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
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.
Abby
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.
Love,Abby
Dear Tony,
I’m sure it’s just a post office oversight, but I haven’t gotten your last eight postcards. You know, the ones you promised to write every day.
It’s not nice to make a girl worry. Please let me know you’re okay.
Love,
Abby
Dear Abbalicious,
I’m sorry for the delay, but life’s a bit crazy these days.
War is hell, and it has claimed its first casualty here aboard the USS Ronald Reagan. It’s been quite devastating.
In hindsight the repeated airings of “McHale’s Navy” (1997 ½ star comedy starring Tom Arnold) on a non-stop loop while I was away from quarters was probably not a wise move, but the subsequent kidnapping and death by drowning of my DVD player in retaliation was completely unwarranted! There’s no shore leave for at least two more weeks and I’m going crazy without her already.
Almost as crazy as I’m going without you.
Yours in a not-really-yours-because-I-belong-to-no-one sort of way,
Tony
PS. Could you run DNA on the hair taped to this? I highly suspect “Darius” of the kidnapping but need proof.
Oh, and the weather’s nice. Wish I was anywhere but here.
Dear Tony,
You feel that? That’s me psychicly smacking you for scaring me like that! First I don’t hear from you for almost two weeks and then you…aaaaaaaagh! You think you’re going crazy? Try being in my shoes!
I’m really glad you’re okay, but don’t ever do that to me again or I’ll seriously have to retaliate. Beware of ticking boxes, that’s all I have to say.
Do you know that none of the team has been blown up, shot, stabbed, kidnapped or even drugged since you’ve been gone? Please remember that for when you’re back here safe where you belong.
Gibbs still won’t admit he misses you, but I notice that he’s picked up one of those stress balls to keep his head-thwacking hand in top shape waiting for your return.
Love,Abby
P.S. Is “Darius” by chance in charge of outgoing mail? The hair was suspiciously no longer taped to the card.
(Oh, and you do so belong to me. You know you do.)
Dear Abbsolute Goddess of the Lab,
I can’t believe it, but as of this time tomorrow, I will be writing you a postcard from LAND. Yes, I will be spending two glorious weeks ashore in sunny Cartagena before I start my new assignment aboard the USS Seahawk. That news on top of finally receiving the incredibly awesome care package that you sent. It appears that the bomb squad ate the cookies you described in delicious detail in the accompanying note, but thanks for the thought. They would like me to remind you that in the future if you wish to ship a vintage alarm clock, you should take out the batteries first to avoid confusion. And possibly felony charges. But thank you, thank you, and thank you for the DVD player. That it is pink and has “Hello, Kitty” on it has made it the object of ridicule, but they’re just jealous.
The weather is nice. Wish it was tomorrow already.
Yours in a fine-I’ll-admit-it-I’m-totally-and-completely-yours-forever-especially-if-you-send-more-cookies sort of way,
Tony
By the way, I really don’t think your shoes would fit so well. While I’m sure the stilettos would make my legs look fabulous, I have an allergy to blisters.
Dear Abby-bo-babby,
The bomb squad gave me a picture of your cookies. They looked delicious.
Can you believe it? I’m actually on land. Land! I took my shoes off and went for a walk on the beach just to feel the sand between my toes. Stepped on a jellyfish so that was not as fun as I’d hoped, but it doesn’t matter. I’m on LAND!
The weather is beautiful. Wish you were here. Seriously.
Love in a-totally-and-completely-mushy-because-that’s-the-sort-of-guy-I-am sort of way, (I think I might still be feeling the effects of the jellyfish…or possibly the painkillers.)
Tony
Dear Tony,
How could you step on a poor defenseless jellyfish?!? Did you at least make sure it was okay?
I wish I was there, too. This place totally sucks without you. And Ziva and McGee, of course. Not even Gibbs stops down much these days and even when he does, he’s all Mean-Gibbs. I think the Temp-Agenty-Team is driving him crazy. Not that I blame him. Lee is totally scared at him and keeps calling him “Sir” all the time. Keating is…I don’t know, just kind of a lump. Totally geeky, and not in a geek-chic way. And Langer is a total skeeze. He totally leers at every woman who comes through. Not like you, of course, but…skeezy-like. I think he thinks he’s “God’s Gift” or something. I’ve had the sisters calling his desk every day asking for you, and it’s driving him crazy. So at least that’s been fun.
I can’t wait until you’re back answering your own phone, though.
Love,
Abby
Where on Earth did you find a postcard with a platypus on it?! I love it, and it’s a totally nice change from the multiple copies of the USS Ronald Reagan card.
