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It didn't take them too long to get to the marine's house. It was one of many houses on the base which all followed more or less the same design. Like everything in the military, one might suspect they were standard issue.
McGee and Gibbs climbed out of the car, and although Gibbs had his regular stoic expression McGee looked pale already. There was nothing intimidating about the house itself, it was white and cheery, with a neatly trimmed lawn and a well tended garden of petunias. They reached the door and Gibbs knocked firmly while McGee fidgeted.
They heard a few soft thuds as someone made their way down the stairs. "I swear to god, Alex!" a slightly muffled woman's voice shouted. "If you're too drunk or hungover to open the damn door. . . after I've been waiting up all night on you. . . I swear I'll. . ."
She never elaborated on her threat, and a few seconds later the door swung open. McGee watched as the annoyed look on the woman's face quickly turned to shock, then flushed a little with embarrassment, and finally crumpled in concern. She seemed at a loss for words.
"Mrs. Fisher," Gibbs began, introducing himself and McGee as NCIS agents.
"Is this about Alex?" Mrs. Fisher asked weakly. "Did he get himself into some kind of trouble?" It seemed from the way the colour had drained from her face and the way her hands were trembling that she already had an idea why they were here.
Gibbs said it anyway. "I'm sorry to have to tell you this, Mrs. Fisher. Your husband is dead."
Mrs. Fisher's mouth formed an 'oh' but no sound came out. Something in her face twitched, as if she was struggling to keep it in place. She went even paler than before and swayed slightly in the doorway. Then she pitched straight toward McGee in a dead faint.
McGee froze with his arms pinned uselessly to his sides, but fortunately for the poor woman Gibbs leaned forward and caught her.
"McGee, go get a damp towel," Gibbs ordered, carrying her into the house.
"Uh, y-yes, right away, Boss," McGee stammered, looking somewhat relieved to have been given something to do. He darted straight down the hallway before realizing that the bathroom was in another direction.
Mrs. Fisher came to a few minutes later, after they had set her on the couch and McGee had nearly tripped over himself looking for a towel. She spent a good ten minutes after that sobbing incoherently. Gibbs ordered McGee to fetch various objects like tea and tissues while he tried to soothe Mrs. Fisher and calm her down. She had been reduced to sniffling, her face red and puffy. Gibbs sat by her on the large green couch, while McGee perched uncomfortably on the edge of the smaller sofa across from them.
She was a young woman, thin and sickly looking – although this may have come from crying. Her skin was pasty and her blonde hair wispy and tangled. Sitting slumped on her couch, she looked especially tired.
"A-Alex just came b-back from Iraq last week," she sniveled. "I – I never expected. . . I thought he was supposed to be safe now. . ."
"I'm very sorry for your loss, Mrs. Fisher," Gibbs said gently. "We are investigating your husband's death. I promise we will find out who did this to him."
Mrs. Fisher looked up tearfully, trying to compose herself and failing. "Who did – who did this? Why? Was he murdered?"
"That's what we believe," Gibbs said carefully.
"But who would want to hurt Alex?" she asked. "I thought – when you said you found him in the car – he passed out from alcohol poisoning and. . ."
"We haven't determined cause of death yet," Gibbs said. "Are you sure you don't know of anybody who might have had a grudge against him? Anyone he argued with?"
Mrs. Fisher sniffled again and shook her head. "No. No one."
"Has he been acting strangely since he got back?" Gibbs asked. "Anything odd or suspicious?"
"No," she wiped her eyes, "He started hitting the bars a lot after a couple of days, but that's nothing new."
Gibbs nodded grimly. "Did your husband have a drinking problem, Mrs. Fisher?"
Mrs. Fisher hesitated. "No. Well, I mean, never on duty. . . But, I mean, he always used to say the off time was party time, you know?"
"Was he usually like this?" McGee asked.
She looked over at him as if she had almost forgotten he was there. "I – no – no not always. Whenever he came back from a really long tour he'd want to spend a lot of time together, at least for a few days. But then, I dunno, after a few days or so, it's like he'd get distracted. . . Like he'd forget about me already. . ."
"Must have put a strain on your marriage," Gibbs prodded lightly.
"What? No. . . well, I don't know. . ." Her lower lip trembled, as if she was going to burst into tears again.
"Can you tell us where you were last night?" Gibbs asked, changing the subject.
"I was at home," Mrs. Fisher said vaguely, almost confused, as if she had no other reason to be anywhere else. "I was up all night waiting for Alex, but he never showed. . . I can't believe he's really. . ." Her voice cracked and she stared off vacantly. The rims of her eyes were red and puffy and she looked like she might faint again.
McGee did not think they would be getting much else out of her. Clearly Gibbs agreed, because he thanked Mrs. Fisher for her time and stood up from the couch. "We'll be in touch."
Mrs. Fisher nodded, but did not really look at them. She lead them to the door out of habit, and waved with a vacant, watery half-smile as they climbed into the car. Gibbs' driving was as erratic as ever, but he did not say a word to McGee on the way back to the office.
xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo
"So, you knew the victim?" Tony asked leaning against the counter. The young bartender nodded wordlessly as her eyes teared.
"Yes. Oh God. Alex. I can't believe it. . . he was just here last night," she said, gesturing to the bar, "He just came by 'cause we were opening and I invited him." She sniffed, "How could this happen?"
"We don't know yet." Tony replied smoothly, "But if there is anything you could tell us it would really help, anyone you noticed with Alex last night, maybe?"
"Well, he came in with a guy, they worked together I guess. They seemed like friends." Laney explained, "His name was Benny, I'm sorry I don't know his last name."
"That's fine. Did either of them seem upset at all? Were they fighting, anything like that?" Tony prompted.
"Not really, I think maybe Benny left first. . . he was kinda getting on Alex's case for talking with me. It's not like we were doing anything wrong though, we're just friends," Laney replied her tone slightly defensive.
"What about anyone else? Did you notice Alex get in any sort of confrontation with anyone?"
"No, I mean Alex is. . . well was. . . a pretty laid back guy you know? He wouldn't get into it with anyone, even when he was drinking."
"So you can't think of any reason anyone would hurt him?"
Laney shook her head, "No, no like I said Alex wasn't that kind of guy."
Tony nodded and cast a glance over at Ziva who had been interviewing the second bartender, a petite brunette, across the room. She seemed to be done, so Tony flipped his notepad shut and offered out a card to Laney. "Call me if you think of anything else," he told her before cutting across the club to meet up with his partner.
"Did you get anything useful?" Ziva asked as he approached.
Tony gave a little half-shrug. "Well, she knew him, said they have been friends since high school. And it looks like our vic. was here with a friend last night, another marine, Benny no last name. We should probably check him out later."
"Michelle," Ziva said with a nod in the brunette's direction, "was less than helpful. She thinks she might have served him drinks, but then again, perhaps not. Apparently there were several blonde marines at the bar last night, and she was incapable of recalling him."
Tony grunted, "'Course, had to be opening night, place'll probably never see that much business in one night ever again."
"Agent DiNozzo?" a voice interrupted from the doorway causing Tony and Ziva to turn and look. A junior agent stood in the entrance way. "We're ready to tow the car back to the garage," he called.
Tony gave the man a nod. "All right, let Abby know when you arrive," he replied as the man disappeared back out the door.
"So other than a marine named Benny, we've got nothing?" Tony sighed.
"It would appear so," Ziva replied, "Perhaps Gibbs and McGee—" She stopped abruptly and turned to the door just as a motor started up in the back lot. Startled she looked to Tony, "Gibbs and McGee took the sedan."
Tony stared at Ziva for a moment as the meaning of her words dawned on him. Simultaneously the two agents sprinted for the door.
~tbc~
A/N: . . . Okay, so it may not seem like a cross-over, but it is. Really. We promise.