”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.
Author's Chapter Notes:
Another dead girl. And food metaphors.
Chapter End Notes:
(hello, sweets. i apologize for the shortness of this chapter, and i want to clarify – i may have been unclear somewhere about this, it seems, since i have gotten so many comments about it: while i love slash, a lot...maybe even more than is healthy – tony isn't getting hot and heavy with gibbs in this story. tony's wolf would never let him submit to what he percieves as a voluntarily abdicated alpha. and in my world, gibbs would never submit, period. stalemate. sorry. anyway, ncis is still not mine. and neither is nick cave. however, if you happen to discover a time machine, please tell me so i can go back to 1983 and catch him at his best. thank you.)