I am horribly late at posting this. I will be better.

The continuous reviews and notes from people were seriously appreciated. They did make a difference - they added motivation. I encourage you all to go write a PM or another review to your favorite stuck stories. Most of us have them - stories we love, but that have never been finished, or seem to be on a serious hiatus. In fact, in case there is not already such a thing, let's declare April 'Encourage the Finishing of Fics Month' - in the politiest, most encouraging way possible, of course!

After he finished eating, Tony put away the various ingredients and wiped off the kitchen counter, then calmly headed back to his bedroom without the use of his crutches, calling out, "Just gonna change, then we can get going."

Glancing at Gibbs' wrinkled Marine Corps sweatshirt, he flippantly added, "Let me know if you want to borrow any clothes."

Pleased with his cool presentation, Tony continued. He could breathe in solitude for a moment when the door was closed between him and the others. A moment was all he needed to recoup from the voice still commanding, "Danger, danger Will Robinson!" in his head. He just needed a change of scene, a new focus. Gibbs still looked far too pensive after watching that stupid tape.

Ducky stepped forward to block his path. "You will let me take a look at the damage before you step one foot outside of this apartment."

DiNozzo waved his hand in the air. "Nah, I'm good. Come on, let's get going. I want to get to the clinic before they get bombarded when the roads start to clear."

Ducky stood firm. "Absolutely not."

"You have something against getting to the clinic before it gets busy, doc?"

"Your flippant attitude will get you nowhere with me, young man."

"I can do my job fine."

"You are injured."

"I can do my job fine."

"Anthony, you will relent."

"No." Tony felt his face falling into seriousness, and quickly lightened it with a smile, aware he still probably looked less than genuinely pleased. It was an intentional slip.

Gibbs was watching closely, but made no move. Apparently Ducky was the go-to guy for medical harassment.

Tony deftly stepped around the doctor, but Ducky followed, showing no respect for privacy this morning. Tony tried to slam the door behind him, but it was caught by a surprisingly strong grip.

"If in fact your desire to 'get going' is in any way motivated by your eagerness to get back to the case at hand, I suggest you give in now and let me get this done as quickly as possible. Arguing will only cause delays." Owl-wise eyes peered out from behind spectacles, evaluating. "Or do you value your own privacy over your investigation?"

Behind them, Gibbs snorted.

Tony agreed with the rude noise. Low blow.

He released his hold on the door and turned, heading towards the bed, leaving the doctor to follow or not as he would.

Of course, he did.

Tony sat on the edge of the bed and lifted up the right side of his shirt.

Ducky shook his head. "Off with the shirt. And your sweatpants, I want a look at that knee before you do any more damage to it." Somehow a black doctor's bag had appeared in the man's hands. It looked distrustful.

Because he honestly did want to get back to the case, Tony stood and stripped down to his boxer-briefs. He forced himself to stand calmly, face neutral, eyes unfocused.

"You needn't play perfect with me, Anthony. If you want to whine or grumble a little, it's perfectly natural. You can't scare me off."

Tony brightened.

A challenge. And a rare one at that. He didn't get to practice his whining often.

As Ducky disinfected and cleaned the edges of the wound on his back and side, then produced copious amounts of white gauze pads that he taped over the entire mess, Tony fidgeted. He also moaned, complained in as high-pitched a voice as he could manage, and generally did not stop a constant stream of inane, annoying griping the entire time the doctor worked.

At one point, Ducky poked him in the middle of the raw, oozing scrape.

Tony's bitching turned momentarily into an unintended yelp. Sizing up his opponent, he narrowed his eyes briefly and returned to his complaints. The good doctor looked guilty for the one probably purposeful poke. He'd never win at this rate.

"Anthony, I am done with your side. Now sit down and let me have a look at your knee." The 'and shut the hell up' wasn't uttered, but it seemed implied.

Tony sat.

He did not shut the hell up.

Gibbs listened to them bicker as he grabbed his bag and headed to the bathroom to wash up and change.

When he emerged, Ducky was exiting DiNozzo's bedroom, black bag in hand. The two walked further from the detective's door by mute agreement. Gibbs raised an eyebrow in question.

"I can't see any evidence that the truck caused internal injuries – he has some painfully bruised ribs, though those could be from your altercation the night before just as easily. The bruising and superficial damage to the entire right side of his body is extensive, but certainly not life threatening."

"And?"

"It's impossible to be certain about the lad's knee without proper scans. He seems able to move it, though it comes with great pain. Not that he shows it. I have a feeling I will forever regret inviting him to whine as I treated what he terms a scrape. Now he'll be hounding me with paper cuts to better hide whatever massive injuries he's quietly sustained."

"That sounds long-term, Duck."

"Hmm, yes, it rather does, doesn't it? I wonder where that concept came from." Ducky smiled.

Gibbs did not. "What else?"

"That's really it, Jethro."

Gibbs waited.

Sighing, the doctor gave in. "If you were to look at the damage to his side, particularly where the skin was removed…well, it was very clean."

"So, he did some of his own doctoring." That didn't seem like such a bad thing.

"Yes, he actually did care for it rather well, such as he could reach it. But the edges were too smooth. And the small amount of tissue repair I would have expected over the last day was largely missing. It was almost as if he'd scrubbed at it in the shower. Not with his hand or a towel, but with sandpaper."

"There's one of those stones on the side of his tub."

Long used to Gibbs' way of speaking, Ducky translated, "A pumice stone. Yes, that could have done it. But Jethro, the pain that would be involved in such an action…"

He didn't have time for this shit. They had a case to solve, the detective was fit for duty, that's all that mattered. He shoved this new disturbing DiNozzo revelation ruthlessly aside. "Later."

Tony reentered the room, freshly dressed and without crutches. "Ready to roll?"

"Let's get the hell out of here. DiNozzo, you got a car we can take?"

The detective brightened. "Oh, I've got a car."

"Good. Ducky, you head over to the precinct and have your talk with the MEs. We'll meet you there when we're done at the clinic."

He headed out the apartment door without waiting for agreement, but was stopped by Ducky.

"Jethro, one more thing."

Shit. No more things. Time to go. "What?"

"Might I see your phone?"

Gibbs produced his cell from out of a pocket.

Ducky snatched it. "Thank you, I'll be taking that back." Looking at Tony, he advised, "You might want to keep a spare on you. Gibbs is notoriously hard on the devices, and is an absolute thief when he's without."

Gibbs stalked out of the apartment.

Time to get back on track. They had a case to solve.

The trip to the clinic wasn't as painful as it could have been. The main roads were mostly plowed, and Tony's Corvette took to the snow better than one might expect.

Tony himself took to Gibbs driving the Corvette better than the Special Agent had expected. There was some token resistance, but the kid knew he couldn't trust his bum knee to have the reaction time that might be necessary on rough road conditions. Especially with a manual.

Gibbs kept his expression flat, but was experiencing something near to nostalgia as he tooled around in the little sports car. It reminded him of an old yellow Challenger he once fooled around with, bought for cheap after it was banged up in an accident.

A sobering thought, as he flashed to a mixture of images from the pileup on the highway. What his own memory couldn't supply, the damn news clip had.

He cut off that line of thought before it could result in anything. It had nothing to do with the case.

Gibbs parked, and the two men entered the clinic. The waiting room chairs were starting to fill up with frostbite, bruises and cuts, and a few flu cases.

Making their way to the nurses' desk, Gibbs flashed his ID at the middle-aged blond working patient check-in. "Gibbs, NCIS. My office called ahead with a warrant for Keith Collins' records."

She nodded distractedly. "I'll page Ms. Narcutti, the administrator for this clinic. Just a moment."

Willing to wait, Gibbs politely stepped aside. DiNozzo eyed him, as though waiting for the other shoe to drop. He'd have seen it, too, if the wait was longer than two minutes, but thankfully Ms. Narcutti showed up quickly.

"Gentlemen, if you'll follow me?" Came the no-nonsense greeting. They were led back beyond the clinic rooms into an area that was calmer and more office-like. "There's been a slight change of plans."

"Mhmm." There was a distinct lack of files in the lady's hands.

"Dr. Solas found out about the warrant, and has asked to give you the files personally."

"He was Collins' primary physician here?" Tony asked, as Gibbs kept quiet.

"Not exactly. He was the doctor Mr. Collins came here to see, but he's a psychologist, not a general practitioner. Here we are now."

The compact, efficient admin led them into a medium-sized office complete with couch.

Gibbs scowled, and saw a small tic of displeasure cross DiNozzo's face as well.

Shrinks.

A tall, vaguely Hispanic-looking man with brown hair and small, wire-rimmed glasses rose and rounded a desk, extending his hand towards Gibbs. "Doctor Cyrus Solas."

Gibbs accepted and returned the handshake. Firm, for a headshrinker. "Gibbs, NCIS." He jerked his head to the right. "DiNozzo, Baltimore Homicide."

Solas had the sad basset hound eyes down pat. "I was very sorry to learn of Keith's death. He was a good boy, on his way to being an outstanding young man."

Ms. Narcutti lovingly patted the doctor on the hand.

Interesting.

DiNozzo looked over at the other person in the room, a pasty, portly guy in his mid-twenties seated in the corner. "And who's this?"

Solas glanced in the direction indicated. "My intern, Nick Masolat. He also knew Keith, though only briefly. Nick's been my shadow for the last three months."

Gibbs prodded, "And Keith was here for…"

"Ah, please, have a seat."

Tony perched on the blue couch as though he'd be happy to jump off at the slightest opportunity. Gibbs sank down on the other end of the not quite ratty couch. Nick stayed in his chair in the corner – Gibbs was tempted to put a dunce cone on the intern's head – while Solas reseated himself behind the moderately-sized desk, and Ms. Narcutti perched on the desk itself, her short skirt rising far enough to catch the young detective's attention.

Resisting the urge to smack him on the back of the head, Gibbs tossed a pointed glance at the shrink. They were all seated. Time for the story.

"I'm sure you're aware that Keith's mother passed away. She had a small life insurance plan that went to her son after her death. It would have allowed him a few luxuries in another path of life, but he chose to attend the Academy, and has lived fairly frugally since, as he was raised."

Tony butted in, "How much?"

"About a hundred thousand, though almost half that went to pay off her medical costs and the funeral."

The good doctor knew quite a bit about the boy's financial situation. "Do you know who Keith's beneficiary is?"

"Not for certain, but he'd talked about donating the rest of the money to a cancer research organization, so if he had a will drawn up, I'd assume he would have directed the funds there."

Gibbs shared a brief glance with DiNozzo. They'd check, but if that was true, the money was not a likely reason for murder.

Solas continued, "Keith wanted to be an ordinary kid. A regular midshipman. He didn't throw his money around, didn't spend it at all that I know of except to come here."

"His medical care would've been covered on campus."

"Yes, he chose to come here because he was embarrassed, and could afford the rates our clinic offers for phobia counseling."

Ms. Narcutti opted into the conversation. "Dr. Solas specializes in phobias. He's amazing."

DiNozzo kept a pleasant smile on his face, but made a strange half-gagging sound in the back of this throat.

Gibbs tried to keep the conversation on track. "And Collins' phobia?"

"A simple case of arachnophobia. It wasn't extreme. In another life, another intended line of work, he likely would have been able to live with it without help."

But a life in the service did now allow for many weaknesses. Gibbs needed more details. "What do you mean by it not being extreme?"

"He could manage himself. No running and screaming, no irrational reactions to photos or drawings – though he would experience discomfort, especially at movies or video of spiders or webs. He wasn't on track to spend a lot of time in combat situations where a second's jump back might cause him grief, but with this life you never know…"

True. Anyone could get called into combat, even a gifted linguist. Especially these days. And poking around in a militarized zone and suddenly jumping back or shouting could have all sorts of undesirable consequences when everyone around you has machine guns.

"We were making progress. And, due to the schedule Keith kept, I did agree to some irregular meetings, sometimes out of the office."

"Did you two have dinner the night Collins was killed?"

"Yes, at Bowser's."

One mystery solved. "Did you often spend time with him outside of the office?"

"He tried to meet me every Friday evening he could. If he could get out early, we would generally meet in the office. If he was a little later, we often met over dinner. Phobia counseling is often done in the field, so to speak, so we also had a few desensitization trips."

"Purposefully seeking out spiders? Sounds like a bad want ad," Tony said.

Smiling, Solas agreed, but his face quickly fell again. "Nick, if you'd give us a moment, please?"

Nick looked like he'd rather not, but he shuffled out of the room at his master's command.

Solas merely glanced at the pertly helpful admin, who excused herself to keep watch for the doctor's next appointment and stall them if necessary.

Alone, he continued. "It's easier to keep a professional distance from patients in the office. Spending so much time with him in social milieus – honestly, I'd come to think of him as a friend."

Gibbs examined the man's face. He did look honestly upset. "How did Collins' phobia start?"

"Unclear, but phobias of that kind are extremely common. There may have been a trigger to set it off when he was little, but some people just seem naturally prone to certain fears, especially those found in nature. Spiders, snakes, dogs, etcetera."

Tony stood and started wandering the office, his eyes glancing over framed certificates, books and office minutiae. "So Doc, what can you tell us about Collins in general?"

Solas' eyes tracked the detective's movements, but he made no complaint. "A very serious, dependable young man. He wasn't very social, but it wasn't from awkwardness or inability. He was just abandoned one too many times."

"Abandoned by whom?"

"His father, certainly. His mother, in a way, after she died. His father had no relatives, and whatever distant relations existed on his mother's side disappeared when she got sick. He didn't trust easily, but he was very friendly from what I saw."

"Did Collins say anything to you that indicated he was uncomfortable around anyone, or that threats had been made against him?"

Gibbs let Tony continue what was turning into an interrogation rather than an interview. He seemed to have a bug up his butt about something.

Solas replied easily, "No, I can't think of anything, and I've been trying." He gathered a pile of folders from his desk and offered them to DiNozzo. "Here are his clinic files and copies of some of my session notes. We talked about the death of his mother, general daily life, the pressures of exams sometimes, but generally focused on the phobia – experiences with it, his fears of what it could lead to, new techniques to diminish the strength of it."

"Did you ever go on campus?"

"No, I never did. He always came here."

"Were you aware of any other medical problems Collins suffered from?"

"No, not at all. He was very healthy."

"Why would he have been in that alley at that time of night?"

Solas shook his head. "I really don't know. I don't know what he did after our sessions, or our dinners. Maybe met up with friends, or went for a drink. Maybe he just went back to campus."

"Where did you go after you left Bowser's?"

"The clinic is funded by the hospital two blocks over. Since we're technically on staff there, sometimes we get called to pull extra shifts. I went from dinner to the hospital, and worked an overnight."

Gibbs let the peppering of questions go on for another five minutes before he deemed no further information – useful or otherwise – would be gained from continuing. He interrupted Tony, who was now alternating between pacing and advancing upon the doctor as though stalking prey. "Thank you for your time, Doctor Solas. If you think of anything else, please give us a call." He rose and passed a card to the doctor, who also rose and gave Gibbs a card of his own.

"And if you can think of any other questions, please don't hesitate to call me. I really would like to be of help."

Nodding, Gibbs left, Tony following.

Ms. Narcutti and Nick the Dough Boy were right outside the door.

Silently, the two men made their way back to the parking lot, Tony starting to flip through the folder as they went.

When they were safely shut back in the car, Gibbs turned to ask, "The hell?"

"Something about him I don't like."

There was something about him Gibbs didn't like either, but he was pretty sure it was just a general shrink thing. "He seemed like he honestly cared."

"Yeah. He did," DiNozzo agreed in a frustrated voice. "Maybe it's just a shrink thing. I try to avoid them."

Gibbs held back a smile. "Anything useful in the file?"

"Don't think so, mostly notes about the phobia stuff." He continued to browse through with a discontented look on his face.

Gibbs reached for his phone, realizing it wasn't there too late. His scowl was interrupted by Tony's hand thrust into his face with the detective's own cell. Gibbs grabbed it, but figured he'd have to dial dispatch to get through, since he didn't know his probies' direct lines.

"Ducky put his number, Abby's, and entered #1 and #2's in there, too."

Bemusedly, Gibbs called the office and commanded his team to check out if Collins had a will or not.

Tony looked up. "Ask them to check to see if any of the other victims went to the same clinic. I emailed them a list of the victim's names early this morning just in case."

Since he agreed, Gibbs so ordered, then hung up and started the Corvette.