Chapter Two
A Plea for Help

Abby returned to her lab and looked about the half-underground room. The laughter that had sustained her after she'd left Operations had vanished after a chance meeting took its toll. Now she was not happy at all.

Palm Beach had been wondrous, the Bahamas had been enchanting and Hawaii had been a slice of Heaven. If you're going to be forced away from work for an imposed vacation, all of which at NCIS expense, she couldn't have asked for a better itinerary. But she didn't know that while she was gone her lab was going to be turned into a shambles.

Actually, shambles was a bit too strong a word. Her temporary replacement, recommended by Ducky, had been a competent scientist. All right, he'd been a good one, but he had had his own ideas about where things should be kept. Abby had her ideas, and they were not his.

Consequently she couldn't find anything. She had worked for about an hour, getting madder by the moment, until finally she had stormed into the bullpen of her bar-none-favorite team to blow off some steam. Tim McGee, bless his little pea-picking heart, had volunteered to help her sort out the chaos, which had mollified her somewhat – until he stepped into the lab and couldn't find anything wrong with it.

Well, she supposed that he couldn't. The lab qua lab was immaculate. It was not the shambles she had declared it to be, at least not to the unpracticed eye of a layman. It was just that nothing was where it belonged.

She supposed that if she had reworked the circuit board of some computer to her own theories about how circuits should be laid out, he would understand how she felt. But at least he was nice enough to help, even if he had to ask her at every turn where something belonged.

Then had come the summons from Gibbs, and she'd enjoyed driving Tony DiNozzo out of his sex-obsessed little mind.

Everything was going fine, and she was still riding a high after torpedoing Tony, until she had run into Jimmy Palmer. Encountering the young man wasn't unpleasant, far from it, she really liked him and enjoyed his company – until he had said something that took her joy away.

He had been bringing her up to date on what she had missed over the past month, but in the course of it he let slip the sudden relationship between McGee and Ziva David that had brewed while she was gone. Brewed? It had been steeping, despite her best efforts to compete while she had been there, and in the past month it had boiled over!

x

Abby was beyond frustrated, beyond furious. She was the one Tim was interested in, if only he would get his nose out of a computer monitor long enough to realize it! She had worked for months – months – to get back to him. Admittedly, though, she had only herself to blame for their heat cooling.

Their relationship had started out hot. She'd known what she wanted and had gone for it, often moving faster than the man was ready for. Though things had been rocky at times, the good times had more than made up for that. It may not have been perfect – they'd had their share of fights – but it had been spectacular.

For a while it had cooled, mostly through her own desire to avoid the 'commitment' he had been ready for (how's that for irony?) but she never gave up, coming back in sometimes unexpected sneak attacks upon his heart as well as his libido.

He'd grown more distant, more uncertain how to handle the 'Mysterious of the Dark', but once she made up her mind that the cooling had been a mistake, she'd set about trying to restore their romance. She never gave up. She was determined to crack his wall, no matter how she had to do it.

When she had been in protective custody in his apartment against a then unknown stalker, she had removed her pants and opened her blouse in front of him and walked about in a tight t-shirt and very tiny panties with skeletal decorations that practically screamed 'Jump my bones'. She'd told him to forget the sleeping bag he'd wanted to use in concern for her sensitivities, that they were adults and could share the same bed, had all but invited him to tie her up and have his way with her and he still didn't make his move.

And now, seemingly seconds after she'd been removed from the playing field, that dark tramp with her exotic accent and mysterious ways had made hers.

Well, it was not over yet, not by a damned inch. Ziva David might have drawn first blood, but the war was just beginning and she had too much at stake to give up. She was not going to give up. Granted, she had lost ground, but she knew Tim longer, knew him better, and all Ziva had done was to up the ante. She may have drawn first blood, but the next one to bleed would be–

x

Her mental rant was cut short by the ringing of her phone. She snatched it up, halted herself in mid-breath from snapping in outrage at the unknown caller. "NCIS; Forensics," she said with false smile and fake good spirits, heard the familiar voice at the other end of the line, and her mood instantly became real.

"Hi, Dawn!" Her anger was gone. "How are you, Sunshine?" She'd attached the nickname to the younger girl so many years ago when she'd babysat for her friend only six years her junior.

Her smile was smacked away. "You're Where?" She's chilled at the horribly strained voice. She didn't know what was wrong, but her friend sounded a hair short of breaking into tears.

/Laughton Memorial, up the Interstate from Clarkston Lakes. The Doctor asked if I had any relatives. I - I didn't know who else to call./

Clarkston was a private vacation community eighty miles from Washington, in the sparse hills of Virginia.

"What happened?" Abby pictured a car accident, a fall, some kind of injury. The answer, choked out in a broken sob, froze her heart. "I'll be right there!"

xxx

It was just after eleven when Abby pulled the Batmobile, her black Lab-on-Wheels convertible into the parking lot of Laughton Hospital and found a vacant space near the entrance. Checking to make sure that her NCIS Identification and her ID as a Forensic Scientist were ready for display, she pulled the silver spike studded collar from about her throat and wrists. It was one thing to indulge at work, quite another if she was going to slip unnoticed into a semi-rural hospital. Of course, nothing could be done for her clothes. She'd jumped into her car less than three minutes after hanging up the phone, but had kept her white lab coat on, making what concession and camouflage she could.

Getting out of her convertible, leaving the top down, she hurried to the entrance. Crime was virtually non-existent here compared to Washington, and she had long ago made the adjustment to a trusting lifestyle when she was up here.

Laughton was built on one of the few hills of Virginia, and the Hospital was on the highest. All about her was the vast expanse of blue sky, the few white puffs of clouds seeming more decorative than distinct. The lower surrounding hills offered the green view for miles in all directions but all Abby was interested in was the complex of brown, white and blue buildings across the large parking lot.

As the outer and inner doors slid aside, she glanced about. To her left a Gift Shop displayed all sorts of bright and happy wares that visiting relatives and friends could bring to cheer sick loved ones. But her attention was fixed on the desk across the lobby and the two elderly women seated at it. Both wore peach colored smocks with white ID tags that identified them as Volunteers.

Abby strode up to the desk, noting the looks of brief apprehension on the women's faces. She still wore, under her white lab coat, the day-glow black shirt announcing the proclivities of vampires and black micro-skirt festooned with safety pins and silver chains including a dozen hanging 6 inches below the hem, all over black fishnet stockings, but Goth attire which worked well enough at NCIS HQ were out of place here. No matter. She buttoned her white smock and plastered on her most affable smile. "Hi," she greeted them expansively, "I'm here to see Miss Dawn Caldwell." She spelled the name. The woman on her left punched 'Ca' on her computer.

"I'm sorry, dear, we don't have a Dawn Caldwell listed."

"She called me less than an hour ago," Abby explained patiently.

"She might be in Emergency. We wouldn't have a listing unless she's Admitted." And if she had been thinking clearly, she realizes, she would have known that. "You can try there," the woman pointed to Abby's right. "Down the corridor, first right, then left."

"Thank you." She followed the directions in a brisk walk, the more so she wouldn't run.

x

She was no stranger to Emergency Rooms and this one was no different from any other. She scanned the room and noted the organized layout. Unlike a major metropolitan hospital, this one was not stuffed full with cases, and in one of the alcoves, curtain drawn back, she found above a light blue blanket a familiar face.

Actually, it was a very unfamiliar face, and seeing it stopped Abby in her tracks. The face was that of someone who had tuned everything out, a face that had the life washed out of. Dawn's face was a mask, that of someone trying to withdraw from life. Her long blonde hair hung over the side of the bed, but it was disheveled, as much as Dawn's spirit seemed to be.

Crossing the room with mounting distress, she took in her friend's condition. She didn't seem close to tears or anything else. She stared up at the ceiling, seemingly oblivious to everything around her. In the time since she'd called for help, over an hour ago, she'd seemingly withdrawn from the nightmare scene around her.

"Hi, Sunshine," Abby said softly as she entered the alcove, keeping a smile that was half-encouraging, half-cheery plastered on her face. Her white lab coat had been a God-send, for despite it being embroidered with NCIS over the pocket, no one had challenged her as she'd cut across the outer room.

Dawn looked up at her, moving only her eyes. "Abby?" Her voice was distant, surprised, as though she had forgotten she'd called.

"Hey, you hang on there. Everything's gonna be all right." She tried to project reassurance with her soft tones, but first she had to make herself believe it. Looking down at the younger woman lying on the gurney, her expression lost and forlorn, she had her doubts.

"He … he …."

"I know, honey. But you hold tight," she told her friend firmly, reaching under the blue blanket to take her hand, "Abby's here." Something in her tone, perhaps the iron firmness, broke through to that core of her friend's personality, and enabled her to grasp it again.

"He raped me," she said in a voice still bereft of tone. "He taped my wrists to the table and taped my ankles to a broom handle and he…." Abby hardly needed Ducky to tell her Dawn was in shock.

"I know, sweetie," Abby said, stroking her cheek. "Hang on, we'll get through this."

x

"Excuse me," a soft voice spoke from beside Abby. She turned and saw a woman wearing a blue smock and a carefully practiced smile. "Who are you?"

'Camouflage shields down,' Abby thought, though the woman didn't seem distressed. "Dawn called me."

"Are you a relative?" the woman asked. She could see how it was a valid question. She certainly wasn't a doctor.

"I guess I'm the closest family she has here," Abby told her. "How is she?"

It was Dawn who answered. "Not as big a fibber as you." As Abby looked down, half affronted, Dawn addressed the nurse with a strained smile. "The Sciutos lived down the street from us in New Orleans... Jefferson Parish. Abby used to baby-sit me when I was seven and she was eleven."

"Yes, dear," Abby said, patting her shoulder, "the start of a beautiful friendship." She pulled out her wallet, displaying her badge and ID. "Abby Sciuto, Forensic Scientist, NCIS."

"I wasn't questioning you," the woman assured her. "Actually I'm glad you're here. She refuses to let anyone examine her. We've called for Dr. Cohen; she's had the necessary training in rape trauma and evidence gathering. She'll be in soon. We'd like to get her into Fast Track, but she said you were the only Doctor she wanted."

Okay, a half dozen Doctorates but "Well, I'm not exactly a Doctor, not a Medical Doctor I mean. I'm a Forensic Scientist. I mean I can help, but…" she stopped, realizing any further protests would only work against her. She looked down at her friend, shaking her head. "A year since I've seen you, and it's not a call to go Clubbing."

xx

Abby was worried. The blonde woman on the bed before her was calm, speaking with a false smile in a lifeless caricature of her real persona. She seemed not to be present with them as events happened around her, and when she spoke it was as though she was an actress trying to play the role of Dawn Caldwell, a role she barely knew.

She knew Dawn was in shock, but how was she to help combat it?

x

The hospital had a Rape Kit for the collection of evidence, and more importantly someone trained in using it. Dr. Cohen was a slight old woman who projected the air that she knew her job and Abby stood aside to let her do it. The curtained alcove was barely large enough for three people even with one seated upon the bed. Abby was perturbed by the lack of a Patient Advocate; there was no one to provide such a role so she decided it fell to her. Knowing herself to be untrained and unqualified, she admitted she'd probably make a hundred mistakes.

But in reality her role was to support her old friend during what was an invasive and intimate procedure. She kept out of the way, held Dawn's hand when she could and was a supporting presence while answering questions when Dawn could not.

Those questions Dawn could answer were answered in a monotone, the actress still playing the role she was ill-equipped for. She didn't know the lines or pacing, didn't have the personality or characterization, was avoiding the motivation. The real Dawn Caldwell was hiding behind a wall, afraid to come out and risk being hurt again.

Clothed in a blue smock which obscured a collection of bruises and abrasions, the clothing she had worn is bagged, sealed and labeled. Even though it wasn't the clothing she had worn when attacked, it might yield potential evidence. Dawn was barely able to convey the horrific details of her experience. She managed a broken, disjointed account, but to Abby it painted a too-clear picture.

The... bastard had grabbed her from behind and choked her into unconsciousness. He'd then bound her wrists and ankles with tape and put a black bag over her head. The rape itself was horrific enough, but he'd gone the extra cruel step of biting both her breasts, inflicting deep marks. The last thing he'd done had been to soak and roughly scour onto her breasts a foul smelling liquid Abby recognized by scent alone – a combination of bleach and ammonia. The hospital staff, of course, had cleaned her properly and bandaged her wounds, but she bit her tongue to keep from cursing. The harsh chemicals had broken down his DNA, rendering tests useless.

Dawn only allowed a momentary glimpse of her high, firm breasts, and Abby was not in a position to see her. When Dawn covered herself again, Abby knew she would have to get a better look later if she was going to gather any evidence of her own.

The fact that the assailant had worn a condom wasn't completely surprising, as this too would render DNA sampling difficult. Not impossible, just a longer and more detailed examination as doctors and nurses had necessarily touched her too. Abby did her best to keep angry thoughts to herself.

They weren't dealing with a stupid assailant.

But looking at her friend sitting so broken and forlorn, huddled in her blue blanket, Abby swore she was going to catch this bastard.

She would make him pay.

xx

She tried to balance her friend's anxieties. Dawn had cringed with an almost child-like squeamishness at the vaginal exam and there was still little of the Sunshine that Abby had known for so many years. But each few minutes, she saw more of her friend emerge - right up until the Virginia State Troopers arrived.

From there, all Abby's efforts were hopelessly overwhelmed. A more unsympathetic pair, desperately in need of Sensitivity Training, she had never met. She couldn't keep from classifying them as Officers Hootie and Blowfish. Within two minutes Dawn had shut down, shut them out. They weren't there. By the time they got around to asking if she wanted to press charges if the perp could be caught, Dawn only wanted to get out of the hospital and forget the whole thing.

Abby tried for balance, but her friend had been driven to the point where all she could think of was escape. The evidence, so painstakingly collected, was abandoned when she declined to file a complaint, and by the time the Troopers left to resume their interrupted patrol, Dawn was a wreck.

Maggie Cohen was almost as livid as Abby, but there was nothing that could be done in the face of Dawn's refusal to stay. Shaking her head in frustration, the woman left, so angry she apparently forgot to properly dispose of the collected specimens and evidence.

x

By the time the doctor returned to the alcove five minutes later the two younger women were gone, as were the bags.