The hotel manager would be horrified to see the state that room 312 was currently in.

Furniture had been entirely rearranged; some pieces even pushed out across the hall and into room 310, whose occupants really needed to lock their door more often.

Enlarged photographs of blood spatter, bullet fragments, and particulates galore were suspended on the walls. Held there by hot glue, of course, as every long term guest was informed that the hotel policy strictly prohibited the use of nails to hang personal items.

If that wasn't enough, the portion of the walls that was not covered by the earlier mentioned…art, had mysteriously taken on an almost black hue. Although, if questioned, the guest staying in room 312 would deny any knowledge of how it got that way.

On the other hand, Abby Sciuto had no intention of being questioned.

The way she saw it, there could only be two possibilities. One, she would paint the room back to that hideous taupe color once she could finally go back to her apartment; or two, Jason would never give up, and she would never get to leave.

Abby mulled over those options as she greeted the parking attendant on her way to her parking spot.

"Would you like me to bring your…um…vehicle around front, Miss Abby?"

"No thank you, Walt. It's not that I don't trust you, my baby just doesn't like anyone else at the wheel."

And as always, Walt was chuckling softly to himself as he watched the only hearse in the garage pull out into the street.

When Abby arrived at NCIS that morning, she smiled and chatted idly with security, as she did every day. Then, pausing to wave at the janitor, she made her way to her lab. All as normally as possible.

However, what Walt, security, and the janitor didn't know was that everything in Abby's life was far from normal.

Groaning, she dropped her bag at the entrance of her office and lowered herself into a chair. Rubbing her temples, she pondered her situation.

It was rather frustrating to be chased out of her own home by a psychotic boyfriend with attachment issues.

Beep…beep…

Speaking of the psychotic boyfriend with attachment issues…

The caller ID flashed Jason's name, and Abby stared at it weakly. The phone clattered as it hit the bottom of the drawer and she slammed it shut. It wasn't worth it. She'd get a new number tomorrow.

Soon she was immersed in her work, the hours of sleep that she'd lost the night before beginning to catch up with her. Inevitably, the beleaguered lab rat fell into a restless sleep, dreaming of stalkers, ringing phones, and angry hotel managers.

It was a wonder that she didn't awaken when Tony and Ziva clambered through her lab doors in a panic, having been ordered down to the lab by an anxious Gibbs. The entire team had been on the way back from an arrest when it was discovered that no one could reach their resident lab rat.

They both halted when they noticed Abby asleep at her desk, hand still wrapped around her computer mouse. Shaking off the unnerving feeling that was brought on by seeing her friend looking so exhausted and remarkably un-Abby, Ziva stepped loser and crouched down to get a better look at her face.

"She seems to be unharmed. But tired."

The woman reached up to run a sisterly hand through her friend's hair. Tony nodded once, looking grim. He moved to the back of the office and pulled out the futon that he knew was kept there. Spying Bert sitting atop a filing cabinet, he snatched the Hippo down and laid him on the edge of the makeshift bed.

Meanwhile, Ziva had caught onto Tony's train of thought. She deftly untied Abby's black boots and pulled them off of her feet. The pigtails came next, followed by the other woman's heavy jewelry.

Finally, once Tony had placed her smoothly on the futon and Ziva had gently pulled a blanket over her body, Abby slept peacefully.

The two agents glanced at each other, then at Abby, and quietly left the room.

"Maybe it wouldn't be a bad idea to talk to Abby before we break into her apartment. It's possible that nothing's wrong and she just had a late night."

"The fact that our keys don't work and we have to break in means that something is wrong. Don't be such a baby, McCoward. We won't let the tough, scary, half-your-size Abby hurt you."

McGee frowned as Ziva continued to fiddle with the lock of Abby's apartment door.

"These locks are new. She's had them changed within the past month," Ziva announced, "And I would think that you would be more frightened of defying Gibbs than angering Abby."

"I still don't understand why Gibbs wants to search her apartment," said McGee, glancing over his shoulder, nervous that a concerned neighbor would catch them in the act.

"He obviously thinks that something's wrong. You can't tell me that you haven't noticed how strange she's been lately. Jumpy. There's definitely something going on."

Just then, the door clicked open, and Ziva stepped away triumphantly. "Shall we find out?"

The three agents slowly stepped into the apartment and split up.

Tony headed into the kitchen and stooped down to peer into the cabinets. He opened each one, until he finally got frustrated and slammed them shut.

"She apparently doesn't think that she needs to eat anymore. There isn't any food in this kitchen."

Looking up from the screen of the desktop computer, McGee winced. He tapped the keyboard a couple times more and his eyebrows dipped in confusion.

"Her computer doesn't have any security. It's like she doesn't even use it anymore."

"What's the last thing on it?" Tony asked, examining the refrigerator, seeming aggravated.

"Um…it looks like the last search is for hotels in the area. Looks like she made a reservation about three weeks ago."

"Write the address down," Ziva called from the doorway of the bedroom, "And call Gibbs."

"What's wrong?"

When she didn't answer, both men moved to stand next her and immediately froze.

The bedroom was in shambles.

Overturned onto its side, the dresser had spilled its contents onto the floor. The closet door was hanging by a hinge, looking as though it had been yanked off and then dropped. Eyes were automatically drawn to the center of the room, where the bedclothes that Abby used to so neatly arrange were slashed to pieces, draped limply over the bed.

"Oh, Abby," Ziva whispered.

Tony stepped into the room, carefully avoiding doing any more damage to the items on the floor. He halfheartedly attempted to lift the heavy oak dresser back into position, before giving up and shrugging helplessly.

"There's no way she could knock that thing down on her own. She's strong, but she's small."

"So you're saying someone helped?"

"Seems more like someone hurt."

Looking down at his phone, McGee grimaced.

"Gibbs isn't going to like this."