AN: Please, first of all, note the changed rating.

Now, don't get me wrong, we didn't go into it expecting we could win the tournament. All we wanted was a team that would make us proud.

For the past month, in primary schools all over England, children have been making scrapbooks about South Africa, or players. They've been choosing teams to support, painting flags, sticking pins in maps, and learning about the country they've chosen. They've listened to National Anthems, made vuvuzelas, and written their own England songs. And that lackadaisical collection of headless chickens and their hopeless Desperate Dan of a manager LET THEM DOWN.

Me, angry?

Poisoned Poison

Chapter 11

Blossom yawned and scratched herself. There was far too much of this noise thing that humans seemed to do so much of when they were together in a pack, and not nearly enough of the running around thing that packs should do. Kent understood, and reached his hand down to fuss her. "Soon, Bloss, soon."

Everyone looked at the patient little dog for a moment, then they all sat round the table again. Jenny said "Keep me up to date," and left, for which Tony was grateful. He knew that when the Director took a personal interest in a case, it was just that; a former agent still wanting to act like one. Gibbs, however, tended to see it as a slur on his competence, and go on the defensive. Now the Senator had left, there was no need for Jenny to be there, and Tony was relieved to see that she knew it.

"Stork confirmed," Kent said heavily, "that Ben Warner was the guy who bought the three speedballs. We're assuming at the moment that his friend was the target, but we need to find out. Nothing in the background of the two marines suggests any sort of link so far. Alex pulled Dennis Brackett in, the guy Stork bought his car from; he didn't have anything to arrest him for, but that's how Alex works. He roughed him up a bit publicly… If he lets people cover their backs, they'll usually talk to him. Especially if there's something in it for them."

Gibbs raised a questioning eyebrow, but Kent shook his head. Tony's quid pro quo remark went through his mind. He didn't like turning a blind eye to anything at all; he guessed that was the parent in him, but if the overlooking of something minor brought in major information, he had to grit his teeth and bear it. "You don't want to know, Gibbs. Anyway, the guy answered his questions, off the record."

"So, you sold the car to Stork. Where'd you get it?"

"Williamson gave it to me."

"Gave?"

"Oh, yeah. He had me driving all over the east coast delivering, collecting… stuff… that compartment never got found. Great life… on the road in a good car…" His face twisted wryly.

"So what happened?"

"He discovered I was a good chemist. Took me off the road, into the lab, had me making, and cutting, and set me up with a group to supply. He's a bad'n, Agent Hahn, I didn't argue with him. I asked what about the car. He said keep it, sell it, I don't give a shit."

Kent grimaced. "We hadn't heard Tony's quantum leap at the time, so I hadn't asked him to show a picture of Ben Warner. But the Williamson he described is about right. He's one of the select few that Williamson deals with directly. That comment of Stork's about the guy sneering at the car… that'd bothered me, so I'm glad to have it resolved."

"It suits what we are learning of Ben Warner's nature," Ziva said sadly, thinking of the Senator. "His opinion of Stork is low, so he sneers when he sees him so proud of a car he did not care enough to bother with."

"The two goons you and Ziva brought in," Gibbs said, looking across at Tony, "can't confirm anything specific, but they both agree that Sablea wanted to set the Senator up for a fall by corrupting his son. They say he pretended to like William to get close, but wanted to bring down the man who'd put up such a stand against drugs and corruption in high places."

"Both of which," Tony agreed, "Sablea is armpit deep in. A man with no moral fibre, targeting someone because he has what he lacks." The SFA's eyes went dark, and Gibbs knew he was thinking about his father.

"So," the senior agent went on firmly, "We know that Sablea wants Tressel to make an example of him. We know that Williamson's after him too, although Melvin didn't know why, just that there's an underworld BOLO out on him –"

Again, it was Tony, the super-connector of random dots, who said slowly, "…Unless he was the other person in the bed. The unknown DNA male. The non-user."

Gibbs frowned, but it was more curious than contradicting. "Explain."

"Ice-hockey player… serious sportsman, less likely to do hard drugs. High up chain dealer, ditto. Sends his I want Chaz message out through HIV clinics. Why? Melvin confirmed that was where he'd been told to ask. What if… we know unprotected sex took place. What if, Williamson's found out Chaz is HIV, is worried that he's been given it, and he wants revenge?"

They all sat in shocked silence for a moment. It was far-fetched… it was entirely likely. Ziva said, "I will go back and ask Melvin if Williamson knows that Chaz is infected."

"I'll go and see if Ben Warner's DNA is on record anywhere," Tim said.

"It wouldn't be any use his taking a test yet," Tony said thoughtfully. "It can be six months before the antibodies show in the blood. Knowing he's got to wait that long is going to make him pretty mad."

"We need to warn the clinics that other people are looking out for the guy we put the BOLO on," Kent said, "And we need to contact all the illegal medicine suppliers we can. I'll get my team to help. If you're right, Tony, and it feels right, time's running out for Chaz."

NCISNCISNCISNCIS

For a man like Oscar Sablea, keeping track of his many interests was essential. In the case of Ben Warner, it was simple. Assign him a second in command who knew what he was doing, to show him the ropes, and report on his progress. Rufe Clark was competent, level headed, and loyal… to Sablea, that was. When Ben had remarked, rather sourly one day about word getting back quickly, the other man had simply laughed. "Don't you want the boss to know how well you're doing?"

After receiving the latest report from Clark, Oscar put the phone down quietly and sat thinking. He was used to having to adapt quickly; if a situation turned bad, there was usually a way of rectifying things, or turning them to your own advantage, but he was thinking he'd end up having to do it one too many times with the boy. Someone who acted on the spur of the moment, and only saw the short term and the personally pleasing, would turn out a liability if he wasn't already.

It hadn't taken him long to work out that the deaths of three young men, one of them Ben's friend, shortly after the boy had visited Stork, was never likely to be a coincidence… His own ill-considered attempt to buy off the local DEA chief still rankled with him; he had been acting on the spur of the moment himself, always a Bad Idea, to clear up the boy's mess. Trying to persuade him to leave Chaz to him had been the thin disguise for his real purpose: offer him Stork and hope he wouldn't dig any deeper.

Clearly the dossier on Fuller had not been anything like informative enough. Once he met him, and the intriguing colleague from an agency whose existence he'd scarcely considered, and on whom he had no dossier at all, for all his smooth insinuations, he'd realised his miscalculation, and he was still smarting about it. One of them was so ill he could hardly stand up, and yet they defied him… and the guns of his men… and for a complete loser they didn't even know. Two things now seemed obvious.

Firstly, although there was nothing on paper, the boy could lead back to him, and knew too much about his organisation for that to be safe. Secondly, those two agents, now he had unfortunately drawn their attention to him, were not going to let it be deflected again. They were clearly brave, and implacable, and they just as clearly didn't like him. It was probably too late, they would have told colleagues of what transpired, but nevertheless, he'd be happier when he knew they were permanently out of the picture.

NCISNCISNCISNCIS

Ben Warner sat in his car; parked in the darkest corner, under the low ceiling of a crowded, anonymous multi-storey parking lot. He looked round, for the twentieth time; he was pretty certain he'd finally given that leech Clark the slip. It used to be simple; but since John and those two other guys had died, he'd been unable to breathe for the presence of his shadow. Clearly, Nice Uncle Oscar's sneak had told him about it, and conclusions had been drawn. He supposed that the reason for Oscar ordering Clark to stay close was to keep him out of more mischief, but he'd handle things himself, thank you.

Having a mentor turned out to be not all he'd thought it would be, and he wondered if the reason he'd been chosen wasn't his own 'potential' after all, but a recognised and shared desire to get back at his father. Father… pillar of moral rectitude, held in high regard, loved by all; while he… he had to take his few friends, and his comforts, where he could in the shadowy world of loveless meetings and shallow relationships that such as his father couldn't even comprehend. And where'd that got him? A one night, unprotected stand with a nobody who was positive? And didn't tell him?

He threw his cigarette butt out of the window, and lit another one, slowly teasing his brain with a theory that had seemed ridiculous, until it began to take root. The guy had had some of the best coke he'd ever been near… judging by the high he went on, and the crazy sex that had followed. He hadn't taken seriously the jerk's ravings about plenty more where that came from… not at the time.

But he'd heard… oh, yeah, he was quite capable of listening to Nice Uncle Oscar's conversations, if Nice Uncle Oscar was going to spy on him… $2,000.000 worth of spark, and one low-life had got it… it was Chaz. His one night freaking stand… it had to be. And his end of the operation was a lot closer to the street than Oscars… he could find him first.

Dennis Brackett wasn't above playing the ends off against the middle, and his run in with Alex Hahn told him something was going on. Rumours, some crazy, some credible, had been flying around for days, and when Williamson had asked him to locate one coke junkie, it was easy for a guy with his ear to the ground. He slid into the passenger seat of the car in the dark corner.

"Yeah, Chaz Tressel," he said smugly. "I found him."

NCISNCISNCISNCIS

It had been a fine church once; not far from the waterside, with a wealthy congregation, judging by what was left of its former finery. But as the area had become more industrial, the wealthy congregation had wrinkled their noses, and moved further out. The minister had been sent to new pastures, the building had been deconsecrated, and the salvagers had moved in. Then came the dispute over ownership of the land, and everything had come to a halt. For six weeks now, nothing had stirred on the site, except for one feral tomcat, who found church mice plentiful, and to his liking.

"Here… kitty kitty…" the words were slurred, and the cat regarded the speaker with disdain, sticking his ginger tail in the air and swaggering away. Chaz Tressel shrugged. "Didn't want to talk to you anyway," he spat. He looked around the place, his lip curling. Oak pews… wood that must have cost a fortune, seasoned, stained and polished lovingly, now stacked six high, haphazardly, scratched and gouged. He tilted his head back, to say hello to the plaster angels along the cornice, who'd watched over him while he slept last night. Judging by the state of them, the salvagers had been taking pot shots at them with bits of brick. Broken like him… maybe that's why they'd guarded him…

On the ground near him, rich colours exposed where he'd reached out a curious hand and wiped the dust away, were the pipes from the half dismantled organ. Crimson, gold and deep forest green that must have been contemplated with admiration by many a worshipper… What was left of the instrument, (only a few of the high treble pipes were still in place, not that Chaz recognised them,) gaped, minus its manuals, on the opposite wall. He'd pressed the starter idly while exploring his hiding place, when he'd squeezed through the broken vestry door yesterday. To his astonishment, the power was still on, and without mechanism to hold it back, air began to rush through all the pipes at once, with an eerie, breathy, high pitched whistling sound. Startled, and a little freaked, he'd hit the button again, to stop the blower.

Now he looked across again and giggled. The organ still held a secret… his secret… He took another pull at his can of beer… it was his fourth, and he'd need all of it and the next two, if he was going to sleep in this place again, but he had to hide somewhere.

Dammit, he'd recognised the guy as one of Williamson's as soon as he'd come into the clinic, and the way the guy was looking at him… he had to leave his prescription behind… when he ran. It was either wait until whatever it was had died down, and go back first thing one morning to collect, or go and get some from Happy Jack or some other quack. There wasn't enough money left for that, and he needed to keep enough back for a greyhound ticket, so that when the coast was clear, he could leave town and go somewhere where he could sell the stash, and live happily ever after, whatever that was.

All he'd done was take some stuff that nobody wanted… he wasn't a crook, was he? He hadn't killed anybody, had he? Why was everybody… well, Williamson… after him? What harm had he ever done? He looked up at the angels. "What harm have I ever done?" he yelled mournfully at them. They didn't answer, and the echoes of his voice died away.

NCISNCISNCISNCIS

Ziva arrived back to report what Mel Heysham had said. Williamson wasn't saying why he wanted Chaz, but it was rumoured that he was gay, and since he was ordering his people to watch clinics, they were all putting two and two together. "He says it does not matter how low down the chain you are, you can still do sums," she concluded.

Kent took his patient little dog for a walk; Ziva, feeling cooped up, went with them. Tony ordered Pizza, with extras for Blossom, and ended up paying again. Tim rubbed his eyes and got a hard look from Gibbs; Tony took to furtively rubbing his chest and shoulder again, and thought Gibbs hadn't noticed. Kent and Ziva brought coffee back, and as they distributed it, the DEA chief's phone buzzed. He listened for a moment and sighed. "A lot of legwork, but none of the medicine quacks have seen Tressel," he reported, and the bullpen fell silent. There was the occasional sad remark, when thoughts turned to William Warner; everyone felt they were finally getting close to the end of the Starling saga, and were relieved, until they thought of what lay ahead for one good man, no matter what they did.

Tony shook his head in frustration. "There really is no way we can make things better this time, Boss…"

"Nope," Gibbs said ruefully. "We didn't make this, Tony… not down to us to mend it… even if anyone could."

AN: Crazy to leave the power on in an abandoned building… bear with me here…