Probable Impossibilities

“You know,” Ducky mused as he patched a small cut on Abby’s forehead under her bangs, where she’d hit it on the edge of the table. “This whole business rather puts me in mind of when I was stationed at UNIT headquarters.”

“You worked for UNIT, Ducky?” Abby asked, intrigued.

He nodded. “Briefly, yes. The medical officer on record had gone missing, and…” He paused thoughtfully. “You know, come to think of it, I do believe the missing man’s name was Lieutenant Sullivan. What a remarkable coincidence: I do wonder if it could be the same man?”

Abby smiled. “You were saying, Ducky?”

“What?” He looked distracted for a moment before quickly catching onto his train of thought again. “Ah, yes. As I was saying, the general consensus seemed to be that the agency’s scientific advisor, one Doctor John Smith, had run off with him somewhere, along with a reporter whose function at UNIT I never did quite grasp. Apparently this Smith was a bit of a freelancer, and more than a little eccentric. However, being quite remarkably brilliant, he was generally allowed free rein and said eccentricities were…tolerated. I never met the man myself.”

“He must’ve been pretty young,” McGee chipped in from the other side of the room, obviously thinking of the UNIT agent he’d been introduced to. “Either that or it was a different Doctor John Smith.”

“The latter is more likely: it is a common enough name, after all,” was the cheerful reply. “The Smith I knew of was some years older than myself. Not to mention a good deal taller.”

“How long ago did you work for UNIT?” Abby asked.

Ducky paused, his hands hovering in mid-air. “Oh, a good twenty to thirty years ago, at least.”

“Considering this guy looks about Tony’s age, yeah, I guess it’d have to be someone else,” McGee conceded.

His bandaging done, Ducky dropped his hands back to his sides and Abby looked at him. “All set?”

“As you said, you may very well have a few bruises come morning,” he admitted. “Otherwise, though, you are in perfect health, my dear.”

Beaming at him, she hopped down from the table she’d been lying on and joined McGee over at the computers.

“If I may ask,” Ducky chimed in again. “What precisely is it that you two are engaged in?”

Abby grinned. “Let’s just call it…a little side project for Gibbs.”

He peered closer. “Oh my. I wasn’t aware you had found any suspicious fingerprints.”

“We didn’t–at the crime scene,” she explained, her hands flying over the keyboard. “These belong to the latest John Smith to claim UNIT as his employer.”

“Gibbs doesn’t trust him,” McGee elaborated unnecessarily.

“Yes, I can quite see that,” Ducky stuffed both hands in his pockets, showing no inclination to leave. “Dear me. Is the Director aware of this…side project?”

“Officially? No. Unofficially? Maybe.”

McGee’s computer beeped at him. “I’ve got a hit,” he exclaimed.

A second later, Abby’s made the same noise. “So do I.”

But the beeping didn’t stop. Nine more files popped up on each computer, leaving the three staring at each other in bewilderment. “I thought you said you had enough of a print for a definite match,” McGee demanded.

“I did!” Abby insisted, looking more than a little distressed. “Besides, McGee, if it were that bad, we wouldn’t have gotten a hit at all. Not–”

“Ten,” he supplied unhelpfully.

“Are there photographs to go with any of these files?” Ducky asked, intrigued.

“Yeah, of course.” Abby ran her fingers over the keys again and a black and white photograph popped up, of a long-haired old man with a frown on his face.

“Okay, that’s not…John Smith.” McGee stated the obvious. “Or at least, it’s definitely not the John Smith I met.”

She hit a few more and a second photograph popped up, this one of a shorter, black-haired man in plaid pants and carrying a recorder. Another keystroke summoned up a third image, of a tall, silver-haired gentleman dressed in a frilly seventies-style tuxedo. When the fourth popped up–a tall, curly-haired eccentric of a man with enormous teeth, even bigger hair, and an even bigger scarf–Ducky exclaimed, “That is, however, the John Smith I am acquainted with.”

“I thought you said you never met him,” McGee objected.

“Oh, I didn’t,” Ducky confirmed. “I did, however, see the man on one occasion and that is most certainly him. He was rather memorable.”

“But how is that possible?” McGee argued while Abby kept on bringing up photographs, one after the other. “How could the John Smith upstairs, who looks nothing like this, have the same fingerprints?”

“I haven’t the faintest idea.” Ducky looked equally bewildered. “Unless the John Smith you met this afternoon somehow falsified his own records.”

“He did a really bad job of it if he left another man’s picture on the file. Abby?”

The two men both glanced in Abby’s direction, only to find her staring at the latest two pictures to come up on her screen. One was the John Smith that she and McGee had met earlier, but the other was a man who looked like he’d walked out of a period movie. He had curls to rival Ducky’s John Smith but was wearing an outfit straight out of the Romantic period.

Even stranger, though, was look of absolute shock and recognition on Abby’s face as she stared at him. “John Smith…” she said in a voice so faint that the two men standing on either side of her could barely hear it. “Doctor John Smith!” She leaped up from her seat so suddenly that she nearly clipped both Ducky and McGee with her elbows. “Oh my God, I am such an idiot!”

Ducky looked bewildered. “Beg pardon?”

Abby grabbed him by both shoulders. “Red tennis shoes, Ducky. Red tennis shoes!”

Then, with that cryptic explanation that was no explanation at all, she bolted from the lab.

+++

To Gibbs’ surprise, Jenny ushered them all not into her office, as he’d expected, but into MTAC. No sooner were they through the door than a man rose to greet them. He wasn’t a physically intimidating figure, being shorter than pretty much all of them except Ziva and Martha, but both his uniform and his bearing indicated that this was not someone to trifle with.

“Agent Gibbs,” Jenny said. “I’d like you to meet Admiral Daniel Stockton. Admiral Stockton has been briefing me on Admiral Sullivan’s mission here in the US.”

“Sir,” Gibbs greeted him respectfully. As a civilian, he didn’t have to salute, but that didn’t mean the impulse ever completely went away.

Admiral Stockton accepted the offered hand. “That was quite a jolt we felt a few minutes ago. I hope no one was hurt?”

Gibbs’ tone remained neutral. “Not seriously, no.”

“Good.” The Admiral nodded. “Since we haven’t been evacuated, it also seems safe to assume there’s no terrorist activity or structural damage to worry about?”

“Depends on who you ask and when,” DiNozzo muttered under his breath to Ziva, who allowed herself a small smile.

Gibbs shot them a look before answering. “Doesn’t seem to be any permanent damage, Sir.”

“So what exactly happened down there, Agent Gibbs?”

“That’s what I’d like to know,” Jenny added, pinning him to the wall with her glare, or at least trying to. He ignored it.

“Funny you should ask,” Smith interjected, stepping forward and assuming center stage. “Considering it seems to me, Admiral Stockton, that if you know what Harry was up to, then it’s likely you already know the answer to what happened. Or at least have an idea.”

Stockton’s eyes swung to him, but Gibbs kept his firmly on the Director. Her expression remained grave even as she avoided his gaze.

“Electric blue? Looks a bit like a jelly, but for the part where you could likely run the entire planet with a sample small enough to fill a thimble?” Smith prodded a little further.

Much to Gibbs’ shock, Admiral Stockton just nodded. “I should have known. It did much the same thing to our own equipment after we finally managed to get a sample from the object.”

“And what object might that be?” Smith asked.

“This.” With absolutely no dramatic flair, the Admiral pivoted to the giant MTAC screen and hit a button. Immediately, the screen was filled with a high-resolution photograph of something that looked like…well, to be blunt, like a special effect out of a movie.

It was a blob. More than that, though, it was a roughly six foot by three foot by three foot blob of the same electric blue gelatinous material that had been found in Admiral Sullivan’s car, the surface as smooth as if it had just come out of a Jell-O mold. That wasn’t the strangest thing, though: the strangest part was what appeared to be inside it.

“Is that…is that a person?” DiNozzo exclaimed in shock.

“It certainly appears to be,” was Admiral Stockton’s dry answer. “A very specific and rather surprising person, all things considered.”

Gibbs was beginning to feel like he’d fallen into some sort of surreal dream, but nevertheless managed to keep his voice even as he asked, “And who might that be?”

“Well, taking into account this is based solely on a visual identification, since we haven’t been able to crack open the object to take finger prints…it appears to be Lieutenant Charles Carroll Taylor.”

Before Gibbs or anyone else could ask who the hell Lieutenant Charles Carroll Taylor was, a familiar voice answered that question from the doorway:

“Leader of Flight 19, who went missing over the Bermuda Triangle on December 5, 1945.”

They barely had time to register Abby’s presence before she was flying across the room, throwing herself into Smith’s arms as if he had been Tony or Gibbs. But the most startling thing of all was the smile that lit up his face the minute she touched him.

When she finally released him, she poked one finger repeatedly into his chest. “You! You are in big trouble, Mister! Where do you get off showing up here with a new face and a new name and not telling me? What if I hadn’t figured it out? Would you have just left again without even saying hello, let alone goodbye?”

Smith opened his mouth to say something, but she just ran right over him, still scolding like a mother to a disobedient child. “No, y’know what? Don’t answer that. I don’t want to know. What I want to know is what are you doing here? And what happened; why the new look? And what does any of this have to do with Admiral Sullivan?”

Martha was still reeling at the concept of the Doctor not being able to get a word in edgewise when Gibbs managed to interrupt. “Abs!” he said sharply. “You know this man?”

Abby rolled her eyes and gave him her most ‘duh!’ expression. “Gibbs! This is the Doctor.”

The Doctor grinned. “That’d be me all right.” He looked at Abby with an expression that could only be described as pride. “I knew you’d put it together. You were always brilliant at that.”

Abby glared at him. “I’m not talking to you right now.”

The Doctor looked floored. “What?”

She turned to Martha. “You, on the other hand, I want to talk to. We can compare notes, and for what it’s worth? I know some of the best tattoo places out there, if you ever want to get a nice, permanent souvenir.”

Martha grinned, instantly liking the other woman. “I’d like that.”

“Will someone please explain to me what the hell is going on?” Gibbs interrupted again.

“Come on, Gibbs,” Abby wheedled, turning her attention back to him. “You have to have heard of Flight 19–it’s one of the most famous Bermuda Triangle-related disappearances in history. Five Navy planes take off from Fort Lauderdale on a routine training mission, and disappear without a trace after a series of panicked final transmissions suggesting that their instruments had gone haywire and even the ocean ‘didn’t look right.'”

“That’s correct,” Admiral Stockton nodded. “For over sixty years, official Navy policy has been to deny that anything untoward happened to Flight 19. Even I didn’t know any differently until one of my men shot down a UFO a week ago and, when we went to look for debris, this is what we found.” He nodded towards the photograph on the screen. “Admiral Sullivan was brought over to see what could be done to extract and revive Lieutenant Taylor safely so that he could be interrogated.”

“Didn’t they find the missing planes, though?” McGee asked. He’d arrived a heartbeat after Abby. “I could’ve sworn I saw a special about it on the Discovery Channel or something.”

“The planes, maybe,” Abby answered with a shrewd look in Admiral Stockton’s direction. “That doesn’t mean something unearthly couldn’t have happened to the pilots.”

“Meaning…?” Gibbs prodded.

“Meaning,” Smith–the Doctor, as Abby had addressed him–answered as if the question had been directed to him, “that I need to have a word with your witnesses.”

Gibbs shook his head. Okay, enough of this insanity: he was putting his foot down here and now. “You’re not talking to anyone until I see some sort of proof that you are who you say you are.”

“Oh, he’s not,” was Abby’s breezy reply.

The Doctor looked at her, eyes wide and wounded. “Abby!”

She smirked at him then turned her attention back to Gibbs. “He’s better. He’s the Doctor, Gibbs. If there’s anyone in the universe who could find Admiral Sullivan, de-gunk Lieutenant Taylor and solve the mystery of who took them both, it’s him. Trust me.”

There were times when the Doctor rather regretted his proclivity for leaving K-9s with assorted companions, whether by his choice or the dog’s. Of course, he had to give the latest model to Sarah Jane–she’d been so heartbroken at the loss of the previous one–but there’d been no reason not to build a Mark V model after that. The robotic dog’s vast array of sensor equipment would have come in quite handy, saved running back to the TARDIS to more closely examine the electric blue goop that had been found inside the car.

Besides which, considering K-9 and Harry had a mutual friend in Sarah Jane, he rather thought he would’ve liked to help out, for her sake.

There was nothing for it now, though: even though it wouldn’t have taken much time to construct another model, with Harry apparently at the mercy of some alien species or technologically advanced human organization with unknown motives, there wasn’t time to spare. So, since the substance, whatever it was, was apparently beyond the discernment of the sonic screwdriver, back to the TARDIS they went with the sample he still had on his fingertip.

He marched straight through the console room to the corridor beyond, hoping the particular laboratory he needed hadn’t moved too far in the two or three decades since he’d used it.

Martha followed. So far she’d been unusually quiet and serious on this adventure, but then he supposed it was rather a lot of information to take in: Harry, Sarah Jane, the Brigadier and Abby all at once…come to think, maybe he’d best not bring K-9 into it as well. True, he probably ought to have given her some warning, but then at least he’d mentioned Rose, so she could have hardly thought she was the first: not like when he and Rose had run into Sarah Jane.

He pushed the thought from his mind, sliding a small sample of the blue gel into a device he’d picked up somewhere in the Andromeda Galaxy. “Here we are, then! Now to take a closer look at this, see what it’s made of. If I’m right…”

“Why don’t you ever talk about them?” Martha asked as he pushed buttons and peered through lenses.

“Hmm? What?” The Doctor looked up from his specimen, blinking bewildered eyes. “Talk about whom?”

“Harry. Sarah Jane. Abby. The Brigadier. That couple we stayed with back when we first landed in 1969–the Chestertons.” She waved a hand as if to encompass every companion he’d ever had whose name she still didn’t know. “Was Rose really so much more important than all of them?”

“Of course not: don’t be ridiculous,” was the somewhat sharp answer. His intentions had been good, hadn’t they? No more surprises, no more allowing people to think he’d never cared for another; that was why he’d brought up Rose in the first place. Well, that and the blow of their unintended parting had still been very fresh when Martha had walked into his life. He’d not spoken of Rose in, oh, weeks…had he? “Where would you come by that notion?”

Martha gave him a sceptical look. “So then why is this the first I’ve heard of Harry Sullivan, or Abby Sciuto, or Brigadier Lethbridge-Stewart or Sarah Jane whatever her last name is?”

“Smith,” he answered absently, a nostalgic smile creeping onto his face. “Sarah Jane Smith. She’s a reporter. Brilliant one. Could save the world without leaving the house, should ever she put her mind to it.”

Martha smiled. “Now, see? That’s nice. But it still doesn’t answer my question.”

In a moment she was going to plant herself in a chair and refuse to budge again until he talked; he could see it in her eyes. “Well, as to that…I suppose it just…never really came up.”

“Only because you never brought it up,” she pointed out shrewdly.

The Doctor shifted, looking away from those astute brown eyes and turning his attention back towards his sample. Surely this wasn’t the time to be having this conversation, with Harry’s life potentially on the line. And wasn’t that the point of mentioning Rose in the first place and taking her to meet the Chestertons, to avoid having it again entirely?

His thoughts turned back to Abby. Brilliant, beautiful, enthusiastic Abby, always wanting the know the answer to everything, from the best hand to win at Naq’Le’cheza’q to who murdered the king of Septima VII and tried to frame them for it. Abby, who’d resisted every attempt he’d made to persuade her to stay just that little while longer because she’d had a plan for her life long before he’d ever become part of it.

He’d never expected to see her again. Truth be told, he never expected to see any of them again, avoided it whenever possible. It was usually too painful. Bless Abby for looking nearly the same as when he’d parted with her all those years ago.

“Doctor?” Martha’s voice prodded gently.

He looked up, helpless not to, and he could see the moment when she read the truth in his eyes.

“Oh,” Martha said quietly. “They left you, didn’t they? All of them.”

“They left or they died,” he admitted. For one awful moment he saw Ace go down on the front lines at Arcadia. His fault. He’d brought her to Gallifrey, persuaded the Time Lords to train her as one of their own, only to see her get caught up in a war the rest of her race never even knew was happening.

He saw Adric, trapped in the web of history, dying so the human race could be born. He saw Peri, who might be dead or might be alive, and him too terrified of the truth to ever try to discover it. His fault.

“Or I left them before they could.”

Sarah Jane. Jack. Susan.

Rose wasn’t the first who would have stayed. She was just the first in a long time that he might have allowed to.

He met Martha’s eyes again, and this time he was the one searching. And just as his own face had betrayed him to her, so now hers did to him. There was no promise of forever there, or even as near to forever as such a short-lived species could offer. No, Martha Jones was too conscientious to ever leave the world behind for long. Maybe she hadn’t realized it yet, but he’d known from the first time she set foot inside the TARDIS, which was why he’d tried so hard not to extend that invitation past the first few trips. One hadn’t been enough–it never was–but sooner or later she’d grow discontent with this life too. Sooner rather than later, he suspected. All it would take was the right impetus and she’d turn back to the life she’d chosen for herself just as Abby had.

Martha looked away, abashed.

An awkward silence descended between them, one which might have lasted a good long time if the machine–one of these centuries he really ought to flip it over and remind himself what the blasted thing was called–let out a demanding beep.

Relieved, the Doctor grabbed his glasses out of his pocket and leaned in to peer at the screen. “Just as I thought,” he crowed. “Brilliant, simply brilliant! It’s nanotechnology, but on such a scale! Look at that!” He pointed to the read-outs even though he knew a twenty-first century human wouldn’t be able to decipher them. “Billions of computers, each the size of an atom, every one more powerful by itself than the most advanced computer on Earth, but with the molecular cohesion of organic matter! Spread a bit of that on the right surface, and you could transport anything in the world from one end of the universe to the other with a single command.”

“So not humans, then?” Martha guessed.

“Oh no,” the Doctor shook his head. “Any human agency belonging to this century wouldn’t even recognize this technology for what it is, let alone be able to manipulate it. At least I’d hope.” His face darkened. “The question is…what could a race so advanced possibly want with Harry Sullivan?”

+++

The explosion rocked the entire building, setting off alarms everywhere. Abby herself was thrown halfway across the lab, into a pile of equipment that did not make for a comfortable landing.

Once she’d picked herself up, she stared in dismay at where the mass spectrometer had been; it now lay in pieces on the floor. Counters, tables and even the wall had been ripped apart by the force of the blast. Remarkably though, there was no charring, no scorch marks, nothing to indicate the explosion had been anything but concussive. Which was impossible: even a concussion grenade had to be set off somehow.

McGee reached her first, having been already on his way down to help with the fingerprint search when he heard–and felt–the blast. “Abby!” he exclaimed, hurrying to her side to help her up. “You okay?”

“I think so,” she answered uncertainly, her voice shaking a little.

“What happened?”

Abby shook her head. “I put the sample from the car in the mass spectrometer, and I was lifting the prints from Smith’s cup when it just…blew.”

“Water gel?” he guessed.

“No, it didn’t show any of the properties of…” Her voice trailed off, her eyes widening in disbelief. “Holy cow!”

McGee pivoted to look where she was staring, and his own jaw nearly hit the floor. On the other side of the room, the damaged area was slowly but surely…repairing itself. Pieces of shrapnel wiggled out of the walls, creeping back together as though delivered by thousands of invisible ants. The counter knit back together, hoisting everything that had slid off it back up with what was almost care. By the time Gibbs arrived, to look at the lab the only way you would know that anything had happened was the heap of equipment that Abby had knocked over when she landed.

“Abby!” Gibbs hollered as he burst through the door, followed less than a heartbeat later by Tony, Ziva, and Ducky. He looked around the room, frowning when nothing seemed out of place enough to explain what had happened. “What the hell happened down here?”

“The mass spectrometer blew up,” Abby answered dumbly.

He glanced in that direction then looked back skeptically.

“Gibbs, I swear, five minutes ago it was shrapnel!” she insisted. “It just…fixed itself!”

“She’s not lying, Boss,” McGee chimed in, still sounding a little shell-shocked himself. “When I got here, that whole side of the room was ripped up. It was like…watching time go backwards or something.”

“You sure there wasn’t anything hallucinogenic in that stuff, Abs?” DiNozzo asked. Abby glared at him.

“Tony, I know what I saw,” McGee insisted.

“Me too,” Abby chimed in. “And I don’t think it was human.”

“Not human?” Tony echoed. “You’re not buying into that crazy theory of Smith’s, are you?”

Gibbs looked at him. “And what crazy theory might that be?”

DiNozzo quailed. “Ah…never mind.”

“He suggested that the Admiral might have been abducted by aliens,” Ziva supplied. She would, Tony thought sourly. She’d distrusted the two visitors from the start: for that matter, so had Gibbs.

Gibbs looked around the room, his voice tight with fury as he addressed all of them. “And none of you thought to tell me about this?”

“It may not be as crazy as it sounds, Gibbs,” Abby argued, drawing everyone’s attention back to her. “Believe it or not, I’ve seen stranger.”

His eyes focused on her like a searchlight, ignoring the comment. “You okay?”

Abby nodded, rubbing the back of her head gingerly. “I might have a few bruises in the morning,” she admitted.

Gibbs gave a curt nod and looked at Ducky. “Duck?”

“Of course,” he answered, moving briskly to Abby’s side. “Let me have a look at you.”

While Abby submitted herself to his ministrations, Gibbs glared at the rest of the team. “What are you all doing standing around? We have an Admiral to find.”

Muttering apologies, they all scattered back to work, McGee settling down at Abby’s computer while Gibbs chased Ziva and DiNozzo back upstairs. When they got there, they found John Smith and Martha Jones waiting for them, visitor’s passes clipped to their respective lapels and worried expressions on their faces.

“What’s all the activity? What’s happened?” Martha asked anxiously. “Did you find something?”

DiNozzo shook his head. “Nothing bad. There was a small accident in Abby’s lab.”

Smith’s face blanched. “What? Is she all right?”

“She’s fine,” Gibbs answered curtly with a look that plainly said, ‘Why the hell should you care?’

“Good…that’s good,” Smith said, looking distracted. “What sort of accident?”

“She said the…substance which we found in Admiral Sullivan’s car blew up the mass spectrometer,” Ziva answered. “Although we saw no evidence of any explosion.”

“No, we just heard and felt it,” Tony pointed out.

“Mass spectrometer…” Smith frowned. “Oh, of course! I should have known it would be designed to resist any such primitive attempts at analysis. Stupid, stupid! Why didn’t I warn her?”

“Are you certain she’s all right?” Martha asked. “Because there are some sorts of internal injuries that don’t show symptoms right away. I could have a look–”

“Ducky’s taking care of her,” was the firm answer. It was clear from his tone of voice that further interference on their part would not be welcome. Gibbs turned to Smith, then. “I take it you have an idea what this stuff is?”

Smith nodded. “Nanotechnology. On a scale you likely can’t even imagine.”

Gibbs growled, “Try me.”

“Agent Gibbs!” the Director’s voice called from above before Smith could take him up on that. She was standing at the top of the stairs, looking down on the chaos below her like some vengeful goddess. “Security is going nuts and you’re just standing around chatting? What the hell happened?”

Gibbs looked at John Smith, something very akin to satisfaction in his eyes. “Since you seem to know so much more about what’s going on than we do, how about you answer that?”

Now this was a beautiful car, Abby thought. The gleaming jet black Buick LeSabre, brand new, had a gray leather interior, tinted windows and bullet resistant glass. It was standard enough government issue–for important government people, anyway. No one had ever offered her a ride to court in one of these babies.

It was also just about pristine. Oh, she’d lifted several fingerprints from both the inside and outside of the vehicle, but instinct told her that none of them would belong to anyone who wasn’t supposed to be there. There was no sign of a struggle, no sign of anything…

Except, of course, for that weird blue gunk on the ceiling. Reaching up carefully so as to scrape some into an evidence container without knocking the rest down all over herself and her favorite red jumpsuit, she studied the stuff speculatively. It had a consistency somewhere between Jell-O and shampoo, with a color so electric blue it almost glowed. In spite of that, it was surprisingly difficult to disengage from the gray felt which lined the interior ceiling of the vehicle.

“Come on, come to Momma, you big blue baby,” Abby murmured in a low voice. She blinked as a clump of the goo suddenly loosened with a faint squeak that sounded almost like the sigh of a teeny tiny person. Like microscopic tiny.

“Interesting…” She peered at the lump now resting at the bottom of her evidence jar. It was almost as if the stuff had responded to her command, but Abby quickly shoved the thought aside. While it was possible–she’d certainly seen stranger things–it was more likely that her weird dream about the Doctor had sent her imagination into overdrive.

“Find anything?”

Abby jumped a good six and nine-tenths inches, almost hitting her head. “Geez, Gibbs! Stop sneaking up on me like that!” Schooling her face into her best scowl, she wriggled out of the back seat, screwed the lid onto the evidence container and held it up to show him.

Gibbs took the container from her hands and peered at its contents. “What the hell is that?”

“Well, it could just be upholstery shampoo that someone forgot to wash off the ceiling,” Abby said cheerfully. “Or, it could have something to do with the Admiral’s disappearance. I won’t know until I run a few tests on it.”

He nodded, handing the jar back to her. “Anything else?”

“Only the expected fingerprints,” was the answer. “Which might narrow down our list of suspects.”

“Or it might not,” Gibbs countered. “Keep digging. Let me know anything else you find.”

“Aye aye, Gibbs.” Abby saluted and immediately pulled out a dolly and lay down on it to inspect the undercarriage. She’d no sooner wheeled herself under the car than she heard the elevator open and DiNozzo’s voice.

“Hey Boss. Abby find anything yet?”

Gibbs’ voice was flat as he answered: “At the moment I’m more interested in what you’ve found, DiNozzo–or rather who. And why the hell you brought them back here without my authorization.”

Intrigued, Abby rolled back out again just in time to see Tony’s face turn scarlet. “Ah…”

“Director Shepard instructed us to bring them back here,” Ziva answered in her usual brisk manner.

“You went over my head?” Gibbs did not sound happy. Abby flinched in anticipation of the head smack DiNozzo was almost certainly in for.

“We didn’t have a choice, Boss. The Director said to notify her immediately if and when anyone from the UK wanted in.”

Abby sat up then and studied the two newcomers, intrigued. Both of them were watching Gibbs and didn’t seem to notice her at all.

“So?” Gibbs demanded.

Ziva stepped up. “They are with UNIT. The Unif–”

“Unified Intelligence Task Force,” Gibbs interrupted her. “Yeah, I know who they are. What the hell does that have to do with anything?”

“Apparently Admiral Sullivan has a long-standing affiliation with the agency. When he failed to check in, they sent people to investigate.”

“Which would be where we come in,” interjected the taller of the two strangers, a brown-haired brown-eyed scarecrow of a man wearing a long tan coat with a blue suit that really didn’t match it. He stuck out a hand, grinning like a maniac. “Hello! John Smith. This is Martha Jones.”

Gibbs met his gaze evenly. He ignored the offered hand, instead raising his coffee cup to his lips before turning on one heel and marching back into the elevator. He didn’t say where he was going, but Abby would put money on it being the Director’s office.

DiNozzo laughed uneasily as the elevator doors slid shut. “That would be Agent Gibbs, the boss. And this is–”

He didn’t get any further, because the minute Smith’s eyes landed on Abby, his face lit up like a Christmas tree and he blurted out, “Abby Sciuto! Look at you! You haven’t changed. Well, not much anyway. Far less than one would expect, considering. And fighting crime, well, of course! Should’ve known. Brilliant, just brilliant!”

Abby took a step back. Oh no. Please tell me this is not some drunken one-night stand from London that I forgot about, back to haunt me. “Do I…know you?” she asked dubiously.

All the glee drained out of Smith’s face, replaced by a look of disappointment that was weirdly familiar. “No. No, of course not. I suppose you wouldn’t.”

Then he looked beyond her. “Oh, is this the car, then? Mind if I have a look?”

Before anyone could say so if they did, the skinny guy had already slid his butt into the back seat and began touching things, instantly contaminating the scene.

Tony and Ziva just stared, aghast, and Abby surprised herself by not bodily hauling the man out of the car before he could do any more damage. “It’s okay. I already went over the car, every inch of it. Still…don’t tell Gibbs, okay?”

“Are you kidding?” Tony said. “I think I’d like to keep my small intestines.”

The girl Smith had called Martha stepped forward now with an apologetic glance at them both. “He does that. I’m sorry.” She held out a hand in greeting. “I’m Martha. Did he say your name was Abby?”

Abby shook it then nodded. “It is. How’d he know that, though?”

“He knows all sorts of weird things.” Martha shrugged. “Though it’s possible Agent DiNozzo or Officer David told us, and I just forgot.”

Now that made sense.

He was now going over the car with a little silver wand that for some reason seemed vaguely familiar to Abby. “Traces of transmat energy. Very faint, though. Whatever sort of device was used, it was either very small or operated at a distance. Powerful enough to transport the entire car, though.” He paused then, looking up at the ceiling and poking a finger into the blue goo she’d found earlier. “Hullo, then, what’s this?”

“No idea,” Abby answered. “I have to run a few tests on it before I’ll know anything for sure.”

Smith promptly popped the fingerful of goo into his mouth, prompting Tony to make a loud gagging noise: “Oh, God, that is disgusting!”

The other man ignored him, frowning. “It’s inorganic. A conductor, too–got a bit of a jolt on my tongue there. Maybe some sort of enabling agent, designed to facilitate matter transport at some distance from the actual transporter?”

“So you’re saying he was teleported out of the car?” Martha guessed a second before Abby had a chance to put together all the technobabble and come up with the same conclusion.

“Wait, teleported?” Tony asked, surprised. “What is this, Star Trek?”

John Smith glared at him in a way that suggested more annoyance than the question merited and Abby wondered what on Earth Tony had done to him. Then she glanced over at Martha: young, hot, wearing clothes that were both stylish and showed off her figure…Abby grinned. Then again, all Tony probably had to do was just be Tony.

“Hardly,” Smith answered in a sober voice. “What I’m talking about is very, very real.”

To the untrained ear, Ziva’s next remark would’ve been totally flat, but Abby could hear the incredulity lurking beneath the surface. “So you believe that Admiral Sullivan was, what? Abducted by aliens?”

Smith shrugged, pointing his little silver wand at the goop as if he had a portable lab in there. “Wouldn’t be the first time.”

Tony blinked. “Wouldn’t be the first time for what?”

Smith just ignored him, and Abby chuckled under her breath. On second thought, maybe she did know the guy from somewhere. Something about him did seem familiar: she just couldn’t pin down what. Not that it really mattered: the minute Gibbs found out he’d been rambling on about aliens, he’d be off the investigation so fast he and Martha Jones would be back in England before they realized they’d left. He might indulge her belief in them, but these people weren’t even NCIS, let alone his team, which meant an automatic lowering of Gibbs’ BS threshold.

UNIT sounded vaguely familiar too, for some reason. Oh well. She’d probably heard Gibbs or Ziva or someone mention it before and just forgotten.

“Look, I’m going to get this back to the lab.” She waved the evidence jar of goo at them. “On the unlikely chance you find something I missed? Let me know right away.”

Smith poked his head out of the car and smiled at her, a smile that inexplicably warmed her down to her toes. “Oh, you bet I will.”

+++

Once Abby had left, Martha crossed to where the Doctor was still inspecting the Admiral’s car and crouched down beside it. “Well,” she remarked in a voice deliberately pitched too low for the others in the room to hear. “Hasn’t this trip just been one big bundle of revelations.”

The Doctor looked at her quizzically. “How do you mean?”

“Abby,” she said simply. “You did know her, didn’t you? Just for some reason she doesn’t remember you.”

“Oh, she remembers me all right,” he answered absently, still waving the sonic screwdriver around the interior of the car with a little frown on his face. “Just not this me.”

Martha frowned. As explanations went, that was a bit cryptic even for the Doctor. “I don’t understand.”

“It’s all a bit complicated, really,” the Doctor dodged the question. “Easier to show than tell, but considering the circumstances involved in that, well, rather not for the moment if it’s all the same.”

Behind them, the lift dinged its arrival and the doors slid open to reveal the young man Tony had called “Probie” but Ziva had addressed as McGee. He stepped out hesitantly, clearing his throat. “Um, Tony? Ziva? Gibbs sent me down to tell you…the Director wants to see us. All of us, and the, ah, guests.”

Martha poked the Doctor. “That’d be us.”

“What? Oh, yes!” Coming back down from whatever intellectual height he’d been exploring, the Doctor crawled out of the car and stood behind Martha. “Love to meet your Director.”

McGee blinked. “All right…um…well, she’s…in her office.”

The Doctor made a melodramatic gesture. “Lead on, MacDuff!–always wanted to say that.”

Martha couldn’t help but smile. “Well, leastways you didn’t say it to Shakespeare.”

Tony pointed a finger in the exact opposite direction. “I’ll just check in with Abby.”

Ziva’s hand clamped down so tightly on his arm that his mouth opened in an exclamation of pain. “Ow!”

“Oh no you don’t,” Ziva informed him crisply. “If you expect me to walk into a confrontation between Gibbs and the Director with only McGee for back-up, you are sadly mistaken, Tony.”

“All right, all right,” he conceded, following the rest of them into the lift. “Take it easy, Ziva. I wasn’t really going to skip out.”

“Coming from a man who has, in fact, done so on more than one occasion?” Ziva snorted. “I find that difficult to believe.”

The two glared at each other until Martha discretely cleared her throat. Once she had their attention, she asked. “So why does your Director want to meet us anyway?”

“Probably to apologize on behalf of the US Navy for misplacing your Admiral,” Tony answered with a grin. “And assure you that NCIS will do everything in its power–meaning our power, since it’s our case–to recover him safely.”

“Therein lies the problem,” the Doctor said grimly, pocketing the sonic screwdriver. “If I’m right…it may not be in your power.”

McGee gave his two colleagues a confused look. “What’s he talking about?”

“Mr. Smith appears to be under the impression that the Admiral was abducted by aliens,” Ziva answered in a voice so subtly mocking Martha almost didn’t catch it.

“Now, I didn’t actually say aliens,” the Doctor protested. “It’s entirely possible whoever it was could be human. But if so, then they’ve got their hands on some very advanced technology. Too advanced.” He looked thoughtful for a moment, then asked, “Don’t suppose Torchwood operates this side of the Atlantic, do they?”

Upon receiving three blank looks in return, he nodded. “Right. Well, there’s a mercy anyhow.”

“Director Shepard?”

Jenny looked up from her computer, peering over her reading glasses at her secretary, who was standing in the doorway. “Yes, Cynthia?”

“Assistant Director Vance is on the line. He says he wants to speak with you.”

Jenny sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose as she removed her glasses. “Of course he does,” she answered dryly. Assistant Director Leon Vance sometimes seemed to think that he was better suited to her job than she was, and as a result had made something of a habit of second-guessing her decisions. Considering he had also butted heads with Jethro on more than one occasion, she didn’t need to speculate what this particular call was about: she already knew.

What she didn’t know was why Vance was awake–it was barely four in the morning in San Diego. “Put him through: I’ll take it in here.”

Cynthia closed the door with a parting, sympathetic smile and Jenny turned to the phone, picking up the blinking line and forcing a calmness she didn’t feel into her tone: “Good morning, Leon.”

“Madame Director.”

Aside from Gibbs when he was irritated with her, no one else she knew could put quite that much disregard into her title. Jenny smiled bitterly but didn’t let it show in her voice. “What can I do for you, Assistant Director Vance?”

“Well, for starters you can explain to me what the hell you were thinking when you assigned Leroy Jethro Gibbs and company to find this missing admiral. I always thought you had, well, I guess the best way to put it is a better sense of self preservation.”

“Agent Gibbs is probably the best field agent NCIS has,” Jenny answered.

“He’s also a blunt instrument,” Vance pointed out. “He doesn’t care who he offends as long as he gets the job done. And while that may be an admirable quality in a field agent under normal circumstances, in a situation like this, it’s nothing less than a liability. We’re already close enough to having an international incident on our hands.”

Jenny silently blessed years of practice putting senators, admirals and four star generals at ease, because her voice didn’t show a hint of her growing irritation. “I assure you, Agent Gibbs is well aware of both the sensitivity and the urgency of this particular case.”

Leon snorted. “Oh, I’m sure you informed him. I just doubt it will make any difference.”

Jenny briefly considered letting him keep going, if only out of a morbid curiosity as to how long it would take him to run out of steam. Ultimately, though, she decided she didn’t have the patience. “While I appreciate your thoughts on the matter, Assistant Director Vance, I’m afraid the decision has already been made. And I have no desire to raise questions both at home and abroad about the efficiency of this agency by reassigning the case less than six hours after assigning it. Now, was there anything else?”

Vance was silent for a little while before admitting, “I have no other concerns at the moment.”

“In that case, I have an agency to run, so you’ll forgive me if I don’t take time to chat. I’m sure you’ll let me know if anything else comes up that concerns you.”

Hanging up, Jenny let out a deep sigh. So help me, Jethro, she directed one fierce, silent thought in Gibbs’ direction before going back to her paperwork. If you do one thing to screw this up and give Vance reason to lord it over me? I will have your ass in a sling so fast you’ll think you were born in it.

+++

She’d gone over it so many times in her head but the memory stubbornly refused to gain any clarity. One minute the sun had been shining through the windows of the car and Admiral Sullivan had somehow gotten her talking about her childhood. Then she’d blinked…

…and the sky had turned dark overhead, stars coming out like an explosion in the sky as they pulled up to the gatehouse at the base, six hours late and Admiral Sullivan had vanished without a trace.

Stephanie was afraid. Not just for her career–although even if NCIS and her superiors ultimately did believe her story, that could still be over just for being careless enough to misplace someone so valuable–but even more for the kindly admiral who had begun to remind her of her grandfather before he’d disappeared. He might have been old fashioned, but there was a sincerity and a kindness about him that covered a multitude of sins.

What could have happened that was so horrible she’d blocked it so completely from her mind?

The door opened and Stephanie glanced up listlessly at the man who entered. He was tall, handsome, and impeccably well dressed. Probably NCIS, which meant another round of questions she wouldn’t be able to answer.

“Hey,” the man greeted her with a smile that was almost blinding it was so gorgeous. He stepped into the room and set a paper cup on the table. “Thought you might need a cup of coffee.”

She reached for it. “Thank you. You’re NCIS, aren’t you?”

The agent grinned and took a seat opposite her, holding out a hand in greeting. “Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo. Call me Tony.”

Stephanie smiled and shook his hand before taking a sip of coffee. “You know I won’t be able to tell you any more than I told Chief Poindexter, right? I honestly don’t remember what happened.”

“So tell me what you do remember,” Agent DiNozzo suggested with surprising gentleness.

She swallowed hard and nodded. “All right.”

Taking a deep breath, she started her story over again from the moment she’d met Admiral Sullivan emerging from customs. She felt the holes in her story as keenly as Agent DiNozzo must, if not more, but despite hours of struggle still couldn’t fill them.

When she’d finished what had almost become a recitation, he asked, “What can you tell me about the purpose of Admiral Sullivan’s visit?”

“Without consulting my superiors? Nothing. It’s classified. Beyond classified.”

“If it’s on a need to know basis, I think this would qualify as me needing to know,” DiNozzo pointed out.

“I understand that, Sir, but I’m still not at liberty to speak about it.” She hesitated for a moment before admitting, “I’ll probably lose my clearance anyway, if not my commission, over this. But if not…”

He nodded. “I understand. Can you tell me who I should contact to see about getting that information released?”

“The only names I knew aside from Admiral Sullivan were my direct superiors,” She explained. “I suppose they might know more. But with the Admiral missing, I’m not sure how willing they’ll be to give out any information.”

DiNozzo sighed. “Yeah, that’s what I figured. And also what I was afraid of.”

+++

“I don’t understand,” Martha asked quietly as they followed the Corporal across the compound. “Who’s Harry Sullivan and why’s he so important?”

“Someone I knew a very long time ago,” the Doctor answered distractedly. “A lifetime ago. Well, several lifetimes ago, really.”

“An admiral? Really? How’d that come about?”

“Well, he wasn’t an admiral then, just a lowly lieutenant. And he travelled with me for a while.” The Doctor grinned, eyes twinkling. “You’d like him, I think. He’s a doctor too. Only authorized to work on sailors, though. Bit old-fashioned when I knew him, but then so was I, rather.”

Martha’s world tilted minutely on its axis, but not really in a bad way. She’d been expecting Admiral Sullivan to be some person of great future importance, like the man who cured cancer or something: certainly not an old friend of the Doctor’s. Why, the way he’d talked when they first met, she’d rather got the impression that Rose, whoever she was, was the only friend he’d ever had.

“So if he’s a doctor…what would he be doing here?” she asked, confused. “The Americans haven’t spread their military quite so thin they need to borrow high-ranking medical officers, have they?”

“I shouldn’t think so,” the Doctor answered, shaking his head. “Although, given he’s disappeared under mysterious circumstances, I suspect Harry’s presence here had less to do with his medical expertise and more to do with his UNIT affiliation. Or alternatively, with me.” His face sobered on that last. “Though if that were the case, surely they’d be more inclined to nab Sarah Jane or Jo or the Brigadier than Harry.”

Three more names she’d never heard before: Martha almost inquired who Sarah Jane, Jo and ‘the Brigadier’ were too, but thought better of it since they were approaching a very official-looking building.

Corporal Nelson led them into the building and into the midst of a group of quite important looking people: some in uniform, others in civilian clothes. Her eyes were drawn to a couple conversing in a corner; a tall, handsome man about the same age as the Doctor looked and a woman about her height, with long black hair and the bearing of a soldier. Both looked up as Nelson led Martha and the Doctor inside, their conversation coming to an abrupt halt.

Stepping away from his partner towards them, the man smiled: a smile that skipped over charming and went right to seductive, one hundred percent of it directed at Martha. “Hey. I didn’t know we were expecting anyone else at the party. Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo, NCIS.” He held out a hand. “Call me Tony.”

The Doctor jumped in front of Martha, intercepting the offered hand and pumping it vigorously as if he hadn’t even realized it was intended for her. “John Smith. This is my associate, Martha Jones.”

“Smith and Jones. Seriously?” DiNozzo grinned, again never taking his eyes off Martha. When they both just stared at him, he elaborated: “You know, like the old TV series, Alias Smith and Jones?”

Martha snorted. “Bit more like Will and Tommy Lee, thanks.”

She wouldn’t have thought it possible, but DiNozzo’s grin got even bigger, his eyes shining with what looked like approval. Beside her, the Doctor snorted and muttered something under his breath that sounded vaguely like, “Not another one.”

“I don’t suppose anyone would care to enlighten me who these people are and what they are doing here?” the woman demanded in a clipped tone. “Corporal?”

Agent DiNozzo shot her a dirty look. “Ziva, relax. Who died and made you Gibbs anyway?”

Ziva bristled. “This is a closed crime scene under NCIS jurisdiction. I think we have a right to know.”

“They’re with UNIT, Ma’am,” Corporal Nelson explained.

“There, you see?” DiNozzo winked at Martha before turning his attention back to Nelson. “Which unit would that be?”

“Not a unit: UNIT. U-N-I-T. Short for United Nations Intelligence Task Force,” the Doctor interrupted. “Then again, I think last time we met they’d shortened it: Unified Intelligence Task Force or something like.”

“The intelligence arm of the United Nations,” Ziva explained when DiNozzo still didn’t look enlightened. “Which still doesn’t explain what they’re doing here?”

“I think if you examine Admiral Sullivan’s file, you’ll find he’s been attached to UNIT for quite some time,” the Doctor answered. “Nearly since its inception.”

“How did you even find out?” DiNozzo asked. “For that matter, how did you get here so fast? Didn’t they retire the Concorde five years ago?”

“You think we wouldn’t have known something was wrong the minute the Admiral missed his check-in?” Martha improvised.

The Doctor gave her a sidelong, approving glance. “Quite right. Of course, if it’s inconvenient, we could always arrange for transport home…inform the Prime Minister and Her Majesty that our involvement was not welcome…”

Tony and Ziva exchanged an uneasy glance. “Right,” DiNozzo finally acceded. “Where would you like to start?”

Nine hours earlier

Stephanie Sawyer couldn’t remember a time when she hadn’t idolized her grandfather. According to her mother, she’d first announced her intention to follow Dwayne Sawyer’s footsteps into the Navy when she was three years old, and nothing in her life had swayed her from that single-minded purpose. The proudest moment of her life had been graduating from Annapolis with him in the audience, wearing his dress whites for the last time, clapping as hard as he could, with the biggest smile on his face and tears in his eyes.

At least he’d lived to see it; two weeks later they’d lost him to an unexpected heart attack and Stephanie’s life had never been the same.

Oh, she still loved the Navy, the smell of the ocean, the traveling…but she felt the aching hole of Grandpa’s absence every time she couldn’t call him to tell him everything he was cleared to know about a new assignment. Especially an assignment like this, that not only upgraded her security clearance but put her at the forefront of what very well might be a whole new era in human history.

Brushing her hands nervously over her skirt, Stephanie watched the passengers coming out of customs at Washington Dulles international airport, searching not so much for a face as for a uniform. She spotted it a heartbeat later: the Royal Navy’s equivalent of her own dress blues, only with the insignia of a Rear Admiral instead of a Lieutenant, on a tall, slender white man with graying curls. He had a garment bag in one hand and searched the crowd with a pleasant expression on his face.

Taking a deep breath, Stephanie stepped forward to meet him, acutely aware of the two Marines behind her waiting to provide escort back to Norfolk and two more waiting at the car with Petty Officer Jacobs. “Admiral Sullivan?”

His eyes stopped roaming and fixed on her, accompanied by a warm smile. “Yes?”

Stephanie snapped to attention and saluted. “Lieutenant JG Stephanie Sawyer, Sir. I’ll be your liason.”

“Yes, of course.” He returned the salute politely. “You’ll have to forgive an old man his old fashioned notions, dear girl…sorry, Lieutenant. I was looking for–well, suffice it to say someone else.”

A man, probably, Stephanie thought. And white too, no doubt. “It’s all right, Sir. I’m used to it.”

“That doesn’t make it right,” he admonished gently. “I have a friend–Sarah’s her name–who would be quite wroth with me if she knew. So since she’s not here to prod me to it, I shall simply have to apologise of my own free will.”

His eyes twinkled merrily and Stephanie found herself warming to him almost instinctively.

She smiled. “Can I get your bag?”

“I wouldn’t hear of it,” he refused with a great amount of dignity but still that twinkle in his eyes. “I may not be quite the chauvinist I once was, but there are a few old fashioned notions I have no desire to part with, and that is one of them.”

He paused a moment before adding. “However, if you do know where we might find one of those little trolleys…”

Once she figured out that the trolley he meant had nothing to do with San Francisco, it took no time at all for Stephanie to find and acquire a luggage cart for the price of a few quarters. “There we are,” the Admiral declared cheerfully, setting his small suitcase and garment bag down on the cart. “That’s much better. I declare, I don’t recall travel taking such a lot out of one. But then, I did most of my traveling when I was a good deal younger.”

Feeling emboldened by the Admiral’s friendly manner, Stephanie worked up the courage to ask, “Where did you go?”

“Places you likely wouldn’t believe,” he answered with a nostalgic smile. “Not yet.”

She felt a shiver of anticipation at the oblique reference to the incredible secret that had brought them here. She’d been briefed just enough to know what they didn’t know about it, but the implications of that were staggering enough. “Yes Sir.”

By this time, they had reached the two black government cars that waited for them at the curb. Petty Officer Jacobs popped out like a jack-in-the-box, the trunk opening almost at the exact same moment.

Stephanie made the introductions and Jacobs saluted. “Sir. Ma’am. Can I help you with those, Sir?”

“You would know your capabilities better than I, Petty Officer,” Admiral Sullivan answered with a hint of reproach. “However as to whether you may…yes, quite.”

Jacobs shot Stephanie a curious look, not realizing that he’d just gotten a grammar lesson. Fighting a smile, she indicated with a nod that he should load the luggage into the trunk.

“It’s about a three hour drive to Norfolk,” Stephanie explained. “We can stop for something to eat on the way if you want, as long as we let security know.” She nodded towards the Marines, one of whom would be riding with them while three more would follow in another car.

“Three hours!” the Admiral sounded mildly dismayed as he allowed Jacobs to open the door for him to slide into the car. “Do forgive me, I don’t mean to be rude, but weren’t there any airports nearer our destination?”

“There are, but a dense fog rolled in on base about a week ago and won’t go away,” Stephanie explained as she climbed into the front seat next to Jacobs. “Flights in and out have been restricted. Dulles was chosen of the civilian airports because it has the best security.”

“Ah, I see,” the Admiral answered from behind her. “Tell me: is heavy fog common in this part of the world?”

“Not like this,” Stephanie admitted. A shiver of premonition ran spidery fingers up her spine as she thought back to what Naval Station Norfolk had looked like when they left it, shrouded in mist so dense it looked like something out of a horror film. “I’ve never seen a fog like this before.” Shaking it off, she made her voice deliberately light. “It can’t be helped, I guess. Can’t change the weather…”

+++

Ten hours later

“Do you have any idea,” Tony announced as they pulled away from the gatehouse and onto the base at Naval Station Norfolk, “how much I love not having to explain that yes, NCIS is a real agency and not just some dyslexic attempt to spell ‘CSI’?”

Sitting next to him in the back seat since Ziva had called shotgun, McGee let out a sigh. “Yes, Tony. You tell us about it every time we have a case that takes us on base.”

Gibbs snorted. Tony couldn’t see Ziva’s face, but he’d be willing to bet she was rolling her eyes.

“Some things bear repeating, Probie.”

“There’s repeating and then there’s beating a dead mule,” Ziva countered from the front seat.

“First off,” he argued. “It’s dead horse, not dead mule.” Ziva made a face at him, but he ignored her and continued sagely, “Secondly, when you both have been in NCIS as long as I have, you’ll appreciate the time saved.”

“Put that time to good use solving the case and even I might,” Gibbs chipped in dryly from the driver’s seat.

Inasmuch as it was possible to snap to attention while sitting, Tony did. “Yes, Boss.”

It took only a few minutes for Gibbs to navigate the base, finally pulling up outside the security office where the six witnesses to Admiral Sullivan’s disappearance were being held awaiting their arrival. Climbing out of the car and entering the building, they were met by a man in his early forties, wearing the uniform and insignia of the Chief Master-at-Arms.

“Agent Gibbs?” he greeted the group, extending his hand. “Thanks for coming. As you can imagine, the place is in a bit of an uproar. Your director said you’d understand the need for urgency in this case.”

Gibbs’ expression didn’t change, but his eyes darted covertly around the room. “I understand the need for urgency in every case, Chief…”

“Poindexter. Richard Poindexter.”

Gibbs gave him a curt nod before brushing past him. “I trust you kept our witnesses separated.”

Poindexter didn’t miss a beat, matching his stride to Gibbs’ almost effortlessly. Tony was impressed. “Of course. Although, considering the six hour lag between when Admiral Sullivan was supposed to arrive on base and when the cars arrived without him, they’ve had plenty of time to get their stories straight.”

“Which are?”

“The same thing for all six of them: one minute they’re leaving Dulles with the Admiral safely in the back seat and one escort vehicle, the next they’re pulling up to Gate 1 eight hours later and he’s gone. All of them swear they don’t remember a thing.”

“Maybe they don’t,” Tony offered.

“Maybe,” Poindexter agreed dubiously. “I’d like to believe so, because Lieutenant Sawyer is a fine officer; I served under her grandfather shortly after enlisting and until now she’s been a credit to his legacy. But unfortunately, their stories are all just a bit too glib, too convenient.”

Gibbs nodded. “DiNozzo.”

Tony stepped forward, only years of practice stopping him from clicking his heels. “Yes, Boss?”

“Sawyer. McGee, take Jacobs. Ziva and I’ll tag team the Marines.”

DiNozzo’s grin nearly split his face in half. With a jaunty salute he headed off in the direction Poindexter indicated.

When he’d disappeared from sight, Ziva snorted. “Catching flies with sugar, Gibbs?”

Poindexter looked at her.

McGee cleared his throat. “Ah, Ziva? It’s catch flies with honey, actually.”

Gibbs pinned the younger agent with a look that had made hardened marines quail in their combat boots. “Is there a reason you’re still here, McGee?”

He flushed a deep red to the roots of his short hair. “Right. Petty Officer Jacobs. On it, Boss.”

+++

“Ancient Egypt?” Martha asked dryly as she stepped out of the TARDIS to find herself standing inside what looked very much like an empty warehouse. “You sure?”

“Of course I’m sure! I’m…oh.” The Doctor popped out right behind her, his indignant protest dying as he too took in their surroundings. “Of course, Akhnaten was quite an ingenious fellow, but even I don’t remember him mastering the art of building with corrugated steel.”

“Try again?” she suggested hopefully.

The Doctor scoffed. “Nonsense. Don’t you even want to know where we are?”

Martha let out a brief snort of laughter but there was no censure in her tone, only amusement. “Knowing our luck? Probably somewhere just outside London: dull as dishwater.”

“Martha Jones, you have no faith in me,” the Doctor admonished. “Have I taken you anywhere dull yet? Dangerous, perhaps a bit dingy, even downright terrifying, yes. But dull?”

She gave him a sceptical look. “You didn’t spend most of our time in 1913 scrubbing floors, serving afternoon tea and biting your tongue.”

To his credit, the Doctor had the decency to look a bit sheepish. “Ah…there is that…”

“And then you got us stuck in 1969 without the TARDIS and I had to get a job in a shop because no hospitals would hire me and you hadn’t any ‘marketable’ skills.”

“Yes, well…” He scrubbed one hand nervously across the back of his neck, sheepishness blossoming into full-blown embarrassment. “Be that as it may…”

Martha smiled: having made her point, she had no desire to belabour it and ruin the fun. “To answer your question, Doctor: yes, I’d love to see where we are.”

Discomfiture vanished in the space of a heartbeat. “That’s the spirit,” he crowed, grinning back at her. “Come on, then!”

Once they’d determined that there was nothing of interest inside the warehouse, the Doctor turned his attention to the door. He used the sonic screwdriver to unlock it and let them both out, locking it again behind them with the explanation that no one would be likely to go searching a warehouse that was known to be both locked and empty.

They emerged under a clear, early morning sky, onto an asphalt street lined in an orderly manner with a variety of low buildings. The Doctor rocked back and forth on his heels, pivoting one direction then the other to take in all of their surroundings.

“Military,” he guessed. “American, if the spelling is anything to go by.” He pointed to a sign on the door they’d just come out, barely readable in the weak dawn light.

Right on cue, someone shouted: “Halt!”

Both the Doctor and Martha froze as a young man in uniform came into view, a gun carefully trained on them both. “This is a restricted area, off-limits to civilians. I’ll need to see your authorization.”

“Can do,” the Doctor answered carefully. “If you’ll just allow me to reach into my pocket and retrieve it?”

The young man nodded and the Doctor stuck one hand slowly into the pocket of his long brown coat, pulling out the psychic paper and flipping it open. “That answer your question…” He glanced at the man’s uniform. “…Corporal Nelson?”

Leaning in to examine it more closely, the young Marine grimaced. “Yes, sir. I’m sorry, I just…I was told UNIT hadn’t been informed yet.”

“Well, you were told wrong,” the Doctor answered, easily slipping into the role even though he had no idea who the man thought he was. “I’m, ah, John Smith. This is my associate, Martha Jones.”

“Right,” Nelson sighed. “I’m guessing you’re here about Admiral Sullivan?”

The Doctor’s expression changed so quickly that even Martha was shocked. Faster than you could say “Oh, snap,” it went from mock serious to deadly serious. “What did you say?”

“The missing Admiral, Sir,” the young man answered, looking bewildered. “The one NCIS is looking into?”

“Yes, but did you say Sullivan? Not Harry Sullivan?” the Doctor sounded incredulous.

“Yes, Sir. That’s him.”

“What do you mean missing? How’s he gone missing? For that matter, what was he doing this side of the Atlantic to begin with?”

Corporal Nelson looked startled and just a touch suspicious. “Sir? Shouldn’t your own people have briefed you on that?”

“They did, of course,” Martha interrupted, extemporizing on the fly just as the Doctor had taught her. “We just need to know what you’ve been told. Make sure no one knows anything they’re not authorized to know.”

“You don’t have anything to worry about with me,” the Corporal admitted. “All I know is that the Admiral’s escort arrived six hours late without him. Although the rumor is none of them remember what happened, which is kinda weird.”

“In that case,” the Doctor stated solemnly, tucking the psychic paper back away into his pocket. “We are most certainly here about the missing Admiral Sullivan.”

There were a lot of words that Abby Sciuto used to describe herself but “heartbreaker” had never been one of them. The Doctor, however, seemed determined to prove her wrong on that point by acting as broken-hearted as she’d ever seen him.

“But you can’t want to leave already,” he protested in a voice almost as crestfallen as his face. “We’ve hardly started! I haven’t had the chance to take you to Florana yet. Or Barcelona–the planet, not the city, although if you’d like we could see both–or Metabilis Three–”

His disappointment tugged at her but Abby shook her head, remaining resolute. “Don’t get me wrong, I’ve had a great time, but it’s been almost two years–”

“In relative time, perhaps, but we already agreed I could return you the very night we departed,” he pointed out.

“Yeah, but if I come back the next day looking like an eighty year old woman, I think people will notice something is up.”

“We’ve plenty of time before that becomes an issue.”

Abby shrugged. “Maybe so. But I also really should go home before I forget what I was studying. It won’t help me to get back in time for my eight o’clock class if I can’t remember what the class was.”

“What about the people of Vorja?” the Doctor demanded next. “Would you abandon them to govern themselves?”

“Why not?” Abby asked. “It works for Earth, doesn’t it?”

“I’m not so certain of that,” he murmured.

Abby hugged him impulsively, closing her eyes and trying to memorize the feel of his velvet frock coat under her fingers. “It’s been fun. Hell, it’s been incredible. I’ve learned so much that I never would’ve if I hadn’t gone with you…but I never meant to stay forever. I’ve got things to do with my life. They may not involve saving the world as often, but saving a piece of it can be just as important in its own way.”

The Doctor’s grip tightened for a moment before he reluctantly let go. “You’re sure this is what you want?” he asked, meeting her eyes.

Abby nodded. “I’m sure.”

“All right, then.” Stepping back, he moved to the control console and began fiddling with it. “Next stop, the University of New Orleans, Anno Domini 1989.” One hand paused over the switch that would send them hurtling towards their destination. “Unless…” He looked up at her. “One last hurrah? I’m told 15th Century Transylvania is lovely this time of year…”

Abby eyed him. “Are you trying to bribe me with Dracula?”

He smiled sheepishly. “Is it working?”

Before she could answer, a cacophonous, jangling sound invaded the TARDIS, like the chiming of a particularly discordant chorus of bells. At first Abby thought it was the cloister bell, but after it chimed again she realized it was something much more mundane.

Frowning, she glanced in bewilderment at the Doctor. “I thought you said the phone on the TARDIS doesn’t work.”

The Doctor glanced curiously at her. “Which phone do you mean? The one outside? It doesn’t.”

“Then which phone’s ringing?”

“Ringing?” He frowned. “I don’t hear any ringing.”

Abby opened her mouth to answer then closed it again in confusion. Wait…this wasn’t how it had happened. He’d offered her one last trip to Transylvania and she said yes…

+++

Abby sat bolt upright in bed, yanked out of the dream like a fish on a line just in time to pounce on the phone as it rang for the fourth and final time before going to voicemail. “Hello?” she rasped, her voice still roughened with sleep.

“Abs?”

“Tony?” She spared her alarm clock a bleary glance, blinking twice to make sure she was seeing it right. “This better be important. And before you say another word, keep in mind that I can kill you and leave no forensic evidence.”

“Would I call at five in the morning if it wasn’t important?” Tony asked wryly. “We have a case. Gibbs wants everyone on the job ASAP. You too, Abs: you’ve got a car to go over with a fine tooth comb.”

“Murder or drugs?” she guessed.

“Missing Admiral,” Tony corrected.

“Missing Admiral?” Abby echoed. “How do you misplace an Admiral? They’re like, important and stuff.”

“That’s what Director Shepard and the Joint Chiefs want to know. Especially since he’s not one of ours.”

Abby’s stomach did a nervous little flip. “What do you mean, not one of ours?”

Tony laughed uneasily. “Rear Admiral Harry Sullivan of the British Royal Navy was in the country for some top secret reason I can’t seem to find out. Somehow he managed to disappear right out from under the noses of two Navy officers and four Marines. Our orders are to find the admiral STAT, before this whole mess has a chance to cause an international incident.”

“Shit.”

“That’s about the size of it, yep.”

Abby nodded, even though she knew he couldn’t see it. “I’ll be there as fast as I can.”

“I’ll tell Gibbs.”

After years of practice, Abby had managed to get even the most challenging part of her morning routine down to its most efficient. It had become something of a contest with herself over the years, to beat her own record. Five AM wasn’t even the earliest she’d ever gotten an emergency call, which was why she always set her clothes out the night before.

The dream lingered in her mind, though, even as the details of it faded. It had been almost twenty years since she’d said goodbye to the Doctor and it was odd that she’d be dreaming about him now. Especially since the phone’s interruption hadn’t been the only thing that felt off about the scene when held up against her memories; she just couldn’t pin down what else was different.

Showering, dressing and styling her hair into her favorite pigtails granted no new insight. The question had to be shelved while she carefully applied her makeup, lest she get distracted and stab herself in the eye with a mascara brush, so it wasn’t until she was halfway out the door that it occurred to Abby what had been different. For some reason she couldn’t explain, in her dream the Doctor had been wearing a pair of red Converse sneakers.

“Dream logic,” Abby said out loud to herself, chuckling under her breath as she dug her keys out of her purse. It had to be: tennis shoes of any kind just didn’t fit with the 19th Century Romantic look that she remembered. Mystery solved, she put it out of her mind.

Still, as she locked the door behind her, Abby couldn’t help but notice that the air tasted faintly of stardust.

The Trouble With Harry

Author’s Note: I could not have pulled this off without the help of several people: mari4212 and becky_monster, my fabulous betas; Debc and Medie for being the world’s best cheerleaders; wolfryder for introducing me to Doctor Who and Harry Sullivan in the first place; chatona for setting up the ncis_bigbang challenge, without which this probably would’ve stayed just an idea, and rheanna27 for issuing the Choose Your Own Companion challenge that got the whole Doctor & Abby ball rolling to begin with.

Chapter One: Prologue
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen: Epilogue