Author's Note 1: I like to believe that the Abby/Gibbs relationship is about 90% father/daughter with the other 10% being Gibbs letting his inner perv run free. I think he enjoys the flirting, but would never cross the line with her.

Many thanks to steamfan for volunteering for beta duty.


The Past and Present Affair
Chapter 3

The next day Gibbs entered Abby's lab to thunderous music whose deep bass vibrations he could feel rumbling up through the souls of his feet. Engrossed as she was in swaying to the driving beat and fooling with something on the computer in front of her, she never knew he was behind her. He didn't even have to mask his footsteps as he came to a stop a foot behind her lithe form. A form, he reminded himself sternly, he was not admiring. It took less than ten seconds for her to sense him and spin around, putting her within a few inches of his chest.

Her eyes widened in surprise at his nearness at the same time a mischievous smile curved her blood red lips. "Gibbs!" she shouted over the music.

He raised a brow in reply and she scrambled to cut off the music. He sighed softly in relief at the quiet. "What do you-"

"Don't ask!" she cried, throwing up a hand in his direction.

"Abby."

"I've got nothing, Gibbs. Nothing. There are no hits on John Doe's fingerprints, which given the time frame isn't that hard to understand considering IAFIS only really got up and running in the 1990s." She bounced on her toes and spun away from him only to spin back again. "The briefcase had three sets of fingerprints that survived. One belongs to our victim, one belongs to a Navy Commander that died in 2000 and the other comes up as unidentified. I can't open the briefcase without destroying the contents. Major Mass Spec has completely let me down because there is nothing that's survived on the victim's clothing or skin that you wouldn't expect to be there after thirty years in a basement room. I've got bugs and dust and pollen and spiders and six different kinds of mold and-"

He pitched his voice low. "Abby!"

She froze and then slumped forward her forehead resting against his shoulder. "I'm sorry Gibbs," she said mournfully, "I've failed you."

The urge to grin at her dramatics was overshadowed by the rising sense of frustration he was getting from this case. "Anything on the shoulder holster?"

She perked up immediately. "Oh, the holster. It's rather interesting, but nothing really helpful."

"Interesting how?"

"Here, check this out," she said, pointing to the where the holster was laid out on one of her lab tables. "The holster was custom made for our John Doe and was made from top quality leather, definitely not off the rack. From the shape of the holster, I'd guess that it was intended for some type of automatic weapon."

She did a slow grin up at him and he knew she was wanting and waiting for him to ask the next question. "What else, Abs?"

"He used his holster . . . a lot." One black tipped fingernail tapped at the leather. "Check out these wear patterns. The only way to get that kind of pattern is if you were constantly pulling and holstering your gun." She gave a small shrug. "That's all I've got."

He leaned forward and kissed her temple. "Not your fault, Abby." Spinning around, he headed back upstairs, hoping that the rest of his team had found something useful.


"Give me something on our John Doe," Gibbs growled as he stepped out of the elevator and headed towards his desk.

His three agents cast nervous glances at each other across their desks. Gibbs narrowed his eyes in annoyance, a move he knew would get Tony moving. Right on cue, DiNozzo jumped to his feet, his expression apologetic. "We got nothing, Gibbs."

"You, know, I'm really getting tired of hearing that phrase."

"Sorry, boss. This guy was a ghost."

"I checked with Missing Persons," McGee added quickly, "but records from that time frame weren't electronic and a lot of the older stuff has never been added into the system. What was there didn't provide any matches to our man's general age, height, weight or ethnicity."

Behind him, Gibbs heard the elevator ding but he ignored the sound, his focus still on his people in front of him. He saw Ziva glance behind him and then refocus on the note pad in her hand. "I spoke with the Secretary of the Navy's office, she said. "They are denying, quite emphatically, that they are not missing any couriers, documents, or attaches cases and that there are no open cases from the mid-seventies."

"Damn it," Gibbs snapped, "I want to know who this guy was."

"His name was Mr. Tyrone Novell and he worked for me."

Gibbs spun on his heel at the sound of the cultured voice. The person belonging to the voice was equally as cultured, if the Italian suit, black leather loafers, and ebony walking cane were any indication.

"And you are?"

The man smiled pleasantly, seeming to take no insult from Gibb's demanding and aggressive tone. "Nathan Singleton." Brown eyes, sparkling with good humor met his own. "And you must be Special Agent Gibbs."

The first impression said distinguished older gentleman. Yet for all of the man's the genial affability, the hairs on the back of Gibb's neck were standing straight up.


Author's Note 2: I know, it's still really short. I swear, they will be getting longer. For those of you who aren't up on your Man from Uncle, 'Nathan Singleton' would be the name that Napoleon Solo is using, much the way that Illya Kurakin is using Dr. Donald Mallard.