Sorry for the delay! And for all the technical problems. Thanks to those of you who got the message to me that all was broken. My account is back up, all chapters should be in place now, and my PM function is restored. If you see any bugs, please let me know! Also thanks to my review partner, without whom there would still be no chapter because I am majorly dithering over this middle part, and to all the reviewers and lurkers who continue to support the story. A note to cmb1496 and CherokeeIrish - I can't reply to your kind comments as the site informs me you have PMs turned off. But thanks for the encouragement!
Tony didn't mind feeling unsettled. Unsettled wasn't an inherently bad state of being, it was just an indicator that something wasn't sitting right, or something was about to happen.
Or, as was currently the case, an indication that he wasn't adapting well to the situations he found himself in.
The pain in his knee – and his back, and his hip, and his ribs – was distracting. He hadn't slept for more than an hour at a time in over three days. For the past twelve hours, he'd been taking care of a strong-willed fed who growled constantly, even in his sleep. And now he had two guests in his apartment.
Guests made him nervous. He wasn't sure what to do with them. It wasn't like these guys had come over to watch a movie or a game. They were basically stuck here until the plows made some headway, and Tony had the uncomfortable feeling that he was supposed to be hospitable, though he didn't have a firm grasp on what that entailed when two feds were camped on your couch.
Even discounting who they were, it was disconcerting that there were people in his space. In the space where he relaxed, turned off, stopped thinking. He couldn't turn off when there were people here.
He desperately needed to.
Tony closed his eyes abruptly, shutting out his image in the mirror before him.
Excuses. All excuses.
No, being unsettled didn't bother him, but he intensely disliked that he had outwardly displayed his own internal disquiet without purpose.
There was no reason that excused that kind of carelessness, that utter lack of self-discipline. He needed to pull himself together or else risk watching himself fall completely apart. And he'd vowed long ago never to let that happen again. It was not an experience he cared to repeat.
Tony strong-willed his pain, his unease, and his doubts back into their proper home – a mental dog crate that he latched as soon as they were securely contained. Then he began to bring his breathing under control, using the imagined tick of a metronome to control the duration of each inhale and exhale.
He forced himself to take the time to do it properly. He dismissed the rush he felt, banished everything still circling in his thoughts item by item. When there was nothing on his mind but the tick-tick-tick-tick of the imaginary inverted pendulum, he began the process of gradually building his expression into one of lighthearted, curious interest.
He'd been using too many patches lately, plastering quick fixes onto his face at the last minute.
Long ago, he'd realized that method was only useful for short durations. A man could hold a purposeful demeanor much longer and more easily if he built it off of an aspect of his own personality and emotional state and held it. And in this case, he was curious. He wanted to know Gibbs' and Ducky's opinions. He had no reason not to be lighthearted. He was warm and safe in a location of his choosing, with two members of law enforcement who were taking what he felt was a major threat seriously. He would continue the discussion of the case with them. They would make progress.
Not merely composed, but now ensconced in a more stable state of being, he washed his hands and exited his bathroom – a bathroom he'd been hiding in for at least fifteen minutes as he let the other men talk in hushed tones in the living room.
With a mindless smile that indicated nothing of worth, he resumed his seat on the couch he'd previously occupied, shoving toilet paper rolls to the side as he relaxed into the familiar, reassuring cushions.
Gibbs raised an eyebrow at him.
Tony increased his smile, but made no other move. He waited.
Gibbs rolled his eyes and pulled the stack of case files into his lap, passing the top few to his medical examiner. "Since you're stuck here, Duck, you might as well give us an opinion on these."
"What's this, then?"
Tony interrupted before Gibbs could explain. "Actually, Doc, if you could just read through first to see if you come to any conclusions yourself, that would be great."
Grunting his assent to this plan, Gibbs returned his attention to his stack of files.
Waiting until he was sure they would remain silent while reading and not verbally tossing around ideas, Tony slowly allowed his eyes to unfocus and his mind to wander where it would. He found this restorative – it was better than nothing when he was short on sleep, and still left him alert enough to be aware of his surroundings, to respond to something quickly if he needed to.
His thoughts flew by too fast to fully recognize most, but a few recurred enough to be noticed, or screamed so loudly they couldn't be passed over.
He met Gibbs less than 48 hours ago. It seemed much longer.
Ducky smelled like Pine Sol.
Why was it that he hated tuna, but there was always a can of the stuff in the kitchen?
These two feds, feds with real backing by their agency and with seemingly real work ethics, were paying attention to his theory.
His ribs were starting to itch as much as they hurt. A good sign, though more agonizing than the pain.
There was a hole in Gibbs' left sock. It was small, but it was definitely present. Tony smiled unconsciously. It made the man more real.
It was a good thing he had no pets. He couldn't remember the last time he'd been at his apartment. Four, five days ago?
Gibbs was taking him seriously. Not just the case. Why? They didn't even know each other.
A lone snowplow rumbled slowly through the street, jarringly loud in the silence of the room, and the extended silence of the blanketed world.
Images came to him from the accident last night. Crushed bodies, broken limbs, scattered bits of glass indistinguishable from the freshly fallen snow, Gibbs disappearing over the side of the overpass…
He shuddered.
This guy. This killer. He was real. Tony had no doubt. He nudged his thoughts in that direction and let them swirl, let all the pages and words and facts of the case files mingle together in random patterns, trying to fit previously unrelated pieces together.
Something felt different about the Collins murder. Maybe it wasn't the same killer. Or had an aspect of the murder differed from the earlier kills? If so, for what reason?
His thoughts were interrupted by Ducky.
"Without being able to examine the bodies myself, I would suggest these two might not be related." He tapped his fingers on two files he had separated into their own pile.
Tony scooted forward. "So you do see a connection between the others?"
"Yes, of course. The same man who killed our young Mr. Collins may well have killed these unfortunate souls," he gestured at the rest of the files, strewn on the table and between Gibbs and himself. "At least, it seemed so to me." He frowned. "Do you disagree?"
Letting a short, disbelieving laugh loose, DiNozzo reassured, "No. No, I don't disagree, Ducky." He paused, then asked, "Why do you think those two don't fit?"
"One of the bodies found in the water does appear to have died from drowning, which isn't a cause of death in any of the other cases, plus the crushing wound to her skull does more resemble a close encounter with the hull of a boat then any sort of purposeful postmortem injury. And this man who was shot, whose wife is now in prison?"
Tony nodded, attention fully engaged.
"The foot that was crushed suffered less force than the other victims, which would indicate a person of less size and strength – or less purposeful intent upon causing such an injury – was the perpetrator. If she had moved his body in the trunk of a car, for example, and slammed the trunk accidentally upon the appendage, it could easily have left such a pattern of damage."
"But the others?"
"The others do share a disturbing similarity. I can't entirely discount the possibility that some are unrelated, but it does not seem probable that this many similar postmortem injuries would pop up independently of each other in such a small area in so short a period of time. Some were apparently inflicted by driving heavy machinery or vehicles over the dead, but those that were caused by blunt instruments or smaller weapons do show a similarity of force. Additionally, the victims that were strangled were all attacked from behind. And you see how the bruising is deeper here and here?" He gestured to a darker portion of the bruise on one autopsy photo. "It indicates that the strangling devise was pulled upwards. The killer was likely taller than this victim."
Ducky shuffled through the files, pulling out two more. "And here, the deepest part of the bruise shows that the killer was at the same height as this man. And this file shows a slight downward pulling, indicating perhaps that he was shorter than his victim. Given the heights of these three gentlemen, that would put the murderer's height at 5 feet 10 inches, or thereabouts. I could give you a more precise answer given a few more hours with these files, and some additional information from your coroner's office."
Should he feel relieved that he wasn't crazy? He didn't. Well, he did a little. But mostly he felt sick that this fuck was really out there, and he hadn't been able to do a thing to stop the spree.
Gibbs was staring as though he knew exactly what thoughts were going through DiNozzo's head. It was disconcerting.
"Has your team any solid leads, detective?" Ducky asked.
"No. Who's hungry?"
Gibbs snorted.
"I feel as though I have missed some important factor."
Tony started to ask what everyone was hungry for, but Gibbs rode right over him. "No one but DiNozzo is even looking for this guy. Nobody knows he exists."
"You haven't brought your findings to the attention of your superiors yet?"
Feeling his smile harden, he didn't even attempt to outtalk Gibbs this time.
"He did. Nobody believes him."
Ducky swore. In a most foul fashion. Judging from Gibbs' raised eyebrow, this was not a common occurrence.
"I've got more frozen pizzas, though we did just have one. But really, is there such a thing as too much pizza?"
"Jethro, you must do something about this."
"The killer or the pizza?"
"The killer, of course!"
"Well yeah, Duck, I intend to."
Tony continued his verbal musings, unwilling to lose his overall surprisingly decent mood with a discussion about Mallace's management skills. "I tried calling the Thai place down the street earlier; they're one of the only non-pizza joints that'll deliver around here, but they're closed too. So we're limited to what's in the kitchen."
The medical examiner was not done. "There's plenty of material in these files alone that indicate these cases are connected. I presume our young detective presented this material to the powers that be?" He tossed a glance at Tony for confirmation.
Tony ignored him. "I have pasta. And enough to make a simple sauce. I could make stew, but it would take a couple hours."
Gibbs interjected, "He gave it to them."
"This is ridiculous! Once you've settled this case, you need to do something about that captain. He shouldn't have such a position if he neglects his duties. He's not protecting the citizens of his city, and he's obviously not supporting his detectives when they try to do theirs. And I…I shall do something about the medical examiner who signed off on these files. It's disgraceful to think that they wouldn't have backed you up."
DiNozzo detoured from his meal monologue long enough to reassure, "Ducky, Baltimore has more than one ME. Those autopsies were performed by seven different people."
"But once you presented them with the full picture, they still wouldn't back up your theory?"
"That's not really how things work here. I'm thinking pasta. How about you guys?"
"Tell me, how do things work here, Anthony?" Ducky was beginning to sound like an angry British nanny.
"His captain ridiculed him publicly for having independent thought. Guessing no one wants to cross the bastard." Gibbs had gone back to reading the file perched on the arm of the couch. He kept pushing his head back further and further from the papers, as though he couldn't see them.
The doctor began to stand, as though needed more height for his pending fuming rant.
Tony stood faster, swinging into the kitchen. "I'll start the water boiling." He hit the switch for the overhead light as he went, brightening the room considerably.
Gibbs smiled. He also shot the doctor a look.
Tony couldn't see their faces from where he stood in the kitchen, but whatever silently passed between them was enough to smooth out the indignation on Ducky's face and have him reluctantly settle back onto the couch.
For this, Tony was grateful. And to show his appreciation, he would cook a most wonderful meal. Just like mother never used to make.
DiNozzo began wholeheartedly bellowing some trite Italian song that reminded Gibbs of spaghetti sauce commercials.
Sighing but saying nothing about the small annoyance, he turned his attention back to the file, hoping Ducky would let the subject drop for now.
"'Something is rotten in the state of Denmark,' my friend."
He should have known better. "Smells like dinner to me."
"Judging from the lack of mention, I assume young Anthony has no partner?"
"Yep."
"And in the time you've spent together, has he checked in with anyone? A senior detective, or lieutenant, perhaps?"
"Not that I heard. Did say he was going to call in once."
"So it is entirely probable that he has no–"
Gibbs cut him off. "Ducky, how about we pretend I just walked out of the room?"
"I merely wish to ascertain that you are paying attention to the detective as well as the case, Jethro."
"Stop fussing. He's not the only cop in the world to work alone because his superior's either crooked or a fool."
"But he's one you can do something about."
"I'm not running a daycare for wayward detectives."
"Do you think he requires one? I begin to get the sense that he's quite used to being on his own."
"Hell, I don't know. Can we focus on the case?"
"You wouldn't have a case without DiNozzo. Or rather, you'd be looking for Collins' killer with no notion that the act may have been at random."
"It's almost never truly random." Something was bothering Gibbs' gut on this one. Just the Collins' case, not the others. It didn't feel like a chance choice of victim.
"You know what I meant, Jethro."
"So I should give him a medal for doing his damned job?"
"I don't imagine he'd appreciate it any more than you do." Before Gibbs could retort, Ducky gracefully rose and went to the kitchen to offer his services dicing the tomatoes.
Though he didn't cook often, Tony had perfected a few of his favorite dishes so he could indulge himself when he got the urge for a home-cooked meal.
He didn't often cook for other people, though, and found himself mildly nervous as he set the plates down in front of Gibbs on the coffee table. Shoulders that stayed slightly tight through Ducky's effusive verbal praise finally relaxed upon Gibbs' largely silent praise – the rapid cleaning of his plate, and the immediate request for seconds.
After dinner, the three men sat quietly, discussing the differences and similarities they saw between each case file. Gibbs and Tony were intent upon getting to the clinic the next day, and after a quick phone call home, Ducky indicated that he'd like to stick around and talk to at least one of the medical examiners from the case files.
There was a brief battle regarding sleeping arrangements once all three finally admitted they were tired. Tony won the fight by lying down on the couch he'd occupied earlier in the day and refusing to move. Gibbs quickly copied the move on the couch he'd woken upon that afternoon. Grumbling about bratty children, Ducky took the bedroom.
Though the lights were out, the snow-filled night captured the illumination from the streetlights outside and reflected it, filling the air with a dim golden glow that snuck in around the window shades.
Tony gazed at the soft ambient light as his thoughts wandered back to the case. He knew he was near the point of obsession with this case, but having allies only intensified his ardor.
Tomorrow, they would follow the leads they'd flushed out. They would get one step closer. And he'd keep taking steps – or leaps, if he could – until he caught the bastard killing people in his territory.
Thoughts that threatened to turn to silent brooding were interrupted by a soft impact against his head.
"I can hear you thinking, DiNozzo. Be quiet."
Smirking, Tony batted the roll of toilet paper onto the ground and finally succumbed to a blissful sleep.