A/N:I don't own anything I'm not supposed to. The characters, references, some dialogue + anything else all belong to whomever. Please don't sue me - it is just for fun. The rest came out of my brain.

OK, Ch. 9 – still the switched POV. For this one, I've had to write more detail with the case – just as a plot device. It won't stand up to much examination!

And the usual for the background details.….


Slings and Arrows Part II

"When sorrows come, they come not single spies

But in battalions."

William Shakespeare


July 2010

"I wouldn't have taken the shot either." – A kind, reassuring remark.

McGee was avoiding Tony like the senior agent was carrying the combined bacterial load of Cholera, Leprosy and the Bubonic Plague. Still not certain how Ziva became a hostage, he was unnecessarily guilt-ridden over his hesitation and subsequent failure not to take action. It was bad enough explaining to Gibbs; repeating the story for his friend had been truly horrible. Once complete, he had tried to disappear – not entirely easy since his talents were crucial to finding Ziva. Tony finally caught up with him in the Break Room. McGee, with his back to the door, was stocking up on comfort snacks – and nearly jumped out of his skin. His first thought, once he peeled himself off the ceiling, was Tony had been spending way too much time with Ziva – stealth skills must be contagious.

"Not even for Ziva?" McGee turned round with a look of appreciation for Tony's older brotherly gesture.

Tony shook his head but before he could say anything, McGee continued meaningfully. "Especially not Ziva."

Now it was Tony's turn to be surprised. It was the first time McGee had ever made a direct reference to the unique relationship between Tony and Ziva. They were a closely bonded unit; all teammates. Nevertheless, McGee was articulating the differential in the nature of that dynamic.

"Not for anyone." Tony deflected firmly; slightly unnerved by McGee's bold observation.

McGee collected his selections from the machine and walked toward the exit. "Ziva would have."

Tony helped himself to one of the candy bars – reverting to more typical older brother type behavior. "That's because Zee-vah can make those types of shot." – Pointing out the obvious distinction. "Plus, you know, Zee-vah just likes shooting things." - Pointing out the other obvious distinction.

McGee watched admiration, affection, and concern chase across Tony's face. For Tony, it felt good to talk about her. Much easier than during Ziva's previous captivity: not least because for part of that time, talking about her had meant using the past tense. Something he had found incredibly difficult to handle.

As they walked back to the bull-pen, McGee spoke confidently. "We'll get her back, Tony." After his usual studious appraisal of all factors, he added – through a mouthful of chocolate - "I wouldn't want to be Miller, though, when Ziva gets free."

For the first time in several hours Tony smiled - in agreement at McGee's sentiment. "Gibbs wants us with Ducky." He clapped McGee on the shoulder and swiped another candy bar. "I'm waiting on a call-back; tell him I'll be down in a five."


"I just wanna ask him one question." Despite his calm conversation with McGee, as the hours ticked by, anyone and everyone was a likely victim of Tony's aggravation. It was now close to midnight and, essentially, the team knew nothing. "I don't care what time of night it is." This unlucky soul was the room-mate of someone Tony was trying to contact. "Wake him up, or I'll come down there and fucking do it myself." Tony's delivery made the threat very convincing.

After a terse conference, followed by a totally out of place pleasant 'thank you' – given the earlier tirade - Tony went to join the others in Autopsy.

"….Thus, considering what we know so far, I do not believe Miller to be a killer. And, therefore, it is unlikely he is the murderer of Sgt. Roberts." Ducky was finishing a summary of his profile when Tony slipped into the room.

"You might wanna reconsider that belief, Ducky." Everyone looked at Tony. "Just got off the 'phone with a guy from Bethesda; Roberts and Miller were in rehab. together for a while." Tony looked at Gibbs. "According to the Physical Therapist, they were buddies."

In a way it was good news, the first real concrete link. However, as Tony's sober look indicated, it was also bad news – Roberts was dead.

Tony cocked his head. "Think Roberts was in town to see Miller?"

"Maybe." Although it would seem hardly possible, in times of urgency or stress, Gibbs became even less talkative. He turned his attention back to the body. "Time and cause?"

"Time? Oh, I should say about twenty-four hours." Ducky moved around the table. "Based upon an internal reading, weather conditions and so forth. Rigor is fully present and has not begun to ease." He used a limb in demonstration. "Cause of death is undoubtedly this gunshot wound here." He indicated the small entry hole in the skull. "There is an entry and exit wound in his side – a flesh wound really – I believe the bullet found at the scene will match the one we removed." He held up a jar containing the slug. "I'll send this to Abby for her analysis, Jethro…."

Gibbs interrupted. "I sent Abby home."

Earlier in the evening Gibbs had taken the decision. There was nothing which required Abby's forensic expertise at present. Gibbs had forced her to leave - persuading Abby that he would be counting on all her abilities in the morning. Otherwise, always distraught over any calamity befalling any member of Team Gibbs, Abby would only sit in her lab. Fretting and over-dosing on Caf-Pow – with no target for all that ingested stimulant – it would be ugly. For the time being, she would be much better off at home. McGee made a mental note to check on her later. Abby might be at home, McGee knew she wouldn't be asleep.

"Theory, Duck?" Gibbs continued to manage the investigation by means of minimal communication.

"Mr. Palmer identified scorching on Sgt. Roberts' hand." – With a trace of praise for his assistant. "There was gunshot residue. I believe Abby will also find some on his clothing." Ducky perched on his desk and scratched his head. "I suspect there was a scuffle. Perhaps a struggle for control of the gun; the first shot may have been accidental. Certainly that injury was not fatal." He sighed. "The head shot was quite deliberate. It was most definitely not accidental and, one must assume, calculated to kill."

There were a few moments of silence as everyone absorbed the implication of Ducky's words. Whoever had shot Roberts had done so in cold-blood and without mercy.

"But how would Miller get to the Scott house?" McGee cast optimistic doubt on the unspoken, group assumption. "We know he has mobility problems."

As yet, there was no answer to that question.

Then Palmer –the keen student wanting to learn – raised a topic with his usual unfortunate artistry. "Er, Agent Gibbs, if we know where Ziva was taken….approximately I mean….it's a vast area, I know but why not use search dogs and…er, more manpower." He was somewhat afraid of the former Marine.

Gibbs fixed Palmer with one of his 'not now' stares and Ducky answered on his behalf; "Because Mr. Palmer, the noise of dogs and a massive search effort might be disturbing." The note of praise was gone, its place taken by gentle irritation. "If Miller is mentally unbalanced, and there is very good evidence in support of that conclusion…." Ducky stopped, choosing the next phrase carefully.

Leaning against one of the walls, Tony quietly completed the explanation. "If he panics, he might kill her."

The fact it wasn't an annoyed put-down or sarcastic snap made poor Palmer feel a great deal worse.

Back in the squad-room, McGee yawned. "Miller knew Roberts and Scott but Scott didn't know Roberts." The pieces of the puzzle were odd.

"That we know of." Gibbs amended the reasoning. "Nothing more to do tonight: go home." Noticing they were both about to register impassioned rebellion, he leveled the 'that's an order' stare. "It'll be a long day tomorrow. You boys go on home now."

Obedience wasn't negotiable. Gibbs was using fatherly terminology; the use of the word 'boys' was an extremely bad sign. There was also dispassionate logic to the mandate – worried people made mistakes; exhausted worried people were next to useless. Also, temporal distance from a case allowed their minds to create alternative scenarios; often sparking a break. And tomorrow would, indeed, be a very long day.


"Yeah, OK, I owe you." He grinned. "You'll have her number by tonight." Tony hung up. "Looks like we got a weapon."

His satisfied remark was aimed at Gibbs exiting the elevator. It was revoltingly early in the morning. After reluctant compliance last night, the two agents had returned to the Navy Yard just before sunrise; Tony first, McGee about half an hour later. Tony hadn't slept – in the strictest meaning of the word – fitfully napping on the sofa. However, some rest, food and a shower had been beneficial.

"Get it to Abby." Striding through the bull-pen, Gibbs peeled off a faded, worn Marine Corps. sweatshirt – obviously on his way to change the rest of his clothes.

Tony realized his boss hadn't gone home. Gibbs had snatched a couple of hours sleep on an autopsy slab before setting out to look for Ziva. His destination was the city's homeless population; discovering more about Miller, asking if anyone had seen Ziva. Amidst that particular sub-culture it was an intelligent tactic. The Gunny, who exuded absolute trustworthiness and honor from his blue eyes, stood a better chance of acquiring information. The interviewees were more likely to be open and less suspicious with Gibbs, than with police officers who represented officialdom and hassle.

"Already on its way." Tony hesitated. "Boss?" The question didn't need to be asked. Gibbs shook his head without halting his purposeful journey.

Tony didn't know what his boss had been doing; only that indefatigable dedication to his team meant Gibbs wouldn't stop until she was back.

"Sitrep." Gibbs re-appeared expecting his update.

"We know the gardener found the body about 6:45 yesterday morning." Tony paused. Less than a day ago, they'd been standing on the same spot, discussing the same case. He recalled his last words to Ziva. Somehow it seemed more time should have elapsed. "Given Ducky's time of death; and from what Scott told me yesterday, he and his wife have an alibi – airtight." He looked steadily at Gibbs, shrugging. "Some cocktail party; we've talked to over a dozen people who saw them."

Gibbs grunted in displeasure. "McGee?"

McGee, who was still reeling from the earful he'd received from a respected author about telephoning people at that hour, wasn't quite ready. "Yes Boss?" Realizing it was his turn, he hastily apologized, "Sorry…."

Then realized he wasn't supposed to be apologizing and started over. "There's a lot of background stuff." He retrieved the clicker and displayed the beaming photo of Charles Scott. "According to his web-site, he came from nothing." McGee reluctantly delivered the bad news. "He inherited a modest amount of capital, used contacts made while serving in Iraq and built a thriving import business in Fine Art and Persian antiques. He's a pillar of the community, seeking election and, basically, clean-as-a-whistle."

"Roberts?" Gibbs wanted at least one connection – even if it was only to establish the deceased's reasons for being dead.

Tony shook his head. "Scott said he didn't know him." - Tapping his fingers on Gibbs' desk; mounting frustration becoming evident. "He was an exemplary Marine, impeccable record and had a great career ahead of him. Heavily involved in a charity for African American Vets. - but we knew all this yesterday." Tony irritably finished the catalogue.

Gibbs stood staring thoughtfully at the photo. "Keep on it. I'll be with Abby." He glanced to the upper level. "After I've briefed Vance." The faintest of grimaces crossed his face; considering bureaucracy was wasting valuable time with meetings.

To be fair, the Director had provided excellent, for the most part un-meddlesome, support. Mobilizing every avenue of external assistance; he was genuinely worried about his agent. Also, he was friends with her father which was an additional minor source for Gibbs' irritation. Vance merely asked that Gibbs gave periodic reports. As he came down the stairs, on the way to Abby, McGee called out an excited interception.

"Boss, I've two 'phone calls here from Roberts' cell to Scott." Qualifying the discovery; it wasn't proof of personal contact with Scott. "Well, to his election H.Q. anyway."

Tony was already collecting his badge and gun, sliding back his chair, before Gibbs issued the order. "DiNozzo, bring him in here for questioning." Announcing a variation of Rule #1 would be applied. "I'll talk to the wife at the house."


Tony was sitting opposite Charles Scott; exceedingly grateful for the prohibition on guns in the interrogation room. Were it not for that, he would be in imminent danger of losing his badge. First the man had kept him waiting; pleading a hectic schedule. Since it was, at this stage, only an informal arrangement, Tony was forced by legal civilities to concede. He had arrived - lawyered-up from one the city's top firms - which added to Tony's innate mistrust of Scott. And - despite Tony's best efforts - he appeared guilty of nothing more than being a repulsive specimen of humanity.

"As I told you yesterday, and again today, Agent DiNozzo, Elizabeth and I were out all that evening." He leaned toward his lawyer. "John held a small gathering to celebrate the latest poll numbers…" - Continuing a brief chat on mutual acquaintances, eventually returning his attention to Tony. "The gardener found the body; we called the police and have nothing more to add."

The message was clear; he was well-connected, he and his extremely expensive legal advisor moved in the same social circles and he had co-operated for nearly half an hour. The affair was beneath him; the NCIS Agent was wasting his valuable time and his patience was beginning to wear thin.

"Agent Zee-vah David wasn't missing when we talked yesterday." Tony replied stonily; unmoved by the display of prestige. "Times; when you left your house, arrived at the party, left the party and arrived back at your house."

Tony's patience had run out roughly ten minutes before Scott's entrance. He was conducting the interrogation in shirt sleeves. Whilst left cooling his heels Tony had removed his jacket, undone his collar and loosened his tie; a not-so-subtle mark of disrespect. Now he unfastened cuff-links and rolled up his sleeves. Tony's message was also clear; they might be here a while.

Scott smiled with oily charm. "It was a party, not a race – I wasn't timing us." - Laughing at his jocularity, conducting another side-bar with the lawyer on an unrelated matter and making Tony wait again. "I couldn't say for sure."

Tony's smile would have frozen the Potomac. "Try." The hardened cop emerged.

"You really should talk to Elizabeth…." Scott ignored Tony's unyielding request.

"My boss is." Tony interrupted coolly. "Times."

At the mention of Gibbs' interview with Mrs. Scott, her husband tensed by the tiniest degree.

"We left the house at around 7:20, arrived by 7:45." Scott stopped for a moment, thinking. "Left again by 11:30 and were home just after midnight." He held up his hands in fake surrender. "I confess." The patronizing manner grated on Tony's already frayed nerves. "To a speed violation, we were running late." - Jokingly pinning the blame on his wife. "Elizabeth was driving – do I need to arrange bail?"

Once again, he enjoyed his own humor and tipped his chair back slightly; rocking it with a self-satisfied air.

"Agent DiNozzo my client has told you everything he knows. He has said he has nothing further to add." The lawyer decided it was time to earn his fee.

"See that's the thing." The pleasantly puzzled expression highlighted the sarcastic taunt. "Your client didn't tell me Sgt. Roberts called his office the day before he showed up dead." Tony casually glanced at the lawyer. "In fact, your client didn't tell me Sgt. Roberts called his office – twice - the day before he showed up dead." - Holding up two fingers in illustration. "So I'm guessing your client hasn't told me everything he knows."

Scott stopped rocking his chair and quickly disavowed knowledge. "If he called the campaign, I didn't speak to him." He shrugged. "Must be a coincidence."

"My boss doesn't believe in coincidences." Tony stared at Scott reflectively for a minute; trying to gauge the reaction. "Why would a man – you didn't know -" Tony's emphasis on that phrase was a sardonic veiled accusation of lying. "Who doesn't even live in D.C., call your campaign?"

"Perhaps it was related to my work on behalf of our Veterans?" The overly smooth veneer slipped back into place. "I strongly support their welfare." - Easily adopting his vote-for-me persona and proudly proclaiming his status and allegiance. "I'm veteran myself, with many close ties."

"Yeah?" Tony was deliberately disbelieving. "According to your fellow Marines, you couldn't wait to join the 1st CivDiv."

Scott bristled slightly at Tony's mocking. Once again the lawyer intervened. "Mr. Scott has admitted the possibility this man, Roberts, may have tried to contact him." - The tone becoming a little sharper. "He didn't speak with him." He patted Scott's arm reassuringly; adding firmly. "You'll have to speak with his staffers about the calls."

Shielded by the legal deflection, Scott began tipping the chair again. "Anyway, Agent DiNozzo, why is my service record even relevant?"

Tony leaned back in his chair, arms folded. "Because the guy who's holding my partner served with you; he also knew the guy whose corpse crushed your Azaleas." Tony cocked his head. "And I don't believe in coincidences either."

"You must be very worried." He looked at Tony with a sickening smile of sympathy. "Pity you're wasting time in here. You should probably be out looking for her." The false sincerity underlined the small jeer of criticism.

"Mr. Scott has another appointment." A change in Tony's manner at the mention of Ziva, prompted his lawyer to act again. "He has provided full assistance to your Agency in this investigation. I am recommending the interview be terminated - now."

"Right." Tony agreed curtly. He had no other choice; in the absence of any real evidence to hold him. As Scott smugly tipped his chair, Tony extended a leg. Preventing the downward swing and nudging the angle a little further back. The chair over-balanced completely; depositing Scott in a startled, sprawling heap on the floor. The push under the table wouldn't be recorded by the camera.

Tony stood, picking up his papers and jacket. "You should probably be more careful." - And left the room.


"Nothing?" Gibbs appeared from the adjacent room.

Tony was storming down the corridor. "Nothing an ear fuck with a cordless drill wouldn't solve."

He was fuming. The non-existent progress, harrowing concern for Ziva and Tony's inability to find her were building a perfect storm of frustration. Corroding control and distracting his thoughts. According to Tennyson's adage, 'tis better to have loved and lost, than never to have loved at all. Tony didn't know who said it. Clearly whoever said it, was a first-class idiot in his opinion. Tony had tried it when she stayed in Israel – and it wasn't better. Now Tony was forced to confront losing Ziva for the second time. And, without the convenient cloak of extra complications, the idea of loving her was suddenly becoming sharply, painfully, defined.

"DiNozzo." Returned from his own interrogation, Gibbs had watched the final moments of the interview, smiling as Tony's trick sent the suspect tumbling. Nevertheless he was aware of the agent's currently tenuous grip on his temper – and that it wouldn't help if Tony lost it.

"What?" Tony snapped back furiously, half turning and banging the bottom of his clenched fist into the wall.

Gibbs walked over to him; tolerating the attitude and insolent reply so Tony could partially get it out of his system. He cast a scrutinizing look at Scott when their paths crossed.

"Talk to me." Standing in front of Tony; it was both a stern command and quiet invite which required Tony to focus and regain calm.

"It's him, Boss. I know it." His voice was a mix of appeal and conviction. "I know he's involved." Tony scowled; the burst of rage dissipating into a rationally angry assessment. "But the alibi's solid and there's just no other proof."

Gibbs nodded an affirmative – he knew it too. The two men had, individually, formed the identical inkling of Scott's connection to the case. Gibbs motioned upstairs with his head. "Check on the BOLOs, then go help Metro." Dispatching Tony out of the Navy Yard to physically participate in the search effort would supply an outlet for the caged tension. "I'm with Abby."


A substantial line of increasingly severe thunderstorms had been rolling across the city for the past couple of hours. The recent, tremendous, heat was breaking in a spectacular display of percussion and light. Torrential rain and swirling winds completed the complement of wild weather. It was certainly an apt decoration for the dirge playing in Abby's lab. and the mournful expression which greeted Gibbs.

"What'd ya got, Abbs?"

"Gibbs." The welcome accompanied by a small sniff. Abby didn't so much wear her heart on her sleeve as dress from head-to-toe in emotion. A photo of Ziva was stuck on each of her screens and Bert was in frequent danger of being crushed.

"This is totally the gun which killed Roberts; ballistics match." Abby pointed at the weapon on the table. "It was found in weeds beside a creek about half a mile from Scott's house." Abby had never met a thought she didn't express and her voice became delighted. "Isn't that just amazing? Think about it; some guy decides to go fishing and chooses that place and happens to see this gun." - The tangent on Chaos Theory served to perk up her mood. "And he doesn't ignore it or take it home or…."

"Abby." It was a gentle reminder to stay on topic.

"Right." She stopped, suitably abashed. "It's registered to a Ben MacIntyre."

"Good work." Gibbs looked highly satisfied until Abby spoke and this time her voice was depressed again.

"No it's bad." Abby shook her head. "I mean it's good that this is the smoking gun but they're the wrong smoke signals, Gibbs." She frowned at the gun in disgust at its treachery. "Ben MacIntyre was a member of Miller's platoon. And he was killed by a roadside bomb four years ago." The sniffing became more pronounced.

Gibbs hugged her and produced a De-Caf-Pow from behind his back. The amended drink provided the required distraction. "De-Caf?" Abby's lip didn't quite curl in distaste but her query conveyed displeasure.

"Pacing." Gibbs smiled reassuringly. "She's gonna be OK, Abbs."


McGee had been wedded to his computer all day. "Boss, we've had a hit on the BOLO." He began the latest update. "A volunteer at an outreach centre who knows Miller." - His voice becoming less keen with the final detail. "She saw him with Roberts the day before the murder."

Gibbs remained silent as he assimilated Abby's findings and McGee's news. "What else?"

It was Standard Operating Procedure for the team. If one avenue provided a negative, it was always best to be prepared with another lead.

"There's an anomaly in Scott's financial background." Additionally, McGee was a Boy Scout and so doubly prepared. "There's no real record of how his initial start was funded."

This information caught Gibbs' attention. "Go on."

"I mean, it's supposed to be an inheritance but I can't find the source." McGee, always cautious, continued. "I'm still checking accounts and it's fairly complicated but so far nothing." McGee stood and stretched, grateful for the excuse to move around. "He came back from Iraq, with a line in something called Iznik ceramics…."

Gibbs glanced at McGee "Pottery?" A little skepticism was evident.

McGee enlisted the plasma as his back-up advocate, flashing images of beautiful plates, vases and urns. The items decorated with fabulous geometric Islamic designs or birds and dragons - vivid cobalt, red and turquoise swirling across the objects. Stunning calligraphy, scrolling leaves and blossoms filled the screen.

"This stuff is valuable, Boss." - Pausing the slideshow on an ornate ivory and gold mirror and displaying the list price.

"Maybe worth killing for." Gibbs took the point. "Trace Scott's movements, calls and details for the day before and after the murder - everything." Gibbs was beginning to think he'd found Miller's reason. "I wanna know what he was doing, where he was for every second of that time."

The latest storm cell was directly over the city. As his boss spoke, the lights dimmed once, twice and then failed completely. In the pale glow of emergency lights, Gibbs and McGee stood staring at the lifeless monitor. McGee wouldn't be tracing anything until power was restored.

Eventually Tony returned to the Navy Yard – tired and very unhappy. D.C. was in the grip of a minor shutdown; flooding, roads blocked with fallen trees and downed lines. The emergency services had their hands full with the usual troubles resulting from bad storms. The journey back had been tortuous and Ziva was still missing. For the time being, their investigation was technologically deaf, dumb and blind. The only discoveries so far pointed to her captor. Miller knew - had been seen with - the victim very recently; and he knew the last registered owner of the murder weapon.


A huge thank you to everyone if you've posted a review - it is very helpful to know what you think. As ever make of it what you will and hope you enjoy the read. If you can please post a review; tell me what you liked/disliked or what did or didn't work…