DISCLAIMER:I own neither NCIS nor its characters. This is for entertainment purposes only… I make no money from this

Credits: Thanks to Kate98 for betaing (as usual)

Author's Note: Previously published on livejournal's NCIS flashfiction archive. Also, this is an early prequel to 'Talk Therapy'.

THE ROOKIE

Listen up kid, I'm not in the habit of saying things twice. You have three jobs: to fetch me coffee, to fetch me anything else I say, and to do what I fucking tell you to do, you got that? That was the mantra, the only rules of the relationship. You say, I do. And now…

"Suspicious smell, kid. Detectives don't check out 'suspicious smells.' That's for us uniforms. I just ate. Now get on over there and take a whiff."

But it's a church. And we've been here before and it's always been nothing. He didn't say it out loud, didn't bother with the effort. Instead, he heaved himself out of the passenger seat (do everything, but don't even think about driving), grateful to escape the suspicious smells emanating from somewhere in the car. It smelled like some rodent crawled up into the heating system and died. Some rodent probably had crawled up into the heating system and died, which explained why the smell got so much worse every time Harvey switched on the heater which he had going full-bore right now. Eating had nothing to do with why Harvey wasn't checking out this 'suspicious smell'… Harvey had no sense of smell. He also didn't like winter in Peoria, probably because he was in serious denial over his worsening health. People thought Tony was stupid, but a phys-ed degree wasn't just for the slow of head. That wheeze in Harvey's breathing every time the guy climbed a flight of stairs? Not so good at all.

Tony trudged up the walkway, considerately cleared of snow. He took a deep breath and regretted it, as his sinuses froze. Why had he decided to go into law enforcement? What part of his brain figured that this was a glamorous job and all the chicks would be hanging off the uniform? Right… the part that wasn't his brain. It incidentally, had crawled off to hide in this cold.

On the other hand, the air was cool and crisp. It didn't smell of… No. He shook his head. That was just a remnant from the car, clinging to his clothing

He walked up to the rectory and peeked in the window. All dark, nothing suspicious here.

"Can I help you, young man?" A skinny guy appeared out of nowhere, dressed in the traditional black and white of a priest, oddly immune to this flesh numbing cold. Thinning red hair topped a pale, but gentle, smiling face. The smile grew as he recognised his guest. "Officer DiNozzo. Anthony, isn't it?"

"Yes, Father. No… Father. Everything's fine." Suddenly he felt guilty; he was short on confessions and penances somewhere. "Neighbours just reported a…" He felt stupid, like he had every other time. A priest? What kind of lunatic accused a priest of something sinister? Okay… well, there were some who weren't so good, but this wasn't some child-molestation thing… how the hell (whoops, sorry, shouldn't say hell) were you supposed to hassle a priest over a weird smell?

His eyes fell to the other man's hands. He felt cold creep over him that had nothing to do with the weather. "Gardening, Father?"

"Even in winter, some things can be nourished." It wasn't an answer and it had a creepy quality that made Tony want to grab his gun.

Oh, Mother of God. How many times had he been here, talked to the guy? This was just Father Joseph Linden, right? Just some sweet old priest who liked nothing more than to be helpful and make the world a more beautiful place. Tony's hands trembled, alongside his faith. He stepped off the cleared path and into the snow, where his longer strides wouldn't put him in danger of falling. He didn't even feel the cold wetness seeping through his pants and freezing his skin and his muscles – that would come later, when he thawed. He rounded the corner to the back of the rectory, and stopped dead. A section of dirt lay freshly mounded around the base of some dormant roses.

"I try only to work on these projects in the summer," Father Linden appeared beside him again. "But when God calls, one must answer."

"Yeah." He wondered, briefly, if he should do what they did in the movies, brush away the dirt until he found something, some real proof that something was wrong. But no. Rookie or not, first body or no, he knew better than to disturb the scene. It was definitely a scene, he knew it was a… He reached to his shoulder for his radio. "Harve? We better get some techs and uniforms down here… I think we've…" Oh, Jesus, Mary and Joseph. "Um…"

"It's cold, Anthony. They'll be a while. Come in and have some coffee… it will warm you up."

Tony nodded, without even thinking. Of course he should follow. When you had a suspect, you didn't let him out of your custody. He wouldn't drink anything, and he'd watch the old man like a hawk, but he'd follow.

Inside, he watched Father Linden putter around with some cups. "You are an intelligent person, Anthony. You don't see enough of real intelligence these days." Father Linden sighed. "Why do you deny God's gift?"

You want to talk to me about God "Is there a body out there, Father?"

"Yes." The answer was simple, direct, and impossible. Tony's faith took another hit. Priests did not murder, and suspects did not casually confess to cops.

"Isn't… isn't killing a violation of the Fifth Commandment? Words handed down directly from God?" Why was he asking this? He wasn't really having this discussion, was he? It was all a dream… that was it, and he'd wake up to find himself in Hawai'i or something, and the cold was just an air-conditioner and…

"And only God can make exceptions," Father Linden agreed. "Very good, Anthony. I knew, from our discussions, that you would be the one to understand. Come with me."

Stunned, Tony obeyed. This is unreal. God… God? Are you there? Are you hearing this? Which one of us is insane? He wasn't sure he wanted to know the answer to that question. He chewed his lip, trying to keep down a hysterical giggle. A priest is confessing his sins to me. This is a new one. Everything else on this job… he was smart enough to be cynical and jaded walking in. But this… this went beyond even his natural defences. Welcome to Life: Twisted.

Father Linden unlocked a small door, opening it to reveal a bedroom. Tony flinched, half expecting to see things better suited to his room than a church. Instead…

A large, steel platform took up a good portion of the space, grooves ran down the sides of it, and something dark still stained them.

"They don't suffer." Father Linden explained, as though giving one of his gardening tours. "I end their suffering, give them back to God, and they grant the world more beauty. It's His way of rewarding us for keeping virtue from being corrupted into sin. You see, Tony, they did not sin willingly. But they had no other choice. I helped them, helped them avoid the condemnation of Hell…"

"There's always a choice." Now he could see why guys like Nietzsche and Kierkegaard moved away from the Church and stopped believing in God. With God and the Devil to blame, what's to stop us from doing anything? "You could have called the cops, Father… If people are being forced to do things… evil… we can help…"

Father Linden laid a finger across his lips. "How could I tell you, without perpetuating Satan's wishes? The rule is inviolable…"

You are insane. Tony finally admitted it. The priest was whacked. Completely, totally… out of his mind and into another universe. He reached out, put his hand on the man's shoulder. "Joseph Linden, you are under arrest for the murder… for the murder of persons unknown. You have the right to remain silent…"

"No, Anthony. It is a responsibility. A vow. The seal…"

Tony finished the Miranda and shook his head. "I'm not a priest, Father. You confess to me, and I have to tell." Like the man just said, the rule was inviolable. Cops did not give absolution.


…He looked up at the tall building in front of him. Cedar Ridge Psychiatric Facility…