The morning was not going well for Jimmy. Against his better judgment, he had gone out to a bar the night before with a few fellow classmates to celebrate the end of the semester. After knocking back a couple of drinks, he'd bid them goodbye, returning to his small apartment to rest up for the night. Unfortunately, he'd been one of many residents to lose electricity that night and his alarm clock had not woken him up at the proper time. He'd slept in for a good three hours past his normal wake-up time (no thanks, certainly, to the alcohol he'd imbibed the previous evening) and probably would have slept longer had it not been for the phone call from Ducky, asking "where the devil" he was. If that weren't bad enough, the heavy snow made the streets slick and dangerous, so Jimmy had to creep along on his way into NCIS. Ducky had sounded angry on the phone and Jimmy could only imagine how disappointed his mentor would be.

What a crummy Christmas season this was turning out to be.

After showing his ID to the guard at the gate, Jimmy parked and grabbed his things before hustling in out of the cold. At least he got to work inside, a plus during this seemingly never-ending freeze wave.

"I am so sorry, Dr. Mallard," he gushed as he entered autopsy. "My alarm clock didn't go off this morning. We lost power. It must have been the snow. But I'm ready to work."

Ducky's response came in the form of a resonating sneeze into his handkerchief. "Yes, well, now that you are here, Mr. Palmer, I'm afraid that I am confined to the NCIS building on account of this dreadful cold, so you will have to go on ahead without me."

Jimmy looked up, dumbfounded. "Go on ahead?"

"Yes," Ducky said, after blowing his nose, "to the scene. The team has already left and should be there soon." Seeing Jimmy's blank look, Ducky sighed exasperatedly. "The car crash I told you about on the phone."

"Oh." Jimmy didn't remember being told anything about a car crash, but he had admittedly been a bit distracted that morning. "Could you remind me just what you said?"

"You really must learn to pay better attention, Mr. Palmer," Ducky admonished. "As I said earlier, a young Marine was found dead in a strip of road between Arlington and Falls Church. The sheriff suspects it was nothing more than a fatal car accident, but, as always, it is ultimately for us to decide."

He retrieved a slip of paper from his desk and handed it over to Jimmy. "Here are the rough directions of how to get there. I suppose you'll see their truck eventually. And, of course, you have Gibbs' number in case you get lost. Drive carefully, my boy; Jack Frost has been running rampant through Virginia and the roads are likely to be slippery. Wouldn't want you to meet the same fate as our poor Marine."

Jimmy bit back the groan trembling in his throat as he looked down at the directions. He had just started to regain feeling in his toes. "Yes, Doctor," he said as he slipped his coat back on. He hoped Ducky wouldn't notice how his voice dripped with a less-than-enthusiastic tone.

Unfortunately, Jimmy wasn't a good enough actor to hide his reticence. "I know the weather is hardly cheery, lad, but death stops for no one, and, as such, neither can NCIS. The sooner you get out there, the sooner can come back here and I'll be sure to have a nice, warm mug of tea waiting for you."

Jimmy gave his thanks and left for the garage. The autopsy van-dubbed "The Deathmobile" by many of the workers—was sitting, ready to go. It wasn't often that Jimmy got to go to a crime scene alone. The last time he recalled it happening was when Ducky's mother was still alive; she'd cut herself shaving and Ducky had rushed her to the hospital, leaving Jimmy—still a fledgling student—to deal with the body on his own.

He had mixed emotions as he pulled out of the Navy Yard and into the street. On the one hand, he was flattered that Ducky trusted him enough to send him off alone; on the other hand, Jimmy wasn't good at facing Gibbs and he wouldn't have the cover of Ducky to hide behind. He gulped just imagining the special agent's stone-cold glare. It always made him so nervous, even if he knew what he was talking about. One look from Gibbs and Jimmy felt himself dissolving into a blob of nonsensical babbling . He didn't understand how one man could have such an adverse effect on him.

Jimmy shook his head. He just had to get through the next couple of days. Then he would be off to see his family for Christmas and wouldn't be due back for work or school until after the new year. To placate his mind, he switched on the radio he sometimes brought along with him. Ducky didn't care for listening to music on the way to the crime scene, but since he was flying solo on this one he saw no reason why he couldn't try to bring a little jollity to his foul mood.

The sound quality wasn't great, especially as he made his way into the more rural areas of Virginia where the signals became blocked, but he could just make out the dulcet tones of Bing Crosby's voice:

I'm dreaming of a white Christmas
Just like the ones I used to know
Where the treetops glisten
And children listen
To hear sleigh bells in the snow

I'm dreaming of a white Christmas
With every Christmas card I write
May your days be merry and bright
And may all your Christmases be white

"Cpl. Hensen," Tim read off the fingerprint scanner. "Twenty-seven years old, stationed in Quantico. Next of kin is a brother who lives in Philadelphia."

"Contact him," Gibbs ordered. "See if you can figure out why Hensen was all the way out here. Ziva, pictures. DiNozzo—"

"Just talked to Ducky," Tony said, interrupting Gibbs mid-sentence. "He said the Autopsy Gremlin left about twenty minutes ago, so he should be here soon. Of course, knowing how directionally-challenged Palmer is, we may be here for the better part of the day."

Ziva laughed before snapping a picture. "Perhaps we should build a fire and send up smoke signals to ensure he find us."

"Or send up a flare," Tim added in amusement.

"How about you all get back to work," Gibbs snapped as he walked off to speak with the sheriff who had found the dead Marine. She was a distinguished woman in her 40's whose face bespoke of a weary, but worldly, life. Her name tag identified her as Sheriff DiMarco.

"I got a call around 0700 from a motorist. He had been driving along on his way to visit his parents in Arlington when he saw the car. He stopped to investigate and see if anyone was hurt, but no one was in the car. He assumed the occupant of the car had gotten a ride, but when he drove a half-a-mile down, he saw your man lying face down in the snow. He got out and tried to administer CPR, but it was useless. The man was dead."

Gibbs nodded as he jotted this down in his notebook. "Where is this motorist who called it in?"

"I let him go ahead on his way, but he left me a phone number and address where he can be reached for the next couple of days."

"Thanks," Gibbs said once he'd taken down the name, number, and address of the man. "I'll be in touch if we have any more questions for you."

"Seems pretty obvious to me," she said, glancing down at the body of Cpl. Hensen. The man had sustained external wounds, including a hard knock on the head that had drawn blood. Based on the state of his car, it wasn't unlikely that he had died from his injuries from the accident.

"Perhaps," he agreed, "but sometimes even the most obvious deaths can be deceiving." He gave her a nod and walked back toward his team. Ziva was still snapping photos while Tony took sketches and Tim looked at the cell phone they had found in Hensen's car.

"Called his brother, boss, but there was no answer so I left a message. Last call made was to a local number, but there's no name and it's not saved in his contacts," Tim said. "He made the call at 0442 this morning." He continued scrolling through and let out a strange "hm" sound. "Funny…the number appears a lot in his call history."

"Why's that funny, McGee?"

"Well, it's just that when I call a number a lot, I add it to my contacts. Makes it easier."

"Sounds suspicious," Tony commented.

"Perhaps the person he was calling did not want any record of his name," Ziva added. "Though we have the number."

"Doesn't mean anything," Tim said. "The number could be from a burn phone. If it was purchased with cash, we couldn't possibly know who bought it."

"Think maybe our guy had his breaks cut or something?" Tony asked. "Could be some conspiracy to keep him from talking."

"Well, yeah, DiNozzo, that's why we're investigating," Gibbs muttered as he studied the dead body. It had been turned over when their Good Samaritan had attempted to save him, but according to the sheriff, the man had found him face down. There were no defensive wounds, no sign that he had put up any sort of fight, meaning that, if this was the handiwork of someone, it was someone Hensen knew and trusted. There also weren't any wounds on the back of his head, so no one had struck him while his back was turned. If Gibbs had to guess, he'd say the sheriff was right about the death being a result of the car crash.

But there was a reason NCIS was closely scrutinizing this death. The Cpl. had been privy to sensitive information within the Marine Corps and his C.O. had expressed some concerns over strange behavior Hensen had exhibited recently. There was no proof nor any evidence that a crime had been committed, but those suspicions, combined with Hensen being found all the way out here, was enough to pique concern among the higher-ups.

Gibbs frowned and looked back down at the dead Marine. His gut didn't like this one bit.

The team turned as they heard the sound of an approaching vehicle. The white van with NCIS emblazoned across it slowly ambled down the road and pulled over to the side of the road, parking right in front of their van.

"Sorry I'm late," Jimmy said as he rushed out of the van. "I took the wrong left a few miles back."

"Finally!" Tony said with an exaggerated groan. "I thought we were going to be here until Christmas Eve."

Ziva silenced him with a well-placed elbow to the gut. "Do not be so mean, Tony. We were not waiting that long, Jimmy," she assured him.

Jimmy blushed—though it was hard to tell if that was from embarrassment or simply a reaction to the frigid cold—and he ducked his head down as he opened the back door. He struggled a bit, but managed to get the gurney out and rolled it over to the body with his bag of tools on top. "I know this is where Dr. Mallard usually explains what he thinks caused the, uh, untimely demise of our victim," he said as he pulled out the liver probe, "but since Dr. Mallard is stuck back at NCIS, perhaps you'd like me to wait until I've gotten this guy back before hearing possible causes of death?"

"What's the TOD?" Gibbs asked, pointedly ignoring the question at hand.

"Oh, well, I don't know yet. I still need to check that."

"So why are you talking to me instead of doing it?"

Jimmy knew he couldn't answer the question without sounding like a fool, so he opted to focus his attention on the dead Marine. At least he wouldn't berate Jimmy.

"DiNozzo, you and McGee go check the car. See what else you can find in there." They nodded grimly and tightened up their coats before trekking up the road to where the car was still sitting, practically wrapped around the tree it had hit. "Ziva, you done with the pictures?"

"Almost." She was following the blood stains in the snow, documenting them to bring back to Abby. They looked normal to her—as normal as blood stains could look, at least—but who knew what bizarre evidence Abby would be able to pull from the seemingly innocuous stains?

With no one else to turn his glare on, Gibbs returned his attention to Jimmy. "Got a time of death yet or do I have to wait again?"

"Ah, no," Jimmy said, cursing himself for allowing that quiver into his voice. "It's hard to say, of course, just how accurate this is, what with his body being out in the cold and possible changes in weather…"

"Do you have a time or not, Palmer?" Gibbs snapped angrily.

"0500, sir…uh, give or take maybe an hour or so."

"And would you like to wager a guess as to just how it might have died."

Once again, Jimmy felt himself beginning to sweat, despite the frigid temperature. "Uh, well, if I had to say right here, based on just a preliminary glance, I would say he died from injuries sustained during his car crash."

Gibbs didn't respond. Instead, he turned toward Ziva who was finishing up her task. "Look through the body," he said. "See what you can find on him. Then, you," he said to Palmer, "can take him back to Ducky."

Jimmy let out the breath he didn't even realize he'd been holding. "Yes, sir…uh, I mean Gibbs."

Ziva walked up behind Jimmy and gave him a gentle pat on the back. He jumped at her touch, making her laugh. "It is only me, Jimmy."

"Sorry, Ziva. I didn't realize you were right there."

"Why so jumpy?"

"It's just been one of those days. Ever get the feeling something really bad is going to happen?"

"Yes," she admitted, "but in my upbringing one almost always has such a feeling. If they do not, they are likely to end up dead."

"Right," he said with a gulp. "I'll, uh, get the gurney ready."

Less than ten minutes later, Jimmy was rolling the body into the back of the truck and securing it down. It wasn't a moment too soon for him, either. He wasn't sure which was colder: the snow or the angry looks Gibbs kept giving him. "I'll just get this back to Dr. Mallard. He'll probably have a better idea of what killed Cpl. Hensen."

"Drive carefully, Jimmy," Ziva said with a sly grin.

"Yeah, no joyriding, Palmer," Tony quipped.

Jimmy didn't bother to respond as he slid into the driver's seat. He started up the truck and quickly clicked up the heater, relaxing in the comfort of warm air hissing out against him. He pulled the truck out onto the road just as the snow began to fall. At least I won't have to be out in that, he thought with satisfaction. He glanced in the rearview mirror at the team, still processing the scene.

Things were beginning to look up and Jimmy felt his sour mood dissipating as he drove along the road. It was a more rural area, and only trees surrounded the road. When it was covered with snow like this, the scene was almost idyllic, like something on a Christmas card.

As Jimmy was enjoying the sights, he noticed a dark-colored car coming up behind him. At first he paid it no mind, even if it was following a bit too closely for comfort; the driver could stay as close on him as he wanted to, Jimmy wasn't going to speed up in this weather. Then, he realized that the car was dangerously close to him. With a frown, he increased his speed just a bit, hoping the other car would back off. But it only increased its own speed.

"Go around," Jimmy muttered irritably. There wasn't any sign of a car coming from the opposite direction, leaving the adjacent lane open. He rolled down the window and stuck his hand out, gesturing for the other car to simply pass him. That seemed to work, as the car switched into the other lane and pulled up alongside. But it didn't pass him. Instead, the car swerved inward, almost hitting him.

"Hey!" Jimmy yelped, honking his horn. "Watch it!" He tried to look into the vehicle, but the windows were tinted and he couldn't see a thing.

The car pulled up so that the front of the car was just ahead the front of the autopsy van. Then, it swerved inward once again, this time actually making contact with the van. Jimmy felt himself lose control of the van and he instinctively slammed his foot on the brake. The vehicle slipped a little on the road, but as he continued pumping the pedal, he felt the van begin to slow down, little by little.

The tree it hit really helped bring it to a stop.

Jimmy blinked rapidly and shook his head. He wasn't hurt, but he was a little dizzy, not to mention his heart was racing like it was in the Daytona 500. It also sounded like a few things had shifted around in the back. Hopefully, the body wasn't too disturbed.

The other car pulled up in front of him and stopped. Jimmy groaned. Time to face them. He hoped they wouldn't try to pin this on him.

He kicked open the door and slipped out. "Hey, are you all okay?"

The passenger door opened and Jimmy found himself face-to-face with a gun.