Okay, here's the next chapter for you guys. Sorry it took a while, but I was having issues with FFN this morning. And thanks for alerting and reviewing and I'm sorry all of these chapters are so short. I have 1-6 already written but I'll try to make seven and on a bit longer. Also, I just wanted to add for some clarification to any of you that need it that Tyler is relatively high-functioning autistic, which will become a bit more apparent in later chapters.

Forty minutes later, Tony, Gibbs, and Ziva sat in an exam area in the emergency room of Bethesda Naval Hospital as a doctor looked over Ziva's injuries.

"Well, Agent David, your injuries don't appear to be too bad. Just some light bruising on your ribs and a very minor concussion." He turned to Gibbs. "She'll be fine in a couple of hours. Maybe sore for a day or two. Some common painkillers will work fine for that. Just keep an eye on her if you can."

"I have had worse. I can take care of myself," Ziva huffed.

"I don't wanna hear it, David," Gibbs replied. He turned to the doctor and nodded. "Thanks. C'mon, you two."

They left the hospital and drove quickly back to NCIS. McGee greeted them at the entrance to the bullpen when they arrived.

"Boss, the kid and his parents are here. I put them in the conference room. And the cops from Waldorf left already."

"Alright, McGee. Whaddya got for me?"

"Right." McGee moved over to his desk and picked up the remote for the plasma as the others gathered around behind him. He pulled up the service record for José Lopez.

"Private First Class José Lopez, twenty-three years old. In and out of foster homes as a child before he was finally taken out of the system by his paternal grandfather when he was fourteen. Graduated high school in Virginia at eighteen, joined the Marines, and been there ever since. Only one blemish on his record for challenging a superior officer. His grandfather died during his second year in the Corp. and he has no other listed family." McGee clicked the remote again and brought up the other victim's record. "PFC Preston King was a model soldier, no problems from him. Grew up in a small New Jersey town with his parents and two younger sisters. No wife or kids, just like Lopez. He's twenty-four and has been in the Marines since he joined in '07 after graduating from a community college with a two-year degree. I briefly spoke to their CO and he told me Lopez and King have been close friends since they met when PFC King joined. I didn't ask him anything else."

"Good work, McGee. Start working on their bank and phone records. DiNozzo, talk to the CO again. See what else he can tell you about King and Lopez."

"On it, Boss."

"Ziva, go see if the Woodburys need anything. Stay with them. I'll be up after I talk to Abbs and Ducky."

"Yes, Gibbs."

Gibbs made his way to the elevator and disappeared behind the sliding silver doors.

The doors slid open again with a DING and Gibbs stepped out and through the entrance to autopsy.

"Ah, Jethro," Ducky greeted cheerfully. "Just in time, as always."

"Whaddya got for me, Duck?"

"Well, I have nearly completed my examination of PFC Lopez here. PFC King, I have already finished with," Ducky explained. He gestured to Lopez's neck, which was cut open for a better internal view. "I have extracted the bullet. A nine millimeter. It was lodged in the bone and cartilage of the poor lad's neck. Mr. Palmer has taken it and the other evidence up to Abby." Ducky set his scalpel down and turned fully towards the body. "Cause of death was indeed exsanguination from this neck wound. Other than the bullet, I did not find anything of interest on Mr. Lopez."

"What about King?" Gibbs asked impatiently.

"Now, now, Jethro, I just was getting to that." Ducky moved around the autopsy table to stand by another, where Preston King's body lay cut open. "PFC King died from a bullet as well, this one traveled through his heart at an angle and embedded itself in his spinal cord. But it was a different kind of bullet. A .32 to be exact. There must have been more than one killer," he speculated.

"Or one killer, two guns," Gibbs replied.

"Yes, there is that. I suppose only the boy would know. And he hasn't spoken?"

Gibbs shook his head. "Haven't talked to him yet."

"And Ziva? How is she? The poor dear took a bit of a tumble when she caught the child," Ducky said, frowning.

"She'll be fine. She's with the kid and his parents now. I'm goin' up to talk to 'em, soon as I see Abby," Gibbs told him, already turning to walk out the door. "Anything else, Duck?"

"Not at the moment, Jethro," Ducky called. There was no reply as the Autopsy doors slid shut behind him.

One of Abby's computers beeped as soon as Gibbs stepped into the lab, coffee and Caf-Pow! in hand.

Abby spun around and grinned. "I don't know how you do it, bossman. You must teach me your magicky mojo ways." She wiggled her fingers at him as though casting a spell.

Gibbs gave her a nearly imperceptible grin and stopped a few feet from where she stood, holding the Gothic scientist's favorite caffeinated beverage just out of her reach.

Abby frowned. "Not nice, Gibbs," she said.

"Tell me what ya got, Abbs."

"Okay. First things first. The bullets? Totally different. Nine mil slug in Lopez and a .32 in King. No hits in ballistics yet. Second, I just got the results back on a shoe print Tony found. It's a male size eleven Doc Martin boot and it doesn't match either of the victims or anyone else on the scene. Tony said it was found in some mud near the edge of the clearing. Anyone else the print could belong to?"

Gibbs shook his head. "Guy that found them was wearing running shoes. Cops were wearing somethin', not boots."

Abby smiled. "So it could be the killer's."

"Could be."

Abby's smile dropped as she glanced longingly at the Caf-Pow! in Gibbs's hand.

"You done?" he asked.

Her gaze didn't waver. "Until ballistics..." she trailed off and licked her lips, turning her head to stare pleadingly at Gibbs.

"Good work, Abbs."

Finally, he handed her the drink and she squealed happily. "Yay! Thanks, el jefe." He kissed her on the cheek.

"So, is it true?" she asked, stopping Gibbs from leaving.

"Is what true, Abby?"

"McGee said there was a little boy that witnessed the whole thing. And that he freaked out and wouldn't say anything."

Gibbs gave a terse nod. "He's ten. Autistic. Ziva's with him and his parents in the conference room now. I'm goin' there next."

"Can I meet him?"

"Not now, Abbs." On that note, Gibbs turned and breezed out of the lab. Hopefully they would be able to get something out of Tyler Woodbury. The case may depend on it.