A/N - Please excuse the length of this chapter - it's quite long, even by my usual standards. There was a lot to get through and I think you'll agree that it would have lost fluidity had I stopped sooner. L
From Hell's Heart
Chapter 4
Tony walked quickly from Autopsy to the forensics lab knowing he would find it in darkness; its usual occupant was working on Livingstone's car in the NCIS garage. The glow from the refrigeration unit guided his way and he grabbed a carton of Caf-Pow from the shelf. He turned back to the door, taking only a few steps before he stood motionless in the middle of the room.
In the quiet solitude of the lab the internal battle that had been gnawing at him, suddenly threatened to devour him. He had ruthlessly shoved his feelings of anger and resentfulness to the back of his mind and had strived to maintain a "business as usual" façade. After all, that's what was expected of him, right? To put the fragile pieces back together and hold them in place until Gibbs opted to return.
Without conscious thought, he reached for his cell and hit speed dial. The phone rang twice before Gibbs' home answering machine kicked in.
"This is Gibbs, leave a message."
He heard the machine beep and opened his mouth to speak but words failed him. He wanted to say that he was here if Gibbs needed him; he needed to say that whatever the problem was, they would work it out together…the words never came but the anger did. He wanted to ask why the hell Gibbs felt the need to run out on him again; he needed to know why his partner of ten years demanded his trust but couldn't return it.
He snapped his cell closed before the hurtful words could escape. He felt the Caf-Pow chilling the fingers of his other hand. Vanquishing his feelings once again, he took a deep breath, donned his mask and forced his legs to move as he went in search of Abby.
00—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-0
…'Ah, mortal! then, be heedful; for so, in all this din of the great world's loom, thy subtlest thinkings may be overheard afar'…
0—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-0
Tony dashed breathlessly from the stairwell and met McGee by the elevator.
"How long has she been back?" he gasped.
"Just over an hour," McGee confirmed. "She's working on the brake line."
"Okay, it's now or never," Tony said.
"You ready?" the younger man inquired.
"I'm ready."
They entered the elevator, pressed the button for the garage level and stood shoulder-to-shoulder exchanging a tight smile. As the car started to descend, Tony flicked the emergency stop switch bringing it to a shuddering halt.
"What's the matter?" McGee asked.
"I'm not ready," Tony answered.
"You just said you were."
"I changed my mind, okay?" Tony snapped. "Gimme a minute here…I just…I need a minute."
"I know how you feel but…I mean…it's Abby, right? She's the easiest person in the whole world to talk to," McGee encouraged.
"Right," Tony nodded. "That's exactly why I think you'll do such a great job telling her that Gibbs just up and left without a word."
"Me? I'm not telling her!"
"You just said she was the easiest person to talk to in the world."
"She is! But not about this!" McGee exclaimed.
Tony started to pace back and forth like a caged lion.
"Okay…we need a plan," he said.
"We'll tell her together," McGee suggested. "We're all friends; we can do this, Tony. In the line of duty, we've had to give hundreds of women bad news. We'll be calm and composed and sensitive. After all, we may be guys but we're in touch with our feminine sides…"
"Some of us are more in touch than others," Tony quipped.
"That's not true!"
"Tell me you're not still reading Redbook and I'll apologise."
McGee squirmed uncomfortably.
"Like I told you before, it's the definitive magazine for today's young woman," he defended meekly.
"I rest my case," Tony replied smugly. "So…that's the plan? Calm, composed and sensitive?"
"That's the plan…what do you think?"
"I think we need another plan, I think we need plan B."
"We don't need a plan B," McGee growled. "Besides, your plan B's never work."
"They do so work!" Tony said, affronted. "Just…not very often."
"Plan A," McGee repeated. "Calm, composed and sensitive. Agreed?"
"Agreed." Tony nodded as he flicked the emergency switch. As the lights brightened and the elevator whirred back to life McGee reached across and flicked the switch again.
"Now what?" Tony hissed.
"Have you got a clean handkerchief?"
Tony looked aghast.
"If you ask me if I'm wearing clean shorts, McGoo, I'm gonna smack ya!"
"The clean handkerchief is for Abby," he said rifling through his suit pockets. "Doesn't matter, I've got one. I'm just trying to be prepared - this is really going to upset her."
Their levity dissipated as the truth of McGee's words descended upon them like an unbearable weight.
"Let's do this," Tony said sombrely as he released the elevator from its stasis and allowed it to travel the rest of the way uninterrupted.
0—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-0
Arriving in the evidence garage they looked across the large workshop and saw the remains of Livingstone's Jaguar on the car lift with Abby in pigtails and red coveralls standing underneath.
"Hey guys!" she called as she saw them approach. "I missed you. Two days in a courtroom dressed as corporate Barbie is, like, way too long."
"We missed you too, Abs," Tony said, handing over the Caf-Pow and looking pointedly at McGee.
"Where's Gibbs?" she asked innocently.
Tony nudged McGee with his elbow but the younger agent appeared to have been struck dumb.
"He's…uh…busy," Tony answered, hoping not to sound too evasive.
Abby's eyes narrowed in suspicion as she took a long draught of her Caf-Pow.
"What are you hiding, Tony? You're not telling me something." She suddenly paled in horror. "Oh my God, oh my God! He's dead! Gibbs is dead!"
"What? What are you talking about?" Tony scowled. "No-one said Gibbs was dead?"
"No-one said he wasn't," she countered with eyes filled with fear.
"Seriously, Abs, you really expect me to walk in here every time and say 'Whatcha got Abs, oh, and by the way, Gibbs is not dead?" Tony retorted.
"Then where is he? Why isn't he here and why are you two looking like...like Glum and Glummer?"
"Okay, something has happened," Tony said. "We don't want to upset you but there's no easy way to tell you this…so…McGee will be as gentle as he can. Won't you, McGee?"
For a long moment, McGee looked like a deer caught in the spotlight until he noticed Abby swipe the back of her hand across her eyes, determinedly refusing to let the tears fall. He took a deep breath and released the words quickly in one breath.
"Tony's acting team leader because Gibbs has been acting really crazy lately yelling at everybody and no one knows why and he took indefinite leave and just went off without telling anyone where he went or when he was coming back."
"What?" Abby exclaimed, becoming even paler. "Gibbs is gone?"
"Way to sugar-coat it, McTactless!" Tony growled.
"No, no, he wouldn't! Gibbs wouldn't do that, not after last time! Tony, tell McGee he's wrong!"
"I wish I could, Abs, but it's true," he answered quietly before cupping a hand under her elbow and guiding her to a chair.
He signalled for McGee to sit on Abby's other side. With McGee holding her hand, Tony wrapped an arm around her slender shoulders and explained what had happened.
She listened to the explanation and, unable to hold back any longer, Abby closed her eyes against the swell of tears that, in spite of the barrier, tracked a trail of mascara down her pale cheeks.
"Does anyone have a handkerchief?" she sniffed.
Instantly, McGee's crisp, white handkerchief appeared and she accepted it gratefully and wiped her eyes. Very pleased that his earlier preparation had paid off, the younger agent gave Tony a nod and an exaggerated wink.
Abby opened overly bright eyes that desperately sought reassurance.
"Someone needs to find him and bring him back," she said, fighting for calm. "You, Tony, you're the only one who can make him listen when he gets like this."
"Abby, believe me, no-one can make him listen when he's like this!" Tony said.
"But there has to be a reason!" she insisted.
"There's always a reason but whatever's going on with him, he made it very clear that he didn't want to talk to me."
"Tony's right Abs," McGee said, giving her hand a squeeze. "Gibbs has been shutting him out all week, he shut us all out!"
"But we can't just let him go! He's Gibbs; nothing's the same without him! You have to find him, Tony!"
"Abs, we're in the middle of a freaking case!" Tony replied with more bitterness than he'd intended. "Maybe Gibbs can walk away from his responsibilities but I can't do it! I won't!"
He rose to his feet suddenly and strode several feet away before consciously slamming the lid on his own feelings of betrayal and pulling himself back into line.
"Tony," Abby whispered in a barely audible voice. "I never got to say goodbye."
Slowly, he turned back to her, unable to stand the misery in her eyes. He took a large breath and exhaled loudly.
"This case comes first," he said. "We solve this case and if nothing else breaks I'll find him and go talk to him. That's the best I can do."
She smiled sadly and walked slowly toward him. She wrapped her arms around him and pulled him close, the rigidity of the muscles in his shoulders and back told her more than words, that he was just as worried as she was. Pulling away, he placed a chastened kiss on her cheek and held her at arms-length.
"Whatcha got for me, Abs?" he said quietly.
Composing herself, Abby straightened her shoulders and attempted another smile.
"Let's talk brake lines," she said, walking under the car lift.
As they moved to join her, Tony and gave McGee a sharp look.
"That was calm, composed and sensitive?" he whispered. "You were no help at all!"
"What do you mean? She used my hanky," McGee defended as they ducked their heads slightly to stand next to Abby under the car.
"Most brake fluids used today are glycol-ether based, but mineral oil known as Citroën liquidehydrauliqueminéral and silicone based fluids are also available," Abby explained before adding sheepishly. "That's so not important but it's such a cool word to say…Citroën liquidehydrauliqueminéral…Citroën liquidehydrauliqueminéral…"
"Just rolls off the tongue," McGee quipped.
"Abs?" Tony prompted.
"Oh, sorry…most cars and light trucks have hydraulic braking systems. That means they use fluid to transfer the braking power from the foot pedal to the brakes. The fluid is stored in the master cylinder - when the brake pedal is applied it moves fluid from the master cylinder to the brake calipers, forcing them to clamp down on the brake rotors to slow the car."
"We've come a long way since the Fred Flintstone barefoot braking technique," Tony added, pleased to see a grin form on his favourite scientist's face as she punched him lightly on the shoulder.
"That fluid is carried through the brake lines, making them a critical brake part. If your brake lines don't work, your brakes won't work and you and your car will be in, like, a whole mess of trouble."
"You know, Abs, if you taught my auto-shop class in high school, I would have got more than a C minus," McGee noted.
"Aw, thanks, Timmy!"
"Guys!"
"Sorry, Gibbs…I mean, Tony," Abby said with a grimace. "Now, there are rubber flex lines that, after years of being moved back and forth, get weak spots, it's those spots that can and do break. So, when the rubber flex lines burst due to wear over time, they usually burst because of the amount of hydraulic pressure like when the driver stomps on the brake pedal."
"So, that what happened here, Abs?" Tony asked. "Nothing to suggest that someone tampered with the brake lines?"
"My guess is that someone helped them along but it's really really hard to say for sure. They definitely weren't cut but the flex lines are so worn, if someone knew what they were doing, just a few tiny pinpricks in the right place could definitely cause them to burst if the driver had to brake hard. Plus, because the flex lines are so badly damaged, the pinpricks would be virtually undetectable."
"You think an aircraft maintenance engineer would know how to do that, Abs? McGee asked.
"Absolutely, those guys go through, like, years of training on all kinds of engines and machinery," Abby replied.
"Without irrefutable proof this is all conjecture," McGee said with an audible sigh.
The two agents leaned in from opposite sides and each planted a kiss on Abby's cheeks.
"Thanks, Abs," they said simultaneously as they headed back to the elevator.
"Tony!" she called.
The acting lead agent turned back to see Abby anxious chewing on her lower lip, her green eyes so filled with hurt that they struck him like a blow.
"I know, Abs, I know," he replied to her silent plea before joining McGee in the elevator.
0—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-0
Back in the bullpen, McGee made a few calls in response to a hit he'd received on a computer search, while Tony brought Vance up to date with the case. He was unsure how he felt about the director's increased involvement. He'd given Tony a lot more credit since he'd turned the tables on Eli David in Israel and took point on the Somalia operation. There was no doubt that the director's knowledge of boxing had provided a possible motive but Tony couldn't help but wonder whether Vance was here to help or to see for himself whether the younger man could step up and fill Gibbs' formidable shoes.
"So, in effect, we have nothing to prove that Mills had anything to do with Livingstone's death or that this was anything other than a tragic accident," Vance surmised.
"Nothing other than a few unanswered questions," Tony replied.
"Such as?"
"Why Mills approached his CO the night prior to the accident and requested to change training partners and billets? And if Mills left the facility two hours prior to the accident, how did he end up on the wrong side of the landside and who gave Livingstone the black eye?"
"Where is Mills?"
"Ziva just brought him in, he's in interrogation."
"The brass is turning up the heat. Livingstone was a highly regarded Marine and boxer. With the Armed Forces tournament just days away, there's a lot of interest in this case."
"I'm on it." Tony replied as Ziva and McGee joined them. "You got something, Probie?"
"I think I know what may have caused the tension between Mills and Livingstone on Thursday night," McGee said clicking the remote and displaying credit card details on the screen. Several transactions were highlighted, all from a nightclub. "I checked Livingstone's accounts for the time he's been at Quantico. Seems whenever he had a leave pass, he headed for this bar."
"Livingstone is a Marine, McGee, Marines drink," Ziva stated.
"Not when they're training for an important fight," Vance added.
"The Midnight Shift?" Tony read aloud. "I've never heard of it."
"I'd be surprised if you had," McGee said. "It's in Fredricksburg, Virginia."
"Long way to go for a drink. He have a girl there?"
McGee shuffled awkwardly.
"Ah…let's just say that this isn't exactly the kind of place to go if you want to meet girls."
Tony's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "You mean if we don't ask…"
"I won't tell," McGee replied with a nod.
"Would that be enough to cause a rift between Livingstone and Mills?" Ziva asked.
"There's one way to find out," Tony said, picking up a file from his desk.
"With no conclusive medical or forensic evidence, we'll need a confession," Vance added. "I've seen his type before, he'll be a hard nut to crack. Tread cautiously, DiNozzo, one wrong move and he'll scream for an attorney and we'll have nothing."
Well aware of the difficulty of the task ahead, Tony nodded distractedly.
"Probie, Ziva - nice work," Tony said over his shoulder as he headed for interrogation. "I'm expecting a delivery from Quantico. Make sure you bring it straight in."
Vance, Ziva and McGee exchanged a confused glance.
"What is this delivery?" Ziva asked.
"I've have no idea," McGee shrugged.
"This should be interesting," Vance suggested walking toward the observation room. "Let's get a ringside seat."
0—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-0
"Chief Warrant Officer Mills?" Tony asked as he strode confidently through the door of the interrogation room and took a seat opposite the Marine.
"Yes, Sir," Mills replied crisply.
"My name is Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo, but you can call me Tony. Thanks for coming down today, I know you're on leave so I'll try not to take too much of your time," Tony opened the file he'd brought in with him and looked up suddenly. "Would you like something to drink, soda, coffee? There's a place just down the block that makes the best espresso…I could send someone to get you something."
"I'm fine, thank you, Sir," Mills replied.
"Have a stick of gum," Tony said, extending the pack toward the Marine. "I hate to chew alone."
Mills reluctantly reached for the gum, eyeing Tony cautiously and not sure what to make of the easy going approach.
"I'm not really sure why I'm here, Sir, I told Special Agent David everything I know about the accident."
"I don't want to know about the accident, Chief, I wanna know about Lance Corporal John Livingstone," Tony said, opening the file and shuffling a few pages. "How well did you know him?"
"As I told Special Agent David, I first met Livingstone four months ago when we fought for the Corps boxing championship. We met again six weeks ago when the train-on team was announced and we were billeted together."
"So you were the Marine Corps and Armed Forces welterweight boxing champion for three years running?"
"Yes, Sir."
Tony whistled through his teeth. "Impressive," he said before continuing to peruse the file. "Says here that after suffering a potentially career-ending hand injury you returned to the ring against medical advice to defend your titles."
"That's correct, Sir."
"I know a bit about career-ending injuries, myself," Tony said leaning back casually in his chair. "Played running back for Ohio State - I was fast and had good hands. In my final year, we were playing Michigan and kissing our sisters when I broke my leg in the fourth quarter – wham! that was the end of my pro-football aspirations."
"That's bad luck."
"What are gonna do?" Tony said with a shrug. "Shit happens, right?"
"Yes, Sir, I guess it does."
The acting lead agent turned his attention back to the file on the desk.
"Severe break to the first knuckle of the third finger. That would be tall man, right?" he said holding up his middle finger. "I gotta tell you, Chief, not many boxers could come back from an injury like that. Defending your title must have meant a lot to you."
"Was all I could think about, Sir."
"Must've hurt like hell when Livingstone sat you on your ass in the fifth round and took your title," Tony said shaking his head. "Then, to add insult to injury, you make the train-on team by the skin of your teeth only to find out that not only is Livingstone assigned as your training partner but you're billeted together."
"Wasn't a problem, Sir, it's how the boxing team has always operated. They put the younger fighters with some of the –"
"Has-beens?" Tony suggested provocatively.
"The more experienced fighters…Sir," Mills said, choking on the final word.
"At thirty-two, you're the oldest man on the team, yes?"
"Lotta boxers fight into their late thirties. Sugar Ray Leonard fought his last professional bout when he was forty."
"And he lost," Tony chuckled. "Everybody except Ray seemed to know that he had past his prime. Ah…but what a fighter! I was a kid when he fought his rematch against Roberto Duran. Late in the seventh round, Ray was just playing with him – toying with him like a cat does to a mouse - then he wound up his right hand, like he was getting ready for a bolo punch and then, pow! he snaps out a left jab and caught Duran flush in the face."
Mills' eyes narrowed as he watched the agent's animated re-enactment of the legendary boxing moment. He noted the easy-going demeanor and immediately felt the tension ease in his shoulders.
"You ever do any boxing, Sir?"
"Me? Nah…took a couple of classes a few years ago but that's about it. According to my boss, I'm more of a brawler than a fighter…but I'm deceptively scrappy even if I do say so myself."
"I just bet you are, Sir," Mills said with enough sarcasm for Tony to know he was getting under the man's skin.
"Maybe you can clear something up for me, Chief. There's a discrepancy between the statement you gave Special Agent David and one given by your CO Captain Holding."
"Discrepancy?"
"Yeah, probably nothing to worry about; happens all the time actually," Tony shrugged. "Captain Holding said that you left the training facility approximately two hours prior to Livingstone yet you arrived at the accident site after he did? How'd that happen?"
"I…I left my wallet in my locker. I drove back to get it," Mills said.
"Oh, okay…that makes sense. Can't have three days leave without your wallet, right? When you went back to the training camp, did you see anyone?"
"Just Livingstone. He was locking up when I got there, he waited until I grabbed my wallet and we left."
"You left together yet, by your own estimate, you arrived at the accident site ten minutes after it occurred?"
"He was driving a Jaguar and he loved to push that thing to its limits," Mills said. "Left me and my old clunker in his wake."
"You see anyone else on the road or someone in the parking lot hanging around Livingstone's car?"
"His car?"
"There's a possibility that Livingstone's brake line was tampered with," Tony said, studying the features of the Marine closely. "Our forensic specialist is the best in the business. If someone messed with the brake line, she'll find out."
Mills was startled by a sudden knock at the door and it opened wide enough for McGee to poke his head through.
"Excuse me, Tony, that security tape that you've been waiting for has just been delivered," he said with a puzzled frown. "This the parking lot of the boxing training facility at Quantico?"
"Yep," Tony said, taking the tape from McGee and placing it on the desk. "The two main security cameras were disabled some time ago but we got lucky. There was a third camera mounted on the main building that overlooks the parking lot."
"Really?" McGee replied. "You want me to check it out?"
"Nah, I'll do it, the Chief and I are nearly done here."
McGee nodded and left the room and Tony's attention returned to Mills who licked his lips nervously.
"Sorry about that, been waiting for that tape all morning. It just might save me a lot of time." Tony closed the file. "So, tell me about Livingstone, you two get along?"
"We got along fine. Livingstone was a fine Marine, a talented boxer and a good man. I liked him."
Tony nodded his head, noting that Mills had dropped the courtesy title. He suppressed his satisfied grin, knowing he was getting to the man.
"Some of your buddies from the boxing team seemed to think Livingstone had kind of a hero-worship thing going on with you."
Mills shrugged.
"He was eager to learn all he could about the fight game and I was more than happy to teach him."
"You guys lived in each other's pockets for six weeks, must've got to know each other pretty well?"
"I guess."
"He tell you anything about his family? Was he seeing anyone?"
"He didn't talk about himself much."
"Really? From what I hear you and Livingstone became pretty tight. In fact, a lot of your colleagues said they'd never seen Livingstone as talkative and relaxed as he was in the last few weeks. Even when you were confined to base, you spent your off duty hours together, hanging out in the gym, going for runs… He ever tell you he was gay?"
Mills' face flushed slightly and he averted his eyes.
"I'll take that as a yes," Tony remarked, pursing his lips in thought. "We'll come back to that later."
0—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-0
In the observation room, the other agents watched on with great interest.
"What is he doing?" Ziva asked in frustration. "Twice Tony has had Mills squirming and twice he has released the pressure."
"Have you heard of the Ali shuffle, Agent David?" Vance asked with a wry smile.
"Made famous by Muhammad Ali, yes?" she replied.
"You're watching the DiNozzo shuffle."
"I am sorry, Director, I do not understand."
"You watch him shuffle and he'll jab off your head," Vance said, repeating the old song lyrics. "Keep watching, I have a feeling that DiNozzo's winding up for his own sucker punch."
Vance knew the acting team leader could be impetuous and ill-considered but even if his interrogation technique was not exactly by the book, the director had seen first-hand that it generally brought results.
0—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-0
Tony was on his feet, calmly pacing around the room.
"Scuttlebutt is that when you injured your hand you talked about retiring. Yet at the last minute, you made yourself available for team selection. Why the change of heart?"
"I believe I still have the gear to inflict some damage on All-Army in the championships."
"Finding yourself as the fifth man in a four man team must have been a hard pill to swallow for someone with your skill and…experience," Tony remarked.
"I missed the first week of trial bouts due to injury. The selectors believed that I might not have the fitness for a starting spot."
"So that leaves you as what? Orange boy? Holding the spit bucket?"
Mills' eyes narrowed in a steely intractable gaze.
"I am the first reserve," he said, drenching Tony with his disgust.
"Yeah, but you don't get a gig unless one of the other fighters withdraws, right?"
A second icy look outdid its predecessor and Tony knew that if looks could kill, he'd be coughing up dirt.
"Right?" Tony repeated when Mills remained silent.
"I suppose so," Mills finally growled through tightly clenched teeth.
"Suppose so?" Tony pushed. "You know so! And time was running out, wasn't it Chief? The armed forces tournament starts next week and you're still warming the bench."
"Are you suggesting that I had something to do with Livingstone's death?"
"What? No! I'm not suggesting that….I'm just saying that when the bell rings for the final round and you're behind on points, it's time to go for the knockout punch!"
"What?"
"Livingstone considered you as more than a mentor, he considered you a close friend. He felt so comfortable around you that he let down his guard and the night before he died, he told you his biggest secret. He told you that he was homosexual."
"He told me, so what? That doesn't mean I killed him!" Mills yelled.
"Was that what the argument was about Chief? What did he do, try to get you in a clinch? He hit you below the belt? Try to go a few rounds?"
"You son of a bitch!" Mills bellowed as Tony continued to press.
"That's why you went to your CO and asked for a new billet? A three-year running Armed Forces welterweight champion couldn't stand the thought that he lost his title to someone who, out of the ring, spent more time floating like a butterfly than stinging like a bee."
"That's not true!" Mills yelled launching out of his chair with his fists clenched so tightly that Tony half expected to hear the popping of dislocating knuckles.
Mills stared furiously at the agent, his expression fiercely forbidding. Meeting his glare, Tony leaned across the table, his face contorted into an angry mask that his colleagues in the observation room, barely recognised.
"Sit down," he said with a thinly veiled calmness that failed to hide the fury behind the words.
Mills reclaimed his seat and Tony continued.
"There's a lot at stake here, Mills, including a shot at the US boxing team in the 2012 Olympics. An Olympic gold medal would be a great way to end an illustrious career."
"I know what you're thinking but it wasn't like that."
"I think you threatened to 'out' him. I think you told Livingstone that if he didn't withdraw from the tournament, you'd go public about him being gay."
"No!"
"But being gay doesn't mean you're a pushover and Livingstone called you on it, didn't he? Told you to go to hell, so you had to think of something else. Wouldn't take much for a trained mechanic like you to interfere with the brake lines of his car."
"I didn't…"
"Of course, you wouldn't have known that Livingstone wasn't wearing a seatbelt or that you'd get caught on the wrong side of the landslide and have to make the call for help, right?"
Tony watched as the vein in the middle of Mills' forehead pulsated dangerously until finally, the heavy silence was broken.
"I want to speak to an attorney," Mills growled.
"You want an attorney? Be my guest," Tony said, placing his cell on the table in front of the Marine. "The JAG office is speed dial nine. But you should know, man, that once JAG's involved, I can't do anything to help you."
"Help me?"
"You tell me your side of the story, including tampering with Livingstone's brake lines, and I put in a good word about you co-operating with the investigation. But you make me watch what's on this security tape and all deals are off."
Mills fingered the cell phone, his gaze flicking from it to the security tape as he weighed his options.
"Go ahead," Tony continued. "Get yourself some young fresh-faced JAG defence attorney, right out of law school. But I'm telling you, the brass already have more than a passing interest in this case – they find out that Livingstone's brake lines were cut and they'll push for murder one. Me? I don't think you meant to kill the guy but hey, if you don't want to give me your side of the story that's fine."
Tony gathered the papers on the table and placed them back into the file.
"Take your time," Tony said. "I'll be back when I've watched the tape."
He reached for the security tape when Mills' caught him by the wrist and halted his movement. Tony's menacing glare was enough to make Mills release his grip.
"Okay," the Marine said resignedly. "Okay…I did it but I didn't mean to kill him…I just wanted to hurt him so he couldn't fight."
In the observation room, the director walked toward the door, then turned back to Ziva and McGee.
"Winner by unanimous points decision, Special Agent DiNozzo."
0—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo—oo00oo-0
Mills waived his Article 31 rights and had given a full statement of his own volition. He was in deep conversation with his fresh-faced JAG defence attorney when, weary to the bone, Tony emerged from the interrogation room ninety minutes later.
As he rounded the partition to his desk he found his team still waiting for him and he slumped heavily into his chair.
"We're done for tonight," he said. "Tomorrow's Sunday. Enjoy your day off, see you Monday."
"You did well, Tony," Ziva said heaving her backpack over her shoulder. "Gibbs would be proud."
"Just doing my job, Ziva… no wait, I was just doing his job!" Tony replied with more bitterness than he intended.
"Tony…"
The acting lead agent held up a hand in supplication.
"I'm tired," he said with a weary smile. "I didn't mean that."
Ziva nodded. "I know."
"Ziva's right though, Tony, you did good in there," McGee added as he stood in front of Tony's desk. "So tell me…that third security camera from the parking lot…what was on the tape?"
"Nothing," Tony said logging on to his computer. "It was disabled at the same time as the others but I was counting on Mills not knowing it was there."
With a put upon sigh that rose from her boots, Ziva reached into her pocket and pulled out a fifty-dollar bill, handing it to a gloating McGee.
"We're going for Chinese, why don't you come with us? The moo shu's on me," McGee added waving the newly acquired fifty-dollar bill around.
"Nah…thanks anyway. I'm gonna check my email and get an early night. I'll see you Monday."
In the quiet of the bullpen, Tony skimmed his electronic mail, relieved to find nothing that needed his attention before next week. He leaned back in his chair, fatigued and emotionally drained and he urged his body not to shut down before he could get home.
As he reached to switch off his computer a muted tone announced the arrival of another email – Abby.
"Don't forget your promise." It read.
"How could I?" he whispered.
He dug the heels of his palms into his tired eyes, rubbing his eyeballs until a colourful lightshow decorated the inside of his eyelids. He turned his head and looked across to his boss' empty desk.
"Guess it's never too late for cowboy-style steak and a couple of beers, hey Boss?"
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…'Ahab is for ever Ahab, man. This whole act's immutably decreed. 'Twas rehearsed by thee and me a billion years before this ocean rolled. Fool! I am the Fates' lieutenant; I act under orders. Look thou, underling! that thou obeyest mine'…
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A/N Thanks again for your overwhelming support - I hope you enjoyed reading this chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it. L