A/N: Well, Real Life played a part in the delay in posting this next instalment. But I'm enjoying a long weekend now, and the muse was very free with her blessings, so it's a long one, and here you go! There is a spot in here that might (at first blush) seem offensive to some Christian sensibilities, but please bear with me - I'm a Christian myself (not Catholic, I admit), but I need to keep Tony in character, and he reacts the way I envision he would. You'll see, there's a good reason for it.

Rating: T for language.

Spoilers: Major spoiler for Season 3's 'Frame-Up'

Disclaimer: Not mine...yadda yadda yadda...no copyright infringement intended...yadda yadda yadda...

Tuesday, June 1, 2010 1:17 a.m.

As Gibbs strode nonchalantly out of the interrogation room, Louisa felt her last ounce of courage slip away. She'd done her best to hold it together, under the barrage of intimidating questions and 'evidence' being shoved in her face. Now that he was out of sight, righteous indignation was replaced with terror, as the seeming hopelessness of her situation crystallized in her mind.

Where had all that 'evidence' come from? How could her fingerprints and hair possibly have been found in Jake Halden's apartment? She didn't even know where he lived! Even if she had, she certainly never would have darkened his door... How did the gun club have a record of her checking out her Glock? She hadn't been to the range for over a week... How could she prove that she'd been at home, sleeping, at the time they said the murder was committed? She'd got home after 02:00 hours (later than usual, thanks to the unusual events of that evening); no one had been around to see her come in, and she hadn't left the apartment again until it was time to go to work, around 15:00 hours. She didn't live in a posh building with security cameras that could document her movements, either.

It was all a bit surreal. Someone, obviously, had set her up. But why? She had no enemies - that she knew of.

"What am I gonna do, Pete?" she bleated, noting that the light had been extinguished to indicate they could speak freely without being heard in Observation.

Pete sat with his head in his hands. "Is there anything you're not telling me, Lou? 'Cos if there is, you'd better spill it now."

Dead silence.

"Lou?"

"I can't believe you even said that."

"I have to ask. You know that. I'm your lawyer right now, not your brother."

More silence.

"Come on, Lou. Help me out here. Why the heck did you use the fire escape?"

"I didn't!" she seethed, eyes blazing. "I was never in Jake Halden's apartment. I never checked out my gun from the range. I didn't kill him... and I didn't send that encrypted message!"

"Then how – "

"I DON'T KNOW!" She began to sob, and at this, Pete finally dropped the 'legal counsel' routine and threw his arms around his little sister to comfort her. She buried her face in his shoulder, shaking uncontrollably. "I want to go home!" she cried.

"I'm afraid that won't be possible. Not tonight." Gibbs had silently returned, without either of them noticing.

Both Pete and Louisa fully expected him to start reciting the murder charge. Instead, he motioned to an officer who was now standing in the doorway. "Stewart, Escort Petty Officer Penachetti to a holding cell for the night." Then, glancing at the two siblings: "we'll talk again tomorrow."

"I'd like to have her released into my custody," Pete ventured. It was a futile request, and he knew it. But he had to make it nonetheless, if only to make his sister feel she wasn't being abandoned.

"No can do, Captain. She's still under arrest on the charges we laid earlier today." Gibbs locked eyes with Pete, and something in the gaze of the former Marine gave the JAG officer a glimmer of hope that, perhaps, they were not finished investigating this murder. Had Tony somehow managed to convince Gibbs to dig deeper?

Louisa bit her lower lip in an attempt to regain control, and tried, only half-successfully, to smile at her brother. He had done his best for her, and she needed him to know that she appreciated it. She held her head high as Officer Stewart gently led her out of the interrogation room. She called back to him, "Pete, will you stop by my apartment and feed Whiskers for me? Oh, and clean his box too - I didn't do it before I left for work." He nodded grimly, and she disappeared from view.

"Agent Gibbs?"

"Captain."

"My sister did not commit these crimes, no matter what this looks like. Don't end your investigation here – she's being framed, I'm sure of it. There has to be more forensic evidence that will prove her innocence."

"NCIS will make sure the guilty party is brought to justice. That's all I'm prepared to say." And with that cryptic statement, Gibbs left Captain Peter Penachetti alone in the interrogation room, and headed back to Abby's lab to file away the evidence until she could examine it again in the morning.

When Pete arrived at the elevator around the corner from Interrogation, Tony was waiting for him.

"You didn't tell me they were going to throw a murder into the mix," Pete seethed at him. "That didn't go down at all the way I'd hoped. My Dad'll be expecting me to report that the charges have been dropped... that it was all a big misunderstanding, and that she's safe and sound at home tonight... Julia's pissed, 'cos I had to abandon her in the middle of a dinner party... she had to make her own way home. And now I have to go feed Louisa's cat."

There was a long pause.

"You done?" Tony looked askance at his friend, not impressed by the rant.

"Yeah, I'm done."

"Well, we're not done. Not yet. Tell Louisa to hang in there." It was the most he could say under the circumstances, but it was enough. Pete held out his hand in appreciation. Tony took it, and pulled his friend into a brief, yet supportive hug. When they let go a moment later, the SFA held out his hand. "Keys." Pete gave him a puzzled look. He clarified, "I'll go feed the cat – you go home and make peace with Julia." Relief washed over the Captain at Tony's offer. He eagerly dug into his pocket and retrieved Louisa's apartment key and the key to the exterior door of the complex, proffering them to his buddy gratefully.

"She asked me to clean the litter box too," he informed Tony, apologetically.

DiNozzo merely shrugged, grabbed the keys, and patted Pete on the back. He punched the 'Down' button on the elevator panel, and moments later the doors glided silently open. "Get going." Pete smiled – there was no way Tony could possibly know how much this simple gesture meant to him. Little did he know, Tony had his own reasons for wanting another look inside Louisa Penachetti's apartment.

2:15 a.m.

As he let himself into the lobby of the 12-unit complex in the community of South Gate, MD, Tony's heart was pounding. He didn't have a warrant; he wasn't here to conduct another search. And he knew it would be wrong to snoop. But he'd sure take a good look around while he was here. He hadn't noticed much about her home the last time out, because he'd been focussed on her reactions to Ziva's questioning.

He wondered what Louisa would think if she knew he was here instead of Pete. She'd probably be pissed. At both of them. He smiled at the image that thought invoked. He'd seen her pissed a few times already now, and all it did was make him want to laugh. She was cute when she was mad.

He strolled down the 4th floor hallway to the end unit that was Louisa's home. The key slid into the lock easily, and he entered nonchalantly, trying to look as if he belonged there. He shut the door quietly behind him, and surveyed the space. There was that scent again – vanilla and apricot. But there was something else, too. He closed his eyes, the better to concentrate, and found the aroma awakened a long-forgotten memory.

His grandmother's kitchen. He was perhaps 6 years old, and Nonna was making dinner for the DiNozzo clan; he couldn't remember the occasion, but both of his father's brothers were there, along with their respective families. It was wintertime, and he'd been outside in the snow with his cousins for hours, working up a healthy appetite. Upon opening the back door, his nostrils were greeted with the comforting aroma of Nonna's Carabaccia, a sweet onion soup that was both filling and delicious. The DiNozzo family originally hailed from Tuscany, and this was their equivalent to French Onion soup, served over warm toast with grated cheese that melted into all the crevices. He licked his lips and swallowed – his mouth was watering, so vivid was his recall of the wonderful flavours... even now, some 33 years later.

Louisa had made Carabaccia. It was unmistakeable. The hint of cinnamon, mixed in with the vinegar and almonds. The Gruyere cheese. The sweet Vidalia onions. Sure enough, when he strode into the kitchen and pulled open the fridge door, he found the leftovers, sitting on the shelf in a tightly-closed and clearly marked container. In a trance, he pulled it out, and hunted around for a bowl and spoon, dispensing a generous helping and then returning the leftovers to the fridge. Surely she wouldn't notice any of it was missing...? He shoved it in the microwave (Nonna must be rolling in her grave) and drummed his fingers on the counter in eager anticipation.

Whiskers decided to make his appearance at the sound of the microwave oven door opening, assuming that since someone was in the kitchen, that must mean it was dinnertime. He looked up expectantly at Tony, who was now on a mission and didn't even notice him. Tony yanked the bowl out of the appliance and scoffed down several mouthfuls of the most delicious Carabaccia he'd ever tasted – even better than Nonna's. He leaned back against the counter in contented satisfaction and closed his eyes, imagining Louisa standing there, wooden spoon in hand, scolding him for stealing her food.

Meow.

DiNozzo felt the brush of fur against his slacks as Whiskers did figure-eights around his ankles to garner some attention. He crouched down and picked up the 16-pound orange tabby. To his surprise, Whiskers began to purr almost instantly, nestling in under Tony's chin. He scratched the feline behind the ears. "You hungry, buddy?" He set him back down gently on all-fours, and rummaged around to find the cat food.

The kitchen was to the left of the entranceway, situated behind a breakfast bar that extended from the wall. There was a bowl of granny smith apples on the counter in a woven basket, and a small file sorter holding grocery coupons and flyers hung on the wall just above it. There was nothing superfluous on the counters; just the essentials: coffee maker, toaster oven. Everything was spotless. The whole apartment was open-concept, and a tasteful muted green was the colour of choice adorning the walls throughout.

He opened and closed one cupboard and drawer after another, noting that everything was as well-organized here as it had been in her NSA locker. He moved to the pantry. Cans, bottles and jars stood like soldiers in neat rows on the shelves. It was mostly healthy fare, but she did seem to have a 'junk food' shelf harbouring various sinful treats such as Twinkies, microwave popcorn (extra butter flavour!), pretzels, and, of course, biscotti.

Glancing down, he found the cat's shelf (yes, Whiskers had his own shelf in the pantry, a fact which made Tony smirk). He took an inventory: some 20 cans of cat food in various flavours. Two different brands of dry kibble. Three flavours of cat treats. Flea collars. Nail clippers. A brush. Various little stuffed mice. A tin of fresh catnip that a friend of Louisa's had grown in her backyard.

He pulled out a can of 'Salmon Delight', chuckling as Whiskers went almost mad with excitement when he pulled open the lid. The cat made short work of the entire can (the instructions said to give only half the can for a meal, but the poor little guy still looked starving hungry after that, so he gave him the rest anyway).

This woman was so well-organized that Tony had no trouble figuring out what to do about the litter box. There was a plastic bag dispenser on the inside door of the pantry, and the scoop was propped up right next to the box. Whiskers stood by, watching intently as Tony raked and sifted the litter. Just as he moved away to drop the bag in the garbage, the feline climbed in right behind him, testing it out to make sure it passed muster.

"Aw, come on, don't mess it up right away. She's gonna think I didn't do it," Tony scolded him. Naturally, Whiskers took absolutely no notice, and continued with his business. Leaving him to it, DiNozzo wandered through the rest of the apartment, taking it all in. This was a woman who knew what she liked, and knew what she believed in. Classic. Elegant, but not stuffy. A woman who appreciated the simple things.

There was a basket on the floor next to the armchair in the living room, containing several balls of wool and a pair of knitting needles on which had been worked a partially completed garment. She appeared to be making a baby jacket. (Was Julia expecting again? Pete hadn't said anything, but then, that wouldn't be unusual. He was not one to talk much about his family unless prompted; after all, Tony had known virtually nothing about Louisa until now).

He scanned the bookshelves that ran behind the sofa. Louisa's taste was varied and interesting... D.H. Lawrence and James Joyce shared space with Shakespeare, George Orwell and Stephen King. There was also some sci-fi: Arthur C. Clarke, Isaac Asimov, and Harlan Ellison – she'd get along well with McGee, he posited. Next to the bookcase was a stereo system. He riffled through the CDs. Lots of classical stuff – Mozart, Haydn, Chopin nocturnes, Beethoven symphonies, Ravel, Bartok. He came to another section, and his heart skipped a beat. Jazz. Tons of it. Coltrane. Miles. Charlie Haden. Chett Baker. Oscar Peterson. Ella Fitzgerald and Louis Armstrong duets. And then some more modern stuff – Weather Report. Pat Metheney. Herbie Hancock.

Wow. This just kept getting better.

He wandered into the master bedroom, feeling just a slight bit voyeuristic – but rationalizing that he was here to do a complete 'security sweep' of the premises. His eyes lit upon a book on the bedside table. What was she reading? He picked it up. Holy Bible.

Holy Shit.

She hadn't struck him as the religious type. But now he began noticing things that hadn't caught his eye before... a crucifix on the wall near the bedroom doorway. The Prayer of St. Francis done in cross-stitch above the bed. A rosary was draped over the bedpost near her pillow. He picked it up and fingered it lightly. The beads were multi-faceted black onyx, strung together with silver chain links, and each decade was marked by a larger silver bead. A silver crucifix hung from the middle.

She might want to have this with her, he thought to himself, and he gently slipped it into his pocket.

Tony glanced at his watch, and was shocked to discover that it was nearly 2:45 a.m. He did one last pass around the apartment to make sure everything was in order, and quietly slipped out, locking the door behind him.

8:36 a.m.

Tony was in a great mood as he strutted into Abby's lab this morning. Even though he was operating on something less than 4 hours of sleep, he was feeling fresh and relaxed, now assured that he had Gibbs' support in trying to find a reason to release Louisa. He didn't bother questioning how his Boss had known about his connection with the Penachetti family; that was the least of his concerns at the moment. Right now, he was playing the Gibbs role, smiling glibly as he handed Abby her first Caf-Pow of the day.

"What d'ya want, DiNozzo?" she teased, grabbing the offering and drawing deeply on the straw.

"Good morning to you too," he fired back, a big grin pasted across his face. Then he turned serious. "Abs, you still have that evidence from the Halden murder down here?"

"Yup, right over there." She pointed to the evidence box sitting on the counter.

"Gibbs doesn't think Louisa did it." She furrowed her brow and pouted, letting him know that he'd wounded her.

"Don't take Gibbs' name in vain, Tony. What you mean is, you don't think she did it. Gibbs would never question my forensic prowess."

He needed to extricate himself from this tricky situation, and quickly. "No-one's questioning your 'forensic prowess', Abby... remember back in '05 when I got charged with the murder of that Jane Doe? You did all the right tests, and all the evidence was pointing to me. But you believed in me, and you didn't give up. You dug even deeper, and you figured out how Sterling framed me."

Abby nodded, her blackened lips expanding into a comprehending smile. "You believe in Louisa."

"Yeah, I guess I do. We do," he corrected himself. But it was too late. She'd picked up on it.

"Is that because she's your best friend's sister, or is there something else I should know about?" From the look on his face, she could tell she'd hit a nerve. But she misinterpreted his reaction. Distracted by his puzzlement over how Abby, too, could know he was friends with Pete Penachetti, Tony did not see where this line of questioning was going. "You're sweet on her, aren't you?" she asked excitedly, hoping she had a scoop that she could share with the rest of the team. It would be nice, for once, to be the first to know.

"No," he answered flatly, taken aback by the question. "It's just a gut thing. If you'd met her, you'd get it. She's a little too... " He struggled to find an appropriate word, but ended up using a cliché. "...innocent."

Abby smiled an all-knowing smile, that let Tony know she didn't believe a word of his protestation. "Don't worry, Tony. If there's something here, I'll find it. Far be it from me to stand in the way of a budding romance." She didn't give him the chance to respond, spinning around and grabbing the box of evidence, emptying its contents on the table. He stood in stunned silence, mouth agape, searching for a way to convince her that she'd got it all wrong.

But had she?

Abby had only ever seen Louisa's official personnel photo – a headshot, and a more youthful and cherubic version of the Petty Officer's current self. She might not have noted that this woman was about 5 inches shorter than Tony's average date, and she would have no way of knowing that she was now perhaps 20 or so pounds heavier. So it was at least plausible that she could think he'd strike up a romance with her – he'd done that sort of thing several times before.

But Louisa wasn't the sort of woman Anthony DiNozzo dated. Ever. So why couldn't he get her out of his head?

It wasn't just the case.

It wasn't the suspected frame-up.

It wasn't the connection to Pete.

It was her. Something... something in her eyes. The look of her. The scent of her. The essence of her.

So consumed was he with his thoughts, that he let Abby's 'budding romance' comment float away into the ether without responding to it. "Thanks, Abs. Let me know right away if you find anything." He ambled slowly out to the elevator, leaving Abby to her work.

"YES!" The Goth screamed under her breath as soon as he was out of sight, thrusting both fists high in the air. For Abby Sciuto had a great big soft spot for Tony DiNozzo, and she wanted nothing more than for him to find that special 'someone' who would finally give him what he needed – an anchor. The fact that he hadn't continued the argument about his feelings for this woman was a good sign. A very good sign.

Tony emerged from the elevator, and sauntered over to his desk in the bullpen. Ziva glanced up from her computer screen, and looked him up and down approvingly. He was at his dapper, dashing best today, she thought to herself. A charcoal grey suit, a crisp white shirt with a subtle pale green stripe to it, and a Windsor-knotted tie in a geometric pattern of darker grey and green that brought out his eyes.

He gave her a cursory "Good Morning," and immediately zeroed in on Tim. "McGee, did Gibbs talk to you yet?"

"He left me a message. I'm just heading down to Abby's lab now."

"Well, make it snappy. Admiral Penachetti's gonna be pretty pissed when he realizes we're still holding his daughter, and he'll be even more pissed if he finds out we missed evidence that could exonerate her."

"Yes, Gibbs." McGee gave Tony a pointed look as he vacated the bullpen, confident that he'd made his point. DiNozzo was increasingly assuming the Boss attitude of late, and it annoyed Tim tremendously. Tony's eyes narrowed to slits at this jab, but much to McGee's surprise, he didn't respond.

"Speaking of missed evidence..." Ducky strode in, and laid a hand on Gibbs' desk. ..."where is our illustrious leader this morning? I have a bone to pick with him."

"He had an appointment. He will be in shortly, Ducky." Ziva's cryptic response piqued Tony's curiosity.

"What kind of appointment? Gibbs doesn't have appointments."

"He didn't say. I didn't ask. One does not ask Gibbs questions like that." She glanced across at her partner. "Unless one is named Tony DiNozzo and one has a death wish."

"Good point," Tony conceded.

"Yes, well, he's not answering his cell, and we have a young lady languishing in a jail cell who I believe has been wrongfully incarcerated. I left him a message yesterday, and I've no idea whether he ever heard it."

"What was the message, Ducky? Anything we can do?" Tony was all ears upon hearing that the ME, too, had concluded Louisa was innocent.

"Come with me to autopsy. I'll show you."