"Agent DiNozzo?"
Tony looked up from the files he'd been reading - the classified, partly redacted personnel files of all of Major Thomas's team - and blinked his eyes into focus at the sergeant standing in the doorway.
"Yes?"
The sergeant smiled, just a hint of an expression. "Chow hall's about to close up for the night."
"Is it? Huh."
Tony rose from his chair and stretched the kinks out of muscles too long in one position before gesturing toward the sergeant. "After you."
Trusting the sergeant wouldn't lead him anywhere he wasn't supposed to be, Tony allowed himself to look around.
Not that there was much to see, except for the people - and Tony frowned when he realized that there weren't just Air Force uniforms present, but also some Marines. What the hell kind of command was this - some joint operation?
But if that were so, where were the Army and Navy? And why were there a handful of civilians, too?
Stop asking questions that can get you thrown in prison, Tony told himself. That he was only asking the questions in his mind was a relief - he just had to be sure not to ask them aloud.
But the questions lingered, and Tony found himself studying the people he passed as a distraction.
Male, scientist type, brown eyes behind wire-rimmed glasses, easily distracted. Not military despite the black T-shirt and olive drab trousers. Tony dodged aside a step to avoid running into the other man, who didn't even look up. Ahead of him, the sergeant snickered.
Female, Asiatic origin, do not mess with her, his mind told him. May look like five and a half feet of nothing, but carries herself like a fighter.
Male, dark-skinned, cool tat on his forehead. Not gang. Tribal? The question focused Tony's gaze on the tattoo, only it wasn't so much a tattoo as a scar. A deliberate scar, Tony corrected himself, of a curvy U shape inside two ovals, and tinted in gold.
The man's steady, serious eyes met his, and Tony forced himself to nod an apology, even as he noted the sergeant straightening his already military posture as they passed.
Something off about that guy - but what?
The question occupied Tony's thoughts as he arrived at the chow hall, got dinner, and joined his teammates at a table on the far side of the room.
"Glad you could join us, Tony," McGee said, his lips curved in a smirk. Tony blinked and realized that he and Gibbs were almost done eating.
"Got caught up reading personnel files." Tony took his seat and dug in, only now realizing how hungry he'd let himself get.
"Find anything?" he asked around a mouthful of meatloaf.
Gibbs glared at him - probably for voicing what was usually his question, Tony thought, and grinned at his boss. Gibbs apparently decided to let it go, because he nodded at McGee.
"I didn't find anything suspicious in the personnel files I looked at," McGee began. "Not too surprising, given the kind of project this is, but I'm not done yet. I might find something tomorrow."
"Morgan's office and quarters were clean," Gibbs said. "I found her journal, and will read that tonight."
"Interviewed Thomas's team," Tony added, only half paying attention to the conversation. The other half of his attention was still on the man with the odd tattoo-scar. Something was definitely off about him. Now all Tony had to do was figure out what. "They all say it was a routine mission."
"Routine missions don't end in death," Gibbs pointed out.
"Oh!" McGee sat forward. "I almost forgot. Ducky found something in Major Thomas's autopsy report. Not the report, really, but photos -"
"McGee!"
"A pair of holes in the base of the major's brain, tiny holes. Ducky said that a fiberoptic thread inserted into the brain from that location could influence someone's behavior."
"Parasites," Tony murmured.
"What?" Gibbs snapped.
"Parasites. Doc Brown said the team went through quarantine to make sure they didn't bring anything back from their mission," Tony explained. "Like a virus…or parasites."
"Could Major Thomas have somehow been infected by them?" McGee asked.
Tony didn't hear Gibbs' answer. He'd finally realized what was off about the tattoo-scarred man.
They wouldn't let Ziva on this base. How the hell did a … whatever tribe he's from get on it?
An answer formed in his mind, and he turned it this way and that, looking for problems with it. There weren't any - it made perfect sense - and he opened his mouth to share, only to snap it shut before he spoke.
If he were wrong, McGee would never let him hear the end of it. He'd have to confirm his answer before he shared it.
Tony rose to his feet, his dinner forgotten, and scanned the room for the sergeant who'd escorted him to the chow hall.
"You got something, DiNozzo, share it," Gibbs snapped.
"Rule three and rule eight, Boss. Sergeant Lumley!"
"Sir?" Lumley looked up from his dinner.
"Sorry to interrupt your meal, but I need to see Colonel O'Neill."
NCIS - SG1 - NCIS
If asked, Tony wouldn't be able to describe the route to O'Neill's office later. His mind was still too busy sorting through the implications of his conclusion to take note of his surroundings. Thankfully, his distraction happened in a safe place. A similar distraction under other circumstances could cost him his life.
Sergeant Lumley came to a stop before a closed door, and as he knocked, Tony took a long, slow breath and let it out. The action calmed his body, if not his mind.
"C'mon in," came the voice from the other side of the door.
Lumley pushed it open. "Agent DiNozzo to see you, sir."
Tony didn't hear a response, but a moment later, Lumley stepped aside to gesture him into the office.
The door clicked shut behind him even as he instinctively surveyed the office - bookshelves weighted down books on astronomy and physics, as well as military history and tactics; a few odd sculptures; a decided lack of family photos. O'Neill seemed to be married to his job. Tony knew the type.
"What can I do for you, Agent DiNozzo?" O'Neill asked.
"Colonel." Despite the fact that O'Neill practically lounged in the chair behind his desk, Tony straightened his spine like he'd rarely done after leaving Rhode Island Military Academy and spoke before he could talk himself out of it.
"It's aliens, isn't it?"
O'Neill was silent long enough that Tony started squirming internally, doubting his conclusion.
Then O'Neill shook his head. "Guess I owe Morrow fifty bucks. He said you'd figure it out."
Tony's mind reeled as the meaning of the colonel's words sank in. "He did? Then …?"
"Yeah, it's aliens. Sit down before you fall down."
Tony fumbled for one of the chairs facing O'Neill's desk and half-sat, half-collapsed into it while he stared at O'Neill. "It's aliens."
"You figured it out - why are you so surprised?"
"I expected you to deny it."
O'Neill chuckled. "Morrow wanted your team read in completely from the beginning. General Hammond, the base commander, overruled him."
Tony felt his eyebrows rising. "A BC overruled a deputy director?"
"Well - persuaded him otherwise. How'd you figure it out?" O'Neill seemed genuinely curious, and Tony leaned back in his chair, hoping he appeared casually confident.
"Lots of little things," he said. "Lieutenant Calloway seemed surprised when I asked him how Major Thomas behaved on the drive back from Peterson."
A crease appeared in O'Neill's forehead. "Huh?"
"Where else would they have flown out of for their mission?" Tony asked. "It's not like you have an airfield under the mountain… do you?"
"No. Go on."
"You have archaeologists accompanying your teams - which I figured meant you were trying not to destroy any antiquities doing whatever it is you do." Tony shook his head at himself. "But there's another reason to take an archaeologist along - to interpret something you find, something you might be looking for. There's not a lot to look for on this planet that would require this strong a military presence."
"What else?"
"Doc Brown mentioned parasites and quarantine. It makes sense, but parasites are fairly harmless - parasites die if their host dies, after all."
O'Neill considered that before nodding. "I can see how those pieces suggest the outlines of a puzzle. How'd you fill it in?"
"On the way to the chow hall, I saw this guy with a scar-tat on his forehead." Tony drew an oval over his own forehead. "Which made me think - you wouldn't let Officer David on this base, so how the hell did a guy from some tribe from God knows where get on it?"
"Tribe?" O'Neill lifted an eyebrow at him. "Why did you think tribe, not gang?"
"I was a cop for six years before I joined NCIS, and I've kept in touch with local PDs the eight years I've been with them," Tony said. "I don't know all the gang marks, but something like that would stand out."
Tony watched O'Neill's reaction, and decided that when he wanted, the colonel had almost as good a poker face as Gibbs. Tony shrugged.
"Then I remembered what Sherlock Holmes said - once you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, no matter how improbable, must be the truth."
"Lotta people would say aliens rank among the impossible," O'Neill observed.
"Only if they buy Fermi's paradox instead of Drake's equation," Tony shot back, and bit back a grin at O'Neill's surprise. "Or if they hadn't seen Men in Black."
O'Neill chuckled. "Great movie."
"Guessing the aliens you deal with are less friendly?" Tony ventured.
"Depends on the alien," O'Neill countered. "Teal'c - scar-tat guy, he's gonna love that - is a friendly. A race called the Goa'uld are decidedly not friendly. They're also the parasites you were referring to earlier."
"Huh," Tony said. "You wouldn't think something that small could become a problem. An intelligent problem, I mean."
"Not that small," O'Neill said. "More like snakes."
"Garden snake, cobra, or python?"
O'Neill considered that for a moment. "Combination garden snake and cobra. Nasty things."
"Sounds like." For a moment, Tony let himself feel the reality of a universe in which humans weren't the only intelligent life. Then he brought his attention back to the colonel. "So we could be looking for an alien killer."
"Maybe. In Thomas's case, could be probably." Then O'Neill stood. "Let's go meet with your team, and I'll fill you all in."
"Just - you be the one to tell McGee aliens are real," Tony said. "He won't believe me."