Y'all are lucky I'm so stressed atm—it's excellent incentive to write.
"Good Morning, San Franciscooo," Tony announced with a grin as he waltzed into Abby's lab, clearly feeling better after solid night's rest in his own bed. Instead of the exuberant welcome Tony was clearly expecting, Abby aggressively hushed him loudly enough that she might as well have spoken normally.
"Be quiet, Danny's still sleeping!"
"Still?" Tony did nothing to lower his voice, "Well, Gibbs sent me down here to collect the kid and feed 'em. Looks like sleeping beauty's in for a rude awakening."
Abby seemed scandalized by the prospect, "Well then Gibbs is just gonna have to wait; Danny deserves all the rest he can get." She seemed to have forgotten she was supposed to be whispering. Regardless, Tony wasn't paying her much attention, instead eyeing the kid and trying to decide how best to wake him.
"How on earth did he fall asleep like that anyway? Looks like his neck's about to snap in half," Tony was right about how uncomfortable Danny's sleeping position looked, but he didn't dwell on the thought much, instead making his decision.
"It's just a testament to how exhausted he was—further proof he should be allowed to sleep," Abby forged ahead, giving Tony a warning look as he snagged and subsequently balled up a scrap piece of paper. "I'm serious, Tony, just leave the kid alone."
Instead of heading Abby's lecture, Tony instead took aim and let the paper ball fly on a trajectory towards the sleeping teen's face. The arc was perfect, just the right balance of spin and thrust; Tony held his breath in expectation. But it was not meant to be. Seconds before the imminent collision, Danny's eyes shot open and—were they a bright green?—he smoothly dodged out of the way, rolling out of the chair before taking cover behind one of Abby's lab tables. There was an awkward, shocked silence before Danny peeked over the table, his hair impressively rumpled considering he slept in a chair. His eyes were definitely blue this time.
Seeing a surprised Tony and affronted Abby, it didn't take long to piece together what had happened. Concern quickly bleeding into annoyance, Danny stood the rest of the way up and threw an annoyed glare at Tony.
"Was that really necessary?"
Tony quickly unfroze, opening his mouth to speak only to be silenced by Abby punching his arm "OW!"
"No, it wasn't," Abby gave Tony a look that was easily interpreted as 'apologize now!'
Tony sighed, realizing it was now two on one—McGee had left on a coffee run not too long ago—and sucked it up, "Fine, sorry for throwing a harmless ball of paper at you."
"And…?" Danny's glare had quickly morphed into a smirk once he realized the control Abby had over him.
Tony sighed in exasperation, "And scaring you half to death."
"Only half?" Danny's eyes seemed to laugh at some inside joke, not that Tony could make sense of it.
"Well, you're still alive, aren't you?" Tony decided to just brush the comment aside, "How about I treat you to some pizza to make up for it?"
"Pizza?" Danny's stomach growled loudly at the thought, "Isn't it like a little early for pizza?"
"Not so much, kid. It's nearly one," Tony responded triumphantly, "Now do you want food or not?"
It didn't take Danny long to make his decision, "Yeah, I'm down. What's it gonna cost me?"
"Nothing much, just sitting down with a sketch artist."
Danny nodded in acquiescence and gave Abby a wave on his way out the door.
It didn't take long for Gibbs and McGee to fill the vacancy in Abby's lab, the latter returning to his computer to work.
"What'cha got, Abbs?"
Abby didn't seem too surprised either, smiling a quick greeting and spinning to her computer to pull up a couple of visuals, "So Miss Mass Spec finished with the sample, but you're not going to like it."
"What is it?"
"That's just it—she doesn't know!" Abby seemed genuinely frustrated by this fact, "I've never seen anything like it; the molecular structure is incredibly unique. I've got McGee running it through every database we can think of, but it's not going very well. We've already been at it for hours," here Abby's voice took on a hint of a whine. "And that's not to mention the problem with Danny's shirt."
Gibbs' eyebrow rose, "What's wrong with his shirt?"
Rather than just answer Abby crossed the few paces to the evidence table and grabbed the bag with Danny's shirt. Without so much as a warning, she tore the shirt out of the bag and shoved it in Gibbs' face. After Gibbs' initial recoil from the supposedly bloody shirt he noticed an odd odor.
"Is that… cola?"
"Coke to be exact, mixed with some fruit punch flavored Gatorade. I noticed it looked odd when I first pulled it out; I don't know what I was expecting when I tested it, but it definitely wasn't this," Abby seemed exasperated; she hated it when evidence was messed with. "I don't know why, but for some reason Danny really doesn't want us to have a blood sample."
Gibbs' eyebrows furrowed in thought before turning a reproachful look towards McGee, "How about you, McGee? Care to explain why our witness apparently bleeds cola?"
The fear in McGee's eyes was obvious even from across the room—he hadn't messed up that badly in months. Before he could get out much more than an articulate "uhhhhh," his computer started beeping. His eyes immediately snapped back to the monitor and he couldn't hide his relief, "Looks like I've got a hit on the mystery substance!" He really hoped this could make Gibbs overlook his mistake.
"Really! Let me see," Abby bounced over followed by a less enthusiastic Gibbs. Unfortunately, none of them got to see as the second McGee clicked on the results, his computer started sounding off all sorts of warnings and error messages. McGee quickly reacted, his fingers flying across his keyboard as various files flew across the screen.
"What's happening?" Gibbs, not entirely familiar with most modern technology, knew enough to recognize that something was wrong even if he didn't know exactly what it was.
"We're being hacked!" Abby exclaimed, clearly offended; McGee seemed to be too focused to response. "They must have laid a trap on the info we were trying to see that was activated as soon as we tried to access it."
"They're trying to steal all of our info on the case!" McGee exclaimed, eyes never straying and fingers not stopping.
"Well, stop them, McGee!" Gibbs demanded as if it were as simple as asking them to leave.
"I'm trying, boss, but they're good, and they caught me by surprise," sweat began dripping down McGee's brow, "I don't think I can stop them from seeing anything at this point, but I can stop them from tampering with any of it." Sure enough, after sifting through the case's files, the hacker tried to move them to their own computer. "Just a few more seconds… There!" With McGee's exclamation the computer returned to normal, all of the warnings and alerts closing. "Sorry, boss, but they definitely managed to look through our files—they didn't get a copy though."
Gibbs looked thoughtful, "Don't apologize, it's a sign of weakness."
Abby still just looked surprised, "Where on earth were you looking, McGee?"
"Some obscure branch of the government called the GIW."
An expensive, heavily tinted black car smoothly pulled up to NCIS headquarters' security checkpoint, the engine a quiet purr as it was put into park. The young guard on duty stepped out from his kiosk and rapped on the driver's window. Without further prompting the window was rolled down, revealing a rather short man with a thick mustache and dark shades covering his eyes. His graying hair, coupled with a black bowtie and red sweater vest, gave off a butler-y vibe that matched his role as chauffer.
"Name and ID, please," the officer was bored, the question coming out in a well-rehearsed monotone. The short man smoothly pulled out two IDs and handed them over to the officer.
"Bertrand Ward and Penelope Spectra; Director Shepard is expecting us," the newly dubbed Bertrand's voice rolled off the tongue with ease, clearly confident in their acceptance onto the property.
The officer looked over the IDs before glancing back up at Bertrand, "I'm going to need you to roll down the back window too; I need to see both of you."
Bertrand complied, rolling down the back window and revealing Dr. Penelope Spectra. Her red hair was pulled up into a professional bun, her sharp widow's peak framing her smooth, young face and confident smirk. Her black blazer and matching pencil skirt did nothing to hide her lean, feminine frame and the young officer couldn't help but notice that the top button on her white blouse had come undone, revealing the slightest hint of lace. Of course, Spectra noticed his gaze and relished in his attention, using his attraction as a mirror for her vanity. It's not like she cared for such an insignificant human, after all.
After snapping his jaw shut, the guard returned their IDs and waved them through, convinced of their right to be there. Both of the windows rolled back up and the car rolled forward towards visitor's parking. Spectra uncrossed and re-crossed her legs, sighing as she re-buttoned her blouse—professionalism was required for the meeting with the Director. From what she'd heard, the Director was a woman, and, unfortunately, straight. One less advantage. Not that they were particularly necessary at this point; she had long since established herself as the leading authority on traumatized teens, particularly ones involved in criminal investigations.
Spectra's ever-present grin only widened as she thought about what a wonderful gig she had going at the moment. It was only too easy to manipulate young victims into doing whatever it is she wanted. All it took were a couple of private sessions with her, a nightly visit or two from Bertrand (in the appropriate form, of course), and they simply cracked like an egg. Prosecutors were happy to have talking, cooperative witnesses; she was happy to suck off their misery for her personal rejuvenation; Bertrand got to scare the afterlife out of people—it was a win-win. Well, maybe not for her food, but it's not like they actually mattered. No, Penelope Spectra was living the good life. She only had one regret, one delightfully delicious meal that managed to get away: freaky little Danny Fenton.
She couldn't help but lick her lips at the thought—so much misery in one convenient little package, and he hadn't even experienced half the tragedy the kids she now worked with had! Of course, just like every other ghost, she had heard about the explosion, how Danny's family and friends had not only died, but done so right in front of the little freak's eyes. That combined with the last year or so on the run from Vlad… she could hardly imagine how absolutely scrumptious he must now be! Not to mention the sizable bounty on his head curtesy of one Vlad Masters. Her mouth watered at the thought as she fantasized about Danny's misery like most women fantasize about a particularly delectable morsel of chocolate.
But, unfortunately, the ghost child had disappeared practically without a trace about a year back. What was a girl to do?
Spectra straightened her blazer, setting her shoulders and putting on her professional face as the elevator dinged and the doors opened. Bertrand, ever the faithful servant, was two steps behind her as she walked out onto the main floor of NCIS. A maze of cubicles lay to her left while a wall of windows was to her right. She knew from previous emails that the Director's office was straight ahead and up the stairs, down the hall on the left. Without hesitation, Spectra strode down the faux hallway, green eyes giving the room a cursory scan. At least, until she saw a dark haired boy give out a puff of mist and stiffen, looking around for the threat. Spectra couldn't contain her grin of glee as she finally got a good look at a shocked Daniel Jackson Fenton.
She couldn't believe her luck. She had been called in to counsel a runaway who had witnessed a mugging gone wrong; she had never in her wildest dreams believed that it could possibly be him. She could sense the absolutely misery pouring off of him from across the room, a flavor now enhanced with fear. She wished she had a camera as his face was equally priceless: he had frozen upon seeing her, his eyes wide and mouth gaping in horror. No doubt he knew exactly who she was here to see. Forcing herself not to stare, Spectra waltzed past and privately enjoyed her appetizer, the growing emotion whetting her palate. She didn't want to preemptively tip her hand, so she continued up to Director Shepard's office, pretending not to recognize the teen.
The door to Director Shepard's office was open, leading into a waiting room with a secretary sitting behind a desk (and a mountain of paperwork) and a couple of sofas for waiting parties.
"Hello, I'm Dr. Spectra and this is my assistant, Mr. Ward. We have a meeting scheduled with Director Shepard."
"Of course, just let me inform Director Shepard that you're here," the secretary responded between forms, recognizing the odd name from the Director's schedule. She picked up her phone, dialing in the Director's extension; the Director picked up after the first ring. "Hello, Director, Dr. Spectra and her assistant, Mr. Ward, are here to see you. Should I send them on in?" There were a few seconds of silence as the Director responded before the secretary smiled, "Of course, Director."
Almost immediately after hanging up the phone, the doors leading to Director Shepard's private office opened, revealing the tall redhead, although her hair was not as vibrant as and much shorter than her guest's. "Thank you, Cynthia. I hope you haven't been left waiting, Dr. Spectra."
Spectra smiled charmingly in response, "Oh, of course not, Director; we have only just arrived."
"Excellent," here Shepard waved the two into her private quarters, "Would you like some tea? Coffee?"
"Tea would be lovely, thank you," Spectra maintained her winning smile as she waltzed into the office, taking a seat in one of two plush chairs. Bertrand opted to stand behind her, folder handy and ready to pass along any necessary documents.
"Cynthia, please bring by some tea when you have a moment."
"Of course, Director."
Shepard smiled before closing the doors, seating herself behind her desk and clasping her hands in front of her, "Thank you for meeting with me on such short notice; I know that you're a busy woman."
"Oh, it was no problem, really; anything to help a teen in need," Spectra responded in her sugary voice that she reserved exclusively for these sorts of meetings.
Shepard seemed a little put off by the cavity inducing tone, but pushed it aside—Spectra was the leading expert in her field for a reason, condescending or not. Cynthia returned a moment later with a tray of tea, placing it down on the small coffee table between the two chairs and transferring one of the cups to the Director's desk. Shepard thanked her once again as the secretary made her leave, closing the door behind her with a click.
"Before I begin my sessions, I was wondering if you could tell me a little bit about the poor, lost teen," Spectra asked before sipping from her tea (two lemon slices, no sugar).
Shepard paused a moment in thought before replying, "I honestly don't know too terribly much; Special Agent Gibbs, the agent assigned to the case, knows a lot more than I do. From what I've seen, the boy—he goes by Danny, I believe—has pretty severe trust issues as well as an unstable temper. I can tell he's a good kid, but he's obviously been through a lot."
Spectra hmm'd in thought before responding, "I see that a lot in my line of work, but don't worry—in just a few sessions I'm sure we'll be able to see dramatic improvement!"
Shepard smiled around her tea, "That's the hope. I've set up a conference room down the hall for your use; you shouldn't be interrupted and will have the necessary privacy."
"That's so thoughtful of you," Shepard missed the gleam in Spectra's eyes as she took another long sip of tea, "If you don't mind, I think I'll go ahead and set up. The sooner I'm ready, the sooner we can turn this kid's frown upside-down!"
Shepard grimaced once again at the cheesy one-liner, but nodded her assent, "I'll have Agent Gibbs bring the boy up."
Pretty important chapter, but I still have a few twists I haven't introduced.
The whole wake up scene was pretty trope-ic, but what can I say? I couldn't resist.
I feel like 'Guys In White' is def a nickname for the GIW, but I'm too lazy to think of my own title so w/e, they'll just be the 'GIW.' And let's be honest, someone who's obsessed with eternal youth/beauty would be a total attention whore.