Some Days You Need A Friend

by TextheTallOne

Summary:

Tony DiNozzo makes a friend soon after his move from Baltimore and the two of them support and help each other as life gets complicated.

Notes:

This is probably going AU and will be crossing over with several fandoms in small ways. Some chapters will give specific timelines in relation to events on the show's episodes. The writing of Tony's character was inconsistent and using him for comic relief caused the show to jump the shark multiple times. I'm writing Tony the way I see him. Your mileage may vary. If so, I don't really want to hear about it. Constructive criticism is appreciated. Whining will be ignored. Also, I'm ruthlessly disregarding timelines and dates on other shows that I cross with this universe.

Chapter 1: September 2003

Some Days You Need a Friend

by Tex Zavaleta

**

Chapter one

Sept. 2003

There was a reason that more than one acquaintance had referred to Anthony DiNozzo as "DiNosy", a play on his last name and his inquisitive nature. He had also been told more than once that his curiosity would probably be the death of him one day. He half expected that to be the case but knew himself too well to try to conquer its power over him; the need to know, to understand was overwhelming at times. This was the reason he'd succumbed to his investigative nature when he received an unexpected invitation to an exclusive, invitation-only social gathering.

Since he'd only been in D.C. for a short while, he thought it was time to make some potentially useful contacts to add to his DiNozzo Network. You never could tell when you would need a friend or acquaintance in another agency or department to provide information or a helping hand. Tony had always made it a point to get to know everyone in any position because you never knew when it would be useful. A little politeness, a touch of friendliness and charm and he had confidential informants, from the janitorial staff to the administrators willing to give him a heads up when something was going on that might be of interest. It wasn't like Gibbs was going to introduce him to anyone useful. Even with his limited experience working with the older man, he already knew the man did not 'play well with others' at the best of times. That would be his own role, one that suited him and came naturally, requiring no effort.

He unobtrusively studied his surroundings even as he was cleared through the very thorough Security checkpoint--inspection of the formal invitation in his hand, two forms of photo ID, one of which was his new NCIS creds, and a metal detector. He was given a pass on his gun since he was a Federal Law Enforcement Officer which was a good thing. He didn't feel comfortable in an unfamiliar environment without his weapon, no matter how good the organizers thought their security set up was.

He was waved in the direction of a set of double doors and entered a hotel ballroom. These kinds of meet and greet events were always held in some hotel ballroom or event center and he'd been to many of them from college athletic meetings to law enforcement conferences or training sessions.

Typically, the room was wall to wall with uncomfortable seating for eight at large round tables which were covered in two contrasting colored tablecloths and had some kind of floral or other decorative centerpieces to go with the theme for the meeting. Usually there was a stage or dais for a guest speaker with a microphone and/or a screen set up. Except for breakfast meetings, there was almost always a cash liquor bar or drinks service of some kind in the room or near the entrance.

This wasn't typical.

The walls were all solid, no accordion sliders to split the room or block line of sight for security, with only the one entrance/exit in use. The only other visible door was a chained and padlocked fire exit that had two guys in badly fitting suits standing guard there. That was definitely a violation of fire codes, sacrificing safety for security. Hopefully, if there was an emergency, one of those guys had a key and could open that door. 

There were only about twenty-five tables and they weren't spread evenly around the room but clustered loosely into three separate sections with different colored tablecloths on two of the three.  There were white paper tablecloths on the third group of tables which indicated that the choice was made by someone who knew the audience. The men and women gathered around those tables seemed to be scribbling on them with markers and pens, either alone or in pairs. From the little he could see, it was some kind of math or formulas. Huh.

The mixed groups around the tables with the red tablecloths were mostly seated in twos or threes and seemed to be holding discussions, or in some cases arguments or debates. A few people seemed to be drifting from table to table, listening in if not contributing.

The third group, those seated in the area with the gold tablecloths, were playing games--cards, dominos, board games, and chess were the ones he recognized on sight. He noticed a few faces familiar from newspapers or magazine articles, but no one he knew personally.

On the left side of the room against the wall, instead of a cash bar, there was a barista making lattes and tending a coffee counter that held a large menu with enough options to satisfy any caffeine addict. Directly across on the opposite side of the room, there was another set up that seemed to be dispensing ice cream, popcorn, and other snacks. No liquor in sight.  Huh.

After a moment's thought, DiNozzo decided that the planners didn't want liquor mixing with high security clearance intelligence assets in a social situation. It was something he thought politicians ought to consider as well, but no one had asked his opinion.

There were about seventy-five attendees. He didn't bother with an exact count. He'd guess the age range of the guests to be from mid twenties to late seventies, a mix of races, cultures, and clothing styles, everything from sports apparel to business attire, though most seemed to be casually and comfortably dressed and wouldn't have been out of place at a fast food restaurant.  No one seemed invested in scoring points with clothing choices or appearance which definitely ruled out politicians. With his jeans, forest green Henley, and brown leather jacket, DiNozzo fit right in.

He took in all this information in a brief and detailed sweep of the room then, of course, zeroed in on the anomaly:

One table about ten feet from the door, centered in the entrance area, with a blue tablecloth and only one occupant seated at the table. Her position as well as her attitude seemed to suggest that though she was in a position of responsibility, she was relaxing and desultorily perusing the contents of a clipboard with a slightly bored air, her feet were propped up on a chair.

Tony was sharp enough to realize she was, quietly and unobtrusively, supervising the activities and participants. It was difficult to pinpoint her age.  She could have been as young as her late twenties but definitely no older than her mid-thirties, with long wavy chestnut brown hair that was tied into a ponytail at the nape of her neck.  She was wearing an old pair of jeans, genuinely old and well worn, not the artificial worn out appearance that was now in fashion, a pair of royal purple sneakers, and a loose fitting faded sweatshirt emblazoned with "Come to the Nerd Side. We have π".  There was nothing remarkable about her appearance except the black brace on her left wrist, which was the only jarring note. Her apparel was obviously chosen for comfort, not style, and she was wearing the barest minimum of makeup as she sat apart from the others, keeping a watchful eye on the proceedings without drawing attention to herself or participation in the activities. 

He knew without a doubt it was deliberate. She wanted to be overlooked. So, of course, he decided to join her at the table.  

He stopped by the coffee bar and got a hazelnut latte then strolled in the direction of her table. He knew she'd been keeping tabs on him from the moment he came into the room but she was using her peripheral vision to watch his approach, pretending to be unaware.  "Is this seat taken?"

"You know it isn't," she said in a low voice with a slight Southern drawl of some sort.

He seated himself, put his latte on the table, and held out a hand to shake. "Hello, I'm—"

"I know who you are. You're on my checklist. You need to pick a code name. We don't use our real names at these meetings. Security something or other." She obviously didn't care about the why of the rules, just that the rules were followed. Huh.

"Code names? Any particular type?"

She spared him a side glance and rolled her eyes. "Look around. The room is full of nerds. What do you think they use as code names?"

He took a moment to think it over. "Characters from Science Fiction?"

"Mostly. Some have more imagination and get creative. Others go with plays on their names or historical scientists." She straightened up, put her feet on the floor, and turned in her chair slightly to face him, holding her clipboard between them as a shield.

"What's your code name?" he asked with a smile.

"Hon."

He blinked. "As in Attila the?"

She blinked back at him, caught off guard. "No. As in H-O-N,  Herder of Nerds."  Her gesture encompassed some of the tables in the center of the room.  "It was chosen for me, probably because I have to supervise these meetings. Now what code name do you want?"

His smile widened. "Let me think about it."

"You might want to rethink sitting with me," she stated bluntly with a hint of bitterness, turning her eyes to supervise the room, as she held up her wrist in its brace.  "Apparently, I'm anti-social, touch-phobic, and—oh, what's the word…misandristic."

Wow. That was a bit harsh and totally not the vibe he was getting from her.  "Really? Who says so?" He took a sip of his latte and waited.

Her jaw clenched a bit. She still refused to look at him.

DiNozzo wasn't ready to give up.  "How did you hurt your arm?"

"Punched a guy who wouldn't stop asking questions," she stated blandly, giving him the side-eye to watch his reaction.

Tony laughed, still unintimidated. "Didn't do a good job of it if you sprained your own wrist."

She wrinkled her nose, gave a little shrug, and regarded the wrist brace. "I'm out of practice. Don't think I've actually hit someone other than a relative since junior high."

"Then this guy must have really provoked you to get that kind of reaction. Too many questions, really?"

That won a reluctant half smile. "Nope.  He just—kept touching me."

Tony lost all sense of humor at that response. "Sexual harassment?"

"Not that kind of touching," she snapped.

"Then what kind of touching?"

She scowled at him. "Hold out your hand, like you're giving me something."

He picked up a pen from the table and handed it to her. As she took it, her fingers cupped his hand and caressed the back of it, slowly withdrawing with a lingering touch. It was a move he was familiar with, but had used only when flirting or to elicit a response from a witness he was questioning. He frowned.  "Huh.  Only your hand?"

She pulled away from him, settling back into her chair and establishing more distance from him. "Nope. Kept trying to shake my hand and hang on to it—I quit obliging. He also touched me on my back when moving past me. And there was plenty of room. He didn't have to do that."

"You told him to back off?"

"I shouldn't have to." She sighed.  "But yeah, I did. I also gave him a five minute lecture on the cultural differences concerning personal space requirements and my personal preferences—mainly, I don't like being touched, especially by people I don't know well."

Tony found himself picturing it and smirked.  "Let me guess, he tried to claim he was just being friendly and you were over-reacting."

Her jaw tightened. "Yep."

"And he kept it up? Escalated? Standing too close? Arm around the waist?"

She turned her face towards him and scowled fiercely. "How come you know that?  The damned therapist they sent me to sure didn't get it."

"There are these seminars many universities and government agencies force their people to attend that define harassment and improper conduct. I'm thinking the therapist should know about that too. How did that guy manage to miss the clue bus?  What made you hit him?"

She focused on the brace on her wrist, trying to relieve the pressure as she answered. "I was in the break room getting coffee and he came up behind me and put his arm around me. I said back off… he laughed and gave me a squeeze, so I elbowed him in the gut, spun around, and punched him in the jaw. He fell back and bounced off a table then lay on the ground just in time for one of HR yoyos to witness the whole thing. So I got in trouble and sent to therapy. It was bullshit.  I tried to explain what happened, but she decided I'd overreacted and told me that I showed signs of being anti-social, touch phobic, and hating men, though she said misandristic which means I hate everyone."

"Really?  Does this therapist know you well?"

"Nope. One session. Mandatory."

Now that was really hinky. The first session was usually a meet and greet, not getting down to real issues until the third or fourth meeting, as he knew from his own unfortunate experience with mandated counseling.  "Kind of a hasty diagnosis, don't you think?"

That turned her head.  "Thank you. That's what I said…" At one of the red tables voices were getting louder. She actually let out a low growl as her head whipped back around to focus on the source. She reached under the table and drew out some kind of plastic gun and aimed in that direction, a ping pong ball landed directly in the center of the table between the two men who were arguing. She raised her voice enough to be heard but didn't shout. "Scorpion, keep it civil. Do not make me come over there."

An older man glowered in her direction, huffed, and then abandoned the table and the argument in favor of getting more refreshments.

She slipped the gun back down beside her chair.

"Ping pong balls don't usually go that far or that straight. You weighted it?" Tony speculated.

She nodded.

"Good shot."

"Lots of practice."

"What would you do if you did go over there? Is there some kind of penalty for misbehavior?  I didn't see that on the invitation." He waggled his eyebrows at her in an attempt to make her smile. It failed.

She looked a bit confused.  "No… but I'd refute his argument. That ticks him off."

"You couldn't hear them. How do you know what they were arguing about?" This was intriguing.

"Doesn't matter," she said and shrugged, then winced when she knocked her wrist on the table. "Anything he was going on about, I could refute it. Pisses him off something fierce."

"Same specialized field?" That would make sense.

"No. I don't really have a specialization. I'm a generalist."

Or not.  "What does that mean?"  Tony persisted.

She heaved a sigh. "It doesn't matter. Why don't you go away?  Play a game… something. Have fun. That's why you came, right?"

"Not exactly. I just moved to DC and I thought I should try to make some friends."

The eye rolling made it clear what she thought of attempting to do such a thing in this venue. "Most of these people aren't good with social situations. They don't make friends easily."

Ignoring that, he circled back to a point of interest. "So…you think it was just a coincidence that when you had enough and punched the guy there happened to be an HR rep in the area?"

She gave him her full attention with a blink. "You think it wasn't?"

"Smells like a set up to me," he stated. "And it was the same HR person who set you up with a therapist who gave you that diagnosis?"  It wasn't really a question and he didn't need her slow nod to tell him he was right.

She was silent for a few minutes.  "I don't understand. What would be the point of that?"

"I'm just speculating here but I think he might have been trying to honey trap you and when it didn't work, the next plan was to get you out of the picture, either temporarily while you're suspended or permanently with you losing your job."  He paused to see if she had any questions.

"Damn."  Somehow when she said it, the word had two syllables.

"The next question is… with you out of the way, will they go after someone easier to persuade?"

Her eyes widened. "That could be a problem. What should I do about it?"

"You evidently work in a classified program of some sort. I don't need to know what, but do you know the name of a  higher up responsible for project security that should be notified?"

"Yeah, but I don't think I could explain it very well. I don't have a lot to do with those guys."

DiNozzo nodded and took a sip of his drink.  "If you give me a name and phone number, I could make the call and explain my suspicions. They can check it out and if I'm wrong, no harm done. But if I'm right—"

"You might be saving time and trouble on the project. I didn't even think about this being more than an idiot being inappropriate and me losing my temper. How did you think of it?" She seemed impressed.

"I'm a federal agent and a cop with experience in following up on cases like this.  Call it paranoia or a healthy dose of skepticism… but it won't hurt to check."

She nodded and reached under the table for her phone and began scrolling through numbers.  "I don't know who in the program should be notified, but if you call Major Davis at the Pentagon, he'll know what to do with the information."

Tony programmed the contact info into his own phone. "I'll call him tomorrow morning. Now, tell me about these groups and what they're doing. I'm happy where I am for now, but I might want to join in some time."

 

**

Director Tom Morrow didn't often find time to take a stroll through the bullpen. When he did, he usually had something he wanted to discuss on a less official basis than calling someone to his office.  This time there was a blue folder under his arm and he came to a halt in front of Gibbs' desk, noting that DiNozzo and Todd weren't in the bullpen.

"Director?" Gibbs raised an eyebrow. It was his version of a polite inquiry.

Morrow held out the folder for Gibbs to take. "Would you have any idea why I just received an official commendation to put in DiNozzo's file--from the Pentagon?"

Gibbs scowled and took the folder, quickly scanning through the formal wording. "He helped with a national security issue for the Air Force and Homeland? When the hell did he do that?"

Morrow was somewhat comforted that he wasn't the only one out of the loop. It was a feeling he wasn't accustomed to. "Not a lot of facts or details. Evidently whatever he did was of benefit to a very highly classified program or group. They've upped his security classification. Whatever happened is above even my clearance level. From what was said, it seems he had no direct interaction with the program, but diagnosed a security issue through talking to an intelligence asset at a social function and notified the chain of command so they could take action."

Gibbs snorted. "Sounds like DiNozzo. Someone likely said something that made him curious."

"And set off his investigative instincts. He's good, Jethro."

Gibbs just nodded.

"This will be announced at the next awards ceremony. Tell him about it but don't ask a lot of questions. This Major Davis at the Pentagon is rumored to be very touchy about security. I'm not sure even DiNozzo knows exactly what he did or why he's getting a commendation but I'm glad he's one of mine."  Morrow shook his head, took back the folder, and headed back to the stairs.

 

**

 

Post-Episode Hung Out to Dry

Gibbs was busy in MTAC helping the director supervise some overseas mission that no one else was invited to assist with. Kate was at the gun range trying to improve her scores for her requalification. Very Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo was stuck at his desk with a sprained wrist and a sling on his left arm and trying not to pout, at least visibly.

He had some time to kill since he was already caught up on his paperwork for now. He opened a file from the top of the stack on his desk and studied the photographs. It was a cold case, but there were a few items of interest here, some questions unanswered about some paperwork left on the victim's desk. He had a feeling that if he knew what the guy had been working on, it might give him a lead.

He hated being restricted to desk duty. For falling out of a plane and having had very limited instruction in using a parachute, he thought he'd acquitted himself quite well considering it was a night jump. An unexpected night jump, nowhere near the target zone--but still, he'd managed to miss most of the trees and land in a field.

At least he'd managed not to get a concussion this time. Ducky was starting to get a bit dictatorial in lecturing him about risk taking and the repercussions of repeated head injuries.

Maybe he should ask Ducky to tell Gibbs to stop whacking him upside the head?  Yeah, that would go over well.

It was a relief when his phone rang, his personal cell this time. "DiNozzo."

"Perhaps it's a generational divergence, but I find it interesting that you've Americanized the pronunciation of your last name. The proper Italian pronunciation would be Di-Note-so. Or did you make that decision in order to accommodate those who wouldn't take the time to learn your preferred pronunciation or the proper spelling?"

He found himself smiling as he recognized the voice. "That's all very interesting but is that the phone etiquette you were taught? Most people announce their own names so the person they are calling can identify them before beginning a conversation."

"Oh. Sorry, this is--"

"I know who it is, Honeybee. I recognized your voice and you're the only one I know who'd start a conversation like that."

"Sorry, sorry. I actually do know better and I communicate in a more concise manner on a professional footing, but since this isn't a work situation, I lost track of, well, never mind. Just sorry about that," she babbled. "I hope you didn't find my comment to be offensive. I mean, it's your name--"

"No, it's fine," he hastened to reassure her. She was insecure enough in her social awkwardness and he didn't want to make it worse.  "So what can I do for you?"

"Do for me?" She sounded puzzled.

"You did have a reason for calling? Other than discussing the way I pronounce my last name?"

"Oh. Oh, yes. As a matter of fact, I did--do. I need some advice. You're very intelligent and much more socially adept than I am so I think you would be best placed to give the kind of advice that I require. You said that if I ever needed anything I should call you so I need advice and now I'm calling you to get advice so if possible--"

He blinked. That was an information dump but light on actual information and unlike her casual mode of speaking from the Mensa group meetings, she was in professional, scientific mode. "Hon, did you want to ask me on the phone or did you want to see me in person?" He really needed some visual cues to be sure he understood her properly. She tended to babble when she was nervous and that made following her line of thought more of a maze than a straight shot.

"Uh, in person? I'm in the vicinity of the Navy Yard and I was told that sometimes people who are friends, people who are friendly at least, get together for meals, and that they can discuss things over a meal and find solutions for any problems that may have arisen or obtain advice on future decisions in a social atmosphere. Though I realized just now when I heard what I was saying that I'm making an assumption as to the depth or breadth of the connection between the two of us since we've actually only met once. Would you agree to my use of the term 'friend' or would you prefer I use 'friendly acquaintances' to characterize our relationship at this point in time?"

He blinked twice. "Friend is fine. Friendship isn't necessarily based on the number of interactions. So, yes, we're friends and friends can offer advice or support." Damn. She'd infected him with the awkward wording.  "But to get back on topic, it's a good time to take a lunch break. Do you want to meet me somewhere for lunch?"

"We could pick you up at the Navy Yard and go to a restaurant of your choice if that's acceptable." She sounded like a very polite six year old asking him to a tea party with her dolls.

"Who's we?"

"We?  Oh, I was referring to my driver. Though I don't see the necessity I believe he's a security measure as well as insuring I don't get lost in D.C. or cause an accident if I attempted to drive myself. Though I can drive, I'm easily distracted and don't do well in heavily trafficked areas. I don't think he would be eating with us--Oh, he says he wouldn't. We could pick you up if that's acceptable. You'll have to choose a restaurant as I have no familiarity with any. I don't go to restaurants."

He found himself wanting to laugh, but he didn't want to hurt her feelings because she wasn't trying to be funny. "Okay, I am very familiar with a variety of restaurants. I can be at the front gate in fifteen minutes and save you having to come through the security checkpoint. Would that work?"

He heard her ask the driver and then she replied, "Yes. It's a black car. A long black car." The driver's voice was muffled in the background before she clarified, "It's a black limousine apparently. Homeland insignia on the doors. Barney, my current driver, says we can be there in fifteen minutes or less."

"Okay, thanks. I'll see you soon."  He ended the call, tucked his phone away, and scribbled on a bright green sticky note that he was going to lunch then left it conspicuously on Gibbs' desk. As he gathered his things, it occurred to him to take the cold case file with him. There were several photos that his friend might be able to help him decipher. He slid the folder into his sling so he wouldn't have to use his free hand to carry it.

His timing was excellent. He exited the gate with a brief greeting to the guards just as the limousine slid to a halt at the curb. The driver got out and opened the door for him and he took his place next to his friend.

"What happened? Why are you wearing a sling? Are you all right? You didn't say you were injured." Big brown eyes were wide and full of concern, a hand tentatively reached towards him then withdrew before making contact.

"I'm fine. It's just a sprained wrist," he replied easily. "And not my dominant hand so I can work at least."

The driver had retaken his place behind the wheel and looked over his shoulder to ask for a destination. Upon receiving the address, he raised the privacy screen and put the limousine in motion.

"How did you sprain it? You weren't shot, were you? I know your job is dangerous, but--"

"No, of course not. You don't get a sprain from a bullet. I fell out of a plane." He grinned, anticipating her response. She was so tense she was almost vibrating with it. Whatever was making her nervous, she needed a distraction.

"You FELL out of a plane? You didn't jump?"

"Actually, now that you mention it, I was pushed."

"Pushed? For cryin' out loud, Tony--who pushed you? Were they trying to kill you?" He'd jarred her out of her 'professorial' mode and into her natural 'country girl' personality.

"We were on a plane getting ready to make an arrest and a scuffle broke out. It's no big deal--just the typical exciting life of a federal agent. I walked away from it almost unscathed."

Her brows came down in a distinctly put upon scowl. "You're starting to make me think you are not a responsible adult and your workplace is not a safe environment. I can probably get you transferred--"

Okay, she was definitely not in the mood for kidding around. He reached over and took her hand. "Calm down. I'm making light of it, because it really isn't a big deal. I sort of enjoyed my first jump. I might want to do it again, but next time maybe in the day time so I can see where I'm landing."

"It was at night?" Her voice rose but then she got distracted by his hand holding hers, his thumb stroking the back of her hand. "What are you doing?" She stared at their joined hands.

"I'm trying to calm you down. Some friends find it comforting to hold hands." He couldn't believe he had to explain that to her.

She studied their hands for a few moments. "Your hand is very warm."

He kept up the stroking motion, feeling her relax. "Is that a good thing?"

She considered that for a moment. "It would be a great thing in the lab. It's always too cool in there. You could function as a hand warmer." She gave him a tentative smile.

He beamed a smile in her direction, pleased she was attempting a joke, no matter how feeble the attempt. "I live to serve."

The limousine drew to a stop, the driver opened the door, and they stood on the curb in front of a small Italian restaurant called Fiorino's.

"You're going to love this place." Tony held out his left arm.

She hesitated then gently took hold of his upper arm above the sling and allowed him to escort her into the building.

The decor was somewhat stereotypical and old fashioned with red and white checked tablecloths, wine bottle candles with rivers of wax running down the sides, red upholstery on the booths and chairs, lovely dark wood tables and booths, and the aromas coming from the kitchen were heavy with the delicious scent of garlic. The hostess station was manned by a short, elderly woman with graying dark hair gathered in a bun. Her wrinkled face lit with pleasure upon seeing them come in then turned to a scowl as she took in his appearance.

"Antonio! Sei ferito?"

" Non è molto.È solo una distorsione." DiNozzo quickly turned her attention to his companion. "Mama Fiorino, this is my friend Honey. Honey, this is Mama Fiorino who should be world famous as a chef, but chooses not to be."   She scoffed at him, then turned a polite smile on his friend. "Benvenuta, signorina."   The young lady was half hiding behind DiNozzo, evidently feeling shy, but replied, "Grazie. Sono felice di essere qui."

Mama looked delighted. "Not only lovely but she speaks Italian. Antonio!"

"Mama, don't start," he warned.

"Fine, fine. Come this way." Without bothering with menus, she led them to table in the corner which was relatively quiet and isolated. "You're early so the rush won't begin for a while. What can I get for you?"

Honey took a deep breath. "I don't go to restaurants but this place smells amazing. I'm sure anything you make will be wonderful. Che cosa ci consiglia?"

Tony stifled a grin. Asking for a recommendation would definitely set off Mama's Italian Mother Instinct to feed them into satiety.

"I will make you something special," Mama declared. "A sampler--you can try a bit of everything and see what you like."

Honey opened her mouth to object as the older lady headed for the kitchen. Tony patted her hand and said, "I hope you're hungry. You gave her a challenge and she will rise to the occasion."

"I didn't mean to."

"It's fine. You just made her day." He poured water into the water glasses from the pitcher provided on the table. "Now, what was that about needing advice or support?"

She took a deep breath, picked up her napkin and began playing with it, avoiding eye contact. He reached over and took her hand in his again, and stroked the back of her hand with his thumb. It was almost amusing how quickly she calmed down with just a gentle touch. But then again, it was possible in her solitary lifestyle, she had a bit of skin hunger from a lack of positive touching.

"What's going on and how can I help?"

"You already did so much--"

"It was a phone call."

"The results of which greatly impacted my workplace and my personal safety."

Uncomfortable with compliments at the best of times, he shrugged it off with, "Friends do that kind of thing."  He continued when it looked like she was going to protest. "And yes, I do consider you a friend so stop trying to change the subject and tell me why you called me."

She turned her hand over and clasped his fingers. "My boss, Howard, my mentor, is retiring and everything is going to change."

"Change isn't always a bad thing. Who's replacing him?"

"There's an offer on the table for me to take over—there's another option where I could remain in my current position as Assistant Director, but I don't know if it would be better or worse to take a promotion." She bit her lower lip and they both fell silent as Mama Fiorino swept up to the table carrying a tray.

Once they'd been served a sampler plate of the house specialties and were again alone, Tony returned to the topic at hand. "Okay, what are the pros and cons of each decision? Have you made a list?"  Silly question. List making was her modus operandi.

"Of course I have," she scoffed, freeing her hand and pulling a crumpled paper from her jacket pocket. She handed it over for his perusal.

He smoothed out the paper and skimmed it quickly. "Cons--you'd have to work with Godfrey. I remember him. He's the snotty jerk who was acting up at the Mensa social."

"He'd be the director in charge of the labs and I'd be his assistant, basically meaning things could go on as usual. If he runs things the way Howard did, he'd be the figurehead and be the one representing the department at meetings while I act behind the scenes getting things done."

"But you have no guarantee that he will stick to the usual. If he wants to do things his own way… what would that mean for you?"

"Major pain," she sighed.  "His people skills stink and he wants to be the smartest guy in the room all the time…"

"Which he isn't, if you or half your minions are in the same room."

"Tony."

"Honeybee." He raised his eyebrows at her and dared her to deny he was right about his statement.

"He knows his own field well, but he doesn't always appreciate other specialties."

Tony nodded. "So he might not treat every think tank member fairly. Will your minions tolerate him? Or rebel?"

"Stop calling them my minions."

"Your nerds, Herder of Nerds?"

She huffed.  "That's unprofessional. I only say that at the Mensa gatherings. I also usually don't explain the acronym."

"You've actually been running things while Howard was the public face and attending meetings. You know you can do the job of organizing, oversight, and operating the think tank, or tanks. There are two now?"

She chose to direct her attention to her plate and he left her to respond when she was ready. Mama came to check on their process, refill their drinks, and offer more food. They'd both finished with their meals before she sat up straighter and looked him in the eye.  "If I take the job, I'll have more attention on me. I've liked being the ass kicker behind the throne."

"Do you really think Gordon the gas bag would let you alone to do your job?  From what you told me he likes the sound of his own voice. Or would he micromanage to assert dominance and make sure everyone knows he's in charge?"

She rubbed her forehead. "He's not a gasbag… he's a thundering fart blossom."

Tony chuckled. "Oh the image that conjures up. If you take the job, what happens to the fart blossom?"

"I guess he might decide to go private sector or back to academia.  He won't want to be subordinate to anyone else. He barely tolerated it from Howard and only then because Howard was his superior in the same field and he knew it. He doesn't think much of me because I'm a generalist. He thinks I lack focus because I have four degrees in four different specializations. If he stayed, he'd try to undermine me but he won't accept my promotion. If I take the job and he leaves, it won't be a problem, will it?"

Tony shrugged. "If his ego is that big, I don't know that he'll give way gracefully. He might decide to fight for the job… or he may slink off and try to come after you for revenge some time down the road."

Hon scoffed.  "Oh please. He's not a Bond villain."

"You want to bet?"

"Twenty dollars that he throws a tantrum and leaves the program," she suggested.

"Twenty dollars that he tries for revenge later."

"What time frame?"

"To infinity and beyond?" Tony quipped.

"Tony."

Chapter 2

Summary:

In case it's not clear, Hon is working for Homeland (Homeworld) Security and is part of the Stargate program in a way.

Chapter 2

 

**

Saturday….. what a blessing it was.  Tony DiNozzo yawned and stretched and scratched his head as he rolled out of his rumpled bed sheets and stumbled towards the kitchen. He must have gotten at least eight hours sleep and he could feel it. It had been a long, difficult week but they'd put the case to bed by Friday evening. The team was off rotation for the weekend and, God willing, there wouldn't be another case cropping up that Gibbs would decide had to be handled by the MCRT whether or not another team could take it.

He planned to have a leisurely day, perhaps get chores like laundry done, and do nothing more strenuous than preparing breakfast. That was the plan. That was the plan on a rare, quiet Saturday.

There was a saying that if you want God to laugh, you make  a plan. Sadly, it seemed appropriate. He'd no sooner finished eating breakfast and placing the dishes in the sink as he took his last sip of coffee—and the phone rang.

Okay, not his NCIS phone. His personal phone. The ringtone was "Flight of the Bumblebee".  This should be entertaining.

He made himself comfortable on the sofa as he grabbed his phone off the coffee table and answered. "Good morning, Hon."

"It's not morning," she stated with her usual bluntness. "It's afternoon."

Tony glanced at the clock in the kitchen. It was 12:15.  "Barely. What's up?"

"I got the job."

Okay, that was unexpected—not that she got the job, but the way she said it—flat, unexcited, possibly tense. "Yay, go you. So, what's wrong? Did the thundering fart blossom give you a hard time?"

She sighed and settled in for a conversation. "Sort of.  People are sooooo weird. I don't understand what they were thinking. The Gen—the head of the program and his personnel team asked for a meeting with both of us before making a decision—at the same time. Isn't that weird? Every other interview for a position that I've ever done, it was one candidate at a time."

"I sure the Gen—General—" he completed just to tease her, "had his reasons. You said it might be a toss up as to which of you got the job. Maybe they wanted to see the differences in your approach.  What happened? Did Gas Bag Gordon lay on the charm?"

"Yes, damn it.  First impressions, he looks professional and competent and I looked like a gawky nerd with no social skills."

He could visualize the pout. "I wouldn't say no social skills. You just don't use them often and you're kind of rusty. Go on, what happened?"

"We sat down at a conference table and the Gen—okay, fine, you know the department head is a General so I'll just say that.  The General gave us copies of the proposed budget that Gordon came up with--"

"Wow, he was being a presumptive ass," Tony said with a frown. "Some people might think he was being proactive in making his case that he'd be the best man for the job but it could also be seen as trying to make you look unprepared for the job requirements."

"I know," she huffed. "So the General started going over the increased expenses on some line items and asking for clarification."

He could hear a hint of amusement. "And you wiped the floor with him?"

"What? I don't know what that means."

"C'mon. You get the gist. What did you do?"

He could visualize her smirk as she replied, "He was trying to double the budget which is already, well, that's classified. He was trying to say we needed two or more pieces of lab equipment and each one costs in excess of $200,000.  It was outrageous because we already have what we need, we just need better scheduling of access which Gordon had been restricting to his own specialists and cronies."

"And you informed the General of that fact?" DiNozzo grinned.  "Politely?"

She hesitated. "More or less. I mostly was too busy telling Gordon what a mismanaging troll he is than thinking about what the General was thinking about me."

"Hon, we are going to have to work on your interpersonal skills if you're going to be interacting with the chain of command. You can't hide and let Howard do it for you any more." DiNozzo could foresee some tutoring in his future.

"I know," she said mournfully. "I'll have to start paying attention to social cues, which is hard for me, 'cause I'd rather concentrate on the work and the assignments and the organization, especially the work. People confuse me."

"We can work on it," Tony assured her patiently.  "I'll make a list of movies you need to watch to learn some of it. I'm happy for you that you got the job. Congratulations."

"Thanks, but that's not why I called you. I think I need a favor."  She sounded tentative.

"Okay, what kind of favor?" He had long since given up promising anything without knowing the parameters of the situation.

"I don't have the right kind of clothes if I'm going to be going to meetings and consultations and all that.  I can get away with t-shirts and jeans and boots when I'm in the lab. A lab coat can cover a lot of sins but when I have to go to the Pentagon or—wherever, I've been told, by a nice HR person, not the idiot you got fired, that I need to dress more professionally." She finished in a rush. "And I hate shopping so I've pretty much been wearing the same stuff for years and none it is what anyone would call professional looking."

Oh.  Oh, really? 

"She gave me some pictures," Hon said plaintively. "You dress so nice and I thought you might like shopping so—"

"You want me to go with you?" he asked.

"Unless you'd rather just do it on your own?" she asked hopefully.  "I can give you my sizes."

"Ha. No," he sneered. "No way. If I'm going shopping for ladies' clothing, you are going with me to try it on. It's not just a matter of sizes, you know. You have to make choices about fit, comfort, and practical things like care."

"Damn." It was two syllables again.

"But nice try," he added.  "I have the day off. We could meet for lunch and make a plan of action. About an hour from now?"

"Yeah, I guess better to get it over with," she grumped.

"Most women like new clothes and shopping. Try to think of it as an adventure into a new territory. If you haven't been shopping, other than online, these new shops and what they have to offer are going to be something you haven't experienced. Do we have a budget?"

"Budget?"

"A spending limit?" he clarified. "We don't want to put you in debt."

"Oh, I'm not worried about that."

"Trust fund?"

"What? No." She evidently decided he needed more information. "In addition to my salary, which I don't always find time to spend, I have some patents that I get royalties on sometimes."

"I want more information on that later. Right now, I'm going to hit the shower and then I'll shoot you a text so you can tell your driver where to meet me for lunch."

"Okay. Thanks, Tony. See you in a bit."

**

Post- Left for Dead (2004)

 

Tony DiNozzo scanned the scene, noting details of the bomb damage and grateful that 'Jane Doe' AKA Suzanne McNeil hadn't used a bigger lump of explosive. There were only two fatalities in the murder/suicide, though there were minor injuries from flying debris to several others including himself and his team.  At least the documenting of the scene and clean up was not their responsibility. EMTs tended to the various walking wounded, including Kate, as photographers and crime scene investigators documented the event.

He wasn't sure that Gibbs was right about leaving Kate alone to deal with her feelings of betrayal, disappointment, and hurt. He thought she could use some reassurance that she wasn't actually at fault for the suicide/murder by bomb drop. But then again, no matter what anyone said, Kate was going to feel guilty and have to work her way through her feelings at her own pace. 

He turned to walk away, ready to deal with his own issues.

Gibbs called out, "My door's always open."

Without turning back, he said, "I know." 

That wasn't the point.  He knew Gibbs would give him a place to stay if he really needed one. That wasn't in doubt. His doubt stemmed from the so-called joking around that made him feel it was a reluctant offer at best.  Tony understood that Gibbs needed his privacy and liked his routine undisturbed because he felt the same way himself.  For all his show of being a total extrovert, he prized his solitude and his apartment was his retreat, the place he could let down his masks and just be himself.

He was only a few steps from the scene when his phone rang. He pulled it out, checked the caller ID which read 'Hon', and answered, "Very Special Agent Tony DiNozzo, at your service."

"Tony, are you all right?"

His friend's voice sounded uncharacteristically anxious.  "Yes, I'm fine. What's up?"

"Don't give me 'fine'-- you were just in an exploding building!"

"Wha--how could you possibly know that?" he demanded. "Are you even in town?"

"No, but that's not the point. Were you injured?"

He cast an eye around the area, looking for surveillance cameras or anyone watching him but saw nothing out of the ordinary. "A few bumps and bruises. How did you hear about this?"

"Classified."

"Oh, come on."

"Well, I might possibly have a program that flags your name whenever emergency services are involved and access to other systems that --never mind that. There needs to be some plausible deniability here."

Shaking his head, he continued walking. "Fine. Some day I'll get read in on your ultra super secret spy program. It's not the CIA, is it? I hate the CIA."

"Lord, no. Those morons....they're even worse than the NID. If you're sure you're okay physically then let's discuss the other thing."

"What other thing?" He was accustomed to her habit of jumping from topic to topic without signaling a turn.

"Your apartment-- no heat? The boiler blew?"

"How did you --"

"You really need to stop asking that. I'm a librarian more or less. Just assume I know everything about everything or I can find out anything--unless I don't want to."

He didn't have to see it to know she was smirking. It might be justified.

"Now, you need a place to stay--for how long?"

"Don't worry about it. I can handle it," he assured her, touched by her concern for his welfare. It was a refreshing change from the attitude of his team.

"Don't be silly. I have a two bedroom apartment in D.C.  that's available. You can use the guest room--that's the green bedroom on the left of the living area."

"What? I can't--"

She didn't give him time to object but talked right over his attempt. "It's a secure building so you'll need to show a photo ID to the concierge when you get there. He can give you the spare key. I'll call him and let him know you're coming. I haven't been there in a month so I can also have him stock the kitchen since the cupboards are bare. I have a standard grocery list of basic items that he uses when I tell him I'm coming to town. I'll text you the address. It's about equal distance between the Navy Yard and the Pentagon so it shouldn't be a bad commute. There's also a secured and private parking garage for your car."

"Hon, you don't have to--"

"I know I don't have to. You told me friends do this kind of thing, didn't you? Aren't we friends?"    

There was a plaintive tone to her voice that he didn't like. She was always insecure when emotions or relationships were involved. "Of course, we're friends, but I don't want to impose or be a burden. It could be a few days, weeks, or even a month before the repairs are completed. I'm hoping it won't be that long but--"

"It doesn't matter, Tony. Like I said, the place is empty now. I keep it for when I have to be in DC or when someone in my department is there for meetings or briefings or whatever, which if you ask me, happen too damned often. There are security issues so the powers that be don't want me or anyone on my team staying in hotels."

"What if you--"

"I'm not scheduled to be there for two weeks. Even if that changes, and it easily could, it doesn't matter. If you're still there--like I said it's two bedrooms. Each one has its own bath so you don't need to go snooping in my room. If you're still there when I get there, just keep your clothes on in the common areas. We can have a movie marathon or something, though I refuse to watch Sci Fi with you. The scientific inaccuracies--"

He was overwhelmed and not sure how to express it so he resorted to humor. "Alone at last," he murmured seductively. "The possibilities are endless."

"That doesn't make any sense."

Oops. As usual the innuendo whooshed over her head.  He checked the incoming text that had the address, the alarm code, and the name of the concierge AKA security guard.

"Go pack your bags and then get settled into the apartment. Call or text me if you have any questions. I have to go. Idgi is standing outside my office and gesturing through the glass so there must be some kind of test results I need to review. Either that or permission to go to the bathroom is required. It's hard to tell sometimes with this bunch."

DiNozzo chuckled. Some day he was going to meet the infamous Idgi. What kind of name was Idgi anyway?

Chapter 3

Some Days 03

 

**

Chapter 3

He jerked awake at the sound of his phone and reflexively grabbed it from the coffee table even before his eyes were fully open. "DiNozzo," he mumbled.

"Oh, shit, I'm sorry. I forgot the time change. I woke you up."

He slowly sat up and stretched, flicking the remote to turn off the tv which was no longer showing the movie he'd been watching, but infomercials. "No, it's all right. I was just resting my eyes."

"You fell asleep on the sofa again, didn't you?"

He stifled a yawn. "I categorically deny that accusation. What's up, chica? You don't usually call on a school night."

Her voice trembled a bit as she asked, "Do you ever feel like you're losing a game you didn't know you were playing?"

He let that settle into his brain for a moment. She was too grounded for work issues to have upset her to the extent that she'd forget a detail like a time difference. It had to be family. In his own experience, nothing much good ever happened when a member of the family showed up in his life. "Family, right? Biological or chosen?"

There was a pause on her end. She evidently covered the speaker of the phone with her palm but with his superior hearing, he could hear her sniffing then blowing her nose.

"Well, since you are the only chosen family I have at this time, and you know you haven't--"

"Phone call? Or another email? Which idiot was it this time?" He was only half awake; exhausted from a long work day and his patience was perhaps a bit short. The list of people he'd like to punch in the throat on her behalf was growing every time she shared bits of her past.

"I shouldn't have called--"

"Don't you dare hang up," he ordered. "Hon, I'm on your side. Whatever is going on. Tell me."

"I got an invitation to my sister's wedding."

"Oh. Isn't that good that you're invited?"

"The wedding was yesterday."

Ouch.  A moment's thought as he listened to her sigh and he responded. "Lost in the mail?"

She blew a raspberry into the phone. "Wrong. I checked the postmark.  It wasn't mailed until the day before yesterday. She deliberately waited until she thought it would be impossible for me to attend.  The only reason I already have it is because she addressed it to my work address and that always gets expedited."

Okay, that created more questions, but now wasn't the time to go into practically instant mail delivery, not of documents but of personal mail.  "Sooooo?"

 "So I emailed by brother and asked what was going on. He said no one bothered to tell me because they didn't think I'd care, or want to be there --because you know, I'm so arrogant and morally superior--"

"He did not say that. He doesn't have the vocabulary," DiNozzo objected.

"Fine," she huffed. "He said that since I think I'm so much better than them, they didn't want me there."

"What an asshat."

"Ass HAT? What the hell is an ass-hat? I'd understand if you said asshole--"

Distraction accomplished. It often helped to jar her out of the rut of the train of thought--no, that was a mixed metaphor. He rubbed some sleep from his eyes. Whatever.  "He is such a mouth breathing moron that he deserves a unique descriptor." He leaned back into the sofa with another yawn discreetly muffled. "I know exactly why you called. You've probably read the damned email three or more times and you wanted to ask me if there was a grain of truth in what he said."

"No, I just--"

"And there isn't," he said firmly. "He's trying the passive aggressive manipulation thing again. If you react by insisting you do care about your family, idiot boy will be ready with a suggestion of how you can demonstrate it and I will guaran-damn-tee you that it will involve you sending him money."

"Guaran-damn-tee?  Are you making up words now?"

"I think I picked that one up from Abby. Might be a Southern thing, or a Louisiana thing which is where she's from. Don't change the subject. I will tell you the truth--can you handle the truth?"

"Is that a movie quote?" she asked suspiciously.

"You didn't recognize my Jack Nicholson impression? Yes, it's sort of a movie quote. I'll put it on the list for next month."  

"The list of movies you think I need to see is getting depressingly long," she complained then returned to the reason she'd wanted to talk to him. "I called for a second opinion and you're telling me my first opinion, my own, is not reliable. So fine, tell me the truth--as you see it."

"The way I see it--you are not arrogant, or at least not to an unjustified degree.  You have a genius level IQ, you worked hard to get an excellent education, you are very good at a very important job in a classified sector--those are accomplishments to be proud of. Don't allow those asshats to make you feel guilty because in your whole life you have made better choices than most of the other members of the clan of rednecks that call themselves your family."

"Tony, how is that not what he said?"

He growled. "I wish you were in head-smacking range."

"You don't hit me."

"Don't push your luck. You so need some kind of a wakeup call. That idiot--"

"His name is Bernard."

"Bernard. What kind of self-respecting redneck is named Bernard? That idiot," DiNozzo reiterated, "accused you of distancing yourself from your family--that's what he meant, not what he said--and you actually have done that, partly due to job location and requirements for security clearance--but you have not ever, to my personal knowledge, sneered at them, made fun of them, or bullied them for their lack of education, ambition, morals, or lack of good judgment. Have you?"

"No." Her voice sounded small.

"And you have sent money to your family to help in times of crisis, medical bills, funeral costs, and even education expenses, correct?"

"Yes."

"Sometimes more money than you could easily afford."

"My income is higher--"

"Because you don't throw away money on weed or booze. The fact that you are a responsible adult doesn't mean you are responsible for the care and feeding of other so-called adults in your family. They need to get their shit together and you need to learn the difference between helping and enabling. They can't send you on a guilt trip if you don't accept the ticket."

"Tony DiNozzo!"

"I know," he moaned, closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose. He was getting a headache. "Pot meet kettle. But that's how I know what I'm talking about. My dad is more covert usually, but I know how it works. They don't ASK for money, they just make it clear that they need it and leave it to you to volunteer to send it. If they ask, they owe you--but if you offer--"

She sighed. "You're right. Now that you've pointed it out, I can see that's what they do. So you think I shouldn't feel guilty or upset?" She didn't sound particularly convinced.

"Upset, definitely. Someone should have told you about the wedding so you could make the choice to go home for it or not. You can be pissed as hell about that. Would you have wanted to?"

"Not really. We haven't spoken for years. She didn't approve of my leaving the family to go to college, much less having a career. I'm not sure why she even invited me--"

"Oh, that's easy. She's hoping you didn't notice the postmark and actually got the invitation far too late.  She hopes you'll feel guilt for not coming, or better for her, you'll appease your feelings of guilt for not wanting to come. She is hoping for a very nice gift, but she'd prefer cash I'm sure."

He could hear the smile in her sigh. "What are you, a detective or something?  Yeah, that's it exactly. I really don't want to deal with my family en masse. It's bad enough a few at a time. They always try to get me to tell them things about my job that I can't talk about." She took a deep breath. "Thank you. I feel a bit better now. And I'm very sorry I woke you up. I need to keep the time difference in mind."

"No, actually you don't," he said. "You call any time you need me. If I'm at work it might be a bit of an issue, but I don't want you to feel you can't call if you need anything. As your chosen family-- big brother?"

"We're almost the same age--"

"Twins!" he crowed. "The rednecks might even buy it if we said we were identical." He heard a muffled laugh.

"Stop trying to cheer me up. Get off the sofa, hang up the phone, and go to bed. You only have about four hours until you have to be at work."

"Yes, ma'am. You get some sleep yourself."

**

 

The next morning Abby was very surprised when Tony arrived in her lab and asked for a substitution hug. She wasn't sure what he meant or who she was standing in for, but she went with it. He always accepted her hugs, but he rarely initiated and it was a shame. He gave great hugs.

**

This case was frustrating as hell. A missing Marine, blood at the scene but no body, no motive that they could find, and the only lead was a message that someone had attempted to burn in the fireplace of the Marine's house. Attempted--and almost succeeded--but Abby had managed to recover a copy of the message for all the good it did them. It was in a foreign language or code that no one on the team or any other agent in the bullpen recognized.

Scowling down at the printed copy Abby had provided, Gibbs found himself wanting to punch something, or someone. He looked across the bullpen to his SFA and their eyes met.  "DiNozzo." 

Tony nodded, standing up and grabbing his cell phone, then taking the copy of the message from Gibbs' hand as he walked past his desk. "On it, Boss." He left the room heading for a quieter setting to make a private call.

McGee watched him go in confusion. He'd missed something. He looked at Kate who shrugged.

Kate hated when they did that silent communication and she had no idea what they were saying. "Where's he going?"

Gibbs' lip curled in his version of a smirk. "DiNozzo Network." He got to his feet.  "Going for coffee."

As he disappeared from sight, McGee looked to Kate for an explanation. "What's the DiNozzo network?"

She sighed in exasperation. "For some reason, he has contacts all over the place. Sometimes he can get answers outside of channels."

"Oh." McGee didn't know what was going on but it was safer to keep his head down and chase any leads he could come up with.

**

Tony found an empty conference room and ducked inside. He quickly took a picture of the copy of the message with his phone then opened a text message window and attached the photo.

      Sweetness, I could use a favor. I need a translation ASAP if you or any of your minions can handle it.  VSA TD

He made himself comfortable in a chair, putting his feet up on the table, prepared to wait since he had no idea how long it would take to garner a response. He was surprised to receive a phone call instead of a return text within moments.

"Why did you address me as 'sweetness'?  I do have a name."

"You don't like your name," he remarked.

There was a brief pause. "That's true."

"I could call you Doctor Doctor but that's repetitively redundant."

She sighed audibly. "That would be ridiculous. My ego does not require I make an announcement that I have two PhDs either seriously or in a demonstration of humor. Or an attempt  at humor. I have no objection to the use of a nickname if it is appropriate to the situation and person."

"Thank you so much for your permission to do what I do all the time anyway," he said with an insincere smile and a genuine tinge of amusement. Her comment was as close as she ever came to trash talking.

"That said, do not call me sweetness. There's nothing sweet about me."

"I disagree with your self-assessment but whatever pleases you, my lady, especially when I'm asking a favor. Any joy?"

There was a scoffing noise. "Please. I have several polyglots at hand for this kind of thing. Idgi and Fidget are working on it. You caught us at a good time. They were beginning to get on everyone's nerves with their jittering in place. Waiting for test results on their current research effort is tedious so they're thrilled to have a challenge, no matter how minor, to keep them busy."

"Thank them for me anyway. Is it minor?"

"Comparatively speaking--so this isn't actually going to count much on the scale of favors owed. Not enough to offset what I owe you."

DiNozzo protested, "Sweetness, I told you that it's not fair to keep score, especially when you're so unreasonable about assigning value--"

"And I told you, Pooh Bear, that you're not the boss of me and I owe you much more than you owe me. So far, anyway. I'm better at math than you are so you should trust my calculations."

"I'm not a bear with very little brain," he said quietly.

"If you're assuming that I am being derogatory with that nickname then I imagine that one-- or more-- of your idiot co-workers has been making critical remarks about you and you are feeling a bit touchy today. Do not lump me in with those cretins. I was referring to your general cuddliness when watching movies together on the sofa, not your brain or lack thereof. You're a member of MENSA... though I admit that does not guarantee someone making use of the intelligence they possess."

Ouch. Someone had soured her mood. Change the subject. Derail a rant that would magnify the issue and keep it at the forefront of her mind.

"Don't call me Pooh Bear," Tony said, without much hope she would be obedient in any way at all.  She was in science mode today, as indicated by her word choices, which meant she was focused on some problem that needed solving.

"Then don't call me Sweetness. I wanted to ask you about something which is why I called instead of texting, to answer the question you have yet to ask."

Tony sat up straight, put his feet on the floor, and prepared for just about anything. "What's up?"

"Do you believe in doppelgangers?"

He blinked. Twice. His head tilted to the right. Okay, he hadn't expected that topic. "As in an evil twin or apparition? Are you saying you've seen one?"

He could almost hear the eye roll in her tone.

"No, of course not, that may be inexact verbiage. He didn't use the term doppelganger, but he said he'd seen someone who looked like my twin. Do you think that's possible?"

"Give me some context. Who's he and where did this conversation take place?"

"If you must have all the details--"

"I must. I really must," he said with exaggerated sincerity.

"Don't be such a goober." This time he could practically hear the smile at his whimsy. "I was at the bookstore, browsing, and this man came up and said hello. When I failed to respond, he took a second look and apologized and said he'd mistaken me for someone else and that it was some woman who looked enough like me to be my twin that he'd talked to at a club."

"Oh, really? Is that what he said?" He tried to maintain an even tone, but couldn't keep a grin off his face.

"Are you laughing at me? Do people really have unrelated twins? And if they do, what is the statistical probability that they would occur in the same town and state in a country the size of the United States?"

He hadn't hidden his amusement well enough. He made an effort to be serious. "I'm not laughing at you, but I will tell you that you don't need to be worried about a twin or a doppelganger. The man was hitting on you."

"What? Don't be ridiculous. Men do not hit on me." She sounded baffled at the very idea.

"I assure you that they do. Or they try to. You just don't notice or respond in the way they are hoping for. They also flirt with you and you assume they're just being friendly. We really need to work on your situational awareness and interpersonal skills the next time we're in the same city for longer than a day."

"I don't understand," she admitted reluctantly.

"He wanted to open a conversation with you so he used the excuse of mistaking you for someone else to break the ice."

"That seems rather an oblique approach and ineffective in this case since I had no idea what he intended. I became fixated on the concept of someone sharing my appearance which I found unlikely. I asked for more detailed information but he seemed uncomfortable and excused himself."

"He caught you in scientist mode. Poor guy. You probably scarred him for life."

She gave a haughty sniff. "If he's that easily traumatized, he probably deserves it. You need to explain this concept of ice breaking with inane observations when we have some time. I should be back in DC in two weeks."

He heard some commotion on her end of the line.

"They got it," she announced. "Thank you, Idgi. Yes, I'll order the pastries for the break room as a reward. Go away. Yes, I'm talking to Tony. He says thank you for your help."

There was a brief pause and he heard a door close before she continued.  "You said you had a nerd of your own on your team now."

"We do. What's that got to do with it?" Tony asked.

"Tell him he's lost fifty nerd points. Someone is a Lord of the Rings fan. The language is Elvish, Sindarin to be precise. Idgi printed it out and I'm going to send you a picture of the translation. This message was setting up a meeting time and place which is still four hours away in your current time zone. Go get the bad guy, or whatever you're going to do with this, but stay safe. No more hospital visits."

"Yes, ma'am. Thank you, Sweetness."  

"You're welcome--Pooh Bear."

With a grin, he disconnected the call and went to brief his team on the results of his quest.

**

 

DiNozzo was distracted from his review of the end of month reports by the ringing of the phone on his desk and absentmindedly answered. "DiNozzo."

"Tony, how would a stupid man create a code that defies computer decryption? I mean, is it even possible?"

The sarcastic tone brought a grin to his face as he sat back in his chair, grateful that he was alone in the bullpen for the moment. "Hon, how do you know he's stupid?"

"I've met him." Her exasperated sigh let him know how little she'd enjoyed the encounter. "I probably shouldn't have called you but I needed to vent. This is so frustrating."

"So if he's stupid, how can he be the one who created a code you and your herd of genius nerds can't break? I find that unlikely," he said, fighting not to laugh. She was so totally out of her 'cold, logical scientist' mode today.

"Don't smirk," she ordered. "This is serious."

He sat up straight and scowled. "How did you know--did you seriously---" He stared at the security camera that lined up most closely with his desk. The camera moved slightly from side to side.  "Damn." His voice dropped to a whisper. "Hon, this is a federal agency. You can't just hack into the security feed--"

"I think I proved I can."

"That's not the point. You shouldn't."

"Calm down. I didn't leave a trace." There was a pause. "But I miss seeing you. Phone calls, even video calls, aren't as---never mind. Back to the reason I called--"

"Why did you call me? Code-breaking isn't my area of expertise?"

"Don't bother trying to snow me--is it snow?--Idgi said snow so... anyway, you're very intelligent and you have experience dealing with very stupid people. Criminals--or co-workers. The usual things aren't working so I thought I'd get some help from an unusual thinker."

He ignored the comment about his co-workers. He needed to be more careful to censor the Stupid Human At Work stories he shared with her. He'd never expected she'd hold a grudge on his behalf. "I will concede my thought processes have been described as unusual or outside-of-the-box on occasion. So, what's up?"

"The man is really not that bright--but his coded message is not easy to break with our standard methods. For one thing, it's obvious that the most used letters are not 'e' or 't' or 's'."

Tony leaned back in his chair and got comfortable. "It could be that it wasn't written in English. In the Gaelic languages the most common letter would be 'a'. Russian would be 'o', I think, so if--"

"Idgi, does .... that idiot..." she quickly caught herself and didn't use a name, "speak any other languages?"

Tony could hear a discussion in the background but not clearly enough to distinguish the words. "Anything else or should I get back to my reports?"

"Fidget says there are two letters that keep repeating."

"Two repeating letters? Pig Latin?" Tony suggested, sitting up straight as he watched Gibbs come into the bullpen carrying a cup of coffee. "Maybe he really is stupid."

Gibbs raised an eyebrow at the non sequitur as he seated himself at his desk and sipped his coffee, content to observe his SFA without comment.

"No," she replied. "Idgi thought of that but the repeating letters aren't consistently at the end of the word. Pig Latin did sound like the kind of thing a stupid man would think would make smart people think that he wouldn't use it because it's too simple."

Looking at Gibbs, he mouthed, Pentagon contact before returning to the discussion, ignoring Kate and McGee as they returned from lunch and looked at him inquiringly,  listening as they put their things away. 

"I followed that, more or less. So if he thought of using something simple because he thought smart people would over-think it and not catch on... hmm.... What about Oppish? Ma yop bop e <|> hop e <|> top hop i nop kop sop <|> top hop a top 'sop <|> cop lop e vop e rop..."

"Haven't heard that since junior high....But it's two repeating letters, not three," she objected.

"There are two p's in Oppish, but when spelling it out, most people use one. Another double bluff. Maybe he spelled 'opp' with one 'p' instead of two."

There was a moment of silence then he jerked the phone away from his ear as a squeal of joy stabbed at his hearing. "You are a freakin' genius, Tony!  That's it. We've got the moron now. I really wish you'd bring your out-of-the-box genius to our program--No, Idgi, freakin' is not a swear word and I'm not putting money in the swear jar--don't start with me. Tony, thanks so much. By the way, tell McGee he needs to check Gibbs' computer. His spam filter is shot and he has hundreds of spam emails. And Tim needs to get the crystal ax at level two before he enters the escape room in his game at level three."

"Is there no end to your nosiness? What? No message for Kate?"

"No," she replied sweetly, "if I gave you a message for her I would have to put money in the swear jar. She'd better start being nicer to you."

"Hon, get back to work." Tony shook his head and hung up the phone, meeting the stares of his teammates. "What?"

"What was that, Tony? Oppish? Did you make that up?" Kate demanded.

McGee interrupted. "No, he didn't, Kate. My sister Sarah used to do that 'secret language' stuff when she was twelve."

"My God, how old is your girlfriend?" Kate gasped.

"Todd, that's enough. It wasn't a girlfriend, it was a contact," Gibbs growled. "And I'd guess he was helping with some kind of code breaking thing."

Tony nodded, grateful that Gibbs was going to rein them in before he lost his own temper. "By the way, she recommends that McGee puts a new spam filter on your computer, Boss. And Tim, I don't know what game you've been playing on your work computer, but you need the crystal ax at level two before you move into the escape room in level three."

"What?" Tim spluttered. "How would someone from another agency know--"

"It's better not to ask, McCurious," Tony said warningly, and returned his attention to his reports.

**

Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Tony was planning to get to the office ahead of everyone else to finish up his SFA end of month paperwork so it was still very early in the morning. He'd grabbed his backpack and was headed for the door when his personal phone began to ring with the X-Files theme song.  She never called this early unless there was a crisis. He put the backpack down and perched on a barstool at the kitchen island as he answered. "Hon? What's up?"

"I hate politicians," she snarled.

"Who doesn't?" he quipped. There was a moment of silence. He'd thrown her off her prepared rant. "So any particular group?"

"Mostly men who like to show off their assets and play games instead of letting people do the work they're supposed to be doing."

He yawned before he responded. "Honeybee, if you want me to join in your aggravation at the injustice of life, I'm gonna need more context."

"I'm sorry.  I shouldn't be bothering you with this, especially at—oh, crap, Tony. I didn't look at the time. I can talk to you later—"

"Since your work schedule is about as weird and irregular as mine and in two different time zones, I'm not surprised you don't pay much attention to the clock.  I'm awake. I was just getting ready to go to the office to do paperwork so I have time to talk to you. Go for it, my favorite mad scientist."

"You know I don't like being in crowds or doing social stuff—"

"I think your body language and hostility make that clear," he interrupted.

"Shut up or I'll never get to the point. Okay, to make a long story short since you already know how I'm going to take this kind of stupidity, the Powers That Be are insisting—no, they went past insisting two days ago—they've decided to order me to attend a science conference. Alone." Her tone indicated she'd moved beyond irritated to angry, so her mood would be classified as Defcon 3. "Well, alone except for a security team, which is ridiculous. I don't want to have a couple of bodyguards following me around."

Whoa. There was a lot to unpack. Which issue to start with?  Hmmm, get her thinking in lists. She finds lists calming as it organizes data.

"Are there benefits to going to this conference?"

"Maybe," she admitted reluctantly. "It could increase networking and sharing information—if the security wienies don't pitch a hissy fit. Like we don't know the difference between classified information and general data."

Damn. Another level to work through.  "Where is the conference and who's attending?"

"It's in London. I've never been to London," she said with a wistful tone. "Or Europe at all."

Aha. Finally, something to work with.  "London is a great place to visit. If you can build in some extra time to do sightseeing. Have you seen the list of who's attending? Anyone interesting?"

"Yeah, there are some professors from Cambridge that I've met and worked with online, but not in person. There are also a few others whose work I know from research projects and crossover studies that could impact the work we've been doing in—in our think tanks." She was definitely calming down a bit as logic took over.

"It could be a positive experience. Think of it as an adventure. Why is it a problem that you're going alone?"  He thought he knew but wanted to force her to say it aloud.

She mumbled something.

"What?" 

With a huffing sigh, she spoke up this time. "I'm socially awkward. You know that. I won't have anyone running interference or keeping me on track when I disappear into my own head. Could you go with me?"

Whoa. He hadn't expected that, though maybe he should have.  "Honeybee---"

"No, I know. It's wishful thinking," she said with a touch of a whine. "I thought if you could, you could do the bodyguarding and I wouldn't have Benny and Barney or their counterparts in tow."

"I know having protection gets on your nerves, but you need to accept it."

"I don't need it. Nobody knows who I am anyway. I'm just an administrator." It was not the first time she'd tried that argument.

"No, you're not. You need to stop being modest and self-effacing and admit that you're a big deal and therefore a possible target."  He could sense she wasn't going to take that lying down so he went for the full press. "I looked you up, you know."

"Why?" she said blankly. "You know me."

"I also know you try to stay out of the spotlight. I found the journal articles and studies you authored, co-authored, or contributed to, and I found a list of your degrees since you never mentioned those.  You have a reputation among the nerds for being very intelligent and though you don't specialize in one field of study, you're consulted on multiple areas with lots of the big wheels in those areas."

"I just do some proofreading," she protested feebly.

"Liar. You may proofread, but you also make corrections, suggestions, and give advice. Lots of people listen to you . You may not be well known to the public, but nerds all over the world know your name and compete for your time."

"Uh….maybe. Why does that mean I need security?"

"Because, Sweetness, if someone goes looking for information on classified research and projects, your name will come up. It came up in a basic search that I did. You do remember the honey trap you were caught up in when we met?"

"Yeah, but that—"

"That led to an investigation into your—place of work that had the HR person, the therapist, and the guy you punched arrested and disappeared.  They knew you then when you were Assistant Director.  You don't think any bad guys who are interested in things like that don't know you now? Now that you're the Director for two different think tanks with hundreds of scientists—"   He left it hanging.

"Oh, all right. I will let them send tagalongs."

"Promise you will listen to them and do what they tell you to do in order to keep you safe?"

"Tony—c'mon."

"I mean it. I've worked force protection and it's a lot easier and lots more effective if the person you're trying to protect doesn't sabotage your efforts. Promise." He put some steel into his voice.

"I'll try."

"No, you will.  These guys are trained to do the job and they're better at it. They definitely have situational awareness and don’t space out because they just solved a work problem in their head.  They will be watching the people around you and profiling them for any hint of danger. Half the time you assume everyone is ignoring you and the other half you think they're just being friendly. You're smart and good at your job—now you have to help them be good at their job by paying attention to them. If something happens, they'll be in big trouble," he added. If he could trigger her empathy and make her see the guards as people doing a job rather than a bother, she would be more cooperative. Sometimes she just had to be jarred out of her logical mindset.

"Damn.  Oh, all right. I promise. I'll pay attention and let them work. I won't like it."

He stifled a chuckle. "I know you won't but who says you have to like anything?  Sometimes you just have to get on with things. You think about how much fun you'll have with new nerds to annoy and educate."

"Smart ass. You've convinced me. I can't get out of it because I'm representing the program—Daniel's too busy and Rodney would be more of a disaster than I am and they are the only other possibilities. Oh, I didn't say that."

She wasn't supposed to share names apparently, but he understood classified and wouldn't make any effort to figure out who she was talking about.  "Don't worry about it."

"There is one thing, though. If I have to go to this thing, I'm going to need appropriate clothing for the occasions and the weather. So guess who gets to take me shopping again?" she asked, a hint of a giggle in her voice.

Tony face palmed. "Oh, joy."

 

 

Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Season 1, Episode 13 One Shot, One Kill

Swallowing his anger, DiNozzo gathered his gear and headed for his vehicle.  His phone rang…. The sound of his personal cell phone with the unique ringtone set to the X-Files theme startled him back to full alertness as he dug it out of his pocket and answered.  "I'm fine."

Unsurprisingly that statement did nothing to stymie the angry outpouring. "What the hell, Tony? If your dipshit boss has a death wish, that's on him and if he wants the smug and smirky Kate with him to be a witness, that's fine too but what the hell is he doing sending you out there without backup? Are there no other agents working at NCIS? Or is that testosterone poisoned alpha male afraid someone else will get the credit if he involves anyone else? News flash… the FBI are going to steal the credit for the bust anyway!"

Wow. "I'm fine. I'm good at my job. I didn't need backup."

"Bullshit! Why were you alone? The regulations state—"

"Don’t quote those. I should have never let you near my bookshelves. Who knew you'd read the manual—"

"Stop trying to change the subject?  I understand your nerd—what's his name—might have been busy with technical issues but why wasn't Kate in the field with you? She purports to be a field agent. She could have been backing you up."

"Hon, calm down." He threw his backpack in the backseat of his vehicle and slid under the steering wheel.  "Kate was in the office so she could profile the people—"

"Pfffft. She isn't a profiler and she should stop making that claim. I looked up her records. She was trained to assess a crowd for possible dangerous people but that's all. When are you going to call her on it?"

"Why are you so upset?" DiNozzo was genuinely puzzled at what he saw as an over reaction.

"Because you almost got shot!  You're my best friend and I don't want to lose you because your boss wants to have a dick measuring contest with the FBI! And those bastards are going to try to claim credit for the whole thing anyway so I don't see why Gibbs thinks he won!"

"Take a deep breath," Tony ordered.

"I could fix that, you know."

"Fix what?"

"If I get into the FBI reporting system—"

"Don't do that."

"You should get credit—"

"For what? For killing a man?" he snapped, then winced. Damn it. He knew what she meant..

"No, but you risked your life—"

"Let it go, Hon. Please. It's the job. Sometimes it sucks but you just have to roll with it."

"Are you okay?" she asked meekly.

"I will be. How's your day going?"

"You want to exchange Stupid Human at Work stories?" She sounded a bit calmer.  "Spud and Sparky are on my shit list today. They were testing—uh, something, and decided 'more power' was the solution without proper—"

"They blew something up?" Tony said as he started the car and pulled away from the curb.  

"Oh yeah, rattled some windows, no one was injured, but we had to peel Fidget and Idgi off the wall. They're kind of nervous at the best of times."

"I'm sure you came up with a suitable punishment for breaking safety guidelines," Tony stated. As an administrator Hon was nothing if not inventive and somehow managed not to set HR in an uproar.

"I made them run laps in the gym."

"What?" he asked, with a startled laugh.  "Do they know how to run?"

"I doubt they've done any running since it was a PE requirement. I hope a bit of physical soreness will be a reminder to clear the safety checks before trying something new."

"How many laps?"

"Just two, they barely made that. I think I need to institute a fitness program to keep my nerds healthy. Most of them will never be jocks, but they shouldn't have humped shoulders and stiff backs when they aren't that old. I was thinking, my favorite jock, that you could help me come up with a plan to get them moving without killing the couch potatoes among them."

"Oh, joy.  I guess I can work up a plan. It would be easier if I'd ever met them but –"

"I wish. You know, if you wanted a job in our program—"

He shook his head as he pulled into a parking space. "Thank you, but I'm not ready to leave NCIS."  He knew she wouldn't leave it alone, but it was worth a try.

"We'll talk about it tomorrow. When we go shopping. You didn't forget?"

"Of course not. Do you have a list of events at the conference?  It might mean a difference in where and what we are shopping for. I also want a promise that you won't hide behind me and leave me to do all the talking this time. I think the sales clerk thought I was a control freak boyfriend and you were possibly an abused woman."

"Oh, maybe that's what she was talking about in the dressing room when she offered to call someone?"

"What?" he squawked.

"I told her no."

"Okay, we're not going back there again," he stated firmly.

"Good," she replied. "I didn't like her attitude."

"We're going to talk before we go anywhere."

"Tony," she said teasingly, "when do you not talk?"

**

Chapter 6

Chapter 6

Tony DiNozzo had a strong feeling that Hon's driver was laughing at him.  Again.  Though he was smart enough to put the privacy divider up between the front and back seats before he let it go. He was possibly named Barney or Benny because she could never keep straight the names of the two men who shared the duty.

For a moment, he pondered the likelihood of having two men on the same protective detail with alliterative names or if she possibly had designated them herself, regardless of their actual names. It seemed likely with her penchant for using nicknames.

The shopping trip thus far had been a bust. The exclusive women's clothing shop, an expensive boutique, had been a mistake. The middle-aged saleswoman in her designer suit had cast a dubious eye over Hon's usual Saturday ensemble of worn jeans and a long sleeved t-shirt accompanied by cowboy boots. She had decided with one sweeping and judgmental glance that Hon was out of place and couldn't afford to shop there—that, in spite of Tony's presence with his usual sartorial splendor. Had she never seen "Pretty Woman"?

In return, though usually busy thinking of things other than her surroundings, Hon took this moment to actually pay attention and noticed the polite sneer. She moved to a display of a sequined and lace mini dress and flicked a finger at it before drawling, "Where's the rest of it?"

"I beg your pardon?"  There was frost in the tone.

DiNozzo kept a polite smile in place but decided the woman was asking for it.  If he let Hon get it out of her system, the next attempt might be more successful.  He hadn't held out any high hopes for this place anyway.

Hon batted innocent brown eyes at the sales woman.  "There's hardly any dress there. I doubt it'd cover—my essentials," she said, with a sweeping gesture up and down her body, pausing for effect to emphasize her breasts. "My greatest asset is my brain and that's why people are inviting me to these events. I don't think I need to try to go out in a dress with my boobs served up on a plate or trying to fall out to impress anyone. I suppose if all a woman has to offer is her body, she might shop here."

The sales woman's jaw had dropped most unflatteringly as she struggled to find the words to express her indignation and outrage.

Hon didn't wait for her to get it together. "C'mon, Tony. This place isn't my style. Let's find somewhere else to spend the thousands of dollars I plan to spend today." She tossed her hair over her shoulder as she flounced to the door where Barney was waiting. He opened the door and escorted her to the car.

Tony shook his head. "You work on commission, don't you?"

The woman transferred her gaze to him with a glare. "Yes."

Nope, she'd never seen "Pretty Woman".  Tony strolled towards the door as he quoted, "Big mistake. BIG mistake."

 

**

Chapter 7

Chapter7

Anthony DiNozzo gave Barney or Benny the address of a fashion mall about 30 minutes away with current traffic conditions and slid into the backseat of the car.

As the car pulled away from the curb, Hon was on the phone and growling, "I swear, Brownie, if you don't knock it off, I will kill you and tell God you died."

Tony couldn't hear the words but he heard indignant squawking from the phone.

"I haven't had time to get to that paper. No, I'm not working on it today.  I didn't agree to a deadline. Well, tough shit. I told you I'll get to it when I can. Your lack of planning does not constitute an emergency on my part. Get Fidget to look at it. Oh, he has the sense to take a day off? Poor you. In that case, you can either find someone else in the department to consult, or you can wait. That's it. Do not call me again." She ended the call and went one step further and set it to silence.  She turned a frown on Tony.  "Why are people so whiny and needy?  These people are geniuses and shouldn't require constant hand-holding."

DiNozzo took her hand and stroked it with his thumb. As usual it had an immediate calming effect. "They rely on you too much. You need to set some boundaries for your consultations, not just let them gang up on you and get too demanding. If you don't want to do it yourself, maybe you need a gate-keeper?"

"Explain."

"An assistant who would be in charge of your calendar, set up appointments for consultations based on priorities you'd decide on, to run interference with the time-wasters, that kind of thing," Tony suggested. "It would have to be someone that can stand up to the pushy people and create order."

"That rules out my administrative assistant. Shiny is not unintelligent but she's intimidated easily."  She thought about it for a moment.  "If willing, Spud could do it."

DiNozzo tightened his grip on her hand. "Glad that's settled, or as settled as it can be for now. Let's get back to our agenda for today. We're giving up on boutiques and going with a shop at the mall this time. Hopefully, the staff will have better people skills. You have enough business clothes for now but you need a dressy coat for the cooler temperatures in London….and what? One cocktail dress for the meet and greet the first evening of the conference?"

She smiled innocently. "I've done a bit more research. I also want an evening dress that I can wear for formal occasions. And new dress shoes—not high heels. I can't get away with cowboy boots, damn it, but I'm not teetering around on six inch spikes like a new calf. Besides being awkward, those would make me about six feet, five inches tall and I don't want the attention I'd garner towering over everyone."

Oh, joy. The challenges of shopping for Hon were mostly finding something that would be flattering, not too revealing, and comfortable at the same time.  Well, that and the fact she had conservative and old-fashioned tastes so she hated most of the trendy, popular styles available.

"That lady was rude so I understand your reaction, but we need to find something this time so please, try not to get defensive?"

She squeezed his hand then withdrew hers. "I'll let you do the talking, Tony.  You're doing me a favor and I don't want to embarrass you."

"You're not going to embarrass me," he reassured, taking possession of her hand again, "but we can't buy something if you don't at least look at stuff."

She'd deny it but she was pouting. "I still don't see why we couldn't shop on line."

Nope, not going to let her get away with it. "You can't try it on for fit and comfort online and we really don't have time to buy and return everything you might want to try."

"Fine."

The rest of the ride passed in comfortable silence.

**

Chapter 8

Chapter 8

DiNozzo had been right to be optimistic about his next choice. The sales woman had enough brains to look beyond the obvious.  She offered a hand to shake as she introduced herself with a smile. "I'm Margie. How can I help you today?"

Hon looked at Tony.  He frowned at her. "You're the one we're shopping for today. You tell her what you're looking for."

She puffed her cheeks and exhaled a big breath. "Fine. Margie, I have to go to a conference and there's a cocktail party. I need a dress."

"Any preferences as to style? We have quite a selection."

"It's business so I want to look professional, not like a hooker or some gold digger looking for a sugar daddy."

"O-o-kay," Margie said hesitantly, still not losing the friendly smile. "So you want something that will look good and dressy, but not provocative?"

Hon shrugged. "I see no need to flash my tits or legs since I don't want that kind of attention. Whatever it's made of should be soft and not scratchy. I also want to be able to breathe and move in it and sit down without flashing everyone so nothing too tight or too short."

Margie was not fainthearted. "I think I have a few ideas. Why don't you two have a seat and I'll bring out a few for you to try on. Color preference?"

"Not orange."

Tony felt compelled to save some time so he suggested, "Jewel tones would suit her complexion, royal blue or possibly emerald green?"

Margie nodded and disappeared into the back of the store as her customers seated themselves on the over-stuffed brocaded sofas near the fitting rooms.

Twenty minutes and three dresses later, both Tony and Margie were admiring Hon's choice.  It was a boat neck, tea length, a-line dress with three quarter sleeves, and a lovely embroidered pattern on the bodice, with an overlay of lace in a lovely emerald green. With some appropriate jewelry and evening makeup, she would look lovely.

Make-up?  Oh, no. It hadn't occurred to Tony that they needed to discuss wearing more and different make-up for the event. 

When Hon went back into the fitting room, Marge leaned closer to Tony and whispered, "I didn't know if I should mention it, but that's from our Mother of the Bride collection. Some might think she's dressing like a more mature woman."

DiNozzo chuckled. "No, you were right not to say anything. She wouldn't care anyway. She's too modest for modern styles. She likes what she likes and is lucky enough to be able to get away with it most of the time. Thank you for helping her find something. Can you recommend somewhere to buy elegant flats? Or at least low heels?"

 

 * *

 End of Episode Bete Noire

DiNozzo was exhausted but not ready to relax.  Tying up loose ends and paperwork had taken hours. Gibbs was at the hospital with Ducky, unless he'd already checked himself out AMA.  Kate had gone home as soon as she'd finished her report, still shaken but trying not to show any weakness. He hoped she'd call someone and talk it out of her system.

He didn't want to go home, though there was nothing left to do at the office. It was two a.m. so his choices were limited. Suddenly he had an eerie feeling he was being watched.  He slid open his desk drawer, put his hand on his weapon, and glanced around the bullpen. A subtle movement of the surveillance camera caught his attention. He let go of his gun and reached for his phone just as it began to ring.

"Tony, what the hell—"

"Hon, nice to hear from you."

"Are you okay? You look terrible. Are you hurt? What happened? Did he get away? You shot someone –"

"We really need to beef up our cyber security," DiNozzo complained, then yawned.  "You shouldn't know anything about any of this. I'm just surprised it took this long to hear from you."

She hesitated. "I wasn't actually here---here, here I mean. I mean was somewhere out of touch with here and missed—never mind. I just got caught up on today. Are you okay?"

"I will be. If you weren't here here then, are you here here now? Okay, that sounded stupid. I need sleep but I don't think I'll be able to sleep. So where are you now?"

"I'm back in D.C.  Come over to my place. You can sleep if you want, we can watch a movie or something if you don't. I haven't even gotten halfway down the list you gave me."

It sounded better than going home alone and trying not to give into an urge to drink himself senseless.  "Yeah, okay. Your conference is next week and after today, I am more determined to give you some more security scenarios to think about. Just so you're prepared if something happened."

"That's what Benny and Barney… or was it Denny and Davey? …. Anyway, that's what they're for. I don't need to think about it."

"Wrong. What if they're compromised?" He yawned again. "There are some movies I can show you to illustrate my point.  I'll be there in about 20 minutes. Popcorn should be waiting by then." He got to his feet and began stuffing his things into his go bag.

She sighed. "Okay.  I expect a hug when you get here. I'm so glad you're all right. Or close to it."

**

Chapter 9

Notes:

Finally getting to London and another minor crossover.

Chapter 9

**

 

The sound of his personal cell phone with the unique ringtone set to the Imperial Death March theme startled him back to full alertness. He sat up in bed, reached for the phone and checked the time. Six A.M.  "DiNozzo."

"Agent DiNozzo, I'm sorry to be calling so early—"

The smooth tenor sounded familiar but he didn't recognize it. "Who is this?"

"Sorry, this is Colonel Paul Davis—"

"What happened? Is she okay? I thought the conference was supposed to be in a secured location?" he demanded, as he sat up in bed, threw the covers aside, and got to his feet.

"She's fine," Davis said quickly. "I didn't mean to alarm you."

"Too late for that," Tony grumbled as he headed for his kitchen. He needed coffee.  "What happened?"

"There was an incident at the conference center," Davis replied. "I've sent a car to pick you up which should arrive in approximately fifteen minutes. I think it best if you come to the Pentagon and we can access secure communications so you can speak to her yourself."

"Why?" he said bluntly. "What's going on?"

"Dr. Natwick is upset, no, she's irate. I'm hoping you can calm her down so she can go forward with the conference. You're the only one she really listens to." The colonel's voice wasn't quite as smooth as usual.

"Fine," he growled, changing course back into the bedroom to get dressed.  "I want coffee and some kind of pastry available and you can fill me in when I get there."

**

In a secured room at the Pentagon, coffee in hand, pastries on a plate next to him, Davis and the tech guy tucked away out of sight, Tony DiNozzo activated the video call to London.

With her usual lack of social niceties, she answered the phone, took in his appearance and said, "Why do you look sleepy?  Oh, hell, I forgot the five hour time difference. What's wrong?" Her mood seemed to be somewhere between irritated and irate. It could go either way. She was seated at a small table in the corner of a room with no windows and seemed to be alone, though he could hear voices in the background.

She'd been in a snit for two weeks because her bosses, whoever they were, were requiring her to attend a science conference in London and were sending her alone. Well, alone except for a security escort, which had also pissed her off since she didn't feel it was needed. It was her first time in the United Kingdom and she wanted to do some sight-seeing but thought the security people would cause problems with that plan.  Tony had spent hours trying to talk her into taking a positive approach to the networking possibilities at the conference. In that, he'd pretty much succeeded. He'd failed at convincing her she needed a security detail but she'd caved to the pressure from her bosses, even while insisting that no one knew who she was and that there was no reason for anyone to target her.

"Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," she said snippily. "Do you know how much I hate it when you're right?"

Huh.  There were too many possibilities for him to immediately identify the topic of that comment. "Or maybe," he proposed, "you really hate it when you're wrong?"

She paused to ponder that for all of three seconds. "Isn't that the same--- never mind. Have you had enough coffee yet? You need to be awake for this."

Giving the cup a final stir, he raised it to his lips and took a sip. "Ah…. Okay, so what's going on?  With a time difference of five hours, that means it's about 11 AM there. I thought the conference started in the afternoon."

"It does. For some reason the conference organizers requested that I come down early to preview the arrangements—" she began.

A baritone came from behind her phone. "They were hoping to impress you from the way they were fawning over you."

"Fawning?"  Tony and Hon echoed in unison.

She looked puzzled. "I didn't think they were fawning. I thought they—"

"Were just being friendly," Tony chorused along with her. "You always think people are just being friendly when it's more than that."

She huffed. "Anyway, it turns out that two of them had requests for my input on some research—"

"Not a surprise for anyone but you. Everywhere you go, someone tries to pick your brain. You should have taken your gatekeeper with you." Tony sent a frown of disapproval in the direction of Colonel Davis. It may not have been his decision to send Hon to London unaccompanied, but he could have done something about it.

"Oh hush. I can't tell you what happened if you keep interrupting. So I'm standing in the hotel lobby in front of the registration table talking and I'm approached by someone who was obviously trying to manipulate me into getting him credentials to attend—" she held up a silencing hand to the man who'd spoken, "—and you should be proud of me, Tony, because I was paying attention and I noticed what he was doing, especially when he flipped the switch and started trying to flirt with me. It was so obvious—"

"It was not," the baritone insisted, sounding insulted.

"You hush. Yes, it was, Tony. He's worse at this kind of thing than I am which is saying a lot. But he's my new friend so I forgive him for trying to manipulate me… Oh, don't give me that look, Sherlock.  I may not be your friend, but you're definitely mine now…. And so is John."

"That's all very nice and I'm glad you're socializing, but what happened?" Tony said impatiently.

"Didn't I tell you?" she asked blankly. She'd definitely calmed down just because she was talking to him.

He guessed it was flattering that he could act as a sedative even thousands of miles apart but, come on.  "What happened?" he repeated.

"I think I need a couple more lessons on that situational thing you're always going on about because I wasn't paying attention to other people—I was busy watching Sherlock try to play me and wondering if I had time to add to my list of consulting appointments and trying to think about my panel this afternoon—anyway, this guy in a barista outfit came up and handed me a coffee. Well, of course, I took it—but Sherlock looked the guy over and knew something was wrong—I want you to explain your thought process later, Sherlock --so he didn't let me drink it—which was a shame because it was a double mocha latte and smelled delicious."

Oh, my God. Tony rubbed his forehead and took another sip of his own coffee. "Had you ordered a coffee?"

"No, that's why I thought it was strange to get one delivered."

"But you were going to drink it anyway? A drink some stranger handed to you?"

"Don't be fussy, Tony. I told you, Sherlock didn't let me. Not only that, he took it away from me. Did you think I'd forget not to take a drink?  You might be right," she conceded. "If my mind wanders, I sometimes eat and drink without paying attention."

DiNozzo suppressed a moan and noticed Davis looked rather dismayed. "So who was the man and what was in the drink? What happened?" he asked again,

Sherlock evidently decided he needed to be included in the call since he pulled up a chair and seated himself next to Hon.  He looked like a model, curly hair in tousled perfection, thin, elegantly dressed, with unusual but not unattractive features, especially the well-defined cheekbones, and eyes of a light but indeterminate color. "The man was obviously not employed by the hotel coffee shop—"

"How did you know that?" Hon demanded.  "You barely looked at him."

Sherlock rolled his eyes before rattling off, "Ill-fitting uniform which would not be permitted in this venue, sloppy haircut, his shoes were—"

"Oh, never mind the details," she cut him off, ignoring his look of indignation, "so you figured he was a fake barista—"

Sherlock tried to quell her with a look. "The details are what matter."

"Not if I ever want to hear the story of what exactly happened," Tony said loudly. "So he gave her a drink she hadn't ordered—was it poisoned? Did he get away—"

Hon, as usual, had her own priorities and answered the questions out of order. "No, he didn't get away and that was brilliant too because all Sherlock did was look the guy over and decided he was up to something. The guy looked guilty as hell and ran. Then Sherlock just yelled, 'John' and pointed at him and that's when John—" She paused to wave frantically to someone else out of camera range. "John, come over here so I can introduce you to Tony. John tackled the fake barista. It was a great tackle and he has fast response time. He didn't even have to ask what Sherlock wanted him to do."

A short, blondish man in a cream colored sweater and dark jeans came to stand behind Sherlock. "Hullo."  He gave a little wave and looked bemused. "Not sure what's going on over here, but the test results are back. The cup did contain a double mocha latte, but it was also laced with gamma-hydroxybutyrate."

"Why would anyone want to give me that?" Hon posed the question with no hint of anger or indignation. "I was in public view. It would be impossible to kidnap me with all the witnesses in the lobby."

DiNozzo had a strong urge to break something.

Sherlock started to speak, no doubt to reel off all the possible methods of kidnapping that would have worked, but his friend, placed a hand on his shoulder and he went quiet. John leaned around him and caught Hon's attention. "It's more likely it was an attempt to embarrass you. The effects of the drug would make you seem to be drunk or –"

"The barista was paid to do it---so who paid him?" Tony demanded. "Have you at least discovered that?"

"Oh….oh, that's why," Hon said satisfied with John's explanation. She was the only one apparently. "Tony, you haven't been listening."

"No, Hon, you haven't been talking—no, you have been talking but you have yet to get to the point!"

She winced.  "Oh sorry… so many distractions. I think I have an answer to Brownie's testing –never mind. That's why I said I hated it when you were right."

"What was I right about?" he demanded.

"Gordon—you know, the thundering fart blossom, or I guess we should upgrade him to flaming asshole. John got a bit emphatic with the fake barista and he said Gordon had paid him to give me the coffee."

"Gordon's there!" Tony would be surprised if there was not steam coming from his ears. 

"Yes, and Sherlock was trying to get into the convention because he was trying to solve a case for a client who is accusing Gordon of theft of intellectual property and plagiarism." Hon smiled at Sherlock.  "So you see, it's all worked out very well."  Her smile dropped. "But it also means you were right about Gordon coming back at me for revenge over losing the promotion. So I owe you twenty bucks."

"I think you can afford it, " DiNozzo said with a sigh. "If you think everything worked out so well—"

"It did--- I made two new friends, Gordon didn't get away with it and is in soooooo much trouble that he won't be able to try again, and now I don't have to worry about him trying  to disrupt my presentations or panels at this conference."

Tony gave himself a head slap and ignored the reaction from the tech and Colonel Davis. "So why were you so upset?"

A scowl bloomed. "The security guys are all having cows about the whole thing and now they don't want to let me do any sightseeing. I didn't come all this way to see a hotel room, conference rooms, a restaurant, and nothing else. The American contingent is saying they can't guarantee my safety since they don't know the territory. And you made me promise not to just take off on my own. So this is partly your fault."

For perhaps the first time in his life, Anthony DiNozzo was almost speechless. "What?" he spluttered. "How—"

John cleared his throat. "If I may make a suggestion?"

He got a nod from Hon and a hand wave of surrender from Tony.  "Sherlock, I think you and I could provide a suitable protection detail to help Dr. Natwick—"

"Call me Hon… or Honeybee. That's Tony's favorite name for me."

"Honeybee," John said, accepting the correction, "we would be glad to take you sightseeing—"

"We would?" Sherlock sneered.

"Yes, we would," John insisted. "We would even have backup in the form of MI5 because---"

"Mycroft would never let something happen because his reputation would be on the line," Sherlock finished with a smirk.  "Honeybee, I imagine you would love to visit the poisonous plants section of Kew Gardens. It's not open to the public but for me—"

"The London Eye?" John suggested, hoping for something a bit more normal.

"The British Museum?" Hon offered tentatively. "And I'd love to have high tea somewhere. I've seen it in movies, but it would be so cool."  She looked back at the screen. "Tony, shouldn't you be at work? I'll talk to you when I get back." She cut the connection as she focused on her new friends.

DiNozzo focused on Davis. "I blame you. I told you she needed a keeper. You thought Benny and Barney could deal with her in a new location with all the distractions?"

"Who are Benny and Barney?" the colonel mumbled.

**

Chapter 10

Chapter  10

After Season 1, Ep. 18,  UnSEALed

The paperwork was finally squared away, and pretty much as usual, DiNozzo was the last to leave the office. Before turning off his computer, he decided to check his email in the quiet of the all but deserted bullpen. Nothing much, except....

George Washington University?  Why would he get an email from that institution? To his personal email address at that. He clicked on the icon.  He read it once, blinked hard, refocused and read it again. How very interesting.

It seemed his application to finish his Master's Degree in Criminal Psychology had been accepted.

Not that he'd made an application. 

The assurances that he could take many of the classes remotely and on a modified schedule due to the demands of his job… well, that was nice. But, again, he hadn't asked. 

He'd thought about it, of course.  His Bachelor's Degree in Kinesiology AKA Physical Education with a minor in Criminal Justice had been followed by a Masters Degree in Criminal Justice while he was a cop in Peoria—when he was younger and had lots more energy.

He'd begun a Masters in Criminal Psychology not long after he'd left Baltimore, but Gibbs didn't allow for much free time and at the time, he'd been expecting to be married—but then Wendy left him at the altar and—Never mind. Old news.  

Now, who would be nosy enough to snoop into his records and pushy enough to send in an application for him?

That didn't require a moment's thought. Dr. H.O. Natwick. That's who.

"I'm going to kill her," he announced to the empty bullpen, grabbing his go bag as he headed for the elevator.

 

**

Chapter 11

Chapter 11

By the time he'd reached her apartment building, parked in the garage, and gone through the security checkpoint to the elevator, Tony DiNozzo had calmed down a bit. He could recognize her good intentions without appreciating her interference. Maybe.

Was it interference? Or judgment? Was he failing to live up to expectations—again?  He clamped down hard on his emotions and decided to get an explanation before he began attributing motives to her actions.

He rang the doorbell and waited only a moment before she opened the door. Though it was only 9 PM, she was already in her pajamas and robe and had her hair down, floating in a wavy stream down her back. He opened his mouth to speak but she held up a finger and he noticed she was the phone.  She stepped away from the door and gestured him in, pointing to the sofa.

"No. That's not what I said. Spud, I am not going to be back in Colorado for at least a week. If those two can't find a way to work together without fighting, tell them they'll have to wait to work on the project. I did consult on it with Leo. I told him what he needed and suggested he work with Dent for a reason." She gave an impatient sigh and rolled her eyes at Tony. "Stupid Human at Work," she mouthed as she listened to the response from Spud.

She moved into the kitchen, grabbed two bottles of water and brought them back to the living room, and giving one to Tony as she seated herself, back to the arm of the couch, and legs folded tailor-style. "No.  Absolutely not. I'm their supervisor, not their baby sitter. If Leo wants to make progress, he needs to learn to work as a team member, not just wallow in his own ego and brilliance while nothing gets accomplished. I bet those helpful trolls in HR could suggest some kind of teamwork seminar to punish those jackasses with.  Well, no, of course that's not what HR thinks they're for… but it could be a deterrent to overweening egos and force a little empathy on the narcissists. You might mention that quarterly evaluations are coming up. Okay. Do that. Oh, and I got in math mode earlier and sent you the feedback on Lurch's report. Right. Thanks. Good night… or whatever it is in that time zone."

She put the phone down on the coffee table and turned a bright smile on him. "Hi. How was your day?"

He narrowed his eyes at her. "You're not surprised I'm here."

Tiny frown lines appeared between her eyebrows. "No. It's a secure building, Tony. I knew you got here when you pulled into the parking garage. It's always great to see you, no matter the time."

Was that sarcasm? No, probably not. The way she bounced back and forth across time zones every few days and an irregular work schedule meant she wasn't as attached to paying attention to the clock. 

He put on a polite but distant expression as he asked, "Would you like to explain why I got an email from George Washington University?"

"You're on their mailing list?" she speculated with an attempt at innocence that might have worked in he'd known her for less than a minute.

His brows lowered and he waited in silence. Words weren't needed.

"You said you wanted to finish your Masters—"

"I said that months ago."

"Yes, which means you're still procrastinating."

"I'm not—okay, maybe I am. The job is time-consuming and I doubt I would be able to attend classes—"

"That's why I got them to sign off on remote classes," she interrupted. "Look, Tony, it's not a big deal.  My colleague there asked for a consult and I—I guess I was helpful—anyway Dr. Collins said he owed me a favor so I decided to let him pay me back by making things easier for you to take your classes in minimal time—work smarter, not harder, on your own time table."

Sometimes he wondered how she could be so smart and so dumb at the same time. This was no minor favor. "You got them to accept me and totally revamp their procedures and rules in order to make it easier for me?"

"Yes?" she said hesitantly.

"That kind of favoritism ensures that their expectations will be very high," Tony explained. "What if I can't handle it?"

Her face blanked. "Why couldn't you handle it? You're extremely intelligent, organized, and motivated."

He shook his head. "Assuming I can find the time, which considering the way Gibbs grabs at cases even when we're not on call, is not a given—I can't do remote classes on the computers at NCIS and I don't have the computer setup at my apartment—"

"You can do it here. Just use my guest room as your office."

"There's no computer in the guest room," he stated flatly.

"There is now." She flinched at his expression. "It's no big deal, honestly. There was already a desk and some spare bookshelves. I decided I needed a secured computer bigger than my laptop and set it up to use when I'm here."

"And when did you decide that?"

"Uh…" She took a deep breath. "About the time I found out that you were going to be accepted for the program?"

"How much did you spend?"

"I can afford it."

"That's not the point." He surged to his feet, feeling a need to pace. "Why? Am I suddenly not smart enough to hang around with if I don't have at least two Masters? I mean, I know I can't compete with you—what's the count now?  Two P.H.D.s , three Masters, four Bachelors?"

She looked horrified. "Tony, no… that's not it. Oh, my God. I'm not an intellectual snob." She folded into herself and was self-hugging. "I know we met at a Mensa meeting, but I don't limit my social interactions to those who meet some standard—actually I don't have many social interactions at all and I don't really have any close friends—except for you. I didn't mean to insult you or---" She choked, fighting back tears as she refused to meet his eyes.

Tony ran his fingers through his hair. It was all too easy to forget that for all her intelligence, Hon was not good with emotions or feelings or expressing them.  He returned to his seat on the couch and managed to get hold of her right hand. "It's okay. Calm down. I was surprised and I think I might be over reacting. Let's let it rest and we'll talk about it later. It's been a long day."

She was starting to uncoil a bit and leaned towards him. He got an arm around her and pulled her into a loose hug, letting her regain her composure. 

"Would you like to hear about the case we just finished up?" he asked.

"Sure. Did you get to show off your brilliance as an investigator?" she asked tentatively.

"As a matter of fact---I did."

"Tell me more."

**

Chapter 12

Summary:

Again, ruthlessly disregarding timelines of canon, because they didn't really let us know how much time passed between events and episodes. Just go with it.

Chapter 12

During DiNozzo's retelling of the MCRT's latest case, he and Hon and migrated to the kitchen for hot chocolate and were sitting at the table as he finished his tale with a satisfied grin.

"Wow, so your persistence in checking the phone records—"

"Paid off. Sometimes the evidence doesn't stand up and slap you in the face."

She nodded slowly. "And you also have an open mind and weren't blind to the fact that an affair didn't have to be with a member of the opposite sex."

"Yeah. As a cop, more than as a Fed, you see all kinds of human behavior and you learn not to let your prejudices or background define what you're looking for. To expect the unexpected. As Mark Twain said, it's no wonder that truth is stranger than fiction. Fiction has to make sense." He noticed she was stirring her chocolate and studying the swirls. "Hon? Did you have a question?"

"You won't like it," she said quietly.

"What?"

"You don't like it when I criticize your team."

He quirked an eyebrow, not following her train of thought. "I don't know what you are thinking, but go ahead."

She gave a decisive nod, sat up straighter, and looked him in the eye. "So you said that you and Gibbs were pursuing other leads and Gibbs left Kate with the boy to guard him."

"Yes."

"Why? She's still a probationary agent, isn't she? And even if she's not, she's still a junior agent, and according to the manual, junior agents are supposed to be under the supervision of a senior agent at all times during the performance of their duties. So why would Gibbs leave her all alone to guard a young boy from a well-trained Navy Seal?"

He took a moment to tamp down on his automatic defensiveness. It was an honest request for understanding, not a slam. "There weren't a lot of options. There's a stomach bug going around and we didn't have agents to call in for back up."

"NCIS agents," she clarified. "But since the Army cops—CID?—were also on the case, couldn't Gibbs have asked them for a protection detail?"

"Gibbs? Ask anyone for help?" Tony scoffed.

"So Kate, who was a Secret Service Agent, used to working in teams, a junior or probationary agent, was left alone to guard a whole house—"

"McGee was outside on coms," Tony corrected.

She pursed her lips. "Another junior agent? Or probie? You said he's green as grass and you mostly keep him around for computers and tech. He's not field ready either."

"He did a good job. They both did." Okay, his defensiveness was coming up.

She shrugged. "If you say so. I think they were both in over their heads and by the grace of God, no one was hurt or killed."

"Danger is part of the job," DiNozzo said quietly, fighting the urge to second guess Gibbs' decisions. "Kate is capable and Gibbs has a lot of faith in her."

"Tony, I'm not trying to be mean, but you know I'm very analytical. I don't like the idea that Gibbs is so hard-headed and determined to do things his way that he ignores procedures, protocols, and proper conduct to solve cases. He seems to be distracted and in a hurry to finish up cases and get on to something else." She was stirring her hot chocolate so quickly it was starting to spill over the side of the cup.

He put his hand on hers to still it. "You don't do this kind of job, Hon. You don't get the team dynamic. Trust me, even if Gibbs is distracted with his whale hunt, I am keeping an eye on things and trying to keep our team working between the lines. You don't need to worry about me."

She bit her lip and her brow furrowed. "I suppose I am looking at it from the outside." She was silent for a moment before what he'd said clicked. "Whale? He's hunting whale?"

He gave a shake of his head. "Not literal, Honeybee. He's still trying to identify the terrorist that invaded NCIS and shot Gerald and Gibbs himself. He's got a computer running facial recognition non-stop, going through every database he can access." He gave her a speculative look.

She flinched back. "What? What is that look for?"

"You have a higher clearance level."

"So---"

"Oh, just wondering if maybe—"

"You think if I do a search and find this guy that Gibbs can deal with it and get back to his normal form of being a bastard, instead of being a super-bastard?"

"More or less. You don't know Gibbs and he's really not a bastard all the time, at least not to people who are on his side. I'd like for you to meet him at some point, but not now. I can get you the video and picture of the terrorist—"

"Oh, please. Like I can't get it myself," she scoffed. "All right. I will try to do some research and let you know. I can't promise anything."

"That would be lovely," he said, lifting her hand and kissing the back of it.

**

Chapter 13

Chapter 13

Tony moved easily around the kitchen, putting the final touches on the casserole dish then slid it into the oven. Hearing the key in the lock and some fumbling sounds at the front door, he moved quickly in that direction and got there just in time to rescue a suitcase and a briefcase that were headed towards the floor as Hon made it through the door. She was on the phone and obviously distracted, thrown off balance by using only one hand for her belongings and to open the door.

She thanked him with a smile and nod, continuing her conversation.  "I need that data, Lock. Why did you take it off your website?..... That's ridiculous. If someone is determined to poison someone, they don't need the kind of research you did to compile that ….Well, you do say they're idiots.  No, I can't tell you what I need it for—classified. I'm sure if you don't know what that means John can explain it—"  She moved into the living room, toeing off her sneakers and kicking them under the coffee table before taking a seat on the couch as she listened. "You usually delight in sharing results from your experiments. Why are you being such a cranky ass?...  I'm not going to say 'arse'. I'm not British.  Is John pissed?... no, I'm not using the British vernacular in which it would mean he's drunk. I'm using the American vernacular in which it means he's angry.  What did you do?"

Tony brought her a glass of water and put it in her free hand and returned to the kitchen, not even trying to pretend he wasn't listening. 

She mouthed 'Thank you' and returned her attention to her call.  "You do know I've met both of you? What did you do?"  Another pause as she covered the phone as she yawned.  "Well, you're a genius figure it out. He really liked the peach preserves from Fredricksburg Farms. How about I send a case of them and you send me that database on venoms and poisons? No, there won't be a published paper but the official reports will mention our source. You know your brother will see it eventually. Yes, I know it will. Leave me out of your domestic squabbles. Yes. Yes. Try doing something that makes John feel appreciated. I have no idea. I don't live with the man. You're a genius. Deduce it. Right.  Okay, I'll owe you a research favor---only within the limits of what I can share without violating a NDA.  Right. Good night. Give John a hug from me…."  She hung up just before she started giggling. 

Tony grinned at her. "What was that all about?"

She shook her head.  "I was talking to Sherlock. He's a great researcher on topics he's interested in, but he doesn't play well with others. Most people find him intimidating but I thought he was brilliant. If anything he's worse at social interaction than I am but John seems to smooth things over. He's sending me his accumulated research which will save one of my teams hours, maybe days on trying to—wait, am I telling you too much? Damn it, Tony, I wish you'd come to work with us then I wouldn't have to worry about saying too much because you'd know."

"Dinner will be ready in fifteen minutes, if you'd like a shower to relax." He wasn't going to touch on that topic again.

"Did I know you were going to be here at my place tonight?"

"Yes. Check your text messages. Power outage at my apartment building, probably two days to fix."

"Oh, okay. At least you aren't hurt this time. But you don't have to make dinner…"

"I enjoy the opportunity. This is a great kitchen and you eat too much takeout."

"Nag, nag, nag."  She yawned again and got to her feet, heading for her room.

"Shoes!"

She turned back and got her shoes from under the coffee table, frowning in his direction.

"You'll be looking for them tomorrow if you don't put them away now."

"You'd make someone a fine mother, Pooh bear," she caroled and made a mad dash out of range of anything he might throw.

He was right about his timing. It was exactly fifteen minutes later when he was taking the casserole out of the oven and placing it on a the countertop in the kitchen.  Hon strolled out of her bedroom right on cue, wearing her robe and pajamas and still toweling her long hair. "That smells wonderful. You must have had a slow day at work if you had time to get here and cook from scratch."

"You could say that," Tony muttered, as he began serving the salad he'd taken from the refrigerator. "No call out so we were on cold cases…and I took the afternoon off."

"Really?"

"Yes. HR is getting after all of us about too much accrued time so I thought I—" He hesitated.

"What?"

He seated himself and bit the bullet. "I decided you were right. I am letting the job take over my life. I need something else to focus on sometimes."

"You're going for it?" she asked eagerly, a beaming smile starting across her face.

"I did the paperwork this afternoon."

"I'm so glad."  Her expression was pure happiness, not a 'told you so' in sight. "I think you're as bad as I am about being bored when you don't have something challenging to think about and even with your workaholic boss, there's not always enough going on to keep you mentally stimulated."

He finished serving the food and waited until she took a bite to go on. "Since I'm here anyway, I checked out the setup in the guest room—"

"Your room," she corrected. "Or your office since you won't always be staying here."

"Honeybee, what if you need the room for—"

"I won't. I already announced that my apartment is no longer available for guests. It's not a big sacrifice, Tony. I come and go so much and when I am here, I don't really want to share space with a co-worker. Basically, you gave me an inoffensive way to put a stop to it. Thank you."

"I don't want to be a burden—"

"Don't. Don't even start that nonsense. My twin should be able to count on me."

"You spent far too much money on that set up."

"It's a computer," she protested. "I'll probably need it at some point anyway."

"And a desk and chair, and bookshelves—you forget, I stayed in that room before. I noticed all the changes. Will you at least let me reimburse you?"

She took a big bite of her salad and chewed, buying time to think of a response.  "No. It's my apartment and I'll decorate it any way I want—if I choose to let you make use of it, it's not your responsibility to reimburse me. But I will let you do me a favor—"

He ran his fingers through his hair. What an exasperating woman.  She was possibly as stubborn as he was so he wouldn't waste his breath. "What favor?"

"Remember when I said I wanted to buy an evening dress, even though I didn't need one for the conference in London?"

"Yes," he said warily.

"I am going to need it this Friday. I also need an escort."

"You're going to a formal social evening? Voluntarily?" he asked skeptically.

She wrinkled her nose. "No, of course not… Not voluntarily. There's this awards banquet, they said dinner and dancing, and my attendance is mandatory. The General is being a hard ass about it and wouldn't let me send someone else from the department… several of them will be there anyway. You have a tuxedo, right?"

"Of course. An awards banquet? For your classified program? Will I be allowed to attend? I'm not read in on it."

"They're allowing family members and spouses to attend so they aren't going to be specific about anything. It's supposed to encourage morale or something. If I have to go, I really want you with me. If you don't I'd probably try to hide in a corner and avoid talking to anyone—but even if I did the General would probably drag me out and force me to socialize."

"What villainy. Forcing you to socialize?" he teased. "When and where?  I'll see what I can do. Depends on if we catch a case though."

She obviously stopped before blurting out her first response. "I'll email you the invitation. Now tell me how your meeting with Dr. Collins went."

"That favor he owed you must have for something very substantial. He was very accommodating and is practically rewriting procedures for me to make this remote thing work."

She nodded. "I've known Jonathan Collins for years by reputation and I'd heard nothing but good things about him, You remember I told you that Sherlock was investigating Gordon, the flaming asshole, for plagiarism and theft of intellectual property?"

"Dr. Collins was caught up in that?" Tony was surprised. He hadn't gotten a bad vibe from the professor.

"Only peripherally," she said, with a hand wave. "Gordon was trying to throw Jonathan Collins under the bus and get him blamed for some of it."

"You intervened?"

"Sort of. I looked into it and identified what was going on then I called Sherlock and gave him the information. It helped both of us.  That, and I didn't want Gordon to drag a good man down with him. He's very good at casting blame where it doesn't belong."

Tony raised an eyebrow. "So Gordon's not going to get away with it this time. What is going to happen to him? He won't be roaming free to come after you again, will he? Because if he knows you were involved, you just gave him another reason to want revenge."

She finished the last bite on her plate and aimed a mischievous smile at him.  "Gordon's biggest mistake, other than getting on my bad side, was finding himself on the opposing side of the General in charge of my program and doing something that got Sherlock Holmes on his trail.  Between the General and Sherlock's brother, I don't think we need to worry about Gordon ever again."

 

 

**

Chapter 14

Chapter 14

The last of his monthly reports were now complete and dispersed to the various departments as required. It was late afternoon, and with no new cases, Gibbs had told everyone to head home as soon as reports were finished. Tony suspected he had somewhere else to be, possibly still chasing leads on his white whale through his various contacts.  His personal phone rang as he was about to tuck it into his go bag.

It was the ringtone for an unknown caller, which was kind of weird. "DiNozzo."

There was a lot of ambient noise in the background and he suspected it was a spam call but then Hon said, "Sorry, Tony, the dance lessons are off for tonight—OUCH…. Damn it, that hurt."

He heard a male voice in the background and a dinging sound then another faint voice paging someone. "Hon? What hurts? Are you in a hospital? What happened?  Are you okay?"

"Ow, damn it, can you stop doing that when I'm on the phone?" She evidently covered the phone while she continued arguing. After a moment, she responded, "I'm fine. More or less. There was an accident at work. I'm in the infirmary."

"What happened?" he demanded. "How badly are you injured?"

"Calm down, it's just a sprained ankle. The doctor is wrapping it now…and it's too damned TIGHT. Ow."

"What kind of accident?"

"Let's just say casual Friday will no longer include Fidget wearing heelies."

"Heelies? Those sneakers with built in skates?" What grown man wore those to work? Oh, wait.  A think tank full of socially inept, overly intelligent, emotionally stunted geniuses… it sort of made sense if he thought about it. "Are you sure it's just a sprain?"

"It better be," she grouched. "Otherwise I spent the whole frickin' afternoon waiting around and getting X-rays for no good reason. Anyway, they estimate I'll be on crutches for at least a week or two so no dance lessons will be required."

"I didn't think you were that desperate to avoid the dancing portion of the dining and dancing evening at the awards ceremony."

"Ha ha. Ow. Are you done yet?" she snapped at someone. "Finally."

"You are a lousy patient," Tony remarked.

"Oh, and you aren't?"

"No dance lesson but---that means we can get started on the other project—"

"C'mon, Tony. Is this really necessary?"

"I'll meet you at your place. I'll bring dinner and then you can prop your foot up and we're going to watch a couple of movies and have a few lessons on evading capture, escaping if you're taken hostage…"

"You are SO worst case scenario. I have a protective detail, you know. And I have actually been letting them do their jobs because you made me promise."

Silence. Sometimes silence was a greater weapon than any words could be.

She caved. "If it will make you worry less, I guess we can do that. I know you have cop brain and you are trying to be prepared for anything. I don't agree that I'll ever need to know this stuff…. But okay. The nurse is going to get a set of crutches adjusted to my height and then Denny and Davey will be taking me home. I'll see you there. Chinese food?"

"I'll order the usual," Tony said. "See you soon, Honeybee."

Chapter 15

Chapter  15

The morning was off to a slow start in the bull pen. Several teams had cases but nothing urgent. Gibbs was in a meeting with Director Morrow about something going on in MTAC. Kate and McGee had disappeared into Abby's lab, supposedly getting some help with a cold case. Tony had just pulled some new cold cases out, planning to start working on one so he had a few minutes to check on Hon. 

He pulled out his cell phone and typed out a text.  How's it going with the crutches? Wearing yourself out?

She responded quickly.  I'm trying to decide if I should be laughing or crying about now.

What?  That sounded ominous. He pushed call.

"I'm fine," she said tiredly.

"What do you mean laughing or crying if you're fine?" he demanded.

There was a long, drawn out groan. "These guys…my nerds are on such a guilt trip. I'd accuse you of getting to them and threatening them if I didn't know where you were last night."

"You got hurt because one of them is an idiot—"

"It was an accident," she protested. "Fidgit didn't realize how slippery the tile floors are in the lab when he decided to wear heelies. He didn't run into me on purpose."

"If you say so. So how is this guilt trip manifesting?"

"Other than Fidgit, Squeaky, and Idgi trying to wait on me, hand and foot—mostly getting underfoot while I'm trying to get some work done…"

"Yeah, other than that." He didn't see the harm in someone taking better care of her than she did herself.

"They got me a mobility scooter," she said flatly, trying to hide her amusement and sound insulted.  "I'm perfectly fine on the crutches."

"Oh, sure," Tony said with a chuckle. "I guess they thought you'd get tired out. How old do they think you are?"

"I was too stunned to be insulted when they showed up with a candy apple red, high performance—"

"High performance? What?  A sports car version of a scooter?" he marveled.  "Didn't know they made those."

"No, high performance as in they didn't think this scooter would be fast enough for my trips to and from my office and around the labs so they took off the speed controller and amped it up. I've been told its top speed now is 30 MPH. God knows how much they paid for it, and they had to have bought it, not rented it, since they did modifications on it.  I really wanted to yell at them but I managed to just say thank you and I'd use it if needed. It's parked in the corner of my office, just shining at me and making me feel guilty for making them feel guilty which, I realize, is stupid, but---"

DiNozzo grinned. "Awwww, so sweet. The guys are taking care of you."

"Guys?"

"Men?"

"Squeaky is a woman."

DiNozzo huffed. "Your code names don't indicate gender. Let's use guys as gender neutral."

"I can accept that. What I can't accept is an expensive gift that I don't really need—"

"Aw, let them do it for you. They're trying to show their appreciation.  You may shoot ping pong balls at them or threaten to kill them now and then, but you protect them, encourage them, and appreciate their work. Let them do something nice for you. You can't just let it sit in the corner either.  You need to actually go for a spin in it today at least once or they'll feel rejected. You wouldn't want to see sad little faces in the lab."

"You're a pain in the ass," she complained. "Annoyingly right though…. Oh, and Squeaky asked if I had an escort to the awards banquet so I showed her your picture. She said you looked like perfect arm candy. What does that mean and should I be insulted on your behalf or my own?"

Tony took a moment to stifle his laughter. "I'm perfect arm candy?  She has good taste.  I don't think you should be insulted since she pretty much nailed it. Arm candy is when someone has an attractive person as an escort and usually there's an implication that the two of them are not an actual couple, as in a romantic couple. That pretty much sums us up.  You are going to be my arm candy and I'm going to be yours."

"If you say so. I think I got the better end of the deal. I guess I should fire up the cruiser and do a quick round of the labs to make sure everyone's on task. I'll talk to you later."

"Have fun—but don't mow anyone down." He hung up. The smile on his face lasted until Gibbs came storming down the stairs, phone in hand, looking for his team for a call out.

**

Chapter 16

Chapter  16

Dead Man Talking

 

"The agent who sits behind me?" Kate asked.

Really? DiNozzo thought. That's the only description she can think of?  But then she hadn't bothered to get to know the other agents in the bullpen, too self satisfied with having landed on the premier team right out of the gate. 

He'd been having fun teasing her but it was so easy and she rose to the bait so readily there was no real challenge there. She was so predictable and somehow 'profiler training' or not, she never noticed when his masks slipped or he outright lied to her about something she should have caught if she'd been paying attention. She only saw what she expected to see and what affirmed her own beliefs. It wasn't exactly a good characteristic for someone who wanted to be an investigator.

Worried about her date, she told Gibbs she had to make a call.  Gibbs glared up at him, hoping someone was focused on the case of a dead agent, a dead friend.

"No, boss, no calls," he affirmed.  It wasn't a lie, just misleading. As soon as possible he sent a text.  No movie tonight. We've got a case. Chris Pacci has been killed.

The response was immediate.  Oh, I'm so sorry to hear that. I know he was a friend of yours. I remember you said he was one of the first agents at NCIS to welcome you and commiserate when Gibbs was being unreasonable.

Yeah , he sent back.

Tony, be careful. I know you're upset but don't try to bury your emotions in your clown act. It's not healthy.

He shot back. You're not my therapist. I'm fine.  He could imagine her flinch, but right now he couldn't bring himself to care.

I know. Just be careful. I was going to text you….I'm in Colorado and the facility is on emergency lock down. I'm not sure I'm going to be available for calls or texts either. The Awards ceremony is postponed indefinitely.  I'll let you know when I know something.

Are you safe?

Surrounded by heavily armed men in uniform, more than usual. I'm more worried about problem solving right now.

Got to go. You stay safe too. He put his phone away as he grabbed his go bag and rushed out of the bullpen.

**

Chapter 17

Chapter 17

Sometimes Tony DiNozzo couldn't believe an educated, intelligent woman like Kate Todd could also be so unthinking. He had been in law enforcement for years, thus doing paperwork for years, and his ability to type—with all his fingers, not just the two he sometimes used—should not catch her by surprise. He'd alternated between two finger typing (usually when he was thinking as he was reporting) and touch typing off and on since she'd joined the team. Yet today she'd walked into the bullpen and commented, "I didn't think you could type."

He couldn't be bothered to chastise her lack of attention to behavioral cues, so he answered, "I'm working on improving myself."

No acknowledgment that he was making progress, if she genuinely thought he had been in reality a two-fingered typist, just a remark about his taste in clothes. She was so concerned with appearances and persisted in disapproval of his.

Gibbs was in a snarky mood, possibly because he kept sneaking glances at the computer he had constantly running facial recognition for the NCIS hostage taker, and finding no results. Tony really wished something would happen with that. The longer it went on, the more distracted Gibbs was and it was impacting his behavior in the bullpen as well as in the field. He was shorter tempered, made meaner jokes, if that's what those comments were meant to be, and demanded that his team work longer and harder hours. God forbid that Gibbs ask the director for a TAD agent or backup from any of the other teams. As far as Gibbs was concerned, he and his team of two would handle everything on their own.

DiNozzo could dream of a better work/life balance but he didn't see it coming any time soon. He'd hoped that at some point Director Morrow would step in and insist that Gibbs follow proper procedures, but that seemed a lost cause. As long as Gibbs was delivering results, it seemed no one cared about the costs of such workaholic behaviors.

**

Watching Gibbs interrogate the reporter, DiNozzo was bemused by Kate's attitude. She seemed oddly naïve for a woman who'd worked and competed with men in her professional life. "All men lie, Kate. When a woman asks a man to guess her age? Do you really think you still look 25?"

"Not any more," she replied.

 

**

Tony wished Gibbs would listen to him. Sacco seemed to be the only lead they had. Bringing him in for questioning seemed like a really good idea.

Gibbs shot him down and walked away….again. Probably another coffee run. Or some other inquiry.

Tony looked at Kate. "Do you remember the good old days when Gibbs would confide in us and treat us like peers?"

Kate looked at him as if he were crazy. "No.

Tony sighed. "Oh, good. I thought I was the only one."

It wasn't true. He did remember such times, but those occasions were before Kate joined the team. When DiNozzo first came to NCIS, Gibbs was his partner. They worked well together, understood each other's strengths and differences in methods, and bounced ideas off each other. Gibbs used to delegate. He'd send Tony in his place to handle a witness or the wrap-up of a case if he had somewhere else to be.

When did Gibbs decide he had to be the Oracle of NCIS with his famous gut feelings and pulling intel out of a hat?  He seemed to want the Agatha Christie dramatic denouement, casting himself as the master detective explaining the case and its solution to his minions. He wanted the spotlight?  No, if he did, Gibbs would show up to accept the medals and accolades at the awards ceremonies. 

DiNozzo couldn't cast himself as the slightly dim sidekick, like Colonel Hastngs or Inspector Japp in the Poirot series. He had been a partner—an equal—and one of the few who would stand up to Gibbs when he was running head first towards a brick wall.

Gibbs used to recognize that Tony's chatter and flirting, and frankly charm, were useful tools that yielded results with certain types of witnesses or suspects that didn't respond well to Gibbs' authoritarian presence. When had he lost patience and started disparaging Tony's methods?

DiNozzo decided to get back to work and ponder those things later. He could talk it over with Hon when she got back from Colorado. She didn't approve of the way Gibbs treated Tony but she didn't have a history with him.  He hoped she was all right. He hadn't heard from her, but there was no news coming out of Colorado so that might be a good thing. Or it could be classified… nope, not going to think about it. She'd be fine. He hoped.

**

Ouch. He woke up slowly. What was that smell? Oh, man. His mind still felt blurry—that's how he remembered feeling before he lost consciousness. He could feel aches and pains down his back, bruising for sure, but no deeper pain or numbness that indicated more serious injuries.

"Welcome to hell."

Success—of a sort. He'd found Sgt. Atlas. Joy.

**

Persistence, thy name is DiNozzo, he told himself as he tried once more to hook the bar that kept the door closed.  Eventually it paid off.

His mind was still somewhat blurry but he managed through the sheer stubborn anger that motivated him, to drag Atlas along through the tunnels. Damn, he could use a map. He was exhausted in pain, dizzy, and determined not to leave a man behind.

**

It was a mistake to push Gibbs. He knew that so he should have expected push back—but he didn't see it coming. Still high on adrenaline, possibly still affected by the drug she'd slipped him, and definitely tired to the point of exhaustion, he pushed the functional mute to actually tell him he'd done a good job.

It wasn't ego. He just wanted, for once, to hear that Gibbs approved of his extraordinary actions that led to rescuing Atlas, at high risk to his own life—a higher risk than would have been necessary if Gibbs had given Tony backup in the field. But no, that would mean Gibbs would have to ask for help.

So when Gibbs actually looked him in the eye, in front of Kate, and told him he was irreplaceable, Tony was a bit overwhelmed. He'd have settled for a "Good job".

Then the sucker punch landed.

"Never mind, McGee. He's alive."

McGee looked pleased to see DiNozzo and surprised by that comment.

Tony turned to stare at his boss and caught the half smile as he seated himself.  Was that supposed to be a joke?

After a moment, he shook it off. "I'm going to shower before I get started on my report."  He wasn't asking for permission.  He went to his filing cabinet, drew out clean clothes, and headed for the locker rooms downstairs.

The bullpen was silent behind him.

**

 

Chapter 18

Chapter 18

Split Decision

Tony DiNozzo knew he was good at his job. Every time something new cropped up, he learned and studied and informed himself, whether it was about military policies and procedures or armament and the weapons used in the performance of military duties. It was a pity that Kate Todd couldn't appreciate any information that came from him.

"You really do keep something besides comic books in your bathroom?"

"Hard to believe, huh?"  Why did she constantly snark at him? He wasn't teasing her, he was sharing information, relevant information to the case. Sometimes it bothered him, that even when he was being serious and showing some knowledge or skill, she still refused to give him credit for it.

******

He knew he was over reacting a bit, but come on… now Gibbs had roped McGee into his whale hunt. This was becoming unmanageable. They were supposed to be working a case, not wasting time, energy, and attention on this kind of distraction. What was McGee doing? Setting up searches on foreign databases as well? Tony knew damned well there was no warrant or official sanction for hacking into those. McGee, with his verdant greenness and eagerness to please, was going at it full speed ahead—without considering legalities or consequences. This was not going to end well.

Kate and Ducky were helping Gibbs in this pursuit. He'd hoped Ducky could maybe make the boss see reason. It didn't seem likely.

**

Kate scoffed disparagingly at the victim's apartment, especially the rug.

"I kind of like it," Tony said.

"I'll add that to the list of reasons I never want to see your apartment."

Ha. Like he'd invite her over. What? Did she think he wanted her there? In his place of refuge? Was she under the impression he wanted her in that kind of relationship?  She did seem to think he was a one-dimensional horn dog with every woman a possible target. Partly it was his fault. He'd admit that. She was always so prim, prudish, and humorless. She had made up her mind with her first impression that he was a womanizer—never mind that he had not flirted with her, but acted professional. Gibbs had flirted with her—but then he'd do anything to get his way.

Somehow she'd let that go, but not Tony using a magazine with a bikini-clad woman on it—a magazine found on the plane, not his own—to demonstrate why measurements were necessary, not just photos.

Target fixation—it was a problem for Kate as well as for Gibbs.  It meant they mostly took a linear path in thinking or reasoning. Not something DiNozzo had been accused of often. He could do linear but it was the intuitive leaps of connecting dots that made him valuable in thinking outside the box and coming at things from a different angle.

He wasn't a kid. He liked to get positive feedback and approval from his boss and co-workers, but he wouldn't go too far—oh hell, yes, he would.  He shook his head.

It had been too long since he'd talked to Hon. She was always a good listener and would tell him when he was overdoing it. He trusted her judgment and she would keep anything he told her confidential and not use it against him later.  How long was she going to be out of touch?  He was starting to worry about her.

**

Maybe he was a bit over enthusiastic about going undercover but it was a change from routine, and he was damned good at it. "I make a more convincing scumbag than you do."

"No argument there," Kate stated with a smirk.

Did she always have to get a dig in? She had no idea how difficult or challenging changing identities could be. She only seemed to be able to be herself—the good girl or the ball-buster. No nuances there.

Tony was stoked when Gibbs gave him the green light and took off for Abby's lab to create a back story and identity.

**

He was gooooood.  He pretended to walk out so she'd chase him and offer to make a deal. It was going well but he hadn't planned on her seeing him pull his gun in a mirror. "NCIS."

"ATF."

What? He blinked, not sure if he should believe her, but not lowering his gun.

Gibbs came in. "Drop it."

"You drop it," she replied, still aiming at Tony.

"You're outnumbered," Gibbs stated.

"I could still kill him," she said calmly.

"Go ahead."

Tony shot a look at his boss, gun never wavering from his target. What the hell---

She put down her weapon.

"Search her."

He did a thorough job searching her. He didn't want any surprises. They confirmed her identity.

"You weren't really going to let her shoot me, were you?"

"Naw."

"You had a plan, right?"

"Yeah."

Tony wasn't sure he believed him. He used to be able to read Gibbs and know what he was doing. He wasn't so sure any more. Gibbs could be joking, or he could be legitimately distracted. Lately there were too many distractions. It made Tony uncomfortable.

**

The case was over except for the paperwork. Lot of paperwork. Looking at a photo of Stone, Tony said, "I really liked her." He was being serious. Again, Kate missed that entirely and dismissed his feelings or thinking.

"ATF agent involved with illegal weapons and murder—what's not to like?" 

Tony sighed. "So quick to judge, Kate. Sure, she had flaws. Sure, she's going to prison, but my instincts told me she has good qualities as well."

"Two of those wouldn't happen to live under her shirt, would they?" The smirk was still in place.

He'd make one more effort to get her to see him, not his image. "You might not believe this, but when it comes to women, I actually look for more complex things under the surface."

"Really? Like when you were tonguing that he/she a week ago? Lots of complex things under that surface."

He studied her for a moment. "I got to go." He swung his backpack over his shoulder and headed for the elevator. He'd do reports tomorrow.

There was evidently no point in trying to be honest or sincere with Agent Todd. She was close-minded and stubborn, not to mention insensitive to those who held different beliefs or values. Continuing to harp on his kissing 'the he/she', which was insulting terminology, and not realizing how horrifying it might be to find out you'd been flirting and even kissing the person who'd killed and disemboweled a fellow agent and friend—did she have no empathy or understanding? 

Huh. Guess she missed the verse about The Golden Rule.  Maybe someone should suggest that Agent Todd had skipped sensitivity training at FLETC.  

He'd run that idea by Hon. She was very inventive with alternative punishments to get a point across.

Chapter 19

Chapter 19

The bullpen was almost empty, only Balboa's team still wrapping up the paperwork on their latest case, which he'd guess hadn't finished until the wee hours.

Tony DiNozzo had an appointment at JAG at 10 AM for trial prep. He'd come in early to finish up his report and correlate the rest of the team's reports so the details could be finalized to get all the legal hoops jumped through so everything was ready for the prosecutor.  

He made his way to his desk, casting a glance at the still running and image flashing computer set up on the boss's desk. He dropped his backpack, turned on his computer, and settled into his chair. Gibbs had already done his report but Tony needed to review one from Kate and, oddly enough, even McGee this time.

A short time later, he had to stop and take a break. He rubbed his eyes and shook his head. Maybe he needed more caffeine. Maybe he needed more sleep. No, he definitely needed more of both, but that didn't explain what he'd just read. 

He'd enjoyed working as a partner to Gibbs again, more or less. He'd even known that Gibbs had assigned Kate to other parts of the investigation, but he had not been aware that she was basically flying solo.  She was a junior agent. She wasn't supposed to go out on interviews, interrogate suspects—for crying out loud, she hadn't even read him his Article 31 rights before questioning him and he started confessing to his part—oh, this was bad.  He couldn't fix this. Gibbs was going to –hell, he didn't know what Gibbs was going to do. Half the time, when Kate blew it he'd just give her a stare. The other half he'd blow it off completely. 

It was also lovely how Agent Todd had thrown the greener than grass, not a field agent, probie McGee under the bus for his failure to verify the witness statement from the hotel manager with a photo. Neither one of them should have been on working on their own, much less a junior agent supervising and assigning duties to a probie.

He sat and stared at the computer screen for a few moments. The boss would tell him to fix it. This was out of his comfort zone. He knew sometimes the rules were bent a bit, out of expediency, out of necessity… but this? It wasn't procedure. He wasn't sure it wasn't technically illegal. How many times had he tried to argue with Gibbs on such issues and heard 'My team, my rules.' and been shut down completely?

Decision made, he completed the reports, flagged the problem areas, printed out a hard copy for Gibbs, and emailed the reports to Gibbs as well. He used post it notes to point out the problematic issues and question what Gibbs was going to do about it---and then left it to the boss to correct the problems or send it upstairs as is.  It was not going to be DiNozzo's problem. Not this time.

**

He had just arrived at JAG when his text alert went off—finally, with the one he'd been waiting for. "Hon? Are you okay?"

"Oh, Tony, I've missed you," she said, then yawned.

"Are you back?"

"I'm sort of back. I mean, I'm on my way. I need to go to the DC office and check up on things I've missed. It's been a long two weeks… was it two weeks?" She sounded exhausted and confused. "What day is it?"

"It's Wednesday. So you want to do a movie night?" He was already bracing himself for when the shit hit the fan at NCIS, which would be as soon as Gibbs caught up with Tony. He'd definitely need some kind of comfort food and company later. If he survived Typhoon Gibbs.

"Sure. Just don't pick anything depressing. I'll get Chinese on my way home. I'll expect you at seven, if not sooner."

"Can't wait. Don't let the nerds keep you from getting some rest."

"They're probably going to dote—or they've forgotten I exist and I'll need to remind them who's in charge."

Funny, when she said something like that he knew it was a joke. She was a mother lion with her minions, coddling them or cuffing them according to need.

"The General won't let me have a taser so I need to find my ping pong gun."

"Don't get arrested," he ordered. "I'm at JAG for trial prep and I'm not available to pay bail."

"Pffft," she scoffed."Like I'd get caught."

That was hard to argue with. "See you later."

**

Chapter 20

Chapter  20

 

As DiNozzo made his way to the office of Commander Faith Coleman, he made an effort to focus on the professionalism needed for this trial prep meeting. It was an effort because the OCD and very uptight Coleman's unruffled serenity was such a temptation. He'd managed to ruffle her feathers on their last meeting by hinting that she'd missed putting a good point on one of the pencils—and he'd caught her checking as he left, and she knew he'd caught her. 

Save any teasing for after the job was done, he reminded himself. He'd really like to make her crack a smile. A challenge might distract him from Gibbs' upcoming reaction. He arrived in a small waiting room near Coleman's office and glanced at his watch. 

How much time had elapsed—Gibbs should have arrived at his desk, supplied with coffee, turned on his computer, checked the images flashing on the other screen for results, and then he'd notice the stack of papers…Give him a few minutes to read—then re-read…. And ….

His phone rang almost to the second that he predicted. "DiNozzo."

"What the hell is this—"

Tony interrupted, not wanting to let the man get up a full head of steam and start shouting with total disregard for who was listening in the bullpen. "This is a reality check, Gibbs. We're not only supposed to catch them. We're supposed to help convict them—"

"Details—"

"Those details matter," Tony snarled. "There's a reason that protocol exists that ensures junior and probationary agents are supervised by a senior agent."

"She didn't need supervision. She knows how to do her job. I'm beginning to wonder if you do."

Ouch. That stung, but not enough to divert Tony from delivering his reprimand. "Yes, she does need supervision, Gibbs. She's smart and could shape up to be a good investigator but she's not there yet."

"And whose fault is that? I told you to teach her—"

"No, you said you don't teach. You expect everyone to learn by following your example and if that doesn't work out, you tell me to teach them—and you made sure I couldn't do that."

"What? That's bullshit, DiNozzo—"

"You told her on one of our first cases that she didn't have to listen to me. That you were the only one who could give her orders. Congratulations, Gibbs, you threw out the chain of command and she believed that you gave her a free pass to ignore me so I couldn't tell her anything. She thinks she knows it all and I'm 'just a cop' so I don't have anything to teach her. Well done, you."

"That's not—"

Tony was on a roll now and months of pent up anger were being vented. He couldn't put on the brakes now if he'd tried. And he didn't try. "Whether you meant it that way or not, that's the way she took it. I've tried to work with her but she won't listen. Maybe she's following your example too well."

"She didn't do anything wrong,"  Gibbs snarled.

Tony spluttered before finding his voice once more.  "Gibbs, read the damn report. Look at the interview transcript. She didn't get Staff Sergeant Rafael to sign off on his Article 31 rights. She started questioning him and he started confessing before she got around to it. If his lawyer is paying attention and catches that, which is likely, the charges against him may not hold up---"

"It's a technicality—"

Tony overrode his protest. "It's a technicality which could impact the whole case.  If his confession is thrown out, anything he said could be thrown out as well. If what he told us led to McClaine, she might get off too—fruit of the poisonous tree. As I put in my notes, Stone is definitely going down because we followed procedure with her but two thirds of our suspects may get off because Agent Todd screwed up on a basic procedure that she should have learned at FLETC."

"That's not going to happen," Gibbs snarled.  "You keep quiet and I'll handle this."

Tony was exhausted by the release of emotion and despair that Gibbs was still in denial.  "Fine. You handle it. We'll talk when I get done at JAG."

"Keep your mouth shut, DiNozzo. Rule 13." He ended the call.

"Rule 13 – Never, ever involve a lawyer. Yeah, Gibbs, good luck with that. The lawyers can't be avoided when you're trying to prosecute criminals."  He took a deep breath, rolled his shoulders, went to Coleman's office door, and knocked.

*

Chapter 21

Chapter  21

Commander Coleman gave him a tight smile. "Thank you, Agent DiNozzo. I think I've got all that I need. There's a possibility of a plea deal but if they do decide to go to trial on this case, I will let you know if and when you will be called to testify. Unless you have any questions? You seem distracted."

Ha. She probably meant she was suspicious because he hadn't smarted off yet.  "No, no questions. When you need me, I'll be ready. Am I the only witness from my team that you plan to call?"  It was an honest question. If she meant to call Kate or Gibbs, it could be problematic.

"No, I think your testimony can cover it," she said, straightening the files on her desk to precision neatness.

"Is there a reason for me to be the only witness?" He couldn't help but wonder. Some lawyers would call every member of the team which was sometime overkill.

She studied him for a moment before she answered. "Off the record?"

He nodded, keeping his expression serious and earnest.

"Off the record, your boss is sometimes problematic on the witness stand if he loses patience with the procedures or thinks his opinion is being challenged."

He nodded again. That was not news to Tony.

"And as for Agent Todd—let's just say her input is valuable for some cases, if her emotions aren't too much in play, either sympathizing with the victim or the perpetrator." Coleman gave a nod. "Though I don't appreciate your sense of humor and brash behavior, you do well on the witness stand. You know the legalities of procedures and follow them, you stick to the facts and don't give opinions, and your demeanor is suitably professional."

"Oh, stop," he said with a deadpan expression, "I didn't know you thought so much of me."

The twist of her lips let him know that she was smothering a smile.  "As a witness, yes."

He feigned taking a blow to the heart. "All my hopes crushed."

She stood as a cue it was time for him to leave. "Please. Take your crushed hopes elsewhere to mourn."

He grinned at her shamelessly. "As you wish." He caught just a hint of a reaction to that as he headed for the door. Ha. Got her again.

**

Tony got into his car and turned the key. His phone rang. It was Kate.  "DiNozzo."

"Tony, where are you?" she hissed, obviously keeping her voice low.

"It was on the calendar. I've been at JAG doing trial prep. Why? What's up?" He wondered how much she knew, so far. Gibbs had had some time to process and start acting. He was so much better at acting than communicating though, even communicating with the people who should be involved.

"Gibb is on the warpath," she whispered. "I don't know what set him off but he's been storming in and out of the bullpen—he's been for coffee three times, and now he's up with Director Morrow. What is this about? Do you know?"

DiNozzo tightened his grip on the phone so hard, he was afraid it would shatter. Oh, Gibbs was 'handling it'…. Best to leave him to it, then. "I wouldn't know, Agent Todd. After all it's his team, his rules. I'm sure he'll inform you when you need to know."

"What?" she spluttered. "Tony, you need to get here and do something."

No way. He was not getting caught up in a Gibbs cover-up or whatever the man had planned. Sadly, he wasn't sure whether or not Morrow would help him with it or not. "Sorry, Kate. It's not my circus and not my monkeys. I'm taking the rest of the day off. You'll just have to soothe the savage beast as best you can. Bye."

He hung up even as she tried to protest. He could go straight to Hon's apartment and do some school work, maybe a conference with his advisor to discuss his thesis topic. She'd be home later and they could talk.  Yeah, that's a plan.

He called Human Resources and informed them he was taking a half day for personal reasons. They would notify Gibbs.  He turned off his phone, in clear defiance of Rule Three, and did not return to his own apartment since someone (meaning Gibbs or Kate or even Abbie) might come looking for him there.   The shit was going to hit the fan at NCIS and this time, he wasn't going to get splattered.

Chapter 22

Chapter 22

DiNozzo had made a lot of progress this afternoon, catching up on missed classes that had been recorded, making a list of possible thesis topics and discussing them online in a Zoom meeting with his advisor. He had, however, lost track of time.

It was late afternoon when he heard the front door of the apartment open with the accompanying noise of Hon's entrance. He stood and stretched, muscles having cramped a bit from staying too long in one position, then walked out into the living room to greet her.

She was trying not to lose her balance as she was still untangling her arms from a rolling suitcase handle, a laptop bag, and several bags of Chinese takeout that were the source of the wonderful aroma of food ready to be eaten.

His stomach growled as he realized he'd skipped lunch. "Do you need some help there?"

"Oh, only all I can get," she quipped. Belying her words, in short order she managed to set everything down, kick off her shoes, and throw herself at him for a hug.  "I missed you so much. I'm so sorry I couldn't get in touch the quaran—lock down included communications for a while. I got home as soon as I could." She squeezed him tight, kissed him on the cheek, and stepped back. She picked up the food bags and headed for the kitchen.

"Quarantine? Are you all right?" he asked, not liking the sound of that.

She winced. "Damn it. I was there so long I got out of the habit of watching my mouth. It's fine. I wasn't in any danger, well---" she hesitated, not wanting to lie, "maybe a bit of danger, but not for long and it's over now anyway." She started taking containers out and placing them on the countertop.

Tony moved to the cabinets and took out plates, then opened a drawer for silverware. "Hon, I don't like being kept in the dark. I worry about you. We need to keep working on your situational awareness. You can't just walk around thinking about the problems you're trying to solve and not paying attention to the behavior and possible intentions of the people around you. You need to be able to take care of yourself in case of an emergency."

"You wouldn't be kept in the dark if you came to work for my program," she suggested sassily as she got down glasses and filled them with ice. "Tea or water?"

"Water. I'm basically a cop. What kind of job could I get in your program?" He tried to make it sound like a joke, but she knew him too well.  This was the first time he'd asked for even that much information.

She froze for a moment. "What happened?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean you usually tell me you like NCIS and want to stay there.  What happened to change that?"

He didn't answer, not sure what or how much he should tell her. Confidentiality wasn't the issue. Part of the issue was pride. She'd been telling him for months that he was undervalued at NCIS, that Gibbs was straying off the reservation both as a team leader and as a law enforcement federal agent, and that he was wasted and being stunted there. She had his best interests in mind.

"Never mind. I can hear your stomach growling from here. Let's eat. We can talk later."

It was a postponement. He supposed he should be grateful for the opportunity to get his thoughts together. As they filled their plates, he changed the subject. "I was at JAG this morning for trial prep and took the afternoon off to do some work here—"

**

Chapter 23

Chapter 23

He awakened by degrees, feeling the cushioned feel of the sofa not a bed, the slight twinge of pain in his neck from sleeping in an awkward position, and smelled the welcome aroma of coffee from the direction of the kitchen. He hadn't meant to fall asleep but even trying to focus on The Court Jester and the antics of Danny Kaye hadn't been able to keep exhaustion at bay.

He sat up and stretched, trying to work out a few kinks, tossing aside the afghan that Hon had draped over him.

She brought him a large cup already doctored with cream and sugar and placed it in his outstretched hand. "Thank you."  He looked up at her and froze.

Hon had been tired when she got home—back to her apartment, he corrected himself. He'd thought she'd sleep well but the tired eyes, mussed hair, and slow, careful movements dispelled any notion that she'd gotten some rest last night. She was studying him as if—his eyes darted toward the dining table. Her laptop was setup as if she'd been working. Uh-oh.

She didn't speak to him, just went back to the kitchen, got her own coffee, and seated herself at the table. She closed the laptop and studied him again.

It was hard to tell if she was angry, disappointed, or hurt, possibly all three. He should have known that his dodging their planned talk and distracting her with a movie wouldn't have a lasting effect. Probably as soon as he'd fallen asleep, she'd begun investigating on her own.  Time was up. 

He got to his feet and joined her at the table, cradling his cup and enjoying the warmth. "Honeybee—"

"Don't. Just don't," she said. "The last thing I said to you before I went into quar—lock down was for you to be safe."

He didn't know how much she knew.  "I'm fine. I'm still here."

She bit her lip and didn't blurt out her first thought. That wasn't a good sign either. She'd had too much time to think.  "Tony, you almost died."

"Which time?" Nope, not the time for a joke.

"In a sewer," she snarled. "You were following a suspect who might have killed two or more Marines and you went alone."

"It wasn't Sacco—"

"That doesn't matter! You should have had backup," she moaned. "You shouldn't have been alone. You talk about me being careful—"

"Everyone's an expert when they're looking at a situation with hindsight." He was trying not to get defensive. "I should have been more careful about watching my drink. I'd also like to point out that I managed to get Atlas and myself out of that cell and away so Gibbs and Kate had a chance to find me."

She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "You shouldn't have had to."

He covered her hand on the table, stopping the fingers from tapping incessantly. "It's my job. Yes, there's a degree of danger, but that's true of any job. We do the best we can with the information we have at the time."

"And Gibbs did nothing wrong? By sending you off on your own?" She didn't wait for his answer.  "You said when you started working for Gibbs you were more like partners. Would he have done that then?"

Not something he really wanted to think about. She wasn't done though.

"I will reluctantly let that go, since you did escape, unharmed except for being drugged and bruised and traumatize—"

"That's kind of  you," Tony quipped. "I'm going to have a word with Cyber. You should not be able to hack into our confidential records so easily."

"By all means, please do," she purred, an evil glint in her brown eyes. "I enjoy a challenge."

"Honeybee, you're going to get in trouble—"

"Not if they don't catch me."

"Don't get arrogant," Tony remonstrated. "Pride goes before a fall."

She waved a dismissive hand. "Never mind. Just assume I know everything that happened to you while I was gone. Up to and including how stupid and insensitive Agent Todd is. Didn't it occur to her that kissing is kissing and you didn't care that the suspect was trans?  That you were upset and probably continue to be upset every time she brings it up because that person killed Chris Pacci?"

"Damn. You accessed the security feeds in the bullpen too? You have got to stop doing that. You don't have the clearance—"

"My security clearance is higher than anyone at NCIS, including Director Morrow," she protested.

"Not the point." He surrendered to the inevitability of telling her about yesterday's confrontation with Gibbs. "How far did you get in your snooping?"

She took a gulp of her coffee and savored the taste for a moment. "I got caught up through… the day before yesterday. Why?  What happened yesterday? It's not like you to take a day off, even to work on your classes. Did you quit your job?" That sounded almost hopeful.

He thrust his fingers through his tousled hair and gripped tightly, then let go and went back to drinking coffee. "Not exactly. Just---listen, promise not to interrupt or I'll never get through this---"

She nodded solemnly.

"It started yesterday when I read all the reports on our latest case---"

Half an hour later, she was thoroughly caught up on events and had managed to keep her promise not to interrupt, though he could tell that it was a near thing at several points. 

"So I came here, turned off my phone, and distracted myself with my educational hobby. Questions?" he asked reluctantly.

"Wow. I'm so proud of you, Tony.  I'm so tempted to say I told you so—because I did—but I'm so proud of you for slamming on the brakes on the runaway train named Gibbs. You've been so conflicted with the way he's running the team and investigations but your loyalty—"

"It's not just loyalty. He's a good investigator. I admire his abilities and intelligence—"

"I admit he might be a good investigator, but is he a good team leader? Why do you think he keeps blowing hot and cold with you? Carrot and stick?"

"Have you been talking to a shrink or something?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact. It was mandatory because—no, can't tell you that, but I had a session or two and I picked her brain because I worry about you and what you've told me and what I've observed about the team dynamic. She said that it's possible that Gibbs is worried about you outshining him."

"What? How--"

"Don't start self-deprecating. He's been gaslighting you…compliments then digs at your self-esteem? Treating you like you're the probie instead of Kate? Gibbs is very alpha male and if you're competent and intelligent and solve cases without him, that makes you his equal and he won't stand for that."

"No." It wasn't as much a denial of the reasoning as a refusal to think about it. "I'm not going to do a dissection of my relationship with Gibbs right now. I have other issues to worry about."

She got up, came around the table, and hugged him. "Fine. I don't mean to push. It sounds like there may be fireworks today at work. Gibbs is going to throw his weight around and try to bury the problem—or try to make you fix it somehow, which I hope you refuse to do. Do you have any idea how Director Morrow is going to deal with this?"

"He's pretty much been hands off with Gibbs and let him run the team and investigations however he wanted, but this? This may get very messy. Once JAG gets hold of the paperwork, there may be an investigation, not sure if it would be an internal one."

"That sounds….exciting. Are you going to work today? It's Thursday, right?"

"I don't have instructions to the contrary, so yes."

"But you turned off your phone," she pointed out.

"Damn. I better turn it back on and check my messages."  He wasn't looking forward to it. Gibbs wasn't one for leaving text or voice mails but Abbie probably had blown his phone up and tried to track him down. He was glad he'd decided not to be home for unwelcome visitors and no one at NCIS knew about his home away from home in Hon's secured building so he was untraceable…until he turned on his phone. 

"Go take a shower, I'm making pancakes."

He tried to smile but didn't do a very good job. "Your Eddie Murphy impression needs work." He enjoyed her confused expression as he left her to it.

**

Chapter 24

Chapter  24

Showered, clean-shaven, and dressed in a fine navy blue suit –and when had so many of his clothes made the transition to Hon's apartment?—Tony sat at the table, phone in hand.

As soon as it powered up, it started making noise. He checked the texts first…. Ducky had sent one inquiring after his well-being (polite, curious), Kate had sent four (starting off with concern devolving into anger and wanting answers, McGee had even sent one (nervous asking for information as to what was going on), and Abby had sent ten (starting with what happened and moving on to what did you do and a protective fury towards Gibbs and what Tony had done to make him mad) which didn't surprise him. There was nothing from Gibbs. 

Hon served him a plate of pancakes and he spread them with butter before pouring warmed syrup over them. She refilled his coffee cup and patted his shoulder as she did so.

Now, the voice mails. He scrolled down the list, deleting the ones from Abby and Kate without bothering to listen. Oh. There was one from Director Morrow's office.  He pressed play and put it on speaker.   It was the director's secretary, Janice Huntley. "Agent DiNozzo, Director Morrow would like to see you tomorrow morning in his office. Please report here first thing."

He put his phone down and tried to find an appetite for the pancakes.

"Is that a good thing or a bad thing?" she asked.

"It could go either way. Morrow has a good reputation for taking care of his people, but—"

"But he's been letting Gibbs run wild for years now," she finished.

"I wouldn't say that," Tony denied. "He's been very busy with international concerns since Nine Eleven so maybe the local agency matters have—uh, have slipped through the cracks."  He could tell she didn't agree with his assessment but her protectiveness towards him made her biased against anyone she thought wasn't being good to him.  He was still struggling to get used to the idea that someone prioritized his well-being that highly, even to resenting insults or disrespect on his behalf.

"You think he'll cover for Gibbs? And blame you?"

"I'm not sure. Gibbs crossed a line this time, a really big one in law enforcement. It wasn't always like this, I swear. He used to be a lot more conscious of procedures and what was needed to secure a conviction, not just an arrest. This time, it's even worse. Letting Kate go out unsupervised to interview witnesses—it isn't safe. Yes, she can defend herself but on a normal work day she shouldn't have to. That's the point of having backup. Sometimes that's all that's needed to keep a situation from escalating. Letting her interrogate someone alone—without reading him his Article 31 rights which is standard procedure with suspects—that may cost us convictions on two of the three criminals. I don't know how the team can bounce back from that—or how Morrow can justify it or let it go. JAG is going to be pissed. If the investigation goes upstairs to Internal Affairs or the Inspector General's office, this could give the agency a black eye and make Morrow look bad."

In the silence, he ate a few more bites of pancake and finished his coffee.  "I'd better get going. What are you going to do today?"

She yawned. "I'm going back to bed for a while. I'm still underslept. Oh, and the Awards Banquet –has been rescheduled for tomorrow night. Short notice but…will you still be my arm candy?"  She gave him the puppy dog eyes. "Squeaky already showed your picture around and told my minions that I'm bringing a date.  Nacho started a betting pool with odds on your being real, being as handsome as you look in the picture, and various other assorted things. For some reason, they doubt your existence. But then they doubt most things until demonstrably proven."

He shook his head. "Do I really want to be thrown into the genius nerd pool with that bunch?"

She wrinkled her nose at him. "You know you're just about as nerdy as most of them though you're miles ahead of them in social skills. Come on, you don't want to waste the dancing lessons you forced on me, especially now that my ankle healed up. Please?"

Thankful for the brief distraction, he kissed her cheek. "Sure. Why not?  Nero fiddled while Rome burned. I can dance while my career goes up in smoke."

"Don't be so gloomy. My program would love to have an investigator.  You can meet some of the people you'd be working with at the banquet. Want me to update your resume?" She walked him to the front door.

"No, Honeybee. I can handle that myself."

"Let me know how it goes," she ordered.

"Go back to bed until the bags under your eyes disappear. I'll text you when I know something. It may be a while."

"I believe in you, Tony DiNozzo. You did the right thing. More people need to be like you."

He tried to hold onto that thought, like a mantra. Once more, a step into the unknown.  It reminded him of when he fell out of that plane---a few seconds of terror, then overwhelming exhilaration as the chute opened and he knew he was going to be all right—more or less. It was an adventure.  Yeah, not a disaster--an adventure.

**

Chapter 25

Chapter  25

As DiNozzo made his way into the NCIS building, he found his mind replaying the morning so far. Something was definitely off with Hon. While she was often tactile with him, she didn't normally pat his shoulder. He could tell something was up, but it was hard to tell what was going on. She seemed to be hiding something from him, not wanting to discuss it, but that wasn't unusual since the confidentiality of her work was need to know and he wasn't on the list of those who needed to know.

He stepped into the lobby and stopped dead in his tracks on his way to the security checkpoint. Reading the room was a habit and he was picking up on abnormal levels of tension from everyone in the building. As soon as he was on the secure side of the checkpoint, he made eye contact with the guard waving him through.  "Gary, what's going on?"

Gary Ingram shifted uncomfortably, shooting a brief glance over his shoulder to see if anyone was paying attention. "I was gonna ask you, Tony. The Director called down and said to send you directly to his office."

DiNozzo rolled his shoulders and tried to relax as he shrugged on the strap of his backpack. "I knew that," he said smoothly, "but that doesn't account for—this." He gestured in a circle indicating the general area.

Gary bit his lip, nodded as if making a decision, and lowered his voice.  "First thing this morning, all hell broke loose in the bullpen. Gibbs had some kind of tantrum. The Director called him up to his office and then, out of nowhere, this Air Force General and a small entourage showed up and went to join them. Two officers from JAG showed up and joined the party too."

DiNozzo's eyes widened. "What?"

"Yeah, a while later, Gibbs came down with the Air Force guys and left the building.  No one has any idea what that was about. Do you?"

Oh, no. He wasn't going to add to the scuttlebutt. Damn. What the hell---Air Force?  It rang through his head. AIR FORCE?  Shit. What had Honeybee done? It had to have something to do with her—and her snooping into NCIS's computers. No wonder she'd been so solicitous this morning. She knew it was going to hit the fan.

He took a deep breath, refocused, and walked towards the elevator with a dismissive wave to Gary and the others watching his progress.  He had the elevator to himself as he  pressed the button for the Director's office level. He did some more deep breathing to calm himself and thought about Hon's expression and words this morning.

No.  There was no way she'd known this was going down, at least not the details. She may have had some knowledge that something was going to happen, but if she had known anything this big was going to happen today, she'd have told him or at least given him a heads up. She must have knocked over the first domino though. Damn. He had no way to guess what had happened.  What set Gibbs off this time?  Had he been taken into custody?  By the Air Force? How did that make any sense?

It didn't. He took another deep breath as he arrived at his destination. He had no data to work with, there was nothing he could plan, and he was not in control of the situation, whatever it might be.  The only things he could control right now were his own actions and reactions.

What was he sure of? Not a lot.  One thing he did know with absolute certainty –he'd made the right decision in drawing a line in the sand.  He was a cop; that was his identity down to his core. His job was to protect victims, to arrest and help convict criminals, and to maintain law and order. If his team or this agency didn't have the same goals—he didn't belong here. His jaw clenched.

Janice nodded at him.  Tony strode forward and rapped lightly on the door.

"Come," said the brusque voice of Director Morrow.

**

Chapter 26

Chapter 26

Director Morrow was seated at the head of the conference table with Admiral A.J. Chegwidden on his right. Commander Faith Coleman was seated next to her boss.

DiNozzo walked in and took the chair across from Coleman and sat at a nod from Morrow. He wasn't going to open his mouth and hope he didn't put his foot in it so he sat there in respectful silence with his best poker face firmly in place, trying not to show any hint of discomfort or nervousness.

Chegwidden and Morrow exchanged glances then the admiral nodded in deference to the NCIS Director.

"Agent DiNozzo, Tony," Morrow began, his tone gruff but not demanding, "JAG came here to get further information on the Grimm case, but before we address that, we need to talk about what happened this morning."

"I wasn't here this morning, sir. I just arrived in the building and came directly to your office." He kept his tone even. It didn't sound like he was in trouble, but he felt like he was waiting for an ax to fall on his neck. His past experience told him that his presence or absence was not necessarily relative to whether or not he was blamed for an event or action.

"I know."  Morrow aimed a remote at the display screen on the wall that showed security footage evidently from the NCIS bullpen.

Specifically, the computer on Gibbs' desk.  The one that had for months featured a picture of the terrorist who'd invaded NCIS through the morgue, held three people hostage, and shot two of them before making his escape. It also should have been showing the never ending scrolling of pictures from various databases doing facial recognition comparisons.

That wasn't what it was showing now. Instead, there was what was sometimes referred to as 'the blue screen of death'.  In lieu of the usual error warning, there was extra large print in white letters that said:

Agent Gibbs, do you have a warrant?

He couldn't prevent his eyes widening, but he did manage not to let his jaw drop.  A breath whooshed out of him as he tried to articulate a question.

Morrow shook his head. "I take it you didn't know about this."

"About this—" he gestured towards the screen, "No.  I knew Gibbs was running a search—"

"And the scope of that search?" Chegwidden asked.

DiNozzo paused to take a deep breath. He wasn't going to lie—there was no way around it—but he wasn't going to throw anyone else to the wolves.

"Gibbs doesn't have the technical expertise to set this up. So who did?" Morrow interjected.

Tony still hesitated.

"This isn't a witch hunt, son," Morrow added. "There has been a serious breach in security which has led to discovery of several illegal activities such as improper searches, hacking of databases, and who knows what else? We have to get to the bottom of this to put a stop to it and get this agency back in line with proper procedures."

Coleman picked up the pitcher of water on the table, poured some into a glass, and slid it across to DiNozzo. "Do we need to discuss immunity from prosecution before we proceed?" she asked.

He stiffened. "I don't need immunity," he snapped. "I haven't done anything wrong."

Coleman nodded, a bit of a smirk on her lips. "I know. The reports were clear on that point."

"What reports?" Tony was off balance. He took a sip of water to ease his dry throat. He hated being left out of the loop but this was far beyond his understanding or control. So when no one answered his question, he decided it was time to empty the bag and hope he could deal with the consequences.

"Okay. Gibbs had help setting it up. It wasn't a one-man plan. To the best of my knowledge, Dr. Abby Sciuto and Agent McGee helped with the tech and software. Agent Todd and Dr. Mallard helped with attempting a profile on the suspect to narrow the search. Agent Gibbs was frustrated and angry and he became fixated on identifying the suspect."

"To the best of your knowledge?" Chegwidden queried.

Tony shrugged. "I didn't get on board with the obsessive behavior so they didn't rope me into it."

"In fact, you tried to rein Gibbs in?" Morrow said, as much a statement as a question.

"I did. I suggested he read Moby Dick. Or watch the movie," he said lightly. "Directed by John Huston, 1956, starring Gregory Peck and Richard Basehart."

"How did this fixation affect Agent Gibbs?" Coleman asked.

Damn lawyers. Why couldn't she have skipped over that?  He chose his words carefully. "He was a bit distracted."

"Did it affect his work? His management of the team? His decision making?"

"Our solve rate didn't go down," Tony noted.

"That's not what I asked," Coleman said smoothly. "On the serial case when you were drugged, kidnapped, and almost died along with Sgt. Atlas--"

"I escaped on my own and took Sgt. Atlas along with me. Gibbs was there for the mop up operation."

"Again, not the point," the commander stated. "If Gibbs hadn't been distracted by his 'white whale' I believe you called it—would he have sent you out alone? Was he careless with your well-being because he was distracted?"

He glared into her eyes. "I don't know. It's not my place to say."  They were at an impasse.

Director Morrow redirected the conversation. "Bottom line… how culpable are the rest of the team in enabling this obsession?"

"They're not," DiNozzo said sharply. "McGee is grass green, Kate's not much better, and both of them were eager to make Gibbs happy. As happy as he can be. They were seeking approval, as was Abby, and as far as they are concerned, whatever Gibbs wants—Gibbs gets—as fast as they can make it happen."

"And Dr. Mallard?" Chegwidden asked.

"Ducky's all about sharing knowledge. It was an intellectual puzzle to him. So what's going to happen now? And where is Gibbs?"

Morrow and Chegwidden exchanged another speaking look. This time the Admiral spoke up. "That's not our problem. Gibbs and his search triggered an alert in a highly classified program—so classified even the director and I haven't been read in."

"Air Force?" Tony questioned. "Who---"

"General Jonathon O'Neill, working out of the Pentagon most of the time," Morrow supplied. "Somehow this terrorist is also implicated in something to do with their program so they took Gibbs in for an interview—"

"Interview or interrogation?" Tony was getting tired of not knowing what was going on. "You let them just take Gibbs—"

"We were outranked," the admiral said. "O'Neill is involved in some rabbit hole project that answers directly to the President. If Gibbs and his whale hunt has somehow encroached into their territory, that's a whole other level of screwed up and dark."

Morrow chimed in. "It didn't help that Gibbs threw a screaming tantrum like a two year old when he found out his search had been called off.  That's what caught my attention."

"You didn't know anything about it?" Chegwidden sounded dubious. "It's been going on for months."

"It was so much background noise. I've been very focused on European operations and terrorist activities in MTAC operations. I haven't spent a lot of time in the bullpen so I missed when this slipped from appropriate to flagrantly stupid. I'm afraid I got too used to letting Gibbs have his head because he always got results and I enjoyed the benefits of our solve rate." He shook his head sorrowfully. "I had hopes of moving up the food chain, but if this becomes a scandal, I think I can kiss any chance of promotion goodbye for the foreseeable future."

Tony had always liked Morrow and was sad to think that Gibbs' obsession had derailed Morrow's career as well as his own. "I'm sorry, sir. I should have come to you with my concerns."

Chegwidden snorted. "I doubt it would have helped. The only thing that can derail a Marine as stubborn as the gunny is a grenade to the head… and even that could be iffy."

"If it helps at all, Tony, this General O'Neill knows Gibbs, from some black ops assignments would be my guess. He seemed surprised at Gibbs' behavior so I think he will dig until he finds out why Gibbs went so far this time. He's not the type to settle for less than full disclosure."

Commander Coleman cleared her throat to garner attention and quietly suggested, "Perhaps we should discuss the Grimm case at this time?"

Tony suppressed a groan. "They're not going to get away with it, are they?"

Chegwidden shook his head. "No, they are not. As you rightly pointed out in your notes on the reports, Agent DiNozzo, the crux of the matter is the interrogation of Staff Sergeant Rafael." He looked at Coleman who withdrew a folder and handed it over to him.

"And fruit of the poisonous tree," Tony said dully.

"Exactly," the admiral said. "I'm glad someone understands that concept. We need more Federal Agents who came up through the police forces. They seem to understand the requirements and procedures to ensure a successful prosecution."

"There's no problem with Stone's arrest?"

"No. A bit theatrical, interesting use of manpower and time," the admiral said with a bit of a sneer, "but effective and by the book on the reading of rights."

DiNozzo didn't comment. He liked going undercover and the thrill of setting up a bad guy/gal for a fall.

Chegwidden fixed him with a stare. "I've got good news however. Staff Sergeant Rafael is entering a plea of guilty. His conscience got to him and he's willing to take the consequences of his actions. He thought it was going to be a victimless crime. When Sgt. Grimm was killed by his co-conspirator, Rafael lost all ability to deny his guilt and deal with his conscience."

"Since he's pleading guilty, there won't be any question about his Article 31 rights and whether or not they were read before questioning?" Tony asked hopefully.

"Exactly.  Agent Todd dodged a bullet there. So as far as JAG is concerned, there shouldn't be an issue with going to trial—this time." He looked at Morrow. "Consequences are left up to you, Tom, but this is a rare occasion and you know it. If Rafael had decided to renege, we'd have lost two of the guilty and maybe the chance to arrest them again." He got to his feet and Coleman followed suit.  "We'll leave you to your internal agency issues."

Morrow watched them go and waited for the door to close, then got up and poured himself a cup of coffee from the carafe on his desk. "Coffee, Tony?"

"No, thank you, sir. May I ask…what's going to happen now? To Gibbs? To the team?"

The director reseated himself and took a deep swallow of coffee before attempting an answer.  "Gibbs? I don't know. That's out of my hands.  If he returns to NCIS, there are going to be changes. He can't keep up this cowboy attitude. I won't tolerate it any longer. He needs to learn to color within the lines."

Tony couldn't exactly argue with that, though how Morrow thought he could accomplish that boggled his mind.

"As for the team—they need to be disciplined. You're the Senior Field Agent. What would you recommend?"

Huh. He hadn't given it much thought so he thought about it now. The director gave him time. He just sat there waiting and drinking his coffee, looking older and more tired than he had last week.

After a pause of a few minutes, he folded his hands on the table in front of him and began to delineate his thinking. "To start from the bottom, as in the least serious offense, Dr. Mallard—like I said, to him it was an intellectual puzzle and he wasn't thinking of consequences or procedures. He should possibly be reprimanded, but I doubt it would do much good. Ducky is going to be Ducky. Maybe a reminder about information sharing and when it's appropriate?"

Morrow clicked his tongue. "You're right. Ducky isn't likely to pay much attention but it's worth a try."

"Abby is a Gibbs disciple. She'd do anything for him and I doubt you can dissuade her. Part of the problem is she's totally focused on getting results. She doesn't really judge whether or not she should do things—but will it get her answers? As for McGee, like I said he's grass green and looking for approval. Maybe too much. I think if you asked him about it, he'd say he was just following Gibbs' orders, but he went way past what Gibbs knew to tell him to do, so he's a bit culpable. Also, he worked in Cyber and I'm sure that the training at FLETC and possibly the departmental training as well cover the issues of illegal searching and the need for warrants before hacking into accounts."

"You're right. He should know better. So a reprimand in his file and--?"

"A refresher class at FLETC? I don't think they offer a specific class for knowing when to disobey an order, but it might be something they should add to the curriculum," Tony said mildly.

Morrow raised an eyebrow. "If you want to foment rebellion, save it for your free time. We don't want random rebels turned loose as new agents. And Agent Todd?"

Ouch. This one was more complicated. Kate had potential as an investigator, but could she get there working with Gibbs?  Putting her directly on the elite MCRT as a rookie agent had inflated her sense of self-worth and entitlement. She already thought she was superior to most other agents due to higher education and years working with the Secret Service. Her feminism seemed an odd mixture of man bashing, claims of being the victim of harassment, and insistence on being given preferential treatment (meaning not having to do the menial or dirty jobs).

"Sir, I will admit to being a bit biased with regard to Agent Todd. I complained to Gibbs about her insubordination and was told to shut up or handle it. Not sure how I was meant to do that when he flat out told her she didn't have to listen to me."

Morrow didn't look surprised. "I've had complaints about her from other teams.  Sexist attitudes, insensitive remarks---so a reprimand for not following procedures?"

"It's hard to blame her totally for that, sir.  She should have been supervised. It was Gibbs' choice to give her much more freedom than she should have received." He thought for a moment. "I think sending her back to FLETC to deal with her issues. She took an abbreviated course when she transferred in—not sure how Gibbs swung that—but she could definitely do with being taken down a peg or two. Or at least getting a more realistic sense of her abilities and place in the pecking order. I definitely recommend she attend the sensitivity training, if for no other reason than to get her to see that some of her mean-spirited joking around is out of line and offensive."

The director nodded. "The complaints about her feminist rants have come from both male and female agents.  The females, in particular, are concerned with her causing trouble by 'crying wolf' and making claims of sexism where that isn't the issue. There have also been complaints about her language usage, particularly when speaking of non-heterosexual individuals. Pacci's killer for example. "

DiNozzo winced. He didn't want to cost Kate her job and this didn't sound good. "So a reprimand and retraining?"

"Retraining and placement on another team perhaps. She can TAD and float the office getting experience with different teams, different management styles, and different types of cases. It could be most enlightening." There was a twinkle in Morrow's eyes. "If she fails to improve, then she will be terminated."

"What will Gibbs have to say about that?"

"At this point, Agent DiNozzo, we don't know if or when Gibbs will return to the team or the agency. That depends entirely on how badly he screwed the pooch with his whale hunt and how well he answers for his subsequent behavior. That, however, is not your concern."  Morrow got to his feet and gestured towards the door.  "Now I'm going to meet with the rest of your team and deliver some reprimands. Since these reprimands are going to include a two day suspension, I suggest since you can't go out on calls on your own, that you take two days off.  Whether or not Gibbs is back,  he may be on suspension, so you will take over as Temporary Team Leader on Monday. Enjoy your long weekend, get some rest, and be ready to make some decisions next week."

Tony DiNozzo was slightly dazed by the turn of events, but shook the director's hand and left his office.

**

Chapter 27

Chapter 27

DiNozzo avoided the bullpen not wanting to get caught up in speculation, gossip, or demands for information, by the simple expedient of taking the back stairs. He should have known better than to expect to make a clean getaway.

Supervisory Special Agent Carlos "Rocky" Balboa was leaning against the wall next to the stair's exit door, accompanied by his SFA Kathryn Smith.  "Morning, Tony. I imagine it's not much of a good morning."

"Rocky, Kath."  He wasn’t going to volunteer anything until he had some idea about how they felt about the situation.

"Relax, Tony," Balboa added, clapping a hand to his shoulder in a supportive mood. "We wanted to check that you were okay."

"You missed the drama," Kath added with an eye roll.

"Yeah, the Director showed me what set Gibbs off. How bad was it?" he asked, knowing the leader of Team 2 would give an honest assessment.

Balboa grimaced. "On a scale of one to ten?  It was about a fourteen. I've never seen Gibbs go that crazy. I thought he was going to stroke out."

"He was outraged that someone would challenge him," Kath said shortly. "Rocky's been trying to tell me that Gibbs didn't always think NCIS was his own personal fiefdom…. Now I'm not buying it. Do you have any idea who spiked his guns?"

"I didn't do it," Tony protested, not sure if anyone would believe him. Even if he himself hadn't hacked Gibbs' computer, erased his searches, and printed that message on the screen, he was ninety-nine percent positive he knew who had---Hon or one of her minions.

Rocky shook his shoulder. "We know that, Tony. Nobody believes you'd undermine Gibbs in a public forum like that. Gibbs can mostly ignore everyone but his team in the bullpen, but none of us are deaf or stupid. We can see what's going on and the problems with the team dynamics."

"We heard you trying to talk Gibbs into letting it go—and how he shut you down. No one is blaming you. Gibbs made his own bed and now he's going to have to lie in it and deal with the consequences." Kath sounded annoyed. She'd never liked the way Gibbs ran his team or the way Tony was not respected as SFA. It made her grateful she worked on Team 2 with a level-headed mentor like Balboa.

"What's going to happen with you, Tony? You're the last man standing now unless Gibbs can talk his way out of trouble with the Air Force."

"I'm not sure. Director Morrow told me not to come in until Monday. He's going to be, uh, dealing with the fallout today and then some decisions will have to be made. I'm not even sure what the options are."

Kath wrinkled her nose in distaste. "If Asst. Director Sheldon was actually in D.C. more than twice a year, things might not have gotten so far out of whack. Which reminds me, most large offices have a Special Agent in Charge to supervise the teams as a managerial layer between the agents and the directors. Why doesn't the D.C. office have one?"

"Gibbs," Balboa and DiNozzo answered in unison.

"Right," Kath drawled. "He has to be the top dog."

"He didn't used to be that bad," Balboa protested. "He was always a contrary bastard—second B—and a bit of a control freak, but it's like he ramped it up in the last two years."

"Rocky's right, Kath. It's true his last SFA left due to developing an ulcer, but when I started we were partners. He wanted to know everything but he could delegate and trust me to get the job done. I miss that Gibbs.  I don't know what happened to him."

Rocky shook his head, then straightened from his lean. "We better get back upstairs. We're probably missing some of the drama, but we wanted to let you know that we have your back, Tony. You've always been a good, if unorthodox, investigator and your loyalty to Gibbs is admirable—"

"If masochistic," Kath interjected.

Balboa quelled her with a raised eyebrow. "I wanted to talk to you before you left, and not because I want to pump you for information, though I'll take anything you want to contribute to the rumor mill—"

Tony mimed zipping his lips.

"We wanted to make sure you aren't blaming yourself," Smith added. "You tend to do that too much. Gibbs messed up. Refusing to follow him downhill is not being disloyal."

Tony swallowed hard. They knew him too well. It was impressive. He hadn't known for sure that anyone had seen through his masks and appreciated him as something other than Gibbs' loyal servant.

"Try to get some rest," Balboa advised. "Hopefully Director Morrow will issue some kind of statement and things will calm down over the weekend."

"Thanks, Rocky. I appreciate the support."

**

 

DiNozzo got into his car and got out his phone to send a text.  What did you do?

She'd said she was going back to bed but the response was within seconds. I'm so sorry, Tony.

You could have given me a heads up. I walked into a holy mess.

I'm soooooo sorry. It was an accident.

You accidentally hacked Gibbs' computer and left that message?  He wished there was a font that could indicate sarcasm.  Three dots appeared on the message screen for a few seconds.

No, I did that on purpose. To send him a message that he couldn't just hack any computer system he wanted. By opening back doors into some of those systems he was leaving them vulnerable to cyber attacks. Some of the systems he was hacking were connected to other systems that contain classified material. He was endangering lots of different agencies and he didn't even care as long as he found what he was looking for.

Tony took a deep breath, breathed out on a slow count as he formulated his reply. You humiliated him in public. In front of his peers.

To be fair, no one would have noticed except for him but he started yelling and throwing things.

Tony huffed out an angry breath. You hacked into the NCIS security cameras so you could watch?

I had to know how he'd react. I didn't want you to be caught off guard.

Oh, you mean like I was?!!!

I'm so sorry, Tony. I promise you that wasn't my idea. I did identify your terrorist and when I did it was like I caught a snake by the tail. I couldn't let go until I got the snake all the way out of the hole.

You grab snakes by the TAIL? Tony was exhausted but that didn't sound right. He wasn't sure he was following her thought process this time.

Not a rattler. More like an egg snake. They look scary and they'll steal all the eggs out of the hen house. My dad killed a seven foot long one at the farm once.

Never mind snakes. What do you mean you pulled him all the way out of the hole?  You identified him? And who he's working for?

Yes. I found his name, several of them as he had fake passports, his handler, and the agency he was working for. Supposedly working for I guess since he was double or triple crossing them. Not sure. I left that with the General and the other analysts. I'm very good at data retrieval not so hot at data analysis, at least not to do with spies and terrorists.

So why not just tell me who he was?

Because when I kept pulling on his tail, it led me to his father who was looking for information on the people I work for. I think your guy was also trying to find a way to infiltrate this program or his father was making a power play. It's above my pay grade. The General will deal with it.

Your General arrested Gibbs!

Arrested?  Does he have the power to arrest someone?

Don't be cute with me, Hon. I'm not in the mood. Gibbs has been disappeared in the company of your General O'Neill.  I have no idea if or when he's going to be able to come back to NCIS. He's going to blame me. He may be right to blame me since I asked you to look into identifying that guy.

Tony. I'm sorry. But if you think about it, if A was going to come after my program and it looks like he was definitely going to try soon, then I'd have tripped over him anyway and General O'Neill still would have taken the case away from NCIS. He said NCIS shouldn't have been working on it because of a conflict of interests.

DiNozzo dropped the phone on the passenger seat and started his car, put on his seat belt, and backed out of the parking space. As he waited at the gate exit, his text alert chimed again.  He snatched up the phone to check it.

Are you coming home?  We can talk about this some more. I'll bake brownies.

No. I need to think. I need some alone time.

**

Chapter 28

Chapter 28

DiNozzo unlocked his apartment door and walked inside, dropping his go bag, and heading directly for his bedroom, stripping off his clothing as he went. He couldn't just sit and do nothing, he was too restless for that. He couldn't work on class work because all his materials were at ho—Hon's apartment.

Playing his piano, watching a movie—nothing really appealed to him right now.  He changed into shorts, an old OSU frat t-shirt, and his running shoes.  There was a trail near his apartment building and he needed to expend some energy. It might help clear his mind.

Maybe. Or maybe he could just turn his mind off for a while.

**

Five miles later, he was sweaty, breathing hard, and drinking from his water bottle as he sat on a park bench across the street from his apartment building. He had silenced his phone but had it with him, just in case. Rule 3 was a hard one to ignore even when it was warranted. He got it out and checked for messages.

Nothing more from Hon. He didn't know what to think of that. She could be thinking that she'd apologized and it was up to him to make the next move.  Alternatively, it could mean she had nothing more to add to what she'd already said and he could like or lump it. He scowled at his phone and went down the message list. 

Another message from McGee. What is going on? I thought we were supposed to look for terrorists. That's our job. I'm meeting with the director in a few minutes. Kate's been up there for a long time. Where is Gibbs? Someone said the Air Force took him away. Why would they do that?  Tony, answer your phone.

Time stamp said that was an hour ago. Tony was willing to bet that McGee had already met with the director and now had a better understanding of the chain of command and that it did not stop with Gibbs, contrary to what Gibbs would have his team believe.

Nothing from Kate. He didn't expect to hear from her since she never thought he had any wisdom to offer. He wondered how she had dealt with being reprimanded for not following basic procedure. She placed an unrealistic value on her years in the Secret Service when it came to being an investigator.  Yes, she had succeeded in a mostly male-dominated profession, but the skills needed to do those two jobs were not transferable. If she'd not been so sure that she was a superior Federal Agent and had been willing to accept her status as a rookie in investigation—if only.  Two of the saddest words in the English language. Now it was a matter of how flexible and teachable she could be. She'd have to be willing to sink her pride and start over, knowing that her mistake was on the record and would be known by any supervising agent she would work with. Her personal belief system and self image were so ingrained, he wasn't sure she could manage it.

Twelve texts from Abby Sciuto… three from before she spoke to the Director and the other nine after. The hysterics and ranting had now escalated to demands and threats.  He texted Ducky to let him know he needed to try to calm her down.  She might listen to Ducky since Gibbs was not available.

He sent her a brief text.  I have no idea what happened to Gibbs. He left with the Air Force because the illegal search for the terrorist was noticed by a classified program. Classified beyond my clearance level and yours. Do not try to trace him or you'll just make it worse.

He was about to put his phone away when it rang with The Imperial Death March. Damn it. Now what?

"DiNozzo." His tone was not warm or welcoming.

"Agent DiNozzo," came the smooth and calm tones of Colonel Paul Davis. "I hope I'm not catching you at a bad time."

Tony snorted. "I don't think there is a good time. Not lately and not in the future."

Davis hesitated. "I'm, uh, sorry to hear that. I believe it would be advantageous if we could meet."

"Advantageous to whom?" Tony was in no mood to make life easy for anyone.

"To both of us," Davis assured. "Right now, there is a situation, more than one, that needs to be dealt with and you seem to be a key figure in resolving several issues related to those situations."

"Could you be more vague?" DiNozzo snarked.

"Oh, believe me, I could be," he replied. "But I actually like you."

"Somehow I'm not sure if that's a good thing or not." DiNozzo sighed, got to his feet and stretched a bit before finally responding to the waiting caller. "Fine. I need to shower and change. Where do you want to meet? And don't say the Pentagon—or anywhere else I need to dress up for. I'm tired and I'm not in the mood for being ornamental."

"There's a restaurant not far from your apartment called The Blue Onion. If that's acceptable, I will meet you there in one hour. I won't even be in uniform."

Tony ended the call. Would this day never end? He trudged across the street to his apartment building.

**

Chapter 29

Chapter 29

Dressed in his oldest and most comfortable jeans, a navy blue long-sleeved Henley, boots, and leather jacket, he entered The Blue Onion and took a look around. It was 3 PM on a Thursday afternoon so he'd arrived in between the lunch and dinner crowds. Davis wasn't there yet so he took a booth in the back corner of the nearly empty restaurant, placing his back to the wall and facing the door.  He was in full undercover mode at this point, expressions and emotions clamped down under hard-learned iron control, though to a casual onlooker it would appear he was totally at ease.

The waitress, a sweet young brunette with a cheery smile and a name tag that said her name was Cheryl, was offering a menu and asking for a drink order when Davis walked in.

Huh. He'd talked to the man several times, but only seen him twice before and this was the first time Tony had seen him out of uniform. The colonel still had the posture and military bearing but had dressed in an outfit that could pass as business casual, slacks, a long-sleeved white shirt, and a windbreaker, all in shades of green. Even when off duty, he was practically wearing camo.  He was carrying a thin portfolio case  that he placed on the empty chair next to him as he seated himself across from Tony. He accepted a menu from Cheryl and asked for water. As she walked away, he glanced over the menu. "I've never been here before. What would you recommend?"

Tony's small reserve of patience had a slow leak. "I recommend you tell me what you want. It's only mid-afternoon but this day has already been far too long."

Cheryl was back with glasses of water for both of them and asked if they were ready to order.

DiNozzo was never rude to servers, so he made an effort to smile. "I'll have the double cheeseburger, onion rings instead of fries and a large chocolate shake, thank you, Cheryl."

The colonel matched his courtesy with a calm tone. "I'll have the same thing, Cheryl, but make it a vanilla shake and fries, not onion rings." As she walked away to put the order in, he continued. "I think for me this counts as comfort food. Not terribly healthy or something to eat often."

DiNozzo tilted his head slightly to the right and studied the other man.  "Now why would you think I need comforting, Colonel Davis?"

Davis raised his eyebrows. "I'm not your enemy here, Agent DiNozzo, and you could call me Paul. You're not in my chain of command so there's no need for formality."

Tony shrugged. "So what do you want, Paul? I assume it has something to do with the disaster that occurred at NCIS this morning? And the disappearance of my boss, Supervisory Special Agent Leroy Jethro Gibbs?"

"In other circumstances, I'd admire your directness. Please, give me a chance to explain as much as I can within the security parameters I've been given."

"You have the floor."

Davis was not deterred by DiNozzo's attitude. "Before I can tell you anything that you don't already know, I have a non-disclosure agreement that you will need to sign. Your security clearance was upgraded when you first moved to D.C. and helped my program by reporting suspicious activity. I know you received an award for that but I don't think you were ever read in on the results?" He reached into the portfolio and drew out a stack of papers and a pen then passed them across the table.

Okay. Sneaky, but he had Tony's attention now. His curiosity was trying to take control of his impatience. He wasn't stupid enough to sign anything without reading it first. He skimmed through it, noting that it was pretty standard and not unlike others he'd signed when working with other agencies on undercover assignments. He signed and initialed as indicated by the small flags and passed the documents back to Davis who stowed them in his portfolio case.

Cheryl arrived with their orders. Tony was starting to feel the hunger pangs he'd been ignoring. He hadn't had anything to eat since a very early breakfast with Hon.  He bit into his burger and raised one eyebrow at Davis who was using the ketchup on his fries.

"Where to start," the colonel mumbled. "I guess I should explain why I contacted you directly."

Tony remained silent, continuing to eat but making it obvious he was listening.

"Last night…or more accurately in the wee hours of the morning, Dr. Natwick was notified that pursuant to her searches for the identity of the terrorist, further information—"

Tony interrupted. "Don't give me the whole rigamarole. I don't care about your program or its secrets. I understand it's top secret and has something to do with national security. Who was that guy and how did it become your business instead of ours?"

Davis sat back in his chair and made an effort to relax. "Sorry. I'm used to handling politicians and high ranking military not someone with intelligence and good judgment."

"Those shouldn't be mutually exclusive," Tony said with a smirk. "But I take your point. Stop being the professional handler and just tell me."

Without further protest, Davis cut to the chase. "Dr. Natwick is very diligent, very intelligent, and very inventive—which I'm sure you know—by methods that I can't understand or explain, she managed to identify your terrorist, let's call him Ari."

"Because that's his name."

"Yes, he is no longer the concern of NCIS. Let me finish. Because she can never leave any question half answered," he said, sounding exasperated, "she followed up on several other leads which gave her the name of the agency and person who gave him his orders. Once she had that information, she did a bit of digging into that agency and the person in charge. When she got into his computer system, she became aware that our program had come to this man's attention and that he had plans to attempt to infiltrate it---I won't go into all that."

DiNozzo guessed that this was the snake that Hon said she kept pulling on.  "So it became a threat to your program and national security at that point?"

"Yes. She was obligated to report the possibility of a breach to—never mind. She reported this in the wee hours of the morning and we immediately took action."

"Fine. I can understand the need to maintain security. That doesn't explain why you took Gibbs. Or where he is now."

For the first time, the colonel's composure slipped as he scrubbed a hand through his hair. "That escalated quickly and beyond what was planned. Dr. Natwick sabotaged the NCIS computer and shut down the searches."

"And taunted Gibbs on the screen."

"That wasn't her idea," Davis admitted. "One of her minions as they call themselves took it upon themselves to do that."

"What? I thought she—she didn't tell me that."

"She wouldn't. She's very protective of her co-workers and I believe the minion who took that action thought it would please her. Evidently Dr. Natwick had been quite vocal in her disapproval of Agent Gibbs and his behavior, specifically towards you."

"If she'd stop hacking into the NCIS security cameras—"

"DiNozzo."

Damn it. He knew she'd seen the head slaps and various other confrontations. Tony had been letting things slide for too long. Tony needed to take some of the blame for not speaking up and putting a stop to it long ago. The head slaps used to be a light tap, a reminder not to get lost in his own head following rabbit trails, a reminder to focus. Lately, they'd been more an expression of Gibbs' exasperation, frustration, or anger and nothing much to do with Tony's behavior or lack thereof. Speaking of staying on topic….

"That doesn't explain why Gibbs was taken into custody. Does your agency even have the authority to arrest and detain someone?"

Davis finished the last bite of his burger, took a sip of his shake, then wiped his fingers and mouth with his napkin. "I can't answer that exactly. In matters of national security, our agency sometimes takes custody of a suspect for questioning. That wasn't the intent.  When General O'Neill went to NCIS this morning, he wanted to inform the director and Gibbs that the terrorist had been found, arrested, and was no longer a concern. He is personally acquainted with Gibbs from some black ops missions and knew that he would be hard to convince to let it go."

"Yeah. Gibbs doesn't like cases being taken away from him on his best day and with 'Ari' it got personal."

"Dr. Natwick informed the general that you had made an effort to rein Gibbs in and she expressed some worry that his anger at the situation would lead to him taking it out on you."

Tony huffed. "So she sent the general to protect me from Gibbs? Damn."

"She really objects to him hitting you," Davis commented in a neutral tone. "Dr. Natwick also struggles somewhat with what normal people would call proper reactions in an emotional situation. I believe there was a diagnosis of Asperger's Syndrome at some point, but as I'm sure you know, it is very difficult to test or evaluate highly intelligent people."

Tony shelved that for later consideration and circled back. "So why was Gibbs detained?"

"When Gibbs arrived at NCIS and saw the message, he went ballistic. It was beyond a normal tantrum. He was throwing things, yelling, red in the face. Director Morrow heard the noise and came down to the bullpen just as General O'Neill and his escorts arrived. Gibbs was beyond listening to reason. He took a swing at the Director—"

Damn. No one told him that.

"The general's security team secured him and escorted him down to the car while the general conferred with Director Morrow. This is confidential and not to be shared. Agent Gibbs was taken to, uh, one of our facilities where, on General O'Neill's order he was given a medical examination."

"What? What's wrong with him? Is he okay?"

"General O'Neill, who as I said, is familiar with Agent Gibbs and considered him at least a friendly acquaintance, thought that Gibbs was exhibiting signs of PTSD and possibly there was some other issue as he was and had been acting out of character for some time. The general suspected there might be an untreated injury—"

"Is the general a doctor?" Tony snapped.

"No, but he has far too much experience, and he was right." Davis held up a hand to forestall Tony's next question. "He was examined by the medical staff in our program, which has access to many advanced diagnostic and healing devices. Agent Gibbs was found to have some issues relating to repeated head trauma. You probably don't know that he was injured in Operation Desert Storm and spent some time in a coma?"

Tony shook his head. "Gibbs doesn't talk about his past."

"There was also some scar tissue that indicated another head injury that was more recent."

DiNozzo tried to recall when Gibbs could have…oh, of course.  When Blackadder had been made when they were after the terrorist in Rota, Spain.  Gibbs had gone down a flight of stairs due to a grenade explosion. He hadn't seemed to be hurt…but had he even gotten checked out by a doctor?  "What's his prognosis?"

"Again, this is confidential. I shouldn't be telling you, but you're going to have to do some damage control at NCIS, so you need to know. Due to the position of the injured area in the brain, the neurologist says that it is most likely the reason for the severity of the emotional mood swings and personality changes. The doctors have repaired the affected area and he should be fine. His memory might be a bit spotty, especially concerning events in the last two years."

Wow. He had a brain injury? How much had it affected his behavior?  Tony would like to think this surgery would be an instant reset button and reset Gibbs back to the man he was when they first met—but he was too cynical to believe that—not without demonstrable proof.   

"He's going to be given some physical therapy as well as psychotherapy."

"He's gonna hate that," Tony said.

"That was part of the problem. According to his records, he avoided any and all efforts to help him with his issues," Davis said. "The General isn't going to cut him loose until he's as healthy as he can be. He may have some fences to mend at NCIS."

"I can help with that. Thanks for letting me know. I can start laying some groundwork to smooth things over at work." He waved to Cheryl to bring the check.

The colonel held up a hand. "That's not all."

"Oh, hell, there's more?" Tony groaned.

"I said I often find myself in the position of mediator?"

"Yeah," Tony said, taking out his wallet, and handing Cheryl enough to pay the check she'd brought him and a nice tip. 

As she walked away, Davis said, "I'm hoping you can help me. I find myself between an immovable object and an unstoppable force."

"I assume you're talking about Hon?"

The colonel nodded. "She tendered her resignation this morning. O'Neill is refusing to accept it."

"Which one's which?" Tony asked.

For a moment, Davis looked exasperated. "That's not the point. She is, reasonably or not, furious that the General has caused problems for you, possibly costing her the only good friend she has—"

Tony frowned.

"—in addition to that, he thinks she's over-reacting. Then there's the Awards Banquet tomorrow evening when General O'Neill is supposed to be handing out awards to Dr. Natwick herself and many members of her team. She's refusing to go, which means most of her team will also refuse to attend, and that would be embarrassing for all the guests as well as a waste of money, since the whole thing had to be canceled and rescheduled due to the latest crisis in the program."

"What do you want me to do about it?" Tony asked, just to see what the other man would say. He was starting to feel amused. A general and a whole program couldn't get Hon's cooperation? What was he? The Nerd Whisperer?

The colonel gave him a stern look. "Ideally, make it clear that you are continuing your relationship with Dr. Natwick and that you still plan to escort her to the banquet tomorrow evening."

"What's in it for me?" Tony smirked.

The colonel didn't take long to decide. "A chance to see Dr. Natwick receive well-deserved honors, a chance to meet the people she's been talking about, a very good meal, and, best of all, a chance to tell General O'Neill a few home truths."

"Damn," Tony said admiringly. "You really do know how to mediate."

**

Chapter 30

Chapter 30

Tony DiNozzo got back to his apartment, sprawled on his couch, and let his mind wander. There was a lot to consider.

Was Morrow read in on Gibbs' medical issues? Probably. It would make sense to at least give him an idea that Gibbs wouldn't be returning to NCIS immediately. The time frame was undetermined, based on how quickly Gibbs healed physically and whether he would cooperate and make progress with any mental or psychological issues. They would definitely inform the director.

What about the team?  They wouldn't be told much of anything. For one thing, confidentiality was an issue. Abby couldn't keep a secret to save her life and her driving need to know, especially when Gibbs was concerned, would lead her to trying to get information, whether she had clearance or not.

Ducky might be a good ally in explaining things to Abby, at least the medical issues. He had enough experience in classified matters to understand 'need to know' though he'd question these advanced medical techniques or whatever was being used on Gibbs. That would be where his curiosity would be a drawback.

From the sounds of it, McGee and Todd would be off the team while they attended new or refresher courses at FLETC for God knew how long.  Best case scenario, both of them would take the discipline being handed out, go to the classes, learn from them, and be returned to NCIS, if not the MCRT, at some point. Worst case scenario—he couldn't help thinking about that too—one or both would be off the team permanently.

Damn. Gibbs wouldn't like that. If the mystery medical team could actually help Gibbs and restore him to acting like the rational investigator he once was—Tony was not an optimist but that was best case for Gibb—then Director Morrow could help them build a new team.

And what about me? Tony scowled. He liked McGee and even Kate to a point, but they'd really pushed their luck with him. The teasing that got too personal and went too far, the disrespect for his abilities and contribution, and the flat out insubordination… It had become a lot to deal with it, in addition to Gibbs swinging between the carrot and the stick—praising him one moment, tearing him down the next.

Tony, you're irreplaceable.  Forget about it, McGee, he's still alive.

Did he want to stay at NCIS? He wasn't sure. He could move on—the job offers still came in from different agencies—but was the timing right? He couldn't just walk away with the team in tatters or gone completely. There'd be nothing for Gibbs to come back to once he was healed and ready to work again.  It wasn't his responsibility, but could he live with himself if he abandoned Gibbs?  And that's what it would feel like. Abandoning him when he was hurt through no fault of his own—

Well, not really no fault of his own. How many times did Gibbs blow off being examined by a doctor? How many times had he avoided mandatory counseling? If Gibbs wasn't so pig-headed stubborn and would ask for help when he needed it instead of checking himself out of hospitals AMA…

No, he wasn't going to let himself get worked up about Gibbs doing that kind of crap.  He wasn't that much of a hypocrite. He tended to do the same thing at times. He had never had someone to care much or fuss over his injuries or hurts and didn't deal with it well when sympathy or help was offered. His father's neglect and abandonment had led him to think he needed to be strong enough to stand alone, no matter what, or he would be a weakling. Sadly, some lessons were difficult to unlearn.

Which reminded him… what the hell was up with Honeybee? Did she think he couldn't take care of himself? Sending the general to deal with Gibbs in order to protect Tony from his wrath? He'd been dealing with Gibbs and his bad moods for years.

Then again, Honeybee evidently didn't have many close friends. Her family?  One or two she was close to and some of the extended family were total losers and users. It was a blessing she was usually at least a thousand miles away from their influence and presence. He could see she might be worried about his safety. He didn't live a safe life. Something she knew unfortunately too well, since she had far too much access to surveillance footage. Damn it.

He had to admit he'd given her cause to be concerned but not to the degree—hell, maybe he had. If she'd stop snooping…blaming the victim?

Damn it. He was so confused. He needed to talk to her. What was this crap that Davis was spouting? She thought he'd stand her up for the Awards Banquet?

They'd had a disagreement—no, an argument. He'd yelled. Sort of. If she didn't have friends and her social interaction stunk, she might have no idea how seriously she should be taking it. Or how to navigate around it to get back on good terms.

Who would she turn to for advice? Not her minions. Not for something serious and personal. Damn.

He sat up straight and reached for his phone. Set the example.  Re-establish contact. He texted her.

I have the day off. Going to catch up on some chores at home.

Tony? Are you all right now?

I'm fine. I've been spending so much time over there that things need doing here. My dust bunny collection has almost taken over the bedroom.

Should I send you flowers?

What? He wasn't sure how she'd veered off topic.  Why would you send me flowers?

As an apology. Apology gifts are supposed to help restore good relations between people who've disagreed. The website suggested jewelry but I don't think you like chains. Other suggestions included chocolates and candles and other food items or tools. Would any of those work?

Oh, good grief. She'd done a search for appropriate apology gifts.

John said you might not want a gift. He said a sincere apology and an offer to do you a favor or a tangible service might work if the sincere apology wasn't enough.

John?  Who the hell was—oh, John Watson. It must be the man she'd met in London, the one she said reminded her of me. She never did explain how.

You don't need to get me another gift, Hon. Remember, you're using me as arm candy at your banquet tomorrow. Colonel Davis told me that the dinner will be worth the effort.

We're still going?

Of course we are. I never miss a chance to have a lovely lady on my arm. Besides, I want to meet this general of yours. He will be there?

Oh. Yes. If we're still going, I need to un-resign and re-sign up for it. I have the dress and shoes. Your tux is over here.

Have you arranged for someone to help you with hair and makeup?

Do I have to?

Yes. You're one of the guests of honor and there will be pictures taken. You don't want to look the same way you do every day. Don't worry about it. I'll bring someone with me when I come over tomorrow afternoon to get dressed. I know someone who owes me a favor who will make a house call to get you ready.

Okay. If I have to. Are we okay?

We're okay. Try to get some sleep and relax. I can't wait to meet the minions. What kind of name is Idgi anyway?

You'll find out tomorrow.

**

 

Chapter 31

Chapter 31

On Friday morning, DiNozzo called Dr. Donald Mallard who did not have the day off and arranged to meet him for brunch at a diner near NCIS to exchange information. 

He arrived there first and seated himself in a booth at the rear of the restaurant with his back to the wall and an eye on the entrance, taking a menu from its place by the napkin holder, and looking it over. Moments later, he heard the jingle of the bell on the entry door and glanced up.   Oh, crap. Ducky hadn’t come alone.

Hurricane Abby was descending rapidly on his location with the older man trailing behind her.

"Anthony DiNozzo, you didn't call me back!" she hissed, shrugging off the restraining hand that Mallard had placed on her arm and she loomed over him. "What is going on? What did you do? Where is Gibbs? Why was he arrested?"

Refusing to respond to her dramatic entrance and demand for information, DiNozzo fixed her with a glare worthy of Gibbs. "Sit down and be quiet. Dr. Sciuto. You were not invited to this meeting and I'm not going to put up with your histrionics. If you can't have a civilized conversation or stay quiet while I talk to Ducky, you are free to leave."

Abby drew back in shock. Tony never talked to her like that. She looked at Ducky.

"Abigail, I recommend you stop trying to bully Anthony and sit down. Now. I did tell you that I would inform you of anything I learned, but that wasn't good enough for you." The doctor urged her into the booth seat opposite Tony's and then seated himself beside her. "I do apologize, Anthony. Shh!" he said to Abby when she tried to interrupt. "You promised you would listen. Speaking is not conducive to listening. You will be quiet and let Anthony share what information he has gathered and then, and only then you may ask questions."  His tone was firm and demanded obedience.

"If she can keep it civil," DiNozzo added. The three of them fell silent for a few minutes except for placing their food orders with the waiter.

After the waiter had supplied them with drinks and left to put in the food order, Tony leaned forward and spoke in a low voice.  "This is information from a confidential source. You'll have to take my word for it that the source is reliable."

Ducky nodded. Abby looked skeptical but remained silent.

"Gibbs hasn't been arrested. He was going to be questioned about some security issues—mainly illegal hacking and searches that he ordered." He sent a disapproving frown at Abby. "He didn't have a warrant, he didn't have probable cause, and he raised some major issues with other federal agencies by breaching their systems. In particular one specific program that is so classified, no one at NCIS has any right to know about it."

"What? But we work for the Secretary of the Navy!" Abby blurted.

"And this program reports directly to the President," Tony replied coldly. "It's over our heads. As I was saying, Gibbs wasn't arrested. The Air Force General who came to NCIS knew Gibbs from Desert Storm, or some other black ops thing, I'm not sure on that. I do know that this general considers Gibbs a friend so he came to confront him in person, instead of having Gibbs brought to him."

"What kind of friend—"

"Abigail. Be quiet or be gone," Mallard said.

She stared at him a moment, bit her lower lip, and clenched her fists on the table.

Tony continued, "I wasn't there so I got this report from someone with more information. When Gibbs saw the message on his computer and saw that the search he had running had been interrupted and deleted, he had a meltdown. I was told it was like a two year old throwing a tantrum—red in the face, throwing things, shouting obscenities, and when Director Morrow came downstairs to find out what the hell was going on, Jethro threw a punch at him."

"Oh, dear," Mallard said.

Abby looked flabbergasted. "But Gibbs likes the director. Why would he—did he hurt him?"

Tony shook his head at her assumptions, but let it go. "He didn't connect because the general's men stepped in and stopped him. All I can tell you is the general thought that his behavior was out of character and over the top. Like I said, he'd known him before—"

"He has been under a great deal of stress," Mallard said.

"So has everyone else," Tony objected. "Part of that stress was dealing with Gibbs who was so obsessive about that terrorist that he was distracted and let other things slide."

"Don't you say that," Abby said, her voice getting louder. "Gibbs wouldn't let anything slide. You're just trying to steal his team away from him. What's wrong with you?"

"What team?" Tony said coldly. "Dr. Sciuto, you are down in your lab and don't see everything going on with the team. Jethro Gibbs is not a perfect saint who can do no wrong. If you think he is, you're blind." Before she could interrupt, he plowed on. "His failure to supervise the two junior agents—no, one junior agent and one probationary agent—almost led to two criminals, one of them a murderer, getting away scot-free on a technicality. Fortunately, that situation has been resolved but there are going to be consequences."

"What sort of consequences?" Sciuto said apprehensively.

"Suspension and retraining for Todd and McGee. If they don't learn from their mistakes, they'll lose their jobs. Right now, I'm the last man standing on Gibbs' team and I'm not sure what is going to happen."

Before Abby could explode with more questions or demands, Ducky laid a calming hand on her arm. "We haven't heard everything yet, Abigail. Let Anthony finish. What did happen to Gibbs, Anthony?"

Okay. Time to get back on track or this would never end. And he had other things to do today, more pleasant things he hoped. "As I said, the General thought he was over-reacting and not himself, so he took Gibbs in for questioning and also had him medically evaluated."  He let that sink in for a moment. "This program has access to some cutting edge medical tools and found that Gibbs had some issues with repeated head trauma. I didn't get details, so don't ask me, but they said the specific area of his brain that was damaged would likely explain the mood swings and the changes in personality."

"How could l have missed that?" Dr. Mallard was stunned. "How severe—"

"I don't know, Ducky. As to how could you miss it—how often did Gibbs actually let you or any other doctor treat him? I was trying to remember how many concussions or head injuries I know about but the only one I recall is when were in Rota.  Gibbs took a tumble down a flight of stairs when a grenade went off. And I was told that he had a previous injury of some kind in Desert Storm that left him a coma for a time."

"Oh my God. Oh, my GOD," Abby muttered. "My poor silver fox."

Tony ignored her.  "When you see someone you haven't seen for a long time, all the changes jump out at you.  I think we may have missed noticing anything was wrong because it happened so gradually, the changes were incremental and over a long period of time. It wasn't so much a change in personality but a change in intensity."

"What is the prognosis?" Mallard asked.

"I was told that he should recover physically with maybe spotty memories of the last few months as it got worse. He's also going to be given some therapy to help him deal with emotional issues. Not sure how long it's going to take as that depends on Gibbs' cooperation."

"Can we talk to him? Visit? Where is he?"

"He's in a classified location, Abby."  Why did he have to tell her that? "I doubt they will allow visitors."

"That's not fair. My silver fox needs us," she whined.

"Tough," DiNozzo said. "He's getting the help he needs from experts who are very good at their jobs or they wouldn't be involved in this classified program."

Dr. Mallard shook Abby's arm. "Abigail, it will be hard for Gibbs to deal with therapy and recovery. You know he would not want you, or anyone else, to witness what he would think of as his weakness. The most helpful thing you could do is to contact your nun friends and have them offer prayers for Jethro's quick and complete recovery."

"I'll do that now," the goth insisted, urging Mallard to stand so she could escape the confines of the booth.  "Right now. Thanks, Ducky. Tony, tell me the minute you hear anything."  She scurried out the door.

The food order arrived and the waiter watched her departure. "Should I put this in a to-go box?"

"Sure," Tony said. "Thanks. She had an emergency."

Dr. Mallard re-seated himself. "I do apologize for not coming alone, Anthony. I was unable to leave unnoticed."

"Abby in inevitable, Ducky," Tony said resignedly. "I hope you know when she stops thinking about Gibbs and starts thinking about the rest of the team, there's another meltdown on the way."

Mallard's eyes widened. "Oh, dear. That's right. Abigail abhors change and things all around her are going to change. Do you really think Timothy and Caitlin will lose their jobs?"

DiNozzo thought about the question for a moment. "I'm not sure, Ducky. Do you think Kate is flexible enough to admit she screwed up—more than once—and needs to take the training classes to heart? It might be especially difficult for her to respect the chain of command. Gibbs let her get away with a lot and he didn't back me up when I tried to teach her."

"That is unfortunate. I'm sorry I didn't see it and say something to Jethro. I also apologize for my part in enabling Jethro to continue ignoring his own health."

Tony waved a hand.  "I think Tim has a better chance of coming back to NCIS than Kate. He's more of a rule follower and once he gets chain of command pounded into his head at FLETC as well as the legalities of computer searches and the need for warrants—he has real shot at coming back to the team."

"Anthony, I don't want you to think I am criticizing you, but there might be a reason that Caitlin and Timothy—"

"I know, Duck.  I clown around too much. It became a habit. It pays to be underestimated most of the time. It used to be my secret weapon, but then---I don't know. It seems like Gibbs quit knowing that it was a mask, that I was doing it on purpose to lighten the mood, to keep someone off balance."

"You believe he forgot that the frat boy jock image was a ruse? He forgot how intelligent and capable you are and dismissed your abilities? His attitude influenced Caitlin and Timothy to adopt a similar attitude. I'm sorry, Anthony."

"Whether it was caused by his medical issues or not, it's time to rein that image in. I used to think that other people were smart enough to see through the deflections and the masks and see the real Tony, but I may have underestimated their gullibility or overestimated their desire to get to know me."

"It's their loss, Anthony. I hope you will keep me informed as you can. I appreciate your mediation in the matter since you seem to have a source in whatever secretive program that has now entangled Jethro. Now, let us eat our lunch and we will discuss less fraught topics. Mother has acquired yet another Corgi. This one she has named Churchill."

**

Chapter 32

Chapter 32

DiNozzo met his friend Marisol Medina in the guest parking area in front of Hon's apartment building. He walked Marisol through the security checkpoint, carrying her small case as he tried to prepare her for a new experience. "She doesn't wear much makeup, just a touch of foundation that has a sunscreen and moisturizer. That works when she's working in the lab, but this is a special event. She usually doesn't bother with her appearance."

Marisol stared at him. "How old is she? Most girls start using makeup in their tweens now."

Tony stopped and pushed the button for the elevator. "She's a genius, Mari. In her tweens, she was already taking college classes. By her mid-twenties, she had three or four degrees. Let's just say she didn't have a typical childhood or adolescence. She thinks her brain is her most important asset and is going to resent your—our—attempts to make it about her looks."

"Great," Marisol grumped. "What about her hair?  Does she take care of that?" She tossed her own tri-colored streaked hair over her shoulder.

The elevator car arrived and they stepped inside. Tony pushed the button for the 7^th floor before he answered. "Not especially. It's about waist length, thick and wavy, and mostly she ties it back or braids it to keep it out of her way."

"Tony—"

"Don't worry about it. You'll be fine. There are no major flaws to try to hide. She doesn't need a complete makeover. I just want her to look her best so she will get an ego boost, build her confidence, and possibly be a bit more comfortable in a social situation."

"I'm a beautician, not a magician," his friend complained, as Tony led her to the door and opened it with his key.

"Mari, you're very good at your job and I trust you to be careful with her."

"Wow. Okay."

"Hon?"  Tony stepped inside the apartment and looked around. Nothing.  "Mari, why don't you set up at the island in the kitchen? There should be plenty of light there." He left her to it and headed towards Hon's bedroom. He knocked lightly on the door. "Hon? Are you awake?"

The door jerked open and he suddenly found himself with an armful of woman, her arms around his neck as she buried her face in his shoulder. He could hear her mumbling apologies and felt a few hot tears melting into his shirt.

"Hey," he pulled back a bit and got one finger under her chin, tilting her head up to look her in the face. "We already covered the apology part of this week. I know you're sorry that I was upset. I'm sorry I got upset with you. Friends argue sometimes. It doesn't mean they stop being friends." He found it hard to believe he had to explain that to a 30 something year old woman.

"I never meant to---"

"No," he said firmly. "We're not talking about that now. We have a few hours to get ready for your moment of triumph and we should be talking about that."

"Moment of triumph?" He could hear the air quotes in her tone.

"Davis said you're receiving awards, as well as your team members," he clarified. "So tonight you are going to be in the spotlight."

"It was a team effort. I shouldn't be getting an award—"

"Too bad. It's not your decision, Miss Bossy. The powers that be want to reward you with an award or two so you're going to graciously accept while I watch with smug satisfaction that I am friends with an award winning genius."

She fought a smile. "If it will make you happy—"

"Absolutely. Now, come to the kitchen and meet Marisol. She's the cosmetician that is going to do your makeup and hair for this evening."

From the look she gave him, that sounded daunting. It's not like he was making her run a marathon or watch the Twilight movie series.

"What's wrong?"

She shrugged.

Nope, he wasn't letting her get away with that. "Tell me what's upsetting you or I'm adding the Twilight series to the movies you have to watch."

She rolled her eyes, then looked down at the floor. "I'm not sure I want to do this."

"Do what? Go to the banquet?"

"No, do the makeup thing."

She seemed genuinely upset. It shouldn't be this big a deal, but sometimes her mind got a little carried away in imagining what was likely to happen in an unfamiliar situation. "What do you think the makeup thing consists of?"

She shrugged again, refusing to meet his gaze.

"What? You don't want to try wearing two inch false eyelashes and the cat eye makeup?" he asked in an exaggerated tone of shock.

Her eyes widened and she stared at him for a moment. "Two inch—" she sputtered. "What? No. I'm not some Barbie doll that you get to play dress up with."

"Wow. You really don't trust me at all, do you?" He tried not to let the hurt show.

Her chin came forward and brows lowered. "You're not the first to try to get me to look or act normal, Tony. It's never worked before."

His hands came up to grip her shoulders and he pulled her in for a hug. "There's nothing wrong with you. Not every woman aspires to be Barbie or a princess and there's nothing wrong with that either. I like you the way you are, with or without makeup, with or without dressing up, and with or without you trying to behave like everyone else, the so-called normal people. There's no such thing as normal. Thank God. Because that would be soooooo boring."

She pushed back a bit so she could study his face. "If it's not that, then why—"

"The point is that you should look your best. Your own best. A touch of color, a new hairstyle, and the right clothes can change your attitude and help you fit in, at least as much as you want to. It can also be protective camouflage."

"That's what you do?"

"Oh yeah," he said with a grin. "Dress to impress, dress to blend in, dress to make a point… an old friend of mine says his mother's favorite saying is 'Appearances are everything.' I wouldn't go quite that far but appearances can help you create an impression—and that impression can help you in getting what you want, whatever that is."

She nodded. "Okay, I'll give it a try. But nothing too over the top."

"Listen to Marisol and take her advice because she does know what she's doing, but you can make the final call. Now wash your face and wake up a bit more. I'll make some coffee. It would probably be a good idea to put on a button up shirt so nothing gets messed up when you change into your dress. Oh, and bring the dress out here so Marisol can see the color."

She still looked worried, but gave him a nod, stepped back, and closed the door.

**

Chapter 33

Chapter 33

"Holy shit, Tony, you didn't tell me she was a giant!" Marisol exclaimed as her potential client walked into the kitchen and came to a halt standing just behind DiNozzo.

Caught off guard, Hon hovered near Tony's right shoulder and watched as the excitable young Hispanic woman put down her coffee cup, jumped off the bar stool and approached her. She was very short, lucky to hit five feet in height, with shoulder length black hair streaked with red, blue, and purple highlights. Her makeup was dramatic with perfectly arched, thin eyebrows, lush false eyelashes, green eye shadow applied with a heavy hand, and bright red lipstick.

Tony snorted. "She's not a giant, Mari. You—"

"Watch it," she said, fixing him with a stare. "You make fun of me and I'll take you down at the knees."

If her attitude made DiNozzo think of the chihuahua named Nico that she usually carried in her purse, he kept it off his face. He didn't have a death wish. "Would I do that?" he asked. "Of course I would. Honeybee, this is Marisol Medina, whom I met on a case. She was a witness that I interviewed."

"After his asshole boss scared me half to death," Marisol said to Hon in a confiding tone. "Have you met him? Come, sit over here so I'll be able to see you in the light and see what we need to do." She didn't wait for an answer, just snagged Hon's hand and towed her to the bar stool at the counter where she'd set up a makeup mirror.

Hon darted a look at Tony but followed obediently and seated herself, which put her more or less on Marisol's level.

The first thing Marisol did was to take the tie from Hon's hair and let it loose, drawing it down her back, and running her fingers through it. "Damn, girl, your hair is thick. Nice waves… I have clients who'd kill for this kind of volume—not literally, Tony, so put away the handcuffs."

DiNozzo ignored the stream of muttering as Marisol made her assessment and prepared a cup of coffee for Hon.

"Tony says this is a formal thing, so you probably want an up-do. It's going to get heavy so we have to make sure it's supported properly. Gravity is a bitch and you can't just slap her and make her leave you alone. I'm thinking double braids, I can weave in some ribbons—I brought a selection since Tony said you had long hair—and then wrap it around in a Dutch Milkmaid braid. That will show off how beautiful your hair is, look lovely, and keep it under control."

"Could I see a picture?" Hon asked tentatively.

"Oh, sure, chica," Mari said, whipping out her phone, quickly locating an image in a search, and showing it to her client. "Having it up will also show off your long neck and those cheekbones—oh, I wish I had those cheekbones. Tony, why is life so unfair? She gets to be tall and elegant looking and have those cheekbones… and a genius as well."

Tony sipped his own coffee. He really didn't need to speak at all.  Marisol would fill in the blanks herself. He was glad to see Hon was relaxing a bit as she tried to make sense of Marisol and her voiced praise.

"To be fair, though I am a genius in my own field. Did I tell you I won a makeup design prize at the last—" Her mind jumped the track again. "Where's the dress? I need a definite idea of the color palette and how to complement it. You said there will be pictures taken so we want you to have makeup that won't bounce the light from the flashes… Damn it. You got the porcelain skin too. Irish? Scottish?"

Hon had left the dress draped over the sofa so Tony got it and brought it over for inspection. 

Hon jerked back to awareness that Marisol had actually asked her a question that required an answer but before she could formulate a reply Marisol had launched into speech again.

"Royal blue? Wow. That's a great color for you—but why is it so old fashioned? Girl, you have a nice bod, you should be strutting your stuff."

Hon frowned and sent Tony a warning look. 

Marisol caught the hint and moved on without further comment. "Good thing you can move in that dress. There's gonna be dancing? Damn, Tony, I bet you're a good dancer. You two are both so tall and elegant looking I bet you're gonna break hearts on the dance floor."

'Elegant?' Hon mouthed at DiNozzo.

He nodded. "Mari, a little less talk, a lot more action. The driver is picking us up in about 90 minutes."

"Oooh, a driver. Fancy. Okay, sweetie, let's get to work. Now, do you want false eyelashes? Because if you're not used to them—"

"No. I want to keep it simple."

"I can do that. Not my taste, but then I'm making you look your best," Marisol stated. "Tony, are you just going to stand around and watch?"

"I have nothing better to do until I have to get dressed myself."

"Then make yourself useful and empty my bag on the counter. Once I start braiding I don't want to have to stop. Pick out a ribbon to use, something that won't clash with the dress—or jewelry. What jewelry are you wearing?"

Things were moving along at such a fast and unusual pace that Hon didn't have time to over-analyze or worry so she responded to direct questions and supervised the process. It was a new experience and Dr. Natwick was endlessly curious about new experiences. 

Tony smiled. Marisol was a character and not to everyone's taste, but she had a sweetness and sensitivity that led her to be non-threatening and efficient at the same time. Her obvious and open appreciation of Hon's physical attributes had both puzzled Hon and created grounds for hope in raising Hon's self-esteem. He loved it when a plan came together.

**

Chapter 34

Notes:

I promise this will eventually move along a little faster. Real life is being a pain. I'm writing then publishing the first draft. I go back and fix typos when I find them. Thanks for all the comments. They are encouraging.

Chapter 34

Hair, makeup, and dress were perfection, as Tony had predicted. Marisol had fled after making sure there was no mishap to makeup or hair when dressing with a generous pay envelope in hand.

The driver opened the door to the limousine and they seated themselves and buckled the seatbelts. Hon looked wonderful—cool, poised, an icy and closed down version of a woman ready to be feted—but Tony could see beyond the mask. She was so tense she was almost vibrating. He reached over and took her hand, that always seemed to help her calm down.

"Why was he staring?"

"Who? The driver?" Tony guessed. "He's never seen you look so stunning."

"Stunning?" she echoed. "I don't know what that means. I'm realistic about my appearance, Tony. I'm no great beauty, not some fashion model."

"Thank God for that," he replied fervently. "I dated a model once, more than once actually. Most of their conversation, if you could call it that, revolved around their appearance, the routines and diets they followed in order to keep their appearance, and occasionally how they wanted to be treated as women, not images."

Hon frowned at him. "That sounds horrifying. I guess there are even down sides to being beautiful."

"I didn't say you weren't beautiful," Tony corrected. Before she could answer, he went on. "I didn't say you were, either. There's an old saying 'Beauty is only skin deep, but ugly is to the bone'. You have beautiful bones and that beauty works its way out."

"That's irrational."

"Just because it's irrational doesn't make it untrue. More to the point, beauty standards are subjective and change all the time."

"You've dated a lot of women. I'm sure your opinion on appearance would meet the standard for norms."

"Depends on what you mean by a lot. Are you asking if I personally think your appearance is beautiful? Keep in mind that I've seen you after an all-nighter at work and when you first roll out of bed in the morning and stumble to the kitchen in search of coffee." He didn't wait for a response. "If you're asking me for an objective assessment, I'd describe you as attractive—pleasing or appealing. Throw in lovely—when you're not in work mode which makes you abrupt and dismissive. You’re definitely not ugly or homely or whatever other adjective you use to self-describe. I suspect your wretched brothers have something to do with your self-image issues. Would I be right?"

She looked out the window at the passing traffic. "Yes. My dad was watching an old movie once, I forget which one, and he said I bore a resemblance to the actress who was in it—Loretta Young. My brother Bernard laughed and said I looked like Loretta Young's homelier younger sister."

"I thought we'd established that Bernard—that is not a redneck name—is a moron and his opinion counts for nothing? Loretta Young?  Really? I don't see that as much as more like a less made up and subtle version of Debra Paget."

"Who?"

"I'll show you later. Comparisons aside, you just be the best Honeybee Natwick you can be, inside and out, and you'll do fine."

The car was sliding to a halt in front of the hotel where the event was taking place. Just before they got out of the car, Hon squeezed his hand very hard. "Tony, there's probably going to be an open bar and a lot of drinking. Please, please… keep me away from any drunks."

He studied her as he helped her out of the car and found she was deadly serious. Damn redneck relatives probably abuse alcohol as well as the other stupidities they indulged in.  "I doubt anyone will be allowed to get out of control at an event like this, but sure, I will run interference." He nodded his thanks at the driver whose name he hadn't caught this time, tucked her hand into his left arm and escorted her into the hotel.

**

Chapter 35

Chapter 35

Anthony DiNozzo, Jr. had attended many glitzy events from the time he was a child-- being a cute distraction or prop for his father's business associates or his mother's need to entertain and be entertained--and through into his adulthood when he was embroiled in social occasions due to his work, either providing protection for VIPs or working undercover. He was as at ease in a tuxedo as he was in sports gear or jeans and sweatshirts. It helped that this particular black tux had been tailored to his body especially to allow for the presence of a weapon in a shoulder holster. Most people wouldn't notice, but that didn't apply to the security for the event and he was glad.

Having cleared security, he offered his left arm once again to his date and she gripped it lightly and stepped a bit closer as they approached the entrance to the brightly lit ballroom. 

In the doorway, was a tall man with short salt and pepper hair wearing dress blues and a general's rank insignia.  Next to and slightly behind him was a handsome man in a dark blue tuxedo with sandy hair and a pair of glasses perched a bit crookedly on his nose. They were greeting guests as they entered.

DiNozzo and Hon stopped silently and waited.

The general beamed a smile at them. "Jack O'Neill, two L's," he said, holding up three fingers with his left hand and sticking out his right to shake.

Tony tilted his head slightly as he studied the man. "O'Neill with an EA or EI? I'm Tony DiNozzo—Big D, little I, big N, little ozzo."

The general blinked. The other man was trying not to laugh.

Hon tightened her hold on Tony's arm as she moved a bit into the general's personal space. "Know this, Jack, you will refer to me as Dr. Natwick, Dr. H.O. Natwick if necessary, but if my full name passes your lips at all during this thing, including when you're handing out awards, you will live to regret it."

Jack feigned outrage. "Is that a threat?"

"I do believe it is," Tony commented, and led Hon into the room to find their assigned table. He'd been accused more than once of having a certain feline quality—he liked to play with his prey. He would talk to General Jack O'Neill later, when Hon was a little more comfortable with her surroundings.

They walked away leaving the general still spluttering while his companion was snickering.

"Who was the other guy?" Tony asked. "We didn't exactly wait for introductions."  He was studying the layout of the room. There were about 30 round tables with white tablecloths and red, white, and blue table runners, a low floral decoration in the center, and set for 8 diners at each table. The tables were in a loose half circle facing a low stage with a podium and a table full of small awards and certificates with a small dance floor separating the tables from the stage.

"That was Daniel Jackson. He's the Science Department head in Colorado but he mainly concerns himself with the soft sciences. I didn't mean to snub him though."

"You like him?"

Hon smiled. "He's a nice man."

"Good-looking too."

"What? Oh no, don't you dare start matchmaking. Besides he's a widower. I'm not sure he's ready to move on yet and I'm not interested in him that way. He does have an amazing mind. Some of my guys are polyglots, but Daniel takes it to a whole other level. I think last count he spoke 22 languages. I've probably missed a few though. We don't have a lot of time to talk about anything but the work."

"Whoa. That seems like overkill, but okay. Hey, this may be a wild guess, but over in the corner there at the bar? Could that possibly be the guy you code-named Fidget?"

She followed his gaze. The man in question was talking to the bartender, hands waving wildly in the air, he was bouncing in place as if he was wearing springs on his heels. "Yep. That's Fidget. I didn't know he owned a suit and I'm impressed he actually combed his hair."

"From the looks of it, he shellacked it into compliance," Tony said.  Fidget's reddish blond hair was long on top and slicked back to curl behind his ears. His suit was obviously off the rack and slightly too large, leaving the impression that he had either lost weight or was wearing a hand me down.

Tony had located their table, dead center in front of the stage and next to the dance floor and they stood behind their chairs studying their surroundings and the people filtering into the room. Their oasis of quiet only lasted a few moments. To Tony's amusement, as soon as others became aware of Hon's presence, her co-workers began to come to greet her as if she was visiting royalty.

Fidget, drink now in hand, bounced over to them, trailed by a blond male Viking in a powder blue tux and a short brunette woman who was wearing a gown with just enough shiny silver material to prevent her from being arrested.  "Oh, fudge monkeys," Fidget exclaimed, "Hon, you look like a real girl."

The brunette whacked him on the arm. "She is a girl, you moron. Just because you don't see the obvious—" Her voice was a deep, rich contralto that reminded Tony of Marlene Dietrich. 

"No hitting," Hon said. "Fidget, get your brain in gear before you start talking. If I didn't know you and know what you meant, I'd smack you. Or better, let Tony smack you." She sounded like an indulgent older sister. Fidget eyed Tony and cringed. "This is my friend Tony DiNozzo. Tony, as you guessed these people are Fidget, Squeaky, and Idgi."

"It is interesting that the code names are sometimes descriptive and sometimes ironic. Is that a deliberate choice to keep anyone from identifying them?" Tony asked.

Fidget had decided that Tony wasn't going to hit him so he bounced closer and offered a hand to shake. "My name kind of chose itself. It's a form of ADD but mostly I have it under control—"

"TMI," Squeaky said throatily, ruthlessly nudging him aside, and offering her own hand, and fluttering her eyelashes up at Tony.

He ignored the décolletage on display, focused on her face, and lifted her hand to his lips for a brief kiss. "Squeaky, glad to meet you. I hear you think I'm perfect arm candy."

She jerked back, blushing a fiery red, and glared at Hon. "You told him I said that?"

"I tell him everything—well, except for stuff covered by the NDA," Hon said casually. "He's not offended."

Tony laughed. "No, I'm flattered. A compliment from a beautiful woman is always welcome."

Fidget made a stuttering noise. "Beautiful?"

Squeaky turned a glare on him, daring him to say anything.

The Viking looked confused. "I don't get it."

Hon shot Tony a look, with a nod towards Idgi.

"What? Really? That's how—" He stopped, not wanting to give offense.

Idgi, a placid and curious look on his face, turned to Hon to explain. "Tony wanted to know how code names were selected. He didn't understand where IDGI came from. Tony, English is Sven's—sixth or seventh?—language. He finds it hard to get idioms or sometimes jokes. He tends to say I don't get it when he wants an explanation."

Sven, aka Idgi, stuck out his hand. Tony took it and noticed his grasp was very firm, bordering on painful. "We have heard many nice things about you from Hon. I hope they are all true."

That was the most oblique shovel talk Tony had ever heard but the message was clear. Sven might be a genius and a nerd but he was built like a linebacker and obviously worked out a lot to stay in shape. It was a serious threat, if an unnecessary one. "Having Hon say nice things about me is a worthwhile goal."

Idgi nodded and stepped back. "We should go find our table." He interrupted the staring contest between Squeaky and Fidget with a sigh. "Squeaky, he thinks you're beautiful, because you are. He just didn’t like that someone else said it instead of him. Fidget, she's dressed like that to get your attention. I wish you two would talk to each other and start dating. All the pining is getting distracting."

The other two were stunned into silence and were easily herded away. Hon giggled. "Idgi has no tact at all, but he's right. The mutual crush and denial has been going on for months."

"Somehow I didn't think Idgi looked like a yenta."

**

The meal was absolutely worthwhile. No rubber chicken at this banquet. As the tables were being cleared, General O'Neill kicked things off with a short speech about those being honored, but turned the program over to Daniel Jackson for the presentations. Whether that was a response to Hon's threat or what was planned was a matter of disagreement.

Tony had met many more of Hon's minions and they had covered a gamut of ages, races, and degrees. They all did seem to be highly intelligent and experienced in their fields of study, as well as approving of Dr. Natwick and her role in the program—whatever that was. It was obvious that there were many attending who didn't have the necessary clearance to know much about the program so references were vague.

Tony decided he really approved of Dr. Daniel Jackson. Every presentation to every individual was personalized and recognized their specialties. The recognition for Hon was saved for last.

"Finally, before you all party on the dance floor, this program would like to acknowledge in some small way the contributions made by Dr. H.O. Natwick—"

He was interrupted by clapping and cheers from many tables and waited for the noise to die down. From one of the back tables a loud whistle split the air.

Hon spun in her chair to look in that direction. "Knock it off, Sparky." She grimaced at Tony, embarrassed by her reflexive reaction.

Tony put his arm around her shoulders and let her lean on him. He gestured 'go on' at Jackson.

"Thank you," Daniel said with a grin. "Anyone who has spoken to Dr. Natwick has at some point been told that she is –"  He paused significantly and was joined in chorus by the minions in the know. "—only a generalist."

Hon refused to make eye contact, leaning into Tony's embrace and fiddling with the napkin still on her lap.

"There's a joke I'd like to share—Shut up, Jack. Four engineers get into a car. The car won't start," Jackson said. "The mechanical engineer says it's a broken starter. The electrical engineer says it's a dead battery. The chemical engineer says it's impurities in the gasoline. The IT engineer says we should all get out of the car and get back in." 

There were a few groans and a few laughs of recognition.

"The point is that when you have specialists, they often become fixated on their special fields and they don't always look for another answer.  That is the benefit of having a generalist doing oversight on planning and projects." Jackson had to wait again for applause to die down. "Dr. Natwick's contribution to the program is difficult to measure because it sometimes consists of looking at the big picture and putting together the right team of specialists to solve the problems or challenges we are facing. Her ability to problem solve and encourage other scientists and accommodate their needs to enable them to work effectively is hard to quantify. This award is a small attempt to show our appreciation. Dr. H.O. Natwick."

Jackson stepped back from the microphone and gestured for Hon to join him onstage.

She wasn't budging. Okay. Tony could handle this. He got to his feet, taking her along with him. He tried to disengage but she clung to his waist and remained under his arm. Tony and Hon started across the dance floor to the stage as a unit. They stopped behind the microphone and Tony used his free hand to take the award certificate from Dr. Jackson. "Hon, you have to say something." His words carried over the mike.

She gazed up at him. "Thank you."

"Not to me, to them."

She turned her head slightly, still refusing to make eye contact. "Thank you. Everything we do is a team effort. I fail to see the logic in awarding recognition –"

Tony gave her a squeeze so she stopped talking. "What she means is, she feels undeserving but she appreciates the recognition—yes, you do—and she will accept this award as a recognition of her entire team's—teams'—work and success. Now, if we can get to the dancing portion of the evening---" He moved back to let Dr. Jackson come forward.

Jackson patted Hon on the back as he took the mike once more. "If you'll give the staff a few minutes, they will finish bussing the tables and get the music started. Have a good time."

"Don't give me that look," Tony said as they walked back to their seats. "If you don't want me putting words in your mouth, you need to use your own mouth to make words."

She stuck out her tongue at him.

**

Chapter 36

Chapter 36

DiNozzo was amused as he people-watched. He had attended many such events, it was true, but none had been quite so chaotic when the formality of the presentation ceremony was over. Hon had told him that most of her minions were socially awkward and didn't get out much and it showed--not in a bad way, but in the unsophisticated delight they demonstrated when preening in new clothes for their co-workers. Some of them seemed uncomfortable in their finery but others were happy to be seen in something other than lab coats, particularly the ladies.

As the music began, a few couples were dancing, but most were working the room, engaging everyone they knew in conversation.  The few 'very important people' who were there to represent the government seemed bemused by those trying to include them in the celebration.  Tony recognized a senator and the Assistant Director of Homeland among them.

Tony knew it wasn't planned, but the minions had taken it upon themselves to get a closer look at him and make their own evaluation of their team leader's escort.  He had to keep a tight lid on his amusement at the awkward attempts to give him the shovel talk to ensure he would be good to Hon, given that the minions were physically intimidated by him and trying not to show it, afraid Hon would overhear, and the fact that their 'veiled threats' were anything but subtle. Fortunately, for the sake of his cyber life if nothing else, he had no intention of hurting Hon in any way and tried to convey that to her friends without making it obvious to her what was going on.

Dr. Natwick was distracted by deflecting those who wanted to give her compliments or congratulations, answering questions about her ensemble, and answering questions about Tony, without his overhearing.  The latter was doomed from the start but Tony knew it was natural, especially for scientists, to collect data to inform their opinions and he wasn't worried about it so he feigned deafness.

The music was starting so Tony herded Hon and a few of her co-workers away from the dance floor to a table further back in the room.  Satisfied that she was comfortable, he excused himself to the restroom.

A few minutes later, he made his exit and was watching Hon from a distance. Fidget was bouncing in front of her, this time holding Squeaky's hand. The Viking, AKA Idgi, was behind them along with two others who'd been introduced as Boris and Lurch. He wondered if their code names were inspired by their appearance—since they respectively resembled the cartoon versions of Boris Badenov of Rocky and Bullwinkle fame and Lurch from The Addams Family.

General O'Neill was headed in his direction. Good. Tony waited just inside the room where it was relatively quiet, at least at a distance from the music speakers.

"DiNozzo."

"O'Neill." He didn't bother with the honorific.

The general gestured to an abandoned table a few feet away. "Let's talk."

DiNozzo seated himself at an angle so he could keep an eye on his date as well as see the other man.

"You have questions?" O'Neill was serious now, no sign of the clowning around that seemed his usual demeanor.

"A few. Where is Gibbs? How is Gibbs? What is going on with Gibbs?" Tony rapped out.

"Don't pull any punches, kid." He paused. "I'll tell you what I can, probably shouldn't since medical stuff is supposed to be private but Gibbs said…he said you should know. Some of it anyway."

"You knew him when he was a Marine?"

"Once a Marine… yeah, I knew him. There were some black ops—ya know, the kind that never happened. I was still around when he got blown up by an IED and was stuck in a coma for a while. Had to leave before he came out of it." O'Neill sounded sincere. "For a lot of reasons, I can't and won't go into, I know the kind of trauma he went through. I know it on a deep, personal level."

"You didn't go into NCIS to help him," Tony objected. "You went to –"

The general nodded sharply. "I'll admit, I went to kick his ass for messing in things above his clearance level. He had no idea what could happen if his hacking caused a security breach and he didn't much care. But when I got there and saw his reaction—way over the top, out of control—let's just say I recognized some signs that something more than an attitude problem was going on. So instead of kicking his ass, I hauled him off to the medical section of our program. I don't know how much you know—"

"Hon is very careful not to share information. Even if she wasn't I'm no threat. I have a high security clearance and I know how to keep my mouth shut."

"I imagine you do, working for the Gunny," O'Neill said, a smile tugging at his lips. "Okay, so our program has access to cutting edge, new technology and medical expertise. I won't go into detail, mainly because I don't understand most of it, but it's the best possible place to get a diagnosis and usually a cure."

DiNozzo nodded. "Let's say I concede that. Why hasn't Gibbs been in contact with anyone on the team? Or even Director Morrow. Is he a prisoner or a hostage?"

"Damn, you're cynical. I thought I had cornered the market on that. No, he's not being held against his will. The medical issue, the damage to his brain has been healed, but right now he's in therapy for his emotional trauma. One reason, he hasn't been in contact is because he doesn't want it. Not now. C'mon, DiNozzo, you know him.  You think he wants to be seen when he's vulnerable and hurting?"

That was easy to answer. No.  Not just no, but hell no. "It would be reassuring if at least one of us could visit or talk to him."

The general scrubbed a hand over his face. "I'll talk to the doctors. If they say yes, I will arrange a phone call at least. To you?"

"Might be better if he talked to Ducky—Dr. Mallard. They're old friends and he's less worried about keeping up an image with him. Is Gibbs going to come back to NCIS?"

"That's a good question. I don't know. He wants to."

"There are staffing decisions that have to be made either way. The director needs to know. I need to know."

"Sorry, kid. I don't know what to tell you. Maybe plan for him to come back, but not for a few weeks. Even then he'll need some time to get back to what passes for normal."

"Thanks for that much."

O'Neill shrugged. "I owe it to him. Hell, I owe it to you. Your help with Dr. Natwick and her people has been invaluable. Scientists scare me."

"Oh, yeah, I see you trembling in your boots," Tony scoffed.  "She's my friend. It's been a mutual benefit."

"Listen, you finish that degree you're working on, or even if you don't, our program could use a good, independent investigator so if you decide to leave NCIS, keep it in mind."

"Thanks, General. I will. Now I better go scatter the minions so I can have Hon's attention and maybe get her out on the dance floor."

**

Chapter 37

Chapter 37

DiNozzo had finally managed to pry his date away from the attention giving and seeking minions and towed a reluctant Honeybee onto the dance floor. The slow song was a jazzy rendition of Unforgettable.

"Tony, you tried teaching me to dance and you know how well that went. I stepped all over your feet—and tonight I'm actually wearing shoes," she protested.

"Stop looking at your feet, right hand in mine, left hand around my waist… now just move with me. We'll keep it simple."

"Fine." It wasn't fine. She was so self-conscious she was tensing up.

She'd do better if she was distracted. "So when you couldn't talk to me, because we were on the outs, you called John Watson for advice? In London?"

She wrinkled her nose, stopped trying to watch her feet, and followed his lead while she answered. "I called Sherlock, but he was totally useless. He said your reaction was illogical and unreasonable and suggested that I tell you that. John was there and listening because Sherlock had put the call on speaker so he could keep working on some experiment involving mold. In his kitchen? That sounds unsanitary to me."

"Yuck. I don't think it's a good idea. So John was helpful?"

"Yes. His people skills are much more developed. Maybe because he's a doctor?"

"Maybe. You said John reminded you of me? What did you mean?"

She thought about it for a moment. "The people skills for one. He's a bit of a flirt—"

"He flirted with you and you actually noticed?" Tony feigned astonishment.

"No—well, he may have, but I noticed because Sherlock said he was flirting with the lady on the London Eye. I tried to get John to delineate the difference between being friendly and being flirty, but he was about as useless with that as you are," she accused.

"I told you it's very subjective. One man's friendly is another man's flirt." The music came to an end and they started walking off the floor.  "So that still doesn't tell me why you think the two of us are alike other than our flirty/friendly disposition."

"Sherlock is a bit like me. He's brilliant and his mind moves so fast people can't keep up. Sometimes his own mouth can't keep pace with the way his brain works so he comes across as abrupt and he's so focused on what's interesting to him, that he doesn't pay a lot of attention to other people or their feelings. I struggle with that too, especially when I'm working."

"You're not that bad, or your minions wouldn't be so devoted."

"Stop calling them minions. So, John is like you in that he acts as a Holmes to Human interpreter. He smoothes things over, he gets Sherlock to slow down and explain himself, and sometimes he tells Sherlock when he's about to cross a line that he hasn't noticed. You do that for me too."

Tony grinned. "That's being a friend. You help me in areas where I don't do as well--as in getting me to go back to school when I kept putting it off, and I help you by explaining human behavior to you."

"I'm so glad you ignored how grumpy I was that first night and sat down with me." She snuggled into his side.

DiNozzo laughed. "That was my contrary nature. I could tell you wanted to be alone. I was looking for a friendly contact or two and walked away with a best friend. Now, you didn't want to come, but are you having a good time, now that the VIPS have stopped pushing awards and recognition at you?"

"Oh, shut up," she said. "I think Spud wants our attention." She indicated a short, thin redhead who looked like a stereotype of an Irish woman who'd appear on some kind of imported Irish product.

"That's Spud?" Tony was a bit surprised. He'd been thinking of Spud representing a couch potato not a lovely Irish lass.

"Irish," Hon commented, "and it's her favorite food. She picked the name herself. I have no idea why."

"That's your new admin assistant? Is she good at the gatekeeping?"

"Oh, yes. She's organizing my time almost into microbursts. It's making some of the teams feel insecure I think."

"They'll adapt," Tony said heartlessly. "You don't need to be run ragged because they all want your attention."

"Let's go see what she wants. She wanted to meet you."

Tony feigned a shiver. "That sounds ominous."

"Stop being silly. If you ever seriously hurt my feelings, Spud will be the least of your worries."

"Oh, you did hear some of those threats. Who should I be wary of then?"

She rolled her eyes and teased, "If you make an enemy of me, there won't be enough left for any of them to throw darts at."

He burst out laughing. "Oh, Hon, you are such a femme fatale. I'd better up my life insurance."

Chapter 38

Chapter 37

Dr. Natwick thought she was being subtle as she led her escort through the crowds, greeting the co-workers who'd not had an opportunity to speak with her and assess her date. Agent DiNozzo was well aware they were moving closer to the exit with every change of location. He'd expected she wouldn't last long in a crowded environment, especially when there was little opportunity for one on one communication, which was her preference.

She'd given up on holding his hand and moved closer so he had an arm around her back as they finally arrived at the doorway where Dr. Daniel Jackson had stationed himself in an effort to find a bit of room away from the dance floor and the chatter at the bar which was being besieged.

Hon and Jackson exchanged long-suffering looks as the music abruptly changed from slow and easy jazz to a loud disco beat. Jackson's expressive eyebrows asked a question silently.

She answered aloud. "You knew Spanky would get to the DJ and try to liven the place up. We're leaving before the drinks really loosen them up and the karaoke starts."

"You're deserting me?" Daniel moaned, playfully, giving her the puppy eyes.

Hon gave a sniff. "I warned you that I would not be babysitting this bunch, especially if you gave them access to booze. I wouldn't be here at all but Jack made me come. And Davis probably conspired with Tony to make sure I did." She threw him an accusatory stare.

"Hey, I did my part when I took you shopping." Tony shared a grin with Jackson. "She wanted to buy everything online."

"It's easier."

Tony scowled at Jackson. "You can't try things on—gad. Two of a kind. Is there some kind of nerd aversion to shopping or something?"

The reply came from O'Neill who had come up behind Jackson. "I think it's more a matter of not liking crowds…and being touched. Some of the shop assistants get a bit grabby. How many times have you been groped, Daniel?"

Jackson sent him a repressive look. "I've lost count. Did you come to say goodbye to Dr. Natwick and Agent DiNozzo or are you just taking another opportunity to annoy me?"

"Leaving so soon?" O'Neill asked mournfully.

Hon looked at Tony and left it to him to answer. She was still not going to willingly speak to the general.

"I've got homework to do," Tony said easily. "It may be Friday, but there's always work to be done on a thesis. Honeybee is supervising and beta reading. I think we've used up her need for socializing in large groups and possibly her store of small talk for the next two years. Goodnight, Dr. Jackson, General. Don't forget to get back to me on that other matter, sir."

O'Neill rolled his eyes. "Yeah, yeah. I'll let you know something when I know something."

"I'll remind him," Jackson promised.

"Thank you." Tony and Hon exited the ballroom and made their way to the entrance to wait for the car that would be summoned by the valet parking attendants.

"You're worried about Gibbs?" she murmured.

"Yep. I know you don't like him, Hon, but you don't know him like I do. When we first met and worked together, I had a great deal of respect for him, maybe even a touch of hero worship. I'm not sure how that devolved as the team expanded and how much of it is down to his suffering from accumulated head trauma, but I'm concerned for his health and his future."

"So you're going to keep working for him?"

"I'm hoping that if he recovers and can safely return to work, I'll be able to work with him again. There's still a lot I could learn from him… at least for a while. I don't think that I want to stay an SFA forever, or even until he retires, but I'd like to leave on good terms and in my own time."

"I understand that. That's why I took that stupid promotion. I guess I'm worried that if Gibbs comes back he'll start mistreating you again—"

"He didn't—"

"Head slaps? Come on. HR should be pitching a hissy fit about that alone. The lack of days off, meals, even sleep—it's not safe to work like that for long stretches of time."

"Director Morrow plans to start ensuring the HR guidelines are followed."

"You trust him?"

While Tony was considering a reply, their car pulled up to the curb and the door was opened for them by the valet. After they were seated inside and on their way, Tony finally answered. "I think I do. This whole business has given a wake-up call to the agency. There's probably going to be some repercussions for being too light on the administrative end. We have an assistant director who's supposed to be helping Morrow out in D.C. but he's been spending most of his time traveling to R.U.s and R.A.s up and down the East Coast, and not enough time at headquarters. They may add a supervisory agent for the teams as well as another assistant director if the director is going to keep overseeing the overseas operations as well as the Navy Yard. I'm hoping for the best. You know," he nudged her before breaking into song, "Hope for the best, expect the worst…the rich are blessed, the poor are curst…No way of knowing which way it's going—Hope for the best, expect the worst."

She groaned and elbowed him. "Do not start singing that song. I'm still mad that you made me watch that movie. I don't care what you say, that movie is not a comedy. It's too tragic—"

"It's Mel Brooks—"

She shook her head and repeated what she said every time the topic came up.  "His funniest movie was Blazing Saddles, then maybe Young Frankenstein—"

"Maybe? Maybe? That movie was epic especially with Gene Hackman as a blind monk…" 

 

Chapter 39

Chapter 39

Saturday morning got off to a slow start after a late night, but at least there was no hangover to contend with as well. Honeybee had made sure he had done some work on his thesis and kept him distracted from worrying about Gibbs, the team, and NCIS.

Fortunately, O'Neill lived up to his promise. By 10 AM, DiNozzo had received a message via Paul Davis with a phone number and a specified time of 11 AM for reaching Gibbs.  Tony placed a call to Ducky and explained. "I told them that one of us needed to talk to Gibbs so we know he's doing okay. I figured you'd be best suited to assess him over the phone, or at least figure out any technobabble from the doctors if they even give you that much."

"I do appreciate that, Anthony. I have made note of the number and will make the call at the precise time. Once I have gotten the information, perhaps the team should gather for the purposes of being updated?" he suggested, knowing it might not be a popular idea with all kinds of issues still unaddressed among the team members.

Tony ran his fingers through his hair, tugging it into more of a mess than bed head had left it. "I guess that would be a good idea. I don't know if everyone will agree to be in the same room, at least not with me. I have a feeling that they're blaming me for the whole mess. I'm not sure they'll be willing to—"

Dr. Mallard interrupted. "The blame for the whole mess as you call it cannot possibly be laid at only one door, Anthony. I will attempt to make that clear to anyone who is in doubt. This situation occurred after an ongoing series of mishaps and bad decisions. It was, perhaps, inevitable that the house of cards would come tumbling down when it was built on a shaky foundation. I will mediate if necessary. I'll let you know of arrangements, once I've talked to Jethro."

"Thanks, Ducky." He disconnected the call and returned his attention to making a pot of coffee.

**

Trying for neutral ground, Dr. Mallard had arranged to have a team meeting in a private back room at a tea shop not far from his home.

DiNozzo thought the doctor was hoping that being in a public space might inhibit hostilities, if any, and remind everyone to mind their manners. He didn't hold out much hope of that, especially since Abby Sciuto was already seated at the table in full Goth gear, a studded collar, and a sulky pout on her face before the conversation even started.

McGee was present as well, seated between Abby and Ducky, very subdued and tense. He seemed to find the china pattern on the tea set fascinating as he rarely took his gaze from it.

Kate wasn't there. Tony really hadn't expected her to show. He slipped into the chair at the end of the table, ignoring Abby's sniff, and focusing on Ducky.

Ducky poured out a cup of tea and passed it to Tony. "Anthony, I believe you will find this to your taste. It's a special mixture the shop created under my guidance—"

"Ducky," Abby snapped impatiently. "You said you'd tell us about Gibbs when everyone got here. Everyone's here now—except for Kate and she's not coming so start talking." She flinched when Ducky leveled a glare in her direction.

"Abigail Sciuto, you will behave yourself or you may leave now."

"But—" she whined, stopping when Ducky held up a finger. She subsided with a huff and a pout as if she was a child being sent to time out.

"The scones are quite good," Dr. Mallard remarked. No one reached for one so he decided to get on with it. "All right. Straight to the point. As I told you when I invited you here, Anthony was able to facilitate a consultation with Jethro and his caregivers. He says that physically he is feeling much better—"

"Why can't we talk to him? We're his family. They have no right to keep us away—" Abby burst out.

"He is recovering, Abigail. When he is well, you will see him. I won't go into details but he had, in the past, received several head injuries. As is his wont, as soon as any symptoms such as dizziness or nausea passed, he ignored any need for further investigation or treatment. This led to accumulative damage, possibly minor at the outset, but increasing in severity with each additional injury."

"There was nothing wrong with him," Abby snarled. "This is all Tony's fault. He should have taken care of him, not turned on him." She lifted her arm to punch Tony's arm, but he caught her wrist and held it, tight enough to restrain, but not tight enough to injure.

"Stop it, Abby," Tony demanded. "I didn't give him the head injuries. He's the one who refused treatment or signed out of the hospital AMA as soon as possible."

"Now you're blaming him?" Abby was building up a head of steam as she tugged her arm loose. "There was nothing wrong with him. He was fine."

"No, he was not," Ducky said firmly. "Jethro now admits he'd been having headaches, occasional vision problems, and even mood swings that he didn't understand himself. That was the reason his temper and focus on cases became so extreme. He was trying to distract himself and pretend nothing was wrong. I'm afraid he fell prey to a common delusion that if no one diagnosed him with an illness or malady that it would cease to exist."

"He said that?" Abby was flabbergasted and McGee joined her in gaping at the doctor.

"I'm paraphrasing, of course. The physical issue has been dealt with and he is healing nicely according to his doctor.  However, he will remain in their care until some emotional and psychological issues have been worked through—"

"For how long? How long until we get him back? I want to see him. I need to see him. I need his hugs." Sciuto was melting down in earnest, tears ruining her eye makeup.

DiNozzo sat back in his chair and studied her. Hon had been scathing in her assessment of Abby and her behavior. Tony hadn't wanted to believe she was right but Abby was proving it. "You want to see him? Why? For you or for him?"

Abby turned a wet, scowling expression on him. "We're his family."

"You can say that all you want. It doesn't make it true. Or healthy," DiNozzo said consideringly. "Do you have any idea what you sound like, Abigail Sciuto? You sound like a two year old deprived of her teddy bear. I want – I need – what about what Gibbs needs? He needs time—time to heal, Time to deal with our team falling apart. Time to recover from all kinds of trauma that we know nothing about."

"This is all your fault!" she shrieked.

Tony shook his head. "Grow up. It's past time. You're not a kid, not even a teenager. You're in your thirties, for Pete's sake. Is there any point in time when you plan to act your age? Or even your IQ?  You brag about being the best at your job—but is that all you have going for you?"

She spluttered, so furious she couldn't even form words. Tim seemed uncertain if he should try to intervene or if it would make it worse. Dr. Mallard looked disappointed and unhappy, but didn't interrupt.

"Dr. Abigail Sciuto, you are not two years old. Stop acting like a brat. Grow up. If you want to help Gibbs or anyone else, you need to be and act like an adult yourself. I know Gibbs and probably the rest of us have indulged you and spoiled you and gone along with your games, but that's over. NCIS as a whole has been rocked with the MCRT meltdown and the failure in leadership. If you want to keep your job, you'd better get your act together." He stood. "Sorry, Ducky. I think my presence was a mistake. I'll leave you to it."

Ducky nodded. Tim opened his mouth then closed it again as Tony walked away. Abby burst into loud sobs.

 

 

Chapter 40

Chapter 40

Tony DiNozzo stalked out of the tea shop, trying to get his temper under control, with no particular destination in mind—just to escape Abby and her selfish dramatics. He hadn't meant to lose his temper but the stress of the last few days was definitely getting to him. He'd managed to distract himself short term, but now he found himself again worrying about the upcoming changes at NCIS and how he and the rest of the team would weather them. IF they could weather them.  Better question, did he want to stay there while the agency was reorganized, reminded of its proper function, procedures, and goals, and put back on track?

Morrow and those above his pay grade would have to make decisions, act on them, and inform everyone involved—maybe by Monday. DiNozzo was supposed to return to work and learn his fate and the fate of the team. Did he want to even make the effort?

He could start sending out his resume. He already had an offer from Hon's program, not just from her, but also from General O'Neill. His friend from pickup basketball games, Derek Morgan, had told him that there could easily be a place for him at the FBI on the BAU, even before he completed his current Masters study in Criminal Psychology.

As Tony walked to his car, he wondered if leaving immediately would be cowardice. He'd had a hand in creating this mess, perhaps he had an obligation to make an attempt to fix it at least--Gibbs' rule 45.

He settled behind the wheel and debated where he should go now. He itched to clear the decks of as much debris as possible before walking into a new situation at NCIS. So many decisions were out of his control. What was there left for him to do?

An uncomfortable pang struck him.  Kate. He needed to talk to Kate. She was avoiding him probably for a lot of reasons—but were any of them valid? He'd tried to train her, to teach her, but she didn't think she needed to learn anything, especially from him. Partly that was on her own competitive personality and her need to be the 'teacher's pet'—not necessarily bad things, but contributing to the lack of teamwork. Gibbs had definitely played a role in setting them up to compete against each other for his approval and messed up the chain of command.

Tony sighed. He wasn't blind to his own faults. He had not made a good first impression but to be fair, it wasn't his girl in a bikini magazine he used as an example on Air Force One. When she persisted in seeing only the masks he used to distract and be underestimated, he had kept poking at her, trying to get her to test her assumptions. He'd made jokes, presented her with contradictory behavior and abilities, and flat out lied to her on multiple occasions in the vain hope she'd call him on it—on any of it. Gibbs wasn't supporting him and Tony had been reluctant to be direct and confrontational with Kate about her assumptions and insubordination because he was—

It was hard to even let the thought cross his mind. He'd begun to doubt himself and his abilities because Gibbs had been dismissive and disparaging. He'd tried harder to score points with joking and passive aggressive behavior, but Kate's mind, once made up, seemed unshakeable in its preconceived notions of his abilities and character.

For all that she ridiculed him as a hardened flirt and some kind of  'love 'em and leave 'em' type, had she not noticed that he flirted with other agents, secretaries, baggy bunnies—but stopped if they didn't enjoy it? She hadn't noticed that no one—other than herself—complained about his so-called sexist behavior?  So, yeah, she was willfully blind to anything that didn't fit what she saw as his personality.  Would she even be able to change that? To see him for who he actually is? Did he owe it to her or to himself or to the team to make another effort to get through to her?

If she didn't make some changes, she'd never make it through some of the FLETC courses. She might never make it back to NCIS or the MCRT. He wasn't sure how he felt about that.  Kate was intelligent and could learn and adapt quickly when she saw the necessity. If she could temper that competitiveness and learn to work as a team and respect the contributions that each team member brought to the table—she had the potential to be a good agent. It would be a waste of talent—Rule 5—not to make an effort.

Mind made up, Tony started his car and went to find Kate.

**

Chapter 41

Chapter 41

Tony had found a parking space not far from the entrance to Kate's apartment building and was still sitting in the car debating if it would be better to surprise his fellow agent or to call and set up an appointment when his phone rang. It was Honeybee. She hadn't emerged from her room by the time he'd left so she must have just found his note.

"Are you just getting up?" he asked, not bothering with proper phone etiquette.

"Yeah," she said with a yawn. "I was up later than you—not everyone who wants a consult is in my time zone. By the way, I think I want to smack Marisol."

His eyebrows flew up. "What? Why?"

"The braid thing may have looked cool last night, but this morning my hair is all—wrinkly," she complained.

He snorted. "Wrinkly? Do you possibly mean 'wavy'?"

"Whatever. It's all wrinkly and won't behave. I'm gonna have to tie it up in a ponytail to get it out of my way. I really ought to just whack some of it off—"

"Don't you dare," he warned quickly. "You don't need to cut it yourself. You'd just butcher it."

She huffed. "Fine. I'll tie it up and leave it alone—for now—but I really need to do something. It's too heavy."

"There are women who would kill to have thick, wavy hair—not literally—" he couldn't believe he felt compelled to add that—"and you don't even appreciate it. If you really want to make a change, consult someone who can cut it properly in a style that you don't have to maintain. You may be a nerd queen but you don't have to have mad scientist hair to retain the image."

"Oh, shut up," she groused. "Where are you? How did your team meeting go? Damn it, where's the creamer—oh, there it is."

"The meeting—went about as well as I expected. Ducky was rational, McGee was quiet, and Abby—"

"Abby pitched a hissy fit?"

"I wouldn't put it that way."

"That's 'cause you're a Yankee. But that's what she did? She bawled and pouted and made it all about her? What a brat."

It was hard to argue since basically that was exactly what Tony had told the Goth.

"Did she try to blame you?"

"Yep."

"And did you tell her she was full of shit?"

"Such language, Dr. Natwick," Tony protested. Silence. "More or less. I told her to grow up. She wasn't receptive to anything I had to say so I left. Poor Ducky will have to try to calm her down and make her see sense."

"Poor Ducky, my ass. She needs less hand-holding and more ass-kicking. I know you said she's genius level IQ but I hope you know there's more than one reason she wasn't invited to the Mensa meeting you attended. Her security clearance was and is hanging by a thread. So if you left the meeting, where are you now? I expected you to come back here so I can inspect you for damage."

Boy, she was in 'take no prisoners' mode. "Kate didn't show for the meeting, no surprise. I don't think this can wait until Monday though, so I'm at her place."

"You're going to confront Kate?" She sounded more awake now, maybe halfway through her first cup of coffee. "What are you going to say?"

"Still thinking about it," he admitted. "I don't know if she'll listen."

There was a momentary silence. "Tony, who are you going to be when you talk to her?"

He frowned. "What do you mean?"

"You said she doesn't treat you as her superior, her SFA. She treats you like a peer, a co-worker she doesn't like or approve of. I don't think she'll respond well if you try to assert your authority."

"I know we're not friends—"

"You're not friends because she doesn't even know who you are," Hon interrupted. "She's never made the least effort to get to know you. She's judging you on the superficial, and on behavior that you use to get a result of some sort, from witnesses or criminals. If that's all she knows—because she refuses to look, not because you haven't tried to clue her in—then she won't respond to you trying to tell her something different now."

Tony sighed and sagged back into his seat. "Yeah. I know. I'm a victim of my own chameleon process. You sound like you have given this speech before."

"Sort of. Some of my co-workers struggle with social cues, worse than I do. I've had to referee misunderstandings among them and sometimes settle disputes over work issues but nothing like what y'all are going through now. I wish I could help."

A smile tugged at his lips. "You are helping. You already have. I guess the first step is to drop the masks and introduce Kate to the real me."

"That's going to be hard," Hon whispered.

"I know. Habits are hard to break and letting her—letting everyone at NCIS—see the real me…scary."

"It's past time to stop pretending to be dumber than you are," Hon said gently. "It may have worked on some level before, but it's limiting you. Stop trying to protect those idiots who are too dumb to know or appreciate what you're doing. It's time to let your light shine—be the competent professional you've kept under wraps. You can still use the clown or joker or dumb jock bits when you need to—but not every day."

"Oh, thank you so much for giving me permission," he muttered. "This isn't exactly a pep talk."

"Sure, it is," Hon drawled. "It's just my version—and you know how lacking in diplomacy I am. Be you, but be the real you. Don't try to be Kate's friend—or her competition. Be her very professional and business-like superior who came to give her a few home truths and a reality check."

Tony threw back his shoulders and straightened his spine. "Thank you for your support. I will do just that."

"In other words," Hon suggested mischievously, "go kick her ass."

"I won't do that."

"No head slaps, though."

"Not my thing," Tony said. "Okay, into the Valley of Death—"

"She's not Death. She's more like an annoying rash."

"I'm trying to build up a head of steam here, Hon. You're distracting me." He felt much calmer now. His friend was right. It wasn't up to him to bend himself in every direction to get along with the team or win Gibbs' approval. He could do the job without the side show and now it was time to step up and demonstrate that, beginning with a reality check for Agent Kate Todd.

"Go get her, Tiger. Then come back here. I'm going to bake you a victory cake to celebrate."

"You got it." He disconnected the call, got out of his car, and walked toward the building entrance.

Chapter 42

Chapter 42

Tony combed his fingers through his hair trying to make it look like he hadn't been pulling at it in frustration. As he walked into Kate's apartment building and waited for the elevator, he worked out his strategy for the upcoming confrontation. He wasn't dressed in one of his killer suits but the dark jeans, forest green button up, and brown leather jacket didn't look totally casual either.

Being the Tony she expected, the one she saw every day at the office, would just feed into her prejudices. He needed to shake her up to get her attention. He gave a sharp nod. Hon had said be professional. He could do that. In fact, he let a bit of his undercover in organized crime steel creep into his spine as he settled on his Agent DiNozzo, witness for the prosecution demeanor.

Faith Coleman would have recognized and appreciated this facet—she'd seen it on her cases when he'd testified. Most of the JAG prosecutors preferred DiNozzo if one of the MCRT was called on to testify. Gibbs came across as too authoritarian or impatient with the detailed questioning. Neither McGee nor Todd had gone to trial on an MCRT case yet, so Todd had never seen the absolutely calm, rational, professional investigator, and charming witness that he could be when he needed to be. That was about to change. He put on his impartial, professional expression and rang the doorbell.

There was a pause before she opened the door. She was dressed in jeans and a sweatshirt, no makeup, and a scowl on her face. "What do you want, Tony? Haven't you done enough?"

Huh. She was trying to put him on the defensive. Usually it would have worked. Not today. He gently pushed the door and she gave way, letting him slip through and make his way towards her living area without comment.

She followed him with a huff of bad temper. "I didn’t come to the meeting for a reason, DiNozzo."

He calmly seated himself in the armchair facing the door, leaving the sofa for her, and waved at her to indicate she should sit. His silence and serious demeanor was already throwing her off. He wasn't following the cues she was giving him.

"Make yourself at home." She flopped onto the sofa, leaned back, and crossed her arms over her chest, staring at him. Her jaw was set in stubborn defiance.

He waited her out.

She shifted uncomfortably. "Are you going to say something or just sit there?"

"That depends. Are you ready to listen?"

Her eyes narrowed. "Listen to what?"

Tony's hands rested on the armrests, his long legs stretched out in front of him as he spoke evenly. "Let's start with a status update. Ducky talked to Gibbs and he seems to be doing well physically. His medical treatment is ongoing and we have, as yet, not been advised as to the date of his return."

"We go back to work on Monday. If Gibbs isn't going to be there—"

"That's not your concern."

Kate was reduced to spluttering. "What? Of course, it's my concern—"

"It's really not," Tony said firmly. "Your concern should be focused on how your career is going to recover—"

"It was a minor infraction," she asserted. "It was no big deal until you made it one."

Tony nodded slowly as if considering her opinion. "That's an interesting take on it, if an uninformed and ill-advised one."

"I'm not—"

"You'll learn more if you listen," he said sharply. "As your supervisory Senior Field Agent, I'm here to prepare you for what's coming. The Grimm case is only the latest in a series of bad decisions and management and the scope of the investigation into possible legal and procedural problems within NCIS is going to have repercussions which will affect not only the MCRT but the agency as a whole."

She eyed him skeptically, not sure what to make of a calm and serious DiNozzo. "What are you talking about? I don't know anything about—"

"That's the first thing you got correct, Agent Todd. You don't know anything, or not anything much about being a criminal investigator. The abbreviated courses you took at FLETC—or didn't take, I wouldn't know since Gibbs was the one who decided to hire you, install you on the MCRT, and said you could train on the job—I wasn't consulted. I'm not sure how much of an end run Gibbs did around HR hiring procedures to put you in place or how he did it, but that's none of my business so I'll ignore it for now. The problem is with the agency under scrutiny such shortcuts will be closely examined and evaluated."

Kate's eyes had widened with shock.

"I know you thought Gibbs pretty much ran things at NCIS but he actually answers to other higher ups. Those people now think that it might have been a mistake not to keep a closer eye on the MCRT and the way it's been working. Gibbs is a good investigator, but he has not been the best team lead, at least not in the last two years."

"Our solve rate—"

"Our solve rate is a team effort and doesn't always reflect our conviction rate—which is also something every team should be concerned with. It doesn't do any good to arrest them, if you can't convict them. Which is why you should have known to read Staff Sergeant Rafael his rights before you started questioning him."

"I was going to. He just started talking—"

"Have you ever heard of 'fruit of the poisonous tree', Agent Todd?"

She shook her head, still thrown by Tony's formality.

"It's a legal rule that states that any evidence obtained due to an illegal search, seizure, or interrogation is inadmissible in court.  In this case, because Staff Sergeant Rafael was not read his Article 31 Rights, anything he said or confessed to was inadmissible—and by extension, anything we learned from him or evidence he gave us would also be inadmissible. If he hadn't decided to plead guilty, it's very possible that both he and Corporal McClain could have walked. JAG is not happy about such a close call."

"But it didn't happen," Kate protested, glad for one bit of good news. "I won't make that mistake again."

"Agent Todd, it shouldn't have happened this time. The blame partly lies with your lack of training, because you are still considered a junior agent, and partly with the fact that you weren't being supervised because Gibbs didn't bother—"

"I don't need to be supervised."

"The facts suggest otherwise." He went on before she could interrupt again. "The guidelines for junior agents and probationary agents does not allow for them to take the lead on investigations or interrogations—something I know you've noticed Gibbs has ignored repeatedly. You should never have been doing the job on your own. It's not just a matter of competence. It's also a matter of safety, of having backup in case something goes wrong. Gibbs was ignoring protocol because it was inconvenient and we were spread too thin. If he had asked for a TAD or assistance from another team, it wouldn't be an issue. There are going to be a lot of changes in the near future so this kind of thing doesn't happen again."

Todd stared at him with dread. "What's going to happen on Monday?" she whispered.

"That's above our pay grade," Tony said, easing up just a bit on the severity of his tone as she seemed to be taking him seriously. "Director Morrow, Sec Nav, JAG, and maybe Sec Def or the IG are going to be auditing NCIS and seeing what changes need to be made to bring us back into compliance. There's going to be tighter supervision and better cooperation between agencies."

"Gibbs won't like that. Is he—do you know if he'll—"

Tony shrugged. "Another unknown. If he comes back as leader of the MCRT, he's going to have to adapt to changes. He's not going to be able to run things his way any more. But then, if he's healed up—he might change any way, or at least be less angry and more reasonable. I believe Director Morrow is going to try to swing a second chance for everyone involved. Agent McGee will get some retraining, as will you. You both may have to earn your way back onto the MCRT. It's not a given."

Kate swallowed hard, blinking back tears as she stared at him as if she didn't recognize him at all. "I have to do retraining?"

"Agent Todd—Kate," he said gently. "You were pitched into the deep end when you joined NCIS. I think you've been treading water as fast as you can, but maybe starting over with better preparation would make life easier."

"You—you're so—" she stuttered. "Who are you?"

"I'm Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo, this time without the masks. I'm not going to play games with you any more, Agent Todd. You never understood who I am or what I bring to the team. You dismissed me as 'just a cop'. Do you really know anything about me? Or have you just made assumptions."

She considered that before speaking. "You're a jock. Two sports at OSU."

"I made that kind of obvious," Tony admitted. "What about my education?"

"A bachelor's in PE?" she asked tentatively.

"Major in Kinesiology or Physical Education if you're old school. Minor in Criminal Justice. And—"

"And what?"

"Kate, to move up in rank in NCIS and most other federal agencies, a master's degree is required."

"You have a Masters?" She seemed surprised.

"One and two thirds. I got a Masters in Criminal Justice when I was working as a cop in Peoria. Currently working on a Masters in Criminal Psychology." Huh. He may have broken her from the look she was giving him.

"Kate, as a Secret Service agent you learned to profile crowds to look for threat assessment. Those skills don't really transfer to investigation. You need to be more curious, not accept things or people at face value. You let your personal feelings get in the way when you should be skeptical—Jane Doe? Or saying a Catholic wouldn't commit suicide? Those are the kinds of things you need training for. You're the only one who can decide if you really want to be a criminal investigator, and if so, if you're willing to do the work to become a good one."

"I don't know."

"Neither do I." He got to his feet. "Enjoy the rest of your weekend, try to get some rest. I have a feeling Monday is going to be the start of a whole new world."

She walked him to the door, studying him in her peripheral vision.  "I hate not knowing what to expect."

"I know. A friend of mine recommended trying to see it as an adventure, instead of a disaster." He opened the door and stepped out into the hallway.

"Your friend sounds like a Pollyanna," she grumped.

"Pollyanna—1960, starring Hayley Mills, Jane Wyman, and Karl Malden—"

She shut the door before he could finish. He whistled as he left. That had gone better than he'd expected. Probably because he'd kept her off balance. He hoped it did some good.

 

 

 

Chapter 43

Chapter 43

Sunday passed by in a slow-moving blur of getting caught up on household chores (Hon), working on research for his thesis (Tony), eating 'victory cake' which turned out to be a large pan of warm brownies with scoops of vanilla ice cream (both), and fielding phone calls (both).

Tony's calls were mostly information seeking on the part of other agents at NCIS and a few of his area-wide contacts in various agencies, including Fornell who demanded to know what had happened to Gibbs since the man was unreachable. DiNozzo did explain what he could to Tobias, since he figured the FBI agent was close to being a friend, whether Gibbs would admit it or not.

Tony found more amusement in listening to the one-sided conversations that Hon was having with various minions or contacts which often centered around work projects or the publishing of papers in professional journals and involved disagreements concerning adding her name to the articles as co-author or citing her own papers as a source. He could estimate the closeness of the relationship by her vocabulary which devolved to Southern redneck if she knew the other person well. If it was a purely professional relationship, her grammar and accent suddenly became much more fitting to the image of an over-educated genius or an absent minded professor.

"No," she moaned, drawing the word out as if it had three syllables. "Why would you put my name on it?" Pause. "I didn't –I barely contributed. It's not—I don't need to publish anything to keep my job like you do. Fine. Fine. But I'm telling you now, Jester, if this paper gets you invites to speak, I'm not coming. Like hell. You're on your own. I already had to go to London for—yes. I'd rather stay home, thanks. Fine. See if I help you again. Sure, sure." She ended the call and sent an exasperated frown at DiNozzo. "Why are men so unreasonable?"

"I reject your assumption and postulate that you are extrapolating data from a limited subset," Tony stated as he slid a book mark into place and placed his reference book face down on the coffee table in front of him.

She narrowed her eyes at him. "In what way am I employing a limited subset?"

He grinned at her. "Time for a break. Want to make some popcorn and watch a movie? This day isn't moving fast enough."

She walked into the kitchen to make preparations. "Are you worried about tomorrow?"

"It's not in my control."

"That's not what I asked. You shouldn't be worried."

"Do you know something I don't know?" He followed her into the kitchen, trying to read her expression.

"Volumes," she replied with a sassy smile. "I couldn't begin to list all the things I know—"

"You know what I mean," he replied quietly. "I was ambushed on Friday and you didn't warn me."

She grabbed his hand. "I know. I'm sorry. I didn't know what was going on then. All I knew was that O'Neill was going to go to NCIS about the hacking and since you weren't responsible or involved, I didn't think it would be that big a deal for you—"

"You don't know enough about how things work in my world to correctly assess the impact."

"I know that now," she admitted. "My experience is in labs and adjacent programs. I should have told you more, but I didn't know what I could say that wouldn't involve you in the trouble the others were in so I kept quiet. All this classified information—it's really hard to communicate without giving too much away. If you came to work—"

"I'm not talking job opportunities right now, Honeybee. I want you to promise me that you won't keep secrets from me, especially those that might affect me. If it's a matter of program security or classified information, then tell me it's about that and you can't talk about it. That's all I'm asking."

She nodded, squeezed his hand and let go, then resumed her accumulation of popcorn supplies. "But you will think about the job with my program?" She blinked at him deliberately, employing the lesson he'd given on using her big brown eyes to make an impression.

"Don't push it," he warned, half-kidding. "I'm going to find True Lies, 1994, directed by James Cameron, starring Arnold Schwarzenegger and Jamie Lee Curtis. There may be a lesson or two in there."

"Fine," she sighed. "I wish you were less cynical. All this preparing me for a worst case scenario that may never happen—"

"Better to be prepared and not need it," he stated. "And put your phone on silent. I want to forget about tomorrow.  It's our day off and work problems can wait until Monday."

"Sure thing. If it is a genuine emergency, Colonel Davis knows how to get my attention."

Tony didn't ask. He didn't want to know how little privacy they might have, even in Hon's apartment.

**

Chapter 44

Chapter 44

Despite his best efforts, Monday morning came very early. The bedside alarm clock clicked over to 6 AM as he finally gave up on sleeping and got up. He decided to hit the shower, shave, and try to relax enough to eat breakfast, though he was so tense he had no appetite.

The hot water pounded aching shoulders and calmed him a bit. He put on the luxurious hotel bathrobe that Hon had provided—stolen from her London hotel, though he was pretty sure the cost had been included in her bill. Or the government's bill. He was procrastinating the moment of getting dressed as he still hadn't made up his mind what would be appropriate for the occasion.

His suits, expensive, tailored, and flattering were usually for days when he needed to dress to impress such as court dates. Or for days when he needed an ego boost and was feeling defensive. He dressed down in casual clothes if he knew in advance a case was probably going to get dirty or involve stakeouts when comfort would be an issue.  Maybe business casual? He'd decide after breakfast.

DiNozzo wasn't terribly surprised that Honeybee was already awake and taking cinnamon rolls out of the oven. Her sleep schedule was bizarre at best and sporadic at worst. She tended to sleep in four hour bursts at irregular times due to traveling and the phone calls she received at all hours. Thank God, she wasn't a nervous talker. She didn't have to fill every moment of silence, especially when coffee had yet to be served in the morning.

The silence continued throughout their brief meal and they finished off a pot of coffee between them. He checked the time and got to his feet. If he got dressed and left now…

"What are you going to wear?" Hon asked.

"What do you think I should wear?"

"You're asking me?"

A smile tugged at his lips. "What was I thinking? I don't know. I was thinking business casual."

"So what's that?" She was genuinely confused. "I understand business and I understand casual but there's a middle option?"

"Dressy but not formal," he replied. "Dress slacks, long-sleeved button up shirt, no tie, maybe a blazer but not a suit. No jeans."

She nodded slowly. "Okay. I'm glad you know. Wear the blue shirt, it makes your eyes look greener. You have great eyes."

"So do you."

She scoffed. "Mine are just plain brown. About 41% of the population in the U.S. has brown eyes of one shade or another."

"Your eyes are lovely. Don't argue with me," Tony warned as she began to speak. "I'm a better arbiter of fashion and beauty. You've never bothered to appreciate your own form of beauty."

She rolled her eyes. "I think you're biased. According to my brother Bernard, I look like the plainer, uglier version of Loretta Young."

"You think Bernard is a good judge? Of anything? His judgment is already suspect on almost every level."

"You haven't even met him," she protested.

"The stupid oozes off the page of his emails."

Shaking her head, she got to her feet and gave him a slight push to the shoulder. "Stop stalling. You're not going to waste time arguing with me about my brother or my appearance—neither really matters. You need to get dressed, wearing the blue shirt, and then get moving. Knowing you, you want to be one of the first to arrive at NCIS so you can maybe find out what's going to happen today."

He reeled her in for a brief hug. "Yes, ma'am."

"Text or call me when you know something."

"Like you aren't planning to spy on us by hacking the surveillance system again?"

"Would I do that?" It was an earnest attempt to look innocent but failed miserably.

"Brat." He slapped her lightly on the butt as he turned to leave.

**

DiNozzo was not the only one to have come in earlier than usual. The existence of a posted memo displayed on the screens in the foyer notifying all employees that they were to report to the mess hall/cafeteria at 0800 was responsible for a lot of starting and stopping in the progress into the building. Everyone--security guards, agents, and clerical workers—were demonstrating an anticipatory tension that made them all a bit jumpy and reacting to the normal routines a bit nervously. The scuttlebutt was running rampant with speculation and contradictory expectations among the small groups that were forming then breaking up and reforming as people sought more details about what to expect with such an unprecedented event.

DiNozzo got to the bullpen to find he was the only member of the MCRT present. He put down his go bag and flicked on his computer, settling into his chair, not even sure what he should be doing with the hour or more he had to kill.

Rocky Balboa rounded the partition and seated himself in the chair in front of Tony's desk, followed by his SFA Kathryn Smith, who pulled a chair from in front of Kate's desk to join him. For a moment the three of them looked at each other.

"I don't know," Tony said preemptively.

Smith grinned at him. "Don't know nothing about nothing?"

"Yeah. Sounds about right."

"C'mon, Tony, you have to know more than we do," Balboa moaned. "Give us a hint."

"Have you seen Kate or McGee?" Tony asked.

Smith gestured to Balboa, passing the question to him.

"They got here at about 0700 and went straight to Director Morrow's office. I think when they left, they went down the back elevator because they didn't come through here. Do you know what's going on there?"

DiNozzo debated with himself. He didn't want to contribute to the gossip, but he probably should give a hint of the truth instead of letting wild speculation run riot.  "As far as I know, from what Morrow said last week, they were each going to receive a reprimand and retraining at FLETC."

"About damn time," Smith muttered. "JAG is on the freaking warpath. They had some auditors here running through a bunch of case reports over the weekend—and not just for your team."

Tony raised an eyebrow.

"Andrew's team was on call and saw the invasion," Balboa supplied. "I thought it was just the one case that Todd blew—and the hacking thing with McGee."

"No," Tony replied shortly. "The scope of the investigation expanded. I think JAG began checking on lots of things including the lack of warrants, the interrogation procedures, evidence treatment… There are agents here who've gotten awfully sloppy about legal procedures and it's messing with JAG's ability to successfully prosecute. This has been a long time coming, Rocky."

"Trust the former cop to want to dot all the t's and cross all the I's," Kathryn remarked. Before he could react, she held up a hand. "Kidding. I know. In the heat of the moment, things can slip through the cracks. The competition among the teams to have the best solve rate is sometimes a pain in the ass and people try to take shortcuts to get a result without thinking about how it's going to work when it goes to court."

Balboa groaned. "I see retraining seminars in our future. Lots of hours of being lectured to about things we should already know."

"The problem is we do know them, we haven't been doing them," Tony growled. "The whole agency is going to be under scrutiny. Buckle up, buttercup. Change is coming. In the end, if more criminals are caught and successfully prosecuted, it will be worth it but there's going to be some pain in correcting the attitudes and behavior along the way."

Smith grimaced. "I guess we should think of it as doing physical therapy after an injury. You don't get better if you don't work through the pain to get healthy again."

"That's a nice positive thought," Balboa said. "Keep it in mind when the hammer comes down."

"It shouldn't have come to this," Tony said softly. "Yeah, I'm just a cop at heart but—"

"You tried, Tony. Everyone—every single one of us—has witnessed you trying to rein Gibbs in when he was out of line. We saw and heard you trying to teach the other two with Gibbs undermining you. Do not blame yourself," Balboa stated authoritatively.

"I could have done more," DiNozzo muttered.

"At least you tried," Rocky said. "The other team leads could have spoken up too. The director and his assistants dropped the ball as well or Gibbs wouldn't have gotten so far off the reservation before he got a reality check."

"Okay, let's stop worrying about the stuff out of our control," suggested Smith. "What are we going to do for the next—thirty-five minutes—until it's time to go to the meeting. Want to spread disinformation?"

"Troublemaker. We don't need even more chaos added to the real mess," said Rocky.

"I don't know about you," Tony said, "but I'm going to work on a cold case to kill time. I can't plan anything else until I know what's happening with the team—if there is one. Hey, Rocky, do you want an additional SFA?"

"I'd take you on in a heartbeat, Tony. But Kath doesn't share worth a damn and she loves having my attention."

Kathryn's reaction was to shove Rocky's shoulder so hard, he almost tumbled from the chair. "As if."

**

Chapter 45

Chapter 45

The cafeteria was quickly becoming packed, wall to wall with agents, clerical workers, and security guards.  The tables at the back of the room had filled up first and now those coming in had no choice but to start filling the tables at the front of the room directly in front of the stage. There was a microphone setup along with five chairs and a video camera was on a tripod at the back of the room. It seemed the meeting was going to be broadcast to other parts of the building for those who couldn't leave their posts unattended.

DiNozzo had hoped to discreetly blend in and seat himself at a back table but that hope was dashed as he, Rocky, and Kathryn made their way inside. Even as early as they had arrived, there were a few seats three rows back and to the side of the room that seemed the only option if they didn't want to stand along the wall. He took a quick read of the room as he followed Balboa in and seated himself between the team lead and his SFA.

He hadn't expected McGee or Todd to be present but he couldn't find Sciuto in the crowd either. She was always easy to locate if she was present. Ducky was seated front row, center, and his assistant Jimmy Palmer was next to him looking bemused. Hell of a welcome to NCIS for the new guy.

At the dot of nine, the side door opened and in filed Secretary of the Navy Philip Davenport, Director Tom Morrow, JAG Admiral Jethro Chegwidden, Human Resources Assistant Director Delores Bromstead, and Assistant Director Larry Sheldon. Those standing straightened, those sitting stood up until the new arrivals took their seats on the stage.

Sec Nav stood at the mike. "Ladies, Gentlemen. NCIS is a fine agency—or has been in the past. Investigations are currently underway to find the problems that need to be addressed to return this agency to its assigned duty to investigate crimes related to the Navy and Marine service. There are going to be changes made to bring this agency back in alignment with legal and regulatory procedures. Those who can learn and adapt to change will thrive. Those who cannot—I leave that to your imagination. Director Morrow." He sat down, scanning the faces of the crowd for their reaction.

Director Morrow approached the microphone.

"I understand that the scuttlebutt is flying in all directions and, as usual, it is probably only 20% accurate in any way. I expect 100% of your attention today and I warn you now you won't like what I—we—" he gestured to those seated behind him, "have to say but that's too damn bad. To start with, there is blame enough to go around but that won't fix any problems. One item that needs to be addressed is the lack of supervision in recent years that has led to administrative issues. This is partly due to the changes in priority over seeking out terrorists which has occupied a great percentage of my time since the events of September 11^th.  This was compounded by the lack of a Special Agent in Charge or an Assistant Director to supervise the investigative teams. Some of you may not have met Assistant Director Sheldon. He has rarely been present at this office. There are going to be changes made to correct that. We are in the process of hiring an SAC for the DC office." He stopped to take a drink from a bottle of water he drew from the shelf under the podium.

"There will be greater accountability for following procedures already established in the guidelines in the manual you were each given upon employment. I suggest you get it out and re-read it to refresh your memory. Most of the problematic behavior is down to careless mistakes, not malice, but that doesn't mean these won't be addressed. Admiral Chegwidden has some facts and figures for you on conviction rates and issues during trials that resulted from lack of warrants, not following the specifics of a warrant, etc. Ms. Bromstead will address the guidelines for employee working conditions. Some team leaders keep agents working far too much overtime. This will stop."

Everyone in the room knew the director was referring to Gibbs and Tony could feel the stares of those trying to gauge his reaction. He kept his best poker face in place.

Morrow continued. "Exhausted people cannot do their best work. This could lead to mistakes or injuries that could be avoided. Most of the changes to take place will affect the investigatory agents but clerical staff will also review procedures. We are not the largest agency, but we have an important duty and we will, by God, do it to the best of our ability. This is not radical change. It's a realignment to previous standards. I expect full cooperation. I demand it. If you find yourself unable or unwilling to do the job properly, there's the door." He gestured to the exit and paused a moment.  He stepped back and gave Admiral Chegwidden the floor.

Kathryn gently dug a pointy elbow into Tony's ribs. "Okay, we get it. I don't think most of us will have a problem except for breaking a few bad habits we've fallen into… but who's going to explain this to Gibbs?"

"And enforce it," Tony muttered.

Balboa frowned at him. "If everything is back in line when Gibbs comes back, he'll have to adjust. It shouldn't be a problem as long as he's called on his behavior by every one of us, not just you, Tony."

"Uh-huh." Tony straightened as he caught Chegwidden's eyes on him in a clear message to stop talking. He pretended to lock his lips and put the key in his pocket and caught the admiral's eyes glinting with humor, without a break in his ongoing speech about warrants. This was going to be a very, very long day.

**

The meeting was over by 1100 leaving time for the cafeteria workers to reset the venue for the approaching lunch hour. The crowd had filed out to return to work, somewhat quelled but whispering about the revelations and possible outcomes. Though Gibbs' name had never been explicitly mentioned, almost every problematic example had clearly been drawn from the actions or inactions of the MCRT. The noticeable absence of the whole team other than Tony had also sent a signal that the team was in trouble.

Tony feared he was going to be very popular, sought out for further information which he was reluctant to give since it felt like washing the dirty laundry of the team dynamics failure in public. He decided to keep his head down and work on cold cases until directed to do something else.  He went back to his desk, got out his phone and texted Hon.  Meeting is over. I'm still standing. So far.

He was surprised there was no response right away. He got out the file once more and started going through the crime scene photos. Damn. Who took these?  A trained chimp?  The angles were all wrong. He checked the file, recognized the name of the agent who'd been primary on the case, and resigned himself to a half-assed job of investigation. That guy hadn't lasted more than six months at NCIS and had been gone before DiNozzo had been there three months.

The phone on his desk rang. It was the director's secretary with a request that he come upstairs. Joy. Time to learn what was planned for him until there was an MCRT team to be a part of. As he marched up the stairs at a steady pace, Chopin's Death March was playing in his mind. He got to the top of the stairs, shook it off, straightened his back, tossed his chin up in defiance, and went to face the music. So to speak.

Chapter 46

Chapter 46

Tony DiNozzo gave a light rap on the director's office door and heard a faint order to enter. He entered the office to find Director Morrow seated at the conference table along with Admiral Chegwidden. There was a short stack of folders on the table between them and each had a cup of coffee in hand. 

Morrow gestured towards the credenza where the coffee maker was still half full. "Have a cup of coffee, if you want, Tony."

Tony.  Okay, that didn't sound like he was being called on the carpet. Director Morrow was rigidly formal if he was about to let someone have it and he always tried to deliver reprimands in private. He declined the coffee but got a bottle of water out of the small fridge in the credenza then seated himself at the table, on the director's right hand and across from the admiral.

"How are you doing, Tony?" Morrow asked.

He was not going to leap to any conclusions about the topic of this conversation so he responded, "In what sense? If you mean physically—fine if a bit tired. If you mean mentally—"

"You seem to have your finger on the pulse downstairs. It seems you know almost every single person in the agency by name and socialize with them on a regular basis. How do you think the meeting went? What kind of response can we expect?"

Wow. He was being consulted? He took a deep breath and took his time before responding. "I think a lot of people are going to be very glad that the boundaries are being redrawn. Most of us cop types like to know the rules and exactly where the line is so we don't cross it, unless it's absolutely necessary. That said," he snorted, "there will be push-back from some of the—I'd say older but that would be ageist and not always accurate—instead I'll say there will be push-back from some agents who think Gibbs is always right. The ones who think you do anything necessary to get the job done, regardless of consequences."

Admiral Chegwidden was studying him as he sipped his coffee. "You have a good reputation at JAG, Agent DiNozzo—pain in the ass with the flirting and sense of humor in the office, but absolutely rock solid in court when it counts. Cop types as you call it seem to have a better grasp on what's needed for successful prosecution. I wish others would follow your example. There is going to be retraining where necessary, reminders or reprimands for those who are slow to learn or adapt. I don't think you'll have that problem."

Tony wasn't sure what to say to that so he settled for, "Thank you?"

Morrow cleared his throat. "The question that has arisen is what to do with you. Gibbs is out for God knows how long. McGee and Todd are going back to FLETC for at least six weeks, possibly more depending on the reports from their instructors. You can't be a one man team, but just adding you to another team doesn't seem the best use of your time and abilities."

"Yes sir. I want to stay productive, wherever you need me." DiNozzo was glad to be appreciated and to have it spoken aloud. He was really hoping he wasn't going to be sent afloat or to another duty station though.

The admiral decided to re-enter the conversation. "I understand you're in the process of obtaining a second Master's Degree, this one in Criminal Psychology. How close are you to finishing?"

How the hell had that gotten to be common knowledge? He made a note to find out later. "I'm about 2/3 of the way through the coursework and I'm working on a thesis. Mostly extension classes online."

"Good for you, Tony, though how you find the time when Gibbs had you running long hours and seven days a week," Morrow said, shaking his head. "I wouldn't want to disrupt that so I went looking for something you could do while remaining here at the Navy Yard."

"I appreciate that, Director," Tony said sincerely.

"Since the death of Agent Pacci, there's been no one assigned to following up on cold cases, not as a team assignment. I know you have a talent for looking things from a different angle—"

"Upside down, backwards, and diagonally?" the admiral murmured.

Whoa. Was that a joke?  He didn't know the man could do that.  "Whatever it takes, Admiral," Tony conceded. "Not everyone is a linear thinker and that includes criminals. More importantly, being able to understand how stupid and emotional some of them are can lead to insights that other investigators overlook ."

Morrow returned to his point. "My idea is that until such time that the MCRT can be reassembled, reinvented, or in some manner put back in place, you will work on cold cases. After what happened to Chris, I refuse to have any agent working alone even on cold cases. Therefore, I plan to make you Acting Team Leader of the Cold Case team, and give you one or more TAD agents drawn from recent FLETC grads who haven't gotten a duty assignment yet. This will serve two purposes. One, you can continue to work on solving cases without having to work alone, and two, you will be in a position to act as a training officer for those who need a bit of polish. I expect you to use every opportunity to give them practical experience in investigation, evaluation of evidence, processing evidence, and writing reports—the things that FLETC can only minimally prepare them for. These probationers will be highly motivated to succeed and keep learning while they wait for assignments. Are you willing to undertake this, Tony?"

Wow. A flock of probies to teach? No, not flock…parade?  A parade of probies… Oh, he'd been asked a question. "Yes sir, I'd be willing." He hesitated.

"What is it, son? I know you don't doubt your ability. You've been informally advising newbies as they came through the office. I know things didn't work so well with Todd and McGee but Gibbs was undermining your efforts."

DiNozzo swallowed hard. "I think some people in the office blame me for… well, you know. Some of the scuttlebutt is accusing me of being disloyal to Gibbs and torpedoing NCIS. Putting me in as a temporary team leader—it might not go over well."

Morrow and Chegwidden exchanged glances. "That's another reason for doing it," Morrow said at last. "There's blame to go around for the events of the last few weeks, hell, years…but we're righting the ship now. I'm hoping that putting you in a leadership position, training new agents, it will send a message that you are trusted to be in compliance with our guidelines and pass them on to new agents. The small minded minority will not accept that you were right to escalate over Gibbs' head with the Grimm case mistakes. They can get over it. In fact, if anyone gives you trouble, I expect to hear about it. I will not have back-biting and contentious behavior distracting us from our primary function."

Tony nodded slowly, but thought that Morrow was perhaps a bit optimistic. He wasn't a snitch but he didn't think life in the bullpen was going to be quite as smooth a transition as he'd like. Maybe Hon was right and he was becoming too cynical. Maybe. He could only hope.

"These are the files of the first bunch of new agents, reporting for duty on Wednesday. You can continue to work from your usual desk. Go over the files, clear the other desks of personal items if there are any, and start making plans for what and how you want to proceed. I'll send out an email informing HR and the rest of the agency of your new position." He handed over the files and stood, in clear dismissal, extending his hand to Tony to shake. "I expect this will be a successful experiment. We may try implementing it in other offices so keep notes on what's needed to do so and let me know if you need anything further."

Chegwidden stood and extended a hand. "Congratulations, Agent DiNozzo. I look forward to a crop of agents who know how to follow legal procedure."

"I'll do my best, sir." Slightly dazed, Tony left the room, heading for his desk to study the files and make plans.  He pretended not to notice how many eyes were on him as he made his way down the stairs. They'd find out soon enough what was going on.

**

Chapter 47

Chapter 47

Tony DiNozzo returned to his desk, head whirling with ideas and plans for training his parade of –no, not parade—posse? Posse of probies? Hm… not sure about that one either.

He ignored the stares and low voices no doubt discussing why the director had called him upstairs. No one was quite ready to confront him directly, either with sympathy or condemnation and he would enjoy being ignored for as long as it lasted. Which would probably only last until Director Morrow sent out a memo about his promotion to Acting Team Lead for Cold Cases.  He could only control his own reactions, not those of anyone else so he would try to concentrate on doing the best job possible, both to justify Morrow's faith in him and to prove he was good at his job and had nothing to apologize for—whether or not some of the others disagreed.

He settled back at his desk, drew a tablet and pen out of the drawer and started making lists. He could do it on the computer but he'd found he was more likely to remember items if he wrote them out long hand. If he was going to use cold cases to teach investigative skills, he needed some examples, both good and bad, to work off of.  The case file he'd been looking at, the four year old investigation performed by Agent Hank Jefferson was a good place to start. He could check for more from this particular agent since the man had the reputation of being a bit careless in his approach—thus he hadn't lasted even a year.  Theresa who worked with closing and storing files might have a few ideas about the ones that had been tackled multiple times without any progress being made.

For the good examples, maybe he could get some recommendations from Balboa and some of the other team leaders who usually had one or more files that they kept tucked away in their desks because they were not ready to totally let go of them. He didn't want to use files that he and Gibbs had worked on, that seemed like loading the dice. He needed to go through the files and see what the strengths and weaknesses of each agent was likely to be.

A stir of sound and uptick in conversation caught his attention. Ah. He'd guess Morrow had delivered the promised email and he was hearing reactions to it. The noise inspired the thought that it might not be a good idea to use cold case files worked on by other agents in their presence in the bullpen. Some would be sensitive to having their work and efforts dissected even for the purpose of training. Maybe he could use the small conference room?  That would give them some privacy and allow for confidentiality. It might also make it easier to keep the probies on task with fewer distractions, at least at first. He started making notes – Small conference room, case files – good examples and bad, evaluate strengths of each agent, encourage teamwork, demonstrate needed skills like sketching and the need for measurements…work on observational skills if needed. Reinforce procedures and requirements for probationary and junior agents.

What else? He lost his train of thought when his text alert went off with a message from Hon. Finally.

Sorry, can't check you for damage. I've been called in to work. Some brouhaha with security at the lab here. Glad you're still standing. Not sure if I'll make it home tonight. May have to go to Colorado. Damn it.

Such language from a young lady. I have a lot to do before Wednesday so I'm not sure of my hours either. I'll see you when I see you. Be careful. Let the security guys do their job.

Nag. You worry too much. Don't forget to eat and sleep. And I'll know if you don't. Big Sister is watching you.

You're not my big sister. You're my twin, remember? Have you shared that with Bernard yet?

The only answer to that quip was an eye rolling GIF.

He put his phone away as Balboa came around the corner of the partition and seated himself in the chair in front of Tony's desk  "Wow, can I have your autograph? Team Lead for Cold Cases… congratulations, Tony."

"It's temporary," he protested quietly.

"Yeah, I've heard that before. Doesn’t always stay that way. Working with probies—all those earnest young faces—it makes me tired to think of it. If there's anything I can do to help, let me know."

"Now that you mention it, I need some cold case files to use as examples. I'm going to start off with letting them see what kind of thing is needed to run a thorough investigation. FLETC has a limited amount of time to teach many things. I'm sure you've noticed a lot of the incoming agents need a bit of instruction on the routine things like evidence handling and sketching, maybe some other skills. If you have any recommendations, I'd welcome them. I'm trying to work up a lesson plan which can be adapted as needed in the areas they need the most work on."

"You should consider writing a training manual," Balboa said. "Call it—So you made it through FLETC, can you make it on the street?"

DiNozzo snorted. "That sounds like a bad movie marketing line." He darted a quick look around the room to see if anyone was paying attention then lowered his voice. "Do you think there's going to be push-back on this? I mean, some of these guys must be thinking I should have been punished for the team meltdown along with everyone else."

The older agent frowned his disdain. "Maybe one or two Gibbs worshipers, but they're finding themselves pretty much isolated. Most people here like you and know you're competent. They're willing to take a wait and see attitude to see how it goes. Trusting you with newbies sends a positive message. I know you may have a hard time recognizing one of those since you've gotten so few the last couple of years but—"

"Pfft." Tony dismissed that line of thought. "Go away and let me work, but don't forget to send me some ideas or recommendations for files to work on if you have time."

"Sure thing."

The phone on Tony's desk rang. "DiNozzo."

"Ah, Anthony, congratulations on your recent promotion."

"Thanks, Ducky. I'm kind of surprised myself."

"Anthony, if you have no other plans this evening, Mr. Palmer and I would like to take you out to dinner. There are several items we need to discuss. The sooner the better."  The older man sounded serious but not upset or angry.

"Sure, Ducky. I can imagine what two or three of the items on the agenda will be. Give me a call when you're ready to leave and I'll meet you downstairs. I'll be at my desk or in the Files Department until then."

Abby. It had to be Abby. She'd never made it into the cafeteria for the morning meeting. That was not a good sign. Huh. No point in worrying about it. Yet another thing he couldn't control. He'd deal with the issue when he had to. 

**

Chapter 48

Chapter 48

Tony DiNozzo and Ducky Mallard had decided on Fiorino's for dinner, thinking it was time to introduce Jimmy Palmer to some favorite restaurants in the area. They each parked their cars and met up in the foyer where Tony was greeted and hugged by Mama Fiorino and was scolded for not coming more often.

When they were all seated in a corner table that faced each entrance, which was Tony's preference, Mama had presented them with menus and sent one of her waiters to take their drink orders as she returned to the hostess station.

"What do you think, Jimmy?" Tony asked. "Smells wonderful, doesn’t it? I've never had a bad meal here. It's very authentic."

The young man stared around at the furnishings and décor. "Wow. It's almost a stereotype of an Italian restaurant. I think I saw this place on a Starsky & Hutch episode."

"Mr. Palmer," Ducky said with a touch of exasperation.

Tony just laughed. "It's okay, Ducky. He's right. Mama wanted her restaurant to be familiar and she used some of the Italian restaurant themes that TV and movies have used over the years.  I know that it never appeared on Starsky & Hutch though, because that was filmed in California. I wouldn't mention that to Mama, Jimmy."

He looked embarrassed. "Oh no, I wouldn't—I didn't mean to insult—"

"It's fine," Tony said. "Calm down. You're among friends here. Why are you so nervous?"

"I always seem to say the wrong thing," Jimmy admitted.

"Perhaps you should put more thought into what you intend to say before you say it then, Mr. Palmer."

Wow. Ducky wasn't in a good mood. Tony changed the subject to take the spotlight off Palmer.  "Ducky, I've been working on a training plan for my posse of probies and I wondered if you had any ideas for what most newbies need to learn. FLETC training covers the basics, but you know there are a lot of subjects that don't get thorough coverage. You've been at NCIS for a while and seen agents come and go so I thought you might have spotted some areas of weakness in the training that most newbies could use help with."

There was a pause in the discussion as the waiter returned with drinks and took their orders. As soon as he was off, Ducky answered. "Indeed, Anthony. There have been a number of agents during my time with NCIS that were not prepared in the slightest for the exigencies of fieldwork, including dressing properly to be ready for any climate or type of surroundings. You recall that Caitlin's first day, she arrived wearing a short, tight skirt and heels. So many of our call outs are to sites such as parks or training fields with rugged terrain."

"I have that on the list and also how to prepare a go bag and its contents. I already know I should spend some time on shooting pictures of scenes and the need for sketches and measurements."

"Ah, yes, I remember your explanation to Caitlin on Air Force One when she asked why those were needed. I still think it was brilliant to use that magazine cover as an example though I am afraid Caitlin rather missed the point, being distracted by her hostile attitude towards what she thought was a display of sexist behavior."

"Yeah, she never got over that first impression either."

Jimmy looked a bit confused by kept quiet and listened. 

"Anthony, it was not just the first impression. I was not present often in the bullpen but I am aware that you joked with her about your social life and that also offended her."

"What didn't offend her, Ducky?  I know I sometimes get carried away but even when I tried to be serious or tell her things she needed to know she ignored me. All she seemed to want was to prove her superiority as a Federal Agent and to win Gibbs' approval. Daddy issues much?"

"That may be simplifying the matter too much, my boy. Another factor was the loss of her job and a great deal of her self esteem due to being dismissed from the Secret Service due to misconduct." Ducky stopped talking when the waiter brought their salads and served them.

Jimmy was looking a bit wide-eyed so Tony took pity on him. "It was an issue of fraternization with a coworker, Jimmy. It will be interesting to see if Kate will come back to NCIS after the retraining. But enough about Kate, Ducky, you said we needed to talk. I noticed Abby wasn't at work today. I guessed that she's one topic."

"Yes. After you left—"

"I'm sorry for dumping it on you to handle her, and Tim if he was a problem. Her whining about what she needed was getting on my last nerve. I was afraid if I'd stayed and said anything more than calling her on her behavior that I'd lose my temper completely and say something unforgivable."

Ducky sighed. "I understand. Her response to adversity, especially when it is impossible for Gibbs to ameliorate it, is very immature. After you left, she began sobbing but it was more from fury than sadness. Timothy was quite disillusioned with her attitude, which I believe may be a blessing in disguise. He has become accustomed to following her lead, or her orders, much more than is healthy or wise, especially since their relationship is now that of friends and co-workers. He needs to be more assertive and less open to manipulation. Of course, his background—"

"Please, Ducky, let's not dissect McGee as well. Maybe the retraining and time away from the team dynamic will give him a boost in the right direction. Let's get back on track. What happened with Abby?"

"I will not be revisiting that tea shop again for some time," Dr. Mallard said sorrowfully. "She made such a scene with loud sobbing that I actually raised my voice and shouted at her."

Wow. The Scotsman didn't do that often but when he did, he spoke with authority.

"She was so surprised, she stopped crying immediately, confirming my suspicion that it was an act she was putting on to garner sympathy. I may have basically repeated the words you used and told her to grow up. At that point there, were more genuine tears but she was relatively calmer so I told her she needed to get her head on straight if she wished to retain her job since her emotional reactions were causing concern for her mental stability which could affect the outcome of future trial testimony. I made it clear that she could be a happy Goth and play silly games on her own time, but at the office and in her lab, she needed to be much more professional in every way, including her interactions with people."

"And how did she take that?" Tony didn't even want to try to visualize it.

Ducky looked somber and unhappy. "I believe I finally reached her. She is not used to being taken to task and to have it happen twice in less than an thirty minutes—well, I do not enjoy being heavy-handed, but Jethro, who is much to blame for spoiled brattiness, is not available to try to correct his mistake. She asked me what she should do. I was not quite prepared for that eventuality but suggested it might be wise, in light of the coming uncomfortable changes at NCIS, that she take some time off. She has accumulated days that she can use for a week or two.  Time for her to visit with her nun friends or possibly her family, time to figure out how much change she can withstand, and therefore to decide if she wishes to continue working at NCIS. She has always had other options, such as offers in the private sector. She agreed with me in the end. Timothy also endorsed that plan and reminded her he wouldn't be at NCIS for the foreseeable future either."

Wow. The set of dominoes in this chain of events just kept growing exponentially. "So if she's gone for a week or two, most of the investigations and changes in routine should already be in place by the time she comes back. It might be easier for her to adapt if she walks back in to a new system, instead of being there for the reorganization."

Ducky brightened a bit. "Yes, that would seem to be a positive outcome. She is a very intelligent woman. She needs to apply that intelligence into managing her attitude and behavior during working hours."

Jimmy Palmer took that moment to be encouraging. He patted Ducky's arm as he said, "I think you gave her the motivation she needed to do that, Dr. Mallard."

"Thank you, Mr. Palmer. Now, we shall stop discussing emotionally disturbing matters and address our meal with enthusiasm." It was an order disguised as a suggestion that asked for a topic of discussion that would allow for peace of mind.

Their meal arrived and was served before Tony started the next conversation. "So Ducky, do you remember an Agent Hank Jefferson? He left when not long after I came into NCIS. I'm going to use some one of his cold cases to demonstrate how not to photograph a crime scene and probably multiple other issues. To say he half-assed the job would be rude to asses everywhere…."

**

Chapter 49

Notes:

I remind you this is AU and I'm ruthlessly disregarding timelines on any and all shows crossed. I am going back and editing typos as I find them.

Chapter 49

Since Hon was out of town and he was fairly caught up on his classwork, Tony went back to his own apartment to catch up on a few chores that had been overlooked and do some research and planning with the ideas that Ducky had come up with. Jimmy Palmer had also managed to be useful, regardless of his short time on the job, by suggesting that Tony plan a tour of the office with a meet and greet with department heads and an explanation of their roles in the agency.

It was a good idea and something that Tony had overlooked as a training point because he had always done exactly that on his own. At college and at every job placement, he was always interested in people watching, learning the ropes, and knowing who to go to in case he needed help or information. The DiNozzo Network didn't happen by accident but was a function of his personality and need to know and understand.

He put on some easy listening background music and seated himself on his sofa to study the personnel files that Morrow had given him.  Flipping the first one open, he found himself staring at the ID photo. Damn. Most of the time an official ID photo looked more or less like a mug shot, with a serious expression staring out at the lens. This one—damn. It could be a magazine cover shot of a beautiful blonde woman.

Her name was Tina Larsen, she was 5'8" tall, 29 years old, and was moving to NCIS from a small police department in Maryland. Her police academy scores were excellent, top ten percent, and she had excellent computer skills. Those were plusses. He wouldn't know the minuses until he actually interviewed her. He could anticipate that if her police experience had been in a small town and mostly rural, she might have had limited exposure to the types of crimes that NCIS typically investigated.

Her exceptional appearance was also a possible minus.  That depended on if she was either extremely defensive about her level of attractiveness or chose to wield it as a weapon. He'd had enough of Kate claiming misogyny over every other order. He didn't want another ultra feminist trying to score points, but there was also no use for a femme fatale to cause disruption by playing games.

DiNozzo had learned at far too early an age that being good-looking was both a blessing and a curse.  A curse because it drew attention, most of it unwanted, and because some people judged by appearances. It seemed many people still had the idea that a person couldn't be simultaneously highly attractive and intelligent. There's a reason for stereotypes such as a beautiful but dumb blonde or the handsome jock whose mind only functions in relation to sports.

The good news was that if those people saw what they were expecting to see and if that lowered their expectations it meant they would underestimate the intelligence and ability of such people. It worked well when working undercover, putting witnesses at ease and interviewing them, and sometimes even in interrogation in getting a confession. DiNozzo had always been aware of his good looks and charm and used them to get his job done.  He wondered about Tina Larsen's experience and if she'd learned some of the same lessons as she grew up.

He'd wait and see. He put the file aside and opened the next one. Good Lord. Again, not a typical ID photo. This guy wasn't particularly good looking but his photo was unusual because he was smiling at the camera.  No, not a smile, a grin. A big beaming grin.

Joe D. Brewer, 27, 5'11", stocky build, athletic, perfect teeth which were on full display. He'd served out his contract with the Navy and applied at NCIS. Good scores at FLETC. Gun scores couldn't be better. No investigative experience. His hobbies included photography. That would be helpful.

He set that one aside. The third file was a bit thinner. First impressions…good grief. Was this kid even legal? The picture showed a young Hispanic kid who looked about 15—but Tony knew that wasn't possible. Okay. Melecio Orozco.  He was 25, graduated with a degree in Criminal Justice and applied to NCIS directly out of college in Edinburg, Texas. Tony's thoughts flashed back to appearances. Melecio looked like such a kid it would be easy for him to be underestimated.  The drawback there is that it would make it difficult for him to be taken seriously when he wanted to be. 

Okay, so his three probies—two probies and a probette? No.  That would be asking for trouble. Maybe before he met with them and brought up the whole issue of appearances and presentation he should discuss the topic with HR and get some tips to avoid stepping on any land mines. That would be a smart thing to do. He'd set up an appointment tomorrow. The posse of probies—the alliteration still wasn't quite working—he'd have to think of something better—didn't arrive until Wednesday so he had all day tomorrow for prep and to gather his teaching materials. He made a mental note to ask Morrow for the use of the small conference room as well. At least for the first week or two, he'd be covering some sensitive issues and it would be better to have some privacy while doing so.

He found himself whistling "Getting to Know You" as he tucked the files away into his go bag and prepared for bed. Before turning out the light, he remembered he hadn't heard from Hon so he sent her a text.

Home and about to go to bed. How are you doing?

Arrrrrrrrgh. Mouth breathing morons and fart monkeys.

Oh dear. I take it you did have to go to Colorado.

No. I'm stuck in the DC lab on another damned stupid security lock down. I tried explaining it was a glitch in the programming but will anyone listen to me Hell no.

Oops. She was typing while mad enough to overlook any mistakes. That was not a good sign. 

Did you tell General O'Neill?

I'm not speaking to THAT MAN.

Tony frowned.  Is he one of the not listeners?

Exactly. He thinks –oh, hell I can't even tell you what he thinks. Damn it. I wish you were read in. I'm still mad at O'Neill for screwing you around and causing trouble. I tried to tell him how to fix this but he wouldn't listenso now toughshit.Everyone can just suffer because he's so stubborn. I'm not speaking to him again. He can talk to Spud and make a damn appointment and I'm not keeping it.

Wow. I don't know what's going on, but is that a good idea? Doesn't that mean you'll be suffering along with everyone else?

I can take it. It's going to be a pain but not dangerous. Why the hell would you have geniuses on tap if you won't use them for what they're good at?

Politics?  Just a speculation. May be more going on than you know or want to know about.

I'm tired of this shit. I'm going to hit the ice cream stash until I feel better.

I'm all for Rocky Road therapy but don't make yourself sick. Take a few deep breaths. Take a hot shower. Try to get some sleep.

I'm breathing.

Good.

Still breathing.

I don't need a constant report. Just keep doing it. Good night and I hope things calm down and get better soon.

Good night, Tony. I'm coming down from the peak of Mount Raging Bitch now. Double dosing… Rocky Road AND Butter Pecan. I'm going to buy stock in Blue Bell.

The call disconnected. Huh.  He didn't know what O'Neill had done, but he'd really made a mistake.  She was already unhappy with him about the whole NCIS thing and hadn't been ready to do it when Tony had told her to let it go. If he'd piled on to that error, it might take him a while to earn his way into her good graces again.  Tony just hoped her good sense would win the battle with her temper and keep her from doing something to retaliate. Or anyway to keep her from doing something so unforgivable she'd lose her job. Oh. That didn't bear thinking of. If O'Neill tried to fire her—minions on the warpath. Very smart minions, with a grudge, and no one to keep them under control, or at least manage their excesses.

Tony shuddered, put aside his phone and tried to quell his imagination so his dreams would be peaceful. He had a lot to do tomorrow.

Chapter 50

Chapter 50

The small conference room was titled thus because its comfortable seating capacity was six adults of reasonable size and the furnishings reflected that. There was an oval table, six armchairs with brown leather padded seats, and a long and narrow credenza lined one wall with the bottom serving to provide storage and the countertop held a small refrigerator full of water bottles, a coffeemaker, and an electric kettle. There were 12 oz. disposable cups and a variety of teas, hot chocolate mixes, creamers, and sweeteners available. A large plasma screen was mounted on the end wall facing the table and could be used for sharing information or graphics.

Tony studied his preparations and gave the room an approving glance. His phone rang. He glanced at the screen. Unknown number.  Hmmm. What the hell…. He answered it. "DiNozzo."

"Will you please tell your girlfriend to ease up?"

He grinned, recognizing the voice at once. "Sorry. Who is this?" He heard a huff of breath on the other end of the call.

"O'Neill, General Jack," was the reply.

Tony could tell it was through clenched teeth. "Oh, yeah, two l's, right?"

"DiNozzo." It was a growl.

Some people might find it intimidating… but some people hadn't been inured to such attempts by exposure to Leroy Jethro Gibbs. "Yeah, now I remember. We met on Friday night."  A stranger would have been forgiven for thinking that Tony wasn't very bright—or had played football without a helmet too often. "Sorry. I wasn't paying attention. What was it you wanted?"

O'Neill took an audible deep breath then continued with an obvious effort to sound calmer. "Special Agent DiNozzo, your girlfriend is being very difficult right now. We've got a security lock down and she's refusing to be of help to resolve the situation."

Oh, no, he didn't.  Well, he could try, but Tony wasn't going to let him slide that by. "Two things—one, Dr. Natwick is not my girlfriend. We're twins. As a matter of fact, we're identical."

Silence. After a few moments, O'Neill muttered, "Okay, not even gonna ask. As her 'twin', you should have some influence on her—can you use it to get her to be more cooperative?"

"Ah," Tony said, hoping O'Neill could read the insincerity in his politeness, "that would be the second thing. I don't think I'm qualified to advise her on how to do her job—or not do it—since I am not read in on your program. Trying to give advice, I'd be shooting in the dark. Best if I stay out of it."

Jack had covered the phone, but Tony could hear the faint swearing and a conversation with someone else in the room. He wasn't terribly surprised when someone else came on the line.

"Agent DiNozzo?"

"Yesssss?" It was evil.  He knew it was evil. He just didn't care. He didn't have to work with these guys.

"This is Dr. Daniel Jackson. I think Jack is—" His hand went over the speaker, but Tony had exceptional hearing and he heard him snarl at O'Neill before he suddenly returned his attention to the call.  "Agent DiNozzo, I would guess that you are aware of our situation to some degree."

"Dr. Natwick explained vaguely. She wouldn't want to violate an NDA and I'm not read into your program," he explained, trying to play dumb. It was entertaining if nothing else.

Ha.  He'd made Jackson sigh.  "Of course. For some reason, Dr. Natwick is refusing to speak to General O'Neill or provide a solution to the ongoing problem. We were wondering if you could provide any insight into her reasoning or behavior."

"Huh. You mean he wants to listen to her now?"

"What?" Jackson snapped. "What do you mean—Jack, did Hon try to talk to you about this before—"

The call was interrupted once more, muted by a hand over the speaker. Tony could tell there was a loud discussion/argument going on though he couldn't actually hear the words.  He made himself comfortable in a chair, kicked back, and put his feet up on the table as he waited for the call to resume.

A few moments later, Jackson was back. "Let me get right to the point. I assume Dr. Natwick made an attempt to problem solve and Jack refused to let her explain or told her he had it handled. I take it she got angry and is now refusing to participate in solving the problem?"

"Yep," he replied. "When I spoke to her last night—late last night, she was binging on two different types of ice cream and contemplating—I don't even want to know what kind of things she was contemplating. I think at least one idea was to resign but she might not want to give O'Neill the satisfaction so, knowing her, she might have resolved on some escalating, uh, pranks?—that would cause him to fire her."

"No, no, she can't do that," Jackson said, sounding a touch panicked. "We just got the Sciences departments organized properly and functioning smoothly. She can't—Jack, I will kill you if she quits."

Tony had a feeling he wasn't supposed to hear that—or Jack's response.

"Well, ask her 'twin brother' what I should do so she'll kiss and make up!" O'Neill shouted grumpily.

"Tell him, if he kisses her, she'll likely punch him," Tony said mildly.

Jackson spluttered for a moment, didn't comment about the 'twin' remark. He pulled himself together after a moment. "Please, Agent DiNozzo, if you have any suggestions, any serious suggestions—"

Tony had things to do and though this was entertaining, he really wanted Hon in a better mood and free to come home soon. "Fine. She was already pissed off about the way things went last week at NCIS. She was upset by the upheaval Jack caused by basically kidnapping Gibbs without warning, but was particularly perturbed because Jack upset me. She's a bit protective and she's mad that I got hurt when she did the right thing in reporting a security breach. The whole thing caused a bit of an argument between us, but we've made up. I think, moving forward, she would appreciate a gesture of apology from O'Neill, an apology to me and one to her as well."

"In what form?" Jackson asked.

"A singing telegram?" a sarcastic voice suggested.

"Shut up, Jack."

DiNozzo stifled a laugh. "No, I don't want a singing telegram… or roses or candy. How about breakfast for the bullpen at NCIS?  Pastries and coffee from Le Bistro de Pain? Tomorrow, 9 A.M."

Daniel recognized an olive branch and a good deal when he heard one and pounced on it. "You got it."

"As for apologizing to her," Tony added, "she might appreciate flowers and a written apology. I can give you a hint on those. Not red roses, no exotics, and no lilies. She says she likes flowers that look like flowers. Carnations, daisies, mums, and since she's from Texas yellow roses would be a good mix."

"I can work with that."

Tony knew he was taking notes. "I'll try talking to her today and see if I can help the process along. She really, really, really hates being ignored. It might not be what Jack intended, but that's the message she got from him."

"I see. I'll pass that on."

"Dr. Jackson, maybe you and O'Neill both need to keep in mind that she doesn't have a big ego and she doesn't talk just to hear herself or impress someone. If she says she can solve a problem, she's sure of it. It pays to listen."

"Thank you for your help. We'll make arrangements for breakfast delivery tomorrow at 9 AM. Enough for the whole agency. Shut up, Jack." He hung up.

Tony was starting to wonder if telling O'Neill to shut up was just a reflex for Jackson because he hadn't heard him say anything that time.

**

The room was as prepared as possible so Tony went upstairs to warn/inform Director Morrow about the incoming apology breakfast for Wednesday morning as some logistics needed to be worked out. The break room was totally inadequate for the quantities that would be coming in. He hoped Daniel Jackson took the costs out of O'Neill's wallet, rather than expenses as a matter of principle.

Morrow seemed highly amused when DiNozzo told him that he'd basically extorted a gesture of apology from the Air Force. "Only you, DiNozzo."

"I was thinking it could be a bit of an ice breaker, sir. My posse of probies –passel of probies?—will be onsite and I can make introductions and let the other teams get a glimpse of them."

"Good idea. We could set it up in the largest conference room to ensure plenty of space. It's easy access and won't get in the way of anyone doing their job. How many people is the Air Force planning to feed?"

"Uh…. I left that vague, but it was suggested it would be enough for the whole agency."

Morrow's eyebrows rose. "Do they know how many people work here?"

"If they don't already, they will find out," Tony said blandly. "I'd better head down and talk to food services and give them a heads up that they may have lighter business tomorrow and invite them to come up and get pastries too."

"You do that. I'll let Security know to expect the delivery."

Having finished his rounds, Tony returned to the conference room to make his call to Hon. 

She answered on the second ring. "What now?"

"You haven't calmed down yet?"

"Sorry. I didn't check the caller ID. I thought it was Spud trying to get me to answer O'Neill's calls again."

"I don't have a specialized ringtone? Now, I'm hurt," he moaned.

"Someone—someone who may not be alive much longer—messed with my phone and set it back to factory defaults. Why the hell is 'I was only trying to help' an acceptable excuse for stupidity and interference?"

Wow. Someone, even in lock down and her self-imposed isolation, was still rattling her cage. "Honeybee, my sweet girl, do your breathing exercises. I need to tell you something."

"What?"

"Not until I hear a few deep breaths. Trust me, you're going to want to hear this." He waited as she huffed a few times, then finally did it properly. "Better?"

"I'm fine. I'm working on restoring my phone settings and it's so badly organized—"

"Send the company a review and tell them how to make corrections. But do that later. Are you calm and ready to listen?"

"Stop trying to tell me what to do."

"All right. Call me when you're ready to listen." He disconnected the call. It could go one of two ways. Either she'd get even more annoyed and include him in the list of annoyances or she'd let her curiosity force her to get her temper under control and then call him back. He sat at the table, looking over files and rearranging writing materials for a solid five minutes before the phone rang. "DiNozzo."

Her words were a rush, trying to get them out as fast as possible since she hated saying them. "I'm sorry I was taking it out on you. You didn't deserve it."

"It's okay, Honeybee. Sometimes you need to vent. I'm a safe person to vent to, but you've convinced me that I'm wasted being a punching bag for someone else."

"I meant Gibbs, not me," she protested.

"If the shoe fits—"

"Damn it. I know I can be a bitch—"

"Hey, don't talk about my girlfriend that way," he said and grinned as he waited for that to be processed.

"Your what?"

"Sorry, but that’s how O'Neill referred to you when he called me this morning to tell me to get my girlfriend to ease up."

Silence. "And what did you say when he said that?"

DiNozzo knowing he was walking a delicate balance between infuriating her further or making her laugh which would be a better result, responded with the truth. "I told him you aren't my girlfriend. I told him we're twins—identical twins."

There was a gasp, a bit of choking, then a gurgle of laughter. Ha. Got her. "What did he say to that?"

"Pretty much nothing. Too bad I couldn't see his face. I think he was stupefied. A good look on him, I'm sure. He decided not to comment on that and went back to trying to get me to intervene on his behalf. I refused."

"Yeah, sure, you left it at that," she said, amusement clear in her tone. "What did you do?"

"I told Jack that I was not qualified to advise you on how to do your work because, for one thing, I'm not read in on the program. At that point he seemed to lose the plot and Dr. Jackson took over."

"Oh brother. What did you do to Daniel?"

"I didn't do anything—to him. He's not on the shit list, as far as I know. I did communicate to him that Jack had been a very bad boy and refused to listen to you when you offered a solution at the onset of the situation. That seemed to make him mad. I wasn't supposed to hear it, but I do believe Dr. Jackson was taking the general to task about that failure."

"And then?"

"I also told him you were already upset with Jack on my behalf and for causing trouble between us. So in order to restore amicable relations between you and O'Neill, it might be a good idea to offer up a written apology and perhaps a gift."

"I don't need a gift."

"The general did suggest a singing telegram—I don't think he meant a strip-o-gram but I wouldn't bet any money on it."

The gurgle of laughter was easily heard so he continued. "In an effort to be helpful—"

"I'm sure that was your motive."

"It was. In an effort to be helpful, I suggested an apology gift for each of us, actually for you and for NCIS as a whole. Jack is buying us breakfast tomorrow, expensive coffee and pastries for the whole agency from Le Bistro De Pain. As for you, I suggested a written apology and some flowers—I even told them the types of flowers so you will like them."

She got her giggles under control. "Oh, you are so—so devious. I wouldn't have thought to make him pay for stuff. I had other plans to make him suffer. Smart thermostats are so easy to hack, among other things."

"I told them I'd call you and give you a heads up and try to smooth things over so you'd be amenable to the apology."

"Consider me smoothed. Do you think I should wait for the flowers or go ahead and solve the problem—hang on. Ha. He got with the program. I'm looking down the corridor and there is a pair of legs supporting a vase with a huge bunch of flowers making its way down the hall this way. Very nice."

"I didn't give him a timeline for your apology but I guess the sooner the better if you guys want out of the lock down. How did they get the flowers in?"

"Don't ask. I can't tell. Oh, that's beautiful…and Daniel brought it himself. Probably to make sure Jack didn't blow it somehow. Thanks, Tony. I will forgive your interference on this one occasion since you expedited the resolution of the standoff."

"Ha," he scoffed, "just make sure that you solve the problem so you don't make me a liar. I told them you wouldn't have offered a solution if you weren't sure it would work."

"You know me so well. I should be home this evening. Let's plan on dinner."

"You got it, Twin." He heard another giggle just before he hung up.

**

Chapter 51

Chapter 51

Dinner with Hon had been short and sweet. She'd caught him up on the antics that bored nerds locked down for thirty hours got up to and how she'd dealt with their excesses. She reported that Daniel Jackson had delivered the flowers and attempted to smooth things over. The flowers had been an excellent start and in addition, he'd brought chocolates, expensive ones. With Daniel's assurances that Jack was just busy and thoughtless and not trying to ignore her input, she'd accepted the written apology—that she would guarantee had been dictated to O'Neill to write down in his loopy script—and conceded that possibly she'd over reacted.

There was some mention that O'Neill needed to listen to her, even if she wasn't Carter—whoever that was. Good relations were restored with a promise that Jackson would attempt to do a better job of facilitating interdepartmental communications and all was right, for now, in the Honeybee Hive.

He'd told her all about his new position and his incoming passel—pack—posse? of probies and his plans for their orientation and training. Hon's suggestion for a 'parliament of probies' was given the sneer of scorn that it deserved.

Knowing that nervous newbies would likely show up early to their new and temporary duty station, DiNozzo decided it was his duty to greet them in the foyer and walk them into the office. That would present him with the opportunity to introduce them to the security procedures and the guards as well as possibly preventing them from being exposed to the rampant rumor-mongering that was still prevalent. He knew that they would have already heard some of the scuttlebutt, but he didn't want some of troublemakers trying to fill their green heads with tales of horror or giving them the wrong impression of NCIS which he would then have to try to correct.

He'd dressed in business casual knowing he'd look professional but more approachable than when clad in his designer suits. He explained to Stan, the head of security for this shift, the reason for his presence loitering in the lobby and kept his eyes on the doors.

Sure enough, as predicted, the three probies traveling in a small pack entered together forty-five minutes before they were due. They evidently knew or were familiar with each other from shared classes at FLETC.  He studied them for a moment. Someone had done some homework as all three were dressed more or less in business casual with sturdy walking shoes that would provide both traction and support. Each one carried a backpack.

Larsen looked cool and professional, Brewer was beaming a smile as if he was arriving at a party and exchanging nods and a smile with anyone who caught his eye, and Orozco was looking around wide-eyed—wait, what was that?

If he'd blinked Tony would have missed the hint of something in the kid's eyes. Oh, so this young man already had his mask in place. This trio would keep him on his toes for sure. He loved a challenge. He stepped forward as they approached the security station.

"Agents Larsen, Orozco, and Brewer, good morning. I'm your training agent, Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo. I'd like to welcome you to NCIS Navy Yard. If you'll step this way, Security Supervisor Stan Wildman, will show you the ropes here."

There was just a hint of a silent communication among the three and DiNozzo read it easily and responded to it immediately. "I know, you've done this kind of thing before but there are often subtle expectations. It also doesn't hurt to get to know the support staff and to have an appreciation for the work they do. Part of our first day will involve introductions to various departments and department heads. Stan and his men are our first line of defense." He stepped back to let Stan guide the conversation and process while he observed their reactions.

The trio was polite, followed instructions, and had no problems. Orozco was the only one who had questions about the limitations of the detection system and they were reasonable questions. Stan got a rare opportunity to be in the spotlight and feel important. It was a win for everyone.

As they rode up in the elevator, Tony said, "Sometimes people take the support staff for granted, especially if they don't understand the demands of those jobs. I've always found it's better to make friends and work cordially rather than follow some hierarchy that puts the emphasis on field agents above all others. I'm sure you've heard rumors about the people assigned here, including me, and the events of recent weeks. I would ask all of you to bear in mind that rumors are usually 90% bullshit and 10% truth. Sifting the wheat from the chaff requires more work than just believing everything you hear."

He waited. They exchanged glances but didn't comment.

The elevator doors opened and he began to lead the way to the conference room. Another silent conversation seemed to nominate Larsen to speak.

"We're not going to be on a regular team for training?" Her tone was carefully neutral.

"Director Morrow thought it might be a bit much since some of the teams are tied up in going over old cases and retraining. Everyone on the MCRT—Major Case Response Team—my team, is out on medical or retraining so I got the job of working with you." They'd arrived at the small conference room and he opened the door and waved them in. "I know you all have some form of on the job training and just finished FLETC but hopefully none of you are arrogant or self-deluded enough to believe you know everything. The idea is to help get you even more field ready. Please, help yourselves to drinks then have a seat. There are a few things I need to tell you about before we get started."

He watched them as Orozco grabbed a bottle of water and Larsen and Brewer fixed themselves coffee.

As they seated themselves, next to each other on the opposite side of the table from DiNozzo, he grinned. "Where shall I start? First of all, I'm your training officer and I will tell you the truth about anything you want to know, subject only to NDAs or classified materials issues. Joining the agency at this time makes things a bit awkward due to changes being made. Director Morrow, Sec Nav, and JAG are cooperating to smooth over some rough edges and correct some mistakes that have been made in the past. There's a bit of reorganization going on, but for this training period, you are stepping outside of normal channels so it shouldn't affect you. Any questions?"

"What kind of mistakes?" Orozco said.

DiNozzo had expected he'd have to be more specific. No investigator worth their salt would have let the vague reference slide if there was an opportunity to get more information. "For purposes of preparing you, I'm going to tell you more than I'd say to an outsider. It's going to affect you so you have a need to know. That said, I will be very disappointed if you add any information I give you to the water cooler conversations. Training requires a certain amount of trust and that goes both ways." He made eye contact with each one and let them see that he was serious.

They exchanged glances again. "How will we be affected in particular?"

"You and all new agents are going to be under strict supervision and possibly greater scrutiny to ensure—aw, hell," he said. He was already tiring of his perfectly professional persona. "Never mind trying to make it sound politically correct. Half the kerfuffle here at NCIS came about because there was lax supervision of probationary and junior agents. A lot of that was due to being understaffed and very busy and it led to a problem because an unsupervised junior agent failed to read Article 31 rights before conducting an interrogation. It might sound like a minor, technical issue, but it could have easily have led to two criminals, one of them a murderer, walking free because of the illegality of the confession."

He let them absorb that. Larsen, with her experience as a cop, was the one who'd really get it.

"Fruit of the poisonous tree," she murmured.

"Exactly. The junior agent doesn't have prior criminal investigative experience and didn't have a good grasp of why the reading of the rights is a high priority."

"What kind of training—" Orozco blurted out, but stopped himself from finishing.

Tony gave him an approving nod. He didn't blame them for wondering, anyone would.  "Not enough. She took a shortened FLETC course and had some classes waived since she was a Federal Agent—Secret Service. Her team lead thought on the job training would fill in any blanks but she was—resistant to—Damn it. She thought she didn't need to learn anything and her pride got in the way. That's one reason Director Morrow came up with this idea. My goal is to make sure you know what you need to know in order to do the job, hopefully without making costly mistakes. It's easier to train someone in proper procedures rather than trying to break bad habits and retrain them."

Brewer raised his hand, his smile missing. "Can I ask—I heard there were also some cyber security concerns?"

"Yes. There are firm rules around cyber access and hacking into systems or accounts and when a warrant or permission is required. Some agents got a bit carried away at times and didn't apply for a warrant in their impatience to get a result. Part of the retraining going on now will be reminders of such guidelines. You may see JAG officers in the building. They are in the process of going over cases where there may be a legal impact at trial due to such slip ups. There's going to be lot going on that you aren't going to be involved in that will impact you and your training. One reason to meet in this conference room rather that the bullpen was to give us some privacy to be open and honest about your strengths and weaknesses and to be kept apart from the ongoing—mess that is making things a bit awkward."

"So we're in a protective bubble?" Larsen said, raising her chin a bit.

"A bit. Part of it is for your benefit, but we are also going to be discussing cold cases, cases investigated by some of the agents in the bullpen. In doing so, we will be pinpointing mistakes, omissions, and examples of excellent work. No one likes to overhear their work being dissected so we're avoiding that. Any other questions?"

There was no answer but the probies did seem to relax a bit. It was better to know what was expected.

Tony checked his watch. "Ah, now for our first assignment—in approximately 15 minutes, we will be accepting a delivery of coffee and pastries in the larger conference room, enough to serve the whole agency. This is a gloat moment," he advised. "NCIS is being treated by the Air Force as an apology for some, uh, bad behavior last week. My team--this team-- is going to accept delivery and facilitate service. This also gives you a  chance to lay eyes on, if not meet, everyone who works here in some capacity. No one expects you to remember names, but it will give you a chance to people watch. When we're finished there, we'll come back here and start working on a training agenda, which will be tailored to fit the needs of each of you, individually and collectively. Leave your things here. I'm locking the door when we're out." He stood and hurried them along with hand gestures, locking the door then leading the way to the large conference room.

 

Chapter 52

Chapter 52

The informal breakfast break had been a huge success. Director Morrow had been introduced to Tony's probies as the delivery was being set up with full boxes of pastries the length of the table and a short table holding urns of coffee at one side of the room. Morrow had made an announcement about the source of the bounty and had subtly alluded to the fact that Tony was responsible for the 'apology gift' from the Air Force. Refill boxes were placed on the credenza behind the table and the probies were tasked with taking away empty boxes and replacing them with full ones as the NCIS staff helped themselves. 

While the probies kept the supplies going, DiNozzo acted as host, greeting everyone who came in, introducing them to his probies with a proper synopsis of their roles at the agency and generally making sure everyone enjoyed the excellent pastries and coffee, even the cafeteria workers. In general, the event was considered a success as a morale booster.

Several team leads, including Balboa, made an effort to let the probies know they were welcomed and that they were fortunate in having DiNozzo as a trainer by engaging him in conversation and asking advice on one or more of their cases. There was a bit of awkwardness as a few of the die-hard Gibbs fans tried to show their disapproval of DiNozzo without being openly hostile and drawing fire from those who disagreed with them.

Tony took the opportunity to put on his social, friendly mask and make the best of the opportunity to build bridges with those who didn't hold a grudge against him. He was well aware that the probies were watching him, possibly more than the others, and trying to get a handle on his personality.

Larsen had been the object of some attention and even a bit of flirting. Tony watched to see how she handled it and was pleased that she didn't get defensive but deflected and ignored it. It was good to know she could handle the attention diplomatically.

Orozco's boyish looks had already charmed the older ladies, most of whom worked in administrative positions. The older agents eyed him as a potential problem, assuming that his youth meant he was naïve. That was a mistake Tony tried never to make—assuming that appearance equaled ability.

Brewer's ready smile and demeanor gave the impression of quiet competence backed up by an athletic quality. It was easy to picture him chasing down a fleeing suspect.

Director Morrow had issued a last call for those wanting breakfast at 10:30 so they closed the doors a half hour later and began the process of clearing up.

A brief tap on the door heralded the arrival of Manuel and Candy, two of the janitorial staff.  "Hey, Tony, you guys did all the work setting up. Why don't you let us handle the clean up?" Candy said.

DiNozzo tried to protest. "It's not really your job—"

"Not yours either," Manuel replied. "Go on. Most people never remember us when there's a treat to be had. You never forget."

Candy made shooing motions. "I loved those croissants. Remember that this year for my birthday," she teased.

"If you're sure? I know you circled through before but I don't think you got an introduction to my trainees. Agents Larsen, Brewer, and Orozco, these lovely people who are helping us out are Candy Anderson and Manuel Hinojos."

Greetings were exchanged then Tony led the way back to the small conference room and unlocked the door. Everyone seated themselves in the same chair as before. "Any questions so far?" he asked.

"You seem to know everybody," Brewer commented casually.

"Yep." He waited but that was it. He reached into his supplies on the table and drew out four writing tablets and pens and passed them out, keeping one for himself. "First thing, before we start planning our training schedule, I want each of you to draw a line down the center of the page. On the left, I want you to make a list of your skills and strengths. On the right, I want a list of what you see as your areas of weakness or more accurately, areas where you believe you might need more training, more information, or more practice. I don't expect you to know everything. You may not even know what you don't know, but this will give us a starting point."

"Honestly?" Orozco sounded dubious.

"At FLETC you were evaluated by instructors. I have your records here and I've gone over them and formed a few opinions. This is your chance to tell me what you think you need. I'll make my own list and share it with you. You need to know that I know what I'm teaching or you won't benefit from the training as much as possible. I mentioned the issue with the junior agent who endangered a case because she didn't admit what she didn't know and try to learn it."

He started on his own list and left them to it.

**

Approximately thirty minutes later, DiNozzo put down his pen. The others took that as a sign to do the same.  "Okay, who wants to start?"

Silence. Another exchange of glances between the three trainees, but no agreement on who'd go first.

Tony could deal with that. "I guess that answers that question. Now, before I share my lists, I imagine that you three did some research on what to expect from the agency and personnel. Since you were informed that I would be working with you, it would have been a good decision to research me as well. What do you know or think you know about me?"

Silence.

"C'mon, guys, this isn't a trap. I told you I'm going to be honest with you. If you've heard rumors, I'd like the chance to address those. If you know my strengths and abilities it will help us work as a team." DiNozzo waited for a response.

Brewer drummed his fingers on the table for a moment then asked, "Your background is as a cop?"

"Yes," Tony replied calmly. "Graduated from OSU with a BS in Kinesiology and a minor in Criminal Justice, then to the police academy. First assignment was patrolman in Peoria while also working on my Master's Degree in Criminal Justice. Transferred to Philadelphia and made detective, then got tapped to work undercover with the mob. Finished that assignment and needed to get out of town, so I moved to Baltimore. I met Special Supervisory Agent Gibbs when he was undercover on a case in Baltimore and after the case ended he personally recruited me to NCIS for his team. Currently working on a Master's Degree in Criminal Psychology when I find the time."

Orozco looked impressed by the summation. "We heard a lot about Gibbs at FLETC. They said he—uh—He's a real piece of work."

"You score a point for diplomacy, O. What they probably said is what Gibbs has been known to say himself—that's he's a bastard. That's what the second B in Gibbs is for. He is tough, hard-headed, focused, and impatient as hell. Lately he's had some health issues which led to problems with anger management. He's undergoing treatment right now and I'm hoping when he returns to NCIS in the future, he will have been restored to factory resets, more or less, and be able to do the job without losing sight of the legalities and demands of our court system. That's all I'm going to say about that. I'm not here to judge anyone but I do hope to help you avoid making the mistakes others have made. If you're going to make mistakes, and you are, let's at least try to be original about it."

Brewer let out a little snort then grinned at him. "Creativity will be our watchword, sir."

"Oh, Lord, don't 'sir' me. Anything but that…well, no not anything. I'm very sensitive and name-calling makes my lip quiver. It's very disconcerting. Call me DiNozzo—Big D, little i, Big N, little ozzo—or Agent DiNozzo. Any other questions?"

"You kind of skimmed over that undercover with the mob thing," Orozco suggested. "Why aren't you in witness protection?"

Tony sighed mournfully. "You would go there. I know it's weird, no one needs to tell me it's weird. When the case finished and little Mike Macaluso went to prison, his father, Big Mike, who was the head of the family made me a deal. There was a hit put out on me, but it's only good within the city limits of Philadelphia, and only if I go there voluntarily. Little Mike was getting out of control and the family was worried about him so they weren't as unhappy with me as they would have been in other circumstances. They think a bit of prison time may help him mature.  Big Mike and I still exchange Christmas cards. Never mind. You, my green probies, are not ready to explore the weird and wonderful world of DiNozzo, so let's move on."

Tina raised her eyebrows but didn't comment. Orozco had to remember to close his mouth. Brewer just grinned and said, "This may be a very interesting team, Agent DiNozzo. I look forward to learning more about you."

They got down to work and started collating their lists.

Chapter 53

Chapter 53

The lists made for interesting reading. Tony had listed his strengths as undercover work, sketching, and observation skills. Brewer had listed photography, speed and agility, and hand to hand as his assets, which gibed with what Tony knew of his martial arts training. Orozco claimed to have interviewing skills and a firm grasp of evidence collection procedures as well as an excellent ability with computers. Larsen had listed her experience as a cop in interviewing witnesses and calming victims. She also mentioned that she'd occasionally taken part in sting operations in pursuit of purse snatchers which meant she had some familiarity with undercover work.

The trio had been quite forthcoming with their requests for further training and practice in crime scene analysis and processing. It made sense because at FLETC they were given rules and instructions that may or not have been learned out of context. DiNozzo decided to start there after everyone took a bathroom break and had a chance to stretch their legs.

Ready to start work, he posted the photos from the cold case file he'd tried working on. "I want you to take a look at these photos from a cold case. The agent in charge was Hank Jefferson and this case is from four years ago, and it was an assault case. I want you to tell me what you think."

Brewer was the first to speak. "I think whoever took the pictures didn't know how to frame a shot or focus the camera properly."

The others murmured their agreement. "Are there measurements or sketches in the file?" Larsen asked.

"Nope." Tony was matter of fact.

"There's no way to tell distances and proportions," Orozco complained. "Without those, it's almost impossible to figure out angles and blood spatter."

"Thank you," Tony said enthusiastically. "The fact that you all seem to understand that gives me hope for your future performance. With almost every crime scene I've ever worked, the investigators and forensics techs only get once chance to gather all the information and evidence they need. Once the scene is released, especially if it's outdoors, the evidence and data is quickly eliminated by weather or foot traffic. You have to get it all the first time. Unfortunately, since it was an assault, Jefferson didn't take this case very seriously. Not every case you deal with will be a murder or a kidnapping, or some high profile crime spree. Regardless of that, our duty as investigators requires our best, no matter how important or urgent we may think the case is. Now, I want you to read through the file and give me suggestions on how you would proceed on this case, with the understanding that it is four years old and all the information available is in the file—and it's damned light in every way—which is why the agent who thought he'd done enough didn't last at NCIS. We're going to investigate this until we solve it –or sadly, reach a dead end."

DiNozzo observed their interaction with each other as they worked on the case and got a better understanding of their personalities. Larsen was a linear thinker and proceeded in an organized manner, Brewer was more interested in motives and the psychology of the attack, and Orozco focused more on researching the victim.  Between the three of them, they pretty much covered the whole range.

After two hours, DiNozzo called a halt. "I think we'll leave this for now. I want to take you to HR and pick up your official IDs then I want to take you down to the evidence garage and storage and introduce you to the Baggie Bunnies. I'd recommend you not use that expression in their hearing." He winked. "Then we'll go by Autopsy and let Ducky, Dr. Mallard, have a look at you. He's always a good source of information, though sometimes it takes him a while to get to the point. Tomorrow, I want you to be sure you bring your workout clothing as we're going to do a bit of sparring in the gym. We'll be visiting the shooting range as well. Once you qualify, you will be issued a weapon."

"I was beginning to wonder if you were going to deal with the paperwork and official business," Larsen commented.

"You could have asked," Tony said lightly. "I don't ask if you have questions just to hear myself speak."

"You do seem to like talking," Orozco commented innocently.

"It's my secret weapon—communication skills, good looks, charm—" Tony said and fluttered his eyelashes at them. "Stunning intelligence, investigative skills, and above all—modesty."

He won a smile from all three. This was going well. He could be professional and businesslike when he needed to without sacrificing his whole personality to it. Humor but no clowning, that was his new goal. It would be a change that all his co-workers would have to get used to and he expected a bit of push back when he quit playing the game in the way they expected, but that was their problem. He was going to drop most of his masks and be the best DiNozzo he could be without sacrificing his self-esteem and anyone who didn't like him as he was? They could take their opinions and shove them. He was done with the role-playing to make others happy.

**

Chapter 54

Chapter 54

Thursday morning, DiNozzo and his pack of probies had an early morning appointment at the shooting range in order to test their abilities and see if they'd qualify on the first round. All three did qualify though Larsen and Orozco could use more practice to get up to speed with reloading and aiming quickly. Brewer did very well so Tony put him to work coaching the other two. If he accomplished nothing else with this group, he was going to ensure that they got the concept of working together and relying on the skills of the others to create a balanced team that covered various areas of expertise.

DiNozzo then walked them down to the armory to hand in their test results and pick up their issued weaponry and carry permits.

For the hand to hand and take-down practice, he'd had Rocky Balboa's team meet them in the gym. Rocky's team had a mix of body types and could demonstrate self-defense for those with different builds and skill sets. SFA Kathryn Smith was petite in build, some might say too thin, about 5'5" and was often underestimated when judged on her appearance.

Tony paired her off with Tina Larsen as Brewer, Orozco, Rocky, and the rest of his team watched.

"Tina, you had training in the police academy, as well as on the job I'm sure. Kath is five inches shorter and let's be diplomatic and just say lighter than you by several pounds. If she was a suspect you were trying to arrest, you might be inclined to think it wouldn't be a challenge. You would be wrong. She has very pointy elbows," he said with a smile.

Kath snorted but didn't deny it.

"For now, you and Kath will spar and put each other through your paces. Do not hurt each other. This is a learning opportunity for everyone. At some point, you may be faced with an opponent of any size or skill level so we're going to mix it up and learn from each other. Unless you're a fan of the recent crop of 'girl boss' movies where a 5'3", 90 pound girl stands toe to toe with huge thugs and knocks them to the ground in a very unrealistic fashion—only because the script says so—you should know that your fighting style should be adaptable and you use the advantages God gave you. Men usually have longer reach and more upper body strength. This is not misogyny or sexism, it's being realistic. You need to learn to use your strengths and compensate for your weaknesses—and everyone has them."

After watching the women for a while, Tony called a halt and had the teams discuss what went well and what aspects needed more work.  The others were assigned partners and worked on their own skills for another hour but the session ended abruptly when Rocky got a call out to a murder scene in Rock Creek Park. No one had been seriously hurt, though DiNozzo speculated there were a few bruises shared among the group. He sent the probies to the showers to alleviate soreness and left them to rejoin him in their conference room when they were ready.

While he was waiting, he pulled a few solved cases, removed the final reports and left only the established facts of the cases and the evidence logs and photos so the probies could have a test run at a real case and see if they could solve it themselves.

**

Tony called it a day at 5:30 and sent the probies home with instructions. "Tomorrow is Friday and we're going to do a field trip so be prepared with your go-bag, sturdy walking shoes, and your best foot forward."

"Where are we going?" Orozco asked.

"It's a surprise—or two," Tony replied. "Depending on what's going on with live cases and available sites. We might also do some networking. If you're working in the D.C. area, there are some people you need to be familiar with."

"Sometimes I wish you weren't quite so social," Brewer complained. "I'm an introvert."

"Liar," DiNozzo accused lightly. "You have a problem with not being in control of your social interactions and you like a certain amount of quiet time, but you're not a true introvert."

Brewer shrugged. He was a bit surprised that his supervisor had called him on it.

"What about me?" Orozco asked.

Okay. They wanted to know what he thought of them?

"You, O, are a people person. You enjoy social interaction, like to flirt, and act younger than you are. I'd think that behavior comes from actually being the youngest child, or at least the youngest boy, in the family and accustomed to being the favorite with older people. They tend to dote on you a bit and you enjoy that but try not to take advantage."

Orozco's eyes widened and he darted a look at Larsen. "You're right about me. What about Tina?"

Tony raised an eyebrow and chose to be careful in his wording. "Ah, the lovely Miss Larsen. You are used to a certain level of attention, thanks to your good looks, but you don't want to trade on it—except maybe when getting out of a speeding ticket. As far as I can see, you don't use your beauty to try to secure special treatment and, thank God, you are not overly defensive and don't overreact when the attention you receive is unwanted. You've had years of experience in deflecting attention and want to be taken seriously, not given advantages because of your appearance." He waited for her reaction.

She frowned. "You don't judge a book by its cover.  My appearance should have no bearing on how I do my job."

Tony nodded slowly. "You're right, but this is the real world, my probies. Let me give you a homework assignment, something to consider then we'll discuss it further tomorrow. Appearance shouldn't matter, but it does. It's another tool in our toolbox to do our job efficiently. Being distractingly good-looking can be a blessing or a curse, the same as with other aspects of appearance. Brewer tends to grin a lot, because when he's unsmiling, he can look a bit intimidating, even when looking intimidating isn't helpful. Orozco, with his youthful appearance can be underestimated or dismissed which can work when that's what is needed but it also means sometimes he won't be taken seriously when he should be. Think about how your appearance and the way you present yourself can be helpful in doing your job. Then think about how it can be a problem on the job. Sometimes people wear masks as a defense and to hide their feelings or to get the job done by convincing a suspect or witness to trust them. Think about it. Do some research if you like. We'll discuss it tomorrow."

It was a thoughtful trio that filed out of the room.

He texted Honeybee.  Done for the day. Want to meet for dinner?

The reply took seconds.  YES. I'm so done with trying to talk sense into egotistical nerds who are so afraid of having to share credit they won't work together. They're just going to have to wallow in their failure until they reach out for a helping hand. Also I got another email from Bernard. You're gonna want to read it. Want me to pick you up at the Navy Yard?

Sure thing. What was your mother thinking?  Bernard is soooo not a redneck name.

Be at the gate in 20 minutes. And Bernard is Dad's fault, not mom's. Mom is to blame for my names. :P

 

**

 

 

Chapter 55

Chapter 55

Tony and Hon's dinner was relaxing. It was informative as well because it seemed that her brother Bernard was trying to get money from her—not unusual, but this time he was asking for a business loan.  Tony's skepticism was met with a shrug.

"He says he wants to own his own business," she stated.

"What kind of business?" Tony demanded.

"He wants me to buy him an ice cream truck. He thinks he can work out a route this summer—"

"In what way is he qualified to run his own business? His education ended with dropping out of high school and working odd jobs."

She wrinkled her nose at him. "How hard is it to sell ice cream?  Everyone likes ice cream. If he made the rounds to the parks—what? I'm missing something again, right?"

"I can think of a way that a lazy guy like Bernard would make a lot of money. Selling ice cream? Not so much. He wouldn't be the first to use an ice cream truck for cover in selling other items under the table," Tony said. He didn't trust Bernard or his intentions as far as he could throw the NCIS building. He hadn't told Hon but he'd run a check on her family and found that Bernard had been arrested a few times for possession of Class A drugs. It wouldn't astonish him if Bernard was planning to be a mobile dealer selling drugs as well as ice cream.

Hon looked confused. "So you think I should say no?"

"Honeybee, I think you should offer to pay for a stint in rehab…or maybe some vocational school training so he can actually be self-supporting in a legal fashion."

The penny dropped. "Drugs? You mean he's still doing drugs? I thought Dad had scared him straight after the last time."

"It's hard to scare someone straight when their IQ is less than that of a turnip," DiNozzo said, taking her hand in a gesture of comfort. "Maybe you shouldn't be keeping his overtures to yourself. I'd suggest sending copies of his emails and requests for money to your parents. They need to know what he's up to. I doubt they even know he's been trying to leech off you."

Her jaw firmed and she scowled. "Damn it. You're right. He's been gaslighting me, hasn't he? That's why we watched that movie."

Tony let her mull it over.

"I can see it now. He tries to make me feel guilty for having more money than he does. He makes it sound like I got ahead by pushing him down. Damn it, Tony, why didn't you tell me what he was doing?"

"Would you have believed me?" he asked quietly. "He's your brother and you want to think he's a good person who loves you and wouldn't treat you badly. Unfortunately, not all family members are trustworthy. Sometime, I'll tell you about my father. Not today, I don't want to get depressed but you should know I have experience with manipulative and dishonest family members."

"Damn. So I should let my parents know what he's doing—and do I reply to him?"

"Yep. You reply with two letters- N-O. Nothing else. Giving him a reason will just prolong the argument and give him more chances to hurt you. I'd block him from all your media accounts too."

She sighed. "Damn it. I hate when you're right."

"Naw," he corrected. "You just hate when you're wrong." He pulled her in for a hug.

**

Friday morning, Tony met his probies in the lobby and escorted them to the parking garage where they all piled into the agency sedan he'd signed out. "Field trip," he announced.

While he was driving he initiated the discussion about appearances and the kinds of impressions each one could display that would help them on the job. Several good points were raised and it showed that they were taking it seriously. Undercover and the need to read the suspect in order to have the effect that was required was discussed in some detail. Tony provided examples from his own experience.

"I have an athletic build, played football and basketball at the university level," he said. "I can use my physical appearance to play into the stereotype of jocks being dumb—or I can play it up as a gym rat, macho type, or focus on the college experience—mindless frat boy interested only in partying and sexual exploits who probably got his job from nepotism or other connections. When that wouldn't work, because face it, most people look beyond stereotypes, I can let my intelligence and ability show and intimidate some marks with my professionalism. It's all about figuring out which persona will work in getting what you need from the people you're questioning or interacting with. To be most effective in a variety of situations, you need to have more than one tool in your toolbox. Other than the obvious, have you three come up with some alternatives that you could successfully implement?"

The discussion was lively and continued until Tony pulled into a parking space. The trio studied their surroundings.  "My posse of probies, welcome to Rock Creek Park."

They all got out of the car, grabbed their go bags and followed Tony a few feet away to a small overlook area where they could look at their surroundings--lots of trees, brushy areas, and a number of signposts indicating the existence of jogging paths, hiking trails, and picnic areas.

"You remember Balboa's team was called out here yesterday?  Rock Creek Park is very popular for body dumps. Would you like to tell me why?"

"Isolation," Tina said. "Lots of wilderness, not many people around most of the day. No police patrols?"

"Oh, there are some patrols, but once you get away from the roads, there are lots of opportunity to go unseen."

"There are no surveillance cameras?" Orozco speculated. 

"Probably only around the restrooms and picnic tables," Brewer said. "The trails are kind of rough so most people would stick to the jogging paths, not the hiking trails."

Tony nodded slowly. He was about to ask another question when a sound caught his hearing. He did have exceptional hearing. He held up a hand for quiet as he listened, trying to pinpoint the location and what the noise was. The wind was rustling the trees and bushes and there were a few birds making a bit of noise—but that wasn't it.  Shit. That was a shovel. Someone was digging, not far from their location on the top of this small hill.

Tony put a finger to his lips for quiet, then pointed to Larsen and Brewer and gestured downhill and to the left. He gestured to Orozco and himself and pointed downhill and to the right.

The trio looked a bit confused, a bit concerned, and slightly as if they didn't know if this was something serious or a prank.  Giving their supervisor the benefit of the doubt, they prepared to follow his orders and startled when he drew his gun, but followed suit.

They quietly split up and made their way down the hill. As they got closer, the trio could now hear what had set DiNozzo off. The scrape of a shovel in hard, packed earth. Twenty feet down, they came to a small clearing among the bushes about ten feet to the side of the hiking trail. There was a man digging a shallow grave. Next to where he was digging, there was a man's body with blood around his head.

"Freeze, NCIS." Tony had his gun leveled on the man.

The suspect flinched but froze in place. "What the hell is NCIS? How did you know? What the hell—" He sagged in defeat, evidently having not expected to be caught in the act.

"Brewer, you have handcuffs? Handcuff him around that tree over there. Larsen, when he's clear, check the body. Orozco, call for backup, 911. We don't know if we have jurisdiction or not so Metro needs to be notified." Tony's manner was brusque and businesslike and he watched the probies carefully to be sure they followed directions.

Brewer had no trouble handcuffing the man with his arms around a tree with a two foot circumference as he informed the man he was under arrest for assault and battery then recited the man's rights and got a reluctant acknowledgement.

"He's still alive," Tina reported. "It's a head wound so it's bleeding a lot but I don't think applying pressure would be a good idea."

"Good girl." Tony turned his attention to Orozco who was on the phone.

"The scene is under control, Suspect is being detained on site by NCIS agents. We need an ambulance for the assault victim, head injury, possible fracture. Fortyish year old male, unidentified as yet. Where are we? Uh… Rock Creek Park."

Tony added, "Tell them downhill from Overlook 3 on the south side of the park."

Orozco relayed that information then disconnected the call. "They said the ambulance should be here in less than fifteen minutes, cops even faster."

Tony holstered his weapon. "Now we wait. We'll all have to make a statement. Not exactly what I had planned for today but you need the experience." He sighed. Damn it. He had three probies to watch out for. The director was never going to let them out of the building again.

"Sir?" Brewer began and gestured to the suspect who was hanging his head and cursing under his breath. "Why did we handcuff him around a tree? I never heard of doing that."

Another teaching opportunity would not go to waste. "You tell me."

From her position by the victim, Tina eyed the setup and guessed, "Better security? He might have tried to make a run for it if he wasn't anchored?"

"You got it. Sometimes if a scene is chaotic or there would be opportunities to escape—which wouldn't be as hard as you might think here, it pays to be extra careful."

"Are we one reason to be extra careful?" Orozco asked.

"No offense, but I am one man supervising three new agents. Normally each one of you would have a supervising senior agent if you were out if the field. Obviously, I didn't expect this." Tony smiled and stifled another sigh.

"How did you know?" Larsen asked. "I didn't see anything suspicious."

"Very good hearing," Tony said, pointing at his ear. "I heard a shovel in a place where no one should be shoveling. If it had been a park ranger, we'd have seen an official vehicle." He turned to look at the handcuffed man. "Speaking of which, how did you get here?"

The suspect ignored him and continued muttering curses and threats.

"If he didn't park where we did—I can see another road through those trees," Brewer said. "Want me to check it out?"

"Sure. Take Orozco with you. If you find the vehicle, get the registration and license plates so we can hand that over to the cops as well. Larsen, you want to go back up to the parking lot so you can guide the cops and ambulance attendants down?"

It was less than ten minutes before the cops followed Larsen down to their location. "DiNozzo, what the hell?" the tall heavyset policeman called out as soon as he caught sight of him.  "We usually call you out here, not you calling us."

"Hi, Frank. Just returning the favor for a change. Andy, good to see you," he said to the shorter, older policeman.  It was a mixed blessing that the cops knew him. The statements might go a bit smoother, but the tale would be all over Metro as soon as they reported in.

The siren of an ambulance was heard so Larsen made her way back to the parking lot to lead them down.

"What've we got here?" Frank asked.

"I'm acting as a training officer for three probies. You already met Tina Larsen. This is Melecio Orozco and Joe Brewer. Guys, this is Officer Frank Findlay. His partner is Sgt. Andy Walker. We were here to do a bit of a field trip—you know how often Rock Creek is a crime scene one way or another. We were just getting started when I heard something unusual—someone digging. You know as well as I do that there's no good reason for anyone other than a park ranger to be digging in a protected zone, so we investigated and caught this guy red-handed, digging a shallow grave with a candidate for burial right there on the ground."

Sgt. Walker studied the scene and shook his head. "Only you, DiNozzo. We have to wait for the crime scene people but you and your trainees will need to make formal statements at the station."

The cops and NCIS agents stepped aside as two EMTs along with their gurney followed Tina Larsen into the area. They put a collar on the victim's neck, carefully rolled him and put him on a backboard then strapped him to the gurney. They paused long enough for Frank to remove the victim's wallet for identification purposes then hauled the man back up the hill and loaded him into the ambulance.

Brewer removed the NCIS handcuffs and held the suspect in place while Frank replaced them with his own set. Brewer looked a question at DiNozzo and was answered with a nod so he joined Frank in walking the suspect up to the police car. "I already Mirandized him."

"Good for you, son," Frank said, "But since we're the ones arresting him, I'll do it too."

Tony looked at the sergeant. "So you figure you'll be ready for our statements in about two hours?"

"Sounds about right."

"Okay, I think my trainees and I will go find some good coffee and report to Metro in two hours. Crap. I have to call Director Morrow and inform him before he hears it on the news or by smoke signals."

"You in trouble?" Andy looked concerned.

"No more than usual." Tony grinned impishly. "I mean what are the odds? A simple tour of crime scenes and we stumble on an attempted murder?"

"Like I said, Tony, only you. Somebody must have laid a Chinese curse on you. You know the one—may you live in interesting times. At least this time you didn't have to chase him and other than the victim nobody got hurt. Hell, the victim is even still alive."

"Thanks a lot," he said sarcastically. "Come along my posse of probies, we're going to find some good coffee, some great pastries, and go over procedures for making official statements."

The trio exchanged glances. What had they gotten themselves into? Whatever it was it was certainly, not boring.

**

Chapter 56

Chapter 56

Having procured coffee and pastries and a good table at a shop called Coffee & Cakes, DiNozzo stepped outside to the relative quiet of the sidewalk to make his call to the director.

Janice put him through right away.

"Morrow."

"Director, Tony DiNozzo here," he said, trying to sound cheery.

"Now what?"

Damn it. The director knew him a bit too well it seemed. "Nothing major," he reassured. "I took the probies on a field trip to Rock Creek Park, you know how often we end up out there—"

Morrow didn't wait for his spiel. "What happened?"

"We kind of, uh, caught a perp in the act. He was digging a shallow grave. The victim was injured but still alive. It's all good, but I thought you should know. We still have to go to Metro to make statements so we'll be out of the office for a while." Tony stuck with the facts, light on details.

He could almost visualize Morrow's head shake. "Only you, DiNozzo. I suppose it's not a bad thing for the newbies to get some experience in doing reports. How did they handle themselves on scene?"

"Very well. They weren't sure if it was a setup—training or prank—but they followed my lead, followed directions, helped contain the suspect, got help for the victim—they all have potential. I just thought I'd get them familiar with the types of scenes we might have to work. I wasn't expecting to catch someone in the act."

Morrow gave a snort of amusement. "Of course not, but that's just the kind of luck you have. No more field trips. Or if you really need one, you accompany another team so there'll be adequate supervision."

"Yes, sir. This also gives them a chance to interact with Metro and make some contacts maybe. It could be useful if they stay in the local offices."

"And even if they don't, learning how to cooperate with other agencies is a skill that is transferable. I want a full report when you get back—from all four of you. I also want a copy of the police report for our files." Morrow hung up without a goodbye.

Tony shrugged it off and went back to drink his coffee, eat an apple Danish, and interrogate his trainees.

**

Approximately two hours after they'd left the scene, Tony DiNozzo entered the Metro detective bullpen trailed by his trio of trainees, each of whom was carrying a large box of donuts while studying their surroundings in wide-eyed appraisal.

As soon as they were through the door, DiNozzo stepped forward with an attention getting whistle. "Detectives, I come bearing gifts."

One of the biggest men in the room, 6'6" and built like a linebacker got to his feet and lurched forward to loom over the NCIS agent with a scowl on his craggy face. "Agent DiNozzo, did you seriously bring donuts to a cop shop?" he growled menacingly.

Brewer took a subtle step to the side, ready to dump his box on a desk if his trainer needed backup. Larsen and Orozco stepped back half a bit to give Brewer and DiNozzo room to move and waited to see what was going to happen.

Tony looked up, and up, into the man's face.  Unintimidated and wearing a brilliant smile, he replied, "Well, hell, Giordani, isn't that still the currency that keeps cops happy?"

"Il mio amico pazzo, solo tu—" the larger man growled even as he grinned.  He reached forward and grabbed DiNozzo in a hug of greeting.

"I'm not crazy….and why does everyone keep saying 'only me'? I'm not the only one to go to the park and stumble over an attempted murder in progress? Am I?" Tony returned the hug with a few back slaps, then pulled away as he protested. He looked to his trainees who were starting to relax and noted how they'd reacted to a possible threat. "Okay, maybe you're right. I guess it doesn't happen often. Where do you want the donuts?"

"Aw, just set them here on this desk, "Giordani replied. "They won't last long enough to get in the way." He cleared a space and the trio set down the boxes and opened them so the detectives now coming forward could serve themselves.

Tony gathered his group with a glance and they stepped to the side to be out of the line of traffic. "Guys, these are my trainees – Brewer, Larsen, and Orozco. We were on a field trip which now includes a side trip to Metro to make statements. When you're ready."

The four of them stood to the side and watched the parade of men and women who came forward to get a donut, greet DiNozzo—some more warmly than others—and return to their desks.

"He knows everybody," Brewer muttered under his breath.

"Not all of them like him," Larsen replied, equally quietly. "But they respect him."

"Who's the pretty little kitty?" It was a condescending and overly familiar tenor voice. A young and boyishly handsome detective was coming towards them, his eyes going up and down Tina's body as he approached.

Tony made a slight side step and put his shoulder between the man and Larsen. "Baker. Maybe you didn't hear me. This is my trainee, Agent Larsen. And Agents Brewer and Orozco."

Baker curled his lip. "What's the matter, DiNozzo? You keeping her to yourself? You NCIS boys never want to share jurisdiction—or anything else."

Tony felt Tina stiffen behind him and knew the other two were getting upset as well. "Actually, Baker, I was trying to be subtle, but subtle doesn't work with misogynistic Neanderthals, so here it is. She's my trainee. We're here on business. You need to back off."

"Trying to impress her by protecting her from me?" Baker scoffed.

DiNozzo shot a look at Giordani who replied with a head shake and a shrug. "No, Baker, I'm trying to protect you from her. Because if you lay a finger on her or get out of line in any way, she will hand you your ass and feed it to you—and I'll let her. And justify it by calling it a training exercise. Fully trained federal agents have each other's backs but we don't have to shelter each other from petty annoyances like you."

Baker shot a look at Larsen and didn't like the glare she had leveled on him. Choosing not to risk his dignity, he walked away, hoping that everyone thought he'd decided he didn't want the hassle.

The donut boxes had been wiped clean so Orozco stepped forward and started breaking them down for deposit in a recycling bin.  Giordani waved the group to follow him to a small waiting area. "We need separate statements so you can wait here until someone's free. Sorry about that ass hat Baker. Thinks he's God's gift to women. He's on thin ice with HR. DiNozzo, you come with me. We'll get your statement knocked out first."

The trio settled into the semi-comfortable plastic chairs to wait. "Inter-agency cooperation, huh?" Orozco said.

"Yeah, but no one promises it will go smoothly," Tina replied. "When I was a cop, sometimes the state troopers would be involved since we were such a small department. Most of them were nice guys, but some of them were know-it-all jerks."

"That's people for you," Brewer said. "I don't about you two, but I'm finding it hard to reconcile some of the crap we heard about DiNozzo with the guy who's training us. He knows what he's doing and how to do it."

"Yeah," Tina said. "I half expected him to hit on me or flirt or something but he's been very professional. It may be because he has the same problem I have sometimes—too pretty to be taken seriously."

Brewer and Orozco both flinched. "Pretty? Okay, so he's good-looking, but he's a guy," Orozco protested.

Tina's brows came down in a disapproving frown. "You didn't pay enough attention to the discussion about appearances. It doesn't matter if you're a man or a woman—unwanted attention or assumptions about your appearance are still problematic."

Brewer nodded slowly. "Yeah, I guess. You just don't think about men that way as much but there're a lot of self image problems that could affect anyone."

"You can use it or abuse it," Tina added. "Women have more of a reputation for using their looks to get what they want, but it could go either way. He's on his way back."

The trio were silent as DiNozzo rejoined them. "Tina, you're up next with Giordani. Joe, you go three desks behind his and Detective Purcell will take your statement. Mel, you're with Detective Sanders, the blonde in the back corner. I'll wait here for you. Just give them the facts in as much detail as they want. Oh, and don't believe a damn word they say about me, Gibbs, or NCIS… they're a bunch of liars."

There was no way to keep the detectives from telling tales about previous interactions with Tony and the MCRT but maybe his trainees would be less inclined to believe the more outrageous ones.  Little did they know, those were the ones more likely to be true.

**

Chapter 57

Chapter 57

When DiNozzo and his trainees finally made it back to NCIS, it was after 1 PM so they convened in the conference room and he walked them through the report forms they needed to fill out to document the training incident for the official NCIS files. They also did a quick review of other reports and forms that were not needed on this occasion since they weren't working the case at all. 

Director Morrow stopped by the conference room to check on them. The trainees stood respectfully and waited for instructions. Tony greeted him warmly and prepared for questions but stepped back when the director focused his attention on the probies. "I hear you had an exciting morning. Did you learn anything in the process?"

"Yes, sir," Brewer responded. "We weren't expecting to be directly involved in a crime scene but we followed Agent DiNozzo's lead."

A smile tugged at Morrow's lips. "You will find that Agent DiNozzo has a talent for the unexpected and the unusual. It's good that you can use your training and roll with the punches—or whatever else he leads you into."

"We made some useful contacts with Metro," Orozco said eagerly. "They were real friendly and answered questions, even offered some advice."

"They were friendly because you were with DiNozzo," Morrow commented. "He builds bridges with fellow agencies, not barricades. It's a wise attitude to take since you never know when you'll need to work together or require information or other forms of help from them. NCIS is a small agency and we don't always have a lot of manpower available in an emergency. Sometimes back up has to come from other sources. Miss Larsen? What did you learn?"

Tina took her time thinking about her reply. "I think it never occurred to me that we might just come across a crime scene. I guess I thought we'd only be involved if we were called in."

Morrow nodded. "I know Agent DiNozzo has been offering a variety of training opportunities as I've seen the reports. Is there any particular area you wish he'd cover? Or cover more thoroughly?"

Tony's phone rang and he checked the ID. It was his Pentagon contact, in other words, Colonel Davis. "I need to take this, sir. I'll step out."

Morrow nodded and continued his discussion with the trainees.

Tony stepped out into the hall. "DiNozzo."

"Agent DiNozzo, General O'Neill would like to meet with you at some time today if possible."

"Why?" he said flatly.

"It has to do with Gibbs and his recovery," Davis replied. "He didn't specify a time frame but it probably wouldn't take more than an hour or so to debrief you."

Tony ran his fingers through his hair. "I can't get away from here until at least 1700."

"Dinner meeting? I can text you the address and you can meet at 1800—to allow for traffic," Davis suggested.

DiNozzo found himself torn. His curiosity encouraged acceptance but his reluctance to deal with his mixed feelings of admiration, disappointment, and the frustration that had plagued his recent relationship with Gibbs made him want to refuse.  Curiosity won. "Fine. Tell him I'll see him then."

He took a few minutes to calm himself and breathe deeply, slipped his professional mask back into place and opened the door to the conference room. 

His trainees were making lists while Director Morrow watched. "They're listing their training interests. I think it may be time to split them up a bit and let them focus on special interests and get to know other training officers."

"Sir, I'm sorry about this morning. I should have had another Senior Agent with me to supervise. I realize that three to one is not good for ensuring their safety and I do take that seriously."

The probies were doing a good job of pretending they weren't listening. Director Morrow knew that and wanted to make sure they understood why DiNozzo was concerned. He patted the younger man on the shoulder.  "Teasing aside, Tony, you had no reason to expect to walk in on a crime scene in progress and I have no doubt that you ensured the safety of your trainees to the best of your ability. The supervision protocols are usually more a matter of having one on one training in procedures than any concern for safety. They are trained Federal agents, after all. You told me they all did well—followed your lead and got the job done. That's just what I'd expect of our agents, probationary or not. I think you're doing a good job of preparing them for real world applications, just maybe slow down on the actual crime scenes, at least when it's one on three."

DiNozzo straightened his spine, threw his shoulders back, and smiled. "Thank you, sir. These three have potential. I don't think they need much more training. Once we've gone over the lists, I may enlist Balboa or Stephenson's team for some individualized training or experience, with greater supervision."

"Good man. Well, back to MTAC for me, but first coffee," Morrow said as he went out the door.

DiNozzo turned to find the eyes of all three probies locked on him. "What?"

"We were wondering—" Tina began, then stopped. She looked at Brewer.

Tony raised an eyebrow.

Brewer gave a grimace, a shrug, and glanced at Orozco. Orozco studied DiNozzo for a moment.

"What?" Tony repeated on a sigh. Damn it. He'd hoped that either the cops would keep quiet or the rookies would be reluctant to ask about what they were told. It seemed his luck was out now. He fixed a stare on Orozco. He was sure to crack first—and once the door was opened—

"Were you really drugged by a serial killer, locked in a sewer with dead bodies and an almost dead Marine? Did you pick the lock with your belt knife, and rescue yourself and the Marine before any back up arrived?" gushed out the youngest agent's mouth in one breath.

Tony shrugged casually. "Sort of."

Silence. Spluttering—"What do you mean sort of?" Three voices in unison.

Tony pulled out a chair. Trainers were supposed to answer questions from their trainees and share their own experiences. Damn it. It was going to be a long afternoon.

**

General O'Neill had chosen an expensive steakhouse known for its quiet atmosphere with tables that lent themselves to conversation and lingering discussions over a very good meal. He was already seated when DiNozzo was escorted to the table and slipped into a comfortable chair opposite him.

The waiter took the drink order with Tony opting for a pricey wine which O'Neill declined to share and ordered beer. They each ordered the 16 oz. rib-eye with baked potatoes and steamed broccoli, preceded by a salad.

At the waiter's departure, they each settled back into the padded chairs and eyed each other with speculation and a hint of distrust. Neither was in a rush to speak.

Finally, the general waved a dismissive hand. "How ya doin'?"

"You called this meeting."

"Hey, you're getting a good meal out of it," O'Neill protested. When there was no verbal reply, he went on. "By the way, in case you haven't talked to your 'twin', I'm off her shit list." He seemed smug.

Tony raised an eyebrow, took out his phone and sent a text.   Honeybee, General O'Neill tells me he's off your shit list. Is that true?  If so, should I take him off mine?

"You don't believe me?" The general exaggerated his outrage. He settled into a pout as he received his beer.

Tony's wine was approved and poured before the response came.  Yes, he is and for a good reason. Let him tell you about it. I'm in the middle of trying to talk Sherlock into sharing data from his research. He's such a pain in the ass. I don't know how John puts up with him.

Before he could say anything, another text arrived. Why was he on your shit list anyway? Did he do something to you?

Oh, Lord. He didn't need for her to get mad at the general all over again. When you weren't speaking to him about the lock down thing, he called me and basically asked me to get you to ease up. I resented any implication that he wanted me to control you.  Don't get mad at him again. I took care of my own issue with him in my own inimitable fashion. He seems to have learned his lesson.

After a few seconds, she responded. Fine. Make him pay. I'll stay out of it.

Tony put his phone down on the table and returned his attention to the warily watching O'Neill. "She says you should tell me how you got off her shit list."

"Is that all she said?"

"All that concerns you," DiNozzo replied, with an insincere smile. "So how did you atone for ignoring her input during a crisis?"

"I'm not going to argue your—or her—interpretation of past events," the general said. "We'll forget the past and move on, with an understanding that I rarely repeat a mistake."

The waiter delivered their meals and the conversation paused until they were set and he'd departed.

"I can't give details but let me tell you, the labs are in a separate building and security is provided by the military. Unfortunately, today that became an issue--" O'Neill paused to shake his head. "Idiots who put inexperienced guards on such an important duty station without proper—never mind. Let's just say we'll be revising the orders for sentries from now on."

Tony's wry smile indicated a degree of understanding. "Not everyone is cut out for Force Protection duty."

"I take it you've had some experience?" Jack didn't wait for Tony's nod before continuing. "So this Colonel Simmons shows up and demands entry—he outranks everyone on duty. His ID looked good, he had the right uniform, and a healthy dose of attitude—you can see where this is going?"

Tony groaned. "They let him in. Without checking with their supervisor?"

"Yep. He didn't get far though because his first move was to enter Dr. Natwick's office. He pushed his way past her secretary? Assistant? Irish girl that for some reason is code-named Spud?"

"Was anyone hurt?" DiNozzo demanded.

O'Neill rolled his eyes. "Of course not, or this wouldn't be an entertaining tale of Stupid Humans at Work. Anyway, Spud wasn't sure what to do—she's new to the position and there was no security protocol set up for their offices, because TPTB—AKA the dumb ass bean counters—didn't think it was necessary in a secured building—secured by armed guards in a low target area."

Tony stabbed at his salad with viciousness as he contemplated the compounding stupidity on display.

"So this Colonel Simmons makes it into Dr. Natwick's office and starts rattling off demands—wanted a tour, some explanations, some files. You can imagine how the good doctor reacted to that approach."

DiNozzo smirked. "If her mind was busy, she probably gave him a blank stare then ignored him. If he got her attention right away—she ordered him to go away?"

O'Neill was finding it harder to disguise his amusement. "The latter. I reviewed the security footage, which the bean counters did allow us to install.  She was behind her desk and got to her feet when the confrontation in the outer office started. He entered her office and started trying to intimidate her into giving him information. She asked him who the hell he was—and didn't like his answer. He moved towards her, possibly in an attempt to make a physical threat, possibly just to loom. She didn't wait to find out. She reached into a desk drawer, took out a za—a taser and shot him in the chest. He hit the ground, out cold. The guards had followed him in and at that point tried to place your Honeybee under arrest for assault."

"What?!" That level of dumbassery was beyond Tony's ability to understand.

"Yeah. There will be some retraining, among other things."

That didn't bode well for the poor unfortunate souls but Tony couldn't bring himself to worry about it.

"Anyway, Spud, who is no fool, got Davis on the phone who immediately got hold of the Head of Security and sent him to deal.  He also called me so I showed up on scene to help with calming everyone down—"

"Was Hon upset?"

The general sighed. "Honestly she was more pissed off than upset but she was glad to see me, because when I showed up, I moved the whole circus out of her office, including the unconscious guy who, it turns out, is an impostor—probably NID, damn it, and they'll claim it's a rogue faction, again. I'm so tired of those guys."

"Okay," Tony said warily, having no idea what the man was talking about and pretty sure he didn't want to ask.

"Then once I had everything as under control as it usually gets, I went back to check on Dr. Natwick and Spud. They were both fine but still kind of pissed because they thought, correctly of course, that the whole point of having armed guards was to prevent such incursions. I told them that in the future the guards will know not to allow any high ranking anyone into the building without knowing if they have the program clearance to be there. I also made it clear that we'd be putting a panic button in each office to alert security of any problems then proceeded to order it done today—and ordered Paul Davis to reeducate the bean counters if they had any objections. So now I'm her hero again… or close enough."

"She does appreciate efficiency," Tony remarked. "If you want to seal the deal, you could expedite a very comfy couch for her office. It helps her mood if she can catch a catnap now and then."

"You are proving yourself useful, DiNozzo," Jack said approvingly.

"I live to serve," Tony quipped. His steak was delicious and it was time to dedicate a bit more attention to his meal.

"That's sort of what Gibbs said, too," O'Neill murmured.

"What else did he say?" Tony wasn't sure he wanted an answer, but he needed something.

"Let's finish eating," Jack suggested. "We can talk about the Gunny over dessert. They have great apple pie."

Tony nodded slowly. He could live with that.

**

 

 

 

Chapter 58

Chapter 58

The expensive meal was well worth the price, the company wasn't bad either since General O'Neill led the discussion into sports and other casual topics until they'd been served a large slab of apple pie a la mode. The pie crust was flaky, the filling sweet and cinnamon with apples that were done but hadn't gone squishy, and the ice cream had a strong vanilla flavor that tasted home-made.

"Before we talk about Gibbs, I have a question," Tony said. "How exactly did Honeybee come into possession of a—a taser, you said?" He'd heard that O'Neill had started to say something else and changed it to taser. He didn't know what that was about and decided to limit the scope of his questions to avoid crossing any lines into classified information.

The general scowled in exaggerated exasperation. "She wouldn't tell me. However," he added, "she did say it was your idea."

DiNozzo's eyes widened and he quickly ran through his many discussions with her pertaining to safety and security issues but came up dry. He didn't ever remember suggesting she arm herself—only that she let the security guards do their jobs. "I never told her to get a weapon…. Though a taser is a better idea than a pistol or letting her try to punch someone. Again."

"This, uh, taser is very effective, even at distance, no cables," Jack clarified, "so it worked well this time. However, it could be dangerous or even fatal if—anyway, I took it away from her and told her she'd have to be satisfied with the panic button and security detail. Maybe you could teach her to use pepper spray?  Though the number of accident prone nerds in her department—it might not be a good idea. Colonel Davis—Paul—told me to thank you for getting her to accept the level of security and be more cooperative. She's at least stopped actively trying to ditch her escort."

"How much danger is she in?" Tony asked. He trusted that the general would give him an honest assessment, unlike Hon who would be dismissive at best.

"That's hard to assess. She seems to think she's a nerd hidden among other nerds and no one even knows her name. That's not true. Anyone gathering intelligence could figure out that she's someone important in the brainiac world. If they're head hunting nerds for research, she'd be in the top ten list. If you mean is she in imminent danger? I don't think so. In my experience, people like Simmons don't have a lot of respect for scientists and researchers. They think of them as tools that can be used to get information through intimidation, interrogation, or inquiry. Some people will have dismissed her as an administrator and have no idea about her real abilities. She doesn't publish under her own name often and is usually listed as a contributor or source, not as the lead."

"So Simmons wasn't targeting her specifically?"

O'Neill dismissed that thought with a wave. "He was trying to gather as much information as he could before he got caught. With the limited time he had, he went for the person who had a private office—assuming that meant they'd have files or information under lock and key.  I'm going to enjoy squeezing him dry."

"Make it painful?" Tony suggested. "I don't like my—'twin' being threatened even if she handles it well."

The general shook his head. "I think she barely noticed. She batted him away like he was an annoyance and dismissed the whole situation when something shiny came along. Lurch—for cryin' out loud what a code name—came up with a new test for some doodad they were working on and off she went to supervise. I lost track of the technobabble in the first five seconds."

Tony grinned. "Hard to work with geniuses, huh?"

"I get no sympathy," O'Neill grumped then took the last bite of his pie.

DiNozzo refilled both coffee cups from the pot left on the table. "Now, on to other things…How's Gibbs?"

"Physically, he's healed. Hell, he's in better shape than he's been in years. While we had him, we fixed his knee up as well as the head trauma. We also forced him onto a healthier diet so his heart is pumping blood instead of coffee and bourbon. You can imagine how well the jar head took those kinds of orders."

Tony could imagine all too well and sympathized with those who had to tolerate the older man during his withdrawal from his usual coping mechanisms. "Mentally?"

O'Neill looked uncomfortable and delayed his answer by sipping at his coffee. "There's some background you need to know, DiNozzo. Gibbs likes to keep a tight lid on his private life, but to put some things in context—"

DiNozzo cut right to the chase. "Is this about his wife and daughter?"

He'd startled O'Neill. "You knew? Gunny said—"

Tony avoided eye contact as he stirred his coffee unnecessarily. "I knew. Before I took the job he offered at NCIS, I was very low on trust so I did a background check. I didn't have to dig much. He never mentioned them so I never brought it up."

"Damn it, I owe Danny twenty bucks," Jack complained with a touch of a whine.

Tony stared at him. "You bet on—"

"We bet on lots of things—too much hurry up and wait on the job. Danny said you were too much of a cop not to have investigated your new boss."

DiNozzo nodded and took a sip of coffee. "So Gibbs wanted you to tell me about them? Why?"

"His therapist said he never has really processed his grief—and let it go." O'Neill's sad expression conveyed his sympathy. "You may not have noticed but Gibbs is very hard headed."

Tony snorted.

"He's held onto grief and pain and tried to ignore it or distract himself. Hell, I can't believe he's had three more wives—and divorces. How did he think that would help?"

"He didn't want to be alone," Tony remarked sadly. "They weren't supposed to replace Shannon, but he hoped he could pretend, I suppose. When that didn't work-- because what woman wants to be used as a substitute?—he started working all the time and dragged his team along for the ride. Days off meant facing an empty house—so never take one. He never let the fact our team was supposed to be off keep him from taking a case."

"Your psychology studies are showing there, DiNozzo."

Tony leaned back in his chair and studied the general. "So with that explanation out of the way, what does Gibbs want? From me in particular?"

"You know the 12 step program deal? When you've wronged someone, you have to make amends?"

"Gibbs doesn't apologize, Rule 6," Tony responded, trying not to sound bitter.

"Amends aren't the same thing as an apology—but that's bullshit anyway," O'Neill said. "I think he realizes you've taken the brunt of his bad temper the last year or more and that he owes you an explanation."

"He's not going to try to blame it all on the brain injury? I'm surprised he hasn't blamed me for not realizing there was a physical problem and dragging his ass to the doctor. Does he know what's going on with 'his team'? That I'm the last man standing—McGee and Todd may not make it back at all—and Gibbs may or may not make it back to MCRT either?"

"He's been informed. After Dr. Mallard talked to him, and when he was in stable condition, Director Morrow updated him on the situation—and possible outcomes." The general was totally serious now. "I'll tell you this, kid.  Jethro is having a hard time facing up to the truth of how he was behaving over the last year. He said he remembers the events and how angry he was—the dumb things he said or did—but can't remember why he felt that way at the time. He remembers how you stayed on his six and did your best to do the job, even when he was being an asshole—I'm paraphrasing. I think he wants to see you to let you know things aren't going to be the same if he makes it back to the team."

Tony bit down hard on his disbelief and disappointment. "It wasn't just the way he treated me. Kate made stupid mistakes, one after another, claiming to be a profiler—and he let them slide. He refused to let me train her to do the job right. He conned McGee into illegal hacking and praised him. I was doing my job and he was making it harder—he sent me out without backup after a serial killer. He played mind games with me and had me doubting my own abilities and worth to the point I was trying way too hard to win his approval, which was never forthcoming."  He stopped to catch his breath as he was breathing hard. He was not going to have a meltdown in front of a friend of Gibbs in a fancy restaurant. He was not.

The general allowed the silence to settle and sent his gaze around the room to people watch to give the agent a moment of privacy to compose himself. He'd known it wasn't going to be an easy conversation, damn it. He should have made Daniel Jackson be the intermediary. Yeah, right. That wasn't going to happen.

Tony reached for his water glass and took a few gulps and practiced controlling his breathing.

"So that's a no, huh?" O'Neill asked casually. "You don't want to see him."

DiNozzo's lip curled. "Not really. I don't know if I'm ready to deal with the accusations that I've destroyed his team—and the rationalizations he'll have come up with. Never mind that the team was on a slippery slope and the rate of descent was picking up. When a cop—or a Fed—starts letting small mistakes or bad decisions slide, the scope of the problem just gets bigger. Suddenly, hacking without a warrant or not following procedures gets easier and easier to justify and bigger and bigger violations start to creep in. We're supposed to uphold the law, not make it or break it. We're supposed to solve cases so they can be convicted in a trial, not just for the satisfaction of beating someone else. That whole whale chase of Gibbs—it was all him, not the team, not the agency. That guy offended Gibbs and hurt his pride and Gibbs was determined to make him pay—no matter the cost in time, money, or attention to other cases and victims."

"Then I think it's a good thing you flagged the play when you did, kid," Jack said gently. "If it was only going to get worse—and I think you're right about that—then putting a stop to it when you did may have saved lives, or if not lives, then victims, cases, and the conviction of criminals. Gibbs was compromised, emotionally and physically, and he'd lost focus and he'd lost sight of his moral compass too. It's lucky for him and the whole agency that yours still works fine."

It was the most positive affirmation he'd received in a long time. DiNozzo almost couldn't take it in. O'Neill wasn't his boss but he was an authority figure, a man with an excellent reputation among those who worked for him and those who worked with him, so his good opinion would be valuable and worth taking seriously.

"Thank you, sir." Tony refrained from making eye contact. "As for seeing Gibbs… I think right now would not be a good time. I think I need to process a bit more and get my own head on straight before I try to be of help to him."

"He really fell off that pedestal, huh?"

Tony didn't deny that he'd admired Gibbs as a mentor. "He didn't fall off—he jumped off, pushed it over, and kicked it to pieces."

"Nice metaphor." O'Neill waggled his eyebrows. "Danny would appreciate it—and give you examples of similar expressions from five other cultures or ten other languages if given the chance."

"No thanks," Tony said. "Give Gibbs my regard. I'll get back to you when I'm ready for a visit. You might let Ducky visit. He has the advantage of being older and wiser than Gibbs and Gibbs occasionally even admits to that. Ducky can update him on the Agency and the current atmosphere better than I could. He's also more emotionally detached."

"Up to you," Jack said. "You know how to reach me."

"Thanks for the meal," DiNozzo said as he got to his feet.  "And thank you for making Honeybee's life a bit easier. Please let me know if there's anything I can do to help with that as well. She tends not to notice practical considerations when she's pursuing theoretical ones or herding nerds."

**

Chapter 59

Chapter 59

After he left the steakhouse, Tony pondered for about fifteen seconds about his next destination. He could go back to his apartment, spend time alone thinking about Gibbs and whether he'd made a mistake in refusing to go see him right away—or he could go check on Honeybee and see if she was really as calm and settled as O'Neill thought. Time alone with his own brain trying to argue itself into exhaustion—or spend time with someone who would let him vent or tell him if he was being irrational or stupid and make him see reason. The benefit to going with the latter would be hugs and quiet that wasn't too quiet and a distraction in the form of his thesis if he couldn't sleep. That settled it. He was going to Hon's.  He texted her to let her know he was on the way. 

On my way over. Do you need anything that I can bring?

Don't need anything. Just come home. I need a hug. Or two. Dealing with people is so aggravating. I need to talk to you anyway.

Well, that didn't seem ominous.

 

**

Tony DiNozzo no longer found it strange or unfamiliar to enter a secured apartment building, almost not noticing the routine of clearing the scrutiny of the security officers, as he was making his way to the designated elevator to Dr. H.O. Natwick's apartment.

He didn't even argue when she told him by voice or by text to 'come home'.  He'd lived in many places and in various levels of ostentatious displays of wealth with his parents, in the institutional mediocrity of dormitories, and in a few run down apartments. His own apartment in this city had become a refuge of sorts where he rarely entertained guests or invited friends into his space. It occurred to him that the space he now shared off and on again with his 'twin' was the closest he'd ever come to having a home since his mother's death.

He used his own key to let himself in, toeing off his shoes in the foyer and kicking them to the side of the door as he took off his jacket and hung it on the line of hooks on the wall. There was a definite scent of vanilla and chocolate in the air and though he was pleasantly sated from his dinner and dessert with O'Neill, he concluded that he was going to be offered sugar cookies and brownies as a snack. If she'd been baking, it meant she needed distracting. Most people wouldn't realize that was an ominous sign. Tony wasn't most people so he braced himself for more unpleasant news. It wasn't like he expected a break from such things any time soon.

She was on the phone again, pacing in circles around the living room furniture, before making a lap around the kitchen island. "No, that's not what I said. I don't see why—" Silence for a moment as she listened and waved at him in greeting. "I’m not being unreasonable. I can't just drop everything—No, even if I could, I don't really want to. I don't want to go."

She was fuming but seemed to be watching her words carefully—while mouthing silent curses as she listened.

Tony smothered a chuckle as he read her lips. Among the colorful expressions, he caught 'mouth-breathing morons', 'thundering fart blossoms', and 'feeble-minded brain farts'.  There were others he didn't understand and suspected she was switching languages. She claimed not to speak fluently in languages other than English, but she had an awesome repertoire of names and curse words in at least five languages, picked up from her multi-cultural and multilingual herd of nerds. He seated himself on the sofa and made himself comfortable.

Whatever she was hearing was displeasing judging by the grimace on her face. Her tone was firm but polite as she finished up the conversation. "I'll think about it. I don't know what my schedule looks like for that month. No, I don't control everything. No. I said I'll think about it. You know why I don't want to come. It will be embarrassing at best and a frickin' disaster at worst. You know why. Well, that's fine. Just keep denying it. I'm done." She paused and grabbed a hank of her own hair in her free hand and tugged on it in frustration.

"No, don't call back. I told you that I'll think about it, consult my calendar, and let you know—yes, in time to make arrangements. You better have a backup plan. No, you don't get to guilt me this time. If I decide to come, I won't be coming alone. I know you don't believe it, or don't want to believe it, but if I come, my boss will insist I'm accompanied by a security detail. Yeah. Well, tough shit. I'll let you know. Don't call me, I'll call you." She ended the call and chucked her phone so it landed on the kitchen counter and spun there for a moment.

"So do we need to talk about whatever that was?" Tony said, trying for a light tone.

She studied him for a moment. "No. Nothing to worry about until October. I'm just pissed right now. We'll talk about it some other time. You look tired. Are you okay?" She flung herself onto the couch next to him, and nestled against his chest as he wrapped his arm around her.

"I'm fine." He jumped as she dug a finger into his ribs.

"Don't lie to me. How did it go with O'Neill?"

"I'm not lying—exactly. I don't want to talk about it really, any more than you want to talk about your—whatever it was. O'Neill gave me an update on Gibbs and asked if I wanted to visit." Tony was proud that his voice sounded calm.

"And?" she prodded.

"And I said no—not at this time. I'm still a bit pissed off at him and need more time to calm down I think."

"That's reasonable. Anything else interesting?"

"Nosy woman," Tony complained, kissing her forehead. She didn't speak.  "Okay, I may have gotten a few things off my chest that the general can pass on to Gibbs."

"Good. You need to let some steam off once in a while or you'll boil over."

"Yeah, I know." He stifled a yawn, and pulled away to get to his feet and stretch. "I think I need a hot shower and –" He stopped as he read her expression. Uh oh. "What else? You said you needed to talk to me?"

"It can, uh, wait," she said, unsuccessfully trying to convince him as well as herself.

He sat back down on the sofa, further away so he could see her expression. "Sure. C'mon. What is it?"

She surrendered with a sigh. "There's no reason to get upset, not really."

"That is not an auspicious opening to a 'we need to talk' conversation."

"What? Why would you call it that?"

"Never mind, different application of the term to a different relationship."

"Okay, so anyway, you know you told me you were afr—concerned that Abby or McGee or both might try to cyber attack you or mess with your online presence—"

"Did they?" He'd thought he'd dodged that bullet after it didn't happen in the first two weeks after the team implosion.

  "No, but sometimes when you go fishing you might catch a fish you weren't fishing for, you know?"

  "Honeybee—"

  "Sorry. I'll get to the point. I told you I'd set up some protections and some traps and guard your accounts and I did that. I made sure if anyone other than you tried to access your account information—credit cards, bank accounts, utilities, all of those—that I'd get notified.  Late this afternoon, I got an alert."

 "Was it Abby or McGee?" He didn't know what answer he was hoping for. Either would make him unhappy.

  "Neither. I told you, I caught a fish I wasn't planning on catching. Your trust account—the big one—someone tried to empty that account."

  Oh shit. He closed his eyes. He could predict what was coming.

  "Turns out it was this old man who was trying to claim he had a right to collect the money because he was Anthony DiNozzo."

  Shit. Of all the times for the old man to decide to make his presence known. Wait. Trying to claim? 

  "Did he get the money?" he asked softly, trying his best to hide his disappointment and hurt. He didn't care about the money as much as he cared about being taken for a ride by his own father—again.

  She made a scoffing noise. "Hell no.  I had the account flagged the minute he tried and notified the bank of his attempted fraud. The bank had a copy of your photo—I made sure of that—and there were restrictions on withdrawals that I'd added. The bank called the FBI and had him arrested. Because of the size of the account, I think they said it's a felony, not a misdemeanor. They are going to want you to make a statement but the bank is pressing charges, even if you don't, so---I'm sorry, Tony. It all happened so fast and you were working and I –please, don't be mad at me. I didn't mean to get your father arrested. But once the alert was triggered and the attempted bank fraud was public knowledge, there was nothing I could do."

  He shook his head, feeling a headache beginning to throb. How did he feel? He hadn't even spoken to his sperm donor in seven years. Other than a few Christmas cards and generic gifts, usually sent by the latest stepmother if she was aware of his existence, they'd had no meaningful communication since he'd chosen to go to the police academy right out of college.

  "Tony?" She reached out tentatively and touched his arm. "I'm sorry. Are you –will you be okay?"

  "I never did tell you about my 'father'," he replied. "Haven't talked to him in years and I didn't think that would change—"

"You don't have to tell me anything. But you can, if and when you want to."

"I'm going to get that shower now…and maybe try to get some sleep. I guess the FBI or bank will get in touch tomorrow morning. Damn. Just when I thought things were calming down…" He got to his feet and so did she.  He gave her a tight hug then pulled away and headed for his room leaving her to gaze after him in concern. 

Hell.  He'd have to tell Director Morrow. And maybe take time off to make a statement.  Which meant he'd have to think of something for his probies to do…aw, damn.  He'd worry about it in the morning.

 

**

 

 

 

Chapter 60

Notes:

For those of you who may possess some scientific curiosity about what happens when you accidentally spill a glass of water on your computer keyboard-- I began typing (another chapter of this story) and random numbers started appearing among the words... like goi8ng ... no idea why. New keyboard in place, new chapter up. :D

Chapter 60

Tony DiNozzo hadn't expected to sleep well but the hot shower, general exhaustion--both emotional and physical, and the pain medication for his headache combined to make sure he got some sleep anyway. He was up far too early, made a pot of coffee, and then sat drinking it and trying to organize his thoughts, and even more his emotions which were zinging all over the place as he tried to decide what he was going to do about Gibbs, his father, and his career.

If the whole mess with his sperm donor had occurred in the first year of his partnership with Gibbs, there's no doubt that he would have taken it to the older man for advice or reassurance. That wasn't an option right now. He needed a relatively unbiased opinion about whether he should try to intercede for Senior and defend his actions.

Trying to steal money from his son…again? It wasn't the first time. He'd cleaned out the educational trust fund set up by his mother's family when he'd disinherited him after the disaster that was Hawaii. Senior had claimed it was used to pay for all the various boarding schools that had substituted for parenting from ages 11 to 18. The result had been that Tony had to get scholarships and work many odd jobs to pay for his college education. Senior had meant for it to bring him to heel and get him to agree to go to work for him. Instead, it had taught the younger man self-reliance, the need for a support network in the form of frat brothers and other friends, and allowed him to explore all kinds of experiences and hone his abilities to blend in with any social group or situation.

Senior only seemed to remember his son's existence when he needed or wanted something from him. They had no relationship, nothing but some shared memories and most of those were from before his mother's death. Was there any hope of behaving like father and son in the future? Should he allow the man to suffer the consequences of his own actions?

He had thought that sometime in the last seven years without communication or relationship with the old man that he'd finally let go of the last bit of hope that someday Senior would realize what Tony had to offer and want a relationship with his son. If Senior went to prison and he did nothing to help—that would definitely put the nail in the coffin of any hope.

He could talk to Ducky, but the older man tended to hold old fashioned values and might think Tony shouldn't give up on Senior. Director Morrow was his boss and not really a confidant. Since Gibbs was definitely ruled out now… who was left?

His frat brothers would totally side with him. They'd witnessed the effects of Senior's style of parenting and helped ameliorate some of them. He needed advice from someone who knew the law, knew him—and hopefully had some appreciation for him as an honest man, if nothing else. There weren't a lot of choices. Only one, really. Frenemies could give advice. 

When he decided it wasn't too early to call Fornell, he did so.

It seemed it was actually too early and Fornell answered with a sleepy growl. "What?"

"Fornell, it's DiNozzo."

There was a yawn and the creak of a bed. "So? Why are you calling me at the crack of dawn?"

"Dawn cracked at least an hour ago," Tony quipped.

"Smart ass. You have a reason for calling?"

"Yeah," he winced and decided there was no point in beating around the bush. "Listen, there's a case of bank fraud that's being investigated by the FBI. Would you know who's handling it?"

There was a brief silence. "I'm sure there are hundreds, in as many cities. Be specific."

"Here in D.C. They were called in yesterday at the Federal Bank on Waters Street."

"What's your interest?" Fornell sounded fully awake and suspicious now.

"I guess I'm kind of the victim."

"You're the victim of bank fraud?"

"I just found out last night. The bank reported it yesterday afternoon and an arrest was made on the scene."

"Okay," Fornell sounded a bit confused. "Why would—not to get into your personal business, but why would you be targeted?  Oh, hell. It wasn't Sciuto, was it?" He groaned.  That would be a mess of gigantic proportions.

Tony took a deep breath. "No, it wasn't Abby… or McGee. Nothing to do with NCIS but I had some stronger protections put in place around my cyber life because I suspected either or both might go after me. In this case the trap meant for them was sprung by-- my father, Anthony DiNozzo, Sr." He took another deep breath. "He was trying to raid my bank account for access to a trust fund that my mother left me."

Fornell said nothing for a moment, then whispered, "Damn."

Silence.

"Yeah, so I'm going to call into work and tell Morrow I need a day because I figure I'm going to be contacted by someone from the Bureau very soon and they'll want a statement. I'm not sure if I'm—" He paused to clear his throat. "Not sure about who I need to talk to or if I want to press charges myself—or if I need to in addition to the bank…" He stopped talking.

"Meet me for breakfast, kid."

"What?"

"Make your phone calls and get the day off and meet me for breakfast in an hour at Mamie's Diner. I'll make a few calls and should have some information for you about the case by then."

It wasn't a request. He was being given orders. Right now, following orders was easier than trying to decide for himself what he should be doing. Or feeling.  "Yeah, okay. See you then."

Fornell ended the call and DiNozzo got up to get dressed. For some reason he thought he needed to be dressed before he called Director Morrow and informed him of the newest DiNozzo crisis.

**

Director Morrow heard Tony's hesitant request for the morning or possibly the day off with equanimity then asked about his plans for his trainees.  Upon being told that Tony had pulled some recent cold cases for them to study, Morrow assured him that he would assign an available senior agent to oversee them and further their training. The experience of working with different agents would be beneficial anyway.

Tony thanked the director, ended the call and went to get dressed. Hon was still asleep, or at least, still in her room when he left for the diner so he left her a short note telling her he'd call her later to give her an update. 

Mamie's Diner had a well broken in look that went along with its age and reputation for good, relatively inexpensive food, excellent coffee, and comfortable padded seating, if you didn't happen to sit on a broken spring or crack in the red upholstery.

Fornell was on his second cup of coffee when Tony joined him. He waited until the waitress had poured a cup for Tony and taken their order before speaking. "Damn, kid."

If his eyes had held pity, DiNozzo would have gotten up and walked out. He didn't read pity. He read commiseration and a bit of anger.  That was good. He could work with that. "Yeah, I know."

"The timing…"

"Oh, yeah, I needed more stress right about now," Tony agreed.

"Well, I got a name. The agent in charge is Ted Benson and he planned to call you this morning to get a statement. I told him you'd be coming in at 9. How are you doing with this?"

DiNozzo raised one eyebrow with a sardonic smile.

"Yeah, what a shit show," the FBI agent conceded. "Good news is that since your—"

"Sperm donor," DiNozzo supplied.

"Yeah, him—since he was caught in the act of a fraudulent claim of being the account holder and tried to withdraw the money—all of it, by the way, the bank can press charges without any help from you. Basically all you have to do is prove that the account is, in fact, yours and you're the legal owner of the funds and that he—that man—did not have your authorization to make a withdrawal of any sort."

"The name on the account is clearly marked as Anthony DiNozzo, JUNIOR," Tony said. "Every where his name appears on paperwork it's as Anthony DiNozzo, Senior. The few times he's introduced himself when I'm in the picture, he describes himself as 'the real Anthony DiNozzo'."

Fornell scowled. "What an asshole. I'm glad I know the junior version instead."

"Thanks, Toby."

"Don't call me Toby. Ah, incoming—" Their breakfast had arrived. 

A few minutes went by as they began to eat. Tony ignored Tobias scrutinizing him for a few minutes, then called him on it. "What?"

"How are you doing with this, kid?"

"Don't call me kid. How should I be doing?"

"I'm not sure I know. If it was me—nope, I can't even imagine it. My dad would never have done such a thing and I can't imagine how any man would." Tobias shrugged. "But now I'm really curious."

"About what?" Tony asked, then took a large bite of pancake and bacon, trying to keep calm and just chew.

"How the hell did a rat bastard, money-grubbing weasel like your sperm donor manage to have an honest, intelligent, good cop son like you?"

Tony fought not to choke as the FBI agent continued.

"I've seen a lot of bad family dynamics in my day, on cases, for example, but most of the time the bad apple spoils the bunch. You must take after your mother. Or is it nature vs. nurture?"

"As far as I know, my father is something of a con man. When my mom was alive, I was too young to pick up on much, but once she was gone—" He swallowed hard. "Once she was gone, Senior didn't have much time for me. Not exactly a poor little rich kid story—I did spend a lot of time with the servants because the old man couldn't be bothered to parent. Then he took me to Hawaii on a business trip when I was twelve. I'm not sure why. I think his mark was a rich woman who had a kid about my age but for some reason he didn't put me into play and left me at the hotel while he romanced her."

Fornell was listening, calmly and without judgment.

"It wasn't that big a deal. I got a vacation in Hawaii after all. But then, he forgot about me." Tony concentrated on refilling his coffee cup. "He went off in a private plane with prospective wife #2 and left me at the hotel. I spent three days charging room service and watching movies before his secretary noticed the activity on his credit card—and he'd already gone back to New York. So the cops came and got me. They wanted to get CPS involved but—Senior had money and good lawyers then so it was explained away and I was sent back on my own. That was when he decided a year round boarding school would be a solution to having to parent me. Saved him some money too—since he got into the educational trust fund my mom's parents had set up for me before they died." Tony checked on Fornell's expression.

The older man's hand was white where it was gripping his coffee cup. His mouth worked for a bit before he managed to say, "I don't know what to say. I never would have suspected—hell, you don't show a thing that would give it away. Gibbs said you were a chameleon and people only saw what you wanted them to see, but damn. I saw through some of it—but nowhere near all of it."

"I'm a grown man, Toby. Grown men don't display their hurt feelings in their professional life."  They both relaxed a bit.  Message received.  This was confidential and nothing that would ever be discussed again. 

"Okay, let's finish breakfast. We need to meet with Agent Benson and get the ball rolling on putting that asshole in a world of hurt."

"You're coming with me?" Tony was slightly amused, not having expected that.

Fornell shrugged. "I'll make the introductions. I don't want Benson to get the idea this is a routine matter. Fed solidarity. Agency cooperation…I'm the NCIS liaison, remember?"

"Sure, Tobias." DiNozzo was no longer nervous or undecided about his motivations or decision to let matters take their course without his intervention.

**

Chapter 61

Chapter 61

Agent Ted Benson was in his late forties, an experienced FBI Agent who had his own team in the division that investigated bank fraud and white collar crimes. His dark skin was creased with frown lines on his forehead and around his eyes, his thinning hair was salt and pepper, and he was sporting a well-trimmed beard. His attitude suggested he was not easily surprised by anything, but he was somewhat caught off guard by a Senior Agent such as Fornell accompanying his witness…victim?... to the interview. He shrugged it off and went about getting the facts for his case in a business-like manner.

Despite his claim that he was only accompanying DiNozzo for introductions, Fornell sat down right next to him in an uncomfortable chair and waited patiently and attentively.

Tony had known what to expect so he presented his driver's license, his NCIS ID, and a copy of his bank statement that clearly showed his accounts listed under Anthony DiNozzo, Jr. then answered Benson's questions as he filled out a report.

Benson scanned the documents and made copies for his files then returned them to DiNozzo. "So to be clear this guy is—he really is your father? That's not one of his fake identities?"

Tony flashed him a grin that showed a lot of teeth but little amusement. "I usually refer to him as my sperm donor. His involvement in my life from the time I was twelve doesn't warrant any other title."

Benson cleared his throat but before he could speak, Fornell jumped in.  "Wait—one of his fake identities?"

Tony blinked. Huh. He hadn't thought of that though he probably should have. Con men had to change identities and that was pretty much what Senior was, as far as Tony knew.

Benson nodded and referred to a file. "When he was arrested, he had possession of three passports—all of them with his picture, but three different names, including Anthony DiNozzo, Sr.  That will widen the scope of the investigation and probably involve other agencies."

"Did you have any idea?" Fornell asked.

Tony shook his head. "Like I said, we haven't spoken in about seven years. You might want to check with Interpol as well, Agent Benson. I know he does a lot of traveling and business overseas."

The silence settled uneasily for a few moments as Benson wrote some notes in the file on his desk.

"Do you need anything else from the kid?" Fornell said, eying DiNozzo then staring at Benson.

"He wants to see you," Benson said dryly. "Since we brought him in and locked him up, he's been saying it's all a misunderstanding. We should contact his son, who's a Federal Agent."

DiNozzo sneered. "I'm surprised he even knows that much about me. I bet he doesn't know what agency. I don't think there would be any benefit to anyone to my seeing him. He always claims it's a misunderstanding when someone calls him on his bullshit. Usually he can use charm or money to get what he's after. He's not used to not getting his own way."

"Noticed that," Benson agreed. "He called a lawyer from some fancy New York law firm and they hung up on him. Something about unpaid bills I think."

"Ouch. Seems like reality is going to bite him in the ass this time," DiNozzo said softly. "I don't envy the public defender that gets him. One thing, he tends to self-medicate with booze, if nothing else, and you probably need to watch him for alcohol withdrawal."

"Okay." Benson left it at that. "I have your contact information. I'll let you know if we need more information or if you'll be called to testify. If he's smart, he'll take a plea deal for reduced charges."

"He's not smart, he's just—" Words failed him. Tony only hoped that the whole case and his father's situation wouldn't become a public embarrassment. He was out of practice in trying to cover up the unusual aspects of his upbringing or explain it to people who had no way to relate to or understand his dysfunctional family dynamics.

"His loss," Fornell said, getting to his feet and shaking hands with Benson. "Thanks, Ted. I appreciate your time and attention to this mess." There was an unspoken message of 'this is important to me and I owe you one'.

Tony got up and shook hands with Benson as well. "Yeah. Thanks. I hope he doesn't manage to lie or con his way out of this one. I really don't want to have to deal with him."

Fornell put a hand on Tony's shoulder and guided him away from Benson's desk. "Hey, you can be at work in time for lunch and check on the probies posse."

"Toby, that doesn't sound right. You have to put the collective noun at the front—posse of probies—pack of probies?"

"Whatever."

**

DiNozzo made his way to his current work station in the small conference room to see what was going on with his trainees.

Tina, Joe, and Mel were spaced out around the conference table with a short stack of files in front of each. They were reading through the files and making notes under the watchful eye of Agent Andrew Sutherland, who was working on a laptop.  The three probies looked up upon his arrival, checked out his appearance, and returned their attention to their work. Andrew got up and met Tony as he approached.

"DiNozzo. The director wasn't sure how long your appointment would take so he got me to set these three to work on cold case analysis." Sutherland led a team that specialized in arson and other forms of property related crimes. He had been at NCIS for a little over a year and Tony didn't know him well but had helped him out a time or two with making contacts within Metro or other agencies to aid in an investigation.

"How are they doing?" DiNozzo asked, pretending the probies weren't within listening distance.

"They're good," Sutherland said. "So far Larsen and Orozco have come up with a new line of inquiry on the Hobson case—you remember that one?  An ensign disappeared without a trace and was later blamed for the theft of a supply of medical equipment and pharmaceuticals. Brewer has an idea about going after Dawkins from a different angle—that slippery bastard got off on a technicality and we couldn't find another approach that wasn't affected by the bad search warrant. I'd have any one of them on my team. Do you know where they're being assigned?"

Tony shook his head. "Nope, above my pay grade. Morrow wanted to give them an extra bit of training after FLETC so they should be ready to hit the ground running when they are assigned. Thanks for supervising them in my absence."

"No problem," Sutherland said sincerely. "My team is in the field tying up a few loose ends and I don't need to micromanage them. Agents, keep up the good work."

As the door closed behind the other man, Tony seated himself across the table from Orozco, who was seated between Larsen and Brewer.  "Okay, guys, catch me up… if we really are ready to roll on one or more of these cases, I'll see which team is available and we can brief them—then you can be TAD while they work the case and bring in the suspect."

"Really? I thought we were going to be stuck—I mean I didn't think—"

"Orozco, I know. You didn't think you'd be going into the field—and you probably wouldn't be this soon if I hadn't already seen how well you all handle yourself in a crisis.  Our unexpected crime scene yesterday wasn't planned but call it a shortcut. The difference is that if you go out with a team on an active case, it will be with a full team of two to four agents and therefore you will have adequate supervision, unlike yesterday." Tony waited for their response.

"We did good?" Brewer beamed a grin at him.

"You know you did. I thought I'd made that clear."

"You did," Tina said with a bright smile. "But it doesn't hurt to hear it again."

"Fine," Tony said, trying not to show his amusement. "As I told the director, it was an unusual situation but you kept your heads, followed instructions, and reacted like federal agents should. Now, any other questions before I report in to the director and ask for a team or two to work with you on these cases?"

The trio exchanged glances. Orozco, who seemed to be the default spokesman for blurting out questions that all three wanted answers to spoke up. "Is it true that you found a secret room in a garage that nobody knew was there and when the bomb making suspect came out of it and ran you chased him for almost two miles before you caught up with him, tackled him into a lake, and then had to save him from drowning?"

Oh, for cryin' out loud. Why did Sutherland tell them that story? He sighed. "Sort of…"

**

 

 

 

Chapter 62

Chapter 62

One week later….

Anthony DiNozzo was putting the final touches on the first draft of his thesis and about to send a copy off to his advisor.  A little more than a week of a regularly scheduled work days, meals, and sleeping hours as well as time to run and relax had done a good job of returning him to good health physically. Emotionally? Not so much, but he was improving.

Having a taste of success and appropriate amounts of praise for doing a good job had an impact on his mood which in turn led to a return of his sense of work/life balance and ease of mind. It was almost time for him to start dinner if he was going to cook so he decided to text Honeybee and see if she'd be home—back at the apartment, he self-corrected—tonight and at what time. 

Finished the rough draft and sent it to my advisor. Trying to decide whether to cook or order take out. What's your twenty?

My what?  Oh, wait… I remember that from Smokey & The Bandit. Silly movie. That means where am I? If it does then I'm on the way home. Benny says 20 minutes. Traffic is a bitch.

Did he actually say that?

Yes. Apparently I wasn't supposed to hear it. I think he's mortified because I asked him to define the term in reference to this situation.

Tony chuckled. Science mode was definitely engaged.  So? Takeout? If I order Chinese from Hop Tung it might beat you here. Barely.

Chicken mefan and a spring roll. Phone call.

Tony placed the order then left his office, cleared the kitchen counter, and got out plates and silverware since neither of them cared for using chopsticks. Tony had never mastered them and Hon's wandering attention meant she tended to lose focus and drop bits of food which tended to stain her shirts and led to more laundry.

His phone rang. It was the ringtone he'd assigned to Dr. Abigail Sciuto. "Oh, brother." He let it ring three times before he forced himself to calmly answer. "DiNozzo." He waited.

"Tony?" Abby's husky voice was timid and sounded small.

"Yes, Abby?" he responded calmly. After their last meeting, he'd managed to convince himself that he'd done nothing wrong and that she was out of line. He refused to believe he owed her an apology but he'd keep it civil if she did.  At some point his tolerance for bratty behavior and emotional manipulation had run dry and he had no intention of putting up with any further demonstrations or remonstrations.

"I'm sorry." She was crying, but not making it obvious. "I've been staying with the nuns and they've been praying with me and Sister Benedicta—she was a lawyer before she became a nun and she's a Jesuit and she's been counseling me and says that I've lost sight of my whole reason for working at NCIS and that's to find justice for victims and help convict criminals and if I'm not putting my intelligence and talents to use properly, then things slip through the cracks and I'd never want that to happen and maybe I didn't see it because I was in the lab and I always think Gibbs is right but—" She stopped to gulp in air.

"Abby, calm down. Take a deep breath. I'll wait. I'm listening." He sat down on a stool at the counter and took a few deep breaths himself.

It was almost a full minute before Abby got her breath and some of her composure back. "I talked to Ducky again and he told me about the problems that JAG found with some of the cases and none of them were lab mistakes so that's why I didn't know about them. I never think much about what happens after the teams arrest people, not unless I have to testify in court so I didn't know that the rules about supervising probies was such a big deal or could get a case thrown out of court and I should have known that and I should have known better…"

"Lots of people at NCIS did know better but they weren't following the legal procedures and the guidelines NCIS has in place. I don't blame you for what you didn't know."

She blew her nose. "But you blame me for blaming you when you were the only one on the team who didn't screw up? I know that now—except maybe Timmy didn't really understand what he didn't know and he didn't know to ask and maybe he can learn better what to do but it's really not his fault—"

"I'm glad you know none of this was my fault," Tony said quietly. "I tried to warn Gibbs and rein him in."

Honeybee came through the front door carrying the Chinese takeout that she must have gotten from the deliveryman in the lobby. He held up a hand to signal her he was on the phone. She nodded, kicked off her shoes, put the bags on the end of the counter then continued on her way to her room to change clothes.

"Gibbs didn't listen," Abby said softly, still with tears in her voice. "He really was sick and we didn't even notice? That's awful."

"He wasn't exactly sick. I thought Ducky explained."

"I don't think I was listening very well," Sciuto admitted.

"General O'Neill knew Gibbs from some black ops thing years ago and when he saw the way Gibbs was acting, he thought there was something hinky—because the man he remembered wouldn't have been throwing a screaming tantrum in the bullpen. So he took Gibbs to a medical facility that's state of the art and under the auspices of the very top secret, highly classified program that O'Neill is running out of the Pentagon, and the doctors there determined that Gibbs had some closed traumatic brain injury and possibly some other damage that needed to be healed."

"How did they do that?" she asked. "Are they sure they've healed him completely? Is he going to be all right? Is he back to normal? If he's back to normal, why can't we see him? When is he coming back to NCIS?"

He waited for her to run down and strove for patience. "I don't know the answers to all those questions. O'Neill considers Gibbs a friend from what I can tell and is doing his best for him. I guess we'll just have to have faith that it will work out. It takes time to heal and you know Gibbs won't want to come back until he's fighting fit."

"I worry about him."

"What about you?  When are you coming back to work?" He had to ask.

"Next Monday. Two weeks off is about all I can stand. I miss my babies in Labby. And I miss you. I promise I'm going to do better. No more tantrums."

"Professional behavior on the job is a good goal for everyone. There are going to be some changes at NCIS to get everyone back in line with proper procedures. Everyone will have to learn and adapt."

"I hate change." It was a good sign that it was a complaint but it wasn't a whine.

"Abby Sciuto, when we first met, you kept it totally professional in the lab while you were working. You may have played around a bit in the break room but you—lately, you've…it's gotten to be a bit too much." He stopped himself there.

"It was just so easy to tease and joke around…and maybe play a bit too much, especially when Timmy came. Sister Benedicta says I was showing off for him because I found his attention flattering. I think she's right and I know maybe I should stop trying to compete for attention from Gibbs because—well, because it started seeming like he was playing favorites or something…"

"You can't control his behavior, Abby," Tony said, using her name partly to clue in Hon who'd returned in her casual lounging clothes and was preparing glasses of water to accompany their meal. "You can only really control your own. That's something we all have to accept. On the job, be professional and business-like---off the job be the free spirit you are. Think you can do that?"

"I might need a reminder. I'm so sorry, Tony. I wish I could hug you right now."

"I'll get a substitute hug from my friend," Tony said, finally feeling a bit of relief that Abby might have turned a corner, at least for now.  "I have to go. Dinner's ready. Good night."

"Good night. I'm gonna start a novena." The Goth ended the call.

Hon put the water glasses on the counter and stepped closer to DiNozzo. "Did I hear you need a substitute hug?" she asked.

"Yes, dear," Tony replied in a nasal voice, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her in tight for a bear hug. "And how was your day?"

**

Chapter 63

Chapter 63

Anthony DiNozzo was sleeping well, warm and comfortable, when he suddenly awoke. He leaned up on one elbow and listened. There'd been a sound. What was it? A loud crashing boom of thunder rattling the window of the bedroom answered that question along with the bright flash of lightning streaking across the sky that he could see in small space between the almost closed curtains. The rain was just beginning to go from a trickle to pouring down as he yawned, stretched and got to his feet. He threw on a light robe over his pajama pants and headed for the living room.

The big picture window was providing a lovely view of the storm as it blew in with ferocity, the lightning providing flashes of light that limned the clouds. He wasn't terribly surprised to find Hon still fully dressed and sitting with her back to the arm of the couch so she could get a good view of the storm in all its majesty. He slipped into the chair on the right of the couch that faced the window. "You knew it was coming?"

"Knew all day," she said quietly. "Even when we're inside people get a bit squirrely when the barometric pressure starts to drop. I love watching storms, when I'm safely tucked up at home."

"Might be a power failure," Tony suggested, not terribly worried about the prospect.

"Doubt it," she replied. "Anyway, this is a secure building. It wouldn't do to let something like that affect this place so there're backup generators that kick in automatically."

They sat in silence and watched the rain splattering against the windows and noted a brief ping or two off the window as small hailstones made their presence known but quickly faded away. It was probably about twenty minutes before the thunder settled down to a faraway rumble and the rain slowed to a gentle fall.

Tony studied her in the dim light. "Are you all right?"

"Having trouble turning off my brain," she confessed.

"Work?"

"Nope. Family."

"It's not Bernard again, is it?" he asked suspiciously.

"No," she answered with a reluctant smile. "My parents are dealing with him—or they were. He's in rehab again. This time it better stick because dad has stopped trying to hide it from the rest of the family. My other brothers, cousins, aunts, uncles… the whole clan is on his ass now so he better shape up."

"So….?" He asked leadingly.

She let her head fall back and rest on the arm on the couch as she stared up into the dark towards the ceiling. "There's this thing…" She stopped there.

"That's wonderfully specific."

"There's a thing going on at my high school in conjunction with graduation next month. For some dumb ass reason, someone got a bee in their bonnet and they want me to come give a speech and dedicate the new science building." She did not sound enthusiastic. "Which they started using at the beginning of the school year so it's kind of silly to dedicate it now."

"How old were you when you graduated?"

She scowled at him. "Almost 15. What's that got to do with anything?"

He held up his hands in surrender. "Nothing, nothing. So why do they want you to dedicate the science building?"

"Because I'm a scientist?" she ventured.

"Uh-huh. Sure."

She gave a huge and dramatic sigh and surrendered. "You won't let this go, will you?"

"Nope. Not if it's making you all—pensive?  Depressed? Upset?"

"I'd go with pensive—and maybe apprehensive," she admitted. "I haven't been back there since… I haven't been back there at the school since I graduated. I hardly visit my home town anyway and that's never been one of my favorite places."

"So why are you supposed to dedicate the building?"

"Why do you think?"

"You donated the money for the Science Building?"

"Does that sound likely?"

"As a matter of fact it does," he asserted. He stared at her until she caved as he knew she would.

"Not all of it," she equivocated. "Yeah, I donated a big chunk of money because it's a small town and the school had limited resources. I wasn't the only kid there interested in science, but I had other opportunities and got a scholarship and went to college and made some money with my inventions and patents so it's not like I couldn't afford it." She sounded defensive. "The donations were supposed to be anonymous, damn it."

"But it's a small town."

"Yep. I thought it was a good idea to make sure the school was up to date. I've got nieces, nephews, and cousins that will be or are attending that high school."

"So what's the big deal about going back and letting them thank you for your help?"

"They'll think I'm showing off."

"Sounds like that's their problem, not yours. You know you're not showing off."

"It's not just that. You don't understand." She sounded sad.

"And I won't if you don't explain."

"Not now. I don't want to talk about it. I don't want to think about it." She curled into a ball on the couch and buried her face in a pillow.

Hmm. "Okay. You want some hot chocolate or are you ready for bed?"  He stood up.

"Sleepy," she murmured.

"Well, don't sleep there," he remonstrated. He held out his hand and she took it so he pulled her to her feet and steadied her as she found her balance. He walked her to her bedroom door, waited until the door closed behind her, and returned to his own room to try for a few more hours of sleep now that the storm had broken.

 

**

When DiNozzo awoke for the second time that morning, he found himself on his own for breakfast. Hon was sleeping in or at least didn't put in an appearance. He wasn't expecting a phone call from an Unknown Number.  What the hell—he answered it. "DiNozzo."

"Hey, Dino, sorry if I'm callin' too early," a cheerful booming voice said.

He placed it at once. "No, you're not, you love rousting people out of bed, you ornery cowboy."

"You got me," replied Vin Rodgers, FLETC instructor and old acquaintance. "I wanted to catch you before you went to work."

Tony took a sip of his coffee before saying calmly, "Which one are you calling about?  Todd or McGee?"

"Don't know a Todd—must not have gotten around to CSITP yet."

Huh. That was odd. Tony would have thought Crime Scene Investigators Training would have been a priority for both probies.  "So what's up with McGee? He should have a leg up on most of the trainees. He's been on active crime scenes for months."

There was a pause and a slurp. Rodgers was drinking coffee as well. "That's kind of the problem, Dino. He's half-assing it. He thinks he already knows the course materials and procedures and it's a waste of his time. He's tried to talk himself out of the beginner class and on to more advanced classes. Hasn't worked."

"I bet he's made himself popular with his fellow trainees," Tony muttered.

"Not so's you'd notice."

"How many times has he mentioned his Master's of Computer Forensics at MIT and his BS in Biomedical Engineering from Johns Hopkins?"

Rodgers sounded amused. "Oh, about every other day which also pisses off the other trainees. He comes across as smug. The only reason I decided to call you is 'cause he has intelligence and potential—problem is he's not trying to learn anything new. He seems to think a computer can solve any case if he has the data to feed it. Kind of surprised me when I found out you were his training officer, but then I was reminded that Special Supervisory Agent Gibbs was your team lead."

"Not going there," Tony said firmly. "Let's just say my ability to train McGee properly was…interfered with due to team dynamics and conflicting goals."

"Damn, you still got that golden tongue. You can almost make that sound reasonable. I've heard the rumors and I don't much care how much truth there is to most of it, but I can't make a silk purse out of a sow's ear. I checked his records. His first time through he did a better job. Unless McGee starts applying himself, he's not going to pass the course."

"You want me to talk to him?"

"I figured it's worth a try. He's gone turtle on me—and I've heard the same from his other instructors. You know I don't like to give up on anybody."

Tony did know that. His experience as a cop had meant he was ahead of the curve when he took that class at FLETC but he'd always been curious and willing to learn more on almost any subject. "I don't know if he'll listen, but I'll give it a try. As soon as I hang up with you. Thanks for trying to help him."

"Thanks, Dino. Hope he straightens up. Like I said, he has potential but he needs to be teachable not defensive."

The call ended and Tony gave himself until he'd finished breakfast and a second cup of coffee before he made the call.

"Tony?" McGee sounded surprised and a bit wary. "Why are you calling me?"

"I thought I'd check on you. How's it going down in Georgia?"

There was a clatter of dishes being placed in a sink. "Oh, just wonderful," he moaned. "This is so stupid. I've done these classes before. It's a waste of time. I want to get back to work."

"McGee, it's not a waste of time and with that attitude you're making the whole situation worse."

"What situation?"

"Your first time through FLETC, what were your scores?"

"I passed everything," McGee said defensively.

DiNozzo let a silence fall.

"I did pass everything," McGee said. "The cyber crime classes were my best—"

"And the physical and shooting classes were your lowest grades," Tony added. "But yes, you passed."

"What are you saying?" the younger man demanded. "I'm already an agent. I can do the job. I don't need to be taking these classes again. It's just punishment and to embarrass me and I didn't do anything wrong."

"Wow. Calm down, Probie. Why do you think it's punishment? Has someone said something?"

"No, but they're all staring at me, especially the instructors, waiting to see if they can trip me up."

Defensive mode was fully engaged—that's what Rodgers meant when he said McGee was turtling.

"McGee, the instructors are supposed to observe you and evaluate you. It's part of their job. But think about this, what are you showing them?"

"I don't know what you mean," he said sulkily.

"The fact you already know the material, or at least most of it, should mean that you should be acing the classes. You should be demonstrating what you learned working as an active agent since you became one –-before and during your time on MCRT. So why isn't that happening?"

"I shouldn't have to be here."

DiNozzo was beginning to lose patience, always in short supply in the morning. "Suck it up, buttercup. You're lucky you're there, rather than fired. You do know the director had just cause to fire you for helping Gibbs hack databases without a warrant?"

"What?"

How was this news to him? Tony wondered. "McGee, the main reason you still have a job at NCIS is because Morrow was persuaded that you have potential and that a lot of your mistakes and the legal issues on the team were due to a lack of supervision and training." He didn't mention that a lot of the persuasion had come from him.

"I knew what I was doing—"

"When you failed to get a picture ID of a suspect because Kate told you to check McClain's alibi? You failed because you weren't taught how to go about it. They barely cover some of those details at FLETC, expecting agents will be trained and supervised on the job by the SFA or SSA. Kate may or may not have known how to go about it but bossy and confident as she might be, she's also a junior agent and was supposed to be supervised."

No response. Tony hoped he was thinking it over. "The director was convinced that your problems on the job were down to a lack of training. That's what's being addressed at FLETC. When you come back to NCIS, if you pass all your classes, you will still be a probationary agent and this time you will be supervised and trained as you should have been the first time. I suggest you change your attitude and instead of trying to escape being taught, you should take every opportunity to learn what you need to know. You've already got the cyber stuff down very well, with the exception of the legality of when you're allowed to hack and when you need authorization or a warrant."

"What happened to you?" McGee demanded. "All of a sudden you're an authority on legalities—on our first case, you broke into the suspect's house."

Damn it. Tony knew that would come back to bite him on the butt. It had been fun teasing the new agent and giving him a hard time, while trying to make him think.

"Okay, we'll go there. When we arrived at the suspect's cabin—no one was home, it was isolated and very much screamed hideout, right?" He didn't wait for a response. "He was our only suspect. He'd left the job where he had access to all he needed to steal Drew's identity and take his place on the sub? So we were about 99% sure, this guy was involved. Waiting for a warrant would have taken hours and we knew that whatever the impostor was doing on the sub would most likely have deadly consequences. You agree so far?"

"Yeah," McGee said reluctantly, "But you broke in."

"And if it had ever gone to trial that would have been a problem if we'd told the truth. I was kidding around and didn't bother to explain my actions to you which makes me a bad training officer. A case could be made that gathering intelligence was enough of an exigent circumstance that it was justified. Do I need to define exigent circumstance?"

"No."

"Once we were inside, I spotted the odd plug and we traced the wiring behind the bookcase. We moved the bookcase and you were able to use your computer skills to find out the plan. I figured out how it would be deployed and we got a message to Gibbs."

"I know. I was there." It was a plaintive tone, but at least he was still listening.

"If we'd waited for a warrant, would Gibbs have gotten the message in time to warn him of the danger so he could eliminate the sarin gas? You know, it wouldn't have happened. Everyone aboard the sub would have died—but we'd have covered our asses with a warrant so did it matter?"

"Of course—but then why all the fuss about warrants for hacking?"

"Damn it, McGee. You know the difference. You just don't want to admit you knew better and did it anyway to get a 'good boy' from Gibbs. Did anyone tell you why the Air Force came after Gibbs and shut that search down?"

"Not exactly."

"I know a bit more because I was read in by my contact at the Pentagon so I could explain things to the director. I'm not sure of the chain of events but somehow one of the systems you hacked led directly or indirectly to a program so classified it reports only to the President. Someone else used your link to access or try to access their files. Fortunately, someone from the Pentagon was tracking your hacks due to security concerns and back traced…ah, hell. Never mind the details. Our terrorist, let's call him Ari, was working for another spy agency and was trying to get into that very classified program as well. Once the Pentagon tracker gathered that intel, it was dealt with. Ari and his employer are now in a world of hurt at a level so high it would give you a nose bleed. NCIS no longer is concerned with Ari or what he wanted as he's out of the picture."

"I didn't know—"

"I believe you though thousands wouldn't. McGeek, you do excellent work when you know what you're doing, but when you don't know you need guidelines, rules, regulations, and laws to make sure you stay on the side of the angels. You are smart and good with computers, but you are not the only one. Others can take advantage of back doors you leave for yourself. That's why you're taking the ethics class and why you need to demonstrate that you've learned and will not repeat past mistakes."

"Tony… I just never thought… wow."

"This is your wake up call, Tim. Take advantage of it and go show the first time trainees at FLETC how it's done. Impress the instructors and leave them in no doubt that they've done a good job preparing you for the real world application of the lessons they're teaching you."

The silence lingered before a thoughtful McGee spoke again. "Gee, Tony, have you turned into an actual grownup?"

"It had to happen at some point in time," DiNozzo said with exaggerated grief.

"Thanks, Tony. I promise I'll do better."

"I know you will. Now I have to get to work… I'm supervising three probies on cold cases. Orozco's pretty good on computers but you could show him a few tricks for shortcuts on searches if he's still around when you get back."

"I look forward to it."

*

 

Chapter 64

Chapter 64

Something was tickling at the back of DiNozzo's mind as he entered the bullpen. Rodgers didn't know an Agent Todd?  Given that Kate was being sent down from a post at NCIS rather than new to federal agencies, all the instructors should have an idea who she was even if she wasn't signed up for their classes. The FLETC campus wasn't that big and the trainers were diligent about sharing information on the trainees and their progress. It was odder still that the one class Tony knew for sure that Kate needed most, the Crime Scene Investigator program, was the one where she was noticeably absent.

Balboa greeted him with a grin. "Hey, Tony, thanks for the loan of Orozco yesterday. I sent him out this morning with Kath and Brian to pick up our suspect in the Hobson case. He and Larsen found a cold trail and came up with the goods."

"Where are my other two?"

"Brewer and Larsen are in the conference room still working on the Dawkins case last I heard. They had some questions they wanted to run by you or Legal."

"Thanks, Rocky. I'll check on them. Thanks for keeping an eye on them. Three at a time is a bit much."

Rocky waved away his gratitude and went back to work on his computer.

Tony went to his desk and called Janice, the director's secretary. "Hey, pretty lady, I was wondering if Director Morrow has a few minutes to talk to me this morning."

"You're such a flirt, Tony. All compliments gratefully appreciated. Let me check the calendar….Okay, he's in MTAC on some international calls right now, but he's scheduled a coffee break at 10:30. Would that work?"

"That's great. I'll plan to go to our favorite coffee shop with him then. Can I bring back something for you?"

"I'd love one of their chocolate croissants," she said. "Thanks for asking."

"It's a date."  Tony hung up the phone and headed for the conference room.

He got an update on the Dawkins case from Tina and Joe, answered a few of their questions, and called in Randy Stoddard from Legal who joined them and answered a few more.  Dawkins had escaped justice the first time on a technicality due to a mistake in the limits specified on the search warrant. This time they had a new approach, a new source of evidence, possibly a new witness, and a clear path to investigate that would avoid being tainted by the first round.

After Stoddard left, Tony checked the time. "Okay, Tina, Joe, I need to speak to the director and I will ask if there's a team available to work on this case right now. If there is, one or both of you may be assigned temporarily to work with that team to bring this case to a result. For now, pull out a couple more cases, the colder the better and see what you can do with them. Orozco should be back soon and if he's not needed with the team he's working with, they'll send him back here and you can have him do the same thing."

"You think we're ready for the field?" Brewer asked with a grin.

DiNozzo smirked. "With proper supervision. Don't get ahead of yourself. It's a good idea to get experience working with different teams and agents. You don't know where your duty station will be or with whom you'll be working so learning to adapt to different styles and learn from every possible situation is to your benefit, no matter where you end up."

"Yes, boss," the duo said in unison.

He gave a fond shake of his head and left them to it.

**

Director Morrow and DiNozzo were comfortably seated at a table in the most private area of the coffee shop, drinks in hand, pastries in a bag before the discussion began.

"It's hard to believe it was storming last night. It dried up fast." The director looked a bit tired and blinked in the sunshine coming through the corner window, but then he'd been in the darkened room of MTAC most of the morning. "You wanted to see me, Tony?"

Tony?  That set the tone for an informal approach. "Yes, sir. I got a call from Vin Rodgers at FLETC this morning and I thought you should know about it."

Morrow recognized the name. "He called you rather than me because he didn't want to make it official? What did McGee do?"

A smile twitched at Tony's lips. "How did you know it was McGee?" His amusement faded away as the other man frowned.

"I was going to tell you today, anyway. Agent Todd has decided to hand in her resignation rather attend classes at FLETC. She said something about furthering her education and taking other opportunities."

DiNozzo felt a bit surprised and disappointed but not terribly shocked. "Her pride wouldn't let her accept that she needed training." It wasn't a question.

Morrow stared at him. "That's the gist of it, though that's not what she said. She said she didn't feel her life goals were compatible with the agency's directives. She did stop short of complaining about the patriarchy and misogyny rampant in law enforcement but it was in the subtext in her letter of resignation. She seems to honestly think that the issues with her performance as an agent and so-called 'profiler' were based on her sex rather than with legal issues, procedural errors, and repeatedly becoming too emotionally involved with suspects or victims."

Tony gave a whole body shudder. "I don't get it. She's an intelligent woman, educated and experienced. She worked her way up in the Secret Service. I don't know what happened or when she got so---so deluded?  So convinced that she's the only one who sees the truth?"

Morrow shook his head. "Maybe the way she lost that job and ruined her career did her head in. Anyway, she's not our problem now. Even if she'd made it back, do you think she could have adapted to working with Gibbs—once he had his head on straight and stopped pampering her? I still don't understand why he was so adamant about proclaiming her profiling skills when he had to have seen they were lacking. He held her to a totally different standard than any other agent. Tell me the truth, Tony, was Gibbs sleeping with her?"

DiNozzo choked on his coffee. When he'd coughed his throat clear, he managed a strangled, "No! There was never any—I mean Gibbs flirted with her during the case on Air Force One because he was trying to get her to cooperate in the investigation, but once she came to work for us, that stopped. Mostly. I think she might have been a bit conflicted about that. I thought she had a bit of a crush on him, but how any crush could survive the way he treated us all when we were working—"

Morrow held up a hand. "I'll take your word for it. I had to ask. I hope whoever is doing therapy with Gibbs will address his issues with women. Or at least persuade him to be more professional on the job. His private life is not my problem… at least now that one or more of his ex-wives have stopped showing up at the office. Anyway, back to McGee?"

"Rodgers thought he needed a motivational kick in the pants and I could supply it." He didn't want to go into details and possibly make things worse for his first probie.

"Was he right?"

"Yes, sir. I supplied the kick in the ass by informing him of how close he came to losing his job, gave him some additional reasons to be more motivated to do well, and dangled the hope of returning to NCIS if not the MCRT with greater supervision and opportunities to learn beyond the use and abuse of computer forensics. In other words, a reality check. He seemed to be listening, but time will tell."

"Good. Now tell me about these cold cases you've gotten leads on and what do you need from me?"

*

 

Chapter 65

Chapter 65

With all three of his trainees working with other teams on the cold cases that had been reopened, DiNozzo found himself with a little time on his hands so he settled at his desk in the bullpen and culled through more of the cold case files, looking for good prospects for investigation and setting them aside for when they were needed. 

It occurred to him a bit later in the afternoon that he should probably get Ducky up to date on Kate's resignation and maybe discuss his unscheduled but definitely upcoming meeting with Gibbs.  He probably should contact O'Neill or Davis and find out the timing on when Gibbs would be prepared to return to NCIS and make sure that HR would have the proper paperwork to show he was cleared both physically and psychologically to return to duty. Davis, at least, had an excellent grasp of paperwork and most likely had it in hand but just to be sure…

Tony picked up the phone and called HR, asking to speak to Delores Bromstead. "Ms. Bromstead, this is Tony DiNozzo."

"Yes, Agent DiNozzo, how can I help you?" Her tone was polite if not warm.

"I've had some indication from, uh, a source, that Agent Gibbs is recovering from his—indisposition—and may be healthy enough to return to duty. The time line is uncertain but likely during the next month." Tony wondered if he should have gotten the director to make this call. He wasn't sure if he was overstepping his bounds since the MCRT wasn't actually functional at this time, and therefore Tony wasn't Gibbs' SFA at this time either.

"I see." She probably did see and wasn't excited about the prospect of Gibbs returning. He had never had time or patience for dealing with their concerns or paperwork, leaving most of it to Tony, especially for anything that required personal interaction.

Tony persisted in the face of the resounding silence. "So I know there are requisite forms that need to be filed with HR, among other offices, that show that Gibbs has been cleared for a return to duty or for any other decision made relevant to his, uh…future. In preparation for that, so there are no last minute, uh, surprises or delays, I thought perhaps you could identify the necessary forms and documentation and send them to me—or to the Pentagon office which is currently overseeing, uh,--"

"Those responsible for taking charge of Agent Gibbs and his health issues?" she supplied in a very dry tone.

Yeah, that would work. He was done trying to tiptoe around the logistics of the situation and express himself diplomatically. "Yes. I will email you the name and phone number as soon as I hang up. Thank you for your help and attention to this, Ms. Bromstead."

"Thank you for thinking of the need, Agent DiNozzo. I will provide the forms needed for any possible outcome, including retirement, resignation, or return to duty since at this time, as far as I know, no decision has been reached by Director Morrow or Agent Gibbs. I've always appreciated your organizational skills and attention to details. I will get this done today. Goodbye."

DiNozzo hung up the phone and stared at it for a moment. Was that a compliment? Wow. He didn't think she handed those out often. She thought of everything. It had occurred to him that Gibbs might wish to return to the MCRT—and it might be problematic given the legal issues raised during his leadership of the team. It had also occurred to him that Gibbs might choose to resign, if not retire, or ask for a transfer. It wasn't any of his business—except it sort of was. Any decision Gibbs made would have an impact on Tony's professional life. He wasn't sure he could return to being Gibbs' SFA, both because his trust in Gibbs' leadership had been broken and because he'd had a limited taste of leading his own team and he liked it. His recent successes had led to increasing self-confidence and he really enjoyed training others—at least others who respected him and were willing to learn from him. 

There was a stir from the direction of the elevator and he turned to see the members of Balboa's team, along with Melecio Orozco, bringing a handcuffed man into the bullpen. Brian Hayes and Orozco took the prisoner to interrogation while Kath went to Rocky's desk with a wave at Tony to join them while she made her report.  "We got Hobson, boss. Five years after he disappeared, Orozco made a connection to a family member that was flying under the radar. Hobson's not talking yet, but since he stole his second cousin's identity we can follow his trail and lock this down. How the kid thought to check extended family…he's good. Probably won't recover any of the stolen medical equipment and definitely not the drugs, but he may still have some of the cash. I see a court-martial in his future."

"How did Mel do?" Tony asked.

"He's a fast learner. He kept his focus and followed our lead."  Kath was never effusive with praise but that she had no criticism was a good sign. "He wants to observe the interrogation. If that's okay with you, Tony?"

He wondered why she was asking his permission then recalled that he was the official training officer. "Sure. The other two are out with Sutherland on another case. I'm fast working my way out of a job."

Balboa slapped a hand on his shoulder. "That's what you're supposed to do with trainees… teach them what you know and move them on. You want to watch too?"

"No, I actually need to talk to Ducky. If Orozco gets finished, you can keep him busy or send him my way and I'll set him up with another cold case."

**

Dr. Mallard had approved of DiNozzo's plan to set up a meeting with Gibbs and agreed that it should take place in a neutral and private setting and had agreed to accompany him. Tony made a call to Paul Davis and accepted his suggestion of meeting at General O'Neill's office that evening, though he refused the offer of a driver and car.

It was only a few hours to wait, but DiNozzo found his mind wanted to run through all the possible things Gibbs might or might not say and what he would say in return.  He tried to resist scripting—it meant worrying about too many things that might not happen and not being prepared for things that would.

He distracted himself as best he could and decided to let Honeybee know what was going on.

What are you doing?

Researching neurotoxins and detection techniques before I have to flip to math brain and work on the budget report. Why?  What's up?

What are you wearing? ;D

… What?

He should have known she wouldn't get the joke. Never mind. I'm not going to be around for dinner tonight. Ducky and I are going to meet with Gibbs.

There was a significant pause. Do not let him blame you for his crap. Don't let him hit you either. Physically or any other way.

Honeybee….

I mean it, Tony. I'm glad you're taking Ducky. Maybe he can referee.

We don't need a referee. I have my head on straight now. I think I have a reasonable grasp on where the blame lies for the meltdown of the MCRT, and while I do have a share in what happened, I wasn't the primary causal factor. Damn. You have me using scientific vocabulary.

It's good for you. You don't need to play dumb to let someone else feel smart. I know this is going to be hard for you, but don't let yourself slide into old habits like taking the blame for things you aren't responsible for.

Yes, mother.

Ha. If I was your mother, you'd already have a PhD.

More school? Gad. Get back to work. The budget waits for no one.

The budget waits for me. I'll do it when I feel like it.

How rebellious of you.

Bean counters are ridiculous, but so are scientists who don't understand enough math to realize their requests are totally unreasonable even if they are spending someone else's money.

Give 'em, hell, Tiger.   Tony put his phone down with a chuckle, more relaxed than he'd been all day. Hon was a good, if weird, influence on his mood. It still felt odd to have someone worrying about his welfare and doting on him when he was out of sorts, but it was also oddly satisfying.

**

It had been almost a full month since Gibbs had been seen by anyone from NCIS. At that time he'd been full of rage, over-caffeinated, over-excited, under-slept, and over tired but still going full throttle in his pursuit of his white whale, the terrorist they now knew as Ari.

Dr. Mallard and DiNozzo weren't sure what to expect when they walked into General O'Neill's office but hoped for a definite improvement. Jack O'Neill was seated at a round table in a small sitting area near the door as they walked in.

Gibbs was seated on his left, dressed casually in a long-sleeved button down shirt and jeans. He looked—better. He could hardly have looked worse, that was true. He looked healthy with good color, his eyes bright, no bags under his eyes, his posture relaxed. Only his flat expression gave any hint that he was at all stressed. His mouth twitched in a half smile of greeting as his co-workers entered the room and accepted the wave from O'Neill as an invitation to seat themselves at the table.

Tony subtly guided Ducky to take the seat next to Gibbs, seating himself next to Ducky, which put him more or less directly across from Gibbs and to the right of O'Neill. 

There was a tray containing a pitcher of water and some elegant goblets on the table. O'Neill reached forward and started pouring water and distributing glasses to everyone. As he settled back into his seat with his own glass, he broke the silence. "I'm only here because it's my office. I'm not part of this discussion so you guys have at it. Just keep it civil. Security gets itchy if violence breaks out."

Dr. Mallard and Gibbs both gave the man an exasperated glare. Tony snorted. "I'm sure you're worried about it, Jack."

"Not so you'd notice," the general agreed and took a sip of his water.

Tony and Ducky exchanged a look then looked at Gibbs. No one said anything.

Ducky frowned a reprimand. "Silence is not going to repair any bridges, gentlemen."

Gibbs took a drink of his water. "Don't know what you want me to say, Duck."

Under the table, Tony clenched his fist and started counting to ten in English, then Spanish, then Italian…while maintaining a politely interested expression that gave away nothing.

"How are you feeling, Jethro?" Dr. Mallard said with a hint of sarcasm. "Have you returned to full health and vigor?"

"Doing good," Gibbs agreed, giving a nod.

Jack rolled his eyes. "Being a functional mute isn't going to help you here, Jethro. You wanted to talk to them, to explain.  You want to do it sometime this year or are you going to wait it out until they lose patience and walk out?"

"And then blame us for not giving you a chance to explain?" Tony added quietly. "That is your modus operandi."

Ducky shook his head and reached over to put a hand on Tony's arm but said nothing. Jack raised his eyebrows at Gibbs.

Gibbs winced. "Not what I meant to do. I'm not good at this –you know that."

"You don't have to be good at it to communicate," Mallard said. "Make an effort. You may not get another chance." He indicated DiNozzo with a jerk of his head.

Tony was, to all appearances, waiting patiently but the other three men were insightful enough to know it was a façade.

Gibbs cleared his throat. "Fine. Jack says you know about my girls."

"Yes," Tony said calmly. "I was a bit short on trust after what happened with Danny Price so before I came to NCIS, I did some research. You never brought it up and it's your private life so I never mentioned it."

Gibbs got to his feet, unable to stay still, and walked over to look out a window as he continued. "Been doing some thinking—and being pestered by shrinks which I hate but it did help me work through some things. You know the stages of grief? Yeah, I'm sure you do—seems like I got stuck at step 2… I blew through denial and landed on anger… and stayed there. Going after criminals gave me a target for my anger and let me get some of it out of my system—but it never lasted long."

It sounded like the older man was repeating some of the things he'd learned in therapy. The language wasn't totally his own but had echoes of someone else's words.

"Guess it built up even more over the years and I wasn't knocking it back down. I was shoving it to the side and distracting myself. Couldn't last. When that terrorist—Ari—came right into my territory and challenged me personally—and hurt some of my people—well, hell. I kind of lost it." He turned to stare at DiNozzo. "Yeah, you tried to tell me but I—I couldn't listen. You were getting in my face and getting in my way."

"It was my job, Gibbs," Tony choked out, torn between fury and outrage, jumping to his feet.

Gibbs turned back to the window. His voice was calmer as he said, "I know, Tony."

"It didn't start with Ari," Ducky said icily.

Gibbs stiffened but stayed silent.

"What do you mean, Dr. Mallard?" O'Neill asked, looking between the two of them. Tony was still standing, staring at Gibbs' back.

Ducky got to his feet and stood shoulder to shoulder with DiNozzo. "I mean, that when Anthony joined NCIS and for almost 18 months after that, Gibbs and Anthony were partners. At the time there was no team, but the two of them with occasional assistance from other agents solved cases very successfully. It was only when the team expanded that Jethro's attitude towards Anthony began to take a downturn."

"I don't know what that means," O'Neill said, looking concerned.

"He means that Gibbs stopped treating me like a partner. He means that Gibbs used to appreciate my abilities and skills and let me use them to work in ways that he couldn't or wouldn't. I took care of any pesky social interactions like dealing with other agencies to get information, questioning crying witnesses, or smoothing over any difficulties with other agents or cops when we had to share an investigation. He means that once he had a 'team'—or mainly Kate Todd, his chosen one on the team, he had a new toy to play with and I was pushed to the back of the closet. He didn't bother to train her and undermined my ability to do it by encouraging her to be insubordinate." Tony was breathing heavily, fists clenched as he waited, not knowing what was coming. It wouldn't surprise him if Gibbs came at him. It wouldn't surprise him if Gibbs flipped him off and ignored his words.

O'Neill was intensely interested in the exchange. He had underestimated the problem apparently, but then he wasn't privy to everything covered or not in the therapy sessions the Gunny had attended.

Gibbs turned slowly and faced DiNozzo head on. His face was a stone mask. "You want an explanation?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I'd love one. When we were partners, you knew my strengths and weaknesses and I knew yours and the two of us, the team, compensated for each other. We were a great team. I don't know what happened when we added Kate to the team. I'm still not sure why you wanted her on the team. If you wanted a profiler, you missed out because she was lousy at it. But you added her to the team, with no investigative experience and I tried to make it work. I tried explaining things to her, I tried showing her by example—and you told her she didn't have to listen to me or do what I said. She took that to mean I had nothing to teach her because, oh I know, I'm just a cop. Never mind that a cop mindset is exactly what's needed to investigate crime!"

"It wasn't supposed to be like that," Gibbs roared, face flushed.

O'Neill placed himself between the two men and grasped his friend's shoulder. "Calm down."

"How was it supposed to be then? Because that's how it happened," Tony muttered, suddenly exhausted. He collapsed back into his chair and gripped the arm rests, trying to calm himself and taking deep breaths.

Ducky returned to his seat and patted Tony's arm to show his support. "It all has to come out, my boy. Holding on to any part of resentment will just give the poison a greater hold. You need to be set free. And so does he."

The general had herded Gibbs back to his seat and pushed the glass of water into his hand. "Take a drink and a deep breath.  Get a grip on your temper, Jethro. You knew this wasn't going to be easy."

All four of them sat in silence, not making eye contact and sipping water for a few minutes while everyone calmed down.

Suddenly, Gibbs spoke up, his voice calmer. "You're the best young agent I've ever worked with, Tony DiNozzo. I latched onto you in Baltimore because I could see your potential. You were a bit rough around the edges but you were intelligent, you caught on fast, and you didn't have to have your hand held. Morrow kept trying to give me agents that I could work with but none of them got me the way you did or learned to anticipate what was needed on a case. Yeah, you're right, I did use you for dealing with people so I didn't have to, might as well use all that yabba yabba and smile on someone who'd appreciate it. Gonna break rule six, but it's about time. Probably need to revise that one anyway. Tony, I'm sorry if I didn't let you know you were appreciated. You always had my six, even when I didn't cooperate, like with Ari."

Wow. He'd never expected to get that many positive words out of Gibbs. He was sure he believed that was all, though. He was waiting for the slap to follow the pat on the back. Nothing. Three minutes… and nothing.

"That's great, Gibbs. Thanks for letting me know that I did a good job," DiNozzo said politely. He couldn't let it go at that. He'd always wonder. "But that doesn't explain why you suddenly began to treat me as disposable or like I was useless once Kate was on the team. I'd really like to know if it was something I did that turned you against me. I'd hate to have it happen again."

Ducky interrupted. "Anthony, don't you think—"

"No, he's right, Duck," Gibbs growled. He abruptly slapped himself up the back of the head. "I was trying to avoid talking about this—my therapist says avoidance is my main defense. I guess I'm gonna have to believe it. I screwed up and it was stupid. DiNozzo needs to know why because otherwise, it'd be just like him to take it to heart and blame himself for my—my idiocy—and I didn't go to all the trouble to try to turn my life around just to leave something hanging."

Ducky subsided and prepared to listen. He raised his eyebrows at O'Neill and got a small shrug in response.

Tony wasn't sure what was coming but he was paying rapt attention, analytical brain fully engaged.

"The truth is," Gibbs said through gritted teeth, "you're younger than I am, better educated, and you have people skills. Sometimes I felt like I wasn't going to be able to keep up with you—that you were going to surpass me and I'm an Alpha Dog. I didn't like the competition."

Tony managed to keep his jaw from dropping. "It was never supposed to be a competition, Gibbs. We were on the same team."

"Maybe, but the comments started coming—performance evaluations and from other agencies, questions about how well the team was doing and if the credit shouldn't go to you because the solve rate went up when you joined NCIS and so did the conviction rate. That was about the time we ditched Blackadder and Morrow started whining about creating the MCRT with the two of us as a starting point. When we added Kate, I thought if you two were competing, it would keep you from getting too—"

"Too what? Too competent? You wanted me distracted and feeling inept so I wouldn't solve cases? So you could be the one to put all the clues together and sweep in at the last minute with the solution? The solution you came to after hoarding information or keeping us working on different parts of the case and feeding you the information you needed? So you could be the hero?" Tony was astonished and appalled. "I'm a cop—at heart that's what I am. I was trying to solve puzzles, put criminals behind bars, and help people. I wasn't trying to show you up!"

"I know." It was a defeated whisper. "It was all in my head. I know that now. I didn't have a life. All I had was the work and you—sometimes you made it look so easy. I needed you to keep solving cases and I didn't want you to accept a better offer from another agency. Hell, Fornell has been trying to poach you and I know damned well you get offers every time you work with another department or agency."

"Ah," Ducky said, indicating a sudden insight. It didn't make him happy. He turned reluctantly to face DiNozzo who waited with dread for the next revelation that would blow his mind. "Anthony, Gibbs wanted to keep you off balance and just slightly unsure of yourself so you wouldn't feel confident enough to pursue other career opportunities."

"What?" Tony wasn't sure he wanted an explanation.

"It explains the carrot and stick approach," Ducky said gently. "The compliment—followed by a 'joke' which was a thinly veiled criticism. I witnessed that myself but I thought it was just Jethro's badly expressed sense of humor. I apologize for my lack of comprehension. I underestimated Jethro's ability and willingness to manipulate people and events to control his sphere of influence. He obviously has been in need of some mental health assistance for some time."

Gibbs and Jack both winced at that bald assessment.

"Funny," Tony said, in a very unamused tone, "I was showing a friend the movie 'Gaslight' just last month. I never thought to apply it to myself –or NCIS and Gibbs. I thought—I admired you, Gibbs. I thought you were a good role model. I kind of wanted to be you when I grew up but retaining my own people skills and charm. When I first went to NCIS I thought we'd have years together as partners, then maybe, when you retired, I'd take over as the lead investigator." Tony sighed heavily. "Oh, well, lesson learned. Now, moving on to more important things than the total destruction  of my trust in you, what are your plans? Ms. Bromstead sent the necessary paperwork to Davis that you'll need for NCIS, no matter what you decide. But I kind of need to know what you're planning because it will impact my plans as well. There's no way on Earth, that I can see myself working for or with you in any capacity so if you're staying at NCIS, I need to investigate all those offers I've been getting and work on finding a way to trust new co-workers." Having said all he could think of that he needed to say, though he was sure he'd think of more he should have said later, Tony DiNozzo settled back into his chair, deliberately relaxed every muscle, sipped water, and waited for whatever came next in an exhausted silence. He couldn't imagine there was much left to be said but he'd been wrong before. He had a lot to process.

Gibbs scrubbed his face with one hand, avoiding making eye contact with anyone. "I pretty much knew I'd screwed the pooch with you and everyone else before this meeting, DiNozzo. I repeat, I am sorry. My head wasn't on straight and I can't even give you or anyone else a reasonable explanation. Therapy has helped me get a handle on some things but there's lots more to be done, damn it. I've gotten to the point that I'll admit, I may be a good investigator but I'm a lousy team leader. I did better in the military where the boundaries were strictly enforced. I think civilian life gave me too much leeway and I've screwed up six ways from Sunday. I'm not going to return to NCIS.  JAG will probably throw a parade or something." It was a feeble try at humor. No one laughed.

Jack O'Neill filled the gap. "Jethro is going to complete his therapy—as long as it takes. When his head is on straight, I'm going to put him to work as a trainer—with military supervision and guidelines, and maybe have him do some investigative work as well within my program."

DiNozzo made a mental note to tell O'Neill to keep Gibbs far away from Honeybee and her hive and their area of influence. He didn't trust her not to seek retribution on his behalf even if he told her not to—and he wasn't sure he'd deny her the opportunity.

Gibbs looked as worn out as Tony felt. Emotional devastation was hard on the body as well as the mind.

Ducky got to his feet and indicated it was time to go so Tony dragged himself upright and tried to let his mind go blank. He had no more reactions to give and wasn't sure he could even control his expression any more as he tried to put on a blank face.

"Jethro, after you've rested a bit," Mallard said, "some time soon, you need to meet with Abigail. Other than the documentation you will be sending to HR and the director, I can convey the information that needs to be shared with those who need to know, but Abigail needs to hear your news from you directly. She has been receiving counseling herself so it is possible that though she hates change, she will not over-react. I do believe she will not accept your—resignation?—from anyone but you and she will be demanding reasons. You, of course, may choose to limit what you tell her. Anthony and I will not be sharing what we learned today unless it is absolutely required. Good night and thank you for your hospitality, General O'Neill." He guided Tony out the door with a hand on his back and closed it behind them.

 

Chapter 66

Chapter 66

Neither man spoke as they walked to DiNozzo's car and climbed in.  As the car pulled away from the curb, Dr. Mallard broke the heavy silence. "That was not quite what I expected."

Tony shook his head. "Me either."

After a moment, Mallard seemed to make a decision. "Anthony, this probably goes without saying—though too many things have gone without saying in the past months and years—but I will state the obvious regardless. You handled Gibbs and those, uh, revelations very well. It is to your credit that the confrontation didn't turn toxic or violent."

DiNozzo scoffed. "He blindsided me, Ducky. Some of that stuff—it had never even occurred to me. I thought I knew him. I thought we were on the same page. I thought Gibbs knew me, that he saw through my masks, and knew me better than almost anyone. I didn't think—"

"That he would perceive you as a threat? Your competence a challenge to his own?" Mallard said. "I had some inkling, but hoped I was wrong. The director will need to be informed that Jethro plans to leave NCIS so I will speak to him in the morning. He's usually in the office early on Fridays."

Tony said nothing. He felt overwhelmed and exhausted and…

"One more thing I will say, then we'll stop discussing this—I am pleased that you retain enough self-esteem and confidence in your own abilities that you could stand up to Jethro, rather than letting him convince you that you were at fault in any way. It seems his manipulations became less effective over time which makes me curious as to the cause. You have been able to function well in adverse conditions for some time and seemed to be less vulnerable. Have you been attending therapy yourself, Anthony?"

Tony gave a tired chuckle. "Not what you or anyone else would call therapy, not with a counselor. I think what made the difference is that I made a friend, a very good friend who is supportive and appreciates me. Sometimes she even pushes me, but always makes sure it's in the direction I want to go. She encouraged me to finish my second Masters and provided a work space to make sure I could get it done. She's the one who told me I needed to stop playing dumb to make other people feel smart."

"Good for her. It sounds like she is a supportive influence. I would like to meet her and thank her," Ducky said with a smile. "I and many others have benefited from her positive influence on you."

"If you don't have plans, you could meet her now," Tony suggested. "We can get dinner at her place."

"If you're sure it won't be an imposition, it would be wonderful. A good meal and good company is what I'd prescribe for relaxing after a somewhat fraught confrontation."

"Yeah."  Tony changed directions and headed for Honeybee's apartment.

**

Tony's presence and Dr. Mallard's ID were sufficient to clear the security in the lobby. The doctor studied the building and its occupants and came to the conclusion that Tony's friend was someone rather high up in the food chain to be installed in a building with such elaborate precautions and the abundance of services and facilities that made leaving the building unnecessary, which made for another level of security.

Tony led the way to the door of the apartment and opened it with a key. The men stepped inside and closed the door behind them. Tony dropped his keys in a basket on a table near the door and walked into the living room.

Hon came out of the kitchen, barefoot, wearing well-worn jeans and a black t-shirt with a picture of a white happy face and the words 'I'm smiling. That alone should scare you.' scrawled beneath it.

Before she could speak, Tony DiNozzo was across the room in three long strides, pulled her into a bear hug, and collapsed into her, burying his face in the curve of her neck and her long brown hair. Hon automatically widened her stance a bit to stabilize her balance as she supported Tony's weight. Her left arm came up to return the embrace, the right hand began to stroke up and down his back. She could barely hear his whisper. "I'm so glad you're home. I really need a hug."

If she felt a bit of moisture on her shoulder, she ignored it and quietly said, "Hugs available upon request. Any time. As long as you want." She reached out with her right hand and snagged a facial tissue out of a box on the end table, placed it in his hand, and then returned to stroking Tony's back as they hugged it out.

From the puzzled expression on her face, Ducky decided that was not the typical greeting between the friends. He waited just inside the living area, observing their interaction and then turned his attention to studying the contents of the room. His eyes returned to the couple after a few moments and he saw her peering at him over Tony's shoulder.

"Security said Tony brought a guest," she said in a low drawl. "I'm guessing you're Dr. Donald Mallard."

"Yes, I am, my dear. Call me Ducky, everyone does. I'm afraid Anthony has not mentioned you by name."

Tony evidently muttered something only she could hear because she gave him a playful slap on the back before continuing the comforting back rub. "You shut up. I needed a hug all day. You can just mind your business while I introduce myself. My name is Dr. H.O. Natwick, but Tony calls me Hon or Honeybee."

"But is that your proper name?" Ducky asked.

Her brows came down a bit as she studied him. "I hate my real names."

"I prefer not to use diminutives in conversation," the doctor replied.

"Now is that a form of micro-aggression or an attempt to assert dominance by controlling the conversation?"

Ducky blinked. "It was not intended as such."

"Then call me Hon or Honeybee."

"I'm not sure that I will feel comfortable using a nickname," Mallard protested.

"In that case, you may call me Dr. Natwick," she said simply, and winked at him. 

Tony pulled out of the embrace, trying and failing to hide his amusement. If his eyes were a bit damp no one bothered to mention it and they pretended not to notice when he swiped his eyes with the tissue she'd given him. "Hon, he's a guest. Let's not traumatize the nice man as a first impression."

She cuddled into Tony's side with an arm around his waist. "If he's that easily traumatized—"

Tony changed the subject. "Why do you smell like cinnamon?"

"I didn't give you permission to sniff me," she said with mock indignation. "But since you ask, I had a craving for cinnamon rolls and that stupid bakery always slathers on so much icing all you can taste is sugar so I made my own, my mama's recipe. They should be done in 15 minutes. You said you weren't going to be home for dinner so I decided to skip it. You want cinnamon rolls and coffee for a late dinner or should we act like grownups and have those for dessert?"

Tony left the decision up the doctor so the an order was placed for a delivery of Chinese food, heavy on the vegetables. He got around to formal introductions which included citing Hon's degrees and giving a loose interpretation of her current work but wasn't terribly specific or informative. While they waited for the delivery, Hon expertly prepared a pot of tea and served the three of them.

Ducky was very particular about his tea and didn't have high hopes but was pleasantly surprised both by her expertise and the flavor. "Oh my. This is lovely."

"Sent from London?" Tony asked.

"Yep. Part of the circle of extortion," she said with a smile. She was staying nearby and keeping a hand on his as much as possible in an attempt to both give and receive comfort.

"That sounds intriguing," Dr. Mallard said. "There is undoubtedly a story there."

"It wasn't my fault," Hon said hastily. "I blame the general for making me go to that conference."

Tony was grateful for the distraction. "Oh, yes, Ducky, thereby hangs a tale. It started when General O'Neill decided that one of his leading science team leaders should attend a science conference in London—"

**

After serving dinner, Tony and Hon continued to regale Ducky with the tale of her misadventures in London and her unusual tour there under the guidance of her new friends, Sherlock Holmes and Dr. John Watson.

This led to an explanation of the subsequent exchange of favors that Hon had referred to as 'the circle of extortion' which also involved Sherlock's brother Mycroft and revolved around the exchange of favors and the use of recompense or bribery in the form of foodstuffs and beverages to attain those favors. Sherlock shared his research and some of his contacts as needed and asked for information from Hon and her contacts,  Hon sent peach preserves and other American specialties to Sherlock to give to John, John sent tea and a variety of British biscuits to thank Hon, and Mycroft evidently paid for all the expensive items and shipping for no apparent reason.

"That name sounds familiar," Mallard commented.

"He says he's a minor government official," Hon said while rolling her eyes.

"Ah," Ducky murmured. "Intelligence agency, likely MI-5 then. I have been out of the business for some time but occasionally I get a tidbit of information about some of the goings on abroad. I believe I met Mycroft Holmes when he was doing his internship. His Uncle Rudy was… but best to let that lie. I'm glad you had the opportunity to do some sightseeing. I hope the conference was worthwhile?"

"I had the chance to meet some people I'd only known online. Some of the papers presented were innovative and sparked some ideas." Hon sounded almost bored with the topic.

Tony, who'd mostly been pushing his food around on his plate without eating, excused himself to the restroom.  As soon as he was out of earshot, Hon leaned closer to Mallard and hissed, "What the hell happened at that meeting with Gibbs?"

Slightly taken aback at her vehemence, Mallard replied quickly. "Jethro was unusually honest and open and shared some unfortunate truths that hit Anthony quite hard. I believe his illusions have been badly shattered and he can no longer pretend that Jethro is the man that Anthony had thought and hoped he was. He has now received unfiltered truth from the source itself that a man he admired is undeserving of his admiration or respect."

"Damn it. Just damn it. I'm not gonna bring it up. He can tell me what he wants when he's up to it. Thanks for telling me that much." She heard her friend returning and switched demeanor in an instant. "So, Ducky, did Tony tell you what he told General O'Neill?"

"He doesn't want to know," Tony said immediately.

"On the contrary, my dear boy," Ducky said.

"He told Jack I wasn't his girlfriend, I was his twin. His identical twin."

Mallard chuckled. "Oh my. Now I must hear this story as well."

"If you get her started, we'll be here all night, Ducky," Tony protested. "She loves telling stories."

"Mainly stories about you," she corrected.

"I'm all ears," Mallard replied.

**

 

 

Chapter 67

Chapter 67

It was getting late by the time Ducky left in a car that Hon had summoned so that Tony wouldn't feel the need to drive him home. Tony busied himself putting away the leftover Chinese food and trying to convince himself that as exhausted as he felt he might be able to go to sleep.

"I think we'll save the cinnamon rolls for breakfast," Hon said, putting them in a storage container since they'd cooled sufficiently.

Tony nodded, looked around the kitchen for another task to keep him busy but found nothing. Hon leaned against the kitchen counter at his side, saying nothing. "I don't want to talk about it," he said preemptively.

"Okay. Are you ready to zonk out or you want to watch a movie?"

His thoughts were sluggish and he felt like his whole body was encased in –molasses? What?  Where did that thought come from? He shook his head, trying to clear it. He stared at Hon blankly.

"Hmm… if you can't decide, I'll decide for you. We're going to watch a movie—a comedy. We'll snuggle on the couch until you're sleepy. Come on."

DiNozzo found himself being towed back to the living area, settled on the couch with a pillow behind his back, feet up on the coffee table, and a blanket tossed over his legs. Hon turned on the television, selected a DVD and loaded it, and as it started to play, she joined him on the couch and nestled into his side.

Tony studied the top of her head for a moment enjoying the comfort of a kind touch then kissed her forehead. He turned blurry eyes back to the screen in time to see the credits begin to roll.  "The Court Jester, 1955, starring Danny Kaye, Glynis Johns, and Basil Rathbone…and a young Angela Lansbury. Good choice."  It really was a good choice on many levels and he never minded watching it again. His mom had loved the silliness and the sword fighting. He had always loved the word play… the pellet with the poison, chalice from the palace…his eyes drooped and he slipped into a peaceful sleep before the film got that far.

**

Ow. Tony awoke slowly, taking in his surroundings and the stiffness of his body. He stretched a bit before sitting up and stretching a bit more. He'd fallen asleep on the couch and Hon had taken off his shoes, moved his legs onto the couch, covered him with a blanket, and left him there. He understood that she didn't want to waken him to go to his room because she was concerned that once awakened he might not be able to go back to sleep.

He still felt a bit sluggish, tired, with muscles sore and aching from being tense for too long a time. He smelled coffee.

"Oh, good. You're up… notice I didn't say awake? Go take a hot shower and loosen up your muscles. We have cinnamon rolls to devour—the good ones."

Tony got to his feet, moving slowly and carefully towards his room—the guest room, he corrected mentally. When she was right, she was right. Hell, when she was wrong she was usually righter than most people---what? His own mind continued to ambush him with random thoughts. He couldn't make sense of anything right now so he surrendered to mindlessness and followed orders. Shower, hot…. Now.

Thirty minutes later he was shaved, showered, and in defiance of his usual practice he was dressed casually in a long-sleeved button up shirt, dark jeans, and his favorite boots. He didn't want a suit today. He wanted comfortable and practical clothing. He wanted comfort food. He wanted… a host of things he wasn't going to get, up to and including world peace, so he decided to settle for what he could find and attain that would help him find peace of mind and heal from the accumulated hurts. He didn't know what was coming next but he needed to regain his equilibrium if he was going to be ready for whatever it was.

He followed his nose and the scent of cinnamon to the kitchen where Hon was placing a huge reheated cinnamon roll on a plate and sliding it onto the counter at his usual seat. The large mug of coffee was already there and prepared according to his preferences.  He sat down at the counter and stared at his breakfast with appreciation.

Hon circled behind him, draped her arms around his shoulders, and hugged him from behind. "Today is Friday so TGIF… sorry if the couch did you in, but you were sleeping like a cute widdle baby. I took pictures."

Tony grabbed her hands and kept her from withdrawing. He didn't want to have to look her in the eyes anyway. "How much did Ducky tell you?" He felt her hesitation and knew she was going to stall or deny so he added, "C'mon. I knew you'd ask as soon as I left the room."

She subsided and relaxed back into the hug, resting on his back. "He said Gibbs opened his big mouth and told you some unfortunate truths that showed you what a flaming asshole he really is."

A reluctant smile tugged at Tony's lips. "I'm absolutely sure that you're paraphrasing. I don't think Ducky has every used the expression 'flaming asshole' in his life."

"Welllll," she drawled. "It might have been flaming arsehole."

"No, not that either," Tony corrected. "But more or less, that is what happened. He even admitted he wasn't a great team leader. I don't want to talk about it. About what he said. Though, one thing that came out of the meeting is that he's not coming back to NCIS. General Jack has offered him a job training somebody—not sure if it's in your top-secret to the sky program or somewhere else—but Gibbs is moving on and he won't be my problem anymore."

This time when she pulled away he let her go. She grabbed her own plate and sat down next to him. "I doubt that Gibbs is mentally stable enough to be read into the whole program, but O'Neill can certainly find somewhere for him. I'm sorry he hurt you and upset you. I wish I could do something to make you feel better. If there's anything—"

"Hey, last night I needed a hug very badly and you were right there when I needed you," he said lightly, dissecting his cinnamon roll with his fork and avoiding eye contact.

"Oh!" she exclaimed. "I also owe you for being in my guest room."

"What?" he asked, puzzled.

"It seems Rodney—the scientist who's stationed on a really, really isolated base—is in town for some hearings or de-briefings or some political nonsense and the powers that be were trying to put me in charge of babysitting him. Because you are now in my guest room, I could say I didn't have room for him. So they put him up in a hotel instead and someone else can try to keep him out of trouble."

"Why does he need babysitting?" Tony asked, glad for a change of subject, even if it involved the weird world of Honeybee and her hive.

"He's Canadian." Her eyes twinkled.

"C'mon."

"No, the problem is he's a real genius—fricking brilliant in his area of expertise, though he never adds that qualifier. He claims to be the smartest man in two… in the universe basically. Talk about not playing well with others, but he's really not all that bad. He's very insecure and tends to lash out defensively, especially when he thinks people aren't listening to him. We get along fairly well. I try to show him appreciation but I don't put up with his posturing."

"Sounds like half your minions."

"Stop calling them minions. Anyway, he will probably be around the lab and I'll pick his brain while he's here but I have to run interference so he doesn't get punched or something. He tends to be a bit abrasive."

Tony chuckled. "You tend to attract that type. You said the same thing about Sherlock."

She seemed struck by the thought. "Oh. I hadn't thought of that. I wonder what would happen if Sherlock and Rodney---oooh. No, I don't think I'd want to see that."

Tony checked the time. He wasn't due in until 7:30 and Morrow was usually there by 7 on Fridays, trying to catch up with paperwork. Ducky was going to speak to him about Gibbs.  Tony could predict that Morrow would need to speak to him at some point, probably as soon as Ducky reported in.  Depending on the status of the JAG and other reviews of NCIS and its cases, staffing and training decisions were going to be made and implemented soon. Somehow, DiNozzo expected he'd find himself in the middle of the action with or without his consent.  He finished his breakfast quickly.

"I have to go. One more hug for the road?" He stood and hugged Hon tightly. "Thanks. Good luck with Rodney. Hopefully if he comes to the lab he won’t cause a minion uprising."

"Ha," she scoffed. "I can handle Rodney and I don't have to threaten him with a lemon to do it."

Tony decided he wouldn't ask.

**

Chapter 68

Chapter 68

DiNozzo knew something was up before he'd even made it through security in the lobby. He wandered over to stand next to the supervisor Stan Wildman and raised an eyebrow.

"Don't ask me," the older man said. "Something's going on upstairs. We got a heads up that Sec Nav and JAG are coming here this morning to see the director. Is it a good sign or a bad sign that they're coming here instead of making Morrow go to them?"

"Good question," Tony replied. He shrugged. "Either way, it's out of our control. All we can do is keep doing our jobs to the best of our abilities and hope things are going to shake out on the side of the angels."

"I didn't take you for an optimist, Tony."

"I'm not. I'm a pragmatist."

Stan took in his appearance. "No suit today?"

Tony gave him a wry smile. "I don't think it would make a difference. They've already made a decision about my—our future and I want to feel comfortable more than I want to dress to impress."

"You're not pretending anymore?"

DiNozzo hadn't realized the older man had seen through his masks so effectively. "Nope. From now on, what you see is what you get. If they don't like it—well, I have other options."

"Man, don't do that," Stan complained. "You're my main source of information on what's going on upstairs and damned entertaining when you want to be. It'd be a shame and a loss for NCIS if you take off for greener pastures. "

"Like I said, right now it's all a mystery. When I know something I can share, I'll tell you. Keep an eye on the probies for me."

Since his trainees were now sometimes working with other teams, they had relocated from the small conference room to the bullpen. At some point, the contents and personal items had all been cleared away from the desks of the other three MCRT team members, probably by a custodian, and boxed up. With a slight rearrangement of the partitions to change the shape of the space, Tony had remained at his own desk and assigned Brewer and Larsen to Todd's and McGee's desks. Rather than use Gibbs' desk, there was an extra desk tacked on to their area next to Tony's desk for Orozco.

DiNozzo was booting up his computer when a slight sound made him look up at the staircase to see Ducky slowly descending the stairs to the bullpen. As he approached Tony's desk, he still looked tired and perhaps a bit unhappy, but then, if he'd just been informing Director Morrow about their meeting with Gibbs, he would be.

"Anthony," the older man said as he sank into the chair in front of DiNozzo's desk and studied the younger man's appearance. "I trust you got some sleep and are feeling well rested today."

"Do I need to be?  Well-rested?" Tony asked cautiously.

Ducky's hand came up to rub his forehead. "We all should strive to attain that state. However, I'm afraid I did not have a restful night. Mother was…rather upset that I was so tardy in arriving home, though why she—oh, but that isn't important." He waved it away.

DiNozzo tried not to get an image of the elderly, frail, and eccentric woman lecturing the doctor as if he was a teen breaking curfew while surrounded by yappy Corgis…but failed. His amusement was short-lived as he got to the point. "How did it go with the Director?"

There were few people in the bullpen so they had relative privacy but kept their voices low in any case.

Ducky's face tightened. "Director Morrow said he had expected that Gibbs would choose not to return. He was not surprised that Jethro would put his pride before correcting his mistakes as a team leader."

Ouch. If that was the way Morrow had put it….

"He appreciated your forethought in providing contact information to HR so that the paperwork could be processed without undue delay. In addition, there is a meeting this morning with Sec Nav and JAG among others to make some decisions about, well, about many things. Director Morrow did not go into detail. And this does not surprise you?"

"Nope, Stan gave me a heads up," he replied casually. "I just hope we can come to some kind of closure with all the issues that are hanging over our heads like the Sword of Damocles so we can all move on."

"I do hope you won't rush into any decisions, Anthony. Please wait until the chips have all fallen where they may so you will have a realistic expectation of your position and your options." The doctor seemed a bit anxious.

The uncertainty was getting to everyone. All the more reason to hope that this morning's meetings would bring about a conclusion to past events and provide a positive way forward. DiNozzo hoped that Morrow and Sec Nav and everyone else realized the strain needed to be alleviated before it cause more problems.

"Still working on my thesis, Ducky. I haven't made plans beyond finishing this degree, but I'll admit I've started making a list of other options if, for any reason, I decide NCIS is no longer a good fit."

The sound of the arrival of the elevator and the noise of several people coming into the bullpen put an end to their conversation. Ducky got to his feet, looking every bit his true age for a change, and left for the Morgue.

Tony turned to greet his three trainees and put them to work on new cold cases. They provided a nice distraction. It was an hour later when he got a call from Stan telling him the VIPS were on the way up to the director's office. Now…. The wait began.

**

Two hours after the arrival of Sec Nav and entourage, DiNozzo and Balboa received a call from the director's secretary asking them to come upstairs.

"What do you think is going to happen?" Balboa asked softly.

"Some kind of decision's been made. That's all I got."

"Yeah, too many possibilities. Is Gibbs still in the mix?" Balboa whispered.

Tony stiffened. "No," he replied tersely.

"Damn." They were at the top of the stairs before Rocky added, "That might simplify things."

"Or give them a scapegoat." Tony didn't try to hide the bitterness.

They entered the director's office. Morrow, Sec Nav, JAG, and HR representative Ms. Bromstead were seated at his conference table. Glasses of water were already set in place in front of two empty seats, one at the foot of the table which Rocky took and one to its right where Tony slid into a chair.

"Gentlemen," Sec Nav said politely. "Let's start with some of the minor issues. I'm sure you will be glad to hear that JAG has completed their audit of NCIS cases and all issues, mostly minor, resulting from the investigation have been addressed in one way or another. Some agents will be expected to take some refresher courses in procedures and will be required to pass exams before being allowed out into the field again. Additional training will be offered to those who wish to improve their evaluation scores or seek promotion."

DiNozzo thought the issues were minor because the problem with Kate had been solved before the investigation had begun. He didn't understand why he'd been called up for this report. With Gibbs' departure, Balboa was now the Senior Supervisory Agent with the greatest number of years of experience so it made sense for him to be included.

At a nod from Sec Nav, Ms Bromstead spoke. "This morning I received the necessary documentation from Agent Gibbs to start processing his resignation. He is being transferred to a classified program effective immediately and will not return. He has asked that any personal items cleared from his desk or work area be given to Dr. Mallard for safekeeping."

Tony kept his poker face in place. Not a twitch. He was not going to react. He took a sip of water.

"Agent Todd has also resigned. She came in over the weekend to retrieve her personal items and return all NCIS materials. Agent McGee is at FLETC and is not expected to return for six weeks. His probationary period has been extended for one year."

"Is he returning to the MCRT?" Balboa asked, with a side glance at Tony. He had mixed feelings about the young man and his potential as a field agent, but he knew Tony would want to know.

"What MCRT?" Tony said stonily.

"That's the next point on the agenda, Agent DiNozzo," Admiral Chegwidden said kindly. "And why you're here in the room for this discussion."

Morrow met Tony's hard gaze as he spoke. "The original idea of the MCRT was supposed to be a team of six to eight members with a mix of abilities and talents that could take on complicated cases, one or more at a time and mix or match team members for the best results. The MCRT was supposed to be able to incorporate other NCIS agents or liaison and work with other law enforcement personnel or agents as needed and ensure a continuing training process on the job. That was the original intent," Morrow emphasized.

"But it didn't work out that way," Balboa stated matter-of-factly. "Because Gibbs didn't play well with others and hated to ask for help."

Tony side-eyed Rocky. Talk about laying it on the line, without apology.

"Exactly," Morrow said with a heavy sigh. "He was a good investigator, great interrogator, he usually had a great eye for spotting talent —even in hindsight I won't try to erase his virtues—but it turns out he was a lousy team leader. I hear he even admitted that himself at long last."

For some reason, Morrow shot a hard look at Sec Nav who acknowledged, "Mistakes were made."

What a politician kind of thing to say, Tony thought. He managed to avoid admitting any of the mistakes were his own. Tony wondered if the man had aspirations to go higher in politics.

Sec Nav went on in his appeasing the crowd tone. "So this is the time for a course correction. This time we're going to build the MCRT the way it should have been done the first time and that means we're starting with good investigators and a good team leader who knows how to work well with other agencies. We won't have any probationary agents on our premiere team, only those with experience and abilities that fit the team dynamic. It should go without saying that this team will also know the law and the proper protocols for every aspect of their jobs." He seemed content with the silent feedback he was getting from his audience, most of whom were wearing polite smiles. He nodded to himself and got to his feet. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have other appointments. I will leave Director Morrow to fill you in on the details."

As soon as the politician had taken his leave, the atmosphere in the room became more relaxed. Chegwidden shook his head and did a dead on impression of the man. "Mistakes were made." He snorted.

"AJ," Morrow said warningly.

The admiral smirked. "Now we've paid lip service to the chain of command we can get down to business."

Ms. Bromstead gave him a chiding look but said nothing.

Morrow took up the conversational baton. "Rocky, you have seniority, but I want to ask you are you willing to take on the creation of a new MCRT as described by Sec Nav? It will be an increase in pay and responsibility."

Balboa took a few minutes to think about it, everyone waiting patiently.

Tony was almost holding his breath. He could work with Rocky—but he already had an SFA in Kath Smith. With an expanded team though…

Rocky sat up straight and leaned forward resting his elbows on the table. "You're talking about one team leader, one SFA, and the rest Senior Agents?"

Morrow and Chegwidden exchanged glances, then nodded. There was a spark in Ms. Bromstead's eyes as if she was expecting something interesting to occur.

"Then I'd have to say no," Rocky said. "It sounds like a lot and it is a lot. My wife barely sees me as is. I don't see myself having an adequate work/life balance like HR is always telling us about when we accumulate too much leave or vacation time."

"Overtime and accumulated leave time is one issue that we have been warning you about, director," Ms. Bromstead chimed in. "Agents—all humans need adequate food, rest, and leisure time or they burn out. I would speculate that at least 25% of the NCIS workforce is on the verge of burnout which will become a financial issue if they become seriously ill or quit their jobs." The prim lady stared pointedly from Balboa to Tony.

Balboa cleared his throat and drew everyone's attention back to himself. "If I could make a suggestion—that might address those issues as well…"

He left it hanging, dangling a lure to see if anyone would take him up on it.

"Go on." Morrow's eyes narrowed in suspicion that he was being played, while the admiral began to grin without making much effort to hide his amusement.

Balboa withdrew a USB stick from his shirt pocket and passed it to the director who opened the file and put up a display on the screen on the wall. It was a layout of the bullpen at it was presently. With a click of the remote, Balboa summoned the next image.

In the second image the partitions had been rearranged creating a large open area in the center with eight desks arranged in pairs. The partitions formed several other smaller groupings of desks that were still open to those in the center on one side allowing for easy communication, but also allowing for a bit of privacy.

Rocky gave them a bit of time to study the image before he spoke. "What I propose is this…we want the MCRT to expand to eight people, with the possibility of pulling in other agents as needed. This would make the whole bullpen feel inclusive rather than blocked off into small teams. It would probably also help address the issues of teams feeling unappreciated or as if they are competing with each other, rather than working together."

Tony was having to work hard on keeping a straight face. He knew damned well that Rocky hadn't come up with this idea in the last five minutes. He'd known about the proposal and that he'd be tapped for it. But how…Tony looked at Ms. Bromstead and caught a glimpse of a tiny self-satisfied smile. Ah. She'd given Rocky a heads up. But why? What did she get out of it?  It occurred to him that a more efficiently run agency would make her job easier. Huh. Maybe that's all she was going to get out of this. 

"What else?" Morrow said patiently waiting for the other shoe to drop. He kicked Chegwidden under the table just to wipe the smile off his old friend's face.

Rocky was totally professional as he explained, "With this set up, it would be easy to mix and match and switch partnerships as the investigation demands. When Sec Nav was describing what he expects from the team and its leader, he said he wants good investigators, a good leader who can work well with other agencies, and people who know the law and our agency procedures. Laying aside my great sense of modesty," Rocky grinned at Morrow, "I will admit to being a good team leader and a good investigator. I have a pretty good handle on procedures, but I don't come from a cop background so I don't always know the nuances of the legal stuff.  I will also admit to not being great working with outsiders. I tend to view strangers with suspicion so –"

"Get to the point," Chegwidden said. "I think you're pushing your luck."

Tony felt a smile trying to creep onto his face. He really liked the admiral.

"Well, sir," Balboa said, "Sirs, instead of one team leader, I'd like to suggest two."

Tony blinked. What?

"Two?" Morrow said.

"Two," Rocky affirmed. "Two team leaders working together cooperatively or independently, along with two SFAs. If the case required it, all eight agents could work on it. For cases with less of a time constraint two or more of the team could be working on those independently. This would allow for the larger team to stagger its schedule with days off as needed."

Morrow and Chegwidden exchanged glances again. "I assume that you will accept the position of SSA if this plan of yours is accepted?" Morrow asked.

"Oh, yes sir. It would give me and NCIS the best of both worlds—several smaller teams that could function as a larger team when necessary. It offers the flexibility we need and allows us to draw on all the talent on offer at the agency, in fact operating as one large team rather than splintered cliques and groups."

Morrow felt a grin tugging at his lips but he maintained his serious expression. "I assume you have a recommendation for the second SSA position?" he said blandly.

Rocky beamed innocently. "Yes, sir." He turned his head to look directly at Tony DiNozzo.

Tony blinked again. Uh. Was there a question in there for him to answer? He studied the faces of those at the table and saw nothing but approval and good humor. Seriously? This was not an outcome that had come to mind when he was trying to foresee the future.

"Well, Tony? Would you accept the position as outlined by Agent Balboa?"

DiNozzo found his voice. "Yes, sir. I would be honored."

**

 

 

 

 

Notes:

Starting to wrap this one up. Maybe one more chapter. There will most likely be a sequel with further adventures but I won't promise when. Thank you for reading and your support in the form of kudos and comments. The encouragement helps more than you can know.

Chapter 69

Chapter 69

Anthony DiNozzo waited until the door to the director's office closed behind Rocky Balboa before grabbing his arm and dragging him into the nearest conference room and closing that door.  "What was that?" he demanded.

The older man just leaned against the conference table, crossed his arms, and smiled. "What was what?"

Tony leaned against the door and studied him. "You're not going to try to tell me that was spontaneous? That you didn't know they were going to offer you—"

Rocky waved a dismissive hand. "No, of course not. I figured that if Gibbs was out, that they'd be looking at me as the most senior agent. The fact that I have a reputation as being steady, reliable, and fairly even-tempered made it even more likely. I didn't think they'd want to drag in someone from outside."

"What about the whole two leader thing? And reorganizing the whole damned agency?" Tony was proud that he had kept his voice from rising.

"Tony, let's sit down." He gestured to the comfortable chairs around the table. "You knew I wasn't ad-libbing because I had the diagram ready and you're right. It wasn't a sudden notion. In fact, it's been a long time coming. You might know the SSAs go out for lunch or a drink now and then—except for Gibbs who never had an interest in socializing or bonding with his peers?"

Tony nodded, listening intently. "So this isn't a new idea and it's not just your idea?"

"You're fast. Yep, the other team leads and I have had more than one discussion, call it an 'if only' kind of thing where we talked about the problems with our investigation teams and attitudes. I won't give you all the details, but it boiled down to creating a less competitive and more collaborative atmosphere. I mean not just competing with other agencies to solve a case but pitting ourselves against each other by making unfair comparisons between teams and their results.  Solve rate has to be a factor in determining success but so is conviction rate. And neither of those is really adequate to determine success on every team…for example, the cold case team. Work and effort don't always pay off right away."

"Preaching to the choir, Rocky. So the SSAs were plotting to overthrow—"

"No, just wishful thinking. We tried to work out a better system but at the time, especially with Gibbs in the mix, we had no idea if or when it could be implemented. Honestly, I find it incredibly sad that the whole agency had to go through a meltdown and rebuild to get to the point of reconsidering our approach to team management." Rocky slapped Tony on the shoulder. "Stop looking like I just kicked your dog. I will repeat this ad infinitum if that's what it takes… the mess was not your fault. It started with Sec Nav thinking he was a king maker or some shit and Gibbs exploiting his knowledge of where some bodies are buried to prevent Morrow from acting to keep him in line. Shit rolls down hill. It eventually got to you, to us, the whole agency. If JAG had to administer a metaphorical enema to clear it out--"

"Damn, Rocky, that's an image I didn't need," DiNozzo protested, covering his eyes with his left hand. "Okay, never mind, I'm trying to get my head together but the hits just keep on coming. So the wishful thinking became a possibility? Elucidate."

"Last week, I was doodling and came up with the floor plan you saw. The more I thought about it, the more possibilities I could see. I had some paperwork and wanted to stretch my legs so I went to HR to deliver them and I got to talking to Ms. Bromstead."

"I knew she was in on it," Tony declared with satisfaction.

"Oh yeah, she's been unhappy with those not following the guidelines, especially those pertaining to overtime, meal times, and time off, and was gathering statistics to prove that injuries were up due to stress and lack of sleep when I happened to stumble in."

"So you decided to conspire with her—"

"I took her information, added it to my own, and made a plan. I couldn't tell you anything about it, obviously, since I didn't know whether Gibbs or you or both of you planned to stay at NCIS or leave. Anyhow, Ms. B helped me line out what I needed to say to get Director Morrow on board and offered her support to the proposition. Questions?"

"What about the specialty teams? You know that some agents aren't going to accept this kind of change."

"They stay," Rocky said. "The specialized teams won't change. The teams or team members will just be available to consult in MCRT cases on the basis of need for their expertise. Agents who don't feel comfortable with the new set up can request a transfer. They might be happier at a Resident Unit any way. C'mon, Tony. The new collaborative approach is going to be worked out, probably in excruciating detail before we implement it. Ask me what you really want to know."

DiNozzo cleared his throat. "Why me? I mean, how can I get—how can you justify promoting—" He couldn't come up with a way to word it that wouldn't sound like boasting or false modesty or like he had in any way been prepared for the offer.

Balboa put on an exaggeratedly serious expression. "Were you not listening when I was proclaiming my own talents? As I said I believe I'm a good investigator, a good team leader, and I'm pretty good with procedures—but where I'm lacking? Or maybe not lacking, but not as gifted would be a better way to say it—cop background, working with other LEOS? Hell, the DiNozzo Network alone is worth its weight in gold. Tony, you have so much to offer and we'd be complementary and balance each other. I think we'd work well together and make the best use of our abilities as well as those of the agents we work with."

Tony stared at him, still trying to take it all in. The roller coaster highs and lows of the last few days had taken their toll on his equanimity.

"Tony?" He reached over and prodded the younger man's shoulder with his forefinger. "You still in there?"

"Yeah." Tony scrubbed his left hand through his hair, standing it on end. "Yeah, I just… Rocky…."

"Tony…you're a good man. I've watched you on cases. You're a damned good investigator and you connect dots that nobody else even registers are there. You have earned this promotion, this chance. You have. Not Gibbs, not his team… but you."

"Thanks, Rocky." He stood up and shook off his uneasiness, the tenseness of his muscles, and the heavy emotion that was threatening to drown him. "I look forward to this… whatever this is. Experiment in restructuring?" he asked lightly.

Message understood, Balboa stood, clapped a hand on Tony's shoulder and steered him towards the door. "We're going to blow this agency out of the water. Every federal agency is going to want to steal our idea and we'll do our evil villain laugh when they ask how we thought of it."

As the door opened, Tony said, "You mean this one? Mwah-ha-ha-ha!"

They ignored the confused look on Janet's face as they passed the director's secretary on the way to the stairs down to the bullpen.

**

 

Chapter 70

Chapter 70

The afternoon went by in a blur of working on cold cases with his trio of trainees, consulting frequently and furtively via email or text concerning the new plan with Balboa, and trying to avoid the quizzical looks he was getting from other agents in the bullpen who were trying to figure out what was going on with the two agents who'd been called into the VIP meeting that morning.

For the first time, in a very long time, maybe for the first time ever, Anthony DiNozzo was seeing a path to his future that led to success and fulfillment in his career. He wasn't naïve enough to believe it would be a smooth road with the transition into a leadership role or even in the restructuring of the investigative teams, but he could see the possibilities at least.

He had known Balboa since he came to NCIS and always admired his stolid and patient self-controlled leadership style which stood in sharp contrast to Gibbs fiery and demanding method of running his team. Balboa wasn't showy but he was methodical, precise, knew the strengths and weaknesses of his team members, and knew how and when to delegate. No one on his team hesitated to share information or opinions for fear of being mocked or insulted. The few times a tough case had led to tempers running high, Balboa had taken his team to the gym and let them work out their frustrations on punching bags or other forms of exercise that redirected adrenaline.

Tony wasn't going to count on the promotion to SSA as a done deal until it was confirmed officially. He didn't think he'd have any problem working with or for Rocky, whether as an agent or as a fellow team leader.

Damn. The hours of this day couldn't go by fast enough. He couldn't wait to tell Honeybee. No, he wouldn't tell her on the phone… but he wanted to be sure she was available tonight. This evening. When he finally got ho—back to her apartment—so he texted her.  Sweetness, I have good news. Are you available for a celebratory dinner?

It was five minutes before she replied. I'm cooking tonight. I invited Rodney over to dinner. He doesn't trust restaurants because he thinks they're all out to kill him on purpose or by accident.

What? Tony wondered again about her saying Rodney could be threatened with a lemon.  Food allergies?

Severe ones. I've purged the house of all citrus and citrus based products so if you want orange juice for breakfast tomorrow, you'll have to go to the store. Just keep it away from him.

Anything else I need to know?

He gets defensive and snarky but I think it's hilarious most of the time. Just don't get your feelings hurt. If he goes too far, I'll rein him in. Just be your usual intelligent self. Stupid people make him anxious.

Stupid people should make anyone with good sense anxious.  Stupid people are probably responsible for 90% of the crimes I have to investigate. See you tonight.

 

**

On his way to the apartment DiNozzo stopped by Le Bistro de Pain to provide dessert since she was doing the cooking. He picked up half a dozen chocolate croissants which were Hon's favorites and an assortment of other pastries, checking to be sure none of them containing citrus of any kind.  He hadn't really formed a mental picture of Rodney, though she'd talked about him a few times usually with some exasperation. What he saw when he arrived was not what he'd imagined.

Hon was dishing up the vegetables into serving bowls while the man who must be Rodney was sulkily setting the places at the countertop with silverware and napkins. He was in his late 30's, possibly early 40's with thinning and receding brown hair, blue eyes, about 5'9", wearing jeans and a t-shirt that proclaimed 'Artificial Intelligence: Not as big a threat as Natural Stupidity.' He was muttering under his breath but Hon was ignoring him.

"Hey, Sweetness," Tony said, holding up the boxes in his hands, "I brought dessert."

"Sweetness?"

That mutter was a hair too loud because Hon slapped Rodney's arm as she came around the counter to give Tony a hug. "He thinks I'm sweet and your opinion doesn't matter. Tony, this is Dr. Rodney McKay, our guest for dinner tonight. Rodney, this is Agent Tony DiNozzo of NCIS…as of now?" She gave him a hopeful look.

"Still with NCIS," he said and ignored her slight frown.

"Then what's the good news?  What are we celebrating?"

"The restructuring and restoration of NCIS to its former glory—or what it should have been. The good news is I'm still on the MCRT."

"The bad news?"

"It's going to be a lot of work and time to change some attitudes, but that's about all the bad news I can squeeze out of it. The better news is the team is expanding in size and I'm going to be promoted to SSA and a co-leader alongside SSA Carlos 'Rocky' Balboa." Tony concentrating on Hon's expression so he missed whatever Rodney had muttered this time.

Hon had not. She turned on him in a flash. "What did you say?"

McKay flinched. "Nothing."

"I told you to be polite. If you've forgotten how to do that…"

"Hey, I thought you said he was Canadian," Tony interrupted, since he didn't want his good mood spoiled. "I thought all Canadians were polite, eh?"

Hon hid a smile as his bad impression set Rodney off into a five minute tirade on stereotypes. He didn't need a response from his audience to continue on that theme, so Tony and Hon seated themselves at the counter and listened until he ran out of steam. 

Rodney, finally noticing that no one was arguing with him, studied the pair with a scowl. "What?"

Tony smiled innocently. "Very enlightening, Dr. McKay or should that be Doctor Doctor McKay? Of course if we call you that, then we'd have to call Hon Doctor Doctor Natwick and while I'm not a doctor, I do have a Masters so should I be Master DiNozzo?"

"Tony, that's ridiculously redundantly repetitive," Hon said with a smile.

"Hmmph." Rodney continued to study them as if their behavior was puzzling. "Or we could behave like actual adults and call each other by our first names, Tony—"

"You use my name and I'll use your first name," Hon threatened immediately.

DiNozzo wondered what that was about but decided to redirect the conversation again. "You know, you could change your names," he suggested. "Since you're an adult, all it takes is a court order and you can choose the names you want. Your new name could be Honeybee Opal Natwick and keep the same initials."

Both Rodney and Hon stared at him. 

"I'm sure you could find a way to insert a worm of some kind into the internet to search out and change your name wherever it's found including on your academic records," Tony added.

"You could do that," Rodney said consideringly. "I could help you write the program if you want. If it works, I might do the same for my own name."

"My parents would kill me," Hon stated. "The family would never go along with a new name—and it wouldn't be Honeybee Opal, in any case."

Tony feigned a hurt look. "But Honeybee is for your sweetness and Opal because you're a gem. Would your family know about it anyway? It's not like Bernard or the other rednecks read your journal submissions or professional publications."

"Bernard?  What kind of redneck name is that?" Rodney scoffed.

"I knew I was going to like you, Dr. McKay," Tony said happily. "That's exactly what I said."

McKay looked oddly pleased to have won Tony's approval. "Call me Rodney. Let me know if I can help."

Hon rolled her eyes. "I'll think about it. Right now, let's just eat."

**

Epilogue

Three months later….

It had taken a lot of planning, plotting, and persistence to reshape the investigation teams at NCIS. Some older, set in their ways agents had opted out of the new collaborative method and requested transfers.

Morrow had involved HR and both MCRT team leaders in choosing new team members or transferring agents for the expanded group.  Sec Nav was happy to take credit for his vision as long as he didn't have to do the actual work himself so gave them a free hand. He did insist he wanted to see results by the year end evaluations and reports.  

The new MCRT had no probationary agents on the team. Those had been assigned to the other smaller teams in the bullpen, including a returning Tim McGee, Tina Larsen, and Melecio Orozco. Tony's other trainee Joe D. Brewer had gone to Norfolk to work with SFA Cassie Yates.

Training sessions and refresher courses had been completed so that guidelines were firmly in place and understood. Asking for help, advice, or information from other teams or agents was encouraged. It took time to get used to the casual exchange of information among teams in the bullpen but once the first case was cracked because of shared information the process became more accepted and implemented. There were still the usual problems when people with different ideas and methods or approaches worked together, but the mix and match of leadership skills made it easier to adapt and to make good use of each agent's strengths and skills.

Senior Supervising Agent Anthony DiNozzo sat in his office chair looking out over the revamped bullpen's open structure with a pleased grin. They'd just solved a major case involving arms theft, drug trade, and two murders in less than a week and the whole agency was taking it as a win. Morale was good. Everything was looking up.

He should have known better really.  It's when everything seems to be going well that he should expect the other shoe to drop—from a large height, straight into a huge pile of shit—which means everyone and everything in reach is going to get spattered. But not yet. 

Right now, he's going to enjoy the victories and peace of mind.

 

 

Notes:

Thank you for the kudos, the comments, and the encouragement. Bringing this story to an end but there will be a sequel. Not promising when.