It took Gibbs a record five minutes to drive to the police station, three minutes to intimidate the information he needed out of the secretary (mostly by staring at her) and one minute to find this so-called Detective Robertson.
Being unusually polite, instead of bursting in on him in interrogation Gibbs instead burst in on the man in the observation room, demanding to see the Detective after a very brief explanation of who he was. The man, presumably a techie, got on the comms system.
"Erm, Detective Robertson, we have a, um, Special Agent Gibbs here to see you," he said. In the interrogation room, Tony looked up at the window, grinning, and the other man, presumably the detective, got up coolly and walked out. Gibbs continued watching Tony, who had become the picture of nonchalance, looking in the mirror cheekily and smoothing his hair back.
The door into the observation room opened, and in stepped a young man, with black hair and an expression of annoyance.
"Special Agent Gibbs," the detective said, offering a hand, which Gibb ignored.
"Is my agent a suspect, Robertson?" he asked instead, and the other man fidgeted.
"He's our only lead, his DNA was found at the crime scene . . . " he explained and Gibbs exploded.
"It was his apartment, of course his DNA would be there!" he yelled.
"It's still highly suspicious . . ."
"You must be new at this. I need my agent, so if you're done asking stupid questions, we'll both be leaving," Gibbs said, heading for the door. Halfway there, he turned. "NCIS will be taking over this investigation. Send all of the evidence over to our headquarters." With that, he stormed out into the hallway, opening the interrogation room door a crack.
"DiNozzo," he said, "you coming?" Tony jumped up and grabbed his coat.
"Sure thing, Boss!" he said, grinning.
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McGee was not having a good time. He had gotten to Ziva's apartment with no trouble at all, only to find upon arriving that she wasn't answering her door, either. With a slight feeling of unease settling in his stomach (for he had seen her car in the lot), he opened the door with the key she'd given him.
"Now I'm trusting you, McGee," she'd said with a slight smile, pressing the key gently into his open palm. She tucked a stray piece of frizzy hair back behind her ear and spoke again.
"If anything happens, I know . . . "
He shook his head violently, trying once more to bury the memory that was distracting him so.
"Ziva?" he called uncertainly, stepping inside. He knew that she wasn't there - well, that she had better not be there - because if she was and she hadn't answered her phone or the door, then that meant she was . . . and he more than hoped not. A quick scan of the apartment proved, to his relief, that she was, in fact, not there. He combed the apartment, going over everything with a trained eye even Tony would've been proud of.
He stopped in front of a bookcase, more specifically a group of picture frames on a shelf at eye level. He studied the pictures inside the frames carefully.
One was of the team, from what must've been the holiday party at the office. Everyone was smiling but Gibbs, naturally. There were a few others from that night, most noticeably the one in the very center of the group. It was of the two of them. She was wearing a dark green sweater, a Santa hat perched lopsidedly on her head. Her arms were around his neck, and his expression was one of surprise, for he hadn't been expecting it, and she'd come from behind. He, too, had been wearing a Santa hat, and they both had slightly tipsy smiles.
He smiled at the memory, wondering who the photographer could've been.
He stood back and surveyed the party. Admittedly it was sort of lame, but everyone appeared to be having a good time. Even Gibbs was . . . He jumped with surprise as long and distinctly feminine arms descended over his head, coming to rest on his shoulders, crossing around his neck. A soft voice floated into his ear.
"Having fun?" Ziva asked and . . .
He decided it was better not to dwell. He skimmed over the rest of the pictures - Tony, Abby, the Director, even one she had managed to sneak of Gibbs. Finally, he moved away from the bookcase, and finished going over the rest of the apartment.
There wasn't a single thing out of place. Everything in the apartment was normal, except for the obvious absence of its owner. There wasn't anything to help him find her, nothing at all. He was beginning to wonder if he'd ever see her again, when the ringing of his phone interrupted his thoughts.
"McGee," he answered, suddenly becoming aware of how Gibbs-like he'd become in that sense.
"What'd you find?" Gibbs asked, and he heard a horn sound and tires skid. Gibbs was driving, and had obviously just gone round a turn.
"There's nothing here, Boss," McGee said, mindlessly twirling between his fingers a ring he'd found.
"I'm gonna start asking the neighbors if . . . "
There was a bang. The bang was enough to make him stop speaking. It was a gunshot. Then there was a violent skidding of tires, cursing and a loud crash. The cursing stopped, and there was an eerie silence.
"Boss?!"
The line went dead.