”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.
Author's Chapter Notes:
Abby is wicked. Tony agrees.
Chapter End Notes:
(thanks again for all the nice comments. ncis still hasn't been donated to those in need, i.e. me. woe.)