hand on his shoulder and he turned to see Gibbs watching him with a sympathetic expression. Tony managed to meet Gibbs' gaze and nod, receiving a gentle squeeze on his shoulder in return.

After Ducky and Jimmy had moved the gurney out into the hallway, Tony turned to Gibbs.

"Now what?"

"We investigate, Tony. We find out what happened. For McGee."

"On it, Boss."

XXX

*three days earlier*

"Ah, Jethro, I was wondering when I'd being seeing you. I understand Abigail has identified our John Doe."

"So she says. Anything to doubt that?"

Ducky chucked. "Of course not. I was able to request Saintilaire's medical records, and everything seems to check out. However, considerable time passed between his last records and now, and he is considerable worse for wear. However, I did not find anything that would negate an identification."

"So what killed him?"

"That, I'm afraid, is still a mystery. Abby is running a tox screen, but I was not able to give her anything that would hint as to what toxin might have been ingested. He shows no signs of intravenous drug use, nor any of the markers of smoking. His liver, while showing some signs of malnutrition, shows no evidence of disease. Nor do his kidneys or brain tissue. His heart stopped beating, obviously, but as to what caused it? We'll just have to wait and see."

"I hate waiting."

Ducky chuckled. "Yes, of that I am well aware. I assure you, as soon as we know something, you'll know."

"Thanks, Duck."

Gibbs left, and Ducky walked over to the wall of drawers, pulling one open and gazing down at the still, silent figure within.

"A bigger question is, why did everyone think you were already dead?"

XXX

*present*

Unsurprisingly the drive back to the Yard was silent. Jimmy still seemed to be cowed by Ducky's earlier chastisement, or perhaps he was still reeling from the loss of a friend. In either case, Ducky didn't mind the quiet, even though his own thoughts were far from comforting.

Ducky had sincerely hoped that, before he retired, he would not have to deal with the odious task of performing a post-mortem examination on another one of his friends. He had done it far too many times already, and no matter what any of his old colleagues had declared, it never got any easier. He suspected that this time it would be worse. To lose one so young, still in the prime of his life, it was a tragedy, one he would have gladly avoided given the choice. To make matters worse there was the fact that he didn't have an idea why Timothy had died so suddenly. He hoped he might be able to find the answer to that question. Not knowing was truly agonizing.

After they had backed the van into the loading dock, Ducky and Jimmy carefully unloaded the gurney and pushed it into Autopsy. They transferred the bag to one of the steel tables and as Ducky started to unzip the black shroud, he noticed that Jimmy was standing off to the side, an all-too-familiar expression on his face.

"Mr. Palmer?"

"I'm sorry, Doctor. I...I don't think I can do this. Not this time."

Ducky sighed. "I understand, Jimmy."

"It's just...he's my age, and…"

"You feel as though you've gotten a glimpse of your own mortality."

"Yeah...and he's...he was my friend."

"Understood. If you could just fetch the x-ray machine and set it up, I can finish this on my own."

"Thank you, Dr. Mallard. I'm sorry."

"It's alright, lad."

Jimmy left to get the equipment while Ducky finished unzipping the bag. He had closed McGee's lids before they put him inside, the sight of Timothy's wide, dead eyes too disturbing even for him. A few minutes later Jimmy returned, seemingly in a calmer frame of mind, and helped Ducky to remove McGee from the bag and place him on the table. Jimmy started to set up the x-ray while Ducky began to prepare the body. They worked in silence, and soon Ducky had finished cutting away the clothing and placing it in evidence bags for further analysis. Jimmy helped him take x-rays of McGee's head, chest, and torso, saying very little as they worked. Finally he was ready to begin the external examination.

"Thank you for your assistance, Mr. Palmer. You may go." Ducky picked up his camera and started to document the body. Still, Jimmy did not leave, holding the scale for the pictures and recording Ducky's commentary. He found nothing in the external exam that would account for death, which he hadn't really expected to find. With a sigh, he set the camera on the table and picked up a scalpel, steeling himself for the task ahead.

"Uh, Dr. Mallard?" Jimmy's voice sounded strange, but Ducky dismissed it as his previously displayed anxiety returning.

"What is it, Mr. Palmer?"

"Dead bodies don't...they don't cry, do they?"

TBC...