Chapter 1 – Everything Unseen

"McGee."

"Yea, Boss?" Tim looked up from his desk, staring into the bullpen. Gibbs wasn't there. Confused, he glanced at Ziva, who was still sitting at her desk, poring over scans of crime scene photos. Tony was sitting really close to the edge of his desk, glaring at his computer screen, which emitted little blasting noises in response to him pounding all the aliens.

"You guys see Gibbs?" Tim ventured.

They looked up in unison, both seemingly amused about something or other Tim couldn't pinpoint. Tony scratched the back of his neck.

"Could've sworn I just heard Gibbs." He sounded desperate to prove that he wasn't totally losing it. The entire team had been on the case for nearly fourteen hours straight. Dead marine in Quantico. Gibbs himself was already on the edge – less about the fact that he had been working long enough to down fifteen cups of coffee, and more about the fact that Joey – having pulled enough pranks on her most recent babysitter (and every other one Gibbs had ever hired) to make her never want to see a child again – had to accompany him to work that morning. It was now about seven or eight p.m., and he had instructed Joey to stay in Abby's lab and try to get some sleep.

However, Joey was not in Abby's lab. She was under Tony's desk, and although Tony knew that, Tim did not. Joey cupped her hands around her mouth and called him again.

"McGeeeee...." she sounded uncannily LIKE Gibbs, to the point of it being a little unnerving.

"Yes, Boss?" Tim looked up again, slightly disturbed to see Gibbs NOT there. He turned to Tony, who was giving what looked like a fist-five to someone under his desk. Tim hunched over and squinted across the floor at Joey, who giggled and started to crawl out from under the desk.

Tony, on sudden impulse, kicked her when he saw Gibbs coming down the hallway, back from Interrogation. Joey shrank back, glaring at Tony, and then making frantic gestures at McGee in an effort to urge him not to say anything. He nodded furtively, and she smiled in relief.

"McGee..." Gibbs stepped into the bullpen.

"Yes, Boss?" He replied in calm respect.

Gibbs was silent for a minute, and then shook his head slowly. "I need coffee."

"Sure, Boss." McGee rose and turned towards the break room corridor. When he was out of Gibbs's line of sight he shot Joey a vengeful look and pointed at her, disappearing around the corner. Gibbs stepped around to his desk and began shuffling through some files. Joey held on hand over her mouth to prevent herself from making noise, but still smiled, unphased by McGeek's gesture.

McGee came back with the coffee and continued to work, going over insurance records on the plasma, not saying anything.

After a few minutes Gibbs rose without announcing leave, and it was evident that the case was finally wearing him down and leaving him a little subjugated. Ziva hadn't had much luck with witnesses, and physical evidence was minimal and rather unhelpful for any leads.

"Where ya goin,' Boss?" Tony inquired.

"Abby's – see if she got any partials on the gun and/or, with any luck," he cocked his head slightly, "Jo'll be asleep." Joey's eyes went wide and she gulped, looking up at Tony with her hands up. "Say something!" she mouthed.

"Uh...oh, well – she went to the bathroom." She punched him on the leg. "What kind of lie is that?"

"Which one?" Gibbs slid back into the bullpen, eyeing his senior agent suspiciously.

"By the break room, Boss." Tony looked back at his computer to hide the empty look in his eyes.

"It's out of order, Tony." He retorted firmly.

"Must have gone upstairs then."

"Hmm....alright." Gibbs strode past Tony's desk and pounded the elevator UP button. The very second after he was inside and the doors closed, Joey popped out from under DiNozzo's desk and shot upstairs to beat the machine. When she reached the landing she glared down at Tony and threw her hands up in the air in a mad dash for "someone to find her an alibi," as the quote went by her tongue. The director's door was open and she slipped inside. From her seat behind her desk, Director Shepard glanced up at her in confusion.

"Director," Joey panted, "I've been here for the last 45 minutes, okay?"

Before she could respond, Gibbs emerged from the hallway and paced into the room. Joey was sitting on the conference table, trying to look innocent. Gibbs just glared at her for a second, and then pulled his gaze away to meet Jenny's eyes.

"I just heard someone running up the stairs." He faced Jen, who was still a little shocked, but collected herself quickly, as if snapping out of some kind of trance.

Director Shepard just raised her eyebrows and looked at Joey, who looked back, fervid and desperate.

"DiNozzo said you went to the bathroom." He pierced his goddaughter with steel-blue eyes.

"I did," she lied, "and then I wanted to ask the Director something, and I came up here." She replied calmly, nodding affirmatively for good measure. It almost sounded rehearsed.

"How long has she been here?" Gibbs turned back to Director Shepard.

"Why, Jethro, Joanne has been here in my office for the last-"

"45," Joey interjected quickly without interrupting the flow of the sentence.

"-minutes." Jen finished and looked up at Gibbs, whose frustration was peaking quickly.

"Hm." He looked back at Joey, a light grin crossing his face. "Back to the lab." He nodded towards the door, and she slid off the table.

"Yes, sir." She affirmed, relived.

When she reached the little landing halfway down the stairs, Joey reached over the railing and gave DiNozzo a high-five.

"Thanks for covering me, Tony. Jethro said the next time I get in trouble I was going to regret ever buying my first cherry bomb."

Both Tony and Joey stared out into space in contemplation of that awesome event.1

Gibbs came down the stairs.

"Don't thank him yet, Jo." He mused, stopping behind her on the landing.

Joey stopped moving for a second and a cringe crossed her face. Crap.

"DiNozzo! Back to work!" Gibbs grabbed his young goddaughter by the collar and led her down the stairs.

As they passed McGee's desk, Tim tossed Joey a satisfied smile, and she grimaced menacingly at him as Gibbs escorted her down the hallway and back to Abby's lab. Outside the winter breeze had begun to pick up again, and the streetlamps had come on, signaling the end of the day for everyone but the team, and each of them made a point of it by staring out the window longingly, eager for sleep, or at least some more coffee.

- - - - - - - - - - - - -

"Answers, Abs." Gibbs released Joey upon entering the lab and she stumbled into a seat on one of the barstools, rolling her shoulder and adjusting the lapels of her dark brown hoodie shirt, then rolling up the cuffs of the black thermal tee she was wearing under that. She wiped her sweaty hands on her jeans and picked a piece of gum off of her grey all-stars.

"Perfect timing, Gibbs!" Abby chimed. Joey slid off the barstool and pulled herself to a sitting position on top of the desk Abby was working at, then skimmed over her findings.2

"There was a bullet left in the gun, and since we couldn't get many striations off of the bullet, being so heavily damaged from bouncing around inside your dead marine and, not to mention the fact that it was a ricochet-"

"Abs." Gibbs cocked his head at her, a firm frustration playing across his face. She nodded and smiled.

"No hits on the bullet in the ballistics database yet," she pointed up at the large center plasma, which was rapidly flipping through bullet listings, "but then I found the bullet in the gun you found, and I thought I'd give it a shot...no pun intended."

Gibbs looked back at her in anticipation.

"Perfect match to what little striations we had. So, this gun," she held it up triumphantly, "is the murder weapon."

Gibbs inclined his head in approval. "That's good work, Abby."

Joey swallowed, looking at the ground as Gibbs approached her. He lifted her chin with a light pop of his index finger and took hold of the front of her shirt, (as he often did to get her attention) without making her move from her seat on the counter.

"How long were you under Tony's desk?"

She rubbed her right ear subconsciously. "Maybe...twenty or thirty minutes, Jethro."

He nodded, confirming his own suspicions about her lying to him. Of course, it isn't that hard to tell.

"How'd you know I was lying?" She ventured quietly.

He opened his mouth and smiled.

She raised one eyebrow. "It's because you can always tell when Tony's lying, isn't it?"

"No. It's because I can always tell when you're lying."

She smiled faintly, "well, there was that one time-"

One stern look from Gibbs was all it took to shut her up.

"You had a paper to write yesterday. Chemistry, or something like that."

She nodded.

You do it?" He questioned mildly.

"I was...going to." She squinted in thought.

"Mmhm...I want that paper on my desk in two hours." He let go of her shirt and helped her off of the counter, turning to leave.

"But it's already 8 p.m.! I haven't even eaten dinner yet!" She protested.

"Should've thought of that before you disobeyed me, Joey." Gibbs disappeared through the sliding-glass door of Abby's lab.

Joey sighed and clapped her hands to her face in a childlike anguish.

"There are a few chocolate bars in my left desk drawer," Abby intervened on the general groaning emitting from the young eleven-year-old girl in front of her.

"Thanks, Abs." She took leave.

"Watch out for cherry bombs!3" Abby shouted over the computers. Joey just looked at her in confusion, slightly horrified – not about the fact that Abby hadn't yet forgotten the incident, but that she really WOULD, most likely, try to get revenge.

"Thanks, Abby...."

- - - - - - - - - - - - -

Two hours later found Joey in Abby's small office, slumped across the couch, just finishing her sixth candy bar – the last of the bunch. As she polished off the end of her paper – "In conclusion, Thallium is radioactive," she stood, groaning under the weight of six candy bars worth of peanuts, caramel, and milk chocolate.

Slowly she stood and crept out of the room. Abby was working in the ballistics office next door and dancing to the Evanescence playing on her stereo. Shaking herself violently in effort to alleviate the desire to collapse now consuming her, Joey stumbled off down the hallway and into the bullpen. To her utter dismay, no one was there.

I walked all the way down here for nothin'. She cursed the silence in the air of the bullpen and tossed her paper down on her godfather's desk. Geez, I'm tired. She noticed a post-it note stuck to the front of Gibbs's monitor. It read "LOOK AT THE PLASMA SCREEN." Joey did so, pivoting on the spot and walking around to see it from the front. A word processing program was opened and a message had been typed out there for her.

"Went back to Quantico at about 9:30. Should be back before 11. Don't stay up late watching movies, try to stay out of trouble, and check with Duck before you do anything. –Jethro."

Joey smiled a little at this, but did not understand the movie remark. As far as she knew, there weren't even any movies for her to watch. She yawned, closing her eyes and stretching for a few seconds.

"Wow. You could've driven a truck through that."

Joey looked around, startled. Nobody was there. She looked up at the second-floor landing – and caught the amused gaze of Director Shepard. She had her briefcase and jacket, apparently ready to go home. The director grinned and feigned a yawn in mocking.

Joey just rubbed her face with her hands.

"Tired?" The director inquired.

"Yea, well...everybody's gone. I'm gonna go find a place to lie down." She yawned again and ran a hand through her short, messy hair, watching as Jenny descended the stairs.

"Well, if you want in on a secret, there are a few DVD movies on the left shelf in my conference room.
Big-screen-movie-night is all-accessible, if you get bored."
Now she understood Gibbs's message.

"Thanks. But Jethro told me not to stay up late watching movies." She looked back at the plasma, shaking her head in amazed disbelief before turning back to the director. "I swear he must be psychic."

Jen just nodded, smiled a bit and stepped into the elevator.

Joey shuffled over to the window and stared out into the darkness, fingering the iPod in her pocket. Gingerly inserting the buds into her ears she flipped to Evanescence. This was her, embracing her own sorrow. She hated being alone – and this sadness came along whenever she was. The scene outside was all too familiar – dark, and cold, and empty in soul, devoid of power and solace.

- - - - - - - - - - - - -

Jethro Gibbs and team arrived back at the office at around midnight. Gibbs glanced at his watch in frustration for being later than he said he would be. The term paper was on his desk, as requested. He skimmed it – everything looked good. Tony, out of curiosity, went to see if Abby had left yet. Sure enough, the lab was empty and her office lights were off. Joey was nowhere to be found. Tony paced back into the bullpen just as McGee and Ziva were gathering their things and calling it a night. They took the elevator together and left.

"Hey. Boss..." Tony came and stood beside Gibbs, who was studying a timeline on the plasma.

"It's late, Tony. Go home." Gibbs interjected without meeting his eyes.

"Sure, Boss. But Joey's not in Abby's office. Abby left already."

Gibbs tossed the screen remote down on McGee's desk and went to check. When he came striding back he asked Tony if Ducky was still in the building. Tony replied in the affirmative, pretty sure that the good doctor hadn't left yet.

"Yea – Palmer said they were swamped with reports, so he probably stuck around."

Just as Gibbs was pivoting to head down to the morgue, Dr. Mallard appeared on the other side of McGee's cubicle wall.

"Oh, hello, Jethro – I was just on my way up to see if you had gotten back yet. I think I have something that belongs to you." Duck finished with a polished grin at the pair of confused men, who proceeded to follow him down to the M.E.'s dungeon.

The sliding doors heaved open as the doctor approached and flicked on the fluorescent lights. He strode over to the second metal table in the row, where a small person lay covered in one of the green, sterile blankets typically used to cover up dead victims. Ducky stood on one side of the cold table while Tony and Gibbs approached from the other. Gently pulling the blanket off of the slowly undulating lump, Ducky revealed Joey's disheveled neck-length brown hair and upper torso. She was lying on her stomach, with her arms crossed under her head to serve as a pillow. Gibbs nodded to Ducky, who traipsed over to the coat rack by his desk and proceeded to gather his things to leave.

"Tomorrow, Jethro, let us hope I have more on the victim for you." Ducky stated as he left. "Good night, Tony."

"Night, Duck." They replied in unison.

"Go home, DiNozzo – get some rest. Good work today." Gibbs absentmindedly rubbed his daughter's back as he said good-bye to his senior agent and watched him leave.

"Night, Boss. See you tomorrow."

"Bright and early, DiNozzo."

"Yes, Boss."

After the doors had closed and everything was silent for a few minutes, the revelation that he and Joey were the only ones in the department still in the building struck him and he realized how very late it was. He gave the girl a light shake to rouse her, but she was facing away from him and did not want to wake up.

"Mmm... five more minutes."

He sighed.

"Come on, Jo. It's late. Gotta go home."

"You know," she mumbled, "these tables are really uncomfortable."

Gibbs landed a light smack on the back of her head. She smiled and chuckled quietly. "Just making sure it was you behind me, Jethro."

"Good to know. And, Duck's patients have never complained." Gibbs retaliated with wit and helped her sit up, brushing her bangs back out of her face.

"Number one – I'm not one of Duck's patients. Two – Duck's patients are...well.... dead." She grinned and melted into his welcoming embrace, wrapping her arms around his middle and inhaling the smell of wet night air and sawdust. Her favorite. Gibbs smoothed back her hair and rubbed her head and back affectionately. She relaxed and tried to shrug the coat of exhaustion off her shoulders, but Gibbs lifted her in his arms and she felt the sensation of sleep tumbling back, closing her eyes as he walked out of the dungeon, slapping the light switch and leaving the room in darkness.

The nineteen-hour day was over, finally. Time to go home.

- - - - - - - - - - - - -

The sun didn't rise the next day – instead, a bowlful of dark grey clouds was left strewn across the sky as if by some invisible entity who hadn't cared enough after raging over the heavens to clean up his mess. The rain fell in a soft downpour that drenched the streets and the people moving around outside, hopping into and out of taxis to get to work. Joey stirred in her bed, rolling from her stomach to her back and shifting to a more comfortable position without waking. The room was unusual in the effect that it was organized and methodically neat – not typical for the residence of an eleven-year-old. It was perfectly square in shape – 14' by 14.' The entry door was in the center of the south wall, and a smaller door by the corner of the south and east walls led to a small bathroom. The walls were white, the floors were wooden – the furniture wasn't anything fancy – contemporary in style – just a twin-sized, metal frame bed, a desk, the one window in the center of the north wall, a nightstand on either side of the bed, and a large, wall-sized bookshelf (complete with ladder) adorned the room.

Joey had always loved books – not so much for the experience of reading, but the wonderful smell of new paper, the crisp noise both old and new binding made when you opened such a book, the illustrations, the diagrams and schematics . It was like - according to her description of this ultimatum – "waking up and watching Saturday morning cartoons, except that the pictures don't move." Joey was never one to think about things ahead of actually doing them, which tended to get her into trouble, but it was nice to know that she understood the value of living in the moment. She valued things for what unique qualities they had, not how they were viewed on an everyday basis. Books, for instance, aren't just the source of man's knowledge. They, in just their sole existence, can bring happiness, too.

Gibbs quietly opened the door to Joey's room and stepped over to her sleeping form on the bed. Sitting down, he finished buttoning his dark red shirt and caressed the girl's face. She mumbled something inaudible and rubbed her cheek with the back of her arm, feeling soft cottony pajamas she subconsciously figured Gibbs's must have redressed her in when they got home last night. She squinted, opening her eyes blearily.

"Did I sleep on one of Duck's dead-man tables last night, or did I dream that?" she whispered faintly.

"Yep, you did." Gibbs seemed amused.

"Oh. I remember throwing spit wads at Tim's head. Did I dream that?" She was still half-asleep, not realizing her obvious confession until Gibbs leaned over her, placing one hand on either side of her on the bed to prop himself up.

"I don't know, Joey. Did it?"

She smiled and looked up at him. "Maybe I did dream that...."

Her godfather laughed mildly and straightened his back, rolling his neck.

"Get up. Get dressed. There's someone downstairs you should meet." He stated monotonously as he raised himself up to leave the room.

"Who?" Joey propped herself up on her forearms and scrutinized Gibbs, but he just nodded towards her dresser and left. Sighing and grumbling to herself she changed out of her stark-white too-big pajamas into dark-denim jeans, a black knit sleeveless undershirt, one orange long-sleeve thermal knit shirt and a jet-black t-shirt for good measure. And, of course, she slipped on her trusty, nicely broken-in grey all-stars. Yawning and shuffling out into the hallway Joey slipped downstairs and into the kitchen for a glass of milk. Opening the fridge she basked for a moment in the cool air that flooded out, then grabbed the milk. Turning on the spot she kicked the door shut and looked up. Gibbs was at the bar, and there was a woman. Joey skimmed her over – only slightly elderly, glasses, and one of those looks that said very plainly that there was a disconnection between Joey and this woman, who she was fiercely hoping wasn't...

"Joey, this is Ms. Whipple – your babysitter." Gibbs interceded on her wistful thinking. She didn't answer, just stepped over to the cabinet and grabbed a glass, pouring herself some milk. Gibbs's cell phone rang.

"Yea, Gibbs." he responded.

"We got a AFIS hit on a print from the gun – led us back one Michael Warner. We also got an address-" Tony buzzed.

"Take Ziva and McGee. I'll meet you there." Gibbs snapped the phone shut and grabbed his jacket.

Joey gulped down what was left of her milk and ran past Ms. Whipple, catching up with Gibbs just before he slipped outside.

"Can you be swayed on this, Jethro?" she attempted to negotiate. He leaned over and planted a light kiss on her forehead.

He shook his head, and then he walked out.

TBC

1 Which involved a tiny cherry bomb being added as an ingredient in one of Abby's Caff-Pow drinks. It was a messy affair that ended in Abby covered in her favorite soda, (planning her reprisal) Tony laughing and Joey not sitting for about a week afterward. More or less, this event is significant because it depicts the first ever real prank Joey pulled, and her induction into the ever-growing creativity-laced world of tricks.
2 Joey has had a piqued interest in Jethro's line of work ever since he first had to drag her along to work with him.
3 Like I said. Reprisal.

Chapter 2 – Dregs

What a stressful morning. After the team had picked up Warner at his residence near Quantico they proceeded to take prints and gather evidence with a warrant executed on his house and car. Findings were minimal, as before – but this time they helped quite a bit – placing Warner at the crime scene, and giving him a motive to kill Harry Grissom – the dead Marine.

The day, however, was not over with just the knowledge that Warner was the killer – there was still the interrogation, and taking statements, and clearing up paperwork. At about eleven the coffee machine ran out of filters, which just about killed Gibbs's good mood for the day.

"Don't suppose either of you know what's sending Gibbs over the ledge today, do you?" Ziva inquired after he left to go and talk to Director Shepard. Tony was engaged in battling intergalactic alien life, and was thus unresponsive. McGee didn't look up from filling out his report, but was polite enough to answer, "other than the coffee machine being officially out of service, no. And the word is edge, Ziva, not ledge."

"Well, we solved the case. Why is he talking to Director Sheppard?" Ziva pressed.

"He's probably trying to find some more coffee filters." Tony drolled, still indulged in his game. A sharp smack hit him in the back of the head and he immediately switched screens from the game to a file on Warner's telephone records.

"Thank you, Boss." Gibbs came and stood beside his chair, glancing over Tony's finished reports, initialing them with his scrawly signature.

"DiNozzo, I have this irresistible urge to rid you of your computer and confine you to manual desk duty for the remainder of the week." Gibbs stated frankly.

"It's Friday, Boss." Tony hazarded.

"You know the cleanup crew that works nights?" Gibbs remained impervious, and holding back so much sarcasm that Tony thought he was serious about the situation, and not looking forward to discovering where he was going with this.

"Yea…"

"I think they might need a hand for the next few weekends." He cocked his head at the younger man, daring him to go further.

"Shutting up, Boss." Tony turned back to his computer and popped off the monitor to continue his paperwork. Gibbs returned to his own desk and sat down just as the phone rang. He snatched it up briskly.

"Gibbs." The bullpen fell silent as he listened, then pressed the phone back onto the receiver.

"Grab your gear." He ordered, swiveling in his chair and standing up.

"Where're we goin', Boss?" McGee inquired.

"Security officer dead near the White House gate. Come on." He paced over to the elevator.

"No kidding?" McGee continued, and Gibbs shot him look that confirmed McGee's question to be unnecessary, and he fell silent. The phone at Gibbs's desk buzzed on the receiver.

"Phone's ringing', Boss." Tony chimed. Gibbs huffed in annoyance and pivoted on the spot, walking briskly back to his desk and pushing the SPEAKERPHONE button.

"What?" he half-yelled into the receiver.

"I picked a bad time, didn't I?" Joey's voice crackled over the receiver. Gibbs tried to mentally crush his frustration.

"Bad time for what, Joey?"

"Just wondering which knob turns the A.C. on. It's hot in here." She replied.

"Where are you?" Gibbs pressed firmly to get an answer.

"Hooooome." She elongated the sentence, eager now to hang up.

"So get the sitter to help you. That's why she's there." Gibbs glanced up at his team, who recognized the aggravated look on his face and waited for the axe to fall.

"Well-" she started.

"Well WHAT? He cut her off.

"I can't really ask her anything right now, Jethro." She finished candidly.

"Why NOT?"

"Be…cause…at this actual, material point in time, Ms. Whipple isn't actually, really, exactly physically here."

Gibbs sighed and ran a hand over the front of his face.

"Why NOT?" He inquired fervently, somewhat resigned in the knowledge that Joey was able to get rid of another babysitter.

"Kind of a long story," she answered in her best apologetic voice.

"Fine. Don't go anywhere. I'll come for you." Gibbs made to press the DISCONNECT button, but Joey protested.

"Now?"
"Is NOW a problem for you?" His voice reached a dangerously low level and he noticed Tony, Ziva, and McGee shrinking back towards the elevator upon registration of the threatening tone underlying their boss's words.

Silence. "…no, sir."

"Good. Stay put." Gibbs practically dropped the phone and tossed Tony the keys to the van.

"DiNozzo: shoot and sketch, McGee: bag and tag, Ziva: see what you get from the witnesses, and call Dr. Mallard. I'll meet you there."

- - - - - - - - - - - -

Joey dragged herself upstairs and slumped down on her bed with her head in her hands. She mumbled something about "babysitters not being able to take a joke," sighed and tipped herself forward, stumbling off the bed towards her dresser and staring at her nervous reflection in the mirror. Reaching underneath her shirt she pulled out a silver chain with a couple of metal dog tags hanging loosely from it. Joey fondled them for a minute, rubbing her fingers over the soft, worn metal and thinking about how much trouble she was in.

Gibbs hadn't told her which knob turned on the AC, and it really was getting warm in the house, despite the nippy chill outside. Joey tugged off her black t-shirt and thermal shirt, but left the sleeveless undershirt on, along with her jeans and shoes. She slipped over to the window and drew back the sheer curtains, then opening the window. There was no mesh screen, and it opened all the way up, not just halfway. Joey loved that window – 1) it had a nice view out over the sidewalk - being on the façade of the little townhouse she and Gibbs shared - and it was always relaxing to watch the general daily activity of the people down there. It was like watching an ant farm. 2) It was on the second-story, and thus provided a comfortable challenge when Joey decided to leave the house through it – usually at night, when she couldn't sleep or when Gibbs didn't know. She never went far, but it gave her a thrill all the same. At this point the open sidewalk down below was terribly inviting, but after thinking for too long about it she was able to persuade herself to stay and face the music.

Turning her back on the window she paced back over to the dresser, the dog tags around her neck making little clinking noises as they bounced against her chest. Opening the drawer she pulled out a stark white, long sleeve dress shirt and gingerly pulled it on, buttoning it about ¾ of the way up. It was a couple sizes too big, and she rolled up the sleeves halfway to accommodate her small frame.

Suddenly, from downstairs there came a light thump, startling her. Joey gripped her shirt in a tight wad around her dog tags, which she tucked back underneath the fabric out of defense. But no sound followed that one, and she relaxed, pulling out a book from her shelf and settling into the chair at her desk.

Surprisingly sophisticated for an eleven-year-old, Joey had a phenomenal (if not strange) interest in the city's inner workings – she had progressively studied architecture and the blueprints of all the major buildings - she knew how the general population of D.C. ran its course. Locations of the best parks, various neighborhoods, and the shops and vendors with the most fantastic coffee and hot dogs were all etched in her mind, and she knew how to access them. Once or twice during a nightly excursion she explored far enough away from her house to notice all of these things. Taxis were the best way to go, but if you had a motorized scooter you could get from Point A to Point B just as quickly. Most importantly, Joey understood the complex schematics surrounding her godfather's job, and knew that because she had chosen to call his while he was working he would probably be slightly more antagonized than if she had waited.

Joey sighed, unable to concentrate on the scattered complexity of Greek Literature and Sonnets. Footsteps sounded on the stairs.

"That was fast," she grumbled, feeling the butterflies as they did taunting loops and somersaults in her stomach.

The house was quiet for a minute. Joey unwrapped a piece of Juicy Fruit chewing gum. The floorboards outside her door creaked and she pushed away from her desk and stood, turning as the door opened.

"Jethro, what happened was-" she started as a man stepped through the frame – tall, with dark hair that hung wet over his eyebrows. A pure look of loathing malice glinted in his rain-gray eyes. Joey stepped back towards the open window, confused.

"Who are you?" she shot at him.

The man remained silent, but stepped forward and pulled off the black scarf that was wrapped around his lower face and neck – revealing himself to be handsome, but unshaven and hard in features.

"Don't you remember?" he stepped closer and lit a flicker of fear in Joey's stomach. He seemed familiar, but she couldn't place him. When no response came, the stranger drew back, seemingly annoyed.

"Your parents never-" he began as if he had rehearsed it.

"My parents were murdered." The girl stepped towards him and spit out her gum on the floor, fists clenched in anger. "What do you care?"

The man's face contorted into a frigid grin. "Little Kitty Grey." Joey froze and lowered her hands. He sounded almost....happy. You were always too smart for your own good."

In one swift motion he extended an arm and grabbed the front of Joey's shirt. Before she could react accordingly a heavy object cracked across her skull and numbness enveloped her as her vision blurred, then blackened, like a candle being snuffed out.

- - - - - - - - - - -

Jethro jammed the key into the lock of his front door, doing a double take as he looked down in frustration. The lock was covered in tiny scratches and there appeared to be some graphite residue on the doorknob. Feeling shock take over, Gibbs turned the key and shoved the door open, whipping out his gun. He took the stairs two at a time and flattened him against the wall outside Joey's room. Kicking the door open he shouted, "NCIS!"

But there was no one there. Outside the still-open window a hot dog vendor served a naval officer in his uniform dregs, with a large duffel at his side. Gibbs watched in some kind of ignorant stupor as the man hailed a cab. Cursing this distraction, he swung his foot into the bedpost, running out of the room to search the rest of the house for his goddaughter. But she was nowhere to be found.

- - - - - - - - - - - -

Tony, Ziva and McGee had returned from the White House, loaded with evidence bags and boxes of the dead security guard's stuff. Gibbs was staring intently at the plasma, messing with a timeline/mapping program.

"This guy practically lived at the White House, Boss," McGee reported. "He has so many personal affects," he dropped a bag, groaning under the weight of the all the evidence he was carrying.

"Where were you, Boss?" Tony inquired, setting down a couple of boxes on the floor by his desk.

"DiNozzo, find a cart and take all the evidence up to Director Shepard." Gibbs ordered and turned to head down to Abby's lab.

"Why, Boss?" He asked, confused. He wasn't the only one – both Ziva and McGee also appeared nonplussed.

Gibbs turned and Tony swallowed, seeing some kind of sorrowful disturbance in his eyes. "Because this case is no longer our problem. Take everything to the director and meet me in Abby's lab in five."

Abby had the stereo blaring again, trying to blare out the horrifying intensity of Joey having disappeared. Seeing Gibbs looking so somber upon his arrival into her lab didn't help much with her own mood, but the puzzled looks on each of Tony's, Ziva's, and McGee's faces indicated to her that they were blissfully unaware of the severity of the situation.

"Abs." Gibbs slid a Caff-Pow onto the counter and leaned over her shoulder to scan over her findings. She was examining the cover of a book about Greek Literature. Flipping through it, a handmade bookmark fell out and floated to the floor. Gibbs gingerly picked it up and placed it back on the counter. It was made of folded notebook paper and had something written across the front: Joey's book. Back off, paper thieves!

"Boss…why is Abby tagging one of Joey's books?" Tony tore his eyes away from her working hands and paced over to the back table, where one black and one orange shirt lay stretched out for examination.

"New case, DiNozzo." He responded blankly.
Tony stared back at him in confused shock.

"Gibbs, is Joey missing?" Ziva was calmer in her statement, but it was obvious she was still a little rattled. McGee was busy already, taking a silent cue from Gibbs and beginning to take pictures of Abby's findings.

"Disappeared around noon. Timeline is still being edited, but we need to find a lead...soon." He replied without looking up from the book on the table. "Ziva, head to the crime scene and talk to everyone – broad daylight, someone had to have seen something."

"The crime scene…meaning – your residence?"

He nodded and she left with her kit.

"McGee, stay put and help Abby. DiNozzo-"

Tony pivoted; ready to do anything to help his mentor find his daughter.

"With me," Gibbs prompted and left, Tony following in his wake.

Abby clocked the time Gibbs left on the timeline: 2:45 p.m.

TBC

Chapter 3 – Hell Underground

Joey groaned and tried to roll over, but there was a wall blocking her movement. Her head throbbed painfully and she opened her eyes, a certain vacancy lacing her glazed-over, blue-green irises. The room, or wherever she was, was completely dark and dusky. The air tasted and smelled stale, like festering, stagnant water and really crappy coffee aroma. Cautiously she pushed herself up into a sitting position. The surface under her was soft and bouncy, but it had an edge, and she felt a hard, cold, wet floor when she reached out. Sighing, she sat back, focusing intently into the darkness, waiting for her eyes to adjust to the lack of light. Her head throbbed painfully.

Gradually she became aware of the fact the room was very small, taking in more of her surroundings every minute as the little sparkly lights from her head faded and her eyes dilated, taking in light. Furniture was naught to exist anywhere, except for what she was sitting on (identified as a simple mattress without any kind of bed frame) and what appeared to be a small television against the wall in front of her – about seven or eight feet away, she guessed. She rose from the mattress and ran a hand along the walls and floors, touching every surface. Walls and floors are stone, she mused as she explored every inch of the floor, no drain – this must be an old building.

As more light came to her she noticed a faint, glowing outline of something on the east wall about six or seven feet up. Joey squinted at it – the pattern of light was erratic…a boarded-up window, she concluded. This room is underground. Somehow, though, she could not find it in her being to try and escape. Instead, she attempted to hold onto as much quiet serenity as she could, but as time passed she slowly felt all of her mentally-functioning composure crumbling into oblivion as reality struck her. The room was all consuming. She shivered. The terror that barreled over all her thoughts made her feel as if she were being picked apart from the inside.
Where was Gibbs?

- - - - - - - - - - -

Day 1, 3:12 p.m. – Gibbs and Tony arrived at the door of Ms. Harriet Whipple's small cottage-like home near the park on Pennsylvania Avenue. Gibbs knocked once, and then practically kicked the door down, drawing his gun as he entered. CPR-certified or not, he wasn't sure Ms. Whipple was entirely scot-free in the matter.

The woman in question came rushing into the room, staring at her dented door in horror, as if she were looking at dog poop on her freshly-mowed green lawn.

"What time did you leave my home?" Gibbs berated her, half-yelling.

"You kicked in my door to complain about my leaving your spawn-of-the-devil daughter alone in your house?" She gaped at him.

"What TIME?" He roared, pinning her to the wall with a severely disturbed gaze.

"Is the house still intact?" She retorted sarcastically, throwing her hands into the air.

"Answer the question, ma'am." Tony chipped in, trying to be calmer, but still firm in warning.

She sighed. "I don't know – around noon....maybe half-past noon." She gave in, shaking her head. "Why? Did you lose her?"

Gibbs just glared morosely at her, making a mental note to burn her business card.

3:34 p.m. – Abby categorized the evidence into two groups: what did and what did not belong in Joey's room. On the side of the stuff that did she tagged the black tee, the orange thermal shirt, the book of Greek Literature, and a few of Joey's fingerprints – even though she wasn't in the database, these prints were assumed to be hers due to the fact that they were smaller than the other set of prints Abby lifted from various places in the room – which all belonged to Gibbs. In addition to that, in the other category Abby noted the finding of a chewed-up piece of gum, from which she had been able to lift DNA in the form of....spit, obviously. AFIS was running it now, against a sample of Joey's hair and other various suspects Ziva had interviewed.

McGee examined the crime scene photos for the umpteenth time that day – evidence was very minimal.

"Whoever did this is a genius, Abby. I mean – he must have worn gloves, and he didn't leave any kind of DNA-" Tim looked up at Abby in awe of this sick guy's genius, but she practically blew him over with a malignant glare.

"Look, McGee – if you want to find the sick perp who did this then shut up and try and stay positive. We were on a roll until you starting being all... not positive."

"Okay, okay, I'm sorry – just stating the facts."

"McGEE! JOEY COULD BE DEAD RIGHT NOW!" She grabbed his arms, chagrined.

"Alright!" He tried to placate her in surrender. "The point is – we are at a standstill. Let's hope Ziva found something more at the crime scene...a witness, if we're lucky."

"Sorry to disappoint, McGee." Ziva stated bluntly as she stepped briskly into the room. She had been in and out for the last few minutes.

"You mean nobody saw anything?" He was amazed. "This guy is good, Abby."

She smacked him on the head. Ziva sighed and rubbed her face. Dead end.

4:02 – Gibbs and Tony arrived back at the lab.

"Sorry it took us so long, guys – traffic sucked. Some kind of Intergalactic Space Science exhibit over at the museum. I was gonna buy tickets but-"

Gibbs passed him on the way to the counter, thwacking the back of his head as he passed. Tony shut his mouth and gestured to the photos laid out on the back table.

"You get anything, Probie?" he nodded towards the evidence.

"Everything was minimal. The guy who did this-"

Abby shot him a deadly look.

"-is going to regret every minute of his actions." He finished, breathing heavily in relief when Abby looked away.

AFIS beeped loudly. All five members of Gibb's team, including himself, rushed over in a miniature mob, hoping – waiting. Abby pulled up a partial allele match to the sample of Joey's hair – a dark man with dark hair and fair features, unshaven in his mug shot, dressed in bright orange prison garb.

"Vincent Grey – 37 years old....wow – "Abby paused in her skimming when she reached his rap sheet – "burglary, arson, kidnapping, aggravated assault, manslaughter, three counts of-"

"Of murder." Tony finished, stolid. He took the mouse from Abby and clicked over to the DNA charts. "This guy's got a 7-allele match to Joey."

But Gibbs was quiet in his focus – boring into the eyes of this dark man.

Tony ventured further. "Who is this guy, Boss?"

Silence.

- - - - - - - - - - -

4:21 – Joey pounded on the boards covering the window, groping around for the cracks and trying to pull the wood loose. She screamed an umpteen number of times with no response. She had been desperate in her hope that the window led outside where someone would hear her frantic ripping and clawing at the wall.

With another crackled yell Joey slammed her shoulder against the boards and tumbled backwards off the wall, landing with a thud in a puddle of water on the cold floor. Dazed, she ran one splintered, bruising hand through the pool and brought the liquid to her face, inhaling deeply. Smelled like rainwater. Blood trickled down her hand and arm; scarlet blotches appeared on her white blouse, leaving her feeling drained. Using her elbows she raised herself into a sitting position and pushed backwards, dragging her limp and faintly-pulsing body back over to the mattress.

A low rumble caressed the air above her – it was faint....coming from outside. Subway. Joey did not rise, instead – she pushed herself further up onto the mattress and fell back against the wall, breathing heavily. In this moment of silent recluse there came a certain chill – a cold, bitter atmosphere that enveloped the room....she had not noticed it before. Instinctively she curled into a fetal position and brought her bloody hands together, but snapped them back to her sides upon contact - a sharp pain tore through her fingers and up her left arm as a few of the splinters were jammed deeper into the vulnerable, soft muscle of her center palm and wrists. Cringing, gasping, biting back the screams and the tears, Joey wrapped her fingers around the wooden shrapnel and slid them out as gingerly as possible, collapsing on the dirty mattress spread-eagle on her back, bleeding and shivering in the cold, November wind that enveloped the room.

Then sleep came, followed by a rage of heavy rain that sent water dripping through the wood and enlarging the crystal puddle on the stone floor. In the center of the west wall a heavy-set, steel door swung open and a brown stock-paper bag was dropped to the floor. Joey twitched at the sound, but did not wake.

Chapter 4 – Practice

Time passed too quickly for Gibbs and his team. They had nothing. Nothing to tell them where to go, or what to do from here – sitting at their own desks poring over the only solid thing they had – Vinnie Grey's records – and even that meant nothing if they couldn't find a lead. One by one Gibbs sent the members of his team home, and by the midnight bell he was the only soul left in the entire building. Slowly, without much thought as to where he was going, he drifted throughout the narrow corridors, paced around the steel tables in the morgue, went up and down the second-floor stairs and somehow ended up back in the bullpen, leaning back against the windowpane from a sitting position on the floor, running his sweaty fingers over the smooth, cool surface of the silver flask in which he kept his bourbon, and his memory of the last family he failed to protect.

The darkness ate away at his determination, and time withered on into the late hours of the night. Gibbs ran a hand over his face and through his ruffled hair, gripped his shoulder, fingered his NCIS badge as he held it up to his face. It reflected the light from the street lamp outside. Swiftly, he stood and pivoted, feeling empty but looking for something....anything to give him the spark he needed to continue with his investigation. Nothing but "nowhere" could describe where he was with the case, and he felt his goddaughter's frantic, jarring essence chewing up his intellect and leaving him dissecting his own thoughts about the exact point in time when Joey called him about the air conditioning – there was a fifteen-minute gap between that call and him arriving on the scene...and then there was Vincent Grey.

Gibbs, with a little undercover help from Fornell, had put the bastard away a little over eight years ago for manslaughter, but he had escaped while being taken into custody. They caught up with him again in Virginia, where he was arrested and convicted of torturing and killing three little girls after kidnapping them and forcing them to ingest, inhale, and mix different varieties of narcotics. That was his sanctuary – narcotics. He was a cop once, found dirty, and convicted of trafficking drugs, but he got away that time, too. The famous Vinnie Grey – Child Killer....Joey's father's estranged younger brother, her uncle. This fact just about tore the final string of hope out of Gibb's heart. Joey's parents were murdered when she was just four years old – Gibbs had been a friend of the family, but he always figured it had been mutual. Joey's father was Navy-bred and FBI-occupied...after they died and the will was read, Gibbs discovered he had been made the little girl's godfather, "just in case we aren't always around," were James Grey's exact words on paper. The rest of her family were members of a bad lot – what could he do except take her in?

As he paced up and down the bullpen, Gibbs recalled the interrogation after he and Fornell had him for the second time here, at NCIS.

[flashback]

"Where'd you put the bodies, Vinnie?" Fornell leaned across the table with both of his hands and arms resting there for support, looking Grey right in his cold, grey eyes. The man didn't answer, didn't even make eye contact. His expression was placid. Gibbs cocked his head at him, unusually calm. He licked his lips and came around to stand behind him.

"Vinnie," Fornell continued, pulling up a chair, "we have all the time in the world to lock you up and put you six feet under, evidence, testimony, your drugs, everything."

The intimidation tactic wasn't working. Gibbs leaned forward, stole a fleeting, aggravated glance at Fornell, and whispered hoarse, broken words into Vincent Grey's ear.

"You tortured and killed three girls the exact same way. Why'd you stop? Run out of drugs to experiment with?"

A quiet, maniacally-laced grin crossed Vinnie's face, and he bowed his head in silent fits of laughter that shook his entire body.

[end flashback]

Gibbs reached behind his cubicle wall and lifted a cardboard box out from the small enclosed space. He seemed calmer, but it was a fluctuating type of calm that only came from his contemplation of a possible lead, which, it seemed, was so obvious he was almost angry at himself for missing it. Whipping out his pocketknife he cut the red evidence tape that sealed the box and pulled the lid off, tossing it down at his desk. At the bottom of the box laid a single manila folder stuffed with crime scene photos and every hard record FBI and NCIS had ever had on Vincent Grey – everything from the police report describing his first burglary, descriptions of narcotics paraphernalia, photos of the bruises on his aggravated assault victim....Gibbs flipped through the documents, paused when he went farther than his destination, and turned back four pages to Grey's first murder – eleven-year-old girl from downtown D.C. – he had left them mounds of evidence, his work was messy and unprofessional....

Gibbs almost had to force back the sting of his own morbid thoughts about Joey as he flipped a few more pages to his second murder – eleven-year-old girl, snatched from Langley Park. They found her a week later dead in a hidden lower compartment of a yacht that had been abandoned in a parking lot. This time, there was less evidence – enough, though, to draw conclusion and put Vinnie behind bars. But they didn't get him that time either. The original crime scene was compromised and Vinnie's original site – where he held the girl hostage – was never uncovered. Because of no drug or incriminating evidence being found on the boat, FBI had justifiably assumed that he had killed her somewhere else and dumped her body on the boat.

It seemed odd at the time, though – the question as to why Vinnie wouldn't just dump the body where no one would have found it. Morbid....but it would have bought him a lot of time.

He flipped to the final thing in the folder – Grey's last documented murder of an eleven-year-old girl in Quantico. Very minimal evidence. Two things was perfectly clear throughout the entirety of this folder – Vinnie was escalating in crime, and he was becoming more methodical in nature – a perfectionist, if you will – the only evidence left at the third scene was a single strand of hair and a small, plastic bag of cocaine. The hair wasn't enough to get a profile match, so circumstantial evidence surrounding general description of Vinnie's M.O. – killing girls by way of torture and drugs – was all they had to wrap up the case with.

Then, for the first time since he even ever first heard of Vinnie Grey, it struck Gibbs: he was experimenting.

All his victims were eleven-year-old girls – the pain of torture escalated as the murders progressed. The drugs were designed to be tested – Grey wanted to play with their effect on children....but no....it was more sinister than that...he took Joey...why does he want Joey? Joey is eleven years old...another experiment? No – he's related to her – this one's more personal. He was experimenting with all the others...it was practice for what he's going to do to Joey. But why?

Gibbs heard a faint chuckle behind him and he turned abruptly, one hand on his gun. But there was no one there.

"You tortured and killed three girls the exact same way. Why'd you stop? Run out of drugs to experiment with?"

Vinnie had never answered the question. But now Gibbs knew the answer.

"No," Gibbs couldn't stop the words coming out his own mouth, "I just didn't need any more practice."

Chapter 5 - Swallow

The next morning Gibbs was in the office at 4:30, running financial records and bank statements of the late Grey family – it seemed as though Joey had inherited a large sum of money upon her parents' death, payable on her sixteenth birthday. According to the legal renderings of James and Katherine Grey's joint will, if their daughter were to become deceased before that time, the money would go to... Gibbs scrolled down the page... the money would go to Vincent Andrew Grey, the younger brother of James France Grey.

The only current possible motive was money.

Director Shepard was downstairs, assisting Abby in transferring Vinnie's prison records and transcriptions of conversations between him and his visitors. Tony was the next one in the office, then McGee and Ziva. Together they stood in the off-center of the bullpen as if awaiting some kind of order. But Gibbs didn't look up, and one by one they each sat down, confused and each drawing blanks.

Then, out of nowhere came the order. "CAMPFIRE."

Simultaneously the younger agents looked up in utter stupor, then at each other, and back at Gibbs. Tony rose without much hesitation, pulling his swivel chair over to the center of the bullpen.

"Thought you didn't like the Campfire, Boss."

McGee joined the circle and Gibbs came around to the front of his desk, leaning back its hard edge. Ziva was grumbling – she, perhaps, despised the "campfire" idea more than Gibbs himself, and it surprised her greatly that HE would be the one to suggest the gathering. She joined the circle, and listened intently as Gibbs ran gave them all a crash course in "Joey 101," – everything about her family, her inheritance, and her position in terms of Vinnie Grey, who's cases and various crimes Gibbs described to them enough to give them the comprehension they needed.

Some questions were still impossible to answer fully, though.
"If all Grey wants is the inheritance, then why doesn't he just kill Joey?" Tony mused aloud.

"And why wait eleven years to do it?" Ziva put in somberly.

Gibbs looked back at the plasma and reread the will of Joey's parents. "Well, Ziva, that's what we're going to find out."

Tony seemed to notice some hint of somber determination in this, and respected his mentor more for it.

"I'm going to run Grey's personal history and set up a timeline from his first burglary to his last murder," Tony volunteered as he stood and went back to his desk, "maybe we missed something."

Gibbs looked back and motioned with his chin in McGee's direction. Tim rose and followed Tony's action, pacing back to his own desk.

"I am going to check all financial records - if he were going to use drugs with Joey he is probably keeping them somewhere for safe storage – maybe someone knows where that is." McGee took over the plasma and went to work.

Ziva stood and brushed past her boss towards Abby's lab.

"I'll help Abby run down all his contacts and prison records, photos from the crime scene and any media we have."

Gibbs called out to her retreating back, "And find the connection between his three victims – if he's as precise as these records show he's going to have an agenda," Gibbs' voice was escalating to a yell, "and FIND OUT WHERE HE'S GOING!"

- - - - - - - - - - -

Day 2, 11:16 a.m.

Rain poured over the city – dark grey clouds and sinister notions filled the outside atmosphere, and the general climate of restless determination and sorrow around NCIS wasn't helping Gibbs to get any closer to a breakthrough.

However, with a little nudge from Ducky and much prodding from Tony, he decided to leave the office for an hour to clear his head. With the intention of going out for coffee, somehow Gibbs ended up on the highway home.

It had never seemed so empty – and he, just standing there in the door frame of Joey's room, thinking about his late wife and daughter, and how he had had to cope with feeling empty – knowing they were gone. It wasn't the same kind of empty, though. This was a notion that danced around all his feeling of being a failure in protecting the only thing he had left – the kind of empty where one knows that they have lost something to a monster and they may never get it back in one piece – just like it was before it was lost to him.

The area around his collar started to itch, and he wiped sweat off his brow. Never did tell her how to turn on the A.C.

Retreating to his bedroom, Gibbs stepped into his closet and pulled off his shirt. Subconsciously he threw a sideways glance at the paling canvas clothing bag that held his naval uniform. Then he did a double-take. Slowly, keeping his eyes on the bag, he put on a clean shirt and buttoned it. The bag hung from a hook on the wall. He stared at it and paced over slowly. His mind raced – suddenly it was if reality had warped, and he had a fleeting thought – a memory lapse – that told him he was either in someone else's closet, or someone else had been in his.

Something on the bag glistened and caught his eye – he stepped over and plucked a shiny, gel-laden hair from the canvas outside. Unzipping the bag, he discovered that it was empty of his naval uniform. Someone had removed it.

And then he remembered the navy-dressed officer at the hot dog stand the day Joey disappeared.

- - - - - - - - - - -

Day 2, 11:25 a.m. - There came a distant sound of...fuzzy static. Joey stirred on the mattress, sweeping her arms across her body as he rolled over. The blood on her arms had dried and cracked with the motion, pinching her skin and rousing her. She sat up and blearily opened her eyes, and for a moment she forgot where she was and imagined that the knocking sound she was now hearing was just Jethro at her door. But as her eyes focused and adjusted to the light, she landed back on the plane of reality with an unpleasant thump.

As for the static, it was seemingly coming from the TV. Joey stood and paced forward, feeling around its wooden frame to find the OFF button, moving her hand over and across the sides and top. When she touched slowly undulating fabric, she came to an immediate standstill, then drew back with a slight gasp.

A man, the man from her bedroom, the man who took her away from safe solitude and her home, straightened his back and stepped out in front of the television. He spoke in low, malicious tones.

"Damn television - how are we supposed to know when they're coming if we can't even watch the news?" He said it in a happy-sarcastic voice, as if this whole thing was just a game of hide-and-seek.

Joey stumbled back and tripped, landing on the mattress, breathing heavily. "Who are you?" Her voice was unusually level, almost....calm. Without thinking, she instinctively moved her hand to wrap around the dog tags hanging around her neck. The metal was smooth and cold. "WHO ARE YOU?" She yelled this time.

The man sighed. "Hello, Kitty, my name is Vincent Andrew Grey," he leaned forward, grinning terribly, "might I ASSUME that your father never mentioned he even HAD a younger brother?"

Joey was lost at the name "Kitty," – four-year-lasting childhood memories were flooding back in bits and pieces, but nothing made sense. Something in the back of her mind swelled and formed a genuine thought, a real memory....

"Time for bed, my little Kitty."

Joey was dazed – she heard her father's voice...Kitty, he said – yes – her father used to call her by her first name...Katherine, like her mother....

Joey's subconscious turned to rage in an instant. Without any kind of warning she leapt upon her captor – her uncle, her own flesh and blood – and ripped, clawed, beat with small fists, she screamed and tore at every part of him she could reach, kicking and pushing. Adrenaline gave her the energy, the strength, but it was just a short burst of energy, of strength. She jumped up, but Grey's hand sent her back to the cold floor and she collapsed at his feet, rolling away from him until she stopped at the wall under the window – in the puddle of rainwater that was still being fed by the outside flow.

Joey raised herself up to her hands and knees, but before she could stand the toe of a large boot landed in the soft flesh of her underbelly, then again and again. She was shoved up against the wall by the blows, and she collapsed again, the side of her face in water. She choked on the blood and proceeded to vomit red, swirling liquid. Grey laughed and grabbed her by the back of her shirt collar, dragging her forward and tossing her down on the mattress.

Bright lights clouded Joey's vision, and her head swam into a vortex of spinning shadows. But she didn't pass out. She was just facing the dark wall. She couldn't bring her arms to move for her. Her chest throbbed – something jabbed her from the inside. Behind her she heard a snap of leather, and she froze.

"Your parents didn't know crud about being LOYAL – your father was too proud for his own good." He stated, plain and simple. "And I'm not going to sit by and watch you piddle away everything they left you when it should have been mine."

He snapped the leather belt again. "You're going to die just like they did, Kitty...alone...and without any hope for mercy."

Joey realized then that Gibbs had never told her anything about her parents' murder.

But before she could make the connection between Grey's words and her lack of knowledge, the first blow came.

Even tempo at first, but then the blows became more erratic and scattered all over her upper and lower back, her sides, her legs, arms, head. She curled into a tight knot and tried to direct most of the blows towards her back, but who was she to decide control. She was helpless. Heavy, strained leather rained down upon her entire frame and she fought back the tears that mingled in with salty sweat and blood.

And it seemed like hours before they ended – the rhythm fluctuated more than once. Joey clenched her fist around her dog tags and waited it out. Her entire body was wracked and on the brink of extreme convulsion – but then, the hellfire ceased and she collapsed on her side, unable to move, or even breathe any heavier than normal – it was if it hadn't even happened. Her body went numb, then came the burning sensation, and the feeling of being completely shattered – broken into a million pieces. Immense and excruciating pain – blood trickled from her mouth, her nose, her sides ached and when she finally let go of her dog tags there where thin cuts where the metal edges had bit into her skin. And all the while, the only thought she could put through her head was whipping by over and over again: He killed my parents, he killed my parents, he killed my parents, he killed my parents, he killed my parents, he killed my parents, he killed my parents, he killed my parents, he killed my parents, he killed my parents, he killed my parents, he killed my parents, he killed my parents...

"Good night, my little Kitty," Grey whispered as he caressed her face and neck, reaching with one hand into his pocket, from which he withdrew a tiny metal canister. As Joey slipped farther into darkness, he unscrewed the lid, rolled Joey onto her back and dumped the white-powder contents into her mouth. Then he pinched her nose closed and watched her gag reflex kick in. He stood up, dug around in the paper bag, and drew out a bottle of water. Pouring a little into her mouth pushed the white powder down her throat.

And in her sleep she swallowed.

Chapter 6 - Continuum

Day 3, 1:14 a.m. – Joey groaned in her sleep, convulsing gently with the cold and the sound of rain as her tempo. Pain shot through her body and left her shuddering in the dark. A low growl caressed her left ear and she gasped, rolling over and sitting up so quickly it was if she had been burned.

In an instant she began to convulse, her stomach was overturned and contorted violently. She clenched her arms over her gut and writhed on the mattress, yelling in pain, tears streaming out of her eyes. The growl came again, followed immediately by an overwhelming roar. Slowly, a thousand different kinds of fear flooding her mind, Joey raised her head and opened her eyes.

She was about an inch away from the face of what looked to be an enormous, mutated, contorted figure resembling a tyrannosaurus – it's body was rough and wet with blood and water, dark skin and pale, dead eyes, slicing teeth and ripping tongue. Extra arms and mouths and eyes – bits of sharp glass and metal wiring stuck out from underneath its skin, as if it had bean constructed from scrap metal and then covered over with rotting skin.

The Monster opened its jaws wide and Joey yelled horribly, the room dissolved and contorted. She dove to the floor and huddled in the far corner, arms up, eyes closed. The thing slashed at her, its tail knocking over the television and banging against the walls. The girl screamed in the corner, trying not to meet the gaze of this thing, this beast – but the desire, the desire to make eye contact was all-consuming. Something whispered to her in the back of her mind and all was silent.

The beast just looked at her, and she looked at it, swinging heavy, panicked breaths that shook her entire frame. And then it opened its jaws again and dove for her. All lights went out as Joey screamed.

Day 4, 6:34 a.m. – When Joey awoke the next morning, no one was in the room.

Sitting up abruptly, she glanced nervously around the room – there was nothing. The television was upright. A sudden flashback struck her like a bolt of lightning – she saw the Monster's face and teeth...then....nothing. Time wore on as she sat there in silence and doubt, thinking that it couldn't have been any more than a dream. She ran a dry tongue over her teeth and swallowed saliva – it was bitter. Probing one finger into her mouth she felt something brittle. She withdrew her finger. White powder and saliva covered the skin.

Joey stood and paced over to the wall beneath the window. Sunlight streamed through the cracks in the wood boards, adding a little illumination to the room. She looked around, then back at the window. The boards were waterlogged and vulnerable. She reached up and found a narrow empty space in the stone wall, hoisting herself up. Pain coursed through her arm and down her spine and she went down to the ground, landing on her back with a jolt. Groaning, she just rolled over and laid there; ready to give up before even starting.

Her stomach rumbled – she almost laughed at this. Why, she didn't know. Maybe it was because that out of all the pain and blood and darkness, the thing bringing her down was hunger. How long had it been since she was brought here? Was Gibbs even still looking for her? Was he even ever looking at all?

- - - - - - - - - - -

Days withered on....time passed in a looping continuum. Every night Joey endured the beatings and every night Grey would take his silver knife and make a tiny cut on her upper arm. Eventually, Joey noticed, they began to form the shape of a skull, but he wasn't done with the art yet – there was still half of it left to finish.

"Just to remind you how long you've got left to live." He would say that when the skull was whole – that would be the day he killed her. It was almost methodically diabolical of him, Joey thought, to have his torture and death routine so readily planned like this, to this extent.

On the 8th day, she gave up hope of being "saved."

On the 9th day, she woke up pining, PINING for a little more white powder. He had given to her readily every night, and every night she had nightmares, but she LIKED it – it was an escape, a chance to forget being here in this dungeon hell, a way for her to be alone with her demons – the ones that plagued her day and night.

He made her beg for it, and she did. It came in many forms – everything from powders to needles to vapors...and she took it all. Hallucination set in quicker than before, for she expected it. The Monster returned and made her scream and writhe on the floor of the basement hole where she was nothing more than a lab experiment and a human torture-toy for her uncle. Every day and every night was the same – there was always Grey, there was always the beating, there was always the reward: the Monster.

Internally, Joey's vitals were slowly going offline – her organs were shutting down bit by bit and she grew weaker every day. She lost weight fast – already more than ten pounds and counting, still. But she didn't know or care anymore.

On the 12th day, Grey did not even show up at the steel door. Nor did he show on the 13th day. On the 14th day Joey awoke in a raging fury – knocking over the television and ripping away at the mattress – a fury that only ended after she collapsed in exhaustion, and sleep overtook her.

TBC

Chapter 7 - Good Night, My Little Kitty


Day 16, 7:34 p.m. – The winter sun had set early, like it always did in D.C. Gibbs sipped his coffee and stared out the window at the street below. After discovering that the Grey had been the man he'd seen on the street below at the hot dog stand the day Joey disappeared, he had everyone on his team running license plates and mapping programs and talking to various cab drivers and the hot dog vendor. Security footage was pulled from a museum nearby, but there was no hard lead on determining where Grey had gone. As for Joey, Gibbs assumed that Grey had stolen his uniform, but brought his own duffel bag and he carried her out in that, along with any other evidence against him.

They weren't making much progress. And he knew – some people, like Palmer and...the Director, too, it seemed, didn't even believe Joey was still alive – a doubt that hung over his mind like an empty basin of hell, clouds, and blood. He didn't want to believe it, but it was probably true.

- - - - - - - - - - -

Joey was beginning to wonder if Grey would ever come back. She needed the drug – without it...she tore herself apart. By now her body was numb to the beatings and her once-white shirt was almost completely scarlet with dried blood caked over in many layers. She removed it once, but put it back on almost immediately in light of the freezing wind coming through window. It was now December. December 5th, to be exact, but she didn't know it. She did feel colder than ever before, though.

And for the first time in weeks, she genuinely missed Jethro. She wanted to be held by him, she wanted to sit with him and rub her hands along the frame of his boat. Her mind floated back to those days of happy, domestic bliss and cherry bombs, and Tony – all her friends at NCIS.

A new determination flooded her being and took over her essence. She glared back up at the boarded-up window, and formulated in her mind a new way to escape without the Monster's help. Not this time. Every fiber in her body was frazzled and had been burned over and over again by the torture and the blood, and she wasn't going to take another beating. Not again.

She had to get out before he got back.

- - - - - - - - - - -

The television was heavy-set and it took Joey more than an hour to get it over to the window and upright again. The cobblestone-surface of the floor wasn't helping. But she was finally able to clamber up on top of the machine and she was eye-level with the lowest board on the window frame. Wiping her hands on her shirt she reached into the crack of the boards and wrapped her fingers around, but upon contact, she recoiled as if having just touched a hot stove. The boards were severely cracked and covered in loose splinters. Sighing heavily, she looked back down at the floor and around her for something to use to pry the wood off the window.

Nothing....but then, in a burst of inspiration, Joey pulled off her stained shirt and shoved a sleeve through the crack in the board. Reaching back behind the board, nicking her herself only once, she drew the sleeve out from the other side of the board, wrapped a sleeve around each arm and pulled.

After a couple of minutes the wood came loose and she tumbled backward off the television, the board smashing into her forehead. But she was so happy in that moment that it didn't matter. Joey shoved the board off her face and looked up at the new opening in the window. Her expression fell to utter dismay almost instantly when she saw that the window was barred from the outside with long, thin strips of iron. Snow flurries swept into the tiny room. Joey's head fell to her chest.

The steel door swung open. Grey stepped in. The moment he saw that she had been trying to escape his stolid expression mutated into rage. He ripped off his belt – a new one, Joey noticed, with little metal studs adorning the wide leather strap – and advanced swiftly. Joey fell back and rolled to the left, standing up, but before she could collect her defenses Grey had his large hand around her neck and he shoved her down to the ground, pinning each of her arms with his legs and wrenching back her head with a handful of her hair.

The pain was sharp and lingered – tears streaked the girl's face and ran down into her hair and ears. Grey whipped out a small plastic bag from his coat pocket, and from within this he withdrew a slender needle with a pale jade-green liquid swirling inside of the crystal vial. He jabbed the thin metal tip into the soft, pulsing spot at the base of Joey's neck.

The effect was instantaneous. The drug flowed directly into the bloodstream and was sucked up into the spinal cord within a matter of seconds. Joey's neurological processes shut down, then flickered on again. Her eyes rolled back and forth in her head and her body convulsed violently. Grey pulled himself up and grabbed his "defiant niece" by her collar, dragged her forward and tossed her down on the mattress.

The metal studs in the belt had been methodically sharpened to a point, and the man was relentless in his brutality this night. The skull was almost completed – after this beating he would only have one more mark to make to finish the tattoo, and then he would kill her like he killed her parents.

One stroke fell, two strokes became four, then six, then ten – all the while Joey was beginning to hallucinate - disoriented and writhing on the mattress. She heard the raging roar and clanking of the Monster coming back to her. Little lights once more clouded her vision, but then she looked up.

The steel door was wide open.

Mustering every ounce of strength she had left, Joey backed into a sitting position against the wall and used the stone surface to push herself up. She opened her eyes. Eyes that, despite the dark and the dank hell of this place, still shone blue-green, swimming with salty tears that were now only mementos of utter chaos and rage, like shining fish in a diamond pond.

She tackled Grey with such force he fell to his back on the ground, smacking his head against the edge of the television set and dropping the leather belt. Joey shoved his chest and reached into the left pocket of his jeans, where – she knew – he kept his silver knife. Wrenching it out she jumped off the man and broke for the door.

The hallway was dark and smoggy with dust and grime. To the left and below she caught the sound of running water and the smell of something putrid. Stairs just ahead....she limped up and out, stumbling when she reached the next landing. Boxes and crates were laid out everywhere – some in large stacks or groups, some open, and some discarded along the metal siding walls. She had been in the basement of an old warehouse. Pushing herself to her feet she stumbled off towards the large double doors that led outside. But again she tripped and collapsed in a peculiar manner – one leg twisted under the other. She yelled and cried out in pain, allowing her torso to fall to the floor.

Joey wasn't sure how long she laid there. She didn't try to get up. It seemed hopeless. There she was, on her stomach in some strange, macabre place in the dark, alone. Something inside of her ignited a new kind of fear, a fear that gnaws at a person until they think they are completely lost and that no one is coming to save them. Not anymore.

Her jeans were bloodstained and fraying now at the cuffs – her black knit undershirt was drenched in sweat and patched with blood – there were this rips all across the back and sides where little cuts and breaks in the skin bled profusely, covering the bruises and welts. The skull on her shoulder seemed to smile when her body twitched or convulsed.

There was a crash just ahead of her and Joey pulled her head off the concrete floor and looked forward. A crate had fallen over and the straw packaging was spilling out. Something shone there amongst the mess – something black and gleaming. Squinting, Joey dragged herself forward to the next crate and pulled her body up using the wood as support. Sliding over to the fallen crate she looked down at the straw carnage. Ruffling through it with one foot she coughed gently when she uncovered the glock. It was new, a brand-new gun. The prospect excited her for some reason, renewed her energy and replenished stamina. With a gun she was unstoppable. Reaching down, she plucked it from the straw and turned it over a few times in her hand, running dirt fingers over the polished blue steel and automatic trigger. A small canister rolled out from under the straw.

It was full of 9 millimeter bullets. Joey knew how to load a gun – Gibbs had made a point of teaching her.

Cautiously she tucked the gun into the waistband of her jeans and shuffled towards the door.

The street outside was cold and looming. Snow swirled around her feet, but it was black with soot and muck from gasoline.

Behind her she heard Grey shout in angry fury. Panicking, she took off running down the street. Somewhere there came the sound of sirens, but it faded into the distance.

A sudden, shocking jolt erupted up and down Joey's spine and she slammed into the wall of a building, tumbling into the dark alley there and colliding with a rusty dumpster. There was a ladder on the wall of this building, and she scrambled up to the first landing. When finally collapsed on the roof she peering out over the edge. No sign of Grey. Breathing a heavy sigh of relief she tried to shake off the convulsions and frequent shocks that were emitting from her body and making her squirm. The moment of freedom was short-lived. Over the other side of the building the Monster emerged and charged toward her. She screamed and fell backward over the edge of the building, slamming down onto the ladder and onto the highest landing, which she rolled off of in her agonizing rush of pain. She fell another story and crumpled onto the second floor metal landing, hanging onto the side with both arms, fingers wrapped around the holes in the metal flooring, legs dangling over the side. The silver knife came loose in her pocket and fell to the ground, clattering across the plastic top of the dumpster and landing in a pile of snow. Cringing, she looked up. There was no monster there anymore – it was Grey, now. He had a gun aimed at her head. Joey looked down and waited for the shot, but it didn't come.

"Good night, my little Kitty," Grey whispered maniacally. His finger clicked on the trigger and pulled back with a loud bang.

- - - - - - - - - - -

9:54 p.m. - McGee came running into the bullpen and slid to a stop in front of Gibbs' desk.

"Boss, the P.D. just got a call in for a man fitting Grey's description and some shots fired over in the warehouse district off of 5th Avenue."

Gibbs didn't hesitate in getting up or moving out – in fact, he was up like a shot the second the word Grey exploded off of McGee's lips.

"GRAB YOUR GEAR!" He shouted as he and his team crammed into the elevator.

- - - - - - - - - - -

Joey screamed in pain – the bullet had sliced through the fleshy part of her right arm and ricocheted down into the alley. Her arm jolted and she let go of the landing and fell to the ground, smashing down upon the dumpster lid and rolling to the ground. In a flash of fear Joey saw the face of her Monster and curled into a ball with her hands over her head, screaming.
In a rage of blind fear and angst she stood, as if in some kind drunken stupor, and tried to run out of the alley, smashing into garbage cans and sliding onto the street. The snow fell harder now and her body went numb. The Monster flickered in essence and dissipated into nothing. She ran onward, not knowing where she was going or how to get there.

Joey tripped and looked up. Big glass windows and lots of expensive displays caught her eye. Behind her, Grey was running. Frantic, she jerked her head around and scanned the area, looking for something to help her sound the alarm. In the center of the street something rusty grabbed her attention and she scrambled over the sidewalk and loped over to the center of the street. From a distance she might have appeared to be a rabid dog, thin and groaning, its sanity slowly trickling away. Joey bent down wrapped her fingers around the edges of the manhole cover, yanking forcefully. It came loose. Clenching it she stood up and frantically scrambled back towards the sidewalk, trying to keep a firm grip on the metal plate in her bloodied, freezing hands. Summoning everything that was left of her strength she hurled the manhole cover at the jewelry-store window, drawing her hands up over her head as the smashed into a million tiny pieces and rained down to the ground around her broken frame.



TBC