Fic: Adagio for the Moon (Chapter 1/12) [NCIS 'Were!Verse]
Title: Adagio for the Moon
Author: Scarlet_Gryphon
Rating: PG-13/T
Warnings: Language, violence, etc. Nothing you wouldn't see within the show itself.
Chapter Wordcount: 959
Summary: The discovery of a dead Petty Officer starts a long and harrowing investigation for a team in the Major Werecreatures Crimes Response Unit of the NCIS. The race to find out who is behind the murder and whether or not more murders can be stopped in time is on.
Notes: Just a quick note here: this is a work of fiction and should be treated as such. All recognizable characters, settings, etc, belong to their owners. I gain no profit in writing this story; merely my own enjoyment and the joy of sharing it with others. (End A/N)
The sounds of the Major Werecreature Crimes Response Unit flowed around Ziva David as she tried to work on some reports she'd been meaning to get around to for a while now. However, her concentration kept getting broken by Tony, who was throwing wadded up paper balls at Tim. The Middle Beta was studiously ignoring Tony as he worked on some reports of his own, though Ziva could see that Tim's shoulders were getting more and more tense as time went on. Finally, Tim broke down and tore his gaze from his computer screen, his head snapping up as he let out a growl in response to Tony's actions.
'Would you quit doing that already, Tony? I can't concentrate on this,' Tim snapped, an annoyed look on his face. Tony smirked at Tim and then threw another paper ball at him.
'There's nothing else to do, Probie,' Tony said, his grin widening at Tim's reaction. He continued to ball up the sheets of paper that lay on his desk, preparing to continue his assault on his packmate. However, the resumption of the Siege against the Realm of the Elflord was cut short when Gibbs strode into the bullpen, going for his desk and retrieving his Sig Sauer from its drawer.
'Gear up,' Gibbs said, slamming the drawer shut. 'We've got a dead Petty Officer over in Georgetown.'
'Canine or feline?' Tony asked, grabbing his pack. Tim and Ziva did the same, getting to their feet in the process.
'Does it matter, DiNozzo? Get moving!' Gibbs snapped, heading towards the elevator.
'On it, Boss!' Tony replied instantly, following in Gibbs' footsteps. Tim and Ziva quickly fell in line, crowding into the elevator with the rest of their team.
---
The team arrived at the crime scene about twenty minutes later, with Ducky and Jimmy getting there a few minutes before them. After they'd signed in with the security officer outside the crime scene tape, the team went into the townhouse where the crime scene was located. Tony began sketching the crime scene and Ziva started taking pictures of the overall area. Tim looked around the room, taking in the disarray surrounding the body before starting to collect evidence.
'So, who is this guy?' Gibbs asked, glancing only briefly at the patrolman on door duty before returning his gaze to the dead Petty Officer laying sprawled on the floor.
'Petty Officer George Warner,' the patrolman said, referencing a notepad he pulled out from a pocket. 'The responding officer saw that the door was open, so he checked it out. Says he didn't touch anything once he saw him lying there. The house belongs to a James Brownfield, who's out of town at the moment, according to his neighbors.'
While the patrolman filled Gibbs in, Ducky crouched near the Petty Officer's body and took his liver temperature with a sterile probe.
'It looks like he's been dead for about four hours,' Ducky reported, placing the probe in a separate plastic bag so that he could sterilize it later. 'I'll know more, of course, when I get him back home. However, I can tell you that he has severe third-degree burns around his wrists and ankles. What caused them will be up to Abby to tell you, though I suspect that they were caused by prolonged exposure to a silver chain, if the patterns on his wrists are anything to go by.'
'How long was he exposed to the silver?' Tony asked, looking up from his sketching.
'It's hard to tell right now, though I dare say I'll be able to tell you more once I'm finished with the autopsy,' Ducky said, looking up from the body. 'Once Officer David is finished with her photographs, Mister Palmer and I will take care of our dead Petty Officer here.'
Gibbs nodded idly, sipping at his coffee while he watched his team work. He only stood there for a minute before Tim called out, 'Boss, I've got something!'
Gibbs hurried over, taking care not to step in or on anything. As it was, the crime scene was pretty clean; it was becoming more and more obvious that this was just a dump site for whoever had killed Warner. Whether or not the townhouse had been specifically chosen for it or if the killer had just randomly picked the house was up in the air, but Gibbs was sure they'd find out soon enough. Tim was near the back door, looking at something he'd picked up from the floor after taking the appropriate pictures of the evidence in situ.
'What d'ya got, McGee?' Gibbs asked, coming to a halt near Tim.
Tim held up the evidence bag containing a single piece of printer paper. Gibbs took it, examining the paper. There were two lines of text printed in the exact center of the paper:
Ten little werecreatures went out to dine;
One burned his little self and then there were nine.
'Well, that's not creepy or anything,' Tony said sarcastically, having come up beside Gibbs and looked over his shoulder at the paper.
'It reminds me of something I read once,' Tim replied, frowning a bit, 'but I'm not sure what.'
'It says there were ten werecreatures,' Gibbs said, his eyes narrowing in thought as he handed the paper back to Tim. 'Counting our dead Petty Officer, that means that it's possible there're going to be nine more bodies.'
'That means that whoever killed Warner is just beginning,' Ziva said grimly.
'Well, he won't get too far if I've got anything to say about it,' Gibbs informed them, a dangerous glint in his his eyes and the low rumble of a growl to his voice. 'Let's catch this son of a bitch before it's too late.'
A/N: Yes, that poem is a derivative of the one in Agatha Christie's fantastic novel, And Then There Were None. No disrespect is meant in the adaptation and use of said poem for this story.
Author: Scarlet_Gryphon
Rating: PG-13/T
Warnings: Language, violence, etc. Nothing you wouldn't see within the show itself.
Chapter Wordcount: 959
Summary: The discovery of a dead Petty Officer starts a long and harrowing investigation for a team in the Major Werecreatures Crimes Response Unit of the NCIS. The race to find out who is behind the murder and whether or not more murders can be stopped in time is on.
Notes: Just a quick note here: this is a work of fiction and should be treated as such. All recognizable characters, settings, etc, belong to their owners. I gain no profit in writing this story; merely my own enjoyment and the joy of sharing it with others. (End A/N)
The sounds of the Major Werecreature Crimes Response Unit flowed around Ziva David as she tried to work on some reports she'd been meaning to get around to for a while now. However, her concentration kept getting broken by Tony, who was throwing wadded up paper balls at Tim. The Middle Beta was studiously ignoring Tony as he worked on some reports of his own, though Ziva could see that Tim's shoulders were getting more and more tense as time went on. Finally, Tim broke down and tore his gaze from his computer screen, his head snapping up as he let out a growl in response to Tony's actions.
'Would you quit doing that already, Tony? I can't concentrate on this,' Tim snapped, an annoyed look on his face. Tony smirked at Tim and then threw another paper ball at him.
'There's nothing else to do, Probie,' Tony said, his grin widening at Tim's reaction. He continued to ball up the sheets of paper that lay on his desk, preparing to continue his assault on his packmate. However, the resumption of the Siege against the Realm of the Elflord was cut short when Gibbs strode into the bullpen, going for his desk and retrieving his Sig Sauer from its drawer.
'Gear up,' Gibbs said, slamming the drawer shut. 'We've got a dead Petty Officer over in Georgetown.'
'Canine or feline?' Tony asked, grabbing his pack. Tim and Ziva did the same, getting to their feet in the process.
'Does it matter, DiNozzo? Get moving!' Gibbs snapped, heading towards the elevator.
'On it, Boss!' Tony replied instantly, following in Gibbs' footsteps. Tim and Ziva quickly fell in line, crowding into the elevator with the rest of their team.
---
The team arrived at the crime scene about twenty minutes later, with Ducky and Jimmy getting there a few minutes before them. After they'd signed in with the security officer outside the crime scene tape, the team went into the townhouse where the crime scene was located. Tony began sketching the crime scene and Ziva started taking pictures of the overall area. Tim looked around the room, taking in the disarray surrounding the body before starting to collect evidence.
'So, who is this guy?' Gibbs asked, glancing only briefly at the patrolman on door duty before returning his gaze to the dead Petty Officer laying sprawled on the floor.
'Petty Officer George Warner,' the patrolman said, referencing a notepad he pulled out from a pocket. 'The responding officer saw that the door was open, so he checked it out. Says he didn't touch anything once he saw him lying there. The house belongs to a James Brownfield, who's out of town at the moment, according to his neighbors.'
While the patrolman filled Gibbs in, Ducky crouched near the Petty Officer's body and took his liver temperature with a sterile probe.
'It looks like he's been dead for about four hours,' Ducky reported, placing the probe in a separate plastic bag so that he could sterilize it later. 'I'll know more, of course, when I get him back home. However, I can tell you that he has severe third-degree burns around his wrists and ankles. What caused them will be up to Abby to tell you, though I suspect that they were caused by prolonged exposure to a silver chain, if the patterns on his wrists are anything to go by.'
'How long was he exposed to the silver?' Tony asked, looking up from his sketching.
'It's hard to tell right now, though I dare say I'll be able to tell you more once I'm finished with the autopsy,' Ducky said, looking up from the body. 'Once Officer David is finished with her photographs, Mister Palmer and I will take care of our dead Petty Officer here.'
Gibbs nodded idly, sipping at his coffee while he watched his team work. He only stood there for a minute before Tim called out, 'Boss, I've got something!'
Gibbs hurried over, taking care not to step in or on anything. As it was, the crime scene was pretty clean; it was becoming more and more obvious that this was just a dump site for whoever had killed Warner. Whether or not the townhouse had been specifically chosen for it or if the killer had just randomly picked the house was up in the air, but Gibbs was sure they'd find out soon enough. Tim was near the back door, looking at something he'd picked up from the floor after taking the appropriate pictures of the evidence in situ.
'What d'ya got, McGee?' Gibbs asked, coming to a halt near Tim.
Tim held up the evidence bag containing a single piece of printer paper. Gibbs took it, examining the paper. There were two lines of text printed in the exact center of the paper:
Ten little werecreatures went out to dine;
One burned his little self and then there were nine.
'Well, that's not creepy or anything,' Tony said sarcastically, having come up beside Gibbs and looked over his shoulder at the paper.
'It reminds me of something I read once,' Tim replied, frowning a bit, 'but I'm not sure what.'
'It says there were ten werecreatures,' Gibbs said, his eyes narrowing in thought as he handed the paper back to Tim. 'Counting our dead Petty Officer, that means that it's possible there're going to be nine more bodies.'
'That means that whoever killed Warner is just beginning,' Ziva said grimly.
'Well, he won't get too far if I've got anything to say about it,' Gibbs informed them, a dangerous glint in his his eyes and the low rumble of a growl to his voice. 'Let's catch this son of a bitch before it's too late.'
A/N: Yes, that poem is a derivative of the one in Agatha Christie's fantastic novel, And Then There Were None. No disrespect is meant in the adaptation and use of said poem for this story.