A/N: Thank you to everyone you takes the time and effort to leave a review, alert or favourite for the previous chapter. I appreciate your support :) Computer issues prevented me getting this chapter up soon. Hope you enjoy it :)
Sirieux Part 2
Chapter 10 Something Smells Hinky
"Well, well, well. That's rather embarrassing. I'll see what I can find out but it's going to cost you." Trent Kort's despised cultured British voice ringing in his ears, his sarcastic words mocking Gibbs as he stared at his cell phone, furious that the ass-wipe had got the last word by daring to hang up on him. Smarmy Pommy prick!
Scowling at the screen of his phone, Jethro thought long and hard about breaking it, longing to fling it against the basement wall. It would feel so good seeing it shatter, but he was waiting for some contacts to get back to him. He'd spent hours today chasing down that one eyed sociopath and when he finally tracked the ass-wipe down, he'd goaded him. Gibbs vowed he'd find a way to pay him back for the disrespect – no one pissed him off and got away with it.
Gibbs was getting extremely frustrated at all the dead ends he was running into and he was starting to think that DiNozzo was full of crap. Well he was - obviously – as was apparent today. His SFA was so damned sure he had all the answers but he didn't know what the fuck he was talking about. Jethro was also beginning to think he was a lying sack of shit when it came to his so called new job. Probably deputy sheriff of some Podunk town in the middle of nowhere or a glorified mall cop, not the director of some ultra- secret organisation. He'd clearly been watching too much James Bond – it had softened his brain.
He'd enlisted Ducky to work his contacts early on in the piece, right before he stormed out of Leon's office, since the man had contacts; not just in the US but all over the world - especially in British Military and Intelligence circles. Then when he'd left Grace's office he'd called Ned Dornaget's mom, Joanna Teague and a few other spooks he'd worked with over the years at the CIA, plus touched base with Abby Borin at the Coast Guard Investigative Service to see if she'd heard anything. Then he'd contacted Henrietta Lange and Callen from OSP LA but was still waiting on their call backs. Sam Hanna hadn't heard anything or claimed he hadn't and Dwayne Pride promised, albeit reluctantly, to dig around and get back to him. Traitor!
Next he'd called Hollis Mann's former second in charge, Major Robert Heckles at Army Criminal Investigative Division. He was even thinking about calling Bishop's ex-husband Jake Malloy at the NSA – after all, if it was true that DiNozzo had been offered a directorship then surely they'd know about it.
So far – nada, zilch, nothing. It was infuriating and if he'd made a total ass of himself when DiNozzo had just been pranking them, he'd make him wish he'd never been born.
Unfortunately, the senior supervisory agent lacked the empathy necessary to realise there'd been plenty of occasions, particularly during this last year, where he'd treated DiNozzo like crap when he had wished it too. Feeling that his life was pointless and filled with loneliness, Tony often felt it would have been better if he'd never been born.
Pouring a full glass of Jack Daniels, Gibbs slammed it down, feeling the liquor help take the edge off his fury. He hated to be made a fool of. Reaching for the bottle again he poured himself another shot.
~o0o~
Trent smirked as he one upped Jethro for once. Pissing him off was a joy and a pleasure. Gibbs clearly thought he was still on the CIA books and he wasn't about to disabuse him of that notion. After all, he still had a network of contacts around the globe, especially from the dark side – hell he was the dark side!
He had to admit his curiosity had been well and truly piqued by Gibbs' call. If there were things going on in the world of spooks that he hadn't been apprised of, he desperately wanted to know. It was like waving a freshly killed haunch of antelope in front of a starving lion and expecting it to politely decline it when offered. Never happen!
Of course the irresistible cherry on top was the fact that it was to do with Anthony DiNozzo. He'd never liked him, especially after the sanctimonious arsehole punched him in the nose. The man was too bloody soft, too fucking ethical, too afraid to get his hands dirty to succeed in this business. The man thought he was too good to get down and dirty in the muck with the rest of them but hey… look who slept with a mark to get close to her arms dealing father. Hypocritical prick!
The more he considered the situation, the more Kort was insanely curious to discover which alphabet agency had snaffled him up as their director. It seemed so incongruous.
He was also wildly amused that Gibbs and DiNozzo had a falling out. Frankly, he was amazed they'd managed to work together as long as they had. Kort had no illusions about himself – he was an amoral predator, pure and simple. He wasn't concerned about ethics or greater good – he was out to do what was best for Trent Kort. And as an apex predator he made damned sure he knew who his competitors were – and what they were up to so he didn't end up as shark bait himself. The simple truth was that Leroy Jethro Gibbs had far more in common with himself than he ever would with Anthony DiNozzo Junior.
Gibbs was a predator like Kort, not just because of his role as a black ops sniper but because he'd killed without remorse in the past, killed with premeditation for his own gain, and still managed with a straight face to track down and charge individuals who committed the exact same crime he'd gotten away with. Trent had to admire that in the man – most people wouldn't be able to deal with such hypocrisy. Shrinks called it cognitive dissonance but Gibbs had managed to deal with the situation with great aplomb.
He had more than two decades as an agent under his belt and Trent felt that deserved respect. The guy was a real class act!
Mind you, he wouldn't trust the bastard as far as he could throw him but he understood him in a way he could never do with DiNozzo. He could anticipate how the former sniper would react in any given situation because they thought alike. But Trent couldn't even begin to predict DiNozzo's actions because frankly, his cloying sense of morality was anathema to everything the spook believed in or didn't believe in.
Although they were definitely rivals who wouldn't lose a minutes sleep over removing each other from the game - permanently if it were necessary, there was a comfortable certainty in knowing that Gibbs was just as amoral, just as ruthless as himself. The real wildcards weren't predators like Gibbs or even his surrogate daughter cum-Mossad assassin – Ziva David.
She was another one that he had no difficulty in reading like a book, as much as she might pretend that she was a journey of self-discovery, nay self-redemption. There was a damned good reason why sociopaths like themselves were singled out by the powers that be to become career assassins for their countries. It kept them out of prison for otherwise thinning the ranks of the innocent but not too bright public, plus they performed a much needed service in cleaning up after the imbecilic, moronic elected officials and those lily-livered individuals who didn't have the gonads to personally do the killing when needed. Everyone who refused to do what was necessary to keep the masses safe and ignorant of how close they came on a daily basis to anarchy and annihilation.
But leopards never changed their spots, nor did sociopaths and assassins, which was why when they outlived their usefulness, they would be dispassionately put down before they could turn on their former employers. That was why Ziva's time was nigh - she was trying to redeem herself – it was a huge red flag to her former employer that she'd become a loose cannon.
Maybe he should look her up for old time sake, they could shag themselves silly, for however long it took for Mossad and the Company to take them out. It was unfortunate that he'd found himself in a somewhat similar situation to Ms David – although in his case it had been his employers issuing a burn notice. It was just a matter of time before someone decided he was a liability and tried to take him out too. Of course, as pleasant as shagging David's brains out may be, the truth was he was far too wily to let some wet behind the ears assassin-for-hire take him down.
Putting thoughts of his demise out of his mind, he returned to pondering the dichotomy of lambs versus wolves and the dangers cuddly lambs posed to people like himself. Given a choice, Kort would choose to deal with wolves, every time.
Truth to tell, the dangerous ones were the individuals who he couldn't easily corrupt, like DiNozzo who frankly made him sick; even being near him was nauseating. The stench of saccharine sweet goodness wafted around him and made him, and others like him stick out like sore thumbs. Stick out like a meatless hamburger in a room full of ravening slavering carnivores; stick out like a Dolly Parton look-a-like at a rapper convention.
Hell, even Rene Benoit, another morally reprehensible, top of the food chain predator had immediately recognised Anthony DiNozzo for the sickeningly white hat that he was and had actually approved of him as a suitable suitor for his precious bloody daughter. People like Trent were good enough to protect Rene's darling little princess and to take a bullet for her if necessary, or even take the blame for killing Benoit to prevent that red-headed bitch from facing a lethal injection. But he and those of his ilk would never be good enough, in Benoit's estimation, to marry Ms Benoit or begat her precious offspring.
Thinking about the call from Gibbs again, Kort couldn't help chuckling; the NCIS agent had been sending out feelers all day, trying to find him. He'd know hours ago that the former Marine was desperate to talk but it had amused him to watch Jethro run around like a headless chicken, trying to find him. It reminded him of the childish game of Hide and Seek.
So it wasn't exactly a coincidence that he called him after he'd given up and headed back to his pathetic little domicile to lick his wounds. Kort just knew he was headed for the nearest bottle of booze – so predictable.
As he made contact, he thought about the delicious rumours that had been doing the rounds of the alphabets over the past months.
Scuttlebutt had it that Gibbs had his heart set on taking out Daniel Budd and The Calling all on his lonesome but the joint taskforce of NCIS, CIA and Homeland Security – including Jethro's faithful SFA had got in his way, taking them out before he could go after them. Then to rub salt in his wounds, DiNozzo rescued a kid that Gibbs had tried to save and ended up screwing up royally by underestimating his enemy – Daniel Budd due to his arrogance.
Of course, Trent hadn't paid much heed to the rumours; he happened to know that Gibbs didn't have a heart!
~o0o~
More than an hour of playing piano after he finished his Skype call with Hermione, Tony switched to his guitar, playing, fingerpicking and strumming until his fingers ached. Deciding that after the shittiest day from hell, he was hopefully exhausted enough and now relaxed enough to sleep, he placed his beloved Gibson on its stand and stood up and stretched.
He glanced at the phone as he passed it on his way towards his bedroom and recalled the messages he'd found on his answering machine when he'd arrived home earlier. Seeing the red flashing indicating someone had called he'd grabbed a cold beer from the fridge before settling in to listen, wondering if Gibbs had deigned to leave a message on his landline. Depressing the button, he listened intently as a female who he didn't recognise began speaking.
"Special Agent DiNozzo, this is Dr Grace Confalone. It is extremely important that I talk to you ASAP. Please… when you get this message call me back on 555 7600. Thank you."
He frowned, not knowing what to make of the message but figuring it was some interfering medico from the ER today, calling to tell him his iron levels or his eosinophils were too low or that his cholesterol was too high. He had more important things on his mind. Pressing the button to listen to the next message, he grinned tightly as he recognised the caller.
"Hey Tony, this is Joanna Teague. Or should that be Director DiNozzo? I hear congratulations are in order. Well done, you! Wish you'd decided to come and work for us though. We made a helluva team, didn't we?
"By the way, what's crawled up Jethro's butt? He's been getting in my ear about your new job all day, calling to see if I knew anything about it. Anyhow… partner, we'll have to get together for a celebratory drink before you leave. Ned would have been so excited for you – I don't think I ever told you but he had a massive crush on you…
"Well anyway…call me and we'll make plans to paint the town red."
The final message managed to make him smile nostalgically.
"Hi Tony, this is Kensi …and this is Deeks. Hey Man. We heard your awesome news. Cops rule! He's a fed, Deeks but for once you're right, Surfer Boy…it's awesome news. Congrats…we're so excited for you. By the way, your boss Gibbs has his nose put out of joint – guess he don't want to lose you.
"Yeah dude… he's been calling Hetty, Callen and even Sam to see if they'd heard any chatter about your highly classified gig but it's been super quiet about your appointment. Mind you, we're all insanely curious now.
"So we just thought you should know in case there is blowback, Tony. And make sure you drop by next time you're in LA . Yeah - I'll take you down to the beach and we can get acquainted with the waves, DiNozzo. He doesn't want to go surfing, Deeks. We'll go shopping – get you some decent clothes like Tony's. Hey! He's the one that could do with some new clothes. Suits are so passé and dull…
They continued to bicker until the message timed out and Tony grinned, remembering his time working with the OPS team in LA. It wasn't until he'd worked with Callen's team last October that he realised just how badly things had deteriorated for him back in DC. He'd gone there to collect the money launderer, Rio Syansundin to escort him back to DC and he'd given the federal marshal who had custody of him the slip mid-flight from Singapore. The team had helped him to track him down.
Truly, it was a breath of fresh air working with the LA team – although Callen was pretty guarded around him, which wasn't all that surprising when you thought about it. After all, he and Gibbs were buddies from way back in their black op days and Gibbs was pissed off with him. No doubt he and Callen had caught up when he'd flown to LA a few weeks earlier after the case with DEA agent Mitch Mitchell.
Sam had been less reserved and Kensi, Deeks and the two techie geeks, Eric and Nell had been welcoming and a pleasure to work with. Even Assistant Director Granger had been pretty cool, all things considered. Hetty was one scary little gnome of a woman, who clearly didn't feel the DiNozzo charm and decided to put the boot in, a la Gibbs style. Her equating Jen Shepard's death to the marshal losing his prisoner was specious and unfair but then again, he should be used to colleagues making below the belt barbs.
Still apart from her, and Callen's less than effusive welcome he'd enjoyed the visit. And he'd just loved watching the team dynamic, how they didn't feel like they had to constantly compete with each other by pushing their team mates under the bus or how Rule 12 was proudly being flaunted. It had definitely been a wake-up call, a call to arms, making him realise just what he had to put up with and even more importantly, that he'd well and truly outstayed his welcome on team Gibbs.
Due to his visit to Los Angeles, when he'd returned, he'd stepped up his exit strategy because it had made him yearn to have what they did, well after being reminded of what a good team looked and felt like. He'd always be grateful to them for opening his eyes to the possibilities of a better future for himself because he'd overlooked for too long that he deserved to be happy too.
But Deeks and Kensi's call and Joanna's, also answered a few questions about what had happened to their fearless leader today. It seems that Gibbs was out and about, working his contacts, trying to find out who had hired him. Good luck with that!
The question was – why? Was it because he didn't appreciate not being in the know, viewing it as a professional slight on him or did he have a darker motive? Did Gibbs want to sabotage his new job before it even started?
Was killing Budd and seeing him freeze in the field really enough to negate 15 years of loyalty and make Gibbs hate him so much he'd try to damage his next gig? Was he really that petty?
~o0o~
Leon Vance had eaten dinner with Kayla and Jared, sending them off to finish up their homework while he loaded up the dishwasher with the dinner dishes and cookware. This was probably the time of the day that he missed Jackie more than any other – they used to work together on this task and share bits and pieces from their day with each other, making the chore their special time together. It was their catch-up time but it was kind of an unwritten rule that they didn't discuss anything too serious or heavy.
He'd tell her what the secretaries in the typing pool were gossiping about, or the latest office pool about who was hooking up with who. Jackie would tell him about the other mothers and the gossip doing the rounds after they'd dropped off the kids or while they were waiting to pick them up. Who was seducing or being seduced amongst the parents and even sharing the little snippets of information that the kids shared with her about their day that they didn't share with him. So not only had this time been a chance to catch up with Jackie but it was an informal way of staying in touch with the children.
With Jackie gone, Leon felt like he'd also lost a small but crucial part of his children's lives, which made him pensive every night as he stacked the dishwasher on his own. Just as he was lamenting yet again the day he'd brought Eli David into their home without using any protection detail, his work phone rang. It was Balboa calling as promised with a sitrep on the Abby Sciuto state of affairs.
As they talked, Leon grabbed an expresso from the fancy coffee machine Jackie purchased, literally weeks before her death which was her pride and joy. It had been more than six months after losing her before he could bring himself to use it again. Now…every time he did, it felt like it was a small but important link that brought him closer to Jackie and the thought that one day, it might not work anymore caused him panic attacks, even thinking about it.
As he listened to Agent Balboa outline how his team had collected statements from those present in the bull pen when Abby decided it was a good day to attack DiNozzo, he remembered his earlier musing about Balboa's attitude to Sciuto. As he moved onto the summary of the psychiatrist's tentative diagnosis, he sensed a healthy dose of sceptical from him.
"You don't seem convinced that Dr Sciuto is really ill, Agent Balboa?" he observed mildly.
Ric was silent for several moments and Leon imagined he was trying to figure out the most diplomatic response. "Let's just say that it wouldn't surprise me greatly to learn that her psychotic break is a fake out," he stated neutrally.
"And what makes you say that?" he asked and heard the sigh over the phone.
"Because on more than one occasion I've seen Abby turn on and off her emotions like a tap, Director. It was spooky. I was in the bullpen when Ziva David returned after they captured a Marine Corporal Damon Werth, who was juiced up on steroids and was in a 'roid induced psychosis. It took all four of Gibbs' team to subdue him and they were all beat up to some degree.
"DiNozzo had a broken nose, McGee a dislocated shoulder and Ziva had a black eye and other bruises. Sciuto came running into the bullpen, acting all hysterical and sprouting concern about Tony and Timmy – but totally ignoring David's injuries." He was silent as he recalled the incident some years ago.
"So anyway she was throwing this faux panic attack and talking a bunch of trash about the 'animal' who had hurt her 'family' and David calmly put her straight. Told her that they were all fine and that Werth was not an animal to be put down, he was not the devil incarnate, merely a troubled young Marine who was serving his country, and who needed help." He took a breath before continuing.
"Abby did not take kindly to David's refusal to agree with her about the Marine. She was vitriolic about him and later on, Ducky had to plead with her, just to persuade her to do her job and run forensic tests because she refused to help the corporal."
Balboa's voice took on an extra helping of disgust if that was possible. "Sciuto had some pretty vile things to say to Ziva about her being a stone cold killer without feelings because she refused to go along with her. To be honest, I expected David to deck her. The truth is that while I was never a fan of David, I wouldn't have blamed her one whit if she'd smacked Abby down hard, but in this case Ziva was the consummate professional. She remained calm, defended Werth and didn't allow herself to be provoked.
"When Sciuto realised that she wasn't going to incite her to go along with her hate campaign against Werth, she simply turned off the hysteria and became completely rational and very, very bitchy. It was freaky how quickly she turned – even David looked dumbfounded because Miss Light n Love was a cold blooded bitch." Ric finished dryly.
"Then there was another time when McGee was attacked by drug enforcement dog who was hyped up on cocaine and he had to shoot it in self- defence. Sciuto was in the garage when McGee pulled in with the dog restrained in the back. She was all over Tim, concerned about his injuries, crying crocodile tears on him until she noticed the dog who attacked him. Ducky and Palmer had treated it at the scene but needed her to conduct forensic tests, since his handler appeared to have been mauled to death by a dog.
"The moment she sighted the dog and found out he'd been shot she turned on McGee, treating him like an axe murderer for hurting a poor innocent, little puppy dog. It was like watching two different personalities co-existing. At the conclusion of the case she even bullied McGee into adopting the dog, even though he ended up becoming phobic to them after the attack, but she was total merciless to him." He sounded totally outraged and Leon felt pretty disgusted himself.
"So yeah, I'm somewhat dubious about her sudden break from reality – it's pretty convenient timing as far as I'm concerned." He stated bluntly. "She's not as sweet and innocent as she would have people believe. She can be cruel and vindictive when she doesn't get her way."
Vance felt shocked. Oh he knew that Abby was something of a bully – especially where McGee was concerned but he'd assumed it was left over from their ill-fated affair. Frankly, he couldn't have imagined a relationship more incompatible or doomed, like a great white shark going out with a white fluffy bunny.
Thinking about how close he'd come to losing his position a few years ago when Ziva killed Bodnar, giving that weasel Parsons from DoD a foot in the door, he couldn't help wondering what the repercussions might be from Sciuto's stunt. He was a pragmatist – Parsons was hardly likely to have shredded those files, they'd still be sitting in a file somewhere.
Mind you, Gibbs hadn't exactly helping when it came to ruffling the Brits' feathers. Assistant Director Granger from LA had given him a heads up that Gibbs had been using his contacts via Callen and Lange to try to find out which agency had hired DiNozzo.
He'd mentioned that Callen, Hetty and Sam had come up empty on discovering where DiNozzo was going and Leon had swiftly ordered them all to stop their digging. If that trio, with their list of informants hadn't been able to discover any chatter, then the agency concerned was definitely not one that he wanted to mess with or make angry.
Especially since Abby decided to attack their new director. What the hell was wrong with these people? Why hadn't she attacked Gibbs instead?
Later on, when he was getting ready to make some hot chocolate for the kids before they headed off to bed, his phone rang again. Groaning and wondering what had gone wrong now, he realised it was Fornell.
"What's up, Agent Fornell?"
"I spoke with Director DiNozzo's boss, Madam Minister and passed on your request. She said to tell you she's flying to DC immediately and will meet with you on Wednesday."
Leon's stomach dropped. It was Monday night, so unless she was already planning a trip to the US, she had dropped everything and was flying over immediately to deal with DiNozzo's attack. That was not good. Did she know that Gibbs was trying to dig up information about them? Had that anything to do with her sudden decision to visit DC?
"Has the minister been informed of the incident in the bull pen with Dr Sciuto?" he asked, guardedly.
"Oh yeah…she isn't impressed." Tobias emphasised sardonically. "She did request that DiNozzo and Gibbs not work together tomorrow if at all possible. I mentioned that Jethro was incredibly protective of Sciuto, so she has some concerns…"
An incoming call had Vance feeling frustrated until he noticed it was Secretary Porter. Cursing mentally, since this day just got better and better, he interrupted Fornell. "Look I'm sorry, I need to take this call. – Will you be watching DiNozzo's six tomorrow?"
Fornell indicated he would and Leon told him they'd talk further in the morning and rang off.
Taking SecNav's call, he wondered what crisis had her calling so late.
"Good evening Secretary Porter, what can I do for you?"
"Leon, I understand NCIS is losing DiNozzo?" She stated without preamble
Groaning, he wondered how she'd heard about it. He should have informed her himself, but with the drama of Gibbs and Sciuto which he'd needed to address, he'd planned to do so tomorrow. It had just been such a train wreck of a day- one he never saw coming."
"I'm sorry, Secretary Porter. I was going to inform you of the situation tomorrow. I had a few other incidents to deal with today. Can I ask how you learnt about it?"
"Actually, that is why I'm calling. To express concern because I was contacted by a psychiatrist from Walter Reed. This is awkward because of patient confidentiality but Dr Confalone has some trepidation that Special Agent DiNozzo may be in danger."
"Dr Sciuto has been hospitalised for observation for 30 days. I think that the immediate threat has been neutralised," Leon responded carefully. Clearly someone had filled SecNav in on the goings on today.
"Abby Sciuto…NCIS' forensic scientist? Why was she hospitalised?" Sarah Porter asked, surprised.
Oh shit she didn't know. "There was an incident in the bull pen today when Dr Sciuto attacked Special Agent DiNozzo."
"Damn!"
"So if you weren't talking about Abby who were you talking about?" Leon asked wondering if there'd been a serious security threat from terrorists.
"Dr Confalone seems to think that Gibbs feelings about DiNozzo might not be entirely rational and that he may be in danger. She felt she had a responsibility to warn us that his anger about Special Agent DiNozzo's new job may lead to an incident."
Vance thought about Jethro's rant in his office this morning, his showdown with DiNozzo, which by all accounts he'd heard had been a doozy. A real bruising, knock down drag out verbal stoush and the SFA had landed one that put Gibbs well and truly on his ass – a most unaccustomed position for him to be in. Plus, his mysterious absence today and the fact he'd been trying to discover highly classified information about DiNozzo's new employers, all pointed to an individual who was obsessed.
Clearly, Jethro wasn't exactly playing with a full deck. Plus, the likelihood that he was likely to go ballistic about his lab rat and blame DiNozzo for her meltdown, like the rest of the gang. So it did give one pause for thought and it wasn't a good thought!
"Okay, I can see why she might have concerns, but may I ask, Secretary Porter, why she contacted you? Why not contact me directly, if she thought DiNozzo was in danger. Wouldn't it have been more expedient? After all, I'm in a position to take action to prevent it." Leon pointed out, puzzled. Perhaps Dr Confalone and Porter were gal pals.
"That's an excellent question, Leon. In fact, it was such a good one that I asked her myself. She said that she didn't tell you because she was worried you'd ignore her warnings. She seems to think you don't respect psychologists and psychiatrists."
"What? That's ridiculous. Why would she say that?" the director demanded, highly outraged at that slander. He was nothing but respectful to the shrinks for the difficult work they did.
"She claims that you signed off on Gibbs going back to work after being seriously wounded in Iran without him completing his mandatory psychological counselling sessions and more disturbingly, that you allowed him to return to the field without him receiving psychologically clearance by the NCIS psychologist." Sarah stated sternly. "Please tell me that Dr Confalone was misinformed about this situation, Leon."
Vance swallowed nervously. Damn it! He was in deep shit now.
~o0o~
Padfoot was running. It was 0230 in the morning and he couldn't sleep so he'd finally given up tossing and turning. He'd climbed out of bed and driven to a secluded area so he could shift into his canine form and run. To run, breath, feel without thinking. It was why he'd been unable to sleep.
He'd had such a tumultuous day that he couldn't switch off his brain – it raced at a million miles an hour. And he kept having nightmares where Abby was trapped in a bare cell, reaching out to him, pleading with him not to lock her up. Her hands morphed into talons, black Dementor's talons and he felt their freezing cold breath on his face as they attempted to suck out his soul.
DiNozzo tried to reason with his inner canine, rationalising that the Abby situation was a completely different kettle of fish from what he'd experienced when accused of betraying Lily and James to Voldemort and killing a bunch of non-magicals and that traitor. Pettigrew. Tried to reassure him that he wasn't in danger from those horrific guardians of Azkaban. But Padfoot couldn't or wouldn't settle, which meant that neither could Tony. He wanted to get far away.
Now he was running in the cool night air, focusing on his pounding heart and the blood coursing through his veins, pushing himself to run faster…harder…further. Forgetting what had been said and done today, because for the emotionally inhibited man, he'd been experiencing a surfeit of feelings and he couldn't deal with anything else.
Soon his enhanced canine sense of smell was overwhelmed by a myriad a scents, causing his canid brain to completely focus on separating out each of the individual odour molecules and identify them. Finally, Padfoot, Sirius and DiNozzo (well the vestiges of him – his memory) achieved equilibrium, a sense of peace as his brain became occupied on a far more primal, a primitive level.
While in his dog form, Padfoot's brain was smaller than his human one, yet the part of his cerebral cortex which controlled smell was much larger than it was when he was human. As a canine, his sense of smell was much more sensitive than a human's. In fact, Tony had read scientific studies since coming to the US that estimated it was up to ten million times more sensitive, depending upon the breed/morphology of the dog. A human had about 5 million scent receptors, compared to a dog, who had anywhere from 125 million to 300 million (depending on the breed).
As a predator, his canine brain was uniquely evolved to process scent data, permitting him to hunt and survive in his environment almost as effectively as a wolf, to which genetically, he was quite closely related. He could scent the foliage – individual shrubs, trees and their bark, sap, leaves, seed pods and blossoms. He could detect the river nearby – water molecules from the river, marine vegetation, trash that had been thrown into the water, the smell of decomposition - dead animals - plus marine life floating past.
He could scent prey animals amongst the foliage and briefly considered going off to chase them down as he felt the lure of the hunt calling to him, but he was afraid that if he stopped running, this nirvana-like sense of non-thinking about today might cease. And the truth was he desperately needed to stop thinking – well higher order thinking anyway. So Padfoot ignored the instinct to track down the prey and focused on what else he could detect, odour -wise.
He smelt the presence of carnivores – felines – domestic and feral cats, canids – domestic and feral dogs and wild canids, probably coyotes. Scat – he could smell scat. All kinds of scat, from the delightful aromas that accosted his scent molecules, he instantly recognised as coming from grass eating prey animals. He also noted the less pleasant more pungent scat of meat eaters - fellow carnivores.
When a dog smelled something they didn't just process a smell as a whole entity, it's like they got a report on the constituents of that scent, not unlike the reports Abby got from her babies, breaking down evidence found at crime scenes into different chemical components. For example, in his human form he might be able to pick out the most obvious ingredients of a pizza like the cheese - maybe, sausage and garlic – definitely, and possibly the tomatoes. As Padfoot, he could smell even the smallest and least odoriferous ingredients of the pizza, including the minutest constituents of the sauce and base, such as a pinch of salt, sugar and yeast.
His inner dog had long ago cracked the so called eleven secret herbs and spices recipe of KFC, and not just the ingredients; he could reproduce the constituents in the correct proportions too, so that he could make the finger lickin' chicken any time he wanted. Luckily, as a federal agent he had a high security clearance and was good at keeping secrets!
But as Padfoot, not only was his sense of smell far superior, he also had a second olfactory ability, thanks to a sensory organ humans didn't possess. This structure was located in the bottom of his nasal passage called the vomeronasal organ (VNO). It was also referred to as the Jacobson's organ by some people, although he wasn't sure who the hell Jacobson was. Still that was neither here nor there.
What was important was that dogs and other animals used this organ, primarily to interpret chemical messages known as pheromones found in urine and faeces, skin cells and fur. Pheromones communicated all sorts of critical data such as readiness to mate - even conveying details such as if the subject had given birth lately, had a false pregnancy or even what their emotional state was. All in all, it was a much more effective means of putting yourself out there than Tinder or online dating.
Even more amazing was that the pheromone molecules detected by the VMO and processing by the brain was able to occur separate and simultaneously to detecting and processing other odour molecules. The two scents didn't get mixed up because the VMO had its own nerves leading to a part of the brain devoted solely to interpreting its signals.
Honestly, how cool was that! It was as if the VMO had its own dedicated computer server and when it came to the sense of smell, Padfoot had a dual processor.
Plus, unlike people, Padfoot and his brethren could move their nostrils independently. Which meant that not only could he detect an awesome amount of smells but he could determine which direction they'd come from, and that came in very handy when tracking people or animals. With an ability to scent some odours in the parts per trillion, Tony decided that when he returned to London he was going to start letting Padfoot out to play more frequently.
For a start, the DMLE wasn't exactly flush with all the whiz-bang forensics that he was accustomed to at NCIS, so it would come in handy in his job. But perhaps more importantly, he felt a whole heap more grounded when he let his inner canine out for a run.
His lips curling back in disgust, Padfoot detected what was in his opinion the least pleasant scat of all – that of humans. This one in particularly was really nasty – from it he could tell the person ate mostly processed food, the scent chock-full of chemicals from a diet of processed foodstuffs and fast food that turned the scat sour-smelling and reeking of death. No, not of death exactly – it wasn't the odour of decomposition, more like an absence of a life force. Sneezing violently several times to clear the vile smelling odour molecules from his snout, he sighed in relief.
Veering violently away from that shitty smell, he ran away up another path as he focused on separating out more scents. He identified a variety of urine smells from different animals – full of pheromones and intel - the equivalent to chemical emails in the animal world.
Further afield and fainter, he detected the smells of civilisation: vehicles and fuels – diesel and petrol fumes and bitumen, tar, asphalt. He also detected the sounds of their engines, thrumming, roaring, backfiring, the squeal of brakes and the discordant blaring of horns in the distance but still clearly discernible to his enhanced canine hearing. All of this scent information battered away at his neurons, demanding to be processed. It successfully deflecting his thoughts and feelings about everything which had happened today and had him trapped in a thrall and unable to switch off.
While going running in his human form was a good stress reliever, helped keep him fit and was a great way to problem solve, nothing could compare to the sense of physicality he experienced when he was Padfoot. How self-aware he was, thanks to his enhanced sensory abilities which made him physically aware of himself on even a cellular level. It was something that he couldn't really explain to anyone who wasn't an animagus.
He often wished he could experience this degree of sensory awareness in his human form. He supposed that his highly acute sense of sight, hearing and smell was in some way linked to Padfoot though.
It was a real shame that he couldn't have those abilities as a human – it would make life as a cop much easier. He would be so much more effective if he didn't have to hide his inner canine and there'd be no keeping secrets. Padfoot could sniff the pheromones of another canine or to a lesser extent, another species including humans at a crime scene, providing information including what sex they were, what they'd eaten, where they'd been and what items they may have come in contact with.
At least when he was in London he wouldn't have to be quite as cautious about his furry little secret, although he still had to be careful he wasn't recognised. Perhaps Hermione could help him to come up with a way of changing Padfoot's appearance to a bearded collie or a borzoi. Something to think about.
Finally, after running for what his remarkably accurate internal clock told him must be nearly two hours he knew that the dawn would soon be here and the risk of him getting caught shifting would be too great. Making his way back to his car he shifted back, climbed wearily into his car and drove home to his apartment.
He couldn't help the piloerection of the hairs on the back of his neck and arms, feeling that someone or something nasty was watching him as he exited his car. He opened up his senses to see if he could locate someone skulking around who shouldn't be, but all he had was a vague feeling of unease, nothing tangible. At this time of the morning, he really couldn't wander around looking for scumbags without raising suspicions, so from now on he would make sure to be permanently on his guard.
Entering the building as unobtrusively as possible, he made his way carefully up to his apartment, keeping his eyes open for trouble. After a warm shower he collapsed into bed, utterly exhausted and this time fell effortlessly to sleep in blissful peace. There were with no dreams of pigtailed Goths bouncing off walls, pleading with him to save her and disturbing his dreams this time. It felt soooo good!
Honestly, all the people who dragged their dogs out to runs miles in an effort to exhaust them in the futile hope that they wouldn't chew up the furnishings, would be much better off combining a moderate amount of exercise with a good half hour of letting them sniff around the neighbourhood and park, picking up scents from other dogs and non-canines. Humans, essentially reliant upon the sense of sight, had no concept of how physically and mentally exhausting it was to process scent data.
Tony slept soundly and although he only had limited time to rest he woke feeling surprisingly refreshed and ready to face another extremely difficult and emotionally challenging day.
He really should call Hermione at some point and apologise to her for emoting all over her like a hysterical teenage girl. It was going to be a long five weeks.