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On the plasma, the image of a driver’s license appeared. Tony drew in a breath and held it for a moment, gauging the ache in his lungs. This time, there was a sharp pain down low, an indication of just how tired he was. He blew out the air in a sigh and tried not to cough.
“Lauren Odell,” he began, seeing Gibbs turn towards the plasma out of the corner of his eye. “Eighteen years old, waits tables on the weekends. Father deployed to Iraq in March – Lieutenant James Odell – mother works as a secretary at Parker and Parker. They’re a remodeling and plumbing company, a brother and sister team. The mother’s name is Emily Odell, maiden name Jackson. She comes from old money, and has a hefty inheritance. She doesn’t need to work for a living. Lauren has no siblings. The mother reported her missing on Wednesday. Her case was initially picked up by one of the smaller teams – Usher’s,” Tony added hastily at Gibbs’s stare. “Usher handed it off to us when he got wind that it might be more than a simple kidnapping. The mother got the ransom note this morning.”
“Send it down – ” Gibbs began.
“Already done, Boss,” Tony interrupted. “Abby’s looking for prints now.”
Gibbs grunted.
“According to her mother,” Tony continued, “she last spoke to her daughter Wednesday morning. Lauren was heading to the civilian gym on Wisconsin Avenue with a group of friends in Lauren’s ’02 Passat. The car went missing with Lauren.”
“Ziva,” Gibbs began.
“Find and question the friends,” Ziva supplied, snatching her jacket from her chair on her way towards the elevator.
“McGee – ”
“Putting out a BOLO on the missing vehicle,” McGee replied, spinning his chair around and skimming his fingers over his keyboard.
“DiNozzo – ”
“Question the gym employees and regulars…on it, Boss,” Tony said, setting down the remote.
“DiNozzo!”
Tony froze in midstep.
“Boss?” he asked tentatively.
Gibbs looked at him exasperatedly.
“Ducky, now,” he ordered. “I’ll interview the gym employees. You come down with pneumonia on me, you’ll be scrubbing down Autopsy’s cold storages.”
Tony winced.
“Right. On it, Boss.”
“And you take the antibiotics he gives you,” Gibbs demanded on his way to the elevator.
“Yes, Boss!” Tony called, and the elevator doors slid shut.
McGee gave him a sympathetic look.
“What’re you looking at, McGoggle-Eye?” Tony asked peevishly. There had once been a time when McGee would have cowered at such a tone, but that time was long gone. He sighed and rolled his eyes now instead. Somehow, while Tony had been distracted, McProbie had grown a pair.
Disgruntled at the knowledge, Tony spun on his heel and stalked toward the elevator without waiting for a reply.
Down in Autopsy, Tony almost got his nose broken again when Palmer rushed out carrying an armful of trays. The resulting thunderous crash was enough to provoke an already temperamental Tony into an explosion.
“Palmer!” he yelled, scrambling to his feet from where he’d landed on his ass.
“Oh my god, Tony!” Jimmy stuttered, scrambling to his feet. A tray clanged loudly as he stepped on it, and slid out from under him, sending him off balance and crashing into Tony’s knee. Tony yelped.
“Oh god oh god oh god,” Jimmy chanted, kicking the tray out of the way as he slid a hand under Tony’s elbow to pull him to his feet. Rubbing his jaw, Tony gave Palmer as absolutely murderous look, making the horrified chants die in his throat.
Still glaring, Tony jabbed his finger in a short pointing motion at the trays scattered on the ground, then pointed silently out the door.
Jimmy clamped his mouth shut, hurriedly scooped up the abused trays, and scuttled out the door.
“Oh my, Anthony,” Ducky observed from the middle of the room. “I’ve only seen you in such a towering temper once before, when that young lady…Miss Dawson, was it? threw your – ”
“Ducky,” Tony growled, and Ducky smiled.
“Jethro send you down for another checkup, did he?” he asked, coming around the table and stripping off his gloves. “This is the third time this month, Anthony.”
“Don’t I know it,” Tony sighed.
“Well, let’s see what we’ve got. Up on the table, my boy.”
Bracing himself with his hands, Tony hopped up to sit on one of the autopsy tables, feet dangling. He’d long since gotten over any squeamishness that accompanied sitting where corpses often laid. He’d been down here often enough.
“You know, Anthony, you’re going to give poor Mr. Palmer an aneurism one of these days,” Ducky began as he went to fetch his stethoscope. “Your glare is nearly on level with Jethro’s. The poor boy is quite terrified of you.”
Tony elected to stay silent, instead beginning to unbutton his shirt.
“You know, that reminds me of when I first became the Medical Examiner for NCIS,” Ducky said thoughtfully. “I’d been out of medical school for…oh, about six years by then, I should think. I met Jethro on my first day of the job. He was one of two junior field agents at the time, if I remember correctly, under Mike Franks. He and Justin Andrews. Alas, poor Justin was killed in the line of duty just a few months after I arrived. After that, the probationary field agent spot was taken up by…why, Jenny Shepard, as a matter of fact. The Senior Field Agent was given his own team and that position then went to Jethro.
“Now, as I recall, poor Jenny was quite intimidated by our dear Jethro. Now, don’t tell Jethro I said this, but I suspect he practiced his glare on her.” Ducky couldn’t hide a smile. “Fortunately, our late Director was made of stern stuff. Now, as you know, this will be a bit cold…”
Ducky blew a couple times on his stethoscope before pressing it against Tony’s back. The chill seeped through Tony’s skin.
“Deep breath,” Ducky murmured, and Tony obeyed. Ducky moved the stethoscope. “Again,” he said, and Tony drew in another deep breath, feeling the sharp pain again.
“Quite a bit of wheezing, Anthony,” Ducky said, pulling back with a frown. “Have you been wearing layers like I told you?”
“Yes,” Tony said grumpily. “Doesn’t seem to matter.”
“Still get cold?” Ducky asked sympathetically. “You’re still passing your physicals, I presume?”
“Wouldn’t be here if I didn’t,” Tony replied.
“True,” Ducky conceded. “I’ll give you some stronger antibiotics this time. I fear that with the onset of winter, you’ll be more susceptible to lung-based illnesses such as bronchitis and pneumonia.”
“I always am, Ducky,” Tony grumbled.
“Yes,” Ducky smiled. “That is probably why Jethro insists on sending you down here so often.”
Tony popped his eyes wide.
“Really?” he asked. “I thought it was to terrorize Palmer.”
Ducky huffed a quiet chuckle.
“I just felt the most unusual urge to slap you on the back of the head,” he smiled.
“Going!” Tony yelped, snatching his shirt on his way towards the door.
“Anthony!” Ducky called. Tony stopped and looked over his shoulder, and Ducky shook the bottle of pills in his hand so it rattled. Tony held out his hand and neatly caught the tossed bottle.
“Cheers, Duck,” Tony said, and shouldered open the door. He narrowly missed smacking straight into Palmer, returning from Abby’s lab sans trays.
“PIMMY!” Tony snarled, barely keeping his balance after twisting out of the way.
“Oh god oh god oh god,” Jimmy chanted, and ducked through the door to Autopsy. The door slid shut in his wake.
Tony stood there for a moment, then laughed.