Chapter 2

Leroy Jethro Gibbs hated unanswered questions. It was ironic in a way, because his job was dependent upon those same unanswered questions. Still, he considered it a personal mission to dispel the doubts and find the answers where others failed. He solved the problems. He learned the answers.

And when he couldn't do so, it pissed him off royally.

At the moment, he was a stage beyond pissed. The team had been over this case with several fine toothed combs for the last four days, and they had been getting nowhere in a hurry. The first three days appeared to be a total waste, as they'd been heading in a direction that had led to a brick wall.

Two Privates – neither one old enough to so much as drink a beer – had been mercilessly stabbed on their way to work. Just outside the front gate to the base, their bodies had been found split from navel to collar bone. Each had bled out, according to Ducky no more than a few minutes apart. The murder weapon had been left there, completely free of prints. The boys – he could hardly call them men – had their wallets, credit cards, and cash intact in their uniform pockets.

Too damned many unanswered questions. Why were two of them attacked? Were they attacked by one assailant or more? What was the motive? How in hell didn't the gate guard hear something? Why wasn't their any evidence of their defending themselves? Ducky assured him it wasn't a drop – blood had settled in very specific patterns showing that they had died where they had fallen. Still, they hadn't been found until first light.

But why? That was the question paramount in Gibbs' mind. Why? They were low-level enlisted personnel. Their jobs weren't secure, they were apparently well known and well liked on base, each one living in a separate dorm. They had both been working second shift and had gone out to dinner – possibly together – and neither had returned to work. There were a few similarities between them, such as age and rank, but that was about it. They had few common friends outside of work, they were from different units, but the same command. They worked in the same building, but lived in separate dorms. One was white, the other black. One had a girlfriend, the other did not. There was simply not enough common ground to find a connection – a link – that might lead them to a motive.

So Gibbs was not particularly happy when he heard someone approach quietly behind him. McGee, he realized. He could tell from the aftershave. The agent still wore it, although Gibbs felt that it interfered with his sense of smell and didn't bother with it himself. He waited a moment, but the young agent didn't speak. Finally, irritation got the better of him.

"Was there something you wanted?" he asked, not bothering to look up from the file he had read for the fifth time.

"Yes, Sir," he said quickly, stumbling. "I mean, Boss. I was wondering… I mean, I was concerned about… That is …"

"Say it, or get back to work," Gibbs told him, his voice leaving no room for argument. He didn't have time for fidgeting agents. He needed to figure this out. He knew if he could just find the pattern, he would be able to…

"It's Abby," McGee finally answered. "I'm worried about her."

"Abby's a big girl," he muttered. "Worry about yourself if you don't figure out what we're missing with this case."

"Yes, Sir. I mean… No, Sir. Boss, something's really wrong."

The kid was standing by his guns, he had to give him that however annoying it was. "McGee, I don't have time for…"

"There's no Caf-Pow in her lab," McGee said quickly. "The music's off, and she's walking around like a zombie. She's sitting on the floor and staring at walls. Boss, I think she might be sick or something."

Gibbs slid the glasses down his nose that he hated to rely on and looked over them at the younger man. He saw concern on his face – genuine concern – and just a little bit of fear. Come to think of it, he hadn't heard much from Abby in the last couple of days himself. He'd dropped off a few things, but generally Tony or McGee took the evidence down to the lab. It was unusual, really, and a sign of how preoccupied he'd been with the case. Normally he managed to get down there at least once a day to check on his favorite lab rat.

Brushing aside another comment, he decided it would be faster to check things out himself than to spend the next few minutes reassuring his paranoid agent. "I'll check on her," Gibbs promised, although he didn't sound particularly happy about the interruption in his day. "Now get back to work."

"Yes, Boss," McGee said, and Gibbs heard the relief in his voice. A prickle of fear threaded its way up his spine as he watched a weight lift from the man's shoulders. The kid was genuinely worried, he'd give him that.

Gibbs had a nagging irritation at the base of his spine as he walked to the elevator and pushed the button for the basement. Before the doors even closed, he changed his mind and pressed the button to stop on the ground floor. There was no reason to go into this situation unarmed, and he needed a break for himself.

Ten minutes later, he was carrying a coffee and a Caf-Pow through the metal detector as he headed back to the elevator. This time he did go to the basement, and despite McGee's warnings he was surprised at the silence. Even when her mood was crappy, Abby normally had something on the CD player. A good mood meant loud and obnoxious, and a bad mood normally meant something soft or classical, but either way her music tended to be a reflection of her state of mind. The few times he'd known her to turn the music off altogether she had been genuinely upset about something.

She had her back to him and was standing stock-still when he entered the lab, and that prickle at the base of his spine started to spread. "Hey, Abs," he called out as he approached her, not wanting to startle her if she was working on something sensitive. He needn't have worried. Her hands were as still as the rest of her, her gaze fixed on the vial in her hand. "Abby?"

She seemed to take her time answering. Finally she raised her eyes to his and looked at him with nothing short of confusion. "Gibbs?"

"Abby, what's wrong?" He set down her drink and turned her gently to face him.

"Nothing." Her voice was flat, monotone. Definitely not Abby.

He looked at her a moment. Nothing. His standard stare wasn't going to get the job done this time. He didn't know how he knew it, but he did. There were shadows beneath her eyes, almost a gray tint to her skin. "Are you feeling alright?" he asked, his voice softening.

Again, she seemed to take forever to answer. He was a man known for his patience in waiting out suspects, but he didn't have any patience at all to wait this out. Her gaze was unfocused, and she wasn't answering him. On a flash of inspiration he put his wrist to her forehead to check for a fever, and instead he met cool skin. She didn't even flinch at his action.

Gibbs had had enough. He glanced at the televiewer and dismissed the idea of using it without Abby's assistance. What she made look easy was just another technical obstacle to him. He briefly considered taking her down the hall to autopsy, but he wasn't entirely sure he'd get her cooperation. Finally, he went with the simplest solution and pulled out his cell phone.

The phone rang only once. "Dr. Mallard," was the reply in a clipped English accent.

"Doc, I need you in Abby's lab," he said without preamble.

"Jethro? Where are you?"

Frustration began to build, and some spilled over into his voice. "Abby's lab," he said through gritted teeth. "I need you to check something."

"I'm rather busy here," Ducky began. "Would it be possible…"

"No it wouldn't," Gibbs yelled into the phone. "Now!" He snapped the phone closed for emphasis as he continued to observe Abby. She hadn't appeared to follow the conversation.

He was still watching her when Ducky entered the room, his apron and gloves were gone, but he was clearly dressed for an autopsy. He crossed from the door to the sink without looking at Gibbs or Abby and began to wash his hands. "Now, if you would tell me why you are in such a blessed hurry," he said with clear exasperation. "You have consistently demanded immediate results from my tests, and you well know that I am still searching for additional evidence, so if you would kindly explain to me why you are unable to wait even…"

The doctor had grabbed a paper towel from the dispenser and turned to Gibbs as he dried his hands. Seeing the motionless lab technician, he stopped speaking.

"Abby," Gibbs said softly. No response. He tried a little more loudly. "Abby!"

"What?" she asked slowly, confusion evident. "I just stopped for a minute. I'll finish now." She moved back to the counter then looked down at her hand as though she'd never seen the vial she held in it. "What was I doing with this?" she asked.

Thankfully, Ducky didn't seem to need an explanation of the situation. "Abigail?" he questioned. It was a moment before she turned toward him. When she did, her face was slightly less confused than it had been. The movement appeared to have roused her. "Abigail," he said a second time, using her name deliberately to gain her attention. "How are you feeling?"

The confusion returned to her face. "I'm fine," she said.

"You're not fine, my girl," he said simply. "Are you feeling dizzy?" he asked. "Tired? Are you in pain?"

"I'm fine," she said again, her tone unchanged.

"Jethro, go find Mr. Palmer. Tell him I will need my medical bag. He can find it in the back seat of my car. I never go anywhere without it."

"Keys?" Gibbs asked.

"Left coat pocket," he answered, never taking his eyes from Abby.

Gibbs nodded and headed for the door. He wouldn't bother with Palmer; he would get the damned bag himself. As he left he heard Ducky speaking in a more normal tone of voice.

"Have I told you about the time I was able to aid in the diagnosis of a Senator's wife?" he asked. "It was several years ago, when I saw a car stopped on the side of the road. Naturally I stopped, and I was quite glad I did…"

Gibbs didn't hear any more as he rushed to get the keys, and then he headed for the stairs because he didn't want to take time for the elevator.