So...I'm gonna have to apologize here for the late update. I have many reasons but no good excuses (or is that vice versa?). General business in life and work is only a small factor; I'm just finding everything I write boring, and don't want to post boring chapters for you to read! But I post what may potentially be so below, so that you at least know I have not forgotten.
I very much welcome your wish list of characters you would like to see interact, parts of the plotline you would like to see flushed out more/sooner, or featured, and also your ideas of what questions Vance will pose (you'll just have to read below to see what I'm referring to here...it's the only enticement I can think to give!).
And on a separate note, I welcome PMs about the season seven finale from those who wish to discuss. I warn you, I was not the biggest fan of this episode. (This is an understatment.)
Thanks for reading! Help a girl out and toss some thoughts out, okay? Happy to return the favor if requested.
"I haven't found a single thing of worth," Ducky muttered to himself. "Nothing of use at all."
As was often the case, what he considered his internal thoughts were answered by Mr. Palmer, who seemed to have damned good hearing. "I'm sure that's not true, Doctor. Even eliminating possibilities must be a great help to the team, and it looks like you've managed to eliminate a long list of incarcerated or deceased people that would otherwise have been considered suspects."
"Be that as it may, Mr. Palmer, we are no closer to finding Jethro through any efforts of mine, are we?"
Jimmy started a new pot of tea.
Ducky returned to his files, agitated but with no better recourse than to continue working his way through the files on his desk.
Less than five minutes passed by before he abruptly pushed away from the desk and began pacing the room.
"Doctor Mallard, if I may make a suggestion?"
"It's not the time to be taking breaks young man, it is time to concentrate. Can't you see that?"
"Of course doctor. But as you once told me, if the approach you're taking doesn't sit well with you, what you need is not to give up, but simply another approach."
"And do you, in your great wisdom, have a suggestion as to how one might accomplish that in this particular situation?"
"Ah, not exactly."
"As I thought."
"But in your case, I might suggest more talking, less silent reading."
"I am not a third grader, Mr. Palmer. I do not require periods of interaction interspersed with periods of quiet learning time. I will not pester the others who are investigating this most horrendous act, and I will not overstep and get in their way by interrogating a suspect or speaking with a witness unless I am asked to or at least find some reason for it."
"…Who said anything about witnesses or suspects? It seems to me there are always quieter types with some information they didn't know they had. Even if they are corpses."
In a softer, more speculative voice, Ducky continued the thought, "Yes, well we have no bodies with which to speak yet on this case. But there are always those who have not sung their story yet…" He hurried off towards the elevator leaving Jimmy behind with a nearly full pot of hot tea.
DiNozzo considered his options as he stalked up the steps, wiping his face with the handkerchief McGee had passed to him.
He could give in to his anger, his frustration, his fears, and tell the director exactly what he was thinking. He might have done that with Jenny. But, then, Jenny might have taken it.
Vance – not so much. And besides, venting often felt like losing control.
Now was not a good time to feel like a loser.
He could go purposefully crazy and get himself thrown off the case, with the intention of pursuing matters on his own. But rogue was more Gibbs that DiNozzo, and Tony was extremely aware that he was currently responsible for the whole team. Leaving them to fend for themselves was a horrifying idea.
He could toe the line – Vance's line – and behave. Follow orders. Show respect. He was capable of it. It was potentially the smartest play to keep him running the investigation.
Yeah. Well. Sometimes you just have to go with your strengths.
Vance threw open his office door. As he started around his desk, DiNozzo dropped down into one of the chairs, sliding down until he was nearly lying down. Then he lazily stretched out his long legs, crossed them at the ankle, and propped his head up on his hand.
Vance turned around, no doubt expecting to be in a position of power. His eyes widened slightly and his nostrils flared when he saw DiNozzo's reclining posture.
Tony fussed with McGee's handkerchief, which he had smartly positioned in his front jacket pocket.
Vance leaned forward, placing both hands on his desk, glaring his best glare.
Tony yawned.
Vance's glare turned to a glower.
Tony smiled. He contemplated telling the director he looked cute trying to out-do a Gibbs glare.
Vance paused. He appeared to be recalculating. But with what intention?
It would've been interesting to play this out and see what course of attack Vance would choose. But there wasn't time.
Tone light, Tony inquired, "I'm just curious, do you intend to keep interfering with my investigation? It'll help me plan things out better if I know how much time to factor in for keeping you happy."
"How did you do it?"
"What's that?"
"Turn Hadar?"
"Whatever are you talking about?" Tony's grin remained, but he was surprised and unhappy with this turn in the conversation. This was not on topic.
"We weren't in Israel very long. Most of your time was spent in the 'conference room' or other places where you were being observed. You had no other solo time with any upper-level Mossad agents except the fifteen minute drive from the airport with Officer Hadar. So it stands to reason…"
"Who said my contact was high-ranking?"
"Wouldn't be much help to you if they weren't."
"That's not necessarily true."
"It is in this case. You needed to verify whether or not an operation was in existence; one that would not be common knowledge. And you trust your source, correct? Or should I contact Director David?"
"I trust my source." Tony's smile finally faded. Thinking of Director David tended to do that to him.
"Hmm." Vance sat back in his chair, fingers templed in front of him.
Tony swung one leg over the arm of the director's fancy guest chair and let it swing back and forth.
Stalemate.
Crap. He was going to have to give in again, or risk losing too much time to posturing. He wiggled in the chair to find a more comfortable position and spoke without looking at the man across from him.
"You know, the way people talk around here, you'd think I was the only one who ever got into trouble. The only one framed for murder, the only one who gets almost exploded, the only one who gets hurt on the job. But it's not really true." He paused to buff his fingernails against the soft fabric of his dove gray jacket.
"My boss has been kidnapped." His eyes flicked up to Vance's and then back down to the apparently engrossing subject of his lack of cuticle care. "My partner, really. He trusts me to lead his team, to protect his people, and he trusts me to find him. Which I will. But it would be a whole lot faster if I didn't have to work around you. So let's try this. You ask me whatever questions come to mind, on any topic, for the next five minutes. Then I'm done. I'm going after Gibbs. You can relieve me, in which case I'll leave the office and continue searching on my own. Or you can let me go and do my job and find my missing man." Tony leveled his gaze at the director, the seriousness his face presented at odds with the continued lazy pose. "Five minutes starts now."
"The phone records are useless, there are no clues here," Ziva stated flatly as she reached the end of another page. Gibbs made and received more calls than she would have expected during periods when the team was not on an active case, but nothing that appeared suspicious or helpful in their investigation.
"Same with his emails and notes," McGee replied with a sigh. "Most of them are just scribbles or words, but I can tie them to recent cases. And I can't find anything in our recent cases that would conceivably tie to a multi-man expedition to kidnap Gibbs."
Ziva looked up towards the director's closed door. McGee mimicked the motion.
"He's not such a bad guy, Ziva. He's probably worried about Gibbs too. He and Tony will work out their differences."
Ziva felt it better not to share her personal response to that.
"You have gone through is mail, McGee?"
"Email and snail mail. Nothing stands out, but then, there wasn't much to begin with."
"Gibbs does get quite a few items from the mail boy, though, does he not? More and more recently."
"Yeah, but he usually gives most of it to Tony to deal with. Just sorts out a few things and tosses them or keeps them at his desk."
"Do you recall him being particularly happy, or annoyed with anything he received? Immediately removing any items?"
McGee's face fell. "Sorry Ziva, I don't."
"You noticed more than I in this case, McGee. That is nothing to be sorry for. Anyway, there is probably nothing to find."
McGee didn't mention that he paid more attention to the incoming mail since Tony's bought with plague. Email may sometimes distribute viruses, but he'd rather have a corrupt pc than a corrupt immune system. Unable to let the matter go, he called down to the mail room in case they could recall anything that stood out from the norm.
They did.
With a trace of excitement, he hung up the phone and turned to Ziva's inquiring face. "They said there have been a steady stream of purple envelopes, satiny in texture, all addressed specifically to Gibbs' in a woman's handwriting. Started coming around two years ago, roughly once per month ever since then. They stopped about two or three months ago."
"That may not be work related."
"True, but the guys in the mail room said that they remembered handing those letters to Gibbs personally a few times, and each time they said his face got scarier."
"That could mean any number of things."
"True. But it could be something."
"Perhaps. But we have not found any of these envelopes. Did your mailmen recall any of the sender's information?"
"No."
More silence.
They had both turned back to recent case files when Ducky strode into the area between their desks.
"Forgive the interruption, but I may have discovered something." Now speaking to two raptly attentive agents, he continued, "I know Anthony already had someone check through the recent NCIS personnel files for persons that may be of interest to this case, and that he has security checking any recent additions to our standard list of delivery persons. However, I did not believe that anyone had begun checking servicemen yet."
"You wish to check all the men and women in the armed service who have passed through these doors in the past however many days, Ducky? That is commendable, but seems impractical," Ziva advised.
"No, my dear, I mean service staff. Not employees of NCIS, not deliverymen or couriers. But, for example," with this he paused and withdrew a DVD from the folder he was carrying, "a new apprentice to the man who fills the vending machines with goods. A new addition, I may add, who was around for only two weeks. And whose employer has confirmed has now disappeared into thin air. Without collecting his final paycheck. I've had security compile a few images of the young man." He offered the DVD to McGee.
It was probably nothing.
But they were all anxious for Tony to return.
Gibbs' gut was contagious. And his team's collective gut was saying there was something hinky about the young disappearing vending man. And about their boss regularly receiving purple satin envelopes.
