Hey All! It's been forever since I've written, much less posted, anything. I've decided I want to start writing again, so, against better judgement, I'm going to start writing a few fics! I openly admit that I have an awful track record when it comes to completing stories, but I'm hoping that, by posting online, I will at least feel some pressure to continue. I've been ridiculously obsessed with DP in recent months (I am a slut for angst of this poor ghost child) and I openly admit that this fic will fall into some common tropes (see EveryOneElseIsDead!Danny), but I hope to at least execute them well. There is a plot/kind general murder mystery whatever rattling around in my head for this, believe it or not. Hopefully I will manage to write it all out. Regardless, updates will be incredibly sporadic.

Quick note on the timeline: for DP it's just after TUE (obviously), but in this particular universe TUE is post Urban Jungle, no D-Stabilized. Basically, Danny had his ice powers and whatnot before TUE happened and CW didn't save his family. As for NCIS, I'm not sure which season/episode it's placed around (it's usually something I put on for background TV more than anything else), but it's placed while Ziva is on the team and with Vance as Director of NCIS.

"911, what is your emergency?"

"There's-there's a body on… in the alley on 9th, two blocks north of 21st."

"Sir? Are you with the body? Have you checked for a pulse?"

"They're…they're definitely dead. I can't talk for much longer—"

"Sir, please don't hang up, the police are on their way—"

"Listen, the shooter was a white male, around 6 feet, brown hair, brown eyes. He was wearing a dark blue baseball hat, a dark hoody, and jeans. It was a mugging. I—I need to leave."

"Sir, please hold on, the police are almost there—" click

"Sir? Hello, sir? Sir?"

"This might actually be a straightforward one."

"In your dreams, McGee. Rule number 30: no case is straightforward." Tony quipped as he took a couple more shots of their dead marine.

"I thought rule number 30 was 'always watch the watchers?"

"No, that's rule 35." Tony gave McGee a sidelong glance, "You need to study up on your proby handbook, Proby."

McGee just rolled his eyes and continued to bag the shell casings. The shooting seemed pretty straightforward: the Gunnery Sergeant was lured into the alleyway and mugged at gunpoint. The gunny handed over his wallet, but the mugger panicked and shot him. Simple. Although, McGee had to admit, the crime scene was a mess. There were four shell casings, but only two bullet wounds on their victim and they had only been able to track down one other bullet in the alley wall. The ground was covered not only in the gunny's blood but also in all the other crap routinely found in sketchy alleys on the wrong side of town. He had already had the unique pleasure of bagging and tagging week-old vomit, some weird green goo, and a used condom just to name a few. Of course, while probably irrelevant to the investigation (if the state of the gunny's pants were anything to go by), it had all been a part of his "proby training." Never mind that he'd become a full NCIS agent months ago.

"Where's Gibbs, anyway?"

"Right behind you, McGee," Gibbs tersely replied, a glint of amusement in his eyes as McGee jumped at the sound of his voice. "Do you have a time of death yet, Ducky?"

"About… 3 hours ago," Ducky replied as he pulled out the liver probe, "which puts it at around 11:30. Rather a strange time for a mugging, if you ask me. Then again, I remember I once autopsied a man who had been attacked at rush-hour on a crowded subway. It wasn't until after he had bled out, hours later, that anyone bothered calling the authorities."

"Speaking of, how'd we get this one so quickly? The body's not exactly visible from the sidewalk" DiNozzo quipped between shots.

"There was a 911 call at 11:37 this morning. The caller sounded distressed and hung up before authorities could arrive," Gibbs answered before taking another sip of his coffee. "Might be a witness."

"There's a security camera on the store across the street," Ziva said in lieu of a greeting "I'm sorry I'm late, I wasn't expecting a call on a Sunday and I was indisposed and—you don't care" she finally left off at Gibbs' flat stare.

"McGee, go get that security camera footage and see if we can get a visual of what went down here. Ziva, take over the bagging and tagging." With a quick nod, Ziva donned her gloves and McGee scurried out of the now crowded alley.

"So, do tell, what were you doing on a Sunday that left you indisposed?" Tony quipped with poorly concealed innuendo. Ziva just gave him a sultry glance.

"Nothing that is any of your business."

Tony opened his mouth to pursue the point when Gibbs cut him off, "Got a cause of death yet, Ducky?"

"It is far too early to say with any certainty, and I won't know for sure until he's back on my table, but if I had to venture a guess I would say the gunshot wounds to his chest are the cause of his untimely demise," Ducky quipped with a sigh, "Although I'm sure you could've figured that out for yourself, Gibbs."

"But that's what I have you here for, Duck," Gibbs replied around another sip of coffee.

"After interviewing some of the residences, we've determined that there were four shots, but the gunny only has two gunshot wounds," Tony added. "We've searched the alley forwards and backwards, but we've only been able to find one other bullet in the alley wall. It's the case of the Mysterious Missing Bullet!"

"Bullets do not simply disappear, Tony," Ziva commented with a roll of her eyes.

Danny ducked into an alley and let his invisibility drop like a lead weight. Perspiration stood out on his brow and his skin was practically gray, thanks to a grueling combination of pain, blood loss, and over exertion. He took a few deep breaths to steady himself and clear the black spots from his vision before lifting up his shirt to survey the damage. The hole in his side gaped up at him, the ragged edges of his flesh opening and closing with each breath like a fish. And it was still bleeding. A lot. Way more than it should at this point; his accelerated healing should have at least stopped the bleeding minutes after receiving the wound and it was closer now to an hour. And that wasn't even considering the fact that the bullet was still somewhere inside of him; the thought kind of weirded him out. Tearing off what was left of his shirt (it was a lost cause, what with the hole and blood covering the front of it), he shredded it into makeshift bandages. Taking another steadying breath, he tried to turn his hand intangible. It took a few tries (he was way too tired for this) but he finally managed to plunge his hand into his stomach and fish out the metal bullet. It had been stopped by the back of his lower rib and was now a mangled mess. Danny shoved it aside for the moment and began to tightly bandage his side with his old T-shirt. Tying the final knot, he just sat there for a moment, too drained to even think much beyond a few simple truths: Andrew was dead. And it was all his fault.