When things go to hell, they tend to get there rather quickly.
One second, Kessler was standing in front of Plassmann, listening to him speak that vile name, and the next, Plassmann was face down on the table, his arm wrenched up behind his back by a very angry Agent McGee.
"Do not touch her," McGee said sharply.
"I just… I wanted to tell her how sorry I am that this happened!" Plassmann cried, his voice muffled by cold steel.
Meanwhile, DiNozzo pulled Karras out of the chaos of the room, and Gibbs pulled McGee off Plassmann.
The psychologist straightened, looking straight at Kessler, who stood trembling across the table, a protective Ziva at her side. "I'm sorry, Morgan. I remember you from all those years ago, and I'm sorry that this has happened to you."
She nodded, then allowed Ziva to lead her from the room.
"May I go now?" Plassmann asked Gibbs, who nodded and jerked his toward the door. Plassmann gave McGee a glare and left the room, leaving McGee and Gibbs.
"Want to tell me what that was all about?" Gibbs asked.
McGee tugged the sleeves of his jacket down. "What you said, about putting her in the room with a killer… I guess I just overreacted."
Gibbs was silent a moment. Then he said, "Ya think, McGee?"
***
The team gathered in the squad room, all looking tired and frustrated, and trying not to let Kessler see the depths of those feelings. It was late Wednesday night, but it had already been a long week.
Gibbs told DiNozzo and McGee to go home, that he and Ziva would take Kessler back to the safe house where she would spend the night with Agent Woodson.
Once that trio had left, Tony looked over at McGee, who sighed in relief.
Tony would have been amused had he not had the image in his head of misaligned buttons and McGee slamming a suspect on a table. He rubbed a hand over his face. "I don't know why he didn't chew you out, either, Probie, but don't look a gift horse in the mouth, you know?"
McGee didn't speak. He just gathered his things and headed for the door. Tony caught up with him at the elevator. "You want to grab some dinner?"
"Not really," McGee said, not looking at his partner. "I just want to go home."
"Just a drink?" Tony pressed, wanting to have some time to talk with the junior agent. "I'll buy."
McGee stepped onto the elevator and turned to face Tony, who hadn't moved. "I said no, DiNozzo."
Tony let the doors slide close on McGee without a word. He sighed tiredly. The talk would have to wait.
***
Gibbs walked into the squad room the next morning and almost spit out his coffee at the sight of his senior agent already at his desk and on the phone. Gibbs found himself checking DiNozzo's face for signs of pain—he had experience with the lingering effects of knee injuries, and he'd wrecked his only once.
But all he found in the green eyes was fatigue, and he wondered how long DiNozzo had been here. Gibbs knew he'd gone home at some point because he'd changed his clothes. Gibbs noted the somber black suit and dark shirt and tie and wondered why DiNozzo had chosen this particular armor. It never failed: The sharper the clothes, the more distressed DiNozzo was.
Before Gibbs could wonder any more about DiNozzo—and the possible connection to his other male agent's behavior—the phone on his desk rang. DiNozzo was just hanging up his own and their eyes met for a fraction of a second, but that was all that was needed.
"Yeah, where?" Gibbs said into the phone before listening for a moment and hanging up. He found green eyes watching him.
"Another one," DiNozzo said, not needing Gibbs' nod for a confirmation.
"Definitely dead this time?" Tony asked, a fine shiver running down his back at seeing Morgan recoiling from his touch all over again.
"Definitely dead," Gibbs said, grabbing his badge and gun. He handed Tony the scrap of paper with the location. "Call Ziva and have her meet us there. McGee, too. Woodson can stay with Kessler a little longer."
DiNozzo hesitated for a tiny moment. "Maybe we shouldn't mess up the schedule, Boss. Routine is all Kessler has right now."
Gibbs nodded, watching his agent closely. "All right. We'll do without McGee then."
***
"Hey, McGee," Woodson greeted him.
"Good morning," McGee greeted, wondering where Morgan was.
"Bed," Woodson answered the silent question. A frown tugged at her features. "She had a pretty rough night. Woke up screaming at least three times."
McGee shook his head. "I knew that lineup was a bad idea."
Woodson put a sympathetic hand on McGee's arm and left. McGee locked the door behind her and made his way down the hall to the back bedroom. Morgan was curled up on her side, tears streaming down her pale cheeks.
"Tim!" she cried. "I'm so glad you're here."
He shrugged out of his jacket and put his gun on the nightstand, his heart breaking for her. He sat on the bed and let her melt against his side. He murmured softly into her dark hair and stroked circles on her back.
"Everything is going to be okay," he said softly, wincing as his phone began vibrating.
She cried softly against his chest while he spoke. He hung up the phone and wrapped his arms tighter around her.
"What is it, Tim? What's wrong?"
"Another woman was killed," he said, remembering her admonishments when he tried to sugarcoat the truth. "Female Marine, beaten, raped and strangled. They found her body on base this morning."
Morgan shuddered, her small frame trembling in McGee's arms. "Are you going to have to leave?" she asked, her voice frightened and small.
"No, I'm staying right here," McGee said. "My team is good—the best. They'll be fine without me."
McGee held Morgan and tried not to think about the look that had crossed Tony's face the previous night right before those elevator doors shut. He felt a tiny bit guilty about brushing off Tony's obvious concern, but he was an adult and didn't need a babysitter. Or a heart-to-heart with his overly concerned partner. McGee could handle it.
All thoughts of Tony and his team disappeared as Morgan began crying again, her broken sobs pulling at his heartstrings.
***
"How much of that is real blood?" Ziva asked, eyeing the posed body of the latest victim, who was dressed as a vampire and covered in a sticky red substance.
"I'd say all of it," Ducky said, kneeling beside the young, blond Marine. "I'd say cause of death was strangulation again, but the throat was cut post-mortem. Likely to stage this ugly scene."
"Time?" Gibbs asked, watching DiNozzo pull an ID out of the woman's boot.
"Between 10 and midnight last night," Ducky answered. "Who is our poor girl, Anthony?"
DiNozzo paled as he read the name on the ID, his eyes flicking back and forth between the photo and the body. "PFC Celia Blackburn," he said, trying hard not to choke on the name.
Ducky was suddenly standing at his elbow. "Are you all right, Anthony?"
DiNozzo met Gibbs' eyes and watched the realization flood the icy-blue orbs. "Goddammit!"
Ducky still looked perplexed, so Tony said, "She was a running buddy of a previous victim. I interviewed her—twice. And we used…" He had to stop. He took a deep breath and the overwhelming coppery scent of blood had him swallowing hard. He pressed a fist to his mouth. Hell, I haven't puked at a scene since I was a rookie.
"I used her clothing when we set up the bait the other night," Ziva said, shuddering. "I wore her clothing," she said again softly.
"He's playing with us," Gibbs spat. "He saw our set-up and chose not to take the bait."
"It's gotta be either Plassmann or Karras, right?" DiNozzo asked, and Ducky was glad to see that some of the color had returned to his cheeks. "But why did he take Tuesday off?"
"If it's Plassmann or Karras," Ziva said, "that means he left the lineup and went straight to kill."
"Probably took Tuesday off from the shock of leaving Kessler alive," Ducky said. "That would be my guess. And it's likely that you angered the killer and now he's changing his method, making it more gruesome."
Tony stood staring down at the woman with whom he'd flirted just days earlier. He tried not to think of that smiling young face, but he could hear her voice, her musical laughter, and his gut twisted. He was glad he'd skipped breakfast. He leaned down suddenly, his eagle eyes catching sight of a single hair standing out against the long black dress.
"Boss," he called, fighting to keep the giddiness out of his voice. "I've got a hair."