"As with everything, a time comes when the alpha has to step down. When this happens, the alpha is no longer considered part of the pack."


***


Tony tried to keep his secrets well away from his PDA.

He quite liked the thing. It was sleek and high tech and Abby had put a cutesy Roman Dirge skull sticker on the back. It held case notes, appointments, dates, scores and scores of phone numbers and a rather nice and carefully selected collection of girly pictures. It was expected of him, after all, and who was he to disappoint?
All in all, he was satisfied that if he should happen to disappear, and thereby force McGeek to hack into the thing looking for clues, there was nothing in there he minded people seeing, and nothing in there they would be surprised to find.

Except maybe the fact that he carefully marked the phases of the moon.

Old habits died hard, after all...and it was more than unlikely that anyone would draw the proper conclusion.

Also, he found that he quite needed the reminders. Gibbs had left, and then he had returned, and now it was much harder for Tony to control himself. All his instincts were screaming at him to attack, to challenge. For years he had, quite contrary to his nature, played the puppy to Gibbs' alpha. It had been worth it then, even at the cost of most of his self respect, to be given purpose and direction - both things that he had long lacked, which Gibbs had had in abundance. But now...

There could never be two alphas in the same pack. Unless they were mated.

Yet there had to be. Because Tony couldn't, wouldn't, leave now. Never mind that McGee and Ziva didn't respect him and didn't trust him to lead, probably didn't even like him much. Never mind that officially, they weren't his team anymore. They had become his pack. His responsibility. They still belonged to him. So Tony stayed. And Tony submitted, as gracefully as he could manage. And that led to Tony being dangerously close to losing control, to shifting, which didn't make for the most efficient Senior Field Agent. Something that had certainly not gone unnoticed.

”DiNozzo!” Gibbs' voice cut through his thoughts with a Marine Standard Issue edge.

”...Yeah?” He was teetering precariously on the edge of insubordinance. Gibbs' eyes narrowed.

”Are you waiting for an engraved invitation?!”

”On your six...Boss.”


*


They had a new case. A dead Marine wife, Joy Fairport. Her husband was deployed, but due to come home in a few days. Her body was found in the living room by her sister-in-law, who'd come to pick her up for an ultrasound. Joy was eight months pregnant. With triplets. She'd been bound with electrical tape, gagged, stabbed multiple times and stuffed into a sleeping bag. Gibbs' jaw was so tight Tony was expecting crunching noises any second, he was on his sixth cup of coffee already and he was even more irritable and bad-tempered than usual. Dead wives and dead kids, even ones still in utero, did that to him.

For his part, Tony was feeling strangely distracted. There was something about this whole scenario that tickled annoyingly at the back of his mind, some connection that refused to fall into place. And then there was that faint scent in the air, underneath the overwhelming smell of blood, somehow familiar, but for the life of him he couldn't...

”DiNozzo! Was my order in any way unclear? Shoot. And. Sketch! NOW!”

Oh yeah. Gibbs was in a mood, alright. And that wasn't helping his own mood, much. And Tony's mood was definitely not helping him keep hold of his slipping control. Focus, Tony. Play nice. Be a good boy. Suck it up. Deciding discretion would have to be the better part of valour for now, Tony kept his mouth shut and just bent to his task.

Joy Fairport was a pretty little thing, he noticed absently, when Ducky and Palmer carefully extracted her from the sleeping bag in order to check her liver temperature. All blonde curls, delicate wrists and bluer than blue eyes. Dainty, was the word that came to mind. Like a porcelain doll.

”There now, my dear, isn't that better?” Ducky murmured and patted her comfortingly on the arm. ”I can't imagine it was very comfortable in there...In fact, I remember this case, where a young man had gone camping with his family. Very tragic. You see, he was a very restless sleeper, and in the night he had somehow twisted and turned until he ended up upside down in his sleeping bag! Just like you here. He, however, was not stabbed, but suffocated accidentally...”

”Are you saying she was alive when she was put in the bag, Dr Mallard?” said Gibbs, tersely.

”Oh no, not at all. She had perished already. I would be very surprised indeed if the cause of death was anything other than hypovolemic shock. She bled out, Agent Gibbs. And it was not in here. There would be a very large pool of blood, at the scene. The only blood here is what little has seeped through the underside of the bag.”

”T.O.D?”

”Hmm...the sleeping bag has probably kept her body temperature from falling as swiftly as it would otherwise have done, but I'd estimate the time of death to approximately twelve to fourteen hours ago.” Ducky wiped off the liver probe and handed it to his assistant. ”I think we're ready to take Mrs Fairport home with us now. The gurney, please, Mr Palmer?”


*


”BOSS! Got something!” McGee's yell came muffled from above.

When Tony and Gibbs found Ziva and McGee on the second floor, the something turned out to be, just as Ducky predicted, a very large pool of blood. At the edge of it lay a sharp-looking kitchen knife with a worn wooden handle. Above it, on the light yellow wall of the nursery, someone had taken advantage of this abundance of red. Four words had been carefully written out in a calligraphy every bit as pretty as that on the fateful SWAK letter.

”'His red right hand'?” said McGee questioningly.”What does that mean?”

Somewhere in Tony's head, a little jingling alarm of recognition went off. His red right hand. ...his red right hand..? wait, wait, wait...it's a quote. Red right hand. The odd scent from downstairs was more noticeable here. It made his hackles rise.

”Maybe the killer is right handed,” Ziva suggested, practical as always. ”His hand was probably quite red by the time he finished, yes?”

Tony would have snorted derisively, but his mind was working furiously and he'd almost caught it, almost...red right...arme again his red right hand...to plague us...

Gibbs, as usual, had no patience for idle chatter. ”Get back to work, people! This room won't process itself!” It seemed Tony's state of distraction had become too obvious, and it was not appreciated in the least judging by the severity of the slap that suddenly connected with the back of his head. ”What the hell is wrong with you today, DiNozzo? Get moving!”

Managing to ignore his boss' glare, Tony finally captured the unwilling memory. ”Milton!” he blurted. Apparently the rest of his team were uneducated heathens, however, since all he got for his revelation was a growl from Gibbs, a 'Huh?' from McGeek and a 'What?' from Ziva. He gasped in mock-despair. ”I'm surrounded by plebeians! That,” he said, pointing meaningfully at the grisly writing, ”is a line from a very famous poem. 'Should intermitted vengeance arme again his red right hand to plague us?' so on, so forth. John Milton. Paradise Lost. 1667. A classic. I'm surprised you didn't catch it, Probie.”

”And since when do you read, Tony?” scoffed McGee in disbelief, looking slightly defensive. ”Especially poetry?”

”Maybe it comes in a cartoon version,” Ziva smirked. Condescending little bitch! If only you knew...

”Movie, actually,” he replied, smirking right back, enjoying her irritation at his quick retort and the dubious looks that told him they had no idea if they should take him seriously or not. ”Ow!” His right hand flew up to the back of his head reflexively. His left fisted itself into anemic white at his side. ”Getting to work now, Boss.”


*


Five hours later, back at the office, he was finally rid of the aggravating and seemingly unplaceable smell, though he was still battling that feeling of not-quite déja vu – he knew the crimescene from somewhere - bound and gagged and stuffed into a sleeping bag - but he'd be damned if he could figure out where from. He'd worked plenty of similar cases over the years, of course, but they weren't it, and neither were any of the movies he'd seen. It was pissing him off. The skin between his shoulderblades itched in irritation. Gibbs was apparently trying to set a new world record in bastardry, mostly using him as a target, Ziva was taunting him and McGee was looking sickeningly smug about it all. That was pissing him off too. He knew himself well enough to recognise that a fair bit of this anger was due to his approaching lunacy, his moon-madness, and that he wouldn't normally be reacting like this. The insight didn't help in the slightest. By the time Abby called to tell them she had something, it was an effort to keep back the growl rising in his throat.

*

Even the heavy, sultry Abby scent of jasmine and gunpowder didn't sooth him as it usually did.

”What've you got, Abby?” Gibbs turned off the stereo with one hand and shoved Abby's latest CafPow fix at her with the other.

”Wow, Gibbs!” Abby teased, ”anyone saying men can't multitask should meet you!” She smiled wickedly around the straw. The ice rattled loudly in the plastic cup.

”What have you got, Abby,” he repeated irately.

”As I've stated before, patience is definitely not your virtue,” she tsked. ”The only prints on the knife were Mrs Fairport's, and they were old and smudged, so I bet the killer had gloves on and just grabbed it in her kitchen on his way in. One of the Fairports probably have immigrant ancestors because the knife is quite old and was made in a Swedish city rather famous for knife-making... I wonder if it's her or him. Probably her...I can't see him in a viking outfit. Hey, maybe you've got Scandinavian ancestors too, Gibbs! It would explain your blue eyes...and the fact you don't talk much. Scandinavians are supposed to be terse yet loveable...”

”Abby!”

”Sorry Gibbs, but you ARE! Anyway, the partial footprint you found in the blood was admittedly kind of smudged, but I matched it to a pair of Converse Allstars...very hip, but a rather stupid shoe to wear when you're desanguinating someone...they soak up liquid like a sponge. If you find them, you'll definitely be able to tell on sight. They're a male size 9, so it's either an average guy, or some kind of female bigfoot...”

”Like Tony then!” Ziva interjected nastily.

It was a really crappy insult. He was more insulted by the crappiness of it than by the insult itself. In his current mindset, however, it was the very final straw, and before he knew it he was more than half shifted and shaking in his attempt to keep control. Luckily the others were focused on the plasma...except Abby, who half-turned and froze, locking gazes with him for an endless second. He knew what she saw – green eyes turned golden, glowing savagely, mouth twisted into the beginnings of a snarl – him, without any traces of civilization or restraint. He willed her silently to let it go, to not freak out and not draw any attention to him. Somehow, he must have communicated that to her, because she took a deep breath and visibly shook herself out of her daze, but kept a wary eye on him.

”...I'm running DNA on the strand of hair I found stuck on the tape now.” She kept on with barely a pause, though her slender fingers were fiddling nervously with Bert's ears. Relieved, Tony closed his eyes and concentrated on forcing his mind back out of its feral state. They flew back open again as Abby's next sentence registered.

”There's something really hinky about this case, Gibbs...sleeping bags and Milton on the walls? I KNOW that from somewhere! But I don't know where! I wish I could figure it out,” she pouted and hugged her hippo firmly. So...you feel it too?

”You will, Abs, you will. Good job.” Gibbs pressed play on the stereo on his way out, and as Tony all but fled from the lab, he was followed by a familiar drawling male voice, backed by a slow, dark and driving beat.

'Have mercy on me, sir
allow me to impose on you
I have no place to stay
and my bones are cold right through
I will tell you a story
of a man and his family
and I swear that it is true...'

The elevator doors cut off the rest.


*


The door bell startled Tony out of his channel-surfing stupor. His mind was still in turmoil, and he'd been unable to concentrate, not even on the Hellraiser marathon on cable. Getting to his feet slowly, he cracked his shoulders before opening the door.

”Tony, you got some splainin' to do! What's up with that freaky glowy eye thing, huh? I haven't told anyone about it...yet...so you OWE me!”

In retrospect, he supposed it had been a bit optimistic to hope she'd put it down to an overactive imagination.




To be continued.

AURIBUS TENEO LUPUM – ii

-

”A friend is someone who knows all about you, and still likes you.”

-

Before Tony had a chance to reply, Abby had ducked under his arm, kicked her wet shoes off in the middle of his living room floor, and plopped herself down on his couch.

”Why hello, Abby,” he said dryly.”Please, come in. Make yourself at home.”

The glare aimed in his direction threatened painful death leaving no forensic evidence.”Tony, sit!” she ordered. He did. Abby was an intimidating woman, when she wanted to be. ”Now talk!”

He hesitated. He could give her some bullshit excuse, as he'd done in the past in situations like this, but she was a very clever girl, and he wasn't really sure he was up to the task of outsmarting her. As all the reasons why telling her the truth was a Very Bad Idea scrolled through his brain rapidly, he found to his surprise that he didn't want to lie to her. She was his best friend, she understood him better than anyone else, he trusted her and adored her completely, and she didn't freak out...much...earlier...would it really be so bad to tell Abby? After all, she already believed in aliens and spontaneous human combustion, she had friends who were into voudoun and friends who pretended to be vampires, possibly even were vampires, come to think of it, and she'd dated Timothy McGee. How much more open minded could a girl get? This probably wouldn't even faze her.

”If I tell you this...you have to swear it will stay between us.”

”Of course! I can keep a secret!” As he gave in she dropped the anger act. Excitement born from curiosity glittered in her eyes.

”I'm serious, Abs...this is really big. It can't be like when you were supposed to keep Ziva's phone number secret and I got it out of you with a little bullying. You need to be able to keep this from Gibbs without his morning coffee.”

The excitement became tinged with a bit of apprehension, probably at the thought of a caffeine-deprived Gibbs, but she nodded decisively. ”Okay. I swear - on my mass spectrometer! - not to tell anyone. Ever! Now spill.”

”Okay....okay.” He bit his lip and wiped his suddenly sweaty hands on his dress pants. He hadn't been this nervous in...well...ever. ”Well...you see...basically... It's like...I have lycanthropy.” There. That wasn't so hard now was it?

Abby considered this. When her reply came, it was very slow and very deliberate. ”I have a feeling you're not talking about the mental illness.”

”No.”

”You mean lycanthropy as in you're a werewolf.”

”As in I'm a werewolf,” he agreed.

”As in you're violently allergic to silver, you change into a wolf under a full moon, not to mention you just happen to be undead?”

He smiled wryly. ”Pretty much, yeah.”

”Since when?”

”Long before we ever met.” He could tell she wasn't entirely satisfied with that purposely vague answer, but she let it go.

”And the glowy eye thing?”

”Was the wolf taking over my mind. We call it shifting. I can do it on purpose, but mostly it happens when I'm really truly supremely pissed off. Like today.”

She took a deep, deep breath, and then slowly exhaled. ”Oh-kay..!” There was a pause. ”Strangely enough...or maybe not so strangely, after seeing you go all glowy...I believe you.” He hadn't thought she'd just take his word for it, had expected demands for the change, but as always, she surprised him. Her smile was a little shaky, but it was there. ”Come to think of it, it's kind of obvious now that you've told me.”

His eyebrows rose in disbelief. ”Oh really?”

”Yeah! I always thought you were like a big puppy.” He winced internally at being likened to a dog, but then conceded the point. After all, dogs were just wolves forced to stay in the puppy stage...which certainly applied nicely to his current situation. ”And then there's your ridiculously good hearing, and the way you just gorge yourself on food whenever you see some, without getting fat – that is SO unfair, by the way – ” she poked him accusingly, ”- and I'm betting you can smell when people are attracted to you, can't you?” He nodded. ”which would be why you can't stop yourself from flirting all the time, and then the way you just recklessly throw yourself into life and death situations like you're immort- Hey! You...you BASTARD!”

He adopted a wounded expression. ”What'd I do now?”

”You let me worry!” she fumed, outraged. ”All this time! We're supposed to be best friends! You KNOW I worry about you! You've got like a sign on your back that says 'Hurt me'! Psycho killers and terrorists and the plague and crazy wannabe housewives and Gibbs' old boss and god knows who, all bashing you over the head, and Kate is dead and that's bad enough, but if you ever... I don't...you...” Abby at a loss for words was not something he ever wanted to see again. ”...and you weren't even going to tell me you can't even die to begin with!” she finished. There were tears overflowing onto her cheeks now, and the salty scent made him feel like a complete asshole. He could see where she was coming from. From her point of view, he had lied – by omission, if not outright - and he had not trusted her, when she on the other hand had trusted him with her secrets. Of course she was hurt. While it was standard operating procedure – for obvious reasons - for a werewolf such as himself to keep his condition hidden from anyone not of his kind, he'd known in his heart he should have made an exception for Abby long ago. He'd never had a friend like her before. Abby believed in equality in all her relationships, and so far, he had not been giving her half as much as she'd been giving him. It was time to change that now, and hope that she'd forgive him.

”Abby...I can die. I just don't stay that way, unless it's caused by silver. Makes people pretty damn uncomfortable. I'd give Ducky a heartattack, waking up in the middle of him poking my kidneys or something.” He smiled awkwardly. ”If I had died on any of those occasions, my body would have been recovered and brought to revive elsewhere, and I would be every bit as dead to you as Kate is.”

Abby looked at him as if he was crazy. ”And that's supposed to make it better? You'd just DISAPPEAR, and I'd be alone and thinking you were dead, but it'd all be the same in the end, at least on MY end?”

”What else could I do? If I die and people see me dead, if my death becomes official, I don't really have a choice! Mysterious resurrections are kind of frowned upon in this day and age, Abs!” He sighed, and very cautiously put an arm around her, relieved when she accepted the comfort. ”I'm sorry, Abby. I really am. I promise I'll never not tell you something important again, alright?”

”You'd better not! And you'd better stop almost getting yourself killed, too!”

They fell silent, Abby cuddling into his side still sniffling softly. When the sobs ceased, he grabbed her gently by the shoulders and turned her to face him.

”Are we okay?” He'd do whatever it took to fix it, if she said no.

She nodded. ”We're ALWAYS okay, Tony...I just...I don't want there to ever be a Tony-shortage in my life, you know?” She wiped her eyes like a tired child. She was small and upset and her makeup was smudged all over her face, making her look like a raccoon. He felt himself melting into a puddle. Obviously deciding there had been enough emotional upheaval for one night, Abby changed the subject. ”Can we watch a movie now? We've never had a movie night at your place before. It's a really nice place, by the way.”

He snorted. ”Thanks.” Turning to his dvd-collection, he debated a moment before picking out The Lost Boys. ”This okay?” At her nod, he popped it in and grabbed the remote, but didn't press play just yet.

There was one more thing they needed to discuss first.

”Abby,” he said.

”Mhmm?”

”Next time you notice something hinky and decide to confront someone about it, please don't tell them you haven't told anyone else. It could be seriously bad for your health.”

She smiled up at him and sneakily liberated the remote from his hand. ”I know. But you'd never hurt me, Tony.”

”No...never.” That was one thing he was absolutely sure of. He and the wolf, they were in agreement about Abby.

Her smile grew in brilliance and she promptly curled up into a little ball next to him. ”Good. Now shush. The movie's starting.”

-

To be continued.

”Can everybody just notice how much fire I'm not on?”

-

Abby was Instant Messaging an anthropologist. She'd met him on vacation in London, in a club. It was a very nice club. Not quite as nice as she imagined the original Batcave, birthplace of all things goth, had been (after all, most of the amazing bands that had played there didn't even exist anymore...or, if they did, they had only just now reunited to cash in on the new goth wave, which kind of made them lose their appeal), but very nice anyway. She and the antropologist did drinks (with umbrellas), and danced, and then took a cab to Filthy McNasty's to see if they could spot Shane MacGowan (which they didn't), and in their disappointment they did some more drinks (without umbrellas), even though Abby didn't really like whiskey in the first place. Most importantly, they talked, and Abby learned that Horace (that was his name) was heavily into the supernatural. In fact, he was working on a thesis about the undead in European folklore. He claimed to have met both vampires and werewolves, and on one memorable occasion, a ghoul. Back then she had accepted the possibility, (after all, it was a very cool thought and she prided herself on never rejecting anything without sufficient proof), but on the other hand it could just have been his way of picking up girls. That he was telling the truth seemed a whole lot more likely now, though. Abby wanted information. Horace was the man to provide it.

When Tony had gone all bad horror movie in the middle of her lab, the first thing she'd wanted to do was laugh, and say VERY cool, Tony, where'd you get the contacts? but then those eyes met hers and they were REAL and dangerous and most of all nothuman, notatallhuman, and there was her empirical proof, right there, that there was indeed more in heaven and earth, Horatio, and she forced herself to stay still and act normal, because she could see how he struggled as he fought it, whatever it was, and alerting Gibbs to this wouldn't help, wouldn't help at all, because this Tony certainly didn't look like he was about to take anyone's orders...And then he closed his eyes, and when he opened them again, it was over. Gold back to green.

One part of Abby really wanted to believe she had imagined it, that it was just some kind of CafPow-fueled hallucination, but as she was left alone to sink into her office chair, she knew she hadn't and it wasn't. The other part was excited and practically bouncing at the prospect of an honest-to-god paranormal event happening right in front of her and was squealing at her to poke! prod! take samples! find out how it works! The two sides fought it out for a while, and then settled into an uneasy truce: ohmygothohmygoth it's so cool but what is that and what if it isn't even Tony anymore? All afternoon she sipped CafPow after CafPow while thoughts ran wild, round and round in her tricky little hamster maze of a mind. When it was time to leave, she was seriously juiced up on caffeine. She was also seriously worried, seriously confused, seriously curious. Serious, serious, serious, serious, serious. Seriously going to Tony's place to find out what the hell happened and yell at him for scaring her like that.

She'd never been to his place before, which was kind of odd considering that they had regular movie nights, and he was likely to have a better entertainment system than her. (But then, come to think of it, as far as she knew NO ONE had ever been to Tony's apartment, except for Gibbs, who was kind of hard to keep out of anywhere he wanted to be, and had a Rule about all agents handing him spare keys. Not that he'd need keys, if push came to shove.) She'd thought maybe it really was as Kate had speculated one day, a typical bachelor pad with tasteless furniture and Victoria's Secret catalogues, with floors that had probably never seen a vacuum cleaner and a fridge that never saw anything other than leftover pizza. He wouldn't want anyone to see THAT. It wouldn't match suave Tony with the immaculate suits.

But Kate had been wrong. The apartment had high ceilings, and big windows, and dark glossy parquetry dotted with persian rugs. The walls were painted white, and on them were pictures of women, sure, but these were framed Art Noveau prints, not glaring Playboy posters put up with tape. The furniture was rich but understated; mostly antiques. It was obvious a lot of thought had gone into the picking and placing of each piece. She didn't see a Victoria's Secret catalogue anywhere. It had all made her feel a bit out of place, to tell the truth, which was not something she was used to and definitely not something she liked. She hadn't let on, of course, waltzing in in the name of Friendship and Scientific Discovery, but she'd been off balance. His confession, (which she didn't even THINK to ask for proof of, she lamented. Yes, she believed him, but...hello, fur!), had tipped her even further, and then suddenly her emotions were all over the place and she was yelling and crying and Tony was pissing her off and then holding her, and he WAS still her Tony, no worries there, and she was so relieved...

And there were so many questions she hadn't asked. She needed to do some serious research, to be ready for next time. She was going to find out everything there was to know. She wasn't done with him yet!

# Hey Horace, I need some help! :) #

-

Tony was bored and frustrated. They were all bored and frustrated. It had been five days since Joy Fairport was found brutally murdered in her home, and they had nothing. No suspects, no leads. They had the hair found on the tape, but there wasn't a DNA match in the system. The tape was ordinary and could be purchased anywhere. The sleeping bag, like the knife, had already been in the house. They had interviewed Joy's parents and sister-in-law and her husband, when he arrived home, broken and devastated. None of them could think of a reason why anyone would want to hurt her. There was nothing odd in her phone records and nothing odd on her computer. They had checked her neighbours, her doctors, and her drycleaner, the library, where she read fairytales to children once a week, her favourite cafe, and the park right next to it where she used to take long walks. Nothing. The only thing they'd learned from the body was that the three unborn babies would have been girls, and the fact that Ducky said it looked like two killers, considering the stab wounds had been inflicted by alternating left hand/right hand blows, and had significant difference in depth. Since they didn't have even one suspect, it wasn't very helpful.

He couldn't decide if he liked the fact that Abby knew or not. Nothing good had ever come out of a human knowing before, but Abby...she made him feel like a real boy. Pinocchio references? Low, Tony, low...but true. She was the same loving albeit slightly morbid pixie she had always been. It was slightly scary and unbelievable how fast she'd just accepted and moved on, with no residual scepticism or fear, but he could smell the truth on her when she said it was so. If anything, this seemed to have brought them closer. Add to that the fact that, now that she knew, the wolf had apparently decided it was completely safe with her. Therefore a quick trip down to her presence and her scent helped immensely with his control issues, a fact of which he took advantage as often as he could. The closer he was to shift, the headier her scent, and sometimes he would feel almost drugged by it. On the other hand, she was still the same loving albeit slightly morbid and INSATIABLY CURIOUS pixie she had always been, and the myriad of questions she sprung on him from left and right left him feeling a bit hassled, to tell the truth. He wasn't too fond of her randomly tossing little silver charms at him with a 'Catch, Tony!', either, because of course he caught them, and of course it stung like hell, and he was NOT cute when he growled, thankyouverymuch! Then she explained it was only an experiment to find something she could coat her silver jewellery with so she wouldn't accidentally hurt him when she gave him a hug, and of course that was very sweet of her. He would have believed her, too, except for that wicked twinkle in those laughing eyes.

He looked up expectantly when Gibbs' phone rang, praying fervently to the Lady that something had turned up, something that would get him away from this desk and these files he knew didn't hold anything of further value, but that Gibbs insisted he look over again and again. Something that would let him back on the hunt.

”Abby says she's got something.”

The wolf stretched.


-

To be continued.

”It's not the thought that counts, it's the presents.”


-


”Gibbs! I've got great news!” Abby beamed. ”I've found a match for your mystery DNA!”

”And?”

”And what, my silver haired fox?”

”And whose is it?”

”Honestly...I have no idea. Whatsoever.”

As it turned out, Abby had been running DNA from another murder scene. She'd found two samples that didn't belong to the victim - a strand of hair, long, curly, darker blonde than Joy Fairport, and saliva on a cigarette butt. The saliva just happened to match the DNA of the shorter brown hair they had found on their scene. She'd barely gotten the information out before Gibbs turned on his heel and stalked up to the Director's office to steal – commandeer, Tony thought absently, nautical term – this new case from the team unlucky enough to have it in the first place.

Tony found himself watching Abby, something he'd been doing with increasing frequency lately – appreciating the way she was a constantly new and surprising blend of opposites, maiden and crone, Jezebel and Virgin, girl child and femme fatale, her joie de vivre, for some people so irreconcilable with her outer appearance and fascination with death, her grace, as she swept from her computer to the stereo – Nick Cave again – to the evidence table and- What the hell?

It was back, the annoyingly familiar smell, infuriating in its refusal to fall neatly into place in his head and tell him where he knew it from. It was emanating from the mass of frothy white lace and silk Abby was pulling from an evidence bag. He moved closer.

”So, what're you working on, Abs?” Getting a full whiff of the enigmatic scent mixed with eau d'Abby, he realized he didn't want it anywhere near her. It was floral and heavy, resembling european bird cherry, overly sweet, sickening – like too much whipped cream. Tony couldn't stop the disgusted face he made. He shook his head minutely in reply to Abby's questioning look, and mouthed 'Later'.

”Don't you think we should wait for Gibbs, Tony?” Ziva asked, patented patronizing eyebrow flying high.

”What I think is that Gibbs is expecting all pertinent information served...maybe not on a silver platter, because that's just not his style, but definitely in a coffee mug...the moment he walks back through that door, Zee-vah. McGee, pull up the file. Abs?”

”This is what the vic was wearing.” She held up the floor length nightgown. ”Very Harlequin romance. I don't think it was hers, though...Unless she's lost weight. Ducky says it's at least two sizes too big.”

”Petty Officer Elizabeth Holliday,” McGee announced, as the victim's service record popped up on the plasma screen. A petite redhead, not conventionally pretty, but attractive. At least as far as Tony could tell from the obligatory crappy service photo. ”Stationed at Norfolk. Supply clerk. 23 years old. Has a civilian room mate and an apartment off base. Was found yesterday by the Anacostia River, surrounded by newly planted rosebushes-” Tony liked that puzzled expression on McGee. It was a good look for him. ”- preliminary cause of death blunt force trauma to the skull.”

”She had a rose in her mouth, too,” Abby added, helpfully. ”With a little note attached.” She found the plastic bag holding said rose and note and studied it for a moment. ”Not very cheerful. 'All beauty must die.' It's the same handwriting as your Milton quote. I checked.”

”The MO is completely different,” Ziva stated.

”Thank you, Captain Obvious.” The part of Tony's mind that was cold and sharp and crystalline and logical, the part that made him so very good at finding obscure connections where nobody else thought to look, was turning the the whole scenario over and over, making the same alarm bells of recognition go off as in the first case. ”They find the murder weapon?”

”Nope, sorry.”

”Who is Captain Obvious?” Ziva demanded. ”Does he have any relevance to this case?”

Tony ignored her in favour of examining the crime scene photos. They were very pretty, in a morbid sort of way, like something out of an emo music video – the girl lay artistically posed in her borrowed white finery, glossy hair flowing out over the dark and newly turned soil under the blossoming roses. Her face was mostly undisturbed, the blows aimed at the side of her head rather than the front. The only thing disturbing his sense of the aesthetic was her lips, painted a dark shade of red never meant to be used by someone of her colouring. He got a mental image of carrots drenched in ketchup, and winced. Looking closer, he realized the lipstick was almost exactly the same colour as the flowers.

”Somehow I don't think the Avon lady would have recommended her to wear that lipstick,” he commented.

Abby cocked her head to the side speculatively. ”You are SO right, Tony. That is definitely not her colour. Makes her look pale...and not in the good way. In the low-fat-milk-under-bad-light way.”

”Uh...guys? You do know you're talking about a corpse, right?” Ladies and gentlemen, I give you Timothy McGee...defender of Good Taste.

”Being dead is no reason not to look your best,” Tony deadpanned, earning himself a throaty chuckle from Abby. It was one of his Sire's unofficial mottos. Tony had always thought it was a good one.

”You're not supposed to speak ill of the dead, Tony.”

”I'm not speaking ill of the dead, Probie, I'm speaking ill of the dead's makeup. Besides, speaking ill of the dead is kind of our job, if you hadn't noticed.”

”Your job is in danger if you don't quit standing around here lollygagging!” Gibbs, as always, had impeccable timing.”McGee! Ziva! Go talk to the roommate. DiNozzo! With me.”

”Where are we headed, Boss?”

”Crime scene. I don't trust Archer to not have missed something.”

”McGee!” Ziva hissed, ”Who is Captain Obvious?!”


-



The sun was shining, and the park was full of people enjoying the late spring afternoon. On a blue blanket sprawled a messy-haired young man and a girl with full skirts and a generous mouth, holding hands and staring up at the clouds. In between them lay an iPod with two sets of headphones. They did not talk, but sang along softly to the darkly sweet duet in their ears.


'...On the second day I brought her a flower
She was more beautiful than any woman I'd seen
and I said ”Do you know where the wild roses grow,
so sweet and scarlet and free?”

On the second day he came with a single red rose,
said: ”Give me your loss and your sorrow”
I nodded my head, as I lay on the bed
”If I show you the roses, will you follow?”'



The girl smiled, contentedly. Giving presents to people you care about was just so...satisfying.



-


To be continued.

“I’m bursting with fruit flavour.”


-


He found the murder weapon within five minutes of getting to the crime scene. That finely tuned sense of smell really came in handy sometimes. The scent of blood wafted his way seductively, and he pushed through the rosebushes (Gibbs had been really pissed that Archer hadn’t thought to dig them up for evidence.) and followed it a stone’s throw - Ahahahaha. Very amusing, Tony - down the river, and there it lay, on the bank, with a whole bunch of other medium sized pieces of granite. It was the only one with pretty red splatter paint on, though. Tony liked it. He photographed it as artistically as he could, because Abby might think it was nice, too, and then he bagged and tagged and licked his lips and maybe after he’d hunted down his prey… the killer…whatever…he could…whoa! Down, boy. He banished that particular line of thought as well as he could with the alluring tang of copper still in his nostrils and looked up at the sky. It was closer to dark than he would have liked, and he was betting there was no chance of him making it home before moonrise, not with Gibbs on the warpath, already riled up about Archer’s incompetence. He’d be lucky if he’d get to go home before the sun came up again.

Which left only one choice, really. Tony sighed, and dug out one of the dark capsules he kept next to the condoms in his wallet. He swallowed it dry, with a rueful smile at the setting sun, and prepared himself for an absolutely miserable night.


-


# He must be bloody ANCIENT to have the kind of control of his wolf you say he does, Abigail. O.0 #

# Don’t call me Abigail…Horry! :X #

# Sorry, pet ;)…It’s just, the weres I know…they don’t quite qualify as antiques yet, but they’re well on their way there, and they’re still barely coherent the day of the full moon. Puppies are completely off their rockers the entire WEEK. For him not to be… #

“Cubs,” Tony said, reading over her shoulder. “Young wolves are called cubs. Puppy is insulting. Implies doglike behaviour. Begging and slobbering and all that. Wagging of tails.” His tone was carefully neutral, but managed to convey both his opinion of dogs and exactly how he felt about her discussing him behind his back and breaking her promise. He was most definitely not happy. Abby froze.

“Tony!” Then she spun around to face him, wearing a big and hopefully disarming smile. “Hi! Don’t sneak up on me like that! And also don’t be mad at me. You’re not mad, are you? Because technically, I haven’t really told anyone, because Horry told me about this stuff before, so he already knew, you know, but back then I didn’t know if I should believe him or not, but now, obviously, I do, so-“

“…Horry.” Voice flat. “Someone answers to the name Horry. And you told him about me.”

“I didn’t tell him about you SPECIFICALLY,” Abby defended. “I just said I’d met a…a person of alternating species and questionable vitality. I’m a scientist, you know, which means it’s cruel and unusual punishment, keeping my curiosity unsatisfied. And you, mister,” she crossed her arms and glared at him, “haven’t exactly been forthcoming.”

He held himself very, very still. “…Okay. Okay, let’s make something clear, here. I’m not your test subject, Abby. I am not an experiment, and I don’t owe you any more explanations. I’ve already trusted you with more than I’ve ever given another human. If you can’t be happy with that…” He trailed off, shaking his head. “Forget it. Here.” An evidence bag was dropped on her table with a thunk. “Possible murder weapon. Gibbs wants answers ten minutes ago.”

“Tony…” She caught the flash of hurt and disappointment before his walls slammed up with a bang, shutting her out. It made her chest ache.

“No. Just…no. Not now, Abby. This is a thoroughly shitty day of the month to begin with, as your buddy Horry told you there. I’m not dealing with this too.” With that, he was out the door, leaving her with a quite large and bloody rock to analyze and a ball of ice where her stomach used to be.


-


The messy haired boy was loitering with intent outside a night club. By his feet sat a honey coloured canine, ears twitching impatiently. He petted it absently, keeping his eyes on the door.

He wished he could go inside – it had been wonderful the night before, with his pretty blonde china doll. She’d looked like a glowing laughing angel under the UV lights, and he’d danced with her feeling light as a feather. Then suddenly she’d stopped, eyes shining, and pointed to a girl dancing not far from them, a girl all glitter and green, with elaborately dreadlocked hair and scuffed docs. Isn’t she lovely she’d said, and he’d nodded, isn’t she lovely, and giftwrapped already. She’d spun them closer and smiled her heartstopper smile, and the green girl had smiled back, appreciatively, and will we see you here tomorrow? Yes.

Any minute now.


-


After his somewhat melodramatic outburst in Abby’s lab, Tony had managed to escape the office by being violently sick in McGee’s trash can. It had not been part of the plan. He was definitely having words with his provider about the strength of this last batch. Just as soon as he stopped puking. When that would be, was anybody’s guess.

Ziva had been ordered to drive him home. That had definitely not helped his nausea, at all. But she’d been rather nice about the whole thing, almost concerned. In fact, it was all he could do to get her to leave. Understandable. In her position, he’d take any Gibbs-break he could find, too. The man was down one agent. The rest of the team’s night would be brutal.

So would Tony’s night, by the looks of it. Currently, he was doing a rather good impression of an undignified heap on the bathroom floor. The way he felt now, he’d have several hours to improve on it.


-


To be continued.

”When someone says a place it haunted: Don't go in!”

-


For the second time ever Abby climbed the stairs leading to Tony's apartment. The first time she had come to yell at him. This time, she was quite prepared to let him yell at her.

She didn't like to admit it, but maybe she hadn't dealt with the whole thing as well as she had pretended. Maybe it had freaked her out a bit more than she'd let on. Maybe, she'd ducked and covered behind her science. Maybe there was no maybe about it. Another thing there was no maybe about was the fact that she owed Tony an apology. So here she was, all trembling smile and fiddling hands and yeah, she'd put on the dress that got that really interesting reaction out of him once, because she had a feeling she'd need all the advantages she could get.

It HAD struck her that possibly this wasn't the most opportune moment to be visiting a werewolf, it being early morning after the night of the full moon and all, but she really needed the apologizing over and done with. She hated when Tony was mad at her. It made her feel like she'd kicked a puppy. Cub, she reminded herself sternly. Kicked a cub. She took a deep breath, and did a last minute inventory of her pockets, reassuring herself that the handfuls of silver charms were still there, just in case. She was reasonably sure he wasn't furry in there. Anymore, at least. Better safe than sorry, though.

The whole him-staying-in-one-shape thing bothered her. She'd checked his schedule – he WAS out of the office most full moons (always the one in august), but there were several times she could remember him working long into the nights under Gibbs' watchful eye. So how did he do it? In-depth questioning of Horry hadn't really led to anything. His older wolf acquaintances had alluded to something that kept the change back, but they'd been very secretive about it. All he could say for sure was that they seemed strangely ambivalent about whatever it was – both a blessing and a curse, he supposed. Mostly a curse. As far as he could tell it was used as a very last resort. Abby didn't like the sound of that, didn't like the sound of that at all.

She knocked.

After a full minute of silence she knocked again. Then she tried the door. It opened silently. A dozen horror movie scenarios ran through her head before she hesitantly stepped inside. ”Tony?”

-

It was one of those breathtaking sunrises that really made you appreciate pollution. The honey blond girl sat on the wet grass in the puddle of her skirts, watching it. The messy haired boy was making clumsy braids in her hair, tongue sticking out in concentration.

She broke the silence. ”My brother will adore this one, I'm sure of it...you were perfect, darling boy!”

”Yeah?” Torn between giddy excitement at her praise, and dark unreasonable jealousy – he would do anything for her, give her anything, why wasn't that enough? Her brother didn't do any of that, now did he! No. Yet every other word out of her mouth was about him. The bastard. Smooth, slick, handsome bastard...

”Yes.” She leaned up to kiss him. ”I couldn't do it without you.”

-

So far, Tony had not jumped out at her from a dark corner, furry or otherwise, which, in a way, was kind of disappointing. Abby cheered up by reminding herself that she still had the master bedroom and bath to check, so there was a chance of scary ambushes yet. Then she reminded herself that a lack of scary ambushes as such wasn't really a bad thing. Then she told herself to stop stalling, and opened the bathroom door.

She paused. ”Huh. This is anticlimactic.”

-

Someone was poking him. He had very strong objections against getting poked. He would have voiced them, too, but he was still in the slurred, numb, is-this-my-bodypart stage, and felt that his rhetoric wouldn't be terribly effective. He went with a generic, off the rack groan, hoping that would get his point across.

Apparently not.

”Tony?” Poke. ”Tony, are you okay?”

Abby. What's Abby doing here? He forced his eyes to open – no mean feat, that, even if he did say so himself – and yes, there she was, looking concerned, and ready to poke. He figured she'd probably not gotten any better at deciphering groans in the last minute and a half, which meant he'd better try for actual syllables. You can do it, Anthony! Been talking for ages, now. Literally.

”Uhn.” Oh, VERY impressive, DiNozzo. Shock the lady with your eloquence, go right ahead. It took a heroic effort, but he managed to turn over onto his back and prop himself up against the tub. Sometimes he astounded even himself. ”'M fine.” Abby didn't look convinced. ”'S'jus...side effects,” he added, nodding with the same lack of grace as a rag doll.

”I thought you didn't get hangovers,” she smirked. ”At least that's what you told me last time we went clubbing.”

”I don't. S'not a hangover.” His body was still excruciatingly slow and unresponsive. He hated this part. And the puking part. And pretty much all the other parts, too. Except maybe the not sprouting fur in the office part.

”If you say so, Tony. Want me to get you some aspirin?”

”No.” His mouth felt unwieldy. ”There's...medicine cabinet. Brown glass bottle.”

She found it quickly, twisted the little glass stopper loose and gave the contents a suspicious sniff. ”What's this? And what am I supposed to do with it?”

”Atropine.” He deliberated a moment. He'd already dosed himself right after getting Ziva out the door, but most of that would have returned the same way it came quite early on in the night, as testified by the fact that he was still running in slow-mo. He decided he wouldn't just have words with his provider...there would be a lecture. With gestures. And possibly exploded diagrams. ”And y'put seven drops in a glass of water-”

”Atropine? I'm not giving you atropine. Tony, why do you have atropine? It's not good for you! And your eyes are pretty enough already!”

He gave her his best well-DUH look. ”I have atropine,” Tony explained patiently, enunciating as clearly as he could, ”because it's an antidote for aconite.” He waited for the coin to drop.

”Why would you need...?” Ka-ching. ”Oh. OH! Hey, that means-!”

”Yeah,” he replied, with the sigh of the long-suffering, ”J.K. Rowling got it least part right. Wolfsbane does subdue the wolf. Now please?” A glass was pressed to his lips. He swallowed as fast as he could, grimacing at the horrible taste. Then he leaned back to wait for his heart to speed up again. ”Don't see why you're so hung up on Remus Lupin, anyway. Thought Snape was more your type.”

Abby stuck her tongue out at him. ”Well, I didn't think you'd go for Malfoy, but...I guess you just never know.”

-

”So,” Tony said, pulling the thick wool blanket closer around himself, ”what are you doing here?”

They had migrated from the bathroom floor to the living room couch. Tony had been shivering violently by the time he was coordinated enough to move – his body bothering to notice how cold it was as his circulation went back to normal – and now he was wrapped up like a mummy on the rich leather, with his head in Abby's lap.

”I wanted to tell you I was sorry...for, you know...going psycho scientist on you.”

”I knew you were a psycho scientist when I told you.” He smiled slightly, then yawned.

”Yeah,” she bit her lip, ”but I broke my promise. And I was a pain in the ass. And I'm sorry. And I'm really really not happy with myself at all. I've been a horrible friend, haven't I?”

”Abby...” He wriggled around to free his right hand, then reached up to tug on one of her pigtails affectionately. ”Yes, you pissed me off thoroughly by talking to someone about me, but I understand why you did it. You wouldn't be you if you didn't want all the answers. Yes, you were a pain in the ass. I've been a pain in the ass to you too. And if I had been more accommodating and given you more information, you probably wouldn't have broken your promise to begin with. And what'shisface...Horry - I still can't believe someone's actually called that – seems safe enough, but you need to understand, there are people out there who hunt people like me. And people like you, for accepting people like me as something more than monsters. They are smart and they are ruthless. You have to be careful, Abs. I forgive you for telling Horry, but please don't tell anyone else, and don't tell him anything more. Especially not about the wolfsbane. Hunters know it can hurt us, but they don't know we can make use of it. It has to stay that way. Okay?”

”Okay.” She met his eyes, solemnly, looked deep into dilated pupils. ”I don't know how to promise now...I'm not trustworthy anymore. I've already broken my promise once, even if I thought it didn't count.”

”You didn't have all the facts. And that was my fault. I trust you, Abby. Okay?”

Abby nodded, hesitantly. ”Okay. I won't let you down again. I promise.” She took a deep breath, and pulled herself together, back to normal, cheerful Abby. ”By the way, that was a very mature speech, Tony.”

He rewarded her quip with one of his megawatt smiles. ”Well...upside of aconite poisoning, I suppose. You spend the night feeling like crap with a totally clear head. Good for introspection. Hey...you're wearing my favourite dress!”

”I know. It's meant as part of the apology.”

”Good part. Very good part.”

-

To be continued.

(vii)

"Are you freebasing? Enquiring minds want to know."


-


"Anything new come up on the case after I took off?" Tony asked, in an effort to not fall asleep.

They were watching infomercials. He had more than a hundred channels, and that's what Abby stopped at. Infomercials. Her eyes were glued to the screen and she was chuckling insanely to herself. Occasionally he thought he saw her mouthing along to the dialogue, but he was admittedly a bit out of it, so he could have imagined that. Hopefully.

("Did somebody say 'Muffins?'")

"No," she replied absently, popping another pistachio in her mouth and placing the shells in the growing pile on his chest. "But Gibbs broke my phone."

Tony blinked. "He what?"

"He broke my phone. I was in the evidence garage turning over every single leaf on a dozen rosebushes – it was like a huge and exhausting and really boring game of He-loves-me-he-loves-me-not...the answer was NOT, by the way – and Jimmy was on a food run for everybody but he was kind of taking forever and I thought maybe he'd been distracted by Agent Lee – can you believe he thinks I don't know about that? You know about that, right? Of course you do - and I was really hungry so I took out my phone to call him and then Gibbs snuck up on me!" she said, as if that explained everything.

"And, what?...he used his glare of doom to make your phone implode for making personal calls on his time?" Tony guessed. "No, wait...he only attempts that with field agents."

Abby stuck her tongue out at him. "Ha, ha. Funny. But no. He snuck up on me and that caused me to freak out and then I almost fell into the wickedly prickly 'Pride of England' roses but Gibbs caught me at the last moment and that sent the phone flying and then McMasters backed over it with the fork lift. Splat. Or, you know, more like crunch. Gibbs was like the chaos butterfly. It flaps its wings in the Amazon and then there's a storm in Africa. He said he'd get me a new one."

"He didn't get ME a new one when he threw mine out the window of a moving car."

"Of course he didn't. That was clearly YOUR fault, Tony. Ooooh. Watch this! This is the best part."

"There are no 'best parts' of infomercials."

"Are too! Now shh!"

("Let me ask you: What is the worst job you have to do in the kitchen?"
"And almost every meal starts with it?"
"Chopping garlic! Stinky, nasty garlic!")

Okay, so he hadn't imagined it. Abby was definitely miming. There was a terrifying, cigarette wielding harridan on the screen, ohh-ing and ahh-ing over perfectly chopped onions in just ONE-TWO-THREE-FOUR seconds! Tony didn't think they looked very perfectly chopped. Nothing like Nana Laura's, that's for sure. He yawned. Nana Laura wouldn't have liked this century. Too many people cheating themselves through life. Mio bambino terribile, he could hear her say, as she'd done so many times in the past, man can not expect true happiness as long as he has nothing of his own he can feel proud of. It needs not be some grand accomplishment...This bread that I bake, it may seem like a small thing to some, but it is good, is it not? It melts on your tongue and fills your belly. I take pride in that. I say to myself, I, Laura, made this bread, and it keeps hunger away from us. It is a quiet happiness, but it lasts. I pray to Our Lady every day that you will find something to be proud of, Antonio. Have you?

I try, Nana. I try. The yawn came back with a vengeance, and he stretched half-heartedly, turning away from the tv and into Abby, causing a rockslide in the mountain of nutshells. He couldn't bring himself to care, as he was already slipping into sleep. Gibbs would just have to deal with being one man down for another day, because Tony was not moving...

-

The lab was silent. With no tests to run, Abby found herself playing stupid flash games online. She was congratulating herself on beating the highscore of Cubesteak's Slingshot Surprise, (the goal of which was to shoot pirates with a slingshot by clicking frenetically on the left mouse button), when McGee walked in.

"Heyyy, Timmy!" she greeted. "Check out my mad virtual slingshot skillz!"

"Hello, Abby," he said, with that precise little pause he put between his words when he was either a) petulant or b) playing besserwisser. Looking up at him, she carefully circled option a in her mind. And her day had been looking so good! With the apologizing going amazingly well, and her favourite infomercial on tv, and Tony making that adorable sleepy growly noise when she wriggled out from under him on the couch to go to work, and Gibbs dropping off no less than TWO CafPows even though he knew she had nothing new for him...she did NOT want a cranky McGee raining on her parade and ruining the general awesomeness.

"So...What's up, McGee?" she asked warily. Please let it be about the case. Please let it be about the case. Please let it be about the case.

"Nothing...Can't I just come down to see you?" McGee, attempting to be covert? With HER? Oh, this was worse than she'd thought.

"You can," she allowed, "but you're not. There's something bugging that MIT-approved mind of yours, and I have no idea whatsoever what it is, but I'm sure you think I should know, so you'd better enlighten me."

"I...don't know what you're talking about." he said guiltily, looking everywhere but at her.

"Uh-huh." She took a deep, fortifying sip of CafPow, and shot some more pirates. McGee stayed where he was.

"What's going on with you and Tony?" he blurted, after five minutes of uncomfortable silence.

"What do you mean?" Don't panic, don't panic...he can't possibly know about Tony. There's no way. Unless he hacked my computer. Oh my goth, he didn't hack my computer, did he? The BASTARD! I'm so kicking his ass!

"Come on, Abby, I'm not stupid! The way he looks at you! And the way he's always hanging around down here now! Are you seeing him?"

Abby fought the urge to laugh out loud in relief. Oh. He's just jealous! Then she got pissed off. They had been over for a long time, which had been his idea to begin with, (his reason being that he thought she got 'overly possessive' when he chatted up girls in her lab), and she'd agreed that they were probably better off as just friends, because that was the lamest excuse she had ever heard. She'd gotten over it, and they had fallen back into the rhythm of friends-and-coworkers, and now here he stood, all self righteous indignation, demanding answers as if he had some kind of claim to her. Where exactly did he get off?

Her eyes narrowed. "Suppose I am, how would that be any of your business?"

"Abby! It's Tony!" Judging by his tone, he clearly felt that should be enough to deter her. Huh. Abby's code of honour stated emphatically that it wasn't fair to insult someone if that someone wasn't there to insult you back. (Exceptions were made if you didn't know anyone was listening, because it's hardly your fault if people sneak around in an unsporting manner. Or if you were off on a really good rant, that was an exception too, because you couldn't be expected to know where you were going with what you were saying until you got there). McGee was seriously in violation of the code. She crossed her arms over her chest, going into protective mother lion mode. Oh, it's ON, buster!

"Yeees, and your point is?" She fluttered her eyelashes at him exaggeratedly. "Tony is a catch! He's cute, charming, generous, funny, has taste," she gave him a pointed look, "drives an awesome car, can order dinner in Italian..." she paused, smirking wickedly, "...hey, I know what this is about! You want him for yourself, admit it!" Score!

"What?! No!" he sputtered, turning a rather nasty shade of red. Abby performed an intricate little dance of malicious glee in her head. "Abby! You can't go out with Tony! You know what he's like!"

"Yes, I know what he's like. He's my best friend! And since he's had your back for several years I kind of figured YOU knew what he's like, too, but apparently not! And you can untwist your fugly thursday boxers, because I'm not seeing him! But if I was, and if I ever do, it's STILL none of your business, Timothy McGee!"

"And do you think Gibbs would think it was none of his business, either? Huh?"

She very much wanted to smack him. Hard. "Gibbs, very much like you, actually, has no say in my lovelife at this point. Now I think you should go, because you're just being nasty."

The awesomeness was definitely ruined.

-

Kate, when she was alive, had claimed to have a whole list of reasons why she never wanted to see Tony's apartment. He'd pretended to be insulted, but really, he didn't want her to see his apartment either. It had always been his sanctuary, his den, and he tried to keep it as free of foreign scents as possible. He never took any of his dates there – the luxurious egyptian cotton sheets were for him alone. He could count on the fingers of his hands the number of times there had been more than one expensive cut crystal glass waiting to be washed and dried on the kitchen counter. He hired a service to come polish the floor once every three months, (vacuuming was fine, but a man had to draw the line somewhere) and that was usually it for human presence. Just the way he wanted it. A clean and calm oasis, without threats or aggravations, somewhere to escape the artillery of sounds and scents that assaulted him as soon as he was out the door.

Now, though, his dominion had been thoroughly invaded. Normally this would have sent him into a territorial cleaning frenzy, but Abby's scent drifted langorously through his rooms, blending with his own musk and penetrating everywhere, and to his surprise he didn't mind at all. If anything, it was a bit too nice, almost like the scent of sire, almost like home, and he knew that should scare the crap out of him. For the life of him he couldn't figure out why it didn't.




To be continued.

(viii)


"For what we are about to see next, we must enter quietly into the realm of genius."


-


It was raining. "A torrential downpour, my dear," said Abby to herself, mimicking Ducky. She was on her way out, meeting some friends for dancing and drinks, and had stopped in the shelter of the doorway to stare incredulously at the rain, which wasn't so much droplets as thick ropes hanging down from the sky, whipping the ground. "Oh, great." While her vinyl bustier was as waterproof as a very small and sexy top can possibly get, the thick black velvet skirt most definitely was not, and neither was her mascara, come to think of it. Her hearse was parked on the far side of the parking lot. Walking there through this would leave her looking like a bedraggled norwegian blackmetal reject, Jack Skellington umbrella or not.

She considered her options, and had just decided that going back upstairs to get a big black garbage bag to use as a kind of whole-body condom was her best bet, when the deluge abruptly let up. Suspiciously, she looked up at the sky, still covered in ominously dark and heavy clouds, threatening more rain soon. A quick dash across the wet asphalt, avoiding as many of the deeper puddles as possible, and she was in the driver's seat. The engine started on the third try – thank you! - and she drove off into the night.

-

Lottie missed her brother. She missed his smiles and his charm and the way other women envied her for having his full attention. She missed waltzing with him, giggling at the wicked gossip he whispered in her ear about the other people present as he effortlessly swept her across the dance floor. She missed playing with him in the forest. She missed arguing with him about art and theatre and literature, but not politics. She missed being his spoiled and adored little sister. She was sure he missed her too, even though their last meeting hadn't ended well. He had been dreadfully upset over her breaking that toy of his, and her brother had a memory like an elephant. A grand gesture of apology was needed, a marvellous gift to show him how much she cared for him, and then he would forgive her and all would be well in her world.

And she had thought of the perfect present, yes she had. It was made to appeal to all his senses, to challenge his mind and give him hours of distraction, it was both beautiful and practical with special attention paid to all the intricate little details, and it was almost finished.

She hadn't made it all herself, of course. The boy was most helpful, almost too eager to aid her. She'd found him in a coffee shop, his messy head in Baudelaire's 'Les fleurs du mal', and she'd known he was perfect, that he would understand. With just a shy smile and a quoted line of poetry, a toss of blonde curls and a ruffle of cloth as she gathered her skirts around her to sit, she had caught him – what was that expression – hook, line and sinker? Dear, sweet boy. She smiled at him fondly.

"Would you lace me up, Aaron dear?" She turned toward the mirror and studied her reflection as he pulled the waist cincher tight. Searching through the makeup scattered on the dressing table, she chose a dark red lipstick, to match the plump cherries on her knee-length black dress. There. Done.

Lottie blew herself a kiss, and then gracefully accepted the hand of her messy haired toy, letting him lead her out the door. She had come all the way over the ocean to get her brother back. That didn't mean she couldn't enjoy herself while she waited.

-

Abby was not having fun. The club was packed with people and the music was good, but one of her friends had thrown a hissy fit quite early in the evening, convinced that she was flirting with his new boyfriend, and the other two had proven to be remarkably disloyal and were at present shamelessly draped over one of her least favourite persons in the world EVER, leaving her alone with her fifth Red Bull. And no, she was not sulking. She was...silently projecting her displeasure.
Which was so not the same thing. At all.

There was a tinkling laughter, and then a body crashing into her, causing her to spill the rest of her drink all over her dryclean only skirt. Typical. Just typical. She tried to brush as much of the liquid off the fabric as she could before it soaked in, but it was a lost cause.

"Sorry about that." The voice was clear and light, with a pronounced english accent, and when Abby looked up at its owner she saw a girl, very pretty, with long blonde hair put up in intricate ringlets. She wore a dress Abby wouldn't mind getting her hands on – black with a pattern of cherries, in a flimsy, dreamy fabric, caught right in between slutty and elegant. A boy with an emo haircut and vintage jeans leaned heavily on the girl's slim shoulder. "I think my companion may have had a bit much to drink." She smiled disarmingly. Abby found herself disliking the girl intensely.

"Don't worry about it," Abby said curtly, coming to her full height and putting the now empty can on a nearby table. "I was just about to leave, anyway."

"Let me get you a new drink, first. It's the least I can do."

"Thanks, but no thanks."

The girl shrugged, bright smile never slipping. "Very well then. See you around, maybe."

I hope not. Abby managed to stop herself from actually saying that out loud, but just barely. She made her way to the exit as fast as she could without looking like she was running, the girl's gaze poking her hard in the back. You so do not deserve that dress, missy.

The car refused to start. Of course it did, because this was apparently her unlucky day. She tried again. And again. And again. Nothing. Et tu, Brute?

She reached into her bag for her cell phone. It wasn't there. Of course it wasn't, because it had been crushed under a fork lift, and she hadn't wanted one of the utilitarian replacements Tony kept in the filing cabinet for when Gibbs got pissed off at modern technology. She was phoneless and alone. Her skirt was ruined. She felt like the heroine of a highschool movie from the 80's.

And what did heroines of highschool movies from the 80's do after the awful night out? They called their best guy friend from a pay phone and got picked up and taken home and fed ice cream, that's what! Pay phone! There was one on the corner. She found a quarter in the depths of her bag.

One signal. Three. Five. She was just starting to worry that maybe her memory for numbers wasn't as good as she thought it was, when he answered. The at present very small corner of tranquil peace and serene quiet in her mind felt sorry for him, being drowned like that under a veritable landslide of words as she tried to fit absolutely everything into a quarter's worth of phonetime.

"Abby, slow down. What do you need?"

"Ice cream."

"Okay. Where are you?"

-

On the way home the rain came back for a rather impressive repeat performance. Thunder could be heard rumbling faintly in the distance, and Abby was quite certain that if there should happen to be a sudden downpour of fish as well, (there were several recorded instances of that), they would survive rather nicely and probably be able to swim back into the clouds, if they wanted to. There was certainly enough water around. She shared this thought with Tony. He laughed and continued guiding his Mustang through the sheets of water with calm confidence, driving much faster than Abby would have dared in this weather, and much smoother than Gibbs or Ziva did in ANY weather, but then she kind of suspected he'd already been driving when Gibbs had been short and polite and answering to Leroy, and probably even before there had been a state of Israel. She smiled. Practise makes perfect.

While they were stopped at an intersection, Tony reached under his seat and fished out a plastic grocery bag, which he dumped in her lap.

"I believe there was a request for gelato, my lady?"

The bag held treasures beyond imagination. There were three pints of Cherry Garcia ice cream, a bottle of vanilla vodka, five blue fizzy lollipops and a package of skull-patterned drink umbrellas. "Tony," she said with reverence, "I think I might love you. You are clearly a gift from the gods."

"Tell that to Ziva and McGee. For some reason, they refuse to believe me when I say it," Tony sighed mournfully.

Abby huffed at the mention of McGee, still more than a little annoyed. After all, it was his fault the entire day had gone bad to begin with! She took out her frustrations on a candy wrapper, tearing it away with her teeth. The lollipop tasted like very tasty chemicals. It was absolutely lovely.

"Is this turning my tongue blue?" she asked after a minute of intense slurping, sticking said body part out for him to inspect.

He glanced over and nodded, smirking. "Yup."

"Cool."

-

They were half way through the ice cream, three quarters down the bottle, and there was an army of little paper umbrellas laying knocked out on the lid of the coffin, precariously close to the thick scented candles Abby had lit two hours ago when the thunder storm came closer and the power went out. It was right over their heads now, not even a breath between the flash and the resounding bang. From what they could tell, electricity had been knocked out all over their part of the city.

"I'm getting this overwhelming urge to quote Young Frankenstein," Tony said, drizzling more vodka over his ice cream. "'Hallo. Vould you like a roll in ze hay?'"

Abby giggled uproariously and smacked him in the back of the head with her spoon. "Tony! You naughty boy! Don't say things like that when we have practically no clothes on unless you mean it!"

They had been thoroughly soaked, not to call it drenched, after running inside from the car. Mostly because Tony had parked as far away as he could get from any other car in the lot, insisting, not unlike an overprotective mother, that he would not leave his baby alone right next to some strange vehicles, and that was that. Unfortunately, as far away from other cars as you could get also proved to be as far away from the door as you could get. Or maybe not so unfortunately, depending on how you looked at it, since it meant she now had Tony stretched out on her couch in just his underwear, while he waited for his clothes to dry. There would be no complaints from her, none at all, even though her velvet skirt would probably never be back to its old self. Abby herself was curled up in her favourite oversized and worn out Misfits-tshirt and a thick pair of stripy black and white overknee socks.

"'It's fun!'" Tony continued, unperturbed. "'Roll, roll, roll in ze hay, roll, roll, roll in ze...'" Abruptly, he sat up, listening intently. "'Frau Blücher!'" Abby dutifully whinnied, watching his ass appreciatively as he stood to look out the window. "Um, Abs?"

"Yes?"

"Is there any reason in particular why Gibbs and McGee would pay you a visit at one in the morning in the middle of a massive thunder storm?"

"Well...they could be dying for a game of Monopoly...was that a rhetorical question?" she asked hopefully. "Because Gibbs always gets the hat, and it's not fair."

"Uh, no. They are moving in fast as we speak. Gibbs doesn't have any coffee, either."

"Oh. That could possibly be kind of not good, Tony. Seeing that we're...slightly tipsy...and mostly naked. They could get 'roll in ze hay'-ideas. And then Gibbs could get 'A riot is an ugly thing...undt, I tink, that it is chust about time ve had vun'-ideas. And then there could be yelling. And that would be...not good. We need to make coffee. Fast."

"You think?"

"Especially since you're here when you're supposed to be home sick in the middle of a case, yeah."

"Oh, hell. He's going to kill me. He really is. I hate being killed. I really do. You get all itchy when you wake back up. It's horrible." He looked very sad at the prospect. Abby hugged him consolingly.

There was a loud and very Gibbsian knock on the door. They froze.

"Okay, what do we do?" she whispered. "Whatever it is, we need to think of it fast." He shrugged, making the muscles in his shoulders move in intriguing and very distracting ways under her hands.

"Abby! You in there?" Gibbs saw no problem in waking the neighbours, apparently.

"Uh...Just a minute!" she called, scanning the open plan loft for ideas. Well, DUH! "Tony, you can hide in my coffin!"

"Nuh-uh."

"What do you mean, nuh-uh?" she hissed in disbelief.

"I am not hiding in a coffin for who knows how long," Tony hissed back, vehemently. "I hate coffins. They remind me of being dead."

"You said you hate being killed, too, so pick the lesser of two evils! Unless you have a better idea?"

Tony paused, stumped, then suddenly smiled at her brightly. "Actually, I do. Close your eyes."

"They're not going to go away just because we can't see them! And my brain happens to be larger than my eyes! We're not ostriches!"

"No, but I'm a wolf." He tugged on her pigtails. "Shh. Trust me. Close your eyes."

She did. There was a gasp, a thud, a drawn out sound like knuckles cracking, ten seconds of silence, and then something cold and wet nudged her softly. Her eyes flew open and she jerked her hand away, and then... "Whoa." I might have to admit his idea was better.

The wolf was large and sleek and charcoal gray. Tony's green eyes, overlayed with gold, stared into her own solemnly. She reached out, amazed, and lightly stroked the luscious fur on his head. It was thick and silky and she wanted to bury herself in it.

"Abby!" Gibbs seemed to be losing his patience. Tony's ears twitched. Claws clicking on the floor, he sauntered over to the door, all sinuous muscle and lazy menace, and gave her a pointed look that clearly said 'Planning on joining me any time soon?'

"Coming!" She kicked Tony's discarded black boxer briefs in under the sofa. Then she started giggling helplessly, because this had to be the strangest, most fucked up day in the history of strange days, and also she was a bit drunk. Then she took a deep breath, and opened the door. "Hi, guys! What are you doing here?"

She gave Gibbs a once-over just to see if he happened to have any CafPow hidden on his person. It didn't look promising. He did hand her one of the utilitarian replacement phones, though.

"Power's out," he said tersely, as if she hadn't noticed. "Y'need a phone in case of emergency."

"Aww, Gibbs! You came all the way out here to give me a phone! Thank you! That's so sweet!" She hugged him enthusiastically, but backed off quickly when she realized exactly how wet he was. McGee's eyes were suddenly super glued to her chest. Abby rolled her eyes, but before she could say anything, Tony yawned in what she thought was a rather theatrical manner, showing off every single one of his disturbingly sharp white teeth. McGee backed up a step.

"Abby...what the hell is that?"

"This?" She scratched Tony behind the ears, making him close his eyes in bliss, and smiled cheerfully at McGee. "It's...um....Fluffy!" Tony tensed under her ministrations and let out an almost sub-audible insulted growl. "I'm watching him for a friend."

"Fluffy," said McGee faintly.

"Yup! Hey, do you guys wanna play Monopoly?"

-

"So, McGee, what was it like being stuck in the elevator with Gibbs for more than an hour last night?" Ziva was sharpening the knife she kept in her belt, hands working efficiently, dark eyes focused on the younger agent.

"It was...tense," he replied reluctantly.

"You were in the elevator with Gibbs for an hour?" Tony whistled incredulously. "Way to go, Probie. You must have really pissed him off. Longest he kept me in there was five minutes."

"It wasn't that kind of stuck, Tony, the power failed and the backup generators didn't start."

"Sure. You keep telling yourself that." Faintly, he heard Gibbs footsteps approaching. He leaned back comfortably in his chair. "So! The case. Let's summarize. We have two dead women, killed in two different ways. We have DNA tying the cases together, but no suspects to test the DNA against. We have no motives. The women had nothing in common-"

"Yes they did," Ziva interrupted. "Petty Officer Holliday's roommate told me that the Petty Officer liked to take long walks in the same park as Mrs Fairport did."

"-nothing in common except the park," he amended, "and that's our only lead?"

"No," said Gibbs, using that impeccable timing again. "We also have a plant nursery that's short a few rosebushes. DiNozzo, David!"

A yellow post-it with the address was slapped into his hand as he grabbed his gear. "On it!"

Gibbs dismissed them with a short nod."McGee! We're going to the park." He stalked towards the elevator and paused with his hand on the button, before turning back to McGee. "You're taking the stairs."


To be continued.

(ix)


-

"There is always a moment right after every epiphany, where you go 'I can't believe I didn't think of that before'"

-



The plant nursery was called The Oasis, (a name that always made Tony smirk to himself and reminisce about a hundred different clubs in a hundred different cities), and it was owned by a formidable woman in her early seventies named Josephine Winterbourne. She was tall and straight-backed, and there were still traces of chestnut left in the hair piled up under the straw hat she wore as protection from the summer sun.


"Anthony! This is a surprise! I didn't expect to see you again so soon!" she greeted, peeling off her gardening gloves and rising from the flowerbed she was weeding, in a smooth movement that belied her age.


"You know this woman?!" Ziva hissed suspiciously. Tony gave her a disapproving look and then proceeded to ignore her.


"Josie." The warm smile was genuine, not calculated for effect as so many of his smiles were these days. He bent over her hand in a display of old fashioned courtesy that made Ziva snort in disbelief in the background. "You're radiant as always. Like Chloris incarnate."


She rolled her eyes at him indulgently. "No blasphemy in my garden, Anthony. Now, I was just about to make myself something to drink. Would you care to join me? We can sit out in the summer house and have a little chat."


"Miss Winterbourne," Ziva cut in pompously, "we are here on official business. We are from N..."


Josie was thoroughly unimpressed. "Don't interrupt, girl, it's terribly rude." Ziva's mouth fell open but no words came out. Tony managed to keep from laughing, thereby saving himself from a probable castration attempt, but only by resolutely not looking at either his partner's uncharacteristically stunned expression, or Josie's eyes glittering in amusement. "What would you like to drink, Anthony?"


"Do you have any of that delicious elder flower lemonade left?"


"I've been saving a bottle especially for you."


-


Josephine Winterbourne had started the nursery after the death of her parents. Finding herself alone in a big grey Victorian house surrounded by a huge garden, with an avid interest in horticulture and herbalism, and with money enough to be reasonably well off but not wealthy, it had been the obvious solution to how she could make the money she needed while doing something she enjoyed. There had already been a large greenhouse on the property, so all she'd really needed to do was put a sign out front and an advertisement in the local paper, and then go on doing what she already did every day, just on a slightly larger scale. She only sold the very best seeds and seedlings, and had made quite a name for herself. Her plants seemed to be hardier and more lush than those from other shops, and there were colours and variations not found anywhere else.


Of course, none of the noveau riche who ordered their plants from Miss Winterbourne to upstage their neighbours, knew that if you were reliable, discreet, had the right connections, and most importantly, if she liked you, she also provided legal and not-so-legal herbs and plant extracts. Tony met all four of those criteria.


Also, the werewolf she'd been mated to had been one of his best friends.


-


After refilling his glass from the crystal pitcher, Tony sank into the thick pillows on the wicker loveseat with a contented sigh. How Ziva could look so sour after getting her own glass of Josie's divine nectar he didn't know. He guessed she was pissed off because polite small talk on his and Josie's level was really quite beyond her – something which he had to admit could be refreshing, at least when he wasn't the recipient of the bluntness – and to add insult to injury Josie refused to be the least bit intimidated by her glowering looks. He was sure that Mossad made you hand in your sneaky scary assassin card if you couldn't frighten a little old lady.


"...but enough about that, dear, you came to hear about the theft, didn't you?" It seemed Josie had decided they'd tormented Ziva enough.


He nodded graciously. "Please."


"Well, it happened the night between wednesday and thursday. I recieved the roses on wednesday afternoon...they were a special order for Mrs Butler. You remember Mrs Butler, don't you? Dreadful woman. Anyway, her gardener was going to pick them up sometime on friday, so I decided to store them in my private part of the greenhouse in the meantime, just to make sure that Sarah – that's my shop girl, by the way - didn't accidentally sell them to someone else. Sarah is a fine young woman, but sometimes I don't know where her head is at. It was a fairly busy day, but we closed up on time, and then I spent some time in the garden before going inside to watch Mythbusters. The next morning the roses were gone. Nothing else was touched."


"You watch Mythbusters, Josie?" Tony was intrigued.


"Of course I do! That Kari girl is my latest eyecandy!" Ah. They exchanged a knowing smirk.


"A-hem!" Ziva had reached the end of her patience. Overall, he was quite impressed with her stamina, really. "Miss Winterbourne. Were there any signs of forced entry?"


"No, why would there be? I don't lock the conservatory doors."


"Why not?" Ziva asked, perplexed. "This is a quiet neighbourhood, but I assure you you are not safe from crime."


Josie raised an exasperated eyebrow. "Girl, what do you think is cheaper, replacing stolen plants or large broken panes of glass and stolen plants? I don't keep anything truly valuable in there. If people want in, there is not much I can do to stop them. I can try to minimize the damage, though."


Before Ziva could come up with a scathing reply to that, Tony intercepted.


"Whoever stole the roses must have been there that day, or they wouldn't have known they were there. Did you see anything odd at all? Anybody behaving suspiciously?"


"Not really. As I said, it was a fairly busy day... But now that I think of it, the only complete strangers to come in was this young couple looking to buy a birthday present for his mother. They took forever to make their minds up, but in the end they left with a Phalaenopsis orchid. They didn't strike me as rose-nappers, but then you never know. Other than that, it was all repeat customers." She shrugged.


"This couple...what did they look like?"


"Young. Barely in their twenties, I'd say. The girl was quite shapely – blonde, green eyed. Wore a vintage dress. The boy was shy. Hid behind that impossibly tangled hair that seems to be popular nowadays. Do you think it was them?"


"Possibly. What about the guy who delivered the roses? Do you know him?"


"George?" Josie scoffed derisively. "I've known him for years. He's a lazy good-for-nothing old miser, which means if he should get it in his head to steal rosebushes, he wouldn't drive all the way out here to drop them off first."


"Fair enough. We're going to need his number in any case, just to check. And-" his phone startled him. He was sure the ringtone hadn't been the Inspector Gadget themesong yesterday. Abby! "-Yeah, DiNozzo. What's that, Probie? Uh-huh. Yeah. Sure. We're on our way." He flipped the phone closed decisively. "Duty calls, Zee-vah. Drink up. Josie, thank you. I will call if we have any further questions." He finished his own glass and licked his lips dreamily. "Absolutely delicious. I apologize for taking off in such a rush, but you know how it is. Dinner this weekend?"


-


The third body lay half-buried in a childrens sand box at the Little Creek Naval Base. The violent rain of the previous night had uncovered the body before any kids could, something Tony felt silently grateful for. He sniffed surreptitiously, and yes, there were traces of the familiar scent still hanging on this crimescene. That it had not been completely diluted and washed away told of how strong the scent would have been to begin with. Maybe even strong enough for humans to notice it. Maybe. If they sniffed the corpse. Ducky was the only one he thought might do that, though.


Ducky pronounced the time of death as "Thirty-six to fourty-eight hours ago, Jethro," and then added, dryly, "and before you ask, the cause of death would appear to be suffocation."


Tony thought so too, considering the fact that the girl had a transparent plastic bag wrapped tightly over her head. If it looks like a duck and quacks like a duck...Gibbs would probably shoot it. Anyway, he was willing to bet her lips were a nice colour blue under that green lipstick.


The lipstick matched her outfit perfectly. Green boots, green-and-black striped tights, green skirt lined with black tulle, shorter even than those Abby liked to wear. Green fingerless gloves reached to just above her elbow, green tank top stretched over an ample bust. Green and black dread falls pressed against the plastic bag as if they wanted to burrow their way free.


On the tank top, in the by now easily recognizable penmanship, were the words lovely creature. Written with a Sharpie pen, by the looks of it. Again, the alarm bells of recognition went off. And again, the annoying connection stubbornly eluded him. Absently, he started snapping pictures. Lovely creature.


"No ID, boss," McGee reported, "unless she's got it in her...you know." His ears got a slightly reddish tinge to them. Probie, Probie, PROBIE...you just make it way too easy. No fun at all.


"Are you referring to her brassière, Timothy?" Ducky enquired politely, face pleasantly blank. "I don't believe she's wearing one. Much like my mother, actually. Mother believes everything she reads in the newspaper these days, and so has recently started refusing to wear any sort of upper body underwear at all, stating that it will make her breasts sag. That, quite obviously, happened several decades ago, but she is most adamant. Why, yesterday- " McGee's red ears glowed brighter. Tony smiled inwardly. Something suspiciously like a snort came from Gibbs' direction. And some people think Ducky has no sense of humour.


"Ducky! Dead body, twelve o'clock," Gibbs prodded.


"Ah, yes. I do beg your pardon. Come along, Mr Palmer. We have work to do."


-


It wasn't until they were back at headquarters and up in the bullpen that it hit him. The words had been repeating in the back of his mind since he saw them, but suddenly they slammed into place like a concrete slab. Somewhere she lies, this lovely creature, beneath the slow drifting sands, with her hair full of ribbons, and green gloves on her hands.


He shot up from the chair, causing the whole office to stop and stare at him. "Stupid! Stupid! I can't believe I was so stupid!"


Then he headed for the emergency stairs, because he certainly couldn't wait for the elevator, leaving his team (including Gibbs) dumbfounded.



To be continued.

(x)

-
"Those who danced were thought to be quite insane by those who could not hear the music."
-

Tony practically fell through the door to Abby's lab. The floor was polished to a high shine, and Italian loafers, while being clearly superior footwear, didn't have the best grip. In the cage in the back of his mind he heard the clicking sound his claws would make, all that coiled muscle scrabbling for grip, instead of the slip and slide of thin rubber soles on linoleum. He crashed to a stop by the stereo, and started searching through the stacks of cd's frantically.

"Uh...Tony?" Abby eyed him warily. "What are you doing?"

"We have been stupid, Abby," he announced, not looking up from his search. "Stupid! You and me. I'm disappointed in us. It's so. Fucking. OBVIOUS!" His fingers closed on the right cd, finally, and the cover, as always, made him think merry psychotic late-night expressionistic art class christmas to you, too, and it really was a bad cover, because the record was summer nights and sticky cloying heat to him, not suffocating snow and the kind of moon people used to put unwanted children out under in the hopes that something like him would come along, and he fumbled with the disc, barely getting it in the tray.

"Tony?" He could smell Abby's confusion, could certainly feel it in the tentative touch to his shoulder. "Tony, not to be an alarmist or anything but you're acting really hinky. Really. And you're doing this odd flickering thing with your eyes." Of course he was. Eye flickering was to be expected. The wolf was excited; it hated botched hunts, and now that he had finally, finally found a new trail, it enthusiastically filled his mind with dreams of the chase, of him in silent pursuit, of his teeth sinking deep, breaking skin and tearing muscle, blood spilling rich and coppery into his mouth, of him shaking his head violently and then pulling. his prey. down... And damn if that wasn't the sweetest image he had seen in a long time. His teeth itched.

On the other hand the trail was one he should have smelled from moment one, and he was quite pissed off at himself for missing it, for not from the start making the connection that could have, maybe, possibly, helped save these people - no, that wasn't quite right - could have, maybe, possibly, led him closer to his prey. In the end it amounted to the same thing but... Stuck between cold and calm anger and breathless bubbly giddiness, this dualistic nature thing he had going didn't seem to be getting much easier to handle as the years went by. He felt like a can of Coke that someone had shaken vigorously. If he'd been changed he'd probably have jumped around excitedly and yipped. In a very menacing and macho way, of course. He wasn't a poodle.

He was bloody well going to save the next one. And then, he was going to bite something.

"Shh." He pressed play, then fast-forwarded track 01 three minutes and fifty-five seconds. If his hands were shaking slightly from tension – well, Abby seemed unlikely to notice so he wouldn't worry about it. "Listen."

'Joy had been bound with electrical tape
In her mouth a gag
She'd been stabbed repeatedly and stuffed
Into a sleeping bag...'

As Nick Cave droned out a perfect description of the first crime scene, Abby's eyes widened. "Oh my god."

'...Quotes John Milton on the walls in the victim's blood
The police are investigating at tremendous cost
In my house he wrote "his red right hand"
That, I'm told, is from Paradise Lost...'

Tony pressed next-next-next for the words that had bashed him over the head up in the bull pen.

'...Through the night, through the night
The wind lashed and it whipped me
When I got home my creature
Was no longer with me
Somewhere she lies, this lovely creature
Beneath the slow drifting sands
With her hair full of ribbons
And green gloves on her hands'

Abby was practically vibrating. "Oh. My. God." Tony pressed next.

'...On the third day he took me to the river
He showed me the roses, and we kissed
And the last thing I heard was a muttered word
As he knelt above me with a rock in his fist
On the last day I took her where the wild roses grow
She lay on the bank, the wind light as a thief
And I kissed her goodbye, said "All beauty must die"
And I leant down and planted a rose between her teeth...'


"Ohmygod!"

"That about sums it up, yeah," Tony said with forced nonchalance.

"But...but...but..." Abby looked outraged. "...but I LOVE this album!"

So did he.

-

Lottie had never learned to type properly. There had been no need. As the world became digitalized and everything you could possibly need was just a press of a button away, she had evolved a rather fast three finger typing technique, however.

The J-key was stuck. She had to hit it harder than the others, throwing her rhythm off. There were crumbs under it, she could hear them crunch. Who eats in a library, anyway? Peasants.

#Alright, Mary. We'll pick you up at the bus station. It will be marvellous to finally meet you.#

-

"You think that the killer is committing these murders because of a cd?" Ziva was sceptical. Tony sighed. He had realized, after observing her closely for quite some time, (Assess potential threats carefully, his sire's voice lectured), that in her heart of hearts, Ziva wanted all murders to be devious plots and grand political intrigue, for power or money. Freedom-fighting or terrorism, depending on from which side you looked at it. In Ziva's ideal world, nobody killed for love, or jealousy, or petty spite, or because they were feeling pissy that morning and they got the wrong order at Starbucks, or because they were just plain insane. It was innocent, in a way, to want to believe that it took a cause to kill someone, be that cause good or bad. He supposed it would make it easier for her, easier to reconcile herself with the things she had had to do for her country.

It was also kind of annoying.

He wondered what statement her twisted little spy-mind secretly thought these murders were supposed to make. For his part, he was going with the rabid fangirl angle. Or fanboy. Or both. He thought of the couple Josie had described – the ‘quite shapely' (which in Josie-speak translated to ‘built like Bettie Page') girl, and the shy boy with the emo hair.

"Well, the lyrics do describe all our crime scenes in detail. I think it's fairly safe to say they have some relevance to the case. Of course, it could all be just a happy coincidence." Sarcasm may well be the lowest form of wit, but it was damn satisfying.

"'There's no such thing as coincidence'," Abby said, in her best Gibbsian impression, and then smiled hugely and innocently at Gibbs himself, who raised a sardonic eyebrow. That's my girl! You tell them. Ziva scoffed. McGee shifted uncomfortably, unable to decide which woman to back up.

"So," Gibbs spoke up, ending any further argument before it could start. "Next song, DiNozzo?"

" I'm not sure," he admitted. "They haven't been in order, so far. My best guess is lucky number seven."

"Why?"

"Well...the songs used up until now have all been ones with just one or a few victims. Which is something to be thankful for, because in quite a few of these songs there's literally droves of people keeling over. I don't even want to think about the killer reenacting ‘O'Malley's Bar'." He shuddered. Abby nodded empathically in agreement. "If they keep to the pattern, we're down to three songs that aren't massacres. Two of them have only one victim. All the victims so far have been female. Only one of those songs is about a female. Number seven." The logic held. But killers weren't always logical, were they? Yet now that he'd reasoned it out out loud, he felt sure he was right.

"Alright. Best lead we've got so far. And the lyrics to song number seven?"

"'They found Mary Bellows, cuffed to the bed, a rag in her mouth, and a bullet in her head. Oh poor Mary Bellows.'"

"Lovely. I don't suppose it says where the bed in question is going to be?" Gibbs was deceptively calm. It made Ziva and McGee visibly nervous, but Tony knew he was just waiting to see exactly where Tony's instincts would lead them, before using that to come to his own conclusions, cock his gun and launch off like a bat out of hell. Gibbs trusted him on things like this. It was why he'd been hired in the first place, after all.

"'She checked into a cheap little place...' The story goes, Mary Bellows is a poor young girl from Arkansas, who packs up her life and goes to see the ocean and hopefully find a better life for herself. On the way there, she meets a man. When they arrive, he helps her in with her suitcase and she goes ‘I'm a good girl sir, she said to him, I couldn't possibly permit you in' but then later, she gets homesick and lonely and unlocks the front door hoping maybe he'll come, and then...well. Bang." Tony explained. "Nothing more detailed than that."

"Well, that was helpful. Not. And I can't believe you know the lyrics by heart," McGee said. "I don't see why anyone wants to listen to it. It's sick." Abby looked insulted, but Tony beat her to the reply.

"Says Mr. Big-Time-Thriller-Writer. I'll have you know that murder ballads are a very old folk tradition. Goes back hundreds of years. Picked up by the blues singers later. Come to a glorious conclusion with a crappy cover, here. If you use this for your next book I want credit for explaining it to you."

"I've told you, I don't use things from real life!"

"Uh-huh."

"DiNozzo! McGee!"

"McGee is right, Gibbs," Ziva interjected, shooting Tony a triumphant look. "It's not helpful. There are hundreds of ‘cheap little places'-" you could hear the quotation marks "-in DC alone."

There was a ding! from Abby's computer. She spun around and bounced over to it. "And the marvellous Abby has done it again! Or, rather, Bertha did. With the help of AFIS. But I pressed the button!" And with that, she pressed another button, making a file pop up on the plasma. "Miss Lovely Creature has a name!"

Amanda Jennings wasn't wearing quite as much make-up on her driver's license photo as she had done when she died, but she was still mainly green. The dreads were just black, but held back with a green scarf, and he guessed the green ones were for the weekend, when she didn't need to normalize herself for work. She was twenty three years old, just like Ducky had guessed.

"Why's she in the system?"

"She was an animal rights activist," Abby answered promptly. "Broke into a mink farm and let loose hundreds of them, it says." She brought up the part of the file that corroborated her words.

"What's her Navy connection?" Tony asked.

"Uh...from her file, I can't see one. If there is one, it's not official." She bit her lip. "People like her generally aren't too fond of the military, though, any branch of it...I can't really see her being chummy with a jarhead."

He could almost see the shape of it, now. He still didn't see the great overhanging why, but he could see small whys, leading him forward bit by bit. He had been wondering about the lovely creature, about Amanda Jennings, why she was buried in a small sand box on a Navy base when there were long beaches and big sandpits elsewhere that would match the lyrics much better – it did say desert after all – and now, now he knew. He had no proof of course, other than his gut...but then, his gut was just as reliable as that belonging to Leroy Jethro Gibbs.

"I think we can narrow down those cheap little places a bit," he said slowly, making Gibbs look at him intently. If there is no Navy connection, then you make one. "Cheap little places on or very close to Naval bases. The person or persons responsible seem very determined to keep this a case for NCIS."


To be continued.

(xi)



-

"Perfume: Any smell that's used to drown a worse one."

-



Gibbs gave Ziva the task of putting the fear of...jewish women, Tony supposed, into a variety of more or less shady motel owners, making them swear on everything they held dear that they would call (inconspicuously!) if anyone called Mary Bellows checked in, if anyone called anything similar to Mary Bellows checked in, if any young blonde bombshells with emo boyfriends checked in (although Ziva didn't put it quite like that), and finished with making them promise that if they ever had committed a crime that fell under NCIS jurisdiction, if they ever did commit a crime that fell under NCIS jurisdiction, or if they ever planned to commit a crime that fell under NCIS jurisdiction, they'd call then, too. It was really very impressive, Tony thought.


Gibbs had used his team leader's prerogative to get out of the office, bringing McGee with him, first heading off to interview Amanda Jennings' family, then going back to the park that was the only link they had between any of the victims, (besides the fact that they were all killed by the record, so to speak), to ask around about young blonde bombshells with emo boyfriends (although Tony didn't think Gibbs would put it quite like that).


This meant Tony was left with calling the earlier victims' families and asking them about young blonde bombshells with emo boyfriends, (and he did put it exactly like that, making Ziva glare at him for being unprofessional).


Elizabeth Holliday's relatives didn't know anything, but then he hadn't expected that they would, seeing that she was an only child and her parents were old, retired and living in Florida. The roommate was equally unhelpful, she was completely ditzy and self-absorbed in a way even her generous curves couldn't make up for. "...and as I told Lizzy's mother, it's so inconvenient, Special Agent DiNozzo, having the funeral on a Saturday, I mean, people really have better things to do on Saturdays, don't they? And I look horrible in black, but of course Lizzy's father is so old-fashioned and insists on conservative clothing...I think that's really inconsiderate towards the guests, don't you? And- What? A blonde girl? Nooo...No, I don't remember Lizzy mentioning a blonde girl. Lizzy didn't have many friends. Now, Special Agent DiNozzo, do you think-" When he finally got her off the line, Tony took a deep breath and decided that Petty Officer Holliday deserved to be canonized, because she had to be a saint if she could live full-time with someone like that without cracking and going on a murdering rampage.


Then he picked up the phone and called Joy Fairport's sister-in-law, Anna Fairport. Bingo. She had not only heard Joy talk in passing about the sweet young girl she'd met in the park, who always wished her a nice day and asked how the pregnancy was going, but she'd actually seen both her and the boy who seemed to follow her like a shadow, one day when Joy wanted company on her walk. Tony did a victory dance in his head, then paused and wondered if maybe he'd been spending too much time with Abby lately, and then asked Anna to come and assist in creating a sketch of the suspects.


-


Lottie fingered the bottle of scented oil indecisively. The game was fun, but she had to admit she was getting somewhat impatient. Her darling brother seemed to have lost some of his touch. She would never have been able to run circles like this around him, before. She scoffed. What could one expect, when he insisted on living in a place like this and suppressing everything he was?


Maybe it was time to be a little obvious. She still didn't understand why he'd gotten so dreadfully upset with her in the first place – it was only a toy, after all – but the sooner he figured out her present, the sooner he could forgive her, and the sooner she could take him home. The way it was supposed to be.


But...she'd spent so much time and effort on this. She was reluctant to rush it now, now that it was so close to finished. She wanted it to be perfect. Anything less than that would not become her.


Having made up her mind to keep to the plan, Lottie daintily pulled the glass stopper from the bottle, wrinkling her nose at the sweet, cloying perfume. She applied it carefully to the pulse points on her wrists and behind her ears, allowing it to merge with, and subtly mask, her own scent.


-


Anna Fairport was short and disarmingly dimpled, even in her grief, Tony noted as he escorted her down to Abby and her imaging software. Anna was an elementary school teacher, and there was a benign strictness in her manner that reminded him of his own Nana Laura, making him wonder if perhaps the care of children really hadn't changed all that much over the centuries.


Entering the lab, he introduced the girls to each other and then faded into the background, breathing deeply, drugging himself with Abby's scent to calm the wolf's agitation over his forced inactivity. It wasn't satisfied with these small abstract advances, anymore, it wanted a real, physical chase, rushing adrenalin and something to bite. He swallowed.


"...like that, or...pointier, like this?" Abby illustrated her question by folding a small paper hat and holding it upside down to her chin, like a cone-shaped pharaonic beard.


"Not quite as pointy as that," Anna smiled.


Tony had thought on it long and hard, and had come to the conclusion that when Abby was in a good mood, she was kind of like a human Mani wheel, sending out waves of happiness and infecting everyone around her with it. The antithesis of a psychic vampire.


"Like this, then?" Abby made some adjustments in the program and then looked inquiringly at Anna. She nodded.


"Better. And then her nose...yes...no, thinner there..."


Tony's phone rang.


"Yeah?" Absently, he watched as the sketch got a mouth.


Ziva's voice was even, but he could hear the underlying tension. "They have checked in."


-


The motel could certainly be classified as a 'cheap little place', Tony thought, as he and Ziva got out of the car and made their way to the front desk. It was a neglected two-story building that he guessed had once been white, but now it was more of a nicotine yellow. They got the room number from the manager, who eyed Ziva with no small measure of trepidation. Tony wondered exactly what she'd said to the man over the phone.


"Yeah, so this girl comes in, right? Mousy little thing. Not my regular clientele, know what I mean? Says she wants a room. Pays with a card. Signs the name you said to keep an eye out for." The manager licked his fat lips nervously. "Then I look out the window, and I see her talking to a real knockout..." Obviously visualizing said knockout in his head, he leered salaciously at Ziva, who eyed him coldly. He cleared his throat. "Yeah. They went into her room. Was forty-five minutes ago. Haven't left, far as I know."


Tony exchanged a meaningful glance with Ziva. There was no time to wait for Gibbs and McGee to arrive. They had to move now. They are here, the prey is here, here, here, gracious huntress, wild lady, bless my hunt, give me my prey, they are here, the prey is here, the prey is here...


Not that Tony was complaining. In fact, he'd quite prefer it if Ziva wasn't there either, because then there would be no reliable witnesses if he just...changed...and maybe mauled people, a little... Nobody would believe a couple of ruthless killers if they said the federal agent sent to arrest them changed into a large wolf and chewed on them. Killers were notoriously untrustworthy, after all. Deranged. Insane. Unless they were very, very rich or very, very influential. Then they were merely eccentrics. Or presidents. ...here, the prey is here, how will I thank you? when I eat flesh, I will thank you, when I drink clear water, I will thank you, they are here, the prey is here...


He shook his head to regain focus and dispel the thin veil of yellow-gold that had started descending over his eyes. It was too easy to fall into a shift, when he was feeling so close to the end of such a long and frustrating hunt. Maybe Ziva's presence was a good thing...


"Room 9, you said?"


-


Abby pressed Print with a flourish, and sat back in her chair, pleased with herself. Then she froze. Can't see the forest for the trees... She had been so focused on the little details, on getting it exactly right to Anna's specifications, that she hadn't actually looked at the entirety of the face she had created. But now she was looking. And recognizing.


"Oh, you bitch!" she exclaimed. "I knew that dress was too good for you!"


-


So close. The scent was hanging in the corridor, thick and sticky and sweet like over-ripe fruit, and Tony was growling almost inaudibly. So close. He and Ziva stood to either side of the faded door with its tarnished brass number 9, guns at the ready. She caught his eye, took a deep breath, and nodded.


Her boot hit the lock at precisely the right angle and she'd applied exactly the right amount of force, making the door fly open but not bounce closed again from hitting the wall. Tony sent a quick mental nod to whoever had trained her. Ziva was good.


"NCIS, freeze!"


Tony took in the scene behind the door in less than a second. The girl, lying on the tasteless polyester bedspread, cuffed to the headboard with tears in her blue eyes. The boy, in the middle of stripping off his long-sleeved black shirt, staring at the unexpected intrusion in shock. The flash of white cloth and long blonde hair disappearing out the open window.


Oh, HELL no.


"Secure him!" he snarled, not bothering to see if Ziva acknowledged his order, already half way across the room in pursuit. He cleared the window effortlessly, landing on the dusty asphalt of the parking lot. Where...? There! And suddenly the wolf was in control of his mind, rushing after the girl into a back alley crowded with dumpsters. He ran silently now, every fiber of his being focused on the fleeing prey. She was very fast, but so was he, and slowly, inexorably, he was catching up to her. He was larger, and stronger, and he could run for hours if he had to. There was only one way for this to end.


When his hand closed on her arm, the wolf howled in triumph in his ears. When he spun her around only to meet a face he hadn't seen in over sixty years, the shock was enough to loosen his grip. She smiled at him fondly, and caressed his cheek.


"Hello, darling brother," she said, and her voice was every bit as clear and lovely as he remembered. "Well. This meeting is a bit inconvenient. You weren't supposed to catch me yet!" She laughed gaily, and then raised an admonishing finger. "So it's your own fault your present isn't finished. You'll just have to make do with it as it is. Now, we shall talk more later, I promise you, but for right now...I'm really very sorry about this, Antonio, but it's necessary."


She freed herself from his grip, gave him another blinding smile, and then tossed the contents of a small plastic container, held tightly in her little hand, straight into his face.


The scent shock sent him to his knees, coughing and choking. The wolf was panicking, lost, its primary sense overloaded. The yellow powder was a billowing cloud in the air, and he scrambled frantically backwards to get away from the stench. Asafoetida. Oh, very clever, little bitch.


By the time he got the coughing under control, she was long gone.


-


Abby didn't hear him come in, but she looked up from the test she was preparing, and there he was, staring at the sketch on the screen with an unreadable expression on his face.


"Tony?" She approached cautiously. Gibbs had told her that Tony had lost the female suspect. He wasn't likely to be in a very good mood. "Do you want a hug?"


He managed a half-smile, pulling her close and breathing her deep, but he didn't take his eyes off the screen. "Anna has a good memory," he commented, lightly. "It's flawless. Looks exactly like her."


"How do you know that?" Abby said. "You can't have gotten a very good look at her when you were chasing after her. Unless she was running backwards. But that's not a very suspect-y thing to do, I don't think. Unless-"


"I know her, Abby. Her name is Charlotte."



To be continued.

(xii)



-
"This is a secret, mauled and mangled, and the coins in my pocket go jingle-jangle."
-



After his revelation, Tony had smiled bitterly and left, and Abby had thought that was the last she'd see of him that day. When Tony was upset he disappeared. Preferably physically, if he could make a dignified exit. But when that wasn't possible he disappeared in other ways, locking himself up tight inside, in a box in a safe in a treasury in a castle guarded by vicious dragons and surrounded by a moat filled with sharpened stakes, leaving some kind of Tony-droid with an arsenal of masks (enough to start a classic Greek theatre) to do all the expected Tony-things, performance flawless but with something subtle but intrinsic missing. You wouldn't notice it if you didn't really know him, and she thought it was probably much the same place he went to when he was undercover.

So when Tony showed up in her lab just as she was getting ready to go home, Abby was surprised. He looked like a lost little boy; slouching, hands shoved deep in his pockets, ruining the line of the suit, eyes dark and troubled and steadily locked on the floor just in front of his shoes.

"You need a ride home?" he asked.

Abby really didn't, and he knew that, because he'd fixed her hearse himself and now it purred like a kitten. (She was more than capable of fixing it on her own, of course. When it wasn't raining, and she wasn't wearing velvet. But who was she to say no to perfectly good gentlemanly behaviour? He liked fixing it for her. She liked him in jeans and a tank top. It was a win-win situation.) But then, he wasn't really asking her if she needed a ride.

"Sure. Thanks."

-


Abby fumbled for the keys in her bag. Technically it shouldn't be hard to find them, since a rather large part of her collection of cute, funny, spooky and just plain cool keyrings was attached to them, rings outweighing the keys something like two to one, but somehow they always managed to hide themselves anyway. Her fingers finally closed on her current favourite, the one with the picture of the pouty vintage surfer boy pin-up, and the caption: 'Because I'm gay, that's why!', and she pulled them all out with an impressive clatter of metal and plastic. Then she caught Ambrosius, the huge-nosed plush zebra, by the tail, because he was the guardian of the apartment key.

Tony was still not talking.

That meant it was bad. Very bad. She'd known it was bad when she saw him in the lab, but this uncharacteristic complete silence was something else. Tony always took it hard when he failed, but this was personal, this had history, and it was obvious that whatever memories had been awakened by his encounter with Little Miss Crazy weren't good ones.

She got the door open, then let Tony walk past her into the room. He slumped down on her couch with a lack of grace that made Abby's heart clench.

"I'm making some tea," she decided.

-

The water boiled. Abby grabbed a fistful of reddish-black dried flowers, sprinkling them in the pot and pushing them under with a spoon. ...fire burn and cauldron bubble. Hibiscus tea. She saved it for especially crappy days. Tony looked like he could use it.

She poured the tea into her two Emily the Strange Strange Brew mugs, watching the heat make the print appear, then balanced the bowl of sugar and two tea spoons on top of one of them. It wobbled alarmingly as she picked it up, so she gave it an admonishing look to stay put.

Tony hadn't shifted from his position on the couch, but when she handed him a mug he roused himself enough to accept it and give her a very weak version of his usual smile.

"Karkade," he said, using the Arabic word for the drink. "I haven't had this since...in a very long time." He added less sugar than she herself did to the tart red tea and sipped it slowly. Abby watched him carefully over the rim of her cup, and wondered since what?

Silence.

"I never thought I'd see her again." Very matter of fact, very even. Too even.

Okay, so... Talk now. Abby straightened. Careful, she reminded herself. "I saw her," she ventured, making Tony look up sharply. "At the club. The night you picked me up." Abby made a face. "She made me spill my drink all over myself."

Tony's lip curled in a wry half-smile. "Sounds just like her. Get rid of the competition. Never could stand there being a prettier woman in the room."

This made Abby pause. Because sure, Tony had given her plenty of compliments before, lavish and over-the-top, but never in this off hand manner, like it was just a statement of fact, like he'd just told her the sun rises in the east. Even though it was the earth spinning around its axis and not really the sun rising, it kind of made Abby go all soft in the middle.

"Tell me about her?" she asked. "Tell me about Charlotte?"

Tony let out a long slow breath. "Tell you about Charlotte?" he repeated. "Yes. Why not. Charlotte is...Charlotte..." He ran a frustrated hand through his hair, clearly looking for the right words. "...if you use a very loose definition of the word, Charlotte is my sister. At least she's always seen it like that. She's the daughter of my Sire's mate." He laughed harshly. "Mixed blessing, she is. Born, not made, not chosen. A miracle from the Lady. And if Cora hadn't...we were all so happy!" The despair and hurt disbelief in his eyes were old, but still vivid, overlayed now by fresher pain.

Abby wanted so very badly to hug him, hard, until the hurt was gone. But it wouldn't do any good, not yet. He would pull away, hide, like any wounded animal. Perhaps Tony didn't share Gibbs' exact definition of what a sign of weakness was, but he did share the view that showing weakness was bad. She could read him very well, and this was not the time for Abby-styled comfort. That would come later. Now was the time to be quiet and listen.

"My Sire...he's a very powerful were." Tony's voice changed when he mentioned his Sire. It was slower, deeper, filled with reverence, and there were hints of an accent Abby couldn't place. "In all senses of the word. And like all powerful creatures, he has enemies. When he mated Cora, it wasn't for love. It was a purely political move, and it was very well thought out. The result was that two of the greatest threats to our pack and territory were rendered unable to move against us, at least openly. So the years just after his mating were peaceful, calm. Happy, in a quiet way. Sire was content."

He paused. "Then...Cora's scent changed. Gradually. I was no cub by then, but it's a very rare thing to happen and I had never scented a change like that before. Sire was away, reinforcing the border markings. And I was curious, so after a while I asked her about it." The self-deprecating almost-smile was back. "I wasn't very smart, back then. Hormones and a bad conscience aren't a good combination. She was livid. Forced me to bare my throat and swear not to tell anyone. 'Not even Him, pup,' she said. Next morning the maid found her almost dead in her dressing room."

His lips thinned, old anger rising to the surface. "It wasn't my Sire's child. So she'd attempted to get rid of it. Breaking one of the cardinal rules of our society to cover up the fact that she'd already broken another one. We do not kill the unborn or the young. We do not submit to any alpha but our pack leader. But she did both."

He sounded very young, then, young and bewildered, still (after however many years it was) unable to comprehend this betrayal.

"Or at least she tried," he continued. "But the child didn't die. Charlotte didn't die."

Abby viciously thought that maybe Charlotte should have died, because then there wouldn't be a whole bunch of dead people, and her skirt wouldn't be ruined, and she'd be able to listen to her fourth favourite Nick-album without seeing pictures of said dead people, and most importantly, Tony wouldn't be almost broken on her couch.

"Sire came home, and he locked her in her rooms and he posted guards outside and guards inside for the remainder of her pregnancy, but he needn't have bothered because she never left that bed again. The poison she'd taken to kill the baby had weakened her too much. She...her belly grew larger, but the rest of her just wasted away. Like Charlotte was avenging herself, taking Cora's life to be her own."

He swallowed. "We had to cut her out of Cora's dead body. The first time I saw her she was covered in blood and screaming her lungs out, but she was still the most precious thing I had ever seen. She was a miracle. All young ones are miracles to us, but she above all, first for coming into being at all, then for surviving. And I loved her, so much. She was beautiful and precocious and graceful and witty, and Sire was busy and I was charmed, so it took us a very long time to realize that maybe the poison had done damage we couldn't see. She doesn't...people aren't real, to her. They are playthings, not really alive, at least not to the extent she is. She has no empathy for anyone but herself."

Well. Abby figured that out after five minutes in the same room with her.

"It's easy to see only what you want to see, though...especially when you're looking at someone you care about. And for many years I didn't want to see any connection between Charlotte and things dying. But then..."

"Then, what?" she prodded gently. They were getting to the heart of the matter, now.

"Then..." If he'd been unnaturally still before, now he was a statue, staring into the distance at something only he could see. His voice, when he finally spoke, was flat and lifeless. "Her name was Ramona, and she was seven years old. In 1942, I was in southern Poland, and that's where I found her, just outside of Katowice. She was a Rom, of the Kalderash, and she was the last of her family. The others had been taken to the camps already, but she had escaped, hidden away by her grandmother. She was starving to death when I found her, all skin and bones and long wild hair, but her eyes were burning and at first she was too proud to take food from me. She knew what I was, the wanderers have always known the truth in the old legends, and she wasn't afraid. All that strength in such a little body."

Tony's hands were shaking minutely, and he put down the mug in an effort to hide it. "I stayed with her, protected her, and we became friends. She was fiery and straightforward and brave...like a dandelion. You would have liked her. Eventually I brought her home with me and asked Sire to give her a place in the pack. Neither wolf nor gypsy function well without a family. I was going to raise her as my own, and if she wanted to I was going to change her, when she was old enough."

His mouth twisted into a smile that wasn't a smile at all. "Didn't work out like that. Charlotte was...amused...at first, by my 'little weed', as she called Ramona, but...like I said, Charlotte has never been fond of competition, and she doesn't like to share. I came home from a trip with my Sire, and the maid said 'Miss Charlotte and Miss Ramona are having a tea party in the gardens'."

Abby could see where this was going, and she didn't like it at all.

"It was like a warped scene from Alice in Wonderland. White roses painted red. Charlotte as the Queen of Hearts, with blood in stains and spatters all over her dress, licking her fingers and smiling, smiling, smiling. 'I planted the weed in the flower bed, brother,' she said. 'I planted the weed in the flower bed,' and there was absolutely nothing in her eyes except malicious glee."

There was really nothing she could say to that, no words that could make it better. The little girl was dead, and Charlotte was a psycho killer, and he had loved them both, probably loved them still. So she did the only thing she could. She hugged him, as hard as she could, and he hugged her back as if he wasn't ever going to let go.



To be continued.

(xiii)





-

"She wants something to love, I think," said the cat. "Something that isn't her. She might want something to eat as well. It's hard to tell with creatures like that."

-



"Look, I didn't do shit."



The boy was trying for cocky and missing it by miles. But then, Tony mused, not many people were able to manage cockyness when faced with Gibbs' best glare.



"Uh-huh." Gibbs was not convinced.



"I was there, yeah, but I didn't do anything!"



And that was probably pretty close to the truth, Tony thought. Charlotte was selfish like that. In her sandbox, you played by her rules or you didn't play at all, and this Aaron Mathews may have been useful enough and amusing enough for her to let him watch, but she'd be reluctant to share a kill. The first one, yes, to tie Aaron tighter to her and make it impossible for him to betray her. The others...she would have wanted those all to herself.



"Which still makes you an accomplice. Several counts of first degree murder, attempted murder...it's not looking good for you, kid."



"And you think that scares me, Mister Government Agent?"



"Yeah. I think that scares you."



And it did. Tony could see it, smell it, even through the one way mirror in the interrogation room. But it didn't scare him as much as it should have. There was a triumphant gleam in the boy's eyes when he looked up through his messy hair, one that said he had something up his sleeve.



Tony had a sinking feeling that he knew exactly what that something was. And when he led Aaron Mathews back to the holding cell, he got it confirmed.



"She bit you," he stated.



"Yeah," Aaron leered. "You jealous? She picked me."



He was sickened. The taint of a sloppy change-bite was all over the boy. Not enough for a successful turn, just enough to kill him. Slowly and painfully. Tony had no doubt Charlotte had done it on purpose. Promising eternity by her side, when in reality it was a clever and cruel way to get rid of evidence. Aaron wouldn't live to see the trial.



The full moon would kill him.



-



Falling asleep the night before had been a lovely experience, Abby thought.



Drifting off with her fingers carding through soft charcoal fur, a heavy head in her lap and a cold, wet nose snuffling her in the side, safe and warm - she could get used to that. She only hoped that next time, he'd change just because he wanted to be cuddly, not because he was bursting with conflicted feelings and couldn't stop shaking.



He explained it to her, in between bouts of restless pacing, the change and the shift, the physical transformation and the mental one, and how they didn't necessarily accompany each other. How they both blurred his human self in different ways. The fierce simplicity of the shift, where rationality flew out the window and left him running on instinct and sensation, the world roughly divided into three categories: pack and prey and threat. The dreamy crystalline calm of the change, where everything was clear and brilliantly abstract, and any feelings that weren't wolf feelings, didn't relate directly to the senses, were examined but not truly experienced (kind of like a furry four-legged Vulcan, he said), alien human emotion just catalogued and stored, like they didn't fit in a canine body. The change was easy enough to control, but the shift took focus and effort.



He said that it was a constant struggle to keep the mental balance between wolf and human. That fighting the shift had driven many weres insane before they learned control, making them the killers of a thousand horror stories. It's like the dark side of the Force, he explained, only not dark as much as...wild. But then, wild is pretty much the same as dark in this day and age.



And then he apologized for referring to both Star Trek and Star Wars in the same conversation, and asked if she minded if he changed (if she minded if he changed? He must have forgotten who he was talking to. Eh, hello? Would she say no to a big fluffy cuddly wolf?) because he kind of wanted to be nothuman right then, and she could definitely see how being nothuman would be helpful after telling someone something like what he'd just told her about Charlotte.



Wolves were, Abby quickly decided, the best cuddlers ever. At least if they were Tony.



Waking up in the morning had been just as lovely as falling asleep, although lovely of a completely different kind, because sometime in the night Tony had changed back, and Abby woke to find herself tangled in miles of barely covered Italian stud. And he was very studly indeed, judging by the heat of the morning hardon pressed into the small of her back. It sent one of those carbonated red thrills of power up her spine. I can make your body go out of control… Her fingers itched to reach behind and touch him, to find out exactly how to drive him mad other than wearing that dress he really liked, but, to quote Dr. Phil, she wasn't sure they were at that point in their relationship yet. So instead she played an intense round of ‘How much wriggling does it take to wake a sleeping werewolf?'



Quite a lot, it turned out. But that could be because just as she was really getting into the game he growled in his sleep and tugged her closer, making his cock settle in the crack of her ass, and that made her wriggling turn into some sort of sinuous rocking, which was probably against the rules of the game. …Okay, so you can make my body go out of control too. But she didn't really care, because she had bigger problems, like for example the fact that the Force was not working, because Tony's right hand stubbornly refused to slide up those few inches to her left breast, no matter how much she glared at it.



Moving it manually was definitely against the rules of the game, and felt kind of meh, like cheating at solitaire and then going ‘Yay, I won!' like her grandmother did. But maybe if she just…



Then her Batman alarm clock blared, and the bat signal appeared on the ceiling, and Tony sat up so abruptly she got dislodged from the couch and landed on her ass on the floor. Which was so not the way she'd imagined things going. And she didn't even get a good sneak peek, because of the Evil Blanket of Concealment that draped itself aggravatingly over the interesting bits.



It was all horribly frustrating.



Luckily, the lab was empty now, she had no urgent tests to run, she knew where the security camera blind spot was, and she'd always had an excellent imagination.



Now then…



"Bert! This really isn't something polite hippos should watch. Turn around, please."



-



At the end of the day, Tony showed up in her lab, like he usually did.



"Are you free tonight?"



She fluttered her eyelashes at him. "For you, Tony? Always. What are we doing?"



"Apparently," he said wryly, "we are going out to dinner with the delightful Miss Josephine Winterbourne. Doesn't look like I've got any choice in the matter. She says it's to take our minds off the case for a while, but don't be fooled. She wants to check you out. She'll interrogate you worse than Gibbs, and when she's decided you're up to her standards, and that you won't try to kill me in my sleep, she will without a doubt tell you a bunch of painfully embarrassing stories about me. All under the guise of teaching you how to ‘handle me' better. Not that I think you need any lessons. Then she's going to make me pay for dinner. I'm probably going to regret this evening for the rest of the century, at least. How does that sound to you?"



Abby smirked. "It sounds great."



He sighed sadly. It wasn't very convincing. "Women. You'll be the end of me. Pick you up at eight?"



-



Dinner was beyond awesome. The food was delicious, Josie was a complete sweetheart (even at first, when she was channeling the Spanish Inquisition) and Tony got her a huge sundae with cherries on top for dessert. All in all, it did take their minds off the case – Tony smiled for real and Abby rambled excitedly - even if Josie had ulterior motives.



And it was a very educational evening. Abby was still happily sorting all the new information in her head when Tony parked the Mustang on the lot outside her building.



They got out of the car, and Abby was just about to ask if he wanted to come in for a while, when she heard it.



A sweet, lilting soprano, clear in the still night air.



"Get down, get down, little Henry Lee
And stay all night with me
You won't find a girl in this damn world
That will compare with me
And the wind did howl, and the wind did blow
La la la la la
La la la la lee
A little bird lit down on Henry Lee…"



Tony stepped forward, eyes intent on something she couldn't see. "Stay behind me, Abs."



And then there she was, Tony's beloved nightmare, in a white summer dress patterned with tiny blue flowers, her long blonde hair falling free down to her waist, her eyes very green and her mouth very red. And she was smiling, sweet as any angel.



Oh, fuck this is bad. "Tony…"



"Yeah. Just…stay behind me, okay?"



Charlotte laughed, delightedly. "What's this? A new toy, Antonio? Don't worry, I shan't break it."



"No. You won't." Tony growled, and his eyes flickered gold, filled with dark promise.



"Touchy, touchy, darling brother," she scolded, frowning prettily. "There's no need to be so hostile."



"No?"



"No! I just want to talk to you."



"Alright. What is it that you want, Charlotte?" he asked wearily.



For a moment, there was an expression of absolute desolation on her face, but it was just as quickly covered with the mask of sparkling mirth. "Why, I want you to come home, of course! I miss you. You'll come, won't you?"



His smile then was sad, and strangely compassionate. "No, Lottie. I'm not coming home with you."



Charlotte sighed, deeply. "I was afraid you were going to say that, amato." The dress slid off her shoulders in a whisper of cloth and pooled around her feet. "I take back what I said about no need for hostility."



Then she blurred and was gone, a wolf the colour of wheat and honey taking her place, instantly launching itself straight at Tony's throat. Abby gasped and stumbled back, but Tony's eyes had gone completely golden now, and he caught the she-wolf in the air with seemingly no effort, throwing her halfway across the parking lot. "Get in the car. Lock the doors," he said, in a voice very far from human, tore off the grey Armani shirt and the Hugo Boss jeans and changed, just in time to meet Charlotte's next attack.



Abby scrambled into the front seat, shutting out the vicious snarls and threatening growls of the kind that starts in the back of one throat and ends up in the back of another, but unlike horror movies on tv, it didn't get less scary with the sound off.



Neither of them were fighting fair, both biting and tearing and scratching at anything within reach, fangs glinting in the yellow glow of the street light. Fair was a far too human concept for Tony now, and Charlotte probably hadn't ever known the meaning of it.



They tumbled and rolled on the dusty gravel, a blur of dark and bright, charcoal and honey, and Abby was beginning to think it would never end. There was blood staining their furs now, and they were both limping slightly, but still the fight showed no signs of stopping.



And then it did. Tony had Charlotte pinned to the ground, his jaws around her neck and his weight holding her down, but she wasn't giving up, squirming and writhing and not getting anywhere.



Suddenly she fell limp, pliant in his grip, and the brief moment of surprised hesitation that gained her was all she needed. She blurred and changed again, so white and deceptively fragile against Tony's dark fur, and then there was a flash of metal in her hand, and a second later that metal was buried deep in Tony's chest.



No.



He staggered backwards and fell down in a graceless heap.



No!



Charlotte picked up her dress, brushed it off and put it on. Tony tracked her movements with yellow-green eyes, eyes that were becoming noticeably heavier with every second. She smiled and knelt down by his head, petting him fondly as his breathing grew slower, whispering to him. Abby's mad lip reading skills kicked in then, despite the shock and the white noise and the constant background scream of nonononononono.



"There, there, darling brother. Don't fret. Hush, amato. I'll see you soon."



She gave him one final scratch behind the ear and then stood, waved to Abby where she sat paralyzed in the car, and then left. And on the gravel, in a growing pool of blood, the great grey wolf lay silent and still.





To be continued.

(xiv)



-
�Well. That's inconvenient.�
-



Fatal error. Abbysworld.exe has crashed. Please restart your computer.

Tony wasn't moving. Tony wasn't breathing.

And there was another thing Tony wasn't doing, Tony wasn't bleeding, because his blood was soaking the ground and his fur and Abby's white knee socks, and there wasn't any of it left to lose.

What the hell was she supposed to do now?

Call a vet?

Yes, hi. I've got a werewolf...yes, a werewolf! And he's sort of kind of dead, can you fix him? ...Hello? HELLO?!

Maybe not.

�Tony...come on. Wake up.�

She lifted his heavy head into her lap with shaking hands and petted him over and over and over.

�You can wake up now,� she whispered. �Tony. You can wake up now.�

The big gray wolf was as still as ever.

�Don't do this. You promised not to do this. You PROMISED!�

The knife sticking out of his chest was mocking her. The song was mocking her.

lie there, lie there, little Henry Lee
till the flesh drops from your bones
for the girl you have in that merry green land
can wait forever for you to come home
and the wind did howl and the wind did moan

No! Tony wasn't dead, he wasn't! Ignoring everything she'd ever learned of crime scene procedure, she pulled the knife out and sent it skittering across the gravel. It wasn't like she didn't know who'd done it already, so what did she need DNA and fingerprints for? And NCIS didn't investigate lupicide. Not that it was lupicide, because Tony wasn't dead.

He was just...just...glowy?

Abby's eyes widened. There was a faint shimmering light playing over the wolf's body. Her hands tingled where the glow touched them. As she watched, it grew stronger and stronger until she had to close her eyes against the brilliance, and when she opened them again, the wolf had changed back into a man.

A very naked man, with a rather nasty stab wound to the chest.

Oh shit.

'If I die and people see me dead, if my death becomes official...My body would be recovered and brought to revive elsewhere...I would be every bit as dead to you as Kate is.'

NCIS did investigate homicide.

Oh shit oh shit oh shit oh shit.

She was kneeling in the middle of a parking lot, with a naked, bloody and...temporarily discorporated...man in her lap, and it was pure dumb luck that no one had passed by and seen them yet. She had to get them out of there. Now.

She bit her lip. Gibbs knew what to do in situations like this, (or not situations like this, because Abby didn't think this happened very often, but hinky situations in general) the only problem was that calling him was out of the question since he Absolutely Could Not Find Out. Tony said no telling anybody, and she wouldn't. Oh sure, Gibbs only played by the rules as long as they suited him, but she had a sneaking suspicion that he, to quote Tony, looked unfavourably upon miraculous resurrections. Also, he'd be quite pissed off about the fact that Tony knew their suspect and didn't say anything, and...no. Even if she'd been allowed to tell him, that wouldn't end well. She didn't want Tony to be killed. Again. Oh, this was so bad. The only good thing she could see was...well, naked Tony. After all, he wouldn't have changed back if he was really...dead, right?

There was no way she was getting Tony up the three flights of stairs to her apartment alone. He was heavy â€" maybe werewolves had extra dense bones or something, she should really test that...if he'd just wake up! She shook him hopefully, but there wasn't even a flicker of movement.

�This is a really sucky thing to do to me, Tony!� she told him, scanning the parking lot for options.

Tony's car was out. Mustangs were made for flashiness and speed, not for carting around bodies. Not to mention Tony would have something to say if she got blood on the seats, even if the blood was his. Also, people paid attention to the Mustang, and attention was bad. Her car, on the other hand...well, people paid attention to that, too, but a seemingly dead, albeit very attractive, male would seem less hinky in a hearse.

Much less hinky. Yes.


-


Lottie danced around her room, humming to herself as she spun, skirt flaring. She waltzed with the cherry patterned dress, one-two-three, one-two-three, before folding it with a flourish and dropping it into the half full suitcase on the bed.

She was going home! Finally! Away from this uncultured, gaudy land and its lack of history. She had, of course, hoped her brother would follow of his own volition â€" after all, she asked very nicely â€" but she certainly wasn't displeased with the way things turned out. There was a certain poetry about it, and it was much more...final. Antonio always did have a tendency to get too attached to his toys; this way, all strings would be irrevocably cut.

He would be all hers again.


-


Abby had (after some minor mishaps) managed to get Tony into the hearse without too much additional damage. She had covered him with the fleecy black blanket she kept in the car for emergency picnics, picked up his discarded clothes and retrieved the nasty little knife. It made her shudder, and she touched it as little as she could. Her boots were covered in dust from kicking gravel over the pool of blood, to make it a bit more inconspicuous. Not really all that effective, but at least it wasn't glaringly obvious at first glance that someone had been exsanguinated there. Second glance, no doubt about it, but first glance should be alright. It never rained when she wanted it to. Stupid weather.

Now, there was the question of where to go.

She couldn't take him to his place, for the same reason she couldn't take him to her place in the first place. Place was a lovely word. Place. Pllllace. Yes. Focus, Abby! And she couldn't just drive around until he...undied, because she had no idea how long that would take and she had to be at work in the morning or Gibbs would be suspicious...suspiciousER, and...bad.

She could really use a CafPow! right now.

Right. What Would Gibbs Do? Gibbs would...think Tony was dead and store him in the morgue and go off on a rampage. That was out.

She needed a safehouse. With safe people in it. Okay, options. Ducky had a house. But Ducky would probably (she wasn't quite sure exactly what his thoughts on the undead were, since he did hold long and involved conversations with all bodies that passed through his hands) think Tony was dead and store him in the morgue and poke him with a liver probe, or, if he was cool with the whole werewolf thing, there was no telling what Mrs Mallard would do to a naked and defenseless Tony. Also, he'd insist on Gibbs being informed.

Her bowling nuns? Um...naked undead guy. Nuns. Maybe not.

Come on, think, Abby, think!

There had to be someone who had a house and was trustworthy and wouldn't freak out about miraculous resurrections! She really didn't think it was too much to ask for! What she needed was someone like Jos- oh. Oh!

Duh. Stupid, stupid, stupid!

She fished Tony's phone out of his pants and dialed as she drove.


-


Josie was waiting for them in the shadows of the driveway, wearing a white shirt and brown tweed trousers instead of the green dress she'd had on for dinner, looking completely unruffled as if things like this happened to her every day. It was infinitely reassuring.

�Hello again, Abigail. Let's get him inside, shall we?� She crawled in next to Tony and pulled the blanket aside to look him over. �Oh, you silly boy,� she chided. �Always getting yourself into trouble. Abigail, there is a wheelbarrow outside the greenhouse, would you be a dear and fetch it?�

The wheelbarrow was large and rusty, with a wonky wheel, and after wrestling Tony into it Abby and Josie wobbled their way to the house. With combined strength they got it up on the porch and through the stained glass entrance.

�I know who's going to vacuum my floors when he wakes up,� Josie muttered, glaring at the dried mud falling from the wonky wheel onto her persian carpets, and Abby let out a long deep breath of relief because Josie sounded so sure, like there was no doubt whatsoever that he would wake up, and it was so good to not be alone in this.




to be continued.

(xv)


-
�Run, Forrest, run!�
-


Abby had been really very patient.

She had helped Josie dump tons of Tony (damn, but the man had mass) onto thick white bath towels spread out on top of Josie's guest bed. She had wiped him clean of most of the blood, and then watched as Josie performed one of those nurse/magician tricks, where something is on top of a sheet and then the sheet is pulled in a seemingly simple but really very intricate manner, leaving whatever was on top of the sheet under it, undisturbed. She had had tea (which, she felt, was the classic response to a situation like this: 'Oh noes, we are being hunted by a bloodthirsty madwoman who isn't even human! Anybody for a spot of tea?') and cookies, and Josie had thoroughly kicked her ass at poker, and Tony still hadn't moved an inch.

�You haven't lied to me about Tony waking up, have you?� Abby asked suspiciously, after staring at him very pointedly for several minutes, with no visible effects. �I mean, you won't turn out to be a psychotic cackling madwoman who intends to turn this room into a shrine for Tony's dead body, and then lock me in here with him until I starve, will you? Because that? So doesn't fly.�

�Someone's been reading Victorian horror romances,� Josie surmised drily.

�Well, yeah! They're totally awesome! Melodrama deluxe!� Abby enthused. �All gigantic haunted mansions and huge frilly dresses and Death and Madness and Love, and...Hey! That wasn't an answer to my question!�

Josie sipped her tea in a very infuriating manner, eyes dancing with laughter. �I've never really been one for frilly dresses, Abigail. And this room doesn't lock.�

�You could have a collection of stuffed bodies in the attic,� Abby said, petulantly.

Josie snorted inelegantly and put her cup down. �His body has to finish healing before he comes back,� she very patiently explained. �Otherwise he'd just die again right away, obviously. If he'd been stabbed somewhere less important than the heart he'd have been up by now, because it would have taken less time for his body to get back to minimal function. But you never did do anything the easy way, did you?� She addressed this last bit to Tony, patting him fondly on the head as she leaned down to cast a critical eye on the wound. �Should be no more than an hour now, two at most,� she predicted. �It's sealing itself nicely.�

Abby had avoided looking at the gash, preferring to focus on less gruesome parts of naked werewolf. Somehow, gore wasn't at all interesting when it came from Tony, and not from someone she'd never know as more than a body in Ducky's morgue. Now that she did look, she could tell Josie was right; the jagged hole was barely there any more. The new skin looked shiny and pale, and when she reached out a careful finger to touch it, it was significantly warmer than the rest of Tony, who was currently mainly at room temperature.

She wondered if there would be a scar.

A huge yawn overwhelmed her, and after she'd stretched and squirmed and made kitten noises, Josie had somehow managed to make their cups and plates vanish and was holding out a thick green blanket for her.

�Get some rest, girl,� Josie ordered. �You'll notice when he wakes up. I promise.�

Abby was about to protest that she most definitely couldn't sleep now, but then she yawned again, and her jaw felt scarily close to dislocating, and after that she didn't think Josie would believe any assurances of non-tiredness, and anyway Abby wasn't one to say no to fate, and there wouldn't be a spot just big enough for her next to Tony on the bed if she wasn't meant to curl up in it.

So she did, and Josie switched off the lights and gently closed the door behind her, and Abby drifted off to sleep with her palm covering the warmth over Tony's heart.


*


Once he had been, then he had not-been, and now suddenly he was again; not-running, not-smelling, drifting like fog in this place of not-light. Clinging to his back was his Other, silent and small like prey in hiding, those soft and useless claws digging deep into his shoulders.

He walked.

There was no sky here, no land and no water, nothing but him and his Other. No trail to follow, nothing to tell him if he was even moving, only not-light stretching out all around him as far as he could see.

His Other was like water in the winter, and still he walked.

There was no sky here, but suddenly he could hear Her calling for him. The Wild Lady, She who mastered him with Her ebb and flow. From far away came Her call, but he heard Her, and he turned towards the sound and started running.


*


Josie answered the phone on the third ring.

�Josephine.� The voice was deep and smooth and male, used to command and tinted with traces of a soft and exotic accent.

�I wondered when you'd call,� she said. �I should have known it would be just after I'd managed to fall asleep.�

�I apologize, Josephine,� he said, not sounding particularly apologetic. �But if you were expecting my call I do not see why you went to bed at all.�

Josie laughed. �Well, not all of us have the luxury of aging only mentally, you dusty old relic! This old woman needs her beauty sleep!�

�Not so old, where it counts,� he murmured warmly. Then he sobered. �Josephine...Expecting my call? Then-�

�He's here,� she interrupted, anticipating his question, �safely tucked away in my guest bed, and well on his way to mending. Which is why I'd really like to get some sleep in before he wakes and turns the house upside down.�

�He's there?� If she hadn't known him as well as she did, she wouldn't have caught the relief in those words. �Very good. That certainly simplifies matters. I was not looking forward to rushing all around the city looking for him. The pack ties are muted almost to nothing when someone is In Between. Were you with him?�

�No. An absolutely charming girl named Abigail brought him here. If I was younger...�

He hummed thoughtfully. �So he's told her.�

�It would appear so, yes.� Josie smirked to herself. �If he hadn't I'm sure you'd be organizing a break-in into the NCIS morgue right now, not keeping fragile old ladies from their sleep.�

�Fragile old ladies, really,� he snorted. �You've never been fragile in your entire life.�

�Much to the despair of my late parents. I note you don't deny the old lady part.�

�I've offered to assist with that, but you always turn me down.�

Josie's smirk faded then, turned into something bitter sweet. �Well...you should never have had to offer.�

He was silent for a while. �No. I shouldn't.� A sigh. �I'd best be going, Josephine. There are still...things to be taken care of. Things I should have dealt with a long time ago.�

�Yes.� She paused, uncertain. �Sennefer...He's...It's good that you're here.�

�Is it? Truly?�

He hung up before she could think of a reply.


*


There were shapes in the not-light now â€" shadows dancing on the edge of his vision, blurred even more by the speed of his passing â€" but they were growing clearer, there the sharp of rock and there the tall of tree, and then scents, as if from very far away, telling him faster, faster and most of all Her call, growing louder and more insistent, making him able to ignore the there of smallfurrywarm skittering out of his way and into the underbrush.

His Other shivered, burrowed deeper into the fur on his back. It was colder now, like before the dawn in spring, chilly and fresh with mist rising from the ground to coil around him and cover him in tiny glittering beads of water.

Run, run! She called, and he followed.

The ground gained texture under his paws â€" soft and moist and springy â€" and there was a sound in the distance, deep and slow and measured, tha-thump, tha-thump, tha-thump, a red sound in the not-light, red like home and safe and pack and Sire, and it mingled with Her calling until he could think of nothing else.

Faster, faster! Run!

He was tired now, but he was so close. The not-light was thickening, angry, not willing to let him go. It stuck to him like resin, slowing him down and pulling him back. In front of him it piled and built like storm clouds, a great looming wall as far as he could see to either side.

The message was clear: This far, but no further.

He raised his head and howled his defiance.

Then he ran straight at it.

It was no longer passively restricting his movement; it tore and clawed at him viciously with invisible talons, catching his hind leg and making him stumble and roll. He got to his feet only to be thrown again. It pressed close then, keeping him down and unable to move, the oppressive weight of it slowly crushing him and his Other. It held him until he was gasping and choking, and then carelessly tossed him like a leaf back to his starting point.

Come! Run, run! Come!

He dragged himself back up, snarling, the red sound booming loudly in his ears now, giving him strength and keeping the not-light at bay. Slowly, one step at a time, he limped back into it, pressing ever forward through the smothering lack of substance and its savage fangs and thorns, to Her and to the red sound.

It seemed to go on forever. The not-light raged around him, pummeling him from all directions, and his Other's useless claws were losing their hold and his paws wouldn't lift from the ground, but still he fought forward, and then suddenly it stopped. The not-light gave way; disappeared as if it had never been.

The forest around him was lush and green; tiny pink flowers nestled in the soft moss, and slender pines stretched arrogantly into the night sky. It was quiet but not silent â€" no threats other than himself - and he wanted nothing more than to lay down and lick his wounds and sleep, but still She called.

A little further. Just a little further. Come.<

He could see Her now, hanging low over the tree tops, and he stumbled stiffly towards Her. She smiled at him then, shining brightly, and as She'd promised, it was just a little further until he found a cave, one that resonated with the red sound and was just big enough for him and his Other to curl up in. He nudged his Other with his nose â€" getting no reaction except a tightening of the arms around his neck, he huffed and let himself collapse on the ground, too tired for grace.

The red sound rocked him, vibrated through his body, steady and slow, louder and louder, his heart slowing to match. Soon, it was all he could feel and all he could hear and all he could see and then...

Tony gasped and sat up in the bed.



to be continued.