Disclaimer: I do not own the characters to NCIS. They are owned by CBS. I'm placing this at Season 3, but it's been a long time since I've seen that season, please forgive me if I've overlooked anything and point them out in a review. I hope to make a few more chapters to make this feel like an entire episode. Enjoy.

McGee came back to the office, his arms full of portraits that he pulled from the victim's office. It wasn't all of them, just select ones, but it took an additional twenty minutes to find the right ones to prove his theory. Placing them stacked on his desk, he flexed his aching arms to less out the stress.

His partner, DiNozzo, was right behind him with sarcasm thick in his voice, "You know, you could have just taken pictures of them instead of lugging those all around."

"It won't have the same effect" McGee replied, "I want to see Salvador's face when he can hold these pictures."

"You're really homing your theory, Probie," DiNozzo said standing in front of his partner, hands thrust in his pockets, "This whole ride back you've been doing nothing but repeating the same thing."

"I'm right!" McGee said, "I'm right. Salvador is part of this. I can feel it" slowly balling his right fist, "If we can identify these other two women then we have the ball rolling. The boss is right about this being a personal attack and Salvador and the others are all connected somehow."

"Yeah, that's true, Probie" DiNozzo said wiping his left eyebrow with the tip of that index finger, "But, even if we identify them, what then?" shrugging his shoulders. "There has to be a reason for someone shooting this guy. What do you think?"

Pausing for a moment McGee said nothing, but looked quickly at his partner then at the stack of picture frames. He didn't know. His theory began to lose steam in his mind as he was now grasping in the dark for a lucrative motive. There had to be a reason, yes, and this attack had the appearance of being personal, but about what? "If we rattle Salvador then we might get something." Holding up his index finger, "Remember, when Commander Tanner took command, both Zimmerman and Salvador's fitness reports were completely reversed. There has to be a connection."

At that moment Gibbs was on his way to speak to Commander Tanner, the detachment's commanding officer, and break the news of his shooting. However, the junior agents didn't want to contact their boss until they had some definite ammunition for him to use.

Going to the back of the building to the interview rooms DiNozzo opened the door to a dim room where Ziva was standing as a statue, arms folded at her chest, staring intently at their man. This whole time she had been carefully studying the big man as he shifted constantly on his chair, looking at the door expecting someone to walk through so he can find out why he was there, nervous, scared. Trembling.

"Hey, Tony" Ziva said without turning her head towards him. She could sense it was him by his cologne. "Find anything?"

He carefully took a few steps towards her before turning on his heels to face the one way mirror, "Yeah. Probie has this theory. At his apartment we found dozens of drawings, all done by the victim."

"Drawings?" she said turning her head slightly towards him.

"Yeah. And good ones. The victim sure does have a talent. But, Probie has an interesting theory that I think has merit. There were three portraits in his bedroom..." holding up three extended fingers from his right hand, "One was his commander, Kessel, and two are women in the Navy, judging by their uniforms, but there were no name tags where there should have been. He believes that the victim wouldn't have made the drawings unless there was a personal connection between them. The victim wouldn't need a name tag to identify them because he always knows who they are."

"Wow. That's impressive" Ziva smirked.

"Yeah," Tony sighed thrusting his hands into his trouser pockets, "Looks like Probie can get something right every now and then" buckling his thin eyebrows, all the while his gaze was on the nervous Salvador.

"No. I meant you. You actually complimenting McGee" Ziva replied.

Turning his head towards her, lips peeled back in a thin smile, he wanted to say something else but ultimately decided against it. A few moments later there came McGee. Turning their heads to him he had only three portraits in his hands. Nodding to Ziva, McGee showed them to her and she was impressed. There was the unknown female officer portraits, but the third portrait wasn't of Kessel, instead it was an old ship whose identity was written at the bottom-center 'USS Avocet AVP-4'. This confused her, but McGee gave her the direction, "Ziva, when you go in there, I want you to lead with this ship. Try to get him guessing about your questioning. You want to just ask about Zimmerman and his artwork. Those two have been together for a few years in a small unit, they're going to know each other. I think that if we lead in with these drawings then he'll put his guard down, and then come in with these officers and we'll watch his reaction."

Impressed by his logic Ziva nodded as she took the portraits and headed for the door, but before stepping out she paused and looked back, "One thing though. Ten minutes ago I received a call from the hospital. Zimmerman's condition took a turn for the worst. They're in surgery right now, but his situation is desperate. They asked if he has family that we could contact"

"There's no family listed in his personnel file. We'll have Abbie look through his stuff to find them" DiNozzo said. It would be tragic if he were to die and there was no family to take care of his estate. All of his belongings would be stored away or sold off if there was no one to claim them, and it would be another tragedy if all of these beautiful art pieces were lost or thrown away.

Ziva appeared at the door to the interview room and opened it with her foot after turning the knob. Even though it wasn't a violent entrance, Salvador still jumped in his seat. She saw all of it. Carefully, calculating, Ziva walked over to the stainless steel table where he sat, pushed back the empty chair across from him with the toe of her foot, then sat down without a word as the pictures were stacked in front her body face down so he couldn't see the images.

"Hi, Salvador" she said softly, "I suppose you're wondering why we called you in."

Nodding Salvador wet his lips, shifted his hips left and right then nervously replied, "Yeah. I mean, I've been here for like-an hour. Why am I here at NCIS? I-I haven't done anything." Even though it was cool in this room he was sweating on his forehead, his medium tanned skin was glowing. They all knew he was hiding something.

"No. You haven't. We just brought you in for some questions" she said being casual with her fingers interlocked on top of the stack of pictures and her eyes still glaring at him.

"About what?"

"One of your friends. Petty Officer Robert Zimmerman..." The mentioning of his name made Salvador shift a little in his seat. Ziva caught it and homed in. "You probably figured out that he was the one that was shot at the park earlier today. I mean, it's all over the news. We went through his apartment and we found some interesting things." Peeling off the top portrait and turning it over she slid it carefully across the table. Leaning forward in his chair Salvador looked a the fine artwork, the straight lines done with a ruler, shading done on every inch of the hull, and even enough detail to show sailors on deck of this small ship all done with meticulous care.

He picked up it up with his right hand and looked for a fleeting moment before placing it down and scooting it to the right. Wetting his lips before curling them back giving a brief look at his slightly stained yellow teeth the sailor shrugged his shoulders, "Yeah. He drew. Did stuff for retirement parties and holidays, and that kind of crap. That's what he did. What's this got to do with me?"

"See, that's the thing," Ziva smirked as she took the Avocet back and peeled off the second one. Flipping the picture about it showed the good looking Asian sailor. Sliding it to him this one elicited a major response from Salvador. By only a glance Salvador jerked his head away and curled back his lips in a fit of anger and folded his arms tightly across his chest. He knew who it was. "Who is this?" Ziva asked.

Wiping his hand across his face Salvador was slow to respond, but when he did there was with acid in his words, "Yeah. That's Lieutenant Sammie Amaya".

Raising both eyebrows Ziva took the last picture and slid it forward. Again Salvador had the same reaction. "That's Lieutenant Scarlet Brannan". She didn't have to write anything down knowing that McGee and DiNozzo were already entering their names into the database. "What can you tell me about these two women?"

Scoffing Salvador stammered a bit. Looking at the one-way mirror he stared at it as though there would be writing on the wall and avoided eye contact with the Mossad agent. "They're...they're a bunch of bitches."

"Now why would you say something mean like that?" Having been called worse things before she didn't have any contempt for him, just yet.

"Because they were!" he cried, "They're a couple of women that think that just because they have rank they can tell me what to do!" unfolding his arms allowed his hands to be pointed back towards his chest.

"Well, as officers, that is kinda their job, wasn't it?" keeping her cool. Allowing him to stew made his thoughts and feelings boil to the surface so that one simple nudge would get a bigger response. The stewing was paying off and so was McGee's theory.

"Yeah, not like this. They're always on me, always telling what to do. And if I get mad, they pull their rank on me and say that they're immune because they're women. Ridiculous. If I were an officer I could get three times more stuff done than they could. Zimmerman, heh, that son of a bitch. He comes to us and they all pander to him. He can do a few drawings...big whoop. We're not about drawings. We're about getting stuff done! All units in the area all rely on us!" putting his hands on his large chest, "They rely on us to get everything done. We're the face of the Navy and we couldn't get anything done. My job is to get stuff done and when they put me and him together...I couldn't do anything! That weak kid dragged me down, that's why I almost got booted out!"

"Wow" DiNozzo said, "That guy really has issues."

Beside him McGee was phoning Abbie the names so that she can run a background check on them. Though not able to identify the shooter, they still followed McGee's theory and with the names of the two portraits, their next course was to contact Gibbs as he was about to enter Commander Tanner, Zimmerman's current COs, office and he wanted to have some ammunition should it become heated. With his cellphone to his ear Gibbs asked, "What you got, McGee?"

"Boss, we searched Zimmerman's place and found nothing expect these portraits all done by him. There were three in his room, one was his old CO, Commander Stevens, but also two unknown women that Salvador just identified; Lieutenants Scarlet Brannan and Sammie Amaya. We ran their names. They were in their unit until two years ago when they were suddenly transferred out. Brannan is on the USS Peleliu and Amaya is in Norfolk."

"What's your theory, McGee?" Gibbs asked.

"Okay, Boss, I know how it sounds, but I believe that there was a personal connection between Zimmerman and Brannan and Amaya. Otherwise he wouldn't have their portraits in his room. Salvador showed disdain for the two of them. I bet if we look deeper into his past we can find more dirt."

"Bring in Amaya," Gibbs said, "And get Brannan on the sat line. McGee, you talk to Brannan."

"On it, boss"

Hanging up Gibbs pocketed his phone and looked at the wood door where a brass plate was screwed in place, "Lt. Cmdr Tanner"

KNOCK! KNOCK!

"Enter"

Stepping into the small room Tanner was sitting behind a stainless steel desk with a black monitor and keyboard to his left and a small stack of papers before him. He rose up out of respect and reached over the table and shook the Marine's hand, "Ah yes. Agent Gibbs. My secretary told me you were coming" as he sat down he placed both hands on the desk and slowly rapped with his fingers.

Looking him over carefully Gibbs wasn't entirely impressed. He was a bit overweight with sagging facial cheeks, thin eyes, and looked to be a bit old to be a Lt. commander. Around on the walls there were only a few plaques and certificates, what caught his eye the most was the frame K-bar knife mounted on the wall behind the commander. As a Marine he knew all about the K-bar and squinting he was able to read something that had been carved into the tan leather sheath, "Thank you for saving my ass. Lance Corporal William Thresher". If a Marine gives someone a K-bar then it had to be a deep, personal exchange, such as saving ones life in the heat of a firefight, as the knife was coveted by the Corps and giving it to someone had more meaning than any medal. But in looking at this commander, Gibbs knew that there was no way this man would gain a knife like that that. He was plump and lazy looking. He was a man who did not fully exert himself, doing things half-assed or having someone else do it. On his way over Abby called filling Gibbs in on Tanner's rather mediocre service record. A couple of months in Afghanistan and a year in Germany, but the rest of his service was stateside and he was never in a serious command, mostly administration.

"What can I do for you, Agent Gibbs?" Tanner asked. His words were a tad slow as if he were sleepy, but he remained rigid in his seat as Gibbs said down across from him. Unlike the other agents, Gibbs didn't write anything down. Everything that Tanner said and did was seared into his seasoned mind.

"Today, one of your sailors was shot in the park. Petty Officer Robert Zimmerman"

Tanner sank into his chair with a heavy sigh, "Oh God"

"He was taken to the hospital in serious condition. We have reason to believe that he was targeted."

"Targeted? By who? Al-Qaeda? Why would anyone want to kill him?"

"That's the big question, commander. This day in age we can't be too fast as to jump the gun. Most attacks like this are more personal than random."

"So..wait, you're saying that he was targeted by someone he knew?"

"He might have been. That's what we're trying to figure out, commander. What was Zimmerman like?"

"He...had trouble adjusting. When I took control of this unit the discipline was atrocious. You wouldn't believe how much I had to whip them back into shape." What the commander didn't understand, as he spoke Gibbs was studying his facial features. When a person speaks there are all sorts of ticks that are not noticed, a twitch in the eye, the brushing of the forehead, biting of the lower lip, rubbing the tip of the nose; all of this Tanner did as he spoke. He spoke with pride towards himself, relishing in how he 'whipped' his unit back into shape when he replaced Stevens. "Zimmerman was a sailor that lacked motivation and direction. I put Salvador to watch over him and that didn't seem to do the trick. Salvador is a high speed sailor and a real asset to this command. Every unit needs a bulldog like him."

Back at the office the technicians were able to contact the amphibious assault ship USS Peleliu that was on maneuvers in the Western Pacific and connected a video conference with Lieutenant Brannan who was serving as public affairs officer. McGee stood before the wall that was nearly full with the projection that came in a bit fuzzy at first, but once connection was properly established McGee could see her and she was exactly what Zimmerman had drawn, except in color; amber hair combed in a tight left swoop, gray eyes, thin pink lips, smooth skin and a prim appearance conveyed more of a model than a sailor with everything in place. "Hello. I'm Agent McGee with NCIS."

"How can I help you, Agent McGee?" Brannan asked with a slight Mid-west accent. She was puzzled why they would be contacting her in the middle of nowhere when she had been at sea for over six months.

"It's about Petty Officer Robert Zimmerman," he said.

Her eyes lit up, rising an inch from her seat she yelped, "Robbie? What happened to him?"

Reluctantly he confessed, "He was shot today in the park by an unknown assailant."

"Oh my God" she whispered, left hand to her mouth, "Is...is he okay?"

"He's in critical condition. They're operating on him right now. The shooter got away. We have reason to believe that he was targeted. What we're trying to find out is why."

Her face sunk into her hands. It had to be a bad dream. Why would someone want to harm him?

"What can you tell me about Zimmerman?" McGee asked.

"He's a good sailor. Always dedicated. Quiet, but dedicated. He didn't complain like most men would. Didn't really talk unless it was necessary."

Looking at her face he could tell that she was holding back and his theory was ringing in his ears, but he waited until she was done before slowly bringing it to light. "Ma'am, did he have any friends or family?"

"No. I remember a Christmas party couple of years ago, everyone had their spouses, children, and family there, but he didn't seem to have any. I asked him and he said that he didn't have any parents. That's all he said of it."

"No friends then?"

"Uh, not really. No. Like I said, he didn't really talk to anyone except for me and Lt. Amaya. Some people thought it was weird, and people like Salvador, started passing around rumors that he was...you know." The mentioning of Salvador made her roll her almond eyes in contempt. Looking over her shoulder to ensure that there was no one in the hatchway, the lieutenant turned back to the monitor and began speaking in a whisper, "I know how it looks, but no, Agent McGee. He and I weren't in that kind of relationship". Sagging her shoulders the frustrated lieutenant let out a sigh and dropped her head. Lifting it back up she replied, "When he came to us, he was...he looked lost. Confused. That first day I met him he was standing in front of the reception desk holding onto his orders and looking around like a child looking for his parents. He looked so scared. No one was helping him, either. I took him around, showed the art room where the plaques and stuff were being made and he looked at the pictures being used and started shaking his head. Later, I found him in the break-room drawing and it was a great one that I showed to Commander Stevens and he asked Robbie if he could take over the pictures and he agreed. That's how he became our go-to artist. We give him a project and he would just jump into it. Day and night he was making rough drafts and studying and what we got were the finest pieces of art you could ever ask for. We had retirees come in and he would draw their old ships. You had to just see the looks on those old men's faces when they saw it. There was a sweet man named Walter Stedman. Served on in the Pacific in a Marine fighter squadron. When Robbie presented his portrait...oh, if you could have seen his face. He was crying for sheer joy. Robbie's research went so far as to find Stedman's old aircraft frame sitting in a museum in Arizona. He got everything from the squadron symbol, name, and the correct placement of his kill tally. Then, there was another one where a sailor from the USS Saratoga. He had these old pictures of him and his bodies that manned an anti-aircraft gun, but they were old and falling apart, but Robbie did a lot of research and was able to make a group portrait of them and the man cried. After that there were other commanders from different areas asking for Robbie, some were even trying to get him to transfer, but he wouldn't do it."

"What was his life like personally, do you know?" McGee asked.

Shaking her head lightly and looking down, "No. I don't know if we hung out with anyone. Soon as we were done for the day he would still be in the back working on his art, sometimes at long at 2100 hours."

"We read about a couple of incidents, one in Iraq and the other in Afghanistan" McGee said remembering the two firefights where Zimmerman was cited and recommended to receive the Bronze Star for valor.

"You must mean Kabul. I remember that. We were sent to join another Civil Affairs detachment where we made teachers for Afghan kids and give their schools supplies," she began strong at first, but once the memories came flooding back the officer began to slow, her eyes became sad, "We were about to leave with a few five-tons loaded with supplies when a car bomb hit the front gate then a sapper team tried to rush the breach. Most of us ran to a bunker, but Robbie saw an Afghan lying wounded out there in the field and he took off running. I called for him to stop, but he got to the boy and dragged him back in where a corpsman treated him. About a year later we were sent to Iraq doing the same thing and the same stuff happened. Insurgents blasted the front gate and tried to run in. A Marine was lying out in an open area, his legs cut up by shrapnel. Robbie ran out and plucked the Marine from the field. Kessel tried desperately to get him the Bronze Star. At the time we still had Stevens. Amaya and I wrote him up for it as well as the Combat Action Ribbon, but the paperwork was stalled long enough to where Tanner came in to command it was all rejected by him," her face contorting showing a mixture of pent up anger and sadness. Her almond eyes slowly closed as her fists balled up, drew in a deep breath and let it go, "He didn't get the awards, but the Marine that he saved sent him a K-bar knife in gratitude."

Thinking for a moment McGee remembered that they didn't find a K-bar at the apartment. As if reading his mind, Brannan said, "After Tanner found out, he took the knife and had a plague made of it. I thought that he was going to give it to Robbie in tribute, instead, he mounted it over his own wall in his office!" She balled her fist and dropped it down onto the desk with a powerful rattle.

"What happened, though after Stevens transferred?"

Brannan took a moment to compose herself. Drawing a deep breath her eyes flicked to McGee, "Yeah. That came out of the blue. He just received his orders and sat there staring at them because he didn't put in for anywhere. He thought he was going to stay where he was for a few more years. When Tanner came in...everything changed. Robbie continued to do his work, but Tanner was just on him. The orders were coming in and Robbie had a system of taking his time and research and doing drafts, but Tanner hounded him to pick it up. 'Go faster!' he kept telling Robbie, and he wouldn't do it. He wouldn't break his routine. He would get called into his office and be grilled in front of other sailors. He even threatened to send him to Iraq if he didn't 'shape up'. That's when the negative fitness reports began. Poor kid...he wasn't sleeping or eating. Every time I saw him he looked like a hollow soul. He wouldn't ask for help, Agent McGee, but one day someone stole his sketch pad and that's when I had enough. I took him to JAG to see what they can do. They said they would look into it, but I've heard that before, so I kept hounding them. The damn JAG officer wasn't doing anything! For five months there was nothing except, 'We'll look into it' and I was infuriated and went down there and made a big scene in front of him and everybody...and that's how I ended up here (bzzzt) I think." The signal began to distort, her image was broken. "...McGee?" then the signal cut entirely.

A technician beside him said, "Sorry, but looks like we're getting atmospheric interference. We'll keep trying."

Leaving the room McGee felt confusion in his stomach. He was right about the portraits and the personal connection between the two. But after hearing about all of the foul things done to him for no apparent reason. Joining Ziva and DiNozzo back in the view room the latter greeted with, "How'd she look, Probie?"

"Fine" he sighed, "I got a lot of info about him. It appears that the two were at odds quite a bit, but it was Commander Tanner that was the real evil face. Zimmerman's job in the unit was to make portraits, but Commander Tanner jumped on him at every turn, trying to get him to work faster to fulfill deadlines and when Zimmerman didn't adjust he gave him poor fitness reports."

"Sounds like a hard man to impress" DiNozzo said buckling his eyebrows. Salvador was still sitting in the interview room, head down and hands on the back of his head in submission. "Alright. Let's go over what we have; we have a man here that doesn't like the victim. We have a CO that doesn't like the victim, and we have another officer that likes the victim, but we still don't have a solid motive or an identity to the shooter. Salvador and Tanner don't fit the description of the shooter."

"We still have the police combing the area. So far, they haven't turned up anything. The shooter didn't drop his piece or discard any bit of his disguise" Ziva said.

Holding up a finger McGee continued on with something that he noticed during his interview, "Lieutenant Brannan referred to the victim as 'Robbie' several times."

This piqued their interest. "That's unusual. A nickname like that means they had a deep personal connection. Brannan has never been married and no children" Ziva said, "Though it wouldn't be the first time that an officer broke the rules."

"Yeah" DiNozzo concurred with a nod, but before he could go further his cellphone vibrated. "It's Abbie" he said before answering it, "What you got, Abbie?"

"Not a whole lot, really" the bubbly tech wizard replied as her eyes stared at a series of windows on her monitor, "This guy didn't have a whole lot going on in his life. His bills were simple; rent, utilities, groceries, art supplies and not much else. He has over $12,000 in his bank account." DiNozzo's eyes widened when he heard that and the others saw it, "He's been putting money away every month into his retirement and a 401K and into an investment with Lincoln Financial. There's no suspicious payments or withdrawals. This guy is leading a rather boring life."

"Wait till you see his art, Abbie," DiNozzo said, "I'd think you'd be impressed."

"Oh? Ink?" Abbie replied.

"Not tattoos, but drawings that he did for his Civil Affairs unit"

Her lips peeled back into a smile, "You have my attention" As a lover of ink she was always looking for artists to inspire her. Each piece, regardless how small, had its own unique design and reason to it. "While I wait for you to deliver his art for me, I'm running his cellphone right now as well. His records show that in the past three months Zimmerman sent out only twenty-eight calls total. Three were to a local pizza joint on Fridays. One to a Chinese restaurant. Two were his CO's office. Now, there were twenty that were traced to this phone number that I have identified as belonging to Lt. Brannan, and all of them are over five minutes and all were after 2100 hours."

Again, their interests were piqued. Calls late at night between a man and a woman? They were all thinking it, but it was Ziva who first said it, "Romantic relationship?"

"Looks that way, but that's a big 'no-no' in many ways," DiNozzo said.

"I didn't get that from her," McGee said, "Before we were cut off she said that Zimmerman was having problems in his unit and that his new CO wasn't doing anything to help him. She said that they went to the JAG office to file a complaint."

"Guess that's our next stop" DiNozzo said.