Abby paced back and forth in her lab. "Gibbs promised me evidence three hours ago. Why don't we have it yet?"

Bert's glassy eyes stared back at her placidly.

"Yeah, I know I shouldn't worry, but I have this feeling." She picked up the hippo, squeezing him tightly. "What if something terrible happened, like a car accident or a sinkhole or a meteor strike?"

"Then I wouldn't be here with a Caf-Pow that I'm not sure I should be giving you?"

"McGee!" Abby rushed to the door and wrapped her arms around his neck. "I fell asleep at my computer after I processed the dead guys' clothes and I had this really weird dream that you guys disappeared and I couldn't find you and there was this guy dressed as Tigger from Winnie the Pooh who was helping me look for you, but he kept…" she stopped abruptly. "You're not going to hand over that Caf-Pow if I finish this story, are you?"

"Do you really think more caffeine is the best thing for you right now?"

"It's 3:30 in the morning. Do you think you should be messing with my caffeine supply? Do I need to remind you that I am one of the only…"

"Yeah, yeah, I know, no forensic evidence. Fortunately, whoever killed our Marine and his brother is not a forensic scientist." McGee pointed to the cart he had wheeled in behind him. "Blood, glass, a bullet and a mountain of cigarette butts among other things. Oh, and photos, of course." He inserted a memory card into the computer and called up the image index. "We've got tire treads and reason to believe that the car that left them may be our primary crime scene."

She pawed through the clear plastic bags of stubs before opting for the glass jars. She held one at eye-level and examined the contents. "Shattered glass, possibly with little red specks on it."

"Right. We were thinking car window?"

"Looks tinted. Maybe it came from a cranberry red 2004 Ford Explorer."

McGee's jaw dropped open. "You can tell that just from looking at a few pieces of glass?"

"I've been waiting here all night. You were supposed to have been back hours ago. I've had time to do a little back reading on the boys. Sergeant Neal happens to be the proud owner of a 2004 Explorer that is not currently accounted for."

"Rule number eight, Abby."

"You're in the lab, Timmy. Feel free to assume your butt off until the all tests have been run."

"Just don't let me hear about it."

McGee attempted to stammer an excuse while Abby replied, "That would be a lot easier if you weren't such a sly eavesdropper, Gibbs."

"What do we know so far, Abs?"

"Considering I just got the evidence? We know I've got a full morning of analysis to look forward to."

Gibbs frowned slightly. "Didn't Ducky send you the dead guys' clothes?"

"Oh! Sorry, I got a little focused on my new goodies." She walked to her table, laying her hands on the bags there as she talked about their contents. "Off-duty, our sergeant was a Gap man: khakis, blue oxford, brown leather belt, boxers. He was also wearing black leather Kenneth Cole loafers, bit of a faux pas there. His socks didn't have labels, but I'd bet a Caf-Pow…no, I'd never bet a Caf-Pow. But, not the point. The shirt tested positive for GSR, but I doubt you needed me to tell you that. The brother was a little more high-end: Brooks Brothers suit and Bruno Magli shoes. I'm sure O.J. would approve. Neither one had a coat, which I thought was odd considering how cold it is."

"Maybe they weren't intending to spend any time outside lying on the pavement?"

"Yes, I always bring a scarf for my parking lot naps." She moved to her computer. "I got their credit cards out of their wallets, which were both in their pants, so I guess we can assume robbery wasn't the motive. Neither of them have made any purchases since yesterday, and most of the stuff they buy looks pretty benign anyway, groceries, gas, that kind of stuff."

"Anything else?"

"Maybe."

"Maybe?"

"Well, I know how you feel about assumptions, so I don't want to…"

"I'll make an exception since we're in the lab."

"Aw, that's sweet, Gibbs." Abby drew a glare as she took a break to sip her Caf-Pow. "Right, Patrick Neal is a surgeon, so he should have a beeper or cell phone or palm pilot slash cell phone…"

"I almost got one of those instead of the video phone," McGee interrupted, "but then I figured it would suck if I lost it because then I'd be losing my phone and palm instead of just…" McGee winced and Abby suppressed a laugh. "Sorry, boss."

Gibbs brushed his hand against his shirt. "So our dead guy is a doctor with no cell phone? Do we even know that he had one?"

"I'm working on it, but you'd be surprised how unhelpful people can be in the wee hours of the morning."

"Anything you can work on in the meantime? I seem to remember sending someone down with some evidence not long ago."

"Somebody needs more coffee. What do you want processed first, O Grumpy One?"

Gibbs held up a finger for each item he ticked off. "Bullet, blood, glass, incidental parking lot trash."

"Both wounds were through and throughs so I didn't get any shells from Ducky, but if you brought me bullets I can tell you whose head or chest they've toured."

Gibbs pushed the bags on the cart around, searching. He finally held one up. "We've only got one bullet."

"Uh, Gibbs, I hate to bring attention to your lack of visual acuity again, but that's a stick."

McGee cleared his throat, "The, uh, bullet is in the stick. Tony and Ziva spent about ten minutes in a hedge looking for it."

"Fun." Abby examined the bag. "I should be able to get this out without damaging the bullet."

"Good, do it." He walked toward the elevator.

"Wait, Gibbs! When you said process the incidental parking lot trash, what, exactly, did you mean?"

"Fingerprints, DNA, whatever you can get from cigarette butts."

"That could take days."

"Start with the ones closest to the sites of interest, then hope we've made enough progress to save you from processing the rest on a rush. McGee!"

He flashed a sympathetic look at Abby. "Coming, boss."

"Wait. Separate the butts from around the body drop and where we found the glass. Then send all the relevant data upstairs."

Abby held her silence until she was sure Gibbs was gone. "He doesn't really expect me to run DNA on all these cigarette butts? I mean, fingerprints are a pain but I can run them quickly. DNA is, like, hours of work and waiting."

"Mostly waiting…I see your point. I'll get to those cigarettes."

"Thanks, McGee." Abby pulled on a fresh pair of gloves and removed the bullet-containing stick from its evidence bag. "Looks like a small caliber. .22, maybe? So Tony and Ziva snuck into the bushes to find this?"

His head shot up in surprise. "I forgot to tell you. I think they almost kissed in the squad room earlier."

"Ohmigod! Was that before or after the teacher totally yelled at you for chewing gum in class?"

"What?" His eyes shifted back and forth as he tried to follow her line of thinking.

She rolled her eyes. "This isn't junior high, McGee. They're not just gonna make out in front of you."

"Yeah, I forgot how subtle they've been lately." He smiled as he made her laugh and continued searching through the pile of bags, absently separating them into two stacks. "Hey, has Tony tried to tell you that he thought they were secret Moussad handcuffs that regular keys wouldn't work on?"

"Only, like, every time I see him. He may actually be starting to believe it."

"You know, I don't think he even tried to get out. Well, not beyond tugging the chain any time he wanted attention."

Abby fluttered her eyelids and pouted. "Mistress would have punished him if he'd taken them off without her permission. She's really got that whole Jedi mind trick going on him. Hey, you think that would work for me?"

McGee nodded with mock seriousness. "Try it the next time he's down here."

Abby turned and raised her hand, wiggling her fingers. "I find your lack of faith disturbing, Timmy."

A/n: If you're wondering about the whole handcuffs situation, it refers to my previous story 'Locked.' Several reviews about the universality of handcuff locks/keys made me aware that I was being a bit unclear. Yes, Tony could have gotten out of the cuffs at any time for reasons other than the fact that I was torturing him because it was funny they were his own cuffs. It's the fact that he didn't that's significant. I thought the psychological aspect of choosing to remain in an easily escapable situation would add another (more serious) layer to the humor of Tony being cuffed to his chair all day while illuminating another dimension of the Tony/Ziva dynamic.