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Chapter Text

Baltimore Homicide Detective Samuel Jacobs was an old timer; he was the very definition of old school policing and had survived many years on the job racking up a whole mess of different experiences, both good and bad. He was a good few inches shorter than most of his fellow detectives, but he made up for his lack of height with something else; Sam was one of those people that everyone noticed when he entered a room.

He wasn't particularly good-looking, he didn't wear flash clothes or shout over everyone else's voices to get noticed but he carried with him a presence; there was an intensity about the man that drew people in like moths to a flame while at the same time ensuring they kept their distance for fear of getting burned.

Of course, the fact that Sam didn't like most people meant that he was perfectly happy about that last part. He could smile and dish out niceties when he had to but he very definitely belonged to the school of thought that believed in clear dividers; there was family, there were friends, there were work colleagues, there were acquaintances and then there was everybody else.

Family meant everything to Sam, especially since he had such a small family himself. 'La famiglia contro il mondo' may be an Italian saying but it said everything he felt about the importance of family; family stood by you even if the rest of the world were against you. To Sam, you were open with your family and could always be yourself with them; you showed them that you loved them and told them when you were sad or happy, angry or relieved and they stood by you with it all.

His own childhood had been hard growing up in the projects of Baltimore with his hard-working single mother, his father having disappeared as soon as the results of the pregnancy test came through. He had loved his mother dearly, but due to the demands of monthly bills, rent, groceries and clothes, she was, more often than not, out in the city earning what she could.

Sam married his high school sweetheart, Mary, at a young age. She was a real fireball of energy, wanting to see and do everything that life had to offer. She made him feel so alive and so complete and he could never imagine growing old together, not because he thought that they would separate but simply because he couldn't imagine a Mary whose spirit would be dampened by age and immobility. However, growing old together had never been on the cards; he lost his wife to cancer almost eight years ago and it was just him and his daughter, Catherine.

On the day she was born, Sam made a silent vow never to abandon Cathy the way he had been abandoned by his own father. He promised to always be there for her, to see off the undesirable and undeserving boyfriends, to make sure she had the chance to go on and do whatever she wanted to do with her life and support her through it all.

That's what family was for, after all.

Friends were the ones you turned to when you had worries over family issues, or when you wanted to complain about the vindictive nature of the Chief. Friends were people you could relax with and talk to and trust enough to know that nothing you said would come back to bite you on the arse, as no word would get back to your boss that you'd been bitching about him.

If family was the most important thing, then good friends came close after. Friends were the support network between home life and work life; friends were the ones you turned to when you needed to get some space from everyone else.

Friends would understand you well enough to know when to back off and when to push.

Being a cop, especially in a demanding city like Baltimore, meant that work colleagues had their own slot.

Sam didn't like some of the people he worked with, especially the brass with all of their political bullshit. However, the dangers of the job meant that you had to be able to trust those you worked with to watch your back, both in the office and outside it. If you were stuck in the middle of a gun-fight you had to know that your fellow officers would do everything they could to make sure you didn't catch a bullet, to make sure that you got to go home to your family that night.

Hating your colleague was one thing, but trusting them to watch your six despite that was an important aspect of that relationship.

Acquaintances were people you'd met that didn't offend too much but didn't impress all that much either. Niceties would be exchanged and the occasional nod and smile bestowed in passing, but that was it.

An acknowledgment to someone you had once amiably shared a room with.

Then there was everyone else…

Sam had had to deal with a lot of strangers during his 26 years of service, and that was fine, he had managed that. However, he was just doing his job. His job was to protect and serve, and he did it, he did it well too. But that was as far as the job went.

In his early years he'd been a little more idealistic and certainly very naïve. The jump from the Army to the Police Force seemed natural; he held the same certainty that his job, what he was doing, was changing the world and making it a better place…that he was still protecting the people of America and their way of life, that he was protecting his family.

He lost the rose-coloured glasses pretty quickly once he left the Police Academy.

Everything about that one case had been a wake-up call.

A little boy of four, Stuart "Stewie" McGuiness had an adorable mop of dark brown hair and the biggest bluest eyes he had ever seen. The young boy carried a small Star Wars figurine everywhere with him and would occasionally suck his thumb for comfort while glancing up at the adults though his thick lashes, trying to comprehend what was going on.

Unfortunately, the endearing child's entire body was a mess of bruises and the arm that clutched his mini-Chewbacca was encased in a plaster-cast.

Sam did everything the academy had taught him to do; he called social services, he tried to get the son to talk about what his mother had done to him in an effort to get charges filed so the mother may never harm the boy again, he even walked Stewie into the group home later that very same day.

Even later on that very same day Stewie was rushed to the hospital with internal bleeding after one of the carers had drunkenly pushed him down the stairs because the frightened child would not stop crying and asking for his mother.

The kid never even made it to the ambulance bay.

And Sam's rose-coloured glasses had shattered; he'd done everything he was supposed to do and delivered to child to what was a supposedly safe environment. He'd saved the kid from undeserved punches and cruel words at his mother’s hands, only to deliver him to an early grave, holding his hand and smiling as he led him there.

He knew that there were plenty of good foster homes and group homes out there in Baltimore and the rest of the country; that there were people in it for the child and not for the cheque. But ever since that day, Sam's first thoughts in similar situations tended to be suspicious; eventually his cynicism became the standard reaction to most situations he faced.

So now he just did his job, and once his shift was over he would go home and try to forget about everyone he had met that day. He knew he would never forget about Stewie though, no matter how hard he tried.

So the people he came across in his work became strangers, nothing more than nameless faces on the street.

As he sat at his desk, glaring daggers at the young man sat at the desk facing his own, he tried to figure out what category Homicide Detective Anthony DiNozzo fell into.

There were days when the kid felt like family; Sam had even given him a set of keys to his house. DiNozzo was just as short on family as he was, shorter really; the kid's father may still be alive but he knew they were estranged. He didn't think it was pity, but Tony's very evident loneliness had meant that he'd invited the kid over for several family meals, especially over the holiday periods like Thanksgiving and Christmas. The kid didn't always come but Sam knew that he'd offered DiNozzo a stable lifeline that the kid so desperately needed in his otherwise somewhat nomadic lifestyle.

There were times that Sam knew the kid felt uncomfortable with being included in his small, tight-knit family unit, and on those occasions he knew that DiNozzo would always fall into the friend and work colleague categories. He trusted the kid enough to talk to him about Cathy's latest boyfriend disaster and his own financial concerns. He certainly trusted the kid to have his back out on the streets; Tony was a good shot and had already taken a bullet with Sam's own name on it. Tony always did his fair share of the paper-work and tried to help with the politics.

There were times, however, when the kid didn't even feel like an acquaintance, because DiNozzo would go and do something that no-one would have expected or could have predicted, or he would act so completely out of character while still being completely natural. On those days it felt like the kid was a total stranger.

But through it all, Sam was glad he had DiNozzo as his partner, he couldn't imagine working with anyone else.

Of course, most people couldn't see why a respected man like Jacobs would waste his time on a kid like DiNozzo, why he hadn't requested a new partner. Sam knew that Tony wasn't very popular in the department, knew that a lot of people took the kid at face value and decided there was no need to dig any further. Sam knew all of this because when he had first been landed with DiNozzo as his shiny new partner he had felt the same way.

He knew that most people in the Homicide Department thought DiNozzo was some spoilt rich kid who'd been born with a silver spoon in his mouth and was just playing at being cop until his inheritance came through. Some people had even got a pool going and placed bets on how long he would last; rumours had trickled through about a two year warranty.

All of this meant that DiNozzo's first few weeks on the job had been more than a little difficult. Sam was a demanding man who expected his partner to pull their own weight and everything he'd heard about DiNozzo and the brief flashes he'd caught about the office meant that he'd assumed the new kid on the block would be dead weight.

However, the kid had impressed him and managed to change his mind and Sam had quickly learnt not to take DiNozzo at face value.

DiNozzo went through moods so quickly that Sam felt he'd get whiplash just from watching. The kid would be joking and messing around and talking about movies, then someone would say something and DiNozzo would get in their personal space and whisper threats in their ear. They might have been idle threats, but then again they might not have been; you never could tell with the kid, he was so damn unpredictable.

It was this unpredictability that was causing Sam to glare daggers at the younger man.

"Sam, for fucks sake; I said I was sorry, what more do you want me to say?" Tony broke the silence with quiet exasperation. He was all too aware of his partner's scrutiny and not at all happy about it.

Baltimore Homicide Detective Anthony DiNozzo had had a lousy day. He only had half an hour to go until his shift ended…half an hour! He had thought that he could manage that without pissing off anyone else today, apparently, he was wrong! He couldn't understand why his partner was so pissed off; he'd done his job and everyone lived…where was the problem?

"What I want, DiNozzo," Sam ground out, frustrated that his partner really seemed to have no clue, "is for you to realise that you don't have to pass every shift with a near miss. You looking for an early grave?"

"This again? Jesus Christ Sam, I do not have a death wish!" Tony insisted.

"No, you're right; you don't want to die you just don't seem to give a damn about living!" Sam hissed, trying to keep their argument as private as he could. He was more than a little frustrated, he admired Tony's dedication to the job and was thankful that the kid went above and beyond in terms of loyalty to his partner; what he didn't like was the reckless streak that seemed to run through the kid's blood.

Tony and Sam had had this conversation many times over the 23 months that they had worked together. Sam had learnt to respect and trust his young partner, and in turn DiNozzo had learnt to respect and trust him.

However, no matter how much Sam tried to change it, DiNozzo still held on to his reckless streak. Tony would think about Sam's lectures, sure, but then he never seemed to take it beyond that; did the kid even understand what self-preservation meant?

"Don't you think 'near miss' is a stupid phrase?" Tony started, when the silence began to drag. "I mean it's supposed to mean that something nearly happened; except a 'near miss' implies that it nearly missed, and so…in fact…it hit. It doesn't make a whole lot of sense."

Sam wasn't all thrown by DiNozzo's non-sequitur; he'd had a good 23 months to get used to them by now and knew they usually indicated that Tony wasn't going to carry on with the current conversation, either because he was bored or simply because he wanted to change the subject.

The kid was smart and got bored very easily, Sam had discovered that the hard way. Paper-planes would fly into his forehead, his desk drawers would be glued shut, a whole hell of a lot of extra chilli would appear in his hot-dog. Tony got creative when he got bored, and that was when he was at his most dangerous.

"Come on kid," Sam said as he pushed away from his desk and gathered his jacket. "Let's go to McGinty's for a quick pint."

Tony nodded his agreement, a small smile on his face; he knew the conversation wasn't over, would probably never truly be over, but for now there was a truce and that would have to suffice – there was a cold beer at the local cop bar calling his name.

Supervisory Special Agent Gibbs was far from happy. While everyone else in the bullpen had gone home, he'd just come out of Director Morrow's office where the older man had berated his inability to keep a team together.

He'd been trying to get his TAD Agent, Daniel Nixon, reassigned. It wasn't just down to a personality clash, it was more due to the fact that Gibbs wasn't looking forward to the paperwork he'd have to do when he inevitably shot the obnoxious son of a bitch!

Nixon had only just completed his course at the FLETC and already thought of himself as Harry bloody Callahan. It didn't matter that the kid was greener than grass and that his badly reached conclusions were created by relying upon his poor judgements and inexperienced assumptions.

Gibbs had seen a good few tours of military service, and had been working at NCIS for several years now; he'd earned the right to trust his gut. He'd learnt from his mistakes and experience had taught him well.

Nixon did not have that experience or those instincts just yet; he'd gone straight from high school to college to the FLETC. He was still learning about the military and all of its acronyms and yet the new agent already believed he understood the actions and motivations of the Navy personnel he would be investigating.

Gibbs had already locked horns with Nixon and it wasn't pretty. The TAD Agent was nervous around Gibbs but his inexperience and his obliviousness meant that he didn't always see the signs that told him to back down for his own sake.

Special Agent Veronica “Ronnie” Cascabel was the only other agent on Gibbs' team at the moment. The whole mess with Nixon might have been easier to handle if Cascabel was an agent he could rely upon.

She had been recruited from the FBI which already had Gibbs predisposed to dislike her. She, unlike Nixon, did have experience; however, sometimes it was hard to see that. She often let emotions get in the way of a case and cloud her judgement; fear and adrenaline easily controlled her and her overly empathic nature created a poor interrogation technique.

Gibbs despaired of ever finding a team that he could fully trust to get the job done. He didn't think that his standards were too exacting; he wanted people who would trust him enough to follow his lead when that lead was nothing more than a gut instinct. He wanted to be able to trust his agents to watch his six and not let inexperience or adrenaline and fear get the better of them. He wanted his team to be able to think on their feet and use their initiative when he wasn't around. Most of all, he wanted his people to be as devoted to catching the criminals as he was.

Gibbs sighed, not sure that anyone on his team would ever meet those standards if Morrow kept on sending him idiots straight from the academy or transfers from the Hoover Building.

Some days, he really missed Burley!

The man had been his Senior Field Agent until almost a couple of years ago when the younger man had handed in his resignation with little explanation.

That's when all the problems with hiring began; either Gibbs couldn't stand them or trust them to do their job properly, or the TAD Agents would demand a transfer with not even a week's work under their belt.

It wasn't his fault if they couldn't handle it!

Morrow had accused him of being too demanding and far too impatient.  He believed that Nixon's inexperience could be a good thing, enabling Gibbs to train him from scratch and shape the young man into one hell of an agent. Gibbs had vociferously disagreed, stating that there needed to be some raw material to work with and then the Director went and accused him of being 'mule-headed', and it had all gone a little downhill from there.

Gibbs knew he was stubborn, that stubbornness had saved his life on occasion, however, he didn't think that wanting a team he could rely on was a bad thing. He'd told Morrow that he could keep a team together if he got to choose who was on said team.

The bloody Director had smiled and informed him that he already had a team.

A team? Hah…some team, Gibbs scowled.

"Ah Jethro, am I to understand that the scowl on your face means you were unsuccessful with reassigning young Daniel to another team?" Doctor Donald "Ducky" Mallard had long since grown used to Gibbs' mood swings, but there were times, when Gibbs was in a particularly dark mood, that the agent wished that the M.E. was just a little less jovial.

The Scotsman was usually dressed in old tweed suits and bow ties and looked as though he belonged at the front of a university's lecture hall rather than in the morgue. However, he was an affable man with plenty of stories that he could seemingly relate to any situation he so desired.

A man who had experienced many different things, both good and bad, throughout his life meant that he was always ready to listen and eager to give out advice. The man had certainly managed to survive Gibbs in even his foulest of moods, with little more than a quietly scolding 'really Jethro…' and a stern look.

Gibbs had come to rely upon the usually level-headed M.E. as his voice of calm and reason; if he had a problem, he knew he could trust Ducky to either listen or help, and to keep it all between the two of them. Ducky had become a valued friend that Gibbs hoped never to lose.

"According to Morrow, they're running short on agents to send here," Gibbs griped. "If they'd send someone who knew which way to point the damn gun barrel it would be a start!"

"Yes, Agent Nixon does appear to be a little inexperienced with firearms," Ducky agreed, having seen the young man struggle to put on his holster.

Gibbs snorted; 'inexperienced' seemed to be putting it mildly. He'd been horrified to learn that Nixon's only experience with firearms was at the FLETC; the man had only ever faced cardboard targets and what was worse was that Gibbs had learnt this fact when out in the field with him under fire from a couple of weapons smugglers.

Since then, Gibbs had tried to take him out to the range at least once a week; he'd already lost count of the number of Nixon's personal items that now had a hole in them, but the younger man still hadn't reached Gibbs exacting standards…not even close!

"Gibbs!" a high-pitched squeal from across the empty bullpen pulled Gibbs out of his internal rant. A black blur ran into him and gave him a crushing hug; he'd learnt long ago that resistance was futile where Abby was concerned. He could feel her whole body vibrating with energy.

"Abby…" he tweaked one of her pig-tails. "How many Caff-Pows have you had today?"

Forensic Specialist Abigail Sciuto took a step back from her favourite Silver Fox, placed one hand on her hip and tilted her head in thought.

The fact that Abby had to think about it told him that she had probably ingested the whole DC supply and that her blood had, in all likelihood, already been replaced with sugary caffeine.

"Never mind," he muttered, quite sure he didn't want to hear the actual amount. He might go through three cups of coffee before the sun had even risen, but that was different…that was coffee and not some caffeine/sugar hybrid monstrosity!

The past few days had been hard on everyone, but at least Gibbs had a team to do most of the legwork for him; Abby worked by herself down in the basement but still managed to do the work of an entire lab. It was no wonder she needed caffeine to get through the long and busy days, although he was quite sure that she wouldn't need an excuse.

Abby was a bundle of constant energy and cheerfulness, was constantly moving and usually smiling. She talked too fast and too much, she hugged too tight and more often than not she would point things out to Gibbs that he would rather she didn't, and Gibbs loved her through all of it.

Abby could get away with murder if she wanted to, and not just because of her own forensic knowledge, but because Gibbs would help her carry the body and shield her from any suspicion.

He wasn't quite sure how Abby managed to worm her way into his heart, but he knew that he would always look upon her as a surrogate daughter of sorts or, more likely, a wilful little sister that he had to watch over and protect.

"Come on Gibbs," Abby said with enthusiasm as she grabbed his hand. "Me and Ducky are going to buy you a drink!"

"Abby…" Gibbs started until Abby placed a hand over his mouth.

"I'm afraid she is rather determined Jethro," Ducky informed him, with a twitching lip and a twinkle in his eyes.

Gibbs sighed – he had wanted nothing more than a glass of bourbon and a few hours of sanding his boat. However, he knew that both Abby and Ducky could be as stubborn as he was and so he knew that there was little choice. He may not have the team he wanted, but these two helped him get through the day without committing murder, the least he could do was a minor detour to the local bars with them.

"Alright," Gibbs agreed, grabbing his jacket. "But just one!" he pointed a finger knowingly at Abby.

"Of course, Gibbs," Abby grinned back.

Gibbs let out another sigh; he was pretty sure that by the time Abby was done with him he wouldn't need that shot of bourbon and perhaps sanding his boat might not be such a good idea after this little excursion. The things he did to keep that girl happy…

He knew they were trying to distract him, trying to stop him from dwelling on the inadequacies of his team. He remembered Morrow's words of condemnation from earlier and decided he would let Abby and Ducky distract him tonight but tomorrow…

…tomorrow would be a new day and if Morrow was so determined that he keep this team then he would just have to work them harder until they were good enough. He knew that Cascabel would eventually leave and he was quite sure that he could make Nixon see the light – he would even help him write his letter of resignation.

When they left, he would make his own team; he would do the interviews and assess them in his own way. If Morrow wanted him to keep a team together then the Director would have to let him choose his own agents.

With that in mind, Gibbs left the office with an uncharacteristic smile as he considered all the ways he could speed that process along.

Chapter Text

Tony arrived at the 22nd Precinct a few hours before his shift started in an attempt to get some of his paperwork done. His desk was organised, but looking at it only Tony would know that – papers appeared to be spread haphazardly underneath empty cappuccino cups and across the dated keyboard of his very dated departmental computer.

However, Tony never spent long looking for anything, his hand automatically reaching into the apparently random stacks of papers and files, and pulling out exactly what he needed. Sam had always described Tony's filing system as a sort of organised chaos that even the C.I.A. wouldn't be able to decipher.

Jacobs arrived about ten minutes before their shift was due to start – the department heads held him in a higher regard than DiNozzo and were not so demanding about his paperwork or deadlines.  It infuriated Sam that so many people in the Precinct seemed determined to hold onto their initial (and incorrect) assumptions about DiNozzo. The kid had been working here for just over 23 months and Sam felt he had done more than enough to prove his worth.

There were some of the officers, those who walked their beats and did their patrols, who seemed less inclined to listen to the gossip. Tony seemed to have some quite good friends amongst the uniformed PD who would always try to make sure that the other detectives never went beyond a few cruel words. It didn't always work. There had been more than one occasion when the kid had sported some questionable bruises that Sam knew had nothing to do with the job. Tony always brushed aside his concerns, telling him not to worry about it.

Of course, Sam was just as stubborn as his partner, and once he found out who was responsible for the latest black eye or bruised arm, he would deal out a few bruises of his own. It took a while, but soon people realised that messing with Tony meant messing with Sam.

Sam knew, however, that the kid could look after himself. One day, a rookie who had listened to too much gossip made an ill-advised comment about Tony's mother. While Sam knew there was little love lost between father and son, and understood that though the kid's mother had been more than a little eccentric, it was clear he had loved her dearly.

He saw DiNozzo sidle up to the rookie and whisper something in the guy's ear. After a brief look of uncertainty, the young recruit assumed the urbane detective was not a real threat and rather unwisely continued to insult the Italian-American to his face.

Sam had never seen his partner punch anybody, not even a suspect. He couldn't really say that he saw his partner punch the rookie that day, as Tony's fist flew so quickly through the air that it was little more than a blur.

The rookie did not get up.

Tony had, of course, faced a disciplinary hearing, but as the behaviour was so out of character and he had Sam backing him up, he was let off with only a formal reprimand in his file.

No-one ever mentioned his mother after that.

Sam had rarely seen DiNozzo lose his temper; apart from that one incident, when Tony's self-control did break it was normally on someone else's behalf.

Tony had once had a very loud rant at one of the detectives from Vice and had even slammed him up against the wall leaving a small dent behind; the Vice detective had been continuously hassling the lab. techs. for results on a case and had one of them in tears.

Tony had always got on well with most of the people down in the forensics lab. He would mock them for all their glorified 'nerdiness,' as he termed it, and they would mock him for his absolute lack of understanding anything even remotely technological.

Sam and his young partner had been working a tough case that entailed long hours, little sleep and a disastrous ending. When Tony returned to the Precinct to find one of his friends down in the forensics lab in tears, he found the perfect excuse to let out his emotions.

Tony grabbed the detective from Vice and slammed him up against the wall, holding him there while he threatened further physical violence and shouted out his lecture on proper etiquette to the bewildered detective.

Tony always did hate seeing a woman in tears.

Cathy had told him about another instance of the rare but infamous DiNozzo temper that occurred almost a year ago. She had come home to find Tony there, waiting for her father's return and the kid, in turn, had seen the bruises littering her arm.

Cathy was a woman of 22 then; she had finished university and was staying at home with her father until she had earned enough money to get her own place in Baltimore. Sam had never been an intrusive father and trusted his daughter enough not to get into any trouble without him there to guide her every decision; he wanted her to make her own decisions, and to understand the consequences of them, whether good or bad. Her latest boyfriend, Logan, had not been as law-abiding or as opposed to controlling her.

Tony had extracted all the information he needed, (Cathy called it an ‘artful’ interrogation), and then tracked the bastard down at a nearby bar. He quickly arrested him for assault and used that charge to get a warrant for Logan's apartment, where drugs and stolen electrical products were discovered.

Cathy had gone down to the station, desperate to try and keep Tony from reporting back to her father. She caught sight of her former boyfriend in one of the large holding cells and was satisfied to see that not only had Tony broken Logan's nose, but that the nose was still bleeding.

Logan had apparently threatened to sue for assault and DiNozzo had given him the go ahead, stating: "I would love to be the one to explain to my partner why I had to beat up his daughter's ex-boyfriend."

Apparently, that had shut him up pretty quickly.

Sam had found out about this event three months after it had occurred; Cathy had confessed all under Tony's strong advice.

Sam had been furious at his partner for the deceit, but the kid was unapologetic: "if I had come and told you, who's to say that the next time something like this happens, Cathy would trust me enough to tell me anything; she came to you when she was ready, and that's what matters. Besides, I may have broken the son of a bitch's nose, but you would have put him in a fucking coma!"

Sam agreed whole-heartedly with the last statement and all was quickly forgiven. In fact, the older detective felt honoured that Tony cared enough about his family to fight for them and protect them.

"Sam!" came Tony's firm but exasperated voice. Jacobs turned to look at the kid and found him hovering nearby. "Finally! He lives! We have to go and talk to the Chief; he wanted an update on the Vasquez case first thing. He's waiting for us in Conference Room Two."

Sam groaned, knowing that the meeting would not go well. The Vasquez case was about a little girl of eight, who been missing for two weeks before her body turned up in Baltimore Harbour. Despite the length of her abduction, TOD was ruled to be almost twelve hours before discovery.

Isabella Vasquez had come from a loving but poor family; her hard-working father had come to America from El Salvador and had fallen in love with a local girl. Their daughter had inherited her mother's paler skin and bright blue eyes and her father's dark hair; she had been very pretty and her features had certainly been eye-catching, but unfortunately, she had been noticed by the wrong person.

The case had not made much of a dent in the headlines until another young girl had gone missing; Siobhan Wright was another pretty little girl with pale skin and dark hair, and more importantly for the media, came from a wealthier area of Baltimore.

It was cases like this that made Sam despair; that the media seemed to set more importance on one girl because she was deemed more 'American.' Unfortunately, he had seen this happen before and would likely see it again; poor kids from immigrant families given little more than a brief mention at the end of the nightly news, while rich, white kids got a special news bulletin.

Things had improved over the years, and media attention was beginning to be more equally minded about such things, but the media could still be selective when it wanted to be. Sam saw no difference between a dead child from an impoverished background to one from a wealthier background; a dead child was a tragedy regardless of such trivialities as class and race.

Siobhan had now been missing for just short of a week and there were few clues to follow. Nightly news bulletins flashed the young girl's picture in every Baltimore household, and her parent's plea for her safe return echoed throughout every neighbourhood.

All of this media attention had only added more pressure to a case that was already fraught with it. The Chief of Police had been in a thoroughly foul mood ever since he had had to screen his calls against persistent journalists and concerned senior city officials who wanted to be seen as 'doing something.'

Of course, that all meant that eventually, all the pressure and the questions and the political bullshit trickled down onto Jacobs and DiNozzo, as if chasing every wild-goose-chase had not been enough fun.

Sam normally quite liked the Chief. He thought he was good at his job and had treated everyone who worked below him fairly but firmly with solid expectations of high standards.

This case, however, was taking its toll on everyone.

"Fine, fine, let's go." Sam got up, every movement clearly indicating that he would rather be doing almost anything else.

"You know, it's times like this when I'm really glad I'm only the lowly junior detective," Tony said smugly, satisfied that Sam's seniority meant that he was the main person the Chief, the media and everyone else would be looking to for results first and foremost.

Sam sent his partner a withering glare, but as always Tony was not the slightest bit fazed by it, in fact, his grin only widened.

They had been sitting with the Chief of Police for a little over twenty minutes, talking about the various non-leads and dead ends they had followed up on.

All forensic evidence on little Isabella Vasquez had come back, but nothing revealing had been discovered. Her fragile little body had been pulled from the Harbour, and it was believed to have floated down from further up the Patapsco River; most biological evidence had been washed away. The evidence that remained were some generic fibres that could have come from a number of sources, and some sticky residue believed to have come from duct tape, that could be found in many people's garages and most hardware stores.

The 'eye-witnesses' who had phoned the hot-line had either been out-and-out lunatics or people who wanted a good rant about police inefficiency or the volume of their neighbour's stereo. Occasionally there would a related call, and rarely there would be a promising lead, but they never seemed to amount to anything.

The Chief had been quiet throughout; his desperate anger from earlier meetings had turned into a quiet despair. All three men knew they were unlikely to find Siobhan alive, knew that the only way they were likely to catch the murderer was if he messed up and left any telling DNA on the poor girl's body, or botched up his next kidnapping. All of them were less than ideal scenarios.

Chief McTavish was a hard man, but he was a fair man. Working in a city such as Baltimore brought with it many complications. The city had a reputation that seemed to stick with it – no matter how well the Police did their job, no matter what incentives the Chief tried to improve statistics, Baltimore would likely maintain its reputation for crime despite improvements for a long time yet.

McTavish expected the best from his officers, he expected them to respect the law, to enforce the law, and to ensure that they protected Baltimore's citizens from the law-breakers.

McTavish never liked all the political problems that joint jurisdiction seemed to bring with it, but both he and his department had frequently worked alongside the DEA, the US Marshal's Office, the ATF and the FBI during his time as Chief in a bid to tackle some of the more serious crime issues plaguing the city. The FBI's Organised Crime Unit and the DEA were especially busy, as many of Baltimore's homicides could be tied to organised crime and drugs.

This case did not have joint jurisdiction officially, but McTavish had been calling on all sorts of favours to get this case solved. Initially his drive had been to get his phone to stop ringing with nosy journalists and interfering senior city officials. But after sitting across from the two detectives and hearing what the animal had done to little Isabella, what he might be doing to little Siobhan now, he had wanted to get this murderous pervert off his streets before he got his hands on another little girl.

The Chief liked both Jacobs and DiNozzo; he knew the younger detective was not very popular within his department, even among the heads of department, but McTavish knew that DiNozzo was worth all the trouble he caused…well, most of the time, anyway. He would never have approved the transfer if he had thought the young detective was dead weight; if only other people would figure that out.

Sam and Tony worked well together and they got results, their closure rate was the highest in the department, and while the nature of drug-related and gang-related deaths meant that many cases went unsolved and therefore the figure wasn't staggeringly high, it was certainly high by local standards. He knew he had worked them hard on this case, he also knew that they could handle it.

McTavish had watched with great interest the way that Jacobs had changed his opinion of his partner, going from mistrusting, begrudging partner to proud, protective father figure. He silently congratulated himself on matching the two. Tony was becoming more and more adept at his job, with Sam patiently teaching the younger man how to hone his natural skills and instincts.

He took another look at a photograph, Isabella's body dwarfed by the size of the autopsy table. It was a grisly sight, and every time he saw it he would wince and promise never to look at it again but he always came back to it; he felt as though he owed it to her. The press had promptly forgotten all about the little girl from the Projects and he felt it was wrong that a girl, who had been so loved and so loving, should be forgotten so easily; he felt it wrong that her loss should be mourned only by her family.

"Well," he started with a heavy sigh, "It seems like we're no further. The FBI's CACU have been pouring through child porn websites looking to see if anything's been posted but they haven't found anything."

"It was always a long-shot," Tony added mournfully. "These type of scumbags. tend to be pretty secretive about it. Most of the perverts on the dark web look at the pictures and talk about some pretty sick things, but most of the time…"

"…it's just talk," Sam finished with a sigh of his own. The atmosphere in the room was one of despondency. Everyone was fast losing hope, but they all knew that they could never stop looking for Siobhan until they found her body, knew they would never stop hunting her potential murderer until he was dead or behind bars.

A tentative knock on the conference room door brought each man out of their silent musings as a uniformed officer stepped in. Tony recognised him as Thomas "Tom" Blackburn, a good man with whom Tony had shared the odd beer. Normally confident and outgoing, his hesitant stance at the door was indicative of just how many people were aware of the Chief's recent bad temper.

"Come on in Officer Blackburn," McTavish gestured. Once the officer had stepped over the threshold and closed the door behind him, the Chief motioned for him to sit down. "What can we do for you?"

Tom smiled at the Chief, glad to have caught him in a relatively good mood. He had always liked McTavish; the man had worked himself up from walking a beat right the way up to the Chief's desk – the man had definitely earned his position. He also rarely looked down on the officers, aware of how demanding the job could be, especially in Baltimore, and McTavish recognised that the black and white patrol cars that guarded their city were the backbone of local law enforcement.

"Sir, we've just caught a triple homicide, and one of the victims, Richard May, was involved in the Hansford murders that both Detectives Jacobs and DiNozzo investigated."

"May was a low-level but pretty well-known local thug," Tony started, "Were the others anyone we would recognise?"

"No," Tom shook his head. "One was a Marine in uniform, a Paul Jennings according to his driver's licence; we've contacted his family for positive identification. No clue who the woman is yet."

Both Sam and DiNozzo looked at each other pensively. The Hansford case had been one that remained unsolved and one that would eat away at them until it could be shelved permanently – an entire family, a mother, a father and three young children, all brutally killed with no apparent motives tended to have that effect.

McTavish caught the look and was all too aware that not only had the case remained unsolved, but that the lead detectives were most upset about it. It was not unusual for detectives to have more than one case on the go, in fact, in a Homicide Department as busy as theirs it was more unusual to be working only one case.

He nodded once, "Ok you two, green light to take this case and see what you can find. I still expect you to work the Vasquez/Wright case too, we've got plenty of other detectives working it already, but you know it inside and out. If this triple isn't wrapped up sharply though, I may have to pass the lead of the girls' murder investigation over to someone else; Detective Wells from the Violent Crimes Department perhaps. You ok with that?"

Both Sam and Tony looked at each other again, and knew what the other was thinking. Sam spoke for them both:

"Chief, we can work both cases, we've worked more than two multiples before. But if we feel like we’re ignoring one more than the other, we'll let you know."

"I know you will Sam, I trust your judgement," McTavish nodded. "Let me know as soon as you find anything." With that, the Chief gathered his papers and left the room to attend to his many other duties.

"He sure likes to know what's going on in this city doesn't he," Tom stated, releasing a sigh of relief that the conversation had gone so agreeably.

"It's why he's good at his job," Sam pointed out.

"It might be good to bring Wells in as another lead anyway," Tony suggested. "She's a veritable bloodhound at times, and I think she's the best available to direct the investigation when we're not around."

Sam thought over his partner's words – they held a lot of sense, Wells was an excellent cop. She was only working on the periphery of this case so far, but Jacobs knew that if she were brought in she would have the determination to see the case through, however it may end.

"Yeah," Sam finally agreed. "We'll go to the scene first and get what we can from there. Once we return to the station, I'll go find Wells and bring her up to speed."

"You sure she'll agree?" Tom asked hesitantly. Wells was not a detective he knew particularly well, and he couldn't imagine anyone being happy at being handed a case that was likely to end in disaster for at least one more little girl.

"She'll agree," Sam said with absolute certainty. "Right, let's get to the scene. Can you lead the way Blackburn?"

"Sure thing."

All three men grabbed what they needed and headed down to the garage level.

Gibbs' day had been fun so far; he'd dragged both Cascabel and Nixon down to the range and watched with a satisfied smirk as they shot 9mm holes in their personal items. He had then taken them both to the gym where he keenly demonstrated, over and over and over again on Nixon the benefits of self-defence.

He would never feel entirely comfortable taking on a woman in the ring, but he had very much enjoyed venting his frustrations upon Nixon.

They had not caught any cases so far and so had spent the day catching up on past paperwork, it was an almost welcome relief after the hectic few days they had been through.

"Agent Gibbs, can you come up to my office for one moment please?" Director Morrow requested from the balcony.

Gibbs momentarily narrowed his eyes with a questioning look, but Morrow was giving nothing away. He got up from his desk, ignoring his team's sigh of relief at his imminent departure.

"Cascabel, go out and get lunch for everyone, Abby and Ducky too. Nixon, you can carry on filing reports."

The two junior agents watched him go and waited until he was out of earshot. Nixon almost slammed his head down onto his desk as he did not seem to have the strength to hold it up himself.

"My arm is killing me," he complained to his team-mate. "I don't know how many of these stupid reports I've signed, but I do know that if Gibbs wants me to shoot anything else, it's likely to be my foot!"

Ronnie nodded her head slightly in agreement and then snickered slightly at the picture her imagination had conjured up: her flat out on the floor with exhaustion and Nixon clutching his bleeding foot as he hopped on the spot and howled with pain, she could also imagine her boss' exasperated expression at their inadequacies.

Ronnie wearily pushed herself out of her chair. The early rise that morning, when Gibbs had dragged them from their warm beds with nothing more than a terse phone-call, was beginning to take its toll. The shooting had been bad enough, but the 'exercise' on the mats had been a nightmare, much more so for Nixon, of course, who had been at the receiving end of Gibbs' Marine combat training. Paperwork was the final nail in the coffin, it was such a repetitive, mind-numbing task that left everyone feeling a little fuzzy-headed after several hours of it.

"Right, lunch," she said with a sigh, disbelieving the fact that they still had another half-day to go. "What do you want?"

Nixon briefly lifted his head from the table to answer: "Anything, just lots of it." He'd missed out on his breakfast that morning due to his boss' not-so-welcome very early wake-up call and his stomach had been grumbling at him, earning plenty of extra glares from his boss.

It was, without a doubt, going to be a very long day!

"What's going on?" Gibbs asked the Director without any preamble.

Director Morrow was used to Gibbs' direct ways and more often than not, when they weren't being directed at him, he appreciated them, aware that his approach solved cases.

"I've just had a phone-call from the SecNav. Apparently, he's had a military adviser for the White House, Michael Jennings, on the phone; his son's body has apparently been discovered in Baltimore. He's on his way down there now to make a positive ID and if it turns out to be his son, then no doubt he will be on hand to pressurize the locals into co-operating. He wants my best people on this case, and I assured him you were the best."

Gibbs was silent for a moment before hesitantly asking, "Baltimore?"

Morrow ignored his agent. "You and your team should probably get going, Agent Gibbs. I understand the body is already on its way to the local PD's morgue for examination; Ducky will have to wait for the body as I'm sure the traditional jurisdictional pissing match will take at least a few hours to sort out."

"Understood Director," Gibbs reluctantly agreed. He tried to avoid working too far away from DC to avoid most jurisdictional problems, however, he could tell from Morrow's stern demeanour and direct tone that there was little room for manoeuvre – pressure from above always made everyone more than a little grumpy.

He walked out of the Director's office and caught sight of Cascabel heading for the elevator. He hadn't been in Morrow's office for as long as he thought he might have been and so knew that the lunch-run had not yet occurred.

"Cascabel," he called across the bullpen. "Nixon, gear up," Gibbs ordered without further explanation.

"Where to Boss?" Cascabel dared to ask with a sigh. Would she ever get to have anything to eat?

"Baltimore," Gibbs replied, again with no further explanation.

"Baltimore?" questioned Nixon, who bravely or foolishly asked: "Driving to Baltimore? You, driving us to Baltimore?"

Gibbs sent the TAD Agent his most exasperated glance and threw him a set of keys; "Get the car ready, Nixon." Without another word he headed to the elevator; both Ducky and Abby would need to be on standby for this case, and Abby would never forgive him if he left without seeing her.

Nixon looked at Cascabel once the elevator doors had closed behind their boss; "Do you think they know what food is in Baltimore?" he asked sarcastically, wondering if his own boss understood that coffee did not count as proper sustenance.

He had been right earlier, this long day had just got longer, and while an active case might be a nice change from the mundane paperwork, a journey in the car with Gibbs down Route 95 would not be. Nixon was still not used to the way his boss drove, and while the journey between the two cities takes most people just shy of an hour to complete, Nixon was quite sure Gibbs would be well within that time-frame.

By the time Jacobs and DiNozzo had followed Officer Blackburn to the scene, the bodies had been removed, crime-scene tape had been erected, and the media were waiting eagerly with their cameras, microphones and tape recorders at the ready.

Both detectives trailed Tom through the mob of people and under the tape, heading down a back alley. They were in a heavily industrialised part of Baltimore near the busy docks; the passing HGV's and ships, the moving cranes and fork-lift trucks, dockers shouting to each other across various piers all served to hide the sounds of the city.

"As good a spot as any for a triple homicide," Tony mused quietly to himself.

Sam had caught the mutterings and nodded with agreement; "Were they killed here, or were they moved?"

"Well," Officer Blackburn said with an odd look on his face; "From the initial look of things, May was probably killed here, but we're not so sure about the other two just yet; it does seem as if all three had been repositioned though. What I can tell you is that May received one shot to the chest and one to the head…"

"A double-tap," Tony said with significance, a quick look at his partner showed that he was thinking along the same lines.

"That's how the Marine died too. Why are you two looking like that?" Tom questioned.

"A kill like that tends to suggest one of three things; military training, training with law enforcement, or a professional hit," Sam pointed out. "This is no ordinary turf-dispute."

"How did the woman die?" Tony asked, realising that the officer had neglected to mention her COD.

"Strangulation," Tom winced. "We'll be waiting on forensics to see if she fought back, and to see if she was raped. Maybe the other two walked in on some guy trying to get his jollies and paid the price for it," he suggested.

"No," Sam shook his head, and was glad to see his partner shaking his too. "There's something else going on here, and…" he was cut off by his cell-phone ringing. "One sec," he requested as he walked further down the alley to a quieter area.

Tony hunched down over the ground and ran a careful eye over the scene; the littered floor meant that any signs of a struggle would be hard to accurately detect. There were pools of drying blood on the ground, and spatter on the wall behind. He stood back up and left the alley-way, ignoring the press as he looked around at the surrounding buildings.

Tony frowned. It looked like they would need to bring Wells in on the Vasquez/Wright case after-all – nothing about this case seemed straight forward.

Sam came out of the alley towards him looking more than a little pissed off.

Tony had always enjoyed working with Sam, even in the early days when the older man had no reason to trust him, Jacobs had always had a lot to teach him and Tony was actually considering staying beyond his normal two years. Over the two years that they had worked together, they had both learnt to read each other, even with the subtlest of expressions.

Others who saw his partner exiting the alley-way might only see a man with a purpose but Tony could plainly see the anger in him, it was there in the tense shoulders and the firm jaw, the hard, glinting eyes and thin set of his mouth. His partner was definitely pissed off.

"Hey Sam!" DiNozzo greeted jovially. He had always believed that one of the elements involved with being a partner was to act as a buffer. If someone was pissed off or sad or frustrated or tired, then Tony believed it was a partner's duty to defuse those sentiments, to help alleviate the burden and redirect their focus so that no-one else would accidentally suffer the consequences.

"Some DC hotshot is sticking his nose is," Sam grouched out unhappily. "Bad enough we had to waste so much time and effort getting city officials here off our back with the Vasquez case, but now we're going to have to field all the shit these DC pencil-necks are bound to bring down on us all for the sake of mind of some rich asshole sitting pretty up on Capitol Hill."

"No Sam, please, tell me how you really feel," Tony joked.

"He's called in some favours, and apparently McTavish just got off the phone with some Director of a federal agency; it's got to be NCIS about the Marine, cos May's just a low-level thug even the FBI don’t give two shits about, and we haven't even got an ID on the girl yet."

"We've dealt with feds before," Tony pointed out, trying to ease his partner's mind somewhat.

"Yeah, but right now we're working two high profile cases, both of which have higher ups breathing down our necks and the media dogging our every step." Sam started pacing. "Now we're going to have to work with a bunch of strangers who are probably only going to give a crap about the Marine anyway, and they'll claim rightful jurisdiction and try to take the case away from us, and then any leads we might glean from this about ties to the Hansford murders will disappear under all the red tape!"

"…And breath…" Tony motioned helpfully. It was rare to see the normally calm Sam Jacobs so riled up and DiNozzo had seldom had to talk him down, but he worried every time he did have to that it might not be enough this time around.

Sam took in a deep breath as instructed. "Sorry," he said frankly; "I just hate having to wade through all the political crap and the red tape when I'd rather just be concentrating on the case."

"Preaching to the choir,” Tony assured him. “Well, we'll just have to deal with them when they come, and besides, if they really piss us off we can always send them to the wrong address…"

"…Or superglue their desk drawers shut?" Sam asked dryly.

"You see," Tony laughed; "You are learning!" He clapped Sam on the back, happy that he had been successful in lifting his partner's dark mood.

They both went back into the alley and decided to try and find what clues they could there before moving on to the dubious looking bunch of apparent 'eye-witnesses' waiting with some uniformed officers beyond the tape.

After spending another half hour looking around the alley and the various entrances and exits that surrounded it, they headed back out of the alley-way and that was when DiNozzo spotted them.

"Oh great!" he lamented sarcastically. "The Feds are here," Tony added as he pointed his partner towards the fierce, greying man who was barging his way through the crime-scene tape, his two-man team following meekly behind him.

Sam watched with interest as his federal counterpart gave both him and his partner a measuring look.

"Well," he murmured quietly to himself, not the slightest bit intimidated, "this should be interesting at the very least!"

Chapter Text

Tony immediately recognised that the very serious, greying man with the coffee clutched tightly in his grasp must be the ring-leader of this merry little band of agents, although it wasn't a particularly hard task, the man seemed to ooze authority.

He was reasonably tall and while definitely not a weight-lifter, Tony could deduce that there was some strength there underneath the faded polo-shirt and jacket. Judging by the hairstyle he was undoubtedly ex-military, probably a Marine.

He took in the way the agent cast a measuring glance over everyone at the scene, even the media-hounds behind the tape. He noticed that this stranger seemed to pay extra attention to him and Sam, however, they were the only two inside the cordoned off area that were not wearing uniforms, so they stuck out almost as much as the feds did.

The younger man behind the lead-agent was looking slightly green, as if at any moment he might throw-up all over his own shoes. His dirty blond hair was longer than the Marine's and slightly spiky and Tony was pretty sure this guy was not ex-military – he looked so much like a guy who'd just finished walked out of a lecture hall that it was going to be hard to take the guy seriously.

The woman behind was looking decidedly less green than her partner but still seemed to be a little queasy. Tony noticed that she was quite attractive; her long, wavy black hair was blowing gently in the wind around her pale face and pretty eyes. She was repeatedly shooting furtive glances at her boss with a mixed expression of trepidation and exasperation.

He cast a quick look at his partner. Sam was still trying to gauge the lead agent when he looked over at Tony and quirked an amused eyebrow. Apparently, he too was entertained by the idea that they should simply bow out just because a federal agent had glared at them.

The young detective knew that he had little to fear. Baltimore Homicide was still running the show and McTavish would play dirty to keep sole jurisdiction if it was possible and his detectives asked him to. He also knew that while the lead-agent might be an ex-Marine, Sam was an ex-Ranger, and Rangers lead the way, right? Tony knew that Sam would have his back, as would all the other uniforms on scene, hell, even the detectives back at the Precinct who didn't like him would join forces just to create a united front against the feds.

Yep, Tony thought to himself, there was some fun to be had here.

Gibbs' first port of call when arriving in Baltimore had been a small coffee shop not far from the scene. He never entered jurisdictional pissing matches without his coffee in hand as he felt that keeping at least one hand occupied might prevent him from getting someone into a strangle hold and spending the night in a holding cell.

He noticed that there were already a lot of journalists on scene – even in a city with a morgue as busy as Baltimore's, death was never old news.

It was relatively easy getting through the crime scene tape – he flashed his badge at some kid in a uniform who gave him a quick glare before he lifted the tape. Gibbs never much liked sharing jurisdiction with other agencies, particularly the FBI, but he had always found that there was far more hostility from the local PD's; Baltimore, it seemed, would be no different.

He immediately took note of the two men in slightly rumpled suits that were likely in charge looking his way, but he quickly moved on with his examination of the scene.

The media were relatively quiet so they'd obviously been there for a while, but every now and then a question would be shouted out at no one in particular. He looked at everyone carefully and they all seemed to have microphones and cameras and tape-recorders, no interlopers as far as he could tell.

There was a group of people to one side of the scene with uniforms trying to keep them together but apart at the same time, probably witnesses they didn't want disappearing off but didn't want exchanging stories either, Gibbs mused.

There were a lot of uniforms about; CSI's were sweeping through the alley-way and the surrounding area, taking photos and blood samples and fingerprints, cops were guarding the entrance way to the alley, keeping the press back, watching the witnesses, canvassing the local area and some were simply sat in their patrol cars waiting to be useful.

He turned his attention back to the two detectives.

He started off with the older man, who was more likely to be the senior detective. The man was looking straight back at him with a slightly amused look.

He was not particularly tall, but he looked strong nevertheless and held a certain presence about him. He had dark circles under his eyes and a five o'clock shadow that spoke of long hours. The suit, while slightly rumpled, was clean and well-fitting. His dark hair had a few greys sprinkled throughout and his dark eyes were thoroughly assessing Gibbs and his team even as he was being scrutinised himself.

The way the older man had placed himself between Gibbs and his partner spoke volumes about the kind of man he was, but unfortunately Gibbs wasn't sure which volume he should be reading. It could mean that he was protective, it could mean that he didn't think his partner could handle himself, it could even mean he was worried about what impression NCIS might glean from the younger detective.

Gibbs would no doubt figure it out later, he had time.

He shifted his attention to the younger detective who was assessing his team as much as he and his partner were being assessed.

The younger man was tall and well-dressed if a little creased, his suits looked beyond a Homicide Detective's salary. His brown hair was carefully styled and Gibbs could read the mischief that glinted in his eyes even from this distance. He shared his partner's dark circles and five o'clock shadow, but where as the other detective had been standing still, silently assessing, the young man was almost vibrating with energy from eager anticipation.

He caught the look between the two, the quirked eyebrow and the twist of the mouth; while he wasn't sure what else was silently communicated, he knew something further had been understood, as they moved in sync towards him and his team.

Sam spoke first, "You must be Agent Gibbs. My Chief informed me that you were on your way. You made it here in good time."

Nixon snorted at that and while he somehow missed the glare his boss directed his way, he certainly didn't miss the elbow Ronnie jabbed into his ribs as warning.

Both Sam and DiNozzo watched the team's little interaction with interest. It seemed as though the feds were not quite the well-oiled machine they had been expecting – Gibbs' commanding presence seemed to make his minions feel uneasy and uncomfortable around him.

"I'm Detective Jacobs, and this is my partner, Detective DiNozzo, Baltimore Homicide;" Sam stuck out his hand.

"Special Agent Gibbs," he said as he returned the handshake; "Agents Cascabel and Nixon," he gestured to his team.

Tony reached out to shake the team's hands. "Pleased to meet you," he said, giving the pretty lady a particularly charming smile. He turned to Nixon, "You feeling ok, cos you're looking a little green around the gills?"

"I'm fine," Nixon replied defensively. He was not feeling fine. Gibbs’ rapid journey up Route 95 had unsettled his empty stomach so much so that he was glad he hadn't found the time to eat anything. However, he didn't want some detective he'd never met before pointing out his weaknesses to Gibbs – his Boss was more than capable of pointing them out on his own as it was!

"If you say so," DiNozzo replied, still smiling; "But if you do have to throw-up, please don't do it all over the crime scene."

Nixon tried to give the smug detective his fiercest interpretation of Gibbs' glare, but he obviously failed, because DiNozzo's grin only got wider.

"Tony," came Sam's amused voice, "Play nice with the Feds."

Tony shrugged and plastered an innocent 'who, me?' look on his face; Sam wasn't fooled.

"We're not Feds," said Dixon; he was still feeling defensive and glared at the infuriating young detective in front of him. "We're NCIS; that's Naval Criminal…"

"…Investigative Service, yeah, I know!" Tony finished, his tone then took on the form of an adult talking to a particularly slow child; "NCIS, your agency, it is a federal agency, which makes you…a fed!" DiNozzo finished with a smug grin.

"Hey!" Gibbs was growing impatient; the direction of the conversation did not give him much hope of competent detectives. "Can we get back to the dead Marine?" his question was not really a question.

By Gibbs' tone of voice, Tony deduced that he was a man who was used to being obeyed; certainly, his team seemed to quieten down and take an obedient step back. He, however, was not so ready to bow to this man's authority and make things easy for him; the agent had no authority over him and he was more than happy to prove it.

"You mean the Marine and the other two dead bodies, of course," Tony pointed out cheerfully, happy to see Gibbs' eye twitch slightly in annoyance.

Gibbs was fast losing his patience with Detective DiNozzo; the young man, who had already mocked Nixon and flirted with Cascabel, was now annoying him, and Gibbs was quite sure it was all being done with deliberate intent.

He turned his attention to Detective Jacobs; "What do you know so far?"

Sam had noticed with slight amusement that DiNozzo seemed to have it in his mind to play with the NCIS Agents. He'd seen this happen before – people always seemed to dramatically underestimate his younger partner, and DiNozzo seemed more than happy to help them along with their assumptions.

McTavish had told him to cooperate with the feds, but that he was not to hand over jurisdiction just yet, playing for time while McTavish worked his end. That meant, in general terms, play nice but not fair. Jacobs could hand over what they knew, but he didn't have to share his knowledge of the local area or his suspicions. Mind, most feds from out of town rarely seemed to care about the locals' opinions anyway.

"We got here after the bodies had been transported, so we haven't seen them yet, but our M.E. should have started the autopsies by now. We've gone over the scene and the CSI's have been taking all kinds of samples from the nearby vicinity, but it'll take a while to get the results back. Uniforms have been canvassing the local area and we've got some witnesses that we still need to interview…"

"You haven't interviewed the witnesses yet?" Nixon butted in incredulously. When he'd done his training at FLETC, he was taught that you should talk to witnesses asap, so that all the details were still fresh in their mind.

Gibbs, too, was surprised that the detectives hadn't done the interviews yet, but he certainly didn't appreciate Nixon butting in the way he had done. He was going to have to teach the brash young agent that he, Gibbs, was team leader!

He noticed that both detectives turned cold, hard eyes in the TAD Agent's direction, could see them cementing their opinion of him. As if dealing with the local PD wasn't already going to be difficult enough, he now had to contend with Nixon's undoubtedly bad first impression, and no doubt his second and third.

"All the witnesses have been interviewed, Agent Nixon," Sam stated firmly, taking offence at the slight. "The first responders secured the scene, called for the M.E. and then took initial statements from the witnesses that were still on location, while second responders started to canvass the local area.

"We do know our job, and the protocols that go with it. We…" he said firmly and slowly while gesturing to himself and DiNozzo, "…have yet to interview them to get our own understanding of events and to compare their statements to earlier ones, to look for any irregularities there might be."

Gibbs felt himself relax at that, glad that the detectives were not as incompetent as he had feared. However, he also knew that Nixon had just caused quite a lot of trouble for him – NCIS did not yet have jurisdiction and dealing with the locals would be difficult enough without his Junior Agent insulting their intelligence.

"Anything you can tell us would be helpful," Gibbs said calmly. He wasn't used to being the diplomatic one, but with Nixon behaving like an idiot he'd have to do something to keep the detectives nice and civil until Morrow could win over jurisdiction.

Sam looked at his partner, but DiNozzo was unusually quiet. A slight shake of the younger detective's head indicated that he was not ready to cooperate with the Feds just yet.

"Richard May was one of the murder victims; he's a well-known local with a pretty long rap sheet – theft, possession of stolen goods, some minor drug charges – the list goes on."

"But nothing that would account for murder, right?" asked Agent Cascabel, who had been silent since the speedy car journey to Baltimore.

"People are petty," Tony interjected with a smile; apparently a pretty woman was enough to get him to talk. "People have been murdered over a couple of dimes and imagined insults; May could have said the wrong thing to the wrong person…it happens," he shrugged indifferently.

He was not indifferent.

Peoria had been a reasonably peaceful city to start off in; while there might have been a serious problem with bootlegging during the Prohibition, things had calmed down since and he was relatively lucky with his beat, rarely having to pull his gun and never having to fire it.

Philadelphia, however, had been a big change. Philly was a lot bigger than Peoria and the socio-economic divide far more noticeable. It was there he learned just how far desperate people would go in order to provide for their families. It was there he had his first real brush with organised crime. It was there that he had first noticed corruption within the legal system, and his eyes had been opened to injustice.

By the time Tony had moved to Baltimore he was a lot less idealistic about the role of law enforcement and far more realistic. He had come to realise that the people who were supposed to be upholding the law were just as capable of breaking it. He had also, in his recently found position as a Homicide Detective, leant of the darker side of human nature.

One of his first cases with Sam was investigating the death of a homeless man; after many fruitless interviews on the street, they finally found a viable witness who led them straight to another homeless man. Apparently, the dead man had been collecting cans from someone else's patch and had refused to hand them over when asked; a collection of cans not even worth $4 had merited a piece of rusty piping to the back of the head.

There were times when he really didn't understand people, but on days like that he wasn't sure that he really wanted to.

"May knew a lot of scumbags," Sam admitted with a shrug of his shoulders. "We have quite a list of known associates that we'll have to run down at some point. We've no ID on the girl; if we're lucky she's got a record, if not we'll have to see if the M.E. can find anything identifiable before trawling through missing persons.

"As for your Marine, he was in his BDU and still had his driver's licence on him; we're waiting for a positive ID, but he matched the photo on the licence so it's looking pretty likely."

Gibbs took note of the term 'BDU;' Jacobs was either former military or else someone who was comfortable using military terminology. "Did the shooter take anything?" Gibbs asked, eager to find some sign of a motive.

"Not a clue," DiNozzo replied. "We'll know more when we get back to the Precinct and get the chance to go over evidence, which would happen a lot quicker if we were allowed to go do our job."

The words were pointed but the tone was casual and almost polite; Gibbs knew without even looking that DiNozzo would be sporting that infuriating grin of his.

'That's it,' thought Gibbs, 'screw being diplomatic!'

"Then we'd better get on with it, hadn't we Detective DiNozzo," Gibbs replied evenly with a sharp look, he'd given up trying to hide how much the younger man could irritate him. "Cascabel, witnesses. Nixon, sketch and shoot."

It was the detectives’ turn to be irritated. "Hang on a sec.," Sam said, not bothering to hide the righteous anger in his voice. "This is still our case and our crime scene…"

"…our city…" DiNozzo muttered darkly, eyes sparking with obvious resentment.

Gibbs hid a smile, glad to know that he could be equally as annoying. He was not prepared to hand over a case that he believed should rightfully be NCIS's and he certainly had no intention of bowing down to some Baltimore Homicide Detectives who seemed to be on a power trip.

"You do things your way, and we'll do things our way. The case will be ours," Gibbs promised; "So I don't see any point in hanging around and playing niceties." Nixon's earlier comment seemed to have put both detectives on the defensive and there was no longer any point in pretending that information would willingly be swapped.

"You seem pretty sure NCIS will get lead on this case," Tony pointed out.

"When a military advisor to the White House calls up about his son's death and asks NCIS to investigate, it seems unlikely that he'd let two cops from Baltimore do the job instead, don't you think?"

"Your friend at the White House might have some influence over the matter," Sam conceded, not even bothering to hide his dislike of the Fed in front of him. "But no matter who he is, it is not up to him to decide. As a military advisor in DC he has absolutely no say whatsoever in law enforcement or on how Baltimore PD should do its job.

"We want to solve the case, and we want to do so for all three murder victims, not just the dead son of some big-wig down in DC. This case may well have ties to another of our homicide cases, which would firmly place this case within our own jurisdiction."

Sam then stalked off to do the interviews with the witnesses he and his partner had been about to conduct before the federal agents had made their unwelcome entrance. If he stuck around any longer, he might end up punching the lead agent and Sam's pretty sure that McTavish wouldn't see that as co-operation of any kind.

Tony watched his partner go; Sam was usually pretty calm and was definitely the more even tempered of the two, and seeing him stalk off with anger that was visibly pulsating through his whole body made the young man even more annoyed with the NCIS agent before him.

"Carry out your investigation if you want, Special Agent Gibbs," Tony said, his tone casual but his eyes hard. "But if you or any of your agents get in the way of our own investigators, I'll have you arrested for obstruction."

"It would never stick," Gibbs said, his tone fierce as he took a solid, menacing step towards the young detective.

Tony did not take a step back, in fact he took a step forward, as if meeting some unspoken challenge. "Probably not, but BPD would be more than happy to assist, and by the time your Director gets word, you'll already have gone through processing," DiNozzo promised with a menacing smile, "And I doubt they'll go easy on a bunch of federal agents who have not only impeded one of their investigations, but insulted their abilities too."

With his part said, DiNozzo sauntered on over to his partner as if he were enjoying a Sunday stroll in the park without a care in the world; he certainly didn't look like a man who had just threatened a federal agent.

Gibbs was pretty pissed off but mostly surprised, as he didn't think DiNozzo would have the backbone required to go up against him. Gibbs had gone through these pissing matches before, and normally people backed down – sometimes people were glad to be a case lighter or they lacked the energy and drive to fight for it, sometimes they did not want the case at all, and other times they were afraid of what the results might be for going against Gibbs.

However, that was in DC, where Gibbs had a reputation; here, he was an outsider, and an unwelcome one at that. He took a quick look around and noticed the hostile looks he was getting from the uniforms on scene.

God, he hoped Morrow managed to get jurisdictional rights, because working alongside these officers had gotten pretty difficult the moment Nixon opened his mouth and it only seemed to be going downhill from there.

Gibbs was certain that Jacobs was ex-military, but he seemed more Army than Navy, and the only time Army and Navy personnel seemed to like each other and drop their ongoing rivalry was when the Air Force was brought into the comparison.

Military or not, the man seemed dedicated to the job; he'd wanted to avoid the pissing match and concentrate on the case. While the man clearly hadn't been happy with the prospect of joint jurisdiction, he'd followed orders and shared information when he could have been an ass and withheld.

Detective Jacobs had been polite and had even been helpful in that he'd told him something of the case and what he knew about one of the victims. Gibbs was sure that Jacobs had not told him everything he knew or what he might have guessed, but it was a start, and one the Special Agent thought he could work with.

Detective DiNozzo on the other hand…the man had offered nothing more than the pettiness of human nature and had then threatened his team with a few hours in a holding cell. So far, the young man had shown absolutely no skills whatsoever, other than how to be infuriatingly smug.

What Gibbs found unforgivable was that DiNozzo had given him nothing to work on. Whereas he'd been able to figure something out about Jacob's character and what might drive him, he had no clue about DiNozzo and what made him tick.

Most people had the common sense to back down when Gibbs stepped into their personal space, Detective DiNozzo seemed to enjoy the theatrics and had even reduced the limited space between the two men still further. Jacobs may have been the one to place himself between Gibbs and his partner, but the NCIS Agent was still no closer in figuring out just who he had been protecting.

Both Cascabel and Nixon were staring after DiNozzo with something akin to awe and disbelief. They'd never seen anyone talk to their boss like that without some form of repercussion.

"Hey!" Gibbs snapped at his team. "Cascabel, witnesses. Nixon, shoot and sketch. Now!"

Another hour had passed while everyone finished up on scene, and the detectives and the agents said not a word to each other the entire time.

Sam and Tony had completed their interviews, with Agent Cascabel hanging nervously in the background to interview those the detectives had finished with.

The detectives were still seething though; Agent Gibbs and his team from NCIS had waltzed in here and asked about the Marine. Ok, so the 'N' stood for 'Navy,' but there were two other bodies involved, two civilians! Both detectives did not want to see the other two victims ignored just because some bureaucrat in DC wanted answers on his son's death.

Gibbs' voice had resonated with self-assurance and an insufferable arrogance that NCIS would be given the lead, without considering the fact that maybe, just maybe, someone in Baltimore knew how to do their job as well as Special Agent Gibbs believed he did his.

They needed to see McTavish and try to get sole jurisdiction; if they were forced to work alongside NCIS any longer, Sam would likely have strangled one of them with his bare hands and be stuck in a holding cell by the time DiNozzo finally unleashed his anger and shot the survivors.

With a quick look at each other, they knew that they would have to try something, anything! They got into their unmarked police car and headed across the city to see McTavish; he was their last hope in this NCIS infested nightmare.

"Shared jurisdiction?" Tony asked incredulously.

"Yes, Detective DiNozzo, shared jurisdiction," McTavish emphasised firmly. "I don't like having to deal with out-of-towners either, especially not federal ones, but we are after the same thing. It's bad enough that I have the press and senior city officials breathing down my neck on the Vasquez case; I do not want to have to spend every other second talking to some bureaucratic asshole from DC in between the calls on missing girls and paedophiles – is that understood?"

"Yes Sir," Sam replied, knowing that McTavish could not and would not reverse his decision. He could see the war raging in DiNozzo's mind, knew that Agent Gibbs had pissed him off because the Fed had pissed him off, but he also knew that DiNozzo would play ball if he had to, he would do his job.

DiNozzo was the job, and getting the guy was all anybody could ask for at the end of the day. He sometimes worried how far his young partner might go to get the bad guy and only hoped that the kid's reckless streak might be tamed with time.

Tony looked at his partner and looked at McTavish and knew that he should push no further. He'd worked with bigger arseholes than Agent Gibbs…he could do this!

"I understand Chief. Sorry," he said with sincerity. The NCIS Agent had pissed him off and he was getting angry with the wrong person. Gibbs had told them that some high-up in the White House was getting himself involved and McTavish was already under enough political pressure as it was – he didn't want to add to the Chief's problems.

McTavish had hired him, a newly promoted detective with a file full of reprimands and wandering feet. McTavish had assigned him to Samuel Jacobs, one of the few people in the department that seemed to like Tony. McTavish kept Tony on, despite all the problems he had caused. He owed the man.

"I'll behave," he promised.

"I know you will Tony," McTavish sighed a breath of relief that his two detectives were going to play ball. "And I know that this Agent Gibbs has already managed to get on the wrong side of the both of you, but this is a triple murder, with no apparent motive.

"If we've got a professional working in our city we need to know who it is and who he works for. Baltimore may have a reputation but even here it's pretty rare to get a triple like this. And if this does tie in with the Hansford murders then that is another case we can hopefully close.

"If Gibbs or any member of his team screws up, you come to me. If they withhold, or you think they're withholding anything from you, you come to me. If they become impossible to work with, you come to me. I have my own friends in Washington, and if they step out of line then I'm sure I can convince someone to remind their Director to get them to fall back in."

Both DiNozzo and Jacobs smiled appreciatively, glad to know that, although McTavish had been pressurised into making a decision he didn't want to, the man still had their backs.

"Go figure this case out. I'll put Wells as lead detective on the Vasquez case, but you both know the case better than anyone else so be prepared to be available if she needs you. Now piss off, I've got some smug prick in DC that I've got to deal with. Play nice Detectives."

The partners let out a laugh as they exited the Chief's office. They headed back to the 22nd Precinct with much lighter hearts, despite knowing who would be waiting for them there.

Agent Gibbs was sitting at a desk, glaring at a computer. It had taken him a good few minutes to locate the keyboard underneath stacks of paperwork and once he finally had the computer on he realised just how dated it was, even a technophobe like himself knew that the desk-top was more than inadequate to deal with the rising importance of technology.

As he'd walked through the department earlier, he'd even seen someone typing up their reports on a typewriter! He hoped their labs were kept better updated, otherwise the couriers between Baltimore and DC would be particularly busy delivering samples to Abby.

"You know, Agent Gibbs, if you wanted a desk you could have just asked, you didn't have to steal mine," DiNozzo said languidly, leaning casually against a nearby desk with that grin while his partner lifted Nixon up out of the chair at his own desk.

"I guess that explains why I had to sift through so much paperwork just to find the damn keyboard then," Gibbs retorted, trying to hide his surprise. Very few people managed to sneak up on him – how had the tall Italian/American managed it?

DiNozzo frowned, momentarily losing the ever-present smirk that adorned his face: "You'd better not have messed with my filing system."

"You honestly expect me to believe that you have a system?" Gibbs asked sceptically looking at the mess of papers strewn across the desk.

"Oh, he does," Sam insisted. "That no one else can figure it out doesn't mean it's not a system or that you're an idiot, it just means Tony is rather…mentally challenged. Most people actually use that filing cabinet by their desk, DiNozzo."

"I do use it, it's got my toothbrush in it. And it's differently abled," Tony insisted with exasperation, as though this was a common conversation between the two. "The politically correct term is differently abled."

Gibbs wasn't sure he wanted to continue on with the conversation anymore. He'd talked to Morrow, and knew that they had shared jurisdictional rights. While he wasn't particularly happy about having to share the lead of the investigation, he was perfectly ready to get the two detectives to admit the fact that their bid for lead had been thwarted too.

"So what did your Chief say?"

Tony rolled his eyes, already aware that a man as fastidious in his work as Gibbs would know that Baltimore PD had been pressurised to buckle to DC's demands. "We have shared jurisdiction," Tony said evenly, his voice not betraying the slightest bit of unhappiness he felt.

"Well, that'll be interesting," Nixon muttered mutinously. He might not much like Gibbs, but he was quite sure that he disliked the two Baltimore Homicide Detectives even more, well certainly DiNozzo at any rate.

Sam smiled and Tony smiled. They had the distinct advantage of being on home turf, and they knew how far McTavish would go to watch their backs, they didn't feel threatened by these NCIS Agents and the support network that their DC contacts contained.

Gibbs saw the smiles, they were not nice smiles. He was quite sure that the detectives were not ready to play nice, but if he'd read them right, then they would work together for the sake of the case. If that was their true concern then maybe they'd be able to work together to solve this thing after all; he didn't have to like it, but he could endure it, after all, he was a Marine and Marines make do.

"Yes Agent Nixon," Tony said, slapping a strong hand on the man's back. "I'm sure it will be interesting. In fact, I can guarantee it," he promised with a mischievous grin.

Gibbs didn't like the sound of that, nope…he didn't like the sound of that one bit!

Chapter Text

Gibbs had been dismayed to find out that the only elevator in the 22nd Precinct was out of order, apparently it had been for over a week and was likely to remain so for at least another few days. He eventually managed to find an empty conference room and so dragged his reluctant team in.

He looked at them expectantly and received a blank stare from Nixon while Cascabel spent all her time and energy not looking at her boss.

"Well…?" Gibbs sighed with exasperation, breaking the silence when it became clear that his team were not going to be particularly forthcoming with information. "What do you have?"

"Photos…and sketches," Nixon said with confusion, completely nonplussed about what exactly his boss was asking of him. "That's what you told me to do at the scene."

"I know what I told you to do Nixon," Gibbs ground out, desperately trying not to give in to temptation and pull the TAD Agent into a strangle hold. "Where are they?"

"Oh…well I think I left the sketches on that Detective's desk. I can go and get them if you want." Nixon was glad he'd managed to find the time to eat something, even if it was just a candy bar – Gibbs was going to make him pay for turning up empty-handed.

"Photos?" The older man was wondering what the hell he had done to piss off Morrow, Nixon must be a punishment from the Director, surely!

"Well, I didn't know where to get them developed, so I was just going to…"

"Use your initiative?" Gibbs suggested hopefully, although he knew it was a long shot. He'd have to talk to the Detectives sooner or later, and sooner just came knocking. He turned his attention to his other agent, who was being particularly quiet. "Cascabel…do you have anything?"

"Well…" Ronnie said reluctantly, already aware of how her boss would take the news. "When I tried to interview them they…well, to be honest Gibbs, they just flat out refused. They said they'd already given their statements, twice, and that they still had to come to the Precinct to give their written statements and sign off on them; they didn’t want to talk to me, they all just wanted to go home."

"You're telling me that while we were there, for over an hour, you got nothing?" Gibbs demanded incredulously.

"Well, not 'nothing;' one of them said something, said quite a lot actually, but I think it was Polish or something, and I couldn't…"

"You couldn't understand," Gibbs pointed out the obvious. "Did you not think of asking the Detectives how they had managed that particular interview? Did the thought cross your mind that maybe, just maybe, an interpreter might be a good idea?"

"I did think of that Boss," Ronnie said earnestly, aware of how gaining Gibbs' disapproval during a case that was already fraught with complications might prove to be beyond a bad thing. "But I didn't know what language the lady was speaking, so how could I know what kind of interpreter we needed. I was going to ask the Detectives, but they were still in the middle of interviewing other witnesses, and I didn't want to interrupt."

"So we're investigating a triple homicide that involves the death of a Marine with connections to the White House, and we've got nothing – is that what you're trying to tell me?"

"I have something, but I just don't know that it's very useful," Cascabel said hesitantly. "When no one but the Polish lady would tell me anything, I listened to the Detectives take some of the other statements. Most of them weren't very helpful, but there was one man who works on the docks, and he said that there had been a lot of strangers about recently, on the docks and around some of the warehouses nearby. It could be worth looking into."

Gibbs didn't say anything as he wasn't entirely sure what he could say; he was pretty sure that if he opened his mouth he'd fire both of them, and while he might not think either of them were particularly skilled at their jobs he needed NCIS presence on the case.

Seeing strangers on the docks was not unusual – sailors and traders were frequently coming ashore from all over the trading world and dock-workers came and went with relative ease on the concrete quays. It could just be that the witness saw nothing more than a particularly busy few weeks on the harbour.

He would have to ask the detectives, this was, after all, their city and they would undoubtedly know its’ rhythm better than the DC agents.

"Nixon, ask around and find out where you can get your photos developed. Cascabel, ask one of the Detectives about the witness statements; we'll have to use theirs but if you come across a glaringly obvious question that they didn't ask, you're going to have to ring the witnesses and ask yourself. Don't come back empty-handed next time!"

DiNozzo, who had reclaimed his desk in Gibbs' absence, immediately recognised that his system had indeed been disturbed; there was an unsolved double homicide back from '94 mixed up with a list of known paedophiles in the area. The double homicide should be on the left-hand side and the list should be on top of the keyboard. Gibbs had messed with his system!

He picked up the list, Wells might want that down in the Violent Crimes Department now that she was taking lead in the Vasquez case.

"Stupid fucking idiot…" he heard Sam mutter quietly from his desk.

"Did they mess up your filing system too?" DiNozzo asked, all too aware that Sam's desk was always tidy, mainly because he actually used the filing cabinet – if Agent Nixon had gone into his partner's filing cabinet there would be hell to pay.

"I don't know what the hell that guy was eating, but my desk is sticky…I keep on getting my arm stuck on this corner…it's disgusting!" Sam said wrinkling his nose; Agent Nixon clearly ate with the accuracy of a kindergartener.

"Well, my desk has a distinct coffee aroma about it and my papers have been messed with…when do these guys go back to DC again?"

Sam gave his partner a wry smile, "Once we solve the case, kid; sooner rather than later sounds good to me."

"Me too," DiNozzo agreed with a smile; "Not so big on coffee myself…"

"Ok, on with the case?" Sam asked and received a quick nod from his partner. "What struck you as odd about…"

"You weren't going to leave NCIS out of this little discussion, were you?" Gibbs asked with a smirk as he walked over towards the two detectives.

"Like you just left us out of yours, you mean?" Tony enquired with a cheeky grin.

"Where can I set up?" Gibbs looked around at surrounding desks, ignoring the question.

"Well, Detective Yarrow is on maternity leave…" the young detective suggested.

"Where's her desk?" The exasperated NCIS Agent scowled. Why couldn't the guy just give him a direct answer?

"Upstairs in the Organised Crime Department," Tony said helpfully.

Gibbs' scowl darkened, and DiNozzo wasn't even remotely fazed, the smug son of a bitch only widened his grin!

"Stanwix is on medical leave," Sam informed the Senior Agent, trying to hide his own grin. "His is the one by the big house plant. If you store your stuff on that, the rest of your team can just use what ever desk is available when you need it. I wouldn't try to commandeer a conference room; those things get a lot of use and your papers could easily be moved in the process."

"Thanks," Gibbs bit out in what he hoped was a reasonably polite tone.

DiNozzo stood up and stretched the kinks out with an overly dramatic yawn. "I'm going to take some of the Vasquez info down to Wells; you got anything I should add?"

"Sure, hang on a sec," Sam quickly went straight to a section of his very organised filing cabinet and withdrew a thick set of papers. "Here you go," he handed them over with a slightly heavy heart; he felt like he'd failed poor little Isabella Vasquez and Siobhan Wright because it was as though he and his partner had given up on them and on catching the murderer, moving on to the next case.

"Thanks, see you in a few minutes," DiNozzo promised as he headed for the stairs.

"Let her know we're here if she needs anything, Tony!" Sam shouted after his partner, eager to still do all he could for the girls.

"You working another case?" Gibbs inquired curiously, he knew it was not uncommon, especially in a busy PD like Baltimore's.

"We were," Sam admitted. "We were taken off as leads when we started on this one."

Gibbs wasn't sure what that meant – did the detectives just give up because they weren't getting anywhere? Did their Chief order them off the case? Or did they simply not care?

"Two girls," Sam explained. "One was pulled out of the harbour the other day and the other is still missing, there are no solid leads and not a lot of evidence. When this case came along, we were given lead because one of the victims, May, was a suspect in an unsolved family murder…this could be a chance to bury it once and for all, I guess."

"But you're not happy about having to hand over the other case?" Gibbs asked, after identifying the frustration in Jacob's tone; Morrow had occasionally thrown him off the odd case to work another, more complicated one and it had always frustrated him too.

"Of course not! I want to catch that sick son of a bitch and put him behind bars, but mostly I want to find that Wright girl alive. Unfortunately, no one knows May better than us; we know his associates and his stomping grounds because we were so certain that he was involved in the Hansford murders we got to know him better than his own mother. The Chief told us we would have to hand lead of the Vasquez case over to someone else and Wells was by far the best choice, but me and the kid are still going to be on hand if she needs our help."

"The kid?" Gibbs asked incredulously. DiNozzo might act like an overgrown twelve-year-old sometimes, but he couldn't see a twelve-year-old stepping up to a federal agent and casually threatening them with a night in a holding cell.

"He acts like a kid some of the time but he's a lot more competent that you think," Sam pointed out with an amused quirk of his lips. "He likes to mess with people and make them think he isn't all too bright, uses it as an effective interrogation technique too. Don't underestimate him, Agent Gibbs, he may be pretty young to be wearing a Detective's shield but he has definitely earned it."

"Oh, and how did he do that?" Gibbs could not put the man he had met with the description Jacobs was giving.

"That's not my story to tell," Sam said diplomatically.

"Fair enough," Gibbs did not add more as he knew everyone had their secrets, God knows he did. "You could answer one question for me though: does he ever shut up?" Gibbs asked hopefully.

"Sure he does," Sam said matter-of-factly. "He shuts right the hell up when suspects hit him over the back of the head with large, heavy objects."

"A concussion? You're talking about a concussion? That's seriously the only time he shuts up?" Gibbs asked incredulously, unsure of whether or not Detective Jacobs was joking.

"I wouldn't worry about it too much Agent Gibbs," Sam said with a wry smile. "DiNozzo gets concussions at the same rate most people buy milk, it's a disturbingly common enough occurrence, so you'll probably get your quiet time coming up sooner rather than later."

Once again, Gibbs was unsure of who was being mocked, him or DiNozzo. Jacobs sounded pretty casual about the fact that his partner was a frequent casualty of head trauma – that must be because he wasn't being serious…right?

"Boss," Nixon interrupted his musings. "I have the photos. I met a Detective from Vice who…"

"Where are they?" Gibbs cut in, not in the slightest bit interested in how his agent had acquired them, so long as he had.

Nixon handed them over to his boss as well as the sketch-book that had been resting to one side of Detective Jacobs desk. Its retrieval reminded Sam that the Agent had used his desk and had left behind some sort of sticky residue as evidence; Sam glared at the Junior Agent and the Junior Agent was completely oblivious to it.

"Where's Cascabel?" Gibbs asked the TAD Agent as he flicked through the photographs of the crime scene.

"She saw Detective DiNozzo going downstairs so she was going to ask him about witness statements," Nixon reported with a slight look of disdain; he didn't like the younger Detective much, the guy rubbed him the wrong way. He certainly wouldn't be asking the guy for help!

When Tony returned to the Homicide Department he found the usual din of the office, except for one very quiet corner; Sam was going over his notes from the scene, Agent Gibbs was looking at crime scene photos and Agent Nixon was hovering in the background looking as though he had no clue as to what he should be doing.

"Well," he turned to Agent Cascabel, "It looks as though they've started without us."

Ronnie gave the Detective a tentative smile. She wasn't sure what she should make of the man – he was charming and friendly and certainly not bad to look at with his easy smile and bright green eyes, but then it had also been Detective DiNozzo who had threatened them all with a holding cell and he'd purposefully riled Gibbs up much to her and Nixon's detriment. The man was certainly a conundrum!

"Wells said thanks for all the info and that she'd definitely be calling on us," Tony informed his partner. He was glad that Wells had been so open to keeping both Sam and him in the loop, as some people could get pretty territorial about their investigations.

"Glad to hear that," Sam added, mirroring his partner's thoughts. He looked around at everyone and decided that they should take their first meeting in a conference room, away from the hubbub of the rest of the Homicide Department. "Conference room?" he asked.

"Sounds good to me," DiNozzo backed up his partner's idea. He gathered all relevant papers from his desk, with no struggle whatsoever in separating out the old cases that were seemingly scattered across his desk.

The NCIS Agents followed after, eager to get a proper start on the case. Morrow had phoned Gibbs’ mobile several times, but the Senior Agent had wisely let it run to voice-mail; the investigation would no doubt be difficult enough without having to deal with the political aspects of it.

The conference room the Agents were led into was quite small, but Detective DiNozzo pointed towards a coffee machine with relish.

"Just in case," he quipped.

For the first time since meeting the younger man, Gibbs' own lips twitched with amusement, however, he was not prepared to let the Detective know it.

"Ok," Sam started; his seniority within the Department and the fact that they were in Baltimore and not DC gave him the nudge needed to get the investigation started. "So, the M.E. is still doing the autopsies and I think we should wait until he's completed all three before we all descend on him; Dr. Metcalf is very good, but he likes his work space quiet!"

"Would he be offended if NCIS brought in their own M.E. to verify his findings?" Gibbs asked, although he would bring Ducky to Baltimore or the bodies to Ducky no matter what the answer was.

"Do you really care?" Tony called his bluff.

"No," Gibbs readily confessed without the slightest hint of embarrassment. "But it's better to get all the autopsies done so we can release the bodies to the families; that I do care about."

DiNozzo nodded, taking the Agent at his words as he could clearly see the sincerity in the older man's eyes. Now was not the time to jeopardise the investigation, however much fun he found aggravating the lead Agent to be.

"Dr. Metcalf won't have a problem so long as you don't just spring your own M.E. on him; he'll want to be forewarned," Sam explained.

"Yeah," Tony agreed, "And make sure you are the one to explain it to him; he won't appreciate a Junior Agent being used as a messenger – he's a professional and he likes to be treated as such."

"Thanks," Gibbs nodded, glad that useful information could actually come out of Detective DiNozzo's frequently flapping mouth.

"No problem," Tony said with a smile. "Besides, I don't want him to think that we…" he pointed to Sam and himself, "…are the ones who are insulting his ability to do his job properly."

Gibbs just rolled his eyes. "I'll talk to Dr. Metcalf as soon as this meeting is done. What else?"

"We're still waiting on forensics," Sam sighed. Baltimore's forensic labs were better funded than most of the other departments but the newer, improved equipment did not reduce the number of cases that passed through their analytical machinery. "We should get some of the more basic tests back pretty soon, but we'll have to wait a while for the blood-work and other biologicals."

"If it helps, NCIS has a very well-stocked forensics lab and our forensic specialist is very capable…"

"…and always high on caffeine," Nixon added with a small snort of laughter. "She can work for days on end with nothing but Caff-Pows."

While Gibbs glared at his Junior Agent for interrupting him, Tony looked at his partner and mouth 'Caff-Pows?' Sam had no more of an idea than his partner about what the hell a Caff-Pow might be, so he simply shrugged.

"She is very capable," Gibbs continued, "So if you want to share that particular burden you just have to let us know."

"You asking or are you telling?" Sam asked with a hint of amusement; he could be just as blunt as his partner if the situation warranted it.

"What do you think?" Gibbs returned with a smile of his own, it was not an altogether nice smile but both Tony and Sam appreciated the show of humour – maybe Agent Gibbs wasn't quite as dour as he made himself out to be.

"Tony?" Sam silently asked his partner what his opinion on the matter was; Tony knew the lab techs better than he did and so he would be more likely to know if any of them would be upset by handing evidence over to another lab.

"I think our lab techs would be grateful for any help they can get," Tony admitted. "They're working hard enough as it is on the Vasquez/Wright case, Allen’s on that gang hit and Jones is working on evidence from a serial rapist up in the Projects. If your lab has the time and the staff then I say go for it – we could do with getting results in asap so we know what we're dealing with and have somewhere to start the investigation."

"Sounds good," Gibbs agreed; he was glad to see that the Detectives were prepared to work alongside not only him and his team, but also other people from within NCIS. He'd had a couple of joint investigations turn sour because one side was more concerned about getting the credit than about getting the criminal.

"Ok, so we can send all the biologicals to your lab, like blood-work and hair, and our guys can deal with the smaller stuff, like shoe prints and residues." Sam stated firmly, keen to get on with the rest of the details. "Well, now that that’s sorted, on with things we can actually do ourselves…"

"I have photos and sketches from the scene," Nixon said eagerly, glad for a chance to try and do something productive. "Looking at the blood on scene, I'd say they were killed there and…"

"I wouldn't get too far ahead of yourself, Agent Nixon," Sam politely warned, and watched as the young man's ears turned red with embarrassment.

Gibbs silently agreed; one of the reasons he disliked Nixon so much was because the young Agent was far too presumptuous. Once Nixon got some experience under his belt then maybe he would gain some restraint, or at least, Gibbs certainly hoped that would be the case if Morrow insisted that the brash TAD Agent became a permanent fixture on his team.

"Officer Blackburn," Tony started, "He was one of the first responders on scene and thought that from the layout of the bodies May was probably killed on location but wasn't as sure about the other two bodies. He also…"

"How is that any less presumptuous than my theory?" Nixon argued defensively, feeling hard done by.

Cascabel winced, she really wished her partner knew when to shut up and when to argue.

"Perhaps because Officer Blackburn has been walking the streets since you were in Kindergarten, and he knows a thing or two about crime scenes," Tony firmly stated, quick, as ever, to protect those he counted as his friends.

"If he was that good then he wouldn't still be in a uniform," Nixon pointed out.

"Believe it or not, Agent Nixon," Tony sneered, "Not everyone wants a Detective's shield or a federal ID. Tom likes his job as a uni and will more than likely carry on in patrol until the day he dies. He might not get to wear a suit to work or have a fancy title, but he is a damn good cop and he is damn good at his job – when a man like that gives an opinion at a crime scene, then you listen, because he knows what the hell he's talking about!"

"Yeah, sure…" the TAD Agent started. He felt it wasn't fair; everyone was always going on about experience, but he felt that some people just had 'it', the gut instincts and the certainty about a crime that he believed he was born with. “he…”

"Nixon!" Gibbs almost shouted. "Shut the hell up! Detective DiNozzo…you were saying?"

Tony quickly pushed down his anger at the Junior Agent and got back to the case, it was far more important than his feelings. A quick nod from his partner told him that Sam wasn't mad that he shouted at the guy – you could always count on Sam to watch his back and support his play.

"Officer Blackburn thought that the bodies had been repositioned…which is kind of…weird. I don't know why anyone would do that if it was a professional hit."

"No," Ronnie finally spoke. She was normally more interested in the psychological aspects of a case, but she couldn't understand why anyone would reposition the bodies in this case. "There’s seemingly nothing ritualistic about it. Do we have any idea on COD yet?"

"May and the Marine, Jennings, received a bullet to both the head and the chest, classic execution style," Sam pointed out. "None of the CI's have come forward with anything about any heavy hitters that have come to town, but then it could just be an Organised Crime thing – one target and the others were simply in the wrong place at the wrong time."

"No," Tony disagreed with a slow shake of his head. "If May was the only one killed in that alleyway, then surely he was more likely to have been the one in the wrong place at the wrong time."

"But the woman was the only one who wasn't shot, that indicates that she wasn't the primary target," Sam reasoned.

"Or she was the first," Tony suggested. "Maybe she died first, and May and Jennings were a threat to the killer, knew something they shouldn't have done."

"You got any ideas?" Sam asked the NCIS Agents. "We could talk ourselves in circles here, but at least it's a starting point."

"Well, we don't know who the woman is and no one has come forward, so I doubt she's anyone of social importance or, you know, a well-known face in the community. She could be an illegal immigrant or a criminal herself to have stayed so firmly under everyone's radar…" Cascabel suggested.

"We've run her prints already," Tony shook his head in disagreement. "It was one of the first things we asked the lab techs to do – no matches so far, so she doesn't have a criminal record. Now we're running them through other databases too…law enforcement, military, even Interpol – we're still waiting on results from those searches though."

"You think she's the key to this?" Gibbs asked, seeing how puzzled the young Detective seemed to be about the woman’s presence in particular.

"I do," Tony admitted. "I don't know why…it's nothing more than a gut instinct really. May tended to get himself into a lot of trouble, so the fact that he wound up in the morgue comes as no surprise. The Marine was either involved in something dodgy or he was trying to be a hero…or both," Tony shrugged. "The woman though…I can't get a handle on her."

"I have Jennings' personnel file here," Gibbs waved a file. "According to his CO, Corporal Jennings was an exemplary Marine and an asset to his unit. All his drug tests came back negative, physically very fit…"

"So if someone managed to get the drop on him they were either very sneaky or very strong themselves?" Tony asked, trying to figure out what kind of killer they were dealing with.

"Could be military themselves," Sam suggested. "Another Marine, or they could come from another branch in the Navy, the Army…could even be a foreign soldier."

"I can't see a Marine with a record like this getting himself involved in anything less than squeaky clean," Cascabel stated firmly.

"I don't know, Agent Cascabel," Tony argued, and Gibbs was glad to see that there was a seriousness there that the young Detective usually seemed to lack. "Good people can get dragged into pretty messy situations – maybe he fell in love with the wrong girl, or his friend or a brother in arms dragged him into one of their messes."

"True enough," Sam agreed with his partner, aware that he had a few former Army buddies who found trouble after their service. "We need to talk to his friends and find out what he was doing in Baltimore – if we can get some kind of idea as to why he was here maybe we can get closer to a motive and discovering who our mystery woman in the morgue is."

"What about witnesses?" Gibbs asked, ploughing on with the investigation.

"Detective DiNozzo has promised me copies of his and Detective Jacobs notes from the interviews on scene," Cascabel reported, throwing a grateful smile in DiNozzo's direction. "The witnesses have yet to come in to give their official statements and sign them, so if you see anything missing, we can ask them when they come in."

"Good, well we can't do much else now without the results from evidence and autopsy. Can you think of anything else, Detectives?"

"No Agent Gibbs," Sam shook his head. "I think we've covered all we can until we start getting results in. Tony, can you think of anything else we might have missed?"

"Nope, like you said, we've just got to wait for results to come in, and interview family and friends."

"Ok, Cascabel," Gibbs started, taking charge of dishing out the assignments. "Go to the lab and pick up all biologicals for the case, sign for them and make sure they're safe and secure for travelling back with me to DC. Then you can go through the witness statements and check them out, make sure our witnesses are reliable too and dig up what you can on them as there's a chance one of them is our killer, angling for an in to the investigation. You can ask Detective Jacobs for further instructions if you get all that done before I'm back.

"Nixon, I want you to get financial records, medical records, and even school records of our victims. If you have any time, look through missing persons for our Jane Doe. I expect all of this done by the time I get back from DC, understood?"

Both Agents Cascabel and Nixon mumbled their answers, aware that at the speed their boss drove they didn't really have much time to get things done; they both turned away to get started on their tasks.

Gibbs turned to the Detectives; "DiNozzo, you're with me. We're going to DC to talk to Jennings friends and family. We'll also make a stop at Norfolk, and talk to his CO there. That ok with the both of you?" He didn't much like the whole co-operation thing, but he knew that he would need the Detective's help to solve the case and they would only give that help if he gave them his co-operation.

Sam looked at his partner and could see the younger man's surprise at the Agent's offer of teamwork, but he could also see the wisdom in Gibbs' plan. A Detective and an NCIS Agent in both locations so no one felt as though they were being left out of the loop and so that at least one half of the team was on home ground.

"Nope, no problem here, Agent Gibbs," Sam said with a small, wry grin. He knew that he wasn't really being asked for his opinion, it had merely been courtesy, but he was a little surprised that Agent Gibbs had decided on taking Tony. He supposed it made more sense to take the Junior Detective – that way there was either a Senior Agent or a Senior Detective at both points of focus in the investigation.

"Good," Gibbs nodded. "I'll go and talk to your M.E. How do I get to the morgue?"

"Ground floor, right at the back of the building, it should be signed," Sam informed the Agent, who quickly took off in long strides. "Do you think he needs a coffee first?" Sam joked.

He saw DiNozzo grin and Sam wondered if Agent Gibbs knew what he was letting himself in for.

Probably not.

"DiNozzo, we were supposed to have left almost fifteen minutes ago!" Gibbs snapped impatiently.

"I know that, you've had a very vocal running countdown, but Detective Wells need the interviews from the Vasquez case and it wasn't in the pile I gave her earlier," Tony said with a pointed look towards the Agent. "You see, Agent Gibbs, this is what happens when you mess with someone's system!" DiNozzo pointed out with a dramatic sigh.

Gibbs rolled his eyes while Sam let out a small laugh. It was good to see that, despite the pressures of their two recent cases, Tony was still being Tony, it was comforting in a way.

"Aha!" Tony cried out dramatically as he pulled the paper he was looking for out with a flourish. "Sir," he addressed Gibbs, "Your evil plan has been thwarted!" He then left the room without another word and headed once again down the stairs to the Violent Crimes Department.

"How does he ever find anything on that desk?" Gibbs asked incredulously. Papers seemed to stick out of every angle and files were interlaced, the keyboard was once again hidden from view and somewhere under all the paperwork was a computer mouse.

"He knows where he puts thing," Sam shrugged. "Besides, I like it when it's messy, messy is good. When the thing is tidy, that is when I really start to worry, it's a sure sign that something is wrong. It could just be that he is mind numbingly bored, which comes with its own set of problems," Sam smiled, thinking of glued desk drawers and paper planes. "It usually means that something is bothering him though, and that tends to be when he gets a little reckless out on the streets."

Well, at least the desk was messy then, Gibbs thought with something akin to relief.

"Agent Gibbs…" Sam spoke with determination, eager to make things as plain sailing as he could for his younger partner. "…You might not think much of Detective DiNozzo's methods but the kid knows what he's doing. If he appears to go way off script in DC, he usually has a reason for it; my advice…let him run with it. He gets results, and that's what we need here."

Gibbs nodded, unsure if Jacobs' advice warranted any verbal response.

"Oh, and make sure he has something to eat," Sam added with a smile, all too aware that a hungry DiNozzo was a less than amiable DiNozzo. "I would try to make sure he doesn't have too much sugar though; the kid can get himself pretty hyperactive on that stuff."

"Hey!" Tony cried from across the office. "Road trip! I'll bring you something back from DC," he promised his partner. "Would you rather have a nice little model of the White House or one of Capitol Hill?"

Gibbs rolled his eyes and let out an exasperated sigh; despite his way of driving, it looked likely that the drive back to DC was going to be a long one.

Chapter Text

Gibbs was surprised that Detective DiNozzo remained quiet for as long as he had done…ten whole minutes. He supposed it must be some sort of record for the young man. He was certainly setting a new one for himself with regards to his self-restraint, Ducky would no doubt be proud of his unusual display of patience…oh God…Ducky!

His heart jumped a beat at the thought of the verbose Scotsman and the equally talkative Detective in the same room…together…with him. He would never get a moments peace! Maybe he would just have to leave them both to find their own way back to Baltimore, sharing a car with just one of them was bad enough.

DiNozzo tuned the radio into yet another station before Gibbs felt his patience slip away and he swatted the young man's hands away from the dials, before turning the radio off completely.

"Hey!" Tony protested.

"Clearly there was nothing worth listening to or you wouldn't have had to sample every radio station on the East Coast!" Gibbs snapped back, his former restraint now eroded.

"I was simply checking out all of my options," DiNozzo replied indignantly. "Besides, we're on a road-trip, and every road-trip needs a soundtrack. Are you a Country and Western kind of guy? I could see you nodding along to a bit of Johnny Cash. Me…I'm more of a…"

"I prefer the silence," Gibbs interrupted firmly, hoping that the young Detective might just get the hint.

He didn't.

"What's that when it's at home? Is that genre like the Charlie Chaplin of the music industry? I like Charlie Chaplin; for a guy to make such a name for himself without ever saying a word, it is pretty impressive."

'If only,' Gibbs thought wistfully to himself.

"They might be old movies but you can watch them again and again; they're classics, especially ‘The Great Dictator’, political satire at its greatest!" Tony continued on regardless of his driver's exasperated sigh. "Did you know that Charlie Chaplin entered a Charlie Chaplin lookalike contest and he didn't win? How crazy is that?"

Gibbs took his eyes of the road to shoot a glare at the Detective. He was positive that the younger man was nowhere near as oblivious as he made himself out to be, in fact, he was more than sure that DiNozzo was purposefully pushing his buttons (and succeeding!) and definitely enjoying it.

"Of course…" Tony continued, suppressing a smile as he cast a sideways glance at the short-tempered NCIS Agent; "…Really, a road-trip movie would be more appropriate for this particular moment in time; there's 'Thelma and Louise,' and 'Bonnie and Clyde' of course, but they were both on the wrong side of the law.

"I don't think there are too many cop-related road-trip movies out there. Plenty of cops ride together, of course, but rarely out of their own jurisdiction so I don't think they really count as road-trips. I definitely can't think of any movies where a Homicide cop and a Special Agent take a road-trip together. I suppose we could…ow!"

Tony rubbed the back of his head; Agent Gibbs had slapped him on the back of his head, hard – the man had slapped him! He wasn't some misbehaving mutt who needed a quick swot to his nose to stop him from shredding the newspaper or peeing on the couch. The man had not held back either, he could feel his scalp tingling underneath his hair from the force of the slap.

"What the hell was that for?" Tony asked indignantly, still rubbing the back of the head, wondering whether or not he should risk an accident by hitting the driver back full force, right on the nose.

"Your partner said you only shut up when you're concussed," Gibbs pointed out, trying to hide his smirk at the umbrage in the Detective's voice; finally he had managed to irritate the Detective and not the other way around.

"So…what? You were trying to give me a concussion? Why not just punch me then? I've got to say Gibbs, I thought you'd be more of a punch-thrower than a slapper."

"If I punched you I could have hurt my hand," Gibbs replied nonchalantly. He had actually hurt his hand, having hit DiNozzo a little harder than he meant to. He had wanted to put across the point that he could take no more of the man's infernal chatter, but his irritation had taken hold last minute and the intended swot turned into a full powered slap. His hand was still stinging slightly from the force of the hit, but no way would he tell DiNozzo that.

"Well, then why'd you hit me on the back of the head? The skull's pretty thick there!" Tony pointed out, his wounded pride meant that there was no way he was prepared to let this lie just yet.

"A slap to the face would be humiliating, the back of the head is a wake-up call," Gibbs said. He'd argued the same point as DiNozzo with Mike Franks when he had been the man's Probationary Agent, and that had been Franks' response. At the time he'd felt too hard done by to see any sense in the words, but now, after many years of reflection, he had come to believe in them.

"If a slap to the back of the head is a wake-up call then why the hell did you give me a head-slap? I thought you wanted me to shut-up! Honestly Agent Gibbs, for senility to be setting in at your age…" he saw the older man's hand come his way and he moved his head to avoid it.

Unfortunately, there is only so far you can move your head in a car, and DiNozzo slammed his into the window, hard, in his attempt to avoid Gibbs' swift hand.

"Ow!" he moaned and grabbed his head; first the back of his head and now the side. "You know, your driving is punishment enough – is it any wonder I want to occupy my mind with something other than your short-cuts and the barely visible freeway speeding by us?"

"DiNozzo, for both our sakes, shut the hell up!" Gibbs asked with exasperation. There were a few unintelligible mumbles from the younger man as he muttered various curses and promises of revenge, but the Detective remained quiet, mostly, the rest of the way down Route 95 and into DC.

The security gates opened and Gibbs noticed that for once, the Detective was being completely silent, not because he was trying to make a point but because he was genuinely absorbed in his surrounding environment. He supposed for the average cop, going through so many different security measures just to reach your place of work probably was worth a second glance.

There was the manned security gate to the navy yard, a short drive passing by various military posts, followed by the security gate into NCIS. Once they exited the car, they entered NCIS HQ, where there was internal security and where Gibbs had to secure a visitor's pass for DiNozzo.

Tony was in awe. He worked in a city that was renowned for its dangerous streets, yet you could walk straight into any Precinct virtually unchallenged; it was only when someone tried to get to the more restricted areas, like holding cells and evidence lock-up, that a wandering stranger might meet some kind of armed opposition.

He saw the guards inside NCIS HQ regard him with open curiosity, but he couldn't figure out why; surely he wasn't the only stranger to enter these doors. Maybe it was because he was with Gibbs, and he clearly wasn't Agent Cascabel and he hoped to God he didn't resemble Agent Nixon in any way, shape or form; even then, however, Gibbs must have brought other outsiders into the building…right?

He tried to ignore the stares he got as he delved further into the building, tried to convince himself that there was no problem; he was quite sure he didn't have anything on his face, and Gibbs had slapped him on the back of the head, so he knew there would be no visible hand-print. Maybe they thought he was a crook and were wondering why he wasn't in handcuffs; he'd certainly stop and think twice about that scenario.

Gibbs was equally aware of the stares going on, but he was not all that surprised. Normally when he worked with other LEO's the air was full of expletives on the one side and silent but deadly glares on the other.

He was not surprised that the scuttlebutt had done its rounds already; almost everyone in the building would know by now that NCIS had been forced to share jurisdiction, and that Gibbs, a man not exactly renowned for his co-operation, was the NCIS Agent in joint-lead of the now highly political investigation.

"We'll take the evidence to Abby first, then I need to talk to Ducky," Gibbs told the quiet Detective who had been following at his heels like an obedient hound.

Tony had indeed been silently trailing the Senior Agent; NCIS HQ was understandably big and he hadn't got a clue where he was supposed to be going. He'd followed Agent Gibbs into a big open area, full of desks, and straight away his eyes had been drawn to the 'Most Wanted' board, every Bond film and spy movie came quickly to mind.

Looking up he saw the initials MTAC, but he had no clue what the hell it meant. People were rushing up and down the stairs, and while some desks remained completely empty, other areas of the bullpen were awash with activity; Senior Agents shouting at their Junior Agents, phones ringing and copiers printing, coffee runs and snack machines, the tap-tap of computers and the ever-present rustle of paper that signified good old fashioned police work.

Eventually registering the fact that Gibbs had said something, he replayed the words back in his head. "Ducky?" he questioned out loud. It was an odd sort of name and he couldn't imagine Gibbs being too big on nicknames.

"Doctor Donald Mallard…Ducky…our Medical Examiner. We'll be giving him a lift back to Baltimore after we've questioned Jennings' family and friends."

"Doctor Don…ah! Donald Duck…Mallard…Ducky…gotcha!" DiNozzo gave a big grin, a sly wink and a small but triumphant air punch.

Gibbs ignored the Detective's overly theatrical eureka moment and rolled his eyes at the man's mega-watt smile; surely his cheeks must ache from smiling so much! He finished going through his desk, looking for any recent additions to the case that may have been put there, and headed for the elevator once again.

As soon as Tony stepped out of the lift, he knew he was in for a shock. Very loud, very heavy metal music was booming out through the doors in front of him; he couldn't imagine anyone working for Gibbs who could like that type of music that loud and get away with it. Looking at the man, however, Tony could see that Agent Gibbs not only looked more relaxed than he had ever seen him, but that he was also smiling…smiling a nice almost friendly smile…it was kind of creepy, he decided.

Gibbs was indeed happy. Abby had been as busy as the rest of the team, busier really, and no amount of Caff-Pow's could hide the draining effect the past couple of weeks had had on her usually vivacious personality; the return of her music was a clear sign that she was getting back to her usual chirpy self.

One of the reasons Gibbs had endured working with such an inept team for so long was because he knew it took some of the pressure off Abby. She still had to do all of the forensics, of course, but he could get Cascabel to do a lot of the computer searches that he would otherwise rely upon her to do, and he got Nixon to do any other grunt work that was necessary.

"Gibbs!" came a squeal from somewhere inside the brightly lit lab. The woman that came running was not at all what Tony had been expecting, especially since Gibbs was so obviously fond of her.

Dressed in a short red mini-skirt with a tartan design, Tony could see her long, long legs were wrapped in very large, very black multi-buckled leather boots, the heels gave her at least another three inches, possibly four. Her tight t-shirt had a white skull and crossbones on a black background.

Her wrists had black leather bands wrapped around them with shiny metal studs and she wore a red choker, also complete with studs. Her black hair was pulled back in high pig-tails, showing a large spider's web tattoo on her neck. Her pale face was amplified by her dark red lipstick and her dark eye shadow.

He wouldn't have described her as beautiful, but she was certainly pretty, and her long legs were to die for. He could see genuine joy in her eyes when she hugged…yes…hugged Gibbs. He wouldn't have thought Gibbs was the hugging type, but then he also couldn't see why anybody would be so over the moon to see the man – maybe he was nice with his own people…well, anyone who wasn't Nixon at any rate.

Abby was ecstatic to see her silver fox; she was bored and didn't have enough work to keep her caffeine intoxicated body busy. She had initially been glad for the reprieve as it enabled her to replenish her stores, but she quickly grew bored. Only a day off to recharge her batteries and already she was raring to go.

She gave Gibbs an extra tight hug once she saw that he had an evidence bag in his hands, finally she would have something to do! Then she caught sight of the man standing quietly behind Gibbs, who was clearly checking her out; she was sufficiently confident not to let it bother her, although the feminist side of her told her she ought to be disgusted.

He was tall, and his brown hair was carefully styled into spikes, his piercing green eyes were visible from a distance and his easy grin could be considered charming. Abby was not one to be swayed by such frivolities though, she demanded something more substantial than simply good looks.

He was wearing what looked to be an expensive suit, but it was rumpled and his tie had been loosened. The creases along with his five o'clock shadow and dark eyes were indicative of long hours; she could only hope that the long hours were due to dedication to his job, any other reason and she couldn't see him and Gibbs getting along too well.

He was definitely good looking and well-built, there could be no denying that, but he had yet to earn her seal of approval. She turned to Gibbs and signed her questions to her boss.

'What's he like?' she asked silently.

'Loud,' Gibbs replied with his fingers. 'Imagine Ducky's talking habits, coupled with your sugar cravings and a walking, talking movie encyclopaedia.'

Abby momentarily looked at the young Detective, who was watching the two of them with bemused interest; that the first word Gibbs used to describe him was 'loud' meant things didn't bode well for successful co-operation.

'So…the joint investigation is going well then?' she signed with a smirk.

Gibbs rolled his eyes, but there was the faintest hint of a smile there. 'He's…difficult.' Gibbs struggled to find the right word, subconsciously throwing a frown in the young Detective's direction as if his struggle in finding the appropriate word was another offence DiNozzo had committed. 'Could you check out his personnel record and his service file? His partner's too?' He didn't trust Cascabel or Nixon to get a proper history, and certainly not while they were inside Baltimore PD’s 22nd Precinct.

Abby nodded her agreement; Gibbs asking her to check out who exactly he was working with was not an unusual task. 'Names?'

Gibbs spelt out each name with his fingers before finally speaking out loud to her. "This is biological evidence from the crime scene – three victims and there should be blood taken from each of the bodies when they were in the morgue for you to match. Baltimore PD's labs can't do it and we need something to work on, so I need you to work some of your magic Abs."

Tony was more than a little insulted at the 'Baltimore PD's labs can't do it' – it wasn't that they couldn't do it, just that they had too many other cases to process so it would take time.

He assumed that all the sign-language had been about him, otherwise why would they need to speak quietly? He'd heard her squeal Gibbs' name, so he knew she could talk. He doubted the report had been anything too favourable given Gibbs' frequent glares in his direction since their meeting.

"Detective Anthony DiNozzo," he introduced himself as soon as he realised Gibbs wasn't going to waste any time on niceties. "Most people just call me Tony though," he added with a charming smile.

"Abigail Sciuto," she replied primly; if he was making things difficult for her Bossman, then no way would she start being all chummy with him. "Nice to meet you Detective DiNozzo," she added, with emphasis on the 'Detective.'

Tony was no idiot; he instantly saw the change in her. He put it down to her loyalty to Agent Gibbs, and while slightly amused at the thought of the waifish Goth carefully disposing of his body with a wicked grin across her face on her boss' say so, he was also slightly annoyed that she hadn't taken the time to judge for herself.

However, he could understand her over-protectiveness; loyalty among law enforcement personnel is vital, as it builds the very foundations of any partnership, from the squad car to the higher offices. When he was in Philadelphia, he had really disliked his first partner, but he would still have defended him to the death among critics and would probably have taken a bullet for him too if the situation required it. Loyalty's an odd thing and Tony thought that perhaps he shouldn't judge her too quickly either.

Gibbs had already left the room while DiNozzo had been quietly musing, and Tony caught sight of him tapping his foot impatiently waiting for the elevator.

"See you around," he cheerily waved to Miss Sciuto, before rushing to catch up with Gibbs, Tony was pretty certain that the NCIS Agent would not hold the elevator for him.

Abby watched them go, trying to muster her best Gibbs-glare for the departing Detective; no one messed with her Bossman!

In Baltimore, Sam was silently cursing Agent Gibbs, although every time Nixon was mentioned the profanities came out loud in quick succession. The man was supposed to be a well-trained Federal Agent, wasn't that the whole point of all that damn training at the FLETC?

There was absolutely no sign, whatsoever, in the man's behaviour that indicated he should be allowed to work in law enforcement, the idiot certainly shouldn't be allowed to play with a gun! Tony might occasionally play at being the idiot but his high competency put that act to bed pretty quickly, Nixon on the other hand…

Sam was a former Army Ranger; he'd seen action and suffered through both good and bad commanding officers, he'd shared the frontlines with people he trusted and people he doubted, but never before had one man caused him so much irritation, so much doubt in man as a species, in so little an amount of time.

Sam had been helping Agent Cascabel to interpret his and DiNozzo's written notes from the on-scene interviews. He had found her to be friendly enough and articulate but perhaps a little off-focus – she frequently seemed to be drawn to the less solid, more emotional parts of the witness statements, instead of focusing on cross-checking and verifying the more reliable bits of information they had at hand. However, she was working and working hard.

Nixon had spent at least half an hour jabbing at the computer on Stanwix's empty desk, every now and then he would swear and then slap the table before settling back down. Sam had the impression that this was not the kind of work that the young Agent imagined when he signed up to become a federal agent; paperwork and outdated computer systems were not quite as action-packed as the gun-fights and explosions television programmes frequently showed.

Both Sam and Ronnie had frequently asked the Agent if there was a problem, or if they could do anything to help him get started, but the arrogant young man would not admit to any sort of difficulty. Sam eventually lost patience with the continuous mutterings – when he went over to the desk he discovered that Nixon had managed to get himself lost in the very dated departmental databases.

Baltimore's budget was focused more on updating the forensics laboratories, and the two departments that got more money than most were Organised Crime and Vice; the Homicide Department was as busy as the other two, but many of the deaths they investigated could be tied back to gangs and drugs.

After all the necessary costs there simply wasn't enough money left over in the budget to update all the computers in the Homicide Department. The computers they were working with were old and the programming was very outdated; some people still did their reports on typewriters because they were not as prone to freezing on you as the old PC’s.

Sam had advised the young Agent to do his searches on one of the computers up in the Crimes Against Children Department. It was a relatively recent addition to the Baltimore Police Department, but a necessary one. The World Wide Web may have opened up quick global connections, but it also paved the way for a whole mess of child pornography on-line and every chat-room now held great risks for the young and vulnerable.

The obviously strong link between crimes against children and the internet meant that the most updated computers outside the forensics lab were in that Department. The CACD was equipped with new computers, modern software programming, a fast internet connection and access to all computerised databases.

Both Sam and Tony had enough friends inside the Department to gain easy access to one of the computers up there when they needed to, and had frequently taken advantage of that fact by using the software to quickly narrow down their suspect lists. As with every department, it was rare that every desk was in use all of the time, and so it was almost guaranteed that there would be a desk available for Nixon to sequester.

The young Agent had eventually agreed, unhappily conceding defeat by the outdated computer system. He disappeared off with his notes and mumbled unhappily to himself as he went on about crappy police departments and not being treated with the respect a Federal Agent deserved.

It was not even quarter of an hour later that Sam got the call.

Leah Miller was a good friend within Baltimore's CACD and a useful resource to have too, in relative cases and in that they had easy access to the modernised databases through her. She was an extremely attractive woman, and one that he's quite sure Tony would usually have gone for; however, Tony's fear of commitment meant that he knew how things would end and the kid would never want to hurt someone he counted as a friend.

Leah was normally a patient person with an enormous heart, driven passionately by her job and the children she encountered through it. She was always working overtime and rarely took all her holiday leave. While not promoted to any sort of senior position within the Department, she was the one that everyone else turned to inside the CACD when they needed an extra set of eyes on a case.

Yet Leah was not able to last fifteen minutes with one very Special Agent Daniel Nixon!

It was another Detective inside the CACD who rang Sam to warn him about the tornado that was working its way downstairs towards his office, and more importantly towards his desk.

"Sam!" came an angry voice from across the room that made Agent Cascabel jump slightly in her seat. "What the hell were you thinking sending that jackass up to my office?"

Leah marched across the office to Sam's desk and stood with her hands on her hips. Her fiery auburn hair curled about her ivory neck, and her usually emerald green eyes were ablaze with fury; she resembled some otherworldly vengeful deity!

"He got lost in our system, so I thought he should probably use a more updated one," Sam tried to explain, shrugging helplessly.

Leah might be a kind, patient woman with a heart of gold but once her temper was roused it was usually better to try and weather the storm than to try and find a way out of it.

"That…that…that son of a bitch!" she finally managed, "He came into my Department, and without a word sat down at a desk and started his search. He took Xavier's desk, Sam, and lost all the work he's been doing today on an internet predator that's believed to have bought a child on-line!"

"Shit!" Sam explained, understanding why Leah was so pissed off. "I'm sorry Leah! I thought the guy might at least have the common sense to use an empty desk. Has Xavier punched him yet?"

"Not yet," Leah said, a little calmer now; it wasn't really Sam she was angry at. "None of us have really said much of anything to the guy. At first we thought he was some computer tech from the basement, but as soon as Xavier saw all his hard work disappear down the drain we figured he was someone else.

"The arrogant prick told us who he was as if he expected us to get down on our knees before him! I could have kicked him so hard between his legs that he would be coughing up his balls, but I know that you and Tony are being forced to work with him and so I didn't want to make things worse for you." Leah took a deep breath. "We've got a tech up there now trying to recover the lost data; he says he can do it…I fucking well hope so, or co-operation be damned, I'll lead the revolt against Agent Nixon!"

"I really am sorry, Leah. I thought he would be out of everyone's way and just get on with the job," Sam apologised.

"Oh, he's doing the job alright," Leah added laconically. "When I left, Special Agent Nixon was telling Xavier what he was doing wrong and where he should be looking; the man clearly knows nothing about computers or these kinds of offenders, but he's certainly got some…unique…ideas."

"Yeah," Sam gave a wry smile. "He gives a whole new meaning to the term 'Special Agent' doesn't he."

Leah laughed, "He certainly does," she agreed. "However, could you please get him out of there before the whole CACD turns on him like a pack of wolves on an unsuspecting Bambi?"

"Sure," Sam agreed. "I don't have to play nice." he smiled wickedly.

"I don't think there is one person upstairs who hopes you go easy on him," Leah pointed out with a wicked grin of her own. "I need a coffee…a real one…from Gianni's – I think I've earned it! You two want one?"

"Oh God, yes please!" Cascabel implored. She was eager not to be compared to her partner, but at the same time, a lack of food and caffeine meant that she was running on empty. "A latte, as big as they come, please." She dug into her pockets looking for some change.

"Don't worry, I've got it," Leah promised before turning to Sam. "Black, no sugar?"

"You know me so well," Sam grinned. "If you throw in something to eat, I will accept your bribe and I promise you, Agent Nixon will be out of your office by the time you get back."

"Sam, honey, I would buy you every morsel of food in Gianni's if I thought for one second I would actually need to bribe you. Unfortunately for you I do know you too well, and so I know that your chivalrous side would rescue me from that arrogant little shit anyway."

"It was worth a try," Sam shrugged.

"I'll bring you both back something to eat and drink, but I might just forget about Agent Nixon; he'll just have to make do with the crap they have in the break room." With that, Detective Miller left the Homicide Department with a certain bounce to her step that had certainly been missing when she first entered.

"Right," Sam said turning to Cascabel. "Thank God you're nothing like your partner! I'm going to go and rescue him from certain death up in the CACD and I'll send him back down here, then you and Nixon can work together on the statements and witness backgrounds and I'll get the victims' records. You ok with that?"

Ronnie nodded, aware that she didn't really have a choice; if Gibbs came back and found out that they hadn't accomplished anything in his absence there would be some serious hell to pay.

Sam smiled his appreciation. Nixon was wasting valuable time and if he tried to waste anymore then the Detective was quite sure that not only would he unleash the good people of the CACD upon him, but that he would be at the front of the queue right alongside a fiery Detective Miller.

Tony entered the morgue and breathed in the familiar cocktail of death and chemicals, what he heard, however, was entirely different.

The M.E. had yet to turn around and acknowledge their entrance, so Tony could only assume that the running monologue was not directed at them. He looked around but he couldn't see anyone else, anyone alive at any rate. Wait…no…surely the guy wasn't talking to the corpse?

"…in the mountains for five days before he was discovered. Not quite as long as you were alone in the wilderness, I know, but still long enough for the animals to start feeding on his body. They always start off with the soft tissue and the extremities, which, of course, meant that…"

"Duck," Gibbs interrupted his friend's running commentary, all too aware of just how long they could last.

"Ah Jethro," the M.E. said in greeting as he turned around, not fazed in the slightest by the Agent's interruption, he was by now completely used to it and had learnt not to take offence at it.

"Jethro?" Tony asked with a smile that was threatening to turn into open laughter. The scary ex-Marine was called 'Jethro'?

Gibbs turned and glared at the young Detective, daring him to carry on with his line of thought. He'd faced the same crap since childhood all the way though high school and in the Corps when he first came face-to-face with his DI, he doubted DiNozzo had anything new to say.

Once he had earned a certain reputation amongst his unit the name calling stopped and the respect grew; it was then that most people knew him as Gibbs. Of course, Ducky had always insisted on being on a first name basis with everyone he met; Abs was Abigail, Cascabel was Veronica, Nixon was Daniel…even the bodies that crossed his table were all called by their Christian names.

"How was Baltimore? Am I to assume this young man is part of the investigation?"

"Detective DiNozzo," Tony introduced himself once again, already feeling drawn to the verbose Doctor. "But please, call me Tony."

The older man was dressed in a brown tweed suit, with a bright red bow tie with white polka dots. His slightly portly stature and the glasses perched on his nose conjured up in Tony's mind the image of a grandfatherly figure, sitting by a log fire with a glass of brandy as he chattered away about stories of the good old days, and imparted antiquated advice to anyone who would listen.

"A pleasure to meet you Anthony," Ducky swallowed the young man's hand in a hearty hand-shake. "Doctor Donald Mallard, but everyone calls me Ducky. Has Jethro managed to at least attempt to be co-operative or are you here under duress?" the older man asked, throwing a knowing glance towards the Senior Agent.

"Well, no one's pissed in the sandbox to mark their territory just yet," Tony said with a grin, "But he did leave Agent Nixon alone with my partner back in Baltimore, so I can't promise you'll get him back in one piece."

"I'm quite sure Jethro wouldn't mind in the slightest," the Doctor added with a frown. "Really Jethro, there are more suitable ways of having young Daniel reassigned."

Tony's grin broadened; he was enjoying seeing Doctor Mallard gently berate Gibbs, a man who Tony imagined would not take it from anyone but the genteel M.E.

"Duck," Gibbs continued, ignoring his friend's rather astute observations and the Detective's ever-present grin. "I need you to come back to Baltimore with me to go over the autopsies of our three vics."

"Of course I will Jethro, but I must see to the needs of the young Petty Officer on my table; poor John Greenall spent rather a long time lost up in the mountains. I haven't much left to do, but I would like to finish sooner rather than later; his grieving wife would like some degree of closure, I'm sure."

"Sure Duck, we've got a few questions to ask in DC first, but I was just giving you a heads up," Gibbs said, before turning to leave autopsy.

"I appreciate that, thank you Jethro," the M.E. called after Gibbs' retreating back. "It was nice to meet you, Anthony. I feel sure we can become better acquainted on the way to Baltimore," Ducky offered with a kind smile and another handshake.

"Looking forward to it, Doctor Mallard," Tony returned both the smile and the handshake, glad that he seemed to have found someone within NCIS who could stand to be in the same room as him.

"Oh, Ducky, my dear boy, please call me Ducky," the Doctor insisted gently.

"Well, until next time Ducky," Tony gave the man a mock salute before chasing after Gibbs.

Gibbs had disappeared up into the room called 'MTAC,' to update his Director, and Tony had wiled away the time by chatting up a secretary outside an office on the same floor.

He was just about to ask for the pretty girl's phone number before a loud "DiNozzo!" pulled him away. He shrugged his apologies and followed after Gibbs, straight to the elevator.

"Seriously, does this building just not do stairs?" he queried the Senior Agent, not really expecting an answer.

He didn't get one.

After a very brief journey full of Agent Gibbs' unique short-cuts and his slightly unhinged method of over-taking, the two men arrived at the Norfolk Naval Base. Jennings' CO had been very polite and full of praise for the former Marine, but was unable to tell them anything they didn't already know from reading Jennings' military jacket.

The few Marines they spoke to on base that knew Jennings were equally as admiring of the man's talents within the Corps; one or two of them mentioned that he seemed a little more withdrawn than usual during his latest tour, but could not expand on that.

As they were driving through the security checkpoint to exit the base, Tony got a call from Dr. Metcalf. Michael Jennings had just officially identified his son's body. Jurisdiction had already been decided upon due to the unlikely outcome that the body did not belong to Jennings; however, there was no doubt that now it had been officially confirmed, the political pressure coming from DC would only increase.

The journey back to DC was quiet, but every now and then either Gibbs or DiNozzo would question the other about their findings. DiNozzo wanted to discern why no one seemed to know what Jennings did with his time in between tours, and Gibbs wanted to know why the man's best friend was missing from base, when he was supposed to be there for questioning.

Once they arrived at the Jennings' residence in uptown DC, the answer to Gibbs' question became pretty clear. On the steps leading up to the large white building sat two people, one was easily identifiable from his military records as Corporal Bradley Spencer, and the other was an attractive brunette that Tony assumed to be Paul Jennings' nineteen-year-old sister. The two were sat very close together, and Spencer's hand was resting gently on her knee.

Gibbs made a small coughing sound to alert them both of the Agent's presence, and then he flipped his badge to identify himself.

"I'm Special Agent Gibbs, I'm with NCIS, and this is Detective DiNozzo with Baltimore Homicide. I'm sorry for your loss, but we need your help with the investigation."

"Of course," the young woman sniffed. She stood up and slipped her hand into Corporal Spencer's. "My father hasn't come back from Baltimore yet. I'm sorry if he's making your job difficult by throwing his weight around," she added looking at Tony. "He's never been very good with things that affect him personally, and I…I think he just wants to feel like he's doing something."

"I understand," DiNozzo dismissed her concerns with a small, encouraging smile.

'No you don't,' thought Gibbs. He knew, he understood; when Shannon and Kelly had been taken from him, he had wanted to do something…anything that might be deemed constructive. In the end, of course, it had been hunting down the man responsible with the help of Mike Franks; he couldn't bring them back, but he could sure as hell make sure that he got their killer!

"Do you know why your brother was in Baltimore, Miss Jennings?" Gibbs asked gently; he felt sorry for her and didn't want to push her, but they needed answers too.

"Lisa, please," the young woman said, using her free hand to rub at her red-rimmed eyes while Spencer gave her other hand a supportive squeeze. "I don't know why he was there, Agent Gibbs, I only know that he's been going there a lot recently. I assumed he had a girl there."

"Wouldn't he tell you if there was someone he was interested in?" DiNozzo queried, trying to gauge the family dynamic.

"I don't know. I used to think so. I know he wouldn't tell our father if he thought she was someone he might disapprove of – you have to understand, Detective, that my father's position in the White House brings with it a certain amount of scrutiny and he expects us to act accordingly, even though we aren't the ones under the spot-light."

At this, both Tony and Gibbs shared a look; it seemed they had both picked up on the underlying bitterness in Lisa Jennings' tone – perhaps things inside the Jennings family were not quite as rosy as the picture-perfect family home might imply.

"Were your father and brother close?" Tony asked, getting a small nod from Agent Gibbs to show that he approved of the question when he shot the older man a slightly apprehensive look. Because of Agent Gibbs' obvious devotion to the Marine Corps, Tony was unsure about how he might take any questions that could reflect badly upon a highly decorated Marine like Michael Jennings.

"Well…" Lisa began, obviously uncomfortable with the line of questioning, clearly unsure about how much of her family's personal life she should be sharing.

"Its ok baby," Bradley Spencer mumbled to her softly. "They're just doing their job, they're not the press, so its not like they're going to broadcast any of this."

"Paul never wanted to go into the Corps; he wanted to go to college, study journalism and literature, and maybe end up working for one of the big newspapers. But Dad, he insisted. Not with me, of course, because I'm just a girl, and women don't belong in the military if you ask him, but Paul? He never got much of a choice," Lisa shook her head sadly; she had often wondered if there was ever anything she could have done to help her brother stand up against their father.

This was a topic Tony certainly understood; his father had had very different plans from him regarding his future and once the old man realised they would not be fulfilled, that was it and all communication was severed.

"You have to understand," Corporal Spencer addressed both Gibbs and DiNozzo for the first time. "For some families, joining the military is something that is expected, and for men like Lieutenant General Jennings, they just can't understand why their sons wouldn't want to enlist."

"Your father one of those men?" Gibbs queried, already guessing the answer.

"Yes, Sir," Spencer confessed. "But I didn't mind; I did want to enlist, but Paul…he never did. That doesn't mean he was any less of a Marine for it, Sir – he was one of the best, and someone I'm damn glad to have served alongside."

Gibbs nodded his understanding; he'd had some buddies from the Corps who had enlisted solely because it had been expected of them, but that had never detracted from their sense of duty to their country or their fellow Marines.

"Lisa, do you know of any threats made towards your brother?" DiNozzo asked the sister gently, he could see that the hold on her emotions was hanging by a thread.

"No, nothing like that," Lisa shook her head adamantly. "He was a good man, Detective, a good Marine and a good brother. He never did any drugs, he's never been arrested, his friends are from school and from the Corps; he doesn't know the kind of people that would…that would do this!"

"Its ok baby," Brad soothed the emotional young woman. "Why don't you go inside for a moment and get something to drink, give yourself a few moments, ok?"

"Ok," she nodded, in desperate need of some time to compose herself again. "Does anyone else want anything?"

"No, thank you ma'am," Tony said politely while Gibbs just shook his head. She quietly went through the door and closed it behind her.

"She's been inconsolable," Corporal Spencer admitted. "She always thought that if she was going to lose him then it would be when he was away on active duty, someplace on the other side of the world. When you come back from tour, you're supposed to be safe, you know?" he said sadly as he looked instinctively towards Gibbs, sure that the man had served with the Corps and would therefore understand.

"I do know, Corporal," Gibbs assured him.

"Did Paul know about you and Lisa?" DiNozzo asked.

"Of course he did!" Spencer protested with a frown. "He wasn't real happy about it at first, threatened to knock my fucking teeth out, his words, Sir. Then he had a chance to cool down; he said he was happy that Lisa had found a good guy to be with and he gave us his blessing. I can only hope that it will go as well when her father finds out."

Tony gave a small chuckle of appreciation; he tended to avoid the whole 'meet the parents' thing by avoiding serious commitment, but it had happened before and would no doubt happen again, and would likely be just as awkward as the first time.

"Listen," the Marine started. "I didn't want to say anything in front of Lisa, she's upset enough as it is and she doesn't need to know this, not yet…" Spencer looked back towards the door. "There was a girl in Baltimore. I don't know who she is though. Paul went to Baltimore one day, a couple of months before our last tour, to catch up with a buddy from our unit, Sergeant Wallace, Sir."

"He a good Marine?" Gibbs asked probingly.

"He gets the job done, I guess, but if you want this Marine's opinion, Sir, then I'm just damn glad that he's not my team leader. He's the kind of leader that makes dangerous calls and would wipe out an entire village just to try and earn himself a medal; that's not what being a Marine is supposed to be about, Sir.

"Anyway, Paul came back from Baltimore talking about this foreign girl he'd met in a club there, a real beauty from the way he talked. He kept going back to see her before we got shipped overseas, but he started getting weird."

"Weird how?" Tony queried the Corporal.

"I don't know, he just seemed…quieter, I guess. Something was bothering him, Sir, and he wouldn't tell me what it was. I tried talking to him; it's not good, going into combat with something heavy hanging over you."

"Can you remember the name of the club?" Tony enquired hopefully.

"No, Sir, I don't, I'm sorry; I don't recall him mentioning it."

"Anything else you can tell us?" Gibbs asked, desperate to start looking into Sergeant Wallace and find out where the rest of the investigation was leading to.

"Not that I can think of at the moment, Sir," Spencer shook his head. "You will get whoever did this, won't you, Sir? Paul was a good Marine, and he was a good friend."

"We'll do our best, Corporal, and it's not 'Sir,' it's Agent Gibbs. If you think of anything else, or if Lisa can, then call me on this number," he handed the young Marine a card with his number on it.

"Come on DiNozzo, we should get back to NCIS and pick up Ducky; we need to be back in Baltimore."

Tony trailed behind him slowly glancing over his notes; more Marines to deal with…as if one gruff, former Marine wasn’t bad enough!

"Come on DiNozzo," Gibbs demanded firmly looking around for the cop; the young Detective had disappeared as soon as they had returned to NCIS HQ and Gibbs had no idea where the man had got to. "We've got to get back to Baltimore. Ducky, you ready?"

"I am quite ready, thank you Jethro. I've talked with Doctor Metcalf over the phone; a most fascinating man, truly. I discovered that…"

"If you're ready Duck, then let's go," Gibbs insisted impatiently. While he knew that a swift return to Baltimore was necessary for the case, he silently confessed to himself that he was not looking forward to sharing the journey with both Ducky and DiNozzo.

Tony suddenly reappeared and Gibbs shuddered to think where he might have been and what mischief he might have caused. The young man put both his hands in the air and gleefully shouted, "Road-trip!"

'Yes' Gibbs thought morosely to himself; 'It's going to be a long journey back to Baltimore.'

Chapter Text

By the time Gibbs pulled the car into Baltimore's 22nd Precinct car park, he wasn't sure who he wanted to kill more, himself, Ducky or DiNozzo; the elderly M.E. and the young Detective had talked non-stop, all the way back, without pausing for a breath.

Once DiNozzo discovered that Dr. Mallard originally came from Scotland, the young man dived straight into a long-winded explanation as to why Sean Connery made the best James Bond; Ducky had been more than happy to agree with the Detective's assessment, adding his own opinion on the matter, of course.

Once DiNozzo's monologue on Sean Connery and the impressions finally ended, Ducky picked up the baton and tried to convince the Detective that Ian Flemming's books were just as good as the films, if not better. Following DiNozzo's vehement denial that books could ever conquer cinema, the conversation ran onto anything and everything, from the streets of Baltimore to Gibbs' coffee habit.

That last topic began as they entered Baltimore's city limits, and Gibbs' glare had been ignored by Ducky, while Detective DiNozzo had happily endured them with a grin across his face.

That decided it…he'd shoot DiNozzo first!

"Ah!" Tony stretched with a yawn as he climbed out of the car. "Terra firma!" he exclaimed.

"Yes," Ducky said with understanding. "Jethro's driving does take some getting used to I'm afraid. Once, in my youth I was the co-driver in a rather splendid rally car; we went over some very scenic roads up in the Scottish Highlands, but the course was quite…"

"Duck," Gibbs interrupted the man, "You need to get to autopsy and start – we need results asap. DiNozzo, show him the way to autopsy." He then strode off into the building as quickly as he could; the coffee from the break-room might not be up to his usual standards, but he'd settle for hospital coffee right now if he had to!

While he had a few cups of coffee to settle his nerves after his trying journey, he'd set either Nixon or Cascabel the task of tracking down Sergeant Wallace.

"Does he ever let you finish a sentence?" DiNozzo asked the M.E. as he walked alongside him.

"Rarely," Ducky confessed with an amused smile. "Jethro does tend to have a rather brusque manner and he has little time for the pleasantries that agreeable conversation can afford."

"I'd noticed," Tony said, sharing a conspiratorial smile with his new friend. He liked the Doctor's mild manner and verbose nature; the man managed to put you at ease in his company, which, considering Tony's normal dislike of doctors, was no small feat.

Tony led the older man past reception and on towards the back of the building, downstairs and into Dr. Metcalf's domain.

Doctor Robert Metcalf was older than Ducky; his jet black hair now had more grey in it than black, and his face held more wrinkles than the man would like to admit. However, despite his physical age, Metcalf still retained a twinkle in his bright blue eyes and an upward curl of his mouth, he had a good sense of humour and was generally a very genial man.

That geniality could quickly disappear, however, if you did not treat the old Doctor with the respect that he felt his forty odd years of service deserved. The man was intelligent and very good at his job and therefore hated being treated like an idiot. He liked to keep his place of work clean and orderly and anyone that tried to interfere with his job and his time were treated to a verbal dressing down before receiving little more than an icy exterior from the man.

Unlike Doctor Mallard's autopsy room, Doctor Metcalf did not keep a one-sided conversation going between himself and the bodies he examined, but instead, he played a great deal of classical music to get him through the long days; Tony and Ducky entered the morgue to the emotive chorus of Allegri's Miserere.

"Hey, Doc," Tony greeted the man warmly. As a Homicide Detective, Tony spent more time than he would like down in the cold rooms that made up the morgue, and Doctor Metcalf's gallows humour was a welcome relief from the smell of chemicals and decaying flesh.

"Tony," Metcalf acknowledged with a heavy Bostonian accent. He turned from the liver he had been examining and gave the young Detective a welcoming smile, before turning to the stranger. "Sorry, my hands are pretty full otherwise I'd shake."

"Doc, this is Doctor Donald Mallard, AKA: Ducky. He's the M.E. from NCIS," Tony gestured towards the man, unsure of how he would be received; he liked Ducky, but he worried that Metcalf might see the man as an intruder in his morgue.

"Of course," Metcalf answered with an even wider and, more importantly, genuine smile, putting an end to Tony's worries. "We talked on the phone," he told the young Detective. "Dr. Mallard, it's good to finally put a face to the name; I've read some of your articles and I was really impressed with your paper on the method of extracting samples from…"

"Doc," Tony interrupted quickly. "Sorry Rob, but we don't have all day. If you two are gonna play nice then I can leave you both to it and I'm just gonna go before you start talking about maggots and stomach contents."

"Tony," the Bostonian sighed heavily. "I thought I'd managed to get you past the squeamish stage."

"You did," Tony answered with a grin, "But I'm hungry and I want to be able to enjoy my food without thinking of maggots and a dead man's last supper. So, play nice!" he wagged his finger at both M.E.'s. "I've got two Junior Feds to deal with, if Sam's left anything of them, and a very surly Senior Fed to survive, so cut up those bodies and find out what you can – we need something more tangible than dodgy witness statements and tenuous personal links."

With that Tony left autopsy, eagerly taking the stairs three at a time in order to get back to his desk and his partner.

"He's an interesting young man," Ducky commentated.

"He sure is," Metcalf agreed. "But he's a damn good cop, if a little impatient at times."

"Yes," Ducky nodded, an amused smile quirking his lips. "I had noticed that. He reminds me of someone else I know…"

Sam had returned from the Crimes Against Children Department almost half an hour ago having extracted all the records he could from the computer's databases. He had spent the last half an hour resolutely ignoring Agent Nixon with every fibre of his being. The young Agent had continued to rub the men and women of the 22nd Precinct the wrong way, and had even managed to draw his partner, Cascabel, into an argument.

Veronica seemed to be far more emotional than her stoic Boss, but working alongside Nixon indicated that she must be a woman with the patience of a saint. She finally lost her cool and slapped her younger partner on the back of the head after he had loudly insulted the proficiency of Baltimore PD for the fourth time – he had earned more than a few glares while she herself earned some slightly appraising looks.

Agent Gibbs threw the door into the Homicide Department open so forcefully that Sam feared he'd taken it off its hinges – working alongside DiNozzo had obviously gone well, but Sam felt not the slightest bit of empathy for the man; he'd had to endure Nixon and had somehow managed to do so without adding to Baltimore's homicide rate. Tony might go off on his weird little tangents, but at least he was competent!

"Agent Gibbs," Sam nodded his welcome to the man. He saw two cups of coffee in the Agent's hands and decided it would probably be best if he tried to avoid him as much as he had been avoiding Nixon.

"Nixon, I want you to go on one these computers and find a Sergeant Wallace from Jenning’s unit – we need his address, his military records, medical files, high school grades…everything…now!" Gibbs sank into an empty chair and took another long drink of his coffee.

"Er…Boss?" Cascabel asked hesitantly; having seen both the coffee and the mood Gibbs was in she knew she risked losing her head, but she also knew that there was no way the CACD would let Nixon anywhere near them or their computers. "I think it would be better if I did the search."

"I asked Nixon," Gibbs pointed out, glaring at his subordinate.

"What she means, Agent Gibbs," Sam said, coming to Cascabel's rescue, "Is that if you try and send Agent Nixon to work on the most up-to-date computer system we have available here, which just so happens to be in the CACD that Agent Nixon has pissed off so thoroughly, then you will certainly not get those files, and we will all have to waste valuable time on this case because we will be called up as witnesses at his murder trial."

Gibbs resisted the urge to groan out loud – Morrow should never have given him Nixon, in fact, the Junior Agent shouldn't even be allowed out!

"Fine, Cascabel, you can go. Nixon, you and me are gonna have words!" he promised the TAD Agent; he tried to hide the fact that he enjoyed seeing the young man swallow his nerves repeatedly.

"Sam!" came DiNozzo's cry from across the office. He ran in slow motion towards his partner's desk, his arms opened wide. Sam could not help but smile at his partner's antics – he'd rather deal with a juvenile DiNozzo that an infuriating Nixon.

"Hey kid, hell, am I sure glad to see you!" he slapped the younger Detective on his shoulder.

"Ah, ah, ah…" DiNozzo said dramatically as he raised a finger. He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a small model of the White House. "For you, kind Sir," he bowed with a flourish.

Gibbs did a double take at the small souvenir. "Where the hell did you find the time to get that?" he asked incredulously, given that they’d never been out of each other’s sight in DC for more than a few minutes.

"A good Detective protects his informants," DiNozzo answered with a wiggle of his left eyebrow.

Gibbs shook his head; he knew he probably wasn't going to get anything out of the young man right now, he certainly knew he couldn't be bothered to even try. "Cascabel, start the search. Nixon, you're with me."

Gibbs marched out of the room with furious determination, while Cascabel gathered her things together before walking towards the stairs, and Nixon followed his Boss like a man being led to the gallows.

"Thank God Nixon has gone!" Sam exclaimed with a sigh of relief once the NCIS Agents had left the room.

"I'm glad he was as bad as I thought he might be," Tony said with a smile.

"Why, thank you for your support Tony; it's good to know that I can always rely on my partner," Sam replied. "Just remember, you're not the one who had to deal with him, or the one that had to stop his murder!"

"I know," Tony nodded, "But it does mean that he fully deserves everything that he might find when he finally returns to NCIS."

Sam smiled a wicked grin now that he understood what his partner was talking about. "What did you do?" he asked eagerly.

"Well, I might have glued his desk drawers shut, and I might have accidentally spilled glue inside his keyboard, so some of the keys might be stuck. I also might have unintentionally rigged his chair to collapse, and his computer might have some interesting little additions…all completely coincidental with my visit to NCIS, of course," Tony ended with a wicked grin of his own.

"Of course," Sam's grin broadened; it was always good to know that your partner had your back, even if it was in Tony's rather more unorthodox manner. "So how was Gibbs?"

"Not too bad actually," Tony admitted,  having feared much worse. "We worked pretty well together with the interviews. There was one little incident that calls for payback though."

"Oh…what was that?" Sam asked, his eyebrows furrowed at Tony's more serious tone; if Gibbs had done anything to his partner, he'd bypass Tony’s little revenge tricks and aim straight for a bloody nose at the very least.

"He head-slapped me!" Tony exclaimed, still so un-used to the notion of a head-slap. "He whacked me on the back of the head like a disobedient puppy and told me he was trying to shut me up. He also said that you said the only time I'm quiet is when I'm concussed," he shot an enquiring look towards his partner.

"Well, that is pretty accurate, Tony," Sam defended himself. "You're quiet when you're concussed, when you're about to do something reckless and stupid or when something is very wrong; apart from those occasions, you're rarely quiet."

"Humph," Tony grunted, all too aware that he didn't have much of a leg to stand on for this particular argument, his stupid partner knew him too well.

"He hurt you?" Sam asked, getting back to what he believed to be the more important issue.

Tony hesitated briefly; he liked that Sam still saw fit to protect him, but he also didn't want the man to get into any trouble for protecting him, besides, he could handle Gibbs.

"It was…unexpected," Tony finally said, having found the right words. "He took me by surprise, but it didn't hurt."

Sam knew that his partner wasn't being entirely truthful, but if Tony was going to let it go, then he would too. However, if Gibbs hurt his partner again, well, he would make no promises!

"So," Tony started, eager to change the subject. "What did you find out?"

"What do you mean?" Sam asked, although he had an idea where this might be heading.

"Come on Sam, I know you. You had access to a decent computer system away from the feds so I know you've done a little research on our NCIS friends from DC. What did you find out?"

"Ok, ok…" Sam gestured for DiNozzo to sit down. "Agent Daniel Nixon, TAD Agent for NCIS assigned to team Gibbs in the MCRT. Played baseball for his High School, and got into Penn. State on a sports scholarship, where he studied Politics and International Relations. He went straight from college to the FLETC, where his scores were pretty average, but he only just made the grade with his shooting."

"So, if I'm out in the field I don't want him with me, gotcha!" Tony nodded.

"Unless it's a baseball field," Sam pointed out with a wry grin. "Agent Cascabel," he continued. "She had good grades in High School; she went on to college in Chicago, where she studied psychology and French. She joined the FBI with pretty good scores in her field training. She was transferred over from the FBI about three months ago, where she had been working with counter-terrorism; there's no real explanation as to why she transferred though."

"You get anything on Gibbs?" Tony enquired. He could not deny that he was indeed most curious about the Senior Agent’s history.

"I did," Sam admitted. He might have felt guilty about snooping into their personnel files if he didn't think Gibbs would be doing the exact same thing, and working alongside Nixon had meant that Sam wanted to know that he could at least trust the other two people he was stuck working with.

"Agent Gibbs is a former Marine Scout Sniper; some of his files are classified, which probably means that he was good enough to work some Black Ops. in play at the time. He has a good service record and he left as a Gunnery Sergeant, which is a pretty decent rank. During his service he received both the Purple Heart and the Silver Star. I don't think we have to worry about his aim.

"He's been married four times…"

"Four times!" Tony exclaimed loudly and incredulously.

"Keep it down, kid," Sam warned. "Yes…four times. His wife and child from his first marriage were killed when he was on tour…"

"Killed?" Tony asked soberly. He couldn't imagine what it must have felt like coming back from tour only to bury you wife and child.

"Yes, killed. Can I carry on, or are you going to interrupt me again?" Sam could see the disbelief on his partner's face, knew what he must have been thinking – it had taken Sam a few minutes to digest that bit of news too.

"Carry on," Tony made a sweeping gesture with his hand, his focus not yet entirely back on his partner.

"NCIS investigated, and after the investigation, Gibbs signed up and worked under an Agent Michael Franks. Eventually he got his own team, and he's been going through Agents at the rate you go through concussions. Only one Agent sticks out and that's Agent Stanley Burley – the two worked alongside each other for five years.

"He doesn't seem to work too well on joint investigations, by all accounts, but I'm pretty sure you might have figured that one out for yourself," Sam pointed out and smiled at his partner's fervent nodding. "He's received the Meritorious Civilian Service Award a couple of times, too. He's going through another divorce at the moment and he's made several petitions to his Director about having Agent Nixon removed from his team, to no avail obviously."

"We should be so lucky," Tony muttered and Sam could not help but agree.

"Anyway…that's about it," Sam shrugged; "His more personable and unique characteristics are obviously not on file, but I daresay we'll have the pleasure of discovering more of them as we work together."

Tony nodded; he was quite sure they'd know more than they might want to know about the surly Agent Gibbs and his mood swings by the end of the investigation.

"Listen, kid," Sam started, unsure of how to go about what he wanted to say. "The bit about his wife and kid, I don't think you should go telling anyone that. It happened before he joined NCIS, and while it might be on file, most people won't have access to it…"

"…Or access to someone who can get access to it," Tony pointed out, aware that if any hacking had been needed to acquire this information, Sam had definitely not been the one to do it, and it was more likely that he recruited the help of one of the more friendly techs.

"Exactly," Sam agreed, glad that his partner hadn't taken immediate offence. "Anyhow, I just don't think that it's something that we should go about advertising we know, not even to Gibbs. It's his business, and we don't know who, if anyone, he's shared it with, besides, it's not like it has any effect on the case or our working with him."

"I got it Sam, I'm not that tactless," Tony promised, "Keep it quiet from everyone, even Gibbs."

"Especially Gibbs! He should be the one to decide whether or not he wants to talk about it," Sam replied adamantly, not wanting to add to the tensions that already existed between to two different groups that were being forced to work together.

"Oh, come on Sam, you're not scared of Gibbs are you? You're a former Army Ranger, you could take him!" Tony added with a grin.

"Thanks for the vote of confidence kid," Sam returned the smile. "But I'd rather not put it to the test unless I absolutely have to. So, do you think that Gibbs has killed Nixon, or are we gonna be able to get on with the investigation now?"

"Do you think Gibbs would kill Nixon?" Tony asked hopefully.

"If he doesn't, I'll certainly consider it," Sam promised, this time there was not a trace of humour in his voice.

"I'm gone for a couple of hours and already you've pissed enough people off in this Precinct to make working here difficult," Gibbs jabbed his finger into Nixon's chest, hard. "We have a triple homicide to investigate; those murders happened here, in Baltimore, so being able to work here instead of wasting time going in between here and DC would be good. You got anything to say in your defence?"

"It's their computer system that is ridiculously outdated! I don't see why I'm the one in trouble, Boss. I was just trying to do my job, as best as I could with their crappy system, and no one here was being helpful. Detective Jacobs came upstairs and literally hauled me out of my seat, and he ordered me to go downstairs and work with Ronnie. He ordered me! Like I take my orders from him!"

"He is the Senior Detective in this joint investigation!" Gibbs pointed out with further jabbing. "If I'm not here and as long as what he tells you to do doesn't interfere with my orders, then you'd better do as he tells you! I am not going to get hauled up in front of both Director Morrow and Chief McTavish because of your behaviour, do I make myself clear Nixon?"

"Yes, Boss," Nixon mumbled mutinously. He was feeling hard done by; as far as he was concerned, he had tried to do his job to the best of his ability given the outdated technology on offer. He could not understand how any cases were solved in Baltimore and he certainly couldn't understand why everyone seemed to take such offence at his presence.

Gibbs was only too aware of why everyone in the 22nd Precinct was so prepared to string the TAD Agent up from the nearest lamp-post; the man could be infuriatingly rude and presumptuous. Gibbs knew he was ruder than most people could tolerate, but he also knew that his seniority and his experience meant that on the whole people were more prepared to give him a little extra leeway, as he had earned the privilege and Nixon had not.

"If we have to have another talk on this, I promise you, Nixon, you will not live to regret it! Now let's get everyone together so that we can focus on the case and not your fuck-ups!"

"Yes, Boss," Nixon muttered again. Despite his seemingly oblivious nature even he was aware that he should not try to push his Boss any further right now.

As they were walking back towards the Homicide Department, Gibbs' mobile rang. He looked at the caller ID…Abby.

"Go on a coffee run," Gibbs ordered Nixon. "Find out what everyone wants and then go fetch some good coffee," he added, before moving back towards a quieter part of the corridor and answering Abs. "Hey Abs, what do you have?"

"A farting hippo and an empty Caff-Pow," Abby informed her Silver Fox. "Other than that, I have the personnel files of one Detective Anthony DiNozzo and one Detective Samuel Jacobs. Which do you want first?"

"Give me what you have on Jacobs first," Gibbs ordered, not feeling the slightest bit guilty about the invasion of privacy; if the Detectives were half as competent as they should be then they would doubtlessly have done the same checks.

"Detective Samuel Jacobs was born in Baltimore and he grew up in the Projects with his single, hard-working mother. He left school and joined the Army, where they shoved him straight into Ranger School due to an excellent proficiency with a rifle, hmm…sounds familiar…" Abby said teasingly and Gibbs could hear her grin over the phone. "He then served six years with the Rangers, working both Spec. Ops and Black Ops. before he left as a well decorated young soldier.

"He left the Police Academy when he was twenty-five and stared walking the beat in Baltimore. Yucky! Can you imagine that? I'd hate to have to walk around my old neighbourhood and see all the…"

"Abs," Gibbs interrupted with an exasperated sigh.

"Right…anyway, he married his high school sweetheart, Mary O'Connell; she died about eight years ago…cancer. They have one daughter, Catherine, twenty-three, who has finished college and is now working and living in Baltimore.

"Looking at the assessments in his files, Jacobs seems to be a pretty popular cop who is well-liked and well-respected. Overall Bossman, I think you've got yourself a pretty competent cop on the case – he has an excellent service record, several commendations and he has the highest closure-rate in the Homicide Department along with his partner, one Detective DiNozzo."

"Good," Gibbs nodded. He had already pegged Jacobs as a military man, but he was relieved to discover that he was more than just your average soldier; to get through Ranger School and last six years in Special Forces, Jacobs definitely had to have the necessary grit and determination that would be instrumental to solving this particularly complicated and high-pressure murder case.

He had felt sorry for the Detective when Abs had told him about the death of his wife; it was a pain he well understood. However, he also found himself feeling slightly envious that he still had his daughter. The death of a child was something he wouldn't wish on anyone and he would have done anything…anything…to get his daughter back!

Given Sam's obvious age, Gibbs had assumed that the man had built up some experience over the years, and in his dealings with the man so far Gibbs had seen a high level of competency. That he and DiNozzo shared the highest case-closure rate, in Baltimore of all places, told Gibbs everything he really needed to know about their efficiency.

However, he wanted to know more, especially about Detective DiNozzo. "What about his partner?" he asked Abby, trying to sound casual.

"Ah, the Holy Grail!" Abby replied, aware that this was the man that her Boss was really interested in. He always liked to know who he was working with, even more so when that person had the ability to get to him so easily.

"Detective Anthony DiNozzo was born in Long Island to wealthy Daddy DiNozzo Senior. He's an only child and his mother died when he was young. His childhood was full of boarding school and summer camps until his father shipped him off to military school in Rhode Island at the age of twelve; he probably has a better knowledge of military terms than Nixon, but I guess that's not hard. I mean, really, who…"

"Abs," Gibbs gently tried to push the Forensic Specialist forwards.

"Yes, well…I would hazard a guess that father and son are not close; his father wrote him out of his will at the age of twelve. Now I might not like the guy Gibbs, but that is cold!"

"Abs," Gibbs sighed again. "Please try to stay on track." He wasn’t going to ask how Abs had accessed the man’s will, some things he was just better off not knowing.

"I'm just trying to keep a conversation going here, Bossman. So, anyways…he went to Ohio State University on a full sports scholarship where he got a BA in Phys. Ed. but he had to give up any dreams of going pro because of an injury to his knee. Then he joined the Police Academy. Is it just me or is that kind of an odd leap…pro sports to walking a beat?"

"Abs!" Gibbs interrupted once again, this time with more force behind his voice.

"Ok, ok, I get your point," Abby tried to appease her Boss.

"Finally," he muttered back.

"Ah! Gibbs, that's just mean! Ok, so he finished up at the academy top of his class and started work in Peoria, then Philadelphia and then Baltimore. He was in the first two for about two years each; I guess his warranty runs out after that long."

"Huh," Gibbs grunted. Only two years at both of his previous Police Departments; that could be a discipline problem…or more likely everyone else had a problem with him. "How long has he been in Baltimore?"

"Er...let me check that again…aha, here it is: twenty-three months. I guess his partner should start looking for someone new," Abby joked.

When she first started her private little investigation, she was more than fully prepared to hate the urbane Detective that had made her Silver Fox's life so difficult, but having read the bare facts about his childhood she pictured a very lonely little boy with no one to turn to.

When she had been younger, she had always had people she could turn to, both family and friends. Tony's school records were full of fights and detentions, letters home and trips to the nurse's office because of overzealous bullies; one teacher had even written down concerns she had about neglect in his home life. The military academy had been full of punishments in relation to his behaviour.

Once she started to read his personnel files from all three PD's he had worked in, as well as from his time in the academy, she saw a pattern and she began to question who was truly at fault.

"He was in and out of trouble in the Police Academy and his personnel files are a mixture of both good and bad – he has commendations right next to complaints and promotions on top of official reprimands. He's been shot and knifed already and has spent several overnight stays in hospital because of head wounds. Honestly? This guy seems to be a trouble magnet, Gibbs, if he gets you hurt then I'm going to kill him and hide the body!" she promised ardently.

"Settle down Abs, I can look after myself. How'd he get his badge?" he'd wanted to know this since Sam's cryptic little answer to the same question earlier in the day.

"I don't know Gibbs, there's not too much in there about that. It looks like the Chief of Police in Philadelphia just gave it to him, apparently; there's nothing written down anywhere as far as I can see."

"There's got to be something!" Gibbs exclaimed incredulously; someone that young didn't just get a Detective's badge for nothing!

"If there is, then I'm guessing it's not going to be anywhere accessible; something must have happened that Philly PD wanted to sweep under the carpet, but the real question there is…"

"…What did DiNozzo have to do with the cover up? Yeah, thanks Abs." Gibbs sighed. He might know more facts about the Detectives' pasts, but he was no closer to knowing how to deal with them, especially DiNozzo. As far as reactions and instincts went, the two Homicide Detectives were unknown variables, and Gibbs hated not knowing how people operated, especially when he was stuck working with them in the field.

Jacobs seemed to be pretty much straightforward. As former military he was likely to be direct and unafraid of conflict, whether it was physical or verbal. He had a solid reputation within both his own Precinct and his own Department, where he was well respected and well decorated.

DiNozzo was also well decorated for a Detective his age, but apparently had as many complaints as commendations. The man seemed to be a walking contradiction – was he a good cop or not? The mysterious circumstances in which DiNozzo gained his Detective's badge were no clearer and the fact that there were no records made Gibbs even more suspicious.

He wasn't bothered about the crappy childhood; his childhood had its own trials and there were plenty of other people he knew in law enforcement that had suffered far greater tragedies in their youth. However, the seeming lack of allegiance to the PD's DiNozzo had served with did worry Gibbs – what kind of cop had so little loyalty to his own Department?

"Anything else, Abs," he asked quietly. It had been a long day and as the evening was drawing on, he wanted nothing more than to wind down in his basement with his boat and his bourbon, which were, unfortunately, all the way back in DC.

"Major Mass Spec. is doing his stuff, and I should have the first results in pretty soon, Gibbs," she promised. "Do I get a Caff-Pow now?" She could feel her own energy levels beginning to sag from the lack of sugar, caffeine and social interaction.

"Sure, put it on my tab, Abs. Call me as soon as you have anything else." He snapped his phone shut and leaned back against the wall; he still didn't really know who he was working with and that bothered him, greatly.

Everyone eventually reunited in the office before once again moving towards a conference room to talk the case through so far. Nixon had brought everyone back their drink of choice as well as some food to munch on. Files were spread out across the table while everyone gathered their own bits of information to deliver to the group.

Gibbs and Tony went first, filling everyone in on what they had found out in DC, from Norfolk, and both Corporal Bradley Spencer and Lisa Jennings. Tony talked about how apparent the uneasy family dynamic was, and the relationship between Corporal Spencer and Lisa Jennings, while Gibbs explained the reason behind the inclusion of Sergeant Wallace in the investigation, as well as the mystery girl supposedly in Baltimore.

Veronica took over and filled everyone in on what she and Nixon had discovered about the witnesses, having decided that it might be wiser for her to do the majority of the talking rather than her increasingly unpopular partner.

Nixon did not mind her taking the lead too much, he was still busy sulking about what he viewed to be unfair treatment. He only spoke when he saw Cascabel was focusing on one aspect of their findings, showing that he did have some degree of competency if not diplomacy.

"So overall," Ronnie summarised, "Nothing too suspicious in any of the background checks; there was one guy, a Richard Denny, who had a record, but it was for petty theft, about eight years ago and for a non-violent crime. There was something that we thought we should check out, though – about three of the witnesses were dock workers and they all said the same thing: the docks have been particularly busy recently and a couple of the nearby warehouses too. Just one and I may have thought nothing of it, just a busy day or something, but three? I think we should check it out."

"Agreed," Sam replied. "It should probably wait until the morning though; if these extra bodies on the docks are connected to the murders, then they've likely either cleared out already, or they're still there because they feel safe enough. Either way, it would safer to go into the warehouses with SWAT and the benefit of daylight and with extra time to get an armed response unit to cordon off the area. Gibbs?" he turned to the Senior Agent, silently asking if it was a plan he agreed with.

Gibbs paused for a moment before answering; he was not a man who was prone to take the slower, more cautious approach, but he was also aware that the Detective would have a better understanding of the layout of the docks, as well as the dangers posed there. By the time they had everyone and everything ready to go, it would be the early hours of the morning and pitch black.

By assaulting the warehouses at first light, they were less likely to be ambushed and they were more likely to stop anyone from escaping the cordoned off area than in the dark. Gibbs might not like to sit and wait for anything, but he knew that it was the wisest option available.

"Sounds good," he told Sam with a brief nod of his head. "We'll hit them at first light, see what we can find."

"You guys are probably gonna want to find a motel room or something," DiNozzo suggested. "By the time we've interviewed Wallace and got both the autopsy results back and hopefully the blood test results from NCIS, it'll be pretty late to drive back to DC. You'll not get much sleep if you have to set off early again tomorrow morning."

"He's right," Sam agreed, sending an appreciative nod towards his partner, glad to see that DiNozzo was pushing aside his personal problems with the NCIS Agents and trying to come up with a straightforward, practical solution.

"Cascabel and Nixon can sort that out later while we are talking to Sergeant Wallace," Gibbs suggested. "Victims' records?" he asked, eager to get everyone up to date and carry on with what they could of the investigation.

"As we still don't know anything about our female victim, we already know most of it," Sam shrugged. "Jennings comes from a wealthy DC family with a long line of men who served their country in the Marine Corps. He had an excellent service record, good health, solid finances and no police records, not even a parking ticket, which all seems to suggest that he was either in the wrong place at the wrong time, or he got mixed up in someone else's problems.

"Richard May came from a broken home right here in Baltimore and the only time he's left the city has been to serve jail time upstate. He's been in and out of the hospital due, no doubt, to work-related assaults and he had one drug overdose, meth. Financials are all over, so I doubt he was involved in anything long-term, I would have expected a better line of income if that were the case.

"Obviously he has a record, and an extensive one at that; it was all for small time stuff: petty theft, possession, some minor drug charges, nothing violent on there…"

"But you said he was a suspect in another murder case?" Gibbs enquired.

"True, but to be honest Tony and I thought that he had less to do with the actual murders and more to do with the theft that took place at the Hansford's residence that same night. We're also pretty sure that because of that, May more than likely knew who the real murderer or murderers were. That's why we were leaning on him so hard."

"Guess now we'll never know," Tony muttered, more to himself than to anyone else.

"So that's everything?" Ronnie asked almost morosely, believing that the hours of information gathering hadn't revealed anything particularly useful.

"We've still got to ID the girl," Sam pointed out.

"You still think that's likely?" Tony wondered; the girl seemed to have come from nowhere, and had seemingly passed her time in Baltimore with complete anonymity.

"We can only hope," Sam said, releasing a deep sigh that belied his words. Tony knew his partner was feeling just as doubtful about ever discovering her true identity.

A gentle knocking on the door to the conference room pulled everyone out of their increasingly despondent thoughts. In stepped both Medical Examiners, Dr. Mallard gave everyone a soft smile while Dr. Metcalf scrutinised who he assumed could only be Agent Nixon; rumours about the young Agent's tactless approach to the men and women of the 22nd Precinct had reached even him in the relative solitude of his morgue.

"Ah, gentlemen, and lady," Ducky added with a soft smile for Cascabel. "I have completed the autopsies, and I can assure you that you had nothing to fear, Jethro; Dr. Metcalf missed nothing."

"Results Ducky?" Gibbs asked impatiently; the M.E. had known him for a long time, but it appeared that he still didn't know when to just deliver the results instead of prevaricating with unessential babble.

"Well, it is all pretty straightforward, Jethro. Both Mr May and Corporal Jennings died in exactly the same manner; both men received a single shot to the head and another shot to the chest, very cleanly done too, given their trajectory."

"Sure was," Dr. Metcalf took over. "The bullets to the chest entered the heart; one nicked May's superior vena cava, while the other pierced Jennings' right atrium. Both of them would've died pretty quickly even if the head-shot hadn't finished them both off first."

"Yes, the blood-loss alone would have been substantial and at an incredibly rapid rate," Ducky added. "The bullets to the head were equally effective; both bullets entered the frontal lobe, and exited through the other side, suggesting a powerful calibre and powder burns on the forehead suggest a close-range shot.

"May's bullet exited through the parietal lobe, which implies that he was standing up, face-to-face with his shooter. Jennings on the other hand, the bullet entered the frontal lobe in a slightly higher location than May's, and it travelled in a downwards direction, exiting through the occipital lobe; he was most likely kneeling when he was shot."

"Any sign of drugs or toxins? Any defensive wounds?" Tony asked, trying to figure out how the Marine had been subdued and forced to kneel, without trying to fight for his life.

"No, Tony, nothing that we could find; we've sent some blood to the lab. tech. over at NCIS just to be sure, but there were no signs at first glance," Metcalf shrugged, also unsure of why a man with Jennings' training had not tried to fight back.

"There must have been something that kept him in order," Gibbs thought out loud, also trying to understand why a trained Marine would do nothing in an attempt to try and save himself.

"Maybe it was the girl?" Tony suggested. "I mean, Spencer said that he was head over heels about some girl in Baltimore, she's probably our Jane Doe, and he might not have wanted to risk her safety if any attempt he made failed."

Gibbs hated to admit it, but what the kid said made plenty of sense; if Jennings had indeed feared for the safety of the girl he loved then he would likely have been far more reluctant to try anything.

"If that is the case," Tony continued, "Then the girl was probably killed after Jennings, before that and they shouldn't have been able to keep Jennings so docile."

"Makes sense," Gibbs finally admitted out loud. When he had first met the infuriatingly juvenile Homicide Detective, he would never have suspected that the young man would be so capable of such solid, deductive reasoning. Why the Detective seemed to be so determined on hiding his competency, Gibbs doubted he would ever understand. "TOD, Duck?"

"Estimations are that both the girl and Jennings died at around the same time, most likely in the early hours this morning, around one according to the liver temperature. May's time of death can be placed about two hours after the other two."

"The girl?" Tony asked, all too aware that they needed something, anything on her, as they had precious little else to go on. "What else did the autopsy tell you?"

"She died rather more painfully, I'm afraid," Ducky confessed with a sad frown. "She had extensive bruising across her body, and suffered several broken ribs, one of which made a small tear in her left lung. She also had to endure a fractured left wrist and a broken left collarbone. There was evidence of rape, as well as skin under her nails; I've sent all the evidence to Abigail by courier, and hopefully she will be able to extract something.

"The actual cause of death was strangulation; the level of bruising around her neck suggests that it was not a quick process…"

"Her hands were pretty badly bruised too," added Dr. Metcalf. "She struggled, tried to hit out at the bastard, but there were some bruises on her arms that suggested someone held her down, so there could be at least two perps."

Tony swore under his breath while Sam felt the anger well up inside him; the two men might have been callously murdered, but they had at least been granted a quick, clean death, while the girl had been forced to suffer through significant and sustained abuse before death finally claimed her.

Tony had always despised abuse of any kind against women more than anything else; he looked upon his own childhood punishments and school fights with nothing more than a detached acknowledgement, but his mother was a different story.

He'd never seen his father hit her, but he was a mean drunk and he could certainly believe it might have happened once or twice; even if there had never been any physical violence, the malicious words that would spring forth from his father's inebriated mind were cutting and just as damaging.

His mother had been unhappy for as long as Tony could remember, trying to survive the long days with the help of Valium and mint juleps; one day that wasn't enough. After a long night, with his father's acerbic tongue on the rampage, his mother had finally had enough and brought about an end to her own life. It was for that reason that Tony knew physical abuse wasn't the only type that held any danger, and he loathed that the Jane Doe was forced through such mental anguish before they killed her.

During Sam's time on the force, he had seen many awful things, too many awful things, and while the depravity of human nature no longer shocked him, the results always did. He'd seen too many bodies of innocent and defenceless men, women and children, and while he knew what people were fully capable of, he never enjoyed seeing the evidence.

In his line of work, he saw the bruises and welts, the sustained abuse and the psychological effects that scarred any survivors, a macabre souvenir as a testament to their survival. Their Jane Doe had suffered through similar abuse, but unfortunately, she had not lived through it.

Gibbs, who always felt strong anger towards anyone who would harm either women or children in particular, felt his own blood boil. He had lost his own wife and child, and not a day went by that he didn't think of them, miss them, mourn them. He knew that both Shannon and Kelly had adored him, despite his faults, and they had made him happy and completed his life; they had been an unearned gift that he cherished every day they were together and mourned every day they were apart. He would never understand why anyone would throw away such a gift.

Nixon, for all his faults, could not abide physical cruelty on any level, whether it be a small child, a woman, or even a man who lacked the ability to defend himself. He noticed that the file brought up to the conference room by both doctors was open, a glossy photo peaking out from the various bits of paper left little to the imagination and Nixon had to look away.

Ronnie felt her own empathic nature come to the forefront; as a woman she shuddered at the idea of being so powerless, held down and raped, slowly having the air squeezed out of you. She couldn't imagine dying knowing that no matter how hard you fought, it would not be enough, the silent panic and desperate thrashings…Ronnie had to close her eyes and focus on something, anything else.

Both doctors were aware of the intense quiet in the room, as everyone tried to hold onto their tenuous emotions, something that Ducky always found to be more difficult when tired, and everyone had certainly been through a long day.

"We did find something else though," Dr. Metcalf interrupted everyone's increasingly morose thoughts. "Judging by her dental work, we're looking at Eastern European, around nineteen years old; looking at the materials used for the fillings, she probably came from one of the Balkan countries, but we can't really narrow it down any more than that, sorry."

"No, that's good, Rob, thanks," Tony said; he was glad to have at least some idea about where the anonymous woman might have originated from.

"Cascabel, did you find an address for Sergeant Wallace?" Gibbs asked, eager to meet the man and determine his role in the murders, eager to find anything helpful.

"Yes, Boss," Ronnie answered, and pulled out a piece of paper with some details about the man in question. "Sergeant Nicholas Wallace, USMC. He lives the other side of town from the murder scene but only about five minutes away from here." She passed the paper over to Gibbs, and tried not to smile when she saw him squinting at the printed information – she wished the man would swallow his pride and get some glasses, then things would be far easier for everyone.

"You and Nixon take Ducky, get us all a motel room for the night," Gibbs ordered, as he stood up and briefly stretched out the kinks before looking at both the Detectives. "We'll go and talk to Wallace before calling it a night, but I need a coffee first," he eyed the coffee-maker in the corner, "A real coffee!"

Ducky saw the amused glance shared by the detectives before he followed his friend out of the door. "Jethro?" he called after the fast retreating back.

"What, Duck?" Gibbs asked as he turned around and raised an inquisitive eyebrow at his old friend.

"I'm surprised that you are taking young Detective DiNozzo with you, again. According to Abby, your analysis of him was less than pleasant."

There was no question at the end of Ducky's statement, but Gibbs heard it all the same. It was not surprising given the frequent glares and the odd disparaging remark he’d tossed DiNozzo's way, but Jacobs had hailed him a great detective and there were too many gaps in the man's personnel files to satisfy Gibbs' curiosity. He wanted to understand the young Detective, and he wasn't really sure why; curiosity and words of praise that seemed to be undeserved could only take his interest so far, there had to be something more.

"C'mon Duck, from everything Jacobs has told me, and from everything Abs found in his personnel files, I have every reason to want to keep that man close. He's reckless and impulsive, rude and infuriating and he could well be a goddamn liability if his file is anything to go by!"

"Well, in that case I happen to find that young Anthony has rather a lot in common with another man I know – a man who will go off on his own to protect a child with nothing more than his 'gut' to rely upon; if that is not both reckless and impulsive then I do not know what is.

"As for rudeness, Jethro, I hardly think you are in a position to justly criticise anyone else's level of discourtesy; your own manner is rather brusque and more to the point than many people find tolerable. People at NCIS aren't doubting the success of this joint investigation because they lack any faith in the Baltimore Police Department, but they do, however, know from experience that you do not play well with others.

"And I can assure you Jethro, there are times when your…tenacity, shall we say, is more than just a little infuriating. You would do well, every once in a while, to actually listen to what others around you might say and take a few moments to think things through. As for Detective DiNozzo being a liability…surely that is something that requires evidence. Really, Jethro, it's not like you to listen to the scuttlebutt, as you call it."

"You done lecturing me, Duck?" Gibbs demanded. The old Doctor was his friend, and Gibbs could recognise the truth behind some of his words, but he'd be damned if he was going to admit it.

"Of course, Jethro, I was only trying to be helpful. I've found both Detective DiNozzo and Detective Jacobs to be delightful company, and they both seem highly capable and very determined."

"If you want to be helpful, Duck, find us a motel near a decent coffee shop. And as it's my team that's going to be out in the field with these guys, then I think I have the right to make up my own mind about the detectives, and any potential screw-ups that might happen because of them."

"Of course, Jethro," Ducky tried to placate the man, as he could see that the Senior Agent was unlikely to drop his suspicions about the two detectives any time soon. "Although Jethro, I would ask you to consider one thing – personnel files, no matter how thick, rarely have the full picture, and certainly not the whole truth. I imagine you have a few secrets of your own that never made it into any official documents, I know I certainly have a few of my own and many more that are in written form but lack any real context.

"Detective DiNozzo seems like a nice young man, very capable and very dedicated to his job, and I think you owe it to him and to yourself not to judge him by the contents of a file. Young Anthony seems like a complicated man, similar to another law enforcement man I know; I find it highly doubtful that any file can accurately depict anyone so complex and so flexible in character. I think that you would do well to remember that in your dealings with him."

The apartment building was not the worst that Tony had walked into, but he still couldn't get over the idea of anyone having to walk up the same flight of stairs everyday and walking through the same dank, dark corridors, tripping over rubbish and having the acrid smell of urine hit the back of your nose.

Wallace answered the door after only a few knocks, in boxer shorts and a wife-beater, the TV blaring out mundane advertisements behind him.

"Yeah?" he asked, annoyed; who the hell would be knocking on his door at this time?

"Sergeant Wallace?" Sam asked, and waited until he received a nod of confirmation, before pulling out his badge. "I'm Detective Jacobs, this is Detective DiNozzo, Baltimore Homicide, and this is Special Agent Gibbs, NCIS. We'd like to ask you some questions."

"Ok," Wallace stretched out the two syllables, confusion clear, and waved a hand gesturing that they should enter. "What's this about?"

"When was the last time you saw Paul Jennings?" Gibbs asked directly, the day had been too long to pussy-foot around the real issue at hand.

"Jennings? God, I don't know. I mean I saw him on tour a couple of times, but only ever in passing. I was Charlie Company, and he was Bravo so we went to the same places but mostly kept to our own teams; talked in line for the latrine, saw each other in the mess tent occasionally, stuff like that, you know. What the hell is going on?"

"Paul Jennings was murdered this morning," Sam said gently; if the man was innocent then he shouldn’t receive the news in a cold, callous way, but if he was not then Sam wanted to scrutinise his reaction for any sign of deceit.

"Jesus," Wallace said, as he slumped down onto a sofa. No one could believe that the subsequent stunned silence and the impression of a gaping fish that followed, as Wallace tried to find his voice and ask one of the many questions floating around his head, was anything less than genuine.

"Can you think of anyone who might have had any reason to…"

"No!" Wallace interrupted, cutting off the rest of Gibbs' question. "Paul was a good guy, a good Marine. His worst vices were ones he indulged in when he came here; drinking one too many beers and shamelessly flirting with one too many women. Those things hardly count as the kind of thing that would get you killed!"

"Unless he flirted with the wrong woman," Tony pointed out; he'd done a similar thing in the past and had earned himself a black eye for unknowingly chatting up a married woman. "Was Paul seeing anyone romantically?"

"Not that I know of," Wallace shrugged. "But he probably wouldn't tell me even if he was; we have a laugh together, but we're not all that close."

"He came to see you, Sergeant; before he went away on tour, he chose to spend his time up in Baltimore, away from his family and away from everyone on base, with you," Gibbs said firmly, trying to get the man to see that there had to have been a reason why out of all his friends and family, Jennings chose to come to a dark, dank apartment in Baltimore.

"Oh, come on," Wallace said with clear exasperation. "We weren't that close! We were friends who every now and then got together and got drunk; we went to bars and clubs, we partied, we tried to pick up a couple of girls every now and then. I'm the kind of guy that he could hang out with and piss off his dad at the same time; I was part of some long overdue rebellion on Paul's part, and for me he was just a good guy to have a few beers with."

"We have it on good authority that he came to see you in Baltimore before you shipped out," Tony informed the Sergeant. "Apparently on that visit, Corporal Jennings met a girl at a club, and came back to Baltimore several more times to see her. Can you confirm this?"

"Well, sure he came out here, he usually did when his old man was getting to him. We usually go for a few drinks and finish off at a club or a house party, but I don't remember him getting hung up on any girl."

"Are you sure?" Gibbs asked quietly with a threatening tone. "If I find out you've been lying to us, then I can have you arrested for obstruction of justice."

"Seriously?" Wallace asked, stunned by the Agent's sudden menacing manner. "Look, by the time we started clubbing I was wasted; we were going off on tour and I had absolutely no desire whatsoever to waste my time wallowing in self-pity and sobriety.

"I partied, Paul partied, we drank a lot, and honest to God, I have no idea which club we went to, I couldn't even tell you if it was a dance club or a strip-club! All I do know is that I woke up in a bath-tub, in someone else's apartment, with a lot of passed out people on the floor, and Paul wasn't one of them!"

Outside the apartment Gibbs swore under his breath while Tony hit a wall with his bare fist and Sam simply let out a breath as he sagged against the wall.

"Do you have any idea how many clubs there are in Baltimore?" Sam asked wearily. "By the time we do find that place, the chances of the perps. still hanging around is pretty unlikely."

"What the hell kind of friend is Wallace?" Tony fumed, angry that their best chance of getting any real progress in the investigation had just been blown. "Who the hell doesn't keep tabs on the out-of-town friend you go out to a club with in a city with a reputation like Baltimore's?"

"We'll have to start canvassing tomorrow, but hopefully there's record of it on his credit card or something," even Gibbs couldn't hide the weariness out of his voice. "What we find at that club might be what breaks this case."

All three of them trudged down the stairs, aware that the next day would likely be no easier than the first, as too many questions remained unanswered.

Chapter Text

Gibbs got out of his creaky motel room bed and headed for the shower. He knew that Ducky never slept well out of his own bed, but years of sleeping in ditches and under enemy fire meant that Gibbs could sleep almost anywhere without much difficulty.

Showered and dressed, Gibbs headed off in search for decent coffee, banging on his teammates' doors as he went; they hadn't really uncovered much in their first day of the investigation and so there was an awful lot of work to be done.

A yawning Ducky, a bleary-eyed Cascabel and a moaning Nixon got into the car at about the same time that Gibbs started on his third coffee of the day. The drive back to Precinct 22 was a short one and a blurry one with Gibbs at the wheel, but everyone certainly felt a lot more alive than they had before the drive – driving on the wrong side of the road around a blind bend and into the path of a bloody great big truck can do that to a person.

Gibbs was surprised to find that the two Homicide Detectives were in before him and his team; Jacobs was already on the phone and DiNozzo was going over a large piece of paper with someone else.

Sam looked over towards to Gibbs and nodded his greeting before returning to his phone-call. Chief McTavish had demanded to be kept in the loop and wanted to know if Sam and his partner had everything they needed for the raid on the warehouses.

"Yes, Sir, I can assure you we have everything we need. We've pulled in a lot of blue and whites, who will be cordoning off the surrounding streets and we've got SWAT on standby for the raids on the warehouses.

"Yes, Sir, I understand. Thanks Chief. Me and the kid will come round to your office after the raid and get you caught up with everything. No, Sir, I'm hoping it won't come to that. Bye."

Tony looked over towards his partner and, once the phone was safely back on the hook asked, "Is the Chief really that worried?"

"You'll be on the raid with us Tony; McTavish knows that automatically means the chances of a trip to the hospital have increased tenfold," Sam replied with a wicked grin aimed at his partner.

"I resent that," Tony mumbled before returning to studying the blueprints for the warehouses with a member of SWAT. Sam got up and joined them, grabbing his half-empty coffee cup as he went. Gibbs marched over too, his own coffee cup in hand, aware that whatever was being discussed would likely be related to the upcoming raid.

David Eaton was the man who would be leading the SWAT team on the raids; he was an imposing figure at 6ft 4in tall and built like a brick shithouse to boot. Dressed in his black combat fatigues and with full gear, he looked every ounce the team leader that every cop in Baltimore knew and respected.

"I've only had a relatively quick glance so far and these plans aren’t the best, but I reckon this entrance is our best bet for the main insertion," David suggested, pointing towards a specific entrance on the plans. "The only windows on this face are too high off the ground to be useful to anyone inside; no way they'll see us coming unless they’ve set up their own perimeter defences."

"Remember we don't know what the layout will be like on the inside," Tony pointed out, as he studied other entrances and exits. "The brick walls will still be in the same spot, but we could face walls of crates instead; we've not managed to find anyone able to tell us what kind of cargo might be in there, or even who's running things out of there."

"If this is your target and these people are professionals, then it's probably a dummy corporation on the lease anyway. While it's true we might face walls of crates, if they hide our entrance into the warehouse, then the likelihood is that they will miss it too; what we really need to worry about is if there's anything dangerous in those crates.

"Here is where it could get tricky," David pointed to the centre of the main room on the plans. "A large open space, with the stairs over here, and a balcony running along the East side; we don't know how many perps are in there, and we don't know how much cover will be available, but…"

"Why not just go in en masse, there are more than enough of us to overpower them," Nixon suggested with a yawn. He'd followed after his boss, believing that SWAT should be dealing with NCIS, and not some stupid Homicide Detective like DiNozzo.

"Because the 'T' in SWAT stands for 'Tactics,' that's why," David explained as if he was talking to a three-year-old. "Banging down the door and rushing in with our guns firing away might look good on television, but in reality, it is stupid and dangerous and I would never risk my men like that. We don't even know how many hostiles might be in there, so how the hell could we know whether or not we'd outgun them?"

Nixon mumbled under his breath unintelligible utterances. Once again he had been shown up by a damn cop; he was a Federal Agent, and he felt that his credentials deserved some respect, especially from some damn gung-ho SWAT cop!

Gibbs joined the two Detectives and the SWAT leader in the discussion, ignoring Nixon’s contribution, and huddled around the map, adding his own experience into the mix as everyone worked together to formulate a clear and cohesive insertion plan. Cascabel hung back, aware that this was not her area of expertise, while Nixon hung back feeling picked on and undervalued.

As a former Marine Scout Sniper, Gibbs had worked off nothing more than a simple blueprint many times before, and sometimes even less than that; reading the plans came as second nature to him, and he realised how much he missed the tactical side of his military life.

Given Jacobs' own astute observations on the layout of the warehouse and his shrewd opinions on certain risks that lay in store near various entry points, it was clear that the former Army Ranger had experienced similar tasks, either during his Army life, or during his time as a Baltimore policeman.

The SWAT leader, David Eaton, was undoubtedly a man who was more than simply qualified for his job, he was highly competent and the Senior Agent was glad to have such a man leading the raid. Gibbs would have guessed the man was former military given his demeanour, but regardless, he was very clear and made sure everyone understood exactly what he meant, leaving little room for error.

It was DiNozzo's contributions that shocked him the most; he was impressed by the young Detective's before unseen ability to remain focused on one thing and retain the necessary seriousness the situation demanded. He listened to everyone's ideas and would then point out various merits or flaws in the plan, and he was articulate but direct, unassuming but sincere.

Eventually, everyone agreed on the safest and most efficient course of action; SWAT, being specifically trained for such situations, would lead the main assault through a specific entrance, with other members of the team quietly circling the building and securing other entry points.

The Detectives and the NCIS Agents would follow Eaton and his men into the building at the back of the group, while the local PD would secure the neighbouring area, effectively isolating the warehouses and a small portion of the docks, ensnaring the criminals in their net.

Everyone was gearing up in silence, contemplating the possible consequences of a misstep or a miscalculation, wondering what they might find in the warehouse. Gibbs secured a few extra magazines for his gun, and double-checked Nixon's gun, as well as ensuring both members of his team had sufficient backup firepower.

Ducky was standing on the side-lines, quieter than usual. He never liked seeing people he cared about getting ready to walk into an unknown, possibly dangerous situation. Despite his experience Jethro only added to Ducky's worries, as the man could be a little reckless at times, especially when there were other people's lives at stake.

DiNozzo and Jacobs packed a couple of extra clips for their side-arms making small talk at the same time; Tony would make a quiet joke in an effort to distract his partner but not the other men and women gearing up around them, and Sam would fire back an equally humorous retort. It was a well-honed piece of preparation that both men welcomed and were grateful for.

Piling out of the building, the adrenaline was beginning to course through everybody's systems; a raid was always risky, but a raid on an unknown warehouse with an unknown number of potentially armed crooks, well that went beyond being a little risky!

When the patrol cops finally informed the Detectives that they had cordoned off the surrounding area, the green light was given for the insertion. A member of SWAT quietly and expertly jimmied the lock at the western entrance, the door silently opened and the SWAT team lead the way in formation.

Tony and Sam went in following the final SWAT man, Gibbs followed on their heels and his team brought up the rear. As they entered into the shadows of the warehouse, there was silence, no talking from unsuspecting perps, no shouting from the SWAT team, no shooting.

The silence did not, however, act as reassurance; everyone had entered fully prepared for a confrontation of some sort, and the silence was unnerving. Were the crooks in some dark corner, waiting to strike? Were they walking into a trap? Every law enforcement figure with experience knew never to let their guard down until they have checked every nook and cranny.

A silent hand gesture from Eaton made Tony, Sam, Gibbs and his team stop dead, between the safety of the outer wall and the cover provided by a wall of crates. Sam knew that being told to stand down was not an insult to their abilities, but simply that this type of situation was exactly what SWAT had trained for; taking themselves out of the line of fire merely gave Eaton and his team one less thing to focus on.

Gibbs rarely dealt with SWAT, not liking to defer to anyone else, not even his own Director. However, he understood the tactics behind the order from Eaton, the military had the same practice – never send in more men than was necessary if those men could become a distraction to the primary forces – it was why H&S and the Reservists were normally part of the rear echelons of an attacking force.

Eaton and his team wanted to check and clear the entire warehouse without worrying about the safety of friends and a team that he didn't know, and therefore couldn't predict. Gibbs understood that as he still didn't know what to expect from the two detectives; he believed that Jacobs' military training and extensive experience as a cop would make him a reliable partner in the field, but DiNozzo was an unknown variable.

Even now, with the order to wait, Gibbs could see the adrenaline coursing its way through the young Detective's body; the Senior Agent was surprised at the unexpected control DiNozzo displayed by mastering the nature of the fight or flight response. The young man was crouched down low and rocking slightly on the balls of his feet, ready to pounce into action if the situation demanded it necessary, but he remained silent and he had obeyed orders so far.

Gibbs wondered if the man's energy ever waned or if it was always there, ever present regardless of the situation. He frowned to himself – since when had DiNozzo commanded so much of his attention? He knew that part of the reason was that he couldn't figure the young Detective out; Gibbs had always prided himself on being able to read people and figure out what made them tick, but DiNozzo was proving to be too much of a conundrum.

There was something else there though, and Gibbs knew that. There was something about DiNozzo that drew him in and made him curious, something that he couldn't quite define. Despite what he had said to Abby the previous day, he did care about DiNozzo's shitty childhood, but he wasn't sure why he should only that he did. He cared about that and he cared about why DiNozzo seemed to spend so little time in any one place…he just couldn't understand why he cared!

He didn't really know the man and so far the young Detective had been little more than an annoyance; perhaps it was simply because the man was such a puzzle, perhaps it was because he reminded him of someone that he couldn't quite place, perhaps it was the mischievous glint in his eyes the first time they met that had quickly turned to steel once Gibbs pissed off DiNozzo's partner.

Whatever it was, Gibbs knew that there was a lot to think about when it came to DiNozzo and Ducky's words were beginning to haunt him – there was too much that wasn't in DiNozzo's file and what was there did not explain what helped shape the Detective into a man with multiple personalities and an easy grin that belied the young man's real emotions.

"All clear," Eaton's voice over the radio broke up Gibbs' line of thought. "Come to the centre of the warehouse, there's something here that you should see."

The Agents and the Detectives moved fluidly as one, silent as they delved further through the maze of wooden shipping crates and rubbish. Once they reached the centre of the warehouse and re-joined the SWAT team, it became very clear why Eaton had called them over.

"Shit!" Tony let out under his breath.

They were stood in front of an area in the centre of the warehouse with crates making walls on three sides, and in the middle of the make-shift room, there were mattresses, a lot of mattresses.

Sam joined his partner in muttering profanities under his breath, while Gibbs' hands closed tightly into fists in anger as Cascabel hung her head and looked away.

"I don't get it," Nixon shrugged, unable to comprehend everyone's downcast expressions. "So it was just some people who squatted here, but maybe these homeless guys know something about the murders? It might be the break we need."

"For God's sake!" Tony threw his hands up in despair. "Look at the mattresses, look at all the stuff lying around! There were women here, a lot of women! The only reason for this many women to be in a place like this in conditions like this, and for them all to disappear at once is that they were most likely being trafficked!"

"Ok…well obviously that's a horrible thing to happen to anyone, but surely we need to hand that over to Vice or something. What's it got to do with our case?" Nixon asked nonplussed. They had spent the better part of day investigating and they had seemingly not got any further in the investigation, he wanted to find answers and wanted them now, everything else be damned right now!

"Our female victim was a young girl from Eastern Europe," Sam pointed out, silently wondering how the hell someone as clueless as Nixon could be allowed to work for a Federal Agency. "She was young, vulnerable and probably very pretty before she took that beating – she is exactly the kind of girl that sex-traffickers prey on."

"You seriously think she was here?" Nixon asked, bewildered, the sheltered life he’d led giving him no understanding of the scene in front of him. "If she was here, then why the hell didn't she run away? The door is just a few feet away!"

"You seriously think they leave these girls unguarded?" Ronnie demanded of her partner forcefully, sick of his naivety and short-sightedness. "The men and women who run this kind of trade keep the girls and boys they sell under lock and key, usually with a gun pointed at their head, while at the same time they shoot them up with heroin to get them hooked and keep them needy and desperate and dependent – these girls are seen as nothing more than a commodity on the street. Open your fucking eyes, Daniel! This is the real world we live in, not your white-bread suburbs fantasy!"

Gibbs remained quiet, surprised not only at Veronica's outburst but also at her use of profanity; Cascabel was normally the quieter and certainly the more patient member of the team, so any explosion on her part tended to stand out. He could not believe that Nixon had honestly believed that the girls forced into the sex trade had any real chance to leave, especially in the early days, as the mattresses on the dusty warehouse floor suggested these particular girls were suffering through.

Looking around, there was evidence of narcotics; drug paraphernalia was strewn across the floor, needles and bits of foil being the most prevalent. He couldn't even begin to imagine the horror these girls must have endured, the horror they would still be enduring somewhere in the city.

"There's a lot of blood over here, most of it is dry, but there is the odd puddle," Eaton pointed out to one side of the make-shift room. "This could be your crime scene or someone else's, but either way, we should get forensics in here. It looks like whoever left this place, they left in a hurry – they probably hightailed it out of here as soon as they dumped the bodies."

"Thanks, Dave," Tony said quietly. He knew that the case had just got ten times more complicated – if the press got wind of this then there would a whole load of shit to wade through.

The Marine's father up in DC would no doubt kick up a fuss about the very idea of his son being involved with such an unsavoury aspect of the criminal world.

There would be a public outcry about Baltimore PD's inability to stop such a crime.

Worst of all, however, would be the possibility that the criminals would know that the police were on to them. If they panicked, then they could flee to another city, another state even, or, worst of all, they might get rid of any lose ends by killing all the girls.

"I'll go and call the forensics team, get a couple of the guys from patrol to keep a watch over things here, and the Chief will want a call too. We need to find that club!" With that, Sam left, eager to leave the oppressive atmosphere of the warehouse.

Tony shook his head, "Finding that club…in Baltimore…"

"How many are we talking about?" Gibbs asked, aware that a city the size of Baltimore was bound to have a large number of clubs, pubs, bars and night-time entertainment.

"Hell if I know," Tony shrugged. "I've only been here for 23 months, and I'm pretty sure I haven't even heard of half of them, let alone know where they are. Problem is, the kind of place we're going to be looking for, the kind of place that will run this kind of trade in its back rooms, they're not exactly going to be advertising!"

"So what, we just ask around every back alley dive until we find them?" Ronnie enquired, her voice laced with frustration.

"There are a couple of local scumbags we can try leaning on, see if they know anything, but we've no real way of knowing who's going to know anything for sure, or if they're lying; that's why these kinds of places work. We don't even know what sort of clientele we're talking about.

"If these are just your average sex workers, then their bosses are probably selling them out to anyone who'll pay, but when I did a brief stint in Vice, back in Philadelphia…" Tony let out a heavy sigh. "All I'm saying is that there could be some pretty important people on that client list, and big names can cause big trouble for us and our investigation."

Gibbs nodded; he'd been in law enforcement too long not to know just how often it was the rich and powerful who solicited prostitutes. "Alright then, I suppose we should try to draw up some kind of strategy," Gibbs suggested.

"Sounds like a good idea," Tony agreed. "I'll go and find Sam." He didn't want to say anything in front of the NCIS Agents, but he was worried about his partner, he could count on one hand the number of times Sam had left a crime scene that fast.

Tony understood that this sort of crime was wholly unimaginable to most people, but unfortunately, he and Sam, as Baltimore Homicide Detectives…as cops, had seen too much of the dark, ugly side of life. Inevitably it ended up getting to everyone on the job eventually, and the hard part was getting past it and carrying on with the task at hand.

It was a warm, sunny day in Baltimore, and Tony was momentarily blinded after leaving the dark, dank warehouse and entering the bright daylight outside. Sam was not on the phone and Tony didn't know whether or not that meant he'd finished with the calls or whether he hadn't even started yet, needing to take a moment to focus.

"Hey Sam," Tony said, taking care to stand next to his partner rather than face him. It might sound like a silly thing to some people, but the young Homicide Detective was more than aware that if Sam was upset then he would not appreciate any close scrutiny, pity or stupid platitudes.

Tony could understand that because he was the same; when he needed to hear someone tell him it was ok then he would only ever ask someone he trusted absolutely in a desperate bid to reassure himself. However, most times Tony knew that was not enough, knew that he was not desperate enough or gullible enough to swallow down anyone's 'glass half-full' platitudes.

At times like that Tony liked a quiet companion, it could be an old friend or a cold beer, so long as there was no small talk and enough time to come to terms with whatever situation he had been through in his own way.

"You need me to make any phone calls?" he asked quietly.

Sam shook his head. "Blackburn was here, he’s called forensics and is sorting out a protection detail for them while they gather up any evidence they can. Not that any biologicals are going to mean much – the chances of any of these girls being in our system, in any system…"

"Yeah," Tony nodded his head in agreement. He knew that the chances of identifying any further casualties from this type of business would rely upon other girls giving the authorities any details they could, and most were more than a little wary about trusting the police.

"I've still got to call the Chief," Sam said, sounding completely disheartened. "With the Vasquez case going as it is, and now this, he's not going to be too happy."

"I can make the call," Tony offered. "I may be the Junior Detective, but we're still partners, right? We've got to share this stuff out."

"No, it's ok, I told him I'd call, and I will, I…I just needed a few minutes before being shouted at for being the messenger." Sam pulled out his phone. He didn't want his partner to make the call, not because he didn't think Tony could handle McTavish in a foul mood, but because he still saw it as his duty to protect his partner and he probably always would.

"You know it's not us he's pissed at," Tony shrugged. "The press are being total jackals, and the higher-ups in the Mayor's office aren't exactly helping – he's just venting."

"I know," Sam sighed. "But it'd be nice if he vented in their direction rather than ours."

"Now that is something I'd pay to see: The Chief Vs The Press Gang! It sounds like some cheesy comic book story. I have to say, though, while he'd be heavily outnumbered, I'd still definitely put my money on McTavish; that guy can be pretty damn scary when he wants to be…" Tony relaxed a little as he saw the corners of Sam's mouth twitch.

"Think about it…" DiNozzo continued, "All we'd need to do would be to switch his coffee to decaf right before a press conference, and then bam…it is on, I'm telling you!"

Sam let out a small chuckle. "No way in hell am I touching that man's coffee pot; I prefer my hands attached to my arms, thank you very much. The Chief is even more attached to his coffee than Agent Gibbs seems to be."

"Now that would be something worth testing out." Tony laughed, glad that he'd helped snap his partner out of his momentary haze of depression.

"We should head back to the squad room and come up with some sort of grid search for this club – it will be like looking for a needle in a haystack if you ask me."

"And there’s another one of those stupid sayings," Tony pointed out. "It wouldn't be all that hard, just go and get a magnet and…voila! There's your needle."

"Even with a magnet, DiNozzo, finding a needle in a haystack would take a pretty long fucking time," Sam pointed out, glad to hold on to the normality of their banter.

"Yeah, but it would be so much harder to find a needle in a pile of needles, wouldn't it?" Tony asked with a challenge in his voice.

"No, because then you've got a whole pile of needles to pick from," Sam replied.

"Well…what if you needed a specific needle among the needles? There you go, more difficult!"

"Well, if there's something unique about the needle and that's why you'd need that exact one then it should stand out even more amongst a whole pile of needles, like a black sheep in a flock of white ones."

"I never said the needle was a different colour," Tony wagged his finger at his partner in a 'no, no…naughty, naughty' manner and a smug smile spread across his face.

"I still think I'd rather look for an odd-one-out needle in a pile of needles, than a needle-in-a-haystack needle, where I'd have to leave the haystack at the farm, ride into the nearest town and buy a magnet before going back to the farm and combing through an entire haystack looking for it, and hoping that the needle isn't in the middle of a bale of hay…or are you suggesting everyone out in the country carries magnets about their person for just such an occasion?"

"Well…the weird ones might…" Tony shrugged.

Sam only laughed. "Come on, Einstein, any more thinking and you're going to give yourself a massive headache. We need to get started on that search." With that he walked away, dialling the Chief as he headed back towards the warehouse entrance, where Gibbs was outside, watching them with open curiosity.

"Magnets still make plenty of sense to me," Tony grumbled to himself as he followed after his partner.

The return to the squad room had been a brief one as they looked at the best areas to canvass. As both Sam and Tony knew the city better than most, then it was agreed that it would be wiser if the two of them split up, taking half of the Agents with them. Both Detectives had also called in favours with friends in patrol, hoping to have more feet on the street to do the search.

Sam had flat-out refused to take Nixon with him, promising: 'If he comes with me, Agent Gibbs, then I can assure you, he will not be coming back in anything other than a body bag!'

While Nixon had protested being talked about in such a manner, the young Detective ignored him and gave some half-hearted grumbles about being lumped with the inept NCIS Agent, but he knew it was his turn as his partner had had to deal with the TAD Agent when Tony and Gibbs had gone to DC.

Gibbs had offered to go with Nixon and Tony to 'keep him on his best behaviour!' DiNozzo wasn't sure who exactly the Senior Agent was talking about, but decided it was safe to assume he had been talking about Nixon.

Cascabel seemed quite content with being assigned to Sam rather than being stuck with her irritable boss and her irritating partner. The two had not spoken to each other since her outburst at the warehouse; she was still too angry and effected by the scene there, and Nixon was sulking.

"Right," Sam said, standing up as he worked a kink out of his neck. "We should get started; we've got a lot of clubs, pubs, bars and back-alley dives to check out."

"Ow!" Tony yelped as he rubbed the back of his head. "What the hell was that for?"

"For taking your eyes off the case; we're here to investigate, Detective DiNozzo, not collect phone numbers!" Gibbs retorted with a sharp glare in the younger man's direction. This was the eleventh establishment they'd been in, and still no luck, well, no luck as far as the case was concerned; Gibbs had seen DiNozzo pass out more than a few cards with his number on them and receive several numbers in turn.

"For your information, Agent Gibbs, she gave me the address of a club a couple of blocks away and told me to ask for Goran Radoslav; she said that he always seemed to have a lot of Eastern European girls at his place. I thought it might be a good idea to check it out."

Gibbs didn't know what to say; he'd seen DiNozzo flirt with every woman in every club they had visited so far, and he had been angry with DiNozzo for losing focus, but mostly he had been angry with himself for beginning to believe that the young Detective just might be half as good a cop as Gibbs suspected he could be.

Now that DiNozzo's unorthodox method of interviewing witnesses yielded a potential lead, Gibbs was once again thrown by the situation; did it mean that the Detective knew how to use his dubious charm as an interrogation technique, or was it just luck?

"Well then, what are we waiting for?" Gibbs asked finally, aware that too much time had lapsed in silence. He felt DiNozzo's gaze resting on him but when he looked, Gibbs found no trace of smugness in the younger man's face, instead the Detective seemed to be assessing him…no…reassessing him, and Gibbs was amazed at how unnerving he found it.

Tony was reassessing Agent Gibbs; he found the man to be a real conundrum – a hard-ass who didn't seem to care too much about most things, and yet the Detective had caught a glimpse of Gibbs' face in that warehouse. He wondered why the Senior Agent felt he ought to keep everyone at arm’s length; had the death of his family ended any chance of a 'happily ever after' for him? His two divorces and the third, on-going divorce that the man was going through certainly seemed to suggest it.

DiNozzo didn't say anything, but eventually withdrew his gaze and nodded, waving one hand in front of him in a sweeping 'after you' gesture.

Club Abër was a basement club down a small back alley, certainly off the beaten track; for anyone wanting to spend a good night out in the underground establishment they would need to either know where it was already, or get a good set of directions from someone who knew exactly where it was.

The dim light in the club was in direct contrast to the bright day outside and Tony had to take a few seconds to allow his eyes to adjust. The place smelt of stale beer and there was a faint scent of cigarettes and cheap perfume. There were several girls sat at a booth in the back who cast a quick glance at the three men who entered.

"Hello," came a heavily accented voice from behind the bar. "How can I help you?"

Tony knew they'd been pegged as cops as soon as he saw the man's curious and slightly worried glance towards the trio, and heard the overly polite tone. He knew there was no point pretending otherwise; while he could fit into all sorts of sleaze-ball places when he needed to, Gibbs would always have an authoritarian air about him and Nixon looked like he'd just got out of school.

The barman was tall and well-built, with several tattoos going up his arm, several of which Tony managed to identify as prison tattoos; there was a whole life to be read in those designs, but Tony had only picked up a couple here and there from some of the guys in the Organised Crime Department.

"Hi, are you Goran Radoslav?" Tony asked with a smile.

The man's eyebrows knitted closer together in suspicion; "Yes, I am Goran Radoslav."

"I'm Detective DiNozzo, and these are Special Agents Gibbs and Nixon. Would you mind if we talked to some of the girls here?"

"What about?" the voice this time did not manage to hide the disdain the man clearly felt for the three men in law enforcement, and Tony wondered if the tone trembled slightly at a genuine unease many people felt when being questioned by the police or if it was the prospect of the girls talking.

"We just need their help identifying someone," Tony shrugged, trying to act indifferently, even as the whole man's demeanour screamed 'guilty as sin!' at top volume in his ear.

Goran Radoslav knew he could not really deny the officer's request without looking guilty, and while he would always worry about his girls saying the wrong thing to the wrong person, they were, on the whole, more reluctant to talk to the cops than he was.

"Of course," the Albanian said with a forced smile, and gestured for the men to go to the back and talk to the young women sat there.

"Nixon," Gibbs said quietly so that Radoslav could not overhear him. "You let me and DiNozzo do the questioning, got it? You keep an eye on Radoslav and the rest of the club."

"Yes, Boss," Nixon mumbled. He felt that, as a federal agent, he should have been the one to join Gibbs in questioning the girls rather than some second-rate detective, but equally he was all too aware of the futility in arguing with Gibbs when he was set on something.

Both Gibbs and DiNozzo had not even been talking to the girls for five minutes before they realised they had a major hurdle to jump – most of the girls spoke some English, but most of them spoke only a few basic sentences.

Tony had tried talking to three different girls; he wasn't sure whether or not their English was as bad as it seemed to be or whether they were faking ignorance in order to avoid talking to the police.

"Hi," Tony tried again with another girl and another smile, this one more forced than the last. "I'm Tony. What's your name?"

"Téa Kadare," she answered with a thick accent.

"Please tell me you speak English well?" Tony asked hopefully.

"Yes, ok," she shrugged with indifference.

"Could you translate for us?"

"No," Téa shook her head. "I am Albanian, but not all the girls are. Irina and Larissa are Russian, Aneta is Polish, Nadia and Sasha are from Serbia. I don't know about the rest of them. Even if they did speak good English, I doubt they would speak to you; many of us come from places where the police are just as bad as the criminals."

"Well, you're in America now," Tony pointed out. "You can trust me," he added as sincerely as he could.

"Ha!" Téa laughed derisively. "You cannot really believe that, can you? I'm sorry, Tony, but we've already experienced enough of American law enforcement, thank you very much."

"You know, if you have been hurt by someone, law enforcement or otherwise, you can tell me, I promise you, I will protect you. I can get in touch with the US Marshall's Office and sort out witness protection for you, get you relocated so that not even a cop would be able to find you."

Due to the fear that seemed to permeate the atmosphere every time any of the girls looked at the photo of their Jane Doe, Tony was becoming more and more certain that Club Abër was involved with the people they were looking for, and he was fast becoming very confident that Téa and her friends may well have been some of the girls from that warehouse – if they had been here for a long time then their English would have been better.

He pulled out a picture of the Jane Doe again. "Do you know her name?" he asked, conscious of the fact that the photo was a particularly grisly one, with the young woman lying down, face battered on an autopsy table in a Baltimore PD morgue. "We're trying to make sure that the guys that did this don't get away with it!"

Téa had looked at the photo before quickly turning away; she hadn't looked disgusted by the macabre head shot as Tony would have expected most people to be. Instead, Téa had looked sad and more than a little frightened, and with that one look Tony knew straight away that he had found someone who could give their Jane Doe a real name.

"I'm sorry, Officer, but I cannot help you," Téa said, doing her best to avoid looking at the photograph.

"Can't or won't?" Tony asked, getting more than a little frustrated; here they were, they had finally found a break and caught a lead in the case, and his witness was either afraid of the repercussions for talking, or she was too distrustful of the police, all of which meant that they were getting nowhere.

"You want me to trust you, Tony?" Téa hissed as quietly as she could, all too aware of Radoslav hovering menacingly in the background. "How can I trust you? Who do you think will give someone like me protection? Who is going to risk helping me, when the names I know, the people I've seen here would cause all kinds of trouble? Men like this, men with money and authority and power…they always get away with it, back home and here in America!"

"I won't let them get away with it," Tony promised with all his heart. He'd seen too many corrupt city officials and cops avoid the consequences of their actions, and each and every time it destroyed just a little bit more of him, the part that held onto the idea of 'liberty and justice for all', the part that believed there were some good people in the world fighting for others rather than themselves. But with cases like this, as much as he tried to be an optimist and hide his disillusionment behind the mask of a joker, he was becoming more and more of a cynic.

"I wish I could believe that," Téa replied with a sad smile, and Tony saw the world-weary look in her eyes, a look that said despite her young age, this girl had already seen what life had to offer, seen it and despaired. "Even if you could they would still force you to keep quiet, they would buy your silence with a new office or they would ruin your name before making you retire."

Tony knew he was not likely to get anything else out of Téa for the time being. He quickly looked around to find that the other girls were not looking at them but talking quietly amongst themselves and Radoslav was taking a phone call in Albanian in a hushed and hurried tone. Taking his chance, he turned to Téa and handed her his card.

"That has my cell phone number on there, as well as my work number. Write it on something else to disguise it, memorise it, hide it, just please don't throw it away – I will answer any time and I swear to you, I will do everything I can to help you. Please consider helping me, and I swear, I will get you out of here and into a nice place on the other side of the country, I'll even buy you a ticket back home if that's what you want. Please…"

Téa took the card and quickly shoved it into her bra; "No promises," she assured the Detective, as she caught sight of the hope that arose in his eyes.

"Thank you," Tony whispered. He had tried to keep the conversation between them quiet and discreet, sure he couldn't trust Radoslav and unsure if he could trust all of the girls. He knew that by even considering helping them Téa was risking her life and Tony would do anything to minimise that risk.

He turned to find that Gibbs had finished his line of questioning and judging by the look of frustration on his face he had not got anywhere.

Once Radoslav hung up the phone, he turned to find Agent Gibbs facing him. "Have you found what you are looking for?" he asked, an edge to his voice as he shot a quick, searching look at the young women.

"No," Tony jumped in. He wasn't sure what Gibbs was going to say, but Tony wanted to make sure Radoslav didn't panic and hurt any of the women. "Do you know of any other clubs around here that have a lot of European girls as waitresses or dancers or whatever?"

"There is Potemkin," Radoslav suggested, releasing a small sigh of what Tony assumed to be relief. "Is a Russian club, in alley on 9th and Amber."

"9th and Amber," Tony repeated as he wrote the address down, he needed it to look good after all. "Thanks," Tony said, shaking the Albanian's hand. "We can check it out quickly before lunch, I'm starving!" With that, Tony quickly left the club, happy to re-join fresh air and sunlight.

Gibbs joined him, with Nixon dawdling out of earshot some distance behind. "You know this is our place, right?" the Senior Agent asked DiNozzo quietly.

"Yup," Tony nodded. "I thought it might be best if Radoslav in there didn't know that we know, though. I didn’t want to risk the girls before we had anything concrete to go after the son of a bitch with. We'd better go check out this Potemkin place, just in case he checks up on us."

Gibbs nodded, glad that the Detective wasn't as oblivious as he had appeared before leaving the club; DiNozzo would do well undercover, Gibbs thought, before wondering where the hell that idea had come from.

"There was a girl in there," Tony started quietly, as they made their way out of the alley. "An Albanian, Téa, she knows our Jane Doe, I'm sure of it. Of course, she's either too frightened of Radoslav or too suspicious of cops to tell me anything; she did make it sound as though there are some big names involved though, so it’s hardly surprising she’d hesitate."

"Great," Gibbs grumbled. "Come on then, let's go to this Russian club, and then I need a coffee, probably two…maybe three if the rest of the day is going to go this well."

Potemkin was a small club, but clearly a popular one among the local Russian populace. All the women working there seemed to be there by choice, although Tony knew that you couldn't always rely upon the way things looked. There were no podiums for female dancers and the only doors in the place went to the toilets, the manger's office, or the fire exits.

There were several men sat around the bar, jovially chatting away to the bartender as he topped up their shot glasses with another shot of Russian vodka – they looked like regulars rather than Bratva heavies manning their commodities. The décor was simple and made way for a large dance floor in the centre of the main room, with black lights lining the ceiling.

All in all, Tony thought it looked like a pretty standard club – it was down an alleyway, but they'd seen fliers and posters for the place plastered on poles along the main street. It was relatively clean, friendly and well publicised; this was not the type of place he would expect to find women being trafficked.

"Hi," Tony greeted the bartender with a friendly smile.

"Hello," the man replied with a smile. His eyes were dark and deep set, especially in contrast to his prominent cheek bones, his clothes were clean and simple and there was only one visible tattoo on his arm, a name in Cyrillic written across a banner.

 "Drink?" he asked.

"No thanks," Tony shook his head politely. "Still a bit too early in the day for me. I'm Detective DiNozzo, and these are Agents Gibbs and Nixon. We're investigating a murder, and forensics identified the girl as being Eastern European; we're hoping that someone here recognises her. I'd hate for her to be buried as Jane Doe number x."

"You have picture?" he asked. Tony noticed that unlike Radoslav, there was absolutely nothing in this man's behaviour to suggest that he was nervous or uncomfortable about the line of questioning, but instead he sounded like a man who genuinely wanted to help, and nothing more.

"It's a bit grisly," Tony warned, as he handed the glossy shot over; he hadn't warned Téa because he had wanted to see her reaction, but he was pretty certain that Potemkin had nothing to do with his case, only following up to keep Radoslav from getting suspicious if he had connections here.

The bartender pulled a face as he caught sight of the battered body on the photograph; "She is not familiar to me, but I cannot see how she would be familiar to anyone looking like that," he shook his head in sadness, before passing the shot around to the men at his bar, who all looked appalled by what they saw before passing the shot on.

The bartender called for everyone's attention, and quickly explained the situation in Russian, asking everyone to look at the photograph so that the girl might be buried with the proper reverence deserved.

No one knew her.

Tony was not surprised; he had not expected anyone to recognise her as he was certain Radoslav had only intended to focus their attention elsewhere and that the police should be focusing on the Albanian and his business.

"Oh, come on!" Nixon exclaimed, finally having had enough of trailing his Boss and Detective DiNozzo like some mute lapdog. "You Ruskies aren't exactly known for being helpful with police investigations; with you all being so nice and polite, did you honestly expect us not to get suspicious!"

"Nixon!" Gibbs hissed at his Junior Agent; he didn't much like reaming his team out in public, but Nixon was coming awfully close to receiving one.

"Not everyone fits a stereotype," the bartender replied calmly and coolly, directing a scornful look towards the TAD Agent, as those drinking at the bar made several comments in Russian before laughing in Nixon's direction.

Nixon, after having a day full of being talked down to and belittled, had had enough; he reached for his cuffs and slammed one of the drinkers at the bar down onto the hard surface.

"You're under arrest for obstruction of justice, hindering a police investigation and…" he didn't have time to continue as a burly Russian got up from his stool and strove to help his friend, who was now bleeding from the nose.

"Nixon!" Gibbs shouted again, trying to get his rash, young Agent to see sense before things got too out of hand.

Too late…

The burly Russian had gently pushed a handkerchief under his friend's dripping nose, but Nixon had obviously suspected something else, as he brought up a hand to defend himself. The big Russian acted instinctively, punching out.

At the same time, Gibbs moved in to try and subdue him while Tony tried to push Nixon out of the line of fire, despite really wanting to douse the man in gasoline before pushing him into it.

Unfortunately, Gibbs got to the Russian one brief second too late and Tony caught a punch meant for Nixon – it was a solid punch on the side of the head, and Tony dropped to the floor like a sack of potatoes.

"Nixon!" Gibbs yelled, as he finally had the burly Russian held against the bar trying to make sure the situation didn’t escalate. "You get the hell outside and call for an ambulance…NOW!"

Nixon left quickly, not wanting to face his Boss' wrath. He knew he'd screwed up and that DiNozzo had paid the price; he didn't much care about the fact that the Detective had been hurt, he didn't even like the man, but he was well aware of just how much trouble Gibbs was going to give him for it!

As Gibbs tried to calm the crowd down in the bar, he heard a groan from the floor. "DiNozzo? Are you ok?"

"I just got punched by a fucking Russian freight train…what do you think?" Tony's voice was dripping with sarcasm, and Gibbs knew that he would be fine.

The young Detective pushed himself up off the floor, and took several long blinks before looking at the Agent owlishly. "Why are you two hugging?" he asked, seeing Gibbs and the Russian.

Gibbs ignored the question, "At least you're not seeing double," he muttered.

"Actually I am; I just figured that if they were two of you, then I was probably in Hell…but then I thought it just didn't feel warm enough." Dazed, Tony moved to sit on a stool before turning back to Gibbs. "You can let him go now."

"He punched you, DiNozzo," Gibbs pointed out needlessly.

"Really, ya think?" Tony replied sarcastically. "He was trying to punch Nixon, and really, who could blame him?"

"No charges?" Gibbs asked, wanting to double-check before letting the Russian go.

"No charges," Tony stated. He turned to the Russian, who Gibbs had finally released; "What's your name?"

"Ivan," the man replied. "I sorry, I no mean to hit you. I no even mean to hit other man, just…" he struggled to search for the right word.

"Instinct?" Tony suggested.

"Yes, instinct," Ivan agreed.

Tony swayed a little on his stool. "Thanks for looking at the photo," he said, words slurring slightly. "Sorry about Agent Nixon, he's kind of a prick." There were several snorts around the bar that suggested Tony was understating things more than just a little.

He stood up slowly, careful not to move his head too much. "Gibbs, I know you're not my biggest fan, but I think I'm going to need your help walking out of here, otherwise I'm going to walk straight into the pavement."

Gibbs silently placed a hand on the young man's shoulder, ready to support him if needed.

That moment came all too soon – as soon as they exited the club and daylight hit their eyes, Tony groaned, his vision swam, and everything went black as he fell to the pavement.

Chapter Text

Gibbs felt the young Detective sway away from him and was almost a split-second too late from stopping DiNozzo from receiving another bump to the head. The NCIS Agent eventually managed to secure a strong grip on Tony and carefully laid him down on the pavement.

He caught sight of his insubordinate TAD Agent and shouted, "Nixon, that ambulance had better be on the way!"

"Yes, Boss," Nixon gulped at his Senior Agent's stern tone. He couldn't believe the Detective had lost consciousness – now he was really up shit creek without a paddle just because the man couldn't take a punch!

"Urgh…!" Tony groaned as he tried to force his eyelids open, regretting it the moment he managed; he quickly shut them again hoping to avoid the pain that came with a concussion and exposure to bright lights.

"Hang on, DiNozzo," Gibbs said quietly, aware just how painful loud voices could be with a concussion. "The ambulance is on the way."

At this Tony sat up and forced his eyes open once again, ignoring the pain and his swimming vision. "No, no ambulance, I'm fine."

"Clearly," Gibbs replied sarcastically. "That's why you passed out just a few seconds ago."

"A DiNozzo does not pass out!" Tony refuted.

"Then what the hell would you call it?" Gibbs tried to bury his sigh of frustration; even when the kid wasn't firing on all cylinders he seemingly still had to ability to piss him off with ease.

"…a momentary lapse of awareness?" Tony suggested after a short silence, looking at the Agent with half-lidded eyes.

"DiNozzo, whatever else may happen, you are getting in that ambulance and you are going to the hospital so that the doctors can check you out; Jacobs can do what he wants to Nixon, but I am not stupid enough to put myself in the firing-line for failing to make sure you are ok."

Tony snorted at that – when Sam was in full-on mother-hen mode, he blamed anyone and everyone in the vicinity; if Tony were to fall over in a church and hurt himself, Sam would blame it on the priest if the man was the only one in the room.

“It’s not too bad, honest, there are only two of you,” Tony joked quietly, before a horrifying thought occurred to him; "Oh God, if there are two of you, then there are two Nixon's!"

Gibbs let out a small laugh at the Detective's horrified expression and sent an affronted Nixon a sardonic grin.

"At least when there are three of them you know to shoot the one in the middle," Tony grumbled as he tried to make himself more comfortable on the cool pavement, resigning himself to yet another hospital visit.

The light was still bothering him so he kept his eyes closed; in all the time he's been in Baltimore he can't remember a brighter day, so of course he would have to get a stupid bloody concussion on the nicest day he'd ever experienced in the city – DiNozzo luck coming through once again, he supposed.

The approaching sirens made Gibbs let out a sigh of relief, glad to be able to pass medical responsibilities on to someone else.

Tony did not let out a sigh of relief. He was not a fan of hospitals, having spent more of his childhood in them that he would have liked with various bumps and bruises and broken bones and dying relatives. He waved goodbye to his sports career in a hospital. The first time he ended up in hospital on the job he lost a good friend and had his eyes opened to the corruption that could exist within the law enforcement community itself. Nope, nothing good ever came out of a trip to the hospital.

Gibbs automatically stood up to introduce himself and gave the paramedics a sit-rep before handing over responsibility. The female medic was grinning just a little too brightly for Gibbs' liking and so he directed everything he had to say to the more dour looking man, before standing over DiNozzo as the medics started their exam.

"Hello Agent," the perky female paramedic said to Tony as she bent down to check him over.

Tony was too busy focusing on sitting upright to correct her on his title and Gibbs didn't see why a correction was needed so long as she got on with her job. Nixon was not quite so easily satisfied.

"He's not an agent," he sneered, as if the very idea of it repulsed him. "He's just a detective."

"A detective who saved your ass from a pissed off Russian," Gibbs pointed out firmly, glad to see that some of the fire in his Agent's eyes died out and was replaced with embarrassment.

When the medic shined a light into his eyes, Tony instantly recoiled in pain and glowered at the oblivious woman; even Gibbs was impressed with the intensity of the young Detective's glare!

It was only as he glared down the young woman that he noticed her tag for the first time: 'trainee.' Tony had to try hard and resist rolling his eyes, knowing how much it would hurt his already tender head; 'Great,' he thought. 'First I get knocked out by a giant Russian with iron fists in front of Gibbs, and now I have to deal with an inexperienced medic who's so perky, she would make Mary Poppins looked depressed!'

"Well, judging by the severe photophobia, I think a trip to the hospital is necessary just to make sure there is nothing more serious going on under the surface," the medic said just a little too happily for Tony's liking, as if she'd just announced her own wedding. She finished up with a few other checks and returned to the ambulance to put her gear away and talk to her partner, trying to figure out whether or not she had made the right call.

Unfortunately for Tony, the older, more experienced paramedic agreed with his junior partner; "We should take you in for some checks, just to be sure. Angel of Mercy is the closest so we’ll take you there."

Tony opened his mouth, ready to protest, until he caught sight of the infamous Gibbs' glare; Tony had always been quite proficient at reading people and one look at Gibbs' face told him he wasn't going anywhere but the hospital.

As soon as Gibbs was satisfied that the young Detective wasn't going to argue with either him or the medics, he tossed Nixon the keys to the car and smiled a smile that gave Nixon the creeps.

"Get on back over to the Precinct – you can have the pleasure of telling Detective Jacobs why his partner is on his way to the hospital and anything he throws at you, you take. After that, you get your ass back to DC, you pack your bags, you clean out your desk and you get the hell off my team!"

Nixon didn't even know what to say. He'd lost his job? How the hell did that happen? Surely the Director had the final word?

Ok, so maybe he wasn't as experienced as the rest of the people working this case, even that asshole, DiNozzo, but he was learning…wasn't he? He knew that being on Gibbs' team was a good place to be; the man solved cases and trained his Agents well so that they could rise up the ranks within NCIS.

How would he explain this to his friends, to his parents? How could he walk into that bullpen and face the people he's worked alongside for the past couple of months, and walk right on past them with his belongings in a box?

He looked up at his boss hoping for a reprieve, but he could see that it was useless; he'd just have to hope that Director Morrow would put his foot down and make Gibbs let him stay.

"Yes, Boss," he mumbled, before heading off to the car, leaving Agent Gibbs behind with DiNozzo.

"I appreciate the thought," Tony murmured from his seat on the pavement. "And I know I sometimes act like a ten-year-old, but I'm not actually a kid; I don't need an armed escort to the hospital."

"Huh!" Gibbs snorted. "You honestly expect me to believe that the moment I turn my back, you'll resist the urge to sign out of medical care AMA?"

"Well…" Tony shrugged, and instantly regretted it as his vision began to swim slightly and the tiny little jackhammers in his head sprang to life at that tiny movement. "Ow!" he grumbled.

"You know, you didn't have to fire him because of what happened to me," Tony said as he shifted his body slightly towards Gibbs so he could look him in the eyes, although he was very careful not to move his head. "I've had worse," he pointed out.

"I don't doubt it," Gibbs replied, as he thought of what Abby had dug up in his medical records. "That's not why I fired him though, but thanks for the excuse," he shot a mischievous grin towards the younger man.

"So he really is like that all the time?" Tony asked with mild astonishment; he couldn't imagine Gibbs as the patient teacher. "How the hell have you not shot him yet?"

"With great difficulty," Gibbs muttered quietly. His thoughts had turned slightly sour at the idea of explaining to Morrow why he was once again down an agent, but there was nothing the man could do to persuade Gibbs to keep Nixon on his team – the inexperienced agent had no place on the MCRT.

"Ok, Detective, do you need us to get the gurney out for you or will you manage to climb into the back of the bus without assistance?" the young woman asked.

"I'll manage, thank you," Tony said. Normally he would flash a smile and start flirting with such a pretty woman, however, his head hurt and she was too loud and too cheerful considering the fact that he was being forced to go to the hospital against his will; he didn't think the situation warranted a smile.

He tried to get himself up off the pavement, but the sudden movement caused the edges of his vision to darken and he would have stumbled backwards if Agent Gibbs hadn't been there quietly supporting him.

"Sorry," Tony muttered quietly, feeling the embarrassment flush to his cheeks.

"Don't apologise," Gibbs replied evenly. "It's a sign of weakness."

Tony snorted at that; here he was, falling all over the place because his head was hurting too much and his vision wouldn't settle…he didn't think it was his apology that gave away any sign of weakness.

"You always follow that rule?" he asked, eager to distract both Gibbs and himself from his uneven gait.

"That one and about fifty others," Gibbs said casually as if everyone had their own lists made out in some sort of order.

"I don't suppose you have these written down anywhere, do you? If you do, then it just might make working with you somewhat easier." Tony asked, managing a small mischievous grin.

Gibbs tapped a finger to his head, indicating where he kept his rules. "You saying I'm difficult to work with DiNozzo?" he asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Would never dream of it," Tony replied with mock innocence. "You really have…like…fifty rules?"

"Yep," Gibbs nodded.

"You come up with all of them by yourself, or did you steal them from your Drill Instructor?" Tony asked with a cheeky grin.

"I had some help," Gibbs said, with a hint of sadness in his smile as he thought of the first time he met Shannon and she told him about her rules. He'd added some to the list when he found his work needed certain rules to enforce upon his junior agents, but they would always be her rules.

Tony caught the wistful look in the man's eyes and remained quiet, not sure what memory he had stirred.

Once they were both sat down in the back of the ambulance, the animated female medic sat up front started up a barrage of one-sided conversation with her partner who was driving – Tony felt more than a little sorry for the man.

"You know," he said in a conspiratorial whisper. "I think she might be on happy drugs…a lot of happy drugs!"

Gibbs bit back a laugh. His forensic specialist may sometimes be a little too perky for his slightly more dour mood swings, but he had never felt the need to strangle it out of her. This medic's partner must have the patience of a saint if he was able to listen to the nonstop, mundane chatter and not throw her underneath their ambulance.

The rest of the ride to the hospital was quiet in the back of the ambulance. Gibbs was wishing he had a coffee or two while Tony kept his eyes closed, aware that all too soon he would face a barrage of lights and questions and, sooner or later, his pissed off partner.

Jacobs and Cascabel had returned to the 22nd Precinct after he had a phone-call from his partner saying that they had found the club; Sam could only sag with relief at the news, having thought that tracking down an underground club in Baltimore would be a near impossible task.

He and Veronica had started digging up what they could on Club Abër, looking into the place's finances and searching for any staff that might have a criminal record, here in America or in other countries. They were even looking at green-cards and tax returns, anything that might get them a solid warrant.

They'd been gathering information for just over an hour when he caught sight of Nixon walking into the office. The man looked more than a little dejected and Sam might have been inclined to feel sorrier for him had the man one redeeming characteristic.

"Where are the other two?" Sam asked after Tony and Agent Gibbs didn't follow the TAD Agent into the room.

Nixon stood in front of Detective Jacobs' desk, shifting his weight from one side to the other in a bid to quell some of his anxiety. "We went to some Russian club and…well, the Ruskies weren't being very co-operative and one of them got a little pissed off; he took a swing at me, and Tony tried to stop him, took a blow to the head. Gibbs wanted him to go to the hospital to get checked out, and they're at Angel of Mercy now."

As soon as Agent Nixon started into his explanation Sam picked up on the man's apprehension and the way that the young man refused to meet his eyes. Sam was more than sure that he was getting the edited version but he could guess the basic gist of the situation – Tony got hurt because Nixon had fucked up!

He couldn't remember pulling back his arm but realised that was exactly what he must have done once he saw his fist fly into Nixon's face and the man's nose broke with a satisfying crunch. Veronica looked on, unsure of what she should do, the man was her partner but at the same time she couldn't help but feel that Nixon deserved it.

"You fuck up again," Sam said menacingly, "And I swear to God, I will give you more than a just a nosebleed…got it?"

Nixon had both hands over his nose trying to stem the bleeding, his eyes streaming at the pain. "I don't think you need to worry," Nixon said sourly, his voice a little altered due to his broken nose and the blood oozing out of his nostrils. "Gibbs kicked me off the case."

Veronica looked down at the ground with a frown. She knew that loyalty between partners was pretty much the basis of every successful law enforcement team, but she was more than a little happy that Gibbs had removed Nixon from the case. The man had caused nothing but bad feelings between Baltimore PD and NCIS; with him out of the way, co-operation for the case was likely to improve drastically.

Sam was not so easily satisfied however; the fucking idiot had put Tony in the line of fire and Gibbs was simply removing him from the case? The Senior Agent should fire his arse! He watched quietly, with narrowed eyes as Nixon gathered up his things and went to leave, stopping short in front of them.

"I've got everything," Nixon reported as he tried to put on a stoic face but failed miserably. "I've left the relevant files and stuff on the desk."

"Good," Sam muttered finally. "Now get the hell out of my face!"

They had spent almost an hour in the waiting room, watching as people with bleeding wounds and respiratory problems and crying babies were taken into the exam rooms first. Tony heard Gibbs sigh beside him with frustration and boredom.

"I'd just like to point out now that this whole 'let's go for a fun-filled day out at the hospital' was your bright idea," Tony said with a sigh of his own.

Gibbs turned towards the younger man, one eyebrow raised. "We wouldn't need to be here at all if you had learnt how to duck by now," he pointed out.

"Stupid Nixon," Tony grumbled quietly, too tired to think of a witty riposte for Gibbs. He started to gently massage his throbbing temples.

Gibbs didn't say anything aloud, but he couldn't agree more – because of Nixon's brash and presumptive character, DiNozzo was suffering through the effects of a concussion and there were now three people who should have been investigating the case side-lined.

He also felt guilty, which was not an emotion he wasted much time on normally. He might not have liked Nixon or condoned his behaviour and he had certainly never wanted the man on his team, but like it not, Nixon was on his team and unfortunately that made him Gibbs' responsibility, and he had failed to rein the idiot in. He wouldn't be surprised if Jacobs threw a punch his way as payment in kind.

"Hi Tony," a pretty young nurse waved at the Detective, and for the first time in several hours he saw the return of DiNozzo's mega-watt smile. The switch from miserable, grumbling DiNozzo to happy, flirtatious DiNozzo was instantaneous.

Gibbs had never met anyone who could switch between two moods so quickly and so seamlessly as the young Detective seemed capable of doing. He silently wondered which event in the young man's life made him so eager and so highly capable at hiding his true identity behind a multitude of masks.

DiNozzo was certainly an enigma; he'd worked fairly closely to the man for an intense two days and so far, the only real rise Gibbs had got out of the man was when he and his team had pissed off Detective Jacobs the first time they met. DiNozzo's very apparent loyalty to his partner was one of the few solid facts that he had picked up about the man.

As much as Gibbs hated to admit it, he had to agree with Ducky about personnel files, DiNozzo's simply left too much out. It had little about his childhood or his father's dubious business affairs, the psychological profiles were clearly lacking anything of substance, saying nothing at all about the Detective's apparent multiple personality disorder. It didn't explain his sudden rise to Detective status in Philadelphia either, or his two-year wanderlust itch, and it certainly didn't help anyone figure out just what they should expect from the young man.

He remembered the first time Jacobs pulled him aside and told him that while DiNozzo's methods might seem a little unorthodox, he should let the kid off the leash. He had been dubious that the juvenile, seemingly oblivious young man could possibly have anything to him that might help solve the case. Yet it was DiNozzo who was convinced the woman was the key, the one to focus on, DiNozzo to coax the club’s name out of someone, and now they had their first, solid lead.

He had to admit to himself that he had been wrong about DiNozzo, again. Maybe he needed another rule, 'Rule 51: Sometimes you're wrong.' Of course, there wasn't a chance in hell he'd tell anyone that rule, or, at least, not unless it was someone else that was in the wrong.

DiNozzo certainly wasn't what he expected after their first meeting. He could seemingly put aside the usual jurisdictional pissing match and concentrate on solving the case where even Gibbs could admit that playing nice with others wasn't quite his forte. Working alongside someone who was prepared to take a few hits to his ego just to get the case done was mildly refreshing.

He had thought that the kid's short stints in the different PD's meant that he lacked the proper loyalty to his partners and his teams that Gibbs, as both a Marine and a team leader, valued above all else. Yet, when he had pissed off Sam Jacobs at the initial crime scene DiNozzo took a step towards him and quietly threatened hell if anyone from NCIS messed with his partner again.

Not many people ever stood up to Gibbs, not even Director Morrow. The Director might occasionally try to put the Lead Agent in his place but he always did so with more politeness that the situation often deserved. Gibbs brought in results and to the Brass that was usually what mattered the most; Gibbs was good, and by extension he made Morrow look good which made getting his own way just that little bit easier.

His team always bowed down to him with a meek, 'Yes, Boss,' and it was something that he had grown used to, but he was glad he had both Abby and Ducky to question him. Ducky was more than used to his mood swings and could easily ignore them to get his point across, and Gibbs knew he could never be too hard on Abby and she knew it too, which gave her far more courage to disagree with him than most. If he was being particularly rash then he knew that he could rely upon either one of them to tell him so, he might not always listen, but the stern warnings from both Ducky and Abby were there anyway.

Even when he worked with other law enforcement groups his natural authority came to the forefront and usually ensured that he had the lead, and if the other investigators didn't bow down to his authority, then he would usually work separately from them and solve the case right under their noses anyway.

Yeah…it was pretty safe to say that he didn't play too well with others.

DiNozzo and Jacobs had been different though. Jacobs was a former US Army Ranger and his years in the Army and his many years on the Police Force meant that he wasn't going to take crap from anyone except his direct superior. Gibbs rarely worked with anyone of such a high military background and he thought that the man's investigative expertise and military training might well have something to do with the fact that he now had a healthy respect for the man.

DiNozzo…well…he still couldn't explain the man or his motives.

However, the two teams were now working well together (Nixon excluded) and they were making good headway into the case. He had come to see both DiNozzo and Jacobs as more than simply capable investigators but as being highly competent at their jobs. Maybe they could solve this thing after all, political issues be damned.

"So, did you get her number?" Gibbs asked sardonically with a raised eyebrow, finally breaking the silence.

"She gave it to me after she stitched me up last time I was in here, but I think she knows I'm not the 'take him home to meet the parents' type of guy, and she is definitely that type of girl – she's nice."

"…and you don't date nice girls?" Gibbs wondered aloud.

"The bad girls are more fun!" Tony replied with a wicked grin.

Gibbs just shook his head, a wry smile on his face. While he knew several people that had gone through that phase, he never had – he had been young the first time he met Shannon, and while she had a wicked sense of humour and could play some pretty decent practical jokes, she was definitely not a bad girl. His ex-wives…well, they were bad for him, but none of them were bad.

"Let's just hope that we're not here for the shift-change, cos I never phoned Sarah back and she's not nice, not even ‘not nice’ in a good way…in fact, she kind of scares me just a little," Tony whispered, eyes darting around him as though he were afraid he might come face to face with the slightly unhinged woman.

Gibbs just shook his head resignedly; he wasn't even going to touch that issue. Immature behaviour aside, he was beginning to see just what Jacobs had been trying to tell him that first day, DiNozzo might play the fool, but he was more than just a simple cop.

He liked that the young man had protected his partner and never uttered another word about it once an understanding was reached. He liked that he could conduct himself in a professional manner but also use his jovial nature to diffuse a tense situation.

He knew he still had a lot to learn about DiNozzo: his strengths and weaknesses, his unique logic and his unorthodox but unusually effective methods, how to push his buttons and how to rein him back in when one of his more menacing personality traits was unleashed. He knew that he would quite possibly never uncover most of these by the time the case was over but the kid certainly had him intrigued. Gibbs was far happier about working with the two Baltimore Detectives now that he felt they were on an even keel in regards to working the case, especially with regards to the politics.

If some higher up official thought he could get away with using trafficked women, well, Gibbs would prove them wrong, and now he was more than certain that both Jacobs and DiNozzo would too…perhaps especially Tony.

"You know, if you were my Agent," Gibbs said, breaking the silence. "I would have you in the gym teaching you how to duck, and then we could avoid these little trips to the hospital and focus on the case instead of your head."

Tony laughed out loud, ignoring the sharp pain that sliced through his head. "Sam's tried that but it seems to be a lost cause, I'm afraid. I guess my head just needs a good smack every now and then, to keep me in my place, you know how it is," he added with a small shrug and a slightly self-mocking smile.

"I'll keep that in mind," Gibbs promised with a predatory grin.

Ronnie had been on one too many interesting car rides, as a drive with Gibbs could rarely be called anything else, but sitting as a passenger to Jacobs' driving as he rushed over to the hospital with sirens blazing and tyres screeching was more than a little scary.

As he quickly led the way through the winding, blinding white corridors, it was obvious he had walked these halls many time before because he never once stopped to look at signs or ask for directions.

Doctor Mallard, who had quickly agreed to join their little fieldtrip to the hospital, was keeping up with the former US Army Ranger better than Veronica was; he was moving quite quickly for his age. She blamed the shoes; she really should try to wear more sensible shoes – heels were hard to run in.

They finally arrived at a desk in the depths of the hospital's maze of corridors and rooms and wards and cupboards. Sam strode up to the desk, his pace never slowing.

"Hi, I'm Detective Jacobs with Baltimore PD and I'm looking for my partner, Detective Anthony DiNozzo – could you tell me where he is please?" he asked politely but firmly.

"Um…" the young woman stuttered out, a little intimidated by the Detective's presence. "Well, I'm only supposed to tell the family things like that."

Sam let out a sigh of frustration and was about to become more forceful in his demands when a nurse interrupted him.

"It's ok, Tara, Detective Jacobs here is listed as next of kin. Hi, Sam," the nurse said, turning to the Detective with a smile. "DiNozzo has just gone into an exam room, but the other man is in the waiting room just down the hall to the right if you'd like to wait there too."

"Thanks, Sherry," Sam replied with a grateful smile. The one time that DiNozzo had been shot in Baltimore, when he had taken a bullet meant for his partner, Sherry had been the nurse who had brought Sam coffee and food, even a pillow and a blanket so he could sleep in DiNozzo's room with some degree of comfort.

He saw Gibbs sitting down, trying to rub the sleep from his eyes – he'd clearly been waiting some time now and boredom had no doubt struck. Sam knew what that was like; every time he had sat in the waiting room, he'd read through all the health leaflets and pamphlets in the first ten minutes and would then spend the next few hours twiddling his thumbs or pacing.

However, it was his partner in an exam room, his partner who had been with Gibbs and his dim-witted Junior Agent when DiNozzo had been hurt, so he wasn't going to feel sorry for the Senior Agent and he certainly wasn't in a forgiving mood.

"What the hell happened, Agent Gibbs?" he demanded.

Gibbs turned to see that Jacobs, Cascabel and even Ducky had come to the hospital. He hadn't noticed them arrive; he must have been more worn down by the day’s events than he’d realised.

"Nixon screwed up," he shrugged. "A guy we were questioning reacted instinctively and punched back to defend himself, but DiNozzo had put himself in the line of fire and caught a blow meant for Nixon," he stated the facts, seeing no reason to lie.

"So Nixon screws up, and you just remove him from the case! What the hell kind of punishment is that! What if this guy had been armed? What if he'd had a knife, or a gun? Tony could have been seriously hurt!" Sam shouted, his over-protective mother-hen streak coming to the surface.

"I didn't ‘just remove him from the case’," Gibbs sighed. It seemed as though his former TAD Agent had been selective with the truth. "I fired him. I don't have the authority to remove him from NCIS completely but I will not have him working on my team! Hopefully, when I give the Director a sit-rep he will listen to my recommendations about removing Nixon from NCIS, or, at the very least, from active fieldwork."

"And the guy that hit him?" Sam asked, trying to rein in his anger.

"DiNozzo didn't want to press charges," Gibbs shrugged again. Jacobs snorted at this and Gibbs went on the defensive. "Hey, it was what DiNozzo wanted. Nixon was the one who screwed up and everyone else was just trying to calm the situation down, there was nothing else we could do. Nixon screwed up and we dealt with it!"

"You're the Lead Agent, Gibbs – it’s your job to teach him! I didn't choose to work with Tony, he was assigned to me. When he first came, all the gossip seeping out of the grapevine about him told me he'd be a lousy partner, a lousy cop even, but he would be my partner and I knew that I would have to teach him, to work with him despite it all! And guess what…I've never looked back!"

"It's hardly the same," Gibbs argued heatedly. He might have gone through more agents than most other teams within the MCRT, but it wasn't his fault that the Director kept sending him rubbish. "DiNozzo is a highly capable investigator; he was already good at his job when you started working with him. Nixon has not one ounce of skill to mould and not one scrap of common sense to work with, and you can't teach someone common sense; they either have it or they don't!"

"Well," Jacobs replied quietly but with a steely tone. "You've certainly changed your tune! Yesterday you couldn't even understand why he had a detective's badge and now you're singing his praises – what changed, Agent Gibbs?"

Gibbs never enjoyed being cross-examined by anyone, it was why he followed one of his rules so strictly and expected his team to do the same – 'Rule 13: never involve lawyers'. However, he knew he owed Jacobs an answer, not just because Nixon and his actions had been his responsibility, but also because they still had a case to solve together.

"I took your advice on board, I gave him a chance," Gibbs shrugged nonchalantly. He didn't want it to be too apparent just how much time he had spent trying to figure the young Detective out by watching his mannerisms and the way he interacted with the people he met, or find out what he could from the personnel files that Abby dug up, but he also couldn't deny after a little time working alongside him that the young Detective was not nearly as oblivious or as incompetent as his infantile façade might at first suggest.

"I'm not saying that I could be in the same room with him for more than an hour without wanting to shoot him but he gets the job done and that's the most important thing for me," he added.

Jacobs didn't really know what to say to that. He certainly couldn't disagree with the man, all too aware of DiNozzo's strengths and weaknesses, but he also couldn't quite figure out what brought about this sudden change in opinion after less than a day working together. He wouldn't question it as they still needed to be able to cooperate in order to close the case, but he couldn't help but wonder what Tony had said or done in a morning's work to change the NCIS Agent's mind about him.

"Hey, kid," Sam greeted his partner as he was wheeled into the room. He'd managed to calm down a little, but if DiNozzo got hurt when he was out in the field with Gibbs again, there would be some serious hell to pay.

"Hey," came the miserable reply from his partner and the fact that he wasn't trying to put on a front told Sam just how wretched his partner felt. "Apparently," Tony grumbled with a glare at the orderly, "When you hit your head, you forget how to walk."

"Hospital policy," the orderly shrugged, not in the least bit apologetic, before leaving the waiting room.

"Just got to wait for the results of the scans now," Tony informed everyone, surprised to see how many people were there. He looked between his partner and Gibbs: "Have you two kissed and made up yet?"

Gibbs rolled his eyes while Sam's eyes narrowed; "You got hurt on his watch!" Jacobs stated, showing that he wasn't quite ready to forgive the NCIS just yet.

"Sam," Tony said with a sigh. "Nixon was the fuck-up. Gibbs called the ambulance and the bastard even forced me into coming here…against my will…in fact, yeah, go ahead…hit him hard for me!"

Sam let out a small laugh, glad to see that his partner was perking up a little bit. "You know kid, this was exactly what the Chief was worrying about this morning."

"Do I have to tell him?" DiNozzo asked with a pleading look at his partner.

"I'll tell you what, I'll let the Chief know," Sam smiled as DiNozzo let out a sigh of relief. "You can tell the Captain," he informed his partner happily.

DiNozzo scowled. "You're pure evil, you know that, right?"

The Captain of the 22nd Precinct was not a fan of Tony's. The only reason things weren't more difficult for him was because Captain Barnett was a kiss ass and as much as he hated DiNozzo, he endured him because he knew Chief McTavish liked the Detective, and McTavish was the one who held the reins of promotion.

Sam just smiled.

Gibbs went outside to call the Director, aware that the call was overdue. Nixon should be back in DC by now, and considering he had been less than honest with Detective Jacobs, he hated to think what the idiot might have told the Director.

"Director," he greeted once the secretary had put him through.

"Ah, Jethro," came Morrow's gravelly voice. "I was wondering when you'd ring. What's this I hear about you firing Nixon, after all that we discussed just a couple of days ago?"

"His actions put a Detective in the hospital, he's a liability!" Gibbs argued, more than prepared to defend his position to the end. "He never thinks, he opens his mouth and just about everyone in the vicinity wants to shoot him; he's rash and rude and presumptuous and he's a danger in the field to everyone he works with as well as himself. I will not have him on my team!"

"I am the Director of NCIS," Morrow replied firmly. "It is up to me where I assign my agents and I assigned Agent Daniel Nixon to your team."

"Well then you might as well look for another team leader," Gibbs replied coolly. "Because I will not be forced to work with someone as incompetent and dangerous in the field as Agent Nixon!" he spat out the name as though it were some vile poison.

Morrow was quiet for a moment and Gibbs knew he'd won; the Director would never risk losing him over someone as inexperienced as Nixon. "Very well, Jethro. I will reassign Agent Nixon, not only to a desk position but also to another city, for the sake of a little peace and quiet my end. We’ll see how he does with a little more experience before we blacklist him completely for not living up to your standards."

"Well, I appreciate that, Tom," Gibbs said, managing to inject some degree of sincerity into his tone, despite his immense feelings of satisfaction.

"I hope you weren't the one to give him the broken nose, at least," the Director said firmly.

"No, Sir," Gibbs said, knowing exactly who was behind that and grateful he didn't have a matching one. "But I certainly wouldn't have put myself between him and the fist that did the damage."

Morrow sighed. "I am not going to be the one to find you anymore agents, as it's clearly a fool's errand," Morrow promised. "You can find your own agents, but I still have final approval. I expect you to be working with a full team eventually, Jethro," Morrow said firmly. "As a team leader, it is your job to teach your junior agents – you can't expect perfection from the start!"

"Understood, Director," Gibbs smiled as he hung up and headed back into the hospital.

Finally, finally the Director was letting him choose his own team. Of course, he didn't have anyone to choose from right now but that was not the point; he could finally build up a team that he could trust to do their jobs, that he could rely upon to watch his six, that could share his drive and determination to catch the bad guys…

…finally!

"Gibbs!" came a squeal from down the hallway, turning all heads. A blur of black and red barrelled into Agent Gibbs at full speed, the odd muffled squeal of delight and relief at finding her Silver Fox walking about healthy and fully functional. "You're ok!" she murmured into his shoulder.

"Abs?" Gibbs questioned. That one word contained a lot of unspoken questions: what are you doing here? What the hell are you talking about? What's going on?

"Nixon said you were in the hospital," Abby said, confused slightly not only at the fact that her Bossman seemed to be completely healthy but also that he couldn't believe she would come to his bedside if he were hurt.

She caught sight of two men behind Gibbs – one of them she recognised as Detective DiNozzo, the cop who had caused Gibbs too much stress, who gave her a little wave. She recognised the other from the background search she did on a Detective Jacobs. "If those cops screwed up and that's why you got hurt…well…I'll show them just what I can do with my forensics training!"

"Abs," Gibbs said gently, but she was glaring determinedly at the two Detectives. "Abs!" he said a little louder this time, finally earning her attention. "Nixon screwed up and DiNozzo got hurt trying to save his ass from a beating. I'm not hurt!"

"But…but…Nixon said you were at the hospital!" Abs stuttered slightly.

"Well, I am – I came in the ambulance with DiNozzo because he had some stupid notion about signing out AMA."

"Yes," Ducky muttered in a stage whisper. "Now who does that remind you of, Abigail?"

"I called you and there was no answer!" Abby argued, trying to understand why her last hour of blind panic had been redundant.

"I'm in a hospital, Abs, and we were getting this idiot’s scans, of course I wasn’t answering my phone," Gibbs said with a helpless shrug. He saw Abby's eyes narrow and her hands tighten into fists but he certainly didn't foresee her turning those fists on him. He smothered down an 'ow!' as she hit him firmly on the arm – that girl had more upper-body arm-strength that one might assume.

"Don't you ever, ever scare me like that again, Mister!" Abby said in her best authoritarian voice, pointing her finger firmly in Gibbs' direction. "Do you have any idea how hard it is to drive a hearse with the pedal to the metal all the way up Route 95 in shoes like these?" she gestured wildly to her high, thick platform boots. "Do you have any idea how panicky I was? Me…on caffeine…panicking…it is not a pretty picture, Bossman!" she gave a little stamp of her foot to show she meant business.

"I guess I should have expected Nixon to screw up at least one more time before he got his butt out of there," Gibbs offered Abby by way of an apology.

"You mean, he's fired?" Abby demanded to know, hating to be the last to know. “Like, for good, fired?”

"Yep," Gibbs nodded, a self-satisfied smile on his face. "I cleared it with Morrow. Hey!" he muttered quietly, gently rubbing his arm where the forensic scientist had just hit him again. "What was that for?"

"You had time to call the Director, but you couldn't call me and let me know you weren't bleeding out in some strange hospital in Baltimore all alone!"

Gibbs didn't know what to say to an Abby who was clearly running on nothing but caffeine…a lot of caffeine. Her anger would wear off and no doubt she would soon be drowning him in hugs.

"I don't mean to imply that we're not all enjoying the show," Tony said, breaking the silence and redirecting everyone's attention. "But I'm curious; I don't suppose you saw what happened to Nixon when he emptied out his desk did you?" Tony asked the Goth quietly, trying to suppress his infamous mischievous grin.

"That was you?" came the incredulous reply. She had indeed witnessed Nixon's departure, bombarding him with questions about Baltimore while he tried to pack everything up in a hurry.

He had sat down at his desk to use the computer only to fall flat on his arse, banging his head against the backboard that separated his desk from the one behind his. When he finally got back to his feet and stood at his desk, he found he couldn't login to his computer as his keyboard keys seemed to be stuck.

After much effing and blinding he found another keyboard and logged on, only to be faced with his computer blaring out 'Ag-a-do-do-do, push pineapples, shake the tree…' at full volume across the bullpen. He hurried to turn down the volume, his cheeks flame-red with embarrassment.

After finally printing off what he needed, he went on to empty his desk…or tried to anyway; his desk drawers were stuck firmly shut! He fell back once again when the drawer eventually became unstuck, banging his head once again on the partition wall between his desk and the one behind him.

Abby had actually laughed at him, unable to hide her amusement at the situation any longer – it looked like something right out of an old Laurel and Hardy movie. That was when Nixon, cheeks flushed with embarrassment, had said that Gibbs was in hospital and marched off, ignoring her barrage of worried questions.

"That depends," Tony said cautiously. "Do you like him?"

"No!" Abby replied hotly, offended that anyone might think she liked such an ignorant hot-head.

"Good," Tony answered with an easy smile. "In that case…yes…it was me."

Abby saw that everyone, even Gibbs, was smiling despite not knowing the details, and she returned the grin with a wicked one of her own; maybe this DiNozzo wasn't quite as bad as she had thought.

By the time the results of the scans had come through and a doctor had talked through them with Tony, the major effects of the concussion had worn off and the pain had been reduced to a constant but dull ache at the back of his eyes.

The two teams had to struggle through Baltimore's rush hour in the early evening before they could finally return to the Precinct. The office was mostly empty, a few desks overflowing with paperwork and empty coffee cups and tired Detectives hunched over trying to find some detail that might break the case they were working on.

DiNozzo had just slumped into his own seat when the door to the office opened and two detectives from Vice stepped in. One of them Tony recognised as a guy that he had reprimanded over his behaviour to the lab-techs; he wondered if the hole in the lab's wall had ever been repaired or if a poster was still covering the evidence.

"Hi, Detective Vargas," Tony said with a cheery wave and a bright smile; he received a scowl in return…seemed Vargas hadn't forgotten the incident either! "What can we do for you today?"

It was not Vargas who answered but his partner, Detective Brewster. "I'll tell you what you can do, stay the hell away from Club Abër! It's our case and it's been our case for a long time; if you fuck it up, I promise you we'll make sure you regret it!"

Tony felt a little resentful at the fact that they were directing the threat his way only, but he couldn't say anything as his partner got there first.

"We're going after Radoslav for Murder One…three times over! You seriously want to let him get away with that over trafficking?" Sam asked incredulously.

"It's our case," Vargas pointed out stubbornly but a little less forcefully than his partner.

"Yeah," Tony started, "But if we get him, he goes straight to jail: he does not pass go, he does not collect $200. Instead, he has to learn to keep a firm grip on slippery soap in the communal showers. That sounds pretty good to me, what about you?"

"Shut it, DiNozzo," Brewster spat.

"Why don't we try and work together," Sam suggested diplomatically. "Get him for both?" He knew it was most likely hopeless as Brewster was one of the few in the department who did not like Jacobs at all; he believed the Homicide Detective got more praise than he deserved.

"We've spent months working on this," Brewster argued. "We didn't spend all that time gathering together enough evidence for a whole bunch of good arrests just so you could take the credit right out from under us!"

"If you'd been watching him as closely as you say you've been, then you would have been able to prevent a triple murder," Gibbs said quietly, aiming for the man's rather inflated sense of self-importance and his overgrown ego.

At once, the two detectives from Vice argued their defence while Sam and DiNozzo tried to explain the benefits of working together to catch both the murderers and the traffickers.

"Good evening, gentlemen," a voice from the doorway interrupted the bickering that had started to break out and all heads turned towards it.

"Fornell?" two voices cried out in unison. Both DiNozzo and Gibbs looked at each other in surprise, wondering how the other knew the stoic FBI Agent.

"Hello, DiNozzo, Jethro," Fornell replied, not at all fazed by the incredulous glances being passed around the office. "I think we need to have a little chat about Goran Radoslav, don't you?"

Chapter Text

"Agent?" Sam asked, sending his partner a curious look; Tony had never said anything to him about knowing an FBI Agent well enough to credit his current facial expression of confusion and suspicion.

"Agent Fornell, FBI," the man offered his hand as an introduction, but he gave no further explanation as he perched himself on the end of a desk, arms folded in front of him as he gave everyone else a quick, calculating once-over.

Sam rolled his eyes; it seemed the FBI had their own version of Agent Gibbs. He had managed to get Gibbs past the frosty, jurisdictional pissing match stage but now he had two different agencies to contend with, and what was worse this guy had some unknown and clearly unwanted connection to his partner.

Sam had always hated being in the dark, it was why he had left the military all those years ago. Soldiers were only ever given limited intel related to the specific Spec. Op. they were running and they never got the whole picture; working cases he didn't always get the whole picture at the start either, but he was always prepared to work for it.

He was sure that Tony wouldn't hide anything vital from him, but he was also sure that whatever it was that linked his partner to the FBI Agent was important; the difference between the two was small, but there was a difference.

Tony seemed to spend so much time and effort keeping people at arm’s length and wearing a mask to the world while disguising the fact that that was exactly what he was doing. There were more than likely several important events in his life that made him act that way, and no doubt more often than not he would hide those away too, underneath a mask of indifference and frat boy humour.

The important events in the kid's life would, without a doubt, explain the 'why' and the 'when' but Sam also knew that it was precisely because they were of a personal nature that Tony would forever try to bury them.

Sam believed that the vital things in the kid's life were things like him joining the Academy, the fact that he would take a bullet for just about anyone, that he would go to great lengths to protect those he cared about. His sense of right and wrong, his morality and his need for justice over revenge or a good snapshot on the ten o'clock news were vital aspects of Tony's life.

All these things and many more defined the way Tony interacted with the world and its inhabitants; they had an impact not only on his young partner, but on the people around him and that was what made them vital rather than important. It was vital that Sam knew who his partner was and how he'd react out on the streets and off them.

Sam did not know how this Agent Fornell would react in any situation.

Sam had not known how Agent Gibbs and his team would react either and now his partner was suffering through the effects of a concussion.

"Well," he sighed, shaking his head and resigned to the fact that Baltimore PD was about to be lumped with more Federal Agents. "I hope your agents are better trained than his," he nodded his head in Gibbs' direction – God, he couldn't cope with another Nixon!

Fornell offered a tight smile and Sam had to wonder just how much the man actually exercised those muscles; more than Gibbs he hoped.

"Yes," he stated dryly, "I'd noticed Agent Nixon's absence, Congratulations Jethro, how many agents have you managed to run off now?" A narrowing of the eyes was the only response Gibbs gave. "You will only have to suffer through myself and one more agent," he promised.

"Agent Batista," a young woman moved forward and shook Sam's hands. She was very pretty and Sam knew that if he'd noticed Tony certainly would have. He saw the way DiNozzo's eyes quickly roamed over the female Agent's body and he had to suppress rolling his eyes; he hoped his partner could keep his hands to himself, at least until after the case was resolved.

"Detective DiNozzo," Tony quickly offered his hand along with his most charming of smiles, the shock of seeing Fornell in another of his PD's temporarily replaced by a young and very shapely beauty with big, brown eyes and a thick Baltimore accent. He'd been in Baltimore for nearly two years and he'd never laid eyes on her – he thought that was more than a little unfair.

"Agent Batista works for our Organised Crime Unit here in our Baltimore field office," Fornell informed everyone, trying hard not to roll his eyes at the Detective's flirting, he'd been that way in Philadelphia too. "I'm afraid that Baltimore PD is overstepping," he said in a tone that didn't hold the slightest bit of remorse at all despite his words.

"That's bullshit, man," Brewster interrupted. First DiNozzo and his partner and those assholes from DC and now the fucking FBI was trying to move in on his case; he and Vargas had spent too much time and effort to just throw all this away into the hands of some smug fed. "We've been working this case for months, no way are you taking it out from under us, you…"

"Hey," Vargas interrupted quietly, trying to rein his partner in. He wasn't happy about the Feds trying to take the case either, but he would be even less happy if IA started sniffing around after his partner unleashed all his anger and frustration on the Agent's nose. "Come on, man, calm down, ok?"

Brewster took a few deep breaths and stepped back, sending his partner a quick, appreciative glance for stopping a potential explosion on his part.

"No one will be kicking you off the case," Fornell promised, not the slightest bit fazed by the open hostility. "The FBI wants Radoslav, but more than that they want who he answers to and it's not as simple as looking through every back alley in Baltimore. Interpol is involved with this one – this is an international problem as this particular trafficking ring is a global operation.

"We're cooperating not only with Interpol but a whole host of other organisations as well, primarily SOCA in the UK, as Radoslav and his friends have several known connections there. Think of us as your liaisons," he ended with a smile that held no warmth.

"We're working on a case where so far the evidence points to the fact that Radoslav killed three people, who knows what the hell else we might dig up, and you’re asking us to, what? Just ignore that so you can hook a bigger fish?" Tony asked incredulously.

"Not ignore it," Fornell shrugged indifferently. "You could hold off on acting on that evidence though. We're looking for cold, hard evidence to shut this ring down permanently, not just to sever one arm of this organisation."

Tony shook his head in disbelief. "This guy executed two US citizens and brutally murdered a woman…hell, a girl! He could pack up and disappear, we could lose him waiting for you!" he was shouting now, but he didn't care.

"I know the risks, Detective DiNozzo," Fornell stated firmly with narrowing eyes, "And I don't like it either but my orders from the Director are very clear – I'm to stop you and NCIS from interfering with an ongoing international investigation. There are more lives at stake, and, like it or not, those are more important than the lives that have already been taken."

Tony shook his head with disgust and stepped into the FBI Agent's personal space. "You know me, Fornell," he hissed in the man's ear. "You know I'm not going to let this…this animal get away with it! You remember Philly? Cos I sure as hell do, and no way am I ever letting the Brass use me like that again and let the bad guy go!" With that he quickly marched out of the room, eager to be away from people before he hit someone.

Sam heard the mention of Philly and automatically knew why his partner was so upset; it had taken Tony a long time to trust him with that story, a story that went a long way towards explaining the man's fervent hunt for justice over revenge and his seemingly inherent mistrust of the higher echelons.

He shot the FBI Agent a dirty look before leaving the room to search for his partner; no doubt some time in the Department's gym with the punch bag would be in order in the near future before some poor, unsuspecting soul set off Tony's short fuse. The kid did have a temper, and a short one at that, but he tended to internalise everything to the point that Sam worried about an implosion of epic proportions; the fact that Tony rarely let it explode made the explosions all the more impressive when it occurred.

Gibbs' eyes followed the young Detective as he left the room, curiosity burning within. Not only did DiNozzo know Fornell, of all people, but by the sounds of it there was a link to Philadelphia – could this be linked to the reason behind his sudden promotion?

He'd heard the city's name hissed with pure venom, but he hadn't been able to pick out anything more than that except for DiNozzo's expression, the young Detective had looked angry…more than angry!

"Tobias," Gibbs nodded towards a quieter corner of the office. Fornell quirked an eyebrow at the order but followed his NCIS counterpart regardless.

"Jethro," Fornell said as an acknowledgment to go ahead.

"What do you know about DiNozzo and Philadelphia?" he asked. Gibbs had never seen much point in beating around the bush and he'd never been less than direct with Fornell over the years.

"Well, well," Fornell started with a smile, "I never thought I'd see the day where the great Leroy Jethro Gibbs doesn't know something that I do."

"Cut the crap, Fornell!" Gibbs hissed, trying to keep the conversation between just the two of them. "If you know something about DiNozzo, something that I should know considering it's my ass on the line with him and his partner as my back-up out in the field, then you had better tell me."

Sam knew where Tony would be – whenever the kid needed to get away from people he would go to the roof; very few people ever went up there as many chose to hang around the busier helipad and smoke cigarettes in a huddled group, exchanging gossip from the various different departments. Tony's chosen spot was a quiet section of the roof away from prying eyes and received a nice breeze coming in off the Atlantic.

The 22nd Precinct was not one of the taller buildings in Baltimore, but it still managed a reasonable panorama. The view showed the Patapsco River as it flowed into the harbour and whole hours could be wasted watching the huge cargo ships come and go. It was a particularly busy part of the city and it was easy to lose yourself in the daily routines that went on below.

"You alright?" Sam asked quietly, expecting the ever present 'fine.'

"No," Tony replied hoarsely, surprising himself as much as his partner with his honesty. "If Radoslav even suspects that we've got him in our sights he'll disappear, they always do. He's going to get away with murdering three people because the FBI wants to catch a bigger fish!"

"It's a possibility," Sam agreed. "But you've got to agree that shutting down the whole trafficking ring would be a good thing."

"Of course I think it would be a good thing…hell, it would be a great thing," Tony argued, turning anguished eyes towards his partner. "But if shutting it down means making a deal with someone like Radoslav, if it means letting that son of a bitch get away with it…then no, I don't think it’s the right thing."

Sam sighed, after all, what could he say? He'd been a cop for too many years to be fooled into believing that the bad guys they caught all went to prison for their crimes.

Some of them got off because of a lack of evidence, or because witnesses were too scared to come forward or they simply disappeared. Sometimes he saw criminals walk because of technicalities, such as incorrectly gathered evidence or a rookie's failure to recite the Miranda Rights perfectly. The worst times, however, were when the police themselves let the bad guys go.

There were some crimes, especially those relating to organised crime, where deals were offered and sometimes taken because law enforcement was more interested in cutting off the head of the beast rather than take it down one limb at a time.

He'd seen a child murderer serve a pathetic three years behind bars because the guy had offered the DA damning information on his Cartel boss. He'd seen a guy caught with a huge shipment of heroin get out on bail the very same day as his arrest because he'd offered up the location of his employer's safe-house, full of incriminating drugs, guns and blood money.

"Tony," he tried, "I know how much you like to catch the bad guy, and I also know that you know that it isn't always possible, but I can promise you this, we are going to get Radoslav with or without the FBI's assistance. Understand, kid?"

Tony turned his eyes once again towards his partner; he should have known that Sam would feel the same way as he did about the possibility of Radoslav walking away from justice. He nodded and sent his partner a grateful smile.

It was far from his usual mega-watt smile, Sam thought, but it was better than nothing. "Come on then," he said, "Let's get what information we can from the FBI before we go after Radoslav. I'm pretty sure we can get Brewster and Vargas to help – they would much rather help us than the Feds because no matter how much they hate us they'll always hate the Feds more."

Tony laughed despite the slight pain it caused his still fragile head, already envisaging Brewster's reaction.

Then he frowned.

"What's wrong?" Sam asked, noticing his partner's expression.

"Something's bugging me," Tony confessed. "Fornell worked with me in Philadelphia, and so he's got to know that I'm not going to take this one lying down, he's got to know that I'm going to go after Radoslav no matter what anyone else tells me this time."

"He should know that," Sam agreed, "But you're not exactly…predictable at the best of times, kid. I know you pretty well by now, so I can hazard a pretty good guess at where you'll end up after you go off on one of your tangents, but even after nearly two years I'm rarely ever one hundred percent correct."

"Also, there's another thing," Tony continued, choosing to ignore his partner's rather acute explanation. "He works in DC, so why's he here? He came to Philly because there was a political link to Washington, but NCIS is here because of a political link they have with Jennings' father. There's no reason why Fornell, of all people, should be here."

"Jethro," Fornell said quietly, "I can't say that I know DiNozzo any better than you do – he's rather difficult to know, as I'm sure you've discovered by now. I assume you've already dug up his personnel file…"

"Yeah," Gibbs interrupted. "But there's nothing in there to explain how he made the jump from an officer in Vice to a detective in Homicide; maybe you could enlighten me."

"I'd rather not," Fornell said casually, not in the slightest bit affected by the murderous glare his NCIS counterpart was sending his way. "I'm sure you'll find out eventually, but I'm not going to be the one to open that particular can of worms; DiNozzo is not the only one who would like to forget that case.

"However, I can assure you that DiNozzo is highly capable at his job – I wouldn't have offered him a job if I thought otherwise."

"You offered DiNozzo a job?" Gibbs asked incredulously, unable to picture it. DiNozzo had been more than a little hostile towards the FBI Agent about the possibility of stepping back from Radoslav, and he'd not seen Fornell acting all too friendly either, the man even refused to call him DiNozzo, preferring to use the more Italian sounding 'DiNutso.'

"What can I say…" Fornell shrugged. "He impressed me."

Gibbs didn't know what else to say, as it was obvious Fornell wasn't going to tell him what he wanted to know anytime soon. "You do know that he's not going to stop investigating Radoslav, right? I might not know him all that well but I do know that."

Fornell smiled.

"You already knew that," Gibbs quickly deduced.

"I already knew that," Fornell admitted. "It was why I agreed to act as the liaison for the Hoover Building – I have no desire to let Radoslav walk either. Unlike my Director, I'm not particularly bothered by who this case ends up implicating; I made that mistake once before and I have no intention of doing it again. Finding out that DiNozzo was working the case just made my decision all the easier; two wrongs righted, so to speak."

Gibbs' mind was buzzing. Clearly whatever happened in Philadelphia was pretty serious and it sounded more and more like a cover up, but it didn’t look as though the Detective was necessarily behind that. That Fornell had offered DiNozzo a job made him believe that he was right about the young Detective – there was definitely a lot more to him than originally meets the eye.

Fornell and he frequently disagreed on many different topics, his ex-wife just one of them. However, he could not deny Fornell's professionalism; if the man had thought that DiNozzo was worth offering a job to then there was obviously a very good reason for it. Maybe, before the case was over, he would understand it all too.

"Come on, Brewster," Sam pleaded. "You can even take all the credit if you want, we don't care about that; we just want to see Radoslav go down. We can pool our information; you tell us what you know about Club Abër and we'll tell you what we found out about Radoslav and the warehouse."

"What about the Feds?" Vargas asked quietly, and Tony could tell that he was thinking about it.

"Screw the FBI," Tony said with passion. "This is our city and these scum bags can't be allowed to get away with it – it will be our streets they come back to, after all. If Fornell and the rest of them down in DC want to chase down the big guns then that is up to them, but I want Radoslav; he's going down for those murders and you can plug him and his associates with whatever it is you've got and then the girls he's got in that club can hopefully go free, be safe."

"You think it will be that easy?" Brewster asked incredulously. "We've got some photos of some of the clientele that go to Club Abër; we've got a Senator's aide, a couple of high-end officials from the Mayor's office and one or two higher-ups from our own Police Department, not to mention a couple of big-wigs who make the trip up from DC."

"Is McTavish on any of those photos?" Tony asked calmly, knowing that there was no way in hell his Chief would be on any of them.

"No, of course not," Brewster argued with certainty.

"Are you or your partner on them?" Tony asked again, too calmly.

"You think we'd do that?" Brewster spat, taking a menacing step towards the young Detective.

"No, I don't," Tony stated. "So if you're not protecting our Chief, and you're not protecting yourself or your partner, then why the hell do you care who those photos implicate?"

"We don't," Vargas admitted quietly, now aware that Tony hadn't been baiting them, merely trying to prove a point. "But there are some people that…we'd be making waves, DiNozzo…tsunami sized waves that could mess with our careers, and we'd be grassing on fellow cops; you don't think we'd stop and think about all that before we jump right in?"

"Of course you'd think about it, you'd be idiots if you didn't think twice; you'd be even bigger idiots if you cover for these guys, cops or not. They're soliciting sex from young girls who've been brought to this country illegally, probably under the guise of a nice little lie, like a job modelling or working with children…whatever it was that brought them here I'm pretty certain that they never wanted this!" he gestured towards a picture of their battered Jane Doe he had in a file.

"No cop worth his badge would accept this…think that this was something that they should let slide because there's another cop involved down the line…a dirty cop!" Tony spat out the word 'dirty' with as much contempt as he could muster. "No one should get away with this, cop or not; he could be the President of the United States…hell he could be the goddamn Pope and I'd still haul his ass off to jail. The law is for everyone to follow, and that includes cops."

Vargas and Brewster took a moment to absorb this before turning to each other; over five years of working as partners enabled them an ability to say a lot without actually opening their mouths.

Finally they both nodded.

"Yes!" Tony punched the air with enthusiasm. He didn't know what the two Vice Detectives had, but if it helped them take down Radoslav and all those involved in the illegal sex trade that was run out of Club Abër's basement, then so much the better.

"Brewster, Vargas, thanks," Sam nodded solemnly to them both. "We really appreciate this."

"Yeah," grumbled Brewster. "Look, we'll hand over copies of the information we've got and we'll take whatever you've got, but we're not going to work alongside those Feds from DC, the FBI or NCIS; we can swap information, and you had better take us on the bust at Club Abër, but that's as far as our inter-agency co-operation is going to go, ok?"

"Ok," both Tony and Sam agreed after a brief, shared glance.

"Shared credit?" Vargas offered. "We don't really care about the credit either…not really; we just didn't want to see months of our hard work disappear down the drain."

Tony nodded and Sam agreed vocally, "Shared credit."

"I'll go get copies of what we have; you’ve got a lot of reading ahead of you," Vargas warned.

"I’ve always liked a good crime thriller," Tony grinned, rubbing his hands together in eager anticipation.

"Detective DiNozzo," Fornell greeted the young man as he re-entered the office.

"So," Tony started, leaning against his desk, arms folded in a protective posture against his chest. "What interest does DC have in this case?" He looked around and saw that while Agent Batista was nowhere to be seen all of Gibbs' people seemed to be present.

The Gothic Forensic Specialist was slurping down a Red Bull, her hunt for a 'Caff-Pow' in Baltimore clearly unsuccessful. Doctor Mallard and Veronica Cascabel were going over the autopsy results on the three victims, evidently searching for something they might have missed or deemed unimportant the first time. Gibbs was standing near to Fornell and the two looked as though they had been sharing an important conversation when he came into the office.

"Straight to the point, as always DiNozzo," Fornell said with complete indifference. "As I'm sure you've already guessed there are those in the Hoover Building that feel that there could be some facts that may arise with this case that would be better left in the dark."

"You mean there are some higher ups in DC who have done something they shouldn't have done and now they want to cover it up," Tony surmised succinctly.

"Pretty much," Fornell agreed with a shrug.

"And because you did such a wonderful job in Philadelphia they thought they'd send you along for this one too," Tony pointed out with force.

"That is why they sent me," Fornell agreed once again, "But that's not why I decided to come."

Tony said nothing but narrowed his eyes in suspicion; a quick glance at his partner showed him that Sam was prepared to listen to what the man had to say. Oddly enough, Gibbs sent him a brief but encouraging nod too – what did the NCIS Agent know that he didn't?

"Like you, DiNozzo," Fornell started, sitting himself down in an empty chair and making himself comfortable, "I could never condone what happened in Philadelphia and I certainly didn’t like the fact that one too many people didn't see the justice that they deserved that day.

"Regardless, I did the job my Director gave me and yes…I did it well. I cannot honestly say, however, that I agreed with those orders. I regret that my decision pushed you into a corner and forced you into a position where you would have to go against your own basic principles, but there was no other way to ensure your own silence on the issue.

"I agreed to this assignment because I hoped that I could atone for my mistakes in Philadelphia, and when I discovered that you were one of the lead Detectives I was even more determined to make sure that there wouldn’t be another miscarriage of justice that you or I would be forced to put our names to. Is that a satisfactory enough explanation?"

Tony didn't say anything immediately, trying to absorb it all. He didn't know Fornell all that well, but he did know that the man would never usually apologise; the fact that this was out of character meant the man was actually being sincere or that he was hiding something else.

Tony's head hurt just thinking about the possibilities; he was still feeling too many side effects of his concussion to think all that clearly.

"It'll do for now," Tony said with a forced even tone as he stepped closer to the FBI Agent before quietly continuing. "No matter how you end up playing this one, I will not go along with another cover-up. There are very few cops in Baltimore that I care all that much about, and those that I do give a damn about are nothing like my old partner; you're going to need to dig deeper for leverage this time.

"If you screw me over again Fornell, I swear to God I will make sure you regret it," Tony guaranteed, and Fornell didn't even need to see the glint in his eyes to know the young Detective was serious.

"I have no intention of screwing you over, DiNozzo," Fornell promised, holding his hands in front of him as a small gesture of surrender. "We'll have to be careful around Batista because I'm not yet sure what her orders are, but we will get Radoslav and then we'll work on the rest of the trafficking ring."

"We'll see," Tony said, not ready to place too much trust in the man just yet. "Now, show us what information you have – if we're going to get anywhere on this case we're going to need plenty of good, hard evidence, so let's see what you've got."

"Detective DiNozzo?" asked a timid voice. Tony looked up from the files from the FBI he'd been reading for the past couple of hours to see a very dishevelled looking Téa Kadare. "They killed Nadia!" she cried with a heavy accent, thick with tears.

Tony immediately got up from his desk and gently ushered Téa to sit down, wrapping his jacket around her small, shivering frame. He saw that she had a hand shaped bruise around one of her wrists, and though she had tried to use make-up to cover it up, he could see the slightly puffy, darker skin tone around one of her eyes.

"She was…there was a man, he hit her…hard," Téa swallowed back her tears to try and tell the Detective her tale. "She tried to protect herself, but he was too strong, and he beat her, he raped her and then he told Goran that she had fought back at him.

"Goran was so angry, so scary. He brought all the girls together, told them that we should have learnt by now that we can do nothing unless he tells us we can. He started to hit her and he just wouldn't stop; the other girls were all so scared of Goran and his men, but Nadia is…was my best friend here.

"She is…was Serbian but she spoke English well; most of the girls can only speak a little English. I tried to stop him, I tried to save her but Pasha, one of Goran's men, he hit me, and then he held my arm so tightly I thought he was going to break it." She started crying freely now, "He made me watch…watch as Goran beat her to death. Goran said that worse was waiting for us if we tried anything without his permission."

Gibbs had seen the fragile looking Albanian enter the office and watched as she looked around before heading straight to DiNozzo's desk. He saw the gentle way the young Detective handled the upset woman…a girl, really. He could see the discolouring on her arm and the way she hugged her ribs carefully but protectively; something serious had obviously happened.

He briefly felt a surge of hope that whatever it was that had happened was enough to make Téa change her mind and help them catch Radoslav, but he quickly felt disgusted with himself; she had obviously been badly hurt, and who knew what other horrors she had been forced to live though.

He quietly walked towards her, careful to do so at an angle where she would see him coming so that he wouldn't startle her. He wasn't sure what good he could really do, as violence towards women made him more than a little angry and the last thing the poor girl needed was to see that anger, but he needed to hear the conversation.

He shared a brief glance with DiNozzo, glad to see that his facial expression was one he could read this time; he could see the pity he felt for Téa, the anger at the situation, and the fierce determination to catch Radoslav and put him behind bars until the end of his days.

He gave the young Detective a quick nod, hoping to convey that he too felt the same way and that he would support him with the questioning if he was needed. He wasn't used to taking a back seat in interviews, but Téa had come to see DiNozzo, she had come to the Police Department, to the 22nd Precinct, to the Homicide Department, and she had looked for Tony.

Clearly she felt that she could trust DiNozzo, and Gibbs found himself silently agreeing, believing that very little could stand between the Detective and his determination to catch Radoslav and bring him to justice, no matter what the consequences were. 'Yes,' Gibbs thought, 'Téa Kadare has chosen wisely in whom to put her trust'.

Tony did indeed catch Gibbs' nod, and read the same mix of anger, compassion and resolve there; he already knew that he and Sam felt the same way about the case, knew that they were prepared to follow the case through to the end in spite of personal consequences.

Nevertheless, it was nice to know that they had friendly company from at least one of the Federal Agencies. Gibbs seemed to be one of those agents who would carry on with what he believed to be the right course of action regardless of what anyone else might order him to do, politics be damned. They would definitely need that attitude for this case.

Tony still couldn't figure out Fornell's angle and whether or not he was telling the truth; Philadelphia had been a hard lesson and he wasn't sure he could ever trust the FBI Agent fully after that. However, he knew that Fornell would come along on the ride whatever happened; he'd just have to keep a wary eye on him and make sure he kept his word.

The quiet, desperate sobbing had calmed down and Tony placed a gentle hand on the young woman's shoulder, feeling completely powerless but wanting her to feel as though she wasn't alone, that she had someone she could trust.

"Teresa Kastrioti," Téa said as she wiped her eyes on a tissue Tony had silently handed her. "The girl in the alley…that was her name…Teresa Kastrioti. She was Albanian too; she worked at the club before we arrived there; she told us what we should do when Goran and the other men were watching and how we could make it easier...how we could survive. She was nice and she was Albanian so we could talk together – she was from home, you know?"

Tony nodded sympathetically although he couldn't say he did know, not really; Long Island held too many bad memories for him to want to search out fellow Islanders and reminisce.

"She was from Dibër, like me. We lived on different sides of Drini I Zi, the Black River, but still…she was from home and I could always talk to her when I was missing my family and my country. It was her own brother who sold her to Goran's friends; can you imagine that? Her own brother…"

Tony could not imagine that and he really didn't want to; he'd seen people do desperate things to survive, to protect themselves or their families, but he didn't think that selling someone off as though they were some kind of commodity could be something that could ever be forgiven.

"Do you know why they killed her?" Tony asked quietly, not wanting to upset her, but knowing that they would need a strong motive.

Téa nodded slowly, still scared that she was endangering herself by talking to the police but also aware that she didn't have many other options. "Did you mean what you said the other day? Can you really protect me?"

"Yes," Tony nodded fervently, desperate for her to trust him and help them catch Radoslav. "I can call the US Marshall's Office right now if you want."

Téa stayed quiet for a moment, considering. "What about my family? Goran and his friends…they took me from my village and said they could get me a good job in America; they said that I could help to support my family. These men…they know where I live, that is why I can't go home, but what if they go after my family?"

Tony signed and rubbed his eyes; why could things never be simple? "I don't know," he said honestly. "I can't help you there. I could talk to some guys I know in Immigration, see if we could get them flown over here, given citizenship, move in with you maybe, but I can't promise you anything."

Téa nodded her head sadly, afraid that that would be the answer but expecting it nonetheless.

"Téa, we really need your help; we're trying to catch Radoslav for the three murders, but we've got the FBI, NCIS, Interpol and a whole host of other agencies trying to close down this ring for good…trying to make sure that no more girls have to go through what you've been through."

"Yes," she nodded slowly, the tears flowing once again as she allowed her fear of the situation to overwhelm her once again; she really didn't have a lot of options. "I will help you."

Chapter Text

Everyone in the room let out an audible sigh of relief – Téa had agreed to help them and that meant catching one very bad guy.

Tony and Gibbs shared a brief look, each trying to gauge the other. Tony saw the NCIS Agent give him a brief nod of support and encouragement; it was good to know that while he might not be able to trust in the FBI or their intentions, he could trust NCIS, or in Gibbs at any rate.

The man seemed to be pretty determined on just about everything, from catching the bad guy to getting his coffee fix to delivering the most withering glare possible. He knew that men like Gibbs were not easy to work with and that gaining their trust was next to impossible, and while Tony was more than certain that he would never meet the Agent's no doubt extensive requirements in that department, he was positive that Gibbs would not go home until they had resolved the case, and that was what mattered the most.

Gibbs saw the concern in the young Detective's eyes – concern for their newfound star witness or something else, he couldn't really tell; he was getting better at reading the various emotions in the younger man but he didn't know why he should feel as though it was such a great accomplishment.

Once he had twigged onto certain aspects of the Detective's very unique personality traits, he realised that the young man's eyes were very emotive if you knew what you were looking for. It was clear that with a conscious effort DiNozzo could hide his volatile emotions, even from his eyes, but Gibbs would catch a millisecond of hurt or confusion or amusement flicker through them before burning away to reveal whichever mask he might choose to wear for the masses.

There were other clues that he had begun to notice that led to a greater understanding of the complex young man's real feelings about a given situation. He'd only been in Baltimore a few days, but it was clear that the clothes the young man wore were an extension of the mask he carried, yet another weapon DiNozzo had in his arsenal to redirect people's attention and mislead them.

When DiNozzo had been wearing a suit, he and his partner were facing pressure from the press, from their Chief of Police and no doubt their Captain, as well as various other city officials.

Then NCIS had come.

The younger man had donned a well-cut, tailor-made, clearly very expensive suit in an effort to present a professional image. It was apparent that the smarter the clothes were, the more insecure the young man was feeling with his current environment or the people surrounding him; he would dress himself up in expensive Italian suits, not as an homage to his heritage, but to act as yet another buffer.

Once DiNozzo had come back from the hospital and the drama with Fornell had calmed down, Sam had thrust some clean but casual clothes in his young partner's face. There was a pair of faded dark-blue jeans, a well-worn grey Ohio State t-shirt and a bottle-green zip-up hoodie; this DiNozzo compared to his expensive tailored suit persona was almost unrecognisable.

The behaviour had been very different too.

Tony had been far more relaxed and his smile reached his expressive eyes and paper-balls flew across the room and landed (with dead-on accuracy) on the desk Fornell had acquired for himself, and even the impressively dark glares the young Detective had been sending the FBI Agent's way had been toned down.

DiNozzo's body language spoke just as loudly as his clothes in relation to his mental well-being. His shoulders had clued Gibbs in on the fact that the younger man did not trust the FBI Agent, even before the bitter words and angry countenance were expressed, even before the look of shock and confusion had left his face with Fornell's initial appearance in their precinct.

DiNozzo was clearly a natural athlete, the man had earned himself a sports scholarship that got him into Ohio State, after all. He was still in good physical condition too, judging by his toned form and the ease and strength with which he carried himself despite what must be a crippling head-ache from the concussion.

However, despite his well-defined shoulders and natural poise, the young man had been unable to hide the slight tensing of his shoulder muscles as he took the briefest of moments to digest Fornell's unexpected and clearly unwelcome appearance in Baltimore's 22nd Precinct Homicide Department.

His reasonably tall stature no doubt gave him an advantage over most of the people the young Detective came across most of the time, but he could achieve the exact opposite effect too with very little effort.

When the young man had been consoling Téa, he had left a bit of room between the two despite being close to her; he had also knelt down so that he was not towering over the distressed young woman sitting in the chair. DiNozzo had kept his tone quiet and reassuring, while taking care to make sure his posture could not be read as threatening or domineering.

That DiNozzo had been so careful with his body language with the young Albanian spoke volumes not just to his understanding of the poor woman, who would no doubt be uncomfortable with the close proximity of an unknown man given her current circumstances; it also showed an acute awareness of body language, both his own and how other people might interpret it.

Of course, the biggest and certainly the loudest clue to DiNozzo and how he was feeling at any one moment was his voice. The young Detective did seem to like talking; he talked as much as Abby…or maybe not, maybe it only seemed that way because everything the Forensic Specialist said was at hyper-speed and she could fit more words into a second than DiNozzo, even at his most verbose, might hope to achieve.

Naturally, being a walking, fast-talking paradox, what he said rarely had anything to do with what he meant. However, there were other clues; DiNozzo seemed to talk a lot, but he talked a lot of crap when he was nervous or uncomfortable with the situation or people.

He would openly use sarcasm and cynicism with those he didn't like, except when the young man was faced with a more authoritative figure. In those situations, DiNozzo seemed to pull off dumb insolence with a practised ease – offending people who were unsure of whether or not they were being insulted was a talent few had and many wished for, and DiNozzo had that ability in spades.

He seemed to use humour and aimless babble to distract people and throw them off-balance. DiNozzo's jokes could be rude and misogynistic but Gibbs didn't doubt for one second that anything he said was unintentional; being offensive in such a blasé manner was highly effective at re-directing someone's attention away from the subject and onto righteous indignation.

Of course, DiNozzo was an equal-opportunist and seemed to take great joy in mocking himself just as much as anyone else he set his sights on; pointing out his flaws and bragging about his accomplishments in equal measure, even infuriating people with unexpected strengths that made it all the more difficult for people to get a proper handle on the Detective.

All these different methods allowed Gibbs the chance to decipher the young man opposite him and yet still he was no closer to understanding him. Sure, Gibbs could now just about work out when the Detective was being serious and when he was taking the piss, but there was a difference between recognising an emotion and understanding the reason behind it.

DiNozzo just didn't seem to react to situations the way a normal person should.

"So, Téa," Tony said softly as his partner put a cup of coffee in front of her; Tony nodded his thanks for Sam's thoughtfulness as well as reassuring his partner that he had everything in hand. "What can you tell us about how Teresa Kastrioti died? Was it Radoslav?"

She nodded slowly, looking up at the Detective through lashes thick with tears. "When they first brought us here, they kept us in the warehouse," she began, her accent thicker because of her distress. "Gave us drugs and beat us if we did something they did not like. Then, they would take us to the club at night. Teresa was already there, she tried to help us, tell us what to do…how to stay out of trouble.

"The soldier came often; Teresa said that he wanted to save her, like real American hero. She tried to tell him, many, many times, but he would not listen; he loved her, I think. Teresa liked him but she said he wanted a fairy-tale, a happy-ever-after; she said girls like us don't get a white knight…a hero.

"He kept coming back to see her, to try and talk her into leaving, but we couldn't leave. Do you know what they do to the girls who try to leave? They kill them...they hunt them down and then they kill them. Nadia was punished for protecting herself and she died because of the beating Goran gave her. Teresa told me about a girl who ran away and they cut her stomach and left her to bleed to death. We could not leave."

"Hey," Tony said quietly, gently resting a hand on the young woman's shoulders. "You're safe; I'm not going to let anyone hurt you. You can leave now."

Gibbs knew that Téa's trust in Tony was crucial to gaining her full co-operation to the end of the case, but as much as he wanted to help her, he knew that someone needed to play bad cop; she'd told them a lot so far, but she seemed intent on skirting the information about the three murders they were trying to solve and he knew she would need a push. He only hoped DiNozzo understood what he was about to do.

"What about the murders, Téa?" Gibbs asked firmly. "We can only protect you if you give us a reason – we can only protect you if there is something to protect you from!"

Téa jumped in her seat at the unexpectedly harsh tone and looked towards the seemingly angry Agent with apprehension.

While she was looking away from him, Tony offered Gibbs a small nod, letting the older man know that he understood what he was trying to achieve; he might not know Gibbs very well, but at both the warehouse and at Club Abër itself, the man had clearly been affected by the lives these young women were forced to lead, so he knew the man was far from indifferent. He was glad he got to play the good cop here – he wasn't sure he'd be able to act so callously towards the young woman crying in front of him.

It was time to play his role.

"Agent Gibbs!" he said sharply, drawing shocked glances from the NCIS group and curious looks from both his partner and Fornell. "Give the poor woman a break! I'm sure she’s going to tell us what she can." He turned to Téa and kindly said, "Ignore him, you can take your time."

"No, you can't take your time," Gibbs said forcefully. "You said Teresa was your friend; you said Nadia was your friend; if you don't give us what we need to know then Radoslav could get away with what he did to them…move somewhere else and do this all over again, to another of your friends, to someone else's friends…is that what you want? So far you've told us nothing except that Jennings and your friend knew each other."

"Agent Gibbs!" Tony shouted once again; he was becoming a little fearful that the charade was going too far, but he was also fairly confident that the Agent's many years on the job meant that he knew what he was doing…or at least, he hoped so.

"No," Téa said quietly, offering her white knight a tremulous smile. "He is right, you need to know what happened so that it cannot happen again."

"Ok, but only if you're sure you're ready," Tony reassured her with a weak smile of his own, a quick but discreet nod from Gibbs let him know that he was happy with the way the play had turned out.

"It was like I said," Téa continued quietly. "The soldier…"

"Corporal Paul Jennings," Gibbs interrupted; this time he was not trying to play her, he just thought the man deserved to be called by his name rather than being referred to as simply 'the soldier.'

"Yes," Téa said. "He came back to the club in his uniform; he was supposed to be going away to war but he said he had to try and get Teresa out of there one last time before he went. She still say no – she was too scared to try and leave.

"The soldier, Jennings…" she added hastily after she caught a quick glance of Gibbs' face. "He said to Goran that if he didn't let Teresa go then he would tell the police what was going on at Club Abër, but you don’t threaten man like Radoslav. Goran said they should talk in private and he took Teresa and Jennings into a room at the back of the club with some of the other men. They didn't come out.

“Pasha closed the club early and he took rest of us back to warehouse and Goran was waiting there. Jennings was not hurt, but Teresa…she was. Goran said that if Jennings tried anything then Teresa would pay the price. We knew nothing good would happen then – Teresa was hurt and Jennings was outnumbered, and we all knew not to cross Goran," she sniffed, subconsciously rubbing her arm as if soothing an ache that rested bone-deep there.

Tony picked up her the cup of tea, still quite warm. "Here," he said, offering her the mug along with another paper tissue.

"Thank you," Téa mumbled with a weak smile. "Goran told us then that we could never leave unless he told us we could…he told us there would be consequences…he told us that we would not live to regret crossing him. That was when he shot the soldier."

"Goran shot him, no-one else…Goran?" Gibbs demanded and Tony found himself leaning forward in eager anticipation of the answer. Like Gibbs he realised the magnitude of Goran being the trigger man – if they could get the supposed leader of the trafficking ring then dealing with the smaller fish should be relatively easy.

The higher up a man was in an organisation like a trafficking ring, he tended to get other people to do the dirty work and so limit evidence of his involvement, it was why putting these kinds of men behind bars was so much more difficult.

If Goran had pulled the trigger himself then he had left himself wide open.

So far they only had one witness who, by her own admission had a drug habit, one forced upon her by her captors, but a drug habit nonetheless. However, one witness could turn into several when the girls realised it was safe to talk and no one could ignore that many testimonies, especially if they held a similar story. With Téa’s testimony alone, they now had enough to merit a warrant. Hopefully the forensics could dig up the rest of the evidence needed for an airtight conviction; he only hoped that this Abby was as good as Gibbs said she was.

"Yes, Goran shot your soldier," Téa nodded with certainty. "He had blood all over his clothes."

Gibbs nodded; Goran may have disposed of the clothes, but hopefully Abby could find something on whatever they might dig up in Goran's place. "Teresa was raped," he said bluntly, still prepared to play tough cop to get this case sorted, but he wasn’t worried – she'd proven she was a strong girl to have survived everything life had thrown at her so far. "Did you see who did that?"

Téa nodded. "After the…after Jennings died, Goran did not…he did not touch her like that, but he let the other men…over and over. They were so rough; she kept crying, begging for them to stop, but they would only hurt her more. After they were…after they had finished, Goran said that if we tried to leave then this would happen to us and that was when he strangled Teresa.

"I tried to stop him…tried to save her!" she cried, tears were freely flowing down her cheeks. "I couldn't…I couldn't save her, I couldn’t save Nadia – I wasn't strong enough."

"Hey," Tony said quietly, he tenderly used his hand to lift her chin up and gently force her to look into his eyes. "You tried; most people in that situation wouldn't have even done that. The fact that these guys were stronger than you is not something you should feel guilty about…you have nothing to feel guilty about!"

Téa nodded but Tony wasn't convinced that his words had sunk in, he doubted this was something the young Albanian would ever learn to live with. He looked over at Gibbs and could see the man's hands tighten on the chair he was holding, clearly just as angry as Tony.

Goran was a sadistic son of a bitch that they desperately needed to stop. He couldn't believe that the FBI had had this man in their sights for so long and let him get away with so much! As much as he would have liked to bring that question up with Fornell, he knew that he couldn't do it in front of Téa.

"Ah, Jethro," everyone who had been raptly listening to Téa's story turned to look at Doctor Mallard. The M.E. was stood by the doorway to the Homicide Department…a doorway that was filled with two members of the US Marshal's Office. "It seems we have some visitors."

Tony frowned – he hadn't called the Marshal's Office yet, having been too busy with Téa's statement. "I called them when I went to get Téa here something to drink," Sam informed his partner and Agent Gibbs quietly. "I thought it made sense for you to be here for the handover." With that, he stepped back, allowing the fragile woman in front of him some space.

Gibbs nodded at Detective Jacobs; it did make sense – Téa had placed whatever faith she had left in Detective DiNozzo, and she would no doubt trust him more than anyone else to ensure her safety by handing her over into the US Marshal's protective custody.

"Hello, ma'am, I'm Deputy Marshal Greenwell," one of the Marshal's stepped forward and knelt down by Téa's seat. "That is my partner, Carlson. When you're ready we'll move you to a safe-house where we'll protect you until your part in this case is resolved, and then we'll look into relocation and a new identity."

Téa spent a few quiet moments trying to judge the two US Marshals for herself before looking to Tony for reassurance, who offered her what he hoped was his most reassuring smile.

"This is what they're trained to do," he told her. "They'll take you to a safe-house where the novelty of being in witness protection will soon wear off, and you'll be playing scrabble for the 108th time in a row after your 245th game of solitaire after reading all three books that they provide you with over and over and memorising the take-out menu."

Téa let out a soft chuckle as she dried her face, the tears having stopped.

"Then you can decide whether or not you'll help us put Radoslav away and give evidence at his trial, or you might simply want to leave Baltimore and never look back; either way, eventually, I’ll make sure you end up with a new identity in a new city with a fresh start ahead of you."

"It sounds good to me," Téa confessed quietly. "I do want to go and never look back."

Both Gibbs and Tony shared disappointed glances; without Téa's testimony they would have to rely upon evidence, and so far they had none, certainly not enough to get them a warrant. Goran Radoslav could walk.

Téa caught the glances shared between both the Detective and the Agent and knew what conclusion they had jumped to. "I want to leave and never come back, but I can't. Goran will pay for what he has done!" she promised with such steadfast certainty that Tony could not equate her sudden ferocity with the tearful young woman that had previously been sat before him.

"If I co-operate, will the rest of my family be safe? I don't think I can do this if they will be in danger," she said fearfully, all previous signs of certainty melting into insecurity and anxiety.

While Téa looked to Tony for an answer, he knew that he could not provide one for her, so he looked to the one man who would probably have the strongest influence over the right sort of people. "What do you say, Fornell?" he asked quietly and as politely as he could manage, knowing this wasn't the time to showcase his resentment and distrust of the man and his presence.

"I can't make any promises just yet, but I don't think you'll need to worry, ma'am," Fornell said with what passed for a gentle smile from him. "If it’s warranted, we'll try to bring them out here and get them settled, either with you or wherever else the Marshals might think they would be safe."

Téa nodded, some of her fears having been allayed. "Do I go now?"

Tony nodded, "Sam here was clever enough to record this little chat of ours, so we'll get it transcribed and you can sign it at a later date. You should go with these men and start on with the scrabble. You definitely deserve a break, I'm sure that can’t have been easy for you."

Before Téa had got to her feet, Gibbs' voice halted her movements. "Wait!" he ordered. "What you've told us only accounts for two of the three murders. What about the other guy? What about May?"

Téa shook her head, "I didn't see him, or at least not that night, anyway. I've seen him in the club a couple of times, I think Goran and his friends get some drugs from him, but I don't know…no-one ever really tells us anything."

"Alright," Tony smiled gently at her, aware of just how much they had pushed the poor woman for answers. "You should go and get some rest. Don't worry about Goran and his friends, they're our problem now."

The office settled down into a relatively calm and quiet atmosphere once Téa and the US Marshals left; Sam had agreed to take Cascabel with him, as part of the continued Baltimore PD/NCIS co-operation, to the interview rooms where they would be questioning witnesses and trying to corroborate their earlier statements with anything Téa had said or might otherwise have inadvertently revealed.

Fornell was making a few calls to people in Washington DC trying to secure Téa's co-operation by securing her family's safety, while Abby was travelling back to DC to check on her tests; evidence along with Téa's testimony should make for a slam-dunk case. Agent Batista had gone to the FBI's Baltimore Field Office to get any more relevant information on the trafficking ring.

Ducky and Dr. Metcalf had gone down to the morgue about half an hour earlier to start the autopsy on the recently discovered body of Téa's beaten friend from Club Abër, Nadia.

Tony and Gibbs were looking at the FBI files, focusing particularly on Radoslav and Pasha; according to Téa, these were the two that seemed to be more involved than the others. Every now and then, the two would compare a few bits of information and found that they had each reached similar conclusions.

Gibbs' ringing mobile ended the brief respite. "Gibbs," he barked by way of an introduction.

"Gibbs!" came a voice squealing down the line.

"Abs, how many Caff-Pows have you had?" Gibbs let out wryly.

"Oh…umm…well, I'm not really sure," Abby confessed in one quick breath. "I had to make up for the fact that they didn't have any in Baltimore; I mean really, not one place? There has to be somewhere…really…I mean no city can live without its share of Caff-Pow, Gibbs…that would be a world gone topsy-turvy! Maybe it's more of a back-alley thing there; I mean Baltimore isn't really anything like DC, is it? I mean there's no White House for one, and there isn't a…"

"Abby!" Gibbs shouted down the line, eager to stop the caffeine/sugar induced rambling; for someone as intelligent as she undoubtedly was, the Forensic Specialist sure could spout a lot of nonsense. He moved away from the young Detective who was quietly laughing at what he had heard being shouted down the line from his hyperactive colleague. "What did you want?" he asked out of DiNozzo's earshot.

"Oh, well, I've got a bunch of test results for you," she revealed, not the slightest bit put out by Gibbs' sharp interruption. "The blood you pulled from the warehouse was a match to both the Marine and Jane Doe…"

"Teresa Kastrioti," Gibbs insisted. It felt wrong to call her Jane Doe now that they had a name for her; for everything that she had suffered through in life, she at least deserved to be remembered by her name if nothing else.

"Yeah, Teresa…it's a match; that's our primary crime scene, Gibbs. However, there was no blood match for Richard May. However, pretty much all the blood in the alley matches his DNA; only a few areas of transfer for the other two though; they were probably moved there after they had been dead for maybe an hour…enough for bleeding not to be an issue, anyway. I couldn't find any other DNA there, so we can't tie it to anyone just yet."

"What about the biologicals from our vics?" Gibbs asked, desperate for something to tie the murders to Radoslav.

"Well, both May and Jennings suffered two shots; one to the head and one to the chest, so there was never much chance of finding anything damning on them, other than transfer traces when Jennings' body was moved. The bullets were 9mm, pretty standard ammo for a whole bunch of side-arms, but I would still need a gun to match them to if we were to use them as evidence. Otherwise, there was no mystery DNA on either of them that I could find.

"Teresa…she had a lot of DNA and transfer on her, but the searches haven't turned anything up; I'm still running them through a whole bunch of databases, but because these guys are most likely from somewhere in Eastern Europe the chances of them being in a system, any system, are slim, especially if they haven't been over here for long.

"I picked up three different samples from the swabs that Doctor Metcalf took of her vaginal fluid, but some of them were a little more degraded than the others, so it is possible that she was raped by more than three men, but those are the only three that we could probably get convicted in a court of law.

"Metcalf found some skin under her fingernails…she fought back Gibbs," Abby swallowed back a sob. She hated having to read these sorts of facts out about a person as if it was a shopping list – it was dehumanising; she had to explore the last moments of a person's life in all the grisly details because it was her job to uncover the truth and make sure the bad guys went to jail…it was her job, but that didn't mean that she always liked it.

"She's still fighting back, Abs," Gibbs said quietly; reassurance had never been his strong suit, not even with Shannon and Kelly, but he could hear the stark emotion in Abby's voice and wanted to get her back on track and shift her focus off the bad things, stop her bleak thoughts from dragging her down. "That skin…it could tell us who hurt her, right?"

"Yes," Abby confessed quietly, all previous signs of a caffeine and sugar overload having disappeared.

"So she could still win this fight, Abs; you need to process that DNA so that we can nail the guy that did this to the wall." Gibbs insisted firmly; he wanted Abby focusing on Teresa Kastrioti's murderer, not how she met her horrific end.

"I've processed it already, Gibbs," Abby protested, offended that he might think she wasn't on the ball. "All my tests are done, I'm just waiting on a few searches, comparing DNA in various databases with our results. Can I come back to Baltimore and help out at the lab there?" she asked hopefully.

"Abs," Gibbs sighed, not entirely sure what to say. He never liked saying 'no' to Abby, but he wasn't sure why on earth she would want to come back here and run the more mundane lab work that she usually complained about. "It is just a whole bunch of people trawling through a whole load of crap that they pulled out of the alley-way, including a pile of vomit and a hell of a lot of rat shit infested litter; why would you want to travel up here to do that?"

"Because you’re there and I'm bored!" Abby whined in a manner that suggested her reason should have been obvious, and she was bored, but that wasn't the only reason why she wanted to go back to Baltimore.

She had seen the way her Bossman had worked with DiNozzo when they were both trying to uncover the truth with Téa Kadare; they had worked well together and Abby hadn't seen that sort of flow going since Stan left the team. She wasn't sure how DiNozzo went from being an irritant to Gibbs, from being described as nothing more than 'loud' and 'difficult', to being someone that Gibbs trusted enough to run an important interview.

Detective DiNozzo was becoming more and more of a mystery that she wanted to unravel. She had read his files and, like Gibbs, found that they did little to explain the man they found themselves working alongside. Everything he did seemed set to countermand any previous expectations anyone might have about the man, before going off and doing or saying something else to rock the boat.

She can still remember the way DiNozzo's eyes roamed over her body the first time they met and the mischievous grin he sent her way, but in his dealings with Téa the man had not shown the slightest hint of lasciviousness; he had been gentle and respectful of her personal space, comforted her when she had needed it and backed off when the young girl was describing what Teresa had been forced to endure out of consideration for her. It had been a side to the young Detective that she would never have imagined.

She was determined to try and understand the eccentric Detective and to understand why Gibbs seemed to be so prepared to work alongside him and his partner, co-operatively, when he would purposefully rile anybody else he was forced to work with; to do that, she needed to be in Baltimore.

"I've set it up so that if I get any hits on the DNA, my baby will automatically e-mail me the results; it's a long shot anyway, Gibbs, at least until we have some samples to match them to…please?" she begged, sure that Gibbs would not refuse her.

"Abs…" Gibbs sighed again.

"I can tell you what I found out about Philly," she said with a smile, knowing she had just played her trump card.

"You could tell me that over the phone," Gibbs suggested firmly.

"I could," Abby agreed. "But I won't."

"Fine," Gibbs said through gritted teeth; Abby was getting far too good at getting her own way, but he knew that he would never even attempt to curb that particular trait. "I'll see you within the hour, and I expect a damn good explanation, and bring your own goddamn Caff-Pows; I don't have the time to trawl through Baltimore looking for one."

"Less than that, I'm nearly there," Abby informed him, after having already set off, certain Gibbs would not say know. "I've already brought enough Caff-Pow to see me through, and I can promise you, this info is something pretty interesting," Abby assured him, before hanging up and performing a victory dance as she drove.

While Gibbs was talking to his bizarre Forensic Specialist, Tony went for a cup of the god-awful departmental coffee. He set up the now empty percolator and ensured that the coffee brewing could double as paint thinner. He desperately needed the caffeine boost to get him through the rest of the day – his head was still pounding and Téa's testimony had done nothing to improve his mood. As he waited for the coffee to finish he surveyed everyone else in the office.

Sam and Cascabel had returned from the interview rooms and were now raking through all the signed witness statements and comparing them with their initial accounts. Sam felt his partner's eyes upon him and nodded to him, which Tony swiftly returned, the unspoken enquiry about each other's well-being answered just as silently.

Doctors Metcalf and Mallard were still absent, and so Tony assumed they were still working on Nadia's autopsy. God, he couldn't wait to catch Radoslav – the sadistic son of a bitch was going to pay for what he had done!

He turned to find Gibbs still on the phone and due to the obvious signs of irritation radiating off the man, Tony turned round and filled up two cups of coffee; he doubted Gibbs would count it as good coffee, because no one in their right mind could possibly define it as anything even remotely close to 'good,' but it was still a cup full of much needed caffeine if nothing else.

"Is there enough in there for another cup?" Fornell asked from behind and Tony had to try his hardest to suppress a small jump of surprise.

"No," he replied shortly, despite being well aware that there was at least enough for two more cups of coffee. He wasn't going to make things easy for Fornell; if the man was in Baltimore to 'right some wrongs,' as he had said, then he would be able to prove himself, but Tony wasn't going to sit idly by and wait to see which direction the man might go.

Fornell rolled his eyes and picked the percolator out of the young Detective's hands before pouring himself a generous amount.

"I've just spent the last two hours on the phone with immigration, so what I really need is a double bourbon on the rocks, but caffeine will have to do for now." He took a big gulp and Tony had to smoother a laugh as he took in the FBI Agent's expression.

"You ok?" Tony asked with feigned compassion.

"At least it's strong, I suppose," Fornell commented dryly while raising an eyebrow at the young man that he undoubtedly blamed.

"I was trying to make it Gibbs strength," Tony shrugged before pouring another cup of coffee and carrying it over towards the other two working quietly in the corner. "Agent Cascabel, milk and no sugar," he said before placing it next to her. "Sam, Fornell drank yours, so you're going to have to wait for the next batch."

"Its fine," Sam smiled, catching Fornell's frown at his partner's words – it seemed the Fed had caught onto the fact that DiNozzo was not ready to forgive and forget just yet. "Thanks," he offered his partner a mischievous wink before turning back to work.

"Yes, thank you, Detective DiNozzo," Cascabel smiled at him.

"No problemo," Tony responded with a flirtatious smile of his own, before going back to the coffee pot to reset it for his partner.

"How's the reading going?" Fornell asked casually.

"It's a slow read," Tony shrugged. "I think the ending is pretty obvious too. There are no real surprises or entertaining twists; I won't waste my money on the sequel, that's for sure."

"Hopefully there won't be a sequel," Fornell replied, not in the least bit hazed by the Detective's avoidance.

"Hopefully," Tony agreed, shooting the FBI Agent a calculating look. He was trying to figure out just how sincere the man was, but it was a hard task with someone whose face seemingly only held three different expressions in its retinue.

"You don't trust me, DiNozzo," Fornell said matter-of-factly, no questioning tone to his voice at all. "I understand it, too, but I'm not sure what else I can say to make you understand that I'm trying to make sure my mistakes in Philadelphia are not repeated here in Baltimore."

"You don't have to say anything," Tony hissed quietly, his mood changing to one of bitter anger in the blink of an eye. He stepped into the FBI Agent's personal space. "If you're really here to make sure that Radoslav doesn't walk, then you prove it to me by catching the son of a bitch and nailing him to the wall and throwing the whole goddamn book at him!

"If you want to prove it to me, then make sure that the assholes who are involved in his business are going to be standing right there beside him in the dock at court. You make sure that no one walks because it might embarrass someone on Capitol Hill or in the Mayor's Office, or your own goddamn Director.

"If you can do all that," Tony hissed, "Then maybe, just maybe, I won't break your nose for screwing me over like you did in Philly."

"You're asking for a lot," Fornell pointed out. "I can promise you that I will not let Radoslav walk, no matter what kind of deal he tries to make, but I can't promise you that everyone associated with him will go down too.

"If you can bring me any evidence to suggest that there was someone from Capitol Hill or the Mayor's Office or even from the FBI that solicited sex from this trafficking ring, then I can make sure they pay for their crimes, but if it only comes down to one person's word against another's, then there's nothing I can do. We need evidence for a conviction: 'innocent until proven guilty,' DiNozzo, you know that."

"I do," Tony agreed. "Vargas and Brewster have some photographic evidence about various different people who visited Club Abër; understandably they were hesitant about bringing up some of the names to the higher-ups, considering some of these higher-ups were involved and could make their life difficult, even end their career."

"Can I see this photographic evidence?" Fornell asked, a frown present. Important city officials being involved in something like this was going to cause problems, with the media, with the Brass – the whole legal system would be tipped upside down.

"Not a chance," Tony shook his head. "You help us catch Radoslav and I'll let you take a peek, but nothing until then. If you don't help us catch Radoslav…well, let's just say that Sam has more determination than my last partner did and he's about as likely to let this go as I am, and I think you already know what Gibbs would consider doing to see this thing through to the end."

Fornell nodded his agreement, he knew exactly how far Jethro would go to make sure Radoslav spent the rest of his life in a small, barred room. The real question was did DiNozzo really understand? He stole a quick glance towards the young Detective and looked back on the behaviour between the young man and Agent Gibbs.

Jethro seemed to be more than tolerant of the Detective's antics and his overly verbose nature; Tobias couldn't even remember a time when Jethro had shown that much patience with anyone, certainly not a cop who would no doubt have refused to bow down to his authority. He hadn't missed the look the two shared when he had been trying to explain to DiNozzo why he was really in Baltimore and he hadn't missed the looks between the two during the interview with Miss Kadare, either.

It seemed as though Jethro had found someone other than himself that he trusted enough to complete an interview, just as it had also seemed that DiNozzo did not look to his partner for reassurance. He had no idea what had happened, if anything, that had brought that trust into existence, but he knew that it was rare for either of them to trust easily.

Yes…he believed that perhaps Detective DiNozzo was aware of what lengths Jethro would go to in order to catch the bad guy.

"I need a coffee!" Gibbs' gruff voice demanded behind him.

Tony handed one over; it was not as hot as it had been, but it was warm enough and he didn't think Gibbs cared as much about the temperature as he did about the strength of the drink.

Gibbs took a big gulp of coffee in an attempt to wash away Abby's rambling voice; he loved her like family, but God that girl knew how to talk! "Oh, God!" he pulled a face at the coffee before turning a glare towards DiNozzo.

"It's strong," Tony pointed out unnecessarily.

"You think so, DiNozzo?" Gibbs asked, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "It tastes like crap!" he complained.

"Departmental coffee," Tony agreed, nodding his head wisely.

Gibbs held his glare on the young Detective, never moving his eyes as he shouted out, "Cascabel!"

"Yes, Boss?" she asked, a hint of anxiety in her voice, as she hurried over to her team leader.

"Coffee trip – strong and black…two cups," he ordered.

"We have coffee right here, Gibbs," Tony said, as if he were explaining it to a rather slow five-year-old.

Gibbs' eyes narrowed at the young Detective. "Real coffee," he clarified.

"I don't know," Tony shook his head with mock despair. "Here I am slaving over the pot to ensure Agent Gibbs gets his caffeine fix and this is the thanks I get." The effect of his otherwise exasperated countenance was ruined by the mischievous glint in his eyes. "You really want to hit me right now, don't you?" he enquired with a small grin after seeing the NCIS Agent's eyes narrow even further in his direction.

"DiNozzo, you have no idea just how strong that urge can be at times," Gibbs said matter-of-factly.

"Well, that's not true," Tony pointed out. "If I guessed correctly then surely I have some idea."

Gibbs scowled and mumbled unintelligibly before eventually turning round to face his Agent. "Coffee run, Cascabel, now!" he ordered before returning to his paperwork; maybe reading would stop him strangling the young Detective in front of his partner.

"Gibbs!" came Abby's cry of joy as she entered the Homicide Department.

"I'll be back," Gibbs promised with a stern look at his current partner. DiNozzo just smiled back. He understood that Gibbs had meant for him to carry on working, but, well, everyone needed a break at some stage, right?

"Abs," Gibbs greeted his Forensic Specialist. "What do you have for me?"

"Honestly, Gibbs," Abby sighed. "Patience is a virtue, you know…" she paused and gave him a quick once over, taking in his stance and his own sigh. "Clearly not one of yours though."

"Abs…"

"Ok, ok," she put up her hands in mock surrender and waved a file under his nose. "Never doubt me again, Gibbs!"

Gibbs nodded and felt some of the tension leave him. Finally…finally, he would have some answers. "Come on, let's find somewhere a little quieter."

Abby nodded him and followed Gibbs into one of the small conference rooms off the corridor outside the Homicide Department. "Ah," Abby nodded wisely as she looked around. "Coffee machine, gotcha, Bossman."

Gibbs shook his head; DiNozzo had said the same thing. He wasn't that bad with his coffee but a good cup of coffee could certainly set the tone for a better day.

"Sit," he directed the young woman into a swivel chair on one side of the desk while he sat himself in the chair at the end and waited with feigned patience while he watched Abby twist and turn into a comfortable position. "Talk," he ordered her once she seemed to have settled slightly.

"Ok, so an old friend of mine from college, Phil, he worked in Philadelphia a while back, hey…Phil, Philly!”

“Abby,” the Senior Agent prodded her.

“Right, so anyway, he still has some ties there and he owed me…like…big time! I mean it Gibbs, he owed me so big that if I killed someone, he would have to help me drag out the body to the middle of some woods, dig the grave all by himself, cover the dead guy in quick-lime and then provide me with an alibi if I needed one, and we still wouldn't be quits!" Abby said with wide eyes as she waved her arms about madly trying to show Gibbs just how much her old friend was in her debt.

"Abby," Gibbs rolled his eyes as he tried to get her back on track.

"Yeah, so I asked him to do some digging around…on the down-low, of course," she nodded her head sagely.

"Of course," Gibbs added dryly.

"Anyways, so he found out everything…well, pretty much everything; there are still some grey areas, so he's still gonna have to do one or two more favours if he ever wants to get back into my good books."

Gibbs ground his teeth and pulled his hands into fists in a desperate bid not to lean across the table and strangle the answers out of one of the few people at NCIS that he actually liked.

"So…it turns out there was…like…this major drugs cartel doing big business in Philly, and no matter how many raids there were on suspected labs, or how many warrants were executed for house searches and all the arrests that were made, nothing really ever seemed to stick – a few of the small-time crooks did some time, but nothing major, and Phil said that none of the big timers even saw the inside of a police station, let alone a holding cell!"

"There was someone on the inside…an informant within the Police Department," Gibbs astutely surmised.

"Bingo!" Abby clapped her hands and pointed at her Silver Fox for emphasis. "But that's the thing, Bossman, Phil said that there wasn't just one man giving out info to the Cartel and protecting their operations, but there was a whole host of people getting pay-outs from the Cartel for all sorts of things. There was some major scale, seriously down and dirty corruption going on in fair old Philly, Gibbs, and not just in the PD!

"There were a whole bunch of cops, that's true, but there were also some FBI agents involved, as well as some senior city officials and even a Senator's aide; they couldn't find any evidence linking Senator Hammers to the whole mess, but a lot of people seemed to think he was involved."

"FBI was involved?" Gibbs asked. "That could explain why Fornell was involved too."

"All too true, Bossman," Abby agreed, nodding her head so fast that Gibbs thought she might strain something. "Seems like some bigwigs in Washington sent out Fornell to keep certain facts from coming to light in the media – the former Director had a very old, very close friend heading up the Organised Crime Department in Philly's Field Office; these two were such good bosom-buddies that former Director Walters made a very public, heart-felt endorsement of Special Agent Gibbons' application for the post of Deputy Director back in DC."

"So they had to cover it all up to stop the Director from making an idiot of himself," Gibbs shook his head in disgust. God he hated politics; he thoroughly hoped that no one was ever stupid enough to promote him into an office! "But none of this explains DiNozzo's involvement," he pointed out.

"Au contraire, my impatient, little Marine," Abby wagged a finger at him, but caught the affronted look at the use of the word 'little' so she quickly corrected herself. "No…not little…big, scary, badass Marine!" she assured him with vigour.

"The point, Abs," Gibbs asked with a sigh.

"Well, DiNozzo was just a lowly officer in those days, assigned to the Vice Department of one Philadelphia Police Department. A uniform's job is pretty much doing all the legwork for the Detective's investigation, right? Well, he noticed that the Cartel always seemed to be one step ahead of any bust, so he took his concerns to his Captain, and so an investigation was launched."

"The one Fornell came in on," Gibbs accurately surmised.

"Yep," Abs nodded fervently. "Once it was clear that there were some dirty FBI agents involved, the Hoover Building received some very unpleasant calls from a pissed off Chief of Police in Philly and apparently the former Director put one and one together and came up with one very naughty old friend."

"Ok, so this explains the cover-up, but none of this explains why DiNozzo made the jump from an Officer in Vice to a Detective in Homicide. Did he go along with the cover-up? Was he involved some other way? What happened? These are the things I want to know, Abs."

"I know that, Gibbs," Abby replied in an affronted manner, irritated that her Bossman thought she would leave her investigation so open-ended. "Apparently, DiNozzo got on well with the lab folk back in Philly, and they told Phil that DiNozzo came to them with evidence linked to all sorts of higher-ups and that the evidence was squashed by the Chief.

"They reckon that for DiNozzo to have gone along with it all, considering how pissed off he was with just the idea of a cover-up, that they had to have had something to hold over his head. They didn't know what, exactly, but they thought that it maybe had something to do with his partner. Apparently, they did not get on, like, at all! But DiNozzo's supposed to be as loyal as a St. Bernard, so maybe they figured he wouldn’t grass up his own partner?" Abby shrugged.

There was a moment's silence as Gibbs tried to digest everything his Forensic Specialist had told him and just as he was about to ask her for some clarification, a voice interrupted him from the doorway.

"Danvers wasn't involved," Tony said, without any emotion in his voice or on his face as he leaned casually against the doorway.

Gibbs silently cursed himself; he hadn't noticed anyone opening the door because he was so intent on the story he was hearing.

"He came across one or two dirty cops during the investigation, but he didn't take what he found out to IA," Tony explained.

"They pay him off?" Gibbs asked, with no apology or explanation for his snooping into DiNozzo's life.

"No," DiNozzo shook his head. "When a bunch of cops finally went down, one of them said that Danvers knew about his involvement and that he had done for a few of months, just a couple of weeks after the investigation started off, really. Danvers had been on Patrol for a few years by that stage, and everyone knew he was next in line for a promotion – he'd get a desk and a golden shield and he'd be able to wear a suit to work.

"Pay isn't great when you're walking a beat, and Danvers wife was over eight months pregnant when the investigation started – with a kid on the way, bills and a mortgage to pay, he definitely needed the promotion and the bigger pay-check that went with it so he didn’t want to do anything to rock the boat. But it wasn’t just about the money. If a dirty cop threatened your family and you had no idea just how deep the corruption went within your own department…well, I think you'd hesitate before turning to IA, too, wouldn't you?"

"How does that affect your co-operation in this cover-up?" Gibbs asked, ignoring DiNozzo's questioning; someone went beyond threatening his family and Gibbs saw to it that the man paid for it with his life, but no one needed to know that.

"I didn't like Danvers, Miss Scuito's source was right about that," Tony said quietly, looking down at his feet, and Abby felt the start of something that felt a lot like guilt building up in her gut; she didn't like that her actions were now causing someone emotional pain, and it was clear that DiNozzo still had unresolved issues about what had happened in Philadelphia.

"He was more than a little condescending, always treated me like an idiot because I only had two years on the Force and he had seven. He would rarely tell me what his plan was when a bust went south and if I didn't back him up because I didn't have a fucking clue what he was up to, then I was the one to get reamed out.

"He always left the majority of the paperwork to me, left me to handle the Brass if something had gone wrong, and he made me run every stupid little errand he could think of. This wasn't the standard hazing, by any means, I could have handled that…I have handled that, in sports teams and military academy and the Police Academy and my first years on the Force in Peoria. But Danvers took it too far, every time.

"Mind you, I was so busy trying to prove myself worthy of being something other than his errand boy that I’d definitely learnt a lot by the end…probably a lot more than I would have done with a more indifferent partner. Sam has taught me a lot, and I’m a much better cop because of him. Danvers taught me a lot, even if he never meant to, and I’m a much better cop in spite of him."

"So why did you protect him?" Gibbs asked, noting that DiNozzo was clearly not willing to go into specifics and he wondered just how bad it had been for the younger man. "Cos I'm pretty sure that’s what must have happened."

"He wasn't a good cop, not in the same way that Sam is good or that Blackburn is good, but at the end of the day he was on the right side of the law and he tried to put those who weren't behind bars; that’s the job, after all. But for all his faults, he definitely wasn't a bad cop; I knew without a doubt that he wasn't involved in the whole Cartel mess. When it came out that Danvers knew about one of the cops, the FBI threatened to fire him, maybe even have him brought up on criminal charges."

"What kind of charges?" Gibbs asked with a frown; he knew that Fornell was all about the job and he couldn't imagine the man condoning any kind of cover-up. Had his ambition really caused him to go against his own set of ethics?

"Failure to report a crime, dereliction of duty, attempting to pervert the course of justice…hell, they even wanted to add aiding and abetting," Tony snorted. "I knew that wouldn't stick in any court of law, but I couldn't risk the others, because legally they were right; he did fail to report a crime, he did fail to do his duty and both of those did almost pervert the course of justice.

"I didn't like him, but he was my partner, Gibbs; you back up your partner when and where you can. He wasn't dirty and he hadn't gone off the reservation; he tried to protect his family…and yes, his career too, because no one likes working with an IA rat, but he was doing what he could to protect his family. Even if I could have screwed him over like that, I could never have done that to his wife, to Nancy.

"She was nice, always trying to mother me, despite the fact that she wasn't more that ten years older than me. She would come to the station with Tupperware boxes full of meals for me; she wouldn't send Danvers in with them because she knew he probably wouldn't hand them over.

"She had to leave her job once her pregnancy was in the later stages; and she wouldn't be able to go back to work until after the baby had grown up a bit because they wouldn't be able to afford child-care. I didn't like Danvers, but she loved him; he was the father of her child, her husband and her childhood sweetheart. She would need him and his job. He was an asshole in all sorts of ways, but he was a damn good father to that kid, even when it was only a couple of months old and didn't need much from him."

"So you were protecting your partner? They would ignore everything Danvers had done, or not done, if you agreed to follow the company line?" Gibbs asked, respect for the young Detective in front of him building.

"Yeah," Tony nodded. "There was nothing else I could do. The Chief gave me a Detective's shield and yeah, I took it – he wanted me to stay but I couldn't, not in Philly; I'd pretty much lost any faith I once had in the Department and that badge was my ticket out of there and into a position where I couldn't be used like that again…or so I’d hoped. Everyone seemed to be so keen to keep everything quiet; Gibbons walked away from the whole mess without even a reprimand in his file and the FBI let that happen…I let that happen!" he shook his head in disgust.

"I'm not a puppet, Agent Gibbs, never again!” Tony said, his eyes boring into Gibbs' with no trace of his usual mischief and good cheer. "Philly screwed me over and there wasn't a damn thing I could do about it without screwing over my partner, but it’s different here. Here, I trust my Chief and more importantly I trust my partner; I know Sam will fight alongside me right to the end on this case, no matter what the ramifications might be. I'm not going to let the FBI give another criminal a get-out-of-jail-free card just because he wears a badge or works in politics – Sam wouldn’t let me and I never want to be involved in that kind of crap again."

"I'd kick your ass if you were, DiNozzo," Gibbs said firmly, but gave him a gentle nod, tacit reassurance that he thought no less of him for knowing the truth about Philly.

Sam had said that DiNozzo had earned his Detective's Badge, and whilst he might have received it through some rather unsavoury circumstances it didn't mean he deserved it any less. Gibbs was becoming increasingly aware of the young man's talents and no one that good would have stayed as a uniform for long if he had his sights set elsewhere.

"I don't suppose I could try and talk you into kicking Fornell's ass instead, could I?" Tony asked with a small, wry grin.

"He'll do the right thing, DiNozzo," Gibbs said, his voice laced with certainty.

"That's what he told me he was doing last time," Tony sighed.

"Did he give you any reasons?" Gibbs asked, not able to reconcile what he knew with the FBI Agent he knew.

"Yeah, the same one that always gets used at times like this – the greater good." Tony said with disdain. "He said that if Gibbons went down for corruption then it wouldn't just be his cases that would be reviewed, but the whole Organised Crime Department's, because he was the Agent in Charge. He said they didn't want to risk letting all those crooks out of prison because of the actions of one man."

"Did you agree with that?" Gibbs asked, curiously.

"Of course I didn't think it would be a good thing if all those cases were at risk of having their convictions overturned because of one bad apple, but I also didn't think that it was a good thing that Gibbons got away scot-free. He should have to pay for what he's done; people trusted him to enforce the law, and instead he not only broke the law but he failed so many people, so badly! How many people died because people like Gibbons identified the informants we had within the Cartel? How many died or had their lives forever changed because he wasn't doing his job and let thieves and drug dealers and murders go free to commit more crimes? He shouldn't have been able to just walk away from that!"

"I don’t disagree," Gibbs nodded, thinking how he would have felt if it turned out Shannon and Kelly’s murderer has escaped prison because of just such a man. "But it happened and there’s nothing much we can do about it now.  What we do need to do is to ensure it doesn't happen again – are you in?"

"You already know I'm in," Tony pointed out.

"I do," Gibbs said with a small, wry grin. "So I'm going to get back to digging through all that god-awful paperwork and you’re going to take five minutes and then get back to work. Abby came all this way to help out your lab because she wants to see this case through to the right conclusion too; perhaps you can show her the way and introduce her."

"Thanks," Tony said, surprised, not having expected such consideration from the stern Marine. Gibbs nodded once at Tony and gave Abby a considering look before leaving, closing the door as he went.

"He likes you," Abby said with a small grin of her own. It was interesting to watch the way both Gibbs and DiNozzo interacted; they seemed comfortable, even when they were mocking each other or testing each other. She hadn't seen Gibbs work this well with anyone for a long time, even Stan Burley had had to fight and work hard over several years to earn the respect that Gibbs seemed to have already afforded DiNozzo.

Tony snorted. "I'd surely hate to be hated by the man," he said dryly.

"Aw…he's nothing but goo on the inside...really!" she insisted loudly when she saw DiNozzo's eyebrow quirk.

"So," Tony said quietly. "You don't seem to want to kill me in a scarily efficient, freaky forensic fashion anymore."

"No," Abby agreed. "You're kind of gooey on the inside too."

"Thanks…I think," DiNozzo said with a small frown. "I can assure you that no one has ever called me that before. So…you really have a friend called Phil from Philadelphia and you’ve never noticed that before?" he smirked.

Abby welted him with her arm, unsure of whether or not he was mocking her, only to end up rubbing her arm in an effort to soothe it. "You're definitely not gooey on the outside."

Tony laughed and gently took her hand, giving it a quick inspection. "Not even a dent," he mocked. "What are you even bitching about?"

"Humph!" Abby pouted exaggeratedly.

"Come on," Tony said as he stood up, offering her a hand up. "I'm pretty sure my time is up and I really don't want to find out what Gibbs would be like if he didn't like me!"

Abby laughed; she was beginning to see why her Bossman liked the affable young Detective. Maybe this was the start of a beautiful friendship.

Chapter Text

Gibbs was sat at the desk with paperwork in his hands. This time, his complete lack of attention was nothing to do with his eyesight and everything to do with the young man whose life Abby had just laid bare before him.

He had no difficulty in believing that DiNozzo had a strong sense of loyalty towards his partners, merely that that sense of loyalty would trump the young man's code of ethics; his very evident anger at the situation he faced in Philadelphia showed just how strongly he believed in his job. For DiNozzo it was simple; he was a cop and no matter who committed the crime they should still be made to face the same punishment.

For DiNozzo to let go of that determination to see justice served…well, Gibbs was positive that it hadn't been an easy decision.

He wondered at loyalty; it was something that he had taken for granted when he was a Marine and something that he had once expected to find as easily outside the military world. He had been sorely disappointed.

In the USMC following orders was literally a matter of life and death. If one person hesitated out in the field of combat then that split second wasted considering the validity of an order could mean death, and not just for that one person; an entire company could pay the price just because one Marine was hesitant to follow his orders, unable to find it within himself to be loyal to his superior officer.

Loyalty to your brothers in arms was not just a way of life but a necessity; loyalty could be the difference between life and death. It was loyalty that ensured everyone tried their hardest to keep everyone else alive; 'leave no man behind' was more than just a meaningless phrase, and 'Semper Fidelis,' the two words at the very heart of the US Marine Corps, meant 'Always Faithful,' which Gibbs thought pretty accurately summed up the loyalty most Marines instinctively felt towards each other.

Once he had joined NCIS he gave his loyalty to Mike Franks, a man who not only gave him the vengeance he needed and so desperately wanted, but who gave him a new purpose in life, a new reason to live. He had never been sure just how far Mike would go for him, and he never wanted to know, not really; the man tended to keep his cards very close to his chest and no one could ever truly be convinced of Mike's reasoning, not even Gibbs, who had known him for years.

Gibbs was more inclined to believe that Franks’ initial determination to find the man who killed Shannon and Kelly was more to do with anger at the ineptitude of the justice system rather than any sense of loyalty he might have felt the grieving father was owed. Empathy was not the same as the loyalty he had valued in the Corps.

He thinks there’s some degree of loyalty between them now, and one that is not just one-sided, as it was in the beginning. Gibbs is reasonably sure that if he needed Franks, the man would come, no questions asked. He’s also sure that if Gibbs stood between Franks and something the older man wanted then that faithfulness would be tested, as he knew that the loyalty that existed between them was still rather more tenuous than he would like.

Stan had followed his orders, rarely questioning the wisdom of them because he trusted that Gibbs knew what he was doing; having someone's trust was not the same as having their loyalty. If Stan had been loyal he wouldn't have applied for a transfer without telling Gibbs.

Gibbs knew that Cascabel held no more loyalty towards him and NCIS than she had done towards the FBI; she liked her job in law-enforcement but she saw things as black and white, right and wrong, there was no loyalty, only your duty as a fellow agent. Loyalty had no place in her pigeon-hole world; why would you need to rely upon the loyalty of your partner when you had whole departments within a federal agency to ensure that any problems were dealt with in an efficient and professional manner?

She would never know that Gibbs needed to have loyalty because he didn't have faith in the system; the way Shannon and Kelly's case had been handled taught him that the system was more than a little broken.

Nixon…well…was there really any need to look there for loyalty? The man had no loyalty and no trust whatsoever in Gibbs or his experience. Nixon had no loyalty because he had no concept of what that entailed, no idea what a team was or how it should function; his only dream in life seemed to be getting out of a team and into a high-powered office job, where he thought he could command respect without earning it.

The only people at NCIS who Gibbs trusted and who trusted him absolutely were Abby and Ducky, who were so loyal that they would help him carry a dead body to a lonely plot in the woods if he needed them to. He knew without ever doubting it that he could rely upon them no matter what the problem was; he also knew that he could rely upon them to tell him straight that he was acting like an idiot, just like he also knew that they would still stand by him even as he cussed them out, ignored their wisdom and ended up screwing the pooch anyway.

He knew all this because at the end of the day, they all liked each other.

DiNozzo had put aside his strong code of ethics and his desire to see justice served all for a partner that he himself had stated that he didn't like.

Gibbs knew that a good relationship between any two partners in law-enforcement was vital. You needed to be able to walk into the unknown, into the most charged of situations with someone wholly reliable at your back; that was why hazing on the police force was so common – you needed to know, without a shadow of a doubt, that you could trust the other person to come through for you, even feeling like hell on the crappiest of days when you were at each other’s throats. You didn’t have to like each other, you didn’t even need to be friends, but you needed to know that someone could put aside all personal feelings and go above and beyond to do their job, to do what they could to make sure everyone went home at the end of the day.

Gibbs wondered what had happened to make DiNozzo put that much faith into a partnership, especially one that seemed to be so one-sided.

Was it just Daddy Issues? Had DiNozzo Senior really messed his son up so much, inured him to a life filled with so much animosity that he felt being treated like crap was something to be expected as a matter of course? Or worse, something that he felt he deserved?

No, surely there had to be something more to it than that.

It was clear that DiNozzo had Daddy Issues, plenty of them, and ones he’d come by honestly, but he also didn't seem to be the kind of person that would let them rule the way he led his life.

He shook his head in frustration; every time he thought that he was getting a handle on the young Detective something would happen and he would find his understanding blown out of the water.

He looked back to the papers sprawled across the desk thinking he might have more success with the case.

"And this, Miss Scuito, is where Baltimore's finest bring all their problems and hope like hell that the techs know what they're doing," Tony said, bowing with a flourish as he waved the Goth into the noisy lab.

Abby, who was used to being all alone in her lab except for the times that Gibbs would sneak up on her, looked around the room with something akin to awe. She knew that the average budget given over to the PD was next to nothing compared with what the federal agencies got, but Baltimore's lab was very well stocked and well manned and particularly lively.

She would never like to work with so many people, who would undoubtedly get in her way and touch her machines and commit the ultimate sin of messing with her music. However, she couldn't deny that the races being carried out at the end of the lab looked like fun; three people had just launched another three people, who were sat on swivel chairs, right across to the other side of the room as they pelted the competition with paper-balls and paper-clips and tried to trip each other up.

Of course, what really grabbed her attention was what one of the techs was holding; there, in a steadfast grip, was a beloved Caff-Pow! 'Ah, sweet nectar,' she thought as she smiled to herself.

"You're smiling," Tony whispered in her ear. "But this smile resembles Hannibal Lector looking at a human liver more than it does a sexy little Goth watching office jousting – I feel like I should be very worried."

Abby rolled her eyes at the Detective's flirtatious words and his grin before whacking him gently across the top of his arm, having learnt her lesson last time not to hit him too hard. Having heard about how gentle and understanding he was with their key witness, Abs was beginning to suspect that while he was clearly a natural flirt, he wasn’t anywhere near being the kind of lech he sometimes portrayed himself to be.

"You should be worried! You do know I could kill you and no one would be able to find the body, you do know that, right?" she said with mock sternness as she placed a hand on her hip and gave DiNozzo her best imitation of the infamous 'Gibbs' Glare.'

"I do seem to recall you saying something similar the first time we met, glaring at me like some crazy gothic vampire," Tony nodded his head sagaciously, completely ignoring the glare. "But I wouldn't recommend leaving me in the ground for too long, though, or you might have to share your meal with the maggots – they have a lot of protein and would probably go quite well with my liver, but they’d ruin the fava beans and especially the Chianti."

Abby had to suppress a giggle at the imagery. "Are you ever serious?" she asked with a smile on her face but with genuine curiosity behind the question. She knew that he had remained serious while discussing the events of Philadelphia, but that had been a serious discussion. She was curious to know whether or not he ever chose to be serious of his own volition.

"Mmm…" Tony brought his finger up to scratch his chin as he pretended to put some serious thought into the question. "Well, I tend to be on a bit of a downer after casual Friday is over, but then Friday night picks me right back up," he added with a suggestive look and a cheeky wink.

"Oh," Abby nodded in understanding. "I guess that's when the Blue Lagoon has their big night," she said of one of Baltimore's more infamous clubs on the gay scene.

Tony laughed; he was really beginning to like Abby. She was easy to talk to and she clearly knew how to banter now that she was no longer insulting him or shooting him death glares…it was fun.

"Hey, Sarah!" he shouted over the din.

"Tony," a greying-haired woman released a long-suffering sigh as she approached the couple. "We're not deaf, and the lab is not that big, you don't need to shout."

"This is Sarah," Tony explained needlessly as he put a hand around her shoulders. "She's the one that makes me look good."

"No one can make you look good, Tony, I just make you look a little less clueless," she said, throwing a wink Abby's way.

"I'm Abby, I work with NCIS and am here to offer my services on any evidence you pulled from the three dead bodies that you've got in your morgue," she said as she offered her hand.

"Hi," the older woman returned the handshake before throwing Tony a questioning look.

"The three at the dock," Tony clarified, "Not the three from the projects."

"You’ve got another triple?" Abby asked, slightly shocked.

"Not really," Tony shrugged. "There was a drive-by on a stash-house in the projects; several people were fragged, not all of them players. Three died and four more were injured; one of them was a seven-year-old girl." He shook his head at the thought; too many innocents were caught up in the on-going war on drugs. “So three dead bodies but not three intended victims if that makes sense.”

"Has this all been ok’d by the people upstairs?" Sarah paused.

“I spoke to McTavish on the way down here – she’s fully certified so he’s given the green light, just asks that she works with a lab tech from Baltimore rather than by herself and he’ll make sure all the right forms are taken care of.”

“Ok then,” Sarah nodded. "I'll show you around and have one of our techs get you up to speed on what they've got so far. You," she rounded on Tony before jabbing a finger in his chest. "Go and earn your pay check!" she turned around without sparing him another look and marched down to the other end of the lab clearly expecting Abby to follow.

Sarah slapped one of the techs chair-racing on top of his head and grabbed him by the tie, yanking him out of his seat before she shoved him towards a work-top. The rest of the racers got up quickly in order to avoid similar treatment and realised that their downtime while waiting for their next set of results was over.

Abby raised a questioning eyebrow at the Detective by her side.

"Don't worry," he reassured her. "She might rule the roost with an iron grip but she's a real mother-hen when it comes down to it. One piece of advice though; don't mess with her mass-spectom…mass-spectrum…mass something or other. She likes her toys!"

"Mass Spectrometer," she confirmed with a grin. "Aye, aye, Captain, my Captain," Abby said giving him a quick salute before happily skipping down the lab.

Before Tony reached the exit he could hear Abby asking about Caff-Pows; it seemed she would fit right in. He laughed to himself and made his way back up to the office, hoping Gibbs wouldn't be too pissed that he had taken more than the allotted five minutes.

"Agent Gibbs," Sam nodded at the Senior Agent as he placed a new cup of coffee in front of the man; the Agent looked like he was about ready to start ramming FBI files down some poor unsuspecting soul's throat.

"Thanks," Gibbs said gruffly. Coffee was definitely needed, and he was relieved to see that the coffee was from an actual coffee shop rather than from the swill from the Homicide Department's own percolator.

He'd been reading through reports drawn up by several agents who had been assigned to follow Radoslav and his crew in an effort to find a more important fish to hook. It had been a very dull read and he already knew more than he wanted to about what Radoslav filled his shopping trolley with and what products he got from the pharmacy, and he hadn't even been reading for more than fifteen minutes.

"My partner left you in the lurch?" Sam asked as he settled himself in his chair. He and Cascabel had finished going through witness, but the female Agent had suggested looking at further CCTV footage of the area surrounding the dump-site. Tony had mentioned it in passing earlier in the day but no one had found the time to follow it up until recently. Sam had left her to view the last two camera’s worth by herself – his eyes needed a break from flickering, grainy images.

Sam had typed up a transcript of Téa's statement and, along with copies of the FBI's files, files from Vargas and Brewster and files of the evidence that had been gathered so far by NCIS and Baltimore Homicide, sent it to a judge in the hope that they would not only be given an arrest warrant for Radoslav, but also a search warrant for both the club and Radoslav's personal address.

That had been over three hours ago.

"DiNozzo just needed a break," Gibbs shrugged. He wasn't sure that Sam would appreciate the fact that he and a member of his team had been digging through the young man's past and dredging up his ghosts.

Sam wasn't fooled by the casual nature of the Agent's response but he wasn't bothered by it, and if it was a big deal then DiNozzo would tell him anyway.

"I know the feeling," Sam shrugged back, rolling his shoulders as he tried to work out some of the aches and pains that had established themselves whilst he and Cascabel had been hunched over several screens of grainy CCTV footage.

Fornell wandered over from his desk, using the premise of exchanging information as an excuse to leave his desk and stretch his legs.

"You've been examining the CCTV footage?" he asked, despite already knowing the answer.

"Yup," Sam replied, rubbing at his tired eyes in an effort to stop them from getting any heavier.

"Anything?" Fornell inquired after taking a swig of his own departmental brew.

"Nothing so far," Sam shook his head tiredly. "There are so many blind spots around the docks, so many different entrances and exits in that area…even the lighting is pretty piss poor, so even if we do get anything eventually, I doubt it will be enough for a positive ID."

"How far back are you going?" Gibbs asked curiously.

"Well, so far all we've managed is to look at the footage from all the cameras around the time of the murder, so running up to and after the bodies were most likely dumped. Agent Cascabel is going through footage that pre-dates the murders, looking for any faces we might not know. There are no cameras around the warehouse Radoslav kept the girls in but there are cameras dotted around the area further out; we may get lucky."

"Maybe," Gibbs sighed, knowing how unlikely it was. He was about to ask for further details when a phone interrupted and Sam returned to his own desk with haste.

"Detective Jacobs," he answered. "Thank you, your Honour. There's no need, Sir, I believe there is an FBI Agent already waiting there to collect the warrant; an Agent Batista. We plan to, your Honour, we certainly plan to." Sam hung up with a sigh of relief; he had never much enjoyed talking to judges always feeling like a kiss-ass until he could get what he wants.

"We have our warrants?" Fornell asked.

"We have our warrants," Sam confirmed.

"About damn time!" Gibbs added.

"I see my coffee run was a waste of time," Tony said as he entered the crowded conference room. He had bought a tray of four but the table before him already had at least eight cups and several more people crowded around the table. "I'm guessing we got the warrants."

"Yeah," Sam said as he greeted his partner with a friendly pat on the shoulders. "We've only just managed to get everyone together to discuss the raids and figure out who’s going where."

"Where are we going?" Tony asked, his voice leaving no room for doubt – he would go where his partner was going.

"Well, Brewster and Vargas seem pretty keen on taking the club and seeing as how they spent months watching the place, I think they probably deserve it. Are you ok with that?" Sam asked despite knowing that DiNozzo would be more than ok with it.

"Sure, sounds good to me, as long as we get the bastard," Tony nodded, "But I reckon we're more likely to find any damning evidence at Radoslav's house anyway; he doesn't seem like the kind of guy who would leave anything lying around in public, especially once he's already had a visit from the cops."

"Agreed," Gibbs added quietly. The room was crowded and noisy but he knew that trying to assert any authority over these Baltimore cops would do more harm than good for the inter-agency cooperation.

He believed they had a better chance of getting Radoslav with the search warrant for his home address too, and he would rather take his chances on a raid with Detectives DiNozzo and Jacobs than with Brewster and Vargas; Brewster seemed to be just a little too quick-tempered for his liking.

"I'm guessing that means we don't need to ask you which raid you'll be taking part in," Tony said, sending a wry grin in Gibbs' direction.

"Ya think, DiNozzo!" Gibbs sarcastically with a look that said far more than words could possibly manage.

"Agent Gibbs, Agent Fornell," Tony turned serious, ignoring the jibe. "I think that Agents Cascabel and Batista should go on the Club raid – they're both women and I imagine things might well go easier with the girls there if they don't have to deal with a whole load of men armed to the teeth. Are you both ok with this?" he suggested.

"It's fine with me," Fornell nodded; he wasn't sure what orders Batista had received from the Hoover Building, but if they were at all similar to the orders he’d received when he went to Philadelphia then it would be better to keep her and Detective DiNozzo separate to try and avoid any eruptions.

"Sounds good to me," Gibbs shrugged. Cascabel would be more useful at the club; she certainly had the necessary compassion and patience that Radoslav's girls would need, neither of which were his forte as he was getting impatient just hanging around. He wanted Radoslav and his right-hand, Pasha behind bars and he wanted that now!

"Ok everyone, listen up," Sam shouted and the room fell silent as members of Baltimore PD, SWAT, NCIS and the FBI turned their attention to the experienced Detective.

"For those of you who don't know, I'm Detective Sam Jacobs. As I'm sure you all know, Judge Warner finally signed off on the warrants. We have two arrest warrants; one for Goran Radoslav and one for a man known as Pasha, last name unknown. We were also granted two search warrants, one for Club Abër and one for Radoslav's personal address.

"Detectives Brewster and Vargas will be heading the raid on Club Abër, along with Special Agent Cascabel from NCIS and Special Agent Batista from the FBI's Organised Crime Unit. You guys will have Tact. Team 5, headed by Jonson, backing you up.

"Now, despite the fact that we have complied a whole load of data from several different departments within our own PD and from other agencies, we are still not sure how many men are on Radoslav's payroll, hell, we don't even know who Radoslav answers to, so you're going to need to be careful!

"Another thing that you need to worry about are the girls; we have no idea how many Radoslav uses overall, but we estimate that he tends to have at least five to ten girls minimum in that place at any one time. They are foreign and may not understand what you're saying, so you'll need to be patient; many of them will be also be highly suspicious of the Police, so you'll need to handle them carefully and, if you can, leave them to the female members of your squad.

"One more thing, we are treating this Club as a potential crime scene and we're hoping to find some incriminating evidence there, so as soon as the place is secure and the girls have been moved to safety we want the CSI's in there as soon as possible. Do this properly with no screw-ups – Radoslav cannot be allowed to walk!

"Any questions?" he asked, looking at those who would be leading the raid on the Club.

"Can we get any translators on scene to help with the girls?" Vargas asked, thinking of the more practical issues at hand.

"You can try," Sam nodded, aware that it was often a slow and painful process to acquire a translator. "From what we know, the girls all seem to be Eastern European; there are some Russians, some are Serbian, one at least is Polish…we're not sure about the rest. You can try asking the Chief but you might not get them now, and we can't hold off the raids and risk any more deaths, or risk Radoslav and Pasha rabbiting."

"Understood," Detective Vargas sighed.

"I know it's not ideal but really there is little else we can do – waiting is not an option. Go and gear up, it's going to be a long day. Good luck people," he offered as they started filing out through the door.

Ducky wished Cascabel a safe return before sinking into a chair and returning to his coffee with a heavy sigh; he had always hated it when he saw people he knew and cared about ready to rush in to a potentially fatal situation

"If they're there, try to bring those sons of bitches in alive, guys," Tony said to men and women filing out. "I think Radoslav and dear Pasha should become better acquainted with the US Penitentiary System."

"We'll do our best, DiNozzo," Vargas said, offering a smile that almost passed as friendly. "But we make no promises."

Once those who were going on the Club raid had filed out, Sam turned to the remainder. "Ok, we're going to Radoslav's personal address, but as we didn't want to risk canvassing the area and alerting him, we don't know just how many others might be there at that address. It's doubtful that he'll be keeping any girls there but we can't rule anything out, so you'll need to watch your fire if things turn south.

"Again, we're looking for damning evidence, so if it does come down to a fire fight then try your best to avoid too much damage, but don't put yourselves at risk. We need to get in there, secure the scene and transfer any suspects to our lovely five star holding cells back here, then we'll send in the CSI's and try to find something we can nail this guy to the wall with.

"We're going in with the same tactical team we used on the warehouse raid, Tact. Team 4, led by Eaton," he pointed to the burly SWAT member who was stood tall in one corner. "Myself and Agent Gibbs will be leading the raid, so if any of you officers need something, you ask one of us," he gestured towards himself and Gibbs.

"We'll be going in soft and we'll time it with the other raid so that no one can raise any alarm bells. Does anyone have any questions?"

"Are we expecting much resistance?" a young officer asked timidly.

"We're not sure just how much fire power this particular group has; there are no papers linking any of the known associates to guns, but it's easy enough for people like this to get their hands on firearms through the back channels, as we all know. We do know that Radoslav used a gun to kill both Jennings and May; he could have dumped it, he might have replaced it with something else. It's safer to assume that this group is armed and extremely dangerous, so make sure to keep your eyes open. Are there any other questions?"

No one said anything else, so Sam told everyone to gear up and get ready to leave.

Gibbs was strapping on his gun and securing some extra magazines when he caught sight of Jacobs and DiNozzo in what appeared to be a serious conversation in a quieter corner of the Homicide Department. He walked towards them thinking that he should probably be a part of any conversation that might be about the raid.

"I'd give them a few minutes," Fornell advised the NCIS Agent as he tried to push his way through the overcrowded room towards the corner.

Gibbs, never one to take orders from anyone since he left the Corps, carried on regardless. The crowd hid his approach and covered most of what was being said, but as people began to file out a little more could be heard.

"Come on Sam, don't you think you're being a little ridiculous?"

"Last time you thought I was being ridiculous you got yourself a concussion," Sam pointed out.

"Nixon has gone back to DC, so I won't have to put myself between him and a Russian guy that could have doubled as a tank this time." Tony stated dryly.

"That's my point, Tony," Sam sighed. "You didn't have to get between Nixon and a punch he undoubtedly deserved. Look, I'm not trying to piss you off, I just want you to be a little less reckless, alright?"

"Alright," Tony agreed with a sigh that did nothing to convince Sam or alleviate his fears.

Every time a situation like this came up, Sam dreaded the consequences; too many times Tony had put his life on the line with reckless abandon, putting himself between a person, sometimes Sam himself but usually a stranger, and a bullet. That the kid couldn't understand Sam's problem with that behaviour spoke volumes about his lack of self-preservation and self-worth.

Gibbs quickly merged back into the crowd, not wanting to get caught eavesdropping. Was DiNozzo really as bad as he sounded? He hoped the young Detective didn't do anything stupid as he was pretty sure that Jacobs would walk through a hail of bullets to get to him.

'Jacobs, this is Vargas,' the Vice Detective's voice crackled down the line, suggesting dodgy reception. 'We're in position and ready to go, just waiting for the green light.'

They were using a phone to sync up with those on the club raid, not wanting everyone on the same radio channel and distracting the other team during their respective raids.

"Read you," Sam's replied, whispering as quietly as he could over the phone. "Hold for one minute; part of our Tact. Team had difficulty reaching the secondary infiltration point."

'Roger,' Vargas replied. 'Standing by.'

Sam heard the crackle of his radio, 'Jacobs, this is Eaton, all my men are in place, ready to infiltrate and clear.'

"You hear that, Vargas?" Sam asked.

'Got it,' came the response over the mobile.

Sam picked up his radio so he could speak to his own squad as well as tell Vargas. "All teams, green light. Repeat, all teams, you have a green light."

"Time to earn your paycheque, old man," Tony grinned at his partner as he removed his hand-gun from its' holster and prepared to move in after SWAT.

The SWAT members quietly forced open the door and moved in as silently as was possible, Tony and Sam right behind them. Sam would take Agent Fornell and some members of SWAT to check upstairs, while Tony and Agent Gibbs would take the ground floor of the property with other members of SWAT, while Eaton and the remaining SWAT members would secure all entrances and exits while uniforms set up road-blocks in the surrounding area.

Part of Tony had baulked at the idea of separating from his partner, but he knew it made sense – neither Gibbs nor Fornell knew any of the officers or members of SWAT and knowing their strengths and weaknesses would undoubtedly make for a cleaner, safer raid.

"Don't go doing anything stupid," Sam warned his partner quietly before followinghalf of the Tact. Team up the stairs, Fornell on his heels.

DiNozzo just shook his head and Gibbs heard him mumble something about a 'damn mother-hen complex.'

They rounded a corner and entered a dark, sparsely furnished lounge.

The silence was shattered by a gunshot.

Chapter Text

Before the shot and the ensuing cry of pain even had a chance to register, the sounds of several short, successive bursts were unleashed upstairs along with another scream.

"Sam," Tony muttered to himself before heading for the stairs.

"DiNozzo!" Gibbs shouted to no avail. "Goddammit! Carry on and clear this floor and the basement below; they know we're here now so don't worry about being silent," he instructed a member of the Tactical Team before heading after DiNozzo.

"Ok, ok, I give up," came a heavily accented voice from above. There was a clatter, "See, I have no gun, no shoot! I coming out!"

Gibbs had thought that DiNozzo would have paused at the top of the stairs, to make sure that the situation was safe and that he had cover, but no, the Detective merely shouted his presence to the team up top and carried on moving, staying low and calling for his partner.

"Hands on your head," SWAT ordered. "I said, put your hands on your goddamn head!"

Gibbs saw that SWAT had the situation under control and was glad to see Radoslav being cuffed, none too gently, on the floor. He'd clearly caught a bullet in the arm as there was a small amount of blood on one sleeve. Nearby was a discarded 9mm – God, he hoped that was the murder weapon so they could nail this guy.

He could hear Fornell and other members of the Tactical Team clearing the rest of the nearby rooms.

"Everyone ok?" he asked no one in particular.

One of the younger members of SWAT looked a little shaken now that the adrenaline was wearing off and pointed a shaky hand to an open door on the other side of the corridor.

Gibbs entered and found DiNozzo and two members of the Tact. Team leaning over Detective Jacobs, who appeared to be only semi-conscious and losing a lot of blood. One of the men was tearing some bedding into strips to use as a make-shift tourniquet, tying off the bleeding limb above the field dressing that had already been applied, while the other was trying to keep Jacobs from moving.

"Medics are on the way," one of them told Gibbs quietly. The Senior Agent nodded but his eyes were fixed on DiNozzo and his partner.

"Come on old man," DiNozzo said quietly as he lifted Sam's head up and gently placed a rolled-up coat underneath his partner's head, handling the man as carefully as though he were made of glass and could shatter at any moment. "Try to stay with me, Sam."

Gibbs could see that Jacobs was going into shock; his eyes were glassy and unfocused and the only emotion that Gibbs could read in them was confusion. As he took in the sight of the man's mangled knee, he only hoped that the shock might dull the pain until the paramedics could get there.

DiNozzo looked up at him, a barely restrained panic residing in his eyes. "I know you're supposed to raise the legs too, to combat shock, but I…I didn't think…I didn't want to…"

"You did good, DiNozzo," Gibbs offered quietly, giving the young man a quick squeeze on the shoulders for what he hoped passed as a reassuring gesture.

Sam groaned again, and everyone's eyes turned back to him.

"Sam, come on man, don't you dare close your eyes on me!" DiNozzo quietly begged his partner. It seemed as though the older Detective had not heard him though, as his eyes slid shut. "Come on, dammit! You were in the Rangers! You don't want Gibbs to start thinking that Marines are tougher than Rangers, do you?"

"Everyone knows the Marines are a bunch of Navy pussies," came the slightly slurred response, but one that brought a relieved smile to everyone's faces. However, the eyes remained closed and the trembling that seemed to rack the older man's entire body continued.

"Something tells me this argument between the Army and the Navy is going to last a few years yet," Tony said, trying to keep Sam talking.

"S'not an arg'ment, s'a d'bate," Sam replied, his voice getting quieter and more slurred.

"Where the hell is that ambulance?" Tony asked one of the men helping with Sam.

"They'll be here soon, Tony; why don't you let Agent Gibbs here take over?" he suggested kindly.

"No," DiNozzo replied, without moving his eyes from his too still partner. "I'm fine where I am."

The medics finally arrived and while Gibbs heard the majority of what was said, he understood very little; there were plenty of statistics and numbers and chemicals, but all he really got was that the main worry at the moment seemed to be hypovolemic shock.

"That means he's losing blood too fast, doesn't it?" Tony asked quietly. Gibbs was surprised the man had taken in anything that seemed to be going on around him, as focused as he was on his partner's closed eyes and still body. "That means that his heart isn't going to be able to pump enough blood around his body, right?"

"It's a risk, sir," one of the medics answered honestly. "We'll get him to a hospital and they'll do what they can to replace the lost blood."

"I'm coming with you," DiNozzo said, leaving no room for debate.

Ducky had opted to stay in the Homicide Department, ready to help in the chaos that was sure to follow two big raids on suspected traffickers.

Club Abër was closer to the 22nd Precinct and so it was not all that surprising to the Doctor that their suspects might arrive first. Ducky was disappointed that Radoslav was not amongst them and hoped that Jethro and Detective DiNozzo had better luck at the criminal's home address.

"Detective Vargas, Detective Brewster," he greeted the two men from Vice. "No Radoslav, I see. Are any of these charming individuals Pasha?"

"Not according to their ID's, Doc," Vargas sighed. "We'll need a line-up, I imagine; hopefully our witness can identify each of them, give us an account of their role in the business."

"And what of the other girls?" Doctor Mallard asked with sincere concern.

"We'll know more when the translators arrive. None of them are talking; whether that's because they can't understand us or they simply don't want to talk…" Brewster shrugged. "The two female agents you and that FBI guy sent with us were pretty good about keeping them calm and out of the line of fire, but the girls were still pretty shaken up, and understandably so."

Vargas gave his partner a small pat on the back in an attempt to offer some form of comfort, useless considering the circumstances but he knew he had to try. Brewster could be pretty hot-headed but when it all came down to it, he gave a damn and he was a good cop.

"It's clear that at least some of the girls were being kept in Club Abër," Vargas informed the Medical Examiner, clenching his fist in anger; he and his partner had been watching that place off and on for several months and they never saw the girls being moved there. "As you know, the Club was in the basement, but some of the rooms were bedrooms; there was camera equipment too."

"They were recording it?" Ducky asked with evident confusion. "Were they trying to further their incomes by making pornographic films or do you suspect something else?"

"We're not sure yet. We're going to have to go through any videos seized from the place and I imagine there will be more than a few hours' worth."

The M.E. caught a brief frown pass across the Vice Detective's face. "What is that has you concerned?"

"I'm thinking that these recordings were not for porn, at least not primarily. I think that these videos are gonna have some well-known faces on them."

"You think they were for blackmail," Ducky accurately surmised, no question necessary. "It would be a nice little addition to their business; I imagine a high-ranking official from the Mayor's Office caught on tape with a prostitute would be more than happy to part with some of his hard-earned money to keep things quiet."

"I think this whole thing is going to turn into a political shit-storm," Vargas surmised grimly.

"Fucking politics," his partner muttered before stalking off towards the holding cells.

"Can't argue with that," Vargas shrugged his shoulders before heading after his partner. "Hey," he asked, turning around mid-step. "Have you heard from Jacobs and DiNozzo or from your guy about the other raid yet?"

"Not yet," Ducky offered quietly. As he watched Vargas move across the room he felt anxiety well up within himself. Everyone at the club seemed to be clearing up after their raid, settling down to do the paperwork now that the adrenaline had worn off, but no one seemed to know what was going on at Radoslav's personal address.

Something felt very wrong.

Gibbs had left Fornell in charge to work the scene before he left, following the ambulance easily down the streets of Baltimore, despite the speed and his relatively limited knowledge of the city's geography.

He was worried about DiNozzo and his partner. Jacobs' wound had looked pretty serious and the blood loss seemed substantial, whereas DiNozzo's reckless actions still had the adrenaline pumping furiously around the NCIS Agent's body.

When he saw DiNozzo run up those stairs into the middle of an on-going fire-fight without even a glance to make sure he was safe…

He didn't know why the hell he should have felt so affected by the young man's reckless actions, he only knew that he had been completely unprepared for it.

Every natural instinct he possessed, everything that he had learnt in the Marine Corps and during his field-training had meant that he knew never to move out in the open in the middle of a fire-fight without some form of cover, even if that cover was someone else laying down supressing fire.

It was something that the young Homicide Detective had evidently not learnt yet.

DiNozzo hadn't even looked twice and Gibbs had had to reign in every ounce of self-control he possessed not to blindly follow after him; he had had to fight against a very strong impulse that wanted him to ignore everything he knew about fire-fights.

How the hell did DiNozzo get that reaction out of him?

The ambulance pulled up to the bay and Gibbs knew he'd have to park the car somewhere that wouldn't block the way for other emergency vehicles before he could follow DiNozzo and Jacobs into the hospital.

He found DiNozzo pacing up and down one of the many white corridors every hospital seemed to possess.

The younger man was clearly restless, understandably so, given the circumstances. Every now and then he would stop and move his hands up to his face as if to wipe away any panic and exhaustion before remembering that his hands were covered in his partner's blood.

The long, hard stares the young man directed at his hands were mildly disturbing for Gibbs to witness. It was clear that DiNozzo was in a mild state of shock; seeing your partner close to death's door could do that to a person, especially when they were as close as DiNozzo and Jacobs appeared to be.

"DiNozzo," Gibbs called quietly in an effort not to surprise the Detective. DiNozzo clearly hadn't heard him as his attention was focused on his blood-stained hands and his bloody clothing. "Tony," Gibbs called a little louder.

Unfocused eyes found his.

"They said that…he, er…they wouldn't let me go with…" Tony stopped and started. His head felt like it was full of cotton wool and he wasn't sure if he was capable of forming complete, comprehensive sentences; every muscle felt like it had been filled with lead, every breath felt forced and every heart-beat felt unnatural.

He had never felt as old as he did right now. The adrenaline had left his system too quickly and all that was left was the sheer exhaustion and the worry that when he saw his partner being wheeled into the trauma unit it had been the last time he would see Sam alive.

Sam had crashed in the ambulance and while the paramedics had been able to bring him back, it had been such a shocking thing to see happen before him and he felt like his heart was still out of sync. His chest physically ached from the very thought of Sam not making it through this.

"Tony," Gibbs said again, trying to maintain the young man's attention. "Come on," he said as he gently tried to steer him towards a seat, but Tony remained where he was, looking at Gibbs as though he couldn't understand why he would be there.

Then he resumed his pacing.

"Ok," Gibbs sighed in resignation. "I'm going to call Fornell and let him know what is going on; will you be alright?" he asked feeling useless as he caught DiNozzo gazing sightlessly at his blood-stained hands once again.

"Fornell," Gibbs greeted the man over the phone as he tried to pace off some of his worries outside one of the hospital's side doors.

"Gibbs," Fornell replied grimly. "How's Jacobs?" he asked sincerely.

"Alive, for now…that's all I know. DiNozzo's a mess, though." Gibbs didn't really know what else he could say.

"Not surprising," Fornell replied, equally unsure about what to do; for men like Gibbs and Fornell, standing by and feeling useless was not something they were accustomed to or a situation they would ever be likely to accept easily.

"Has Radoslav been moved back to the Precinct yet?" Gibbs asked.

"Eaton took him in a few minutes ago; should I head back and start questioning him?" Fornell inquired quietly, all too aware how much DiNozzo might oppose that and how much he had wanted to be one of the one's to interview Radoslav, but also aware that they only had so much time before they would have to release him unless they found something to nail him to the wall with.

"Yeah," Gibbs eventually sighed. "Do it right this time, Fornell," he gently reminded his old friend. DiNozzo would go spare if Radoslav got away with anything. "We need this done right; you need to hook a bigger fish, fine, but don't do it by letting Radoslav off his own."

"You don't need to remind me, Jethro," Fornell said with a steely determination to his voice that the NCIS Agent knew he could trust.

"Alright," Gibbs accepted. "Could you call Ducky and let him know what happened? Ask him to bring Abby down to the Angel of Mercy too; I have a feeling that DiNozzo could do with a softer touch right now."

"Of course. Anything else?" the FBI Agent asked sincerely.

"Hold off on asking Radoslav about the murders until I get there, just make sure that he's uncomfortable. I'll wait for Abby and Ducky to arrive and then I'll come and meet you at the precinct. Is Radoslav going to be there or are they planning on moving him?" Gibbs asked, not even attempting to hide the malice in his voice.

"He'll be here waiting for you, Gibbs," Fornell promised. "Let me know if anything changes your end," he added before hanging up.

Gibbs sighed as he ended the dial tone; he trusted Fornell to do the right thing, but he wasn't sure DiNozzo would. Still, the kid deserved to know what was going on and it might serve to act as a distraction from his partner's precarious situation.

"Goddamn it!" Tony cried out as he kicked the wall in anger; Gibbs caught sight of a young nurse standing nearby, clearly taken aback by the young Detective's behaviour.

"Hey," Gibbs called loudly in an effort to get DiNozzo's attention before any more damage was done to the young man's foot or the wall that was taking the brunt of his anger.

"They won't tell me anything!" Tony said angrily. "He's my partner, he was bleeding to death in my arms, he died on me in the ambulance for Christ's sake, and they won't tell me a goddamn thing about how he his! All they're telling me is that he's in a critical condition…as if I didn't already know that!" he huffed, his anger having diminished a little once he caught sight of the young nurse backing away from him.

Gibbs caught the way Tony sent a shameful look towards the floor and knew that the young man was sorry he'd acted out in front of the nurse. It seemed as though DiNozzo had moved away from shock and towards anger; it was a series of emotions that were not unfamiliar to the NCIS Agent.

"It's alright," Gibbs reassured the young nurse. "I've got it for now, why don't you go back to your other patients." The nurse nodded, sending a mixed look of fear, pity and worry towards the Homicide Detective as she headed down the corridor quickly.

"Sorry," Tony muttered, sounding embarrassed but not at all apologetic as the concern for his partner clouded his thoughts once again.

Gibbs ignored the apology and supressed the urge to spout his usual crap about apologies, he knew that the word wasn't really for him anyway.

"I've just spoken to Fornell," Gibbs said, trying to stop DiNozzo from dwelling on his partner's potential fate. "He's going to start interviewing Radoslav and…"

"What!" Tony asked the Senior Agent incredulously. "No way! After everything that happened in Philly…after everything that you found out? What the hell were you thinking?"

"You really want to start with that line? Ok, then I've got one: what the hell were you thinking standing up in the middle of a goddamn fire-fight?" Gibbs demanded loudly, jabbing DiNozzo in the chest with a firm, accusatory finger. He was not a man who would explain his actions to anyone, and his anger at DiNozzo's accusation had unleashed his own anger at the disastrous raid; he hadn't intended to say anything until Jacobs' condition was stable.

"I was thinking that my partner had just been shot, that's what the hell I was thinking!" Tony retorted angrily. He couldn't believe that Gibbs had the audacity to start something like this when he was waiting to hear whether or not his partner would survive.

"And what…you wanted to join him on the floor, bleeding to death right there beside him?" Gibbs asked with a sneer; why the hell couldn't DiNozzo see how stupid his actions had been, how tragic they could have been?

"Fuck you! What the hell was I supposed to do, huh? Just leave him while we traded bullets back and forth across his head? Wait for another bullet to hit him?" Tony was getting beyond pissed off now – Sam was his partner and no way in hell would he ever leave his partner alone in a situation like that.

"There were other people upstairs with him, DiNozzo, trained professionals! You should have taken out the perps, secured the room, called for help, told me what the hell you were planning so that I could lay down some cover-fire. Hell…any one of those actions would have been sufficient!" Gibbs hissed, trying to get the better of his frustration, trying to swallow down his anger long enough to drive home his point to the clueless Detective in front of him.

Tony narrowed his eyes, "I did what I thought was right, and everybody is still alive," he took a gulp as he pictured Sam bleeding out on a hospital bed somewhere and hoped his words were true rather than believed them. No, don’t think about that, focus on what was in front of him, focus on his anger. "What the hell is your problem, Agent Gibbs?"

"My problem is that you got lucky," Gibbs said with strong emphasis on the word 'lucky.' "My problem is that instead of acting like any normal, intelligent human being, you stood up in the middle of a goddamn fire-fight as if you've got some sort of crazy death-wish!" he resumed with the shouting and finger jabs.

"Oh, for…I do not have a goddamn death-wish!" Tony shouted back with a fierce intensity to his voice. Sam had often accused him of the same thing and he'd never agreed with that assessment; he certainly didn't appreciate receiving his partner's concerns from Agent Gibbs' mouth.

"I broke cover to get to my partner, who had been shot and was bleeding to death, and you know what? You and me, we work together; I'm not a Marine and I'm sure as hell not one of your agents so quit telling me what the hell to do!" With that, he stalked down the corridor and headed back towards the Nurses' Station, desperate to put an end to the conversation before he broke his fist on Gibbs' face.

Gibbs shook his head in frustration and clenched his fists in anger. He hadn't wanted to push DiNozzo that hard, but once the conversation had started down that path there was no turning back. Why the hell couldn't the Detective see that his actions could have had catastrophic consequences and why the hell couldn't he control his own anger regarding the matter?

He took a deep breath and followed after DiNozzo. He was sure that if Jacobs hadn't been an issue, the young Homicide Detective would have high-tailed it back to his precinct and kicked Fornell's arse.

DiNozzo was once again stalking back and forth, sending anxious looks towards the closed doors that separated him from his partner.

"DiNozzo," Gibbs said quieter this time in an effort to appease the young man. He knew from the slight tensing of the shoulders that DiNozzo was aware of his presence, aware and ignoring him anyway.

"Fornell won't let Radoslav get away with anything," Gibbs promised him sincerely. "Even if he tries, you've got a precinct full of cops that would never let that happen, especially after that son of a bitch has just shot one of their own."

DiNozzo snorted at that; cops had let a cover-up happen in Philly, so why should Baltimore be any different?

"You might not believe me, but it's the truth. You seem to trust Sam to watch your back unconditionally; why is it so hard to believe that someone else would be willing to have that kind of faith in you?"

Finally, DiNozzo turned around to greet Gibbs and the Senior Agent almost wished he hadn't; the sheer agony, the quiet desperation and the inherent loneliness that Gibbs saw there was a painful sight. It was clear that until Samuel Jacobs, DiNozzo had led a very lonely existence, fraught with insecurities and unhappiness.

"I trust Sam to have my back because he always has done, even when he thought I was some asshole rookie he got dumped with," Tony said quietly. "Even when he found out that I was part of the cover-up in Philly; after each and every one of my screw-ups, he's been there for me and never thrown anything back in my face.

"Fornell might have only screwed me over once, but he did it with style and he sent me up shit-creek without a paddle or an ounce of remorse, and now you're asking me to trust him to do the right thing? Trust him when he screwed me over in Philly? When the 'right thing' was clearly a foreign concept for him two years ago? Well, I'm sorry if that trust isn't coming too easily, Agent Gibbs," Tony sneered.

"Well then, trust me," Gibbs said with frustration.

"I don't even know you!" Tony shook his head furiously with exasperation.

"You seem to know me well enough in my book," Gibbs said, thinking of the way the young Detective always seemed to know exactly which buttons to press. "But the only thing that matters is whether or not you think you can trust me?"

"I…I don't know," Tony shrugged quietly.

"That's ok," Gibbs replied slightly disappointedly, knowing that such a response would most likely mean a 'not really,' rather than an affirmation. "But maybe you could leave the possibility open?"

Tony looked up at the NCIS Agent and Gibbs read the world-weary look there; he wondered what had happened to the young man before him to make him so cautious with everyone he met.

"You really trust Fornell to do things right this time?" Tony eventually asked.

"I do," Gibbs replied without hesitation. "I'll be sitting in on the interview too," he added in an effort to allay the young man's fears and misgivings about the situation.

"Ok," Tony nodded with a resigned acceptance of situation. He would have to trust Gibbs and Fornell with Radoslav anyway, because no way in hell was he leaving his partner alone.

Abby had spent a couple of oblivious hours buried in tests down in Baltimore PD's forensic laboratory. Ducky's unexpected visit down in the lab had started off as a nice surprise and then he had told her why he was there.

She hadn't really got to know Detective Samuel Jacobs yet, apart from her background search, but she had begun some sort of a friendship with his partner, DiNozzo. From every bit of gossip she had heard, from every piece of evidence she had seen in her background checks, DiNozzo and Jacobs were more than simply partners, they were friends.

The Forensic Specialist's compassionate heart went out to her new friend; she would be inconsolable if it was Gibbs or Ducky lying in a hospital bed somewhere.

Her driving skills were not as fast or as reckless as her Silver Fox, but as she could drive faster than the M.E. she had refused to let him take the wheel. She made it to the hospital in good time and, despite her heels, moved quickly through the maze of white corridors with Ducky close behind her before she found the two men.

Gibbs was sat down in one of the many uncomfortable looking chairs that littered the side of the corridor. He was leaning forward, his observant eyes following the restless young Detective's every move. Her Bossman wasn't saying anything but even from afar Abby could read the worry in his face – it was in his usually unreadable eyes, the smallest downturn of his lips and in the slightest of frowns visible on his forehead.

The young Detective seemed to be oblivious to Gibbs' stare, but Abby couldn't be sure; DiNozzo always seemed to be full of surprises. He was pacing to and fro in front of a set of double doors, the words 'authorised personnel only' all that was keeping him from bursting through the doors to find his partner.

His hands were still blood stained and Abby wasn't sure why Gibbs hadn't made DiNozzo wash them off as, from the way he kept staring at them, his bloody hands were obviously affecting him. The clothes, too, were stained and acted as a testimony to Detective Jacobs' significant blood-loss.

"Abs," Gibbs asked quietly, although having failed to notice his approach she still jumped.

Abby, seeing her Bossman whole and healthy after witnessing the blood on DiNozzo, hugged her Silver Fox tightly, silently grateful that he was ok.

"It's ok, Abs," Gibbs soothed the most demonstrative member of NCIS. "I'm ok," he assured her after correctly guessing what was behind the hug.

"And how is young Anthony?" Ducky asked, although as his keen eyes followed the young man's desperate gaze towards the double doors he knew it was a pointless question.

Gibbs shrugged, knowing that no one really needed an answer. "I've got to get back to the Precinct but I didn't want to leave him alone," he gestured helplessly towards the young Detective who had resumed his pacing.

"Quite understandable, Jethro; Abigail and I will do our very best to look after the poor young man," Ducky promised before slowly moving towards the distressed man.

"We'll keep you in the loop, Bossman," Abby promised before following after the elderly M.E.

Gibbs nodded, satisfied that he had left DiNozzo in good hands. With one final look at the Homicide Detective and his new baby-sitters, he turned to leave, worry and anxiety still present but slightly reduced at the thought of Abby's mothering and Ducky's grandfatherly patience.

"Hello, Anthony," Ducky said softly, trying not to startle the young man in front of him.

The Detective looked up, his eyes slightly unfocused, but that was more to do with preoccupation rather than any lingering side-effects of the shock he was suffering from earlier. "Hey Doc," Tony offered with a forced smile. "Gibbs has you baby-sitting me now, huh?"

Both Abby and Ducky let out relieved sighs at DiNozzo's responsiveness before preparing themselves for the task ahead. Both the Doctor and the Forensic Specialist liked Detective DiNozzo, but neither one knew him well enough to gauge how he would respond to their ministrations.

"Tony," Abby started out with a casual tone. "Come on, we should go and get you cleaned up; you've got to be scaring all the cute nurses away."

"No," Tony shook his head and backed away from them both. "No, I've got to stay here in case someone has any news on Sam," he added with a lingering glance at the double doors.

"I will go and see what I can find out, my lad," Ducky offered; he was used to using his medical credentials to cut through all the hospital related bureaucracy for Jethro. "While I'm getting an update, I'll get you a change of clothes," he added, thinking that even hospital scrubs would be better than the Detective's current attire.

"Come on, Tony," Abby gently prodded, slipping her hand into his and giving him what she hoped was a reassuring gesture. "Ducky can get an update quicker than anyone, Gibbs always gets him to find out the medical things because he knows Ducky can find the truth out in a hospital faster than a bloodhound on a trail."

Tony was still hesitant to leave but at the same time he was desperate for news on his partner and if the Doc could get that news then maybe he should humour them.

"Ok," he eventually muttered, so quietly that Ducky almost didn't hear him at all.

"Very well, my boy," he offered the troubled Detective a reassuring smile. "I'll see what I can find out." He turned to go before DiNozzo's quiet voice turned him back around.

"Doctor Mallard?" Tony asked softly, his anxiety over Sam making the normally loquacious man quieter than usual. "I want to know what's going on…the truth…no matter how bad, please don't try and…and soften the blow or anything. I need to know the truth…please."

"I promise you, Tony," the M.E. used the Detective's nickname in an effort to show his sincerity.

"Thanks, Doc," Tony offered a tentative smile.

Abby quietly led the Baltimore cop to the nearest men's room and completely ignored the sign as she pushed the young man gently through the door and manoeuvred him to the sink.

She filled the sink with water and carefully checked the temperature and the soap supply before turning back to the Detective. The sleeves of Tony's top were slightly sticky and a little crusty with drying blood; without a word, Abby pulled at the bottom of the top and dragged it over the Detective's head, before tossing it to the side.

Tony felt a little weird being undressed in such a manner, but he could tell that Abby was desperate to help and he couldn't find it within himself to spurn her nurturing; he found it strangely comforting that someone cared enough to do this for him, even if that someone was a relative stranger.

Abby took a quick once-over at the Detective's body that was nicely framed in a white tank-top, before chastising herself for thinking such a thing when there were clearly bigger issues at hand.

She gently clasped one of his hands in both of hers and placed it in the warm water before working in some soap and softly massaging out the blood. The water quickly turned pink and as she worked out more of the blood, the pink kept turning a darker shade.

Tony watched silently as the Forensic Specialist washed his hands for him; feeling utterly detached, as though he were watching it happen to someone else.

If he was up to par, he would no doubt make some joke in an effort to break the silence and ease the tension. However, he could not find anything sensual in the act, he was merely overwhelmed by the fact that someone was helping him.

He was used to Sam's mother-hen mode, but Sam's modus operandi was more like Gibbs would be, he imagined. Sam would always be there doing what he could to snap Tony out of a bad mood or a daze and get him to focus or face up to something he didn't want to; it was a much more blunt, head-on approach than Abby's more gentle ministrations. Sometimes Sam would take him to the Precinct's gym and let Tony vent his frustrations by hitting something or someone and if things were really bad then Sam would cover for him while he ran his bad mood off to the point of exhaustion.

He relished the human contact but doubted he would have allowed anyone else to touch him right now; neither he nor Sam were the touchy feely type, Gibbs seemed to be even less so and it would have been more than a little weird, even if it had been Doctor Mallard, it would have felt awkward. Abby's gentle ministrations and non-judgmental manner was an entirely different but not unwelcome approach.

She carefully dried Tony's one clean hand before removing the plug and filling the sink with clean water; she then started to clean the other hand.

"You don't have to do this, you know," Tony said softly, finally breaking the silence.

"I know," Abby gave him a sad smile. "But I want to do this."

Tony nodded, trying to understand why someone who hardly knew him would want to help him.

"Sam's kind of looked out for me over the past couple of years," Tony said after another period of silence. "He seems to think that I can't take care of myself; an opinion your boss seems to share, actually."

"Gibbs was just worried, Tony; don't take anything he might have said in the heat of the moment too seriously," Abby urged him.

Tony gave a noncommittal shrug and fell back into silence; he wasn't sure he could understand why Agent Gibbs would be worried about him any more than he could understand why Abby had taken it upon herself to look after him.

Abby could see that the Detective's thoughts were not doing anything to cheer him up and so she decided to try and talk to him, but she had no idea what to say.

"So, you and Sam seem pretty close," she finally decided upon, mentally chastising herself for talking about the guy's partner whose life was potentially in the balance.

"Sam's like family," Tony said quietly. The small but genuine smile crossing his face made Abby reconsider – maybe talking about Sam would not be such a bad thing for the Detective.

"He's always trying to get me to stay with him over the holidays and he tries to get me into the spirit of things, he even lets me watch the holiday movies," he laughed gently. "He's the only person in the Department who seems to agree with me about 'It's a Wonderful Life' being compulsory Christmas viewing."

"I'm more of 'A Nightmare Before Christmas' kind of girl, myself," Abby offered with a huge grin, glad that DiNozzo seemed to be a little more animated.

"I could have guessed that," Tony smiled back. "Sam's kind of a mother-hen too, you know," Tony said again, glad to talk and ignore all the negative thoughts that seemed to accumulate when he had too much time to think. "Not like you, he doesn't really do the soft approach. He understands me well enough to know that while I'd let a pretty young woman like you wash my hands, I'd probably punch him for even thinking about trying it.

"He's probably the only person who really knows me. He cares about me enough to tell me when I'm being stupid about something and then he'll help me figure it all out. He lets me get away with the paper-ball fights and the general messing around because he knows that I don’t do it to slack off work, but because if I didn't have something to occupy my mind then I'd go crazy…probably drive everyone else crazy, too," he added with a wry grin.

"He sounds like rather a wise man to know," Ducky said from the doorway causing both Abby and Tony to jump slightly, both having been unaware of the Medical Examiner's presence.

"Doctor Mallard," Tony recovered first. "Please tell me you have some news on Sam."

"It is Ducky, my lad," the Doctor insisted with a kindly smile. "I do have news on your partner, but first I think it would be best if you changed out of those clothes. I've brought you some hospital scrubs; they are hardly the warmest or the most comfortable of clothing but I think they are a great deal better than your current attire."

"Doc…Ducky," Tony said, a hint of desperation creeping into his voice but seeing the M.E. raise a firm eyebrow, he knew it would be better to quickly change before asking about Sam. He held out a hand while Abby dried off his other one and grabbed the scrubs from the Doctor before changing in front of them, glad that he hadn't gone commando.

He pulled the scrub top on over his tank-top, grateful for the little extra warmth it provided in the cool room. His trousers had almost escaped Sam's blood altogether, except at the knees and where he'd wiped his hands on the outside of his thigh; he emptied the pockets and changed out of those too.

"Right, done," he said, gesturing to the heap of discarded clothes on the floor. "Sam?"

"Let's go back into the corridor where it is more comfortable," the Doctor said with a smile in an attempt not to further worry the Detective, who was already more than a little anxious.

Tony took a deep breath and followed the Doctor into the corridor with Abby close behind, his dirty clothes bunched up in her arms.

"Doc…?" Tony asked, feeling his stomach leaden.

"As I'm sure you are aware, your partner lost a great deal of blood. Luckily, the bullet missed the femoral artery, but it did nick several smaller ones that make up the knee joint. They are attempting to stop the bleeding before anything else and they are also replenishing his blood volume; they are pushing through several pints as well as some heavy-duty antibiotics to stem any infections that may arise.

"With the blood loss being taken care of, their main concern now is the actual damage to the knee…"

"It's bad, isn't it?" Tony interrupted brokenly, although he knew that he didn't really need to ask; he might not have a medical degree but he had seen the mangled knee…caught sight of the glistening of broken bone fragments in the wound.

"I'm afraid so, my dear boy," Ducky said with a small, comforting pat on the shoulder. "The bullet seems to have severely damaged the knee-cap; I imagine they will see what they can do to repair it during the surgery, but they seem to hold little hope of a full recovery there."

"So…what? He…he won't be able to walk on that leg properly?" Tony asked, stricken.

"I'm afraid that looks to be the most likely outcome, my boy," Ducky said compassionately.

Tony didn't know what to say; he had held off calling Cathy, Sam's daughter, until he had something to tell her but this…how could he tell her this?

If Sam couldn't walk a beat then Tony was sure that the Brass would try to put him behind a desk and he was equally sure that hell would freeze over before Sam would allow that to happen.

"You know that there is no way out for you, don't you Mr. Radoslav," Fornell said firmly. He had been at this interview for a little over half an hour before Gibbs arrived, but Goran Radoslav was giving nothing away. He'd ignored his right to a lawyer but one wouldn't have been much use anyway, as the Albanian was determined not to let anything slip.

Gibbs was getting impatient and he was beginning to get more than a little pissed off with Radoslav's smiles which seemed to rock back and forth between being knowing and condescending to contemptuous.

"You shot a cop, Radoslav," Gibbs pointed out, trying to get something out of the man.

"I didn't know he was policeman," Goran shrugged with a small smile. "The gun is mine, is legal; your Second Amendment, yes?"

"You seriously think anyone is going to buy that bullshit story?" Fornell demanded, his frustration beginning to break through his normally stoic demeanour.

Goran simply shrugged again, his grin deepening. "You no identify yourself; I think you burglars. I have right to defend home, yes? Is what I was doing."

Gibbs pulled his hand into a fist under the table, not wanting to give Radoslav the satisfaction of knowing that the cocky Albanian was getting to him.

"We've got a witness that has you pulling the trigger on two more people; were you defending yourself against them too?" Gibbs asked, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

"You have no witness," Goran said full of conviction, shooting both Federal Agents a feral grin.

"We'll see," Gibbs promised before gesturing to Fornell; they needed to talk…now!

"What's going on, Jethro?" Fornell asked quietly once they were outside the interview room.

"We're being played," Gibbs gritted out. "Did you see his face when I told him about the witness? Something is going on!"

"You think we have a leak?" Fornell asked; this was what he had been most worried about.

"I think that there can't be any major leaks in Baltimore PD, at least not in those who’ve involved in this case, because otherwise Radoslav would have been given a heads up about the raid and he'd have gotten the hell out of here. There are other places that they could have informants, though, Fornell."

"Are you thinking of the FBI?" Fornell asked; his voice held no accusation, simply alarm. The last time he had faced a situation like this, it had been in Philadelphia and the results had not been what anyone had hoped for.

"I'm thinking that if Radoslav is so confident about us not being able to produce a witness, we need to look at the people who would put our witness into protection, who would be the only ones who know where our witness is; I think we need to look for leaks at the US Marshal's Office."

"You think they're going after Téa Kadare," Fornell surmised.

"I think we need to find her before Radoslav's dogs do."

Chapter Text

"Hey Sam," Tony finally broke the silence. He didn't even know how long he had been sat there by his friend's side; it felt as though time had dragged on but Tony had no idea if it had been hours or merely a matter of minutes. He was used to Sam being the one person he could always count on, but now he had to be the one to hold everything together and he wasn’t sure he was up to the job.

He'd left Cathy's flatmate with the details of what had happened not long after Doctor Mallard had broken the news about Sam's knee, as he didn't think it was the kind of information anyone should hear over an answering machine. She had obviously not got the message yet or she would be in the hospital holding a nurse's head under water until she knew anything and everything there was to know about her father's condition.

Cathy and Sam had that in common – God help anyone who came in between the two when one of them was in trouble. It was one of many aspects of their little family that Tony envied; he wasn't even sure his father would answer a phone-call from him, let alone move heaven and earth to help him.

Sam was still, he looked so small and unusually vulnerable and his skin looked ashen and old against the white hospital bedding. There were IV tubes snaking in and out of the sheets and the heart monitor reported a steady beat. Tony tried to take comfort in the fact that Sam wasn't on a ventilator.

"The docs say that…er…that the surgery went as well as they could hope for, but that…" Tony had to stop talking in an effort to try and grab a hold of his emotions.

He'd actually considered sticking around in Baltimore because Sam had made him want to stay somewhere for the first time in a long time, instead of following his feet after another two years had passed by. He had found a close friend, a damn good partner and a pseudo-family in Sam and Cathy Jacobs. He couldn't imagine working in Baltimore without Sam right there beside him, watching his back and patiently teaching his younger partner what he had learnt over a lifetime.

He didn't know why so many people in Baltimore had seemed to take an instant dislike towards him, even Sam had had his doubts in the beginning, but unlike everyone else, Sam had given Tony a chance to prove himself. Tony had worked his arse off in an effort to prove to his new partner that he was good at his job and worthy of a Detective's shield; he had worked just as hard to prove it to himself, too, having left Philadelphia full of self-doubt.

He took every crappy detail Sam threw his way without complaint but also stood up to his rather intimidating new partner when he thought that some detail was being ignored or a potential suspect was being passed over. Every coffee run Sam sent him on, every dumpster-dive, every wild goose-chase, and every snide remark thrown his way by everyone from patrol up to his Captain at the 22nd Precinct was worth it because as time went on Sam began to trust him and his instincts; eventually he even came to rely upon them, upon him. Having the trust of a man like Sam Jacobs had done a lot to restore the damage of Philly’s legacy and the lifetime of issues he’d picked up long before he ever joined the Academy.

The first time Sam had shoved another cop into a wall for trying to hurt Tony, the young Detective knew he had found a friend for life. Now that friend was in a hospital bed with nothing but a gown, a mile of tubing and one and a half knee-caps.

"We're going to need to bring Detective DiNozzo in for this, Jethro," Agent Fornell quietly suggested. He could see that, for whatever reason, Gibbs had come to trust the young Homicide Detective, even care for him, and he knew that he would be loath to drag the anxious man away from his injured partner. However, they needed someone that they knew they could trust, someone they knew with absolute certainty had not been paid off by Radoslav.

"We need someone who knows this city," Fornell continued, trying to persuade Gibbs that DiNozzo was crucial to finding Téa. "You and I both know that he's not on Radoslav's payroll; we need his help, Jethro."

"Ya think, Tobias?" Gibbs said wryly; he had already come to that conclusion but he was unsure why he was so hesitant about following it through.

He had worked so many cases with so many different people and he had never thought about treating any one of them with even half the consideration he was prepared to give DiNozzo. It was clear the kid had not had an easy life despite his background of wealth and the privileges that should have provided, but even so, he could not understand why he should care about that…why he did care about that.

He shook his head; he didn't have the time to focus on this. Téa needed to be found and found fast, and DiNozzo and all of his complexities would have to wait.

"I'll swing by the hospital and pick him up," he told Fornell. "You phone the US Marshals' Office and see what you can find out – we need to know where they took Téa."

"I know that, Jethro," Fornell sighed heavily. "But the way the Marshals work…they're not going to tell us what we want to know. They don't hand out the addresses of the safe-houses to anybody, that's how they try to keep their witnesses safe."

"Jesus, I know that, Fornell!" Gibbs exclaimed. "Get the number for either one of the Marshals that came and picked up Téa, their addresses…anything! Abby can take care of the rest once she gets back here."

"I'll see what I can do," Fornell offered. He would have to use every ounce of tact he had because if the Marshals' Office found out that he was looking for a rogue Marshal, he was more than sure that the welcome would be frosty at best.

"I'll call you once I have DiNozzo, maybe he'll know someone who can help us," with that Gibbs grabbed his gear and headed towards the elevator.

This case just kept on getting more and more complicated.

"Here you go, my dear boy," Ducky said kindly as he handed the young Detective before him a cup of coffee and a bacon roll. "It is from the cafeteria so I'm afraid it is not particularly good, but you do need to eat something."

DiNozzo looked more than a little haggard and the caring M.E. wondered when the young man last had a full night of sleep. When NCIS had first arrived, both DiNozzo and his partner looked as though they had been worked particularly hard and their current case was surely not helping any. Ducky imagined that with Detective Jacobs' condition, Detective DiNozzo's sleeping patterns were unlikely to improve any time soon.

He barely caught the young man's whispered words of thanks but he sighed disappointedly as the coffee and sandwich were set to one side. He was reminded of Jethro; he could be so bloody-minded about something that he would literally run himself ragged and would then end up far too exhausted to look after himself when he needed it the most.

If Ducky tried to look after his old friend then there were glares and the occasional colourful rebuke from the Senior Agent, which had meant that over the years Ducky had had to become more creative and there was only ever one remedy that seemed to work.

The briefest of looks at his silent companion and she was spurred into action.

"C'mon Tony," Abby said as she gently took his hands in hers.

"Cathy isn't here yet," Tony offered by way of explanation. He hadn't missed the silent looks shared between his two companions and he knew that they were concerned. He was touched by their consideration, but that didn't mean that he was going to leave Sam alone. He would eat later and probably sleep for a week if he could manage to avoid the nightmares that were sure to haunt him, but for now he was content to stay with Sam until Cathy arrived.

"You're not going to do him any good if you wear yourself out, Tony," Abby tried the logical approach. "He's going to need you when he wakes up and if you don't start looking after yourself, you're going to be in no fit state to help him."

Tony sighed; he didn't buy a word the petite Goth was saying but he really didn't have the energy to fight her and he could see that she was not going to drop the issue any time soon. With a sigh he picked up the bacon roll.

God, he really didn't want to eat. He took a mouthful and automatically started chewing, the food felt dry and tasteless and when he finally tried to swallow it felt as though he had swallowed a ball of metal. It slowly worked its way down into his stomach where it sat, leaden; he couldn't face another mouthful so he set the sandwich back down and ignored the looks he received.

"Tony," Abby tried again.

"I'm not hungry," Tony stated before the young woman could come up with anything else. He stood up and left the room; he needed a minute away from the constant 'beep, beep' of Sam's heart monitor and the less than subtle looks from Abby and Doctor Mallard.

He appreciated their concern, but he had neither the experience nor the patience to deal with it at that moment in time. He felt useless sitting by his unconscious partner's bedside; he needed to do something otherwise he would go mad, but at the same time he was loath to leave Sam's side for any length of time.

He had just started pacing the hallway for the umpteenth time when he caught sight of Agent Gibbs marching purposefully down the corridor.

"I thought you were supposed to be interviewing Radoslav," Tony said, a curious tone to his voice; Gibbs didn't strike him as the kind of person to leave a job half done and surely they couldn't have got through all of Radoslav's dirty little secrets in so short an amount of time.

"Change of plan," Gibbs informed him shortly. "I know you want to stay with Sam but we need your help."

"Help?" Tony queried. Gibbs was asking him for help? "Ok…" he trailed off, unsure.

"Radoslav isn't talking so we're going to need some pretty solid evidence to nail him with; unfortunately, I think we've got bigger problems right now. Something Radoslav said made me think that he already knew about Téa, and if that's the case then there is a leak in the US Marshals' Office and that means…"

"…That Téa could be in danger," Tony concluded. "Shit!" was all he could think to say.

"Yeah," Gibbs agreed with the Homicide Detective's accurate assessment of the situation.

Tony's mind was racing and he felt torn – on the one hand he felt he owed his loyalty to his partner and believed that he should remain by Sam's hospital bed, at least until he woke up, but on the other hand he had promised Téa that she would be safe.

"Give me two minutes," Tony told Gibbs rather than asked him.

Gibbs watched as the younger man went into what he assumed must be Detective Jacobs' room; he was glad that DiNozzo was going to help as Baltimore was neither his nor Fornell's city and there were precious few people that Gibbs trusted enough with finding Téa right now.

Somehow, DiNozzo had become one of the few.

He quietly entered the hospital room and heard Abby promise to stay with DiNozzo's partner; it was a very Abby thing to do.

"No can do, Abs," Gibbs interrupted her assurances. "I need you back at the lab working evidence; the CSI's are still gathering everything together but you can start on what they've already got. We're going to have to go after Radoslav with some pretty compelling evidence because he's not giving us anything."

Abby shot Tony an apologetic look before turning back to Gibbs; "Baltimore or DC?" she asked him about which lab she should return to.

"Baltimore for now if you can," Gibbs suggested. He knew that Abby preferred her own lab but he wanted the people he trusted close by for now; he needed to know that he could rely upon the information he was given.

"I can stay with Detective Jacobs, Anthony," Ducky kindly offered. "I have no current demands upon my time and I am more than happy to stay here."

"Thanks, Doctor Mallard," he said sincerely. "I really appreciate that, but I can't ask you to waste your time here."

"You were not asking, I was offering and it would certainly not be a waste of my time," Ducky offered an encouraging smile. "I can assure you, my lad, I will be quite comfortable."

"Thanks, Doctor Mal…thanks, Ducky," he corrected himself and gave the genial M.E. a small but genuine smile.

"Alright," Gibbs interrupted their moment as his impatience was mounting. "C'mon, Abs, we'll give you a lift back to the Precinct. Talk to you later, Duck, keep us informed," he added with a pointed look at the injured Detective lying deathly still in his hospital bed.

"Of course, Jethro," Ducky agreed before settling down beside Detective Jacobs still form and launching into one of his many tales and Tony tried not to think about the fact that those stories were normally related to the dead.

Driving through the streets of Baltimore at break-neck speed, Tony took some silent pleasure in the fact that it was the FBI Agent who was forced to sit in the cramped backseat and quietly pushed his seat back, reducing Fornell's leg-space quite considerably. To his credit, the FBI Agent didn't say a word, but Tony still took great delight in his visible annoyance; it was petty perhaps, but definitely enjoyable and right now he would take a little harmless fun.

Gibbs had agreed to drive Tony to one of his CI's who was best placed to have any information on corruption within the local law enforcement community – it was a longshot but it was still a shot worth taking.

They had left Abby back at the 22nd Precinct hacking into the US Marshals' personnel database before she started on the evidence. Fornell had hit every kind of wall when he was trying to acquire either one of the two phone numbers he was after.

It was the policy of the US Marshals' Office not to give out any mobile-phone numbers to anyone who did not have authorisation, just in case they could track the number and get a possible location on a witness. It was a sensible policy, but not one that Fornell appreciated at the time; it’s not like he was not about to tell the US Marshals' Office that he thought they had a leak in case that leak was alerted and panicked and did something stupid. He was told he could leave a message but nothing polite had come to mind.

Gibbs had been more than a little pissed off that they were seemingly no nearer to finding Téa Kadare, but his Forensic Specialist, Miss Sciuto, had informed them that they were being stupid before heading off to the nearest computer system.

They had been in the car not even five minutes when Tony's phone started to ring.

"Detective DiNozzo," he answered the call in a professional manner that was in stark contrast to the young man's behaviour only moments ago. "Hello?" he queried with frustration and annoyance clearly seeping into his tone.

"D'tective D'Nozzo?" came a ragged voice from down the line.

"Yeah, speaking," Tony sat up a little straighter, feeling more alert than he had in hours.

"This 's Greenwell," the voice gurgled down the line. "He's got her," he slurred

"Marshal," Tony said trying to remain calm; he recognised Greenwell as the name of one of the Marshals who had picked up Téa Kadare. "Are you talking about Téa? Who has her? Where is she?" he looked over at Gibbs and was grateful to see that he had pulled over and was on the phone trying to get someone to put a trace on the caller's location.

"Marshal Greenwell, you stay on the line and we'll find you, I promise! But right now, we need your help, Téa needs your help. Who has her?"

"P'ner," Greenwell answered, quieter than before. "Carlson. B'stard shot me, hurts," he coughed out.

Tony almost wanted to hang up the phone – he could hear the gargling and coughing and the heavy breathing and could only guess at what had happened to Greenwell, but he pretty sure that the man was drowning in his own blood as he was trying to help them find Téa.

"I know, buddy, but help is on the way. We need to know where Téa is; do you know where your partner might take her?" he felt a hand on his shoulder and turned to look at Agent Gibbs.

"They've got a location," Gibbs whispered quietly. "Where is Eastern Avenue?"

"Fells Point, West side of town near the water," Tony quickly directed before turning back to the phone as Gibbs put his foot down on the accelerator. "Marshal Greenwell, are you still with me?"

"Yeah," the man answered quietly. "Don't know where Carlson's…" he tailed off.

"Greenwell? Greenwell!" Tony shouted down the line. "Goddammit!" he whacked the side of the door. "Who did you get to trace the call?"

"Abby," Gibbs offered. "She's sending an ambulance and a patrol car over to the address; there's nothing more we can do until we get there."

Tony ignored the conciliatory tone in Gibbs' voice. "We need her to do another trace, can I borrow your phone?" he asked even as he picked the Agent's phone off the small well in the dashboard.

"Gibbs, even I'm not that fast," a voice whined down the line.

"Abby, it's Tony, I need you to trace another phone. Greenwell's partner, Carlson, looks to be dirty; he has Téa and we need a location now."

"Well that's saved me some time," Abby sighed in relief.

"What do you mean?" Tony queried; did that girl always speak in riddles?

"Gibbs told me to look up who Greenwell was on duty with and to get a trace sorted; now I know who to look for, things should go much faster."

Tony looked at Agent Gibbs from the corner of his eyes and frowned; he hadn't heard Gibbs ask for any of that, perhaps because he'd been too busy with his own call. Why didn't the guy tell him and stop him from making a pointless phone call. "Get it done asap, we need that location now," he ground out before hanging up. "Do you ever let anyone know what the hell you're doing or do you just let them get on with wasting their time?" he queried the man sat beside him.

The man in question simply raised one eyebrow at him before returning his gaze to the streets of Baltimore speeding by.

They arrived at the location of the call in Eastern Avenue in record time and were relieved to see that a dark blue sedan with government plates was parked outside; hopefully that meant that Carlson was still inside with Téa.

All three men jumped out of the car as it came to a halt and immediately pulled their guns out, ready for whatever might be ahead of them. The first of the patrol cars pulled up slightly down the block, lights flashing but no siren sounding; they still had the element of surprise then.

Gibbs flashed his badge and waved them off, hoping that they would understand and secure the area rather than flood the building with uniforms. He was relieved to see that the policemen had opened their doors and removed their guns from the holsters but other than that, made no move towards the building.

"We go in soft," Gibbs ordered the two men beside him quietly.

Both Tony and Fornell nodded; it was better to try and catch Carlson by surprise. If he heard them and panicked, he might shoot Téa, 'if she's still alive,' Tony thought morosely.

Gibbs deftly picked the lock and in they went, the Senior NCIS Agent on point. They heard soft whimpering coming from above them and it took every ounce of Tony's control not to go bounding up the stairs to soothe the young woman that he had promised to protect.

"I don't give a damn!" a voice roared from above them. "Look, I just killed my own goddamn partner over this mess; now that might not mean anything to you but it sure as shit means something to me. Now I'm not bringing you your whore until you give me what I asked for!"

There was no response and so they assumed that the irate man was talking on his phone. Gibbs motioned towards the stairs and the other two men nodded, before following after him. Tony winced as he hit a creaky step but it seemed as though Carlson was too enraged with his caller to hear it.

The tenement block was old and worn but it was tidy enough, and the soft carpeting on the landing softened their footsteps. They heard another expletive before something thudded on the wall to their right; it seemed as though Carlson had had enough of his conversation.

The door was slightly ajar but no one was visible through the small crack. Fornell took one side of the doorway and Tony another, with Gibbs ready to open the door. They had no eyes on Carlson, which rattled everybody's nerves but they had no choice, they needed to get Téa out of there and quick too, if Carlson was working himself into a rage.

Gibbs pushed open the door slowly and heard a quick scuttle of feet. 'Damn!' he thought, 'Carlson must have seen the door move.' With nothing to lose now he shoved the door completely open and moved into the room, DiNozzo hot on his tail while Fornell covered the corridor.

There was nobody there but there were two more rooms branching off. Gibbs took the one on the left and silently directed Tony to the one on the right.

As Gibbs opened his door he caught sight of Greenwell lying still on the floor in a pool of his own blood, his mobile phone in a limp, outstretched hand. He secured the room before moving towards Greenwell and checking his pulse; there was nothing.

As soon as Tony kicked open his door he caught sight of Téa lying bound and gagged on the floor, looking broken and bruised. Carlson lifted his gun and Tony opened fire; he fired one bullet straight into the US Marshal's shoulder, causing him to falter.

Tony didn't waste a second; he moved further into the room, pulled the gun out of Carlson's slack grip and punched him straight in the face, hearing a satisfying crunch as his nose broke. He swiftly spun the Marshal around and cuffed his hands behind his back.

"Gibbs!" he shouted, and waited for the NCIS Agent to appear.

Gibbs appeared in the doorway, blood staining his hands from where he had felt for Greenwell's pulse. He saw Tony's gaze linger for just a second too long on the blood before the young Detective looked up, a clear question in his worried eyes.

"I'm fine," Gibbs correctly guessed DiNozzo's concern. "Greenwell isn't," he offered by way of explanation.

Tony nodded before pushing Carlson towards the doorway where Gibbs securely held him before he turned around and watched the Homicide Detective work on getting Téa untied.

"You're ok," Tony tried to soothe the obviously distraught young woman. "It's ok, you're safe now," he told her as he struggled with the knot of the thick material that Carlson had used as a gag. As soon as her hands and feet were untied she threw herself at Tony, arms wrapping themselves securely around his neck.

She had never been more relieved than when she saw Detective DiNozzo kick open the door; he was one of the few men that she had ever been able to trust and he had just proved himself more than worthy of that faith. 'He found me,' she thought to herself, letting all her fear and pain ebb away as she cried into his shoulders.

Tony looked over the distraught young woman's head at Agent Gibbs and caught the quickest flash of something in the man's normally hard eyes.

Fornell had come in at DiNozzo's cry for Gibbs; it hadn't escaped his attention that the Homicide Detective had not called for him. He took Carlson from Gibbs. "I'll take him down and get a ride with a patrol car back to the Precinct," he told them. He thought that the last thing Miss Kadare needed was to be stuck in a car with the man that had nearly killed her.

Both Tony and Gibbs nodded their understanding – Téa definitely needed Carlson out of view. The Detective's quiet but sincere 'thank you' had been entirely unexpected but Fornell nodded back at DiNozzo, equally sincere; it was not quite a reconciliation, but an olive branch between the two nonetheless.

"Don't let him talk to anyone until we get there," Gibbs ordered Fornell, and this time the FBI Agent was not at all surprised by the fact that his NCIS counterpart seemed intent on including DiNozzo.

Tony and Gibbs had waited for the paramedics so that they could get Téa checked out. She was badly bruised and certainly looked more than a little worse for wear but there was nothing that seemed to concern the medics too much. She had not let go of Tony's hand all the way through the exam and he was beginning to get worried about her mental well-being.

Gibbs had made sure that Carlson's shattered mobile phone was gathered into an evidence bag and ordered a rookie to deliver it straight to Abby at the 22nd Precinct's lab; he was loath to hand over this potentially damning evidence to someone he didn't know but if they wanted an arrest to stick then they would need to follow the procedures correctly.

Gibbs reasoned that the rookie looked too scared of him and his given mission to be a dirty cop; it didn't hurt that he told the kid that he knew exactly what was in the evidence bag and that if his lab. tech. reported something missing then Gibbs had his name. The young cop high-tailed it out of the room pretty quick.

Gibbs had passed the rest of his time watching DiNozzo care for Miss Kadare. He had witnessed the man flirting his way through half the clubs in Baltimore when they were trying to find anyone who might know their Jane Doe, but this DiNozzo was a million miles away from the flirtatious Detective with the mega-watt smile.

He spoke softly to her and told her when he was going to move so that she wouldn't have to worry about the idea of him trying anything on her. He was sympathetic but forceful when she had initially resisted the medics help and he had kept her calm throughout the exam.

He watched as Tony helped her into the backseat of the car and climbed into the one on the other side of her, aware that she didn't trust too many people right now and that she needed the physical contact as a means of reassuring herself that everything was ok, that she was safe.

Gibbs did his own part to try and keep her calm by driving only just above the speed limit. He kept sending brief glances to Tony in the rear-view mirror, surprised by how much better they seemed to understand each other's silent communication after just a few days working together. Gibbs doubted he would ever truly understand a man like Detective DiNozzo, but he would wager that he already understood him better than most.

As soon as they arrived at the Precinct, Gibbs immediately went off in search of Fornell and Carlson, while Tony took Téa with him down to the lab. He'd already called Officer Thomas Blackburn, one of the few men he trusted with his life, and Tom had agreed to hang around in the lab and keep an eye on Téa and Abby and the rest of the CSIs. If the only thing that was going to put Radoslav behind bars was in that lab, then the people working there could be at risk from any more unknown leaks. Tom had agreed to keep everything quiet, not telling anyone what he was up to in case the wrong person found out.

"Téa, this is Tom," Tony introduced her to the older man, who was out of uniform and dressed in jeans, a shirt and an old leather jacket, casual except for the gun holster. "He's a good man, and someone I know and trust. This is Abby," he pointed towards the Gothic woman. "She works with Agent Gibbs and she's very nice. Now I want you to stay with these two people, don't go anywhere, not even to the bathroom, alone. Understood?"

"Where will you be?" Téa asked, her voice slightly raw from too much screaming through her gag with Carlson and from too much crying with Tony.

"I need to interview Carlson; we need to know who else is involved and we need to bring them down. Do you know anything else?" he asked quietly but firmly – if she knew something then they needed to know too.

"No," Téa shook her head adamantly. "Only Radoslav. The man, Carson…"

"Carlson?" Tony asked, trying to be clear.

"Yes…he say something on phone, he call person a bitch. It could be a woman, yes?"

"Maybe," Tony sighed; it looked like they would need to get either Radoslav or Carlson to talk. "You stay with these two, ok. Tom is going to take your statement but after that, try and eat something and get some rest. I'll be back soon, ok?"

Téa nodded. She desperately wanted to stay at Tony’s side where she felt safe, but she also knew that he needed to do his job. "I stay; I be ok," she tried to put on a brave face.

Tony gave her an encouraging smile; the young woman's strength never ceased to amaze him. With one final hug, he gently manoeuvred Téa into a cushioned chair before leaving the lab, safe in the knowledge that she was in capable hands – Tom's fatherly instincts coupled with Abby's maternal ones pretty much guaranteed that no one would be allowed to upset the small Albanian woman.

"You do know that as we speak, we that is…not you, as we speak, Radoslav is cutting a deal with the FBI," Tony idly informed Carlson as he doodled in his notebook, speaking for the first time since entering the room. He and Gibbs had been in the room with Carlson for a little over ten minutes with Gibbs taking the lead, but the man had not said a word, not even to ask for a lawyer.

Both Gibbs and DiNozzo could feel the anger pouring off the man in front of them, but there was no fear. At least there had been no fear; as soon as the Detective had mentioned the Feds, Gibbs caught the flash of anxiety and the strengthening grip on the table.

Gibbs hid his own smile.

"What the hell are you talking about?" Carlson asked with a shaky voice.

Tony rocked his chair back and chewed on his pen lid as if he didn't have a care in the world. "Well, he's telling us all about the club and the girls and all the dirty cops that he's dealt with." He let the chair fall back on to all four feet and silently enjoyed the way that the sudden bang made Carlson almost jump out of his seat.

"I don't know what the hell you're talking about," the Marshal said in a tone that he clearly hoped was full of conviction.

It wasn't.

"Yeah, yeah," Tony waved him off; it was clear that he didn't believe a word Carlson had just said and Gibbs was enjoying watching the beads of sweat form on the man's head as he tried to dig himself out of trouble. Tony's indifference and casual dismissal of their suspect was an interrogation technique that he had never used before, but it certainly seemed to be effective.

"Look man, I don't know what that scum-bag is telling you, but you've got this all wrong! Radoslav is the one you want to be looking at!"

"You're the one who shot at us," Gibbs pointed out.

"You're damn straight I did! I thought you were going to kill me. You didn't tell me who you were and I was trying to defend myself," Carlson stuttered out.

"Sorry man, not good enough," Tony said as he returned his attention to his doodles. "Looks like you've got a one-way ticket to a lifetime spent in a Federal Penitentiary upstate." He turned to Gibbs, "What was it our victim's father did again…he worked at the White House or something, right?"

"Military advisor to the President," Gibbs said as he chewed on a nail. "He's got everybody in Washington breathing down our necks for this; said something about making an example," he shrugged. He was enjoying this interview, appreciating the exchange between he and DiNozzo as they worked well together and made their suspect sweat bullets.

"Well, there you have it," Tony shrugged at Carlson. "Radoslav's already trying to cut a deal with the FBI, so it looks like you get to be the fall guy for everything."

Carlson thought furiously, trying to find a way out. Téa hadn't seen him shoot his partner, as she'd been in the other room, unconscious; he'd have to answer for that somehow. He hadn't meant to shoot Greenwell, but the guy had come at him, furious. He'd left his own gun in the bedroom, but Greenwell had been close enough for him to grab his partner's gun. He'd wiped it clean too, so there shouldn't be any prints.

He'd fired his own gun at the cops so of course he would have gunpowder residue from that, and he'd truly thought they might be there to kill him; criminals and cops were just as dangerous as each other when the cops were as crooked as the criminals.

How the hell could they get him for the club?

He'd been there, sure; he'd been called down there more times than he liked, but he never had anything to do with the running of it and he sure as hell wasn't going down for that! He stood a chance in court with the other charges, thought they could be argued away as circumstantial or self-preservation, but if any of the girls identified him as a regular then he could do some serious time once they started giving details.

"Alright, look, I'll cut you a deal…ok?" he asked desperately.

"We'll see," Gibbs said. "What have you got for us?"

"How did Radoslav get his orders to you about Téa?" Tony asked, worried about a leak in his own department; after all, Radoslav had been behind bars for a good few hours now.

"You think I take my orders from that low-life?" Carlson scoffed.

"Who, then?" Gibbs was intrigued to find that not only was Radoslav not the head of this particular crime family, but that he was so vehemently hated.

"You want to know how these sons of bitches get cops on their side?" Carlson asked, ignoring the question. "They threaten your family…your wife, your kids…they threatened my two-year-old son!" he spat out in anger.

"Then why the hell didn't you come clean…tell somebody?" Gibbs demanded, slapping his hand down on the table.

"Who the hell am I supposed to trust?" Carlson asked incredulously. "Who would you trust so absolutely, so completely with the lives of everyone you love when you already know that there are a bunch of dirty cops behind these crooks? What is to stop the person you go to for help from being on the pay-roll?"

Tony sighed; this case was beginning to have too many similarities to the one he had worked in Philadelphia, and that hadn't ended too well.

"Look, they went after your family and I get that you were trying to protect them, no matter how misguided your efforts may have been, but the only way we can stop them is if we can bring them down for good," Tony pointed out. Carlson would still have to answer for his partner's death, but for now they could gloss over that to try and gain the man's trust and learn some answers.

"I can't," Carlson said desperately, hanging his head. "She'll kill them," he said in a whisper filled with fear.

"She?" Gibbs queried, surprised.

The US Marshal nodded. "I've never even met her, but I can assure you, she's bat-shit crazy, a total psycho; no way was I going to risk my family with someone like her after them."

"You need to tell us who she is," Gibbs stated.

"It won't matter, you won't be able to pin anything on her. She uses Radoslav to run the club, a couple of other guys to bring the girls in, Pasha…well…I guess you could say that he keeps everyone in line; she has no direct links to any of this. She's smart and has a million buffers between her and a prison cell."

"No one is that good," Tony shook his head. "We'll get this woman for something."

"How?" Carlson scoffed. "I've never even seen her…all I've got is a first name and a phone number!"

None of the three men spoke.

Carlson was sure that he was going to prison and even with extenuating circumstances on his side, chances were that he was going to spend a couple of years in prison at least; he didn't relish the thought of leaving his family unprotected for that long…he could barely manage to get through a day without worrying over their safety. If he could have trusted the US Marshals' Office, he would have moved his entire family into protective custody the first time he was threatened.

Gibbs was trying to think of a way that they could catch this woman, but she'd clearly been very careful in all her business dealings.

Tony, too, was trying to come up with a way of getting this woman behind bars when finally something came to him.

"Was the number for this woman from a mobile?" he asked Carlson.

Gibbs sat up a little straighter in his seat; it was clear that DiNozzo had thought of something.

"Yeah," Carlson sighed.

"The same number every time?" Tony asked.

"Erm…no, I don't think so?" Carlson said, a little perplexed as to why the Detective seemed to be getting excited with that line of questioning.

"But she wanted Téa back…alive?" Tony continued.

"Yeah, she wanted to know what Kadare had told the cops," Carlson explained.

"Gibbs," Tony said, a smile on his face. "I've got an idea."

"Hey Sam," Tony greeted his unconscious partner. The doctors had told him that Sam would be on a cocktail of heavy-duty drugs in an effort to minimise the agony he would surely feel without them; it was good for Sam but it meant that Tony would have to be very lucky in his visits to the hospital if he wanted to catch his partner awake and aware.

"So…" he said; he felt strange talking to Sam as though nothing were wrong but he needed to talk to someone and his partner was the one person he really wanted to talk to most of the time, and especially when things could go so wrong. "So…" he began again. "I think I'm about to do something really stupid."

"That sounds familiar," came a soft voice from behind him, causing him to jump half a foot in the air.

"Jesus Christ, Cathy, you scared the hell out of me," he muttered before taking in her appearance. She was sat down in a big chair at the back of the room, huddling herself into the smallest possible position she could. Her eyes were red and her face pale; it was obvious she had spent a great deal of crying and he immediately felt guilty that he hadn't been there for her.

"I'm sorry, Cathy," he said as he gently pulled her into a hug.

"It wasn't your fault," she said with certainty, trying to hold back the tears that threatened to fall once again.

Tony didn't have anything to say to that because he still felt as though it was his fault, that there must have been something he could have done to stop Sam from being shot. Maybe if he had insisted on going with his partner instead of agreeing to split up and going their separate ways with a federal agent each. Maybe if he'd insisted that they clear each floor as one large group so that there was more firepower available…more targets.

He immediately felt awful for thinking such a thing but he also knew that there was a dark truth there; he would rather five other people catch a bullet than have Sam catch just one. He liked Eaton, but he would probably pay good money for the SWAT team leader to be lying wounded in a hospital bed rather than Sam.

"Any news?" he asked the shaking woman in his arms.

"No," Cathy said, sobs breaking through as she wiped her sleeve across her eyes in a desperate bid to salvage a normal façade. "Nothing new, anyway."

Tony nodded. "He's strong, Cathy, you know that. He'll be fine," he said with more conviction than he had.

"Yeah," the young woman said with little certainty. "So…you're going to do something stupid?" she asked, changing the subject, no longer able to think about her father's condition.

"We've found out that there is someone higher up in this organisation we've been investigating and we're going after her with everything we've got."

"And you come into this how, exactly?" Cathy asked, immediately suspicious. Her father had often been very vocal about Tony's reckless streak and she worried that without her father’s presence, there would be no one to rein him in and stop him from risking his life in such a cavalier fashion.

"It's an on-going investigation, Cath," Tony said softly. "You know that I can't discuss it with you…hell, I've already told you more than I should."

Cathy lowered her head in an effort to stop Tony from seeing the tears well up in her eyes again. "Just promise me you won't do anything too reckless, Tony; I don't think Daddy will be able to handle any more bad news when he wakes up."

"Hey, when have I ever done anything reckless?" he asked with a mischievous grin; he added a wink at Cathy's incredulous look in a bid to make her smile. "Come on, the most reckless thing I've ever done was when I ate something that vaguely resembled turkey last Christmas and damn near broke all my teeth."

"Hey, I like my meat well done," she whined, slapping Tony gently across the chest in mock indignation.

"Cathy, it wasn't well done, it was charcoal," Tony pointed out.

"You didn't have to eat it," she folded her arms, happy to continue in their charade and pretend that everything was ok.

"Hey, I was being polite," Tony huffed before breaking his affronted exterior and bringing Cathy back in for a hug. "I'll be fine, I promise you," he whispered in her ear.

"Don't make promises you can't keep," Cathy said with a solemn look at her father, all previous traces of her jesting having quickly evaporated.

"Ok, then I promise that I will do everything in my power to return here so I can mock Sam mercilessly with a whole load of hop-a-long jokes," Tony added with a small grin.

"You make any jokes and I'll kick your ass," Cathy vowed. "But you get your ass straight back here, deal?"

"Deal," Tony agreed, shaking Cathy's hand with all the gravitas of Coco the Clown and a smile to match it. "You stay here and look after your Dad, make sure he eats everything, even the jello. Oh, and make sure he doesn't give the nurse any crap and that he takes all of his meds."

"Trust me, Tony, he won't be refusing anything with me here," Cathy promised, a wicked grin flashing across her face.

Tony nodded and kissed her goodbye; he began to feel more than a little sorry for his partner, all too aware of how capable Cathy was of getting a patient to follow the doctor's orders. Tony had vowed to himself after the first time he had been seriously hurt in Baltimore that it would be the last and that if that failed, then he would gladly pay good money to get away from her Nurse Ratched routine.

Chapter Text

Gibbs was growing impatient; DiNozzo had his eureka moment and then disappeared before telling Gibbs anything about his master plan. The only reason he had allowed the young Detective to run from the room in the first place was because he had thought that DiNozzo was going to get some vital piece of information.

He had sat in silence with Carlson for almost fifteen minutes before realising that perhaps the Homicide Detective was not coming back any time soon. With a fierce but redundant 'You stay here!' directed towards the Marshal who was hand-cuffed to the table, he stalked out of interrogation and went straight to the Homicide Department.

No DiNozzo.

He wasn't in the breakroom or in one of the many conference rooms, and he wasn't hitting the head, he wasn't even up in the Crimes Against Children Department where the one decent computer outside the lab apparently resided. He then remembered that DiNozzo had left Téa Kadare in Abby's capable hands, so he quickly found his way to the lab only to find that DiNozzo wasn't there either.

He ignored Kadare's fear once she realised Tony was not nearby and focused his attention on Abby, hoping that their new friendship might mean that she knew where the wayward Detective might have gone.

"I don't know," Abby shrugged, her eyes never leaving her current test. "He came down here a while ago and talked to Téa, and then he left. Have you tried his mobile?"

Gibbs had to resist the urge to grumble out loud. He didn't like mobiles and as such tended not to notice when he misplaced them, (he refused to believe that he could ever lose them,) so it was not altogether surprising that one of the few times he needed one, he couldn't find it.

Abby noticed the silence and finally averted her eyes from her experiment as she tried to smoother down a laugh…she failed. Gibbs narrowed his eyes at her but as always, the perky young Goth remained unaffected.

"This is the Age of Technology, Gibbs; you're going to have to get used to the idea of using a phone," she smirked at him.

"I have a phone," Gibbs insisted stubbornly. "It's on my desk."

"I wasn't talking about a land-line, Gibbs," Abby smiled knowingly. "I don't have his number yet, but I can easily get it for you. You can borrow my phone and I'll even dial it for you too," she winked at her Silver Fox.

"I have number," Téa offered quietly. She had been watching the verbal tennis match between the two but couldn't say she understood much beyond the fact that they wanted to find Tony. She wrote it down for Abby before taking a step back, almost knocking Officer Blackburn over in the process.

She wondered why the Officer had not said anything; after all, he and Tony were friends. However, she caught a look of blatant amusement on the older man's face and assumed he had been enjoying the banter between the two NCIS employees too much.

"No answer," Gibbs ground out, his irritation rising still further.

"Have you tried Ducky?" Abby suggested, aware that the elderly M.E. had already become inexplicably fond of the young Homicide Detective. "He's back here; he offered to help Doctor Metcalf with the autopsy on Greenwell."

Gibbs almost smacked his own head for being so short-sighted; both Ducky and DiNozzo seemed to get along very well, and the verbose men could easily be together in a corner animatedly discussing anything from the case to 1950's cinema.

He was about to leave when he remembered something Abby had said; "What did DiNozzo ask you?" he rounded on Miss Kadare.

"He wants to know if I know about anyone else in charge…any women in organisation; I did not," Téa shrugged, still clueless as to why Tony had been so excited when he had visited her earlier. Gibbs nodded tersely, his frustration making his usually abrupt manner even more so.

The Detective was really asking for a bloody strong head-slap!

Ducky was, as per usual, relating one of his many bizarre tales and Metcalf seemed to be willing to listen.

"Hey Duck," Gibbs interrupted a running monologue about a real-life George Smiley. "Have you seen DiNozzo?" he asked, straight to the point.

"Not for some time, I'm afraid," Ducky looked up from the liver he was weighing. "I do hope you haven't run off young Anthony," the elderly Doctor as he regarded the Senior Agent with a stern gaze.

"He ran out of interrogation and I haven't seen him since," Gibbs caught the look of mistrust on Metcalf's face and recalled that he and DiNozzo were friends but he had neither the patience nor the inclination to waste time correcting any false assumptions that may have been made.

"We need to move on a piece of information and I can't find him anywhere in this goddamn building," the Senior Agent sat on an empty autopsy table, not caring that he had just contaminated it for the next body that lay ready and waiting.

"Have you thought to look at the hospital?" Ducky asked despite already knowing the answer. When he caught Gibbs eyebrows knit together in a fierce frown he let out an exasperated sigh. "Really, Jethro! If there are things that you really must do now then by all means, go ahead, but spare the young man a little compassion; his partner has just been crippled!"

Gibbs had to hide his surprise; he hadn't been angry with DiNozzo for going to the hospital, he'd been silently furious with himself.

He had always valued the bond that existed between partners, it was one that started for him back in the Marines. While he was always part of a larger team, when it came to his time in Spec. Ops, he often worked alone, save for one other man; Gibbs would be miles behind enemy lines with nothing but his rifle and no one but his spotter, Sanderson.

The two men had to learn to rely upon each other in some of the most dangerous circumstances imaginable and understandably a strong bond had grown out of that. Gibbs had been devastated when his long-time friend died in a road-side explosion, a mere twenty minutes away from the airbase that was to have taken him home that day.

He had seen in DiNozzo, right from the very first time they met, that same bond, that same loyalty between him and his partner, Jacobs. Hell, DiNozzo had protected a partner back in Philadelphia that he had neither liked nor respected, but one he felt he owed loyalty towards, nonetheless.

DiNozzo had threatened a Federal Agent just because Gibbs had pissed off his partner.

DiNozzo seemed to go out of his way to make sure Jacobs was ok.

DiNozzo had broken cover in the middle of a goddamn fire-fight because he wanted to be where he could watch his partner's six.

DiNozzo had very nearly lost it when he was pacing the white, sterile halls of the hospital with his partner's blood literally on his hands and soaked through his clothing.

How the hell could Gibbs, knowing all that he did, not even have considered the possibility that DiNozzo was visiting his partner in hospital! After all, he wasn't as cold-hearted as many people seemed to assume, and thankfully, judging by the look of understanding that passed across Ducky's face, the elderly M.E. wasn't one of them.

He sometimes hated the fact that Ducky seemed to know him and his reasoning so well; sometimes he just wanted to feel pissed off at the Brass, or wallow in self-recrimination about a case gone wrong, without the kindly Doctor attempting to ease the ferocity of his emotions with words of understanding and absolution.

Sometimes he didn't want to be told by one of his closest friends that everything was going to work out because said friend had far too much confidence in him, a confidence that, more often than not, Gibbs felt he didn't deserve.

He caught Ducky looking at him and knew that the M.E. was trying to gauge his current emotions, but he didn't need or want to be analysed, he was all too aware of how crappy he was feeling right now.

"I need a coffee," Gibbs muttered, determined to give DiNozzo the time he needed with his partner and the time he needed to sort his head out.

It had been good to see Cathy, even if the circumstances surrounding their most recent meeting were anything but, Tony decided. The last time he had seen her had been after a friend of hers had been raped; both women had been understandably distraught and Cathy had come to her father and his partner for some comfort and support.

A large group of friends went out after work, visiting a bar and then a club that was very popular with the young men and women of North Baltimore. Being with such a big number of people had meant that the night had been fun and diverse, but it had also meant that it was hard to keep track of everyone.

Cathy's friend disappeared sometime after one in the morning and was rediscovered over an hour later, bleeding and crying in a back-alley near the club. Cathy described her body as that of a puppet that had had all of its strings cut, broken and unmoving.

She blamed herself for her friend's assault, certain that she should have been paying more attention, that she could have done something to ensure her safety. Both Tony and Sam had tried to convince her that there was nothing she could have done, that no one expected something like that to happen when there were so many people around. That she could have been at one friend's side only for the rapist to attack another woman, another friend, even.

Rape was usually a crime of opportunity; a woman walking alone down a badly-lit street, through an empty park, or even an unattended drink that could easily be spiked. Tony had tried to convince Cathy that she wasn't to blame and told her it was all down to the cowardly arsehole that had attacked her friend, but he knew that it was something that she would always carry with her.

One of his own fears, perhaps his greatest fear, was that he wouldn't be there one day and someone would pay the ultimate price for his absence. Sam had almost paid that price and while he may not have lost his life, he had certainly lost his livelihood, and that was something Tony would always carry with him, weighing down on his shoulders and his conscience.

He didn't really feel like explaining to Gibbs where he had been. Seeing Sam still unconscious and still so pale had done nothing for his mood and while Gibbs would be well within his rights to demand an explanation, Tony didn't really feel like talking, at least not about anything real, anything important, anything but work.

"Detective DiNozzo," came a voice from behind him. Tony turned around and saw Gibbs standing on the steps below, the now familiar coffee cup clenched in his hands.

"Agent Gibbs," Tony greeted him.

Gibbs could hear the world-weary tone to the young man's voice and knew that now was not the time to start a lecture on the merits of letting someone know where you might be at any one moment in time, even if it was one of his rules, Rule 3: never be unreachable.

"Everyone is in one of the conference rooms. We're hoping to get something sorted before the day is out. We can't entrust Téa's safety to the US Marshals' Office until we know who is on the city's payroll and who is on this trafficking ring's payroll, so she's upstairs in the conference room with everybody else."

"That's good," Tony nodded, wondering if Téa would ever be truly safe. "We'd better not keep them waiting then, huh?" he grinned at the NCIS Agent.

"My thoughts exactly," Gibbs said pointedly.

Tony ignored the jibe completely and continued on up the stairs towards his own department and the conference rooms that were on the same floor.

The first door he opened revealed nothing but an empty room but the next door led to an overcrowded one. Why they had chosen one of the smaller rooms, Tony would never understand, but both M.E.'s were sat at the table, as were Agent Cascabel from NCIS and Agent Fornell from the FBI. Agent Batista was once again absent, and Tony wasn't sure if that was because Fornell didn't trust Batista or if he didn't trust Tony with Batista.

Abby was animatedly talking to Téa, who looked as though she wasn't absorbing anything that the Forensic Specialist was throwing at her at supersonic speed. Tom Blackburn was leaning against the wall with his eyes closed but the soft smile that adorned his face made it clear that he was more than aware of what was being said around him.

Gibbs closed the door with a little more force than was necessary, but he successfully gained the attention of everyone in the room.

"Duck, Dr. Metcalf," Gibbs started, "Have you completed the autopsy on Marshal Greenwell?"

"We have, Jethro," Ducky confirmed.

"And…?" the Senior NCIS Agent prompted when it seemed as though the normally verbose M.E. was going to offer no more information.

"It was all pretty obvious, Agent Gibbs," Metcalf shrugged his shoulders. "He had various bruises and abrasions that hadn't fully formed, so he was beaten shortly before his death. There was also some skin under his nails and bruising to his knuckles, so he likely fought back. He received a single shot to the chest and the blood loss he received as a result of that injury lead to his death, and there was also a large amount of blood in his airway."

"Indeed," Ducky agreed. "However, Doctor Metcalf confirmed that it was the exsanguination that killed him before the haemothorax could; thank heavens for small mercies, I suppose" he muttered, shaking his head as he considered the possibility of someone slowly drowning in their own blood.

"Looks like Carlson was telling the truth; if Greenwell's murder was premeditated then there would likely be just one, fatal bullet wound and no bruises," Gibbs surmised.

A pensive silence fell across the room, too many minds dwelling on the fact that this organisation had corrupted good cops by leveraging the safety of their families for information and action.

So many lives had been ruined by such a small group of criminals who were profiting from the misery of others.

"So, DiNozzo," Abby broke the silence with a cheeriness that seemed to be more than a little forced. "Are we ever going to learn about your devious plan?" Abby asked as she rocked back and forth on the balls of her feet.

"I don't know that it's particularly devious," Tony conceded, "But I think I've found a way to get us a foot in the front door."

"Well…what is it? You need a brass band to get you started?" Gibbs asked impatiently, although he was secretly interested in what the young Detective had come up with. If Jacobs' word of warning back when they first met was anything to go by, then DiNozzo had likely come up with something highly bizarre and certainly reckless.

"Téa has never met any women other than those who work in Club Abër, and no one is going to choose to work there if they're the person secretly running things. So if Téa has never seen or heard of this woman and doesn't know a thing about her, then what possible threat could she be? I couldn't think of any reason why Téa had to die."

He looked over to see how the young Albanian woman was coping with what was being talked about; Tony was glad to see that she was able to muster a small smile for him. 'She really must be one of the strongest women I've ever met,' Tony thought.

"They've already killed two girls, Teresa and Nadia, pretty much ensuring the co-operation of the rest of the girls they had at Club Abër, so I can't believe they were desperate enough to make an example of her that they would risk open confrontation with the US Marshalls.

"Téa knows just as much about the clientele of the club as the rest of the girls there, so it can't be anything to do with protecting a profitable regular, and by now whoever is in charge must know that we have the other girls. I think Téa was singled out because they already knew that she had gone to the Police, whereas the other girls haven't said a word despite being freed from Radoslav, Pasha and Club Abër.

"The only people Téa has managed to tell us anything about were Pasha and Radoslav, so I reckon that killing Téa must have been about one of two things: one, that either of those two scumbags is important to whoever is at the top, for whatever reason. Two, that one of those two bastards is a threat to whoever is at the top."

"A threat?" Gibbs asked quietly. So far, every bit of the Detective's reasoning made sense, but he wanted to hear DiNozzo's idea through to the end before he committed both himself and the younger man to anything dangerous.

"You know why the power of the Mafia decreased so dramatically?" Tony asked rhetorically before continuing. "Drugs!" he exclaimed simply.

"The men and women involved with Cosa Nostra were prepared to do prison time for extortion or theft or arson or any other simple tasks that they were given by their Don and his Capos, because the prison time attached to such crimes were rarely for very long.

"In fact, it was even considered a matter of great honour to protect the Family with L'Omertà, the Code of Silence, and those that did go to prison knew that their families would be well looked after while they were serving their sentence as a reward for their loyalty.

"Then the drugs boom happened; everything from using to the production and the dealing of drugs carried with them greater risk because the jail time attached to these crimes was far more severe, and instead of looking at two or three years behind bars, they could be looking at more than a decade.

"So the FBI started offering people deals – if some low-level soldier would give valuable information about his Don or one of his Capos, then the Feds would reduce the sentence or even let them off the hook completely and give them a shiny new name and address. So people took the deals and La Omertà was broken and suddenly, seemingly invincible organisations could be torn down from the very foundations."

"Ooh, ooh," Abby squealed excitedly, a hand stretching high above her head as if waiting for permission from a teacher. "Like in the Godfather when Don Corleone didn't want to get into the drug business with the other families because he thought even the High Court Judges he had on his pay-roll would go running!" she rushed out in one breath.

"Yeah," Tony grinned, glad to have found an evident movie lover among the small group looking on. "Don't you think Brando makes a fantastic Don? I mean, he had a certain gravitas about him that made him perfect for the role, and then, when he was…"

"DiNozzo," Gibbs pointedly interrupted what was potentially a Ducky-length monologue.

"Yes," DiNozzo stood a little straighter and tried to dampen the smile on his face, not helped by the impish grin and the mischievous wink Abby sent his way. "Ok, so I was thinking, we have Radoslav and even if we couldn't get him for murder, we could still send him to prison for a good few decades based on numerous counts of human trafficking, right?"

"We can send him to prison for murder, DiNozzo," Fornell said, confusion evident on his normally stoic face. "We have Miss Kadare's statement and she has agreed to testify in court."

"True," Tony nodded with a devilish grin as though he knew something that no one else did. "But Radoslav doesn't know that the hit on Téa failed. If we cut him a deal with three murder charges under his belt he might get a little suspicious, but maybe not quite so much for trafficking."

"Hold on," Fornell interrupted, not even attempting to hide his confusion this time. "After all that crap about the FBI cutting deals, that is now exactly what you want to go and do?" he demanded incredulously.

"In a manner of speaking," Tony nodded sagely despite his vague answer. "Long, this path is," he said with his best Yoda impression.

"Ooh, I know! I know! Star Wars," Abby guessed out loud. "I like this game," she grinned, glad to see that the palpable tension in DiNozzo's shoulders eased slightly as he smiled at her humour.

"I do believe that you and young Anthony have the rest of us at rather a disadvantage," Ducky said with a small smile of his own while Gibbs' eyes narrowed at the inference of his age being a disadvantage; he'd seen movies…some of them in colour!

"I never said that we were actually going to give him a deal," Tony pointed out, deciding that Gibbs wanted the main issue back on track. "We could, however, mislead him."

"Can we do that in a way that won't compromise the case when we take that son of a bitch to court?" Gibbs asked, going straight to the crux of the matter.

"Yes…or at least, I think so…" Tony finished with a mega-watt smile, glad that Gibbs seemed to be interested rather than critical. "People seem to listen to what they want to hear, right? So we tell Radoslav that Téa will not be testifying. We don't tell him whether she's dead or not, just that she's not testifying, and then we nail him with the trafficking charges. Just when he starts working up a sweat about that, we offer him a deal promising to wipe the trafficking charges if, and only if, he co-operates with us in catching this bitch at the top."

"How does he help us do that?" Gibbs asked, interested in what the young Detective had come up with. So far, DiNozzo's plan seemed to hold some credit and he couldn't see anything interfering with the court case.

He knew what Tony wanted to happen; Radoslav would take the deal in a bid to avoid a couple of decades behind bars for trafficking, only for Téa Kadare to 'change' her mind and testify against Radoslav after all. He couldn't see any reason there that the Defence could truly argue against, after all, people change their mind all the time.

"Well, we let him go and…"

"Let him go?" Fornell demanded incredulously. "Even if he accepts this supposed deal, what is to stop him from running, or from warning his boss?"

"Someone will need to go with him…make sure he sticks to the straight and narrow," Tony shrugged, not at all bothered by Fornell's disbelief, his eyes were fixed firmly on Gibbs, trying to gauge his reaction.

Gibbs had to bite back a groan; this…this was what Jacobs had warned him against just short days ago! He knew where DiNozzo was going with this now…knew and didn't like it one bit; now he knew why the Detective had wanted…no…needed to see his partner before committing to such a risky undercover operation.

"How do we do that, DiNozzo?" he asked quietly, despite already knowing the answer; he needed to hear the words for himself.

"Send one of us with him," Tony stated. He could see by the tightening of the NCIS Agent's mouth and by the way his fists tensed at his side that the man was not entirely happy with this plan, but Tony couldn't really understand why; everything seemed to make perfect sense and he was sure he could pull it off.

"By ‘one of us’, you mean you!" Gibbs bit out with a fierce undertone to his voice.

"Well, I don't really think that you can do 'scumbag' quite as well as I can," Tony shrugged, before quickly adding, "That was kind of a compliment by the way," when he saw the older man's eyes narrow in his direction still further.

Gibbs did not find any appeasement in the Homicide Detective's words; the young man's casual indifference and apparent comfort about the whole situation only served to make his frustration rise.

Without conscious thought, the Senior Agent took two steps forward and head-slapped the clueless Detective, a few curse words escaped as a disbelieving mutter before Gibbs left the room quickly, aware that he really didn't want to say or do anything that he might regret in front of all of those witnesses.

Tony looked around the room and saw that quite a few faces seemed a little surprised by the NCIS Agent's behaviour. Doctor Mallard, on the other hand, seemed to be under no confusion, his only visible emotion was one of resignation.

"Excuse me," the M.E. politely said before leaving the room and following after his friend in an effort to provide whatever the other man needed – words of wisdom, words of comfort or merely to act as a sounding board.

"Ok…" Tony muttered quietly. "So I'm guessing none of you have any idea what the hell that was about?"

Fornell's raised eyebrow and Abby's head banging into the table were the only answers he received.

Gibbs was sitting in an empty conference room, a little embarrassed by his open display of emotions but still too angry to much care. Of course, the fact that he didn't know why he was so angry only served to add more fuel to the fire.

DiNozzo's idea was so far the only one they had and it did actually merit some consideration, but Gibbs felt less than comfortable about placing the young Detective right into the firing line.

He just didn't know why!

DiNozzo wasn't one of his agents, he wasn't even NCIS. He was just some cop that he had met for the first time three days ago. God…it felt like a lot longer.

They'd only had one night of decent sleep since first meeting, but that one night spent on a creaky motel bed did not do much to replenish his reserves. DiNozzo might have had a better night's sleep at his own apartment, but then Gibbs remembered what the two Homicide Detectives looked like on that first day; both DiNozzo and Jacobs looked more than a little haggard and the bags under their eyes were testimony to just how little sleep they'd had in the previous days.

Last night was undoubtedly a long night for DiNozzo, spent anxiously pacing the hallways at the Angel of Mercy waiting for news on his partner. Gibbs' own night had been without a break, interviewing Radoslav and trying to find out everything he could about the potential leak in the US Marshals' Office.

Maybe it was simply that…maybe he was just too tired and therefore over-anxious about everything. No…even he didn't buy that!

For some reason Gibbs had become invested in the Baltimore Homicide Detective, and the idea of knowingly and willingly placing DiNozzo directly in harm's way…well, Gibbs wasn't sure he could do it.

He really couldn't understand why the young man intrigued him so much.

DiNozzo was juvenile and seemed to enjoy spending his time on the job flirting with anyone in a skirt rather than focusing on the real task at hand.

Except, he'd seen the way the young Detective acted on the raids; with the exception of his unbelievably idiotic act at Radoslav's place, DiNozzo had been very professional and more than capable. He'd left the jokes at the door and executed the raid without consequence.

DiNozzo's flirtatious actions were the only reason they had come across Club Abër in the first place, and it was his character that had ensured the trust and co-operation of their one and only witness, Téa Kadare.

But then the Detective was always bringing up films; he would quote them and re-enact them and use them as a point of reference as though they merited reliable facts on crime and the human condition.

He would pull practical jokes or waste his time babbling on and on about pointless topics that bore no relevancy to the case or to the topic at hand.

He made the coffee taste like some sort of chemical cleaning agent!

Gibbs shook his head; none of those excuses were very good and none of them held any weight to the Detective's competency, nor did they go very far in explaining why Gibbs was feeling so hesitant about sending the young man into the field.

The film references could no doubt get tiresome after a while, but Abby certainly seemed to find them fun and they did seem to ease the tension slightly when heated discussions arose, and at least they bore some relevancy to the case, however tangentially.

The long-winded chatter was something Gibbs was already accustomed to, having worked alongside Ducky for so many years; it was also something that he had learnt to either drown out or effectively cut off.

He rarely drank departmental coffee; in fact, he usually went out of his way to avoid it. The price of a good cup of coffee might be exorbitant, but it was usually worth it.

And as for the practical jokes…well, DiNozzo had used them very effectively against Nixon, so he doubted whether something like that could ever truly bother him.

Maybe it was Detective Jacobs' word of warning still ringing in his ear; he'd heard how reckless DiNozzo could be with his own life. Perhaps it was that warning that was rattling around his head and causing his gut to tense.

The cautionary words of Jacobs could simply be acting as some sort of dark omen, forcing Gibbs to think that the worst possible outcome was the most likely one; after all, DiNozzo had earned himself a concussion once already during their short acquaintance.

"Jethro?" Ducky's quiet concern quickly drew the Senior Agent out of his thoughts. He hadn't even heard the M.E. enter the room.

"Duck," he acknowledged. He should have expected the kindly Doctor to come and check up on him. Ducky seemed to task himself with the job of making sure everyone's mental well-being was ok, all too aware that Gibbs would try to avoid dealing with it directly if there was something amiss.

"You have quite a few people puzzling over your behaviour, I'm afraid," the M.E. stated with the slightest hint of compassion. He knew that Gibbs did not appreciate people prying into his thoughts and feelings but sometimes it was unavoidable.

Both Ducky and Abby often wondered what it was that drove Gibbs to do his job, often to the brink of exhaustion. They wondered why he seemed determined to protect every child he came across, whether they needed it or not. Mostly, they wondered why the man seemed determined to keep people at a distance; old friends, new friends, even new wives.

"It's nothing, Duck," the Agent insisted, already aware that the Doctor wouldn’t buy a word of it and would insist on talking the matter through; to be honest, Gibbs wasn't sure he had the energy to fight against it this time.

"I think we both know that's not true, Jethro," Ducky admonished the man, hoping that one day, Gibbs might feel comfortable enough to trust him with his true emotions without Ducky having to extract them. "This about young Anthony, isn't it?"

Gibbs didn't say anything but the look he gave Ducky, one filled with resignation and the slightest hint of resentment, told the Doctor everything he needed to know.

"That you are concerned for his well-being is not something to question, Jethro," Ducky explained gently. "You have spent too long working with a team that you do not trust to protect you or each other, one that you do not even trust to do their jobs properly. It is, therefore, not entirely surprising that you have come to rely upon someone who seems to be more than capable of doing both."

"So you're saying this is about self-preservation?" Gibbs bit out fiercely, angry that Ducky could think such a thing of him.

"Of course not," the M.E. scolded him for his cynicism. "The young man has clearly proven himself worthy in your eyes and so it is not surprising that you might consequently find some degree of respect or even, perhaps, a liking for Detective DiNozzo. Throwing him into the lion's den, as it were, would make anyone hesitant; someone who not only knows but likes young Anthony would clearly be even more so.

"However, I do not think you need to worry too much about the others and their feelings on the matter; I do believe that you and I are the only ones who know the truth about the reasons behind your reluctance to commit to this endeavour. Detective DiNozzo is a bright young man, but, I'm afraid, seemingly clueless about the way other people view him."

Gibbs didn't say anything; as usual, he was warring between resenting Ducky's advice and accepting it in the spirit in which it was meant.

The last statement about DiNozzo certainly rang true; it seemed as though Ducky could correctly recognize certain attributes of the Detective's character just as he could with Gibbs. Perhaps the M.E.'s words of wisdom were ones to be taken on board; maybe it was just that he had felt himself grow more tolerant, more respectful, more intrigued by the Homicide Detective.

Maybe it wasn't the 'why' and the 'how' that mattered; all that really mattered was that for whatever reason, he gave a crap about DiNozzo and his safety. They needed to find this woman at the top of the trafficking ring, and DiNozzo had found a way to do it; it was risky and potentially lethal, but none of that mattered.

Gibbs would have Tony's six.

He found Tony sat at his desk, reviewing the transcripts from all the interviews relating to their case, or at least, he appeared to be reading them. As Gibbs got closer he could see the slightly glazed over look in the young Detective's eyes and immediately knew that DiNozzo wasn't really focusing on the task at hand.

"Before I agree to this, we need to get what we can from both Carlson and Radoslav," Gibbs said, getting straight to the point, as always. The fact that DiNozzo jumped slightly in his seat showed Gibbs just how unaware of his surroundings he had been. "We also need to be damn sure that Radoslav is going to play ball; we need some sort of legally binding contract that explicitly states that if he so much as sneezes without our permission, he's going to do hard time."

"Sure, you want me to call a lawyer?" Tony asked, trying to get his mind focused on what Gibbs was throwing at him; apparently the NCIS Agent had got over his temporary moment of wrath.

"No," Gibbs shook his head. "Rule 13: never involve lawyers. I can get Fornell to sort all that out while we work on your cover." He saw the slightest expression of doubt cross the younger man's face with the mention of the FBI Agent. "You don't have to like Fornell, but you should try to trust him, or at least try to trust me; Fornell won't screw you over on this, I can assure you."

"Yeah," Tony sighed, reluctance still clear in his voice. He definitely did not trust Fornell, but he was starting to not only trust Gibbs, but also his judgement. There had been several times over the past couple of days when Gibbs and his opinions were entirely unwelcome; on other occasions, Gibbs had challenged him and given him something to think about and the man had more than proven that he was not some lapdog of Capitol Hill.

"Well…at least now I know another one of your rules," Tony grinned at the NCIS Agent, effectively moving away from the previous topic. "This one I think I could follow."

"You should follow all of them; it would make working with me a lot easier for you," Gibbs gave the younger man a smile of his own, but this one promised something more sinister than DiNozzo's Cheshire Cat grin ever could.

"I guess we should get to it," Tony clapped his hands together and headed back towards the interview rooms; they would need every scrap of information they could get before any sort of cover story could be formed. Of course, the most vital aspect of the whole plan was gaining Radoslav's co-operation.

Tony hoped that the Albanian would give his assistance readily, although he wasn't feeling entirely averse to smashing the scumbag's head into a table a couple of times to acquire Radoslav's help.

Gibbs really wasn't sure what he had been thinking; why had he thought that coming here was a good idea? The Angel of Mercy was a shining beacon of light compared to the more industrial buildings that surrounded it. Sirens could be heard, wailing in the distance and rushing off to another part of the city, no doubt the emergency services were kept busy in a city like Baltimore.

He knew the room number and he knew that visiting hours had long since passed, but Gibbs had never really cared about anything like that and knew that no nurse could ever make him care about such trivialities.

Everything had gone well back at the Station House; Radoslav had indeed grabbed onto the slightest hint that he could evade imprisonment. The smug son of a bitch had laughed when Tony had informed him that Miss Kadare would no longer be acting as a witness for the Prosecution.

Tony had put on a good show of being an exasperated cop looking for some kind of result, and they now had Radoslav exactly where they wanted him; it didn't stop Gibbs from wanting to reach across the table and smash the arrogant bastard's face into the wooden surface.

The big Albanian had signed the declaration with a flourish and told the LEOs that he wasn't an idiot and that he wouldn't sacrifice his freedom for some high-powered bitch; apparently in DiNozzo's 'either/or' explanation for the hit on Téa, her potential demise was not linked to a relationship between Radoslav and his boss, but rather to stop a potential threat from revealing all.

Ms Emily Lamb seemed to be the ideal American woman on paper; she ran a successful business out of a nearby clothes factory and she paid her taxes on time, she gave to charity and went to all sorts of fundraiser events in the city, she was well educated and she lived in a pretty little house in the suburbs…hell, she even had a Labrador.

Her philanthropic activities were, however, a mask to her real character. Her late husband had worked in the Office of Immigration and had risen through the ranks rather quickly and he had apparently made more money with the work he did behind closed doors than he could ever have made from his earnings. Despite several investigations performed by the IRS, nothing condemning was ever found; one or both of the Lambs were clearly intelligent and devious enough to cover their tracks well.

Radoslav didn't know whose idea it was to start using girls but regardless, Lamb's husband was now dead and she had continued with the trafficking, therefore she would go down for the crime. Both Radoslav and Pasha had been brought into the trafficking ring in its early days, while Marcus Lamb was still alive; they had both been granted US citizenship and a nice little pay-packet in exchange for finding the girls and keeping them in line.

Lamb no longer had anything to do with the girls directly, but she did have the financial capital and the intelligence needed to keep everything running smoothly from a distance.

Radoslav and Pasha would occasionally be called to her factory to sort out details about a shipping container full of new girls or some high-ranking city official that had refused to pay the blackmail money. He believed she kept information on all the clients and their transactions, but Radoslav couldn't say whether or not they were kept at Lamb's factory or at her home address, or indeed, if they existed at all. Gibbs was inclined to believe that they did; Lamb seemed too fastidious not to document income and potential risks somewhere.

Radoslav had also hinted at various other nefarious activities that Lamb might have been involved in, but he could give no real details, indicating that his involvement ended with the girls. However, if his accusations had any truth to them then Lamb was also involved in the local gun and drug trade too; she had managed to remain off the radar so effectively that, until now, she hadn't even been a person of interest.

With Radoslav's statement on Lamb, they could potentially make the necessary arrests and close the case; however, no one wanted to risk the continued existence of such a high-powered organisation on the testimony of a murderer and trafficker against a respected member of society, especially when he was looking to reduce his own culpability in the matter to avoid doing hard time.

So now DiNozzo was going undercover to try and gather what information he could about the trafficking ring and more if he could, with no one but Radoslav watching his six in the field and Gibbs definitely didn't like that idea. He had tried to impress upon Radoslav, in the Detective's absence, of course, the possible consequences should anything happen to DiNozzo; the Albanian had given him a look that Gibbs couldn't identify.

The only thing he had to rely upon was that Radoslav valued his freedom too much to fuck anything up too badly; that and the traces Abby had running on both men's phones that Gibbs had made sure no one else knew about.

Fornell was trying to finalise all the documents and was attempting to get an arrest warrant and a search warrant for Lamb's factory and home address, hoping that an efficient search would turn up something they could nail her with, but the judge wanted something more substantial to go on before he would issue an arrest warrant or authorise a search, as expected, so the FBI Agent was also going over files relating to local black-market deals on drugs and guns and trying to find any links to Lamb.

Cascabel, Batista and a number of local female officers were talking to the other girls, often via translators, trying to gain as much information and trust from them as they could.

Officer Blackburn was with Téa Kadare in a safe house that Gibbs alone organised in an attempt to keep the young woman hidden from any unknown threats;

He had left Ducky with Doctor Metcalf, drinking tea and talking about days of old. Gibbs knew that both Medical Examiners were worried about DiNozzo, but he also knew that drinking tea and talking was clearly their way of dealing with the situation.

Because no one knew where any potential leaks might be, only the Chief of Police and Director Morrow had been read in on the details of the undercover operation; only those who were present in the conference room even knew that an undercover operation had been talked about, but the authorisation and the final details had been sorted out privately between Gibbs, Fornell and DiNozzo.

DiNozzo had then spent some time with Abby, adjusting his service record and tweaking his financial accounts; if Lamb had cops on the payroll, then those details could easily be uncovered and there was just enough intrigue and speculation surrounding DiNozzo's real past that any story would be an easy sell.

After changing his clothes, he had demanded that Gibbs punch him in the face because apparently a black eye would be the selling point. Gibbs didn't know whether he should be glad that DiNozzo was paying such close attention to detail or worried that he would readily accept an injury just to play a role.

As the NCIS Agent would have expected, DiNozzo had shrugged off any form of concern and then proceeded to taunt him and at that point, Gibbs gave up and punched the younger man, taking care to punch hard enough to mark but gentle enough not to do any real damage.

The young man left informing Gibbs that he punched like a girl, making the NCIS Agent silently vow to teach DiNozzo every aspect of the hand-to-hand combat he had learnt during his many years in the Corps.

Seeing Radoslav out of chains and standing beside DiNozzo with that infuriating shit-eating grin of his had caused a strong wave of doubt and anxiety to rush straight through Gibbs' gut.

However, he had to remember Ducky's words of wisdom; one of the reasons why Gibbs had come to trust DiNozzo was because the man was more than capable at his job and, despite his frat-boy front, he was both intelligent and astute.

DiNozzo would be alright…or at least he hoped DiNozzo would be alright because he really didn't relish the idea of dealing with one very pissed off Detective Jacobs!

Now everyone else was busy and Gibbs was left feeling completely useless; he knew that Fornell and the FBI Agent's contacts would have everything in hand and that one they had the smoking gun, the warrants would be swiftly secured.

Both Cascabel and Batista were interviewing the girls from Club Abër, and Gibbs knew for a fact that the presence of any male member of law enforcement was not going to help the situation, no matter how different that man was to the ones those young women were used to dealing with.

Abby was busy running labs and Gibbs wasn't even going to pretend that he knew what half of them were hoping to achieve; her work and the work of Baltimore's Crime Lab were essential to a successful end to the case and no one was going to get in the way of that.

Both Ducky and Baltimore's M.E. were taking a well-earned rest after the almost continuous autopsies on all three primary murder victims, Nadia and Greenwell, both additional victims to Lamb, Radoslav, Pasha and their trafficking ring. Gibbs was more than happy to let both M.E's have their break, but that didn't mean he wanted to sit around and listen to one long-running monologue after another.

Téa and Blackburn were out of harm's way and Gibbs didn't want to risk their safety by checking up on them and possibly leading a tail straight to their door.

Before he had gone, DiNozzo had gone over everything they had on the case so far with the Senior NCIS Agent, and there didn't appear to be any obvious loose ends. Once the young Homicide Detective had gone, Gibbs had sat at an empty desk trying to find some other lead, something they had missed before.

He found nothing.

After yet another cup of coffee and yet another moment of self-restraint in forcing himself not to hound Abby for a GPS fix on both DiNozzo and Radoslav, he found himself leaving the 22nd Precinct and his wandering feet had led him here…

…to the Angel of Mercy Hospital…

…to DiNozzo's injured partner, Detective Samuel Jacobs.

And he really didn't know why.

He didn't even know how long he had been stood outside the door, hand poised at the door handle.

He decided that after coming all the way over, he should follow things through to the end, after all, Jacobs was probably still unconscious, and so there would be nothing to worry about anyway.

The room was dimly lit, and the incessant 'beep, beep' of the heart monitor had thankfully been turned off.

Detective Jacobs was lying, still and lifeless in the hospital bed, looking pale and sickly. His knee was one of the few body parts that was not covered by the blanket; thick bandages surrounded it and Gibbs could see that it was being held at a peculiar angle because of the sheer volume of gauze and dressings.

It had been a long day and the effort required to solve the case had finally caught up with him; Gibbs was knackered and he let out a heavy sigh as he sank into a chair by the Detective's bedside.

It was then that he noticed that the exhausted, heavy-lidded eyes of Detective Jacobs were watching him very carefully.

"Agent Gibbs," came a quiet greeting that Gibbs knew was affected by more than just pain-killers.

"Detective Jacobs," Gibbs returned the greeting with a nod.

"My Cathy tells me that Tony has gone off and done something stupid…which I can easily believe," Jacobs said, his tone full of flint and his words as blunt as Gibbs' normally were. "My question is this, though; what the hell were you thinking letting him?"

Yep…Detective Jacobs was definitely pissed off!

Chapter Text

Gibbs had quietly talked the older Detective through the details of the undercover operation; Jacobs hadn't said a word the whole time and Gibbs didn't need his gut to tell him that the man was beyond pissed.

Jacobs' hands curled tightly into fists and if he had thought for one second that he could have managed it, then he would have hurled himself out of bed and straight at the NCIS Agent. After everything he had told the man about Tony's infamous reckless streak, the idiot had allowed his impulsive partner to walk straight into the lion's den with only an animal like Radoslav for back-up.

"You don't know anything about this woman," Sam finally broke the silence, although his voice was little more than a gruff whisper, it was hissed with determination and passion.

"You sent Tony…Tony…after a woman that you know nothing about! You don't know how she'll react to a known cop walking into her factory, or what she'll do to Radoslav if she even suspects that he has been compromised; you sure as hell don't know if she'll put a bullet in my partner before high-tailing it to the airport!"

"No, we don't," Gibbs agreed quietly, with careful emphasis on the 'we' to reinstate the fact that he was not the only one behind the decision to go undercover. "DiNozzo made a pretty clear case out of this, and he believed…"

"I don't give a damn what he believed!" Jacobs shouted, his voice still hoarse with supressed pain. "You've been doing this job a hell of a lot longer than Tony, and you're a Senior Agent, for Christ's sake; you should have been the one to rein him back in!"

"Hey, he's your partner!" Gibbs shouted back, his own anger getting the better of him. "He is one of the most stubborn, mule-headed, downright persistent people I've ever come across; how the hell was I supposed to tell him what to do?"

Jacobs took a deep breath in an effort to regain some modicum of self-control; his earlier indignation had occurred alongside the natural inclination to make himself face his opponent head-on. Despite remaining in his bed, the slightest of movements had caused nothing but sheer agony to run through his leg that no amount of narcotics could cover.

"Look," Gibbs suggested quietly, his voice a lot softer in an effort to appease Jacobs somewhat. "I didn't like it…I still don't like it," he confessed. "But Tony wanted to do this; he wanted to make sure that this wasn't going to turn into another incident like the one he faced in Philadelphia…he wanted to make sure that the man who shot his partner was not going to get away with it.

"I could understand his determination and I wish to hell that I had a partner who held that kind of loyalty towards me. There was no way in hell I was going to try and stop him; the cocky son of a bitch would have shoved a gun in my face if I had even tried! Well…either that or smiled right to my face, lied and gone off all Lone Ranger behind my back."

Sam had to let out a small smirk at that; that sounded exactly like something Tony would do.

"His plan was pretty good, Detective Jacobs," Gibbs continued, glad to see that he appeared to have the man's attention. "We could have got Radoslav for all three original murders, as well as Nadia's, but that would have been it – he wasn't behind the trafficking. Pasha was in the wind and we had nothing on the people behind the organisation.

"DiNozzo's plan got Radoslav talking; going in undercover was the only way that gave us a feasible chance of finding the necessary evidence to get the warrants and take Lamb down for good, because at the moment everything is circumstantial or based on unreliable testimony. If all we got was Radoslav, then Lamb would have just found someone else to run the Club; we need to find something on her to shut down this particular trafficking ring."

"Why did Tony have to be the one to go undercover?" Sam asked quietly, and Gibbs could hear the concern for his partner and the sheer bloody exhaustion that the man could no longer hide behind his anger.

"He seemed to think that I wouldn't be believable," Gibbs quirked an amused eyebrow, before his face lost all trace of amusement. "He also thought that with all the rumours floating around Baltimore PD about him and how he got his badge in Philly, that no one would find anything less than condemning about his character should they try to verify whatever he tells them."

"Well, there is that," Jacobs agreed, a quiet sadness and steely anger flashing through his eyes. He knew that DiNozzo had dealt with a pretty fierce rumour mill since arriving in Baltimore almost two years ago, but the younger man always tried his hardest to prove that he was not in the slightest bit affected by it.

Sam knew better.

"I should be out there," Sam sighed heavily. "I hate that he's out there and that there's nothing I can do to watch his back…nothing I can do to protect him."

Gibbs said nothing; despite his own understanding of the situation, he doubted whether or not Jacobs would appreciate hearing any meaningless platitudes.

"What if something happens to him and we're not there to help him?" Jacobs asked quietly and for the first time since they had met, Gibbs saw a real vulnerability in the former Ranger's eyes; it was an emotion that was rare or, if not rare then rarely expressed. He also appreciated the fact that Jacobs had acknowledged that the NCIS Agent had more than just a fleeting care about how the case turned out.

"Radoslav's deal wipes clean any charges of trafficking against him; if he violates the term of this deal then he is facing over a dozen counts of trafficking…at least. If he doesn't deliver us Lamb, if he reveals DiNozzo's cover, if he so much as sneezes without permission, then he goes down instead of Lamb. He knows we have people on the lookout for him; airports, docks, train stations, bus stations, car hire…everything is being watched; hell, even his bank account is being monitored! He knows we have him by the balls.

"The man thinks he is getting away with four murders; he's not going to risk doing serious prison time by letting Lamb know the truth about DiNozzo," Gibbs offered by way of explanation.

"The main aim of this undercover operation is to find evidence and try to make sure that no one leaves the country while we waste time sorting out the bureaucracy. Tony should be back before the end of the day when hopefully we'll get the warrants necessary to raid Lamb's home address and her factory. We'll get her," Gibbs promised. "We'll get them all."

Sam couldn't find much comfort in the Senior Field Agent's words, but at least there was some hope. He tried to settle back down and get comfortable; he'd need to be good and rested so that he could kick his partner's ass.

Tony was not comfortable.

Not even slightly.

Of course…he could not afford to let any sign of discomfort show, not when he was being scrutinised so thoroughly.

Emily Lamb was a pretty widow for her age; her dark hair had a few strands of grey threaded into a neat plait. Her big eyes were a clear blue with thick, long lashes, dark and contrasting perfectly with her pale complexion. She was quite short, dressed in a respectable navy-blue suit and looked utterly harmless, but Tony had learnt to trust his gut, and after six years on the force his gut was telling him that the woman in front of him was as harmless as a rattlesnake.

Tony was under no illusion that he would need to be on top form if he was to pull the op. off without a hitch; any screw-ups and Lamb would rain hell down upon him.

"Goran, what the hell is going on here?" she asked. Emily Lamb's voice boarded on frustration and boredom, but Tony caught the way her eyes narrowed slightly as she looked towards her subordinate. Tony detected a thick Bostonian accent and wondered why she had stayed in Baltimore after her husband's death; was it just the money or was there something else?

"I run into problem," Radoslav shrugged, the very picture of nonchalance.

When Tony had first walked into Club Abër, he had no trouble picking up on the Albanian's anxiety; it seemed as though Radoslav was less intimidated by the situation he was currently facing, but Tony suspected that believing he was getting away with four counts of murder would bring more than a little relief to anyone.

"So I can see," Lamb said as she profiled the man in front of her.

She knew that he was a cop by the way he carried himself, the slight bulge on the right hip where a holster would be, and by the way he had carefully assessed the threats and looked for all the exits in the small factory office before he stood still and studied her.

He was a good-looking cop, if a little too young for her tastes. His clothes were clean but rumpled and well-worn; casual jeans and a bottle-green hoodie that emphasized his green eyes. The black-eye was clearly new, the skin still swollen and the bruise not fully formed, dark purple still slowly spreading around his eye-socket.

"The cops have all the girls from Club Abër," Radoslav said, his hands raised in front of him in a pre-emptive gesture to starve off any rebuke from his female boss.

"Yes," Lamb's eyebrows furrowed in consternation. "So Pasha has already told me."

Tony kept his emotions hidden as the scene played itself out; he wanted to watch everyone's reaction to Radoslav's story to see how much of it was believed, without exposing his interest.

He also fought hard to supress his surprise at Pasha's continued presence at Lamb’s side. Téa Kadare had, with the help of a sketch artist, provided a rough picture of Pasha but Tony could not see him in the small office.

"Are you ever planning on telling me about our little guest here?" Lamb asked Radoslav, a carefully plucked eyebrow arching perfectly.

"He is a cop, Detective DiNozzo," Radoslav shrugged. "He wants more money; he could be useful," the Albanian chewed idly on his thumb nail.

Tony was impressed by the man's acting; he was portraying the kind of arrogance often found in organised crime where political connections and pay-offs ensured very few problems with the law and a sense of invincibility seemed to permeate the air.

This was the man that Tony had faced in Club Abër; the one who had changed his whole demeanour so quickly once Tony mentioned looking for answers elsewhere. Self-assured and relaxed, Radoslav could have been stuck in a deadly viper's pit but would have seemed to all the world as though he were standing on the beach watching as the waves came crashing down the shore.

A perfectly arched eyebrow pointed his way brought Tony out of his musings.

"So…?" he asked with a smile. "Am I looking in the right place, or not?"

"I can't say that I know," Lamb smiled back. Her smile was very different to Tony's; he could sense real malice behind it and knew that she was not going to be easy to convince. "What the hell are you really after, Detective?"

"Look, my partner just got shot!" Tony said with an anger and an intensity that he didn't have to fake. "The only friend I had in that department is now crippled, and he's blaming me!" Tony gestured to his black eye. "No one else wants to work with me and if my fucking Captain is going to demote me to walking a beat, then I'm going to need something else. Suits and plasma screens don't come cheap and Mustangs don't run on air, do you know what I'm saying?"

"I think I catch your drift," Emily Lamb replied, her voice just as saturated with sarcasm as Tony's question had been. "Danilov," she turned to one of the men in the office, "Please take Detective DiNozzo on a tour of the factory and bring him back here when you're done." Turning to Tony she asked: "I'm afraid we're going to need your guns."

"Your man, Radoslav, already covered that," Tony lifted up his top to show that his holster was empty. He felt naked and vulnerable without a gun, but he and Radoslav had agreed that it would be a safer option. "It's in his car."

Lamb nodded with an expression that Tony couldn't decipher before gesturing for him to follow Danilov.

Danilov was a tall, well-built man, with typical Slavic cheekbones and deep eye-sockets. Judging by his accent, Tony would have guessed at him being more Baltic than Balkan; Russian probably. There was a large population of Russian immigrants in Baltimore, many of them suffering from the same problems that they had hoped to escape in their motherland.

Poverty and unemployment were problems for many of the citizens of Baltimore, and the Russian populace was no different. Crime was another big problem in the Maryland city; the Russian Mafia had been expanding their control throughout many of America's cities, but Baltimore seemed to be one of their strongholds.

If Danilov was Russian and working against his fellow Russian traffickers, then Lamb's operation was clearly a lot bigger and a lot stronger than anyone had yet come to believe; no one would risk their lives by working for another, weaker organisation that could not offer them the necessary protection.

"So…" Tony started, "Have you worked for this woman for long?"

"Lamb?" Danilov asked with a heavy accent, shooting DiNozzo a searching glance.

"That her name?" Tony inquired, his eyebrows furrowed.

"You ask her for work, but you not know her name?" Danilov said, his accent thick with disbelief.

"Radoslav said he might be able to help me out; he picked me up and brought me here," Tony shrugged; he could do nonchalance with far more conviction than even Radoslav could manage.

"And you did not ask him?"

"I don't know if you've noticed, but Radoslav isn't exactly a Chatty Cathy; seriously, I can get more conversation with a brick wall. That might be good for business, but it hardly makes for an informative car drive to meet some stranger," Tony scoffed, glad to see Danilov's eyebrows had moved back down his forehead as his suspicion waned.

They wandered quietly throughout the factory, Danilov not saying much beyond telling him where the toilets were. Tony knew that this tour was nothing more than an excuse to get him out of the room, that whatever happened in that office would be the make or break of the undercover operation.

Radoslav would either lie, or he would tell Lamb the truth and blow Tony's cover; Lamb would either believe what she was being told enough to let Tony in through the front door or she would not, and Tony didn't want to think about the consequences of the latter given that he lacked his sidearm.

He knew that even if Lamb agreed to let DiNozzo in, that she would not trust him. She was an intelligent woman, she had to have been to keep everyone in the dark for so long about her involvement. In her line of work, there was no such thing as 'being too careful.'

They had spent close to thirty minutes walking around the factory before Danilov got a phone-call; Tony assumed it to mean that one way or another, a decision had been made, as they were heading back to the large office at the back of the factory.

He buried his trepidation with every ounce of self-control he possessed and tried to choke down his natural inclination of fight or flight. There was a new face in the office, one that Tony recognised but couldn't name; he was definitely a cop and, but if he was working with Lamb then he was a dirty cop and one Tony would happily take down.

"I've been hearing some interesting things about you, Detective DiNozzo," Lamb said as she looked him up and down, trying to find anything that might contradict what she had been told about the man standing before her.

"Really?" Tony replied, his anxiety hidden by an ennui he had perfected as a child. "Well, I'm single, my star sign is Cancer, I love pizza and movies and when I'm having a bad day I need to run it off before I punch someone. So, do I get a secret decoder ring or do you want me to do a handstand first, because I've got to tell you, I've many talents but gymnastics was never one of them."

His sarcasm and his frustration were easily believable in such a situation but Lamb was not one to take insubordination.

"Watch your tone, Detective," she spat out, her eyes hard and narrow. "We have every reason to question your motives!"

"Yeah? Well so do I!" Tony responded angrily. "I'm a cop and right now I'm in a room with possibly some of the most dangerous people in Baltimore; trust is a two-way street, lady. There is nothing to stop you from shooting me, or from reporting me; either one of those options and I'm screwed!

"And you…" he turned on Radoslav, and once again he had no difficulty conveying a real anger towards the man. "I asked if you could help me and you bring me here!"

At once, Radoslav started to defend his position; as the only one in the room that was truly aware of the Detective's true goal, the Albanian felt a strange sense of an almost over-whelming power that lay entirely with him.

However, he also knew that Baltimore PD, the FBI and NCIS were all keeping a close eye on him and if he messed up the cop's cover, then he was screwed – no way in hell was he going to go down for all of Lamb's shit! He'd managed to avoid a series of murder charges, and he wasn't stupid enough to land himself in prison for her crap.

Out in the real world, their organisation had real power; few other criminal organisations in Baltimore could offer any real threat to them. The Lambs had created a trafficking ring that was full of people who owed their US citizenship to them, who had jobs and money and security because of them. People from almost every corner of the globe had come together and pledged their loyalty to the Lambs, and important figures had been blackmailed into protecting them.

Even when Robert Lamb had died, the organisation had reached such a level of strength that anyone who tried to leave faced danger not only from bitter rivals on the outside, but from former associates inside Lamb's ring.

Some of the men and women involved in the trafficking ring had helped Lamb to evolve past simple sex-trafficking to drugs and then to weapons. She was still considered small-time in the global market, but she had a very profitable ring on the East Coast and a blossoming market in Eastern Europe.

More trade meant more money and more men.

More money and more men meant more guns.

More guns meant more protection.

To the outside world, Lamb and her people seemed to be invincible.

On the inside, in prison, it was a different matter altogether. There were too many different groups, too many different rivalries and alliances, too many different objects that could be sharpened into weapons, and no politician, no matter how desperate he was to keep his fetishes private, could protect an inmate from a shank in the shower block.

Lamb wouldn't use her connections to help for fear of implicating herself and there was no guarantee that any one man or woman would be in a prison block with other members of the ring. Lamb's organisation was large compared to what it started out as, but it was still only a few hundred members strong and many of that number weren't even working in the US.

The Aryan Brotherhood were almost 20,000 members strong, with several thousand in prisons throughout America; the Black Guerilla Family and La Eme were also several thousand members strong. There were members of both the Italian and the Russian Mafia in many of the prisons up and down the coast as well as several members of the various South American Cartels.

Those groups had the numbers to protect themselves inside or the capital to find the necessary alliances to survive the various threats that existed inside a prison. People from syndicates as small as Lamb's were left vulnerable and they had to choose their allies wisely, but even that didn't always work.

Radoslav knew of one guy from Lamb's group, a Ukrainian that had been imprisoned for assault, who’d been shanked only two days into his sentence.

The Bratva apparently did not like being told 'no.'

"I bring you here to try and help," he jabbed at the Detective with what he hoped was a truly believable act; no way could he risk going to prison!

At once, the office filled with voices, some of them questioning Tony, some of them questioning Radoslav, all of them loudly trying to make their point heard over the others.

"Quiet!" Lamb shouted, and Tony was amazed at how quickly and obediently everyone listened to her; he wondered what she had done to earn such a mixture of fear and respect from the fierce criminals. She turned sharply towards DiNozzo and he could see a wildness in her eyes that made him even more wary of her and her ability to make everyone toe the line.

"You made Detective at a very young age; there are a lot of whispers floating around about your…" she paused, trying to find the right words, before finally settling with "…reliability. Are you someone who can be trusted, Detective DiNozzo?"

"I know how to keep my mouth shut, if that's what you're asking," Tony replied, trying to inject a measure of respect into his voice, but not at all afraid of letting Lamb know that he wasn't yet sold into her service. She was clearly an intelligent woman and was likely to be less suspicious of someone who was more than a little reluctant to join her increasing number of followers.

"Can you follow orders?" Lamb asked.

"Well, I guess that depends on who you ask," Tony answered. "My Captain thinks I couldn't find my ass with both hands and a mirror, but clearly they were happy enough in Philly."

"Philadelphia," Lamb drew out the word, not even attempting to hide her interest in the subject that Tony knew was inevitably going to arise.

Sometimes he liked the fact that people had so much trouble deciding what kind of person he was, what kind of cop he could be; he liked the fun that the ambiguity could afford him. Other times he was insulted that people seemed so intent on questioning his 'reliability' as Lamb had put it; he thought he had done more than enough to prove himself to be a damn good cop, and a clean one at that.

However, now it looked as though the ambiguity that seemed intent on following him around might possibly have a use; if even the people he had worked alongside for going on two years doubted him, then his less than squeaky clean image could give him some leverage with Lamb and her trafficking syndicate.

"Why don't you tell me a little about Philadelphia?" Lamb asked quietly with one quirked eyebrow, although Tony knew that it was a demand and not a request.

"There's not a lot to know," Tony knew that he couldn't be too forthcoming with anything if he wanted to try and avoid suspicion; he would have to be careful and be seen to be careful without being a dead giveaway…

It was all very confusing, even to him.

"You made Detective and that alone tells me that something happened," Lamb pointed out.

"There was a lot of corruption, not everyone went to jail," Tony shrugged, revelling for the first time in the ambiguity that surrounded his last few weeks in Philly.

"Were you one of them?" Lamb asked, taking a step forward and away from the men that seemed intent on flanking her every move.

"Do you really think I'd tell you that?" Tony snorted. "I might be looking for a little more cash on the side, but that doesn't mean I'm going to trust you with all my dirty little secrets. I don't know you and I don't know how you play this game; when I do…well…maybe I'll tell you then."

"And where does my trust of you come into this?" Tony could tell she was a little amused by him and while he was glad that she seemed to be a little less suspicious of him, he was a little disconcerted by her apparent enjoyment of the situation, how at ease she now seemed. It made him wonder…how many conversations like this one had she had with other cops?

"That's up to you," Tony shrugged. "You're not the only carnival in town, if you catch my drift. I can go elsewhere."

It was a risk and he knew it, but it was a calculated risk that he had to take. Lamb's organisation was relatively new compared to most of the crime syndicates that permeated the East Coast, and now she was trying to expand into arms dealing and out of the US. She would need to recruit all sorts of people in every ring of life to succeed; cops should be particularly valuable to her blossoming business.

"And yet you came here," Lamb pointed out needlessly.

"Opportunity came knocking," Tony said nonchalantly, gesturing towards Radoslav. "Believe it or not, I don't go around asking for work from the criminal underworld; it's best not to advertise these things," he flashed his Cheshire Cat grin.

"No," Lamb agreed. "No, it is certainly not. You can work with Pasha for today, and we'll see how you get on. He knows what needs doing."

"I would prefer to work with Radoslav," Tony said, his eyes narrowing. He hid his momentary lapse of fear behind a mask of suspicion and scepticism but deep down he was worried. He and Gibbs had both surmised that he and Radoslav being separated was not only a possibility, but a likely one at that. However, the idea of being away from Radoslav, allowing him the chance to either reveal the truth or make a break for freedom, did not sit well with him.

"Oh?" Lamb inquired demurely. "And why would that be?"

"Let's just say that he's a known variable," Tony replied. "How do I know this guy, Pasho or whatever won't just put a bullet in my head?"

"You don't," Lamb shrugged. "But if that was what I truly wanted then you would be no safer with Radoslav than with Pasha; they both do my bidding, it is what I pay them for after all. Pasha will pick you up outside the factory; Danilov," she said turning once again to the burly Russian. "Wait with him outside, you will be joining them."

Tony hesitated briefly. "Am I allowed my gun? I feel kind of naked without it," he said, looking pointedly towards the various armed men surrounding him.

"You won't need it for now," Lamb smiled a smile that was more than ice-cool, a smile that did nothing for Tony's nerves.

"The pay better be damn good," Tony grumbled loudly before exiting the small office, his large Russian shadow following behind him quietly.

"You don't need to baby-sit me, you know," Sam said, the slightest hint of resentment in his voice as the very idea of being watched so intently grated on his already frayed nerves. He wondered if this was how DiNozzo felt when he hovered after every close-call, every paper-cut, after every black cloud that seemed determined to follow him turned into a nasty storm.

"I've got nowhere else to be," Gibbs shrugged; it was true, too…for the most part. He couldn’t park near the warehouse in case he was spotted and got DiNozzo a bullet in the head. Right now, he had to wait and trust that the young Detective would follow their agreed upon means of keeping them in the loop.

Abby was running tests, desperately trying to secure irrefutable evidence that could sink Radoslav, and maybe Lamb and Pasha and many more, too. She was also keeping tabs on DiNozzo's location via various traces she had running. She had really thrown herself into her work and into her duty as the only real life-line, no matter how tenuous, for DiNozzo in his relative isolation.

Gibbs wasn't sure how the bond had formed between them; knew that while the bond was not yet truly cemented, Abby was taking her role as the Detective's watchdog with far more intensity than he had expected, with the kind of ferocity that she normally reserved for her inner circle at NCIS.

Cascabel was still working with the female FBI Agent, Batista, trying to coax what they could out of the girls who had been rescued from Club Abër.

He was glad that they were out of the way, dealing with distraught victims and translators; he knew that if he had to listen to what those girls had been through, he would not be able to stop himself from marching into Lamb's factory and firing indiscriminately. No one should be forced into a life like the one those women, girls really, had been forced to endure.

He was also glad that the female agents were out of his way; he didn't yet know whether or not Batista could be trusted. She worked organised crime and yet it had been Radoslav who had brought Lamb to their attention, not the FBI Agent who had supposedly been investigating that particular trafficking ring.

In his view, she was either extremely incompetent or secretly taking another more secret, less honest wage.

He might not entirely trust Cascabel to effectively watch his six in the field, but he knew that she could never betray the US Government. She could make mistakes but she could never do it intentionally; everything to her was black and white, there was never anything in between. It was probably why they clashed so much; Gibbs didn't just see the grey areas, he tended to live there. To him, nothing was ever simple, there were always unseen consequences and right and wrong were almost fluid concepts with only a few absolutes. Nonetheless, while she might not be what he would wish for in a fellow Agent, he knew that if she suspected anything was wrong with Batista then she would act.

DiNozzo seemed to trust Officer Blackburn implicitly, and considering the man hardly seemed to trust anyone, Gibbs took it as a good sign that the Uniform was trustworthy. Gibbs didn't like the idea of being too far away from DiNozzo or his team in case something happened, so it was with great relief that he directed Officer Blackburn as Téa Kadare's sole protector. It was a task that he knew was important, a task that he knew DiNozzo thought was vital, but a role that he couldn't take on himself, regardless.

He had taken both Blackburn and Kadare back to DC believing that it would be far safer to keep the girl out of Baltimore; he set them up as discreetly as he could, going through an old friend back from his days in the Corps. He knew that they were safe, knew that Miss Kadare no longer had just a cop keeping a close eye on her, but a Marine too; not that former Staff Sergeant Pierce would ever confess to his nearby sentry post.

Fornell was busy beavering away on all the idiotic crap that was modern day bureaucracy; law enforcement really would be so much simpler if you didn't have to destroy a whole forest to justify your every action. He was glad that the FBI Agent was taking care of the warrants and the rest of the paperwork, as Gibbs had neither the patience nor the inclination to pretend that he could play nice with the Brass back in DC.

Part of it, he knew, was that Fornell making sure every 'i' was dotted and every 't' had a line through as his way of making sure that no one walked this time. DiNozzo might not see it, might not know it because he didn't really know Fornell, but the FBI Agent was essentially one of the 'good' guys.

He, like Gibbs, wanted to see justice served and would, more often than the Brass would like, ignore the rule book and S.O.P. to see that the right people served the right sentence behind bars.

Politics had interfered in Philadelphia and a guilty man had walked while men like DiNozzo and his partner were forever tainted by the whole mess. So now, Fornell was checking and double-checking everything, every piece of paper, every piece of evidence and every viable witness, doing his best to make damned sure that Radoslav would not walk at the end of the day.

Ducky was the only other person he knew of that had nothing to do with his time. However, like Jacobs, Gibbs was not in the mood to have meaningless platitudes thrown at him. Ducky meant well, always, even in his sternest moments, but there were times when hearing that 'glass half full' crap was the last thing he needed.

The undercover operation came with risks that both men were aware of, yet whereas Gibbs would silently obsess over the risks and back-up plans and all the ways things might go wrong, Ducky would tell him that everything would turn out all right in the end.

Gibbs had dared to believe something close to that once, had said similar words to his wife before he left for the latest AO.

Then he came back.

Back from a gruelling tour to find that everything he held dear in the world had been brutally ripped from him in his absence.

The glass had always been half empty after that.

So he didn't think he could handle sitting around hearing Ducky tell him that everything was going to turn out well. He could bear the 'I told you so' looks once DiNozzo was back, safe and sound, but he would not tolerate any meaningless platitudes before then.

"Why do you give a damn?" Jacobs question brought him quickly out of his quiet musings; he looked up and saw a fierce intensity in the former Ranger's eyes, but also curiosity.

"Why do I give a damn about what?" Gibbs asked in return, although he already had a pretty good idea.

"Tony," Sam replied, his eyes narrowing as he further scrutinised Gibbs and his reactions. "When you two first met…well…it seemed like one of you was going to walk away with a broken nose, the other with a broken fist and it really was a toss-up who would be who. What changed?"

"I don't know," Gibbs shrugged, trying to hide behind indifference.

It didn't work.

"Come on Agent Gibbs, my partner is out there with no one to watch his back inside a six block radius; I'm stuck in here and half the Precinct thinks he's dirty while the other half thinks he's kind of crazy. The only person he has right now is you…I think I deserve an answer…I think I have the right to know what kind of man is watching my partner's back!" he finished sternly.

"I really don't know," Gibbs said quietly, expelling a heavy sigh. "DiNozzo has a way of crawling under your skin and normally I would never think of something like that as a good thing, but…" he left it hanging, not quite sure how to finish.

He knew that things had changed between him and DiNozzo; knew that he did 'give a damn.' What he didn't know was why; he'd churned through the possibilities several times and he was no closer to understanding why he had come to trust that Detective, that virtual stranger more than his team…hell, maybe more than he trusted Franks!

Franks had done a lot for him, but the man always seemed to be holding something back and Gibbs could never quite figure out what; whether it was something that Franks didn't want him to know, something that Franks was trying to protect him from, or simply none of his business…there was always some ambiguity surrounding his former mentor.

Despite the uncertainty that people seemed to believe surrounded DiNozzo and his record, Gibbs knew that the Homicide Detective could be trusted, relied upon to the very end, even. DiNozzo was a good cop; he saw things as black and white, as right and wrong, but unlike Cascabel, he saw the grey areas too…hell, he saw the whole spectrum!

It was obvious that DiNozzo's principles were strong and steadfast, a code he lived his life by; the cop would do whatever he could to see that wrongs were righted and that justice was served. The Detective was not afraid to dive head first into the fray and solve things in the most unconventional manner if it meant that the case was solved and the criminal saw the inside of a cell. DiNozzo was the kind of cop who would go that extra mile without wasting time and asking 'why?' and without expecting anything in return.

Hell, if he'd survived through two years in Philadelphia with a partner that he neither liked nor trusted, and then survived another two years in Baltimore when his partner was one of a very small minority that liked and trusted him…well, it was obvious that there was more to it than Gibbs currently understood.

What Gibbs did know was that he had become one of the very small minority that trusted DiNozzo, and like everyone else in that group he didn't understand how trusting DiNozzo and trusting in him could be such a foreign concept to others.

If someone came to Gibbs and told him that Mike Franks had brutally murdered someone, he would have his doubts, sure, but he wouldn't be certain.

If someone came to Gibbs and told him that Tony DiNozzo had brutally murdered someone, he would know that something else was going on; he would know without a shadow of a doubt that DiNozzo was being played and that there was someone behind the curtains playing puppet master.

"It's ok," Sam nodded. "I get it."

And Gibbs knew that he did.

DiNozzo trusted Samuel Jacobs to watch his back without question and it was obvious that it worked the other way around too.

He remembered DiNozzo's eyes in the hospital, when they were still waiting for news on his partner's condition; the silent agony, the quiet desperation, the loneliness he saw there…it was clear how much Detective Jacobs meant to the man.

DiNozzo had told him that Sam had always watched his back, even when he had been an unwilling partner to the newcomer. Gibbs had seen for himself that Jacobs' opposition to the partnership had long since died, had noticed the subconscious way in which Jacobs had often shielded his younger partner, stepping in front of him, placing himself between DiNozzo and anyone or anything perceived as a threat. He had heard Jacobs verbally protect DiNozzo, too, worry for him in the same way a man might worry for his son.

Whatever the partnership had started out as, it was clearly very different now. Gibbs couldn't say that he fully understood the dynamic, as it often seemed too complicated and too fluid to define, but there were obvious undertones there; there was clearly a familial bond between the two, but the role of protector and protected seemed to shift too often for Gibbs to define it as simply a father/son or big brother/little brother relationship.

There was an obvious mentor/protégée angle to their partnership, but once again Gibbs couldn't nail down who was supposed to be teaching what to whom. DiNozzo was a natural at the job and didn't seem to need much in the way of mentoring there; in fact, he had often heard the younger man explain his rationalisations and his actions much as a teacher would explain to his pupil the principles of algebra.

Jacobs clearly had to help him in other ways, though. Gibbs had heard several things about DiNozzo, and he wouldn't even deny that he went looking for the scuttlebutt on the younger man.

He'd heard about the insults and the wariness, he'd heard about the black eyes that had found their way to DiNozzo, courtesy of a few cops who listened to too much gossip and not enough reason.

He had also heard tell of Detective Jacobs' revenge.

That DiNozzo had someone like that looking out for him made Gibbs feel a little better, but the fact that DiNozzo needed someone to look out for him like that made him want to punch something…hard.

"He's hard work," Jacobs said, still scrutinising the NCIS Agent sat next to his bed.

"Oh, I already know that, trust me," Gibbs said, a wry smile spreading across his face as he thought about the stubborn Detective and his reasoning; taunting Gibbs into giving him a black eye to solidify his cover.

"It's worth it though," Jacobs said, a small smile of his own as he tried to imagine all the ways his partner might have impressed his idiosyncrasies upon Gibbs. "He's a damn good investigator."

"So I've learnt," Gibbs nodded a little cautiously. Jacobs could be talking about his partner to try and ease his anxieties over the undercover operation, but Gibbs was pretty sure that it was not the case.

"He's an asset to his Department, even if most people don't see it…even if he doesn't want most people to see it."

Gibbs' eyes narrowed; he silently agreed with what Jacobs was saying: DiNozzo did seem to like playing the fool and then making a fool of others when he showed his true intelligence and natural abilities. However, he was not sure what point Jacobs was trying to make and he was getting a little annoyed and more than a little suspicious.

Gibbs was a straight-talking type of person – if someone had something to say to him, then he would much rather they came right out with it than pussyfoot around the real issue.

"He can be a real pain in the ass at times, what with his pranks and his short attention span and the never-ending movie references, but you can learn to drown them out and when you know him well enough, you can even learn to harness them.

"He likes to flirt, as I'm sure you noticed when you were visiting half the clubs in Baltimore, but he never lets it get in the way of his work; hell, half the time his flirting seems to get more out of a witness that half a dozen cops can manage.

"He likes to moan when it comes time to doing paperwork, but his 'work smarter, not harder' policy usually means that he finishes ahead of the game anyway…especially if he has plans that night." Sam smiled, "He likes to regale you with tales of his social life; with those, it really is best to drown them out."

"Where are you going with this, Jacobs?" Gibbs finally broke his silence. The Detective seemed to be trying his best to impress upon Gibbs just how good his partner was. The NCIS Agent had already come to understand that, and Jacobs knew that, so what was the bragging all about?

"You said it yourself," Sam shrugged, and Gibbs was struggling to think about what he might possibly have said to garner such a speech about the pros and cons of one Homicide Detective DiNozzo.

"You said that you wished you had a partner as loyal as DiNozzo," Sam clarified after registering the confusion on the NCIS Agent's face. Maybe it was the drugs, maybe it was the pain that was muffled but still present down his leg, but more than likely it was to do with the pain he felt in his chest, a knot of emotions making him into a babbling idiot.

Could Gibbs not see what he was offering him here?

Then he saw it register in the other man's eyes; the NCIS Agent was clearly shocked by the very notion of what he was suggesting, but Sam couldn't understand why he should be…it all made perfect sense to him and he'd managed to find very little to think about since he regained consciousness and found out about his newly acquired disability other than his disappearing career and his partner's future.

Gibbs opened his mouth to argue, to resist, to say anything that came to mind, but nothing would come forth. He realised that Jacobs hadn't been bragging about his partner; the whole speech had been a sales pitch…about DiNozzo!

DiNozzo…the Detective who had threatened to throw him into a holding cell and then taken a punch that had been meant for his Agent.

DiNozzo…the Detective who had flirted with every barmaid in Baltimore and then treated Téa Kadare as if she were made of the most fragile glass imaginable.

DiNozzo…the Detective who had waited patiently and quietly before executing a well thought out raid and then broke cover in the middle of a fire-fight to get to his injured partner.

"He's your partner," Gibbs finally managed to find his voice, unable to come up with anything more eloquent.

Jacobs let out a bitter laugh that held not even the slightest hint of hope as he gestured to his knee. "He was my partner; I can't do my job if I can't walk, and I would shoot myself in the other knee before even thinking of trying to tie Tony down to the desk next to mine."

Gibbs didn't know what to say to that; he could tell that the job meant everything to Jacobs and that for him, the job included everything, from interviews to paperwork to being out in the field…especially being out in the field. To be permanently disabled in a way that stopped him from fulfilling his duties…well, there were no words of comfort to offer.

"My doctor said that there wasn't enough to work with, that the damage was too severe; they can't reconstruct the knee in a way that would give me back the mobility I need to do my job," Sam explained.

He could not yet stop the bitterness that crept into his voice when he thought about the fact that a bullet to his leg had halted his working life; he had planned to be a cop right up until they forced him to take retirement. He had always been an active man and the thought of never being able to move from A to B without limping…he closed his eyes and dug his palms into his sockets to stave off his emotions.

He knew he would have to try and hide his bitter tone from his partner; he did not blame Tony in any way, shape or form, but he knew his partner well enough to know that the man tried to take more upon his shoulders than Atlas. Tony's propensity for self-flagellation, especially on those occasions where no blame could possibly be laid at his feet, was astounding. For a man who seemed intent on portraying himself as cool and confident, Tony was really quite insecure and certainly full of self-doubt. Sam had the feeling that the NCIS Agent in front of him had picked up on that too.

"Look, it is Tony's decision in the end anyway, but it was just an idea. If you're half as smart as I think you are then you shouldn't need to think long and hard about making the kid an offer; it might just be one of the best decisions you'll ever make," Sam shrugged, knowing that he would have to give Gibbs the time to consider his proposal.

Tony would have the final say, but Sam had no doubt that the kid would see the sense behind it, and he knew that, for whatever reason, his younger partner had come to respect Gibbs. Tony might not trust the Agent, not yet at any rate, but he certainly trusted in his abilities; Tony was a damn good investigator and would need a damn good teacher, not only to mentor him further but also to keep him in line and put a leash on his recklessness.

Gibbs remained silent, not trusting himself to speak just yet.

Jacobs seemed to think that Gibbs, of all people, should be the one to take DiNozzo under his wing…it was ridiculous!

Except…

Jacobs was not the only one to mention something along these lines.

Ducky had mentioned that the Senior Agent had already placed more trust in a relatively unknown Detective that he had done in his own team.

Was it really that great a stretch of the imagination to envision a man like DiNozzo on his team? Morrow had finally given him leave to find his own team, but was DiNozzo someone he wanted?

"I err…I should go back to the Precinct and check in, see how everything is doing," Gibbs offered; he knew that his excuse was fairly pathetic, but he needed to get away from Jacobs for a while and clear his head. "I'll be back as soon as I know how DiNozzo is getting on."

"Sure," Sam nodded and closed his eyes; he didn't have the necessary energy to make sure Gibbs saw sense. The man clearly didn't see what Jacobs was offering him…what Tony could offer him, if he wasn’t jumping at the chance.

He was too tired and too worried about his partner being out alone in the field to worry about Gibbs and whatever issues he seemed to be struggling with. Tony was one of the best men at his job and he deserved to work with the best; Gibbs seemed to fit that category while he no longer could.

Sam was sure that if the two did end up working together then there would be plenty of kinks to iron out, but he was also sure that both men would find the effort to be well worth their while.

Whether either of the men saw the sense behind the move remained to be seen; he had tried, though, and only time would tell if his attempt had been in vain or not.

Pasha was one scary looking son of a bitch, Tony decided not even one second after meeting him. He couldn't understand why Radoslav was the primary man to keep the girls in line when clearly Pasha would be more than effective in a solo role.

Danilov had not said anything to Tony as he had walked him out of the factory and into a small side alley. He had not said anything as they waited fifteen minutes for Pasha to show up. But the moment a car started slowly making its way down the alley, Danilov broke the silence.

"Pasha is not like Radoslav; you not talk to him like you talk to Radoslav, understand?" The Russian looked at him intently with an emotion that Tony read clearly as fear, but not for himself; Danilov was fearful on Tony's behalf.

He fought hard to hide the confusion; not only was Danilov warning him, looking out for him, but he was worried for him when he should, by all rights, be nothing but suspicious. The burly Russian was certainly a complicated puzzle.

The look Tony received on getting into the back seat showed him everything he needed to know about Pasha; Lamb could possibly be convinced by his act, but Pasha could not. There was a fierceness in the man's eyes that made Tony question the sense behind the whole operation as he was beginning to understand the wisdom behind Danilov's warning.

He was quite happy to travel in silence, trying to keep a track on the passing cityscape in an effort to gauge his location and possible destination.

Danilov was equally quiet, but Tony noticed that he too seemed intent on keeping track of their route, as well as throwing the odd glance in Pasha's direction. Tony had seen that look before; it was the same look Gibbs wore whenever he was trying to figure someone out.

The Homicide Detective gave a mental shoulder shrug; Danilov obviously knew Pasha well enough to warn Tony about him and that alone told him that Pasha was more than happy with the physical aspects of his job. What, then, was Danilov searching for in the Albanian's severe expression when he risked surreptitious glances towards the driver?

Eventually they pulled up to an old factory on the outskirts of a massive industrial complex that had been abandoned in the late Eighties. The desolate location would be perfect for the new flop house; there was no electricity or running water, but those things were easy enough to bypass via generators and bowsers. The most important thing in Lamb's line of business was security.

Tony could see a few graffiti tags around the place; some of them fresher than others so it was obvious that people did hang around some of the old warehouses and factories, but even the more violent of the young street gangs were likely to steer clear of the organised crime family that Lamb seemed intent on expanding.

"Danilov," Pasha finally spoke, sending only a spiteful glance in Tony's direction before looking at the big Russian in the back seat. "You take the cop and check security at the back. I will look at the front."

If Danilov was annoyed at being ordered in such a manner, he hid it well as he exited the car and headed towards an alley that ran around to the back of the factory without a word and Tony scrambled out of the car as quickly as he could in an effort to catch up with the surprisingly nimble Russian.

He quickly checked his phone while Danilov's attention was on the back entrance. The battery life was still good but there was only half a bar indicating any service; Abby should still be able to track him on that but he just had to hope that he didn't lose any more.

The shrill ring of a phone nearly made Tony jump out of skin as he had the momentary panic of being caught using the damn thing before he realised that it was not his phone ringing.

"Da?" Danilov asked quietly, sending a quick look in Tony's direction, completely ignoring the Detective's confused look and turning his back on him before continuing his call in Russian.

Tony understood 'da' as 'yes' but he was completely lost as to the rest…until he heard his name.

The call only lasted a couple of minutes but Tony was more than intrigued. In the background search on Lamb they had found no evidence that she knew any Russian and apart from a couple of Russian girls that had been working in Club Abër, there were no known Russian associates.

So…who was Danilov talking to?

Were the Russian Mafia working up to taking over the operation with Danilov as their inside man? Or was he with someone else? Worst of all, was this all a test to ascertain the Detective's true motives?

"We need to go, now!" Danilov informed him quietly. Tony was trying to figure out why he was whispering while the well-built Russian man-handled him out of the alley. The car was gone and so was Pasha.

"What the hell is going on?" Tony asked, a hint of panic creeping into his voice. Was this a hit?

Danilov spit out some fierce words in Russian that Tony didn't understand, although he took an accurate guess as to their meaning.

"Pasha has been warned – he has run. There is raid on Lamb's factory right now; someone must have called Pasha."

"A raid? Who do you work for?" Tony was becoming more anxious. Was this all some elaborate test, or could he trust Danilov? His gut told him that the Russian man was not like the rest of Lamb's lackeys, but he couldn't be sure.

"My real name is Sergei Volkov," Danilov finally said after he had finished swearing in his native language. "I am FSB counter-terrorism but now I am on secondment to Interpol. We have been working with FBI; Lamb has started to deal in weapons and some of those weapons found way into the hands of a Chechen Separatist Warlord, Shamil Basayev.

"He is very dangerous man who does not need more guns than he has. The joint operation is to shut down Lamb and her organisation here in America, as well as in Eastern Europe and Chechnya.

"When we found out the Police were investigating, we could not risk informing you; I am sorry," and Tony could tell that the man was genuinely apologetic. "We knew there were many leaks in both the Police Force and the FBI; everything was kept as classified as possible.

"Interpol got word that another arms shipment was ready to deliver; we had to act now to make sure those guns did not get sold. That is why Lamb's factory is being raided so suddenly."

"Shit!" Tony blew out a heavy sigh. He didn't really know what to say; he had been so determined to make sure that every last member of the organisation saw a prison cell that he’d had little time to focus on much else. They had been told that Interpol had been looking into the trafficking ring, but nothing was seemingly being done about it. A massive counter-terrorism operation had been underway in Baltimore and hardly anyone seemed to be aware of it.

McTavish would have given them the heads up if he had known.

"I hope you know that my Chief of Police is not going to be happy that all of this was going on in his city without anyone telling him," Tony pointed out, glad that the heavy responsibility of the case was going to be dumped on someone else's lap. If Interpol and the FBI were launching a raid then surely they must have enough evidence to warrant that. The joint taskforce would take care of Lamb and her organisation and BPD and NCIS would take down Radoslav for murder.

The case was over.

Thank God!

No doubt there’d be a nation of paperwork to do but Tony couldn’t deny he was happy at not having to be in close proximity with Pasha once again.

He felt several weeks' worth of fatigue catch up to him.

"You should call your boss," Danilov said with a small smile of his own…no, not Danilov, Volkov.

"Which boss?" Tony asked, thinking of all the people who he might answer to on this case: Sam, McTavish and Barnett from his own department, Fornell from the FBI and then, his co-conspirator in the undercover operation, Special Agent Gibbs from NCIS.

He saw Volkov reach around to his back pocket and joked:

"You have a gun and now you're going to shoot me, right?" Tony grinned. He knew that while Volkov was armed, the man had no intention of harming him. All the warnings he had received from the man, all the surreptitious glances thrown Pasha's way, the careful examination of the routes taken…it all made sense now; Volkov had been working his own case, too.

Next time, he would just trust his gut; it might save him some time!

"I have a phone if you need," Volkov said with a laugh; he liked the young Detective. His handler had told him that DiNozzo had been most insistent upon finishing the case and making sure that everyone, not just Radoslav, saw justice. Sergei had always liked tenacity in his own partners; it made for a more reliable working relationship.

"Thanks, but I have one; they've been running a trace on me and are probably panicking a little that I'm not with Radoslav," Tony pulled out his phone and dialled number two on speed dial.

His speed dials had always been a short list. His partners had always been number one on speed dial in their respective cities, even before they had decided whether or not they actually liked each other. Sam had been the only partner who had been happy about being typed in on speed dial, had encouraged it, even.

Before Sam, he never had anyone to place on speed dial two; after Sam he had never needed anyone else. But he liked that Gibbs was now included on that short list, made all the sweeter because Tony knew about the man's inherent dislike of all things technological.

"Hello, Agent Gibbs," he greeted the NCIS Agent happily, ignoring the gruff greeting he had received.

"DiNozzo?" Gibbs asked incredulously; shouldn't the man be a little quieter and a lot more subtle undercover?

"Speaking," he grinned. Gibbs obviously had no idea what was happening down at Lamb's warehouse, otherwise the Agent would have called him – he had the feeling that the man liked to be one step ahead of everyone else. "So…anything been happening with you?"

"Is this a social call or are you trying to talk in code, DiNozzo?" Gibbs growled. Judging by the Detective's overly happy tone the man was not in any real danger, but if that was the case, why couldn't DiNozzo just get to the point.

"I know I didn't invite anyone else to this little party of ours, but I would have thought that you might have given me a heads up at least," Tony was enjoying winding the NCIS Agent up, safe in the knowledge that the man's hand could not reach his head from where he was.

"What the hell are you talking about?" Gibbs asked, his irritation turning to confusion as he grasped what DiNozzo was telling him in his usual roundabout way. "Who else is working this case?"

"Gibbs, this is Sergei Volkov, say 'hi' Sergei," Tony waved the phone in front of the Russian man, who looked more than a little bemused by the conversation he was hearing.

"Hello," he greeted the mystery man on the other end of the phone.

"Sergei here has been working with Interpol and the FBI; has Fornell been holding out on us again about what's really going on or is he just as clueless as we are?"

"He hasn't got a clue; he's been on and off the phone ever since you left trying to get Interpol to share any information they have and he's not been getting anywhere. Why the hell did no one think it was important for us to know what was going on!" Gibbs shouted angrily down phone, loud enough that even Volkov moved back with a wince. "What if you'd shot their guy?"

Tony rubbed his abused ear and replied: "Then I'd have been a very bad shot? Anyway, the good news is that our role in cleaning up this mess is greatly reduced; the bad news is that Pasha got away. I've no idea what is going on at the factory, although I'm sure everyone is going to want a piece.

"ICE, ATF and the DEA are probably going to want information too, considering Lamb and her little organisation have crossed over into multiple jurisdictions; everyone could clear a few cases from their desks by the time the day is out."

"That's something, I suppose," Gibbs grudgingly admitted. He was still annoyed that no one had informed them as to what was going on behind the scenes and disappointed that Pasha had escaped.

"More than something," Tony said with enthusiasm, throwing a wry grin towards his silent companion. "Sergei here and all of his friends get to deal with a couple of dozen agents and more than a couple of dozen cops all desperately trying to get a piece of the action. I say they're welcome to all the extra work."

"Thank you, Detective DiNozzo," Volkov offered, an amused eyebrow raised at the man who, moments ago had looked as though he would collapse with exhaustion, was now vibrating with humour and looking more awake than he had done most of the afternoon.

"I'm going to catch a lift back to the Precinct and I'll need to call Téa, too. Where are you?" Tony rushed out, feeling adrenaline once again energise his fatigued body.

"I'm just on my back from the hospital. I'll meet you at the Precinct," Gibbs said, wincing as he heard the energy in the other man's voice.

"Is Sam ok?" Tony asked quietly, the first serious tone he had used during the whole phone call.

"He's fine," the Agent assured him. "You'll see for yourself soon enough."

"Thank God!" Tony let out, hanging up the phone with immense relief; this whole mess was over. He could finally get some sleep, even if that sleep would likely be in an uncomfortable hospital chair by his partner’s side.

Gibbs had rushed back to the hospital after leaving the Police Station, eager to give Jacobs the news that he had undoubtedly been waiting for: the undercover operation was over and Tony was safely back at the Precinct.

Tony had only just stepped into the Homicide Department with a large Russian Agent by his side when Captain Barnett had shouted at the young Detective. Tony had looked more than a little exasperated but told Gibbs to go on to the hospital and tell Sam the news; it wouldn't do to keep his partner waiting.

Sam was resting quietly, a hand gently rapping against the side of the narrow hospital bed in an attempt to divert his attention; instead, he had managed to continue his rapping subconsciously as he gazed out of the window and thought about his partner.

"Detective Jacobs," Gibbs greeted him.

Sam quickly turned to see the NCIS Agent and relaxed a little at seeing how at ease the man looked; if something had happened to Tony then the man would not come back to him with what almost passed as a smile.

"I think that by now, you can call me by name; it's Sam or Jacobs," he said with an almost smile, dwelling morosely about the fact that no one would be calling him 'Detective' soon enough.

"Fair enough," Gibbs nodded. "It's all over," he said, knowing that it was the only thing that the man wanted to hear. "Tony's safe and he's back at the Precinct; although with the way your Captain was screaming at him, he might wish he was still surrounded by some of Baltimore's more dangerous criminals."

Sam laughed, relieved that everything had gone well. "Captain Barnett has never been a big fan of Tony's," he revealed. "I'm pretty sure the rumour-mill on Tony started up as fierce as it did because of that man; I don't know why it is, but he has always hated Tony and is more than happy to let him know it in every way possible."

"Did no one ever try to find out why?" Gibbs asked, his brows furrowed at yet another situation DiNozzo had managed to find himself in.

"There isn't always an answer; sometimes people just don't like each other," Sam shrugged. "Our Chief of Police, McTavish, likes Tony and that offers some protection, and I've been a cop for long enough to know that Barnett can't poke his nose into Tony's business without doing the same to me. Tony might not be as popular as perhaps he should be, but I have a few friends and a good name; a lot of the older Detectives would kick up a fuss if the Captain was seen to interfere with an experienced cop's caseload."

"Well, he said it might take a while; I guess now I know why," Gibbs shrugged, nowhere near as nonchalant as he seemed. He just couldn't understand what it was about DiNozzo that meant he was either loved or hated…there seemed to be no middle ground.

"He said he'd catch a lift here as soon as he was done," Gibbs told the prone Detective, aware that Jacobs had to be looking forward to seeing his partner; the last time they had seen each other was when Jacobs had been bleeding out over his young partner's hands.

Gibbs settled down in the uncomfortable bed-side chair and waited until Sam had shifted into a more comfortable position in his bed. He could see that the man was tired and was tempted to let him sleep until DiNozzo arrived, but he didn't think it would be too long until the younger man arrived, eager to see his partner conscious for the first time since being shot.

So Gibbs decided to keep Jacobs awake.

He was not, by nature, a verbose man and there were so many topics he didn't want to talk about, his family and DiNozzo's potential future at NCIS for starters. However, once he and Jacobs started talking, their time in the military came up and Gibbs found there were plenty of experiences to talk about and listen to.

Gibbs didn't know how long they had been talking when he heard footsteps pause outside Jacob's room. Finally it seemed as though DiNozzo had managed to escape the wrath of his Captain.

The door was eventually pushed open and in came a clearly upset Abby; her usually meticulous make-up was smeared and Gibbs saw that while she was not noticeably sobbing, tears were still freely flowing down her cheeks alongside fading streaks of black mascara.

"Abs?" Gibbs asked quietly, trying to figure out what the hell could have evoked this sort of reaction in the normally far too perky Forensic Specialist. He got up from his seat and slowly moved towards her to give her a comforting hug; Gibbs was not a big fan of touchy-feely, but he knew that Abby relished physical contact when emotional.

Sam pushed himself up in the bed as much as he could manage, biting down on his lips to try and stifle the groan of pain that came with the slightest of movements. He hated to see anyone this upset but what really made him nervous was the way the young woman kept on glancing towards him and then tearing up again.

A heavy knot filled his stomach and he had to struggle to catch his breath which seemed to falter every time he tried to draw in enough oxygen to quell his anxiety.

"Abs, what's wrong?" Gibbs tried again, concern very evident in his grey/blue eyes.

“Miss Scuito, where’s Tony?” Sam asked urgently.

"Tony's been shot!" Abby let go of a sob she had been trying to hold back, before burying her head in the crook of Gibbs' neck.

Gibbs said nothing, but turned to look at Jacobs with shock clearly written across his face.

Sam couldn't catch his breath…his thoughts churning. Tony had been shot? How? Where? He hadn't been there to watch his partner's back and now Tony had been shot!

It was clear from Scuito's reaction that this was more than a simple graze; judging by Scuito's expression, Tony's life was most likely hanging by a thread.

He struggled out of bed and was determined to get to the desk and find information about Tony's condition before he could take his customary seat by his partner's bedside, but Gibbs' firm arm stopped him.

"You won't be helping anyone by injuring yourself any more than you already are," the NCIS Agent managed to say, despite his own shock. He had left Tony whole and healthy at the Precinct; what the hell had happened?

"Then get me a damned wheelchair!" Sam shouted, not really angry at Gibbs, but both furious with and terrified by the situation at the same time.

While Gibbs disappeared to find a wheelchair with Abby, Sam took a deep breath, trying to calm his nerves and get a hold of his pain level that had shot through the roof after his pathetic attempt at moving.

"Don't you dare die on me, kid," he whispered as he pictured Tony lying on a gurney still and quiet, covered in blood and worst of all, completely surrounded by strangers. "Don't you dare!" he uttered with more conviction than he felt.

Chapter Text

Sam almost bit through his lip as he settled himself slowly into the wheelchair that Abby had hurried to his bedside. He could just about hear the Forensic Specialist and his Doctor over his pounding heart and grinding teeth; both of them were telling him that he should stay in his bed and that they would bring any and all news directly to him.

Agent Gibbs had been quiet throughout their useless attempts at persuasion but the stoic NCIS Agent had busied himself in other ways. The man had helped him into the chair with nothing but his silence and strong arms and no hint of doubt or derision at Sam's pathetic attempts to stay upright; the man had even lifted one of the chair's foot-wells so that Sam could stretch out his leg without doing any more damage to himself.

"I'm going to my partner and if I have to mow you down with this damn thing…" he whacked the side of the wheelchair for emphasis, "…then so be it!"

He made to push the wheels himself, but found that Gibbs was now standing in his way. He was about to unleash a whole host of four-letter words when the man crouched down in front of him and gently secured his leg into the foot-well.

It still managed to hurt like hell.

Without a word, Gibbs went behind Sam and started to push the wheelchair towards the doorway. Abby, who knew then that there was no talking Gibbs out of helping the injured Detective to his partner's bedside moved out of the doorway and into the corridor, ready to lead them towards the ER.

Doctor Barden did not know the man at all, but to his credit even he knew that Gibbs' glare had meant serious consequences if he failed to comply with the silent order; he swiftly moved out of the way only unleashing a frustrated sigh once his patient and the Agent were out of earshot. Patients!

The ER was awash with activity; people waiting in chairs with a wide assortment of injuries, doctors moving from one curtain to the next in an effort to stay on top of the usual night-time madness, nurses hurrying between patients and doctors and their many other tasks, ringing phones and an echoing PA system all added to the institutionalised chaos that so many hospital emergency rooms seemed to possess.

Sam recognised Detective Lisa Wells walking to and fro, wearing a hole in front of a closed door that had its blinds pulled down; that alone told Sam everything he needed to know about the whereabouts of his partner.

"Sam," she said as she headed over as soon as she had caught sight of them. There was light blood spatter across her face and soaked into her hands and her eyelashes were thick with unshed tears. "They're not telling me anything, they keep saying that they need to talk to his next of kin. It's really bad, Sam," she confessed, no longer able to keep the tears and all her emotions bottled up.

Sam wanted to climb out of the accursed wheelchair and try to comfort Wells but he knew he'd achieve nothing but falling flat on his face. He and Lisa had been working at the 22nd Precinct for several years and although they worked in different departments, there were enough cases that drew them together.

She was a very driven woman who saw so many unspeakable acts of violence and cruelty inflicted upon children and yet, through it all, she had retained her compassion and her belief that the wrongs of the world could be righted. He knew that she would do anything for her family and that common ground had often led to many conversations about the trouble that their respective daughters had caused them either unwittingly or wholeheartedly; always light-hearted and comforting in their normality, those conversations had helped him in the days before DiNozzo would darken his doorstep with some beers and a pizza after a particularly bad case.

He reached out a hand and gave her own a gentle squeeze, trying to keep his eyes off the blood…his partner's blood…and attempt to catch her slightly unfocused gaze.

"Lisa," he said gently, repeating her name until she turned to him with glassy eyes. "I don't know what happened, but I know that you'd never do anything to hurt Tony." He believed that with every fibre of his being.

Tony might complain that Sam was nothing more than a mother hen at times, but the older Detective knew that Lisa Wells was one of the few within Baltimore PD that had learnt to value Tony for more than just his professional abilities, and she too had become more than just a little protective of his wayward young partner. Sam had heard the normally reticent woman dress down two other detectives for bad-mouthing the kid; it had been good to know that he was no longer alone in his efforts to protect his accident-prone partner.

"I might not have been the one to pull the trigger, but I might as well have done; I didn't even see him, Sam!" she lamented loudly, the tears flowing once again.

Sam was about to question her further but he caught sight of Doctor Mallard walking out of the ER room that held his partner; his grim expression did little to bolster his failing confidence.

"Duck?" Gibbs asked quietly, speaking for the first time since he had left Detective Jacobs' room in search of a wheelchair. No more words were needed between the two old friends, Ducky knew exactly what he was being asked.

"I'm afraid I really can't say, Jethro," he shook his head sadly; he had come to like the affable Detective and had become fascinated with the effect young Anthony had on his stoic friend, one Leroy Jethro Gibbs.

Ducky had always thought that a life ended so violently and so wholly without reason was a tragedy, but this was a life that had touched him and his friends so deeply in such a short amount of time. He hoped that the stubborn streak he had glimpsed in the young Detective was enough to keep him clinging to life, but Ducky couldn't deny that the prognosis was anything but good.

"What the hell happened?" Gibbs interrupted the M.E.'s morose musing. The NCIS Agent had been silently asking himself that question since Abby had broken down in tears.

When Gibbs had left the 22nd Precinct, Tony was whole and he was healthy, if not a little pissed off at being reamed out by his Captain in the middle of his own Homicide Department in front of everyone for no obvious reason.

What could have happened in between then and now? Gibbs looked at his watch and noticed with some surprise that several hours had passed by since he had arrived at the hospital to give Sam the good news, to tell him that his partner was safe.

Obviously, the good news had been more than a little premature.

"He was coming out of Barnett's office," Lisa Wells spoke quietly, her tears having now ended but the emotional turmoil still evident in her voice and on her face. "The Captain had been yelling at him for almost twenty minutes about protocol and S.O.P. but I was waiting, because I thought he would want to know about the Vasquez case…"

"Hey DiNozzo," Wells greeted her fellow Detective with a knowing smile; Barnett had his list of favourites in the Precinct and neither one of them was a name on that very short list.

"Hey Lisa, how's Gina?" he asked unable to hide the fatigue from his voice.

"She's great," Wells' smile was slightly forced at the mention of her wayward daughter who was striving for an independence she was not yet ready to handle responsibly…at least, that was the way Lisa saw it.

Tony was one of a small number that even asked her about family; he always seemed to ask with genuine enthusiasm and interest that even when she wanted nothing more than to forget some of her more pressing familial issues in work, she would always answer.

He knew so much about so many people that others seemed to gloss over…bartenders, janitors, secretaries…the list was endless. No one was deemed too insignificant for his curiosity or his concern; it had endeared him to a great many people that had chanced getting to know the man rather than believe the rumours and leave well enough alone.

She had learnt early on that while he might inquire after someone else's family, it was not appreciated if the question was returned; she didn't know the ins and outs of Tony's family history, but she got the feeling that there was not much to find out. She knew that his mother was dead, or at least she had suspected it once Tony punched out a rookie who had stupidly mocked her to Tony's face.

"She's a teenage girl with a cop for a mother…sure…she's great," Tony smiled, all too aware of some of the trouble Gina had managed to find herself in on the odd occasion.

"Ok, so maybe she's fighting me a little right now; she's a junior in high school and a guy in senior year has asked her to the prom."

"And you said 'no' didn't you," Tony stated with certainty. "No one likes to be told 'no', not just the teenagers."

"She's too young and he's…well, he's a boy, it is pretty obvious what he wants," Lisa shrugged; she knew it wasn't a particularly strong argument especially given her own conduct at that age, but given her job she would always have doubts about people's real intentions, especially when it came to her only daughter.

"Anyway, that's not what I want to talk to you about," Wells said waving her arm dismissively before clapping her hands together in anticipation; her excitement had her virtually bouncing on the spot and caused DiNozzo to raise a curious eyebrow.

"Calm down there, my little grasshopper," he said with a grin; Wells was naturally reserved but when something got her going, her energy was contagious.

"I've spent the past ten minutes waiting outside Barnett's office and listening to the crap that asshole was throwing at you; if I'm still worked up then I've got to say, you have no chance, buster" she said with an emphatic prod in the younger man's chest. "We've got him, Tony; we've got that son of a bitch!"

Tony stilled; he knew instantly what she was talking about. "The Vasquez case…?" he asked, needing to be sure; he needed something, anything that would get the vision of little Isabella Vasquez's battered corpse out of his head.

"The Vasquez case," Wells confirmed. "He slipped up; there was internet chatter about Siobhan Wright in a flagged chat-room site…all sorts of sickos writing about what they'd do to her if they had her. Our guy had to weigh in and say his own piece…classic narcissistic personality disorder; he described the exact same way that Isabella Vasquez was killed, including several details that were kept out of the media.

"I got Leah Miller and her team to help, because me and technology…not such great friends. We managed to back-track his IP address; the son of a bitch is right here in Baltimore, two blocks over from where the Vasquez family lives. Meet our killer, Steven Johnston," she introduced as she handed over the file.

Tony read through it and could see that the guy had a reasonably long rap sheet: petty theft, indecent exposure, even assault on a minor. He'd done time but clearly his imprisonment hadn't changed much as he had failed to report in with his parole officer for over two months; parole violation was going to be the least of his problems.

"He doesn't seem all that bright," he remarked, after skimming through his file and a psychological evaluation Johnston received at the prison.

"No, he doesn't," Lisa conceded. "But he knew details about Isabella Vasquez's case that no one except those working the case, the M.E. and the killer could possibly have known. This has to be our guy."

Tony nodded; the guy clearly had the inclination for this type of behaviour because no one who was even halfway normal could ever imagine doing the kind of things to another person, let alone a child, that little Isabella had suffered through before her death.

"Are we sure he was working alone?" Tony asked. He was excited about the case potentially being over, but somewhere out there, there was another little girl and they couldn't rush in blindly without risking young Siobhan Wright.

"Can't say," Lisa shrugged. "We've got all the information we can on him, and it all points towards him being a loner; his brother is on the other side of the country. The address we traced his computer to is in some rundown tenement block where half the apartments are empty. We need to get going; if he sticks to the same time frame as before, then Siobhan has just over a day left."

Tony nodded. He was tired and hungry and still a little riled after the meaningless dressing down he had received from Captain Barnett, and he really wanted to see Sam.

"Sure, let me get my gun," he sighed as he headed back to the Homicide Department. He really did want to go and see his partner, especially since the man had been conscious, but he also knew that he needed to see the Vasquez case through to the end, for both himself and for Sam, and for the little girls, Isabella and Siobhan.

"We went to the address together with a few uniforms; there was no need to assemble a SWAT team…at least, we didn't think there was," Detective Wells relayed solemnly. She had given the account so far in monotone, dividing her attention between the drying blood on her hands and the floor at her feet, her gaze unwavering but not really absorbing much of anything around her.

Sam could understand that look well; after his time in the Army he had seen that look on many faces. It was a look that, more often than not, said they had seen too much and didn't know what to do with their newfound experience; it was also a look that said someone had discovered exactly what they were capable of given the right circumstances.

He hoped for Lisa's sake that it was the former.

Just as he was about to urge her to continue a doctor and a nurse came out of the room where they were working on Tony; their expressions were grim and the doctor's scrubs, despite previously being covered by a gown, had not managed to escape the blood.

That Tony's blood was probably all over the crime scene, certainly soaked into Lisa's hands and the doctor's clothes, and undoubtedly in the trauma room left Sam trying to figure out just how much blood one person could lose.

"Hello, I'm Doctor Price," the man introduced himself. "I've been working on Detective DiNozzo; does he have any family here?"

"I'm Sam Jacobs," he finally managed to find his voice. "I'm his next of kin."

Gibbs and Abby looked at him curiously, slightly startled by the news; both were wondering if Tony really had no one except his partner that he felt he could truly rely upon. Ducky had been able to wrangle a quick glance at DiNozzo's medical file and so already knew that Jacobs acted as next of kin; he was glad that the young Detective had found someone he could count on.

"Ok then," Doctor Price nodded. "The bullet has done some significant damage to his right side; it hit a rib, which then fractured and punctured the lung. There is a lot of bleeding that we can't get under control; we've been trying to get his blood volume back up before taking him into surgery to try and minimise the risks, but he's losing it as fast as we're pushing it through.

"We're going to need your written consent for the surgery; we'll go in there and remove the bullet and the bone fragments, and try to repair the damage to the lung. Because of the sheer volume of blood he’s lost, both internally and externally, there is a very real risk of hypovolemic shock; however, with the blood loss and the respiratory issues related to this kind of trauma, we have very little choice."

Sam swallowed back the lump in his throat; the pain in his leg all but forgotten with the magnitude of what he had just been told. He finally nodded, unable to find his voice, and stretched out a hand for the form a waiting nurse had ready. As he signed the form he realised just how badly his hands were shaking; he shoved them under his arms to try and still them.

The nurse rushed back into the trauma room and Sam could hear muffled orders being thrown across the room as the medical personnel prepared to move Tony to surgery. He numbly pushed himself out of the chair into a shaky standing position, all his weight on one leg, as he needed to see his partner for himself.

"He's young and he received basic medical attention very quickly at the scene, and he's now in some very capable hands," Doctor Price tried to provide some comfort. "His surgeon will be Doctor Pinkett; she's an excellent cardiothoracic surgeon. Don't write him off just yet; he may surprise us all. I'll make sure you are given frequent updates."

Any comfort that they might have tried to draw up from the Doctor's words was immediately dashed when Tony was wheeled by them.

A nurse was running by the head of the bed, forcing a blood pack through an IV tube, while another nurse was securely holding an intubation tube that was in Tony's throat. All members of the trauma team had blood stains across their gowns and the serious expressions they wore left no one in any doubt about the severity of Tony's wounds.

Sam barely managed to process all that information, as his eyes fixated on his bloodied partner; to see him so still, so quiet, so vulnerable…it was wrong in every sense of the word.

Tony was movement, even when he was sitting still at his desk he was never truly still; his head would be cocked to the side as he contemplated something, a foot would be tapping against a chair leg, fingers would be drumming out imaginary tunes on the table.

Tony was also rarely silent. He seemed to like giving a running commentary to even the most mundane of events, entertaining himself with anecdotes and innocuous questions, or deliberately baiting someone just to see how they would react.

Tony spoke to diffuse anger and tension, or to provoke them in order to diffuse a future situation; Sam had lost count of how many times Tony had refused to leave him in a bad mood, provoking him to anger and allowing him the chance to rant and then cool down, all before that rage had a chance to control him.

In the few seconds that Sam saw Tony being wheeled away from him, he had never seen the kid more vulnerable. He'd seen raw, emotional agony on his face more times than he would like, and he'd witnessed times of physical pain for his young partner, but he'd always known that Tony would never allow that vulnerability to linger.

Tony would sweep any concern anyone tried to direct his way firmly under the carpet, especially if he didn't think he warranted it; that was a trait Sam had tried, unsuccessfully, to extinguish over the past two years.

Tony would seek plenty of attention for some wrong of little importance, a paper cut, a sarcastic comment, but the moment anything even vaguely serious occurred then Tony could feign ignorance with a practised insolence or an even more accomplished skill of misdirection.

Sam wouldn't be surprised if Tony came to on the operating table and told the doctors to leave him alone, that he was 'fine' as he so frequently seemed to be in the more precarious of situations he managed to land himself in.

"Sam?" came Agent Gibbs voice, tinged with a concern that Sam had never expected to see directed his way; he wondered how many times the NCIS Agent had attempted to catch his attention.

Gibbs had tried to get the Homicide Detective's attention a couple of times, not willing to risk any physical contact in case Jacobs was jarred out of his haze with a negative effect on his injured leg.

The man really did look like he belonged in a hospital bed; whilst he could not claim to really know Detective Jacobs, he was pretty sure that the man would crawl the length of the hospital before even considering returning to his own room, injuries be damned.

Gibbs couldn't say that he blamed Jacobs for being so shell-shocked; DiNozzo had looked like he should have been on the way to the morgue rather than the OR.

Gibbs had come to like the young Homicide Detective for a multitude of reasons, but not any he could really pin down; Tony DiNozzo was an enigma and certainly a paradox, but he was a good cop and, more than that, Gibbs was certain that he was a damn good man.

He couldn't help but wonder what had gone so wrong earlier on in the evening; he had left DiNozzo rolling his eyes at his Captain's fit of shouting, before sending Gibbs on his way to the hospital with a 'what are you going to do' world-weary, long-suffering smile and some crack about the Agent's coffee habit.

He had only met Detective Anthony DiNozzo a few days ago, and yet it almost felt as though they had known each other for years; he was beginning to understand all sorts of nuances in DiNozzo's behaviour that hinted at what was really going on behind those expressive green eyes, but he imagined it would take a great many years before he could ever say that he truly understood the man.

That was when it hit Gibbs.

He was thinking about DiNozzo in the future…he wanted to know DiNozzo in the future; his subconscious mind acknowledged the fact that Samuel Jacobs' offer hadn't been anywhere near as farfetched as he might previously have imagined.

It was clear that DiNozzo took his job very seriously, always doing his best to catch the guilty parties regardless of personal risk. That personal risk was not, however, something he would extend to his partner if he could help it; Gibbs had admired how protective of his partner DiNozzo had been, even if that was displayed by threatening the NCIS Agent and his team with time in a holding cell, or standing up in the middle of a fire-fight.

Gibbs had missed Stan Burley, not because they were close friends outside of work but because he knew he could count on Stan to watch his six; no one since Stan had even come close to passing for acceptable as back-up.

DiNozzo, he knew, would be as fastidious about reliable back-up as he was, maybe even more so; his loyalty to his partner seemed to be unwavering, whether it was to a good friend, like Sam in Baltimore, or someone he didn't even like, such as Danvers in Philadelphia.

The young Detective also seemed to be more than happy to contradict the Senior Agent if DiNozzo thought the situation warranted it. DiNozzo's warning in the alleyway on the day they first met had only made more sense as Gibbs had become to know more about the young man; that confrontation showed that not only was DiNozzo prepared to stand up to him, but that he would do so in a quiet but steely manner and mean every word.

Gibbs had never been a big fan of public humiliation, as a Marine or as an Agent; the closet he ever came was a silent slap on the back of the head to serve as a warning. He liked that DiNozzo, surrounded by Baltimore PD who would undoubtedly have enjoyed seeing a Federal Agent receive a dressing down in public, had kept things discreet while at the same time, getting his point across.

The two of them had worked well in interrogation, DiNozzo's unique tactics perfectly complimenting his own. The younger man's seemingly oblivious nature seemed to lull suspects into a false sense of security; they would take DiNozzo's façade at face value and fail to understand who they were truly dealing with. Just when they thought they had managed to get away with something Tony would manage to hit them with a dose of his true nature, causing them to falter and throw them off kilter; then Gibbs, with his more severe approach could work his own form of magic.

Gibbs knew he was not exactly the soft and cuddly type, despite Abby's assurances, but he had no doubt that DiNozzo could charm a conman out of his ill-gotten gains if he so desired, such was his way with people; Tony had certainly managed to impress upon Téa Kadare that he was a man worth trusting with the dangers the truth could sometimes bring with it.

All in all, why wouldn't he want to take on DiNozzo as a partner? Director Morrow had given him leave to find his own team, and Detective DiNozzo was exactly the type of LEO he was looking for…wasn't he? Capable, determined, reliable…

Of course, the irony that he had only realised all of that after the young Homicide Detective had been wheeled by him at great speed into emergency surgery was not lost on the Senior Agent.

"Come on, let's go to a waiting room closer to the OR," Gibbs said quietly as he gently manoeuvred Jacobs back down into his wheelchair, taking extra effort to make sure the injured Detective stayed off his injured knee with the help of Abby and Ducky.

They had been sitting quietly in the waiting room for over twenty minutes before the silence was broken by Sam.

"What happened next?" he asked Detective Wells without removing his gaze from the doors that led to the ORs. "I need to know what happened next," he added softly.

Lisa jumped a little at being pulled out of her silence, but she was grateful for the opportunity to tell Sam what she could; she felt so useless just sitting and waiting for news…she needed to do something to occupy her mind.

"We pulled up to the address, and Tony told a couple of the uniforms to block the exits; we couldn't risk losing Johnston, certainly not until we knew where Siobhan Wright was," she added, thinking of that poor little girl, so battered and so heart wrenchingly broken. "We took two uniforms inside with us, making our way to the third floor…"

"Christ, this place stinks," Tony said quietly, wrinkling his nose in disgust as he toed some rubbish to the side of a step. There were several signs that the local homeless crowd used the derelict tenement building as shelter; dirty mattresses, old blankets and raggedy sleeping bags could be seen in several empty rooms.

They reached the third floor and found no improvement; a faint smell of stale tobacco and rotting refuse permeated the air. Several of the doors that had once led to apartments were missing, most of those that remained were covered in graffiti, and one door even had crime scene tape, dirty, ragged and hanging across from one side of the doorframe to the other.

Johnston clearly had an external source for electricity as there was no power in the rest of the building to light the dark, depressing corridors; generators were cheap enough in any decent hardware store and someone with an elementary knowledge of electrical wiring would know how to jerry-rig a phone-line and hook up a basic internet connection.

The suspect clearly knew how to stay off the grid!

Slowly and as quietly as possible, Tony and Lisa cleared several rooms on the third floor with the assistance of two uniformed cops. It was as they had just finished clearing yet another room that they heard a muted cry from next door.

"Shut the hell up, you little bitch or I'll really give you something to cry about!"

Tony heard the shout and immediately indicated that they should stack up outside the doorway to the apartment. The shout had been loud and had been accompanied by a slap that cut everyone to the core.

The case of Isabella Vasquez and Siobhan Wright had run daily on the news, not just in Baltimore, but throughout the whole state of Maryland and beyond. While the members of the public were unaware of all the graphic details, both Tony and Lisa were not; imagining little Siobhan going through such brutality with them just a stone's throw away had almost been their undoing.

With everyone in position, one of the uniforms kicked in the door on Tony's order. DiNozzo took point with Wells close behind and the uniforms bringing up the rear, all four of them aiming their guns unwaveringly at the scruffy looking man in the centre of the room.

For all the terrible things he had done, Steven Johnston didn't look like much in the flesh; he was tall and unbelievably skinny, the track marks in his arm helping to explain the emaciated frame to some extent. His clothes were reasonably clean compared to his surroundings, but there were holes and tears on every item he owned. His hair was about two inches too long and thick with grease and every inch of visible skin looked as though it had not seen water in a long period of time.

"Put your hands on your head, right now!" Tony ordered, lowering his gun to get his cuffs, safe in the knowledge that Johnston still had three guns pointed directly at his head.

Thankfully the man seemed too confused by their appearance to put up too much of a fuss and let Tony cuff him, the only difficulty coming in the form of twitches that Tony was quite sure meant Johnston was desperate for his next fix.

Tony felt a brief pang of remorse that Johnston had not given him an excuse to shoot the monster down where he stood, but he quickly ignored it, happy in the knowledge that the man was going to rot behind bars for a long time; a man found guilty of the type of crimes Johnston had committed was going to have a hellish time in prison.

"Read him his rights and then take him back to the Precinct, and call an ambulance; she's going to need treatment," Tony instructed the uniforms; he wanted that monster as far away from Siobhan as humanly possible.

With Johnston being safely escorted from the room, Tony was able to get his first real look at Siobhan Wright. She may have been only eight years old but Tony saw a lifetime of fear and pain in those sky-blue eyes. Her clothes were soiled, infected by the surrounding waste, and her arms were littered with bruises, her wrists rubbed raw from the zip-tie that tightly bound them.

Tony had to bite down hard to hide any anger; he was furious at the scene before him and at what the little girl had been forced to endure, but he couldn't risk letting her see those emotions. Poor Siobhan's emotional state had to be in tatters and he and Wells had to be very careful in their handling of her and try not to amplify her anxiety.

Tony bit back a sigh as the girl huddled into a corner away from them; she had survived the terrible ordeal of what she had been through, but she would never be a carefree child, never be that little girl who was hugging her dog and laughing delightedly in the photo the media had shown in every newspaper and during every news programme.

Wells saw the way Tony was looking at the girl and handed him a small pen-knife that she always carried with her in the field, despite it being against regulations.

"You need to do this," she said quietly and gently so as not to startle the girl. She had worked hard at the case since it had landed in her lap a few days ago, but DiNozzo and Jacobs had spent weeks looking at glossy photos of Isabella's mangled body before stumbling across the possibility of a repeat offender when Siobhan Wright had been taken.

As a friend to both the Homicide Detectives, she knew of the frustration, the long nights and frenzied media storm, and the sheer hopelessness they had felt over ever finding Siobhan alive. Tony had more than earned the right to see the case through to the end and he could do that by making sure that Siobhan Wright was indeed going to survive to see another day.

Tony was a little hesitant; he had never been very good with children and Siobhan had had nothing but abuse from a strange man, now here he was approaching her with a knife!

"It's ok, Siobhan," he said soothingly, stuffing the knife in a pocket before holding up his hands to show that he meant her no harm as he crouched down before her. "My name is Tony; I'm a policeman," he told her as he reached for his badge, almost wincing as the movement caused the little girl to press herself further into the corner.

"Do you see?" he asked as he showed her the badge. "Your mum and dad have been really worried about you," he told her, glad to see that that got a reaction. "They've asked me to take you to them; they've really missed you. I'll bet you've missed them too, haven't you kiddo?"

A little head bobbed solemnly up and down as Siobhan unconsciously moved a little out of the corner and closer to her unknown rescuer. She looked at the badge before looking once again at the man in front of her; he didn't look mean, but then neither had Alan. But the policeman said he was going to take her home and she really wanted to go home. She wanted her mummy!

"Ok," Tony smiled, glad that Siobhan was communicating with him, even if it was non-verbally. "Do you see this knife?" he asked, indicating the weapon.

The head bobbed again, more hesitantly that time, fear oozing from her face and posture, eyes never leaving the knife.

"Well, I'm not going to hurt you with this, but I need it to get your hands free," Tony showed her, before looking for something he could use nearby to improvise. Finding nothing he turned the knife to the cuff of his own top, pointing the blade away from his wrist. "See?" he asked, as he made a cut up his sleeve; it was a shame, he liked that top. "It doesn't hurt. But I'll bet your hands do, don't they?"

Siobhan nodded once again, still hesitant, but the fear had slightly diminished and her shaking frame had not retreated back against the wall.

"Ok, so you give me your hands and I'll cut that nasty piece of plastic off you," he said with a smile. He was sure that he wasn't cut out for dealing with children; Lisa had a daughter…surely she was better equipped to deal with this situation?

Siobhan moved forward a little, her eyes fixed on Tony's face before flitting to the knife, and then back to his face. She slowly lifted her bound hands in front of her and closed her eyes tightly; Tony almost came undone for a second time at that. The poor child was terrified and damaged by the whole ordeal, both physically and mentally and he could only hope that the damage was reversible.

"It's ok, Siobhan," Tony tried to reassure her. "I'm not going to hurt you," he promised, although given how tightly her wrists seemed to have been bound, he wasn't sure if it was a promise he would be able to keep.

Carefully, he slid the tip of the blade under the zip-tie, trying to limit any physical contact with the terrified girl. Finally he had enough room to slice through the restraint and it fell to the floor.

The girl, whose wrists were beginning to tingle and ache as the new found freedom allowed blood to return freely to her hands, slowly peeled open her eyes and bit her lip; she wasn't supposed to cry if she was hurt…they always hurt her worse if she did, but the policeman was being so nice to her and she just wanted to go home.

"We'll take you to your mum and dad now, alright kiddo?" he asked quietly, unsure of how they would go about moving the traumatised girl.

With an unexpected surge of movement from the previously statuesque girl, Tony found himself almost bowled over as Siobhan threw herself into his arms, her emotions erupting as heart-wrenching sobs broke through. Tony turned to Lisa, hoping to find some guidance but the way Siobhan stiffened in his arms and his peripheral vision caught the slightest of movements from the doorway to the dark corridor.

Alan Johnston bore only the faintest of similarities to his brother, the dark hair and the grey eyes, the tall, slim frame. His clothes were clean and he looked washed and well-fed; Alan was also free of any track marks snaking their way down his arms and he looked a lot healthier and far more benign for it. But Tony read the emotion in the other man's eyes, he saw the intent. Unable to reach for his own gun around Siobhan, who had secured a vice-like grip around his neck the moment she saw Alan Johnston, he called for Lisa.

"Wells! Gun!" he shouted, glad to see her reach for her holster but the relief was short lived. Alan Johnston already had his gun out and was taking aim; Wells wouldn't be fast enough.

Unable to do anything to protect himself, Tony turned as quickly as he could, hoping to protect Siobhan to the best of his ability given the circumstances.

He barely registered the first 'bang' and he didn't hear the second and third 'bang' at all; as all of his attention had been firmly fixed on protecting Siobhan. That attention faltered as he felt a burning pain explode in his right side; the force of the blow knocking him to his knees. The last thing he registered was Siobhan crying loudly and someone shouting his name from afar.

"One of the uniforms came in to find out if we needed any help with the girl; she saw Alan Johnston in the hallway with his gun drawn and went for her own piece. She wasn't quick enough, but then…neither was I," Wells explained with an almost pleading look at Sam; she needed some form of absolution especially from him, but she wasn't convinced she deserved it.

"I don't know how he slipped by us; records showed that he was on the West Coast and we had uniforms trying to block all the entrances and exits, but…" Lisa sighed, digging the palms of her hands into her knees in an attempt to keep upright instead of sinking to the floor; the day had been too long.

She didn't want to tell Sam what it had been like shooting Johnston at such close range, to watch his body jerk from her bullet and then the officer's before falling to the floor; she didn't want to talk about how it had felt to have his warm blood splatter across her face, or the split-second feeling of satisfaction she'd had at knowing Alan Johnston would never be getting up.

She didn't want to tell Sam about the wait for the ambulance, about the blood loss and the screaming child, or about Tony slowly choking on his own blood right in front of her, gasping painfully for every breath he could manage…those were images she hoped senility would one day erase, for nothing else could possibly remove them.

Sam was quiet, trying to absorb everything; his first instinct was to be angry, but he wasn't really angry at Wells. There had been times during Well's account of the events when he had wanted to shake the details out of her to get an idea of what had happened to his partner quicker; now he knew what had happened and there was nothing left to focus on except what might be happening in an OR somewhere.

“His vest?” Sam asked quietly.

“The vest only protects front and back – the bullet went in at the side,” Lisa explained quietly, voice slightly hoarse from telling her tale.  ‘DiNozzo luck’, she thought sourly to herself.  She’d heard her friend joke about it and had laughed in turn thinking it just that, a joke.  Now she’s not so sure.

"Do you want to know what happened with Lamb?" Gibbs asked quietly, aware that Jacobs was dwelling on the unknown events being carried out in a nearby OR. He didn't think it would do Jacobs much good if he allowed anxiety to get the better of him; DiNozzo was going to need him if…when he woke up. He wanted to distract himself from thinking too much about that 'if', and talking about a case that went well might serve as a good enough distraction for everyone for a little time.

DiNozzo's luck…he'd heard Sam mention it once or twice; the older Detective had explained about the common occurrences of concussions and minor wounds received in the line of duty. Hell, Gibbs had seen that luck for himself when DiNozzo had taken a solid punch to the side of the head back in a Russian club during the investigation.

But now…

That DiNozzo had taken a bullet trying to protect a kid came as no surprise, but for that action to potentially be his last…

The young Detective seemed like a walking, talking bundle of energy that was only ever gathering momentum, able to bounce back from anything thrown his way and laugh at it all. It was hard to imagine anything stopping DiNozzo, or at least it had been until he had seen the young man wheeled by him on the way to emergency surgery as still and silent as the grave.

He knew that DiNozzo had been shot once before in Baltimore, but clearly that wound had not held the same degree of severity. Detective Sam Jacobs had barely said a word since they had all witnessed the hasty retreat to the OR, leaving others to ask questions as Wells told her story.

He wasn't sure how much the older Detective was absorbing, but he couldn't say that he blamed the man; he felt like he'd been kicked down the stairs and DiNozzo wasn't even his partner!

"Lamb?" Jacobs asked, turning towards Gibbs with a dull tone and a blank face.

"The brains behind the trafficking ring," Gibbs clarified, a little worried about Jacobs state of mind as he had explained all about Lamb and the ring only that morning. "Thought all of you might like to know what happened," he shrugged, before silently adding 'and not spend time continually thinking about your partner's death as a foregone conclusion.'

Sam swallowed heavily ignoring the pain the movement caused; it felt as though he was trying to swallow around a damn cannonball that was lodged in his throat. He felt as though everything had come to a halt, movement and time and thought; then all of a sudden, so much movement and time and thought seemed to pass in a heartbeat before crawling by once again.

He felt so detached from everything and everyone around him, his mind stuck in an OR room with his injured partner, he was having a hard time focusing on the NCIS Agent's simple words.

"Sure," he agreed slowly, trying to accept Gibbs' words as exactly what that had been intended: an anchor. He tried to focus on the man in front of him, on his face and on his words…he tried to anchor himself in the present and not in the past or a succession of potential Tony-less futures.

The Senior Agent nodded his head, glad to have something else to focus on, glad to have something in his control; he had never liked being in situations beyond his control, even during his days in the Corps. Whether it was knowing what was going on or not, knowing what the possible outcomes were or being completely in the dark, and not being able to do a damn thing about it all regardless of the situation, it all brought him back to darker days.

"The FBI’s and Interpol’s little raid on the derelict factory was run simultaneously with ones on her own factory and her home address. By the time Fornell and I got to Lamb's clothing factory, most of the drama was already over; Brewster and Vargas were dealing with a couple of agents from the FBI and Interpol better than I would have managed…"

"What are you doing here, Agent Batista?" Fornell asked, clearly pissed off. He had been lied to about his true purpose in Philadelphia until it had been too late to do anything about that situation; it seemed as though his superiors over at the Hoover Building were not quite done with those tactics.

"Agent Fornell, Agent Gibbs," Vargas nodded by way of greeting the NCIS Agent before turning back to Agent Batista and someone else that Gibbs didn't recognise. "That's a question we've been trying to get answered for a good twenty minutes." He looked at the unwelcome intruders through fierce eyes, trying to cool his temper.

Brewster, too, merely flickered his gaze towards the two newcomers to the scene before returning his glare towards the female FBI Agent and her Interpol counterpart; even Gibbs was impressed by the intensity of his glare.

Clearly the Vice Detectives' new found level of respect for Gibbs and Fornell was owed to little more than that old adage: 'better the Devil you know.'

For once, Gibbs was glad to have the somewhat tenuous co-operation of the local LEO's; the whole situation was a jurisdictional pissing match waiting to happen and he knew that if NCIS had been alone in a corner they wouldn't have stood a chance, but perhaps with the help of Baltimore PD, they would get everything they needed to close the case on the murders.

Gibbs looked around at the scene; police cars were being filled and it was obvious that Baltimore PD was taking great care to keep one person to the back of a squad car in an effort to minimise stories being compared and cemented in a wash of lies and dishonesty.

He hadn't seen Lamb yet and wondered if she had managed to escape before the shit had hit the proverbial fan. He hoped not; the whole point of DiNozzo doing the short-term undercover operation was to make sure she was kept in place while warrants and evidence were being stacked up against her.

"Look here, Detective," Batista spat out with as much contempt as she could muster. "I have my own job to do, and oddly enough that does not entail me taking my orders from someone like you!"

"'Someone like me!'" Brewster spat back, equally viciously. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"Well, if you need me to explain it to you…" her answering smile was full of condescension.

"You know what, screw you, lady!" Vargas stepped in; while his partner was certainly the more hot-headed of the two of them, he had finally had enough too. "This is Baltimore, our jurisdiction and our case; if you were running a sting on this trafficking ring then you should have let us know. What if we'd gone in for an arrest and ended up shooting one of your undercover agents in the crossfire, huh? This whole thing could have turned really ugly for more than just the crooks!"

Gibbs and Fornell shared a long-suffering look; this was why Gibbs always fought tooth and nail for jurisdiction at the start of a case, to avoid these kinds of screw ups. He knew Fornell was angry at being used once again for the Bureau's hidden agenda, but he also knew that the man understood 'need to know' better than most.

"Have you seen DiNozzo?" Gibbs interrupted the argument when it was clear that the end was nowhere in sight. Agent Batista and her Interpol counterpart simply looked at him, but Vargas answered.

"Yeah, he's inside," the Vice Detective pointed towards the factory without breaking off his fierce gaze directed at the FBI and Interpol Agents opposite him. "Small office at the back; he's talking to Radoslav, trying to find out if he knows where Pasha might have gone."

"Thanks," Gibbs nodded and headed towards the building, Fornell following one step behind him. The FBI Agent was still clearly pissed off, but Gibbs knew that the man would want to see DiNozzo for himself and try to assure the man that he had had nothing to do with the mess everyone had found themselves in.

Just before the doors to the factory, Gibbs recognised the face of Emily Lamb; the anger was rolling off her in waves as she watched everything that was happening around her very carefully. He hoped that nothing had been screwed up, because he knew that Lamb was shrewd enough to pick up on any technicalities and oversights.

She was staying resolutely silent and Gibbs wouldn't have been surprised to learn that she had already demanded her lawyer; she was smart enough to have stayed off everybody's radar for so long to know that her situation required a delicate approach.

He was unsurprised to find that DiNozzo was not there with her; Radoslav had always been the one the young Detective really wanted. The Albanian had not only murdered at least four people that they knew of, but he had also shot Tony's partner and put him permanently out of commission; Lamb had simply been an extra bonus, the final head of the hydra, so to speak.

"She doesn't look like much, does she?" Fornell commented quietly, also studying the woman in front of them.

"Ex-wife number two, to you," Gibbs pointed out, thinking of the woman that had somehow managed to fool them both into marrying her; however, Gibbs thought that Fornell choosing to marry her despite all the warnings offered his way showed a tremendous lack of insight on his part.

Fornell grumbled quietly, but failed to produce an intelligent retort.

The factory was quiet, and it was obvious that all the equipment had been turned off while the Police were talking to the workers, trying to ascertain who was simply a factory worker and who knew about Lamb and her side business.

They easily found their way to the back of the building and entered the office quietly, listening to the line of questioning being carried out there.

"Come on, Radoslav," came DiNozzo's frustrated voice. "The terms of your agreement were based on your co-operation; now tell us, where is Pasha? Where might he go?"

"I already tell you," answered a heavily accented voice. "I not know. I meet Pasha at Club Abër, or at warehouse, or here. I not know where he is living, I not know where he goes."

"He is probably telling the truth," came another accented voice, one that Gibbs identified as belonging to the Russian he had heard over the phone during his earlier call with DiNozzo. "Pasha did not really trust anyone, not even Lamb."

"Dammit!" DiNozzo shouted, angry that someone as violent as Pasha had escaped them. He turned around and caught sight of the two Agents in the doorway. "Gibbs, Agent Fornell," he nodded, suspicious eyes lingering on the FBI Agent just a second longer than was necessary.

Fornell understood that look and knew that after all of the events that had happened in Philadelphia, he had more than earned it.

"I didn't know, Detective DiNozzo," he put his hands up in what he hoped was a placating manner. "I've been on the phone with the Deputy Director trying to find out why we were being kept in the dark."

"Yeah, I know," Tony admitted slightly grudgingly. "Agent Gibbs already told me that you weren't involved," he pointed out, completely oblivious of the fact that he had just told Fornell he trusted his position in the whole fiasco simply because Gibbs had told him to trust him.

"Well, all that really remains is arresting this guy," Fornell answered with a smile, glad that he finally seemed to have done something right by the young Detective.

"What you mean?" Radoslav demanded, fury leaking into his already frustrated tone. "I do what you ask, I help you with Lamb!"

"True enough," Gibbs replied, getting out his hand-cuffs. "Strange thing is, now she’s safe from Lamb and her organization, Téa Kadare has agreed to testify against you for murder after all; I guess once she heard about the raid on the factory she decided to come out of hiding."

"You said she is dead!" Radoslav shouted angrily.

"No, we said she wouldn't be testifying; it seems she's changed he mind," Gibbs shrugged, snapping on the handcuffs. "Come on, DiNozzo, we can get him back to the Precinct and then one of us needs to go and see your partner; he'll hurt himself trying to kick my ass if I don't let him know you're ok, asap."

"I'll meet you there," Tony sagged slightly in relief; it seemed as though the whole mess was finally coming to a close. "Sergei here can give me a lift back," he patted the large Russian on the shoulder and moved to walk past Gibbs and out of the office. "I'll leave you to fight off the others about jurisdiction and all that crap," he offered, grinning at the NCIS Agent. “Your bite is worse than mine.”

Gibbs rolled his eyes and head-slapped the young Detective as he walked by, receiving only an impish wink in return.

"We got back to the 22nd Precinct and dumped Radoslav in one of the interrogation rooms; Fornell offered to do the interview and I was happy enough to let him take point," Gibbs finished up his tale.

He had been happy to let Fornell do the interrogation; normally he liked to be the one in charge and at the helm, but this time he had been happy to sit back and watch. He had wanted to wait for DiNozzo and head off to the hospital together; his own wordless way of apologising, trying to make up for allowing the risky undercover operation to happen in the first place, especially after discovering that so much more had been going on behind the scenes.

Radoslav was in custody and there was no way he was going anywhere. He had no control over what happened to Lamb and her other cohorts, as they were outside his jurisdiction and Pasha, the one loose end, was nowhere to be found. They had the police sketch at all the surrounding airports, train stations, bus stations and even the docks, but it was only a sketch and there had been no feedback so far.

Gibbs didn't hold out much hope.

He vaguely acknowledged that he should probably call Fornell and let him know what was going on; the normally stoic man had been more than a little surprised that Gibbs had allowed him to take point on the interrogation. He would be doubting Gibbs' sanity if the NCIS Agent remained out of contact during the close of the case.

His thoughts were interrupted by a nurse coming out of the OR Department.

"Hi, I'm Jean," she introduced herself. "You're all with Detective DiNozzo, correct?" At their nods she continued. "Ok, well the surgery is complete and Doctor Pinkett is just closing up," Gibbs almost winced at that phrase, the visuals it conjured up in his mind far more visceral than he would have liked.

"There was a dicey moment on the table when we lost him briefly, but we got him back quickly enough. Doctor Pinkett managed to repair the damage; the lung should be working fine now, but Mr. DiNozzo will remain on the ventilator for a little while longer to try and take some of the strain off his respiratory system and let his body concentrate on healing.

"We're moving him to a post-op ward now, where we'll keep an eye out for any post-op complications and infections; we've got him on some heavy-duty antibiotics to try and avoid those eventualities. He'll also be sedated and, upon awakening, he'll be placed on some strong pain medications.

"His body has been through a lot of trauma with the shooting itself and then the surgery; he'll be in a great deal of pain and discomfort and he'll be very tired. He's going to need a lot of help once he's over the worst of it as his movement will be very limited, due to the muscles that were damaged by the bullet and by the surgery, but we're confident that he'll make a full recovery.

"Does anyone have any questions?" she asked kindly. The surgery had been longer than anyone had expected and they had suffered a particularly worrisome moment when they had briefly lost the young Detective on the table; she was exhausted but looking at the strangers in the waiting room, they were beyond that.

"When can I…we…see him?" Sam asked, changing his words as he remembered that there were other people who cared about Tony; relative strangers who cared more about the kid than most of the people who had worked alongside him for almost two years.

"They're just finishing up in the OR and then they'll get him settled in the post-operative ward; someone will come and get you but officially visiting hours are over, so it will have to be brief."

"He'll need someone with him; I'll be standing guard in his room," Gibbs said firmly, making it plain that the Detective should be placed in a private room and not on a busy ward. "There may be reprisals from our latest case," he thought of Pasha, but really he just wanted to make sure the kid didn't wake up alone.

"I'll let them know," the nurse replied, sensing that there would be no point in arguing with the determined man in front of her. She headed back through the doors to the OR.

Sam nodded his thanks at Gibbs, aware that the man was looking out for his partner while he was incapable of doing so; no doubt the nurses would drag him back to his room as soon as he had seen his partner.

For now, they just had to wait.

Chapter Text

Gibbs had never liked hospitals, before his time in the Corps, during it and especially not after; the stark contrast between the sterility of the environment and the intensity of emotions was more than he could bear.

There had been too many times when he had been visiting a witness in recovery and passed by a grieving family or parents celebrating the birth of their child; both scenes, no matter how often he encountered them, caused an unwelcome ache in his chest as he thought about the loss he had suffered.

He might not have seen them breathe their final breaths in a hospital, but he had witnessed his daughter's first one in a small-town maternity ward, and he had smiled as his wife cried silent tears of joy as she held Kelly in her arms for the first time and quizzed the nurses and doctors about a whole set of highly unlikely hypothetical situations in an attempt to fight off her fears and anxieties for their new born.

It was one of his most vivid memories and one he hoped to carry with him until the end of his days. He doubted that the pang of loss, the fierce jealousy he felt as he watched parents, whole and happy and cooing over their baby, would ever evaporate.

As he looked at the young man lying silent and still in his hospital bed, Gibbs wondered who Detective DiNozzo had worrying over him.

Abby had told him about the obvious estrangement between DiNozzo and his father after her thorough background search, but still, the man's son had been shot and there had been no visit, not even a phone-call…nothing!

He and his own father had their issues; he hadn't spoken to the man since Kelly and Shannon's funeral, but he wanted to believe that if something happened, then there would be some vestige of concern, enough to bring one to the other's hospital bed, at any rate.

A few cops, mostly uniforms, had stopped by briefly and, after accepting that Gibbs was not going to leave the vulnerable young man alone even for a second, they had murmured words of encouragement and praise at DiNozzo's feet; Gibbs was not yet ready to let anyone get within striking distance.

Detective Lisa Wells had stopped by, but she never said very much; her whole countenance oozed guilt. Gibbs hoped she would find the redemption she needed when DiNozzo woke up as he felt sure the young man would hold no malice towards her.

Even Baltimore's Chief of Police had stopped by; the man had simply raised an eyebrow at Gibbs' stubborn insistence on staying in the room. Chief MacTavish had smiled down at the young Detective and ruffled his hair in a way that Gibbs was sure would have produced a frown and an eye roll from the young man had he been conscious for the action.

"I think you owe me more than a stiff drink for this one, Tony; you're making me old beyond my years," the man said with a sad smile.

It was clear that the Chief cared about both DiNozzo and Jacobs given the infrequent visits and the frequent phone-calls from the busy man. Gibbs supposed that the Chief was one of the few in Baltimore who understood Tony's potential; after all, the man had hired DiNozzo after the fiasco in Philadelphia, even with the rumours and doubt that must have followed the young man across state lines.

Tony's partner, Detective Samuel Jacobs was undoubtedly worried and it had taken every ounce of patience Gibbs possessed to deal with the man's anxiety and resist the urge to tie the injured man to his own hospital bed. Jacobs looked almost as bad as he had done when he had first entered the hospital; despite the painkillers and the occasional sedatives, the man looked as though he had not slept in weeks, and his skin was pale and sickly looking.

The two had spent visiting hours sitting quietly by DiNozzo's bedside, each too wrapped up in their own thoughts to even attempt conversation, but sometimes they had spoken, usually about DiNozzo.

Gibbs had heard cop stories mostly, about Tony's reckless streak and Sam's attempts at taming it; he'd even heard the story about Tony taking a bullet with Sam's name on it. None of the memories he had been told surprised him much; he knew that DiNozzo was a good cop. The young man at heart was, despite an outwardly flippant and selfish appearance, incredibly driven and entirely devoted to his job and clearly prepared to give the ultimate sacrifice in ensuring his duty was done.

However, that knowledge had not come to Gibbs easily; when he had first met the younger man, DiNozzo had been infuriating and seemingly cavalier in his approach to the job. It was only after working alongside the Homicide Detective that Gibbs had come to see some of what DiNozzo hid behind a carefully constructed mask.

Gibbs might be famous for his gut, but his gut had been wrong about Homicide Detective DiNozzo; after meeting the man for the first time, Gibbs had wondered why he was a cop, let alone a Detective. The older man could not deny that curiosity had caused him to look deeper and he felt honoured that he should be one of the few who knew something of DiNozzo's true nature and of the incredible potential that the younger man worked so hard to hide.

A knock at the door brought Gibbs out of his musings and his hand went straight to his gun, his body moving into a more effective combat position as he subconsciously placed himself between the door and the unconscious DiNozzo; he was on the balls of his feet, ready to move quickly if the situation required it.

All of this was accomplished silently in the blink of an eye and he was ready and waiting for the door to open. He knew if wasn't one of the doctors or nurses as they had quickly learnt that it was in their own best interest to call out to Special Agent Gibbs and make their presence known before entering the room.

As the door pushed open Gibbs’ trigger finger was ready to act as he pulled the gun up to meet the newcomer…straight into the face of Director Morrow.

"Director?" Gibbs asked, barely managing to conceal his surprise.

"Agent Gibbs, glad to see that you recognise me after all this time," the older man acknowledged dryly.

Gibbs quickly holstered his weapon, and tried to appear as though he hadn't been prepared to shoot the Director if he had registered as a threat. He knew that Morrow had every reason to demand answers; Gibbs had been by the Detective's bedside for over two days instead of returning to Washington.

Two days ago he had dismissed Cascabel and sent her back to DC to do paperwork and finish up any loose ends on the case by liaising with Baltimore PD's Vice Detectives, Brewster and Vargas, some of the few cops that Gibbs knew were on the level.

Since the case had started, Gibbs had done his best to ignore the Director's phone calls; he had never liked politics and the calls were undoubtedly less about solving the case and more to do with appeasing the Marine's father, a father who worked with the White House.

After the raid on Lamb's factory, Gibbs had called NCIS and let the Director know about the jurisdictional pissing match that was being carried out in Baltimore and to let the man know that Jenning's murderer had been caught and was facing four counts of Murder One as well as various other charges. He had made it clear to Morrow that he would not be accompanying his Junior Agent back to DC but he had offered no further explanation, relying upon the intricacies of the case to justify his prolonged absence.

Clearly, Director Tom Morrow had not been impressed with the reason he had received.

Tom had spent the past few days almost exclusively in MTAC or his office, trying to deal with the far-reaching implications that the Jennings case had uncovered. Armament deals between an American citizen and known terrorist organisations could have catastrophic consequences on global diplomacy; if the Americans could not keep order in their own backyard, then their role in international security could be brought into question.

Morrow had always relied upon his more experienced agents for help in such matters, prepared to listen to their own personal knowledge and their input. Despite all the headaches the man caused him, Agent Gibbs was one of his best Agents and one that Morrow could consistently rely upon for results.

That one of the few men whose input he would have most valued, a man who had been involved in the case from the start, chose to remain in Baltimore rather than return to his agency had been more than a little infuriating and so the Director had gone looking for answers. Since Agent Gibbs had been ignoring his phone calls almost since the day he had gone to Baltimore, Tom decided to seek out the necessary information from other avenues.

Special Agent Cascabel seemed to be a little clueless about why her team leader was still in Baltimore; it seemed as though she had taken the man's explanation at face value. She had received her orders to return to DC over the phone and she had no idea where he had disappeared off to after the raid on the clothing factory.

Morrow had sighed heavily and frowned at the younger woman; he would never admit it, especially not to Gibbs, but he was beginning to understand why the Senior Agent was so reluctant to keep the former FBI Agent on his team.

There seemed to be a lack of intuition and a propensity to dwell on emotions rather than on the facts; that she had not chosen to question her boss but blindly follow his orders while silently lamenting about the unfairness of the situation would have done nothing to endear herself to Gibbs, of that Morrow was certain.

Abigail Scuito was a strange girl, bouncy and happy and a polar opposite to Gibbs' stoic and sometimes severe nature, and yet the Senior Agent seemed to do more than just tolerate Abby, there was a genuine affection between the two.

She was perhaps one of the best hires he had ever approved and he was damn glad that he’d had the opportunity to do so; despite whatever Agent Gibbs might think, Miss Scuito was not the only forensic scientist that NCIS employed, but she certainly seemed to do the work of a whole team.

He had found her walking across the bullpen and asked politely why Gibbs had decided to stay on in Baltimore without talking to his Director first.

"You'd have to ask him," she replied with a cheeky wink before heading to the elevator. "It's an interesting story, Director. Make sure you take him some good, strong coffee – I'd recommend at least two cups." Then she was gone, bobbing her head to an imaginary beat, pig-tails swishing in time with a tapping foot.

Doctor Donald 'Ducky' Mallard was a close friend to Gibbs and Morrow knew he had been called away to help on the case in Baltimore; perhaps the Director needed to reiterate the fact that Mallard was under the employ of NCIS and not just one Agent. He would have gone to the man first had the other two not been more readily available.

Mallard was a sensible man that seemed to be able to pull Gibbs back from the brink of extreme emotion and having seen the results of an unpredictable Gibbs more than once, Morrow was glad for the M.E.'s presence and the advantages it brought. What made the Doctor even more useful, however, was that he had the propensity to say more than he sometimes should.

"Well, I must say Director, I'm rather shocked that you have not heard all the details already; Baltimore was certainly an enlightening place, especially for Jethro, I'm pleased to say."

"I gathered that there was something that caught his attention, Doctor; I'm interested in what that might be," he was glad the M.E. seemed prepared to elucidate the details, but he sometimes wished the verbose man could talk in bullet points, with direct and to-the-point, relevant facts.

"Well of course you must be aware, after all, you did give him the green light, did you not," the Doctor said as he examined a particularly gruesome looking liver.

The Director was getting nowhere closer to understanding why one of his best agents was absent and why his team had to be taken off the duty roster; green light for what? "What happened in Baltimore, Doctor Mallard?" he demanded, unable to hide the impatience in his voice.

"I think a more accurate statement might be what did not happen in Baltimore."

For a man who was normally so talkative, Doctor Mallard seemed determined to talk in riddles; Morrow suspected that it was more to do with the amount of attention the M.E. was paying to the open corpse on his table rather than any intent to irritate the Director. That did not, however, make him any less frustrated with the lack of forthcoming answers.

"Doctor Mallard," he addressed the man more sternly than he had intended, although his tone had finally caught the complete attention of the man in front of him. The man didn't even blink at such a tone, having dealt with it from Gibbs so often, but the change in manner was very evident.

"Jethro was working alongside two Detectives from Baltimore's Homicide Department; the more senior of the two was injured during an attempt to arrest one of those involved with the murders and the trafficking. Jethro has spent a large amount of time working alongside the younger man, a Detective DiNozzo.

"Jethro has come to respect the young man and even, perhaps, come to like him; he was most upset at the idea of young Anthony going in undercover. However, the case ended well and no one was injured; unfortunately, before anyone could celebrate the success, Detective DiNozzo was severely wounded while working on closing another case.

"It seems as though Jethro feels obligated to stay behind in Baltimore and ensure the young Detective's safety; I, for one, did not feel the need to try and change his mind. Jethro so rarely trusts anyone that it was an interesting thing to behold; I believe he may take you up on your offer of forming his own team sooner than you might think."

That alone had been the reason why Morrow had cleared his schedule and travelled up the Interstate to Baltimore. He knew once he had given Gibbs permission to form his own team that the Senior Agent would do just that, but he had also not expected the man to succeed quite so quickly.

Gibbs was a demanding team leader and so few people ever seemed to meet his level of criteria that Morrow had wondered if the man would ever find a team he was truly happy with. Stan Burley had been an asset but it had taken Gibbs a long time to warm up to him; Morrow was quite sure that Burley's request to a position as Agent Afloat was more to do with Gibbs than with the idea of promotion.

The idea that a Homicide Detective from Baltimore that Gibbs had been forced to work with could win over the man's approval…well, he'd have to see it for himself to believe it.

Before he had left DC, Morrow had taken the time to look over the Detective's files and while the young man did have several commendations and an early rise to the position of Detective, the file was equally full of reprimands and disciplinary issues. His school grades were good but not brilliant and his Phys. Ed. Major from Ohio State seemed to have been forgotten, along with his aspirations of a sporting career.

All in all, Detective DiNozzo seemed to be a rather unremarkable man on paper and it only served to make Morrow more curious about what it was that caught Agent Gibbs' attention with regard to the man.

"So, this is Detective DiNozzo," the Director stated rather than asked, as he handed over a cup of strong, black coffee to his Senior Agent.

The Detective on the bed in front of him was not an impressive sight; his skin was ashen and his hair slick with sweat as his body tried to fight off infection. There were bandages wrapped around his chest and a variety of tubes snaking around his body, with the steady swish of the ventilator and the 'beep, beep' of machines clearly showing that the man was nowhere near healthy.

"This is the one that kept you behind in Baltimore," he stated with a raised eyebrow. Gibbs rarely liked working outside DC or outside of Federal jurisdiction; the man had neither the time nor patience for the politics that were required for working a shared crime scene. There was very little that would keep the man so firmly out of his comfort zone these days, which made the current predicament all the more intriguing.

"You've spoken to Ducky," Gibbs stated with certainty. He knew that the Director would question his absence just as he knew how likely it was that his verbose friend would give more detail to the events of Baltimore if asked.

"He seems to think you've found yourself a new agent," Morrow said, trying to gauge the man's reactions.

"Maybe," Gibbs shrugged. "He has to say 'yes' first." He had spent too much time thinking about hiring DiNozzo to deny it all outright, but he had yet to actually ask the man; of course, now that he was hooked up to a variety of machines, that could all take some time.

"Do you think he'd be a good match for the Agency?" Morrow asked curiously. He liked Gibbs and valued him as an Agent enough to grant him some leeway, but he still had to uphold the integrity of NCIS.

"Yes, Sir, I do," Gibbs said simply, staring the Director straight in the eyes when he gave his answer. He had no doubts that DiNozzo would do well anywhere he worked if given half a chance; he only hoped that the younger man would continue to flourish under him as he clearly had under Sam Jacobs.

"His file seems to suggest trouble of every kind," Morrow said mildly, carefully studying his Senior Agent for a reaction.

"The trouble is not always his fault and just because no one else knows what to do with him, that doesn't mean it will be the same at NCIS," Gibbs explained with a serious look in both his eyes and his tone that left Morrow with no room for misunderstanding; Gibbs wanted DiNozzo for the long-haul.

"Very well, you can have a trial period; he'll need to complete a few courses at FLETC and learn NCIS protocol. Do you think you can get him to stop thinking like a cop and start thinking like a Special Agent?"

"I don't ever want him to stop thinking like a cop, but I'll make sure he can do his job as a Special Agent," Gibbs informed the Director. It had been Tony's work as a cop that had earned Gibbs' respect and he didn't want to risk losing that all so he could fit the image of a 'good' agent.

"Very well," the Director nodded. "If he agrees, let me know and I'll start the paperwork. This is a man you barely know with a past of his own, and from what I gather from Doctor Mallard much of his past is relatively unknown; I hope you know what you're doing Jethro," he said without any censure in his voice.

"So do I, Tom," Gibbs replied as he looked at the still, ashen figure on the bed beside him.

By the evening, Gibbs was alone once again, waiting for Sam's arrival at the start of visiting hours. The Director had left after an hour spent talking about the case and the implications it could have on the global stage. They had both ignored any further conversation on DiNozzo; the Director simply didn't know enough about all that had transpired to make much conversation about the unconscious man and Gibbs did not want to talk about the Detective's possible future at NCIS until his future was a certainty.

He had not been surprised by the Director's reaction; Morrow knew Gibbs well enough to speak to the man honestly and without agenda. He was similar to Gibbs in that he hid the majority of his emotions behind a mask of professionalism.

He looked hard at the man on the bed and tried to see DiNozzo from the Director's point of view; as still and battered as he was the Detective really did not seem like much.

He hoped that Morrow was going to be patient enough to see the long-term benefits of hiring a man like DiNozzo that Gibbs knew were there, hidden beneath expensive suits, bad jokes and a devious grin.

He hoped that DiNozzo would agree to the transfer and not just because it was one of his only options.

He really hoped he wouldn't have to threaten the man into submission, because the more and more time he spent thinking about DiNozzo working alongside him at NCIS, the more and more certain he became that he would not and could not take 'no' for an answer.

The morning visiting hours were met with the usual rush of worried relatives and hushed conversations at their loved one's bedside. The doctors and nurses were always trying to get most of their duties done before the start of visiting hours in an effort to afford both visitors and patients more privacy.

Gibbs knew that Sam, much to the Detective's annoyance, would miss visiting hours as he had his first session with a physical therapist; apparently the doctors wanted to make sure that the surgery had enabled some degree of flexibility in the knee before the injury fully healed, so that they could attempt further surgery if necessary.

The man would no doubt be in a bad mood later, as the pain would be excruciating and at such an early stage in the process even the slightest of movements would be exhausting.

Gibbs had never liked physical therapy much either.

He rolled his neck slightly from side to side in an effort to work out the stiff muscles that had begun to ache; he had spent over two days in DiNozzo's hospital room, sleeping on a makeshift bed a kindly nurse had insisted upon and living on whatever cups of coffee and scraps of food the staff brought him. He would no doubt have lost his mind in between those four sterile walls of the small room very early on if Abby and Ducky had not had the good sense to send over some old case files for him to review.

Knowing that Jacobs would likely not be coming at all, Gibbs closed his eyes and attempted to get some shut-eye. He'd been living off cat naps since he first took up his guard post, unable to afford any real sleep; he would have managed perfectly during his days in the Corps, but the Senior Agent was regrettably beginning to feel his age.

When he heard the slight creak of the door opening Gibbs had to rely upon sheer instinct and adrenaline to get in gear; his hand instinctively reached for his holster only to be pulled up short as he noticed the small woman push her way around the person in front of her.

"Miss Kadare?" Gibbs asked, mildly surprised to see her; to his shame, he had completely forgotten about Téa Kadare and her own personal guard, Officer Thomas Blackburn. There was no reason to take Kadare out of hiding just yet, with Pasha's whereabouts still unknown, but he felt guilty that he hadn't even taken the time to give them an update on the case.

"Officer Blackburn, what are you doing here?" Gibbs asked, the reproach in his tone softer than he had originally planned once he caught sight of the man's expression. Blackburn and Tony were friends; it was clear from the way Tony had defended the older cop's reputation against Nixon's slights, and how he had entrusted only him with Téa's safety, that Blackburn was one of the few people privileged enough to truly be able to call DiNozzo a friend.

"We saw it, on the news," Tom explained roughly, taking in his friend's appearance. "Neither one of us really wanted to stay shut up in some safe-house in DC after that." He took a step forward towards Tony's bed before stopping short after noticing Gibbs' hand tighten on his gun.

The NCIS Agent realised his subconscious action and had the good grace to look a little embarrassed before he holstered his weapon entirely. He did not know Blackburn as well as Tony, but his gut told him that if the Homicide Detective trusted the man, then so should he. It wasn't until that moment that Gibbs began to realise just how much faith he had begun to place in Detective DiNozzo's instincts.

"Habit," Gibbs shrugged by way of apology before turning to face Téa, whose eyes had yet to leave DiNozzo's still form. "Pasha is still on the loose; you should remain in hiding and until we know who we can trust in the US Marshal's Office, you need to trust us to provide you with the necessary security."

"Tony got shot," Téa said in a disbelieving whisper. "We see on news about the woman you ask me about…Lamb; we hear about Radoslav going to prison and the guns and drugs and…and everything! But no one say that Tony got hurt…no one say anything!" her voice grew louder and her accent thicker as she tried to hold back the tears and cling onto some form of self-control.

"Téa, Tony wasn't…" Gibbs started, only to be interrupted by one small but very angry Albanian woman.

"No!" she shouted as she jabbed him in the chest. "He saved my life, he help me when no one else even try; help me when I think I am stuck in this life forever. My family are being moved from Albania to America for safety because of Tony. I can never repay him for any of that, but I can be here, I can help him and do…do something!" she waved her hands around her as she tried to convey her feelings, but the language barrier and the complexity of emotions made it near impossible.

Gibbs, a man who was not well known for his sensitive side, did the only thing he could think of to calm the woman down, he slowly approached her and held his hands out in an attempt to show he was no threat. When she made no move to back away from him, he gently encased her in a hug; he'd had enough of them off Abby to know that some people derived a lot of comfort from small, physical gestures, but it had been many years since he had given one so willingly.

Téa was so young and so alone to have experienced the things she had in her short life; an ocean and most of the European continent separated her from her family and most of the girls she had been imprisoned with spoke different languages. Until Tony, she’d had no one on whom she could really rely upon other than her friend Nadia, who had been just as much of a prisoner and therefore unable to do anything to change their situation.

Tony was Téa Kadare's white knight, in every sense of the word. He had offered the young woman his card and told her in no uncertain terms that it didn't matter who was committing the crimes, Tony would not stop until she was safe; he had offered her a way out. Sometimes breaching a person's walls could be a difficult and often thankless task, but somehow Detective DiNozzo knew that Téa's walls could be breached and her testimony had been the thing that broke the case wide open.

Téa took comfort in the man's arms, crying softly into his jacket as the dam she had so carefully constructed around her emotions shattered. She had not slept much over the past few days and while Officer Blackburn had done everything he could think of to help her, she had been unwilling to be dependent on anyone as she was not used to it…until she had met Tony.

That day in Club Abër had offered her the first real ray of hope since she had arrived in the US; she didn't really know why she had chosen to trust him, as so many people that came to the club were of the so-called 'respectable' variety. After Nadia's death, however, she knew she would have to take the risk, and Detective Tony DiNozzo had gone above and beyond what most people would think of as a cop's duty.

She was getting her life and her family back and she knew that Tony had been the driving force behind it all; she knew that if it had been brash NCIS Agent Nixon that had interviewed her that day, then she would never have gone to the 22nd Precinct looking for help. If Tony hadn't offered her the lifeline she had so desperately hoped for, then she would have taken the most dangerous option of trying to run away, a feat no one had ever managed before…never for very long, at any rate.

"Téa, Tony wasn't shot during the raid on Lamb's factory," Gibbs explained quietly once he was sure the young woman had calmed down, trying to assuage the guilt that she might be feeling. "He was working another case – two little girls went missing and one of them was found dead. Tony went along with another Detective to make the arrest, but things didn't go well."

Officer Blackburn gave a small snort from Tony's bedside at the understatement; Gibbs had let no one but himself and Sam get that close to the young man, but he could see that the older cop needed to see for himself that his friend was, in fact, alive beneath the mess of wires and bandages that covered his body.

"The damage was severe, but the surgery managed to fix it," he explained, aware that both occupants in the room needed something more substantial than the continual hiss from the ventilator and the monotonous beeps of the heart monitor. "They're keeping him on the ventilator to try and ease some of the pressure on his damaged lung.

"His condition is labelled as serious but stable," Gibbs informed them, remembering all too clearly when DiNozzo's condition had been listed as both critical and anything but stable. "He's being dosed with strong sedatives that are supposed to help him heal faster, but they don't want him on them for too long in case pneumonia sets in."

"You don't know Tony," Blackburn smiled sadly. "Even heavy-duty meds won't keep him down for long."

Gibbs might not know DiNozzo as well as he would like, as well as he hoped to in the future, but he had certainly picked up on the tenacity of the younger man and was glad to hear that that resolve translated into all aspects of his life; the young Detective would still have a hell of a fight on his hands when he woke up, the battle being far from won.

"Officer Blackburn, why don't you look after Tony for a few minutes, keep Téa company before taking her back to the safe-house; I'm sure I don't need to remind you that the case is far from over and that there is as much danger to Miss Kadare now as there was before."

"I think you just did," Blackburn offered with an eyebrow raised in amusement. He liked Gibbs; he was a good Agent who didn't waste words, and most importantly of all, he had spent his time by Tony's bedside keeping the younger man safe. He knew that the NCIS Agent was offering to briefly relinquish his guard duties; it seemed as though it was an act of empathy that spoke to experiences past of watching over an injured brother-in-arms. "Thank you, Agent Gibbs; I'll keep him safe."

Gibbs nodded; he knew that the experienced cop would do just that and if he failed, then Téa Kadare would no doubt raise hell on earth for anyone who even thought about harming her hero. She might look like a stiff breeze would knock her over, but she’d already more than proven her strength.

He headed out of the room in search for another cup of coffee, but he could not let his role as protector slip so easily; he turned around to check on his charge once again, only to find that Téa had gently placed her hand over his and was whispering sternly to him in Albanian as she carefully stroked the skin around the wires and tubes.

Gibbs left safe in the knowledge that Tony was safe for now.

By the time Gibbs had returned from the hospital cafeteria, (he had not dared to risk going further afield despite the serious lack of drinkable coffee), both Blackburn and Téa were ready to leave; they would only leave once they had both extracted promises from Gibbs that he would keep them updated on Tony's condition. The Senior Agent gladly agreed in exchange for securing a promise from themselves: to keep themselves safe and hidden until he let them know otherwise.

He was sure Tony would regret sleeping through Téa's visit; judging by several overheard conversations, DiNozzo was very happy in the presence of a beautiful woman and Téa had been very attentive.

"I think you've found yourself a fan there, DiNozzo," he muttered to the unconscious man beside him. He thought he saw a twitch in Tony's right hand, but after spending several minutes watching for another one, nothing happened and he started to think he had imagined it; 'too much coffee and not enough sleep,' he thought to himself.

"Hey," came a gruff voice from the other side of the door. Jacobs had learnt fast that it was better to announce his presence before entering the room, aware that otherwise he would find a gun in his face. Physical therapy had kept him away longer than he had hoped and he'd been so exhausted afterwards that he had slept through evening visiting hours.

"Sam," Gibbs nodded before checking his watch; his timing wasn't off. "You do know that visiting hours have long since passed."

"Couldn't sleep," Jacobs replied as he limped in. He'd recently received crutches, and while it had been great to be able to move around without a damn wheelchair, he had yet to get the hang of them. "How is he?" he asked as he looked at his partner with a thoroughly assessing gaze, looking for any sign that Tony was still there somewhere beneath all the tubes and the wires and the too still body for his normally restless partner.

"No change," Gibbs offered. "He's had a severe dressing down in Albanian though, so maybe he'll start trying to get his act together," he smiled as he recalled Téa's orders, whispered but orders nonetheless.

"Well if anything is going to get him moving it's likely to be a pretty woman," Sam returned with a smile of his own as he thought back to the countless women his younger partner had charmed, intentionally or otherwise.

"His family hasn't called," Gibbs said, studying Jacobs closely to try and read him more accurately.

"They won't," Sam shook his head sadly and with a hint of disgust; he couldn't imagine how anyone could throw family to the side so casually. "Or rather, his father won't, I should say. He doesn't have any other family really, beyond distant cousins and whatnot."

"They're not close?" Gibbs asked. He wanted to know more about the wayward Detective but he didn't need any more cop stories – he already knew that DiNozzo was a damn fine investigator, driven and intelligent. What he didn't know was what the man was like when he wasn't wearing the badge; sure, he'd caught the odd glimpse of what lay beneath the mask, but it was only ever a glimpse.

"They don't talk, I know that much," Sam sighed. "It took him getting shot for me to realise that the next of kin he had listed was, in fact, made up. I had some rookie spend hours looking for someone that Tony probably pulled from some movie; I almost had to hold him at gunpoint to make sure he wrote my name down after that.

"I asked him why he didn't have his father listed as next of kin, and he just shrugged and said it's not like the old man would come anyway. I don't know if that's true or not, but Tony certainly seemed to believe it. What I do know is that he never goes home; Long Island, New York City…hell…even New York State. He never goes and visits family during the holidays.

"Once I figured out that his idea of Christmas was ordering pizza and watching 'It's a Wonderful Life' for the hundredth time I managed to convince him to come and celebrate with me and my daughter. I swear, from the look he gave me you’d think I'd just asked him to sacrifice a virgin at the next blood moon.

"But he came…eventually. We had a nice time, but you could tell that he wasn't comfortable, and it made me wonder what the hell kind of Christmas he had when he was a kid," Sam shook his head sadly at the image of Tony nervously sitting on the edge of his seat as if waiting for the order to leave the house at once.

The idea of a family meal had been one that had clearly appealed to the kid, but then Tony started worrying about imposing on quality family time; he might only have been his partner for almost four months by the time that first Christmas together passed, but Tony was well on the way to becoming like family, even if the idiot couldn't understand it was that way.

Gibbs took a moment to absorb everything he had been told; he couldn't believe that DiNozzo, who acted like an adult-sized eight-year-old half the time, had never had any real experience of Christmas.

Gibbs had never been a big fan of posting giant, flashing reindeer in front yards, but when he had shared his life with Shannon and Kelly, the hunt for the perfect Christmas tree was a memory that had helped him through the many lonely Christmases that followed. He’d loved watching Kelly in the run-up to Christmas as her excitement and wonder grew; there was always so much that she insisted needed doing and finding the perfect Christmas tree was just one thing on a list of many.

There were cookies in the shape of trees and stars to bake and there were cherry candy canes to sneak off the tree while he distracted Shannon; there were cards to write and presents to wrap and songs to sing and lights to hang and so much more that Gibbs had almost always needed a lie in on Christmas morning that his excited little girl had never allowed him.

Had Tony never experienced the excitement of waking up at four o'clock in the morning and emptying out his stocking on his parents' bed, animatedly talking about each and every new toy he found there? Had he never wandered around the tree looking for all the presents with his name on them, trying to guess what was inside? Had he never sat around a small table that was overcrowded with food that would last for at least another two weeks while people wearing silly paper hats took it in turns to read the worst jokes in the world from brightly coloured crackers?

The NCIS Agent might now spend his Christmases in the semi-dark as he drank some bourbon and sanded some wood, but he did at least have those memories to take him through the harder times.

What did DiNozzo have?

"Eventually," Sam continued, "He came over more, you know, Easter, Fourth of July, Thanksgiving, those sorts of things. I always have to ask, though, or he'd never come and he'd certainly never ask; he'd just slink off into some bar, drink a few beers and pick up some girl that he'd forget about a week later."

Gibbs frowned at how easily he could picture that scenario; the Senior Agent had sensed a loneliness beneath DiNozzo's mask that, despite Sam's best efforts and the efforts of the few but firm friends he had, seemed intent to remain there, simmering below the surface and too well entrenched to ever truly disappear.

"Mr. Jacobs!" came an exasperated voice from the doorway, and Gibbs looked up to see Sam's nurse; he had obviously been too deep in thought to hear her enter. "Visiting hours are over and you need your rest; you are far from healthy."

"That's my cue," Sam sighed, already aware of how futile it was to argue with his stubborn nurse. He looked at DiNozzo with an expression that Gibbs couldn't quite place, but he thought he saw some guilt there somewhere, though he couldn't understand why that emotion should be present at all.

"See you tomorrow, Sam," Gibbs nodded his farewell as he helped the man stand; the Detective was not yet very steady on crutches.

He didn't know how long he had been sitting alone by Tony's bedside in the dark, but he did know that he wasn't going to sleep any time soon. His mind was too full of thoughts about all the holidays he had shared with his beloved wife and daughter and how different DiNozzo's experiences must have been; from the way Sam had talked, the kid didn't even seem to understand why anyone would take the time to invite him around during the festive period.

A slight movement caught his eye and Gibbs was sure that he hadn't imagined it; he stared harder at DiNozzo, trying to catch some sign that the younger man was trying to wake up.

A hand twitched.

Gibbs knew that they had decreased the level of sedation slightly after worries about an increased risk of pneumonia due to such a suppression of the respiratory system, but they had insisted that there were enough drugs to keep the young man unconscious.

Clearly that was not the case.

He got up and tried to find the call button in an effort to starve off what he knew was next.

Too late.

Tony quickly became more agitated, his eyes screwed shut in an effort to fight off the pain as he suddenly came crashing into consciousness.

The sound as he choked around the tube that was stuck in his throat, as his erratic breathing hitched and gasped was almost as awful as the feeble attempts shaking hands made as they clawed their way across his face in an effort to find the problem.

"It's ok, DiNozzo, calm down," Gibbs offered quietly as he tried to grab the man's flailing hands. The softly given orders achieved nothing and DiNozzo only became more panicked as he fought to breath around the ventilator tube that was snaking down his throat.

"DiNozzo!" Gibbs shouted in an effort to catch the younger man's attention.

It worked.

Pained green eyes looked at him through narrow slits, trying to focus on the somewhat blurry image overhead.

"DiNozzo, I need you to calm down," Gibbs continued firmly, seeing as though that had been the voice to get through to the panicked young man. "You're in the hospital and you're on a ventilator; it might not feel like it but the tube is helping you breathe."

DiNozzo's expression clearly stated how he felt about that.

"You need to try and breathe with the ventilator," Gibbs suggested as he quickly pressed the call button before securing DiNozzo's wandering hands again.

"That's it, breathe around the tube, don't fight it," Gibbs ordered. DiNozzo's breathing was still far from normal and the quick beeping on the machine showed just how agitated the Detective was, but he was no longer struggling to get oxygen.

A nurse came rushing in and at once took in the situation with a frown.

"Well, I'm glad to see you're awake, Mr. DiNozzo, but clearly you're not intending to go about things in the right order," she sighed, thinking that the man should have been kept under by the drugs in his system for at least another day.

Tony briefly managed to shake off Gibbs' hands and tried to demonstrate just what he thought should happen to the tube that someone had very unkindly shoved down his throat.

"Be polite, DiNozzo," Gibbs warned with a sardonic lift of an eyebrow. "The nurses are the ones who can decide just how comfortable your hospital stay can be."

Clearly the advice was well taken as the young man turned soulful, beseeching eyes towards his nurse, who was trying to adjust his IV.

"I bet those peepers get you far in life, huh?" she smiled at the sudden change in her patient. "I'll get the doctor and then we can talk about extubating you, ok?"

Tony nodded as best as he was able and the relief that he was going to be released from the infernal ventilator showed on his heart monitor where the 'beeps' became more regular.

As the nurse hurried out Gibbs looked at DiNozzo with amusement. "Just so you know, I'm not going to fall for some wide-eyed, kicked-puppy expression of yours and start doing what you want."

Tony tried to focus on Agent Gibbs and tried to figure out why the man was there at all. Using his peripheral vision he could tell that it was pitch black outside, so visiting hours should have long since passed, so why was this relative stranger sitting at his bed?

Before he had much more time to think, his nurse came back into the room followed by a doctor.

"I hear you’re looking to be extubated ahead of schedule, Mr. DiNozzo," the doctor stated as he reviewed his patient's chart. "Well, your vital signs certainly seem to have stabilised and we don't want you on heavy sedation any longer than we have to, but I must warn you, if there are any signs that your lungs can't take the strain then you are going straight back onto the sedatives and a ventilator, is that understood?"

Tony once again tried to nod his understanding, although with the amount of drugs flowing through his system coupled with his drowsiness he hadn't really heard a whole lot of details.

The medical staff knew better than to even think about asking Gibbs to leave, but after hearing the gagging and the choking and the smallest gasps of pain, the Senior Agent almost wished they had insisted upon his removal so that he didn't have to bear witness to the process. The tube was replaced by an oxygen mask to help with his oxygen levels, the nurse promising to check in frequently to make sure her wayward charge had not attempted to remove it.

"I'll send a nurse in with some ice-chips to try and soothe that throat somewhat, but you should try to avoid talking for now, try and give your throat a rest, huh?" the doctor asked.

Gibbs could not contain the disbelieving snort that escaped him; the doctor sent him a curious glance but asked nothing, whereas DiNozzo's suspicious squint was entirely unnecessary as he let his middle finger do all the talking required.

The medical personnel left once all the necessary checks had been carried out on their exhausted patient.

"Don't fight it, DiNozzo," Gibbs ordered the younger man a little more softly this time. "You need all the sleep you can get."

"Shannon…?" Tony asked hoarsely through the mask. He might not be in any condition to get out of bed, but there were things he needed to know before he resigned himself to his fate.

"She's ok," Gibbs assured him. "You probably saved her life, DiNozzo. You did good."

Only then did Tony allow himself to relax, a small, contented smile on his face as he drifted off into oblivion.

The morning came around sooner than Gibbs had been expecting; it must have been the first night since he took up the post by DiNozzo's bedside that he had managed to sleep all the way through the night.

"Hi," came Tony's voice, still a little croaky and hesitant, but stronger than it had been the night before. Gibbs noticed that the mask had been replaced with a nasal canula and wondered how the medical staff had achieved it without waking him; he must be more exhausted than he originally thought. "I had a nice little brunette feeding me ice-chips. I think I could marry her; no one has ever done anything for me as wonderful as that," he nodded with a smile and a wink towards the young woman at the foot of his bed.

Gibbs understood perfectly what DiNozzo was talking about; he'd been on a ventilator before and the ice-chips that had followed extubation felt like heaven on earth.

"I think my husband might have something to say about that, Detective DiNozzo," the nurse informed him with a smile as she wiggled her left hand in view, showing the little gold band as she did so.

"I'll fight him for you," Tony promised, his voice getting slightly stronger the more he talked. "Only, you might have to give me a few weeks…then I'll fight him for you."

"The ice-chips are on the table by his bed," the nurse told Gibbs quietly, ignoring Tony as he talked about how he could use specimen jars as weapons in his forthcoming duel. "It would be better if he didn't talk so much yet, but I think that might be an impossible task," she smiled knowingly. "Try to make sure he doesn't move around too much, though; he's on a lot of painkillers right now so he won't feel the worst of it, but even so, too much movement and he will certainly feel it."

"He won't move a muscle, will you, DiNozzo?" Gibbs asked, one eyebrow raised, daring the younger man to disagree with him.

DiNozzo dared.

"Well, if I didn't move a muscle, then I wouldn't be able to breathe or anything…then I'd die; so I'm pretty sure that you don't mean 'don't move a muscle' in the literal sense of the word…" he was interrupted by a gentle slap up the back of his head. "Understood, boss," Tony said the last word with a hint of sarcasm and cast a glare at the NCIS Agent, muttering quietly "Some Marines don't even know they've left the military…"

"He won't be a problem," Gibbs informed the nurse as he rolled his eyes at DiNozzo's antics. It was good to see DiNozzo awake and talking, but the Senior Agent didn't know just how long he'd feel that way about the situation.

Not long after the nurse left, there was a knock at the door and a well-dressed man entered.

"Agent Gibbs?" the stranger inquired. "I'm Michael Jennings, Paul's father. I had been hoping to meet you in DC but your Director told me you were here. I've been wanting to thank you for all that you've done. I know I didn't exactly help make the investigation any easier, throwing my weight around the way I did, but Paul was my boy and…"

"I understand," Gibbs assured the despondent man in front of him. For all the information he had that showed Michael Jennings to have been a strict and commanding father, he had clearly loved his son.

"You must be Detective DiNozzo," he asked the prone man on the bed.

"Must I?" Tony asked with a slight snort. "I don't think it's really been working out for me lately, do you?" he gestured to the hospital paraphernalia that surrounded him.

"He's on a lot of painkillers," Gibbs explained with a smile of his own.

"Well, I know it's late, but I was just heading back to DC and I wanted to thank you both for catching the man who killed my boy," the even, controlled voice cracked a little towards the end.

"Your son died trying to save a life; you should be proud of him, Sir," Gibbs tried to offer the man some comfort, although he knew from personal experience just how little comfort could be derived from such trivial words in the grand scheme of things. "He was a good example to Marines everywhere," he added sincerely.

He thought he heard DiNozzo whisper 'dragon slayers,' but he couldn't be sure; the drug-addled man was, however, nodding away to himself as he traced invisible patterns on his bed-sheets, eyes struggling to stay open.

"Thank you, Agent Gibbs," Michael Jennings said, as he tried to swallow around the lump in his throat. "Look after yourself, Detective DiNozzo,"

"Aye aye, Captain, my Captain," Tony mumbled with a fumbled attempt at a salute, his eyes aching as he attempted to keep them open and focused on the imposing man that was standing at his bedside.

"Well, I'll leave you to it, I think you've got your hands full with this one," he said with a smile that Gibbs knew was rare. "Detective DiNozzo, Gunnery Sergeant," he nodded his goodbye before quickly leaving, the emotions of the past few days catching up to him in bone-aching exhaustion.

"Who was that?" Tony asked, peering intently through bleary eyes.

"That was Corporal Jennings father," the Senior Agent informed him.

"Oh…he had a pretty impressive mono-brow and a weird little moustache thing going on there," Tony nodded seriously to himself as though he had just solved some complicated puzzle. With a yawn he finally gave into the battle and closed his eyes.

Gibbs allowed himself a smile; DiNozzo on drugs was certainly an interesting spectacle.

By the time Sam had made it over for morning visiting hours, Tony had fallen asleep once again.

"He's in and out," Gibbs informed the older Detective.

Sam nodded. Having entered the room and seen that his partner was off the ventilator, he heaved a great sigh of relief; now he just needed to see him awake for himself and make sure that Tony was ok.

"Probably just as well," Sam smiled. "He gets even more talkative when he's on drugs, and twice as nonsensical."

"Yeah," Gibbs frowned. "I found that out soon enough."

Sam laughed, glad that his partner had been well enough to cause a problem; there had been too many moments of doubt when he wasn't sure his partner would be anything other than a name on a slab of stone.

That Tony was now on the path to recovery was more than a welcome relief, but it did start Sam thinking about the future once again. He had managed to reconcile himself with the fact that he would no longer be able to do the job he loved; it would take him a lot longer to learn to deal with it, but he had come to accept the hard truth that his life as he knew it was over.

Tony, however, should recover eventually. The doctors had said that the risk of complications was low and that a complete recovery was likely; he should be able to return to field work in six months at most…or so he hoped.

Tony would not want to stay on in Baltimore without Sam by his side, the older Detective knew that much. The kid had friends there, but Sam had been the only one to secure Tony's complete and utter faith; the kid knew without a shadow of a doubt that Sam would watch his six or die trying, but he had not come to trust anyone else in the same way.

He would move on and try another city; doubt and wild speculation would follow him and Tony would be stuck repeating the same cycle again and again. Sam would hate to see Tony leave Baltimore, but he knew that Tony deserved more than another city, a strange partner and a potentially hostile precinct.

Gibbs could solve all of that.

Gibbs knew that Tony was damn good at his job; he could see beneath the mask and understand that the kid's potential was just beginning to reveal itself. Gibbs knew that DiNozzo would be an asset instead of a hindrance and he would treat him accordingly, or at least, he hoped he would.

"You need to ask him, Agent Gibbs," Sam said gravely. He wanted Tony to go onto bigger and better things and he wanted the kid to go somewhere with people who would not dismiss him quite so casually as they had done in Baltimore.

"Ask who what?" came a groggy voice from between them.

"Tony?" came Sam's relieved voice. "Am I damn glad to hear your voice, kid."

"Mmm," Tony murmured. "Waking up here was a dream come true for me, too." He squinted through eyes still heavy with the effects of sleep and drugs and gave his partner a thoroughly assessing gaze. "You should be in a hospital bed, Sam, you look like shit."

"That's the thanks we get for keeping up a bedside vigil is it?" Sam laughed, glad to hear some of the familiar fight in his partner's exhausted voice. If Tony was aware enough to be moaning about being in hospital, then everything would be ok.

"You didn’t bring me any grapes. I might have been grateful if you’d brought me grapes. Why didn't you act as guard dog in his room?" Tony turned accusing eyes towards the NCIS Agent as he tried to understand why Sam's return to health had been deemed less important than his.

"He didn't piss off an Albanian trafficker," Gibbs offered by way of explanation.

"Oh," Tony said after absorbing the answer and promptly decide not to think about that. "Ask who what?" he asked as he remembered the conversation he had woken up to.

Gibbs looked at Sam and received a hesitant nod in response. "I need to ask you something," he started hesitantly, slightly unsure as to whether or not it was the right time. He knew exactly what Jacobs had been talking about, and he did want to ask, but it didn't feel right asking a man who could barely keep his eyes open such an important question. However, he would have to trust Jacobs, who knew DiNozzo a lot better than he did.

"Go for it, but I'd advise against asking me my multiplication tables or something; I'm not so sure I could even manage two plus two right now," Tony replied with a sleepy smile.

"How would you like to join NCIS?" Gibbs asked, ever blunt and to the point.

"Huh?" Tony was wide-eyed, barely a vestige of his previous exhaustion present. "You're offering me a job?" he asked incredulously, glancing between Sam and Gibbs.

"Yes, DiNozzo, I'm offering you a job."

Chapter Text

Tony was like a fish out of water, eyes wide, almost bulging and mouth gaping, opening and closing as he tried to form some sort of coherent sentence.

Gibbs took some satisfaction in that; it seemed as though DiNozzo could be stuck for words after all.

"Why?" Tony eventually managed to say. He looked towards his partner, but Sam's gaze was directed down towards his hands meaning that Tony could not read his expression. Tony didn't need to see Sam's face to gauge his reactions, however; Sam's posture told Tony everything he needed to know. From the obvious effort being made to avoid Tony's gaze and the slump of his shoulders, the way his body was turned slightly away, Tony could read the defeat in his partner as easily as words on a page.

"Sam?" he asked quietly, concern leaking into his voice as he tried to reach out towards his clearly distressed partner. "Ow!" he groaned loudly as his chest flared up. It felt as though someone was slowly dragging a red-hot serrated blade through his chest and as all the oxygen was seemingly sucked from his lungs, he screwed his eyes tightly shut as he tried to remember what breathing felt like.

"Easy, Tony," Sam soothed as he reached out and grabbed his partner's hand. Gibbs had stood up and was at the head of the kid's hospital bed, trying to readjust the nasal cannula and pressing the call button. Sam was still limited in his movement and he was jealous of the NCIS Agent's mobility and cool head – he was still trying to get his own heart-rate under control after the shock of Tony's painful cry. Most of all, he hated being unable to help soothe his partner's pain and simply watch as a relative stranger did the job instead.

"Come on, DiNozzo, you need to breathe," Gibbs quietly but firmly ordered the young Detective who was still trying to catch his breath. "Breathe through the nose, DiNozzo, let the cannula help you."

A nurse came rushing in and seeing her patient struggling to catch his breath she set about securing an oxygen mask, quickly covering the young man's mouth and nose.

"That's it, Mr. DiNozzo, breathe in slowly…and exhale; again," she quietly coached him until his breathing had returned to normal. "You're due for some more morphine very soon, but until then you need to try and take it easy. Your body has been through two major traumas – the shooting itself and then the surgery. You need to rest and you two," she said as she whirled around pinning Gibbs with a particularly pointed glare that clearly indicated who she was really talking to; "You need to leave the poor boy alone."

Tony silently bristled at the idea of being called a 'poor boy' by a woman who could only be, at the most, ten years older than him; however, he couldn’t deny that he was enjoying the admonishment Gibbs was getting from the diminutive woman, who was jabbing a fierce finger at the Senior Agent. No…Tony wasn't even going to think about rebuking her.

"Yes, ma'am," Gibbs said politely, inwardly rolling his eyes. So many of the people in DiNozzo's own department seemed completely indifferent to his fate and yet perfect strangers seemed intent on defending him against friend and foe alike.

"Now you, young man," she turned on Tony again. "You need to try and rest; you're going to have a long road to recovery ahead of you and you're going to need your strength. Someone will come in within the next hour to give you your next dose of painkillers and swap back the mask for the nasal cannula; I hope that by then you will be sleeping," she added with another pointed look towards the stern-faced Agent who had paced the hallways of the hospital demanding information and scaring half the nursing staff when the young man had been in surgery.

"Well, she's certainly got your number, Agent Gibbs," Tony joked once the nurse had gone, his voice quiet and gravelly through the mask.

"What's more surprising, DiNozzo, is that she didn't leave with yours," Gibbs replied wryly.

Sam smiled at that, feeling the first semblance of relief since the whole nightmare had started; Tony was still able to joke and the fact that the stoic NCIS Special Agent could not only tolerate but return the younger man's sometimes bizarre humour that seemed to appear at the most inappropriate of times spoke to a good future working relationship…if Tony took the job.

"No talking, kid," Sam admonished his younger partner with a smile. "I'd hate to see Nurse Ratched return – she'd probably flay us alive for daring to disturb her 'poor boy' and get in the way of his beauty sleep," he grinned as Tony's eyebrows furrowed with distaste at the reminder of the 'poor boy' comment.

Since they had first started working together, Tony had always been 'kid' to Sam, and Tony had never seemed to have a problem with it…as far as he knew anyway. Tony had even joked about it, claiming that they were the Butch Cassidy and Sundance Kid of the Baltimore PD; the young Detective could link almost anyone he met with a film if he set his mind to it.

Tony had indeed named several other members of the Homicide Department as various characters from Westerns; most of the names went straight over Sam's head, but he got the general gist of what the kid was implying – black hats and white hats and a whole host of jokes about asses.

He knew Tony had been put through the ringer by all sorts of people within their own Department and from many others; he also knew that the kid skipped over the worst of what was said and done to him as the hazing process went beyond the norm. More than anything else, Sam knew that Tony's good opinion of most of the cops he had met within Baltimore's PD had been irrevocably destroyed. There were a few cops like Blackburn, one or two Detectives and Chief McTavish, who had safely secured Tony's good opinion and his unwavering loyalty; those were the sorts of people that Tony needed to work alongside.

Once someone had Tony's complete faith and loyalty, it was almost impossible to lose it, and the kid would crawl to Hell on his hands and knees over burning coals, broken glass and through poisonous smoke if he thought it would save a friend from a little trouble. Of course, Sam had his issues with that particular character trait, especially since it tended to lead to trouble for Tony instead.

And that…that was the reason why Sam knew Tony couldn't stay in Baltimore.

The kid would do anything he could to help those he cared about and would equally do his level best to ensure that no one even knew when he was in trouble in turn. Tony needed people who would try their best to do right by him. Some people saw through the mask, but over the two years that he had worked alongside Tony, Sam knew that nowhere near enough people truly understood the younger Detective and they tended to focus on his flaws.

Most people did not seem to comprehend that he needed to be reined back in, not because he couldn’t be trusted, but because he didn’t always know when to stop pushing himself.  Most didn’t realise that his fuse was relatively short and that his temper could be almost vengeful because they took his clown act at face value and failed to calm him down because of it. Tony enjoyed playing the fool and the frat-boy and people were so easily taken in by it that Sam wanted to literally smack some sense into his partner, because he was so much more than the front he preferred to show to people.

Gibbs, Sam knew, had finally seen through the façade and the man had already shown that he was prepared to try and keep the kid on a leash long enough to let him do his job, but short enough to stop Tony from throwing himself into the path of oncoming bullets.

Sam had also recognised the fact that Tony had come to trust Agent Gibbs. The kid might not trust him with the personal stuff yet, but on a professional level it was clear that Tony knew with certainty that Gibbs would not only willingly watch his six, but do a damn good job of it, too.

If only Gibbs had gone with him to arrest Johnston…if only Sam had been able to go along on the arrest…if only…if only…

"Job?" Tony asked quietly through the mask, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion. Gibbs may have been the one to ask Tony, but the younger man's gaze was resting intently on his partner's face.

"Tony," Sam said as he reached for one of his partner's hands. "You should listen to what he has to say before you start opening your mouth, ok?" He waited until he saw his partner's rather hesitant nod before continuing. "It's a good offer and you'd be an idiot to pass it up, so just listen to the man."

Tony nodded once again and turned towards the NCIS Agent, his brows still furrowed. Gibbs returned the gaze but didn't know what to say; he had offered the man a job, what else was he supposed to do? He caught an expression flit across Jacobs' face and knew that clearly something more was expected.

"I've been given permission to form my own team and I would like you to be a member of that team," Gibbs explained. He saw the young Detective's brows furrow deeper; it was clear that DiNozzo had no idea why Gibbs, or perhaps why anyone would want to hire him. Obviously Gibbs was going to have to explain his reasons for the offer and, given his condition and Tony's blatant lack of understanding when it came to his own self-worth, he was going to have to tread carefully.

Gibbs had never been particularly good at that approach; he was generally a firm believer in the stick tactic rather than the carrot method. However, he knew that if he wanted DiNozzo to seriously consider his offer then he would have to explain his reasons without an accompanying head-slap, and he really wanted DiNozzo on his team.

"We've worked together for a few days now, and it's been…interesting," Gibbs searched for the right word. Interesting didn't really cut it; he was sure a psychiatrist would have a field day with someone whose personality was as fluid and as variable as DiNozzo's.

"But we worked well together," he conceded, trying to remember the last time he had been forced to string so many words together. "You have good instincts and it was your rapport with Téa Kadare that brought about her cooperation, which ultimately led to the end of the case."

"Téa…" Tony mumbled, his voice thick with fatigue. "Is she ok?" he asked, worry eating at him as he remembered that he hadn't contacted her after the raid on Lamb's warehouse.

"She's safe," Gibbs quickly assured him before the Detective worked himself into another panic attack. "She's with Officer Blackburn while we try to figure out who we can trust in the US Marshal's Office and we'll try to figure out something more long-term as soon as we can."

Tony nodded slowly, grateful that the mask was still supplying him with the much-needed oxygen; he couldn't ever remember having so much difficulty breathing.

"You're a damn good cop, DiNozzo, and I think you could be an excellent agent," Gibbs concluded. He knew that there was more he could and probably should say, but he was not by nature a verbose man and he rarely ever bestowed anyone with more praise than was necessary. DiNozzo was an intelligent man, despite what he might like to portray; he would know that accepting the job offer was the smart move and he would come to know that Gibbs' offer was a compliment of the highest form.

"I…er…I don't know," Tony said, he desperately wanted to stay awake for the conversation and see things through until a decision had been made, but the adrenaline was going and he had no more reserves; he was flagging and even the high percentage of oxygen he was breathing in could not keep him awake.

"Think about it," Gibbs suggested. He could see that Tony was fading and he didn't want to keep him awake unnecessarily; he might want an answer quickly but he didn't need one straight away. "Get some rest; I'll be here when you wake up," he promised.

Tony didn't have to energy to try and fight the Senior Agent's suggestion and his eyes closed, leaving everything to be sorted out at a later date.

"Well…that went well," Gibbs said sardonically, almost to himself. He had been hoping for a little more enthusiasm from the young Detective, but he supposed that the hesitation was likely due in part to the drugs and in part due to Gibbs' almost indifferent attempt at selling the position; undoubtedly the biggest factor, however, was Sam.

The kid was loyal to a fault and turning away from his partner would be one of the hardest things for Tony to do.

"Give him time, Agent Gibbs," Sam offered with a small, sad smile. He turned and looked at his partner with an expression that Gibbs couldn't decipher; before giving Tony's hand a quick squeeze and rolling his wheelchair out of the room and back towards his own bed.

Gibbs had slept through another night in the discomfort of DiNozzo's hospital room only to be awoken by a knock at the door. After Detective Lisa Wells had identified herself, Gibbs got up to greet her and was more grateful than was healthy to see that she had brought him a cup of coffee.

She had told Gibbs to get himself back to the motel and get a shower and a change of clothes; she showed him that she was armed and assured the reluctant NCIS Agent that Tony would be quite safe with her there guarding him, that she wouldn’t let him down again.

Gibbs didn't want to go. He knew that Wells was on the up and up, but that didn't make him any less uneasy about leaving DiNozzo's side. However, he could also see that Wells needed it. The woman looked exhausted – dark circles surrounded her eyes and the rims were slightly red; she had clearly been crying recently and Gibbs knew that the poor woman was still mired in guilt and self-recrimination.

"Alright," he conceded. "I'll be back in a couple of hours," he promised her. He wanted to give her a chance to talk to DiNozzo, but he didn't want to risk spending all day away from the hospital; at least, not until Pasha was safe behind bars.

He left quietly, turning around before he reached the door to see that Lisa hesitantly sat herself down by Tony's bedside and tentatively reached for his hand. She looked far more scared of him than she should; he doubted Tony would ever hold the events in the Johnston apartment against her. He sighed, and hoped that she would find some measure of peace by the time he got back.

Lisa couldn't stand looking at Tony, so still and pale and lifeless, and yet she could not look away either. Her husband had spent the past few days trying to assuage her guilt, telling her that Tony was a good cop who well knew the risks of the job; she knew that, but at the same time she didn't think she would ever be able to end the 'what if…' game that seemed to be constantly running through her head.

She sighed heavily and murmured more to herself than anyone else, "I'm so sorry, Tony."

"Don't tell me you forgot the pizza too?" came a rather gravelly voice.

"Tony? You're awake!" Lisa pointed out needlessly, unsure of what else to say.

"Really? Damn it, I thought this was a dream," he offered her a crooked smile to show her that he was not serious, but the look he received troubled him. "Lisa, are you ok?"

"I'm not the one in a hospital bed, Tony," she pointed out in a bitter tone that Tony knew was entirely directed at herself.

"I didn't see him either, you know…at least, not until it was too late to do anything," he pointed out, trying to get her to understand that she shouldn’t blame herself for his injury. "Intel showed he was on the other side of the country; we weren't even expecting him."

"I should have been paying more attention," Lisa shook her head, her guilt was still too heavy a burden around her neck for her to allow anyone to try and lessen it.

"Once we got our guy out of the building, you cleared the rest of the apartment while I stayed with the girl,” he recapped for her, having been caught up on the finer details of what had happened in that apartment. “No one expected the guy to brazenly walk in through the front door, Lisa. Hell, he probably wouldn't have if the squad car with his brother in it had left even a minute later. If he'd seen that then we might have lost him; we both know now that it was Alan Johnston who was the mastermind, and who knows what he might have gone on to do if we hadn't caught him.

"If this…" he gestured to himself, indicating his injured body, "…is the price to pay for making sure that sick bastard doesn't do to another little girl what he did to Isabella Vasquez and Siobhan Wright, then I would pay it gladly…ten times over.

"This is not your fault!" Tony emphasised every word. "Alan Johnston was the one who shot me, and it is with Alan Johnston, and him alone, that the blame lies. Understood?"

Lisa nodded, and was relieved beyond words to find out that Tony did not blame her and had forgiven her for her mistakes, but she knew that it would be a long time until she could forgive herself and get a full night of sleep without seeing her younger friend choking on his own blood right in front of her.

Tony knew she was not convinced and could think of no more words to try and prove to her that she was not at fault; he hoped that with time she would be able to move past the whole messy incident – he certainly couldn't wait for it all to be behind him and to be out of his hospital bed.

He changed the topic and asked her about the latest gossip from the 22nd Precinct; he was pretty sure that she was censuring it as he doubted that not a word was being spoken about his shooting and Sam's career-ending injury. However, he was not interested in listening to anything even remotely related to those topics, and was happy to hear about the Captain's blunder on TV whilst giving a statement on a double homicide in the Projects.

They had passed almost an hour laughing and joking together when Sam came and found them. He glad to see his partner awake and alert, and also pleased to see that the haunted look had almost disappeared from Lisa Wells' eyes; she had been looking worse and worse after each visit to an unconscious Tony's bedside.

"Hey," he greeted them both with a warm but exhausted smile; physical therapy was definitely not agreeing with him.

"Sam," Lisa got up and greeted him, leaning down to give him a kiss before manoeuvring his wheelchair as close to the head of Tony's bed as she could get it. "You are looking after yourself, aren't you?" she asked him, a suspicious eyebrow raised in his direction.

"He's been too busy being a mother-hen here," Tony pointed out, a questioning eyebrow of his own directed towards his partner.

"I am not a mother-hen," Sam disagreed, despite inwardly knowing that he was probably far worse.

"A mamma grizzly with a cub?" Tony suggested as an alternative, a smirk inching across his face as his partner shuffled slightly, uncomfortable with the concern being directed his way; he sent a scathing glare towards his younger partner. Sam grumbled away to himself and the other two Detectives smiled knowingly at each other.

"I'm going to go and get some coffee, give you two some quality mother/son time together," she said with a grin and a wink as she left; that she would be sat waiting in the corridor, across from the doorway, with her gun at the ready was something she didn't think they needed to know. Tony had already been hurt once on her watch, but not again!

"She seems better," Sam commented with a knowing look directed towards his partner. Even when Tony was drugged up to his eyeballs, he could still read the people he knew; the kid would have seen Lisa struggling with the aftermath of the shooting and would have done all in his power to help her out.

"That's 'better' huh?" Tony asked as he cast a sad smile towards the door. He wished he could convince her that his injury was not her fault, but only time would tell.

"And you?" Sam inquired. "Are you in any pain?"

"I’m fine, it's not too bad," Tony tried to assure his partner, and it wasn't, so long he didn't move or breathe.

"Sure," Sam rolled his eyes, clearly sceptical about his partner's self-assessment. "Tony, you do realise that your gravestone is going to read 'here lies Anthony DiNozzo: still fine' right?"

"Seriously, I'm ok; I'm on some good painkillers and it's not like I'm going anywhere or doing anything any time soon, so…"

"Except for DC," Sam interrupted his partner, who frowned deeply. "Come on, Tony, don't be an idiot!"

"You're my partner, Sam; I'm not leaving you," Tony protested quietly but firmly.

"Is that your only objection to leaving?" Sam wanted to know, trying to figure out what he could say to Tony to try and change his mind.

"Is that not enough?" Tony asked incredulously; even after all their time of working together, Sam still didn't seem to think that he warranted Tony's absolute loyalty?

"Tony, look at me!" Sam said, gesturing to his injured knee and the wheelchair. "I might not be in a wheelchair for the rest of my life, but I'm probably going to be stuck with a walking stick; I won't be your partner anymore, Tony, even if we both stay here in Baltimore."

"So, you're really just going to leave?" Tony asked quietly. He knew the answer; he knew it as soon as he found out that Sam was unlikely to ever walk again unaided. Sam loved and lived for the action of the job just as much as Tony did; he was an active man and always had been, and being unable to do the physical part of the job would be soul-destroying to a man like Sam Jacobs.

"I can't work a desk, Tony," Sam confirmed his partner's assumptions. "Being stuck behind a table and filling in the paperwork after chasing down your perp, and being stuck there day in, day out…they're two very different scenarios."

"Yeah, I know," Tony replied, fiddling with a corner of the bed-sheet, unable to look his partner in the eyes. He knew that Sam leaving was a very real possibility, but hearing it from the man's own mouth made everything so much sharper in his mind. He would be losing his partner, and after finally finding a place where he could imagine himself settling down and being happy, that hurt.

"You know as well as I do that there is nothing for you in Baltimore, kid," Sam said, trying to get Tony back on to the topic of NCIS and an alternative career path. He caught the brief flash of pain cross the younger man's face and Sam almost had to wince himself when he thought about how his partner might have interpreted those words.

"You'll be dragged back, kicking and screaming for Christmas and Fourth of July and Thanksgiving, of course," he supplied quickly, smiling at the way his partner shyly met his gaze. Tony could be so confident about a great many things, but when it came to family and especially his position in Sam's family, he was still painfully insecure.

"Job wise, however…" he clarified. "Blackburn is a damn good cop, but he's a uniform and you're a Detective, and McTavish is the Chief of Police; apart from me, those are the only other people that you trust unconditionally here. You need someone to watch your six, Tony, and you don't trust anyone else here enough to even let them try."

"And you think Gibbs is the man for the job?" Tony asked, not refuting Sam's assertion as he knew all too well how accurate a statement it was.

"I do," Sam agreed. "For whatever reason, you trust him; am I right?" Tony didn't answer, but his eyes said everything Sam needed to know. "He's damn good at his job, and he seems like a decent guy…for a fed," he conceded with a smirk that his partner returned.

"He will watch your six and he will let you do your job. He won't take you off to some academy and try to mould you into some federal clone; he knows that you're a damn good cop and he wants to capitalise on that. You would gain from it, too. It would be a new place with new people, and Agent Gibbs seems like the kind of man who has a lot he can teach you…"

"You've taught me a lot," Tony stressed, trying to ensure his partner didn't downplay his own role in making Tony into the kind of cop he had turned out to be. "And you managed it without fifty rules and a head-slap," he grumbled quietly, more to himself than to Sam. He was still having difficulty imagining what it would be like to work alongside Agent Gibbs on a more permanent basis.

"Those rules of his might just save your life one day," Sam laughed at his partner's affronted expression. Sam was banking on those rules as they spoke to the sort of person Gibbs was; Sam believed those rules would be strictly enforced by the man and may just be the key to reining in some of Tony's more reckless behaviour.

"I can't watch your back anymore," Sam gestured helplessly to his knee. "Gibbs can. NCIS will be good for you…he'll be good for you."

"So, you think I should say 'yes' then?" Tony asked after several minutes of silence as he thought about his near future.

"I know you should say 'yes' Tony; it's the only sensible thing you can say," Sam said with a sincerity that he hoped reached his partner through the drugs, the pain and the evident confusion.

The rest of Sam's visit had been quiet and uneventful; Tony spent a lot of time thinking about everything Sam had said to him and Gibbs' offer.

Could he really see himself as a Federal Agent?

Hell no!

But he could see himself working for a man like Gibbs.

Sam and Gibbs had a lot of similarities; they were both no nonsense, former military men who investigated crimes. They both tended to say far more with a look than they ever could with words and their approach towards the technological world was…apprehensive, to say the least. More importantly, Tony trusted them both with his life.

Sam had earned it over the two years they had worked together; in reality, Sam had earned it almost from the start. Even though he was angry at being forced to work with the new and slightly dubious Homicide Detective, Sam had done his job as senior partner and mentor well, and without any of the snide comments that the rest of the Department seemed intent on throwing Tony's way. Before Sam had any kind of regard for Tony whatsoever, he had stood up for his partner and defended him against the critics from inside their own Precinct; that was the first real indication Tony had that perhaps he might have a proper partner in the man after all.

Then there was the first (and only) time Sam took the heat from the Brass over one of his mistakes; it had earned Tony's unwavering trust and loyalty, so much so that Tony paid the price for his own mistakes and ensured Sam faced no punishments for trying to cover for him then or ever again. From that day forward they had been an unstoppable team, against crooks and cops alike.

Gibbs had earned it too, eventually, after their initial rocky meeting.

The first time Tony had met the seemingly dour man, the Agent had made the mistake of pissing off Sam, and the arrogant way Gibbs had tried to assume control of the case had almost been the final nail in the coffin.

However…

Even before the two of them had exchanged any civil words, Tony did have to concede that the man knew his job and was a damn good agent. The change in their working relationship had started in DC, when Tony saw a softer side to the stoic Agent as he dealt with his Forensic Specialist, Abigail Sciuto and his Medical Examiner, Doctor Donald Mallard.

The interview with Corporal Jennings' family had gone well and the two of them had worked well together, with Gibbs' quiet but more direct method complimenting nicely Tony's own slightly more unorthodox one. That cooperation had continued when they were trawling through Baltimore's clubs, looking for traffickers.

The man seemed almost concerned when Tony had received a concussion on behalf of Nixon's stupidity. The armed escort to the hospital was the kind of thing Sam was always doing and it had felt oddly comforting to have that when he was feeling anything but his best with his partner on the other side of the city.

Then Sam had been shot.

Gibbs had stayed with him during the long wait in the hospital before heading off to work the case, allowing Tony to stay near his downed partner; the man had even ensured the presence of both Sciuto and Mallard. Had Tony been more aware of what else was going on around him he might have resented the fact that Gibbs thought he needed baby-sitters; with hindsight, Tony was grateful for the quiet care and attention they’d both afforded him.

During his own unexpected stay in the hospital, Gibbs had not only passed his time looking after Tony's partner, but he had also ensured Téa's safety; something that Tony had promised but had been unable to carry through to the end. The NCIS Agent had also spent more time than was healthy sleeping in a makeshift bed in Tony's hospital room, taking on guard duty as his own personal mission.

Tony didn't know what to think about that; before the shooting he believed that he had finally earned the man's hard-won respect, but no more than that. So why would a man who cared so little for him have spent the past few days developing all sorts of aches and pains in his neck and shoulders by sleeping in Tony's room? It could be the man's very apparent sense of duty, but Gibbs could easily have assigned someone else to the guard post, and he would still have been fulfilling any obligation, real, imagined or otherwise.

Tony really didn't know what to think, and it really didn't help that Gibbs was about as transparent as granite. There were certain things that Tony had no problem working out about his potential new boss; there were other aspects of the man's personality that were almost paradoxical.

He could, however, see himself working alongside Gibbs; he might not know what to expect from their working relationship but he could not foresee any real issues that might develop between them professionally speaking. They had managed alright together on the case and it had been one hell of a case; surely NCIS couldn't throw anything at him that was much worse than Lamb's trafficking ring?

A knock at the door brought him out of his thoughts and he focused on the tiny figure that entered the room with Lisa Wells and two more figures coming in behind.

"Hi Siobhan," Tony said with a smile as he tried to seat himself as upright as possible, biting down the pain he felt as he shifted, not wanting to scare the girl.

Siobhan still looked terrified, but she had a little more colour in her face and someone had cleaned all the grime from her. With clean clothes, clean hair and a clean face she looked almost like a child again; the bruises that still marred her small body and the wary, haunted look in her eyes however, made her appear much older than her eight years.

She hesitated briefly before starting towards the bed again and climbing up by Tony's feet; she sat silently at the foot of the bed, regarding Tony with a modicum of apprehension and blatant indecision. Eventually she made a decision and hurled herself at Tony.

"Hey," Tony tried to soothe her, doing his best to ignore the pain that flared up in his chest; Siobhan needed every ounce of reassurance he could give her and he desperately didn't want to let her down. "How are you doing, kiddo?" he asked in what he hoped was a quiet and comforting voice.

He heard a slight sniffle from below him and he desperately looked to the other adults in the room; he had always felt useless with children, never knowing what was expected of him and as a result he always seemed to end up speaking to them in the same condescending manner that he had abhorred being on the receiving end as a child.

Lisa looked torn between sadness at the little girl and amusement at Tony's very obvious desperation and unease with the situation.

The other two Tony recognised as Siobhan's parents; they had been devastated when he and Sam first interviewed them, informing them of the tenuous link between Siobhan's disappearance and that of little Isabella Vasquez, whose brutal death had been mentioned on the news mere days before Siobhan was taken. They were clearly exhausted but were apparently completely comfortable with their daughter being in his arms.

"I'm glad you're ok," came a quiet, muffled voice from below his chin. From the way Mrs Wright's hand flew to her mouth in surprise, Tony assumed Siobhan hadn't been feeling up to talking too much.

"I'm glad you're ok, too, kiddo," Tony returned, taking a risk and gently resting a hand on the trembling child's head, loosely securing her in a hug; the young girl tensed up briefly before relaxing once again and moulding herself into the hug. Tony was glad she wasn't clinging to him too hard as he wasn’t sure his abused chest couldn't cope with a much tighter hold.

"Have the doctors been looking after you?" Tony asked, and the little child pulled away from his chest as she looked him in the face and nodded seriously back up at him. Tony could feel the anger at the Johnstons building up in him as he saw the raw vulnerability in the young girl's face; he artfully supressed it for fear of scaring Siobhan.

"That's good," Tony nodded. "If they don't, you just come and tell me and I'll make sure they treat you right," he promised with a wink and a smile. He was rewarded with a small smile from the child and he felt some hope return that maybe she wasn't completely broken, definitely damaged but maybe the poor girl could come through the whole mess and learn to live again.

Siobhan had leant back into the hug and Tony ruffled her hair fondly; she needed to know that not everyone who touched her was going to hurt her in every inconceivable way.

He didn't know how long they stayed there, as the small child quietly played with the cannula tubing that hung loosely down his chest before turning into the hug once again. Eventually the girl's parents came to collect her off the bed; once secure in Mrs Wright's arms, little Siobhan turned and waved at her saviour, "Bye Tony," she mumbled sleepily against her mother's shoulder.

"Bye Siobhan," Tony waved back, a contented smile on his face, relieved that he wasn’t going to be haunted by the dead body of another little girl.

"Detective DiNozzo," Mr Wright greeted him with a handshake once his wife and child were out of the room. "I can’t tell you what this means to us," he said earnestly. "We…my wife and I…we thought that it might do Siobhan some good to see you; she hasn't said much besides 'Tony' so we waited until you were conscious.

"Thank you so much for finding my little girl," Wright said, his voice breaking with emotion. "I don't think we could have survived this if she had…well…" he trailed off, unable to finish that train of thought.

"You don't need to thank me," Tony shook his head. "Lisa did most of the work," he gestured towards the other Detective.

"Hardly," Lisa argued. "We're just all glad that Siobhan is alive, and given time, support and a lot of love, we're sure she'll be ok again," she tried to reassure the father who was clearly at his limit.

"I hope so," Wright replied as he dug the palms of his hands into his closed eyes in an effort to wipe away some of his exhaustion. "But…er…thank you, both of you, and Detective Jacobs, too," he said of the absent man. "This could all have ended up so much worse," he swallowed heavily.

"As hard as it is, you should try not to think about it like that," Tony advised him. "Siobhan's alive, focus on that."

"Thanks," the man offered once again before leaving.

"Sorry about that," Lisa said as she came over to the bed and helped Tony lie down. "I think the poor girl needed to see you, after all, you are her hero," Lisa said with a smile as she untangled the cannula tubing.

"Do you think she'll be ok?" Tony asked, having doubted the validity of the platitudes he delivered to Wright the moment the words left his mouth.

"She's young and she survived it and that will mean more as she grows older, plus, she has both her parents and her very own white knight to help her if she's struggling," Lisa smiled, but continued in a more serious tone once she caught the doubt in Tony's eyes. "The level of understanding in the field of child psychology has been dramatically improving these past few years, and it’s likely to continue doing so; there is a whole support network out there for her if and when she needs it," she reassured her younger friend.

"Yeah," Tony agreed, all too aware of how vital a trusted support network could be and how devastating it could be when you realised you didn't have one you could truly rely upon.

Gibbs had stopped by at the 22nd Precinct after a shower and a change and several cups of coffee to find out how the case was going and to see if any suspected dirty cops had been apprehended.

Coming back to the hospital with some good news had been a welcome relief; he had thanked Lisa Wells, who had taken up her guard duty outside Tony's door, and informed her that there was no longer any apparent threat to Tony's life. He didn't know why she had been outside the room rather than inside, but she seemed brighter, so Gibbs doubted that DiNozzo had done anything other than forgive her.

"Pasha turned up dead," Gibbs informed Tony without preamble as soon as he entered the room. "Your Organised Crime Department seem to think that it was the Russian Mob; apparently the body was found in one of their favoured dump spots.

"They must have found him pretty early on after his Houdini act, judging by the level of decomposition, and got their revenge for any losses they suffered as a result of Lamb's organisation," Gibbs suggested, all too aware of how even small trafficking rings could bite into the profits of businesses belonging to all corners of organised crime.

"So, no more armed guard then?" Tony asked, trying to quash the hope in his voice; he appreciated all the time that Gibbs had spent safeguarding him and didn't want to seem ungrateful, but he also really wanted some time alone. Between Sam and Gibbs, his various other visitors and a whole host of medical personnel, he hadn't had one moment to himself since waking up, except for the brief period only half an hour ago when Lisa had stepped out and acted as guard outside the door to his room.

"Guard duty's over," Gibbs informed the young man in front of him. He had no reason to stay behind in Baltimore and he really was not looking forward to driving back to DC without an answer from Tony, one way or another.

"That's good," Tony nodded, not sure what else to say. He had come to a decision but he had no idea how to go about telling Gibbs.

The two men fell into a rather uncomfortable silence, neither one really knowing what to say to the other as all the events of the past few days caught up to them.

"Ok then," Tony nodded at Gibbs, breaking the silence.

"Ok, what?" the NCIS Agent queried.

"Yes, I'll take the job," Tony clarified, wondering what the hell else he would be talking about; it seemed as though Gibbs could be vague and talk in riddles if the mood took him, but everyone else was expected to speak clearly and without preamble.

"Good," Gibbs nodded. Inside he was almost giddy because he would finally have someone on his team that he could trust to do the job right. There were going to be issues between them as their personalities had too many conflicting aspects for everything to go completely smoothly, but Gibbs was sure the worst problems could be ironed out through trial and error and through better acquaintance.

"You do know that being called 'Special Agent' and becoming a Fed isn't going to stop me from being a cop, right? I'll just be a cop in a nicer suit," Tony pointed out with a smile; he couldn't deny that a pay-rise would make his life far more comfortable.

"That's fine with me," Gibbs shrugged. He didn't want DiNozzo's time at FLETC to change the man's investigative methods; it was partly Tony's cop instincts that had led to Gibbs offering the man a job in the first place.

"Do you think you can survive working for me?" Gibbs asked; he was all too aware that many people couldn't survive working alongside him and his rather brusque manner, that had always been part of the problem.

"Sure," Tony shrugged. "After all, working with a Marine can't be any worse than working with a Ranger, right?" DiNozzo asked with a casual shrug.

"Whatever you say, DiNozzo," Gibbs answered with a smile that was anything but reassuring.

"Ah crap," Tony muttered to himself as he caught the glint in the Senior Agent's eyes. Just what, exactly, had he let himself in for?

Chapter Text

"Hello Agent Gibbs," Tony said as the Senior Agent eventually answered his mobile phone.

"DiNozzo," came the greeting. It seemed as though the reticent Agent was even more so on the phone.

"Listen, I know I'm supposed to be in DC tomorrow to register with Human Resources and everything, but I was kind of hoping for a lift sometime today, and I was kind of hoping you would give me that lift. The problem is that I'm not really up for driving at the moment and Sam's leg is nowhere near healed enough for that yet either and I really wanted to get there and start sorting stuff out. I don't think I could manage public transport too well with my bags and everything and…" he would have continued if the older man had not interrupted.

"When and where?" Gibbs asked.

"You give me the when," Tony supplied with a sigh of relief. He been getting himself worried that once he was forced to write out a forest's worth of forms he would have no time to get to the equally important tasks of finding an apartment, changing his doctor, arranging physical therapy at a DC hospital and learning all he would need to know about what would be expected of him at NCIS before work got in the way of it all. "As for the where, there's a little diner just across the street from the 22nd Precinct. The coffee there is really good," he supplied with a grin, all too aware that coffee would always be a selling point with the NCIS Agent.

"Sure," Gibbs agreed. "Lunch time ok with you? One o’clock?"

"Yeah, that's fine," Tony agreed, glad that Agent Gibbs was being so accommodating, even if he wasn't being particularly loquacious about it.

"One o'clock, then," Gibbs confirmed before hanging up.

"Thanks," Tony said to the dial tone. "Alright, good talk."

"You didn't expect him to talk about the weather, did you?" Sam asked with a wry grin.

"It has been an unusually warm day," Tony replied with an equally sardonic smile of his own.

Sam had been the one to recommend calling Gibbs for a lift, certain that the Senior Agent would agree to it and make sure that his partner would arrive safely and in one piece; Tony had a few choice comments to make about the man's driving skills to countermand that particular argument: 'he drives like he's dodging bullets and bombs, not afternoon traffic, although that does become essential when driving on the wrong side of the damn road!'

"Come on, let's get to the diner," Sam suggested. "It's past eleven and I know you haven't even had breakfast yet; I'm not sending you off to DC on an empty stomach."

Tony had been staying with Sam under the belief that together, they almost made up one whole and healthy person; together they could just about make a meal and sort out cabs to and from the hospital and do the grocery shopping.

Cathy had been in and out of the apartment checking up on her father and his partner; she had threatened Tony with all manner of unspeakable acts if he was uncooperative in any way with the doctor's orders.

Several people from the 22nd Precinct had been stopping by with food and offering lifts to various different hospital appointments when they could, and many more just to talk and check up on the two injured men; Sam thought it had done the kid some good to see that not everyone in Baltimore thought his leaving was a good thing.

Last night, the two of them had been alone and Sam was grateful that Lisa Wells had managed to curb any more impromptu visits from co-workers; between hospital appointments, people stopping by and the sheer exhaustion they both felt at the end of the day, the two men hardly had time to talk.

They spent most of the evening talking about the job and the various cases they had worked together; they talked about first impressions and when things had started to change in their working relationship. They laughed and had a good banter, as they so often did; impressions of the inept Captain Barnett followed by their own law enforcement version of the Darwin Awards.

They talked about a lot, but neither of them was really saying anything.

It wasn't until the end of the night that the topics of DC, Gibbs and NCIS came up.

"You know I'm never going to hold it against you, right?" Sam asked after catching another look of barely concealed dejection cross his partner's face. "I mean, I'm the one pushing for you to go."

"I know," Tony said quietly, finally giving up trying to mask his emotions. "I just…I feel like I'm abandoning you to deal with…well…all this," he gestured towards Sam's knee and the walking stick by his chair.

"Hardly," Sam almost laughed, finding the idea of Tony abandoning anyone ridiculous; the kid's own abandonment issues meant that he was rarely the one to let go first in any given situation.

"I know you call me the mother-hen, but kid, you are just as bad, if not worse, than I am; you're always there making sure I'm taking my meds and eating, as well as acting like my own one-person cheer-team. Half the time I have to bite my tongue to keep from strangling the life out of you," he smiled at his partner to show that, while Tony's concern for his welfare could become slightly overbearing, he had always appreciated it.

"Yes, well…now you know how I feel," Tony returned the grin, completely unrepentant.

"I do," Sam nodded fervently. "And I still won't stop making sure you've taken your own meds and that you're eating right, just as I know you're not going to forget about me the moment I'm out of sight."

Tony looked up at that, directly into his partner's eyes and Sam could read the anguish in them despite the reassuring words he had tried to give to his young partner.

"I won't be in Baltimore, Sam," Tony quietly pointed out.

"I know," Sam nodded, finally having a fair idea of where it all was going.

"DC is over an hour away…at least it is if you drive like a normal person," Tony supplied, thinking of Gibbs and his unique approach to something that vaguely resembled driving.

"Tony, even if you end up changing your next of kin to someone you find in DC, I'm not going to just abandon you," Sam stressed. "If you get wounded, or even if you just have a really crappy day, I would still be more than happy to travel down Route 95 and make you buy me a whiskey. Just because we're going to be in different cities that doesn't mean we're going to stop being family."

Tony looked up sharply at that.

Sam had never hidden his feelings about Tony and the fact that the kid had a place in his small family, but the actual words had rarely, if ever, been spoken aloud.

Tony was worried about being away from Sam and in a different city; he didn't know anyone in DC, he didn't even know the city. If something were to happen to him in DC, he would be alone in a city full of strangers. If something were to happen to Sam in Baltimore, how would he even know?

"Come on, Tony," Sam tried to reassure his young partner again. "I'm not even a cop anymore; I'm going to be in far less danger than I have ever been. The last time I was nothing more than a civilian was just before I joined the Army; it'll be nice not to be facing the business end of a gun for once," he joked.

"Have you had anymore thought on what you're going to do?" Tony asked, changing the subject; he knew his partner might be depressed about his new disability, but he also knew that Sam was not ready for retirement and the relative inaction that it promised.

Sam sighed at the change in topic but didn't push his partner; he knew that there would be plenty of phone calls and visits to sort through everything once Tony was in DC and everything had fallen into perspective.

"I don't know," Sam finally said with a sigh. "Maybe I'll try and get a job as an instructor or something at the Police Academy…if they'll have me."

"They'd be stupid not to," Tony pointed out, a fierce frown across his forehead. "I'm only as good as I am because of you."

"You're not, but thanks anyway," Sam replied with a smile. Tony was insecure about many of the more personal aspects of his life, but he had always been confident about his abilities as a policeman and Sam didn’t want anything to interfere with that. "You were a good cop long before I ever got my hands on you, Tony; I just used you to make me look good," he grinned and was relieved to see that his partner was smiling a genuine smile.

"I always suspected," Tony laughed. "But in all seriousness, it would be a mistake not to hire you; I might have had the instincts before, but you're the one who taught me how to harness them."

"Thanks," Sam said. "Maybe I'll fill in an application the next time a post opens up; if I'm good enough then I'll get the job and if I'm very lucky, who knows, I might get a whole class full of Nixons to teach."

Tony almost spat out his beer as he choked back a laugh.

The diner was relatively quiet, having finished with the morning rush; Sam limped to a table by the window and watched as Tony carefully eased himself into the seat. Technically speaking, the kid should still be chowing down pain medication, but as stubborn as ever, Tony had refused to refill his prescription and was struggling through the pain with nothing but Tylenol in his arsenal.

When the physiotherapy had first started, Tony had been more than grateful for the painkillers as they managed to take the edge off the worst of the exercises. However, as the mobility in his upper body was returning, the kid had decided to try and ride out the pain; Tony hated being out of control, especially of himself, and drugs really did seem to affect him more than most.

Sam had an appointment with his own physiotherapist just before one and time was running out before he'd have to find a cab.

"You'll call me once you get there?" he asked his partner.

"Yes, Dad," Tony replied with a patient smile. The two of them had spent their morning talking about what was going to happen over the next few weeks.

Tony felt almost sick at the thought of going back to school. Correspondence with Agent Gibbs had been brief over the past few weeks, but the Senior Agent had told him all about the classes he was expected to take at the FLETC. Tony thought that his time at the Academy and on the job should have been enough for the Agency, but apparently not.

"And you'll take it easy?" Sam inquired with concern. "Just because you've decided that you don't need the painkillers anymore, that doesn't necessarily make it so; you're still a long way from fully recovered, Tony, and you've still got a lot of physio to get through."

Tony released a sigh that spoke of long-suffering. "You are definitely the bigger mother-hen," he decided firmly, one eyebrow quirked in amusement.

"I'm being serious, Tony," Sam gently reprimanded him. "You never take care of yourself when you're injured or ill and you really don't understand the idea of 'taking it easy' no matter how simple a concept it actually is; you're climbing the walls after half a day of being forced to stay indoors."

Tony didn't say anything as he knew that Sam spoke the truth; half the time he felt like climbing the walls and bouncing off the ceiling before throwing himself out of the window, just for something to do. Tony had never done well sitting still and doing nothing.

Thankfully a waitress came and saved Tony from having to find a response.

"I feel like a bacon bagel and a coffee please," he told the woman, ignoring Sam's overly dramatic eye-rolling at his dietary habits. "Bacon is a good source of protein, thank you," he said with a knowing grin towards his partner.

"Eating something that isn't dripping in fat is not going to kill you, Tony," Sam replied dryly. "Vegetables are good for more than just pizza toppings."

Tony did not look convinced.

Gibbs found the Detective waiting for him inside the small diner they had agreed to meet at; the younger man had told Gibbs that the coffee was good and the Senior Agent could hear the grin that accompanied that little titbit over the phone.

He ordered two coffees to go; he was happy to drive to Baltimore to pick up his future agent, but that didn't mean he had the desire to hang around the city all day. He picked up the Detective's belongings stopping DiNozzo in his tracks from doing just that, before nodding to him and gesturing towards the door. The younger man had clearly expected an abrupt departure as he had his own little go-bag full of food.

"Have you got anything else?" Gibbs asked the younger man, gesturing to the two bags he had just placed in the boot of the car.

"No, this is everything," Tony answered, gesturing to the rucksack that he carried.

Gibbs nodded and closed the boot. He wasn't sure what he should feel at the fact that DiNozzo could pack two years of his life into two bags and a rucksack.

As they climbed into the car Gibbs could not help the systematic assessment of the younger man. From the careful way he moved, Gibbs could tell that DiNozzo was not yet fully recovered; it was to be expected with a chest wound and Gibbs was glad that the courses at the FLETC would keep the man occupied until he was in a better physical state.

Jacobs had warned him that Gibbs' new partner was anything but co-operative when he was ill or injured; the last time he had been shot, DiNozzo had apparently decided that 'down-time' meant helping his elderly next-door neighbour repair and repaint his living room after the apartment above had sported a leak.

Gibbs was not going to let the younger man compromise his health simply because he was bored but on the other hand, he knew what it was like to need a distraction from an aggravating wound and the boredom that down-time inevitably entailed.

Ducky seemed to manage well enough trying to ensure some measure of Gibbs' co-operation during recovery; the elderly M.E. could do the same for Tony and then Gibbs wouldn't be forced to spew forth a hypocritical diatribe on the merits of bed-rest.

Apart from the pain that DiNozzo was almost a master at controlling, there were other signs that the young man was less than happy. The small, tight lines of pain surrounding his eyes aside, the dark circles spoke to more than just sleepless nights; Gibbs didn't expect the man to be completely happy at leaving Baltimore and his former partner behind, but he hadn't expected the almost haunted look that seemed to permeate his eyes.

The man whose spirit seemed to be almost irrepressible was clearly depressed.

He figured it was more to do with Sam Jacobs than anything else; DiNozzo was loyal to a fault to the man and Gibbs envied that devotion, aware that his own team, what was left of it at any rate, felt no such sense of complete loyalty or faith in him.

He would have to try and lift the dark cloud that DiNozzo seemed quite content to shroud himself in; he didn't want to younger man to regret his decision before he even had a chance to see what Gibbs was trying to offer him.

He would have to get the man talking, but he suspected that if he were to start asking questions about Jacobs, he might just get a fist to the jaw for his troubles. He knew that DiNozzo had a temper, one that he was far more adept at controlling than Gibbs could ever hope to be with his own; however, the man would react if pushed further than he was willing.

Gibbs was used to people reacting to his own temper in a few ways; Ducky would give him a disappointed look, or worse, an understanding look at a time when Gibbs really didn't want to be understood. Abby would inevitably give him a hug or slip into ASL with silent words of comfort that Gibbs would never share with anyone else.

However, Cascabel and Burley and so many other names and faces reacted in a predictable fashion; a hasty 'yes, Boss' as they scrambled to obey his every whim no matter how much passion and anger were fuelling their Boss' actions into the unpredictable and the unreasonable.

Although Gibbs never liked his orders to be questioned, he knew what could happen when there was no one to do such a thing; he'd seen negative results as both a Marine and an Agent with NCIS when a superior chose to do as they pleased rather than what they should have done.

In DiNozzo, he believed he had finally found someone who would follow his orders, but not unquestionably so; he had enough confidence in the younger man to know that if DiNozzo thought the situation warranted it, he would say the ever fateful 'no.'

Gibbs also knew with certainty that DiNozzo had the discretion to do so quietly, without causing a scene or compromising someone's status.

"How have things been going in Baltimore?" Gibbs asked, finally breaking the silence in the car. He was curious to know the answer, but more than that, he hoped to glean something from DiNozzo's reply; he wanted to know just how much the events were affecting the young man, because he had no doubt that DiNozzo was feeling an impact.

"Pretty much how you'd expect," Tony shrugged as he watched the Baltimore scenery speed by him. "It's a bit like how I imagine 1950's America to have been…you know, with McCarthy and HUAC and naming names; 'I am not now, nor have I ever been a member of the Lamb organisation'."

"Are there a lot of people going down for this?" Gibbs knew that DiNozzo would be less than happy with someone getting away with their crimes, especially someone who had been breaking the very laws they were supposed to be upholding. He wondered what Tony would say if he ever found out about Gibbs' own mission of vigilante justice down in Mexico.

"Fewer than we thought," Tony said with a frown. "So far, all the evidence suggests that Lamb had nowhere near the number of cops on her payroll as we originally thought and was simply using the fear of a lot of dirty cops to control others; those few were, however, very widespread. She had a couple of Feds, a couple of US Marshals, various Detectives and Uniforms from several different departments…hell…she even had a traffic warden," he shook his head a little bemused at that.

"Some people aren't going to be facing prison time, because they were coerced into co-operating, like Carlson was," Tony didn't know what to think about that; on the one hand they had their lives and the lives of their families threatened, on the other hand, none of them had even attempted to report the situation and find a way out that didn’t involve dealing with traffickers.

"Carlson isn't going to prison?" Gibbs asked incredulously, thinking of the US Marshal who had killed his partner in a panic while attempting to follow Lamb's orders.

"No, Carlson will definitely be going to prison," Tony assured the older man. "I think that they're probably going to go for a lesser charge, though; manslaughter, third degree murder at the most."

"You ok with that?" Gibbs inquired softly, thinking of the young man's staunch devotion to upholding the law.

"I think so," Tony nodded. "I mean, he killed his partner and he should definitely pay for that, but at the same time the guy was terrified of what was going to happen to his family. I just can't help but wonder what might have happened if he had tried to report it to someone," Tony shook his head sadly as he thought of all the lives that might have been saved.

"No point in wondering about it, DiNozzo," Gibbs supplied, knowing all too well that the game of 'what if' never got anyone anywhere. "He didn't know who to trust and that would have been a hell of a risk to take with his family. Besides, who’s to say that we would have closed down the trafficking ring? We might have caught some of the people involved…we may even have caught Lamb, but there was no guarantee that we would have found out about the girls or Club Abër if the murders hadn't led us there."

"Yeah," Tony sighed. "Maybe you're right," he offered unconvincingly. "Closing down that ring came at a hell of a price though," he muttered softly as he returned to watching the remains of Baltimore fade into the distance.

As they entered DC, Tony pulled out his wallet and looked for an address he had written down. "Do you know where the Potomac View Motel is, just off the 11th Street Bridge?" Tony asked.

"Sure," Gibbs said before questioning "Why?"

"I've got a room there," Tony informed him. "I needed a place to stay while I looked for an apartment and it was just the other side of the river to the naval yard; it seemed like a pretty convenient place to be," Tony shrugged.

Gibbs couldn't help the frown that creased his brows. He knew that everyone said the second 'b' was for bastard but the younger man wasn't just moving to a new job, but a new city, and he was wounded to boot; had DiNozzo honestly not expected any help in his move to DC?

"DiNozzo, I've already set up the guest room at mine," Gibbs tried to keep the frustration out of his voice; they hadn't even approached the topic of work yet and already the younger man's insecurities were shining through. Gibbs hadn't hired DiNozzo with the intention of leaving him floundering in paperwork and the courses at FLETC while the Senior Agent just got on with his job. Hell…his job was to look after DiNozzo!

If the younger man was going to secure a permanent spot on Gibbs' team then he was going to have to get used to the Senior Agent barking out directives with regards to his team and their welfare. Gibbs might not be the most approachable of people and he certainly didn't want to share what he considered to be insignificant personal details, but he did like to know that his team was safe and whole and able to do their job without issue.

"The guest room…your guest room?" Tony questioned. "I'm staying with you?" he couldn't hide the surprise in his voice.

"DiNozzo, unless I imagined the whole affair in Baltimore where you were shot and had extensive surgery to remove a bullet and several rib fragments from your lung, then I'm pretty sure that you are going to need help with a few things," Gibbs supplied dryly.

He didn't think much good would come out of telling DiNozzo that Jacobs had been on the phone several times and threatened severe bodily harm if Gibbs allowed his wayward partner to come to any grief, and while Jacobs might now need a walking stick to move, Gibbs knew there was nothing wrong with the man's trigger finger.

"I'm fine," Tony insisted, frowning at the implication that he would need help.

Gibbs tried hard not to roll his eyes; Jacobs had also spent a great deal of time explaining what, exactly, 'I'm fine' could incorporate. Apparently, it could actually mean that Tony was fine, but more often than not it meant that he had been shot or was suffering from a concussion or a fever or broken ribs or any number of injuries and ailments.

"Good to know," Gibbs replied. "Now, you'll be fine at my place for a few days."

Gibbs' house was not entirely what he had expected, but then he had never really expected to see the place, either, so he'd not spent a lot of time contemplating the potential décor.

It was almost homely and the sofa had an actual cushion and a blanket draped over the back of it. Of course, Tony immediately noted the lack of a television and saw that there was only one small bookcase and wondered what the man did to entertain himself.

He should probably call Sam and let him know that he had arrived safely; they had spent their time together at the diner purposefully keeping their conversation away from DC and all that the move entailed, desperately clinging onto the normalcy and stability of their friendship.

"Guest room's this way," Gibbs motioned as he carried the younger man's bags up the stairs. "Bathroom is down the hall to the right," he nodded. "I've left you some towels on the bed."

The room was quite small, but large enough to hold a double bed, a wardrobe and a desk. Gibbs' entire house seemed to be full of well-polished wood in various different colours and textures, and Tony thought that it made the place seem warmer and more comfortable.

"I'll leave you to unpack," Gibbs said as he left Tony alone, the Senior Agent a little unnerved by how quiet the younger man was being. He'd taken the rest of the day off work to try and help get Tony settled and make sure he had everything he needed to get through the coming weeks.

He heard a quiet 'Hey Sam' through the door and left the younger man to it. The two of them would have to go out grocery shopping later; he hadn't wanted to go without DiNozzo in case the man had any particular dietary requirements.

Bringing a new agent onto his hand-picked team was turning out to be a whole hell of a lot more work than he had anticipated.

"What's that?" Tony asked as he slowly eased himself down onto the steps, unsure of whether or not he had the right to go further into the basement.

Dinner had been a quiet affair; when Gibbs had been cooking he kept on trying to shove Tony out of the kitchen and onto the sofa, but Tony couldn't abide sitting there with nothing to do, so he would return to the kitchen only to be shooed out again.

He'd tried to sleep, exhausted from the day despite having done relatively little. He'd wandered downstairs trying to find Gibbs for some late-night conversation and distraction after he heard the noises drifting up from the basement.

"A boat," Gibbs replied, briefly pausing in his sanding to look at the younger man.

"You're making a boat?"

"Yes."

"In your basement?"

"Yes."

"Why?" Tony asked after allowing a moment of silence to fill the room.

"It's something to do," Gibbs shrugged. He had many reasons for spending his hours down in his cool basement, not least because the woodwork kept his mind from dwelling too much on the past and enabled him to slowly work out his anger or his stress through the rhythmic sanding and the more physical requirements of sawing and putting the different sections together.

"You ready for tomorrow?" Gibbs asked, aware that the man's anxiety had occasionally cracked through the mask.

"Sure," Tony shrugged, not sure how else to answer. "Nixon's not there is he?" he joked, trying to direct Gibbs' knowing look elsewhere.

"No," Gibbs answered. "Nixon has thankfully gone from the DC office. He was a TAD; he was just out of the academy and given a place on another team, but the Director, in all his wisdom, decided that I needed another Agent, so he temporarily assigned me Nixon under the misguided belief that he would make my job easier."

"Why did the Director think you needed another Agent?" Tony asked curiously. He'd heard a few things during their time working together that suggested Gibbs had difficulty keeping much of a team together.

"There was just me and Cascabel, and she's not really…well, she's got a lot to learn," Gibbs finally settled on. "Banks' team had two experienced Agents on it, and the Director gave me their probie."

"Probie?" Tony asked, puzzling over the term.

"Probationary Agent," Gibbs supplied.

"Oh, like a rookie?" Tony asked for clarification and received a nod. "Probie," he tried it out. "I kind of like it. Just so you know," Tony started with narrowed eyes. "I've gone through the whole rookie thing…many times over. I've done all the shitty jobs: the dumpster diving and the coffee runs; don't expect me to do all that crap for you," he warned the older man.

"You've spent six years on the Force, DiNozzo; I'm not going to treat you like some damn probie," Gibbs supplied, knowing that DiNozzo was unlikely to stick around if Gibbs started treating him like he'd never done a day of investigative work in his life. "I expect you to do what you've been trained to do; I'm not expecting to hold your hand while I potty-train you."

It was a compliment that, judging by the furrowed brows, DiNozzo had clearly missed; Gibbs had simply meant that he knew the younger man did not need much in the way of professional guidance.

"You should get some sleep," he finally suggested. "Tomorrow is going to be a busy day."

"Sure," Tony carefully pulled himself up on the railing. "Good night, Agent Gibbs."

"Night," Gibbs said, watching the figure move up the stairs. They hadn't even started working together and already the younger man's attitude was beginning to frustrate him; he thought he had clearly explained his reasons for hiring the man, but obviously DiNozzo doubted Gibbs' sincerity on the matter.

Gibbs climbed out of his shower to the smell of bacon and wandered downstairs to the kitchen to find DiNozzo leaning over the small cooker. Gibbs narrowed his eyes as he took in the running clothes.

"You're up early," he said, satisfied at the slight jump he managed to elicit from the younger man. "You're not thinking about going running, are you?" he said, unable to hide the menacing tone as he took in the slightly sweaty form and found his answer.

Tony's eyes crinkled in confusion as he turned to meet the Senior Agent. "I've already been," he said, nonplussed about the man's reaction.

"DiNozzo, are you even supposed to be running?" Gibbs asked, although he doubted that he'd get a completely honest answer out of the man.

"Why wouldn't I?" Tony asked, wondering what the man could be so angry about so early in the morning.

"I don't know, maybe because you got shot!" Gibbs felt his anger and incredulity at the situation rise. Apparently, the younger man really saw no problem with pushing himself beyond his physical limits at a time when he should be allowing his body to heal.

"Yeah, and now I'm fine," Tony insisted. He couldn't see the problem; he was doing his physical therapy and he needed to be back in shape, especially if he was to complete the necessary requirements at the FLETC.

Gibbs threw up a hand in despair at the man's cluelessness. "Ok then, why are you cooking breakfast?"

"Aren't you hungry?" Tony asked, confused, as he served up a couple of bacon rashers and a fried egg for the man. He couldn't survive the day if he didn't have something for breakfast, whether it was a bowl of cereal or a slice of cold pizza he always needed something to get him started.

"I can fend for myself," Gibbs said, almost indignantly. He was annoyed that the younger man seemed to think he had been invited to stay so that he could take on the household tasks; the table had been tidied and the pots from last night had all been cleaned, dried and put away, and now DiNozzo was cooking him breakfast.

Gibbs had promised Sam Jacobs that he would look after Tony, but the younger man apparently wanted to make that an impossible task, doing everything in his power to do exactly what he shouldn't. Clearly, DiNozzo needed more than a seriously good smack to the back of the head as a wake-up call.

The car ride into NCIS was made in silence; Tony stole furtive glances towards the Senior Agent trying to figure out how he had screwed up and how he could remedy his mistakes.

He couldn't come up with anything.

Gibbs marched him through the bullpen, shouting out a fierce 'DiNozzo!' as the man paused to take in his new office. He could hear the murmurs start up as he was guided towards the Human Resources Department and left at the door, Gibbs turning quickly and leaving him alone.

He breathed in a long, deep breath as he tried to calm his nerves; his first day wasn't off to a very good start. He hoped that meant that it could only get better.

At around lunch time, after filling out more forms than he had thought imaginable, he had finally finished. One of the people in HR handed him a whole load of literature about NCIS, his future courses at the FLETC and all sorts of other scraps that were considered important.

He went to look for Gibbs, wandering through the bullpen and being stopped by various people asking all sorts of questions. Some of them were rude, some of them condescending, some of them genuine, all of them were clearly geared towards finding out the skinny on the new guy. His excellent hearing allowed him to pick up more than he wanted to; whispers of 'Banks reckons he won't even last two days, man, let alone two weeks!' did nothing to assuage his fears that he was making a big mistake.

He needed to leave the bullpen quickly, unable to hear much more of the gossip. He put his head down in an effort to make sure no one saw how he was feeling and walk off around a corner…straight into another person.

"Sorry," he mumbled as he bent down to pick up the file he had knocked out of the other guy's hands.

"Its fine, don't worry about it," came the friendliest tone he had heard all day. "Hey, you're DiNozzo, right?"

"Yeah," Tony confessed almost wearily, unsure of what was going to come his way.

"Congratulations," came the unexpected almost jovial response. "I'm Chris Pacci, another Agent with the MCRT here. I've got to say, I'm looking forward to seeing what you can do."

Tony studied the man's face trying to find any hint of the maliciousness that he had overheard in the bullpen, but he could detect no animosity on the slightly chubby face.

"Oh yeah, why's that?" he asked cautiously, still unsure of whether or not this conversation was going to have a pleasant ending to it.

"Gibbs is kind of a hard ass, but he's a damn good Agent with pretty exacting standards; the thought of him willingly choosing to work with a Baltimore cop…well…let's just say that no one really expected it, you know? You must have impressed him," Pacci himself sounded impressed.

"Hardly," Tony relaxed slightly. "He's already pissed at me and I have absolutely no idea why."

"Yeah," Pacci smiled. "He can get like that; just give him time to let whatever it is blow over and you'll be fine. He wouldn't have gone to the effort of hiring you just to fire you on the first day."

"Ha!" Tony let out with no attempt at hiding the bitter tone that seeped into his voice. "I've only been here one day and already the…er…what do you call it? The scuttlebutt?" Tony waited for Agent Pacci to nod before continuing. "Well, already the scuttlebutt is that there is a betting pool on how long I'll last, so that doesn't exactly fill me with hope."

"The scuttlebutt always needs something to run on," Pacci shrugged. "It's not a big deal, in a couple of weeks everyone will be bored of watching your every move and their attention will undoubtedly turn elsewhere."

"I hope so, I'm sick of the whispers and the not-so-subtle asides already," Tony scrubbed a hand across his face trying to erase some of the frustration that he knew was present in his expression. "I'm going to go down to Abby's lab and see if Gibbs is there because I have no idea what the hell I'm supposed to be doing right now, but it was nice to meet you Agent Pacci."

"I'm going to end up shooting him long before he ever completes his courses at the FLETC," Gibbs angrily stated as he marched into autopsy.

"I take it you're talking about young Anthony," Ducky arched a brow in amusement.

"He's not even been here a full day and already I want to kill him with my bare hands," Gibbs made a gesture of wrapping his hands around a neck to emphasise his point.

"I'll just take these samples up to Abby," Gerald said quickly, beating a hasty retreat; he knew better than to be near Gibbs when the man's temper was so explosive.

Once Ducky's assistant was gone, he turned to his friend, "Really Jethro, he's not even been here long; what could the boy possibly have done to earn your wrath."

"You know that there is a betting pool going on upstairs about how long he'll last here and the dumbass is actually listening to the scuttlebutt; as if I'd ever make a decision based on the damn scuttlebutt!"

He hadn't meant to eavesdrop on DiNozzo and Pacci's conversation but he'd heard them talking and DiNozzo's wary tone had caught his attention, as he wondered what could possibly have put the man so on edge that he would be so careful around an amiable man like Pacci.

Needless to say, the conversation he heard had done nothing to allay his own anger; did DiNozzo honestly believe that he would fire him simply because some other idiots in the Major Crimes Unit thought Gibbs had made a mistake. He hadn't blindly hired DiNozzo and he sure as hell hadn't been forced to take the man on board, but apparently the former Detective was still having doubts about Gibbs; he didn't know whether to be offended at that or worried that DiNozzo apparently had such little faith in the people around him.

"You know, he actually thought he had to make me breakfast and clean my damn kitchen this morning, as if that was the only reason I had him staying with me. Of course, all of that was after he decided to go for a run. Who goes for a run when they've been shot!" he exclaimed, the anger once again rising as he thought of the almost cavalier way DiNozzo seemed to treat his own health.

"What the hell was the point in bringing him to DC if he doesn't want to be here," he half asked, half stated, thinking of all the paperwork he'd done, the calls he'd made and the time he'd spent convincing Morrow that he wasn't making a mistake. Without waiting for a response, he turned and left autopsy.

"Well, it certainly seems as though young Anthony will liven things up around here," Ducky murmured to the corpse on his autopsy table.

Abby might have felt sorry for the man as she had read through the evidence of his less than stellar childhood and she had certainly sympathised with him when his partner had been shot and DiNozzo had been almost catatonic with worry. They might even have bonded a little in the time she spent working alongside him and she had certainly been more upset than she would have expected when she heard about his own shooting.

None of that however, meant that she was going to give him a free pass; he had been here only a matter of hours, and already her Bossman was beyond pissed off. No one got away with affecting her Silver Fox like that!

Gerald had come rushing into her lab seeking sanctuary from Gibbs who was apparently on the warpath because of Tony DiNozzo – the man hadn't even been at NCIS for five minutes and already he was causing problems for her Bossman despite everything he’d done for the Detective.

Then she encountered Gibbs who was looking for test results from a cold case and couldn't find them; he also couldn't get his computer to cooperate and Gibbs and malfunctioning technology had never been a good mix. She had launched into an explanation on the possible causes before he had cut her short and shouted angrily at her that he didn't care about the 'why' and that he just wanted her to fix it.

She had been shocked as her Silver Fox left the lab; Gibbs had never shouted at her like that before, not without immediately apologising at any rate.

It had to be DiNozzo!

And to think...she had actually been considering going out for drinks with him and helping him look for an apartment!

Abby might not have the upper body strength to beat him into oblivion for even daring to upset her favourite Agent, but she knew a hundred and one ways to poison him without leaving any forensic trace.

Speak of the Devil…

"Hey Abs, have you seen Gibbs?" he asked tiredly.

Oh, so that's how it was going to be, was it? DiNozzo was just going to wander into her lab without an invitation and act as though he hadn't done anything wrong?

"It's Sciuto to you!" she replied angrily, and felt the inexplicable urge to explain her hostility when evident confusion entered his eyes. "You've only been here one day and you've already managed to piss off the Bossman!" she stated angrily.

"Apparently so," Tony shrugged nonchalantly, hiding his real feelings behind that gesture. He had no idea why Gibbs was so pissed at him and he was too tired to waste his energy on coming up with something. He certainly couldn't understand why Abby might be in a bad mood and he'd hoped that the two of them had got past their initial unpleasant meeting.

Abby narrowed her eyes at the almost glib reply – the guy didn't even seem to care!

"What have you done?" she asked accusingly, the thought that Gibbs might be the one in the wrong never entered her mind.

"Nothing," Tony replied defensively, finally letting some of his anger slip into his voice.

"You must have done something! Does the pretty little rich boy playing at being a cop think that the rules don't apply to him or something? Trust me, you're totally replaceable and if you piss Gibbs off anymore, then you're not even going to make it to the FLETC!" Abby said viciously, happy to see the man's eyes narrow and his posture shift into a defensive position; she was glad to know that she could get to him so quickly.

"What is your problem?" Tony demanded. He had thought that Abby was going to be an ally in his new workplace, but apparently not. He had spent his morning trying to deal with Gibbs’ inexplicable bad mood and then he'd had to deal with the rumours and the pointed comments that seemed intent on following him around the building.

He didn't know what he had said or done to gain so many enemies so early on in his career at NCIS, but if things carried on as they were, he might just have to rethink the next two years of his life.

"My problem?" Abby asked incredulously. "I'm not the one pissing off Gibbs for no reason!"

"No reason?" Tony replied, confusion evident in his tone and his every gesture. "I don't know why your boss is so pissed at me; perhaps, if he used his words like a big boy, I would know what it is that I'm supposed to have done wrong!" He hadn't gone to lab with this conversation in mind, but after a whole day of brushing off Gibbs’ anger and other people's sometimes condescending sometimes malicious words, he was feeling more than a little defensive.

"Why did you even say 'yes' to coming here?" Abby shook her head, trying to understand why Gibbs had asked this man to work for him.

"I said 'yes' because he looked out for my partner when I couldn't, and because he watched out for me when he didn't have to. I said 'yes' because he kept a promise that I made to Téa when I wasn't in a position to keep it myself. I said 'yes' because he told me he was going to see the case through to the end and that no amount of bargaining was going to get Radoslav off the hook, and that's exactly what he did. I said 'yes' because he's a damn good Agent and I think I could learn a lot from him; but mostly, I said 'yes' because after all of that, I trust him. Is that good enough for you, Miss Sciuto? Because right now I'm beginning to have serious doubts that it's good enough for me!"

He didn't wait for an answer before turning to go, leaving behind a very confused Abby, still tense with an anger that was fast fading and turning towards embarrassment.

Pacci caught sight of the prospective agent coming out of the elevator looking like he wanted to kill someone; he would never have thought Abby would have been the one to bring the new guy so close to the brink.

"Everything ok?" he ventured.

"No, I have no idea what the hell is wrong with everyone here," he snapped loudly, not caring who overheard him.

"Abby?" Pacci guessed hesitantly. He didn't know the new guy and had no idea just how far he could push him, but he figured the poor kid needed someone on his side right now.

"I don't know what I've done to offend her, but apparently the fact that Gibbs is angry means that she's got to be angry and that apparently gives her leave to act like a vicious rottweiler."

"I wouldn't take it personally," Pacci advised the younger man who was still visibly seething. "She gets rather short-sighted when it comes to Gibbs; the man can do no wrong in her eyes and I'm pretty sure she would fight anyone to the death who thinks otherwise. She's a little possessive and very protective, but you’ll get used to it."

"I'm not so sure about that," Tony replied, already thinking of the possibilities Boston might have to offer.

"Come on," Pacci said with a pat on his shoulders, stopping him from going further into the bullpen and being forced to hear more whispered voices. "You look like you need some lunch. There's a nice little Italian bistro not far from the Navy Yard; I'll buy."

"Ah, hello Abigail," Ducky said with a smile as he looked up from his notes. The smile faded when he took in her wan appearance. "My dear, are you ill?"

Abby numbly shook her head; she had shouted at DiNozzo and said all manner of horrible things, but the man hadn't really said anything to elicit such anger. Gibbs had shouted at her and she had taken it all out on Tony and now she was feeling terrible, especially as it wasn't that long ago when she had considered him a potential friend.

"I said some really terrible things to Tony," Abby finally confessed as she sat on the edge of an autopsy table, watching her legs swing to and fro rather than face the disappointment that she knew she would find in Ducky's eyes.

"That poor boy is not having an easy time of it," Ducky shook his head sadly, holding back any words of condemnation as he saw just how sincere Abby was in her regret. "There is a betting pool, as I understand it, on how long he is expected to survive in Agent Gibbs' care; I think the short odds are on a two-week survival period."

"Gibbs isn't going to let him leave though, is he?" Abby knew the answer, despite her earlier harsh words to DiNozzo, but she still needed to hear it from someone else.

"My dear, Jethro has finally found someone he wants to work with; he is finding young Anthony to be entirely frustrating but not in the way many of the Agents in this Agency seem to believe. Detective DiNozzo seems completely oblivious to his own health and safety and, despite Jethro's rare attempt at explaining things, the young man is still unsure of his position on Jethro's team.

"Jethro's anger is less to do with anything that Anthony may have intentionally said or done, and more to do with the way the young man perceives himself," Ducky tried to explain his own understanding of the situation. "He is a highly competent young man with a lot of potential that I know Jethro intends to fully explore; however, he comes with his own past and many issues which stem from it, and I believe Jethro is finding himself to be more affected by them than he had perhaps expected."

"I should go and find him," Abby nodded to herself, her resolve strengthening as she hopped off the autopsy table.

"Very good," Ducky smiled encouragingly. "I think you will find him to be quite forgiving. I believe young Anthony could do with a friend to remind him why a future at NCIS might be a good thing. Once Jethro has calmed down, I have no doubt that he will want to talk to Anthony himself, however, we both know that Jethro's cooling off period can be a little longer than most."

Abby had looked all over for the future NCIS Agent and had almost given up hope when she heard two agents snickering about the fact that if the new guy was already hiding away on the roof then it was almost guaranteed that they would win the betting pool.

She didn't know why so many people seemed to have turned against Tony so early on, but she suspected that some of it was jealousy. Despite Gibbs' reputation as a fearsome team leader, he was known as one of the best agents belonging to NCIS and his case-closure rate was legendary, even while working with the inexperienced agents he had recently been landed with.

DiNozzo was not much to look at upon his entrance to NCIS; he had lost a lot of weight during his stay in the hospital and his once healthy glow had paled. The expensive suit he wore like armour had merely reinforced the misconceptions about his wealth and heritage, and the rumours of a simple Phys. Ed. Major did little to impress the scores of agents with more academic based degrees.

Simply put, no one could understand why Gibbs, who had been granted the rare privilege of selecting his own team, would choose a sickly-looking jock that came from money and who reputedly couldn't stay in the same place for more than two years.

She found him on the roof, looking out towards central DC and the famous landmarks that featured in the skyline. His jaw was clamped tightly together and his whole posture was tense.

"Hi, Tony," she said softly.

He turned to meet her and she could see the anger burning in his eyes, barely contained. It seemed as though NCIS was gaining another fiery temper, although credit where credit was due, DiNozzo did seem to be holding on to his better than Gibbs usually managed.

"I'm not some pretty little rich boy playing at being a cop," Tony said firmly, sincerity in his voice and posture and shining brightly through the anger simmering in his eyes. "Is that enough for you?" Lunch had calmed him down and Pacci was a nice guy, but the moment he stepped back into the bullpen, all eyes turned his way and he felt caged-in and angry once more.

Abby winced as she heard her own words thrown back at her; Tony had done it politely and gently, but he had still used her own harsh words to make a point. She wondered what else had been thrown his way to make him struggle so fiercely for self-control.

"I guess," the Forensic Specialist finally shrugged helplessly, after struggling for something to say. She wondered if she would see a lot of the fierce, more serious side to the Homicide Detective…no…the former Homicide Detective, or if his jokester personality would make a reappearance.

"I'm sorry I was such a bitch," Abby said, grasping his hand in impulse, pleased that he did not turn away. "Gibbs was in, like, a really bad mood and he shouted at me…he doesn't ever shout at me; I knew he was pissed at you and that made me pissed at you. I'm sorry…I bypass defence and pretty much jump straight on the offensive line when I think someone's hurt a person I care about."

"Its fine, Miss Sciuto," Tony sighed. "I get it." And he did. He had always been the same way with Sam, jumping to his defence regardless of the situation and any potential extenuating circumstances.

"Tony, you can call me Abby," she offered with a tentative smile. It was clear that Gibbs was going to be keeping DiNozzo around for a while yet so they might as well try to get along better.

Apart from Pacci, Abby was the only one who had really talked to him. The fact that she was apologising meant more to Tony than he could adequately describe; people didn't normally waste that much time or effort on him.

Tony smiled brightly and flicked one of her pigtails, winking at her before leaving with an 'see you later then, Abby,' that was laced with the sort of flirtatious behaviour that the Forensic Specialist suspected would be commonplace now that DiNozzo had found a friend and was well on his way to earning his Special Agent status and ensuring his stay at NCIS.

It was nice to know that she had been so easily forgiven, but she felt that she was going to have to work extra hard to make sure that Tony knew just how sorry she really was. It was clear that Tony let too many things roll off his back, letting people get away with all sorts of vicious words and condescending mistreatment.

Maybe she would have a bet of her own in that little betting pool they had going on in the Major Crimes bullpen; she would have to work very hard to ensure that Tony was going to break his two-year record.

Ducky found Gibbs outside of his favourite coffee stall with yet another coffee in hand; he had long since given up attempting to warn his friend about a diet with so much caffeine, knowing full well that his advice fell very much on deaf ears.

He had a busy day scheduled which allowed him no time to talk to the latest addition to the NCIS family, but he knew that Gibbs needed someone to talk to and someone to listen to before his quick temper and reticent manner ruined the transfer before it had even been completed.

He sat down next to him and waited for his friend to meet his eyes and when blue eyes finally looked up, Ducky asked, "Feeling any calmer?"

"Some," Gibbs confessed, scowling into his coffee cup.

"Jethro, it doesn't sound as though the poor boy is having a very friendly reception; I would have hoped that you, at least, might have tried to ease the transition for him."

Gibbs looked up at the mildly reproachful tone. "That's what I've been trying to do, Duck," he confessed quietly.

"Yes, in your usual blunt 'bang the message through with a sledgehammer' manner, I'm sure. Really, Jethro, some people need a softer touch," he scolded his friend lightly. "I'm not suggesting you spend the next few years coddling him, but he has just left his partner, his job and his city behind; he's taken a huge risk in accepting your offer and the least you can do is show him that you are not regretting your decision."

"I'm not," Gibbs furrowed his brows, wondering where Ducky had got that impression from.

"I didn't say you were, but that may well be how young Anthony has interpreted your ire," Ducky said. "He seems like an intelligent young man who is very capable when it comes to his work, but outside of that you have to recognise that he has certain failings.

“I don't think I've ever encountered anyone who can switch their emotions as easily or as fluidly as he can, and there is never a happy reason behind such an ability, Jethro. If young Anthony feels that he has to hide his true personality just so he can fit in, then you can never be truly sure of his motives or his emotions, as he is truly adept at hiding them both. He must be worried and feeling out of his element; what he needs is reassurance, not a reprimand."

"He won't look after himself," Gibbs pointed out. Sam had warned him as much and he had arrogantly assumed that he would be able to get DiNozzo to cooperate.

"I know another who tends to push himself further than he should," Ducky arched an eyebrow in his directed with a pointed look. "He is a physically active young man and the desire to get back into shape is not altogether surprising; both you and I can ensure he does not overdo things, but I doubt whether we could stop him entirely.

"He has also lived a rather solitary life, by all accounts, and so learning to be dependent on someone else for any period of time, no matter how short, will be difficult for him; that is a character trait that I'm sure you can understand yourself."

Gibbs frowned; sometimes he really wished that the Doctor didn't know him quite as well as he did.

"He's in the conference room, I believe," Ducky informed his friend as he got up from the bench. "He is attempting to go through the vast amount of information that the secretary in Human Resources will have undoubtedly given him." With that, he left and headed slowly back to work to the three autopsies he had waiting, confident that his friend would do the right thing.

Gibbs could see the worry and anxiety build up in DiNozzo as he read through the training manuals from the FLETC and the various pieces of literature that related to NCIS, its' rules and protocols. The conference room table was covered with bits of paper as Tony haphazardly went through them one by one before starting all over again.

"I need a Masters before I can become a Senior Field Agent?" Tony asked, wondering what the hell he could possibly specialise in.

"Yep," Gibbs nodded. "You can figure that out later, for now it doesn't matter." He saw that DiNozzo was not even slightly appeased by that response. "I took a part time course and slowly worked up to getting it while I was still working; some of the colleges around here run some pretty good night courses and they're pretty flexible."

Tony nodded at that looking slightly happier although still disappointed by the idea of going back to school; he wasn't stupid but he had never been a big fan of academia, preferring being outside and active to naming Presidents and reciting the dates of their terms in office.

Everything he was reading in the brochures and manuals made him further doubt his decision to come to NCIS. So much seemed to be required from him, so many skills and certificates and degrees that he wasn't sure he'd be able to accomplish.

He was beginning to further doubt Agent Gibbs' wisdom in hiring him.

"Why'd you really offer me this job?" he finally asked, despair crawling over him as he read about the computer course requirements at the FLETC.

"Because you smiled," Gibbs offered wryly with the lift of an eyebrow.

"Come on, Gibbs," Tony was not amused. "Do you really think I can do this?" he gestured to the wad of information about the FLETC. "I have a Major in Phys. Ed., not a degree in quantum physics!"

"DiNozzo!" Gibbs said sharply, slapping the younger man upside the head to get his full attention. "I wouldn't have offered you the job if I didn't think you were up to the task. I don't care if you can solve the Three-Body Problem or if your only qualification is that you can walk in a straight line; I hired you because you are a damn good cop.

"You can write, can't you?" he waited until DiNozzo nodded rather hesitantly, clearly unsure of where Gibbs was going with that question and whether or not he should be insulted. "So you're a damn good cop who can do his own paperwork; I'm not asking for anything more than that just yet."

Tony nodded, not completely buying everything the NCIS Senior Agent was throwing at him; Gibbs was definitely not the kind of man to settle for 'acceptable' so it was clear that he was going to demand something more substantial than just doing his job and the paperwork that went with it. Tony just hoped that he wouldn't let the man down; the more time he spent at NCIS with Agent Gibbs and around people like Abby and Pacci, he so very much wanted to make it work, even with all the naysayers baying for his blood.

"You'll do ok here," Gibbs tried to assure the man who could be almost overly confident one minute and completely insecure the next.

"You think?" Tony asked quietly, trying to find some truth to the Agent's words as he looked into Gibbs' eyes.

"You'd better," Gibbs said as he got up and walked around the table, coffee in hand. "I've got a hundred bucks riding on you in that betting pool everyone has 'secretly' got going on you. You're here for the long-haul, DiNozzo; this is not a two-year sabbatical."

"Yeah, I kind of guessed that," Tony laughed, relief at Gibbs' obvious support lifting a weight off his mind. "Is it cheating if I double that bet," he asked with a mischievous glint to his eyes.

"Not at all," Gibbs shook his head, a rare smile gracing his features. "You can buy the steak and beers when that day comes around."

"Sure thing," Tony grinned back; staying at NCIS for more than two years was beginning to seem like a real possibility and he was actually looking forward to working alongside a man that had been termed a great many things, most of them negative – the second 'b' might be for bastard, but he was going to have at least a few years to figure out what the first 'b' stood for.

"Come on, I've got to get you to the hospital," Gibbs stood up, sweeping the leaflets and brochures and manuals into a pile on the conference room table. At Tony's confused look he continued, "Ducky's set you up an appointment with a physiotherapist there; he said if you didn't like her then he could find you someone else before you slip behind in your sessions."

Gibbs had smiled at Ducky's wisdom in finding a pretty female physio, all too aware that DiNozzo was more likely to cooperate with her than with a guy he would feel no need to try and impress.

"Abby wants us at Murphy's Bar for a celebratory drink tonight and I'm too tired to fight her off. I think she's dragging you off apartment hunting over the weekend, so I'd make sure to get plenty of rest over the next couple of days, because she'll be on a whole hell of a lot of caffeine and sugar to get her through the day," he smiled another one of those small smiles that DiNozzo would come to recognise as a rarity that he would enjoy teasing out of the older man over the next few years.

"Sounds good," Tony nodded; he was glad that his new team seemed to be prepared to take a chance with him and help him settle into his new life. He'd have to tell Sam not to worry about him; that he'd found a whole team full of mother-hens to keep him out of trouble.

"Come on, DiNozzo," Gibbs said with an exasperated sigh as he head-slapped the younger man to get his attention.

"That's going to become a pretty frequent thing, isn't it?" Tony asked knowingly as he rubbed the back of his head.

"Only if you carry on earning them," Gibbs replied with a raised eyebrow.

"Whatever you say, Boss," Tony snorted as he walked past the man and out of the room; he suspected Gibbs would head-slap him whether he had truly deserved one or not. Oddly enough, he found that he didn't really mind.