Ok, I realised that maybe I haven't made the circumstances quite clear. The prologue takes place three years after the end of Season 8 and now we are twenty-five years after that.
Abby shuffled over towards the stereo and turned it off. She rubbed her ears vigorously, trying to get rid of the ringing the loud music had brought on. 'Can't think why I used to listen to that crap,' she muttered to herself.
She hobbled up the stairs, clutching her walking stick. She had only had her sixtieth birthday a couple of years ago, but for reasons she rarely divulged, her legs were thin and weak. She reached the top of the stairs, remembering sourly the last time that she had been in the basement. When she had gone to leave, she had run gaily up the steps, taking two at a time. Now, she could barely take one at a time.
She slowly made her way towards the door and fiddled with the chain. Pushing down on the handle, she pulled the door towards her and peered round the side. She was apprehensive about seeing her former colleagues after all the years.
To her relief, they had not weathered any more elegantly than her. She jerked her head, ushering them in and shut the door quickly behind them.
'What are we doing here?' the woman she presumed was Ziva demanded.
The white haired, paunchy man offered her a shy smile. She grinned back, though, as she knew from her many smiles into a mirror, it was probably more like a leer. 'Where's Tony?' she asked peremptorily.
Ziva narrowed her eyes. 'Great,' she muttered. 'You invited everyone.'
Abby did not deign to reply but moved back towards to the kitchen, starting off down the steps again, descending into the damp basement.
McGee trotted behind, clutching the banister for dear life. Ziva stopped at the top and peered down. 'It's much nicer up here,' she complained croakily.
Abby reached the bottom and turned to look up at Ziva, framed in the doorway. Gibbs had explained the story of Ziva's initiation into NCIS to Abby a few months before he had died and Abby had imagined the scene quite like this, except the agile, youthful Ziva would be squatting instead of leaning heavily against the wooden frame.
'I don't live here,' Abby explained impatiently. 'I hacked the keypad to get in. The owners are on holiday.'
Ziva pouted. 'That doesn't explain why we can't stay up here,' she argued.
'Having lights on and figures moving around will make the neighbours suspicious,' Abby replied. 'And, anyway, it's quite symbolic to have the meeting down here.'
Ziva sighed theatrically and began to make her way down the steps, grumbling as she went.
McGee sat down at the table. He had rarely been down in Gibbs's basement but he did remember the smell of sawdust quite distinctly. His nostrils did not pick up any such scent now. It smelled damp and of mildew.
Abby took a seat opposite him. She had cleared what little junk had been tossed onto the table. It had been a relatively easy task, since the owners did not seem to pay much attention to the cavernous room beneath their house.
Ziva finally stepped onto flat ground and walked over to the table. She had ceased her mutterings but her forehead was still furrowed in distaste. She lowered herself onto a seat, deciding to leave a stool in between her and McGee.
She did not ask anymore questions about why they had been summoned, and Abby did not offer any explanation. They sat in silence and waited for the last member of the team. Years previous, Tony had always been the one to lighten up the atmosphere with a badly cracked joke or a tiresome reference to a movie that was hardly pertinent to the situation at all. Perhaps he would be able to wipe the discontented scowls off their faces.
They did not have to wait long. A harsh banging on reinforced glass alerted them to his less than punctual arrival. The three down in the basement exchanged glances, wordlessly arguing about who had to slog their way back up the stairs to let the impatient knocker in.
Eventually, McGee gave way and hauled his girth off his chair. Ziva and Abby both watched him climb laboriously to the top step. Only after he disappeared into the kitchen did they turn back, avoiding eye contact.
They heard loud mumbles before the clattering of footsteps reached the top of the stairs once more. Turning – and feeling a crick developing in their neck at the same time – they saw, after McGee had stopped blocking the doorway, a haggard figure appear and follow the larger man down into the basement.
Despite being the oldest, he was evidently the most agile and he quickly pushed past McGee and reached the bottom. The basement was dimly lit and they could still not see his face clearly. He moved into the light and they peered at him with interest.
His hairline had receded and the tufts of caramel brown were flecked with dark grey. His skin was more tanned than Ziva remembered and it was creased with lines cutting deep into his leathery skin as if sliced by a carving knife. His bushy brows hung long over weary eyes and the inequality of hair distribution continued to his jawline where the stubble had grown into a badly shorn half-beard. All in all, he was not a person people would jump at the chance to meet in a dark alleyway.
He nodded curtly at them and dropped onto McGee's stool opposite Abby. McGee's lips puffed into a pout but he waddled round the table and sank down beside Abby. Feeling left out, Ziva knocked the stool in between her and Tony over and shifted herself nearer to the gathering, making McGee wince at the screeching that the stool legs made on the flagstones.
She leant her elbows on the table and rested her weight on them, hiding her double chin from sight. Tony pulled a packet of cigarettes out of his pocket and lit it. Ziva watched the flame flare from the black lighter curiously.
'Since when did you smoke?' Abby demanded.
Tony looked up, his sunken eyes giving her a penetrating once over. 'Since I took it up,' he replied shortly.
The look on Abby's face resembled that of a flatulent crone but she did not press the matter. He stuck the end of the cigarette between his dry lips and sucked, his eyes closing pleasurably as he drew in the acrid smoke. Eyeing Abby, he puckered his lips hyperbolically and blew out, as if blowing out birthday candles or snuffing out a match. The horizontal fountain of grey fog headed straight for Abby's face and she coughed, flapping her hand at the unwanted cigarette smoke. A crude smile flirted on Tony's lips before the fag was pushed between them again.
Tony leaned against the wall, rubbing his temple with his fingertips. He had a throbbing headache. He glared at the smouldering cigarette recently thrown onto the floor and stamped it out aggressively.
'Hey, Tony,' a Spanish voice called. 'You want another?' The man thrust a cigarette at Tony without waiting for a response.
Tony took it, faking a grateful smile. 'Thanks, Joey,' he muttered. 'So, what's on for tonight?'
Joey leaned against the wall beside Tony, leaving a distinct distance between their shoulders. With his earring, Joey had often been called 'gay' when he was younger and he was very careful now not to give anyone an excuse to bring the old joke up again. Not that would, even if they found Joey in bed with another dude, for Joey controlled most of guns for a mile around. If you got on his bad side, you would find a bullet lodged neatly in your brain before teatime.
'There's a small job going on,' Joey replied cautiously. 'You want in?'
Tony pretended to consider the offer. 'Sure,' he agreed at length. 'What is it?'
'Some guy over thatta way,' he jerked his thumb over his shoulder to demonstrate, 'owes me some cash. Drug money, ya know. I figure, we go get what's ours. That's only fair, right.' Tony nodded in agreement. 'So, we go collect what he owes,' Joey concluded.
Tony nodded. 'What do you want me to do?'
Joey nodded to Tony's waist. 'You go with the boys,' he decided. 'You gotcha own gun, right?'
Tony nodded again. 'Sure. I'll be waiting.'
Joey grinned, showing off his gold tooth, and swaggered away, leaving Tony with the acrid taste of tobacco in his mouth.
Tony breathed in the smoke again, glad that he had kept the habit going despite the initial headaches. Tobacco and alcohol: his main vices. He sucked on his gums. Better add prostitutes to that list.
Don't jump to conclusions quite yet...