Dear Abby,

I knew I shouldn’t start like that because now I feel like I should be pouring out my deep, dark, secrets and asking you for advice about my roommates--I’ll call them “Darius” and “Zeke”. Have you ever noticed how those who write to Dear Abby never pick normal names like “Michael” or “Nicholas”? Why is that?

And now I’ve gone and filled up the entire postcard without really saying anything. Sorry.

How about this:

The weather’s nice. Wish you were here.

I miss you,

Tony

I miss you, too! How is life at sea? I can’t believe it’s only been a week. But you promised you’d write every day, and I only have one card, Mister, so you better step it up. Deep dark secret pouring is good, and you owe me at several days’ worth already. Don’t make me get on the next copter out there to seek vengeance. Remember I know how not to leave any traces…

Ziva is leaving tomorrow. I can’t believe everyone is going or already gone. Well, at least McGee’s not far. They’ve got him locked in the basement. Cyber Crimes. They sound evil. Gibbs is being very…Gibbs. He misses you, but he’ll never say it.Out of space. Love you. Looking forward to tomorrow’s postcard. HINT.

Dear Abby,

I’m a 30-something-year old federal agent on assignment at sea and I think my friend, I’ll call her “Babby”, lied to me.

Just kidding. Except that I did wait six whole days to send this and yet there’s been no sign of you on any of the incoming choppers. Can’t tell you how much that disappoints me. Unless of course you’ve been in total stealth mode, in which case, I’m very impressed. No trace, indeed. And don’t think I didn’t look.

How was lunch with McGeeky? Are they investigating Cyber Crimes or committing them? I’ll bet he sits down there and surfs porn all day. Probably midget porn.  Midget contortionist porn.  Have you heard from Ziva? I tried to reach her before she left, but missed her.

They really need to make larger postcards because I never get around to anything real. Say hi to Jimmy, Gibbs and Ducky for me. And tell McGeeky, “My coworkers could beat up your coworkers”.

The weather sucks, so be glad you’re not here (even though I’m selfishly wishing you were).

Love in a not-really-love-love-because-that’d-just-be-awkward sort of way,

Tony

Dear Tony,

At least you’re getting better at writing in small letters. It’s a little hard to read, but after running it through a magnification process and a little bit of cipher solving, I think I got it all. ;)

Lunch with Timmy was a-okay; we’re meeting again. It’s going to be our weekly thing. It would be daily except that he has to play social with his new teammates even if it is ONLY TEMPORARY. I thought you didn’t have any co-workers. Did you get an assistant?

Sister Catherine had to leave the team, so we had to find a new fourth. Sister Anne volunteered, but our first game she bowled only 38. She needs a lot of work.

Ducky says ‘Hello, Anthony, dear boy’. Gibbs still misses you. He hasn’t said it, but the way he looks at your desk says it for him. Langer may be sitting there, but it’s still YOUR desk.

Love in an of-course-it’s-real-love-or-are-you-really-saying-that-loving-me-would-be-awkward sort of way,

“Babby”

Dear Babbylonia,

Nah, I didn’t get any coworkers. But my imaginary ones could still beat up McGeeswhiz’s--have you seen those guys? Has McGenius gotten pale and started wearing the requisite Star Trek Insignia yet?

It’s still just me who has to investigate every possible security breech and every little petty squabble and…you really don’t want to get me started on how much I LOVE MY JOB. No really. Love it love it love it. As much as McGee loves poison ivy (*note not of the Drew Barrymore or of the Uma Thurman kind, but the poisonous leafy green stuff.) As much as Gibbs loves the gushy stuff (not with you, but with…anyone other than you. Or Ducky.)

So that’s my excuse for not writing the past couple weeks. That and I just never seem to get any time to myself at all. I’d kill for a nice peaceful shower. I miss that. I miss being able to take an actual bath. I miss privacy. I miss land.

I miss you!

Love in an-of-course-it’s-real-love-because-in-no-way-is-it-awkward-loving-you-because-you-are-pure-awesomeness sort of way,

Tony

P.S. The weather is nice. Wish I was there. Say hi to everyone. Even McGeek. Nah. Tell him I hope he’s not a redshirt. He’ll know what it means.

Dear Tony,

Timmy wants me to assure you that he is most definitely not a “redshirt”, though he would like me to remind you that as of the Next Generation, Starfleet Command wears the red uniforms rather than the expendables. His indignance at your implication that he’s some sort of Trekkie who never leaves the basement was somehow undermined by the thorough history of said red uniform he wished me to provide you. I have sadly forgotten most of it. Sorry. Except that I’m not.

It’s lonely in the lab with just me and Bert. The new (temporary) Gibbsquad is boring and they only drop by to drop off evidence or pick up results, they never stick around. And they never bring me goodies.

Gibbs does visit now and then, but he never stays and he’s always in such a foul mood these days.  

I really miss you.

Dear BAbbycakes,

The excruciating, stabbing pain prevented me from hanging around too long, but the jellyfish was fine. At least I think it was. How can you actually tell? Regardless, it appeared to be a fine and healthy mucousy blob when I left. Had to spend several days holed up in my room watching pay-per-view and being  waited on by room service while I recovered. Oh, the horrors I must suffer. =)

So, what’s up with this ‘skeeze’? Is he giving you a hard time? He better not be or I’ll be on the next flight to take care of him for you. On second thought, is it wrong to hope he is so I have that excuse to come home?

Yours eternally in a by-eternally-I-mean-until-some-time-next-week sort of way,

Tony

The weather’s nice. Still wish I wasn’t here.

Dear Tony,

You always were a commitment-phobe weren’t you? But I guess I’ll take what I can get. And then I’ll take more. Just because I can.

My Hero, much as I’d love to have you fly home for me, I can handle the skeeze. He’s left me alone since the hydrogen sulfide incident. I swear I do not know how that got into his desk. I mean your desk. Um. It’ll be completely clean and smelling of roses or vanilla or something by the time you get back.

McGee misses you. It only took a small bit of pouting on my part to get him to admit it. I caught Gibbs looking at my postcard wall. I think he’s getting jealous. He still won’t admit he misses you, but the longer you’re gone, the grouchier he gets. Not even the coffee is helping.

It’s getting scary.

Love,

Abby

Dear Abbyyay,

Or Babbyay? Fine, so your name really doesn’t work in pig Latin.

I ship out on the USS Seahawk tomorrow. Not much to say about that.

It’s been great being back on land, but it’s just not the same as being there. I miss being on *my* land.

God, this sucks. I really miss you. Say “hey” to everyone. I’m sending a package your way but there’s stuff for everyone if you could please make sure they get it.

My deepest regards in an oh-come-on-I-can-actually-be-deep-sometimes sort of way,

Tony

I’m here. Wish the weather was nice.

Oh Deep One,

McGee was rendered speechless by the Strawberry Shortcake & Friends pocket protector and the temporary “geek tattoos” you sent. It took some finagling, but he applied the Dungeons &Dragons Die of Death and promises to wear it until you’re home. I’ve taken lots of pictures just in case.

Thank you for the Screaming Superfly Pig! Where did you find it?!?  Gibbs made me put it away after it knocked over his coffee cup, but he’s keeping Bert company!

Ducky loved the book, though he doesn’t think the title is appropriate. “There’s nothing ‘Totally Useless’ about knowledge, my boy,” he says. It’s amazing how many of the things he already knew.

Gibbs actually smiled when I gave him the “back of DiNozzo’s head” punching bag. See, homemade gifts really are the best sometimes.

Love,

Abby

Dear Abby,

I’m a thirty-something-year-old NCIS Agent Afloat who is sick of floating. Sick of being at sea. Sick of having asshats for roommates. Sick of no privacy. Sick in general. Sick of being homesick.

I’m trying to think of it like being at summer camp. Except without the fun things like archery and riding horses. Or making macramé handcuffs…I mean bracelets.

Would you please ask Dad Gibbs if I can come home yet?

Love in a…just love sort of way,

Tony

Don’t even ask about the weather and wishing isn’t helping.

Sorry. Don’t mind me. I’m just having a crappy day and I miss you.

Tony!!! 

We all miss you, too. And you’ll be home. Soon. I just know it. I’ve put up your pictures in the lab and started keeping track of the days you guys have been gone. I know Gibbs has seen it, but he hasn’t said anything. I’m working on him. He won’t let this go on much longer. I just know he won’t.

The temporary Gibbslings  are still driving him crazy. Even after months he still doesn’t have them trained. Not that he has you trained.

Have you heard from Ziva?  

Love,  

Abby

You Abs-olute Doll,

You've made my...day, week, year, life. You pick it, you made it. Cannot tell you how much I needed that care package. I'm still homesick, possibly more so, but I can face it with a big smile, again.

The bomb squad wants me to be sure to tell you that they read your message loud and clear and to assure you that all 12 X-Rated “Butts and Boobs" cupcakes are all untouched and accounted for. You always did know how to cheer me up. Do I want to know why they stressed I had to tell you that?

While the accompanying phallic lollipops are really not my thing, their presence has oddly made my asshat roommates (I’ll call them “Horatio” and “Grover”) decide to spend as little time in our quarters as possible, giving me almost private quarters, so they may be the best gift yet.

Yours in an I’m-not-done-but-out-of-space-so-you’ll-have-to-bear-with-card-number-two sort of way,

Tony

You didn’t think I’d let a postcard go by without mentioning the weather did you?

Abbracadabby, (Postcard, Take Two)

I promise I will take good care of Screaming Superfly Pig until I can hand him back to you personally. You're right, I do need him more than you or Bert. And keeping him out of Gibbs’ sight (and hearing range) does sound like it’s probably a good move.

I'm sure you know nothing about this, but thought you might enjoy the story. It seems that someone has hacked into the onboard speaker system and it now pipes The Village People's "In the Navy" every hour on the 13 minute mark. Somehow Cyber Crimes has been unable to stop it, and unable to track the culprit. It's driving everyone completely bonkers and crime aboard the ship seems to have tripled since it started, but it keeps me busy and makes the time go faster. I may just complete this assignment yet.

Yours in a completely-and-utterly-awed-and-forever-grateful sort of way,

Tony

Wish you were here. “In the Navy” is playing again and you’d get a kick out of the complete and utter havoc it’s creating. (See weather comment on postcard#1)

Oh, and no, I haven’t heard from Ziva. Should I be worried?

Dear Tony, 

Two cards from you in one day? How does a girl get so lucky?! Oh right. Bribery! I’m glad you liked the care package. You sounded so down, I was worried about you! There won’t be need for any more of that. (But if there is, let me know and I’ll work my magic. {{Spiritual Hug}} )  

About Ziva, I’m sure there’s nothing to worry about. Timmy just said he hadn’t gotten email from her this week, but he figures she’s out on assignment or something.  

You don’t want to know anything about the bomb squad. Plausible deniability is good. Not that there’s anything to deny. 

Abby,

Afraid I have to keep this short. Seems there’s always someone looking over my shoulder these days. Literally. Like right now while I’m writing, there is someone (hi “Grover”) reading this. Careful what you reply, I think they’re reading those, too. Much as I hate to think it, it might be better if you don’t write for a while. I know you’ll keep sending me those psychic vibes.

Much love in a deep-steamy-passionate-erotic-enjoying-this-“Grover”?-I-knew-you-would-you-perv sort of way,

Tony

Weather’s here. Wish I was nice. But not really. Nice is boring.

Tony, 

Better for who? If you think I’m going to leave you out there all alone (except for Screaming Superfly Pig; he’s okay, right?) you better think again, Mister. 

Not that it matters because I swear if Gibbs doesn’t do something soon, I’m giving him an ultimatum. You have to come home. It’s been almost a 3rd of year and that’s just not right. I can’t believe he hasn’t done something. I mean, he’s Gibbs, right?  

Stubbornly yours, 

Abby

Abs!!

I REALLY REally miss you.

Love,

Tony

Dear Abby,

Seems like your ultimatum must have worked. By the time you get this, I’ll be home.

Thanks for trying to keep me sane all these months.

Love in a complete-and-totally-unabashed sort of way,

Tony

Who cares about the weather? I’m coming HOME!