Thy Be Suspect

“Can you get these off me? They're starting to chafe.”

Gibbs looked up from his notes, and stared at the cuffed hands extended towards him over the table. His gazed flicked from the hands to the face and back to the hands. The man was apparently used to getting what he wanted with a flash of teeth and dimples, but Gibbs was immune. He'd had better offers from suspects before.

“No.”

He watched as the other man slumped in his chair with a sigh, looking dejected and put upon. Gibbs wasn't falling for it. In the fifteen minutes since he'd entered the interrogation room, he'd been studying the man across from him and come to the conclusion that he was a skilled manipulator. He wore the mask of a harmless, carefree charmer like he'd been born to it, but the damage done to his agents belied that fact. The man was trained in more than just camouflage.

“What did I do to deserve this kind of treatment?” the man asked, and Gibbs just raised an eyebrow in query.

“You attacked two of my agents,” Gibbs retorted, staring at him intently. He'd always been good at reading the suspects he interrogated, but this man was severely testing him. It was hard to get a fix on him, and Gibbs was getting irritated.

“People come after me with guns, seconds after I stumble across a dead body in a deserted back alley – of course I defended myself!” While Gibbs had to agree with that statement, he didn't believe it. So far, this stranger – who refused to give his name and was absent from every database they had access too – was his best suspect for the murder of a Marine Corporal.

“What were you doing at the club?” asked Gibbs, changing the subject.

“A little drinking, a little dancing, and hopefully a little fun afterwards,” the slick response was accompanied by a lascivious grin that left no doubt in anyone's mind what he meant by 'fun'.

Gibbs didn't buy it for a second.

“Witnesses say you were preoccupied, distracted. That you seemed to be looking for something or someone in particular,” said Gibbs.

“I have high standards.”

Gibbs barely contained his snort of disbelief. From what he'd seen, his so-called 'standards' consisted of 'breathing' and 'conscious'. McGee still alternated between blushing like a thirteen year old and paling in shocked horror.

“I'm guessing you were scoping out your next victim, and when you saw Cpl Shaw heading for the back, you followed him and killed him.”

“Now why would I do that?” he asked, and Gibbs wanted nothing more than to smack the smirk right off his face. The inability to find even one suspect or one connection between the victims was making him and his team irritable, and having Mr Smart Ass here wasn't helping any.

“Why don't you tell me?” Gibbs leaned back in his chair, and tried to radiate a sense of calm and patience, while he waited for an answer. The other man just leaned back in his own chair, mirroring Gibbs in many ways. He wasn't anxious, upset or angry, just relaxed, like he was on vacation.

“You said 'next victim', Agent Gibbs,” he said, finally, dropping the playboy mask. While Gibbs was happy to no longer be facing the charming facade, the one left in its place didn't sit any better with him. “That implies more than one. More than two, really, if you had people undercover in that club.”

“What makes you think that?” asked Gibbs, tilting his head to the side. The man was smart, he'd give him that, but then so was their killer.

“You had people inside the club. One body wouldn't put a specific bar under surveillance, because there's no way to predict you have a serial killer at that point. But more than one would suggest a pattern, and give you an idea of their hunting ground. Hence, the stakeout at the bar.” Gibbs had to give him points for that – especially considering he was right – but that didn't mean he wasn't their killer. The man was good at misdirection. “That's how your people found me right after I found the body.”

“The body was Cpl Darren Shaw. A US Marine.”

A change seemed to overcome him at that, eyes closing and head bowed for a brief instant. He mumbled something, and while Gibbs couldn't quite hear it, the impression he got was a sort of toast for a fallen soldier.

“Who are you?” demanded Gibbs after a moment.

“Just another soldier, Agent Gibbs, but you can call me Jack.”

It was more than any of their searches had turned up.

“What were you doing in that bar, Jack?” he asked again, but in a more considering tone.

“Looking for the same thing you were, I'm guessing,” he said after a moment.

Just then, a shrill ringing filled the interrogation room, causing Gibbs to frown when he realized that not only was his interrogation being interrupted, but that the sound was emanating from his suspect's pants.

“DiNozzo! I thought I told you to search him!” he barked towards the one-way mirror at his back.

“I did, Boss. Really!” came the reply through the intercom.

“And what a search it was,” smirked Jack at the mirror. “We should really get together after this is all over.”

There was a choking sound amplified by the intercom before it disconnected, though he distinctly heard a female laugh in the background. Ziva had been having too much fun at Tony and McGee's expense ever since they'd brought Jack in as a suspect, covered in bruises, cuts, and limping slightly. From the way McGee was holding his arm, Gibbs was pretty sure that at least one of his agents would be desk bound for the next week.

Meanwhile, the phone continued to ring.

“Do you mind if I get that? It's probably important,” he said, tilting his body sideways in the chair and motioning to his back pocket.

“Slowly, and put it on the table.”

As he did so, Gibbs wondered what else DiNozzo had missed in his 'search'.

Looking at the black cellphone, Gibbs leaned over and looked at the caller ID. “'Rose'?”

Jack just remained silent, though Gibbs noticed a slight tensing of his body. The first sign of anxiety he'd seen, so far.

Deciding he'd get more information from the caller than he would from Jack, Gibbs answered the phone in his most congenial voice.

“Hello.”

Silence greeted him, and a quick look at Jack's face told him that had been the wrong thing to say.

”Who is this?” asked a female voice, the accent definitely British in origin. ”Where's Jack?”

Gibbs quickly analyzed his possible responses and the resulting scenarios, before deciding on the best course of action.

“I'll put you on speaker phone,” he said, pressing the right button and laying it on the table between him and the handcuffed Jack.

Jack glared at him in anger, but he return it with his own unblinking stare. He was finally getting an honest reaction out of him.

“Hey, doll face,” said Jack, finally. Gibbs had been worried that he would remain silent, but apparently whoever the caller was, she was important enough for him to reveal himself.

“Jack, where are you?” she asked, and Gibbs could hear the relief in her voice.

“You know, I'm not sure. They never really identified themselves.”

“NCIS headquarters,” said Gibbs, wondering if that was true to not. Meeting Jack's gaze briefly, Gibbs was leaning towards true. He needed to have a talk with his agents, when this was over and done with.

“Who's 'NCIS'?” she asked, but it sounded like she was talking to someone on her end. He couldn't hear the voice that answered her back, but didn't have to wait long.

“Jack, what the hell have you gotten yourself into now?” This time the voice was male, yet still distinctly British, making Gibbs wonder if they should have expanded the identity search to international databases.

“Hey, this wasn't my fault.” he answered indignantly.

”It never is, Captain.” the voice replied, sounding as annoyed as Gibbs felt.

“The Captain,” Gibbs announced, stressing the 'Captain' part, “was found next to a dead body. A dead Marine.”

”And you are?”

“Agent Gibbs, NCIS.”

Again, silence from the other end of the phone.

”Jack?” came the query from the phone.

“I was on my way out when I stumbled across this guy in the back alley, covered in blood. I stopped to check for a pulse just as these two guys come rushing at me waving guns and yelling.” he explained in a resigned voice.

”And the men?”

“Still walking. Mostly.”

More silence, then, ”NCIS you said?”

“Yeah.”

”Right, be there in a jiff,” he said in a jaunty tone before hanging up.

Gibbs glared at the cell phone, as if he could make it connect again. He transferred his glare to his suspect, and knew that this whole thing was starting to slide out of his control.

Jack just sighed and closed his eyes, slumping further down into his chair.

His gut told him he wasn't getting anything else out of this 'Captain Jack' any time soon.

~!~

Hours later, Gibbs was trying to determine the point at which he'd lost control. He finally decided it was when McGee and DiNozzo – battered and bruised – had hauled in the smirking, too-good-looking-for-his-own-good suspect. Who didn't have a scratch on him.

He still didn't know how they'd managed that.

Watching as a tall, dark haired man in a leather jacket led their mysterious 'Captain Jack' out of the building, he wondered when the entire universe had gone insane. Their prime suspect was walking out their front door, without even a hint of opposition. By the Director's orders, too.

“What exactly is going on here, Jen?” he demanded, spinning to face the the Director of NCIS. The man – the 'Doctor', or so he's said – had spun an interesting story about them searching for an escaped prisoner, who's MO was similar to how their dead Marine had died. However, further investigation into the matter revealed that whoever had killed Cpl Shaw and the previous three Marines, wasn't the same one they were after. Or so he said.

Gibbs didn't buy it for a second.

“That latest search you ran produced some hits, Agent Gibbs,” she said. Gibbs could see the muscles moving in her jaw, and deduced she wasn't any happier about the situation than he was. “I got several calls from several international agencies, all telling me to let this 'Captain Jack' go.”

“And you just agreed?” he asked incredulously. Yes, he'd put his people on a second identity search, using his picture and the words 'Captain' and 'Jack', but he hadn't expected this type of response.

“No, Agent Gibbs, I didn't!” Gibbs could hear the rage in her voice, and realized how angry she really was. “But when I get subsequent calls from the Prime Minister of Great Britain and the President, both demanding that I release this man before it stirs up an international incident, I do what I'm told.”

That said, she spun on her heels and stomped back to her office.

“Well, what are you waiting for?” he snapped at his team, all of whom seemed to be staring wide-eyed at him, “We have a killer to catch!”

~!~

Captain Jack Harkness sat staring into space, not seeing the walls of his office, but instead the inside of an impossible ship. It had been years since he'd been inside the TARDIS, but his memories of that ship – of that life – had never faded.

A slight noise drew his attention to the door.

“Well?” he asked with raised eyebrows.

“He's been released,” said Tosh, staring at him with wide eyes. He hadn't told her much of what was going on, but she was smart enough to figure it out. Having his face and most of his name searched for all over the world, had drawn his interest and her attention. He'd released a shit storm on that unsuspecting federal agency, but didn't have it in him to care. History had to play out.

Jack just nodded, not sure he could bring himself to speak. This entire situation had brought up memories he'd thought long buried. Reminders of the life he use to have – wished he still had.

“I managed to get these...” she said hesitantly, placing a folder in front of him.

A quick look had his throat constricting.

Pictures. Surveillance pictures. Of NCIS and a past escapade he rarely bothered to remember. A younger version of himself and a stranger wearing a leather jacket and an unforgettable face.

“Thank you,” he managed to say, forcing the words out past the lump in his throat.

“Will you tell me?” asked Tosh, keeping her voice quiet despite the Hub being empty. “Someday?”

Jack looked up at her, and knew he could trust her. Despite everything that had happened between them in recent months, he knew she'd never betray his confidence. She'd never once told anyone what she'd learned in 1941, about his past and the 'real' Jack Harkness, always glossing over their adventures during the Blitz. And unlike Gwen who looked at him differently after learning another of his secrets - and who always wanted to talk about it – Tosh just accepted it as part of who he was.

She'd gained his trust and protection, but he'd gained her loyalty.

“Someday,” he told her.

And he meant it.

END

Back to Doctor Who Index
Back to NCIS Index
Back to Torchwood Index
Back to Main Page