Gibbs' relief at getting Tony away from the family wing of the inn, and outdoors was short-lived. Thunder rumbled nearby and he could smell the approaching rain. Lightning flashed in the distance, intermittently lighting the grounds and inky black surface of the lake at night.

Tony hadn't spoken since their stealthy exit from the inn, focused inward and presumably still locked in some strange communion with the dead man. The unusual silence was just one more reason to worry about his lover. He moved purposefully though, his actions indicating he was still peripherally aware of Gibbs too. They'd gone to the truck and Tony waited impatiently, leaning on his cane, as Gibbs opened the door and retrieved his spare bag of gear from behind the seat.

Tony took it from him and peered inside, shifting the contents around a bit. He nodded to himself, as he seemed to find what he was looking for, and handed the bag back. Before he could close the door, Tony leaned inside and pulled the box containing Gibbs' back up weapon from under the seat. He handed the Sig over with a meaningful look. Tony and Rory apparently thought insurance was in order. Wordlessly, Gibbs reached under his jacket and tucked it into the waistband of his jeans. Rain had started to fall and before Gibbs could ask now what, Tony took off, moving as rapidly as the cane and walking boot allowed, and he followed. They covered the distance between the inn and boathouse quickly, but Tony skidded to a stop in front of the sliding door at the back of the structure on the lake edge.

"Tony? What is it?" He asked as Tony just stood there, head cocked as if listening. Tony ignored him and just stared at the door. They were being pelted with fat raindrops now as the thunderstorm moved closer. Gibbs slid an arm around Tony and tried to urge him inside.

He shoved down a flash of hurt as Tony gave an irritated hiss and stepped away from him. Gibbs had enough of this not-Tony. He grabbed Tony by the upper arms and turned him around to face him. "Are you going to tell me what the hell we're supposed to be doing right now?"

Tony just looked back, eyes glazed and unfocused.

Desperation crept in as Tony remained unresponsive. Gibbs slid his hands over Tony's shoulders, then rubbed up and down his upper arms as if to warm him, then cupped Tony's cheeks and gave his head a small shake.

"Tony, look at me!"

There was that odd blue flicker in Tony's eyes again, and his mouth moved as if he was trying to speak.

Gibbs' voice tapered to a pleading whisper and he moved his thumbs gently back and forth across Tony's cheekbones, trying to pull him back from wherever he'd gone.

"Tony, please. Say something."

Tony's eyes focused on him finally. A seething look crossed the much-loved features, and for a second, it didn't look at all like Tony. "It happened in there," he said, his voice somehow younger, and a shade higher than usual. "It was raining then too."

Gibbs knew he had to be talking about Rory's murder. The air temperature dropped sharply, inexplicably, and Tony's breath had frosted the air as he spoke. Rory again, dammit.

"He's here now? Is Rory here?" Gibbs asked.

Tony's eyes darted toward the sliding door. Rory stood there in his shorts and t-shirt, hand resting on the sliding door and appearing fearful about going in the place where he'd died. He seemed unconcerned with the cold and his clothes were dry, unaffected by the falling rain.

Tony turned back to Gibbs and nodded somberly. "I get these flashes; it's hard to make them out, and he doesn't remember it all," Tony replied, sounding faraway. He looked back toward the boathouse, smiling as Rory gathered his courage and slowly slid the door open.

Gibbs turned to see what Tony was smiling at and his heart skipped a beat. The sliding door opened on its own, moved by an unseen force. He shook himself inwardly; up to now, a small part of him still denied what was happening. The realist in him insisted there was going to be a logical explanation for all this, but they had yet to find it. No longer...not when the damn door moved on its' own.

He could no longer deny what he'd seen of the phenomena and its effect on Tony, nor how Tony seemed to be aware of things he couldn't possibly know. The connection was growing stronger now. Like Tony, he'd never been one who spooked easily, but the ease with which Tony now surrendered himself to what seemed to be a telepathic link with Rory was beginning to terrify him. When it was active, he felt as if everything 'Tony' was drifting away and he was helpless to stop it.

"He's ready to go in now," Tony told him. He pulled himself from Gibbs' hold and entered the dark building, following Rory inside out of the rain.

Gibbs was deeply unsettled, but followed without hesitation and slid the door closed behind them.

Tony's voice came to him in the dark, moving further away. "Wait there." He stood uncertainly and a few seconds later, he blinked at the sudden brightness, as Tony found a light switch and turned on a light over a nearby worktable. Tony hooked his cane over the edge of the table and then gestured him over.

As Gibbs approached, his lover turned and faced him with an earnest, open look that told him Tony was more present now than he had been since they left their room.

"Thank you, Jethro."

"For what?"

"For doing this with me. I told you I'm seeing and having conversations with a ghost, and oh by the way, I just happen to be a dead ringer for said ghost," Tony said. "You went with it," Tony shrugged. "I'm still surprised you haven't rushed me back to the hospital to have my head examined."

"The thought crossed my mind," Gibbs kidded with a lopsided smile. "Seriously, it took a little convincing, but I know there's something going on here that merits a deeper look. Ultimately, you need to know that what you said to me about trust resonated. This is important to you, so it's important to me."

Tony gave him that radiant smile, the one that lit up his whole face and made his eyes crinkle endearingly at the corners. His heart flipped at the smile he knew was for him alone, and that never failed to beguile.

Serious again, Tony held a hand out for his bag. "If we find what I think we're going to find, Jeth, things are going to get very interesting in a hurry."

Gibbs shrugged the bag off his shoulder. He set it where Tony pointed and watched curiously, as he pulled out gloves and a small spray bottle of Luminol.

He couldn't seriously expect to find anything here, could he?

"Tony," he began doubtfully, "you don't really think we're going find trace evidence here, do you? Even if you're right, and this is where Rory was killed, it's been twenty-five years."

"Oh ye of little faith," Tony replied with one of his trademark wide grins and Gibbs was relieved that at least for now, Tony still seemed more himself, and less Rory.

Tony put on the pair of gloves. "Didn't you see the true crime documentary on the Borden murders?" Tony asked. "They found blood traces in the house's floor joists 100 years after the murders…using Luminol."

Gibbs shook his head and looked at Tony quizzically. "Uh, Borden?"

"You know. Lizzie Borden took an axe…," he recited in a singsong voice.

Gibbs suddenly caught on, and grimaced in distaste at the opening line of the morbid nursery rhyme. Well, this was Tony's show; he was just along for backup.

"So what happens if we find something?" he questioned, wondering about the extent Tony's judgment was compromised by the link with Rory.

"We haul ass to the truck and get out of here; go get the sheriff," he reassured with a smirk that told Gibbs Tony knew exactly what he'd just been thinking.

"I thought Ben Griffin was your number one suspect?"

Tony closed his eyes against momentary dizziness as he suddenly got a strong burst of emotion from Rory. Shoving down the feelings of denial, hurt and betrayal that flooded him, he answered.

"Ben Griffin's not completely eliminated, so it's good he's got a couple deputies we can go to. There's always the State Police too, if the sheriff's office is compromised. Besides, I didn't tell you what I found in Tom's room. He's looking to be an even more likely candidate."

Gibbs gaze sharpened. "What did you see up there?"

"A bracelet that belonged to Rory, which might not mean anything. Lots of people keep things that belonged to a dead family member."

Gibbs rubbed his chin thoughtfully. That wasn't enough for Tony to move a new suspect to the top of his list. "What else?"

"A cabinet full of hunting rifles and hanging on the inside of his closet door, there was a camo jacket with a hood, and a distinctive strip of orange reflective tape. It was the same jacket worn by whoever shot at us the other day," Tony explained. "What if Tom Donner killed his brother, and was trying to warn us away from where he dumped the body?"

"Possible," Gibbs allowed, "If that was his intent, it sure as hell backfired."

Tony snorted. "Yeah, big time."

He thought back on the man's behavior, trying to recall anything that would be suspicious in retrospect. Tom had outright admitted he and Rory didn't get along, and that it was mainly his doing. Did that equate to murder? He couldn't say yet. Gibbs picked up the bottle of Luminol. "Okay, where do you want to start?"

"With another hunch." Tony said. He reached into his jacket with a gloved hand, retrieved Rory's knife and opened the blade. He laid it on the table and held his hand out for the bottle Gibbs held.

"Be ready to turn the light back off," Tony said. "The effect might be faint, or not last long."

Gibbs nodded and placed his hand on the light switch. "Ready."

Rory disappeared from where he'd been hovering nearby, and Tony could sense the invasion of his consciousness again. He could feel an intense curiosity in the proceedings. Tony misted a small amount of spray over the knife and looked to Gibbs.

"Now."

They blinked in the dark for a moment and there it was. The telltale blue glow, faint but there, on the blade and handle.

"Ah!"

Gibbs heard Tony gasp in the dark, and he fumbled for the light switch. He was shocked to see Tony pressing his gloved hands into his temples hard, pale and breathing unevenly.

"Tony! What is it?"

"My head," Tony gasped out, and began to collapse. Gibbs rushed over and cradled him, easing him down to the floor. Gibbs pulled Tony's upper body across his lap and turned him so he could see his face. "I can see, I can see…," Tony muttered nonsensically, his head rolling against Gibbs' leg.

This was far worse than the effects of the vision that overcame Tony when Ben Griffin confronted them in town.

He was in the boathouse alone, the soothing sound of the storm keeping him company. It was better than the oppressive atmosphere in the house, thanks to the ever-present tension between his disapproving grandmother, and jealous, bigoted stepbrother. He'd practically moved in with Ben to escape the tension, but that just seemed to make matters worse. They all really needed to talk things out, and soon.

He sat at the worktable, removing hopelessly tangled line from one of the fishing rods. Just going to have to cut that, and start over, he mused to himself. A few minutes later, he'd cleared the rod and reel, and laid the knife on the table.

Rory flinched at a crash of thunder close by, and hoped the storm would be over soon. After working a while longer, he stood and stretched stiff muscles, deciding to get the kayak ready for the trip across the lake later. If he could get all the outlying cabins checked and outfitted, it might sooth the savage beast that was his perpetually angry and resentful stepbrother.

It was quieter now, but for the pounding rain. The thunder receded for the moment, though the storm probably wasn't over yet. He pulled his kayak down from the boat rack and looked for the oar. A soft scrape came from behind him, and he began to turn toward the sound. Something in his peripheral vision swung toward him, and then there was an explosion of pain in the back of his head. He fell heavily to the boards and everything went dark.

When he cracked his eyes open, he felt the cuts, random slashes scattered across his face, neck, and torso. He was nauseous and dizzy from the blow to his head, and couldn't see his attacker for the blood in his eyes. He groaned and tried to rise, but was roughly kicked back down.

He felt a hand fumble at his wrist, removing a cherished gift, and he protested weakly. Then more cuts were inflicted, no longer random. These cuts were methodical, deep and precise...first across one wrist then the other. Something clattered loudly to the boards next to his head. He knew his own knife had been used to inflict the damage. Numb and cold, feeling his lifeblood drain onto the wooden planks, he no longer had the strength to move. "I'm sorry, Ben." he whispered. His last conscious thought was 'I don't understand…why?'

Gibbs pulled Tony against his chest and watched closely as he stared fixedly into the gloom of the boathouse. He appeared to be in the throes of another vision, his breathing fast and panicky. His eyes started darting back and forth, following whatever he was seeing in his mind. All Gibbs could do was hold on as Tony writhed weakly in his arms, and flinched occasionally from some imagined pain.

Tony murmured; his voice anguished. "I don't understand…why?"

"Stop it!" Gibbs shouted into the gloom, hoping Rory could hear him through Tony somehow. He tightened his grip on Tony, who still gasped as if in pain and was struggling to sit up. "You're hurting him…stop this now!"

His chest clenched in fear as Tony closed his eyes and went still in his arms. He pulled Tony closer and lightly patted his cheek, pleading for him to wake up. He practically held his breath and waited, until finally the dark fringe of lashes fluttered then lifted. Gibbs pressed his lips together in dismay as Tony's eyes opened. There was a long moment where the irises remained deep blue, before the color finally lightened to green.

The first thing Tony was aware of after the vision faded, was being held and the warmth of Gibbs' hand on his face, stroking gently. He opened his eyes to see the troubled features and laser blue stare as Gibb studied him worriedly. He realized Gibbs was upset, and probably with good reason. He turned in Gibbs hold; still feeling the aftereffects of the link in his leaden limbs, and struggled to wrap one heavy arm around Gibbs' back to reassure him. "I'm okay now, Jethro," he rasped.

Overcome with relief, Gibbs crushed Tony to him. "Sure you are," he muttered disbelievingly. Tony had no idea just how far from okay he was. Covering his loss of composure with an angry outburst, he added in a hoarse voice, "I swear to God, Tony, if you scare me like that again, I'll shoot you myself."

"I'm sorry, Jethro," Tony said, voice muffled by his face being pressed into Gibbs' chest.

Gibbs didn't answer, just shifted to his knees and urged Tony to do the same. "Come on, let's get you up."

Tony shuddered as he looked around and realized where they were sitting, his mind's eye seeing the blood-covered planks from the vision. This was where Rory died. The exact spot. "Yeah, up now," he agreed quickly. Too quickly if Gibbs raised eyebrow was any indication.

Tony stood in a rush, forgetting about the walking boot, and Gibbs quickly closed his arms around him to keep him from going sprawling back to the hard floor.

"Tony, take it easy!" Gibbs commanded.

"I'm fine," Tony said, looking down where they'd been sitting. "I just really had to get off the floor. That's where he died," he added bleakly, still looking down. "That very spot."

Gibbs felt a chill run down his spine as Tony added softly, "I can still see the blood…so much blood."

Dammit, I hate this. I hate it so much.

Gibbs took Tony's shoulders in a firm grip and turned him away from the spot on the floor, pulling him close. "There's nothing there, Tony," he whispered consolingly.

Tony's hands came up, instinctively resting on Gibbs' hips and allowed himself to be pulled into a gentle, reassuring kiss. The warm, calloused palm that moved to rest on the nape of his neck grounded him.

"My head knows that," Tony said when they broke apart. Gibbs walked him back to the workbench and waited for Tony to sit before pulling the other stool out for himself.

"Is he here now?"

Tony shook his head. "I think he heard you yell at him," Tony grinned, and then cocked his head in that listening pose again. "It feels like he knew we needed a few minutes after that." Gibbs just gave him that 'ya think?' look. "I think he'll come back if I call him."

"Not now. Tell me what you saw, Tony."

Tony gave a small nod and tried to make sense of what he'd seen. He didn't want to relieve it again, but Gibbs needed to know. For long moments, there was no sound except the wind, rain pounding on the roof, and the creak of ropes as the boats inside the boathouse pulled against their moorings. He took a deep breath and began.

Tony told him…about the blow that knocked him unconscious, about waking up weak and in pain from the head injury, and being unable to see his attacker. He told Gibbs about the scattering of brutal slashes across his face, neck, and upper torso. Then the final two cuts and feeling his life ebb away as someone stood nearby and watched.

"It has all the hallmarks of a crime of passion, Jeth. The slashes on his face; the way his killer cut his wrists and watched as he bled out on the floor…" Tony shuddered as grisly images flashed through his mind. "Whoever did it really wanted to hurt him before he died."

Gibbs listened as Tony described what he'd seen, profoundly disturbed by his shift to first-person perspective as he began to relay what happened in the vision. He'd initially described the attack as if it happened to him.

Fury filled him that Rory's spirit was so driven to find his killer that he'd subject Tony to the experience of what had been done to him.

"Tony, you need to try and assert some control over this link," he said angrily. "It's coming too easily now, and more and more like he's taking you over when it's active. I get that you need to help him, but the risk to you is too great."

"Risk?" Tony asked, frowning in confusion.

"Yes," Gibbs insisted. "Not only did the vision knock you on your ass this time, he made you relieve his death, Tony! You've had a head injury and I don't even want to know what that last little show of his did to your blood pressure. Your heart races and your skin goes so cold, it's like you're hypothermic."

Tony shook his head vehemently. "He just wants us to help him; he's not trying to hurt me, Jethro. I know it. I don't think he can help it."

"Are you sure you aren't being influenced too strongly? You were a little reckless earlier in searching the house, and that's not you." The angry light in Gibbs' eyes faded and worry took its place again. "Tony…I'm just scared." Gibbs faltered and then tried again, his voice cracked a little. "Your eyes…" He hesitated. He hadn't told Tony about the outward sign of Rory's influence that he found especially disconcerting.

"My eyes?" Tony prompted.

"When he takes over and pulls you into a vision, they change to blue for just a second. You're feeling, saying, and doing things that aren't you. What if he doesn't go away? Gibbs said apprehensively. "I'm afraid he'll take over completely, and you won't come back." The unspoken to me hung heavy in the air.

Tony was touched by the raw emotional admission, a rarity from his typically stoic lover. He felt a gentle wash of regret from Rory, back now and hovering on the far corners of his mind.

"He's not really taking over…" Tony's face scrunched as he tried to find a way to articulate how the connection felt. "It's more like he's, well, superimposed in a way. I'm a conduit…still me, but I can also channel Rory. I can talk to him, but also see and hear everything he's remembering."

"You also seemed to feel pain," Gibbs added unhappily. "Was it his?" Tony didn't respond. His edginess returned as he watched Tony reach up and skim fingertips lightly over his forehead, cheeks, and neck. Then he turned his forearms palm up and studied one wrist, then the other.

Tony's head ached, and his skin tingled and burned unpleasantly. He could almost see the cuts; and definitely felt lingering echoes of the injuries done to Rory.

"sorry sorry sorry"

He felt Rory's remorse at causing him pain. A second later, he inhaled sharply as he there was a small 'pop' in his head. He couldn't feel the cuts, or the pain in the back of his head any more.

Gibbs sensed something just happened. He reached across and gripped one wrist with a warm hand, giving it a gentle tug. Tony's attention shifted back to his face.

"Hey. What just happened, Tony?" he queried.

Tony smiled at Gibbs "He figured out how to turn it off; it doesn't hurt anymore," he murmured wonderingly.

Gibbs couldn't help the gust of air that escaped as he let out a relieved breath.

"Are we done here?"

"Not quite." Tony grabbed the bottle of Luminol from the table and stood. Gibbs held up a restraining hand.

"I believe you, Tony," he said. "You don't have to show me anymore."

Tony smiled affectionately. "I know you do. It's just that we don't have a lot to give to the authorities, even when the ID comes back. Rory's bones won't show any signs of the cuts that killed him. They might even believe he left the house for some reason, and fell in that shaft accidentally, the same as I did. "There won't be any way to prove he was killed here," Tony explained, waggling the small bottle in his hand. "I'm hoping whoever cleaned the scene wasn't very thorough."

Gibbs recalled Tony's discomfort at being in contact with the boards where Rory died. "I'll do it," he said determinedly, taking the bottle before Tony could protest.

Tony nodded, grateful that Gibbs seemed to understand, and moved to the light switch instead. He waited as Gibbs knelt by the spot where they'd been sitting a few minutes earlier.

"Here?" Gibbs asked, pointing at a small section of boards.

Tony nodded soberly, and watched as Gibbs applied the spray across two boards. He gave it a second, and then turned the light off.

Barely visible blue streaks appeared following the grain of the wood planks; much stronger along the gap between them. Oh yeah, he thought as he switched the light back on. Now we have something tangible.

"Well?" Gibbs stood and rejoined him at the table.

Tony reached into the backpack and pulled out an evidence bag. He dropped the knife into it, stripped off the gloves and put everything back in the bag.

"I think now's the time to haul ass," Tony quipped with a tired smile.

Gibbs nodded gratefully. Tony's sense of humor was something familiar; a lifeline he could hold on to in this crazy situation. "The sooner we can get away from the inn and drop this mess in someone else's lap, the happier I'll be."

"Sheriff or straight to the State Police?"

Before Gibbs could answer a voice came from the door behind them, and he cursed their distraction. They whirled as one, Gibbs reaching for the weapon at the small of his back. Ben Griffin stood there in a dripping sheriff's hat and open raincoat over his uniform. He had his service weapon drawn.

"Don't move," he warned in a cold, tight voice. "I can save you the trouble of deciding."