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Chapter Four

"Gibbs."

The voice was low and gruff, although despite the very early (or late, depending on how you looked at it) hour, Tony didn't think he'd woken the man up. He'd waited until after they'd left the hospital; a uniform had given them a ride back to his place, then he'd put Abby to bed in his bedroom before calling her contact person, listed as 'Leroy Jethro Gibbs'. There were at least a dozen redneck jokes he could make about the man's name, but he put them to the back of his mind. He hated this kind of call, giving bad news to the family and friends of victims. Gibbs didn't sound like he was in the best of moods to begin with.

"Who is this?" Gibbs asked, quickly growing impatient with Tony's contemplative silence.

"Ah- my name is Anthony DiNozzo. I'm a detective with the Baltimore PD. I'm calling about Abigail Scuito."

"Abby? What'd she do, throw paper planes at the conference speaker again? Toilet-paper another statue?"

"Umm no. No she didn't." Tony swallowed. "Mr Gibbs, Abby was attacked outside a local nightclub last night. She asked me to contact you."

"What? Is she alright?"

"Her wounds were mostly superficial. But, Mr Gibbs, the thing you need to know is, the man who attacked her is a serial rapist. Abby was the seventh victim in as many weeks."

There was silence from the other end of the line, but Tony could hear the man breathing into the receiver. "A rapist… did he – "

"No." Tony put in quickly. "He was interrupted and fled the scene."

"Jesus. He's still out there."

"Yeah." Tony said somberly.

"What hospital is Abby at?"

"Well, as I said, her injuries were relatively minor. She was discharged, so I brought her back to my place." Tony gave the man his address before the man hung up rather abruptly. He placed the phone down and grabbed his sketch pad, sitting back on his couch. The alley way had been dark, but Tony had seen a tiny flash of the man's face in the struggle. He wanted to draw as much as possible before the memory faded beyond comprehension.

A sharp rap on the door drew Tony's attention and he set the sketchpad down, glancing up at the clock on the wall. It said he'd been sketching for almost an hour, although it seemed like just a few minutes. His stiff muscles protested as he pulled himself up and Tony walked slowly to the front door, glancing through the spy hole. A tall, lean man with silver hair was standing impatiently in front of it. Behind him stood an older man with slightly longer brown hair. Tony pulled the door open.

"Special Agent Gibbs." The first man said, pushing past Tony into the apartment. "Where is she?"

"Uh, sleeping." Tony said, pointing to the bedroom. The door was slightly ajar. Gibbs peeped his head in, then stepped back, nodding.

"The doctor in the ER gave her these pills." Tony said, grabbing the bottle from the counter and holding it out toward Gibbs. The brown-haired man stepped back from the bedroom door, taking the bottle from his hand.

"Ah, no wonder she's sleeping so soundly." The doctor turned back to Tony, holding out his hand. "Doctor Donald Mallard. And I believe we owe you our thanks Anthony for taking care of our dear friend."

"It's nothing, Doctor Mallard. And you can call me Tony. I just wish I'd gotten there sooner. The bastard still got away."

"Call me Ducky, dear boy. In my experience, it's best not to dwell on such thoughts. The important thing is you did get there in time to rescue young Abby. Although, he did do quite the number on you." Ducky frowned, his hand reaching up and gently probing the swelling on Tony's face. Tony flinched, stepping back involuntarily. He hadn't realized how sore his face was until now.

"Did a doctor take a look at this?" Ducky asked, concerned.

Tony nodded. "Yeah, it's nothing Doc…Ducky. He said I should keep it iced. I guess I had other things on my mind."

Ducky smiled knowingly, taking Tony by the shoulder and leading him to the couch. "I understand my friend, but that's no longer necessary. You have taken care of our friend and now you need to look after yourself. I'll get you something to put on that bruise to reduce the swelling."

"Good luck," Tony muttered as Ducky went to the freezer in search of an ice-pack. He returned less than a minute later, a cold bottle of water in hand.

"This is the best I could find. You don't even have ice cubes in your freezer! Do you have any food in the house?"

Tony smiled wryly, but took the bottle, pressing it gently to his cheek. "I doubt it. To be honest with you, this is the first time I've been home for a few days. This guy, they call him the Friday Rapist, keeps me busy."

Gibbs sat down on the chair across from Tony, crossing his arms. "So what do you know about him?"

Tony leant forward, picking up his sketch pad and pencil from the coffee table. He sat back, drawing a few stray lines on the page. "Nothing. Or next to nothing. Every Friday night he takes a new victim. Always female, always young, always intoxicated but no similarities past that. A different club, nothing significant about the times of attacks except that they've all taken place after midnight. I guess if you're going to get technical, he's really the Saturday Rapist –"

"Right, DiNozzo. Anything else?"

"Not really," Tony said, rubbing his jaw with a sigh. "He always wears a condom and we haven't been able to pull off any trace from the victims so far. Took scrapings from under Abby's fingernails." Tony nodded his head backward toward the bedroom. "But I doubt we'll get anything from it."

"Who's in charge of this case?" Gibbs asked, surveying the young man. He noted the thin lines of fatigue around the detective's eyes.

"Me. Well, my partner and I. Dan Becker."

"And you were both there. What went down last night?"

"We posted teams at all of the major nightclubs in town." Tony said without intonation, eyes fixed on the sketch pad. "He showed up at ours. I heard screams a little after midnight. Followed them outside. He had Abby pinned down behind a dumpster. He pulled a knife and when I disarmed him, he took a swing at me. We fought a bit… and I guess I hit my head on the dumpster. Came to a second later but he was already gone." Tony ran his hand over the bandage covering the stitches on his head.

"I had the bastard. He was right there… but I screwed up. Now I've got a week to catch him before he picks number eight." Tony dropped the sketchpad on the coffee table, picking up the bottle of water again and holding it to his cheek. "I saw him. It was dark but I saw him. I've been trying to get it down, but that's all I've come up with."

He pointed to the page of the sketch pad. He'd drawn a set of eyes, cold, emotionless eyes. Gibbs opened his mouth to speak again but Ducky cut him off.

"I know there is still a lot to be discussed Jethro, but I believe Tony needs to get some rest. When did you last sleep, my boy?"

Tony smiled, standing up and stretching. "Doesn't matter, Duck. I'll sleep when I have this guy in handcuffs." He glanced at the clock. It was almost 6am. "No point now anyway, I have to go back to work. I'm just going to take a shower. Help yourself to the kitchen, although I'm not sure you'll find anything."

"Mind you don't get those stitches wet!" Ducky called after him. Tony nodded, heading down the hallway. Gibbs' eyes met Ducky's and he frowned. He'd gotten the distinct impression that this wasn't Tony's first time having stitches. Ducky took Tony's place on the lounge, a hint of a smile coming to his face.

"You know, that boy reminds me of someone Jethro."

TBC