Chapter 3

Ziva was enjoying the relative calm of a Sunday morning in the squad room. 'Enjoying' may be a somewhat inaccurate description, considering how she was flipping from one screen into another on her computer.

She was thankful for the quiet because she needed to concentrate upon this demanding case.

But for her, the bullpen was deserted. It wasn't even that early. No. True to form, Gibbs had been in before her. About 10 minutes ago, he'd left for the break room for a snack and some coffee.

For all his complaining about the coffee at the office, he didn't bother to sneak out and down to get his favorite brand from Sicard Street.

This time, his mind was uncharacteristically engaged elsewhere.

The ex-Mossad officer cast a glance at Gibbs' empty desk. As a well-trained investigator, Ziva couldn't help but notice something was off.

When he returned to his desk, he didn't say much - not that he ever did anyway - and the only sign he gave in acknowledgment of Ziva's presence, was a diminutive nod in her direction when she looked up at him over the top of her screen.

Yes. Something was definitely bugging him, she observed. His restless behavior was reminiscent of a caged lion, she thought, not without some satisfaction at knowing she got this idiom correct.

He was fidgety and after only a few gulps of his hot coffee, he made up his mind and left again.

Ziva could only guess where to. But what's the use of that? She was curious, but she was also known for her patience. Of course she had an idea.

She looked at the clock on her desktop and a frown formed on her brow. DiNozzo was late...again.

Her eyes shifted from Tony's desk to Tim's equally vacant one.

McGee was late, too! Now that was such a rare occurrence! Very curious indeed. But then, everybody had seen he was unwell yesterday, to such an extent that Gibbs had given him a ride to his apartment and stayed with him until he ascertained himself that his agent was fine enough to be left alone.

Migraine. Ziva gave a little snort and shook her head in disgust. She couldn't remember if she'd ever stayed home for a mere touch of migraine! What a wussie McGee was. At that thought, she grinned maliciously: Tony would find McGee another suitable nickname.

"Gibbs won't like this," she thought and shrugged, turning her undivided attention back to the data that filled her screen.

Five minutes later, Tony strutted into the bullpen and commenced the daily task of starting up his computer.

As the monitors displayed the usual succession of start-up screens, his gaze went to his friend's desk and a cocky grin spread across his handsome features.

"McGoo's late! Boss will spank McPumpkinhead!" He chanted like a first grader as he stepped from behind his desk and went over to McGee's, where he proceeded to steal Tim's favorite pens and various other articles he came across when sniffling through his things.

"Mmm...Axe ?" He wondered out loud, turning quizzically to Ziva.

"Yes. He'd forgotten his deo at home and only noticed when he arrived at the hotel. Mexico. Remember? Playing Abby's very personal bodyguard? He bought it at the local shop."

Tony chuckled. Yeah, and if he knew! Something was definitely not okay when those two got back in from their little fieldtrip to Mexico.

When he straightened again, he felt a familiar slap at the back of his head and he turned around just in time to see an arm retract over the partition wall.

"Grow up, DiNozzo and leave McGee's stuff alone." Gibbs growled.

Tony had at least the decency to look chastized as he carefully put McGee's things back in their rightful places.

"Mc..."

"...Gee's not coming in for today, DiNozzo, so better get some work done for once. Got that?"

When Tony didn't move fast enough, Gibbs continued: "I need full background checks on the Darings. Phone records, bank cards, credit cards, e-mails... Think you can do that?"

"But, who's going to do the cellular network tracking?" Tony whined.

"How about you, for a change? You do know how a computer works, right? And if you can't handle it, take it down to CCU. Abby's still on Balboa's case."

Tony couldn't ignore Gibbs' sarcastic tone.

"On it, boss!" And with that, Tony went straight into business mode.

It still took Gibbs by surprise how his Senior Agent managed to switch in a matter of seconds from clown into professional.

Gibbs flipped through the print-outs of Tony's and Ziva's witness statements, before looking up at them.

"That guy, Hugh Pellowe. What've you got on him?"

He shifted his eyes to the plasma in anticipation.

Tony and Ziva both got up and stood beside him.

"Talk to me."

"O-kayyy. Our trip to the campus yielded this one name that kept popping up in most of the interviews." Tony brought up the screens showing details on said young man.

"What do we know about him beside the obvious? His day-to-day business, personal activities... What?"

"Hugh Pellowe is a midshipman on board the Centennial. Not much said about him, other that that he's Lorraine Daring's latest boy-friend. Rather run-of-the-mill type of guy. Oh, and he's not best friends with mom and dad Daring." Tony said.

"Why is that?"

Ding

"Nobody seems to know anything concrete except that the Darings aren't exactly on friendly terms with midshipman Pellowe." Ziva explained.

"We were just about to run a background check on him." Tony added, turning his head when he felt a presence close behind his right shoulder.

"McGee!" He exclaimed in surprise, which had the other two turn as well.

"Hey," Tim whispered with an apologetic smile. "Sorry for interrupting."

"No, it's okay, McGee." Ziva hastened to reassure him, her face grave and questioning.

"You still look like crap, McGoo." Tony half chuckled.

Gibbs just stared McGee down, which made Tim feel rather uncomfortable, on top of everything else. "Just great." He concentrated on the plasma, trying to ignore their gazes.

Finally Gibbs spoke. "What did I tell you yesterday, McGee?"

McGee felt the heat steadily creep up his neck and all over his face. Still, he focused on the screen. He just didn't quite know what to say.

"Well?" Gibbs pressed on.

There was no way Tim could keep up this game of ignoring his boss and, licking his dry lips and rolling his eyes upwards as he often did when too embarrassed to look anyone in the eye, he finally replied in a soft voice that could barely be heard.

"I..I-yuhh...I couldn't stay home, boss."

Then he looked straight into Gibbs' polar eyes with his own poor puppy dog pleading ones, his brows a near perfect reversed 'V'.

"Look. I couldn't stay home with just this stupid headache." His voice went up an octave at the last word and his gaze went down to his shoes which seemed, all of a sudden, surprisingly interesting. "Feel so...so..."

"Such a wuss, Probie?" Tony offered with a grin.

"Rock it off, Tony."

"'Knock' it off, Ziva!" Tim and Tony simultaneously corrected her, both men turning to face her and rolling their eyes.

"Thanks, Ziva," Tim added with a weak smile which turned into a wince which didn't go unnoticed by the others who looked at each other.

Tim cleared his throat and pulled his shoulders back: "I'm good, boss."

"You sure, McGee?"

"Y..Yes." He was about to nod vigorously but only just refrained from doing so, minding his still painful head.

"Okay then. Hugh Pellowe. Tony, get his CO on the line. McGee, go and check with your buddies at CCU how far they got with the tracing. Ziva, those background checks..." Gibbs continued as if nothing happened.

The team scattered to attend to their tasks.

The call to Pellowe's CO produced nothing out of the ordinary. He was absent with leave. Absent. Where? With whom? For how long? The ship was out at sea, so, for the time being, there were no interviews to be conducted there.

-

Tim heaved a huge sigh of relief to be out of the squad room and on his way down to the basement to supervise. For once, he was glad to have others do the job for him. He couldn't openly admit it, but he was still feeling a little out of sorts.

First things first, though: men's room to splash some cold water over his hot face. He grabbed a paper towel and began drying his face as he peered at his reflection. What he saw was not encouraging as he took in the sunken, dull eyes, the pinched look, hunched shoulders, pale and cracked lips...

He tossed the used towel in the bin in some frustration and rested his hands on the sink, chin on his chest in abject exhaustion.

Gibbs was right. He hadn't said as much, but Tim had seen it in his eyes, his stance. Gibbs knew he was not yet up to par. And nor were the others deceived by his smiling reassurance. God! Who was he fooling anyway?

He groaned and pushed himself backwards off the sink and started walking towards the door and out of the men's room.

A little later, he stepped into the IT room where he was greeted with genuine joy...which turned into looks of horror and dismay as he stumbled, eyes squeezed tightly shut as a sharp pain shot through his head. He braced himself against the wall in an effort to regain his equilibrium, but it was a loosing battle. With a grunt he collapsed, his fall broken by a pair of hands that tried to support his body as he was gently lowered to the floor.

Why was he seeing black spots? Why was all sound muffled? Where did this strange cotton wool sensation come from? Someone called his name and he wanted to reassure them. He was only done in, nothing to worry about, just catch his breath and he would be up in a sec. But there was no sound coming from his lips and he frowned at that...or did he?

He felt numb, like floating on water. He saw more than felt someone loosen his shirt, put something on his arm, touch his brow. Blurred shapes as if underwater. He saw...Ducky? "Hey, Ducky..."

"Tim..th..." When had Ducky started to have trouble pronouncing his name?

He felt so tired and his eyelids felt so heavy. Oh, what a fantastic idea: let's take a nap...