Title: Murder Will Speak
Rating: T
Disclaimer: Own nothing, not getting paid.
Spoilers: Up to and including 3.09 Frame-up
Disclaimer: Own nothing, not being paid. Some dialogue (italics) taken directly from the episode and not owned by me.
Comments: First of all, huge thank you to kate98 for the beta and title suggestion, and Cha Oseye Tempest Thrain for the beta. This plot bunny was jumping up and down in front of me for a couple of days with a sign saying "write me", and who am I to ignore bunnies with placards? Written for the "What if?" challenge on livejournal.

"He's not saying anything, Jethro." Fornell looked at Gibbs with compassion in his eyes. "He hasn't even asked for a lawyer."

"Let me talk to him." Fornell opened his mouth, but Gibbs continued, "He was talking to me, Tobias. I just wasn't listening hard enough." Gibbs looked down, and grimaced. "He was talking to me."

You know I've been thinking. I'm a federal prosecutor's dream.

"All right."

"Gibbs, so nice of you to drop by again. What, no pizza?"

Tony smiled widely, mockingly, at Gibbs, and slouched further down in his chair.

Gibbs sat across from him, and stared intently at Tony, trying to find something, anything. His hair was perfectly in place, and he appeared unruffled. The man looked like Tony DiNozzo normally did.

You do tend to date a lot, don't you, Mr DiNozzo?

"Carla Johnson." Gibbs cleared his throat before saying the word, his stomach roiling uncomfortably.

"Can you be a little more specific, Jethro? I do date a lot, you know." His smile hardened, his forehead tensed.

Yeah, I do tend to date a lot but where does it say that dating, you know, a new girl every week is a crime?

"Carla Johnson, twenty years old. You were seen leaving a club with her two days before the remains were found."

Tony straightened up and leant back in his chair. "Oh, that Carla Johnson! Well, what do you want to know? Because, you know, you didn't actually ask a question there, Boss."

No, it's not. But it does speak to your deep-seated psychological problems and commitment issues.

"Did you kill her?"

Tony leant forward, suddenly serious. "Do you really want to know the answer to that question, Jethro?"

Gibbs ignored the flash of pain Tony's words provoked.

"Do you think you can handle it? I mean, if a serial killer you had no relationship with changed you, what will an Agent who is a murderer do to you?"

Gibbs closed his eyes briefly, trying to regain his calm. "Just answer the question, DiNozzo."

The smile reappeared, tinged with sadness. "Yes."

Gibbs shut his eyes at the word, not wanting to believe it.

Really. So you're saying my intimacy issues stem from my mother, who dressed me as a sailor until I was ten years old, maybe?

"You know, she almost walked out of my apartment, and everything would have been fine. But you know what happened?"

Tony waited until Gibbs was looking at him again. "She saw that I worked for NCIS. She said she'd always thought that sailors' looked so cute in their uniforms." His words dripped with disdain.

"The next thing I knew, I'd dropped her to the floor, put one hand on her jaw, and the other behind her head." He shifted his position so that his foot was up on his lap. "You know, you were right – it did sound like a snap, and I hadn't even had time to practice. Guess I'm a quick study." He jiggled his head, smiling slightly.

Well, I guess it might explain why you objectify women, treat them as sexual objects. While you're being so forthright and insightful Mr DiNozzo, why did you sink your teeth into the victim's leg?

"The biting thing though, that was all consensual. She liked it rough."

"Where are the rest of her remains, DiNozzo?" Gibbs hardened his voice, reasserting control over himself.

Tony laughed sardonically. "Oh, here and there. I'm sure you'll find them, if you look hard enough."

Gibbs stood and walked stiffly to the door.

Because I'm angry, and I'm immature and I like control!

"You know, I expected to feel...something, after I killed her. Upset, sickened, horrified. But I didn't feel anything."

Gibbs opened the door.

You have no alibi.

"I guess Jethro Gibbs' famous gut isn't always right."

Alibi! How can I have an alibi when the murder doesn't even have a time or a date?

"How could this have happened, Duck?" Gibbs let the pain he was feeling show, needing someone to explain to him how his senior field agent could be a murderer.

"I don't know, Jethro." Ducky sighed heavily. "I never would have thought that Tony...but then nobody ever does. Believe me, I know that's no comfort."

Gibbs slid heavily off the bench, and headed for the door.

"Jethro." He turned around, facing Ducky, his face lined with guilt. "Some part of him wanted to be found out."

That's interesting. What about means? Latex glove, scapel. You could have gotten these things from work. No?

"How am I going to tell Abby?" Gibbs' voice broke on the words.

Gibbs sat on the edge of Abby's desk, facing her. He rested his hand on her shoulder.

"What?" she asked, her voice husky with unshed tears. "You've found more forensics saying that Tony did it? He didn't do it, Gibbs." She shook her head rapidly.

Right, of course. Yes, I ripped a glove at the scene. It seems a little sloppy for a federal agent who investigates crime scenes, but, you know, those are the breaks when you're a homicidal maniac dumping butchered women's remains out in the woods in the middle of the night, right?

"Abs..." Gibbs drew in a shaking breath.

"No." Abby stood up, and moved away from Gibbs, pointing at him. "No, whatever you're going to say, I don't want to hear it."

He closed the distance between them and put his arms around her.

"No." Her whisper was muffled by his jacket. "No."

I'm not getting out of this one, am I Boss?