"They hate us. I'm tellin' you, they hate us," Tony grumbled in annoyance as he and Gibbs idled in the D.C. Metro lobby the next morning. All the magazines were at least a year and a half old, though no doubt DiNozzo wouldn't have been so upset if they'd had the decency to stock Sports Illustrated. Gibbs knew better than to even bother looking at the reading material.
"They don't hate us, Tony," Gibbs contradicted him dryly. "They hate you."
Tony grimaced in annoyance; he and the Washington, D.C., Metropolitan Police Department didn't exactly have an amicable relationship, and it showed every time the two agencies interacted. "Thanks for reminding me of that, Boss," he replied dryly.
"Hello, Agent wonderful to see you again," a familiar voice drawled. "Get arrested for breaking into any impound lots lately? Oh, Agent Gibbs, too. Pleasure." Detective Danny Sportelli sauntered out into the lobby, clearly taking his time and enjoying every second of it.
Tony plastered on his best used car salesman grin, no doubt wanting to irk the other man as much as possible in payback for making them wait. And the bit about his expunged arrest. "Ah, Sportelli. So nice to see you again, D.C. Metro and NCIS working hand-in-hand like the brothers in law enforcement we are. Well, believe it or not, you have someone we want."
"Two people, Detective," Gibbs amended, fixing Sportelli with a steely glare. He didn't appreciate being made to wait around while Sportelli ate... whatever that was that he'd spilled on his shirt. Though he wished that DiNozzo wouldn't intentionally antagonize the man at this point.
Sportelli crossed his arms over his chest, almost reflexively hostile. "Look, Agent Gibbs, contrary to popular belief, the world doesn't revolve around you guys. We don't answer to NCIS," he snapped. "Who is it you're after, and why?"
Tony handed Detective Sportelli the file. "That would be none other 'Little Bobby' Freeman and Tom Cassidy, who you apparently have in custody for possession of stolen property."
The detective's eyebrows came together in a derisive frown. "Those two jack-asses? What did those idiots do to upset the Navy, anyway? Rob some blitzed sailor blind and leave him in his underwear?" Sportelli scoffed sarcastically at DiNozzo.
"They murdered a sailor and assaulted a Canadian police officer," Gibbs impatiently interrupted. He definitely wasn't in the mood for a pissing contest between Sportelli and DiNozzo. There were infinitely more important issues at stake here.
"Wait, does this have anything to do with that 187 where they found a second guy in the dumpster?" the detective asked, his eyes narrowing. "Damn, that guy was a cop?" Sportelli sighed, deflating, and the aggravation and defiance seemed to drain out of him as he looked at the file.
"A Canadian cop, so I guess he'll be the most polite assault victim you ever met - if he ever gets out of the coma," Tony quipped caustically. Gibbs was seriously tempted to slap Tony upside the head, but he refused to do it in front of Sportelli.
The detective, however, didn't seem to hear Tony's sarcastic comment. He simply closed the file and shook his head slightly. "Damn," Sportelli softly swore again, more to himself than to DiNozzo or Gibbs this time. "I haven't had the chance to go through all the stolen property we took off them when they were brought in. I have about a thousand other cases..."
"What can you tell us about these two, Sportelli?" Gibbs asked, interrupting the man's inner self-flagellation. He wasn't going to waste time while the detective beat himself up over this. Scarlatti's mother (and whoever doubtless accompanied her, though he'd bet good money on Greg Parker) would be landing in Washington shortly.
"I knew this was going to happen sooner or later, as soon as Little Bobby got together with Tom Cassidy. It was like the match made in hell. Little Bobby used to be into petty theft, small time stuff, but he had these delusions of grandeur. Then he made friends with Cassidy, and they came up with this routine. They would go down an alley, and Cassidy would pretend to attack Little Bobby, like a mugging or whatever. Some hapless would-be rescuer sees a big dude beating up on a helpless little guy, and wham! Suddenly, Bobby's not so helpless anymore, and you have to cancel all your credit cards after you get out of the hospital. We actually busted 'em for it once, but we didn't have enough to hold them. Smug bastards. Little Bobby's just got one of those faces, you know?" Detective Sportelli shook his head in frustration. "You got the evidence to nail them for this?" he asked grimly.
"Do fingerprints and DNA count as evidence?" replied DiNozzo.
After a moment, the detective smiled tightly as he handed the file back to DiNozzo. "They're all yours."
The flight seemed to last forever after Greg and Spike's mom boarded the plane, but in reality, it was probably only an hour and a half at most from the time they finally took off from Toronto after excruciating delays on the tarmac. Thanks to Ed's stubborn friendship (what had he done to deserve a friend like Ed?), Greg was back in control of his emotions again; Spike needed him, and so did his mother. By the time the plane landed in Washington D.C., the sun was peeking over the horizon. Somewhat to Greg's surprise, waiting for them just past customs was a man holding a sign that read "Scarlatti" in large, bold letters. The man was in his early thirties, wearing a suit and tie that seemed more expensive than one would typically expect for a federal agent, though the suit was clearly a few years old.
Standing next to him was an exotic-looking woman with long, dark hair pulled back in a simple ponytail. In contrast to her partner's attire, she was wearing a T-shirt and hip-hugging cargo pants. Both, however, had gold shields clipped to their belts, as well as SIG-Sauers at their sides.
"Welcome to Washington D.C.," the man said as they approached him. "I'm Special Agent Timothy McGee, and this is Ziva David. We're with NCIS." Both McGee and his fellow agent had dark rings under their eyes as hallmarks of a very long night. It was oddly comforting to Greg.
"Agent Gibbs told us to come meet you at the airport and take you to the hospital where Constable Scarlatti is," Agent David explained, her voice touched by an unfamiliar accent that Greg pegged as possibly Israeli, if her name was anything to go by.
He felt a swell of relief and gratitude at her words as he firmly shook McGee's proffered hand. Agent Gibbs's courtesy hadn't been necessary, but it was definitely appreciated. "Thank you, thank you both. And tell Agent Gibbs 'thank you,' too. I'm Greg Parker, Toronto SRU. This is Mrs. Scarlatti, Constable Scarlatti's mother."
Agent David nodded respectfully, though McGee smiled in open sympathy at the woman. "It's an honor to meet you, ma'am," he assured her kindly. "I really wish it could've been under better circumstances. Your son and I share similar interests. I was at the same convention he attended." McGee had an open, honest face; Greg had no trouble reading the genuine concern and kindness in his words. His partner, on the other hand, was far more closed off.
"Thank you, Agent McGee," Mrs. Scarlatti replied, her voice breaking slightly; she had barely said a word since Ed had dropped them off at the airport. She'd spent the entire flight fingering the beads of her Rosary and looking out the window at the gradually brightening sky. "If you love your work with the same passion as my Michelangelo, you must be a happy man, indeed. Now, please, take me to my son."
The worst nightmares aren't nightmares at all.
"Spike," he heard Lou say in his headset.
"Yeah, bud?" he replied - he was so sure that Lou would be alright, the weight transfer would work. This was the job, this was what they did everyday. They'd go out for beers later, and laugh about how Lou was stupid enough to step on a booby trap. Everything was going to be alright.
"Lou!" he prompted when his friend didn't immediately respond.
"It's gonna be okay," Lou said shakily, his voice cracking, heavy with tears.
"Lou?"
Spike knew exactly what was going to happen a moment before Lou stepped off the landmine. He knew, and there was nothing, not a damn thing, he could do.
And then, all he could hear was the explosion which tore through his best friend, sending him flying through the air - though Lewis Young was long gone before his body hit the ground.
Spike couldn't hear anything else, not even the sound of his own scream. He was sure that he must have been screaming.
Author's Notes:
"187" is police code for a murder.
Detective Danny Sportelli of the D.C. Metro Police appeared in NCIS episodes "The Inside Man" and "Enemy on the Hill."
Lou Young's tragic death occurred in season 2, episode 10 of Flashpoint, "One Wrong Move." The short dialogue between him and Spike comes from that episode. It is one of the most poignant scenes in the entire series.
