In the brief seconds between sleep and wakefulness, Gibbs wondered how he had been taken captive, and who was holding him down.
When he forced his eyes open – well, the right eye; the left seemed to be crusted shut – and remembered where he was, he realized that his muscles were just too stiff to move.
Gibbs didn't consider himself old. He could still outrun a suspect, dominate the interrogation room, hold his own in a fight. But this particular morning made him feel old-er. Even with his wide range of combat experience, he could only recall awakening this stiff once before.
His mind shied away from the memory.
No way was he going to admit weakness in front of the very people he intended to rip into this morning. With a great force of will, he forced his hands to flex, then his elbows, his shoulders and his neck. Pushing up and back against the wall, he contemplated his bad leg. Would it hold his weight?
He stretched both legs out in front of him, stretching slowly and feeling for weak points. Tentatively sliding off the cot and putting weight onto his knees, he was pleasantly surprised to feel only a mild pain.
Standing and stretching, he winced at the pull on his bruised ribs and rubbed at his gritty eyes. Still, he was lucky. It didn't feel like he'd broken or torn anything. His head hurt more than anything else, and he could ignore that.
Coffee would help.
Grabbing his bag, he slipped out the door and back into the squad room. It was still early for Baltimore PD, apparently, as there were only two men in the room. Both ignored him, as though it were completely normal for an unknown guy to edge out of the cot closet early in the morning.
Closing the door behind him, Gibbs noticed a white piece of paper taped to the outside of the door. It read, "WARNING: Grumpy Fed sleeping. Awaken at your own risk." The handwritten text was accompanied by a crudely-drawn bear with large claws and dripping fangs looming over several small stick figures.
DiNozzo.
With a scowl that hid a surprised smirk, he ripped off the sign, balled it up and threw it in a nearby trash can.
Damn fool.
Gibbs made his way down to the cafeteria, and was pleasantly surprised to find it open, though quite small. He bought and drank a cup of passable coffee before returning to the nonexistent line to buy a muffin and another cup of coffee. Inhaling the muffin as he walked back upstairs, he stopped in the bathroom to change into wrinkled but clean work clothes.
He eyed his empty cup sadly. The foot traffic in the building was picking up. He should go check to see if the captain had deigned to show up.
Sighing, he gave into duty and went out past the homicide department and down to the captain's office, tossing out his empty coffee cup along the way.
Spotting the dark window of the captain's office caused Gibbs to sink into a truly foul mood. It was now 0900 and the captain was not yet at work.
Positioning himself in front of the captain's door, he stood silently, impatiently, imposingly.
An anxious-looking, emaciated lackey with a desk just outside the captain's office showed up within minutes. Gibbs prowled over to the man's desk and continued his loud silent stare.
"Uh, the captain should be here any minute. Really." He didn't sound like he believed it himself.
Gibbs continued to stare.
"I can show you where the cafeteria is if you want to get a cup of coffee." Gibbs' eyes narrowed. The walking skeleton in front of him began to twitch, small tics of his wrists and the corner of his left eye.
"Name," Gibbs barked.
"Officer Leonard Whitford, sir!"
It was unlikely this nervous creature could get the captain here any faster. So…
"My name is Special Agent Gibbs, Officer Whitford." Gibbs used a low tone, and began moving around the side of the desk the officer was using as a shield. "I work for NCIS. Do you know what NCIS is?"
Whitford nodded, and wisely kept silent.
"Good," Gibbs nearly crooned, with a blatantly fake smile on his face. "So you can understand why I need to talk to your captain. About the murder of a sailor that your precinct called me in on."
Whitford nodded.
Gibbs let his voice pick up volume with each word. "And you can imagine that I wasn't very happy to get to your squad house after spending the entire night trying to salvage a crime scene that your own patrolmen royally screwed."
Whitford was very good at nodding. And swallowing.
Well into his Gunny voice now, Gibbs continued, "So maybe, just maybe, you can understand why I will not conveniently leave this door to go get coffee. Can you, officer?"
"Sir, yes sir!" Gibbs could tell by the policeman's posture that he had never been in the military. He let the "sir" slide, refrained from rolling his eyes, and instead implemented a solution to two immediate problems.
"Why don't you go get me that coffee, Whitford," Gibbs commanded quietly, moving right up into the other man's face.
"Okay!"
As Whitford gawkily scurried out of the room, Gibbs allowed himself a momentary chuckle. He sobered quickly upon hearing a muted exchange in the hall, most certainly between the escaping officer and some new party.
Gibbs resumed his post in front of the captain's door just as a short, middle-aged portly man with a politician's fake smile on a reddened face rounded the corner.
"Agent Gibbs, Agent Gibbs, good, you're here. Let's go into my office and talk." The man approached his office but was forced to pull up short for a moment as Gibbs did not immediately move out of the way. Abruptly, he shifted so that the captain could get by him – barely.
Gibbs was considering a rule regarding the inherent untrustworthiness of anyone who repeated your name twice in a row.
Bustling around his little office, the square-headed captain hung up his coat on the corner of a bookcase filled with binders, then smoothed his shirt and extended a hand to Gibbs. "Captain Mallace at your service. Nice to finally meet you. We were worried you got lost out there last night. Waited here for quite some time, quite some time…"
Gibbs ignored the outstretched hand and let a snarl creep into his face and voice. "Did my working late at the compromised scene inconvenience you, captain?"
"Well, you know, these are the hazards of the job one must live with."
Was the man dim?
"Are you dim?" Sometimes these questions need to be asked aloud.
"Dim? No, no, I don't think so. The lighting's pretty strong in here, though it's a little harsh. Thank you for asking, though."
Rarely did these questions have satisfactory replies.
Gibbs simplified. "I need. To talk. To the two patrolmen. Who bungled my crime scene."
"Yes, yes, so sorry about that. But these things do happen. I told those young men to report bring and early this morning for debriefing. They should be here soon."
Gibbs stamped down on his control so hard he stopped breathing for a full minute. Early? Soon? It was nearing 10 a.m. By the time he was able to formulate a verbal response beyond just a string of profanity, the captain had unfortunately taken his silence for acceptance, and moved on.
"Yes, well, case is in Baltimore of course. But victim is a young sailor, poor kid."
Unsure if this buffoon pitied the cadet for being dead or being a sailor, Gibbs raised a warning eyebrow and advanced one step, squaring his shoulders.
"Just saying you're a District man, a Baltimore local could be a big help. Let's keep this friendly and work together."
"You want me to work with one of your team?"
"Delilla is a good man, great detective. He'd be an asset to any investigation."
Gibbs had been thinking he'd request Delillia if the PD pushed a joint investigation. Hearing Mallace suggest him, though, made him reconsider.
"Detective DiNozzo was at my scene last night. Any idea why?"
The captain ran a hand over his buzz cut, which did nothing to hide his receding hair line. "DiNozzo's always popping up here and there. Don't think the kid sleeps, he's got too much energy, energy and curiosity. Annoying, sometimes, but harmless. He was probably just out running and saw the scene. Don't pay any attention to him."
Oh, really?
"I'll work with DiNozzo, or no one."
The skin around the edges of Mallace's eyes and lips tightened, though he attempted a pleased expression. "Sure, sure. That's fine. Let me just have a moment with him to explain the proper etiquette of interagency cooperation."
Gibbs stifled a snort. DiNozzo provoked an interagency street brawl last night, and he still had been treated better afterwards by the detective than the captain seemed capable of ever doing. Mallace was clearly up to something, but was it pertinent to his case, or just petty bureaucratic bullshit?
Spotting Whitford lingering outside the captain's door with two cups in hand, Gibbs finished the conversation.
"You talk with DiNozzo and get those uniforms in an interview room within an hour. Or I will personally redefine your notion of interagency interaction."
He stepped out after issuing what he felt was a rather standard threat – an oldie but a goodie – before the captain could decide if he was cowed or incensed. Taking the proffered cup from the officer, Gibbs took a long drink as Mallace yelled, "Leonard!" and Whitford ran into the little room.
A short, heated exchange followed, ending with a louder, "And get DiNozzo in here now!"
As Whitford scrambled out of the office and back towards Homicide, DiNozzo conveniently appeared.
"Hey Leo, how you doing?"
"Tony! Captain wants to see you, right away."
"On my way!" DiNozzo seemed annoyingly cheerful, and moved with a quiet grace that again made Gibbs question how much – or rather how little – damage the detective had taken from last night's activities.
Leonard seemed almost restive after DiNozzo's sudden appearance. "You think they'll be long?"
"No sir, this won't take long at all." The officer's voice was considerably firmer than it had been.
Gibbs looked at him, considering. "Whitford, how much of my conversation with the captain did you hear?"
"Most of it." Though he looked a little nervous again, the man's voice was still firm.
"You got any tips for me?"
After hesitating a moment, he slowly said, "Captain made a slip of the tongue."
Not what he had expected. But okay. "What was that?"
"Delilla – he is a great detective."
Gibbs thought back. "A great detective…but only a good man?"
Whitford sat down and drank coffee.
"And DiNozzo?"
The officer opened his mouth to reply, but at that moment the detective in question sauntered back out of the office.
"Gibbs," he dared to scold, "have you been telling stories? I just got the most useful lecture on cooperating with feds."
"Wasn't about last night, DiNozzo." Though it was strange that no one had mentioned either his or the detective's injuries.
DiNozzo cocked his head to the side, waiting for more information.
"Your ass is mine for the remainder of this investigation."
Gibbs read a quick flash of surprise in the detective's eyes, but was uncertain what his following expression indicated. Wariness? Satisfaction? Triumph?
Whitford was gaping at them, mouth open. He might be more than he originally seemed, but no one would accuse the boy of being smooth.
Gibbs eyed his new pain in the ass. "Show me where the uniforms are. Or are going to be, since I doubt they're here yet."
DiNozzo shrugged and turned, walking back down the hallway in the direction he had appeared from, without bothering to check if Gibbs was following or not.