A/N: Hello, all. Sorry for the delay...I've had a busy last few days. Before you confront me about any possible typos in my Authors' Notes, be aware that I have fake nails on, because I have a wedding to go to soon; I have not had fake nails since May/June, when I had prom and such that I decided to pamper myself for. ::smiles::. Okay, so, I also have a story to tell you, that if you don't wanna listen to, you don't have to. But here goes. Yesterday I shadowed a few lawyers and went to lunch with two of them. The first one I met was kinda weird; he was super nice and said hello to everyone. Think of him as Jimmy Palmer, only short. Then I went to lunch; I met a guy who had a Tony Nose. If you're a Tony fan, and are a girl, and find him hot, you obviously know what I mean. For those of you who don't, a Tony Nose is the perfect nose. It's not too long, or two short, or two weird-looking. And the guy had blue eyes, and Tony hair. He was a mature Tony. Very odd. So then I went back to the office and met a few more lawyers; the first one was nice and then the second one, and I swear I was not thinking about NCIS when I walked into her office, shocked me. She was an exact replica of Ziva Davíd, except Russian. It was hilarious, actually, because we were talking and her phone started going off, and she was like, "Ugh, he is bugging me." I felt like asking her if it was Tony, and if it was, could I please talk to him. But I refrained. She answered and began berating him in complete Russian. I was ilke, "Whoaaa, sounds like maybe you're talking to Eli, instead..." Only.. It was Russian, not Hebrew. But, you know what I mean. Anyway, that was my day yesterday and when I got home, I found three more seasons of NCIS in my mailbox. So. Amazing weekend, right? ::smiles:: Okay, now go read. Love, Kat.
I wake to the gentle rising and falling of Tony's chest, and the smell of searing meat, coffee, and Absinthe massage oil. The room is dark although the curtains are drawn, and I look out the window to see that it is past sunset. Not wanting to wake him, I slowly lift myself away from Tony and off of the bed, praying that the springs do not creak.
Creeping over to the door, I turn the lock as quietly as I can and let the door open from gravity. After slipping into the hall, I tiptoe down the stairs and into the kitchen.
Abby hurtles over to me, throwing her arms around my shoulders and nearly decapitating me. "Ana! Where've you been? Leroy and Tommy and I have been waiting for hours to hear from you." Squeezing me tighter one final time, I am thrown into a chair and stared down upon by not only a very angry Goth, but a fuming Gibbs.
"Bill Andrews, Buck's father, came by today, Leroy," I murmur, supplying him with the answer to the questions blazing in his eyes. "I sensed David was overwhelmed, so I suggested I give him a massage and then we fell asleep."
Gibbs merely stands there gazing at me, and there is one inquiry I have not yet been able to decipher.
"I do not believe our sex life is any of your business, Leroy. I apologise that we worried you. But we are newlyweds and he is the father of my child." Heat floods my face, most likely my chest and neck as well. "We watched movies all morning, talked, and went upstairs. There was a confrontation with Mr. Andrews and then we went and napped. Please do not look at me like that."
Blinking once, Gibbs turns to McGee and snaps, "Tommy, there's a bug on the wall. Smush it." The younger field agent nods, anxiety stamped on his forehead, and crosses the room to pluck the small microphone from behind a picture frame hung on the wall. When the microphone is safely tucked inside McGee's jacket, wrapped in a handkerchief to block out noise, Gibbs drags a chair over to me, slams it down backwards on the stone floor, and swings his leg over it. Bracing his elbows on the chair back, he stares at me, blue piercing brown, as he waits for another explanation.
When I fail to offer one, he shouts, "Dammit, Ana! We leave you home alone all day, and all you can tell me is that you played hanky-panky on the couch and met the neighbors?"
I try to melt into the supports of my chair's back; anything to get away from the livid man in front of me. "Leroy, I just…"
"'You just' nothing. You didn't make your damn husband lunch? You didn't go out? You just stayed on the couch the entire time?" He leers toward me, a ferocity in his eyes that I have not seen in quite a while. "Ana, I expect both of you to get out tomorrow and meet more of the town. Take pictures and get to know the place you're going to be spending the next fifteen-odd years. But under no circumstances do I want to hear that you were too lazy and too 'comfortable' to leave the goddamn house, Ana."
Sometimes, Gibbs is my boss. Sometimes, he's an uncle, or a guardian. But sometimes…
Sometimes he is Eli.
Tony surfaces around midnight, while I, the insomniac once more, sit at the counter of the dark, unlit kitchen. Although I am drinking chamomile tea, with the hope that the herbs will calm my rampant thoughts, I am still wide awake, unable to keep my eyes closed for more than several minutes at a time. As he stumbles into the room and turns on the light, I look up. He is still shirtless, but a terrycloth bathrobe is draped around his shoulders.
"What're you still doing up?" Tony asks through a yawn, almost incomprehensible. I shrug instead of verbally answering him, and lay my head on the cool granite countertop. "Can't sleep? Nightmares? You're drinking chamomile; obviously something's up."
His hand rubs a soft circle on my back and perches on the stool beside mine. "I heard Gibbs yelling. That's why I woke up. But I figured I'd hide out upstairs for a while, and took a shower." I look up at his hair with one eye; just as he said, beads of water are forming at the end of each porcupine-like point of hair. "What was he on about? I couldn't hear actual words." Again, I shrug. His hand stops moving and rests on my right shoulder blade. "Come on. He'll get to me eventually."
I sit up straight, but do not look at him, instead staring down into my cup of tea and playing with the string of the teabag. "He thinks we misused our 'free' time today," I finally murmur, barely a whisper. "He…he does not feel we should be staying in the house anymore. Rather…Leroy thinks we should—"
"Get out and do something, right?" Tony interrupts, grinning. He wraps his fingers around the handle of my mug and steals the cup, taking a sip. "Yeah, well, when you've been with Leroy long enough, you know how he thinks. And Leroy thinks that 'free time' is strictly translated into 'adventure time.'"
"What does that mean?" I lower my head to the cold stone again but turn my face toward him. "That even when we have free time, even when we are playing the newlywed game, we have to go out?"
"He wants us to look like adventurous people." Tony takes another sip of my tea, a long sip. "I mean, Dad doesn't care who likes or dislikes us. He just wants to figure out who those people are. He and Babby have been hitting the hot spots lately." I smirk despite my exhaustion. "Well, okay, so have we, but I meant the ones around town."
"I understood that. You just put it very oddly." I want nothing more than to bash my head into the countertop, but refrain, for fear Tony will think badly of me. "Sleep, why do you avoid me?" I wail to no one in particular, whipping my head up from the counter and snatching my mug back from Tony. I down the rest of the tea, my faith in the 'sleep inducing' effect resting in the note on the tag.
Tony sits and stares at me, first in amazement that I could drink an almost full cup of tea in such a short amount of time, and then with mischief dancing in his blue eyes.
"What?" I mutter, getting up to refill my cup with water. His outstretched arm stops me.
He slides off of his stool and rounds the counter to me. "Yaknow a few years ago when that whole issue with The Frog?" I nod, knowing he means René Benoit and remembering Tony's prior relationship with the arm dealer's daughter, Jeanne Benoit. Soon after the mission ended, as did the relationship, a heartbroken Tony and I came to an agreement that we would not discuss or name any part of that assignment except for the words 'La Grenouille. "Well, I had a really bad time sleeping. Rarely did, actually. And as bad as this is gonna sound, the only thing that would give me a good night's sleep was booze."
I cast my eyes on him, shock seeping from every pore. "You drowned your sorrows in alcohol just for a good night's rest?" Leaning against the counter, I stop myself from asking what he drank. It is not necessary for him to know I am considering his suggestion.
"You gotta do what you gotta do, Zee—Ana."
Setting my lips in a thin line, I examine the pros and cons of using his trick. While the entire process would only lead me down a deep, dark tunnel to the world of Alcoholism, I am desperate for something to ease my mind and relax my entire body. Watching my words would be unnecessary. I could say what I wanted to pretty much anyone that I wanted to say it to. I would probably pass out and not wake up until eight hours later.
"It would not be much, would it, David?" I ask, wringing my hands.
"Naw. Just a smidge." Warm blue eyes meet my exhausted pair of brown ones, a smile playing on Tony's face. "So, what d'you say, dear? Will you let me get you a drink?"
Yes.
"…so there I was, just minding my own business in the middle of Hot Topic, and I'm accosted by freakin' Dimebag," Abby slurs, this time actually drunk. Around one, she had made her way downstairs, speaking some nonsense about being unable to sleep. And now, here she sits; still unable to sleep, but getting closer to her goal.
"Who is 'Dimebag'? Is that like a change purse?" I ask, but the words do not sound like my own. Tony bursts out laughing and I slap a hand over his mouth, pointing toward the floor above us. "Sh!"
Abby rolls her eyes dramatically and sighs, "No, Ana. Dimebag is the lead singer of Megadeth. Well, now he is. But he wasn't. No, he was not. He used to be with—"
"Babs, I don't know who Megadeth is, either," Tony blurts, cutting of the Goth. "All I know is that this wine is amazing." He unsteadily pours himself another glass. "How'd you get into this, Ana? It's yummy. Tastes like candy. Oh! There's Sambuca in the cabinet. Let me grab it." The senior field agent hops up from his place on the floor and wobbles over to the glass liquor cabinet, retrieves a clear bottle and the ice bucket, three small glasses, and then brings them over to us. "This stuff is dessert. Hard stuff, gotta watch out, but it's great."
I take a sip, letting the now-milky liquid settle on my tongue. "Oh, I have had this back in Ih—" I draw a sharp look from Tony and recollect my thoughts. "—ndiana. I know it does not seem like a party town … but we sure knew how to get down. Oh! I made a poem!"
"Let's continue it," Abby chortles. "I know it doesn't seem like a party town, but we sure knew how to get down. The… boys were cute and the girls were pretty…"
Tony jumps in with, "And the old neighbor's wife was mighty gritty."
It is once more my turn. "My friends from school used to steal from their parents, but they did not get in trouble because the parents could have cared less." It is true. My best friend from Israel once stole a case of beer from her parents' refrigerator. All her parents gave her was a slap on the wrist. Each. Although corporal punishment sounds gruesome, I have seen much worse occur from much less.
"You'd be a great rapper, Ana," Tony teases, giving me a gentle shove. "Hey, what's that?" He points to a shelf that houses a thick book and rises to go over to it, glass of Sambuca in hand. "'Property of Arnold Jackson'," he reads. "Huh. Someone liked a mixture of…" As he flips through the book, he pulls out a stack of CDs. "...Bluegrass, opera, and—ooh, yeah—Dean-o, baby!" Holding up the final few CDs, he grins madly. "This is going to be a fantastic evening."
Tony hands me one of them and I look at the cover; there is a handsome middle-aged man beaming up at me. Opening the case, I see a small slip of paper tucked into the corner and tug it out from beneath the clip holding it to the plastic. Unfolding it, I read down through the messy scribbles.
To whoever finds this:
My name is Arnie Jackson.
I am a Lance Corporal for the Marine Corps.
My family abandoned me here when I was eighteen years old.
I've been here ever since.
My best friends lived down the road from me. They have gone missing. One was a Marine and two were Navy SEALS. No one knew where they were headed, or when they were coming back, other than myself.
I wasn't supposed to, and I'm probably going to die.
When you find this, if you do, report all of this to NCIS.
My friends deserve to live, even if I don't.
My cousin Buck is down the street. He doesn't talk to me anymore; neither does his dad.
My mom was the only one who ever knew why, but she wouldn't tell me.
If you find her, maybe she'll tell you.
Who knows.
Listen to track number fourteen.
It took cleverness to find the book, style to choose this CD, and curiosity to find the note.
If you are reading this, chances are, you won't have much time before someone else does.
And whoever that is, is going to kill me, too.
Or maybe he already has.
Find my friends.
Track number fourteen.
-Arnie-
"David…You should look at this." I am handing Tony the piece of paper before Abby jumps between us and says,
"Gloves! It's cold in here, you should be wearing gloves! I'll go get them. Put that on the table." She scampers off to grab gloves from her purse in the kitchen, and is back the room in less than sixty seconds with a box.
Tony walks to each window and closes the curtains and draws the blinds before joining us and also donning a pair of gloves. I hand him the note and he reads through it, his brow furrowing. "I guess we're supposed to listen to track number fourteen?" he speculates.
We hear a step on the stairs and freeze.
"Yeah, I'd say you should, DiNozzo," comes Gibbs' soft voice from the stairwell.
Well it's lonesome in this old town.
Everybody puts me down.
I'm a face without a name,
Just walking in the rain,
Goin' back to Houston, Houston, Houston.
Tony paces several times before turning back to us and saying, "Would it be wrong for me to guess that maybe the whole case has to do with Texas?" Gibbs nods and then takes a sip of my Sambuca, making a face. "What, don't like sweet stuff, Boss?"
"Second wife's favorite liqueur. Never really liked it. Probably why she left me," the retired Marine murmurs. "'Babby' and I'll make some calls; you two, make a meeting with NCIS. Just call or something." He runs a frustrated hand through his silvery hair, and stares down at the floor. "And then you should probably go shopping and restock the fridge. It's empty." With that, he rises to his feet and wordlessly goes back upstairs.
We three—Abby, Tony, and I—look between ourselves, unsure of what to do. For ten minutes, we stay silent; Abby plays with her fingers, Tony stands with one leg bent in front of the other, his arms crossed, and leaning against the back of the couch; and I sip lazily at my Sambuca. Our playful mood from before has noticeably deflated.
"So," Abby finally mumbles, "you guys know what helps me think sometimes?" Tony and I shake our heads. "Scrabble."
After searching through seven boxes, we finally find Scrabble hidden amongst old lingerie and empty bottles of wine. Now that we know why we were sent to this particular house, it is safe for us to assume that Lance Corporal Jackson led a rather risqué life.
We set up the board and begin the game.
My letters are U, I, S, T, and K. The starting letter is F. Luckily, it is my turn first, since I am the newest field agent. I swiftly add the letters I, S, and T, forming 'fist.'
Tony uses my T and builds 'time' off of it. "Hah!" he says. "We have little time to figure this out. So, any ideas?" I shake my head, and Abby shrugs. "So, Buck was at the crime scene, right?" Abby nods. "Okay. He saw his cousin get shot, was scared, and fled home, which is about a half mile down the street from us, mind you."
Abby jumps up and runs back into the kitchen, returning a few minutes later with her laptop bag slung over one shoulder and a book grasped tightly in her arms. She slaps the book down and points at it. "Look at this. I found it in Leroy's and my room. It's a book of newspaper clippings from, like, ages ago. Years!"
Flipping open the cover, I am immediately faced with headlines from several newspapers, starting from approximately three years ago. For the most part, they have to do with the Water and Soil District, Agriculture Council, and weather. But, interspersed toward the end of the book—with clippings from one year ago—are articles about the missing Marine and Seamen.
And then it hits me.
"Why was Buck in Virginia?" Both of my teammates look at me obtusely, as though I have grown a second head, but too dense to realize what I have for themselves. "Buck was in Virginia when Lance Corporal Jackson died, and now he is missing. He said he has been farming this land for years, which cannot be far from the truth, because his father is no condition to farm by himself," I explain, picturing Bill Andrews' curved back and limp.
"Where're you going with this, Zeev?" Tony whispers, bringing me back to present.
I stare at him and repeat, "Why was Buck in Virginia? If his primary job, which takes up most—if not all—of his time, is here, and, according to the note, Buck and Jackson were not on speaking terms, why would a farmer go to the city in Virginia and witness his cousin's death? Unless—" A light bulb flashes brightly above Tony's head and he and I finish together, "—he does not live here."
Abby pulls her legs up onto the seat of her chair to sit cross-legged, bouncing excitedly. "This is his safe house. Well, not this house specifically. The one down the street." She grins. "Maybe Papa Andrews disowned Buck, or sent him down to Virginia—"
"—to spy on Jackson!" I blurt, giving her a high five. "And then, when there was nothing to report back, Buck had to dig deeper and found something he should not have."
It tends to happen when you go looking for trouble.
A/N: I forgot to add a disclaimer. I do not own Dean Martin, any of his songs, Hot Topic, Dimebag, Megadeth, Sambuca (although I have tried it, and it is yummy!), Scrabble (I haven't played in years.), or NCIS. Although I do own seasons 1-7 on DVD, which I am very, very happy about. Hope you enjoyed this one! Keep a look-out for Chapter Twelve!