Chapter Seven
Ziva and Tony stood together in front of the plasma, a sad frown on Ziva's lips, a bitter one on Tony's. Tim raised his eyebrows at them as he entered the bullpen, shrugging his bag off behind his desk.
"What is it?"
Tony glanced at him then nodded back to the breaking news report currently making its way across the plasma. "They found another kid." He said, voice void of emotion.
"Oh." Tim said hollowly, and, left with nothing else to do, joined them in front of the screen, feeling a touch ill.
They watched in a heavy, suffocating silence, in a way war refugees look over lists of the dead for a familiar name; it was a feeling of dread and repellence of the action, but the inability to stop. Footage of police retrieving a body came up on the screen, grainy and just out of focus, but one could see, sickeningly, the body bag that laid on the gurney for a few seconds before it passed out of sight. It was so small.
Several syllables that Tim didn't recognize dripped venomously from Ziva's lips, they were so hot and fury laden that they almost glowed a livid white. Tim was distantly surprised that they didn't set the floor on fire. It was a curse, the tone recognized across all languages, all walks of life.
"Seconded. Whatever the hell you said, seconded." Tony said evenly, anger lurking controlled, just underneath the surface. "There are some sick bastards in this world."
All three continued watching the news, all the words that were appropriate already said. Gibbs entered and stood behind them for a moment, silent. He then spoke up.
"We've got work to do. This isn't our problem." This last statement made it very clear that he dearly wished it was their problem. That if let off the chain, they'd have to collect what was left of the one responsible in a single evidence bag. No one moved for a second. "Go." Came the low growl.
Slowly, the team drifted apart to their separate desks. Tony turned off the plasma and set the remote onto his desktop with a venom the remote didn't deserve and then faced his computer, eyes almost burning holes in the screen. After a minute, he stood and stalked over and then into the elevator. The door shut.
Ziva silently stood as well, exchanged a glance that walked the line between shared anger and worry with Tim, and followed after Tony.
Gibbs still stood near the plasma, watching the blank screen with a focus that made Tim uncomfortable.
"Boss?" Tim asked weakly, hoping desperately to break the silence. Without a word, Gibbs departed as well. He didn't look back.
Tim grimaced to himself, shut his eyes, and rubbed them wearily. They were such good kids too, sweet and fearless. They weren't afraid as he came to guide them somewhere better, just curious. They didn't deserve a visit from him. (Did anyone?)
"You okay, McGee?"
Tim's eyes popped open, and he glanced up. Jimmy stood in front of him, head tilted slightly to the side. "Oh, yes, fine. How about you, Palmer?"
"Okay, I guess." Jimmy shifted uncertainly. "You hear about the new kid they found?"
"Unfortunately."
An ill look passed over Jimmy's face and then came back and set up camp. "Did you hear about-you know, what…happened to them?"
I didn't need to hear about it. I saw it first-hand. Tim swallowed. "Yeah, I did."
"How can someone do that? To kids?" Jimmy looked devastated and lost. Tim bit the inside of his cheek. Don't do anything stupid. Don't do anything stupid. Don't do- "I don't understand people sometimes. How can they do this kind of stuff and just get away with it"? There was a slight tremor in Jimmy's voice, a hopelessness that cracked Tim just a little, slipped in before defenses could be strengthened, drove a sword of righteousness into all sensibilities.
"Don't worry, they'll catch the guy soon, Jimmy." Take my word on it. Tim gave Jimmy a small smile that seemed pained if looked upon at a certain angle. Jimmy eyed him in confusion, but didn't question his certainty.
"I hope so. Bye, McGee."
"See you, Palmer."
Had Tim been at the top of his game, he would have noticed something was wrong. Recognized it immediately, and dealt with it. But right then…right then, the flaw stood right before his eyes, looked him full in the face, and he saw nothing.
Jimmy exited the bullpen, rounded the corner, and once he exited Tim's sight, involuntarily doubled over, leaning against a wall for support. A black substance, a mix of thick, choking smoke and something like tar, dribbled swiftly from his mouth, and then soaked through the carpet, leaving behind no stain. No evidence it was ever there at all. After a second, Jimmy straightened up, trembling, eyes glassy, without memory of the last few minutes. After a second, he went on with his day, the only memento of this experience, a swiftly fading feeling of wrongness.
Tim bit his lip, and then decisively grabbed his phone, fumbling with it for a moment, and then gaining some control. He dialed a number that he shouldn't have known, and attempted to calm his breathing. It didn't work.
o-o
"Hello, Agent John Berkley-"
"Yes, FBI, I know. I have information about the child killer along the East coast that you're investigating."
"..."
"Agent Berkley?"
"How...how did you get this number-how the hell did you know I was on this-"
"Listen closely. He's at 24 Hall Oates Street in Dell, Maryland. It's an old Victorian style house. He's armed, bring back up."
"How-"
"Got that? He's going to kill again. Soon."
"Who is this?!"
"Take the information and stop him."
"How the hell do you even know this?"
"…Good luck, Agent Berkley. Catch him, please."
"Wait! I need-damn it!"
o-o
Tim hung up the phone with a loud clack. He closed his eyes tightly and then touched the phone with a finger. Several small, vivid blue veins spiraled across the phone and then seeped into the plastic.
o-o
"You got a location?"
"No, you needed to keep him on the line longer."
"Did you get anything?"
"…"
"What?"
"I…I don't know. I don't have anything. No approximate location, no number, nothing. And listen to this."
"Static."
"I recorded the tail end of your conversation, I know I did! But it's not here. It's just…nothing."
"How is that possible?"
"…Damn machines could be faulty."
"You don't believe that."
"No. You going to check this out? Could be a trap…"
"I know, but I think I am. I'll bring a few guys. It's too solid and oddly specific to be ignored. Who knows…could just be some concerned civilian. Who happens to know my number. And that I'm assigned to this case. We could get lucky for once."
"I hope so. Pretty freaking weird though."
"You're telling me."
o-o
Tim lifted his finger from the phone, and let his arms drift down to settle on the desk. Maybe that would still the trembles that were working their way through his body.
He'd crossed a line. Not even a very thin line. A big fat, glow-in-the-dark line. And there was no going back.
Crap.
o-o
A man watches this from across the bullpen. He watches with eyes of stone, the patience of a sniper, but the hands of a healer. He tilts his head as Azrael is lost, teeth clicking together, dark, dark eyes contracting minutely. He then inclines his head upward. It almost seems, for a moment, that light has ringed itself around his head in an unnatural soft glow.
Within a fraction of a second, he is gone, leaving behind a faint whiff of ozone, which disperses promptly.
o-o
"I did as you asked, my lord. I tempted him."
"See, that wasn't too bad, was it?"
"I tempted Death. Nothing good can come of this."
"No, nothing good or evil will. So…?"
"…"
"Go on."
"…You won't like it."
"Tell me."
"Will you smite me?"
"Probably. But I always bring you back anyway."
"…He took it, my lord. I tempted Death and he succumbed. He didn't even notice me inside that human! This isn't going to end w-gack!" There was a wet whump and a need for extra-strength carpet cleaner.
"Shit. Damn it all, Azrael."
o-o
"He's fallen, Lord. Azrael, he's…lost."
"Are you certain?"
"Raphael believes it to be so. He has returned from watching Azrael."
"…Go talk to Azrael."
"Is there anything that can be done?"
"There is always another path to be traveled. Though I don't know if it's the preferable one."
"Lord, we must take action!"
"Calm yourself."
"My Lord, the time for being calm has passed! We must-"
"Just speak to him, Michael."
"My Lord-"
"Go, Michael."
A pause. The sound of flapping feathers. Silence.
A sigh.
Entire galaxies vanish with a tiny pop, a million more are born. Lives end and begin. Generations traverse a planet and die out.
He watches, and He thinks.