Many, many thanks for all your reviews, guys. Hope you like this one too…
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Chapter 2: Denial
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Gibbs' heart seemed to stall in his chest. A roaring filled his ears; he shouted into it inside his head, trying to make himself heard.
No! He's not dead! He can't be!
"I've extracted a DNA sample for Abby anyway; just to be sure," Ducky continued after a long and deafening silence, sounding older than ever before.
"You're certain?" Asked Gibbs harshly. "One hundred percent?"
"These things are never that clear cut, Jethro. But the chances of someone else driving Tony's car towards Tony's apartment with near identical dental records are so astronomical it would make my mother becoming the next Miss World look positively likely."
Gibbs glanced over to the sheet-wrapped form on the examination table.
"It's not him, Duck," he stated with conviction.
"And what are you basing that on, Jethro?" The Englishman asked sharply. "Your famous gut?" Gibbs merely met his eyes.
"I'd know if he were dead, Ducky. I'd just know."
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"McGee! What do you have?" Barked Gibbs, striding into the bullpen, fresh coffee in hand.
"Um, nothing yet, boss," the young agent said nervously. "Tony's cell isn't transmitting so it's either switched off or broken. His credit cards haven't been used in more than forty eight hours, and that was only a tank of gas for his car. No unusual calls, emails or visitors that I can find and I'm gonna go collect the security footage from every camera in the area with a view of the roads as soon as the stores open." Gibbs only grunted.
"Kate! What did you find on the friend?"
"He's clean, Gibbs. Brett Saddler is a professional physiotherapist, here for a job interview with a local hospital. His finances and credentials all check out; only criminal record is for a couple minor traffic violations. There's nothing hinky about the bartender either. It… it looks like it really was just an accident."
"With DiNozzo, Kate, nothing is ever what it looks like," said Gibbs firmly. "Keep looking."
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"What d'we know, Abbs?" Asked Gibbs, observing the red and black striped socks sticking out from under Tony's charred car; much like the Wicked Witch of the West, if she wore black platform boots instead of ruby slippers.
"Tony's going to be pissed when he sees this?" Said Abby, rolling out on her back. "I've checked the brakes and what's left of the three intact tyres, and they seem to be in perfect working order except for the fire damage. You know Tony; this car is his baby. He keeps it in mint condition."
"Yeah, well, it's in barbeque condition now. What about the tyre that blew?"
"I have my computer running a simulation based on the debris pattern in the crime scene photos to see how it failed as we speak. Has Ducky said anything about the x-rays yet?"
Gibbs looked at her, making sure there was certainty in his eyes. "Inconclusive," he said. "How long until we have the DNA?"
"I'm not Wonder Woman, Gibbs; at least another nine hours. When you say inconclusive…" Abby's voice trailed off, the normally chirpy tones hesitant. "What exactly did Ducky tell you?" Gibbs suddenly found the wall of the lab very interesting.
"He said… it could be him."
"But you don't think it is?" She nodded, satisfied. "Do you have any leads on where Tony's got to yet?" Gibbs' eyes softened at her certainty that their friend was alive.
"Not yet, Abbs, but we will. Knew I should have made him let you insert that tracking device."
"I will, as soon as we find him. Right after I kick his ass for worrying me like this." The young woman began to babble; Gibbs let her, feeling the stream of words flow over him like a balm.
"Why is it that these things always happen to Tony, anyway? He's, like, the unluckiest guy on the planet. Or the luckiest. After all the times he should have died, he's a medical marvel. Did you know he's had forty nine work related head injuries in his career? Next time some psycho bashes him over the head with a lamp, I'm throwing him a Golden Concussion party."
"If it turns out he's passed out in some bimbo's bed and his phone battery's died, he won't need a psycho with a lamp to get another concussion, Abby."
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Gibbs stepped out of the elevator about nine hours later, Kate and McGee following, and headed into Abby's lab. All three of them were exhausted; Gibbs had spent the time yelling at people and pulling every string he had to try and find a lead while Kate and McGee went cross eyed watching security footage from over a hundred store cameras.
There was no music playing; the silence seemed to menace the trio. McGee and Kate shot each other a worried look as they entered to find Abby working feverishly on her computer, her back to them.
"Abby?" Asked Gibbs, the single word all that was needed.
"I'm gonna have to run the test again, Gibbs," she said, distracted. "I think the DNA analyser needs recalibrating."
"You just had that done last week, Abby; there's nothing wrong with it," said McGee, puzzled.
"There is, McGee; there has to be." There was desperation in her voice.
"Abby, what did it say?" Asked Kate, unable to contain the tremble in her own.
"It doesn't matter; it can't be right," the Goth replied. Gibbs moved over and took her shaking hands from the keyboard, forcing her to meet his gaze.
"Abby, what did it say?" He asked, as gently as he could.
"It said… it said it was… but it can't be… you told me it wasn't… I've compared it twice, it still comes out the same…" Abby dissolved into heartwrenching sobs. Gibbs simply folded her into his arms and held her close, numbed by shock.
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Thoughts, questions and threats welcome.