DISCLAIMER: If any of you think I have any rights in either Dark Angel or NCIS, boy, can I give you a great deal on some swamp land in New Orleans, just in time for Mardi Gras! And if you think there's any profit in this for me, I swear, come find it and it's all yours.
THANKS FOR READING and for egging me on. For those of you who did not, and are pained by the pairing, I'm so very sorry...
(Well, not really, but I figure you can turn the channel...)
DISTRICT of COLUMBIA: February 4, 2020 2:30 P.M.
"Boss?'
Special Agent Tony DiNozzo had been standing stock still now for at least five minutes, a record for him. As he heard the timid voice he turned to glare at the probie, raising his eyebrows and pointing with carefully honed irritation at the image on the large wall screen. Without breaking eye contact with his agent, he lifted the Starbucks cup to take another pull at the dark brew, and spoke without turning toward the man on the other end of the connection. "That's great, McGee –I would like to go through the stuff, too. And I appreciate your meeting me in Indy, to help me get what I need from your people there." Tony finally turned away from the probie to stare back at the data displayed in multi-screen layout next to McGee's image, comparing the evidence lists and investigation notes just sent to the FBI's SAC in Chicago, a former "probie" himself. "You've arranged a meeting with the widow at noon, you said?"
As he listened to McGee's response, he scanned the print-out offered by the fledgling agent under his nose, nodded, and pointed her back toward her work station with his chin. He again turned back to McGee. "I sent one of my team to Houston, since your office there wasn't quite as eager to pitch in as you were."
"They probably don't appreciate how much hell you can cause if you're in the mood." McGee had truly come into his own, DiNozzo reflected. He could just visualize the agent settling down with a wife, a picket fence, 2.3 kids...and running the show for the Feds in the heartland, in his deceptively mild way. It actually would be good to see him again... "I'm surprised you're making the trip yourself..."
"Actually, I'm making two stops–you're on the way to Seattle, where another member of the unit lives–he's the medic who pronounced Parks. I'm curious to know exactly how dead Parks was."
McGee nodded thoughtfully. "I'll see you tomorrow, then." With only a slight pause, he asked, his voice dropping momentarily, as if he'd forgotten that his image would be looming over the entire room. "Hey, how's the Old Man?"
"...the Old Man is fine, McGee, as are his ears–and not so damn old that he can't still kick your ass for a crack like that." Apparently McGee's timing was as good as it ever was, Tony grinned, or Gibbs' was–he suspected the latter–because the trim sixty-eight year old strode into the pit just as the FBI agent was speaking. "So you're helping us out on Tony's case?"
"Yes, Boss...er, I mean..."
Some things never change, DiNozzo grinned even wider. He watched McGee squirm, still enjoying the show. "Well, we appreciate it. The only offices that are willing to let us in without an arm wrestling contest are those like yours that have some of our people assigned." Gibbs glanced at DiNozzo, then down to the Starbucks cup for a split second and back to smirk knowingly at the unapologetic face. "My office, DiNonzzo, when you're done here."
"Right, Boss." DiNozzo turned back to McGee as Gibbs went back toward the elevators, almost disappointed that Gibbs let McGee off the hook so easily. "I'll have my itinerary sent to you this morning."
"Okay. It will be great to see you, Tony" McGee admitted, a shade self-consciously, clearly still embarrassed by the deja vu moment just played out for DiNozzo's team.
"Yeah, me too, McGee" Tony grinned. "I wanna see how you run your probies..."
...xxx...xxx...xxx...xxx...xxx...xxx...xxx...
Gibbs was talking before Tony could say anything, his entry having been announced from the outer office by Gibbs' secretary. "DiNozzo, you know you can use local agents on this–or send one of your team. There's no need for you to go yourself, is there?"
"You'd go" Tony challenged, eyebrows lifting. "The team is fine but half of them are new; none of them has all that much experience with serial killers. And this guy in Seattle would be the most likely to confirm whether or not there's any way Parks is still alive."
"And he's the friend of your cousin..."
Tony didn't back off. "Yup." He knew when he was on solid ground, having watched his mentor win exactly these sorts of battles.
"Too personal?"
"No, just about right." DiNozzo's ever-present smile didn't flag, but there was a grim edge to it. "This guy's in line to be shot, Boss. He probably has more information on it than any of the others, and his records show that he's no slouch–bright, well-trained...he would have been career, all of them would have, if the Navy hadn't peed its pants over the Pulse those first few years..."
Maybe a sucker punch, but an honest one: DiNozzo knew how Gibbs felt about service men and women, and what had gone on when the government tried to cope with the upheaval postPulse. Not one for quitters, it was the one break Gibbs gave anyone in uniform for bailing–the fallout on the troops had been appalling, and the efforts to re-recruit the good ones after things were put back on track were never enough, in his eyes. Tony'd known his boss wouldn't stop him, but this lessened the grief he had to endure. "When you coming back?" Gibbs conceded.
"Probably Saturday or Sunday; it depends on what I find there." And how I find Logan, Tony mused. It had been quite a while...and a lot of water under the bridge..."I'll play it by ear."
"Just as long as you keep up with your team."
"Don't I always, Boss?" The smile flashed again, and he shamelessly went for the cheap points. "I learned from the best..."
SEATTLE, WASHINGTON: February 4, 2020 12:50 P.M.
Sector 9; Fogle Towers
It had been an unusually sunny day for Max.
It was almost warm, the day actually clear and the air sweet, traffic less snarled than usual. Sector cops were at worst, subdued; a couple were even friendly. To top it off, Max actually had gotten a couple decent tips–one, very decent, here in Sector 9...and she was too close to Logan's place not to drop in and see if the day was as beautiful for him, up in his nest away from the mean streets...
She half laughed to herself, just imagining that. Of course, he'd've found something to keep himself worried for humanity and at the end of his patience, no matter how beautiful the day was. The guy was so serious, she mused, aware of the effect the day was having on her own mood. She wondered is she could ever convince him to just kick back for a day, pretend the world wasn't quite so dark...
Coming off the elevator into the quiet, elegant entry, Max quickly put the security system on pause and slipped the lock open as easily as anyone else would use a key. She closed the door behind her and reset the system, turning to look for the lord of the manor. As always, the place was cool...clean... the rarefied atmosphere fitting, so far above the world. Without pause, she walked back to the computer room where she was not disappointed: in the dim natural light filtering into the computer room in inner portion of the penthouse, Logan sat hunched over the keyboard, face lighted by the shifting colors on the monitor, scanning the files opening and closing before his eyes, almost unaware that Max had come in.
"Just as I expected" she twinkled, undaunted by his driven intensity, as she came around to perch against the computer desk beside the keyboard. "Logan, it's perfect outside! It's sunny and warm and you need to put Eyes Only back in the box once in a while and kick back, you know, go have a picnic, take a spin in the park..."
But when she finally looked down to his face, her lecture winding down, the look in his eyes caused her beam to fade–this was more than the usual Logan obsession. He looked harried and frustrated, rattled, even. Max immediately forgot the sunshine and focused on him.
"...Logan?" She dipped her head a bit, her question carrying concern. "What is it?"
He looked into her eyes and wavered a moment, almost as if he was deciding whether or not to let her in, but in the next moment, she saw him shake the spell the computer had on him and relax into his trust in her. "Two men from Bling's unit, in the Navy, have been murdered in the last two weeks. No leads yet, no reason for someone to want them dead...but I'm worried...Bling's got to be on the list, too..." He tore his eyes away from hers, and looked back at the screen hungrily, looking for answers... "No way to know what or who to watch for...the 'eyewitnesses' to one of the murders–about six of them–all disagreed as to the description of the attacker...fat, thin, tall, short, old, young..." He sighed. "They agreed about only his clothing, and that was pretty general." He stared at the screen again, hard, trying to find clues that just weren't there. "Hard to draw up a wanted poster with all that..."
She understood the intensity, then...but also needed him to remember just who that object of concern was. "Bling's smooth, though, you know...he's got some moves..." Max tried to reassure him, and added, gently ribbing him to raise his spirits, "I mean, he's not Manticore...but I might go to Navy as my next choice..."
Logan didn't move his eyes from the screen, but the corner of his mouth softened a tiny bit, and Max saw his shoulders loosen infinitesimally...Max felt a small glow of accomplishment, and indulged in a momentary vision of how relaxed his shoulders might be if she just could work her warm palms along his tight muscles, and let her fingers untangle the knotted sinews...
...with a small inner shake, she put her mind back to his concerns of the moment..."What does Bling say about it?" She managed. " Is he as worried as you are?"
Logan snorted softly, remembering the conversation. "I think he finally called me an old mother hen," he muttered, and shook his head. "I keep getting these daily reminders about how much you and he are alike." Logan glanced up in time to see Max's soft, amused smile, and finally leaned back to break the spell woven by his unproductive research. "He insists he'll keep an eye out but that he's going to live his life. He's worried about the others, and mad as hell at whomever is doing this...but isn't worried enough for himself" Logan sighed, cocking his head and musing, "Tell me what to say to him to get his attention...what would get yours?"
As she began to answer, the phone rang. In the moment before he reached for it, she shrugged, mouth quirking in some sympathy. "Probably nothing."
"That's what I was afraid of," he grimaced, and lifted the handset to his ear. "Yeah" he started. Wondering if she might see something in the data, Max leaned toward the monitor, nose wrinkling in study, attention drawn away from the call...
Until Logan started to respond...
"Oh...yeah, hi." Not looking back at him, Max's eyebrows nonetheless lifted slightly at the surprise she heard in Logan's voice...and waited...She would not eavesdrop on the voice at the other end of the call, unless asked... or, she allowed, if there seemed to be a need. For whatever reason, her doing so in the past had made Logan feel "mothered," and heaven forbid she offend His Prickliness in such things...
"Good; great..." He listened a while, murmuring a couple times...and then straightened a little. "What? Here?" His question was such that Max turned to look at him, in question; when his eyes met hers they carried an emotion difficult to decipher–not fear, really, but–he looked cornered, she decided, that look of stage fright... "I thought...I mean, you have assistants for that, right? Or you use local agents; you mentioned the guy you knew near Indianapolis who would handle that end of the investigation..."
Max suddenly realized she had seen that look before–in the Aztek, on the way to Bennett's wedding. But the call was about Bling's team... She stuck to her guns and would not listen in, but from worry for Bling he'd now added discomfort–for himself, it appeared. She waited, staring unabashedly now into his eyes, watching his response...
"...sure. No, of course; it's great, I..." Another pause, and, shaking his head at the one on the other end of the line, he closed his eyes and said, apparently more heartily than he felt, "No, don't be ridiculous, Tony; you'll stay here...of course I have room, you've seen the place..." He listened again, eyes still closed as he sought balance. Max tipped her head, frowning. This bore, for all the world, the patina of Logan's 'family issues.' But... 'Tony?' She thought she'd heard of them all by now... "No; look, that will be great...I know, we can catch up..." Logan's eyes opened again as he looked up to peer into Max's, seeking her presence, looking for...what? Reassurance? A friend? She was really curious now... "Okay, great...Thursday, 4 PM, AirNational 642...right; got it. We'll be there." His eyes left Max's only for the moment he needed to type in the information onto his calendar, then returned as he again listened, his demeanor now a bit softer, less strung. "Look–I really appreciate the personal attention in this, Tony. And since Bling works for me I can be sure he's got as much time for you as you both need." Logan nodded once again at the unseen speaker. "Okay...it will be great to see you again..." He hung up, slowly...and let his breath out in a long, even whoosh...
Max sat up straighter, expression asking for details. When he just shrugged, looking awkward, she urged, "Well, come on! You can't let me watch all that drama then not spill!"
"You're saying I could have stopped you?" he stalled. When she just rolled her eyes and glared back at him, Logan sighed. "There's a federal investigation agency affiliated with the Navy, NCIS..."
"Naval Criminal Investigative Service..."
"Yeah." Logan knew he shouldn't be surprised that she knew, but his eyebrows lifted in spite of himself, and she shrugged, urging him to get on with it. "They're working on the homicides, and seeing if they can't get a handle on this before something else happens." He knew she was waiting for the rest, which didn't lessen his discomfort. "The team leader on the project is my cousin..."
"Another Cale?" Max grinned widely. "I thought they were all out here..."
"He's a DiNozzo, not a Cale...his mother was my father's and Jonas' sister. She...left on unhappy terms, married Tony's dad...but Tony came to visit fairly often for several summers before he left for college, I guess, especially during his high school years, when he and Bennett's older brothers were closer, and during and after college for a while. His parents, though..." Logan was lost in memory. "His father never came out–I suspect he wasn't welcome. Aunt Mallory came out twice, maybe three times, that's all that I know of. I wasn't exactly the first black sheep in the Cale family."
"What ran her off–as if I can't guess?" Max asked.
Logan smirked sadly, eyes unfocused, still seeing the past. "Not sure, but I imagine it has something to do with the fact that Joseph DiNozzo was Italian...or Catholic...or both."
"...and...?" Max demanded.
"'and...'...the Cales aren't" Logan pronounced. "Not a very noble sentiment, is it?"
"Are you sure you're a Cale?"
He chuckled, understanding her point and appreciating her making it. "Well, Tony's not much of a Cale either. Maybe that's why I liked him so much. Of course, it was natural..." Logan allowed a lopsided grin, "I was just four or five, and he was this cocky college kid, terrific at sports –all the girls just hung on him. Everyone says he'd been a lady killer since he was about twelve." Logan's memories made him smile now. "Once I went to school out East, I saw him fairly often– Connecticut wasn't that far from DC, especially when transportation was so available, prePulse. I'd go there, he came up to school a few times...he knew I didn't have family left, really; he didn't either. He despaired of me, though–thought I was too serious..."
"...you are..." she agreed...
Logan grunted at her interruption. "He was a cop for a while, then became an agent with NCIS, something like eighteen years ago, not too long before I started college, so we'd both set out alone in something new. He was really there for me, back then."
"What happened?" Max's voice was soft now...supportive...
Logan blinked a little, as if surprised, back to earth suddenly. "Nothing. I mean...we just...got busy, I guess; we called or e-mailed but I'd finished school and moved back here...with the Pulse, even if you had money, it wasn't that easy to get planes or trains cross-country, at first...I guess we got used to the distance."
No matter how he tried to make it light, Max heard the small note of sadness in the words, and understood what this Tony must have meant to a sensitive college kid far away from the only home and family he'd known for a while, no matter how cold. "When did you last see him?"
"Oh, maybe three, four years ago..." He looked up to see that the timing was not lost on Max. He steeled himself for the rest.
"So...he knows you were injured, right?" She'd reached the heart of it, finally, she could see...
"Yeah. Or...I'm sure he does. Yeah. Bennett or someone..they're in touch; I'm sure someone said..." he grimaced. "I think." He saw that look, the look that always made him squirm and the one he wanted to be able to say he hated but just could not...the look of growing disbelief that he had done something, or hadn't when she thought he should, the 'Geez-Logan-what- a-horse's-ass-you-can-be' look, and demurred, "Well, what was I supposed to do, call him up and tell him I got my ass shot off? I didn't want him running out here, and it wouldn't have changed anything..."
"You'd want to know if the situation was reversed."
He hated when Max saw the skeletons in his mental closet–she never shied away from calling him on them, and never failed to make sense when she did so. He could never win, and though he knew she was right, it made the skeletons rattle even more. "That's different...we're different. Tony's..." he trailed, thinking better of it. "Whichever, he'll know soon enough. He's coming out himself, Thursday, to talk to Bling and look into a couple other things on the way."
"So I gathered. And he's staying here?" At Logan's painful nod, she grinned, satisfied. "Good. I want to meet this non-Cale Cale."
...the image of that meeting made Logan's stomach drop..."Max...look..."
"What?" She'd seen him react and wondered why the self-conscious embarrassment. "He's an important part of your life, Logan, and he sounds like a much more interesting guy than any of the other Cales...you don't want me to meet him?"
No, he didn't... "It's not that, Max..." he lied.
"Good." she smiled contentedly. "Thursday afternoon, huh?"
Logan sighed, silently, he hoped. He couldn't tell her why this was so hard, didn't really understand it himself...All he knew was that he couldn't bear to imagine that look, the first time Tony caught an eyeful of him in the chair...and even more–as if he were still that same, awkward seventeen year old, insecure and bespectacled–he dreaded even more the thought that, even at nearly fifty years old, the old Tony DiNozzo charm would make any woman with him completely forget about the way-too-serious Logan Cale...
...to be continued...