Chapter Twenty Eight
And Grant Us Peace
Gibbs works to get his thoughts regeared since Abby's announcement that PO1 Robert Presit of the Reagan's Communications Section had his throat slit not by a tall, muscular man with short black hair, two to three days beard growth, sweatshirt and worn, faded and patched jeans but by a woman. He refrains from asking if she's sure; despite taking Samantha Sky into her apartment while the Apprentice M.E. searches for a place to live, Abby hasn't made a mistake in sexuality since Grade School.
He firmly resists thinking about the loss of time in the misdirected search; there have been many missed turns in investigations and there'll be many more before he retires. Best to think of this new direction and how best to traverse it.
"Did you get any useful prints off any of the doors?" Hudson's and Presit's locks had each been picked.
"Glove leather. If you find the gloves, I can give you a probable match but without them," she gives a small shrug.
x
'Why would a woman kill Presit?' he wonders. If this were a land based victim he'd start running down everyone from the wife - absent at her parents' home and Presit had been called from there, alive - through a girlfriend to a murderous hooker. Who knew Presit was alone?
But a woman? Someone from the ship? He likes that even less, because it doesn't explain Wetzel and the others.
For that matter, facial recognition and fingerprints and so forth haven't tracked the black man photographed entering and exiting Lieutenant Commander Wetzel's hospital room or the biker who bludgeoned Wilfrid Hudson and his wife, sending him to Autopsy and her to the hospital.
Sasha Nevelle's research has yielded no fruit either. She's been with Kelman's enhanced team - he's received okay Reviews from the Supervisor on Karen Wetzel's performance - but nothing seems to tie the dead men to a motive for quadruple murder. Even the three from Mimran's Support Group that made it back to the ship, Brian Mimran, Edward Elbourne and Del McCourt, seem to have no particular reason to be targeted.
Rule 33, 'there are all sorts of reasons to commit a crime, they don't have to make sense to us', is too far reaching and inclusive this time.
xxx
Gibbs stalks back into the bullpen after his unsatisfying visit with Abby - a rarity - in no enviable mood, and the sight of a vacant desk does nothing to improve his spirits. "Where's Palmer?" he asks of her Field Partner but the intensity of his question leaves the man looking up at him in open mouthed silence, never a good idea.
"Lunch break, boss," DiNozzo cuts in.
Gibbs looks at his watch; okay, thirteen ten, it's reasonable. Somewhat. "Okay." He continues on to his desk.
"DiNozzo with the save," he faux exalts, miming a basket into his wastebasket.
"Then save this: That ATM ID you got is crap; Presit got his throat slit by a woman."
"No way, boss." He won't back down under Gibbs' glare. "The camera was on the corner of Presit's block, he was the only one who came and went within our window of opportunity, he had the bag with the knife on the way in, McBloodhound and I found it tied under that car. He may have had an accomplice, but it was him."
Gibbs restrains a flare of anger, he'd known and had forgotten that essential point. Has lack of sleep from pushing himself and his team let other things slip through the cracks?
"One hour break." His people look to him, surprised. "Go, do something, take a walk, smell some flowers but come back with new theories on what woman killed Presit."
xxx
Michelle Palmer wasn't surprised to get a call from the Chaplain's office not long after Special Agent DiNozzo returned to his desk. DiNozzo seemed calmer than she's seen him in weeks, a surprise after that potentially cataclysmic video confession, but she comes upstairs anyway, and isn't surprised to knock on the fourth floor office door and have her husband open it.
She hopes never to lose the flare of love that shoots through her every time she sees Jimmy, or the delight over feeling his body pressed to hers as they hug. She knows the priest is in the room too, she'll get to her when she's done hugging.
She can't go as long as she wants, the door's still open and they're standing in the arch, and there comes a point where delay and ignoring their hostess is just rude. She hopes she lets go before that point is reached. "Sorry," she says to the woman seated at her desk across the long room as she closes the door.
"Don't be," Siobhan says. "I hope you'll always greet one another like that."
She knows this doesn't always work out, and that they'll have more than their share of grief and stress, and she sees that Siobhan hates to add to it. The kindest thing any of the three can do is not draw the moment out.
"Would you please sit down?"
x
Something in the Priest's tone, her manner, scrapes the smile from Michelle's lips, makes her reach for Jimmy's hand. She'd spoken by phone to Siobhan the other day, but the request she'd made can't possibly be granted this soon.
When she and Jimmy sit side by side on the leather couch and Michelle holds her husband's hand more firmly, Siobhan wheels her chair before them, sits down and they join hands as they have many times before. The priest has two small cloth draw pouches, one round and little more than two inches large, the other cylindrical, which she's perched on her lap.
"Father," Siobhan begins while holding their left and right hands, completing their link that she'd feel more comfortable this time with if it were a Wiccan act, "you have promised that where two or three are gathered in your Name, you will be in the midst of them and bless them. Look with compassion upon your son and daughter, fill their hearts with your love and strengthen them. Give them the grace, when they hurt one another, to recognize and acknowledge their fault, to seek one another's forgiveness and yours. Make their life together a sign of Christ's love to this sinful and broken world, that unity may overcome estrangement, forgiveness heal guilt and joy conquer despair. Give them such fulfillment of their mutual affection that they may reach out in love and concern for others. Amen."
"Amen." Michelle recognizes these words as the prayer from their wedding, when nothing that followed could ever go wrong, when their lives together would be bliss, eternal and unhindered.
Why did it have to go so wrong?
x
Siobhan releases their hands and opens the first pouch of the pair perched upon her black skirted lap, pulls out a small plastic bottle, opens it and presses a drop of oil upon her thumb, reaches out to Jimmy's forehead and inscribes a cross upon it as she says "James, I anoint you with oil in the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen." She does the same with Michelle, yet encloses the cross upon Michelle's forehead within a star, a token of respect for her dual beliefs, a way of binding each.
This is so familiar, the way they always begin Counseling Sessions, but this time something feels different, feels wrong.
"As you are outwardly anointed with this holy oil, so may our heavenly Father grant you the inward anointing of the Holy Spirit. Of His great mercy, may He forgive you your sins, release you from suffering and restore you to wholeness and strength. May He deliver you from all evil, preserve you in all goodness and bring you to everlasting life; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen."
She raises her right hand. "Almighty God have mercy upon you, forgive you all your sins through our Lord Jesus Christ, strengthen you in all goodness," she inscribes the Cross before them, "and by the power of the Holy Spirit keep you in eternal life. Amen."
"Amen," they both repeat.
She takes the other pouch, opens it and draws out a small round gold metal case inscribed with a raised Cross between wheat and grapes. She presses a tiny switch, raises the lid to reveal a dozen small round white wafers. She holds one before them. "The Gift of God for the people of God, take in remembrance that Christ died for you and feed upon Him in your hearts by faith, with Thanksgiving."
She offers to Jimmy the consecrated Eucharist which he receives upon his tongue, Michelle first in her hands before consuming it. They still follow the customs of their different denominations, still a sign today of their disparity which they strive to heal.
Taking one for herself, Siobhan closes and replaces the Pyx in the bag, rises and brings it and the oil to her desk, then returns, sits and again takes both their hands and they say together "Eternal God, Heavenly Father, you have graciously accepted us as living members of your son, our Savior Jesus Christ, and you have fed us with spiritual food in the sacrament of His Body. Send us now into the world in peace, and grant us strength and courage to love and serve you with gladness and singleness of heart, through Christ our Lord."
"Amen."
x
When she releases their hands and sits back Jimmy can no longer hold back the question that's been tearing at him since they began the increasingly familiar ritual which they use to begin their therapy sessions – the next of which isn't due for days now. "Mother, what's happening?"
"I wanted to meet with you at this time to prepare you."
The words tear Michelle's heart. This isn't what she'd expected the woman to say. "For what?"
"James, Michelle, we've had five sessions together, and I've tried to help you as much as I can, and I will continue to do so, but our next session together must be our final one."
x
"Why?" Jimmy bursts out, his hand slipping from Michelle's in his desperation. "Does – Is – Do you mean because you're resigning as Chaplain?"
She shakes her head. "I'm not resigning. I'm staying on. Reverend Grant and I will share duties, but I can no longer Counsel you."
"But if it's–"
"James, have you forgotten that when we started I reminded you that I'm not a Licensed Therapist? I've seen you as a Priest, and there are specific Guidelines I must adhere to. I may assist for a limited time, I've always used six as the number, but then I'm mandated to refer you to others for counseling."
"BUT–!"
"James, I explained all this to you."
x
His high anxiety collapses, he nods. "I forgot."
"I know you did." She knows he didn't. "Believe me, you're not the first to."
"I just got used to– I just felt better with you than Doctor Gyves."
"That's flattering." She knows it's been hard for him to open up to a woman, doesn't and won't know the challenges he's had with Gyves. "But please remember this is only a temporary additive. I can know nothing of your conversations with Milton Gyves, nor may I reveal to him anything I've learned."
"Must make some pretty short conversations." He tries to force the quip. It falls flat.
"Unless you help me by opening up."
"I'm trying."
Michelle takes his arm in her hands. "We know you are, sweetie."
"Yeah, like 'very'."
Siobhan sees the words shove Michelle away though she doesn't move. "James, time grows short and we know you're not doing this on purpose."
"I'm scared, and I've only just been able to tell her of what."
Siobhan looks to Michelle, but the silent anguish on her face admits to new barriers and after a few seconds she knows neither of them will speak to her now of this new problem. "All right, James, what do you want to talk about?"
x
The silence is so long Michelle fills it with "Jealousy."
"NO!" Jimmy bites hard enough to draw blood but Michelle won't back down, turns to Siobhan.
"He's jealous of me and your husband."
"NOT LIKE THAT!" Jimmy beats even Siobhan's reaction to this declaration.
"James," Siobhan says softly when she has his attention, "I know what you're feeling. I've always known. Shall we explore it?"
Resistance is a thick stone wall that crumbles in moments. He hangs his head. "Okay."
"You refer to what happened at the Hardbody Gym when Michelle and Timmy were locked in that steam room."
"I'm not jealous!"
"Not in the usual sense, no. You and I both know that your wife and my husband were trapped in that sauna heading up to 180 degrees, and gradually removed their clothing to try to survive; that when they passed out they were writing 'goodbye' notes to us."
"I know neither of them did anything," he declares in faux reasonableness.
"But."
"But nothing. I understand, I really do. The human body, exposed long-term to such heat will–"
"Say it."
"Say what?"
"What's been gnawing at you for weeks. Say it." He turns away from them, not easy because he's forced toward the wall behind him before he can see neither woman. Michelle holds her breath, Siobhan is relentless. "Say it."
Fury forces him around, his face red as he spits "Can you sit there and say it doesn't bother you that we found your husband stripped to his shorts laying on top of my naked wife?"
x
Siobhan raises her hand to silence Michelle, who looks like she wants to protest, despite herself. A thong doesn't count for him and James deserves the answer.
"No, James, I can't say that. It bothered me. It bothered me a lot. Like you, I used reason to know that I can trust Tim, I used prayer - a lot of prayer - to protect my heart, but I have to confess I'm being more honest to you than I was to him. I prayed for strength, for shoring up, to remember that he did nothing wrong... but we're both in the same situation. My husband saw your wife almost naked and your wife saw my husband almost naked. But remember that as their last act they reached out to us. In your case that reaching out was more literal, in a way I confess I still have trouble reconciling with my own faith," she raises her hand again to Michelle, "a discussion for another time - but the fact is that it was that reaching out that saved their lives."
"I know."
x
Michelle prays to Minerva, prays desperately to the Maiden aspect of the triune Goddess, prays for Aphrodite to engage her love, prays to Isis, prays to–
"He didn't just see her 'almost naked', he hung over her while those damned bastards RAPED her over and over and then left her tied wide open in front of him for hours!"
Michelle's clenched fists draw blood from her palms, she fights the screech that batters her clenched teeth but Siobhan holds up her hand to silence both of them.
"I know this as well as you do and yes, we will discuss it again." Dennis Whitney's brutality had been a nightmare for the four of them. She had believed it was her beloved Timmy who'd tried to rape her, and it took far too long until she could look at him without flashing back to that elevator, but "My point is neither of us has reason to doubt our spouse's fidelity, regardless of circumstances or appearances."
Jimmy reaches out, takes Michelle's hand. "I trust you. I always have. I..."
Michelle knows why he can't say it; rapidly changing futures have robbed him of his faith in any predictable one. She forces her teeth to unclench, clasps his hands tightly in hers. "I always will."
x
"It's easy to say 'keep the lines of communication open'," Siobhan says. "You've learned this year how hard that is to do, but you must try."
Jimmy turns to her. "Are you going to tell Agent McGee that you were... bothered?"
"Maybe. In time. Fortunately, I'm the one counseling you - at least one more time."
"What do you mean?"
She smiles. "I don't have to take your advice."
Jimmy's brief grin self-destructs. "Wait, you said 'Us', that 'We' could only meet with you six times, but what about–?"
"James."
x
He sighs, more defeated than understanding.
"What am I going to do?"
"You're going to carry on. Things aren't changing that much. There'll be but one more formal session more, true, but I'm still here, your friends are still here, your loving wife is still here," Michelle grasps his clasped hands tighter, "and you'll get through this with God's - and with our - help."
"I guess so."
She leans forward, fixes him with exceptional intensity. "What was that?"
He grins despite his anxieties. "I will."
"Good." She stands up, pushes her chair back to its place before the desk, replaces the Pyx and oil pouches into her purse and that high up on her arm. Then she returns to stand before them, reaches out, her hands on each of their heads. "May God grant you peace of heart, mind and soul and rekindle and renew your love for one another; may He rebind your hearts as one, your souls as one, your lives as one," she uses her right thumb to inscribe a cross upon each of their foreheads, but upon Michelle's she again encloses it within the star, "in the Name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit, Amen.
"Amen."
"Now if you'll excuse me, I'm late for my day off and tomorrow's Sermon isn't coming together at all. Just close up when you're done, the door locks automatically. I'll see you on Tuesday."
x
She's gone before either of them are prepared. Michelle looks at her watch, still another half hour for lunch.
"Where do we go from here?" Jimmy asks.
She takes his hands again. "Jimmy, I love you with all my heart. Talk to me."
xxx
/GIBBS!/ Abby's yell through the supposedly turned off plasma screen an hour after the end of the enforced break makes Tony fall half out of his seat and his pen ricochet off the skylight to bounce near Ziva's desk.
"She promised she wouldn't do that anymore!" He comes out from behind the desk to retrieve his pen.
Gibbs, who sympathizes with the man this time, crosses the bullpen, retrieves the control box from beside the unit and thumbs it on. "You broke your promise, Abs."
Their view of the lab is downward from the ceiling mounted security camera. Abby stands beside her freestanding workstation and even from this distance they can see the perplexed look upon her face.
/Broke my...? OH. Oh, yeah. I'm sorry, Tony./
DiNozzo, leading with an accusatory finger, stops sharply for two reasons: first, he's never yelled at Abby and second, it's a ceiling-mounted camera and she can't see him. "Well don't let it happen again."
/I promise./
He restrains himself from saying 'you promised last time'. With Abby it's not so much a matter of there being no winning as his complete inability to stay mad at her.
"Abby," Gibbs reclaims the conversation, "what did you find?"
/I've found fingerprints on the black bag that held Presit's murder weapon. Since plastic folds every which way, putting the prints together is like assembling a jigsaw puzzle where the pieces go in all kablacki directions, are partials of partials, that's why it took so long–/
"Not as long as this explanation."
Derailed, she rallies quickly. /Be gracious, Gibbs; genius isn't an assembly line talent./
"Always depended upon your genius, Abs."
/Awwww, thank you, Gibbs./
"As much as your brevity."
/Oh. Right. Brevity./ She straightens to her full height, all the better to make her pronouncement. /Well, with all due brevity, I know who killed Petty Officer Robert Presit – and you are never going to believe it./
