Jan 4
Why isn't there a special name for the tops of your feet?
Lily Tomlin (1939 - )

Abby Scuito was concerned. Very concerned.

This was not an unusual occurrence. After all, she was good friends with Agent Gibbs and his team, who had a nasty habit of getting caught up in all sorts of danger. Only the previous day they had successfully located a stolen batch of sarin. Abby had given them strict instructions to hold their breath and run as fast as possible in the other direction if they even thought the gas had been released.

Though it would have been kind of pointless, but if there had been even a chance…

Her problem today, though, did not involve her silver-haired fox or his team. It was because of another team's case and her lack of vocabulary, coupled with both Ducky and Palmer being away at a medical examiner's conference and a snooty FBI person covering for them whom she would not approach.

Unless the building was on fire, but that was another matter entirely.

Her favorite music had been turned off in a bid to help her. Her babies had been left to their own devices; Major Mass Spec had taken exception to this and was busy throwing a smoking fit. The Goth planned to ignore it until he set off the smoke alarm and brought about the evacuation of the building; he wasn't being serious.

The elevator made its familiar sound and she perked up. Help was coming! Ziva appeared, carrying a plastic container with a bloody knife.

"We need a rush on this please," the Israeli greeted her. "Gibbs thinks there may be fingerprints –"

"Why isn't there a special name for the tops of your feet?" Abby whined. "I found a sticky substance on the top of the late Petty Officer Thomas' foot and I want to use the proper name for it. I can't exactly call them 'the opposite of soles' in my report."

"Soles?" Ziva repeated, confused. "What do fish have to do with anything?"

Abby paused for long enough to figure out what had happened. "Soles as in the bottom of your feet," she explained. "Not the fish."

Ziva shrugged her shoulders. "I am sure Ducky would be able to give you a better word," she concluded. "About the knife… Are you aware your mass spec is on fire?"

The Goth glared at it. "This is not going to end well," she announced. "I may have used the carbon dioxide fire extinguisher in a recreation of a murder last week and haven't had a replacement yet."