(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.
Author's Chapter Notes:
there are drink umbrellas!
Chapter End Notes:
i still don't own ncis. this time i don't own young frankenstein either.