Ducky?
Jimmy?
Guys? You in there?
Get it together, Abby.
This is old news.
There's nothing to be afraid of.
Ducky? Jimmy?
Ducky? Jimmy? Guys?
Oh, no. Not again.
Oh, God.
Abbs.
Gibbs.
3:00 in the morning, Abbs.
I know.
I'm sorry I woke you.
You calling for the same reason?
Yeah.
It happened again.
♪ NCIS 10x02 ♪ Recovery Original air date on October 2, 2012
== sync, corrected by elderman ==
♪
This is a top priority.
Tell 'em I want an answer in an hour.
Judy! Judy! Judy!
I've been thinking about your position.
How does one get to be a Navy Facilities Manager anyway?
Oh, same way one gets to be a very special agent, I imagine.
So, uh, good looks, a nice smile, and a little luck?
Uh, hard work, determination,
and as for the luck, I prefer to make my own.
Amen to that, sister.
Well, we've been very lucky
to have you working with the Seabees on this.
The repairs look great.
Oh, it's what we do.
Fresh coat of paint, and my work will be done here.
Hey, listen, I-I just want to take this opportunity
to say that not only are you
great at your job-- clearly, you are--
but you are also the best-smelling,
uh, Navy Facilities Manager I've ever met.
Uh, speaking of repairs, brother...
Were we? Since it is not every day
that our Navy Yard gets blown up,
does our office not deserve a few improvements?
Yeah, I wondered that, too.
Seems like everything's going back exactly the way it was.
Same desks, same
light fixtures.
Would a different paint color be too much to ask?
Ease up, McDutch Boy.
I think the goal here is for things to get back
to the way they were before.
Uh, back to normal as soon as possible.
Those were my marching orders.
Marching orders.
So if you've got a complaint, I think
maybe you should take it to the big man upstairs.
By that, I mean Vance, not the big, big man.
Uh-huh. Though I do see your point, guys.
Um,
budget's tight, but there may be
some wiggle room on paint color.
Give me a few hours. I'll see what I can do.
Mm. Wiggle away.
Seriously? McGee, paint?
Seriously-- "best-smelling Facilities Manager"?
Well, she is.
You've been after her for weeks, Tony.
Never seen you take so long to close a deal.
Rent a room already.
Get. It's get a room.
And I would have already if I didn't have
two player-haters chiming in from the cheap seats.
Guess that would make you DiNozzo, huh?
Uh, the "spirited warrior"
would be Agent David,
and "pensive academic" would be McGee.
Oh, Dr. Cranston sent
bullet-point descriptions of each of you.
Which would make you...?
Oh, forgive me. Miles Wolf.
Crisis counselor.
Recent events have called
for mandatory psych evaluations.
Uh, that's my specialty.
And what tribal name did Cranston use to describe me?
All in due time, but I look forward
to speaking with each of you, uh, quite soon.
But right now, I'm running up to see the big man upstairs,
as you... as you like to say.
Tribal name. Very good.
Just when I think we're finally moving on,
we're forced to have our heads examined by Mr. Happy.
Be still, Warrior.
It's not so bad.
Yeah, not bad for you.
You like talking about yourself.
That's because I have nothing to hide, Pensive One.
Besides,
we're all perfectly fine, aren't we?
I'm good.
Yeah.
I'm perfect.
The good news thus far,
gentlemen, is that all but a few NCIS personnel
have survived the bombing and are soldiering on, if you will.
Does that include the Armory?
Uh, no, Director.
Those were the few I was referring to.
Your Armory is still suffering over their missing
co-worker, Ms. Margaret Watkins.
Midge.
After four months, there's still no sign of her
since she evacuated the day of the bombing.
Oh, we hope that's about to change.
I said maybe, Director.
A car was found.
We're not sure if it's hers yet.
Fingers crossed?
Yes.
Agent Gibbs, I have one unit left to evaluate.
Dr. Cranston suggested I save yours till last.
Uh, start with Sciuto.
Sciuto. That would be Miss Abigail Sciuto.
"Gothic wildflower""
Uh, anything you want to tell me going in?
Nightmares.
Yeah. Gibbs.
I shall be sure to review
Ms. Sciuto's case file before speaking with her.
Divers matched the plate.
Midge's car.
Divers?
That is Midge.
After all this time, I thought she would look much worse.
If you will kindly make room, I will explain
that bodies do not
decay as quickly in cool, fresh water.
I think maybe Jimmy's getting a little cocky
in Ducky's big-boy shoes.
Oh, you-you guys, am I coming across that way?
I can certainly dial it back. Do not dial a thing, Jimmy.
You're coming off just fine.
Talk to me, McGee.
Apparently, this road's a popular shortcut for the locals.
Midge count as a local?
Well, we're right off the highway.
She's three exits south of here.
Uh, victim is female,
early 40s.
Complexion appears dark.
Dark?
She was quite fair.
Is it possible this is not Midge?
I wouldn't get your hopes up, Agent David.
Dr. Mallard!
Hey, Ducky!
Well, you look wonderful.
Why should now be any different?
As to Midge's complexion,
surely Mr. Palmer knows by now...
Yeah, it's-it's silt.
It's-it's pond silt.
Good to see you, too, Jethro.
What are you doing here, Duck?
Well, when Mr. Palmer called me to inform
that one of our own may have been found,
how could I stay away?
Well, how about doctor's orders?
No medical clearance?
A mere formality.
If I'm well enough to swim and play golf,
then, certainly, I'm well enough to visit.
I found a photo ID, boss.
It's Midge.
Certainly not the happy ending we were hoping for.
Maybe she was speeding through here after the evacuation,
lost control of the car?
Well, road's half-mud. Makes sense.
Does it?
Missing Persons report says she made it home that day.
Something doesn't add up.
Yes, I would be inclined to agree.
Agent Gibbs, found a wound in her abdomen.
Looks like she's been shot.
Well, divers have been dredging the pond for hours.
Still no gun.
What's with him?
Apparently, while we were out,
our friend Judy left some paint-color samples
for us to choose from.
Ah. Correction.
My friend Judy left samples on my desk
with a delightfully fragrant and provocative note.
"See anything you like""
Obviously asking all of us.
I'll give you fragrant, Tony,
but clearly, she's asking about paint samples.
Clearly, she's asking what I might like.
Come on.
You know what I'd like? McGee.
An update.
Midge Watkins, 43.
Former enlisted, retired Marine captain,
serving as an NCIS weapons administrator
since '06.
Widowed in '02, with one child, Navy Ensign
Grace Watkins, stationed in San Diego.
She been notified? She's on a flight right now.
Poor Midge.
Everybody liked her.
And she liked everybody.
Mostly.
Mostly? Who didn't she like?
No one, Tony. You were right.
Oh, come on. Seriously.
They're mostly-ing me?
DiNozzo, take Ziva, go talk to Midge's coworkers.
McGee, work up a timeline
of the last day Midge was seen alive. On it, boss.
Why didn't she like me?
Let it go, Tony. Come on. Let's go.
Okay, play it coy.
I'm fine with that.
Seriously, why?
As laboratories go, this one's rather cozy.
I'd been told the bombing did extensive damage.
Well, it's all put back together now.
And if it's all the same to you, I'd rather not
talk about the...
The what? Bombing?
Could you not lean there?
Oh, sorry. It a sensitive machine?
It's not a machine.
It's Major Mass Spec.
And he hasn't completely recovered yet from the...
Bombing.
Look, can we do this another time?
'Cause this thing with the Armory lady
has got me not feeling so great.
Oh, was she a friend?
No. Just, after the, well...
Bombing.
...I was just really hoping that she would turn up alive.
We all were.
I wonder if, um,
we might discuss those recurring nightmares
that you suffered a few years back?
You know, it's not uncommon for
old neuroses to return after a major traumatic event.
So... have they?
What if they have?
Well, these dreams where you see yourself
lying dead in Autopsy--
how does that image make you feel?
I can't.
Yes, you can, Abby.
Trust yourself.
No. Look, you seem like
a really nice man, Dr. Wolf, but...
...I can't go there. I won't.
Well, can't and won't are no match for can and will.
And if you will talk to me, Abby, perhaps I can
stop sounding like a greeting card.
What do you say?
I say can't.
Won't.
I'm not going there.
Not to how it makes me feel,
and I am certainly not going back to Autopsy.
Talk to me.
Ah,
Jethro, we've only just finished
the x-rays.
Old habits die hard.
Mr. Palmer?
So do old doctors, apparently.
I said that because he almost died.
Sorry about that.
Agent Gibbs, despite the decomp,
I noticed some defensive bruising
which indicated that Midge put up quite a fight
before she was shot.
You got a bullet?
Not on the x-ray.
But although there is an exit wound
on her back, so whatever hit
went through and through.
I suggest you swab the entry wound for...
Gunshot residue?
Yeah, Abby's running the samples now.
Go home, Ducky.
I am bored to tears at home.
Well, then read a book.
Hell, write a book.
You need medical clearance.
I'm clearly
well enough to work.
Until I hear that from a doctor not named Mallard,
I want you resting.
Doc, look,
if something comes up and the kid gets stuck,
I'll call you. You know I will.
All right, I'll leave,
but not happily, I assure you.
I don't need you happy.
I need you healthy.
I can't believe Midge is gone.
Could you recount for us
the last time you both saw her?
Sure, it was the day of the bombing.
I was on P229s.
Midge was handling the new Cheytac M200s.
Actually, I handled the M200s.
Pretty sure you had the HK45Cs.
No, Midge had finished the HK45Cs.
I had the P229s and...
I'm sorry.
Could you be less specific?
Start with the evacuation.
Not much to tell.
I got out quick.
Yeah, we let Phyllis and the others go,
and Midge and I stayed behind
to secure munitions.
You hear "bomb scare"
and never really think one's gonna go off.
Well, one did.
Yeah, we still have the bullet holes.
Set off a whole chain reaction.
Boom, bang.
Bullets, shrapnel flying everywhere.
Oh, look here.
I didn't even know I was hit until I was halfway home.
Took a dozen stitches at the ER.
Few inches left, and you would've needed
a lot more than stitches.
Is it possible that Midge was hit?
I don't think so.
We both got in our cars and drove off at the same time.
Who knows?
We were all pretty out of it.
Are you saying Midge didn't know she'd been hit?
We're saying it's a possibility.
A bullet, a piece of shrapnel.
You know of cases where victims are in shock.
Like McGee, for example,
with a shard of glass in his side.
Get a list of all the ammo that went off in the armory.
See what might have hit Midge.
See if we can match it to her wound.
Mm-hmm. Good news.
I'm mentally stable.
Almost disturbingly so.
Uh, who's next?
Rock, paper, scissors? Mm-hmm.
I always win. How'd it go with Abby?
It didn't.
I'm afraid I found her to be rather, uh...
...uncooperative.
Hey, Gibbs.
I was just about to call you.
Yeah, I'll bet.
Um, there are epinephrine pens in the glove box.
Midge's medical file indicates
that she had some pretty severe allergies.
What about the weapon?
Fully loaded .22
under the seat.
She never got to use it.
What's going on with you and the shrink?
I'm sorry?
Abbs, got to do something about these nightmares.
I can't talk to strangers about it, Gibbs.
Well...
it's going to be Wolf or me.
You?
Well, yeah, if it means one of us
getting a full night's sleep.
I mean,
as long as we keep it short.
Nothing...
too deep.
See, this is why I got so freaked out
after what happened that day.
You know, not knowing if I'd lost my best friends.
You didn't lose any of us.
Yeah, but it triggered something, Gibbs,
and now I keep thinking
about what Dr. Wolf was saying about my dreams.
You know, that... that image of me lying dead on...
on the autopsy table and... and how that makes me feel.
Abbs.
Nothing too deep, remember?
Alone, Gibbs.
It makes me feel alone.
Like I've got nobody.
No family.
Just... no one.
You talk to your brother lately?
No, I don't talk to him about stuff like this.
Plus Luca's really busy.
I don't want to bother him.
What about the other one?
My biological brother?
Kyle?
He doesn't even know I exist.
Well...
maybe he should, Abbs.
I only met him once, Gibbs.
I didn't actually meet him,
'cause I didn't have the guts to...
Guts to do what, Abbs?
Abbs?
Bullet.
Oh. Wasn't shrapnel from the armory.
Nope.
Midge was shot at point-blank range
right here in the car.
I was in San Diego, coming off six months at sea,
when word came in about the explosion.
Did you speak to your mother?
We texted.
She said she'd gotten home okay
and she'd call me after she showered.
She never called back.
We searched all summer.
It was like she fell off the planet.
I only went back on duty last week.
My mom would have wanted me to.
I hate to ask this, Grace, but, um,
did your mother have any enemies?
What do you mean?
Wasn't the crash an accident?
Sit down.
Your mother was shot.
It was not a robbery.
That's why it's so important for us
to know if she had any bad relationships.
There were none.
Everybody loved my mom.
She had a special way with people.
Yes, she did.
You knew her well?
Your mother was always...
very supportive of female agents.
Never failed to make me feel as though she had my back.
I appreciated that.
I'm not surprised.
She was a big believer in women supporting women.
Especially in the workplace.
Almost to a fault sometimes.
To a fault?
Just the typical male grumbling about playing favorites.
Not that she ever let it bother her.
You can't tell me Midge didn't like me
because I'm not a woman.
Let it go, Tony. Midge liked you just fine.
She just thought you were occasionally annoying.
Annoying?
That's almost worse.
You're more like high-maintenance.
You know, always switching from the hip holster
to the shoulder to the ankle.
Changing from the Glock 17 to the 23
and then back again.
What's high-maintenance about that?
I like a certain holster.
I like a certain gun.
How about a certain paint?
Oh, Judy.
Um, got your samples right here.
Also got your note. Thank you.
And we have all checked off
our color preferences.
Well, here's the thing.
Uh, I'm afraid I can't deliver what I promised.
Request was denied, and it seems
the big man wants to keep the colors
the same as they were before.
What is up with Vance?
So, again, I'm really sorry, guys.
We appreciate you trying.
Yeah.
Oh, hey, Judy.
We've gotten used to the orange. It's quite all right.
Although I understand your disappointment.
Maybe we could commiserate over dinner tonight.
Tonight?
Yeah. Oh, uh...
I have plans.
Oh, that's a shame.
How about this?
What night's good for you?
Any night.
Can't believe I have to shoot you down
twice in a row.
Shoot... shoot me down?
Uh, well, dinner
is something else that I can't deliver.
I'm spoken for.
Yeah, I'm sorry if I gave you the wrong impression.
I thought you and I were kind of...
sport-flirting.
You know, for fun.
Sport-flirting?
Yeah.
Sorry.
Hey.
It was fun.
You okay, Tony?
She smelled awful nice.
I want answers for Midge, Gibbs.
This trail is cold enough as it is.
We need to step up our efforts.
We're doing all we can, Leon.
Reviewing witness statements as we speak, boss.
Tony and I are looking into potential enemies.
And just a few more evaluations
on my docket, Director.
Oh, Tony,
did you tell everyone your tribal name?
Tribal name?
Brilliant Chatterbox.
You see, Dr. Cranston described... Enough!
Finish your job, Wolf,
and you let my agents finish theirs.
One of our own is dead,
and I want her killer caught.
With no chatterboxing.
Yes, sir.
Nice, Wolfie.
Neglecting to check
the temperature of the room before speaking--
it's, uh, always been a bit of a shortcoming.
But only two to go.
Agent Gibbs?
Ziva, go.
It'll have to wait, Gibbs. I think I'm on to something.
Okay, then put it up.
According
to personal records, Midge hired Phyllis Moss
last year
over the objections of this man,
fellow job applicant Craig Wilson.
He is former Air Force.
McGee...
Deep background, boss.
Wilson filed a bias suit,
claiming that Midge denied him employment
on the sole basis of gender, but the grievance
was thrown out by a review board
just five months ago.
That's around the time of the bombing. Hell of a coincidence.
Here we go.
Staff Sergeant Craig Wilson, 38.
Reprimanded twice for fighting while on active duty.
Discharged for bad conduct in '07.
Currently unemployed.
Out of work and out for revenge? Go on. Take Ziva. Get him.
Very exciting.
Shall we?
Okay.
Dr. Cranston used many words
to describe you, Agent Gibbs.
Most in the...
"tough nut to crack" category.
What say we prove her wrong?
You're the doc, Doc.
Indeed.
So if you would kindly begin
by telling me where you were
when the bomb first exploded.
Would having family around help?
I'm, I'm sorry.
Uh, your family?
Abby's.
You asked her about her dreams.
She says they make her feel alone.
Would family help?
I'm sorry.
You are aware that this is your evaluation
and not...
Yes, yes, it might,
but only if family is proved to be the root
of Abby's neurosis, and that could take weeks of therapy
to discern. I don't have much time.
Hey, Abby. Yeah.
Yeah, I'll be right down.
Duty calls.
But we've yet to even begin... Doc...
I'll be back. I got another question I want to ask you.
But that was a great talk, Wolf.
I feel better already.
Thanks.
Not at all.
Something's odd, Abbs?
What's odd? The bullet that killed Midge.
It's nasty. It's, like,
way nastier than any standard .32 I've ever seen.
Looks pretty standard to me.
Yeah, well, look closer.
It's covered in mold spores,
and old mold, like 60 years,
which means it's a very old bullet.
From where?
Well, my first thought is this assassin...
from the past-- he stumbles
through a tear in the space-time continuum...
Or...
from somebody's very old gun?
That was my second thought.
Here's a list of possibilities.
It's just gonna take me a while to...
...to narrow it down.
You want to take a nap?
In my dreams.
Oh... not my dreams.
That's why I can't sleep to begin with.
Why don't you do something about it?
I am, Gibbs. I...
avoided Autopsy for a really long time,
and I can do that again... Not talking about Autopsy, Abbs.
I'm talking about your brother.
Your other brother, Abby.
What?
How could it hurt?
Lots of ways.
Maybe Kyle doesn't know...
he's adopted.
Or what if he's not ready
to meet his sister?
And what if he doesn't like me? Right.
Like that's even possible.
Come on.
A 60-year-old bullet.
Abby must be in her glory.
And you've barely spoken
since we left, Brilliant Chatterbox.
Not feeling so brilliant, I guess.
Well, if it is any consolation,
your friend Judy did not seem the least bit
spoken for to me either.
She's just a symptom.
Vance was right to yell.
I'm off my game.
I've lost my focus.
It's like half my brain is still stuck in that elevator.
And did you share this with the Wolf?
What, and prove my tribal name?
That's a silly question.
Craig Wilson?
Depends who's asking.
NCIS. We'd like to ask you just...
I hate when they run.
Come here!
I could've warned you against that.
Tony?
That's not what it looks like.
Few things are.
My guns are licensed.
I was only heading out to sell them.
Things are a little tight right now.
Gonna get a whole lot tighter
if one of them killed Midge Watkins.
Just my luck.
I get in a beef with some broad
and she turns up dead.
Excuse me. Make that "some lady""
Or would you prefer woman?
You know what I would prefer?
I would prefer you not wearing so much cheap cologne.
Well, guy on the go, you know,
doesn't have much time for showers.
In fact, Midge, Midge didn't like that either.
She didn't like you a lot,
according to her notes from your interview.
My interview? Hmm.
Hmm. Yeah, I knew that was over before it started.
I was sporting the wrong sex organs that day.
Well, it seems to me,
the person who got the job over you was just more qualified.
Here we go. Typical feminazing,
blindly defending her own.
Excuse me?
You heard me.
You may not have noticed, pal, but that's not
a swastika hanging around my partner's neck.
Wow.
Talk about déjà vu.
I mean, it's like the same interview...
right down to the whipped boyfriend.
Whipped?
Boyfriend? Oh, yeah.
The lovesick puppy that was
hanging all over Midge and her every word.
Oh yeah, she had, she had
that guy wrapped up
big time.
I can understand why she didn't hire this clown.
Ballistics report came back negative.
Midge wasn't shot by any of the guns
that this guy had on him.
That doesn't mean a damn thing. He could've used another gun.
Don't worry about it, Leon.
We're not gonna cut him loose yet.
Um, these are the weapons most likely used.
There's two old and one new,
all capable of firing a moldy .32.
Have McGee start a search.
Will do.
Oh, and, um, if anybody needs me for anything,
I'll be on my cell.
I have a, uh,
family matter to attend to.
A family matter?
Hey, Palmer.
Yeah.
So the water in Midge's lungs
indicates that she was still breathing
when her car hit the pond.
Meaning that she was likely shot just moments before.
Doesn't change much.
No, but these lesions in her trachea might.
So we know she was highly allergic,
but what could cause this kind of reaction?
I really can't even say.
Keep working on her. No.
I mean, yes, I will.
Um, what I mean to say is, um,
this is hard to admit...
Uh... Jeez, Palmer, spit it out.
I couldn't help but overhear what you said to Dr. Mallard
about giving him call
if I got stuck. Are you stuck?
Quicksand.
Strictly brain work.
All brains, no brawn. I promise.
Mallard.
Seriously?
Mr. Gender Bias said I was Midge's boyfriend?
Jon's got a girlfriend.
Can you imagine if we'd hired that jerk?
Trusting him to do what Phyllis is doing now?
No, thanks.
So never anything between you?
Well...
I can't say never. We did kind of have a fling a while back.
A fling?
No way.
It was years ago. No big deal.
How many years?
Right after she lost her husband.
Just a mutual moment of weakness.
- I could picture that. - No, you couldn't, Phyllis,
and neither could we.
Believe me, Midge deserved someone special,
but we knew we were better as friends.
That brings up another reason we're here.
Do you happen to know anything about these guns?
Wow.
Couple of classics.
Nothing like that in stock here.
Not in a long time anyway.
You thinking one of these killed Midge?
Well, if it fired an old
.32 round, yeah, it might have.
Do you know of any collectors or dealers who might know more?
Yeah, I know a few.
I can e-mail you their numbers.
I'll be glad to call
around myself, if it's any help.
That wouldn't hurt.
Be right with you.
No rush.
Um, I was...
Sorry. How can I help you?
Oh, you're not...
I, I don't...
I changed my mind.
Just take it as a sign, Abby.
You waited too long. It wasn't meant to be.
- He has his life; you have... - Excuse me, miss.
Wait, wait, wait.
I thought that was you.
Didn't you come in the shop before?
A while back?
Last year. You remember that?
Yeah, like, like it was yesterday.
That sounded weird, didn't it?
Not at all, no.
I just didn't know if I was gonna see you again.
I had no way to find you.
Why would you want to find me?
I don't mean this in a creepy way,
but ever since you came in,
I can't shake the feeling that, that we had a connection
or something. I, I don't know why.
I do.
I know why.
Wasn't easy to ask Gibbs
to call you in, Dr. Mallard.
No time for pride, Mr. Palmer.
Identifying these lesions is all that matters.
I told you about her allergies.
Yes, you did, and by the look of this,
I'd say that Midge was on the brink
of full-blown anaphylaxis when she died.
That's what I thought.
I just have no idea what could have caused it.
Yes, well, let's swab some samples.
McGee, put up our timeline.
Uh, I got it here, boss.
May 15, the bomb went off at 3:16 p.m.
Coworker Jon Phelps says Midge drove away
uninjured at about 3:45.
She exchanged text messages
with her daughter Grace at 4:56,
saying that she'd call after a shower.
The call never came.
Leading us to believe that Midge left willingly,
or was forced away at gunpoint.
And made to drive to the pond, where she was shot in the car.
Does that timing seem odd to you, Gibbs?
Bomb goes off at the Navy Yard, someone decides
it's a good time to pull off a murder?
Crime of opportunity?
Hoping to make it look like an accident,
a result of the bombing.
Midge puts up a fight;
she takes a bullet, no more accident.
Still no leads on the gun.
That may have just changed, Tony.
You get a bite?
A nibble.
That was a gun dealer up in Philly
who sold a Colt Model 1903 Pocket Hammerless
to a private collector about six months ago.
That was one of the guns on Abby's list.
Who's the buyer?
Well, that's the nibble part.
Seems just an hour ago the dealer got a call
from the buyer begging him not to give out his name.
Tell me you got a name, McGee.
No, sir. The dealer held out.
So instead of waiting for a warrant,
I talked him into giving me the shipping address instead.
That's not far from the pond.
Not far from Midge's place.
The name on the lease...
Oh. Hey,
Agents David, DiNozzo. I assume you know
Agent Gibbs. Of course.
The great Gibbs.
To what do I owe the honor?
You got a gun collection, Jon?
D-Do I have a gun collection?
Okay, let's go with your question then.
Sure, I... do some hunting.
I have a few pieces.
I'd hardly call it a collection.
We know a gun dealer in Philadelphia
who might disagree.
You called him just a few hours ago.
Only to buy time till I figured this out.
I couldn't believe when I saw my 1903 Colt on your list.
Another gun like mine killing Midge?
I mean, what are the chances? Slim.
Show us the weapon.
Yeah, no problem.
Believe me, that's the first thing I did
when I got home today.
There it was, safe and sound,
right where it's been since the day I bought it.
Wh-Where's my Colt?
I-It was just there
a couple of hours ago. I...
Sit.
Stay. Yes, sir.
Yeah, Palmer?
You've got Dr. Mallard here as well, Agent Gibbs.
Good to be back, Jethro.
Ducky,
you're just visiting.
Yeah, well, the lesions in Midge's trachea
were the result
of a severe anaphylactic reaction to a chemical
known as a-Terpineol.
It's used in all sorts of products,
including soaps,
detergents, shampoos, and colognes.
Okay. Thanks, guys.
All clear.
Yeah, the house is clear, but...
do you smell something?
What?
Nothing.
I-I can prove it wasn't me.
I was getting my arm stitched at the hospital
till almost midnight that night.
You call Saint Miriam's Hospital.
It'll be in their records.
Allow me.
Wear a lot of cologne, Jon?
Why would you ask that, boss?
Ducky said our killer had a chemical on him.
Soaps, shampoo...
cologne.
Wilson wore that cheap cologne.
That's right.
I remember that stink.
It was Wilson.
No, it wasn't.
And it wasn't cheap cologne.
It was expensive perfume.
You smell it now?
That's my girlfriend's.
You just missed her, but she'll back me up.
She saw the gun, same as me.
I'm telling you, it was there.
She was at the hospital with you, too?
That whole night, yeah.
Except for when she ran home to get me a clean shirt,
but she was only gone for...
How long?
An hour.
Maybe two.
What else, Jon?
I think I might have said some things that night.
What'd you say?
Just stuff about me...
and Midge and...
how... the bombing might have made me realize
how much she meant to me.
Nice arm.
Jon?
Is that you?
Tony.
You nearly gave me a heart attack.
Wh-What are you doing out here?
I was just following the little pings off your cell phone,
wanted to ask you the same question.
I w... I was just...
Getting rid of the murder weapon?
Figured they'd already dredged the pond,
they weren't gonna do it again?
Turn around.
Wait, wait, Tony,
Tony, just wait, please?
Do you know what it's like to love someone
who talks about someone else constantly?
A woman that he slept with?
I was the one, I was the one in the ER with Jon.
I was... it was me, listening to him go on and on
about how brave she was, how amazing she was.
It's over. Let's go. Okay, wait,
wait, wait.
Don't you want to frisk me first?
Good night, Midge.
Sleep tight.
Felt good to have you back, Doctor.
Yes, emphasis on "felt," past tense.
But I am not really back at all.
Well, felt like you were.
And once again, it wasn't easy for me
to admit that I needed your help.
Mr. Palmer, it took my ego some time to subside,
allowing me to realize that you are perfectly capable
of performing those tests by yourself.
I recall a similar case of anaphylaxis
that we dealt with together,
almost three years ago.
Emphasis on "together."
Stop making it so bloody difficult for me
to be angry with you!
What-what I need
is to feel useful again.
What I don't need is anyone's charity.
Dr. Mallard... Not...
that I don't appreciate your misguided efforts, Mr. Palmer,
but I must take my leave.
And as for my return,
I believe I have some serious thinking to do.
You might notice, Director, that my report is not...
entirely finished.
Well, I knew Gibbs would give you a hard time.
I see that he and Miss Sciuto are listed as incomplete.
Is there anyone else?
That would be you, sir.
Mandatory psych evaluations for the entire agency.
Yeah, I got the memo.
I'm just not so certain that I need to be evaluated.
It's been brought to my attention--
and frankly, I've observed myself-- that...
you seem increasingly irritable of late.
Brought to your attention by whom?
You've clearly been taking the disappearance
and death of Ms. Watkins...
more personally than most.
If I had one wish...
it would be to turn the clocks back to...
to before.
Which would explain your insistence
that everything get "back to normal."
Even the color of the paint.
You do know that...
without your car, Harper Dearing would have found
another way to plant his device.
But he didn't need to, did he?
I parked that car in my driveway.
I drove my kids to school in it that morning.
So...
when I think what being that vulnerable could've cost,
I...
It's all right, Leon.
Everyone is safe.
And no one's blaming you.
Gibbs! Gibbs!
Abbs. Thank you, thank you, thank you.
You're welcome. For what?
This is Kyle, my brother.
Kyle, this is who I've been telling you about.
This is Leroy Jethro Gibbs.
Hi, Kyle.
Thank you, Leroy.
I-It's Gibbs. Call him Gibbs.
Who knew hugs were in my blood?
Well, this is worth celebrating. You want a beer?
Yeah. Sounds good.
What a day.
Yeah, I'll drink to that.
I had a feeling when I saw Abby last year,
we had a connection, you know?
If it wasn't for you, she might have never come back.
Not me. It's all her.
It's a lot to take in, that's for sure.
Having a sister you never even knew existed.
Isn't that right, Abby?
To family.
== sync, corrected by elderman ==