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 shiny new 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,



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 least 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. But we're having lunch tomorrow. 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,


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,


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 mushy stuff (not with you, but with…anyone other than you. Or possibly 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,


P.S. The weather is nice. Wish I was there. Say hi to everyone. Even McGeek. Nah, don't. Just tell him I hope he's not a redshirt. He'll know what it means.