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Chapter Text

Friday, 1749, Hanrahan’s Bar, downtown Washington DC

A man beside him bumped him, and Tony jumped, turning sharply.  The guy grinned and apologized, but he was either too drunk or too high-spirited to notice anything amiss in Tony’s reaction.  He looked down at his hands and found that they were shaking.  He took a swallow of his whiskey and breathed deeply, trying to control his reactions.

He knew he shouldn’t have come out tonight, but he just couldn’t stay cloistered in his apartment all the time.  For one thing, he didn’t really feel safe there.  Maybe he should move to a building with a little more security.  One where it took a key to get into the foyer.  He kept finding notes in his mailbox.  He’d squirreled them away in his desk, but they had no evidence on them whatsoever, of course.

Idly glancing up, he looked towards the door just in time to see Brody come in.  His gut twisted and panic reared its ugly head.  This wasn’t anyplace they’d ever been together, but it was one of the places Tony tended to go when he was on the prowl.  Maybe Brody had used those finely honed detective skills to trace Tony’s haunts, or maybe he’d just followed him.  Either way, Tony did not want to see him tonight.  Leaving a crumpled twenty on the bar and catching the bartender’s eye so he knew she was aware of it, he slipped away towards the back door.

Jeanne cursed as she saw Tony heading towards the back door.  The restrooms were down a completely different hallway, so unless he was going to the kitchen, he could only be making a quiet exit.  Had he seen her?  She didn’t think so.  He hadn’t looked her way that she’d noticed, and she’d been watching him pretty closely.  She eeled through the crowd, but it wasn’t easy.  A drunk grabbed her and offered her a dance.  She shoved him and his alcohol breath away and managed to get out to the back hallway.  The door said “Alley access only.”  She pushed it open and went out.

Voices to her left made her turn.  There were lights, but there were also trash cans and piles of crates blocking her view.  She started walking quickly towards that end of the alley.

A sudden shout made her check her pace slightly.  “Stop it, Brody!”  It was Tony’s voice.  He sounded angry and . . . frightened?  Another voice spoke much more quietly.  Jeanne couldn’t understand anything that was said, but she could tell it was a male voice.  She slowed even more as she grew nearer till there was only a dumpster between her and the argument.  She heard a thump and then a grunt of pain that she could swear was Tony.  Peering around the dumpster, she froze in shock.  An enormous man had Tony pinned to a wall, his arms forced above his head and held in one gigantic fist.  Brody – that was the name Tony had used – had one knee between Tony’s legs in a position that had to be causing pain.  From the straining muscles in his arms and torso and the alarm in Tony’s eyes, she could tell that he couldn’t get away.

“Shut up!” Brody growled.  His free hand twisted in Tony’s hair and held him still while – to her immense shock – Brody planted a kiss on Tony’s lips.  Tony’s struggles intensified.  Jeanne turned away and put her back to the dumpster, hiding herself while she scrabbled in her purse.

Tony kept his mouth closed against the unwanted kiss.  The last time Brody had done this, he’d kneed him in the groin and escaped.  This time, the prick had been prepared for that reaction.  He’d blocked the blow and shifted claustrophobically closer, making it impossible for Tony to get any force behind another attack.

 A whiff of something that didn’t fit made him open his eyes and scan the area, and he saw the last person he either expected or wanted to see at this moment, creeping around the dumpster.  He couldn’t yell at her to go away, he couldn’t do anything but stare in appalled horror as she raised her right hand with a taser in it.

He twisted his head, trying to tell her to go away, but Jeanne spoke before he could.

“Get off him!” she ordered.

Brody swiveled, his left knee grinding even deeper into Tony’s groin, causing him to gasp.  “This isn’t your business, lady,” Brody said.  He turned his head back towards Tony with a knowing smile.  “It’s totally consensual, isn’t it, Tony?”  Tony couldn’t speak, but he redoubled his struggles.  If she’d been a stranger, he probably would have tried to nod, but it wasn’t.  Jeanne was here, she was in Brody’s line of fire, and she didn’t know how much danger she was in.  “Tony, tell her!” Brody ordered, thumping him against the wall again, making a mockery of Tony’s exertions.

Jeanne met Tony’s eyes and Tony looked away, humiliated.  “I’m calling 911,” she announced.

“I wouldn’t do that,” Brody said.  “I’m a cop.”

“Fine, then I’ll call the FBI,” she snapped.

“Got them on your speed dial, have you?”

“Yes, as a matter of fact, I do,” she replied, and Tony believed it.

“No!” he grunted.  He did not want the FBI getting involved in this situation.

“Tony, are you crazy?” Jeanne demanded, and he glared at her.  “I heard you tell him to stop, and I know he didn’t.”

“Wait . . .”  Brody glanced at Tony and then back at Jeanne.  He glowered at Tony.  “Do you know this bitch?” he demanded, pulling Tony forward only to smash him back against the wall again.  His head hit hard, and his sight went blurry.

“Do you?”  Brody shook him again.

Tony felt Brody jerk as the taser leads hit him.  Brody let out a roar, but he released Tony and turned on Jeanne before he went to his knees.  Tony collapsed to the ground, his head spinning.  He knew he had to stop Brody from hurting her, but he couldn’t force himself up.

Brody got up and blundered out the end of the alley, and Jeanne hurried to Tony’s side, kneeling beside him.  “Tony, why aren’t you getting up?”  He blinked stupidly at her.  She looked into his eyes and picked up her phone again.

“No,” Tony managed to grunt.

“You need an ambulance.”

“No,” Tony repeated.  “Gibbs.”

“I don’t have his number.”

He felt towards his pocket clumsily.  She pushed his hand out of the way and got his phone.  He grabbed her hand before she could pull it away, and she looked down at him, her eyes wide.  “No cops.  No . . . ambulance.”

“I’m calling Gibbs, I’ll do what he says.”

“No ambulance!” Tony repeated.

She freed herself and started looking through his phone menus.  Tony quickly lost track of events after that.

Friday, 1804, Gibbs’ basement

Gibbs looked up at the ringing of his phone and sighed.  He didn’t want to deal with work, he didn’t want anyone around tonight.  DiNozzo in particular was driving him nuts.  Something was going on with the man, something that he wasn’t letting on about.  Gibbs had dropped a few hints to try to convince him to open up, but it wasn’t either his or DiNozzo’s style and things hadn’t yet progressed to the point where he was going to pin the man to a wall and demand answers.  Soon, though.

He walked over and looked at his caller ID.  DiNozzo.  Maybe he wouldn’t have to.  He flipped the phone open.  “Yeah, DiNozzo?”

“Is this Agent Gibbs?” asked a female voice that sounded vaguely familiar.

“It is, who is this?”

“Jeanne Benoit.  We met once –”

This could explain DiNozzo’s peculiar behavior lately.  “Where’s Tony?” he demanded, cutting across her.

“Right in front of me,” she said.  “He’s hurt, but he wouldn’t let me call the police or an ambulance.  The bastard who did this to him smacked his head into the wall several times.”

“What bastard?”

“I don’t know anything about him except that he claimed to be a police officer, and his name is Brody.”

“Where are –”

“Damn, I think he’s gone unconscious,” she muttered.  “Tony?  Tony!”

“If he’s unconscious, you have to call an ambulance.”

“He was dead set against it.”

“Call, damn it!” Gibbs thundered.  “Where are you?”

“Stay on the line.  I’ll call for an ambulance on my phone.”  Gibbs was already on the move, yanking his jacket on and grabbing his keys as he headed out the door.  This was nuts.  What the hell was Dr. Benoit doing back?  “Do you have a hospital preference?” she asked.

“If he can make it that far, Bethesda.”

“I’ll tell the paramedics, and I’ll ride with him.”

Gibbs was torn.  He didn’t know whether to believe her story or to assume the worst.  On the other hand, he couldn’t exactly stop her at the moment.  “Where are you?  I need to get a crime scene detail to the spot.”

“Hanrahan’s Pub, on –”

“I know the place,” Gibbs said.

“Well, we’re in the alley behind it.”

“Fine.  Why don’t you let the paramedics take care of DiNozzo, and then you can tell me what happened when I get to you.”

“If that man’s a police officer –”

“He won’t be granted free access to Bethesda, I can assure you,” Gibbs said.  “I have to call my – the rest of my team.  Stay where you are.”  He hung up and dialed McGee.  His junior agent answered on the second ring.  “Need a crime scene unit in the alley behind Hanrahan’s now.”

“On it, Boss.”

“Call Ziva and meet me there,” Gibbs said and hung up.

Friday, 1807, McGee’s apartment

McGee hung up his phone and stared at it in surprise.  Usually it was DiNozzo calling him.  Gibbs would call DiNozzo, then DiNozzo would call him and Ziva.  That was the order of things.  McGee dialed Ziva’s number.  She’d said something about going out tonight, so he doubted he’d get a very pleasant response.

“McGee, this had better be good,” she said in a hurried undertone.

“Gibbs called.  He wants us to meet him with the crime scene truck in the alley behind Hanrahan’s.”

“I am three blocks away,” she replied, sounding startled.

“I’ll get the truck and your gear then,” McGee said, sighing.  He grabbed his keys and headed out the door.  Maybe Tony was out of touch.  If that was the case, Gibbs would be a bear all evening.  He’d better bring Tony’s gear from the office, too, just in case.  He sighed and hurried out to the car.

Friday, 1811, alley behind Hanrahan’s Bar, downtown Washington DC

“He’s had a head trauma,” Jeanne said to the paramedics as they came down the alley with the gurney.  “You’ll need a backboard.  He’s been jostled around enough already.  I want to make sure he stays immobilized until he can be x-rayed.”

“Yeah, lady, we got it,” said the older of the two paramedics, his name tag said Mike.  “Just stand back and let us do our jobs.”

Jeanne started rattling off orders, and they both stared at her for a second.  Then they hopped to.  When they finally had Tony properly immobilized, Mike turned to her and said, “Do I know you?”

“I used to work at Mercy General,” Jeanne said.  “I started out in the Emergency Room there.”

“Oh!” he said, nodding.

She looked around at the scene anxiously.  She didn’t want to leave Tony, but she didn’t dare leave the scene unattended.  Gibbs’ reference to crime scenes had reminded her of her responsibility to see that any evidence was preserved.  Abruptly a woman walked around the ambulance, and Jeanne recognized her from that brief time she’d spent in the NCIS office after she’d accused Tony of murdering her father.  The dark-haired woman was dressed with quiet elegance, but her feet were bare.  She held a pair of very high heels in one hand.

Jeanne leapt upon her appearance with relief.  “You work for NCIS, don’t you?” she asked the woman.

“I work with NCIS,” the woman said, a peculiar emphasis on the word “with.”  Jeanne didn’t grasp the distinction, but she also didn’t care.

“Good.  You can stay and preserve the crime scene.  I’m going with Tony.”  Jeanne swung up into the back of the ambulance opposite Chuck, the younger of the two paramedics.  Mike was climbing into the driver’s seat.  The woman peered in at the man on the gurney and her eyes widened.

“What has happened?” she asked, gazing at Tony in shock.

“Tony was attacked,” Jeanne said.  “I saw it happen.  Tell Agent Gibbs that I’m going to the hospital with him.”

“I should go, too,” the woman said, her eyes wide as she gazed at Tony.

Jeanne sympathized with her, but she shook her head.  “You can’t, you have to protect the crime scene, and you actually have the authority to do that.”  The woman’s head swiveled, and she looked like Jeanne had just handed her a very unpalatable truth.  “Now, I have to leave my purse.”  She gestured towards where it lay on the ground in front of the dumpster.  “At least, I think I do –”

“Yes, it is part of the crime scene,” the woman said automatically.

“Well, I need my ID, or they won’t let me in at the hospital.  Can you . . .”  She trailed off.

The woman blinked at her.  She nodded towards the younger of the two paramedics.  “You –”

“Chuck,” Jeanne said quietly.

The woman glared at her.  “Chuck, would you give me a pair of latex gloves?”  He shook a pair out and handed them over.  The woman pulled them on as she went over to Jeanne’s purse and flipped through to her ID.  “This?” she asked.

“Yes, thank you,” Jeanne said, taking it.

“What are you doing here?” the woman demanded.

“No time.”  Jeanne leaned forward.  “Mike, take us to Bethesda.”  She and Chuck swung the doors shut and they took off, sirens blaring.

Friday, 1828, alley behind Hanrahan’s Bar, downtown Washington DC

McGee pulled up just past the alley and parked the truck.  He knew Ziva had to be here by now, so he grabbed her go bag and headed into the alley.  Gibbs and Ziva had already put out crime scene tape, and they’d even drawn a small audience.  Ziva was on the other side of the taped off area, talking to some of the people who had gathered.  There was no sign of Tony.  Gibbs would be pissed.  McGee ducked under the tape and walked over.

“Ziva?” he murmured.  Her feet were bare, and he was reasonably certain that she had something appropriate in the go bag.  She turned to him and he held out the bag.  She took it without a word and continued her questioning.  McGee glanced around at the scene and then hurried back to the truck to get the equipment they needed.

Gibbs hung up his phone as McGee approached, carrying the bags.  “Couldn’t get hold of Tony, huh?” he asked, putting the bags down.

Gibbs turned on him, and McGee took a step back before the furious look in his eyes, not sure what had engendered it.  “No, McGee,” he snapped.  “I know exactly where DiNozzo is.  He’s in an ambulance on his way to Bethesda right now.”  McGee blinked at him, stunned.  “With Jeanne Benoit.  Any more questions you want to ask, or would you rather do your job?”

McGee wanted desperately to ask what had happened and how it involved Jeanne Benoit, but he didn’t dare.  He squatted and unzipped the bag with the camera inside.  “He . . . was he attacked?  Where?”  His eyes scanned the walls quickly and spotted a patch of something at about Tony’s head height.  “Is that blood?” he asked.

Gibbs whirled and looked where he was pointing.  “Photos, McGee, then samples.”  McGee got the camera put together.  “Ziva!” Gibbs roared.  “Get your damned shoes on!”

McGee didn’t even look around.  Gibbs stalked the scene like an angry tiger, and McGee reflected that only one thing made Gibbs crankier than one of them being out of touch, and that was when one of them had the temerity to get hurt.

Friday, 1845, Bethesda Naval Medical Center

Jeanne had been sidelined by the Bethesda emergency staff, but she hadn’t been kicked out altogether.  She stood at the edge of the treatment room, her arms crossed, wishing she could do something, but though they weren’t throwing her out summarily, she wasn’t a practicing physician at this hospital.

From what she could hear, they weren’t very worried about him.  One of them had said something about DiNozzo having a hard head, which she knew for a fact.  He’d shot with amazing accuracy no more than an hour after having been pistol whipped in the morgue.  Nevertheless, she was worried.  That had been a deeply alarming scene.

The door beside her opened and a man in a suit and bow tie stepped in.  She didn’t know him, but he seemed to recognize her.  He walked over.  “Dr. Benoit?”  She nodded.  “I’m Dr. Mallard, the NCIS Medical Examiner and Anthony’s doctor of record.”

“Oh,” she said weakly.

“I would like to offer you my sincere condolences on the death of your father.  I haven’t had the opportunity before this, but I met him once, and I found him interesting and intelligent.”

“Thank you,” she said, feeling a little stunned.  “You met him?  When?”

“I’m afraid it was during an undercover operation,” Dr. Mallard said, and Jeanne blinked at him, startled.  Dr. Mallard gave her a self-deprecating smile.  “Oh, I know.  I make rather an unorthodox undercover agent, but, then, your father twigged to me at once.”

“I see.”

“Now, I can see that you’re concerned about Anthony’s well being, but I am here now, and I will see to it that his care is the best.”

“I’m not leaving.”

“I wasn’t suggesting you leave the hospital, my dear, but Agent Gibbs is working in the dark.”  The older man’s concerned and sympathetic tone was even more persuasive than his words.  “He doesn’t know what happened in that alley, and you are the only witness who can answer questions at this time.  Director Shepard is waiting outside to speak to you.”

Jeanne gulped.  She never wanted to meet Director Shepard again.  That woman was the reason all of this had happened.  She was responsible for the whole mess – she had admitted as much – but Dr. Mallard was waiting expectantly.  She grimaced and nodded, stepping outside to find the petite redhead waiting for her.

“Dr. Benoit,” Director Shepard said with a polite nod.  “I’ve arranged a private space for us to converse.”

“Where?” Jeanne asked curtly.  Director Shepard gave her a peculiar look and gestured for her to walk alongside.  Jeanne did, keeping herself as calm as she could.  They reached someone’s office, but instead of taking the chair behind the desk, Director Shepard sat down in one of the guest chairs.  Jeanne took the other, sinking down as her adrenaline started to ebb.

“What happened tonight, and how did you happen to be on the scene when it did?” Director Shepard asked.

“I . . .”  Jeanne hadn’t considered how her actions might look in light of what had happened.  “I was . . .”  She considered prevaricating, but decided that truth would serve better under the circumstances.  “I was trying to engineer a chance meeting between Tony and I, so I could apologize for my behavior,” she said.  “I went to a bar I knew he spent time at, and –”

“How did you know?”

“I hired someone to check him out, and that came up in the report.  I’ve been there every night for the past week.”  No doubt someone would have noticed her, so it would do more harm than good to lie about it.  “He showed up tonight and I was nerving myself up to go talk to him when he suddenly slipped out the back door.”

“It didn’t occur to you that he might have seen you and wanted to avoid a confrontation?” Director Shepard asked.

“It did,” Jeanne said.  “However, I’d been watching him, and he’d never looked in my direction.  I followed him, and when I got out to the alley, I heard voices.  Tony was angry.”  She decided not to mention her impression that he’d been frightened.  “He told someone to ‘stop it.’  The name was Brody.  I crept up to see what was happening and . . .”  She swallowed.  “He was being sexually assaulted.”  Director Shepard’s mouth dropped open.  “And frankly, I’m not sure I should say anything else to you.”

“I beg your pardon?” Director Shepard said.

“Well, you’re not exactly unbiased about me, and I won’t pretend that I’m unbiased about you.”

“I have no bias against you, Dr. Benoit.”

Jeanne was tired and past her endurance.  “Horseshit,” she said frankly.

“Well, if I’m biased, you’ll have difficulty finding someone in our agency who isn’t,” Director Shepard replied.  “Agent Gibbs is in charge of this investigation, and he  –”

“Agent Gibbs doesn’t have ‘thing’ about my father,” Jeanne said.

Director Shepard’s jaw tensed.  “You and your father are separate entities,” she said in a very taut voice.

“Oddly enough, that’s not how you seemed to treat us when he was alive,” Jeanne said wearily.  “I would like to talk to Agent Gibbs.”

“He’s on the scene.”

“Then I’ll wait.”

“He needs to know what happened.”

“I just told you.”

“You gave me no details.  He needs –”

“Then get him on the phone and I’ll tell him.  I don’t want to talk to you.”

Director Shepard gazed at her for a long moment, and Jeanne felt like she was being measured.  Evidently the other woman read her rightly, because she rose and said, “I’ll be back in a moment.”  Then she left the room.

Friday, 1901, alley behind Hanrahan’s Bar, downtown Washington DC

Gibbs looked at his phone irritably.  Jenny.  He flipped it open and lifted it to his ear.  “Gibbs,” he said.

“Jethro, Dr. Benoit has given me a very brief outline of what she claims happened, but she won’t go into detail with me.”

“Why not?”

“She says I’m biased.”

Gibbs blinked.  “Go figure, Jen.  What did she say happened?”

“If we can believe that she’s telling the truth, she claims that Tony was being sexually assaulted by another man.”  Gibbs felt like he’d been struck a blow between the eyes.  “Jethro?” Jen asked, as if she were afraid she’d lost the call.

“Fuck!”  The word burst out of him, a quiet expression of his unbelievable rage at the very thought.  So that was what Tony had been . . . no, surely he’d have said something.  Maybe he’d been aware of being followed by Dr. Benoit and had felt too guilty to tell anyone because she’d get in trouble.  None of this made any sense.

“That’s all the detail she’ll go into with me.”

“I need more than that, Jen,” Gibbs said

“She’ll talk to you,” Jenny said, and the resentment in her tone was hard to miss.

“Put her on, then,” Gibbs said.

Jen went silent for a moment, then he heard another voice.  “Agent Gibbs?”

“Dr. Benoit.  Please describe everything you saw in detail.”

She cleared her throat audibly.  “I went into the alley, and I heard Tony and the other man arguing.  I followed the sound, and I heard Tony say ‘Stop it, Brody.’”

“Brody?  You’re sure that was the name?”

“I think so.  Tony’s voice was perfectly clear.  I heard a sort of thump, and Tony grunted.  I looked around the dumpster, and I saw this huge man holding Tony up against the wall.”

“How was he holding him?”

“He had both of Tony’s wrists in one hand, above his head, and his knee pressed between Tony’s legs.”

Gibbs looked at the wall.  “Whereabouts?”

“Probably four feet away from the dumpster.  He split Tony’s head open, so I think there should be a mark.”

“We found it,” Gibbs said.  “He didn’t move from that spot?”

“Not until I tasered the bastard,” Dr. Benoit said, and Gibbs raised his eyebrows.  So the taser was hers.  Good to know.  “Tony was fighting him but getting nowhere.  Then Brody grabbed him by the hair and kissed him hard.  Tony tried even harder to get away, but he clearly couldn’t.  This guy has to be really strong.”  Gibbs nodded.  “I got my taser and my phone out and dropped my purse, then I told Brody to back off.  He tried to claim it was consensual, and he tried to get Tony to say so, too, but Tony just started struggling harder.  I said I’d call 911, and Brody said I shouldn’t because he was a police officer.”

“He called himself a police officer?”

“He called himself a cop,” Dr. Benoit replied.  “So I said I’d call the FBI, and Tony protested.  I guess up till that point Brody had assumed I was just a stranger, but what I said to Tony then seemed to make him realize we knew each other.  Brody grabbed him by the shirt and smacked him back against the wall again, and I think that was the blow that concussed him.  His eyes went glassy.”

Gibbs was aware that both Ziva and McGee were watching him covertly but closely.  He darted glares at both of them, and they both focused their full attention back on their jobs.  “Go on.”

“I tasered him.  I’m afraid he dropped Tony, which wasn’t good for his head, but I didn’t really have a lot of choice.  If Tony couldn’t take him, I sure couldn’t.”

“No, that’s true.”  Gibbs shook his head.  “And then what?”

“Brody turned around, like he was going to come after me, but then he hit his knees.  A minute later, he got up and left the alley.  I went to Tony, and that’s when he started refusing the hospital and the police.  He asked for you and showed me his phone, so I called you.”

“And then he passed out?” Gibbs asked.

“Right.”

“Did you touch the wall or anything else at the scene?”

“I might have touched the dumpster, and I certainly touched Tony and Tony’s phone, but I’m pretty sure I didn’t touch the wall.”  She paused.  “No, I don’t think I did.”

“Okay.  Can you put the director back on?”

“Sure.  He’s doing okay, by the way.  The doctors seemed to think he’ll be fine.”

“Thanks.”  Gibbs shook his head.  A moment later Jen came back on the phone.

“Have you heard about anyone like this Brody guy?” she asked instantly, so evidently she’d been listening.

“No, Jen, but DiNozzo’s been acting like a cat in a crowded room for a while now.  I was getting ready to call him on it.  We’ll wrap things up here in twenty or so minutes, and I’ll meet you at the hospital.”

“Any other witnesses?”

“Not a soul.  McGee’s asking questions in the bar.”

“See you soon, then,” Jenny said, and Gibbs closed the phone and put it away.

McGee had come back while he talked to the director.  “Anything?”

“They’ve noticed that Jeanne has been coming a lot lately, but nobody noticed anything to do with Tony.  They know him, he was there tonight, and he left.  That’s it.”

“We got everything?” Gibbs asked.

“I have sampled every stain I could find,” Ziva said, and she looked it.  That fancy dress would never be the same.  “How is Tony?”

“Not sure.  You two take the evidence back to Abby.  I’ll call you from the hospital.”

“But Boss –” McGee exclaimed.

“Get going.”  Gibbs left them and went to his car.

Chapter Text

Friday, 2040, Bethesda Naval Medical Center

Tony woke up to a headache and a beeping that cut right through his skull.  He reached out for whatever was making the noise to get it to stop.

“Anthony, dear boy, don’t.”

Tony stopped moving at the sound of Ducky’s voice.  If Ducky was there, that meant he was in a hospital.  “What’s wrong with me?” he asked.

“You don’t remember?” Ducky asked.

Tony blinked and looked up at the ceiling.  “Bright.”

Abruptly, the lights went dimmer and Tony sighed with relief.  “Thanks,” he said.  He gazed up at the ceiling.  “You still haven’t ans –”  Memory trickled back and he closed his mouth.  “Jeanne?” he ventured after a moment.

“She’s here,” Ducky said.  “Do you want to see her?”

“How did I get to the hospital?”

“I believe she called Gibbs, and Gibbs insisted.”

Tony closed his eyes.  “I said no.”

“You have three stitches in the back of your head, Anthony,” Ducky said.  “And the bruising is something appalling.  You realize I’m going to have to tell Gibbs that some of it is over a week old?  What have you been doing?”

“It’s nothing, Ducky.”

“Those bruises aren’t nothing.”  Tony shook his head.  “Is this connected to that black eye you had last month?”  Tony looked away.  “I’ll take that for a yes.  If you’re in some kind of trouble . . .”

“It’s personal, Ducky,” Tony said.

“Anthony!”

The door opened and Tony squinted against the light, pressing the button on the bed to make sitting up easier.  Being prostrate in front of Ducky was one thing, there wasn’t much of anyone else he would put up with it for.  He was very glad that he had done it when he saw who was coming in.  “Director?” he said with a false smile.  “I’m sorry anyone felt it necessary to call you out.”

“You were attacked in an alley, Agent DiNozzo.  Of course I came out.”

Tony blinked his eyes.  “It’s not job-related,” he said.  “You don’t need to be worried about it.”

“So, the presence of Jeanne Benoit was a coincidence?” Jenny asked in a deceptively pleasant tone of voice.

Tony shook his head helplessly.  “Why was she there?” he asked.  He knew he sounded pathetic, but he couldn’t help it.  He still couldn’t figure out how his luck had gotten so incredibly bad.  For Jeanne to show up at just that moment . . . things couldn’t get much worse.

Jenny stared at him for a moment.   “Oh,” she said, sounding startled.  “Well . . . that’s not important right now.”

Tony thumped his head back on the pillow and immediately regretted it.  “That spot’s going to be a bit tender for a while,” Ducky said unnecessarily while Tony closed his teeth on a gasp.  Ducky rose and looked at the back of Tony’s head.  “Do be careful, dear boy.”

Tony submitted to his ministrations, but he was glaring at Jen with all the energy he had.  “You don’t think it’s important?  Then why did you ask?”

Jen shrugged, looking uneasy.  “Gibbs will be here shortly.  I’ll let him ask the rest of the questions.”  Tony rubbed his forehead.  He wasn’t sure he was up to facing Gibbs right now.  Jenny he could stave off with irritation.  That wouldn’t work with Gibbs.  Jenny stepped closer and put a hand on his arm.  “For the time being, I believe the prescription is rest.”

Tony very gently pulled his arm away, turned his head towards the windows and closed his eyes.  He heard her speak quietly to Ducky, then leave the room.  Maybe if he ignored everyone, they’d just leave him alone.

Friday, 2127, Bethesda Naval Medical Center

Gibbs walked into Tony’s room and let the door fall shut behind him.  The curtain was drawn most of the way around the bed, so he couldn’t immediately see his senior agent.  Stepping around it, he saw Ducky seated by the bed.  DiNozzo lay on his back, eyes closed, snoring lightly.

“He woke for a time and then fell back asleep,” Ducky said quietly, and Gibbs nodded.  His eyes were focused on the skin bared by the hospital gown.  There was a fair amount of it, and it was considerably more of DiNozzo’s skin than he’d seen in quite a while.  Turtlenecks had been the order of the day for the past week or more, and now Gibbs could see why.  There was a fading bite mark on the left side of Tony’s neck.  The ring where the teeth had contacted the flesh was still measurably darker than the rest of the bruise.  How the hell could DiNozzo even think of keeping this from him?

His arms were all over bruises, and their placement bore out Dr. Benoit’s description of how Tony had been held.  Gibbs wanted to twitch the covers back to look at DiNozzo’s legs, but prudence made him resist the urge.  DiNozzo might wake up fighting.

“What do the doctors say, Duck?” he asked.

Tony dimly heard Gibbs asking Ducky a question, and he realized that he must have fallen asleep because Gibbs hadn’t been in the room the last time he’d been paying attention.

Ducky spoke in a quiet voice, no doubt trying to avoid waking Tony.  “He is concussed, but they think he’ll be fine in a few days.  The CT scan didn’t show any abnormalities.  He just needs a few days of rest.”

“I need to go home,” Tony said, opening his eyes and looking up at Gibbs.

His boss raised his eyebrows dubiously.  “Have the doctors released you?” he asked.

“I haven’t even seen a doctor yet,” Tony replied, shrugging.  “Except Ducky, of course.”

“No, Jethro, they haven’t released him,” Ducky said, giving Tony a worried look that he tried to ignore.  “In part because he was unconscious for so long.”

“I’m fine,” Tony protested.  They both knew how much he hated hospitals, and most of the time, doctors would accept friends and family keeping an eye out during the mandatory twenty-four hours of observation following a head wound.  “I just –”

“You’re not fine,” Ducky snapped, and Tony was startled by Ducky’s ire.  The elderly medical examiner was usually fairly laidback.  “Jethro, he has bruises on his torso and legs that show evidence of a prior attack, at least a week ago, if not more.”  Tony flushed and looked away.  He didn’t really like the fact that Ducky had seen his legs and torso.  He realized that quite a lot was left uncovered by the hospital gown and considered trying to hide it, but Gibbs had already seen it.  He’d look like an idiot if he tried to hide it now.

Gibbs glanced over at Tony.  “That true, DiNozzo?” he asked.  Ducky glared at him as if daring him to contest the facts.  There was no way Tony could call Ducky a liar.  He shrugged and Gibbs’ lips thinned.  “Who is Brody?” his boss asked, and Tony’s stomach did an uneasy roll.  How much did he already know?

Tony looked up, feigning uncertainty.  “I don’t know, Boss.  Why?”

An aura of pure fury suddenly exuded from Gibbs, and Tony’s stomach flipped over.  He didn’t know if he could take this.  Gibbs turned to Ducky.  “Would you mind excusing us for a few moments?”

“He has stitches right at the center of the back of his head,” Ducky said firmly, and he waited for Gibbs to nod before he left the room, leaving Tony to Gibbs’ tender mercies.

Gibbs turned to watch the door shut, then he faced DiNozzo again.  He did not expect what he found, which was that DiNozzo was regarding him with half-fearful eyes.  Taking a deep breath, he calmed himself and sat down to lessen the sense that he was looming.  “What have I ever done to make you look at me like that?” he asked.

DiNozzo rallied somewhat.  “Like what?” he asked, but the façade was shallow.  Gibbs could see right through it to the shaken man beneath, and he didn’t like what he saw.

Gibbs shook his head and dropped the question because there were more important issues to address.  “DiNozzo, I want you to go through the day from the time you left work till you lost consciousness and tell me everything that happened.”

Tony’s eyes widened, and he shook his head.  “Boss –”

Gibbs cut across the protest, not interested in hearing whatever excuse DiNozzo was going to try and float.  “And don’t leave anything out.”  He watched DiNozzo’s face and saw the thought processes flickering.  If he lied, Gibbs might just have to shoot him.

Tony ran the events of the evening through his mind, looking for ways to minimize them, but with a witness, that would be immeasurably harder.  How the hell had Jeanne wound up in that alley anyway?  Jeanne . . . what would Brody do?  She’d brought him down, and that would piss him off like nothing else.  On the other hand, he had no way of knowing who she was.  Tony hadn’t used her name, so he could just warn her – or get someone else to warn her – and she should be all right.  Everything was getting more and more complicated, and he knew it was all his fault.

“I can handle it, Boss,” Tony said, looking up to meet Gibbs’ eyes, hoping the direct look would prove convincing.  “It’s personal.”

Gibbs raised his eyebrows skeptically.  “That man put you in the hospital,” he said.

“You and Jeanne put me in the hospital.  If I’d been alone –”

Gibbs couldn’t help it, he raised his voice and cut the younger man off.  “You’d have been out cold in an alley for forty-five minutes or more!  DiNozzo –”  He caught himself up short.  DiNozzo had gone stiff, and his eyes were wary.  Gibbs  consciously relaxed his own tension.  He’d never seen his senior agent so off balance.  “Tony, what have I done to make you afraid of me?” he asked gently.

“I’m not afraid of you,” Tony snapped.  “I’m not afraid of anyone.”

“Ziva?” Gibbs asked, trying to lighten the mood.

Tony rolled his eyes.  “I stand corrected.  But anyone sane is afraid of Ziva.”

Gibbs snorted at the sally, but he wasn’t going to let DiNozzo derail him.  “So, you left work at about six, if I recall correctly.”

“About then,” DiNozzo said.  “Boss, look, this is all my fault, and I’m the one who has to fix it.  You can’t help.  No one can help.”

Gibbs stared at him for a long moment, more than a little alarmed by his apparent sincerity.  He leaned close.  “Are you telling me that there’s something I can’t fix?”  DiNozzo looked away, and Gibbs knew he was getting through on some level.  “Okay then.  What happened after you left work?”  DiNozzo didn’t speak.  “If you don’t start talking, I’m going to go find one of your doctors and get him to give you morphine.”

Tony’s head whipped around so fast that he winced.  “You wouldn’t.”

“Watch me.”  Gibbs’ tone was flat and Tony believed him.

“Gibbs, I don’t . . .”  Tony shook his head, leaning forward earnestly.  “I can’t talk about this.”

Gibbs stood up and looked over at the whiteboard that identified Tony’s current team of physicians.  “Then I’ll be back in a few moments.”

“Gibbs!” Tony called.  Gibbs stopped with his back still turned.  “Boss, I . . . I screwed up.”

Gibbs couldn’t remain obdurate against that.  He turned around and walked across to the chair.  “DiNozzo, you can tell me anything.”

“Right,” DiNozzo said sourly.  “Because you love me unconditionally.”

“Hey, DiNozzo, don’t you remember?” Gibbs said, and DiNozzo’s eyebrow went up sardonically.  “You’re irreplaceable.”

The bitterness in DiNozzo’s expression melted into blank astonishment.  Then, abruptly, DiNozzo rolled onto his side, curling into a ball.  Gibbs was at a loss to understand the reaction until he realized that DiNozzo’s shoulders were shaking.  Sobs began to be audible, and Gibbs knew he didn’t dare speak.  DiNozzo clearly didn’t want him to witness this moment of weakness.  Still, he couldn’t just sit there and ignore him.  He reached out and squeezed DiNozzo’s shoulder, hoping he wasn’t hitting a bruise he couldn’t see.

DiNozzo froze briefly, but he didn’t seem to be able to control his emotions at the moment.  He didn’t shift away, so Gibbs kept his hand there.  He wished he dared do more, but DiNozzo hadn’t seen enough of real family life to be able to take comfort when he was really hurting.  Gibbs just had to hope that no one would come in while DiNozzo got this out of his system.

The sobs gradually lessened, and Gibbs leaned back.  DiNozzo reached out to the bedside table and savagely yanked a handful of tissues out of the box that sat there.  The box fell on the floor, and Gibbs pretended not to see.  DiNozzo was like a cat.  When he was clowning, he wanted appreciation, but when he flubbed, he’d prefer if no one noticed.  Besides, now wasn’t the time to rib him.

“Where were we?” DiNozzo asked, turning to face forward again.  His eyes were red-rimmed, his nose cherry and his expression dared Gibbs to comment.

“You were telling me what you did after work tonight.”

“Me?  I never do anything.”  Gibbs tapped him on the knee and DiNozzo grimaced.  “I went home.  I contemplated staying there, but I get really bored with not going out.”

“I thought you went out most nights,” Gibbs said.

DiNozzo shrugged, looking away.  “Not lately,” he said.  “I . . . I think he follows me when he can.”

Gibbs kept his voice calm and reasonable, controlling the anger he felt at that admission.  “Who is he?” he asked.

“His name doesn’t matter,” Tony said.  “There’s nothing you can do.”

“Why do you keep saying that?”

“Because you can’t prove it’s not consensual,” Tony replied.

“No one volunteers to get their head smacked into a wall hard enough to break the skin.”

“He can claim that was an accident, Boss.  I’m sure he didn’t mean it to happen.”  Gibbs felt his jaw drop, and he couldn’t immediately find any words.  “What, Boss?”

“Do you know what you sound like, DiNozzo?”

DiNozzo shrugged.  “An idiot?”

“That’s a good start,” Gibbs replied, and DiNozzo raised startled eyes to his.  “DiNozzo, are you actually making excuses for this bastard?”

A guarded look came into DiNozzo’s eyes.  “What do you mean?”

Gibbs ground his teeth.  He didn’t want to say it outright, he wanted DiNozzo to figure it out.  “The point is, there was a witness to this incident who will testify to what she –”

“Leaving aside the fact that I’d rather avoid the publicity a trial would bring,” DiNozzo said, “I very much doubt her credibility will stand up to the test.”

“What do you mean, DiNozzo?” Gibbs asked, knitting his brows.

“The last time she accused a cop of something, she admitted that she’d lied at a fairly late stage in the proceedings,” DiNozzo said, and Gibbs scowled.  He didn’t like it, but that was a very telling point.  “Add to that the fact that I’m the one she falsely accused, and you get the possibility that she might now be acting out of guilt.”  He shook his head.  “I wouldn’t offer that to a prosecutor.  Would you?”

“So he is a cop?” Gibbs asked.

Tony let out an explosive sigh.  Words startled rattling out of him.  “Yes, he’s a cop.  His name is Brody Harris, DC Metro.  I had a sexual relationship with him that included rough sex.  When I ended it, he –”  DiNozzo cut off, squeezing his eyes shut.  “He wasn’t ready.”

“How long ago did you end it?”

“About six weeks.”

“The punch?” Gibbs asked, and DiNozzo nodded.  “How many times has he assaulted you?”

DiNozzo turned his head and looked out the window.  “Assault is a pretty big word,” he muttered.

“What happened tonight could be construed as assault and battery, sexual assault and unlawful imprisonment.”

DiNozzo’s head whipped around again.  “Sexual assault!” he exclaimed.  “What are you talking about?”

Gibbs blinked at him.  “What do you call it when one person forces a sexual act on another?”

Tony closed his eyes and shook his head.  He didn’t want to hear this.  “It wasn’t sexual assault,” he said through clenched teeth.

“Then he didn’t kiss you?” Gibbs asked, his voice gentle.

Tony pressed the heels of his palms to his eyes, which had begun to prickle again.  He was damned well not going to cry.  “Yes, he kissed me,” Tony replied.  How much had Jeanne seen?  What did she think?  Why did he care?

“Did you want him to?”  Tony didn’t respond, but Gibbs didn’t seem to want to let it go.  His voice was still soft, but he repeated the question implacably.  “Did you want him to kiss you?”

Tony’s hands fisted and he slammed them down on the mattress on either side of him.  “No, damn it, I didn’t!  But –”

“Did you tell him to stop?”  Tony crossed his arms tightly and looked up at the ceiling.  “Did you tell him to –”

“Yes, I did,” Tony replied, his voice a little wobbly.  “And no, he didn’t.  Not this time or the last time.”  A sly little voice in his head reminded Tony of all the other times he’d said no and been ignored, but he resolutely shoved it away.

“When was the last time?” Gibbs asked.

“That day you sent me home because you thought I was getting sick,” Tony said unwillingly.  “Or rather the night before.”

Gibbs stared at him.  “Son of a . . .”  He glowered at his agent.  “I asked you if there was something wrong.”

“And I said I ached all over,” Tony replied, meeting Gibbs’ eyes.  “It was the truth.”

“But not all of the truth.  Was there a sexual component to that assault?”  Tony shrugged.  “DiNozzo, the whole truth.”

“I guess,” Tony said.  “He kissed me that time, too, and he groped my . . .”  He felt his face heat.  “He groped my ass.”  Tony noticed again that his hands were shaking and fisted them.  Gibbs drew closer, and Tony knew what was coming.  “It’s my fault, Gibbs,” he snarled before his boss could try any of the techniques they’d both been trained in to handle rape victims.  “I somehow led him to think I wanted to be forced, I think, and now he doesn’t understand that I really mean it.”

“What have you done to tell him to go away?”

Tony shrugged.  “I’ve told him repeatedly that I don’t want anything more to do with him.  I mailed the stuff he kept leaving at my place back to him.”

“Anything else?”

Tony gulped.  Gibbs wasn’t going to like this.  “I had my locks changed.”  Gibbs brows went up.  “He had a copy of the key, and there wasn’t much point in asking for the key back.  Even if he gave it back, he could have made a thousand copies in the time he’s had it.”

“So, you’ve told him more than once, you’ve given him his stuff back and you’ve changed your locks.  I’d say that’s more than sufficient to cover ‘go away,’” Gibbs said.  “This isn’t your fault, Tony.”

Tony shook his head.  “I can’t . . . I just can’t do this right now.”  He looked into Gibbs’ eyes.  “I just want to go home.”

“Not unless the doctors release you, and if they do, I’m taking you to my place.”

Tony nodded.  “Okay, anywhere that doesn’t beep is fine,” he said.  “Can I . . . I need a few minutes.”  Gibbs nodded and turned towards the door.  “Boss?”

“Yeah DiNozzo?”

“Would you warn Jeanne that she might be in danger?”

Gibbs looked at him for a long moment.  “I’ll let her know.”

“He shouldn’t have any idea who she is, but he is a cop, and I’ve caused her enough grief already.”

“I’ve got it, DiNozzo.  You just rest.”

Gibbs walked out of the room and just stood still for a few moments.  He’d missed it.  All the signs.  How could he have missed that much?  McGee and Ziva appeared around the corner coming towards him.  Gibbs beckoned.  “How is he?” McGee asked.

“He’s conscious, but he wants some alone time.”

“Tony wants to be alone?” Ziva asked incredulously.

“Yeah,” Gibbs said dryly.  “Okay, I want you to go to DiNozzo’s apartment.  You’ll have to pick the lock, Ziva.  I want you to look and see if there’s any sign that he’s being stalked.”

Ziva nodded, eyes narrowing, and Gibbs found himself wondering if she’d made any efforts of her own to get DiNozzo to unbutton.  McGee’s eyes widened.  “He’s being stalked?”

“No, McGee, he’s being hugged to death!” Gibbs snapped.  “What do you think?”

“I . . I . . . I don’t know,” McGee said, looking lost.  “All I know is he was attacked and . . and . . and injured.”

McGee hadn’t stammered that badly in ages.  In reflecting on what he’d said to the young man, Gibbs realized that he hadn’t actually told him anything about what had happened or what he’d surmised.  He shook his head.  “I’m sorry, Tim, I’m not being fair.”

McGee’s jaw dropped.  Ziva had already turned away.  Now she turned back with her eyes wide.  “You said he was all right!” she exclaimed.

“He is,” Gibbs said, puzzled.

“You apologized,” Ziva said, sounding astounded.

“I was unfair,” Gibbs repeated.  “You need to know what’s going on if you’re going to investigate intelligently.  DiNozzo has a stalker.”

“You mean aside from Dr. Benoit?” Ziva asked icily.

Gibbs disregarded the question.  “His name is Brody Harris, he’s a cop, and, yes, his interest is sexual.  Now go.”

McGee nodded, still looking alarmed, and Ziva dragged him away.

Gibbs walked down to the nurses’ station.  “Where can I find Agent DiNozzo’s attending physician?” he asked.

A short Asian woman turned around.  “I’m Dr. Tsu,” she said.  “You are?”

“I’m DiNozzo’s boss, Agent Gibbs,” he said.  “Is there any chance he’s going to be released tonight?”

“None whatsoever,” she said.  She looked at him soberly.  “Agent Gibbs, your man suffered a serious head trauma.  I want to be sure there’s nothing hiding from our scans.”

Gibbs smiled and shook his head.  “Don’t want him released, just didn’t want to leave if it was going to happen.”

 She broke into a smile.  “Oh, I see.  No, not today and maybe not tomorrow.”

“Thanks,” Gibbs said.  When he reached DiNozzo’s room again, a nurse was just coming out.  He stepped in.  “DiNozzo?”

Tony looked away from the TV screen.  “Yeah, Boss?”  He seemed almost normal, but he’d always had amazing masks.

“I’ll be back later.  You want Ducky to sit in with you?”

“No one needs to stay, Boss,” DiNozzo said.  Gibbs raised his eyebrows, and DiNozzo sighed.  “If someone is going to sit with me, I’d rather it was Ducky than anyone else.”

“Okay.”  Gibbs walked over and chucked Tony under the chin.  “It’s going to be okay, DiNozzo.”

The gesture was rewarded with a faint grin and a shushing finger to the lips.  “This is the best part.”

“DiNozzo, that’s The Ten Commandments,” Gibbs said, looking at the TV.

“Yeah, and this is the best part.”

Gibbs shook his head and left the room, this time walking towards the waiting room where he knew Jenny, Ducky and Dr. Benoit were sitting.  The moment he appeared, Dr. Benoit stood up.  “Can I see him yet?”

“Not yet,” Gibbs said.  “Ducky, I’d like you to sit with him.”

“Does he want me?” Ducky asked.

“I don’t really want him alone,” Gibbs said with a shrug.  “And he said he’d rather you than anyone else, so you’re elected.”

“Oh, of course,” Ducky replied, and he hurried along the hall.

“Why can’t I see him?” Dr. Benoit asked plaintively.

“Has it occurred to you that you’re probably the last person he wants to see right now?” Jenny said, and the tension in the room increased exponentially.

“Has it occurred to you that he might not want people from work?” Dr. Benoit demanded.  “He certainly ousted you quickly enough.”

“Enough!” Gibbs snapped, and both women jumped.  “DiNozzo is tired, he’s upset, and he wants to be alone.  I’m not comfortable with that, so we compromised on Ducky.  That’s all there is to it.  Neither of you is welcome in his room right now, and in case there is any confusion as to whether I’m acting as his boss in this or as something else, I am his medical proxy.”

Jenny stared at him with wide eyes, and he wondered if she realized that he wasn’t really talking to her agent to director.  He was talking to her as the one person he was certain had Tony’s best interests at heart.

“Now,” Gibbs said into the silence that followed his declaration.  “Dr. Benoit, you’re coming with me.”

“Coming where?”

“NCIS headquarters.  We need to talk.”

“But I want to be here in case –”

“He’s not going to want to see you tonight,” Gibbs said as gently as he could.  “And I need to talk to you.”

“I’ve already told you everything I know.”

Jenny opened her mouth, but Gibbs gave her a glare that shut her up.  “This is to help protect Tony,” he said to Dr. Benoit.  “I’ll be coming back here later, so I can bring you back.”  Dr. Benoit pursed her lips, then nodded.  Gibbs turned to Jenny.  “Director, are you staying here?”

Her eyes smoldered but she just nodded.  “For now.”

Gibbs gave her a short nod, then started towards the elevator.  After a moment, he heard feet moving behind him.  Dr. Benoit had caught up with him by the time he pressed the call button.  The doors opened and there were already people aboard.  They entered but didn’t speak, though he could feel the pressure of all the questions that she wanted to ask.  In continued silence, they walked out to his truck, and he drove to the gate.  The sergeant waved him through, but he pulled over and stopped instead, then rolled down his window.

The sergeant walked up, waving the next car on through.  “Yes sir?”

Producing his badge, Gibbs said, “I’m Special Agent Gibbs, NCIS, and I’ve got a name to add to the do not admit list.”

The sergeant pulled out a pad of paper and pen from a pocket.  “Yes sir?”

“Brody Harris.  He may present police credentials.  He is not to be admitted, and if he makes the attempt, I want you to alert me immediately.”  Gibbs gave him his cell number and drove off the base.

A few moments later, Dr. Benoit cleared her throat.  She didn’t immediately speak, so Gibbs paid her no attention.  He didn’t know what to think of her sudden appearance at this moment, but he doubted very much that she had anything to do with Brody Harris.

“How is he, really?” Dr. Benoit asked, and Gibbs shrugged.

“He’ll recover,” he said.

“Yes, I know that.”  Dr. Benoit shook her head.  “I meant, how is he coping?”

“I’m not sure that’s any of your business,” Gibbs said.  He sensed her smothered resentment, but he didn’t feel any need to address it.  “When did you last eat?”

“What?”

“It’s coming up on midnight, and I happen to know that all of your belongings apart from your ID are in our forensics lab.  When did you last eat?”

“I had dinner,” she said.  “Before I went to the bar.”

He nodded and drove the rest of the way to the Navy Yard.  She didn’t say anything else, which suited him.  He wanted to talk to her, but when he could give her all his attention.  He escorted her to an interrogation room and told her to wait.

“Wait?” she exclaimed, standing up again.  “I should be –”

“Dr. Benoit, I have other aspects of this investigation to look into.  You are not my only concern.”  She flushed and looked away.  He left her then and, taking a detour to the drink machine, went to Abby’s lab.  There he found Abby working at an intense pace.  She barely looked up when he came in.  He walked over to stand beside her.  “Abby?”  She didn’t respond.  He rattled the drink.

“Not now, Gibbs,” she said, not even looking up.  “I’ve got to get all of this processed if I’m going to go see Tony tonight.”

Gibbs sighed.  “DiNozzo’s tired, and he doesn’t much want company right now,” he said.

That stopped Abby in her tracks.  She turned to look up at him with wide eyes.  “He doesn’t?” she asked.  “Not even me?”

Gibbs shrugged.  “Truthfully, I didn’t ask him about you because I knew you were unavailable.”  He offered the Caf-Pow! and she took it this time.

“How badly hurt is he?” she asked, fidgeting with the straw in the cup.

“He’s got stitches in his scalp,” Gibbs said.  “And he’s a bit banged up, but he’s going to be fine.”  He elected not to mention the other details for now.  “You get anything from the fingerprints we found on the dumpster?”

“A couple of skid row types,” she said, flashing pictures on the screen.  “And one Dr. Jeanne Benoit, but Timmy told me to expect her.”  A photo of the woman popped up on the screen, and Abby turned to him.  “Gibbs, why is she here?”

“I’m going to ask her that in a few minutes,” he replied, and Abby nodded, apparently satisfied.  “Anything on the other samples?”

She shrugged.  “Looked like a lot of guck,” she said.  “But I’m testing it all.  The blood is consistent with Tony’s blood type, but DNA will take a while.”

“Right.  Well, I’m pretty sure it’s his.”  Abby looked unhappy at that assurance, and Gibbs squeezed her shoulders in mute comfort.  She smiled weakly up at him, and he returned to business.  “No one else popped up from the finger –”

There was a chime, and they both looked up to see a photograph of a good looking man with very dark hair and gray eyes.  “Brody Harris,” Abby read from her screen.  “DC Metro detective.  So, probably not him.”

“Nope, that’s our guy,” Gibbs said, walking forward to look at the photo more closely.

“But he’s a cop,” Abby said in a startled voice.

“And he’s stalking DiNozzo,” Gibbs replied.

“That’s odd,” Abby remarked, and it didn’t sound like she was responding to his words.  Gibbs turned, eyebrows raised.  Abby looked up, her brows knit.  “Looks like this record is flagged.  My computer just sent a message that I didn’t tell it to send.”  She was clicking away at the keyboard.  “Interesting.  It’s gone somewhere in the federal network, but I’m having trouble telling just . . . where . . .”  She trailed off, focused on her machine.

“Call me when you know,” Gibbs said.  He returned to interrogation where he’d left Dr. Benoit and slipped into the observation room first to see what she was doing.  She appeared to be napping on her folded arms on the table, but then doctors, like marines, learned to sleep when they could.  He nodded to the technician and went on into the interrogation room.

When the door opened, her head came up sharply.  She blinked at him rapidly, then took a deep breath.  “Agent Gibbs.  That didn’t take long.”

“No,” he said, walking over to take his seat on the opposite side of the table.  “Dr. Benoit, why are you here?”

She pursed her lips.  “I don’t know how much the director told you of our conversation.”

“Practically nothing.  If you didn’t tell me yourself, assume I don’t know it.”

She nodded.  “Okay then,” she said.  “About a month ago, I realized a few things about Tony that I should have realized before.”

“Like what?” Gibbs asked.

Her lips twisted in a rueful grimace.  “Like the fact that I might not have known his real name, but that I probably did know him, or at least part of him.  No one could keep that good of an act up over a period of months without most of it being pretty close to truth.”

Gibbs shrugged, not committing himself.  “And?”

“And that the parts of him I saw in that last twenty-four hours that weren’t Tony DiNardo didn’t seem that out of sync with the man I knew.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, I’m sure you know about that last night we spent together.  He would –”

“He never told me anything about your romantic relationship,” Gibbs interjected before she could say anything truly embarrassing.  “What’s the –”  He broke off, because her expression was very startled.

“He didn’t tell you?” she asked.  “We were attacked that night, in the morgue of the hospital.  He never said anything?”

Gibbs stared at her for a long moment.  “No, I don’t know anything about that.  Please tell me.”

“Well, that was the first sign that something was off about his being a film professor,” she said.  “A boy died that evening in the hospital, he’d been smuggling heroin in his intestines, and there was a rupture.”  Gibbs grimaced.  That sort of thing always disturbed him.  “His runner or whatever you call them showed up with the boy’s sister.  She was clearly strung out, and the guy was really pushy about getting the body back.  We didn’t have any proof that the boy was a mule at that point, but all the signs were there.  Regardless, I wasn’t releasing the body under those circumstances.”

“Understandable.”

“When one of the LVNs told me that he’d seen them down at the basement level, I realized where they were going.  I called security and went down there.  Tony was with me, he’d actually ridden in the elevator with them on the way up, so he knew who they were.  That was the first thing I noticed, though it wasn’t big.  He said something about the guy that sounded like what a cop might say.”

“He was in a cop before he came to us,” Gibbs remarked.

She nodded.  “I’ve Googled him.  There’s a lot of very interesting stuff about him out there.”

Gibbs snorted.  “I’d imagine.  Please, go on.”

“Right.  Well, I followed them and Tony came with me, trying to persuade me not to go.  When we got to the morgue, he put me behind him – ordered me in a tone he’d never used before – then he peered into the room, reaching for a weapon that he clearly expected to find around here.”  She gestured at her hip.  “I’d seen that before, on movies and occasionally from my father’s bodyguards, but it was so automatic – it didn’t fit.”

Gibbs grimaced.  “No, I can see that.”

“But things got so crazy after that.  The guy came out with a gun and pulled us into the morgue.  He ordered me to call security off, and when I refused, he cracked Tony over the head with the butt of the pistol.”  Gibbs was going to have a chat with DiNozzo about this.  How could he not have mentioned any of it?  “It didn’t knock him out, but it sent him sprawling.  Anyway, Tony was all about trying to negotiate, he kept telling me to do what the guy wanted.  I didn’t listen real well.”  She shook her head.  “I got the intestines out of the body, then I ripped them open, scattering the heroin everywhere.  The guy freaked out, but I stabbed him with the scalpel.  The gun went flying and Tony . . .”  She let out a sort of helpless laugh.  “He was amazing.  He slid across the floor, got the gun and shot into the ceiling right past the guy’s head.  He laughed off the move by claiming he’d missed, but I don’t think he did.”

Gibbs shook his head.  “Probably not.”

“And then we went out and met my father, and Tony’s car blew up, and things fell apart from there.  It was a hell of a day.”

“That sounds like it.”  It also sounded like a day that he should have heard more about from DiNozzo.  He shook his head.  That was off point.  “So, you realized things about him that you should have realized before.  Go on.”

“Well, I . . .”  She shook her head.  “Someone called me to tell me that my father’s body had been found, and he told me that they were certain that Tony had done it but they didn’t have enough evidence to pin it on him.”

“Who was that?”

“The name he gave was Norman Meyer, FBI.  When I asked to speak with him later, I was told there wasn’t any such agent.”

Gibbs nodded slowly.  “And so you decided to . . .”

“I believed him, this Agent Meyer.  I think I wanted to.  Anyway, I didn’t want Tony to get away with it, so I . . . made up a story.  I’m not proud of it.”

“Good.”

She flushed.  “I came back to apologize to Tony, to make peace, but I didn’t think my best bet was to call him or e-mail him.  It’s too easy to duck that.  I mean, Tony’s really good at ducking things.”  Gibbs snorted.  “I wanted to . . . sort of run into him, so I found out some bars he likes to go to and I went there.”

“Frequently, from what the bartender told McGee.”

“Every night for a week,” she said, nodding.  “I was nerving myself up to accidentally bump into him at the bar when he slipped out the back door, and I followed him.”

“How did he seem, sitting at the bar?”

Her brows knit, and he was glad to see that she was giving the question some thought.  “Quiet.  Almost withdrawn.”  She shook her head.  “I wasn’t sure if that was his usual behavior among strangers, so I didn’t really think about it.”

Gibbs nodded.  “Did you see his attacker’s face?”

“Yes.  It was a little in shadow, but I saw him pretty clearly.  I would recognize him again.”

“How did Tony seem when you first saw him?”  She blinked at him, not speaking for several moments.  “Is that a problem?”

She sighed.  “He was frightened.  I could tell that he was fighting as hard as he could, and Brody wasn’t moved.”  Gibbs really didn’t like the image of DiNozzo scared.  “He towered over Tony –”

“Towered?” Gibbs repeated.  Tony was not a short man.

“About three inches taller, maybe more.”  She paused.  “At first he was just trying to get me to go away, convince me that there was nothing wrong or that I couldn’t fix it by telling me he was a cop.  It was when he realized that I knew Tony that he got angry.”

Jealousy.  Gibbs sighed.  Jealousy could make people really stupid.  “Would you please tell me about your relationship with DiNozzo, while it was still good?”

“How is that relevant?”

Gibbs shrugged.  “It might help me to understand some of DiNozzo’s thinking right now, and that could be very important.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Do you have to?”

She gazed at him for a long moment, clearly considering the question.  Finally she took a deep breath and let it out slowly.  “Okay.”

Chapter Text

Friday, 2214, Anthony DiNozzo's apartment

McGee opened another drawer of neatly folded clothes. "I never would have guessed Tony was this meticulous," he said loudly.

Ziva came into the room from the bathroom. "About his clothes? Seriously?"

McGee shrugged. "Okay, you have a point. But there's nothing hiding in these drawers except a box of condoms."

"I doubt that is hidden, McGee. He does not have a mother or a girlfriend peeking into his drawers for contraband."

He glowered sideways at her and closed the drawer. She left the bedroom as he attacked the bedside table. In that drawer he found the mess he'd expected. Leftover medicine from various illnesses, unfinished antibiotics prescriptions. A grin quirked McGee's lips. He could get Tony into serious trouble with Gibbs by letting that fact drop in conversation. A half full bag of throat lozenges rubbed shoulders with a bottle of massage oil on top of an issue of Playpen. McGee pulled out the magazine and flipped through. Tony did have good taste, and there weren't any secret letters hiding between the pages. Ziva let out a laugh. McGee jumped, and, half-expecting to find her behind him when he turned, he shoved the magazine out of sight from the door. She wasn't there, of course, and McGee felt himself flushing as he tucked it back into the drawer.

He lifted the mattress to check for hiding places, but there was nothing. He went out into the living room. "What made you laugh?"

"All he has in his refrigerator is leftover pizza, beer and bread."

"He keeps his bread in the fridge?" McGee said.

Her brows wrinkled. "I think you miss the point."

"No, I got it. He's a bachelor. Guys don't keep food around the house the way girls do."

"Is that all you have in your fridge?"

"No, but I just made a grocery run," McGee said. "I've got hot dogs and ground beef." It was an exaggeration, but Ziva was a harder target than Kate had ever been, so he had to take his opportunities when they came.

She rolled her eyes and walked over to a secretary desk in the corner. "He has some lovely antiques," she remarked.

"Yeah, he does," McGee said, pulling down DVDs and opening the boxes. "Handy having a wealthy family."

"How do you know he did not buy them himself?" she asked as she seated herself and started looking through the papers and cubbyholes.

"Because he spends all his money on clothes and movies."

"And a maid," Ziva said. "And a laundry service."

"Which explains the uniformly folded clothes," McGee said.

"And he's been getting notes from someone who does not sign his name and does not leave fingerprints."

McGee stopped with Hang 'em High open in his hand. "What?"

"Very lurid notes, and since they are not tied with a red ribbon, and each one is slotted into its own evidence bag, I do not think he's holding onto them as keepsakes."

"Lurid how?" McGee asked, walking over.

"Frank descriptions of sex acts the writer would like to perform on Tony's body," she said. Holding one of them up in its evidence bag, she read aloud. "'I want to thrust myself into your hot –"

"That's enough," McGee said hastily. Reading them would be bad enough. Hearing them read aloud would be excruciating. "How many notes?"

"Five." She shook her head. "Tony has clearly checked them for prints, he has put them in evidence bags.  What did he hope to gain from that if he did not plan on telling anyone?"

McGee shrugged. The words were written heavily on the paper in pencil, creating an inverse relief of the letters on the back side, and they were printed in all caps. The bold lines were intense and disturbing. "Not going to be easy to match handwriting on those," he said.

"Almost impossible," Ziva agreed. She dropped the whole collection into an evidence bag. "Now I suppose we should check his mail."

"How?"

She held out a little key on a tab. "Here is the key to his mailbox."

McGee shook his head and gestured at the wall. "You get the mail, I'm going to keep looking through DVDs."

She shrugged and left the apartment. He kept opening boxes. This could take hours. Tony had enough DVDs to stock a store. Ziva returned after a few minutes and sat down at Tony's desk, going through the mail methodically. She turned finally and said, "There is nothing –"

The box McGee opened at that moment released a small slip of white paper which wafted to the floor. McGee glanced at Ziva and their eyes met. The paper landed with the blank side up, but McGee could see the indentations the writing had left. He squatted and picked it up with his gloved fingers.

"'I know you still want me,'" he read aloud. "'You are still mine, and always will be.'"

Both he and Ziva were silent for a moment. "I do not believe Tony put that there," Ziva said.

McGee dug out an evidence bag and dropped the note inside. The movie box he placed into another evidence bag. Holding it up, he looked at it. "I wonder what significance The Untouchables has in this context."

"Someone will have to ask Tony."

McGee's eyes widened. "Not me."

"Nor me, I suspect. I believe Gibbs will be asking Tony most of the questions on this occasion."

McGee nodded and he looked up at the wall of DVDs. "Ziva, does it seem to you that these notes sort of imply that this guy and Tony had an actual relationship?" He glanced over at her and she was giving him a wide-eyed look. "I know it's common for a stalker to imagine that kind of relationship, but this seems like a little more than imagination."

Ziva shook her head. "McGee . . . is it not obvious that is the case?" she exclaimed. "And I doubt very much this is the first time he has been attacked."

"What makes you say that?"

"He has been wearing turtlenecks for more than a week now," she said, and McGee knit his brows, trying to puzzle out the connection. "And this desire to be alone, I think it is less that he wants to be alone than that he does not want to be seen."

"What are you saying?"

"The last time I wore turtlenecks every day for a week, it was because I had a hickey on my neck, and I did not want Tony to see it."

McGee's brows went up. "You think he has a hickey?"

"I think he has a bite mark or a bruise on his neck," Ziva said.

None of this made sense. "But Tony's not gay!"

She gave him one of those sympathetic smiles that always felt enormously condescending. "Not all men who have sex with other men are gay, McGee."

"But why would Tony get involved with . . . with a guy?"

"I do not know, but I believe that is another question that Gibbs must ask him."

McGee nodded uneasily and returned to opening movie boxes.

Friday, 2242, Bethesda Naval Medical Center

Tony listened to Ducky with half an ear so he'd know when to grunt or say something like "Really?" Mostly, though, he just floated on the pleasant babble of Ducky's voice. Apart from a remark about his being the 'best of a bad lot' as far as Tony was concerned, Ducky hadn't made any reference to his reason for being the hospital, his injuries or anything sensitive at all. He was currently telling a story about an incident in Palestine that involved a camel, a Billy goat and two dogs. The constant stream of chatter made it easy not to think.

That's why he'd wanted Ducky rather than someone else. Abby could do the same thing sometimes, but in this situation she'd fuss too much to talk about bowling nuns. Not only would she fuss, but she'd try to get him to talk about his feelings, which was the furthest thing from what he wanted at the moment.

The door opened, and Tony looked up, expecting a nurse to come around the curtain. Instead it was Jenny, and he looked up at her, feeling his whole body tense with anger and humiliation. It was one thing to be seen in this state by Gibbs and Ducky. Gibbs didn't judge, and Ducky was his doctor. Jenny was another matter altogether. The last time she'd been in, he hadn't been as aware of how much of his body was uncovered by the hospital gown. "What part of 'I want to be alone' did you fail to understand?" he demanded. "Or did Gibbs fail to pass that along to you?"

"I'm leaving," she said, her expression troubled. "I just wanted to let you know that."

"Okay. I know. Thank you very much."

"Tony, I –"

Tony closed his eyes. "Director, I really really don't want you here. I don't even want Ducky here, but Gibbs doesn't want to leave me alone for some reason." He clenched his teeth and let out a breath. "No offence, Ducky," he said in an undertone.

"None taken," the medical examiner said in an unruffled tone.

"We'll take care of things, Tony, don't worry," Jenny said.

"Take care of what?" Tony asked, alarmed. "I don't want anything taken care of. I told Gibbs there was nothing he could do, and I meant it."

"Good night, Tony," Jenny said, her brows drawn together in a worried expression, and she left.

"Ducky, what's Gibbs doing?"

Ducky shook his head. "I'm here with you, Anthony, I have no idea what he's doing."

"He didn't tell you what he was doing?"

"No, he did not," Ducky said. "Stop worrying and relax, dear boy."

Tony shook his head. He really didn't need this. "Where's the phone?"

Ducky handed it to him, and Tony dialed Gibbs' cell number. Gibbs picked up after three rings, and Tony knew he had to be in the middle of something, otherwise it would have been the first. "Gibbs," said the voice in his ear.

"Gibbs, what are you doing?"

"At the moment, I'm talking with Dr. Benoit."

Tony ground his teeth. "Gibbs, I told you there was nothing you could do."

"I'm not standing by while you're stalked, beaten and sexually assaulted, DiNozzo," Gibbs said in his mild voice, the one that told perps and convicts that he meant business. "It kind of goes against the grain."

"Gibbs, I need you to let it go," Tony said. "Please?"

"I'll be back to talk to you in person later tonight, and I won't do anything concrete till I've spoken with you. Okay?"

Tony guessed he'd have to settle for that. "Okay. See you, Boss."

Friday, 2253, NCIS Headquarters

Gibbs shook his head, more than a little disturbed by DiNozzo's unwillingness to see anything done about his problem. Was it just that he blamed himself and wanted to solve it alone, or was it something deeper that dated back to the incredibly neglectful childhood he'd suffered? Gibbs didn't know, but he was not going to let DiNozzo follow this downward spiral any further if he could help it.

"What's wrong?" Dr. Benoit asked urgently. "Is Tony okay?"

"Why would you think he was worse now?" Gibbs asked. "He was fine two hours ago."

Benoit shook her head. "Head traumas can be deceptive," she said. "It's possible to have what looks like a minor injury and die of it hours later. Is he okay?"

"I just spoke to him," Gibbs said. "He's fit enough to argue, so I think he's fine." She relaxed back into her chair, closing her eyes. "I think I've got enough from you for now," he said. "I have a couple of things to check on before I go back. Would you like to wait here, or –"

"Actually, I need the restroom," Dr. Benoit said.

Gibbs nodded. He pulled out his phone and called Ziva. When she answered, he said, "Where are you?"

"In the observation room," she said in an amused tone. "McGee and I got back about ten minutes ago."

"Where's McGee?"

"In Abby's lab. They are attempting to trace a packet, why, I do not know."

Gibbs shook his head. There was no knowing with computer geeks. A perfectly ordinary word like packet could have a dozen different meanings for all he knew. "Fine. I need you to get over here and escort Dr. Benoit to the restroom, then bring her to the lab."

"Very well. Shall I take a moment so that it does not appear that I was next door?"

"Now, Ziva!" Gibbs growled and snapped his phone shut.

A moment later, the door opened and she walked in. "Dr. Benoit, this is Officer Ziva David. She will be your escort."

"Thank you," Dr. Benoit said.

Gibbs left them to it. When he got to the lab, Abby and McGee were typing madly, but seconds later McGee stopped and stepped away. Abby stopped, too, staring at her screen. McGee shook his head. "That's heavy encryption, Abby. It's going to take longer than twenty minutes to crack it."

Abby sighed. "I know. But I'm pretty sure that puts it in Spooksville."

"The CIA?" McGee asked.

"Or NSA," Abby said, shrugging. "There's a couple other As it could be, but those are the most likely."

"What would the CIA or the NSA want with a DC cop, though?" McGee asked.

"Excellent question, McGee," Gibbs said, striding forward. "What did you find at DiNozzo's apartment?"

McGee turned towards the table. "These notes, Boss." Gibbs walked over and looked down at the little slips of paper. There were seven of them, and five of them had DiNozzo's handwriting on the evidence bags. "These five were in his desk," McGee said, gesturing to them. "These other two we don't think Tony ever saw."

"Based on what?"

"Based on the fact that they were tucked into DVD cases, and he hadn't put them in evidence bags."

"Or checked them for prints," Gibbs added, nodding. Taken together, the notes were disturbing in the extreme, but DiNozzo still hadn't brought them in and shown them to him. He wasn't sure whether it denoted a lack of trust or an unwillingness to involve anyone else in his personal problems. He looked at the movies. "The Untouchables and The Fugitive, huh?"

"We wanted to ask Tony what the significance of those movies was in the . . . the relationship."

Gibbs nodded. "Anything else?"

"Not really," McGee said, and then he grinned like he was about to say something funny. "Aside from a lack of real food in his fridge, that is."

"That's not like Tony," Abby said.

"No, it's not," Gibbs replied thoughtfully.

"It's not?" McGee said, glancing back and forth between them. "I almost didn't mention it, it just seems so like Tony to me."

"No, no, no," Abby said anxiously. "He does eat a lot of junk, but he also eats good food. "He cooks sometimes, barbecues on his balcony and stuff."

"Have you shown McGee a picture of our guy?" Gibbs asked.

"Not yet." Abby did her magic with the computer and the photo appeared on the screen.

"Can you pull his driver's license?"

"Sure," Abby said, and she began typing again.

"That's him." Gibbs turned to see Dr. Benoit entering the room with Ziva. "That's the man who had Tony pinned to a wall."

Ziva's eyes widened. She glanced at Benoit, then glared up at the screen, her eyes narrowing murderously. Abby had just pulled up Harris's driver's license on her computer. "Oh my God, he's huge! Like ginormous!" Gibbs had expected both those reactions, but he was worried about McGee's. He looked more uncomfortable than angry, and Gibbs thought he might need to have a serious talk with his youngest agent fairly soon.

"He's at least three inches taller than Tony," Dr. Benoit said. "And broader."

"He's 6'6"," Abby said. "He's a behemoth!"

"I could take him," Ziva said confidently.

"Tony couldn't," Gibbs observed.

"Yes, well, I can take Tony," Ziva replied. "And he would underestimate me, I'll wager." She nodded towards the photo.

Benoit snorted. "He expected me to run away and hide the minute he said he was a cop, so I'd say you're right."

"Don't count on it," Gibbs said. "He's been watching Tony, which means he's been watching us."

"So he knows who we all are?" Abby asked. "Is he like Michael was, taking pictures all the time and building a website?"

"So far as I know there is no website idolizing DiNozzo," Gibbs said. "Though I suppose you should look." He shook his head. "All right, McGee, Ziva, go home. I'll want to see you –"

"Home!" Ziva exclaimed. "With Tony in the hospital and that cretin on the loose?"

"Boss, there's lots of stuff we could do even at this hour," McGee said.

"I told Tony I wouldn't take significant steps without talking to him first."

A silence followed this statement. McGee looked flabbergasted, Ziva alarmed and Dr. Benoit just looked confused.

"He's dying!" Abby burst out. "I knew it! You're all just protecting me."

"He's not dying, Abbs," Gibbs said.

"Then you're going to Mexico, or . . . or . . . or something!"

"Gibbs, why?" Ziva asked. "We cannot let him get away with this!"

"I have no intention of letting him get away with anything," Gibbs replied. "I only agreed to it because of Tony's emotional state."

"That's it," Abby announced. "I am going to the hospital now."

"No, you're not," Gibbs said, and Abby's spine straightened so sharply that she seemed to grow an inch taller.

"Oh, yes I am," she declared, and she started towards her office.

"Abbs?" Gibbs said.

"What?" He pointed towards the evidence. "Oh." Her brow wrinkled. "That's not fair," she said, shoulders slumping. "As soon as I'm done, I'm going to the hospital."

"You know that'll probably be around 4 am." She nodded. "He'll be asleep, Abbs."

"I don't care."

"And I'll be sitting with him."

"Then I'll bring coffee."

He shrugged. "You ready, Dr. Benoit?"

"For what?" she asked, seeming startled to be addressed so abruptly.

"To go back."

"To the hospital?"

"I said I'd take you back, and I'm going, whether you're ready or not. I don't guarantee he'll see you, but –"

"He should not!" Ziva said, her eyes flashing with anger. "She should not try."

"You wouldn't even know anything was wrong if it wasn't for me," Dr. Benoit retorted.

"There probably wouldn't be anything wrong if it wasn't for you!" Ziva shot back.

McGee looked plainly terrified. "Interviews . . . paperwork . . ." he muttered, pointing vaguely towards the elevator.

Gibbs took pity on him. "Go," he said in an undertone, and McGee made himself scarce. Abby was watching as though rooting from the sidelines.

"He does not need you here, opening up old wounds," Ziva said.

"I think –" Abby said, but neither woman paid her any attention.

"I'm attempting to heal them," Benoit replied sharply. "And it's not any of your business."

"He is my partner, it is very much my business."

"If you want my opinion –" Abby started to say.

Both women turned on her with an emphatic "No!"

Gibbs was about to put an end to it, but Abby lost her patience. Striding through the gap between them, she turned around and glared at them both. "I have known him longer than either of you . . . longer than both of you put together, in fact. He's my Tony, and nobody messes with my Tony and gets away with it."

"Your Tony?" Dr. Benoit said, blinking.

"Yes, my Tony," Abby said firmly.

"Abby, evidence," Gibbs ordered.

She glared at him. "It's a little difficult with all these people cluttering up my lab."

"I'm taking care of that," Gibbs said mildly, and, placated, she returned to work. "Ziva, home or hospital, I don't care which."

"I am going to the hospital," Ziva proclaimed.

"So am I," Dr. Benoit said just as decidedly.

"Not if you don't come with me now," Gibbs replied, and he headed out of the room. Dr. Benoit was right beside him when he reached the elevator, and he had to admit, she learned fast.

Chapter Text

Saturday, 0008, Bethesda Naval Medical Center

Tony had napped on and off all evening, sometimes even during Ducky's stories. The net result was that it was now midnight, he wasn't sleepy, and Ducky was drowsing in the chair by the bed. Tony wanted to tell him to go home, but Gibbs had asked him to stay, so stay he would whether he could stay awake or not. In lieu of sending him home, Tony had carefully draped a blanket over the older man to guard against the chill.

How was he going to convince Gibbs not to pursue this? There had to be some angle he could take that would make him understand. The last thing he wanted was for anyone to know, so now that Gibbs and Jenny and Ducky and Jeanne knew, all Tony could think of was containment. Probably Gibbs had told McGee and Ziva something, but Tony hoped not everything.

The door opened, and he tensed even though he knew it was probably a nurse. He'd been expecting Brody to show up all evening. If he heard about an NCIS agent being attacked and injured downtown and taken to Bethesda, he'd most likely make the connection and come down. Tony practically held his breath until his visitor came around the curtain. It wasn't Brody, and it wasn't a nurse. It was Gibbs.

Tony sighed and gestured with his head towards the sleeping man. "I think it's time you sent Ducky home."

Gibbs made a wry face and nodded. He walked over and put his hand gently on Ducky's shoulder. "Hey, Duck?"

"What? Where . . . oh, Jethro. How long have I been asleep?"

"About an hour," Tony said.

"I'm sorry, dear boy, I didn't mean to – where did this come from?" He caught the blanket as it started to slide off his lap.

Tony shrugged. "You looked cold," he said, and Ducky smiled at him.

"Go on home, Duck," Gibbs said. "I'll stay the night."

"You don't have to, Boss," Tony said.

"I know I don't," Gibbs said, "but I'm going to."

"Good night, Jethro," Ducky said. Reaching down and squeezing Tony's shoulder where there were no bruises, he said, "Good night, Anthony. Pleasant dreams."

"Thanks, Ducky." Tony hoped Ducky knew he meant it for the hours of keeping him occupied more than for the good wishes. Ducky squeezed his shoulder again and left the room. The door fell shut behind him with its usual dull thump. Gibbs retrieved the blanket from the chair and spread it over Tony. "I'm fine, Boss," Tony said.

"You're not fine," Gibbs replied, his tone a little clipped. "You're in a sorry state, DiNozzo."

Tony looked down at his lap. "I'm sorry, Boss."

"What are you sorry for?"

"For not handling this better. I shouldn't have let it get this far."

"And how could you have handled it better?" Gibbs asked expectantly.

Tony knew his boss was fishing for something, but he didn't quite know what for. "I'm not sure," he said. "Maybe I should have been more firm from the start, though I'm not sure how much firmer you can be than 'get out and don't come back.'"

Gibbs bent over the bed and fixed Tony with a stern look. "I don't want an apology for that, DiNozzo." Tony blinked at him, a little alarmed. Gibbs' eyes softened slightly. "I'm not upset that you got yourself into a hole. We all do that sometimes."

"Boss, I –" Tony realized that he didn't have any idea what he'd been planning to say, he closed his mouth. Gibbs was going to lower the boom now. He was off the team, he was out of a job, and he deserved it.

"Why didn't you come to me, Tony?" Gibbs asked.

"What with?" Tony replied, shaking his head. "'Boss, I've got this guy stalking me, but I kind of led him on, so it's really my fault.' See, there's –"

Gibbs reached out as if he was going to smack him on the head, and Tony tensed. Gibbs stopped, dropping his hand and looking frustrated. "This is in no way your fault, DiNozzo," he said firmly. "If some bastard decides that no means nothing, then that's his fault, not yours." Tony shrugged. "DiNozzo!" Gibbs exclaimed, and Tony jumped at the louder tone, feeling like a wuss. Gibbs grabbed the chair and sat down, pulling it close. "Damn it, DiNozzo, you knew that Abby wasn't to blame for her stalker's actions."

"Abby is sweet and lovable and nobody ever gets mad at Abby," Tony said. "Not really mad. Exasperated, irritated, annoyed, but never really mad."

"So?"

"I had a ex-girlfriend who filled my closet full of dog poo, one who put my name up on the herpes alert website and egged my car, one who sicced her brother on me, and one who accused me falsely of murdering her father." Tony ran his fingers through his hair, stopping short of the spot where the stitches lay. "Kate even told me once that you guys knew I had to be alive when you were following Atlas and me through the sewers because 'only Tony could piss someone off that much.'"

"What's that got to do with a stalker?"

Tony shook his head. "I don't know. I think I must really suck at break ups, because no one ever seems to like me afterwards."

"That doesn't seem to be the problem with Detective Harris."

Tony shivered. "Trust me, he's angry. He just doesn't . . . I don't know what he wants from me. I told him at the outset that I didn't want a long term relationship, that I didn't want romance, that it was just . . . release. He said that's all he wanted, too."

"How did you two meet?"

Tony closed his eyes and felt a mildly hysterical laugh rising from his gut. He quelled it. "Oddly enough, he rescued me from a bad situation in the alley next to Louie's."

"What kind of bad situation?"

Tony shrugged. "A guy had been hitting on me hard in Louie's. He'd followed me over there from somewhere else, I don't remember where, and I kept telling him no. I finally decided I'd had enough and went out to find a cab."

"And?"

"And between wherever and Louie's, he'd picked up a couple of friends. They grabbed me and dragged me into the alley." Tony gulped. "The third guy showed up and they were . . . Brody stopped them, chased them off."

"You didn't report it?" Gibbs asked.

Tony looked away. "Nothing really happened, and there wasn't any real evidence."

Gibbs gazed at DiNozzo's averted face, deeply worried. He wanted to know what the three attackers had done that Tony claimed to consider nothing, because it clearly affected him more strongly than he wanted to admit. "So what happened then?" Gibbs asked.

"Brody offered me a ride home, and I invited him to come over for a movie the next night." DiNozzo shrugged. "I'd seen him around, he'd made a softish pass at me but hadn't pressed when I said no. The movie kind of segued into something else . . . it felt like what I needed."

"Which was what?"

"Rough, no strings, no commitment, gratification without guilt." Tony looked embarrassed, but Gibbs could see where that was coming from. Dr. Benoit still haunted him. Jen should never have put DiNozzo in that situation, but it was too late to fix that now.

"There's nothing wrong with that," Gibbs said, and DiNozzo flashed him a surprised look. "So, what movie did you watch?"

"The Untouchables."

"Was that the last time you watched it, or have you watched it since?" Gibbs asked.

"That was the last time," DiNozzo said, and Gibbs could see suspicion awakening in DiNozzo's expression. "Why?"

"I had Ziva and McGee go to your place to look for signs that you had a stalker."

"Gibbs, you said you wouldn't take concrete action," DiNozzo exclaimed, looking hurt.

"I sent them before that phone call," Gibbs replied, and DiNozzo's shoulders slumped. "They found the notes you'd hidden in your desk." Tony grimaced. "And they found two others."

The younger man's head came up. "Where?" Before Gibbs could answer, DiNozzo said, "In the box for The Untouchables?"

Gibbs nodded. "One of them. The other one was in the box for The Fugitive."

Tony blinked at him. "What did they say?"

"What do you think?"

DiNozzo shook his head. "What do I have to do to get him to go away?" he asked, his voice harsh with frustration.

"We're working on that." The door opened and DiNozzo froze until the nurse came around the curtain to check on his drips.

"Why aren't you sleeping, Tony?" she asked.

"Slept a lot this evening," he replied with a pleasant grin and no sign of angst. It gave Gibbs a jolt to see his mood shift so completely. "Besides, I had to stay awake to see more of you."

"Hush," she said, but she was smiling as she left again. DiNozzo settled back on the bed, looking tired.

"I told the gate guards not to let him in, DiNozzo."

"What? Who?"

"Harris. They have his name, and they know not to let him in." It was like watching a man drop a heavy weight that had been holding him down. Gibbs could see the relief in every line of DiNozzo's body. "When did you last watch The Fugitive?"

Tony looked towards the dark windows. "About a week before . . . before I told him to go jump in a lake."

Gibbs contemplated the significance of that given what the note in that box had said. No matter where you go, I will find you. You were meant to be mine. "And why did you tell him to go jump in a lake?"

"I've been thinking that I need to get a new place," Tony said. "There's a building over on Delaware that's got really high security."

"High security that important to you when you're looking at places to live?" Gibbs asked, and Tony's eyes widened, and Gibbs could tell that his attempt at a subject change had backfired.

"I didn't say that," he said hastily. "The apartments are nicer, too, and bigger, and they've got great internet connections, or so I've heard, and it's got its own gym, not that I'd use it all that often because I like going to my gym, but it's nice that it has its own gym because on those days when I didn't feel like going out I could just use that gym, I mean, on the rare days when I'm home and not at work."

Gibbs waited till the babbling petered out, then put a hand on his agents shoulder. "DiNozzo, I'm going to pursue this, and one way or another, I'm going to bring the bastard in."

"You don't have jurisdiction," Tony protested. "He's not in the navy and never was."

"He attacked an NCIS agent."

"In his personal time, not on the job."

Gibbs shrugged. "Fine, then I'll get Fornell involved."

"Boss, you can't!" Tony exclaimed.

Gibbs raised an eyebrow. "You said it was a jurisdictional issue. Fornell has jurisdiction."

"It's more than that!" Tony shook his head. "You know that ALD Enterprises just made a hostile takeover?" Gibbs shook his head. He barely knew that ALD Enterprises was DiNozzo's father's firm. "Reporters were calling me to get inside information about my father."

"I'm guessing you didn't provide any."

"Of course not, but it means their ears are out for the DiNozzo name, and scandals sell papers. I really couldn't cope with that."

"So, you'd rather cope with being mauled by a guy who's bigger than you?"

DiNozzo shuddered. "Boss, he'll get over it. I just have to . . . I don't know . . . avoid him till he's given up."

"A man who leaves notes inside DVD boxes isn't giving up, DiNozzo," Gibbs said. "It's been six weeks. How long did you plan to wait?"

"I can't have this conversation," DiNozzo said abruptly. He got out of the bed on the side opposite Gibbs and started towards the bathroom. Before he got there, his gait faltered. Gibbs barely got to his side in time to gently lower him to the floor as he passed out.

Leaving him on the floor, his head turned to the side so that he wasn't resting on his stitches, Gibbs dashed to the door and opened it. "Need some help in here!" Letting it fall shut, he returned to DiNozzo. The door behind him opened and he heard footsteps approaching.

"What happened?" Dr. Benoit fell to her knees on DiNozzo's other side.

"I think he got up too fast," Gibbs said, looking up to find Ziva looming over them. "Ziva, go get – never mind. Dr. Tsu?"

Dr. Benoit got up and made way for the attending physician. Tsu did a few checks, and DiNozzo started to come to before she'd finished. "What happened?" DiNozzo muttered thickly.

"You passed out, Tony," Dr. Tsu said. "How are you feeling now?"

"Like I really need to go to the bathroom," he said.

Gibbs glanced at the doctor, who nodded. "All right, let's get you up." He helped DiNozzo to his behind him feet and guided him into the bathroom. When they emerged, he'd expected the doctor to still be there, but not Benoit and Ziva. DiNozzo saw them and balked.

"What are they doing in here?" he asked in an undertone.

"You need to lie down, DiNozzo."

Dr. Tsu came forward and put an arm around him. "Come along, Tony. You need to get into bed. They're only concerned because you passed out."

DiNozzo allowed himself to be guided and got back into bed. Gibbs looked at his legs as he moved away and saw some of the bruises Ducky had spoken of. While DiNozzo got settled, Gibbs walked over to the two women. "You will be pleasant to each other, or I will boot you both out. Now, it's one in the morning, so say what you came to say and then get out and go home." Ziva nodded, and he jerked a thumb towards Tony. As she walked over, Gibbs held a hand up in front of Dr. Benoit. "And anything heavy can wait," he said very quietly.

For a moment, her eyes flashed angrily, but then she bit her lip and nodded. He stepped back out of her way. Ziva was talking softly to Tony while he looked up at her with knit brows. Gibbs wondered what she was saying. He followed Jeanne across the room.

DiNozzo looked up at her, and Gibbs could see it all in his eyes. Nerves, loss, an emotional rawness that would not be easily soothed. Ziva saw it, too, and her lips narrowed. "Hi, Tony," Dr. Benoit said. "We've been given our marching orders."

"Gibbs?" DiNozzo asked, raising his eyebrows, and she nodded. "Good night then," he said. "Both of you. Ziva, will you make sure she gets home all right? Brody could be after her now, what with the way she took him down."

Ziva's eyes widened, but she nodded. "Of course, Tony. I will drive her home."

"There's no need, I can catch a cab," Dr. Benoit said.

DiNozzo beckoned to her and she walked up to the head of the bed. He took her hand. "Please, Jeanne, let Ziva see you home, for my peace of mind."

She nodded and squeezed his hand. "Okay, Tony. See you later."

Ziva shot Gibbs a dark look as they both left. Gibbs returned to his chair. He had to admire DiNozzo's adroit handling of the independent-minded Dr. Benoit. By making the request about helping him, he made it much harder to ignore.

"You don't have to stay, Boss."

"Go to sleep, DiNozzo. You'll want at least a couple of hours before Abby shows up."

"Abby?"

"Yeah, she was coming over as soon as she finished processing evidence."

The younger man glowered at him and turned on his side. Gibbs gave in to temptation and tucked him in tightly. DiNozzo shifted slightly, but he didn't object. Gibbs sat back and pulled out the book he'd brought with him.

zzz

Saturday, 0125, streets of downtown Washington DC

Ziva drove in silence. She did not want to speak to the woman beside her because she did not want to tell her exactly what she thought of her, and she knew how easily that could happen. Fortunately, Dr. Benoit was staying in one of the downtown hotels, so she did not need directions.

About halfway there, she noticed something in the rearview. Ziva pulled into the left lane without signaling. "It's a right here," Dr. Benoit said. Ziva ignored her. The light changed and she made her turn. "You're going the wrong way," Dr. Benoit exclaimed.

"I heard you the first time," Ziva said irritably. "I think we are being followed."

"What?" The other woman turned around. "I don't see anything."

"Are you trained to notice such things?" Ziva demanded.

"No."

"I did not think so." She made another left turn, and the car she had marked made it behind them. A third left turn, then a fourth brought them back to the original road in the same direction. "We are being followed. I am not at all sure it is wise to take you to your hotel."

"Surely a hotel is safe enough," Dr. Benoit said. "There's security there."

Ziva shook her head decisively. "Not sufficient. He is a police officer. He could bypass security if he so chose. You will have to stay with me."

"What?" Dr. Benoit shook her head. "Why?"

"You will be safe in my apartment for tonight, and Gibbs can make a decision tomorrow about what we should do about your security."

"Do I get a choice?" Dr. Benoit asked.

"Of course," Ziva said irritably. "You may be dropped at your hotel, have something dreadful happen to you for which Tony will blame himself, or you can stay one night on my sofa, suffer minor discomfort and be safe until a more permanent arrangement can be discussed. Which do you prefer?"

Dr. Benoit's eyes were narrowed. After a moment, though, she sighed. "I will accept your generous hospitality," she said with heavy irony.

Ziva nodded once and headed for home. The tail kept up with her the whole way, but he broke off when she pulled down the driveway to the security gates. Punching in her code, she drove to her parking spot. "This way," she said, leading off towards the elevator. Dr. Benoit followed her without a word.

Ziva's apartment was on the fifteenth floor. She unlocked the door, touching the mezuzah and kissing her fingers as she passed it. She keyed in the alarm code then turned on the lights. "Come in, so I can reset the alarm," she said to the woman hovering on the threshold behind her.

"Oh, of course," Dr. Benoit said, slipping past her. Ziva closed and locked the door, then reset the alarm before joining her guest in the living room where she was looking dubiously at the length of the couch.

"You will not have to sleep on the sofa," Ziva said. "I have one of those blow up beds." She went to the linen closet and dragged it out, grabbing some bedding as well, and between them they got it set up in front of the couch. While it inflated, Ziva went into her room and fetched out a nightgown. Handing it to Dr. Benoit, she said, "We will stop by your hotel on the way in to NCIS in the morning."

Dr. Benoit took the nightgown with a surprised expression. "When do you go in?"

"Eight. I will wake you at six."

"Thank you," Dr. Benoit said. "You didn't have to do this."

"It is my job," Ziva said haughtily.

"Do you usually bring your work home with you?" Dr. Benoit asked.

Ziva grimaced. "No." She turned on the lamp on the end table and turned off the overhead lights. "The bathroom is through that door. Good night."

"Good night."

Ziva went to bed and contemplated the woman in the other room. She had never till this day realized just how complete Dr. Benoit's capture of Tony's spirit had been. The expression in his eyes when he had looked up at her standing at the foot of the bed had told Ziva more than searching questions and observation over a period of months had done. She had believed that his anger over that false accusation would kill the feelings he'd had for the woman, but clearly it had not. She did not understand why, but Tony felt guilty about things that Ziva would never even consider blaming herself for.

She would have to watch closely to see that this Jeanne didn't make Tony's situation immeasurably worse.

Chapter Text

Saturday, 0821, Bethesda Naval Medical Center

Gibbs awoke to the sound of soft voices. "I don't know, Abby. I still don't even know why she came back, or if she was there by accident."

"I wasn't formally introduced to her, but you should have seen her and Ziva going at it. I don't think Ziva likes her much. I had to tell them to stop fighting over my Tony."

"What do you mean?" Tony asked, his misgivings audible in his voice.

"They weren't fighting over you," Gibbs said without opening his eyes, amused by the little startled squeak Abby gave when he spoke. "Ziva was just not happy to see Dr. Benoit." He opened his eyes and saw Abby sitting on the bed next to DiNozzo, the head leaned up to a slightly reclined position. Sunlight streamed in through the windows, and Gibbs wondered how early Abby had woken him up.

"I wasn't real happy to see her," DiNozzo said, and Gibbs raised his eyebrows. "I was afraid Brody would snap her in half."

"You didn't notice her inside the bar?"

"Nope." Tony shook his head. "Not much use, am I?"

Abby smacked him on the thigh, and DiNozzo winced. "Don't say things like that about yourself!" she exclaimed. "You've been depressed. I noticed, but you wouldn't talk to me about it."

"Abby –"

"No, it's fine if you don't trust me. I –"

"And just exactly how much did you tell me about Michael Mawher?"

"That's different."

"How?"

"I wanted him restrained, not killed. I went through legal channels. I did what any sensible girl would do."

"Any sensible girl would have told her family, so they could pummel him," DiNozzo said.

"Are you sure you're not from the south?" Abby asked.

"No, I'm from an Italian family in New York."

Abby nodded slowly. "Point taken."

Gibbs cell phone rang, and he answered it. "Gibbs."

"Are you with Tony?" Ziva asked without preamble.

"Yes."

"Perhaps you should step outside for a moment."

Gibbs rose and jerked his head towards the hallway. "Back in a minute." Tony raised his eyebrows, but Gibbs just stepped outside without enlightening him. "What is it, Ziva?"

"We were followed from the hospital last night," she said, and Gibbs felt his muscles tense. They'd humored DiNozzo's paranoia, but Gibbs hadn't seriously expected trouble. "I did not feel that the hotel was the safest place for her, so I took her back to my place. We shall have to make more secure arrangements for her henceforth."

"Where is she now?"

"I took her by her hotel to get cleaned up, then brought her to NCIS with me."

"I'll be there in an hour or so."

"What shall I do with her?"

"I don't care. Is Ducky there?"

"I have not seen him, but I have had not had reason to check."

"Is there anything else?"

"What should McGee and I work on?" Gibbs didn't say anything, allowing the silence to hang heavy on the line, waiting for her to fill it in. "Gibbs, I cannot come up with this for myself," she said after a moment. "You told us to do nothing. I do not know where nothing begins and ends."

Gibbs blinked. She had a good point. "Get Harris's financials and check for any complaints against him." He hung up and dialed again. "Ducky?"

"Jethro?"

"Can you please come out here and stay with Tony?"

"I should be with you in just a moment." Gibbs realized then that he could hear Ducky's voice from down the hall, and he closed his phone. "Hello, Jethro. How is the patient this morning?"

"Gossiping with Abby," Gibbs replied.

"Has that girl gotten no sleep?"

Gibbs snorted. "Not much. I'm going to send her home."

"Better you than me," Ducky said frankly.

Gibbs ignored the whining and was resolute. In this he was aided by Tony, who was still not very desirous of company other than him or Ducky. He walked Abby out to her hearse and saw her off before checking that the gate guards still had Harris's name on the do not admit list. Reassured on that point, he went back to the office.

When he got there, he found Ziva in a state of frustration. "It should not be this hard to call up his financial records," she fumed quietly.

"Where's McGee?"

"He is escorting Dr. Benoit to the restroom," Ziva said. "He is having difficulties, too, however. When he called up Harris's police files the same thing happened as happened yesterday with Abby's computer. He's got something tracing packets again, whatever that means."

Gibbs started towards his desk to put his gear away, but Cynthia walked into the bullpen before he'd gone far. "Agent Gibbs? The director would like to see you in her office immediately."

He raised his eyebrows, but Cynthia was not given to exaggeration. He hurried up the stairs and straight into Jen's office where he found an unknown man in an expensive suit talking to her. "Special Agent Gibbs, allow me to present Agent Ashley Preston, CIA." Gibbs nodded, but he didn't say anything. "He's here to talk to us about Detective Harris."

"Unless he's going to provide us with evidence that will enable me to arrest him today, I'm not interested," Gibbs said.

"Actually, I'm here to tell you to leave him alone," Agent Preston said.

"Not happening," Gibbs replied shortly.

"Don't you even want to know why?"

"No."

"Agent Gibbs?" Jenny said in a warning tone, and Gibbs glowered at her.

"Are you familiar with the name Eliseo Vargas?" Gibbs didn't say anything, he just gave a sharp nod. "Detective Harris has a connection to him that we'd like to exploit, but we won't be able exploit it if he's in a jail cell, or if he falls apart the way he appears to be doing now." Gibbs raised his eyebrows. "In fact, I've come to make a further request."

"What?" Jenny asked, and Gibbs wasn't surprised. Preston had focused all his attention on Gibbs, disregarding the agency director he had theoretically come to see.

Preston turned towards her. "I would like you to encourage Agent DiNozzo to return to his relationship with Detective Harris. It would –"

Gibbs took a step towards the man, but before he could speak, Jenny did. "Over my dead body," she snapped. "Agent DiNozzo has already suffered more than one injury at that man's hands. I will not countenance any sort of continued relationship between them."

"The injuries only started after Agent DiNozzo initiated the break up," Preston said as if he genuinely believed the nonsense he was spouting, and as if he thought it would make a difference to their response. "Harris follows a very predictable pattern. He's not abusive in any way unless his partner makes an attempt to leave the relationship."

"Are you saying that he's done this before?" Jenny asked, her voice low and dangerous.

"Yes," Preston said, shrugging.

"And that you were aware of DiNozzo's relationship, but did nothing whatsoever to warn him?"

"The break up came about unexpectedly. We're still not sure what caused it."

"Your non-abusive friend punched him," Gibbs said sourly. "He objected."

Preston seemed startled by this information, but he continued his pitch unchecked. "Regardless, your agent is known for excellent undercover work, even to the point of seducing his target, so he should be able to manage this." Gibbs contemplated strangulation. It would make the bastard shut up, and it would get him out of their hair. On the other hand, it would be difficult to put Harris in jail if he was in jail himself. Preston seemed oblivious to their reactions. "You can't deny that this is an important investigation."

"Agent DiNozzo doesn't do that kind of undercover work anymore," Jen said. "And I will not ask him to engage in a relationship with a man who has sexually assaulted him."

"Don't you think you're overstating things a bit?" Preston asked.

"No," Jenny replied flatly. "Is there anything else?"

"Well, regardless of whether you're willing to speak to Agent DiNozzo, I must ask you to cease your investigation of Detective Harris. Our needs in this matter take precedence." Gibbs shrugged. Preston turned towards Jenny. "Director Shepard?"

"Our investigation will continue, Agent Preston, and the information you have provided will be included in our reports."

"You'll be hearing from my director," Preston said.

"I'm looking forward to it. Do let him know that I have a meeting at ten."

Preston left the office and Gibbs looked at Jen. "He's already putting up roadblocks," he said.

"Deal with them," Jen said. "How is Agent DiNozzo? Has he given you more details?"

Gibbs shrugged. "How do you think he is, Jen?"

"Are there any further complications?" she asked acerbically.

"He passed out last night, but Dr. Tsu didn't seem very worried about it. She did say she wasn't going to release him today."

"Good. Has he told you anything important?"

"This is the second sexual assault since DiNozzo ended things," Gibbs said, and Jen pursed her lips unhappily. "And he did end the relationship because Harris punched him. He didn't tell me the circumstances, just that there wasn't a good reason."

"Keep after him for more information."

"You think, Jen?" She gave him a dour look, and he left the office. As he trotted downstairs, his cell phone rang. "Gibbs," he said after flipping it open.

"Agent Gibbs, this is Gunnery Sergeant Jackson. Detective Harris just requested entrance. He didn't take well to being refused."

"Is he gone?"

"Yes. He raised a stink, but when I suggested we'd call his superiors, he left."

"Good," Gibbs said. "Make sure everyone knows what he looks like."

"Already done, Agent Gibbs. He the one who put your man in the hospital?"

"Why do you ask?"

"He kept insisting that he had to see Agent DiNozzo, asked me to let Agent DiNozzo know that he was here."

"You didn't, did you?"

"Of course not."

"Thanks. Let me know if he makes any further attempts."

"Certainly."

Gibbs hung up and went down to his desk where he found Dr. Benoit sitting in his chair, reading. He paused at Ziva's desk and raised his eyebrows. "I did not think it appropriate to seat her at Tony's desk," she said quietly.

"Dr. Benoit?" Gibbs said, and she looked up. "Please sit over there." He pointed to the empty cubicle behind McGee.

"I thought I'd go to the hospital," she said. "I'd be safe enough there, I already know you've had them bar Detective Harris from access."

Gibbs contemplated the idea. "That might work, but DiNozzo still probably won't want to see you."

"If he changes his mind, I'll be there," Dr. Benoit said calmly.

He nodded slowly, briefly contemplating the situation in the longer term. "Sounds reasonable, and since staying with Ziva obviously caused no major problems, I think we'll stick to that for the duration."

Dr. Benoit gaped at him, and Ziva rose to her feet. "Gibbs!" He turned and raised his eyebrows. She drew him towards the windows. "That is high handed, even for you," she said softly.

"Yes, it is," Gibbs replied, shrugging. "But I don't have time to worry about her safety or her accessibility. The CIA has used her before. Take her back to her hotel to collect enough of her things to be going on with and then drop her at the hospital."

Ziva's eyes had grown troubled. "The CIA?" she repeated, and Gibbs nodded with a grimace. "What did the director want?" she asked uneasily.

He was aware of Dr. Benoit coming up behind him, but he ignored her presence. "The CIA wants DiNozzo to go on letting Harris fuck him and beat the crap out of him because they think Harris is connected to a drug kingpin they're investigating."

Ziva's eyes flashed. "They cannot be serious."

"Of course, they can," Dr. Benoit said, her voice brittle, and Gibbs wondered about her associations with the CIA since they'd last met.

"Oh, Dr. Benoit," Gibbs said with disingenuous surprise. "I didn't see you there." Ziva raised an eyebrow. She knew him well enough to know that he hadn't missed the other woman's approach. "I've asked Officer David to take you to your hotel so you can get enough things to see you through the next day or two. Then she'll take you to the hospital."

"Agent Gibbs, I can make my own decisions," Dr. Benoit said.

"Do you object to staying with Ziva?" Gibbs asked, and before she could make any reply, he added, "DiNozzo obviously thinks she can keep you safe." He knew it was a low blow, and he could see from her expression that she recognized his tactics. It had worked the previous night, however, and it worked now.

"Fine," she said irritably.

Gibbs watched them go then went to his desk. McGee looked over at him. "What was all that about?"

"The CIA thinks DiNozzo should continue his relationship with Harris because it would aid an investigation of theirs." McGee blinked at him and returned to work, his whole body screaming about his discomfort with the topic. "There a problem, McGee?"

McGee looked up, his eyes wide with alarm. "No, Boss."

"I think there is. You want to tell me about it?"

"Boss?"

Gibbs gazed at his youngest agent for a long moment, then came to a decision. "McGee, conference room." He got to his feet and strode across to the elevator, not looking to see if McGee was on his heels. They stepped onto the elevator together and Gibbs hit the switch. "What is it, McGee?"

"There isn't a problem, Boss," McGee said, but he wouldn't meet Gibbs' eyes.

"You have an issue with DiNozzo sleeping with another man?"

McGee turned scarlet, but after about a second, a word burst forth from him. "Why?!" He looked at Gibbs. "It doesn't make sense. Tony could have any woman he wanted, why would he go with a guy, and a guy like that? I don't get it. It's so not Tony! It's just not. I mean, okay, so he's a little metro, but he's so not gay."

Gibbs was caught off guard by one of the words McGee used. "McGee, the only things I know that involve the word 'metro' are newspapers and subways. What are you talking about?"

"Metrosexual," McGee said, and Gibbs stared at him. "He likes his clothes a little too much." Still lost, Gibbs shook his head. McGee waved his hands dismissively. "Never mind, it doesn't matter. I just don't get it. Tony is not gay. I mean, Ziva said not all guys who sleep with guys are gay, but I pretty much thought that was the definition."

Gibbs stared at him. "Tim, have you never heard of a 'buddy fuck'?"

McGee flushed so red that Gibbs was surprised he still had enough blood to remain conscious. "A what?"

Gibbs sighed. "Okay." He didn't even begin to know how to explain this to him. "Look it up on the internet," he said and hit the button again. They went back to their desks, and he suspected McGee dutifully did as he'd been told because his color kept heightening from time to time.

Palmer walked into the bullpen. "Agent Gibbs, do you know where Dr. Mallard is? He said he'd help me with my –"

Gibbs looked up. "He's at Bethesda with DiNozzo."

Palmer's eyes widened. "Oh, does he need my help?"

"With what?" Gibbs asked.

"The body," Palmer replied, and Gibbs blinked at him. Palmer took in his reaction with confusion. "Aren't they there on a case?" he asked.

"No, DiNozzo was attacked last night, and Ducky's sitting with him."

Palmer's jaw dropped. "Tony was attacked? By who?"

"By a cop," Gibbs said.

"A cop? You mean that guy he was seeing?"

Gibbs stared at Palmer in silence for several seconds, long enough for the younger man to start fidgeting nervously. "You know about that?" Gibbs demanded.

"Sure," Palmer said, and Gibbs glared at him. "I mean . . . I saw them once or twice. Tony asked me . . . not to mention it . . . so I didn't."

Gibbs noticed that McGee was staring at Palmer, too. "How long ago was this?"

"A couple months," Palmer said. "I got a really bad feeling about that guy."

"And you never told anyone?"

"I told Tony," Palmer said. "He said everything was fine."

Gibbs set his jaw. "The man has sexually assaulted him twice since he broke up with him."

Palmer's eyes snapped with anger. "What are we doing about it?" he asked intently.

"We're investigating," Gibbs said. He gazed thoughtfully at Ducky's assistant. "Maybe you could help. DiNozzo told you about this relationship?"

"Only because I ran into them a couple of times, like I said," Palmer said. "He said it was just a . . . a buddy thing." McGee's head came up, and he looked startled.

Gibbs nodded slowly. An unexpected resource had appeared at exactly the moment it was needed. "Mr. Palmer, I have an assignment for you. A very delicate assignment."

"Of course, Agent Gibbs. Anything to help."

"McGee, take Palmer out to lunch," Gibbs ordered. McGee's eyes widened and he started gear up. "Palmer, screw his head on straight."

Palmer looked at McGee, then back and Gibbs. "I . . . don't understand."

"You will."

Saturday, 1035, George Washington Memorial Parkway

Jeanne sat in the passenger seat of Ziva's car, her mind whirling. Agent Gibbs had said the CIA wanted Tony to 'go on letting Harris fuck him.' She kept turning the words over in her mind, trying to make sense of them. After a while, she cleared her throat. "Did Tony have some kind of a relationship with Detective Harris?" she asked.

Ziva didn't answer immediately, and for a few moments, Jeanne wasn't sure she would answer at all. Finally, she let out a sigh. "Yes, he did."

Swallowing, Jeanne considered what that might mean. "Is . . . is he gay?"

Ziva's brows went up, and she looked over at Jeanne with an odd expression. "No," she said curtly. "He is not gay."

"Red light," Jeanne said, because Ziva was still looking at her and not slowing down. Ziva blinked at her, seeming perplexed until Jeanne pointed. She turned, and, brakes screeching, they came to an abrupt halt behind a red SUV, throwing both of them forward against their seat belts. Jeanne resettled herself in her seat, breathing hard.

"Sorry, I learned to drive in Tel Aviv," Ziva said. Jeanne wasn't sure how that explained the not looking forward thing, but she didn't comment. They were both silent until the light changed and the car started moving again. Then Ziva spoke abruptly. "Why are you here?" she asked, her tone hostile and accusatory. "When you left, you demanded that he abandon his own life and come after you, and when he did not, you returned and accused him of a murder he did not commit. Why are you back now?"

"It wasn't like that!" Jeanne exclaimed, stung by the other woman's words.

"In what way was it not like that?" Ziva demanded. "I was there when he got your note. I did not see what it said, but I could see the effect it had on him."

Jeanne stared forward out of the windshield. "It's not really any of your business why I'm here," she said woodenly.

"No, I suppose it is not. I am just the one who has to help Tony go on functioning when you've ripped him to shreds again."

"That's not my intention," Jeanne said.

"Of course it is not," Ziva snapped. "Just as it was not my intention to have this conversation with you. You can see how that turned out." She pulled up in front of the hotel and handed her keys to the attendant. "We will be coming right back down," she said.

"Of course, miss," the attendant said.

"You needn't come with me," Jeanne said.

"You need to stop telling me how to do my job," Ziva replied sharply. "I have guarded far more important individuals than you. I know what I am doing, and I am not doing it for you."

They got into the elevator. Fortunately there were other guests present, so they couldn't continue their conversation. Jeanne didn't want to hear any more of what Ziva had to say. Some of what she'd said held a certain amount of truth, but she didn't know everything. Jeanne led the way to her room, and, as she had that morning, Ziva took the key from her hand and went in first. Jeanne waited in the hallway until the other woman announced that the room was clear.

"Can I assume you have an ironing board?" Jeanne asked, going to her closet.

"Yes, I have an ironing board," Ziva replied sarcastically.

Jeanne grabbed a duffel and began to pack it, not even sure why she'd felt the need to jab at the woman in such a petty way. Once she had her clothes, she gathered up the medical journals she'd been saving to read when she had time and put them in a book bag, then turned to find Ziva watching her curiously. "What?"

"Nothing," Ziva said. "Are you ready?"

"I am."

"Do you wish to return to my apartment to leave your things, or can we leave them in the trunk of my car until this evening?"

"Which do you think is more sensible?" Jeanne asked. "I don't know if you'll be the one taking me back there."

"I certainly hope I will, or you will not be able to get in. No one else knows my alarm codes."

"Then your trunk should be fine."

Ziva nodded once and led the way out of the room. Jeanne followed her back down to the car, which the attendants had moved out of the way. Ziva reclaimed her keys, and they stowed Jeanne's duffel in the trunk. Jeanne kept the journals. No doubt she'd have more time than she wanted to read them while she waited for Tony to be willing to see her.

The drive to Bethesda went silently, and Jeanne was glad not to be fighting. Her gut was already roiling with confused emotions. She didn't need any help from a near total stranger. What did Ziva know about her anyway? A thought occurred to her suddenly, and she turned to gaze at the other woman. "How much did Tony talk about me while we were dating?"

Ziva looked over at her, her eyes unreadable. "Almost not all. We were not privy to the secret. He mentioned your name a few times, we knew he was seeing someone, but we did not know anything at all about you."

"Didn't that seem weird?"

"Not really." Ziva shrugged. "He . . . we thought he didn't want to be teased any more than he could avoid."

Jeanne had difficulty imagining Ziva doing anything so lighthearted as teasing, but she probably wasn't seeing her at her best. "Would you have teased him?"

"We teased him a fair amount, but knowing nothing about you beyond your name made it difficult to get specific," Ziva said.

"Nothing at all?" Jeanne asked, mildly astounded. "But Tony talks so much."

"Often Tony talks a great deal while saying very little," Ziva said, and Jeanne nodded. That was certainly true. "No, I did not even know you were a doctor, so the frequent phone calls from a hospital gave me cause for concern."

"Tony's healthy as a horse," Jeanne said, remembering the extra care he'd taken on the one occasion he'd had a cold. It had seemed almost hypochondriacal.

"He has not always been," Ziva said.

Jeanne blinked at her. "What do you mean?"

Ziva pulled through the gates into the hospital grounds. "I have said too much already. I am returning to NCIS." She handed over a card. "That is my cell phone number."

"Thank you," Jeanne said, and she got out of the car.

"Hey!" Ziva called as Jeanne started to turn away. "Do you have any money?" Jeanne shook her head mutely. She hadn't even considered that she still didn't have her purse back. Ziva dug in her pocket and pulled out a tightly folded bill. "I will call before I come to pick you up." Without another word, Ziva pulled away. Jeanne took a deep breath and went into the hospital.

Chapter Text

Saturday, 1123, NCIS Headquarters

Jimmy Palmer walked onto the main floor of NCIS reasonably sure that he had done as Agent Gibbs had asked. How Tim could be an NCIS Special Agent and a best-selling author and still be so naive about some things boggled the mind. Tim had already returned to work. Michelle had caught Jimmy's eye on his way past, and he had told Tim to go on without him. Michelle hadn't had work on her mind, but when he told her the bare minimum about Tony's situation, she had understood his need to check in with Agent Gibbs.

Unfortunately, the director was standing by Agent Gibbs' desk, and they were having some kind of heated conversation. Jimmy decided to go on by, pretending to be deaf, and see if he could catch Gibbs later. As he passed, the director was saying, ". . . but I need my medical examiner."

Jimmy was expecting Gibbs to growl a surly negative and for the conversation to get even more intense, but Agent Gibbs said, "Okay." His voice was calm and unusually docile. Jimmy turned right towards the elevators, wondering what game he was playing at.

"Jethro, I –" The director paused. "Did you say, 'okay'?" she asked suspiciously.

"Palmer!" Gibbs barked, and Jimmy turned, heart beating quickly. "Quit pretending not to listen and get over here," Gibbs added. Jimmy hurried back to Agent Gibbs' desk, but Gibbs turned to Director Shepard. "Yes, Director, I said, 'okay,' on one condition."

Director Shepard stood up straight, crossing her arms and looking at Agent Gibbs through narrowed eyes. "What condition?" she asked. Jimmy sincerely wondered why he needed to be present for this. He glanced at McGee, who gave him a sympathetic grimace.

"You can have your medical examiner back . . . if I can have his assistant."

Director Shepard gave Jimmy a startled look and shrugged. "Done. You'll have to negotiate with Ducky on the loss of his assistant, though," she said.

"I don't think he'll mind," Gibbs replied. The director shrugged again and walked away towards the stairs. "Palmer, I want you to go to Bethesda and relieve Ducky. While you're there, I'd like you to talk to DiNozzo."

"Talk to him?" Jimmy repeated, not altogether sure what Gibbs had in mind.

"Yes, Palmer, talk to him. He's clearly willing to confide in you to some degree." Jimmy tried to figure out how to disabuse Agent Gibbs of this misconception, but the senior agent wasn't done. "Encourage that and get anything out of him that you can."

Jimmy moistened his lips nervously. "Um, sir – I mean, Agent Gibbs, I'll try, but . . . I won't betray Tony's trust."

"Good," Gibbs snapped, standing up. Jimmy took a step back. "Now go get me the information I need to keep him safe."

"Uh . . . right," Jimmy said, and he hurried out. He pondered his dilemma all the way to Bethesda but didn't find any answers. How could he encourage Tony to confide in him while planning to tell Gibbs everything he said? It was dishonest, and Tony would never trust him again. But Gibbs wasn't wrong, they needed to know everything about what had happened to keep Tony safe. Why hadn't Tony told Gibbs everything, anyway?

He parked and got directions to Tony's room. There was a waiting room across from the elevator bank, and Jimmy saw a woman who looked startlingly familiar, but what could Jeanne Benoit have to do with this situation? Tony's room was just down the hall. Opening the door, he stepped inside to find Dr. Mallard sitting alone. "Where's Tony?" he asked.

Dr. Mallard looked up, startled. "Mr. Palmer! I wasn't expecting you. Tony's in the . . ." He gestured in the direction of the bathroom, and Jimmy nodded. "What are you doing here?"

"Actually, Agent Gibbs sent me to relieve you," Jimmy said.

"Did he, dear boy?" Dr. Mallard asked. "I'm perfectly happy to stay with Anthony."

"Yes, well, Director Shepard wants you back."

The door to the bathroom opened and Tony emerged. He saw Jimmy and stopped dead. "Don't even say it," he said immediately. "I don't want to hear it."

"I wasn't going to say it, Tony," Jimmy said. "I wouldn't do that."

"Say what?" Ducky asked.

"I told you so," Tony muttered. "But he did. He did tell me so. You should say it, Jimmy. It's true."

"What did he tell you?"

"Tell him, Palmer," Tony ordered.

Jimmy shrugged uncomfortably. "I told him that I thought his boyfriend was bad news."

"He was not my boyfriend," Tony snarled.

"He seemed to think he was," Jimmy replied, and Tony straightened, flushing. "Um . . . I need to talk to Dr. Mallard. You mind if I take him outside for a minute?"

"I'd be fine if you both just went back to work," Tony said. "No offense."

"You keep saying that, Anthony," Dr. Mallard said dryly. "Eventually, I'm going to take what I'm offered."

Tony's eyes got really wide. "Ducky, I . . ."

Dr. Mallard's expression softened. "Lie down, Anthony. I do understand. We'll be back in a moment." Jimmy followed his boss outside. "Now, what can I do for you, Mr. Palmer?"

"I need some advice," Jimmy said.

"All right."

"Agent Gibbs thinks I can get Tony to confide in me."

"And?"

"And he wants me to encourage his confidences, then tell him everything Tony tells me."

"Ah." Dr. Mallard sighed. "Well, in this case you have to weigh the good against the bad. Tony is not being forthcoming about what has happened to him, but he has apparently already included you in his secret."

"Only because I ran into him and his . . . his not boyfriend . . . at a bar. Twice."

"The same bar?"

"No, two different ones. Sports bars. But it's not like I'm a chosen confidante. He just . . . he had to tell me."

"Well, do your best."

"What about weighing the good with the bad?"

Dr. Mallard shrugged. "Weigh Tony's safety against your own scruples. Which is more important to you in the long run?"

Jimmy knit his brows. "Wh . . . why didn't you just tell me to find out everything I can from Tony and tell Gibbs?"

Dr. Mallard put a hand on Jimmy's shoulder. "Because this way you understand the choice you have to make."

"Have you ever had to make this kind of choice for . . . anyone?" He'd been about to say Gibbs, but chickened out at the last minute. No one but Tony and Jimmy knew the role Jimmy had filled during Gibbs' absence in Mexico.

"Oh, yes," Dr. Mallard said.

"And has . . . anyone . . . forgiven you?"

"I believe so," Dr. Mallard replied with a smile. "He still buys me dinner."

Jimmy sighed. "Is . . . this may seem like a weird question, but is Dr. Benoit here?"

"Why would that seem like a weird question, Jimmy?"

"Because . . ." Jimmy shook his head. Obviously Dr. Mallard knew she was here. "I don't understand why she's here."

"Didn't Gibbs tell you?" Jimmy shrugged. Dr. Mallard closed his eyes and shook his head. "She witnessed the last attack and called Gibbs."

Jimmy's eyes widened. "Oh. Wow. Awkward."

"Very," Dr. Mallard said with feeling. "Well, if the director wants me back at NCIS, I shouldn't keep her waiting." He went back into the room with Tony and Jimmy followed. "Anthony, I must go, but Mr. Palmer is here to take my place." He walked over to Tony and put a hand on his shoulder. "Do give him back to me in one piece."

"I wouldn't break the autopsy gremlin, Ducky," Tony said, and Jimmy rolled his eyes.

Ducky gathered up his stuff and left, and Jimmy sat down in the vacated chair, dumping his bag down on the floor with an audible thump.

"What are you carrying in that, Jimmy, bricks?"

Jimmy glanced down at the lumpy thing and shrugged. "School books."

"How's the semester going?"

"Not bad." Jimmy leaned closer and peered at Tony's neck. Tony shifted and looked away, avoiding his eyes and trying unsuccessfully to conceal the fading marks. Jimmy studied Tony for several seconds. When they'd talked a couple months back about this whole relationship, Tony hadn't come across quite like this. He definitely hadn't wanted anyone to know he was seeing a guy, but right now Jimmy saw something else in his demeanor. He couldn't quite place it. He cleared his throat. "When did you and Brody break up?"

Tony turned towards him. "We didn't break up. We didn't have that kind of relationship. I ended . . . I told him to go away."

"When?"

"About six weeks ago."

"So that bite on your neck –"

"Was after that, yes," Tony said. "What, did Gibbs send you here to weasel information out of me?" It was a little too close for comfort. Jimmy flushed and shrugged. "He did?" Tony stared at him. "What makes him think I'd tell you something I wouldn't tell him?"

"The fact that I already knew about Brody," Jimmy said, and Tony's eyes widened with alarm. "I tried to tell him it was an accident, but I don't think that will matter to him."

"Couldn't you have pretended not to know?" Tony asked.

"What, you mean like you just pretended with Dr. Mallard?" Jimmy replied. Tony sighed and looked away. "So, why haven't you told Gibbs what's been going on?"

"It doesn't matter," Tony said irritably. "Nothing Gibbs can do will help, it will only make things worse."

"Right, because having a patch on the back of your head shaved so you can have stitches is fun." Tony reached up self-consciously to his head, but stopped himself before he actually touched the bandage. Jimmy shook his head. "Tony, you're being an idiot."

"You have no idea what this feels like, Jimmy," Tony said angrily.

"Do you know what this feels like?" Jimmy asked, gesturing towards himself, and Tony's brows knit like he couldn't figure out what Jimmy meant. Jimmy glowered at him. "Two months ago, I run into you and some guy at a bar. I can tell the guy is a disaster waiting to happen, but you won't even talk to me about him. All you do is beg me to keep it in confidence, so I can't even ask anyone's advice. Now the disaster's happened, people are annoyed with me for not saying anything, and you're still refusing to talk about it."

Tony glowered at him. "Yes, well, being a trained federal agent who works out regularly with a marine and a Mossad-trained assassin makes my complete inability to even hold my own with this guy a little bit humiliating."

"He's way bigger than you, Tony."

"Size isn't everything, Palmer," Tony snapped. "Ziva is not exactly gigantic, but she can wipe the floor with me."

"But Brody's a cop. Doesn't that mean he has a lot of the same training as you?"

"Your point?"

"Unless you're actually trying to kill or seriously injure him, there's only so much you can do, right? Since neither of you actually wants to break bones, he's got the advantage because he's stronger and has the reach of you."

Tony shook his head. "Whatever."

Jimmy grimaced. "Regardless, don't you think you should tell someone what happened?"

Tony turned away and flipped the TV on. "I think we should find a good movie to watch."

Rolling his eyes, Jimmy stood up and manually pressed the power button on the set, then held his hand over the sensor to prevent the remote from working. "Avoidance. Great solution."

"It's the only one I got," Tony said, and for the first time, his eyes met Jimmy's. "I can't talk about this. I really can't. Not without a beer and . . . and I don't know what. A beer at minimum."

Jimmy sighed. Gibbs wouldn't be happy, but he lowered his hand and let Tony find something to watch. He could sit with him, and he could listen, but he couldn't make Tony talk. Especially not if Gibbs couldn't. Jimmy dragged out one of his books and started studying. Biochemistry looked fun.

A couple of hours passed. Jimmy had noted down which shows Tony had watched and which ones he'd shied away from, on the off chance that might tell them something. No cops and robbers, no CSI type shows, but Jimmy had stopped watching them himself. It was a little too frustrating when they did things that weren't physically possible and then missed obvious stuff that anyone should catch. Actually, Tony seemed to be drawn mostly to sports or really old stuff right now.

The door opened and a man came in. He was wearing a suit and a trench coat, and a really nice pair of Gucci shoes. He didn't look like a doctor, and Jimmy expected him to walk right out again. Tony looked up and shifted uncomfortably, clearly not wanting to be seen by strangers in his current condition.

"Can I help you?" Jimmy asked, knitting his brows.

The man paid him no attention at all, his attention focused on Tony. "Agent Anthony DiNozzo?" he asked.

"That's me," Tony said dubiously. "What can I do for you?"

"I'm Agent Ashley Preston, CIA," the man said. He glanced at Jimmy dismissively. "May I speak to you alone?"

Tony blinked at him and muted the TV. "What's this about?"

"I really can't discuss it in front of uncleared persons," Preston said.

Tony turned to Jimmy. "It's okay. Go grab yourself something to eat, and maybe get me some coffee?"

"Sure, Tony," Jimmy said, but he wasn't at all comfortable. Why would this guy be approaching Tony in the hospital? He put his book back into his bag and left the room. Pursing his lips, he dug out his phone and went down the hall to the waiting room. "Dr. Benoit?" he said to the woman who sat there. She looked up, startled. Her eyes had bags under then, and she looked both tired and worried. "I work with Tony. I need to make a call, so could you watch my stuff for a minute?"

"Sure," she said, her brows knit. "What's your name?"

"Jimmy Palmer. I work with Dr. Mallard."

"Oh, I see," she said, nodding. "Of course."

Jimmy smiled at her abstractedly, then went downstairs and outside to make his call. He didn't have Agent Gibbs' cell number, so he dialed Dr. Mallard's instead.

"Jimmy, how can I help you? Ought you to be making a call on your cellular from inside the hospital?"

"I'm not inside, doctor," Jimmy said. "I need Agent Gibbs' number."

"You left Anthony alone?" Dr. Mallard asked, sounding alarmed.

"No, that's the problem. I need to talk to Agent Gibbs."

"What?" demanded a very irritable-sounding voice, and Jimmy realized that Gibbs must have been in Autopsy, or perhaps Dr. Mallard was up in the squad room – either way, they were together. "Why did you leave DiNozzo's room?"

"Tony told me to. A man, a CIA agent named –"

"Ashley Preston," Gibbs finished for him. "You left him alone with that bastard?"

"I didn't know I –"

"Damn it, Palmer! Get back in there now and throw him out!"

"Yes, sir, Agent Gibbs, sir," Jimmy said. He hung up and hurried back inside.

Saturday, 1514, Bethesda Naval Medical Center

Tony looked up at Agent Ashley Preston and raised his eyebrows. "What's up?"

"Are you familiar with the name Eliseo Vargas?" Preston asked. Tony shook his head. "Well, he's involved in drug and arms trafficking, and his cartel may have started purchasing from Taliban-sponsored poppy growers in Afghanistan."

"Okay," Tony said. "What does that have to do with me?"

"Detective Brody Harris has a connection to Vargas, we don't understand why, but he does, and we've been attempting to use this connection to get more information about Vargas' operations."

"Brody is a clean cop!" Tony protested. What was with the CIA joining in on the Brody bashing? No, he didn't seem to be able to take no for an answer, but that didn't make him a drug dealer or anything else.

"I'm not saying otherwise. The connection, however, exists. There have been a series of gifts from Vargas to Harris, some of which Harris has accepted, others of which he declined, and he made a trip to Brazil in 1999. That's not the point, however."

"What's the point, then?"

"Harris is self-destructing right in front of us, and with him goes our one lead on Vargas."

Tony blinked at him. "What do you mean?"

"We need you to resume your relationship with Harris," Preston said, and Tony felt his stomach flop over queasily at the very idea of resuming anything with Brody. He stared at the CIA agent, incapable of speech. "Not permanently of course," Preston added, "but at least for a while, so we can –"

The door slammed open and Jimmy came in. "I'm sorry," he said in a would-be brave voice. "You have to leave, Agent Preston."

"Jimmy?" Tony asked, startled.

"You should not be in here," Preston said, glaring at Palmer.

"Actually, I've been assigned to be here," Palmer said, holding up under the glare. "You shouldn't be here."

"According to whom?"

"According to Agent Gibbs."

Ella, this shift's nurse, walked in. "Excuse me, gentlemen, what seems to be going on in here?" Jimmy and Preston each pointed at the other and both spoke, but Tony found both statements incomprehensible. Apparently so did Ella. "Everybody out," she announced, and she had her way even with Preston flashing his badge around and Jimmy protesting that he was supposed to stay with Tony. After a few moments, the door shut on silence.

Tony took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Preston's allegation of a connection between Brody and some drug lord had to be crap, but Tony's initial impression that this was some weird attempt at discrediting Brody – like that would change Tony's mind about something – was a bust. Gibbs didn't want him here, and . . . Tony shook his head. The CIA wanted Tony to get back together with Brody? Not that they had ever been 'together' in the strictest sense. Purely friendship with some physical release. Whatever Preston might think, whatever Brody might think, there was no 'relationship' to resume.

Why was the whole world interested in his sex life suddenly?

He had to get out of here. He got out of bed and started rummaging in closets and cupboards, looking for his clothes. His head ached, but then so did most of the rest of him. He ignored it all and kept searching.

Chapter Text

Saturday, 1531, Bethesda Naval Medical Center

Jeanne heard a commotion out in the hallway and got up to see what was going on. She saw Jimmy Palmer arguing with a nurse and man in an elegant suit. She walked down towards them and heard the acronym 'CIA.' Anger surged as she approached and she heard the man smoothly explaining to Marisol, the floor supervisor, that he had official business with Agent DiNozzo. Jimmy Palmer clearly wanted to speak, but the floor supervisor was listening to the CIA man while Ella, Tony's nurse, looked on anxiously.

"In his hospital bed?" Jeanne asked acerbically.

"The business is urgent," he replied, turning to face the new threat, brows furrowed.

Marisol raised an eyebrow. "Do you know this man, Dr. Benoit?"

"No, but I may know of him," Jeanne said. "Aren't you the man who visited NCIS today? I thought I saw you on your way out." It was a bald-faced lie, but she didn't think he'd catch her in it.

He blinked at her uncertainly, and she knew she'd struck well. "I was there, yes," he said slowly.

Jeanne turned to Marisol. "I'm reasonably certain that Agent Gibbs told this man that Agent DiNozzo was too unwell to be approached on whatever business it was he had."

"That's easily enough checked," Marisol said, walking across to the desk.

"Dr. Benoit, huh?" the CIA man asked, and Jeanne turned to him with a neutral look. "Interesting to see you here."

"Why?" Jeanne asked frankly, and was pleased to see that she'd stymied him. She gestured towards the desk where Marisol was on the phone. "Perhaps we should go and see what Agent Gibbs has to say?"

He walked over unwillingly, and Jeanne followed him with Jimmy Palmer close behind them. Marisol hung up the phone and turned to him. "Agent Preston, I'm afraid I'm going to have to deny you access to Agent DiNozzo."

"Agent Gibbs has no authority over me," Preston said.

"But he does have authority over Agent DiNozzo," she replied.

"This matter does not relate to his job. Agent Gibbs has no –"

"Agent Gibbs is Tony's medical proxy," Jeanne said. Preston broke off and stared at her. "You didn't know that, did you?" She turned to Marisol. "Is Agent DiNozzo on any narcotics?" Marisol nodded, a small smile twitching at the corners of her lips. "Well then, it's completely within Agent Gibbs' discretion to refuse to allow you to see him, and it's the hospital's responsibility to abide by his decision."

Preston glowered at her, picked up his briefcase, and left. Marisol nodded and said, "Ella, check on Agent DiNozzo." Then she bustled off to do her real work. Ella walked away towards Tony's door.

Jimmy turned to Jeanne. "Thank you. I wasn't making any headway."

"No problem," Jeanne said. "I –"

Ella emerged from Tony's room and went to the desk, looking worried. She picked up the phone and called the attending. Jeanne blinked at her, then turned around and went straight into Tony's room. She found him on his feet, bent over, glowering into a cupboard. His gown had fallen open at the back, revealing not only his butt but the overlapping, handprint-shaped bruises that were on his left buttock. She stared at them in shock. Portions were the dark blue and red of relatively new bruising, but others were green and yellow, clearly much older. They must have him sitting on ice packs. More bruising purpled his thighs. She realized suddenly that she was staring at his naked body without his knowledge and whirled. "Tony?" she said, and her voice sounded strangled.

She heard movement behind her and then he spoke. "Jeanne, what are you doing here?"

"Are you covered?" she asked, staring at the door. It was opening, and Jimmy stuck his head in.

"Yes, I'm covered!" Tony growled, and she turned around. His eyes widened, and she could see him realizing that there had to be a reason for her to ask. "Wait, I wasn't covered when you came in?"

"Why are you out of bed?" she asked, ignoring his question.

Tony huffed out an angry breath. "I'm getting the hell out of here. I already told Ella that I'm leaving, whether I have to release myself or not."

"I wondered, when she called your attending," Jeanne said. "She didn't seem urgent enough for it to mean something was wrong with you."

"Tony, I don't think Agent Gibbs will like it if you release yourself," Jimmy said, sounding uneasy.

Tony's expression changed. Briefly, he looked alarmed, but then he shook his head with an odd look of defiance in his eyes. "I'm going home."

"Tony, won't you at least listen to the doctor?" Jeanne asked. "If he says you should stay?"

Tony ignored her as if she hadn't spoken. "Jimmy, go find me some clothes, would you?"

"Um . . . sure," Jimmy said, and he left the room. Jeanne turned in surprise. Timid as he seemed to be, she'd have thought he'd stick more to his guns.

"Don't worry, Jeanne," Tony said, his voice acid, and she turned back around. He was glaring at the door sourly. He stood at a slight tilt, but she wasn't sure he realized it. "I just gave him the excuse he needed to run off and call Gibbs."

"Good," Jeanne said. While he was on his feet, she could see that he was having trouble keeping himself that way. "Now would you get back into bed? You can't leave without clothes, so there's no point in –"

"Why are you here?"

Jeanne broke off and shook her head. "I'm at the hospital because Agent Gibbs wants me out of his hair and in a place where Detective Harris can't go."

Tony stared at her, eyes widening, face going pale. "Gibbs is concerned that Brody might do something?" he asked.

"I'm staying with Ziva," Jeanne said, not sure if she should go into detail about why. She wanted to go to him, to put her arms around him and guide him back to his bed, but she resisted the urge, not sure how the action would be received. "Tony, please, at least sit down. You're swaying."

"But Abby said you and she were fighting." Jeanne could tell that Tony was struggling to stay upright, but she couldn't force him to lie down.

"Is Abby the forensic scientist with the exotic fashion sense?" Jeanne asked.

"Yeah," Tony said. His swaying grew more noticeable, and Jeanne gave in to her instincts.

Moving forward, she put an arm around his waist to steady him. "Damn it, Tony, stop being so manly and lie down."

He let her guide him to the bed, but when they got there, he pushed her away. "I can manage this on my own." She stepped back and turned away, wishing she knew what to say to him. "How long have you been in DC?" he asked.

"About three weeks," Jeanne said. She turned around slowly, hoping he was properly tucked in. He was, and she relaxed. In this position it was easier to pretend that she was concerned more for the patient in the bed than for the man she had loved.

"Why'd you come back?" he asked. "Last time you were here, you couldn't leave fast enough."

"I don't think now is the –" The phone on the bedside table rang. They both looked at it, but Tony made no move to answer it. "You want me to get that?" she asked after the second ring.

Tony shook his head and picked up the phone. "Hello?" His shoulders slumped. "I want to get out of here, Boss," he said. He shook his head. "I don't know, the doctor hasn't been in yet." His eyes darted towards Jeanne. "No, I'm not alone. Jeanne's in here with me. I haven't been alone for more than five minutes or so since you set Ducky on me yesterday." Tony scowled. "Fine, I'll stay until you get here." He glanced at Jeanne again. "He wants to talk to you."

Jeanne took the receiver and said, "Agent Gibbs?"

"Please tell me you're not burdening him with your issues right now," he said without any kind of greeting.

"No, I'm not," she replied, irritably. "I was just worried that he'd fall over if I didn't get him to lie down."

"How's he look?"

"Pale. I think he's hurting and not telling anyone."

"I am not!" Tony protested. "I'm not that kind of idiot." The remark make Jeanne wonder what kind of idiot he thought was.

The door opened and Dr. McLean came in. "His doctor's here," Jeanne said. Gibbs disconnected abruptly, and, blinking, Jeanne handed the phone back to Tony. Without even checking, he hung it up.

"I hear you want to leave us," Dr. McLean said to Tony.

"Is there a good reason for me to stay?" Tony asked.

"I think it would be smart to give us another night to observe you," he replied.

"So no," Tony said, crossing his arms. "My boss just told you that he needed me out of circulation for another day, and you went along with it."

"I've never met your boss," Dr. McLean said. "I'm not even primarily worried about the head injury. I'm concerned that your extensive bruising requires rest that you're not going to get if I send you home. Brad warned me about you."

"Brad's got a big mouth," Tony growled.

"One more night won't hurt you, Agent DiNozzo."

"For your doctor's peace of mind, Tony?" Jeanne put in. He glared at her, but she could see she'd gotten through.

Gibbs strode up the hall, right past Palmer, and opened the door to DiNozzo's room. Tony looked up and saw him, and he clapped his hands to his face, letting out a groan of dismay. Dr. Benoit look fondly exasperated. A plump man with a stethoscope turned to greet him with raised eyebrows. Gibbs presumed he was the attending physician for the shift. "Are you releasing him, doctor?"

"No, and I think we've got him convinced not to release himself." He raised an eyebrow in Tony's direction. "Right, Agent DiNozzo?"

Tony lowered his hands and glared sullenly at the man. "Sure. Fine. Whatever."

"Good. I'll be by later to check on you." He nodded at Gibbs and left the room. Tony turned to look out the window, clearly not wanting to meet Gibbs' eyes. Dr. Benoit looked up, and Gibbs was startled by the depth of worry and concern in her expression. Even during their earlier conversation, he hadn't quite realized just how strongly she still felt about DiNozzo. He'd known how DiNozzo felt about her – it was difficult to miss – but not how she felt about him.

Gibbs raised an eyebrow at Benoit. He needed to talk to DiNozzo himself, and the emotional minefield she brought with her wouldn't help much. She seemed to understand instantly. Reaching down, she squeezed DiNozzo's hand. "I'll see you later," she said.

DiNozzo turned back and looked up at her, the drugs making his emotions more naked than Gibbs had ever seen them. He grabbed her hand tighter before she could go. "Jeanne –"

"Not now," she said, squeezing again, smiling at him sweetly. "We can talk later."

His brows knit, DiNozzo released her hand and watched her leave the room. "DiNozzo," Gibbs started, but his agent interrupted him.

"What have you been doing?" he demanded.

"Investigating."

"Why? I thought I told you that I don't want –"

"DiNozzo," Gibbs said gently, and the younger man broke off. "I can't say I don't care that you don't want it investigated, but I can't let that stop me."

"Maybe I just need to talk to him again," DiNozzo said. "He's a good guy, I've just given him the wrong idea somehow. I need to –"

"DiNozzo, this is not your fault," Gibbs growled, and DiNozzo drew back, clearly startled. "He's done this before."

DiNozzo stared at him. "But there's nothing – no complaints, no reports, no –"

"And you were going to file a complaint, were you?" Gibbs asked, and DiNozzo's jaw dropped. "Preston told us –"

"Preston? He's an idiot!" DiNozzo shook his head. "You can't believe anything he said. He seems to think Brody's allied with some South American drug lord."

"I've got McGee and Ziva digging for the truth on that," Gibbs said. "Regardless, DiNozzo, behavior like Harris is exhibiting doesn't start suddenly out of nowhere."

"I screwed up," DiNozzo said. "Again. Jeanne would never even have thought about making up a story like she did about me before . . ." He shook his head. "I seem to have a really crappy effect on otherwise normal people. Brody just . . . I suppose I should be flattered that he wants me this badly."

Gibbs had to resist an urge to strangle DiNozzo. "Tony, should Abby have been flattered that Michael Mawher wanted her badly enough to write a suicide note for her?"

"Brody isn't Michael Mawher," DiNozzo snapped.

"Not far off," Gibbs said.

DiNozzo face shut down. He shook his head and rolled over on his side. "I need to sleep. I want to be alone."

"DiNozzo –"

DiNozzo looked up, eyes narrowed. "Alone, Boss, or as alone as I can be in a hospital."

Gibbs looked at the time and considered. "I'll be back with dinner in a couple of hours."

"Dinner?" DiNozzo repeated, looking up again, a friendlier expression in his eyes. "Real food?"

"Absolutely."

"Fine," DiNozzo said and looked away again.

Gibbs left the room and let the door fall shut behind him. Two hours, and then he was going to feed the man, and then he was damned well getting his answers. Palmer was hovering outside. "Go get me some coffee, and pick up some sandwiches."

"Sandwiches?" Palmer repeated.

Gibbs knew the boy had to be smarter than he came across at times, but his tendency to repeat requests got irritating. "Yes, Palmer," he said impatiently. "Sandwiches. DiNozzo, me, Dr. Benoit . . . got it?"

"Sure, I'll . . . I'll go get sandwiches." He darted down the hallway, went into the waiting room for a second, and emerged dragging the strap of a bag over his head. Gibbs followed more slowly and joined Dr. Benoit in the waiting room as Palmer disappeared into an elevator.

"Is Tony alone?" she asked, sitting forward.

"He's sleeping," Gibbs replied.

"Oh." She leaned back in her chair, her brows furrowed anxiously. "Did he fall asleep that quickly?"

Gibbs shook his head. "No, he asked me to leave him alone so he could sleep." She nodded and looked down at the magazine in her lap. Gibbs sat down and rubbed his forehead, trying to decide whether he should go away and come back or if he should wait in case DiNozzo decided he was ready for company again.

After a few moments, Dr. Benoit cleared her throat, and he looked over. "Is Tony's family coming?" she asked.

"His family?" Gibbs repeated.

"Well, isn't his father coming?" she asked, her brows knitting.

Gibbs considered his words carefully. "What did he tell you about his father?" he asked.

She shrugged. "Not a lot. He said his father was a retired military man who'd gone into business, and that he was hard but fair. We didn't talk family a lot, but I got the feeling they were close."

"What else did he tell you?" Gibbs asked.

She looked at him for a long moment. "It's not true, is it?" she asked. "His father isn't like that at all, is he?"

Gibbs grimaced. "He's in business," he said. "And he's hard."

She was silent for several moments, and then she sighed. "So, I guess his father isn't coming."

"His father doesn't even know he's in the hospital."

"Shouldn't someone tell him?"

"Nope." The idea of telling DiNozzo's father what had been going on was horrifying, and DiNozzo would never forgive him if he did.

She didn't seem to know what to say to that. Neither spoke for a while, and then she said, "Were you in the military, Agent Gibbs?"

"I was," Gibbs said, not sure where the question was coming from. "Marines."

"Oh." She didn't say anything else, and Gibbs wondered what she was thinking.

Chapter Text

Saturday, 1641, Rockville Pike, Bethesda, MD

Jimmy tried to remember where the nearest Starbucks was as he headed back to the hospital with the food. He knew he had to get the right coffee, or Agent Gibbs might just shoot him. He was pulling into a right hand turn lane when he heard a siren behind him. He looked in the mirror and realized that the unmarked car with the flashing light was right behind him, clearly pulling him over.

He pulled off into a parking lot, trying to figure out what he'd done. He knew he'd used his turn signal. Maybe he had a bad taillight or something. He parked the car and turned off the engine, then leaned over to dig his registration out of his glove compartment. When he sat up, he looked in his mirror again. The police car had parked across behind him, so he couldn't pull out, but he didn't see the officer inside the car. He looked in the side mirror on his side to see if he was coming up beside him, and he rolled down his window in anticipation.

The passenger door opened suddenly, and Jimmy turned in surprise to find that Brody Harris was lowering himself gently into the passenger seat of his car. "Hello," Jimmy said, his heart starting to speed up. "What are . . ." He trailed off, not wanting to ask the question in a way that might offend his impromptu guest.

"Jimmy, isn't it?" Harris asked, and Jimmy nodded mutely. "I thought so. I connected those glasses with Jimmy Olsen, so I was pretty sure I'd got it right."

"Oh," Jimmy said stupidly. "What do you want?"

"How is Tony?" Harris asked.

"I'm really not sure I should tell you," Jimmy said uneasily. "Detective Harris, why did you pull me over?"

"I don't have your phone number, and I don't even know your last name," Harris said. "And you're the only one of Tony's coworkers that I've actually met."

That wasn't quite what Jimmy had meant, but he didn't think he wanted to point that out. "Look, I have to be getting back."

"Of course, I know," Harris said. "But how is Tony? You know I can't get in, don't you? That bastard Gibbs gave orders. He wants to keep Tony and me apart."

"Right," Jimmy said. Swallowing nervously, he tried to figure out what he should or shouldn't say. "Detective Harris, you gave him a concussion, he had to have stitches."

"It was an accident," Harris replied. "Tony knows that, but how is he? Is he angry at me?"

"Detective Harris, I –"

"Call me Brody, Jimmy," Harris said. "We're friends, aren't we?"

Jimmy had trouble reconciling this claim to be friends with the sharp warning off he'd gotten from Harris on the second time they'd met. "Brody, then. I have Tony's lunch. I need to be getting back to the hospital."

"Give me your phone number, so I can call you later and find out how Tony is," Harris said. Figuring that a phone number was a small price to pay to get Harris out of his car, Jimmy wrote it down hastily. He handed it to Harris and took the envelope Harris gave him in return. "Get this to Tony, please?"

"What is it?" Jimmy asked.

"It's personal," Harris replied. "And here's my phone number. Call me if Tony needs me and I'll find a way past Gibbs' obstacles, even if I have to reveal him for the controlling bastard he is."

"Controlling?" Jimmy repeated.

"Can you honestly say that Gibbs doesn't control every aspect of Tony's life that Tony will let him?" Harris asked.

"Um . . ."

"It's not right. Tony deserves better."

"Okay," Jimmy said. He desperately wanted out of this insane conversation. "I need to go."

"Tell Tony how sorry I am," Harris said.

"I will," Jimmy said. "But I have to –"

"Go, yes," Harris said, giving Jimmy a buffet on the shoulder with a fist. "Get going. I'll see you later." He climbed out of the car, but before he shut the door, he ducked his head back in. "I'll call you later tonight. Don't let Gibbs know we've talked."

Jimmy nodded, eyes wide. Harris grinned at him and shut the door. Jimmy watched the car pull away from his parking spot and let out a shuddering breath. He got back on the road and returned to the hospital without any side stops. He pocketed the card, grabbed the bag from the deli and hurried up to the floor where Tony was. He started to rush past the waiting room, assuming Gibbs was in with Tony, but a voice pulled him up.

"Palmer!"

Jimmy backed up and went into the waiting room. "Agent Gibbs?"

"Where's the coffee?"

Jimmy flushed and then felt cold. "I . . . I didn't get it."

Saturday, 1723, Bethesda Naval Medical Center

Gibbs stared at Palmer as he went from crimson to paper white. He took the deli bag from him and thrust it at Benoit. "What happened?" he asked, guiding Palmer to a seat.

"Detective Harris . . . he pulled me over."

Gibbs squatted in front of the shaken young man, scanning him for injuries. "What did he do?"

"He just wanted to talk," Palmer said. "He wanted to know how Tony was, he wanted my number, he told me not to tell you . . . he said you control Tony too much."

Gibbs absorbed the information, but right now he was more concerned about how Palmer was. "Did he touch you?"

Palmer rubbed his upper arm. "You know, a friendly punch, he said we were friends, but that's news to me. The last time I saw him, he told me to . . . to . . . to stay away from Tony."

Gibbs shook his head. "He didn't hurt you?"

Jimmy shook his head, then he dug in his pocket. "He gave me this for Tony." He held out an envelope and Gibbs held up a finger.

"Stay right there." He got up and went over to the nurse's station. "I need gloves and an unused plastic bag."

The woman blinked at him for a moment, then pulled out a pair of gloves. "I'll bring you a bag. How big?"

Gibbs gestured to give her the idea, took the gloves and returned to the waiting room. Palmer was sitting very still, looking half-alarmed. Gibbs pulled the gloves on and took the envelope from him, looking at it from both sides. It was thick and stiff, like it contained a card, and the size of the envelope, about four by six inches, bore that out. The flap was sealed down, and there was nothing written on the outside. He pulled out his knife and slit the flap open. It was a card. Sliding it out, Gibbs looked at the front. It showed a moonlit city park with a fountain. Inside, the printed message read, "Thinking of You." A note was written over the white space inside the card in neat, masculine handwriting.

Tony,

When you say you want to end things, I know you can't be remembering how good we are together. I can't do without you, and you know you need me. You are my perfect partner. I love your mind and spirit and your body. You make me complete. You know I would never deliberately hurt you. It just made me so angry when your little friend showed up like that and tried to interfere. You know how I feel about other people coming between us. You let people manipulate you so much, I have to keep you safe from people who don't have your best interests at heart, like that bitch and that bastard Gibbs. All they care about is what they want to get from you, and you have so much to give. I freely admit I'm jealous, but who could blame me when the reward is so great? When you come out of there, I want you to come stay with me. I'll take good care of you, and we can talk about what we should do next. Please call me, Tony, I need to hear your voice. I need to know that you don't blame me. I need you.

Brody

Gibbs grimaced and looked up to find the nurse presenting him with a zipper bag. He took it and tucked the card and its envelope inside. He sealed the bag and followed the nurse back to her desk for a permanent marker to label the bag with. Once that was done, he put it in a pocket and went back and got all the details of the encounter from Palmer. Then he left Palmer to Benoit's sympathetic attentions and went into DiNozzo's room.

His agent was lying on his back, staring out the window, demonstrably not asleep. Gibbs walked over and sat down. Neither of them said anything right away, and DiNozzo didn't turn. After a couple of moments, Gibbs spoke. "So, it's a good thing Palmer told me he'd run into Harris before, or I'd be kicking your butt about now."

DiNozzo turned and gave him a puzzled look. "What do you mean?"

"Well, Detective Harris just flipped on his lights and sirens and pulled Palmer over." DiNozzo sat up straight, eyes wide. "He trapped Palmer in a parking lot, got into his car and asked him questions about how you're doing."

"Son of a –" DiNozzo threw the covers off. "I have to go see him and get him to back off. He –"

"You're not leaving the hospital," Gibbs said flatly, and DiNozzo stopped before he actually got to his feet. "And you're damned well not going anywhere near him."

DiNozzo turned, his feet on the floor, sitting on the edge of the bed. "Gibbs, he's not going to listen to anyone but me."

"But he'll listen to you?" Gibbs asked ironically. DiNozzo's jaw tensed, and Gibbs expected some kind of rejoinder, but DiNozzo's shoulders slumped and he looked away. Gibbs nodded. "Now, I –"

"Where's Abby?" DiNozzo demanded abruptly.

Gibbs shook his head, puzzled by the subject change. "By now I'd guess she's back at the office, but –"

DiNozzo shifted back onto the bed and reached out for the phone, dialing a number quickly. Gibbs considered interfering, but DiNozzo seemed so urgent that he decided to observe. DiNozzo's fingers drummed an agitated rhythm on the bedside table for several seconds. Then he said, "Abby, where are you?" He paused, listening. "Good, please, Abby, stay there. Don't leave the office alone, okay? Promise me?" His lips pursed. "Abby, I'm serious."

Gibbs grabbed the phone. "Do as he says, Abbs, I'll explain later."

"Sure Gibbs," Abby said, sounding alarmed.

"You got anything for me?"

"Not a thing, Gibbs, even with Timmy keeping me supplied with caffeine."

"I've got some evidence coming your way shortly, but I've got to go now, Abbs." He hung up and turned to DiNozzo. "Okay, what the hell was that about?"

DiNozzo was looking at him almost fearfully. "Abby is why he punched me." Gibbs blinked at him in surprise, but DiNozzo just drove right on with his words without pause. "I never would have thought he'd involve any of my friends in our conflict, or I would have said something immediately."

"What are you talking about?" Gibbs asked.

DiNozzo grimaced unhappily. "It's hard to explain . . . he came over most Fridays, only I was trying to . . . to distance myself. He'd started getting more and more possessive, and he was keeping track of my movements somehow. Anyway, I told him I wouldn't be available one Friday, but I wouldn't tell him why because it wasn't really his business." Gibbs remained silent. DiNozzo already looked agonized, and Gibbs didn't want to add to it at this moment. "Abby had asked me to a concert, and my car was in the shop, so she dropped me off after out in front of my building."

Gibbs nodded, knitting his brows. "Okay . . ."

"Brody was waiting in my apartment . . . I guess he wanted to know what I was up to, or maybe he thought I was just staying home alone, and he . . ." DiNozzo gave Gibbs an odd, shamed look, then shook his head. "Anyway, he was watching when Abby dropped me off, and she was pretty hyped up and energetic, and she gave me kind of a kiss . . . nothing real, just friendly, but Brody misinterpreted it."

Gibbs contemplated a few of Abby's more enthusiastic greetings of DiNozzo viewed in the light of Harris's insane jealousy and could see where this story was going.

"When I opened my door, it was dark inside. He greeted me with a punch in the face, then pinned me to the wall beside the door. I didn't realize it was him till I managed to hit the light switch. He accused me of cheating on him, and I convinced him that Abby was just a friend. If I'd thought he would do anything to her, I swear, Boss, I would have told you."

"And that's what made you end things?"

"He'd never hit me before," DiNozzo said, and his outrage was clear. "I kicked him out and told him never to come back."

Gibbs nodded. "And then what happened?"

DiNozzo shrugged. "I didn't see him for days, but I got the feeling he was . . ." He blanched as if realizing something. "He must have gotten in during that next week, because it was at the end of that week that I changed the locks. If there were notes in the apartment . . ." He covered his eyes with his hand. "I don't understand what he wants from me."

"He's a stalker, DiNozzo. What does a stalker want?"

"He's a good guy, Boss," Tony protested. "A good guy, and a good cop. I don't . . . I never would have thought he'd misuse his authority like that."

Gibbs shook his head. He'd have trouble convincing DiNozzo that Harris was anything other than a good guy and a good cop unless he showed him the note that Harris had sent by way of Palmer, which he wasn't going to do until it had been properly processed.

Gibbs settled into the chair and considered what DiNozzo had said so far. "What do you think he would have done if he'd found you alone in your apartment?" he asked.

DiNozzo's brows knit and Gibbs could see a shudder run through him despite an obvious attempt to suppress it. "Nothing," DiNozzo said unconvincingly. "He just would have been annoyed that I'd fobbed him off."

"Annoyed?" Gibbs repeated. "And what is Harris like when he's annoyed?"

"What are you getting at?" DiNozzo asked, making a try at normalcy but falling short. "Even good cops get annoyed, Gibbs. You get annoyed."

"I'm getting annoyed right now," Gibbs said, leaning forward, and DiNozzo straightened warily. Gibbs tamped down on his irritation and sat back again. "Tony, what would have happened that Friday night if you had stayed home?"

DiNozzo shrugged. "It doesn't matter," he said. "He just would have gotten on my case for not being available when he . . . when he needed me."

"Needed you?" Gibbs asked. "Needed you for what?" DiNozzo looked away, shrugging again, and he didn't answer. "For sex?" he asked, and DiNozzo flushed. He didn't deny it, though, which was telling. "And if he'd asked for sex?"

"He did," DiNozzo said, looking over at Gibbs with a defiant expression. "He wanted to have sex after I'd convinced him that he'd misunderstood. I kicked him out."

Gibbs gazed at him for several seconds, and DiNozzo met his eyes – at first. Long before Gibbs expected him to, his eyes dropped and he turned away. "DiNozzo, there's something here you're not telling me," Gibbs said softly.

"There's a lot here I'm not telling you," DiNozzo said, his voice shaking slightly. "Because it's private, and I don't want to talk about it."

"Several things you haven't wanted to talk about have come back and bitten you today," Gibbs pointed out, and DiNozzo bit his lip. "You sure you don't want to share?"

"Nothing else concerns anyone but me," DiNozzo replied. He still wasn't meeting Gibbs' eyes. "It's personal, private, and no one's business but my –"

"I'm sure that's how Abby felt about Michael Mawher."

"Actually, I believe Abby expressed herself as not wanting to have the man exterminated."

"She was also embarrassed, DiNozzo," Gibbs said. "I assumed you realized that."

"Of course, I realized that," DiNozzo snapped. "But the situations aren't parallel. I keep telling you that, but you keep comparing them anyway."

"Mawher wanted to continue a relationship that Abby had ended, Harris wants to continue a relationship that you've ended. Mawher started following Abby around and breaking into her place. Harris started following you around and –"

"He had a key," Tony pointed out. "My place hasn't been broken into since I changed the locks."

"He still went into your apartment without permission," Gibbs said inflexibly. "Mawher pushed his attentions on Abby when she'd made it clear she didn't want them, Harris has demonstrably pushed his attentions on you when you've made it clear you don't want them."

"I'm not sure I was clear enough," DiNozzo said.

"You told him to go away, you changed your locks, you haven't welcomed his advances at any time since you told him to leave, is all of that right?" DiNozzo nodded unwillingly. "Did you ever say no when you didn't mean it?" Gibbs asked. DiNozzo shook his head, but he seemed oddly uncertain. "DiNozzo?"

"I . . ." DiNozzo shook his head. "I never said it when I didn't mean it," he said firmly.

Gibbs straightened his back, making connections between the shame DiNozzo had been showing off and on, the uncertainty that kept plaguing him over whether he'd been clear and his overall level of jumpiness. "Has he always taken no for an answer?"

"We already know he hasn't," DiNozzo said. "I told him we were done, but he –"

Gibbs raised a hand, and DiNozzo broke off. His whole posture looked apprehensive, but Gibbs wasn't giving up now. "Before you told him you were through, did he always take no for an answer?" DiNozzo didn't respond, and Gibbs felt his gut sinking. Thus far there'd been no indication that DiNozzo had suffered more than unwanted groping and kissing, bad as that was. Gibbs took a deep breath to keep his voice under control. "Tony, it's not a hard question."

DiNozzo looked fixedly out the window. "I wasn't clear enough," he said, and Gibbs closed his eyes. The bastard had raped him, and despite all his training and experience, he was taking the blame onto himself.

"Did you say no?" Gibbs asked, still keeping his voice calm and level.

"I didn't try hard enough to stop him," DiNozzo said obdurately. "If I'd really wanted to stop him, I could have, and I didn't."

Gibbs honestly didn't know what to say. If anyone else had said that to DiNozzo, DiNozzo would have called it rape. When DiNozzo said it about himself, he seemed to think it meant something else. Making that kind of comparison had gotten Gibbs nowhere thus far, however. He shook his head. "Sounds like rape to me, DiNozzo," he said finally.

"I didn't tell him to stop coming around," Tony pointed out.

"Does that make it not rape?" Gibbs countered.

DiNozzo didn't respond immediately, he just stared out the window at nothing. Gibbs was trying to marshal some argument to convince him, but then DiNozzo turned and met his gaze. There was pain in his eyes, and an abiding confusion. "You want to arrest him and put him away, right?" Gibbs just gave him a look that gave his answer, and DiNozzo's lips thinned. "You know what happens to cops in prison," he said, and Gibbs raised his eyebrows, enlightened. That was a reason for DiNozzo's unwillingness to act that he hadn't considered. "I'm not willing to help you put Brody in that position, Gibbs."

"If he's done it before, he'll do it again."

"We only have Preston's word for it that he's done it before," DiNozzo pointed out. "And I wouldn't trust a spook as far as I could throw him." DiNozzo shook his head, looking tired. "Besides, with the evidence we've got to go on, you don't have a prayer of convicting a cop on anything more than assault, even with my help, and even that's iffy."

Gibbs shook his head. "That doesn't mean we let the bastard get away with it."

"As soon as I'm released from the hospital, I'm going to find him and have a talk with him," DiNozzo said. Raising his hand to forestall Gibbs' veto, he added, "I'd appreciate it if you would come with me."

"DiNozzo, I really don't think that's going to make a difference," Gibbs said. "He sent you a note via Palmer that has classic career stalker written all over it."

DiNozzo's expression went blank, then his Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed. "A note?" he repeated apprehensively. Gibbs nodded. "What does it say?"

"Among other things, that he wants you to come stay with him when you get out of the hospital," Gibbs said, and DiNozzo went pale. "He makes the typical excuses and claims. He didn't mean to hurt you, you two are perfect together." Gibbs leaned closer. "DiNozzo, he's obsessed with you, and it's not your fault. From what you say, this has been building for a while."

"He's a good guy," DiNozzo said. "He –"

"He raped you," Gibbs said, hoping the blunt words would get through to his agent. DiNozzo shook his head. "You said no, and he forced you. That's called –"

"Stop!" DiNozzo scrambled out of the bed. "You don't – it's not – I can't do this. Brody saved me from three guys who were going to rape me. He's not a rapist."

The door opened and a nurse came in. She took one look at DiNozzo's position and posture and turned to Gibbs. "Sir, I'm afraid you're going to have to leave," she said.

"It's okay, Ella," DiNozzo said, now looking embarrassed. "He can stay."

"Not if he's upsetting you."

DiNozzo walked over and got back onto the bed, bringing the head up to a fully sitting position. "It's okay, he's my boss." He smiled at her. "I'm not upset."

"Okay," she said, glancing back and forth between them, and Gibbs could tell that he was on notice. If DiNozzo was upset again while he was here, he was out, whether DiNozzo objected or not. She did her checks, made her notations and left, giving Gibbs another stern look.

Gibbs cleared his throat after the door had shut again. "Can you tell me more about that first incident?" he asked. "Maybe that will help me understand."

DiNozzo shrugged. "I told you everything, more or less."

"Less rather than more, DiNozzo," Gibbs said gently, and the younger man grimaced. "When was it?"

"Two or three weeks after Jeanne's last visit," DiNozzo said. "It was a Thursday, I know that, because Brody stayed the following night and into Saturday."

Gibbs considered this. That meant it had been nearly four months since their first encounter. "Okay. You said you couldn't remember where you were when the guy first ran into you." DiNozzo nodded. "Do you remember the guy's name? What he looked like?"

DiNozzo rolled his eyes. "His name was Mark, and I think I heard him call one of his friends Terry. Mark was about your height, built slimly. He had blondish hair and blue eyes. Terry and the other guy were built like tanks, but they were shorter, with dark hair. Terry had kind of dark skin, the other guy was paler. I could probably do composites of them if I had Abby and her computer program."

Gibbs made a mental note to send Abby out with a laptop – and a guard. Maybe if he could find those guys, he could get some ideas about Harris and that first night. "What happened?"

DiNozzo closed his eyes. "What does that matter? It's been months, and if I didn't press it then, there's no chance it will go anywhere now."

"I'm trying to understand this relationship," Gibbs said. "Knowing how it started could help."

Letting out an aggravated sigh, DiNozzo shrugged again. "Fine. The friends dragged me into the alley, I fought back, but with two of them it was a little challenging. Then Mark showed up and I realized that it wasn't a mugging." He paused for a long moment. "They shoved me over a stack of pallets, the two friends holding me while . . ." DiNozzo stopped again, shaking his head. "Boss . . ." Gibbs just raised his eyebrows and waited. DiNozzo grimaced and went on. "Mark reached around and undid my belt and yanked my pants and . . . and my boxers down."

"I thought you said nothing really happened," Gibbs asked, appalled.

"That was it," DiNozzo replied defensively. "Mark copped a feel, I heard his zipper and then he was jerked off me. A minute later, the other two guys took off, and I got my pants back on while Brody whaled on Mark. He got away a minute later, and Brody gave chase. He came back a couple of minutes after to see how I was, and then he drove me home."

"But you'd met him before that, isn't that right?"

DiNozzo nodded. "Yeah, maybe a week or so before, and I'd seen him around. He . . . I just confused him by not . . ." He shook his head. "He's a good guy, Boss."

Gibbs kept his opinion to himself. He didn't think DiNozzo had real feelings for Harris, but any attempt at challenging the bastard's 'good guy' status in DiNozzo's eyes was making DiNozzo close him out. That was the last thing he needed. "Well, I'd better be getting back," Gibbs said. "I'm going to leave Palmer with you for now."

"I don't need a babysitter, Gibbs."

"He's not a babysitter," Gibbs replied.

"No, he's a spy. You told him to get information out of me."

Gibbs shrugged. "You haven't been talking, DiNozzo. You know how I operate."

DiNozzo snorted. "Yeah, you cheat."

"If I have to." He rose. "I'll see you later."

"Is there any chance I've convinced you to stop investigating?" DiNozzo asked. Gibbs just shrugged again. "Right." DiNozzo grabbed the TV remote and turned on the idiot box. Gibbs left him alone, sent Palmer back in with the deli sandwich, and went back to the office. Damn that bastard anyway. He wondered how much of DiNozzo's current confusion was due to Harris's manipulation. Abusers were often exceptional manipulators, and Harris wasn't wrong. It could – if one had the right touch – be extremely easy to manipulate DiNozzo.

Somehow Gibbs had to get his man straightened out before he let Harris destroy him.

Chapter Text

Saturday, 1736, Bethesda Naval Medical Center

Tony contemplated his options. He had to find a way to slow Gibbs down if nothing else. Stuck in the hospital the way he was, he couldn't make his arguments stick. Jimmy came in with his book bag, let it thump to the floor and handed Tony a bag from which a delectable aroma rose. Tony grinned. "Pastrami?" he asked.

"Of course."

"I don't suppose you could go grab me a soda?"

Jimmy gave him a grin. "Sure. I'll be back in a couple of minutes."

Once he'd left, Tony reached over and picked up the phone. The number was still fresh in his mind, though it had been a long while since he'd had any reason to call it. It rang once, twice, then he heard her crisp voice. "Shepard."

"Director, this is Agent DiNozzo," he said, glad not to have gotten voice mail.

Her voice changed oddly, growing both more wary and slightly anxious. "Tony, what can I do for you?"

"I'd like to talk to you, if you would be willing to come down here."

"I'm not far away," she said. "I'll be there in ten minutes."

"Thank you, director," Tony said, and he hung up.

Jimmy came back with a couple of cans of soda, and Tony took his with thanks. Jimmy sat down and pulled out one of his books while Tony started to eat. "The director will be here in a little bit," he said after his first bite, and Jimmy's head came up, eyes wide. "When she gets here, I'd like to talk to her alone, but I don't think it will take very long, so there's no need for you to take all your stuff out with you."

"Sure," Jimmy said, his brows knit. "Is something wrong?"

Tony shook his head. "Nothing new," he said, and Jimmy flushed a little.

It was fifteen minutes, not ten, but that gave Tony enough time to get himself outside of the better part of his sandwich. He was just wrapping up the end for later when she walked through the door. She was wearing one of her standard power suits, and she looked both sober and caring. Vaguely maternal, actually, which was more than a little weird. Jimmy got up and excused himself, and Tony gestured towards the chair. "Have a seat, director," he said.

She sat down, looking ill at ease. "What can I do for you, Tony?" she asked again.

"I need you to stop Gibbs' investigation."

Jenny's jaw dropped. After a second, though, she gathered herself. "I would need a very good reason," she said.

"I'll give you several," Tony said. "Gibbs is going to say I'm irrational, but I'm not."

"Prove it."

Tony's eyes narrowed, but he maintained his control. To give way to emotion now would not help his cause. "First, there isn't enough clear evidence to take to a prosecutor," Tony said. "The primary witness to the assault last night has already lied in a federal investigation, and Brody is a decorated cop without any history of complaints."

"You're the primary witness, Tony," Jenny said. "Or are you saying you wouldn't testify?"

Tony shook his head. "It's not that simple, director. He's a cop, and I'm not going to help put a cop in prison, particularly not for rape."

"Sexual assault," she said, her brows knitting. "Or is there something here I don't know about?"

"Gibbs will call it rape," Tony replied, ignoring the voice inside him that said Gibbs was right.

Jenny raised her eyebrows. "Gibbs doesn't throw language like that around," she said. "He must have a reason for calling it that."

Tony shrugged, concealing the effort it took to force himself to talk to her about this. "I didn't . . . I wasn't sufficiently persistent in my refusals."

Her eyes widened. "What are you saying, Tony?"

"I'm saying that . . ." Tony steeled himself. "I let him . . . do what he wanted . . . when I didn't want him to." He looked away from her shocked expression. "I told him no, and when he didn't listen, I didn't do anything to stop him."

"Could you have stopped him?" she asked, her voice gentle.

Tony grimaced both at the question and the tone. "It doesn't matter, I didn't try, and I didn't tell him to stop coming. I was . . . less than clear. Any defense attorney worth his salt will be able to use that to get Brody off from any charges. Like I told Gibbs earlier, the only thing you might be able to get him on is assault, and even that's questionable."

"I see." Jenny studied him, and Tony remained calm and composed, though it took an effort. She had to hear him. "So, you don't think there's enough evidence, and you're not willing to put a cop in prison." Tony nodded. "You said several reasons. Is there anything else?"

Tony shrugged. "Did you know that my father just completed a controversial merger?" She shook her head. "Well, it's been in a lot of papers, and there are plenty of reporters who have their ears out for the name DiNozzo. A juicy scandal would suit them fine, especially since I was less than forthcoming when they called me for information about my father."

"They called you?"

"Wanted anything I could tell them, and I didn't say anything on the principle that if you can't say something nice, you shouldn't say anything at all."

"I can see that," Jenny said. "How are you feeling?"

Tony shook his head. "I'm fine," he said. "Just a little achy. The doctors are only keeping me here because Brad told them I got up too soon after the plague, and they want to make sure I don't overdo."

"As I recall, you had to take nearly a week off just before I arrived due to a relapse," Jenny said.

Tony shrugged again. "Yeah, well, getting soaked on the second day back wasn't in the plans," he said. Nor was nearly getting himself blown up or having Kate shot right in front of him, but he didn't go into that. Neither did Jenny, which showed some tact on her side.

"Is there anything else you want to tell me?" she asked.

"No, that's it."

"Well, then I'd better be getting back."

"Are you going to put a stop to Gibbs' investigation?"

She reached out and squeezed his hand. "I'll definitely have a talk with him." She squeezed again and left the room. A few moments later Jimmy came back in and Tony pulled him into a conversation about old TV shows to avoid serious talk.

Saturday, 1747, NCIS Headquarters

"Well, the CIA is not wrong," Ziva said. "There is a connection between Harris and Vargas."

"Definitely," McGee added. "There's a history of presents from Vargas to Harris.

"Like what?"

"Mostly expensive nothings," McGee replied. "Dinners, theater tickets, fine clothing."

"Bribes?" Gibbs asked.

McGee shook his head. "Nothing illegal, no sign of any kind of quid pro quo."

"Internal Affairs considers him clean," Ziva said. "There isn't a sniff of scandal about him."

"The phrase is 'whiff of scandal,' Ziva," Jenny corrected in a tense voice as she arrived in the bullpen. "Agent Gibbs, my office, now." She turned on her heel and strode toward the stairs.

Gibbs started after her, but gave his orders as he left. "Keep digging, both of you. I want to know what he had for breakfast on his eighth birthday." He followed Jenny up the stairs and into her office, wondering what she wanted.

She was waiting for him when he got there. She shut the door after he'd gone through it, then said, "I want you to nail that bastard to a wall."

Gibbs blinked at her. "I was planning on it. Why the sudden urgency?"

"DiNozzo called me," she said, and he raised his eyebrows.

"He talked to you?" he asked, startled that DiNozzo would have spoken to her, much less opened up to her.

She rolled her eyes and walked over towards her desk. "Of necessity. I'm the only person who has the authority to call you off."

"What?"

"He wanted me to put a stop to your investigation," she said, sitting down.

Gibbs walked over to the desk, narrowing his eyes suspiciously. "Exactly why did you want to talk to me, Jen?"

She raised her eyebrows. "Did you miss the part where I told you to nail him to the wall?" she asked dryly.

He opened his mouth, discovered he had nothing to say, and closed it again. "What the hell did he say to you?"

She gazed up at him, her face stony and her eyes full of cold fire. "He gave me a reasoned and rational explanation of why he wants you to stop investigating, and I don't think he had a clue just how bad it sounded."

"You don't think he has feelings for the guy, do you?" he asked. "Because, no offense, but I'm not going to be taking your judgment where DiNozzo's emotional state is concerned."

"No, I don't think he's got feelings for him," Jen said sharply. "By the way, thanks for letting me know that it was more than sexual assault. It might have been nice to have that information going into that conversation."

"I've only been back from the hospital for ten minutes, Jen, and that's when I found out myself. You weren't here, and it isn't the kind of thing I'd tell you on a cell phone."

She stared at him. "He didn't waste any time, did he?"

"No, he ended our conversation with a request to stop my investigation, and I said no. Evidently he thought going over my head would solve the problem."

She sat back, pursing her lips. "DiNozzo's having a hell of a time right now getting anyone to take no for an answer."

Gibbs bent over the desk and glared at her. "Are you actually comparing me to Brody Harris?"

She shrugged, not responding to his attempt at intimidation. "I'm just thinking that DiNozzo has to be feeling pretty powerless about now."

Gibbs stood up again. "No doubt, but I'm not letting that stop me."

"I'm not saying it should, but DiNozzo is going in for some counseling after this, and nothing you can say will persuade me otherwise. Listening to him explain to me just why it was his fault that Harris raped him repeatedly was disturbing."

Gibbs blinked at her in astonishment. "He told you that?"

"What he told me was that he told Harris no, and when the bastard didn't listen, he didn't try to stop him. I asked him if he thought he could have stopped him, and he changed the subject."

Gibbs let out a frustrated sigh. "Of course he did."

"Have you seen this guy yet?"

Gibbs shook his head. "No, but Palmer has." She raised her eyebrows. "Evidently Palmer knew about this relationship a couple of months ago, thought Harris was bad news, but DiNozzo swore him to secrecy."

"Son of a –"

"And when I sent Jimmy out to pick up lunch, Harris pulled him over and interrogated him about DiNozzo's condition, intimidated his phone number out of him, and gave him a note to give to DiNozzo."

"What note?"

"It's in the lab," he said. "Standard stalker fare, and it demonstrates some perception into what makes DiNozzo tick."

"Has Tony seen it?"

"No, and I'm not sure he should," Gibbs replied. "By the way, did he mention that our buddy Preston went to see him?" Her eyes widened. "I guess not. He apparently gave DiNozzo the same patter he gave us, but Palmer interrupted them before DiNozzo could say yea or nay."

"Which was he going to say?"

"I believe he was going to refuse, but based more on the fact that Preston is insane to think Harris has a connection to Vargas than anything else."

"Have we found anything to link them?"

"The pattern of gifts is there, like Preston said, but apparently there's no sign whatsoever that Harris has ever done anything out of bounds."

Jenny shook her head. "You need to get something solid on Harris, something DiNozzo can't ignore."

"I'm working on it."

Gibbs went down to Abby's lab, where he found her reading through a copy of the letter, her face filled with dismay. "You okay, Abbs?" he asked.

She looked up. "Sure, Gibbs, I just . . . this reminds me of Michael. He wrote me a couple of letters like this. I mean, not exactly like this, but very similar. Very creepy."

Gibbs nodded. "Undoubtedly." He took the copy, figuring he'd better get one to Jen. "I need you to think back about six weeks ago, to taking Tony to a concert on a Friday night."

"The Undead Ants," she said, promptly. "That was a great night."

"Do you remember anything odd happening when you dropped him off?"

She shrugged. "Not really. I gave him a hug and a kiss, and teased him about the lipstick on his collar from where my friend Marla got a little fresh with him, then I went home. Why?"

"Because that's the night he broke it off with Harris," Gibbs said. "Evidently Harris saw your farewell and disapproved, and DiNozzo told him to take a hike."

"Wait . . . didn't he punch Tony? I thought that's why he . . ." Her voice trailed off, and her eyes opened wide. "He punched Tony because I kissed him, didn't he?"

Gibbs nodded. "'Fraid so, Abbs," he said. "Anyway, because of that, and because he's already approached Palmer to get information, Tony is worried that Harris might approach you."

"So that's why he wanted me to stay here."

"Yup. Now, that software you use to make composites, is it on a laptop?"

"Sure."

"I need you to take that laptop and go to the hospital. Tony's got three guys to describe to you, and get every detail you can out of him, however long it takes. Ziva will take you and drop you off, and I don't want you coming back until Ziva picks you up again, got that?"

She saluted. "Yes, sir, bossman, sir."

Saturday, 1842, Bethesda Naval Medical Center

Jeanne flipped the page and looked at the fashion photos in Cosmo. There were only so many medical articles she could read in succession. She sighed. Tony definitely knew she was here now, and clearly, he didn't want to see her. On the other hand, there were a lot of things they couldn't – or at least shouldn't – talk about.

As she looked from one fall of taffeta to another, though, she discovered that fashion wasn't holding her attention either. Her mind just kept flashing on other images that made it hard to focus on anything. Tony's arms, his neck, bruised to a fare-thee-well, the overlapping bruises on his rear end, and all the variety of bruises on his legs.

A drop of liquid landed on a picture of Sigourney Weaver in a brilliant crimson gown, causing the glossy paper to swell and distort. Another tickled down her cheek. Jeanne leaned back in the chair, pressing her hand to her eyes, willing the tears to stop, but her emotions weren't responding to reason right now.

She loved him. After that final meeting at NCIS, once she'd confessed her lie, she'd gone back to Africa, hoping his dismissal of her would enable her to move on, but it hadn't. He'd shown up in dreams, in nightmares, and her thoughts kept straying to him. She'd see a moment that made her think of a movie, and she'd want to call him and tell him. It was worse than the months after the break up, because then she had still been so angry and so hurt that those emotions had driven the others away. Guilt didn't do that, all it did was make her wish she could take it all back and make things right again.

Now here she was, not more than thirty feet away from where he lay in a hospital bed, hurting desperately, a victim of assault and who knew what else, and all she could do was sit here and wish he'd let her see him.

Was Ziva right? Was Tony's current condition, both physical and emotional, her fault? Had he gone out looking for something to get his mind off her attack on him and found an abusive bastard?

She grabbed a tissue off the side table and tried to contain her emotions, but once they'd broken free, she seemed to have no control at all. She crossed her arms and looked away from the door as the tears continued to fall. Not that anyone would be surprised to see someone crying in the waiting room of a hospital, but she didn't feel like sharing.

A voice in the doorway startled her and made her turn further away. "So, we weren't really introduced yesterday, but I'm Abby, and –" Abby broke off and Jeanne hunched slightly. "Are you crying?" Abby asked, and Jeanne buried her face in her hands. "Oh boy . . . I . . . I was just going to . . ." Jeanne felt a gentle hand on her shoulder. "I can't say what I was going to say if you're crying." Jeanne didn't know how to respond, so she just waved at the other woman, trying to tell her to go away, but she felt the shift in the seat as Abby sat down next to her. "Did something happen? What's wrong?"

"What's wrong?" Jeanne repeated, hardly able to believe her ears. "Tony was sexually assaulted, that's what's wrong. I want to help him, but he doesn't seem to want me near him." She looked up to see Abby staring at her, eyes wide.

"He doesn't want anyone near him," Abby said, her eyes glistening. "I was here half of last night, and he kept telling me I should go home, that I should see if I could get Gibbs to go, too, like that was gonna happen."

Jeanne blinked at her. "Are you saying I shouldn't take it personally?' she asked.

Abby shrugged. "I don't know, it's just Tony. I mean, you did break his heart into tiny, tiny pieces, but he never wants to let anyone help him." Jeanne eyes welled up again, and she put the heels of her hand against her eyes, trying to hold the tears in. "Oh!" Abby exclaimed. "I didn't mean to . . . but you did. He was devastated both times after you left."

"So was I!" Jeanne blurted, then covered her mouth, shaking her head. "I hate this!"

Abby stared at her. "Oh my God! You still love him, don't you?" she said, sounding stunned. "But you accused him of murder!"

"I was angry and stupid and misled," Jeanne said. "And I wish I could undo it, but I can't."

"I'd say he'll get over it, only Tony's kind of fragile," Abby replied anxiously. "He's not real good with trust, but that's not surprising with his history."

Jeanne grimaced. "I don't even know him," she exclaimed softly. "His history . . . everything he told me about his father was about Agent Gibbs, I think, and –"

"Awww!" Abby exclaimed, and the choked quality of her voice made Jeanne looked up.

"Great, now you're crying."

"It's just . . . Gibbs has always had a father/older brother thing going with me, and with Tony, too, only with Tony it's more about head slaps and insults, but for Tony to do that is just so . . . so sweet. It's just so hard for him to . . . to . . ." She sniffled. "I have to get to work."

Jeanne was startled. She gave Abby a puzzled look. "Work? Here?"

"Yeah, Tony's supposed to describe these three guys to me, only I don't know who they are or why Gibbs wants to know what they look like, but I can't go in there looking like I've been crying. He'll be on it like that." She snapped her fingers. "But Gibbs is going to want to know what happened to me if I don't get done soon."

"You don't look like you've been crying," Jeanne said.

"Tony can always tell. He's Tony, and he always knows."

Jeanne offered her some tissues. "It will be fine."

Abby took them and picked up her bag. "Thanks."

Jeanne watched her go and then pulled her feet up on the chair with her, hugging her knees. It sounded like she might have done Tony a worse turn than he'd done her, hard as that was to imagine.

Chapter Text

Saturday, 1928, Bethesda Naval Medical Center

Jimmy had gone to go get himself some coffee, and Tony was glad to have five minutes to himself. Midway through his solitary time, however, the door opened. He looked up to find a very subdued looking Abby coming into the room. She had a laptop case over her shoulder and her eyes looked a little red. "What's up?"

"Yes, I've been crying," she announced suddenly. "So what? I'm not the only one."

"Why have you been crying?" Tony demanded. "What happened? Has Brody done something to you?"

"I haven't even seen him, but I'm sorry he punched you because of me."

"He didn't punch me because of you, he punched me because he's an idiot."

Abby tilted her head. "Yes, he is. A crazy, obsessed idiot."

"He is not obsessed," Tony protested.

"He is, I read his note."

"What? I haven't even seen it."

"Well, I'll tell you one thing about it." Tony raised his eyebrows. "It reminded me of the stuff Michael used to send me. Full of crap about how we were perfect together, and how he needed me, and how I was wasting my life if I didn't come back to him."

"Brody didn't say any of that," Tony said uncertainly. It didn't sound like . . . actually, it did sound like the way he'd been talking lately.

"Well, he didn't say you were wasting your life, but he called Dr. Benoit a bitch and Gibbs a bastard." Tony didn't like that, but he didn't want to talk about it. "Anyway, I'm not here about that, I'm here because Gibbs asked me to get a description of three guys from you." She tilted her head. "He didn't say which three guys, so I'm assuming that you know who he means."

Tony considered saying no, but he shrugged. "Yeah, I know."

She pulled the laptop out of the bag and started setting it up. "So, how are you feeling?"

"About the same," Tony replied. "Why do people keep asking me?"

"Because we care," Abby said primly. "Now, am I calling this 'guy number one,' or is there a name to attach to him?"

Tony pursed his lips. "Hasn't the director gotten back to headquarters yet?"

"Sure."

"Has she talked to Gibbs?"

"I don't know. Why does it matter?"

Tony shrugged. "Call this one Mark," he said. He began to describe him for Abby. As he did so, she started asking persnickety questions about details, and Tony could sense Gibbs' hand at work. He closed his eyes and called the bastard's face to mind as clearly as he could. Jimmy came in while they were working and sat down to study. When Abby was done, Tony looked at the picture and grimaced. "That's him."

"Who is he?"

"Put the next one down as Terry," Tony said, and Abby gave him a frustrated look, but obediently started the next composite. Terry and his friend were harder because he'd never seen either of them in a well lit environment, and he'd been pretty freaked when he'd seen them, but he did his best. Gibbs would expect nothing less, and since he knew the director would put an end to the investigation, he didn't think he had anything to worry about.

Abby gave him a kiss on the cheek when they were done and said, "I'll be back after work."

"See you later," Tony replied. He turned the TV back on as she left. Jimmy got up and followed her out, but he was only gone for a minute. Tony wished they would all just leave him alone.

Saturday, 2119, NCIS Headquarters

Gibbs looked up when the elevator chimed, expecting it to be Abby and Ziva. It had been about enough time for a round trip to Bethesda and it was late enough that people weren't popping in and out every five minutes. Abby emerged from the elevator as soon as the doors were open wide enough for her to fit through.

"Gibbs!" she exclaimed, marching up to his desk. "Who are those guys?" she demanded.

"Why?"

"Well, Tony really didn't want to talk about them, and Jimmy says he thinks he saw one of them with Brody Harris."

Gibbs sat up straighter. "When? Where?"

"He didn't give me an exact date, but he said it was the second time he ran into Tony and Brody."

"Go on."

Abby shrugged. "That's it. Jimmy said Brody didn't seem to be happy to see this guy, the one Tony called Terry, and they seemed to be arguing, but that the guy left the bar before Tony came out of the bathroom."

"McGee –"

"Checking Harris's history for any references to guys named Terry, Terence or anything like that, Boss," McGee said.

"Let's see the pictures," Gibbs said. Abby got the laptop out of the bag and did something arcane with it that somehow connected it with DiNozzo's computer and brought the pictures up on the plasma in the squad room. Gibbs drew closer, studying the faces. "He say anything personal about them?"

"I still don't even know who they are," Abby said, shaking her head.

"According to DiNozzo, these two held him down while this guy tried to rape him," Gibbs said. Abby went white. McGee stopped typing instantly and stared at him, and Gibbs found Ziva at his shoulder suddenly, staring with narrowed eyes at the photos, memorizing the faces. "Harris stopped them, and that's what led to the relationship."

"But if Brody knows Terry . . ." Abby said.

"Then we've got a bigger problem on our hands than I realized," Gibbs muttered. "Ziva, start searching the sex offenders database for DC and the outlying areas. I want to know if any of these guys are registered."

"Yes, Gibbs," she said, and she sat down at her computer.

"I'm going to go see if I got any fingerprints off that note," Abby said, walking off towards the back elevator.

Gibbs was still standing in front of the plasma five minutes later when Jenny showed up at his side. "Who are they?" she asked.

Gibbs turned to look at her. "I didn't tell you that part?" She shook her head. "According to DiNozzo, these three guys ambushed him in an alley so that one could rape him." He pointed at the central picture. "Only Palmer says he thinks he saw Harris talking to that one in a bar while Tony was out of the room."

"That could be exactly what we need," she said. Gibbs scowled. She was right, but . . . "What?" Jenny asked. "I know that face. What are you thinking?"

"How the hell is DiNozzo going to react if I have to tell him that the guy he insists saved him from a gang rape actually set it up to begin with?"

Jenny blinked at him, then turned back to look at the three composites. "Not well," she said in what Gibbs thought had to be the understatement of the year.

"You think, Jen?" he asked irritably, and she grimaced. "I've got work to do," he groused, and went back to his desk.

Saturday, 2157, Bethesda Naval Medical Center

As ten o'clock rolled around, Tony wondered why he hadn't heard from Gibbs. He'd have expected an irate call at the very least right after Jenny talked to him. Finally, with Jimmy shifting uncomfortably in the chair beside him, Tony decided that he'd had enough waiting, and he called Gibbs himself.

"Gibbs," said the hurried voice on the phone.

"Hey, Boss," Tony said. "Jimmy's been here for ten hours or something like that now. Can I send him home?" Jimmy looked up, startled.

"I don't want him driving home alone, DiNozzo."

Tony grimaced. "So come take him home, he's exhausted, and I don't need someone sitting here to watch me sleep."

"I'll send someone by," Gibbs replied. "And I'll be by later."

"So . . . did the director talk to you?" Tony asked.

"She did."

"So, have you stopped the investigation?"

"No, DiNozzo, I haven't. What made you think I would?"

Tony blinked in surprise. "I asked her to . . . I mean, didn't she tell you to . . ."

"She told me to, and I quote, 'nail him to the wall,'" Gibbs said. "You're going to have to accept that the rest of us care about what happens to you a whole lot more than you apparently do."

"Boss, it's not about that!" Tony protested.

"What's it about, then?"

"There's no point in pursuing a case against a guy who's going to get off anyway," Tony said.

"I'm coming by later, DiNozzo, and I'll have more information."

"When?"

"Probably not till late. Tell Palmer to be outside in twenty minutes. I'm sending McGee for him. Ducky's got a body that evidently won't wait, and he needs some help."

Tony nodded. "I'll tell him," he said, but he doubted Gibbs heard him, the phone cut off so quickly.

"I'm fine, Tony," Jimmy said.

"Well, I guess Ducky needs you," Tony replied. "You're supposed to be outside waiting for McGee in twenty minutes."

"I can drive myself," Jimmy said.

"Gibbs doesn't want you driving alone, and neither do I, frankly," Tony said. "I can't believe he stopped you."

Jimmy's eyes widened. "Agent Gibbs told you about that?"

"Yeah." Tony scowled at the TV.

"It was pretty scary, actually," Jimmy said, and Tony looked at him uneasily.

"How so?"

"Well, the last time I saw him, he basically told me you guys were on a date and I was in the way. He also told me to stay away from you, like he actually thought I was after you or something."

Tony shook his head. "You never told me that," he said.

"I told you I thought he was screwed up in the head," Jimmy retorted.

"You never mentioned that he said it was a date," Tony replied. "I . . . it wasn't a date, Jimmy. It was never a date. We paid for ourselves, we met there, there was no dating going on."

"I believe you thought that," Jimmy said. "But what you believed and what Detective Harris believed don't seem to match up too well."

Tony grimaced. "I don't know what to think."

Jimmy had started putting his books away, but at that he stopped and stood up. He walked over to the bed and leaned against it, meeting Tony's eyes with a somber expression. "You do know what to think, Tony," he said. "You know exactly what to think, you just don't want it to be true."

Tony shook his head. "You don't understand, Jimmy."

Jimmy snorted. "I understand better than you know, Tony. Sometimes people are more interested in their own desires than in what other people want or need, and Brody's one of them. Agent Gibbs is just looking out for you."

Tony shrugged. "You'd better get going. Don't want to make McGee wait."

Jimmy gave him a dry look, but then he grabbed his stuff and left. Tony lay back and tried to figure out just how he was supposed to get Gibbs to wake up and recognize that there wasn't anything to be done about Brody's problem except ride it out. He had to get bored eventually. It kind of pissed him off that not only would Gibbs not listen to him – he'd more or less expected that – but Jenny was ignoring him, too. He'd thought he could count on her to want to avoid involving the agency in a public scandal. Didn't anybody give a damn what Tony wanted?

Dial M for Murder came on at 9:30, and Tony tried to focus on it, but even Hitchcock couldn't drag his mind away from his preoccupation with this stupid case that shouldn't be a case. Maybe if he could get hold of Brody himself, he could get him to back down. At that point, Gibbs wouldn't have any reason to investigate. To do that, however, he really needed to get out of the hospital, and he still didn't have any clothes.

In The Fugitive, Richard Kimball stole clothes from a patient room, but Tony didn't think much of that idea. For one thing, God knew what the other patients on this floor had with them. There were clothes Tony wasn't willing to wear even for purposes of escape. He'd been to Bethesda many times before, though. Maybe he could filch himself some scrubs. Not great in the clothing department, but no one would look twice at someone walking through the hospital in scrubs.

It was after eleven, so things had to have quieted down by now. He got out of bed and peeked out the door. Not a lot of movement. He recognized the spot, too. There was a linen storage closet just down the hall. He waited till no one was in sight and hurried on quiet feet down the hall and into the closet. There, he took stock of the scrubs they had on offer. He selected green rather than blue, found a pair that were about the right size and pulled them on immediately, dropping the hospital gown into a nearby hamper. He snagged a pair of the sterile shoe covers, too, to conceal his bare feet. Then he peered out into the hall again. No one in sight. He started towards the elevator, but as he passed the waiting room door, he saw Jeanne. He froze, but she appeared to be asleep, lying across the only one of the couches in the room that didn't have armrests poking up every two feet. She looked cold. He contemplated her for a moment, then went back into the storage closet and grabbed one of the blankets from the section of bed linens. He returned to the waiting room, unfolded it and spread it over her.

Her hair had fallen across her face. He squatted in front of her and brushed the curls back. Her eyes fluttered open, and she stared at him. Her eyes widened and she sat up. "Tony? What are you . . ." Her eyes narrowed. "Why are you wearing scrubs?"

"I'm leaving," Tony said. "Don't even try to talk me out of it. I need to –"

"You're being released tomorrow, Tony," she protested. "There's no reason to make a dramatic escape."

"Gibbs knows I'm being released tomorrow, and he plans to take me to his place." He shook his head. "It doesn't matter, you're not going to tell on me, are you?"

She smiled. "I don't have to."

Tony started to ask her what she meant, but then saw where her eyes were directed. He turned slowly, expecting to find Gibbs behind him, but it was just a nurse.

"Agent DiNozzo, you're supposed to be in bed."

"I just wanted to talk to Jeanne," Tony said, improvising rapidly.

"Fine, then Dr. Benoit can come into your room with you."

"I'd be delighted," Jeanne said, gathering her things. Between them, they walked him back to his room and got him tucked into bed, scrubs and all, though they did steal back the booties. He sat back irritably. This wasn't working out the way he'd meant it to.

"You're pouting," Jeanne said.

"I am not pouting," Tony protested.

She smiled at him in a way that he recognized as her doctor face. "I stand corrected. What do you call that expression?"

"Annoyed."

"I see." She sounded amused, and he scowled.

"What are you doing here, anyway?" he asked, and her face grew wary.

"I don't think we should talk about that."

"I don't mean . . ." He shook his head. "I meant what are you still doing here? You could be in Vegas, or back in Africa, or in Paris or something. Why are you still hanging around in a hospital with nothing to do?"

"Ziva hasn't picked me up yet."

Was she misunderstanding on purpose? "But why didn't you just leave town?"

She looked at him for a long moment. "I was worried about you."

"I'm fine."

"I'm not," she replied frankly, and he scanned her anxiously.

"What's wrong? Did something happen?"

"Yes, something happened," Jeanne exclaimed. "A man assaulted you, right in front of me. I was frightened half to death."

Tony blinked at her. "Oh." He bit his lip. He didn't want to think about that. "If it's any consolation, I don't think he would have hurt you. He's not quite that far –"

"I wasn't frightened for me, Tony, I was frightened for you."

"For me?" He didn't quite know what to say. "Jeanne, I –"

"I have seen you in some pretty extreme situations. I saw your face right after your car blew up, and when you were down there in the morgue with that guy holding a gun on us, when he had it between your legs, and after he knocked you cold . . . you were never scared. You were angry, you were alarmed, but you were never scared."

Tony shrugged. "So?"

"You were scared in that alley, Tony," she said. He shook his head, trying to deny it, but she wasn't done. "You were scared, and you were trapped. It was disturbing."

Tony shivered and tried to repress the reaction. He cleared his throat and sought a subject change. "Bernie's doing very well these days."

Jeanne raised her eyebrows. "Bernie? The girl from the morgue?"

"Yup, Bernadette Watkins. I made sure she got into rehab and away from Nick Kerry."

"Nick," Jeanne said, nodding. "That was his name."

"Yeah, he got life without parole," Tony said with a grin.

"How'd you swing that?" Jeanne asked.

"Annie and Carly testified that he had plenty of opportunity to tell the doctors that the kid was body-packing, but chose not to. Bernie, all cleaned up and sober, testified that he knew and that he'd set the arrangement up."

"So he went away for murder?"

"In the first. I convinced the court that Bernie would respond well to rehabilitation, and they made her a deal. Probation, court ordered rehab, and boatloads of therapy. She finished her high school diploma last month."

Jeanne thought back on the poor girl she remembered from that night. "Good. She deserved better."

"I check up with her every so often."

"You should be careful," Jeanne said. "That might be construed as harassment."

Tony shook his head. "She calls me as often as I call her. She actually asked me to help her when some of Nick's friends tried to pull her back in. I took a friend and we had a chat with them."

"What friend?" Jeanne asked. "Agent Gibbs didn't know anything about it."

"I told Gibbs," Tony said, and Jeanne raised an eyebrow. "Well, not the details, but he had to know why I went to court. No, it was a guy I knew from the Baltimore police – I wanted to be certain that she had back up if things got bad again, so I made sure a couple of friends on the Baltimore PD knew her situation and had her back."

Jeanne stared at him, stunned. "That's . . . that's really great, Tony," she said. She'd lost track of that whole situation, and hadn't, in fact, even considered that she might be needed to testify. She was glad that Carly and Annie had been able to stand in for her. And Tony.

"She'd love to hear from you, by the way," Tony said, and Jeanne tilted her head. "She asks after you from time to time."

"Why me?"

Tony shrugged. "You were kind to her when her brother died, she's had precious little of that in her life. And after she'd gotten some help, I explained some of the stuff that happened in the morgue that night, stuff she didn't really understand at the time. She's decided she wants to be a rehab counselor. I think she'll be good at it. She's starting junior college in the fall."

Jeanne sat back. "Wow, that's spectacular. I'm so glad you could help her out."

"I made help available to her," Tony said. "She helped herself."

There was a lot more to this man than Jeanne had ever realized. She leaned forward. "So, how long have you worked for Gibbs?"

He shrugged. "A little over six years," he said. He snorted, an odd look of self deprecation on his face. "It's a record. Never lasted more than two years before NCIS."

"Baltimore, Philadelphia and . . . anywhere else?"

"Peoria, Illinois," he said. "Where every vaudeville show started out on trial."

Surely he couldn't mean that how it sounded, like he was drawing a comparison between his law enforcement career and a vaudeville act. "Why Peoria?"

He shrugged. "Why not Peoria?" he asked.

"Well, you're from New York, right?" He nodded. "Why didn't you apply there?"

"I did, but my credentials weren't sufficient to grant me an interview." His expression suggested that the question had struck him in a vulnerable spot, but Jeanne didn't know enough to know why.

"So, what are your credentials?" she asked, assuming that the educational biography she'd been given had been fiction.

"Ohio State University, physical education major," he replied promptly. "I played sports, joined a frat and had all the usual college excitement."

She blinked at him. "I was a med student," she said. "College excitement for me was having drinks with the girls after my finals came back."

Tony snorted. "I could bong a beer in under six seconds."

She laughed. "College was play time, then, huh?"

"After six years of prep school, I should say so," Tony replied. "Sex, booze and rock and roll, one never ending party."

The act was good, but she could see that it was an act. It wasn't so much that he wasn't telling the truth as that he wasn't telling all of the truth. "Now, why don't I believe that?" she asked.

"Natural paranoia?" he suggested with a bright grin.

"That must be it," she said, rolling her eyes. "Tell me about your father. Your real father."

His face closed down abruptly. "Go read The Wall Street Journal. His name is Anthony Leonard DiNozzo, Jr. You can find out whatever you want there."

"I see." And a line was drawn. Jeanne could see that questions about his father were way out of bounds. She wondered why, but obviously asking wouldn't get her anything but a more closed off Tony.

"So, Africa," Tony said, changing the subject.

"Yes, Africa," she replied. "Médicins Sans Frontières. It's been incredibly rewarding."

"When I heard, I wasn't at all surprised," Tony said with a softer smile. "How many dozens of people did you make life better for?"

"I don't know that I did," she replied frankly. "At least not long term. The amount of work to be done is overwhelming. You help people, but the need is so great that there's no real way to meet it. Between poverty, violence and cultural issues that prevent people from looking for help, it becomes very difficult."

"Tell me about it," Tony said, and she gave him a startled look. "Law enforcement is a constant struggle with those very problems, Jeanne. And I may not have been to Africa much, but I've been to Iraq and South America. We go wherever the Navy goes."

"I hadn't thought of that," she said, knitting her brows. "I know you're law enforcement, but I can't help thinking of you teaching people about the history of film."

"Oh, I do that," Tony said airily. "For one thing, you'd be amazed by how often a random fact from a movie can provide the right connection to solve a case. Drives Gibbs nuts, sometimes, but that can be fun, too."

"He does seem very goal-oriented," she observed.

Tony snorted. "That's like calling the Hindenburg a minor accident with a small fire," he said with a chuckle. "Gibbs is focused. Determined. You might even say obsessed." He looked quickly towards the door in case his boss had arrived in time to hear that.

"What?" Jeanne asked, glancing at the closed door with a quirked eyebrow.

"He also has a habit of showing up just in time to hear me something say like that, or at the first moment I've taken a break after hours of nonstop work. It's like that parent/teacher thing. The one thing you most don't want him to hear or see is the one thing he winds showing up just in time to hear or see." He shook his head. "And then he smacks you on the back of the head."

Jeanne's brows rose. "He hits you? That sounds –"

"No, it's not like that!" Tony interjected hastily. "He's not remotely abusive. It's just a little light tap, more to let you know you've gone beyond the boundary of what's acceptable." He leaned over and gave her a token Gibbs-tap. "Like that."

Jeanne's eyes widened when he gave her an extremely light blow to the back of her head. "Tony!" she exclaimed, mildly outraged by his effrontery.

His eyes went round. "I didn't hurt you, did I? Please say I didn't hurt you. I didn't mean to hurt you. I would never hurt you, not on purpose. Did I hurt you?"

His alarm was so extreme that it made her laugh. "No, you didn't hurt me," she said, and he relaxed. "But that does seem very odd. Your director doesn't object?"

"My director was trained by Gibbs in the long distant past," Tony said. "I'm sure she got a few headslaps of her own. And we all very carefully don't mention it when the workplace sensitivity and sexual harassment seminars come up, though that's a laugh anyway. I mean, they actually told Abby once that she shouldn't hug people because it was sexual harassment."

Jeanne's jaw dropped, but then she remembered a couple of the sexual harassment lectures she'd heard at the hospital. "Abby's a sweet girl," she said.

"Well, yeah, Abby's kind of the definition of sweet girl. And affectionate. And really, really, really demonstrative."

"She was very nice to me earlier," Jeanne added, thinking back on that very embarrassing moment in the waiting room. Things that Abby had said came back to her then, making her think again. "Though I'm not sure she meant to be."

"What do you mean?" Tony asked.

"Well, I was . . ." Jeanne realized abruptly that she hadn't intended to tell him this, but he was waiting expectantly. "I was crying earlier," she said, "and she –"

"What?" he exclaimed. "You were crying? Why were you crying?"

"Why do you think?" she asked. "That's not the point of this story."

"What's the point of the story?" he demanded.

"That I don't think Abby intended to be –"

"Yeah, well, I think the 'you crying' thing might be just a little more important," Tony said. "Why were you crying?"

She raised her eyebrows and started into an explanation. "Well, I witnessed a man I care about getting att –"

"Never mind!" She broke off, looking at him with innocent eyes. "Don't go there."

Jeanne smiled at him and immediately reverted back to her original point. "When Abby came in, she said, 'I can't say what I was going to say if you're crying.'"

"Oh," Tony said, a wealth of understanding in his tone. "Abby can be kind of defensive of us."

"I got that impression when she called you her Tony last night," Jeanne said, and Tony blinked at her. "But the fact that I was crying seemed to change her mood, and she was really nice." Tony nodded. "And then, of course, I made her cry and that –"

"What did you do that made Abby cry?" he demanded.

Jeanne's brows went up. "I see that Abby isn't the only one who's defensive of her friends," she said, and Tony gestured for her to answer the question. "I just told her that I thought the man you described to me as your father was Agent Gibbs."

Tony's eyes widened. "Oh, no, that's done it. She went all melty, didn't she?" Jeanne nodded, amused. "It's not true, anyway. I never mentioned Gibbs, not once."

"You told me your father was retired military and that he was hard but fair," Jeanne said, and Tony colored slightly. "That sounds like Agent Gibbs. And I asked him how much that description matched your real father, and he said that your real father was hard."

Tony's mouth twisted in a bitter grin. "Yeah." He stopped, then, though, and looked at her. "Wait, you didn't tell Gibbs you thought I was describing him, did you?"

"No, of course not." He heaved a sigh of apparent relief. "I'm still not altogether comfortable with this hitting thing, though. Does he hit Abby?"

"No," Tony said, looking appalled.

"But it's okay for him to hit you?"

"He does it to Ziva, too," Tony pointed out. "And McGee."

"And Ziva puts up with it?"

"I think she thinks it's funny."

Jeanne shook her head. "She seems a little too militant for that," she said, and Tony shrugged. "I don't know her, though, really."

"Seriously, Jeanne, there's nothing out of line about it," Tony said. "It's like . . ." He paused, and he looked like he was casting about for a comparison. His eyes lit and he grinned. "Think of it like 'spontaneous violent love.'"

Jeanne stared at him for a moment, remembering Elijah Wood talking on the appendices to The Two Towers, and she felt amusement bubbling up. "Like head-butting?" she exclaimed through a laugh.

Tony chortled. "Not exactly. I mean, he doesn't grab your head and say something nice. He's far more likely to yell at you or say nothing at all, but he doesn't waste his time on people who aren't worth it."

Jeanne had a vivid image of Orlando Bloom describing his reaction to having been head-butted by one of the stuntmen. "'White light, white light!" she exclaimed, and they both burst into giggles. It wasn't nearly as funny as that, truly, but they'd both been under a lot of stress and it was such a relaxing moment that neither of them could stop.

Chapter Text

Sunday, 0106, Bethesda Naval Medical Center

Gibbs opened the door to DiNozzo's room and walked in to find DiNozzo and Benoit laughing together. If the laughter had a hint of hysteria in it, that wasn't surprising, but it was surprising to find the pair of them seeming so relaxed together. DiNozzo looked up and saw Gibbs, and his expression sobered instantly. Then his eyes widened and he started laughing afresh. Benoit looked up and bit her lip at the sight of him. She tried to stifle her own amusement, but giggles burst out despite her efforts.

"DiNozzo?" Gibbs said, letting the door fall shut behind him.

DiNozzo strangled his laughter and spoke in a throttled voice. "Yeah, Boss?"

Gibbs turned to his companion. "Dr. Benoit?"

"Yes, Bo –" She broke off. "Yes, Agent Gibbs?"

He glanced back and forth between them. "Care to share the joke?"

They both looked up at him with wide eyes. "No," they said in unison, only then looking at each other.

"Okay," Gibbs said. He wasn't altogether thrilled that they were in here talking at this hour, but he hadn't set any curfews. Then he noticed something else about his agent that seemed odd. "DiNozzo, why are you wearing scrubs?"

DiNozzo's jaw dropped. "I . . . um . . ." He shot Dr. Benoit a disgusted look. "Why didn't you remind me to change?" he hissed.

The look she gave him was austere. "I'm not helping you cover this up," she said. She glanced up at Gibbs, then back at DiNozzo. "I'm on his side."

"You barely know him," DiNozzo snapped.

"You wouldn't have worked with him for six years if you didn't trust him, and he seems much more worried about taking care of you than you do." Gibbs found that a very interesting remark, but DiNozzo didn't seem to appreciate it.

He sat back, glaring dourly at her. "I'm not talking to you."

"Tony!" she exclaimed, sounding slightly anxious. "I'm not helping you hide from your boss, or at least not something like this."

"Something like what, Dr. Benoit?" Gibbs asked.

She looked up at him, but she didn't immediately say anything. Instead she looked over at Tony, as if giving him the opportunity to give himself up. He glowered at her, then gave Gibbs a hangdog look. "I wanted to go see if I could talk Brody out of this insanity."

Gibbs had been afraid it was something like that the minute he saw the scrubs, but hearing DiNozzo admit it just fueled his anger. "DiNozzo! So help me, if you can't think straight, you need to let those of us who can guide you."

"I am thinking straight, Boss!" DiNozzo shot back. "If I can talk to him, I can make him see reason. He's a good guy, really. I told you that. I just need to –"

"He set the whole thing up," Gibbs said, unable to listen to any more of DiNozzo's desperate babble.

DiNozzo broke off. "What?"

"Brody," Gibbs said, to clarify. "He set the whole thing up." DiNozzo still wasn't getting it, which was odd. DiNozzo was usually sharp as a tack. "He hired those guys to attack you, DiNozzo."

DiNozzo's face went paper white. His jaw worked soundlessly, and after a moment he started shaking his head.

"I'm sorry, DiNozzo, but it sounds like he never changed so much as he started to let his real intentions show. According to Mark Simons, the guy who tried to –" DiNozzo raised a hand as if to ward off a blow, but Gibbs didn't feel like he could soften this. "The guy who tried to rape you," he said. "According to him, Harris approached his friend Terry and asked him to find some guys to make you think they were going to, so he could stop them and get a hook into you."

Benoit had looked anxious during DiNozzo's babbling, but now she seemed horrified. She took DiNozzo's hand and gave Gibbs a worried look. "He's shaking," she said softly. "Tony?"

Gibbs drew closer to the bed, but DiNozzo's eyes were hazy. He didn't seem to see either him or Benoit. "DiNozzo?" he asked, but there was no response.

Benoit looked up at him. "I think you'd better get his doctor. He's going into shock."

Gibbs took off and shoved the door open, hurrying to the nurses station. "Need a doctor quick," he said.

"What's wrong?" asked one of the nurses while the other one started dialing.

"Dr. Benoit thinks he's going into shock." He lingered long enough to hear the nurse speaking to Dr. Tsu then went back to DiNozzo's room. There he found Benoit tucking the blanket tightly around DiNozzo, talking quietly to him, her voice calm and soothing, belying the tension he read her shoulders.

"It's okay, Tony, you're safe. Everything is okay. Look at me?" DiNozzo did not appear to be responding.

Ordinarily, Gibbs would walk up and give the younger man a sharp smack on the back of the head, but stitches combined with the recent trauma there made that an impossibility. He walked over to the side of the bed and gave Tony a noticeable tap on the top of the head. "DiNozzo!" He used a soft but imperative tone.

Like a switch flipping, DiNozzo blinked and turned to look at him, his eyes wide and still slightly dazed, but aware of Gibbs, finally. "Yeah Boss?" he said.

"You're safe, DiNozzo, it's okay." Tony's brow furrowed, and his eyes were filled with a sort of desperate vulnerability that awoke the father in Gibbs. "You're okay. Just breathe."

DiNozzo let out a shuddering breath. "Brody . . . he didn't . . ."

"He did, Tony," Gibbs said, settling on the side of the bed, keeping DiNozzo's gaze on him. "I'm sorry, but he did."

"But he beat the crap out of that guy."

"Broke his jaw," Gibbs said, nodding. "And paid through the nose for it, too. Evidently they've been blackmailing him." That had been the reason for the meeting Palmer had witnessed. A reminder that not only could they go to the authorities, but they could reveal the truth to Harris's 'boyfriend.'

"He paid them?" DiNozzo said, his voice ragged. Tears welled in his eyes, betrayed only by a slight glimmer and liquidity to his gaze.

Gibbs nodded. "But we've got Simons, and he's given us the names of the other two. We'll get them all, DiNozzo. It will be fine."

The looming tears began to stream down his face, then, and DiNozzo touched his own cheek, looking almost puzzled. Gibbs shifted closer and pulled DiNozzo into his arms. His agent stiffened for a moment, but Gibbs wouldn't let him pull away. A second later, his resistance collapsed, and he clutched at Gibbs as he wept like a lost child. Gibbs stroked his hair – what there was of it – gently, and murmured words of comfort.

The doctor came in, and Benoit rose to head her off. Gibbs was glad. He was reasonably sure that the need for her was gone. DiNozzo was still shaking, but the tremors were gradually being subsumed into his sobs. Gibbs hoped the emotional release would be good for him.

DiNozzo cried himself into exhaustion, finally falling asleep. Gibbs tucked him in, feeling somewhat paternal, an emotion he would never confess to DiNozzo. For one thing, the younger man would probably have no idea what to do with the information, for another, it could interfere with their working relationship.

He drew back once DiNozzo lay on his side with the blankets drawn properly close around him. It was then that he realized that though Benoit had sent the doctor away, she hadn't gone herself. His eyes narrowed, but the look she gave him was unrepentant. Gibbs walked towards the door, gesturing with his head for her to accompany him.

She followed, looking puzzled. "Yes, Agent Gibbs?" she asked when the door was shut behind them.

"Have you had any discussion about your reasons for coming back here?"

She shook her head. "I've been letting him guide the conversation," she said. "It seemed wisest."

"How did that come about, anyway?"

She shrugged. "He stopped in the middle of his escape attempt to cover me with a blanket while I slept in the waiting room."

Gibbs stared at her disbelievingly for a long moment, then rolled his eyes. "Only DiNozzo."

"What?" she asked, and he just raised his eyebrows. She rolled her own eyes. "Okay, so it probably wasn't the best thing to do during an escape attempt, but it was kind of sweet, especially under the circumstances."

"And there aren't many people he'd do it for," Gibbs remarked. He needed her to know that, in the hopes that she would understand what it meant. Her description of their relationship had revealed, among other things, that DiNozzo had never displayed the darker sides of his personality to her. Obviously she knew now that they existed, but she still hadn't gotten enough knowledge to know just how hard it was for DiNozzo to trust. By extension, he hated to betray a trust – and his guilt over having betrayed her trust was a large part of what had brought them all here.

"Did that man really hire three guys to rape him?" she asked abruptly, her tone fierce.

"To make him think they were going to rape him," Gibbs corrected. So that he could, he thought but didn't add aloud.

"It's moments like this when I question my stance on the death penalty," she muttered.

Gibbs shrugged. "Not me," he said, and she looked up at him with a glint of humor in her eyes. "Look, I'd appreciate it if you wouldn't mention what you just saw . . . not even to DiNozzo. He's going to be embarrassed enough as it is."

"Oh, I know," Benoit said. "He's a man." She took in a deep breath. "You are going to get these bastards, right? Make them pay?"

"Already in progress," Gibbs said. "In fact, I should be going. I just had to tell DiNozzo so that if the FBI showed up to ask him questions, he wouldn't try to brush them off."

"I'll stay with him," she said.

"Good. This should all be over by noon, but I don't want him leaving till I'm here to pick him up."

"I'll see to it," she replied.

He nodded and, after taking a last look in on DiNozzo, he left. Part of him wondered why he was so willing to trust Benoit with DiNozzo, but then he remembered DiNozzo's relaxed state upon his arrival, and the laughter that had filled the room. He called Ziva as he left the hospital. "We all set?"

"We have acquired Terence Hamlin with very little fuss," Ziva replied. "He was out partying until the bulls came home, so I approached him with an offer he could not refuse."

"He confirm Simons' story?"

"He did, although I had to be somewhat persuasive."

"Keep them both on ice. Everyone's still there, right?"

"Yes, Boss. Should I go pick up Dr. Benoit?"

"No, she's staying with DiNozzo."

"But – is that a good idea?"

"Better than leaving him alone, and I don't need her working. Get all the evidence ready for review, and that includes getting their stories written up and signed." Gibbs hung up and dialed another number, one he probably should have called more than a day ago. A tired voice answered. "Fornell, I need to see you now," Gibbs said.

"It's after two in the morning, Gibbs."

"No kidding, Fornell. What does that tell you?"

Fornell sighed. "Where do you want me to meet you?"

"That's up to you. I can be at your place in ten minutes or less."

"With or without a ticket?" Fornell asked dryly. "See you here. I'll have coffee."

Gibbs flipped his phone shut and glanced in his rearview. If Harris tried the little trick he'd pulled on Palmer on him, he was going to have a rude awakening. The drive, however, was uneventful. He pulled up in front of Fornell's place and paused for a moment, contemplating just exactly what he was going to tell Fornell – and just how pissed DiNozzo would be when he found out. He shrugged and got out of the car. It couldn't be helped.

Sunday, 0325, NCIS Headquarters

Jimmy sank into a chair, thankful that the preliminaries were over. He and Dr. Mallard had spent hours at the crime scene because Agent Peterson's team wasn't particularly efficient. They couldn't collect the body, first because there were photographs that still needed to be taken, then because the sketches hadn't been completed. Then Agent Peterson had argued with Dr. Mallard about whether or not he could provide an accurate TOD, which had set Dr. Mallard's back up and made everything more difficult.

Jimmy vastly preferred working with Agent Gibbs, who had some respect for their time and efforts, even when he seemed not to.

His cell phone rang, and Jimmy pulled it out. He didn't recognize the number, but anyone calling at this hour had to have an urgent reason. Flipping the phone open, he said, "Hello."

"Jimmy, this is Brody." Jimmy sat up straight, alarm coursing through every vein. "How's Tony?"

"I . . . I honestly don't know," Jimmy said. "I haven't seen him for hours. I got called in to work, and I haven't heard a thing."

"You're supposed to be my eyes and ears inside the hospital, Jimmy," Harris growled.

"I have a job to do," Jimmy said, not sure why he was defending himself. "Look, please don't call again. Tony doesn't want me talking to you. He was upset that you'd pulled me over."

"Son of a bitch!" Harris snarled. "Are you trying to take him away? I warned you about that."

"I'm not trying to do anything," Jimmy protested. "I'm telling you the –"

Dr. Mallard walked up. "Who are you talking to, Mr. Palmer?"

"Detective Harris," Jimmy said.

"Is that Gibbs?" Harris demanded. "Let me talk to him."

"Hang up, Jimmy," Dr. Mallard said, his brows knit in consternation. "You don't need to be talking to him."

"Let me talk to Gibbs," Harris repeated. Jimmy was getting flustered. He shook his head, not sure what to do.

Dr. Mallard took the phone out of his unresisting hands and pushed the end button. Then he pressed the power button to turn the phone off. "We're in the midst of an ongoing investigation into that man, Jimmy. Speaking to him is dangerous."

"I didn't call him, Dr. Mallard," Jimmy said.

"I know that, but you shouldn't say anything at all to him. Now, go over there." He pointed to his desk. "Write down everything he said – the whole conversation."

Jimmy nodded and did as he was told. There wasn't much to write. It hadn't been a long call. When he was done, Dr. Mallard placed a call on his own cell phone, but after a moment, the doors to autopsy opened and the ringing entered along with Agent Gibbs.

"What do you need, Ducky?" Gibbs asked, and Dr. Mallard turned with a start.

"Jethro, excellent." He closed his phone and put it away. "Mr. Palmer just got off the phone with Detective Harris."

"What?" Gibbs turned on Jimmy, anger in his eyes and voice. "You talked to him?" he demanded.

Jimmy jumped up, alarmed by Agent Gibbs demeanor. "I didn't . . . I wasn't . . . I just answered the phone."

Gibbs drew very close, getting right in Jimmy's face. "What did he say? What did you say?"

"I had him write it all down, Jethro," Dr. Mallard said, picking up Jimmy's jotted notes and holding them out. "There's no need to terrify the poor boy. He's exhausted and not thinking straight. We had to go out on one of Peterson's crime scenes. Poor Jimmy's had a very full day."

Gibbs took the paper from Dr. Mallard and scanned it. Jimmy held his breath, waiting for a dressing down, but Gibbs didn't address the phone call. "I've got Fornell upstairs looking over the evidence. He'll have to make the arrest on Harris or it will look, to use one of Abby's favorite words, hinky."

"I had wondered about jurisdictional issues," Dr. Mallard said. "Have you been to see Anthony, recently?" Gibbs nodded, his expression tense. "How is the dear boy?"

"I left him asleep, Duck," Gibbs said. "But new information has come to light, thanks, in part, to Jimmy."

Jimmy blinked nervously. He didn't know exactly what that meant, but he wasn't sure it was good thing. The look Dr. Mallard set him was approving, but Agent Gibbs seemed almost angry. Jimmy didn't think the anger was at him, but it could be hard to tell with Gibbs.

"What do you mean, Jethro?" Dr. Mallard asked.

"Harris hired three guys to stage an attack on DiNozzo to make their first meeting memorable," Gibbs said. "The net result of which is that DiNozzo suffered a sexual assault four months ago, which Harris pretended to rescue him from." Jimmy sank back into the chair he'd risen from upon Gibbs' arrival, appalled. "The man you saw him with at the bar was one of them, Palmer," Gibbs added, and Jimmy nodded, unable to formulate words. If he'd known that – if he'd had any way to warn Tony – but Tony had barely let him speak when he'd tried to approach him about that incident.

"Jethro!" Ducky exclaimed in protest. "You're saying he deliberately set Anthony up to be assaulted so that he could rescue him and reap the rewards?"

"In a nutshell," Gibbs said.

"Does Anthony know yet?"

"I just told him," Gibbs said, which explained his dour expression. "He didn't take it well. I left him with Dr. Benoit and rousted Fornell out of bed. Palmer, he's going to need to interview you about that traffic stop earlier today." He held out the sheet of paper that contained Jimmy's account of the phone call. "Here, take this to him and tell him what happened."

Jimmy nodded and took the paper. He hurried out of autopsy wondering how soon he could get away to go check on Tony.

"Gibbs, there's more you haven't told me, isn't there?" Ducky asked as soon as the doors had shut behind Palmer.

Gibbs seemed to clench into even tighter knots. After short silence, Ducky pulled out a bottle of scotch and poured two shots. Gibbs downed his but shook his head when Ducky made to pour him another. "The bastard's been raping him, Duck," he said simply.

Ducky stared at Gibbs for a moment, then downed his own tot. "What do you mean, Jethro?" he asked, leaning against his desk. He didn't put the scotch away on the off chance they'd need it again.

"I mean that DiNozzo's been so damned depressed that he let Harris rape him repeatedly without either recognizing it as rape or making a real effort to get him to stop."

Ducky nibbled on his lower lip, considering what best to say. He knew what Gibbs was really upset about. Given the close watch and careful monitoring he tended to keep his team under, it had to devastate him to discover that he hadn't seen just how badly off Anthony had been. The thought that the young man had been enduring repeated sexual attacks for weeks if not months was horrifying, but to Gibbs it represented more. It represented a basic failure on his part to recognize Anthony's state of mind.

"Jethro, you and Anthony have a great deal in common," Ducky said finally, and Gibbs turned to look at him with a puzzled, almost angry glower.

"What do you mean?"

"You both keep the central parts of yourselves hidden away from everyone around you, even – or perhaps especially – from those closest to you."

"Not the point, Ducky," Gibbs said. "I knew something was wrong, but I didn't pursue it."

"You're a very private man, and you respected Anthony's privacy. That's –"

"He was being raped, Duck," Gibbs snapped. "That I should have picked up on."

Ducky knew he wasn't going to win this one, so he gave up with a sigh. "I assume Agent Fornell knows all of this."

"He does."

"Does Anthony know you've involved him yet?"

Gibbs shook his head. "Hell, Ducky, Tony still doesn't know he's been raped yet," he growled in clear frustration. Ducky knit his brows, a little confused. Gibbs grimaced. "Last time we talked about it, he was still explaining why the whole thing was his fault. I hope he's past that now, but I'm not holding my breath."

"His fault? How could it have been his fault?"

"He wasn't clear enough. He didn't fight back hard enough." Ducky shook his head. That really wasn't good. "Ducky, what am I going to say to him if he doesn't figure out that Harris was screwing with his head from the start?"

"I hate to say it, Jethro, but it sounds as if the dear boy needs counseling badly."

"And we both know just how well he'll take to that," Gibbs muttered.

"Almost as well as you would yourself," Ducky replied. For that matter, he wasn't altogether sure that Gibbs himself didn't need counseling over this, not that he'd accept it if he did. But there was a reason that grief counselors and therapists were provided to co-workers when one of their own had been badly traumatized. Ducky shook his head. Gibbs would never accept that, though he might push Ziva and McGee into taking advantage of it if such were offered. Then again, he might not.

Ducky supposed he'd better make himself available in case one of them needed to talk.

"I'd better get going," Gibbs said after a moment.

"Jethro, if you need to talk –"

"I know," Gibbs replied as he headed out the door.

Ducky knew he'd have to be satisfied with that.

When Gibbs arrived at the squad room, Fornell looked up to see him emerging. He gestured with his chin towards the elevator, and Gibbs held the door for him. He stepped inside, Gibbs released the door, then hit the emergency stop. "Yeah, Fornell?"

"Is this all you got, Gibbs?" Fornell asked, sounding a little incredulous.

Chapter Text

Sunday, 0437, NCIS Headquarters

Gibbs stared at him, firebombs going off in his head. Fornell recognized the reaction and hurried to explain himself. "Look, Gibbs, I agree that Harris needs to be dealt with, and it's obvious to me that he's been abusing DiNutso, but you got to see it like a lawyer's going to see it."

"And how's that?" Gibbs demanded.

"Your witnesses are Mark Simons, a convicted sex offender and petty crook, Terence Hamlin, a career con artist, Jeanne Benoit, your victim's former girlfriend who confessed to lying in a federal investigation on her last go round with the FBI, and DiNutso himself, who can't seem to make up his mind what he thinks is going on."

"Don't forget Palmer," Gibbs said.

"Oh, right, Palmer, your only completely credible witness." Fornell shook his head. "Do you really think he'd hold up under pressure on the stand?" Gibbs glowered at Fornell. "Line these folks up against a decorated cop with no history of complaints, add in the homosexual relationship with the potential for persecution based on it, and what you get looks more like a witch hunt than a serious prosecution." Fornell shrugged. "If you hadn't handled the investigation from the start, we might have a better chance, but any defense attorney is going to look at you and see a vindictive bastard."

"So I should have called you earlier, is that what you're saying?"

"Yes, Jethro, that's what I'm saying. I'll do my best to rescue it, but –"

"Right, Tobias, because DiNozzo would really have opened up to you and told you what happened."

"How much of this really came from DiNozzo directly?"

"We wouldn't have found Hamlin and Simons without DiNozzo's composites, and Palmer didn't know Hamlin was connected to DiNozzo till he saw them, so he had no reason to mention the bastard." Gibbs shook his head. "I barely got him to talk to me, Tobias. If I'd put you in that room, he'd have clammed up tight."

"He's going to have to talk to me now."

"Now he's asleep," Gibbs said. "If you're so convinced that moving forward is a bad idea, I don't see any reason to wake him up in the middle of the night."

"I can sympathize."

Gibbs scowled. "I just hope Benoit doesn't tell him that I promised to have the bastard locked up by noon."

Fornell grimaced, but he shrugged. "Look, I can go talk to Harris, Jethro, see what he says, but that's going to blow this whole thing wide. The relationship will come out in the open, your whole team – possibly the agency as a whole – will be in bad odor with DC Metro, DiNutso's reputation will be mud, I don't know that we're ready to go there."

Gibbs shook his head. He could see the force of Fornell's arguments, and he knew what DiNozzo would say – or at least he thought he did. "I don't want this to disappear without a ripple, Tobias," he said quietly. "The bastard's not going to stop, and I've got three people at risk here, at minimum."

"Which three do you see? DiNutso, obviously. Who else?"

"Palmer and Abby," Gibbs replied.

Fornell shook his head. "Palmer, yes, but I don't see Sciuto as a target. From what I've seen, I'd say that he accepted DiNutso's explanation for their relationship. Otherwise there would have been some sign that he'd targeted her between that kiss and now."

Gibbs shook his head. "I'm not going to ignore the possibility."

"No one's saying you should, but she's a possibility, not a likelihood. I wouldn't worry more about her than, say, David."

"David can protect herself," Gibbs retorted. "Who do you see as likely targets?"

Fornell shrugged. "Frankly, after DiNutso and Palmer, you're the next most likely, then maybe Benoit."

"Me?" Gibbs replied skeptically. "Why would he be after me?"

Fornell gave him a dour look. "Well, he might just have gotten the impression that you want to keep him and DiNutso apart."

Gibbs rolled his eyes. "If that's what he thinks, he's right."

"Hence, likely to attack you," Fornell said.

"Whatever. DiNozzo's being released tomorrow," Gibbs said. "If he has any sense, Harris won't go near him."

"So far he hasn't shown much sense," Fornell observed. "If Palmer would make a better witness on the stand, that incident alone could get him into serious trouble. He wasn't even on duty, so he'd have needed more than speeding or running a light to pull the kid over, and I doubt Palmer was even doing either of those things."

"Palmer drives like a granny," Gibbs said.

"Not like my granny, I'll wager," Fornell said with a snort. "She was a ball of fire, but that's neither here nor there. I won't say I like the idea, but we'd be better off if Harris doesn't show any sense. If we could catch him doing something unexplainable, we'd have him for sure."

Gibbs didn't like the sound of that, and he wasn't done in any case. He hit the switch to turn the elevator back on and opened the doors. Striding into the bullpen, he stopped at McGee's desk. Pitching his voice quietly, because he knew his request was strictly illegal, he said, "I want you to find out for me exactly where Harris is at this moment."

McGee's brows went up, but he just nodded and got to work. Gibbs might have been amused had the situation been somewhat less serious. McGee was simply setting aside one illegal task for another. Gibbs had had him trying to break into the CIA file on Harris for hours now. If Harris had been observed doing this before, there would undoubtedly be names. Those men could provide an invaluable resource if McGee could just get into the file.

"How's he supposed to find him?" Fornell asked as they crossed to Gibbs' desk. Gibbs raised his eyebrows, and Fornell shook his head. "I probably don't want to know, do I?" Gibbs shrugged and Fornell gave him a very dirty look. "Just don't compromise what case we have, Gibbs."

"What's your next step, Fornell?"

"My next step would be interviewing the victim, but his boss doesn't want me to wake him up."

Gibbs shrugged again. "I've heard his boss is kind of a bastard." His desk phone rang. He picked it up. "Yeah?"

"Gibbs, it's Abby, I need you to come down here right now." She hung up before he could respond, so he turned and headed back towards the elevator. Fornell stayed with him.

When they reached the elevator and got on, he said, "Where are we going, Gibbs?"

"Abby's lab."

"She got something?" Gibbs shrugged. He assumed so, but she hadn't actually said that. "So why are we going?"

"I'm going because she asked me to. I'm not sure why you're going." Fornell muttered something nearly inaudible about bastards and pains in the butt, but Gibbs pretended not to have heard him.

Abby was facing the door when they came in. "Gibbs, your radar is really on the fritz. I found this five minutes ago, and you didn't come. I even waited to see if you would, but you didn't. You've got to get that looked at."

"Working on it, Abbs," Gibbs said. "What do you have?"

"I found a website idolizing Tony," she said, and Gibbs raised his eyebrows, drawing closer. "But I can't tie it to Harris yet." She hit some buttons on her computer and the large screen lit up with a two by four grid that consisted of pictures of DiNozzo. There were no captions, no words of any kind, just photos. The first was a headshot that looked pretty current, Gibbs thought it might have been a DMV photo, but he'd have to get a look at – "That first one is Tony's current driver's license photo," Abby said suddenly. "I checked. Each one of these is a link." She clicked the DMV photo, and that pulled up another grid of photos. They were all headshots of various types. Gibbs recognized his ID photos from current and past NCIS badges, other pictures that were probably old driver's license photos, and as Abby scrolled through them, he saw even older photos that were somewhat alarming.

"Are those yearbook shots?" Fornell asked.

"I think so," Abby replied. "I don't have access to Tony's yearbooks, so I can't check." She hovered her pointer over the last picture, one of DiNozzo in a very mid-80s haircut. He looked about fourteen or fifteen. "This one looks like it's the oldest, so I'm thinking they're in something approximating reverse date order, but with no captions it's hard to be sure." Without waiting for instructions, she went back to the first screen. "Each one of these pics is a link to another pages of pictures, Gibbs," Abby said, turning to him. "Themed pages."

Gibbs walked forward, looking at the photos in the grid. The first row was the ID photos link, what looked like a family portrait in which DiNozzo couldn't be more than ten, a picture of DiNozzo in a basketball uniform, in mid-jump, making a basket, and finally, a picture of DiNozzo next to the car that had blown up last year. "Themes, Abby?" he asked.

Using her mouse cursor to point, she went through the top row. "Headshots, family pictures – which includes stuff I don't think anyone here has seen, Gibbs – college pictures – both sports and fraternity stuff in this one – and this last one is pictures of Tony with his cars." Gibbs nodded. "Then it's party pictures." This was a photo of DiNozzo wearing a party hat at what Gibbs would swear was an NCIS New Year's party. "The clubbing life," Abby added, pointing to a picture of him dancing in some kind of a nightclub. "Tony at work." This was a picture of DiNozzo in his NCIS hat and jacket, sitting at the desk in Air Force One. Gibbs remembered that picture, it had been taken the day they'd first met Kate. "And finally, we have the creepy category." She pointed to the last of these photos which appeared to be a shot of DiNozzo at the beach. He was shirtless and seemed to be sunbathing. "This is the smallest collection, but it includes at least two pictures that I'm guessing were taken without Tony's knowledge." She clicked before Gibbs could even formulate more than a vague theory about what the theme of this collection might be, and he almost swallowed his teeth. There were four photos, two that were similar to the first, but in the last two, DiNozzo was completely nude. In one of them, he was lying on a bed that Gibbs recognized as the one in his apartment, his arms clutching a pillow, and he appeared to be asleep. His face wasn't visible, but other parts of him were due to the way he had one of his legs bent. The covers could be seen at the foot of the bed, and they looked as if they had been pulled back and dropped, not as if the sleeper had kicked them off. Abby clicked the last picture, and it suddenly loaded across the whole screen. This one was also in DiNozzo's apartment. DiNozzo was on his feet, walking away from the camera. The picture was off-center and slightly out of focus, as if taken with haste, and Gibbs suspected that Harris had seized an opportunity when DiNozzo wasn't paying attention to snap the photo.

"That's disturbing," Fornell said. "What's this website called?"

"MyMan.org ," Abby said.

"Who owns it?"

Abby grimaced. "Unfortunately, whoever it was ponied up the extra cash to hide their identity, so unless we can get a warrant, we're going to have to find out the sneaky way."

Gibbs nodded, turning back to study the photograph, trying to divine as much as he could about the man behind the camera.

"Whoa!" Gibbs turned to find McGee, flushing scarlet, head turned away from the screen. Ziva was behind him, but she was looking at the picture with her eyes narrowed. "Boss, I located Harris," McGee said in a strangled voice.

"Where?"

"It looks like he's hanging around outside the hospital. At his approximate coordinates, there is a bar, a restaurant and a bookstore, and I can't parse it down any closer than that."

Gibbs ground his teeth, considering his options. "McGee, two assignments. First, find out who owns that website. Try to get a warrant, but start digging whether you get one or not."

"Yes, Boss," McGee said.

"And keep an eye on Harris's location. If he looks like he's going to go home, I want you to give me or Ziva a call."

"Sure, Boss, where will you be?"

Gibbs gave him an incredulous look, and McGee shut up.

"Fornell, what are you planning to do now?"

"I think I'd better check in with my superiors and let them know what's up."

"Don't let them reassign you, Tobias," Gibbs said, walking up close to his old friend. "I do not want some stranger coming in to question DiNozzo. He's going to have enough trouble being open with you."

"I'll do my best."

"Do better," Gibbs snapped. "Ziva, you're with me." She fell in behind him without a word, and he let her take the driver's seat. She started the car and pulled out of the parking lot without speaking. "I assume you already have the address?" he asked.

She smiled serenely. "I ran it into MapQuest yesterday," she said. "He has a house, so I thought we should approach from the rear?" Gibbs nodded.

Within thirty minutes, they had pulled up about three blocks away from their destination. Ziva led the way into an alley with fences along both sides. Some were chain link, but most were privacy fences in keeping with the new suburban attitude of minding one's own business. It was four in the morning, so the only residents they saw were feline. A couple of dogs showed interest in their progress, but nothing loud enough to cause alarm in the sleeping households they passed. Ziva opened a back gate and they slipped into a featureless green yard. There was a street lamp one house to the west of Harris's that lit the yard adequately. They moved quickly to the back porch and Gibbs stood watch while Ziva picked the lock.

"Piece of pie," she said softly, and Gibbs was glad that neither DiNozzo nor McGee was present. Neither one seemed capable of letting irrelevant idiomatic errors slide. They went inside the house and Gibbs flipped on the kitchen light. Ziva was already pulling on a pair of gloves. Gibbs followed suit and started opening drawers and cupboards. He didn't expect much from the kitchen, and he wasn't surprised. They moved on through the house, checking through everything carefully while leaving as little sign as possible that anyone had been there. The dining room clearly hadn't been used in some time. The sideboard and the table were both exceptionally dusty, and the chairs had sunk into the pile carpet sufficiently to leave deep dimples when moved. Ziva opened the drawers in the sideboard and looked through them, but Gibbs went on into the living room.

There he found something he had not expected. A sweater he recognized as DiNozzo's lay on the coffee table. Nothing DiNozzo had said thus far indicated that he'd ever visited Harris at his place. He would have to find out if there was any chance DiNozzo could have left this behind. Gibbs lifted it carefully. Underneath it there was a brochure on ski vacations in Europe. Gibbs blinked at it a few times and lowered the sweater again, attempting to preserve its original folds. So, Harris wanted to take DiNozzo to Switzerland. Interesting.

Like DiNozzo, Harris was clearly a movie buff. There were nowhere near as many movies here as at DiNozzo's place, but there were several prefab DVD shelving units lined up along the wall. Gibbs looked to see if Harris owned The Untouchables or The Fugitive. He didn't see either of them on the shelves.

"Gibbs?" He looked up at Ziva's voice. She had moved into one of the bedrooms. He paused in the doorway to take in the ambience.

The primary piece of furniture in this room was a desk with a computer on it. There were two monitors, both of which were in screensaver mode. Ziva stood by the desk, next to a piece of equipment that looked kind of like a really small copy machine. "Look here," she said. He walked up behind her and found that she was flipping through a yearbook. "I know these are on a shelf at Tony's, or they were the day before yesterday."

Gibbs reached down and flipped to the back of the book, showing her all the signatures. "'Marty, have fun in Paris,'" he read aloud. "'Marty, maybe if you find a hot girl in Paris, you won't be such a geek next year.'" Gibbs snorted. "Looks like Marty didn't treasure his high school memories."

"I imagine Harris scanned the pictures of Tony into his computer," Ziva said. She lifted the lid on the scanner, which Gibbs now recognized. Inside there was a single page that looked like it was from a magazine. Ziva picked it up very carefully. "Vanity Fair, date says October, 1981," she said. "Look at this."

Gibbs looked with mild dismay at the photo of a stunningly beautiful woman with her arm around a boy of about nine. The caption read, 'Socialite Marguerite DiNozzo with son Anthony.' DiNozzo was wearing a sailor suit and grinning his trademark sunny smile at the camera. If Gibbs wasn't mistaken, however, even then it was a mask.

"Make notes about the set up," he said, and she nodded. When she closed the yearbook, it made the mouse bounce, waking the computer out of screen saver. Gibbs blinked at the wallpaper that stared at him from both screens. It was DiNozzo at a crime scene in the streets of the capital, pad of paper and pen in hand. He stood facing the left hand side of the screen, but he had turned partway around, as if someone had called his name, so his torso faced the viewer with his head turned slightly farther to the right. For once, he was not wearing his hat, and the NCIS logo on his jacket was obscured. He looked sober, professional, extremely handsome. Gibbs cleared his throat. "Since he's obviously not password protected, see what you can find."

She nodded and he left the room. The next room was the bathroom. Nothing of interest there, so Gibbs went on into the bedroom. The first thing that caught his attention was a framed photo of DiNozzo sitting on the bedside table. It was a candid shot, outdoor, and Tony was caught in mid-laugh, looking happy and carefree. It was a look Gibbs couldn't remember seeing since his own trip to Mexico. Guilt swept him. If he had not given in to self pity and left DC, DiNozzo would never have wound up over his head in an undercover op, and he might still be the man in that picture.

He shook off the guilt – now was not the time to wallow – and crossed to the bedside table. His focus shifted from the framed picture to the pile of photos that lay beneath it. He picked them up and flipped through them quickly, dismay turning to disgust and anger. The nude photos that had been posted on the web were not the only ones, apparently, but Harris hadn't wanted to share these with the world. These were bedside viewing.

Twenty-five photos, several different poses, but Gibbs suspected that they were all from the same shoot. In each picture, DiNozzo appeared to be asleep, a clear indication to Gibbs that Harris had somehow drugged his victim. In nine of the photos, DiNozzo was lying across a pile of pillows, his head resting sideways on his folded arms, his knees on the surface of the bed, spread somewhat. There was no way an unconscious DiNozzo could have gotten himself into that position, nor that he could have fallen asleep that way. The pictures had been taken from different angles. There were bruises visible on his hips and legs, a bite on his right shoulder blade, and his buttocks had handprint-shaped bruises much like those he bore currently. Other pictures showed DiNozzo on his back, arms tucked underneath him, largely not visible. His knees were raised over pillows to hold them up, displaying his assets clearly. DiNozzo's face was slack, and Gibbs could not imagine him sleeping through the amount of manhandling these positions would have required.

Gibbs studied each photo carefully, then returned them to their pile under the framed picture, his gut twisting at the thought that he'd have to tell DiNozzo about them. He continued to look around the room, and found the two movies he'd missed in the living room. Both boxes lay beside a small TV/DVD player on the dresser, one with a movie in it. The other movie, The Fugitive, was inside the DVD player.

Ziva appeared at the door to the bedroom as Gibbs finished up. "You had better see this," she said.

He followed her back into the office. She opened the door to the walk-in closet to reveal a dartboard. Over the rings of the traditional scoring pattern, a photo had been pinned, one of Gibbs' face. It was much marked with holes where darts had struck the target through it. Quite a few of those holes were in the eyes. "He's a good shot," Gibbs remarked. Faces of enemies placed over dartboards were as old as dartboards, so he didn't find it as disturbing as Ziva appeared to.

"That isn't all," she said, and she guided him over to where a file folder had been opened up. Inside were dozens of pictures from NCIS crime scenes. Gibbs wondered where Harris had gotten them, but as Ziva started flipping through the pictures, the saw that they all had a few things in common. Gibbs and DiNozzo were always the prominent subjects, Gibbs was often seen to be directing DiNozzo, and in each one, Gibbs' face had been scribbled out with such ferocity that the paper had been damaged or destroyed. "He wants you dead," Ziva observed dispassionately.

"Good," Gibbs said.

"What?" Ziva exclaimed, losing her calm exterior briefly.

Gibbs tilted his head. "Who would you rather he focused on?" he asked her. "Me, or Palmer?"

"Until earlier this morning, he thought of Palmer as an ally," Ziva said.

"Yeah, so we keep him focused on me." He looked around. "You got what you need here?"

She nodded, and they took their departure, carefully locking the door behind them when they went. "Where to now?" she asked when they were back in the car.

"Bethesda," he said.

They traveled in silence for some time, then Ziva cleared her throat. Gibbs turned towards her curiously. "How is Tony, really? If you have told him what Harris did, he cannot have taken it well."

Gibbs shook his head. "No, he didn't."

"How is he?" When Gibbs didn't answer, her tone got sharper. "He is my teammate. I believe I have a right to know." Gibbs shrugged and didn't respond. Her driving deteriorated slightly, but she didn't display any other reaction.

Once they reached the hospital, Gibbs led the way up to DiNozzo's room. He paused at the nurse's station to check on DiNozzo's status, and found that he was to be released by ten o'clock. Considering that, he walked back to Ziva. "I want you to take Dr. Benoit to get cleaned up. DiNozzo and I will meet you both at the office."

"Yes, Gibbs," she said, looking faintly rebellious. Gibbs gazed at her for a long moment, a little concerned. She had that half-wild air that she'd often had early in her time at NCIS, an emotional instability that he associated with uncertainty and insecurity.

"Ziva, I'm not telling you because it's Tony's decision who to tell," he said.

She looked up at him, eyes dark with distress and anxiety. "He will not tell me. He will not tell anyone. You only know because you were there."

Gibbs shrugged. "I can't help that," he said, but his worries abated some. Her edges had softened again. He chucked her under the chin. She smiled up at him, and he turned to go into DiNozzo's room, opening the door quietly so as not to awaken him if he still slept.

DiNozzo lay on the bed, his eyes open and bloodshot. He was looking at Benoit, a soft, hopeless expression on his face. The door had opened so soundlessly that DiNozzo didn't seem to have noticed Gibbs' entrance. He cleared his throat, and DiNozzo looked up, his expression going blank. Benoit started and sat forward, rubbing her eyes.

"Dr. Benoit, Ziva's waiting in the hall to take you so you can get cleaned up and change."

"Oh," she said, blinking owlishly at him. She turned to DiNozzo. "You okay with that?" she asked. DiNozzo's brows knit, and he nodded wordlessly. Benoit rose, walked across and kissed DiNozzo on the cheek. "It's going to be okay," she said, cupping his chin in her hand and raising his face up so his eyes met hers. DiNozzo nodded again without speaking, and she squeezed his shoulder before leaving the room.

Chapter Text

Sunday, 0749, Bethesda Naval Medical Center

Tony watched the door shut behind Jeanne. He could not figure out what was going on with her. Why was she here? How had her appearance so charmingly coincided with Brody's escalation? Was it all some bizarre, convoluted plot? What did she want, and why was she being so nice?

Gibbs took the seat Jeanne had vacated, and Tony looked over at him. His boss's expression filled him with the direst of forebodings. "What more could possibly have happened?" he asked, though he wasn't at all sure he wanted to know the answer.

"I called Fornell in on the case," Gibbs said.

Tony stared at him, and then closed his eyes. "Why not just shoot me now?" he asked. "Does that mean Sacks is in on it, too?"

"I gather that Sacks has been transferred," Gibbs said mildly. Tony looked up, startled. "To Seattle, Washington."

"Wow." Tony shook his head. "They tell you when they're springing me?"

Gibbs shrugged. "I could probably get them to spring you now, but there's a few things we need to talk about."

Tony didn't like the sound of that. "The Freeman case?" he suggested, more out of hope than from any real conviction it was a possibility.

"The director passed that on to Holbrook," Gibbs replied. "No, this is about Detective Harris."

Tony's teeth clenched, and he gulped down on a sudden lump in his throat. "What, you want to talk about what a complete idiot I was to be taken in by him?"

Gibbs stared at him for a moment. "None of this is your fault," he said, his tone hard and angry. "Damn it, DiNozzo!"

Tony shrugged, affecting a calm he didn't feel. "Fool me once, shame on you, fool me twice, shame on me. We passed that point a long time ago, Boss." He saw Gibbs swelling as if to deliver some new diatribe, and Tony didn't know if he could take it. He hated it when Gibbs was mad at him at the best of times. Right now it was more than he could handle. He spoke to head the lecture off. "So is this something new, or are we going to rehash the fun things we've already talked about?"

"The rehashing will come later with Fornell," Gibbs said. "I've just been to Harris's house, DiNozzo."

"You got a warrant?" Gibbs just raised his eyebrows, and Tony bit his lip. "Not that you need a warrant, not that I care, but . . . you were saying?"

"Did you ever visit him there?"

"No, never. We always got together at my place. I mean, sometimes I'd run into him at a bar, or we'd go somewhere to watch a game, but if we were being private, it was always my place."

"Did you travel in his car?"

"No, if we went somewhere, we always met there." Gibbs nodded slowly, and Tony wondered what had prompted the questions. He hovered on the edge of asking for several seconds. He wouldn't ordinarily hesitate, but his heart was speeding up. He wanted to know, but he also definitely didn't want to know. Gibbs tilted his head after a moment, and Tony got the feeling that he was waiting for Tony to pose the question he would normally ask. The silence stretched, and Tony cleared his throat. "Why do you ask?" he said finally.

"He had a sweater that belongs to you on his coffee table," Gibbs said.

"Which sweater?" Tony asked, and Gibbs shrugged. "Right, sorry, but you recognized it as mine."

"I did. Did he ever mention the idea of a trip to Europe to go skiing?"

Tony nodded, alarm growing by the minute. "I turned him down flat. For one thing, it was clearly a romantic thing, and I . . ." He closed his eyes, trying to shut out the disgust and loathing he felt any time he remembered Brody's touch. "I didn't want romance."

"He had a brochure lying under the sweater," Gibbs said.

"Fantasy fulfillment, huh?" Tony asked weakly. Gibbs shrugged agreement. He pursed his lips and Tony could tell that something really awful was coming. He felt his gut rolling. "What is it?"

"Did you ever, at any time, pose for nude photographs, for him or for anyone else?"

Tony's mind froze. The question hit him like a two-by-four in the forehead. His brain simply stopped working and resisted all his efforts to get it started again. A thump on the top of his head and a curt "DiNozzo" brought him out of it.

"Yeah, Boss?" Tony said, meeting his boss's eyes. Gibbs spread his hands slightly and raised his eyebrows, essentially repeating his question. Tony shook his head. "No."

Gibbs grimaced. "I didn't think so."

"What have you found?"

"Honestly, DiNozzo, before we get into that, I want you to talk to Fornell so he has something to go on to request a search warrant."

"Because you want the FBI to find whatever it is you just found," Tony said, and Gibbs shrugged. A queasy feeling in Tony's stomach made him scowl. "Fabulous. Not that I wasn't fairly sure that there are already pretty pictures of my charming bruises, taken while I was unconscious and unable to object."

Gibbs knit his brows. "What do you mean, Tony?"

"Evidence photos? Or did you not give orders for them?"

Gibbs gave him an inscrutable look. "That's a little different," he pointed out.

"How they hell could he have naked photos of me?"

"Will you talk to Fornell?" Gibbs asked.

"Do I have a choice?"

"Sure, DiNozzo, you can let Harris get away with this and maybe go on to do it to someone else," Gibbs said, and Tony felt a wave of fury sweep over him.

"Over my dead and rotting body," he snapped, and Gibbs raised his eyebrows. Tony reconsidered the statement. "No, wait, better: Over his dead and rotting body."

Gibbs nodded appreciatively and picked up the phone. Tony listened to the call with half an ear. He'd been an idiot, no doubt, but where the hell did Brody get off setting him up like that? Anger and humiliation warred in his gut, but anger was winning hands down. The bastard had started off what he apparently thought would be a 'loving' relationship with a sexual assault, bought and paid for. Not only was it insane, it was insulting. Gibbs wrapped up his call and hung up.

"So, are you going to tell me now, or do I have to wait for Fornell to get here from DC?"

Gibbs opened his mouth, then closed it again. "Just a minute," he said. He picked up the phone and dialed. "Abby, assuming that DiNozzo had been drugged, would it be worth testing his hair after six weeks?"

Drugs? Tony blinked staring at the wall. Drugs . . . would explain a lot. He'd thought it was depression and booze, but . . . maybe he was grasping at straws, but Brody had gone to get the beers an awful lot. How hard would it be to slip something into the neck of an open bottle while he was in the kitchen and Tony was in the living room, popping in a movie?

"Does that strike a chord, DiNozzo?" Gibbs asked.

Tony looked over at him. "It might," he said. "I . . . I never could muster up much caring when he started . . . pushing." He shook his head. "And he was always really quick to get up and get our drinks. Damn it, Gibbs, how could I be so stupid?"

Gibbs shrugged. "How often do you think of drugs when you're hanging out with your frat buddies and drinking and you get tired?" he asked rhetorically, and Tony scowled. The analogy both worked and didn't work, but he was feeling too pissed off at himself to really be interested.

"So, what now? You chop off a hunk of my hair?"

Gibbs stood up and pulled out his knife. "Yup."

Tony looked at the knife and held up a finger to forestall him. He hit the call button. Gibbs sat back down, fiddling with his knife in his hands. The nurse came in, Ella, and she walked over. "What can I do for you, Tony?" she asked with a smile.

"Do you have a pair of scissors?" he asked.

"Sure." She reached into a pocket and pulled out a pair of bandage scissors.

Tony turned to Gibbs. "Do you have an evidence bag?" Gibbs pulled out a bag, straight-faced, but Tony could tell he was amused by the way Tony had taken over the whole process.

"Ella, could you please cut off some of my hair, all the way at the scalp, and put it in that bag?"

She nodded, knitting her brows as she approached him. With gentle fingers, she pulled some hair apart from the rest on the back of his head and snipped a few times. "Are we concerned about drugs?" she asked as she stepped back.

"Could be," Gibbs said, sealing the bag and initially it. "I don't suppose you have some nail clippers?"

"I do," she said. "I'll be back in a moment."

"Nail clippings?" Tony said.

"Worth trying, and Abby asked for them," Gibbs said.

Tony grimaced and glared at the wall across the room. "So, what did you find, Gibbs?"

"Naked photos of you, DiNozzo," Gibbs said without batting an eye. "You look unconscious in all but one of the twenty-seven photos, and that one looks like it was taken while you walked away from the photographer, and like it was done really fast."

Tony's brows rose. "He took twenty-six photos of me while I was asleep?" Ella returned with the nail clippers and left them to it. Tony started cutting his fingernails and looked expectantly at Gibbs.

"Well, I'd guess that during at least twenty-five of them you were drugged, because the positions aren't remotely natural."

"Great," Tony said. "Am I going to get to see these pictures?"

"Not today," Gibbs replied. "After that it would be up to the investigating officer."

"Fornell," Tony said sourly. Gibbs shrugged. "Did you find anything else?"

"He wants to kill me," Gibbs said.

Tony snorted. "That's only news in the intensity," he said. "He's been trying for weeks to convince me that you're an asshole."

"Really?" Gibbs said, favoring him with a curious look.

"I told him you were a bastard, not an asshole," Tony said. "He didn't know what to make of that." Gibbs actually laughed at that, which made Tony feel a little better. Gibbs couldn't be truly pissed at him if Tony could still make him laugh. "Anything else? And how do you know he wants to kill you?"

"Remember the Wharton case? Where the girl kept scribbling out her stepmother's face in all the family photos?"

Tony nodded, remembering with a shiver of unease how unhinged Vanessa Walters had been. After her mother's death, her father had remarried a Naval lieutenant, and she had become convinced that her new stepmother was ruining her life. She'd attacked her, left her for dead, and had finally wound up admitted for schizophrenia. It had not been a pleasant case. His mind seemed to be working slowly. It took several seconds for him to make the connection to what Gibbs was telling him. "Brody did that to you? What pictures does he have of you?"

"He has pictures of you working," Gibbs said, and Tony blinked. "He has pictures of you from a lot of sources. Some of them he could have taken himself, but he's . . . well, obsessed."

Tony processed that information. "You found a lot at his place, then."

"Actually, we found most of the pictures somewhere else," Gibbs said, and Tony looked up, a disturbing notion entering his mind. "He has a website – .org."

"Mawher's site had a more creative name," Tony observed.

"It was also markedly easier to tie to him," Gibbs pointed out. "This one has no obvious pointers to who made it. There aren't any words at all, the pictures are grouped by theme, and –"

"Theme?" Tony interjected. "What theme? And are you saying there are twenty-seven photos of me naked online?"

"Only two of them are at this website," Gibbs said, and Tony noted that he wasn't saying the others weren't online. Hard to prove that, really. "The two least objectionable and least identifiable as you."

"But if they're grouped with other pictures of me, it's not hard to make the link," Tony said, and Gibbs shrugged sympathetically. "What other themes besides naked Tony?"

The door opened and Fornell came in with another agent. This one was a woman, and Tony had never seen her before. She had light brown hair and hazel eyes, and her looks could have made her a spectacular undercover operative. Her features were pleasant but ordinary, and her height and build were average. Her personality, on the other hand, would be more difficult to hide. Even though she didn't speak when she entered, and stood appropriately behind the senior agent, her suspicion and level of attitude were hard to miss.

"DiNutso, how are you feeling?" Fornell asked.

Tony looked up at him uneasily. "Great," he said sarcastically. "Why?" Fornell gave Gibbs a speaking look, and Gibbs shrugged. "So, who's the new tag-along, now that Sacks has been sent where it rains ninety percent of the year?"

Fornell turned and glanced at the woman, and Tony got the feeling that the older FBI agent wasn't any too pleased with the younger. "This is Special Agent Justine Manton, FBI," he said. "Agent Manton, this is Special Agent Tony DiNozzo, NCIS." Agent Manton nodded at Tony. "She was assigned to the Harris case before I got to the office this morning," he added, giving Gibbs a look that made Gibbs straighten slightly.

"Whatever," Tony said, not sure what the subtext there was and truly not sure he cared. "Ask me your questions Fornell, or do you just want me to make a statement?"

Fornell opened his mouth to reply, but Agent Manton spoke before he could. "I'm afraid, Agent DiNozzo, that we're going to have to ask Agent Gibbs to leave the room before you can make a statement."

Tony blinked at her. "Why?" he asked blankly.

"Detective Harris alleges that Agent Gibbs has created a hostile workplace for you through intimidation and harassment due to your relationship with Detective Harris, and that Agent Gibbs is coercing you to persecute your lover in order to keep your job."

Tony stared at her for a long moment, anger crashing like waves through his mind. Gibbs started to speak, but Tony held a hand up. He forced his anger under control and gave Agent Manton a tight smile. "So, I allege rape, and because my rapist makes ludicrous claims about my being forced to make those allegations, you want to send my boss and the only man I trust enough to decide whether it's time to pull the plug or not out of the room while I tell you what happened?"

"Detective Harris has told us that Agent Gibbs has objected to your relationship from its inception, and that –"

"Gibbs has known about the 'relationship' you're referring to for less than forty-eight hours," Tony said. He glanced at the clock. "Yes, in fact, under 40 hours. The 'relationship' ended six weeks ago. Not only did Gibbs not object at its inception, he didn't even know about it when I ended it."

"That's not what Detective Harris told me," Agent Manton said with infuriating assurance.

"Brody still hasn't met Gibbs," Tony said. His face felt tight and ugly. He knew he had to be scowling.

"And Agent Gibbs is still in the room, so he could be seen as offering intimidation and coercion at this moment."

Tony glanced over at Gibbs, who looked utterly astonished. "Yeah, he looks terrifying with his jaw dropped like that," he said. Gibbs snapped his mouth shut, but Manton looked a little like she got the point. "Look, lady, I don't care what Brody said. If you insist on Gibbs leaving, you're being the tool of a stalker and a rapist. I don't think that's part of your job."

"DiNutso?" Fornell said, and Tony turned to him. "Look, I totally understand everything you're saying, but may I offer two points?" Tony's eyes narrowed, but he didn't object, and Fornell seemed to take that for assent. "In some cases, the law is less about facts and more about appearances. In this case, I'd say appearances matter a fair amount." Tony's eyes narrowed further. "And we're not going to ask you anything that Gibbs doesn't already know about."

Tony closed his eyes and turned his head away. Both points were valid, but what it summed up to was that Brody was getting his way. By making it impossible to both appear fair and allow Tony to have his boss – and by extension anyone connected to his boss – in the room, Brody had neatly carved away Tony's entire support network. He grimaced and shrugged. "Fine. We play it Brody's way. Gibbs, please don't leave the hospital."

Gibbs rose to his feet. "You got it, DiNozzo," he said, and he left the room.

Tony watched the door shut, then turned towards Manton. "So, now what? Do you guys want to sit down, or would you rather loom over me?" Fornell had already walked over to get the chair by the window, but he gave Tony a dry look. He pulled it over to the window side of the bed and started to sit down, and Agent Manton took the chair that Gibbs had been sitting in. Tony looked back and forth at them on either side of the bed and shook his head. "Choose a side. I'm not playing this game."

Fornell snorted and drew his chair around beside Agent Manton. "Don't blame you."

Manton leaned closer. "Look, if you want moral support, we could go get one of your friends to come in."

"You just kicked one of my friends out."

"Agent DiNozzo, you surely understand how this works."

Tony rolled his eyes. "Tell me, Agent Manton, you're in the FBI." She nodded, looking puzzled. "You got much of a personal life?"

"That's kind of a . . ." He raised his eyebrows and she broke off. "I see your point, but surely you have friends."

Tony ground his teeth, but then he got an idea. "Actually, I do, and I think I need an impartial witness in this situation. Give me a minute." He pressed the call button, and Ella came in. "Is Brad on duty today?"

"He's on call," Ella said.

"Could you call him?" Tony asked.

Ella's brows drew together. "Is it an emergency?"

"Look, I don't remember his cell number and my phone is in an evidence bag somewhere. I just –"

"I'll call him," she said with a smile. "Can I give him a message?"

"Tell him I need his services as a friend, and ask him why the hell he hasn't been by to see me. I'm feeling very unloved."

Ella laughed. "I can answer that," she said. "He's been at a conference in Houston."

"Oh, okay, I feel more loved now." He paused, considering the implications of that statement. "Or at least less unloved."

"I'd better go call him," she said, and she left.

"Why don't you two go get some coffee while we wait?" Tony suggested. He picked up the remote and turned on the TV. He flipped through several channels and settled on I Love Lucy. He watched through a couple of minutes, and when the commercials came on, he looked over at the unmoving FBI duo. "Are you going to go?" he asked, and Manton looked startled. "Sorry, I guess I phrased that as a request. Now I'm telling you, I won't talk to you until Brad gets here, so you might as well leave. Fornell, why don't you go share ex-wife stories with Gibbs?"

"I can wait," Agent Manton said.

"You can wait outside," Tony replied, an edge creeping into his tone. He watched them file out and sat back to watch his show. Maybe he'd calm down before they came back in, but he wouldn't bet on it.

Gibbs walked down to the nurse's station and called Jenny. "How's DiNozzo?" she asked.

"Pissed off."

"That's a good sign," she said.

"Yeah," Gibbs said. "But the FBI are here. Evidently Harris contacted them last night to report me for harassment and discrimination, so I've been booted from the hospital room while they get DiNozzo's statement."

"What?" she exclaimed. "Fornell kicked you out?"

"No, it was an Agent Justine Manton."

"I see." She paused for a second. "I'll get back to you." She hung up before he could speak, but he was good with that. He knew her next move would be to call the director of the FBI and twist his tail.

He cajoled the nurse into giving him DiNozzo's exit paperwork so he could get it started in the waiting room. He was working on page two when he looked up and found Fornell entering room. Manton walked by the door towards the ladies restroom, looking irritated. "What are you doing out so soon?" Gibbs asked.

"DiNutso threw us out. Since he can't have you, he wants an impartial witness."

Gibbs contemplated his options and wasn't honestly sure what barring NCIS from consideration left. "Who?"

"Someone named Brad. I guess he works here."

Gibbs nodded. "Dr. Pitt. That makes sense."

"You know I didn't have anything to do with this, right?"

"I do," Gibbs said. Fornell sat down with a sigh. "I told the director as much."

"Oh, damn." Fornell looked at him sideways. "I don't want to be anywhere near that pissing match."

Gibbs grinned, then he glanced back the direction Manton had gone. "She as out to lunch as she seems?"

"She's a crusader," Fornell said.

"Oh crap," Gibbs muttered. "Perfect."

"Out to right wrongs and aid the oppressed."

Gibbs rolled his eyes. "I'm surprised she didn't campaign to have you removed."

"She doesn't know about our history, I don't think. You should have seen her face when DiNozzo suggested we share ex-wife stories. I'm sure she doesn't realize it's the same ex-wife."

In a low voice, Gibbs said, "You need to get into his house, Tobias."

"There's no way I'll get a warrant right now," Fornell hissed.

"You need to get in there quick before he wises up and hides the evidence."

"Evidence?" Fornell's eyes narrowed. "What evidence?" Gibbs gave him a dour look, and Fornell let out an exasperated sigh. "Right. Fine. I'll do what I can. DiNozzo sure seems to be cooperating like gangbusters now, though."

"Yeah, well, he had an epiphany." Gibbs hoped that he wouldn't break down in front of Fornell and Manton. It would humiliate him beyond bearing.

Chapter Text

Sunday, 0816, streets of downtown Washington DC

Ziva looked over at Dr. Benoit. The other woman had actually fallen asleep on the drive back to Ziva's apartment, but now she sat wakeful and staring out the window as Ziva drove to the Navy Yard. "How are you feeling?" Ziva asked.

Dr. Benoit looked around. "Drained," she said. "Enraged. I want to give that bastard ulcerative colitis . . . the manual way."

Ziva wasn't sure what that meant. "Manual way?"

"With a toothpick," Dr. Benoit said, and Ziva got the picture. It was an oddly soothing image. "Or an ice pick."

"An ice pick is good," Ziva observed.

Dr. Benoit nodded. "Better penetration," she said.

"Definitely better penetration." They continued in silence for a moment. Ziva had her own thoughts on what should be done with Brody Harris, but she did not feel like sharing them. "How is Tony?" she asked instead.

"How do you think?" Dr. Benoit asked.

"If I knew, I would not ask. I can guess, but I might be wrong."

Dr. Benoit stared at her for a moment. "He was shocked," she said. "I don't know what else I can tell you. He seemed pretty out of it this morning, but I don't know how well he slept. I had to ease him out of a couple of nightmares that looked pretty nasty."

"You did not wake him?"

"He needed his sleep. He used to have nightmares from time to –" She broke off, blushing. Clearing her throat, she said, "It's pretty easy to get him out of them without waking him up."

Ziva was a little startled by this information. "I see." When he slept at the office, he never seemed to have nightmares, but then neither did she. One could train one's mind to keep things private, even in sleep, but if he had relaxed his mind that far with Benoit . . .

"Officer David?" she asked, and Ziva returned her attention to her. "Do you know of anyone named Jeffrey?"

Ziva shook her head. "The name does not ring a bell," she said.

"Oh."

Traffic was moving very slowly this morning. Ziva rested her head on her hand. "Call me Ziva," she said.

Dr. Benoit gave her a sidelong look. "Call me Jeanne," she replied. "How long have you known Tony?"

"A little over three years," Ziva said.

"What do you know about his family?" Jeanne asked.

"Very little," Ziva replied. "He does not speak of them often, and what he has said, I do not believe I should repeat."

"Why not?" Ziva gave her a dark look, and Jeanne shook her head. "Not trying to persuade you, I just wondered what the reason was."

"Tony talks all the time," Ziva said. "He never stops talking, in fact. When there is something a man like that never talks about, it means it is intensely private. I would not wish to betray that without his permission."

Jeanne was quiet for a few moments, then she made a sound that was halfway between a snort and a sigh. "This situation is really stretching my ethics," she said.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, just yesterday I said that Brody was enough to make me rethink my stance on the death penalty."

"Why would you need to –" Ziva started, but then she stopped. "You oppose the death penalty?"

"I do," Jeanne said. She glanced over at Ziva. "I take it you don't?" Ziva shook her head, not trusting that a verbal response wouldn't get out of hand. Perhaps Jeanne sensed the reason for her reticence, because she didn't pursue the question. "Right now I want to bully you into telling me everything you know."

"You would fail," Ziva said placidly, but she couldn't fault the desire. If their situations were reversed, she could and would bully the same information out of her companion.

"Maybe," Jeanne said. "But Tony would never forgive me." Ziva shrugged. Tony was proving to be more forgiving that Ziva would ever have imagined. "Is Agent Gibbs always this abrupt?"

"Most of the time," Ziva answered honestly. "Though he does grow more so when one of the team is threatened."

"Does that happen often?"

"Oftener than I would prefer," Ziva said. She glanced aside at the woman. If she was attempting to come back into Tony's life, it might be prudent to remind her of what that life consisted of. "As the senior agent under Gibbs, Tony is often in a great deal of danger," she said.

Jeanne nodded. "I know all about that," she replied. "The guy I dated before Tony was a cop, too." She rolled her eyes. "I guess I'm attracted to men in law enforcement, whatever guise they wear."

"It does not disturb you?"

"Of course it disturbs me, but I've seen him in action. It was pretty impressive. I never saw John in action."

"Would it have made a difference?" Ziva asked.

"No, he slept with my best friend."

"Ah," Ziva said. "And you did not shoot him? He is lucky that you do not believe in capital punishment."

"Actually, he's dead," Jeanne said, and Ziva turned to her, somewhat startled. "It kind of freaked me out when I read it in the paper. He'd been sort of hanging on, and I finally told him that I had someone else and he needed to stop bugging me. I got his e-mail saying that he understood and wouldn't bother me anymore the night he died."

Traffic started moving again, but people wanted to change lanes and things got very complicated. Ziva pulled forward and focused on driving for several minutes. When she was in a clear area, moving freely, she said, "I can see how that would be distressing."

"Anyway, we should be there any time now, right?" Jeanne said in a bright voice.

Ziva glanced over at her and recognized that she had said more than she'd wanted to and was not interested in further conversation at the moment. "About ten minutes, I should think, unless traffic worsens again."

Jeanne nodded and looked out the window. Ziva wished she knew what to make of the woman beside her.

Sunday, 0834, Bethesda Naval Medical Center

Tony woke to a strange whirring sound that it took him a minute to place as the sound of the curtain being drawn back. He had watched maybe five minutes of the Lucy episode before his exhaustion had begun to catch up with him. That and the fact that he wasn't being observed or having to put on a show had made it impossible for him to stay awake. Unsure how much time had passed, he rolled over, wondering who his visitor was.

Fear clutched his vocal cords and fury surged through him as Brody leaned over the bed. Tony hauled off and punched him square in the jaw. Unfortunately, he couldn't get much force behind the blow. It barely turned Brody's head. Brody grabbed Tony's wrists and bore them back to the bed. Panic reared its head and fought with Tony's anger for control. Brody kept coming downwards, and Tony realized suddenly that the bastard actually planned to kiss him. Turning his head, he took in a deep breath to yell for help, but Brody shifted his grip on him hastily, covering his mouth with one huge hand while he held Tony's wrists in the other. Immobilized, unable to call out, Tony stared up at him, terror threading through his gut.

"I've missed you, Tony," Brody murmured, leaning close and nuzzling Tony's neck. "I've missed us." Tony wanted to inform him that there was no 'us,' but Brody was holding his mouth closed with bruising force. "I explained the whole situation about how Gibbs is keeping us apart to Agent Manton, and she got the guards to lift the ban." Brody licked Tony's ear, making him cringe. He seemed oblivious to Tony's struggles. He sat on the side of the bed, pinning the blankets down and trapping Tony's legs, and, even one-handed, he held Tony's arms down with ease. He chuckled. "Those army boys were sure glaring at me when I came in, though." Marines, Tony thought. He knew Gibbs had to be nearby, but Brody hadn't made much noise. How had he gotten past Gibbs? Brody stuck his tongue in Tony's ear, and Tony tried to yell at him. The noise that came out sounded weak and pathetic, fueling Tony's anger.

"What the hell is going on here?" demanded a familiar voice. Tony groaned. Of course it would be Brad coming in, not Gibbs or Fornell. He redoubled his struggles, hoping that Brad would go out and find help. Apparently, he didn't read minds. He tackled Brody himself. "Get off him!" he ordered, grabbing Brody by the shoulder.

Brody stood, turned and shoved Brad into a wall. Brad clutched at the wall and stood still, looking dazed. Taking advantage of the situation, Tony broke away and scrambled out of the bed. "Brody, get out of here!" he shouted. "I don't want you anywhere near me." Tony realized suddenly that his move had taken him out of reach of both the call button and the phone. Surely someone would come in soon.

"That's just Gibbs talking," Brody said, moving towards him. "You can't mean it."

"You hired guys to attack me so you could rescue me from them." Brody's eyes widened. "You paid them. That one guy almost raped me, and you paid him to do that."

Brody drew closer suddenly, and when Tony would have shoved him away, he grabbed Tony's wrists and put them in one hand. He slipped his free hand behind Tony's neck, holding him firmly and stroking Tony's cheek with his thumb. Tony ground his teeth and contemplated biting him. "Sometimes you need a catalyst," Brody said softly, and Tony was so astonished that he looked Brody squarely in the eye and saw the sincerity there. "Guys like you, something needs to happen to show you what you need."

"You're completely mental!" Tony exclaimed. "Let me –"

The sound of guns cocking made both of them stop moving. "Hands up and step back." Gibbs was in the room. Tony felt like he could breathe again. Brody's hands tightened, and Tony winced.

Before Brody could react in any other way, another voice spoke. "Detective Harris, back away from Agent DiNozzo." That was Fornell.

Tony looked up at Brody. "Let me go," he said.

"Tell him, Tony," Brody said, turning and dragging Tony with him. "Tell Gibbs how you really feel." The position improved Tony's angle. He brought his foot up and smashed the heel down on Brody's instep, jerking his wrists sideways at the same time. Gibbs and Fornell surged forward to grab Brody by the arms. Brody turned towards Tony. "Tell them to leave me alone, Tony. Tell Gibbs." This last was said with a violent jerk on the arm Gibbs held. Tony took a step back when he managed to get partially free.

Two men stepped across in front of him, startling him, and for the first time, Tony noticed how many people had entered the room. The guys in front of him were Dr. McLean and another doctor he didn't know. Agent Manton stood near the door, looking appalled, and two of this floor's nurses had come in. One of them was talking on a radio. Brad sat on the bed, looking a little the worse for wear, and Gibbs and Fornell were still fighting with Brody.

"Get your hands off me, you controlling bastard!" Brody growled, shoving at Gibbs. It was Tony's instinct to go to his aid, but when he started to move, Dr. McLean put a hand on his shoulder. Then the door opened to admit two large Navy corpsmen. Between them, Gibbs, Fornell and the two corpsmen got Brody, still fighting and yelling, out of the room. Ella came to Tony's side with the other nurse and tried to guide him back to the bed.

"No way," he said. "I am leaving."

"Agent DiNozzo, you need to let me look you over again," Dr. McLean said.

"Hell no, I'm done. I . . ." He realized that he was shaking, but he didn't want to sit down or admit to any form of weakness. He couldn't stand the idea of another night in the hospital, and after being attacked in here, he wasn't sure he could stand another minute in this room. Tony turned to Ella. "Can you find out for me if they've gotten Brody out of the hall?"

"Agent DiNozzo, you need to let the doctors see to you," Agent Manton said.

Tony turned on her. "I don't want to hear one more word from you," he said. "Or wait, one more. Was Brody lying when he said you arranged for him to be allowed in? Yes or no?"

"No," she said, her eyes wide, and Tony's anger exploded. He had to get out of here.

They had to shove Harris against a wall to get the cuffs on him. Gibbs restrained himself the best he could, but he really wanted to pound this guy to jelly. Seeing him with Tony, manhandling him that way, had urged his anger up several notches. DiNozzo was not a small man, but Harris made him look like one.

Once the cuffs were on, Harris tried to shake them off. "Fine," he snarled into the wall. "You've got me. I won't fight."

"Smarter not to," Fornell replied. "You guys got him?" he asked the two corpsmen.

"Yes sir," replied one, and Fornell took Gibbs arm to pull him away.

"That's it, Gibbs," he said softly. "I don't want you touching him again." Gibbs glowered at him. "I know," Fornell said in response to the look. "God knows, I'd feel the same, but if he can convince one person you're the bad guy here, he stands a chance of convincing more."

"After that display?"

"Brought on by an excess of emotion after having been kept away for –" Gibbs cut him off with a single emphatic word, and Fornell shook his head. "I need to call for back up," he said. "Stay away from him."

Gibbs crossed his arms and stared at Harris, trying to fathom what drove the man. As though he felt Gibbs' eyes on him, Harris turned and scowled back at him. "This is all your fault, old man," he said. "I'll get Tony back, you can't keep him away from me forever."

Gibbs gazed at him a moment longer, then slowly turned his back. He walked over to the door to DiNozzo's room and overtly ignored Harris while keeping an eye on him covertly.

A voice from inside the room at his back made him forget Harris. "Gibbs!" It was DiNozzo, loud and sounding halfway to panicked. He slammed through the door, ready to kill someone. He stopped just over the threshold, heart still pounding in his chest, but his murderous impulse dimming somewhat. DiNozzo, eyes wide and a little wild, stood surrounded by medical professionals, and Agent Manton was staring at him, looking slightly stunned. "Get me some clothes!" DiNozzo ordered. "I'm getting out of here now."

"Agent DiNozzo!" Dr. McLean exclaimed anxiously. "You need –"

Gibbs ignored him. "Sure, DiNozzo, we can go," he said easily.

The little doctor turned to him. "Agent Gibbs, I need to check him out."

"I am going," Tony said, anger and agitation making him sound almost irrational. Gibbs wanted to get him out of here before he got any more overwrought, but McLean started to speak again.

"Can I come with you, Tony?" Dr. Pitt asked, cutting the other doctor off.

Tony turned towards him. "Sure," he said, blankly, as if the idea was unexpected.

"He's a witness," Manton pointed out.

Gibbs saw Tony stop dead. He turned his head slowly towards the woman. "And if he went with us, you'd tell me that it would appear that Gibbs had influenced him."

"Agent DiNozzo," she said, and her tone split the difference between concerned and condescending.

"Save it," DiNozzo snapped, and she stopped talking. "Brad, please stay here and give Fornell your statement. Don't tell her anything."

"Sure, Tony, but you do need to see a doctor."

"Ducky," Tony said shortly, and Pitt nodded. "Gibbs, let's go."

Fornell hung up the phone and turned to see one of the doctors who'd been in the room with DiNozzo walking towards him. Manton was next to him, talking to him, but he appeared to be ignoring her. As they approached, she said, "Can you at least tell me who Ducky is?"

"NCIS Medical Examiner," Fornell said. "What's going on?"

"This man won't give us a statement," Manton replied.

The doctor's face grew cold and his tone arctic when he turned to her. "No, ma'am, I won't give you a statement." Turning back again, he said, "Are you Fornell?"

"I'm Special Agent Fornell."

"I'm Dr. Brad Pitt. No relation."

It took Fornell a moment to realize what he meant, but then he shrugged. "Why won't you talk to Agent Manton?" he asked curiously.

"Tony asked me not to," Pitt said, and Fornell raised his eyebrows. That was an interesting development. "Do you realize that she let that person into the hospital?"

"What do you mean?" Fornell asked, a suspicion forming. He wanted to hear exactly what Pitt had to say first.

"I heard her tell Tony that she arranged for that . . . whoever he was . . . to be allowed in."

Fornell looked over at Manton, who looked defiant. "You did what?"

"It was Agent Gibbs who put him on the do not admit list, not Agent DiNozzo."

"It ever occur to you that DiNozzo didn't put him on it himself because Agent Gibbs already had?" Fornell demanded.

"Or maybe because he was unconscious when he was admitted?" Pitt said. Manton flushed, but she didn't lose her defiant stance. Pitt turned to Fornell. "Look, the only reason I didn't go with Tony is because I'm a witness, and there's some question of Agent Gibbs 'influencing' me, whatever that means. Can you please take my statement? I still don't know why Tony wanted me here in the first place."

Fornell considered explaining, but decided against it. "Agent Manton, why don't you go over there –" He indicated a phone on the other side of the nurses station. "And report in your findings," he added sarcastically. "You can be sure that I will be doing the same shortly."

She walked off, her back ramrod straight, and Fornell turned to Pitt. He pulled out a pad of paper. "Please, tell me what happened," he said.

"I got a call telling me that Tony had an emergency, that he needed my help as a friend." Fornell nodded. "I opened the door and I saw that . . . person . . . leaning over him, restraining him, and I –"

"Restraining him? In what way?"

"He had Tony's hands held in one of his, and he'd put his other hand over Tony's mouth." Pitt's eyes narrowed as if with thought. "He was . . . my God, I think he was biting his ear."

"Go on," Fornell said, slightly sickened.

"I tried to make him stop, and he shoved me off so hard that I hit the wall. It dazed me for a minute, but once I recovered, I saw him cornering Tony by the window." He paused, eyes distant. "They were talking. Tony told him to go away, and the man said something about it being Gibbs talking and that Tony couldn't mean it."

"Can you remember exact words?"

"Not for that, I was on the phone, trying to get help," Pitt said. "Then Tony . . ." His eyes widened. "He said something about that guy hiring someone to rape him."

"And then what?"

"The guy said . . . 'sometimes you need a catalyst.'" He shook his head. "What the hell is going on here?"

Fornell was writing. It wasn't an absolutely ironclad admission of guilt, but it was good enough for a warrant. "Anything else?"

"Yeah, 'Guys like you need something to happen to show you what you need.' What kind of a loon is he?"

"A dangerous one. Anything else?"

"You and Agent Gibbs came in then."

Fornell nodded. "Okay. If you think of anything else, here's my – Dr. Pitt, where are you going?"

"NCIS. Tony has your number, I assume."

Fornell nodded and watched the man disappear into an elevator.

Chapter Text

Sunday, 0915, Parking lot, Bethesda Naval Medical Center

Gibbs got DiNozzo into the car first. He was barefoot and it wasn't warm out. He shut the door and called McGee. As soon as the younger agent answered, Gibbs said, "I want you waiting in front of headquarters with the shoes DiNozzo keeps under his desk. There should be socks inside. Grab a jacket, too. Got that?"

"Yeah Boss. How close are you?"

"Check my phone's GPS," Gibbs snapped and hung up. He climbed in on the driver's side and started the car, cranking the heater up immediately and shunting most of it into the footwells. "DiNozzo?" Gibbs said, and Tony looked at him. He seemed slightly shell-shocked. "Seatbelt."

"Right." DiNozzo secured the seatbelt around himself and sat back. Gibbs got moving, but they were well on the way before DiNozzo spoke again. "She let him in," he said.

"Who let . . ." Gibbs glanced over at his agent, anger stirring beneath his concern. "Manton?"

"She canceled the ban you put on him," DiNozzo said. "He said the marines looked pissed when they had to let him through."

Gibbs made a mental note to find out just why those angry marines hadn't bothered to call him and let him know. "She'll get hers, DiNozzo," Gibbs said.

"He admitted it. Everything you said about hiring those bastards, he admitted it. He almost seemed proud of it. Like he thought I'd understand why he had to do it."

"I thought we'd established that he was nuts," Gibbs said. "So, are you going to give Fornell a frank statement now?"

DiNozzo was silent for a moment, then he said, "Could we talk about something else? Like maybe seasonally appropriate sports teams?"

"DiNozzo, you know how much attention I pay to sports," Gibbs said. DiNozzo didn't respond, and Gibbs decided to let it go. He kept glancing at his agent, though, more than a little worried about anything that could render him this silent without also rendering him unconscious. "You want a shower when we get to the office?" DiNozzo nodded. "Before or after seeing Ducky?"

"Can we skip Ducky, Boss?" DiNozzo said pathetically. "He didn't do anything to me, not really."

"What does not really anything encompass, DiNozzo?"

DiNozzo shrugged. "Nothing with a medical impact. I mean, there'll be few new bruises, but nothing dangerous."

"You have to see a doctor, DiNozzo, every bruise gets added to his tally."

"Isn't rape enough?" Tony asked wearily.

"I'd like his coffin to have as many nails in it as possible."

DiNozzo sighed and went silent again. Gibbs pulled past the entrance to the parking lot, and he stirred. "Boss, didn't we just –" He broke off when Gibbs pulled up in front of McGee, who, per orders, was waiting with shoes in hand and jacket over his arm. DiNozzo didn't pop his door open immediately, and McGee seemed stymied.

Rolling his eyes, Gibbs got out of the truck and went around to open DiNozzo's door. "Get your shoes on and go inside, DiNozzo." DiNozzo fell to unwillingly. Obviously this was going to be harder than he'd thought. He handed McGee the keys and got DiNozzo moving. McGee stared at them leaving for a moment, and Gibbs thought he was actually going to have to put the obvious order into words, but then he got in the truck and drove away.

No one was waiting for them when the elevator doors opened, for which Gibbs was grateful. Dr. Benoit and Ziva were sitting in the bullpen, Benoit at his desk and Ziva at her own. He walked DiNozzo through the squad room, shaking his head at both women when they made to get up. When he and DiNozzo entered autopsy, Palmer was wiping down one of the tables while Ducky sat at his desk. The medical examiner looked exhausted, but he was clearly working on his reports. They both looked up when Gibbs steered DiNozzo in, and Ducky came to his feet.

"Is something wrong, Jethro?"

Gibbs didn't answer immediately. He led Tony over to one of the tables and said, "Get up."

"Boss, these are not the most comfortable seats in the world."

"I'm aware of that, DiNozzo. I've slept on them."

"Abby has a futon, Boss."

"Get up, DiNozzo." When DiNozzo finally followed his instructions and got up, Gibbs turned and walked Ducky to the other end of the room. "DiNozzo's been attacked again," he said quietly.

"What?" Ducky exclaimed, and then moderated his volume at a scowl from Gibbs. "In hospital?" Gibbs just grimaced. "But how did the bastard get in?"

"He reported me for sexual harassment and claimed I was intimidating DiNozzo into reporting him, and managed to convince an idiot FBI agent that he was the injured party."

"He did what?" Ducky asked, brow furrowed.

"She somehow ordered the gate guards to lift my ban, and Harris got into the hospital," Gibbs said. "He got past me and into DiNozzo's room." His eyes traveled of their own accord to DiNozzo. Palmer was talking quietly to him, but DiNozzo didn't seem to be responding much. "He's being kind of volatile," Gibbs said. "Look him over, get his story out of him if you can, and call me pronto if he needs me."

"If he . . ." Ducky's voice trailed off, but then he nodded. "Of course, Jethro."

Gibbs paused by the table where DiNozzo sat. "I'm going up – not leaving the building. You get Ducky to call me if you need me."

DiNozzo nodded dispiritedly, and Gibbs noticed that his hands were fisted. He squeezed the younger man's shoulder gently and went out. When he reached the bullpen, Ziva and Benoit were clustered together around McGee, who was holding a vaguely familiar carryall and denying any and all knowledge of what had happened to DiNozzo. "You just getting back, McGee?" he asked.

"No, Boss. I mean, yes, Boss. I mean, I remembered that I left Tony's go bag in the truck because I took it to the crime scene because I didn't know he was the –" He cut himself off with a flush. "And then I forgot to take it out. I thought Tony might want the clothes from it."

"Good thinking, McGee," Gibbs said, holding his hand out for the bag. Reluctantly, the younger man handed it over. Gibbs handed him the two samples DiNozzo had given him in the hospital. "Get these to Abby." McGee took them and, after a brief pause, hurried away. Gibbs turned as he went. "Stay out of autopsy."

McGee flashed him a frustrated look, but he didn't respond. Both Ziva and Benoit turned to him. "What has happened?" Ziva asked.

"Harris got into the hospital," Gibbs said irritably. Ignoring their questions, he made a quick phone call to ask Ducky to send Palmer up for DiNozzo's things, then he turned to Ziva. "Is the director here?"

"She is in her office." Gibbs turned and started towards the stairs. "How did he get in?" Ziva asked, following behind him as far as the first step.

"FBI," Gibbs said, jogging up the stairs. He could almost feel Ziva's angry reaction. A mutter he heard compelled him to add, "Not Fornell."

Sunday, 0953, NCIS Headquarters

Jeanne stared up at the man climbing the stairs. "How could he possibly have heard you?" she asked. "I could barely hear you, and I'm right next to you."

"That is Gibbs," Ziva said. "He has exceptional hearing."

"That must be fun. How often is Tony in trouble for saying the wrong thing?"

"Often," Ziva said, but then her face closed down. Jeanne thought they were developing a very odd relationship. She couldn't call it a friendship, but despite awkward moments like this, they were certainly easier with each other than they had been the previous day. It was evident to her that Ziva had a proprietary interest in Tony, and it was equally obvious that she had never done anything about it. Jeanne didn't know why. Tony wasn't precisely a nice Jewish boy, which might make a difference to Ziva's family, but Jeanne wasn't sure if it would make a difference to Ziva herself. "I had better get back to work," Ziva said, turning back to her desk.

"You know," Jeanne said softly, "he didn't tell you to stay out of autopsy."

Ziva's eyes widened, and she grinned. "You have a –"

"Ziva?" Jeanne looked up with the other woman to where Gibbs stood against the railing of the mezzanine. "Stay out of autopsy." Those intense blue eyes seemed to skewer Jeanne as well before he turned away and disappeared.

"Did he hear me?" she asked.

Ziva gazed up at the mezzanine through narrowed eyes. "I do not know, but it does not matter." She returned to her desk.

Jeanne sighed. "No, I guess not." She started to go back to Gibbs' desk, but then Jimmy Palmer emerged from the elevator. She tapped lightly on Ziva's desk and nodded towards him.

Ziva rose hastily. "How is Tony?" she asked.

"Pretty freaked out, actually," Jimmy said. "Where's the bag I'm supposed to take him?"

"What happened to him?" Jeanne asked.

Jimmy blinked at her and shook his head. "If Agent Gibbs hasn't said anything, I don't think I'd better. Not that I really know anything. Dr. Mallard sent me to inventory the storeroom."

Jeanne sighed and picked up the overnight bag. "Here, this is what you're supposed to take. Tell Tony . . ." She couldn't find words that she'd want to be passed on through an intermediary.

"I'll tell him you asked after him." Ziva tilted her head slightly, narrowing her eyes, and Jimmy gulped. "I'll tell him you both asked after him." With that, he turned and hurried away. Jeanne went and sat down. She kept trying to read her journals, but the knowledge that Tony was so close, so distraught, and she was powerless to help was interfering again. She didn't even have clearance to follow to where he was.

"Tony is strong," Ziva said suddenly. "He will be fine."

Jeanne nodded. She had no doubts on that score, but she wasn't sure that Ziva was really talking to her.

"Well?" Jen asked. "Where's DiNozzo?"

"With Ducky," Gibbs said. "Harris attacked him again."

"In Bethesda?" Jen exclaimed. "How? How is he?"

"That Manton woman cancelled my ban on him, and the marines let him in. Without telling me. I still don't know how he got past me, but –"

"He got into the room," she finished for him, and he nodded curtly. "How long were they alone together?"

"I'm not really sure. I'm hoping he'll talk to Ducky."

"Can you make a guess?"

"Five minutes, maybe less, not much more. The nurses were going in and out. I'll get McGee to pull the security camera footage."

"So, how is he?"

"How do you think, Jen?"

"I don't know, or I wouldn't ask."

Gibbs shrugged. "Hell, I don't know. He's sort of yo-yoing."

"That's to be expected."

Gibbs rolled his eyes. "Platitudes aren't much use, Jen. Did you get any satisfaction from ? at the FBI?"

She scowled, but then a light of mischief entered her eyes. "No, but now I have better ammunition. I take it she hadn't talked to DiNozzo before she made this move?"

"Nope, DiNozzo refused to talk to them without an unbiased witness, so no matter when she did it, she couldn't claim to have talked to DiNozzo first."

"Good. I'm afraid, though, that this makes it very awkward for you – or the rest of your team – to be involved in investigating the case."

"Abby's looking at some hair and nail samples," Gibbs said. "But if it comes to that, there's more where those came from. If she finds something, we can always take more and send them to an FBI lab." He didn't mention how little DiNozzo would like giving those samples up, but he didn't figure he needed to.

"That works." She pursed her lips. "You think he drugged him? Do you have any evidence?"

Gibbs blinked. "I haven't told you about the pictures yet, have I?"

"Pictures?"

Gibbs sat down. This was going to take some telling.

Sunday, 1007, NCIS Headquarters

"You're going to have to tell me where he grabbed you at the very least, so I know where to look," Ducky said with an air of exasperation.

Tony closed his eyes. "He grabbed my wrists, and he covered my mouth with his hand."

"That much I can see," Ducky said. Tony's eyes flipped open in surprise, and he saw Ducky squinting at his face. "Anything else, dear boy?"

Grimacing, Tony shrugged. "He grabbed me by the neck, too, the back of the neck." Ducky came around and looked at Tony's neck. "Take off the shirt, why don't you?"

If he hadn't known he'd have to take it off eventually because he had something to change into, he would have balked. He dragged the scrub shirt off over his head and held it in his lap. "There probably won't be any bruises from that. He was trying to persuade me that he cares."

"I see some finger marks here," Ducky said, looking at the right side of Tony's neck, and Tony remembered the way Brody had tightened his grip when he'd heard Gibbs' voice, and the way he'd used that grip to turn Tony around to try and get him to tell Gibbs 'how he felt.' "Does it hurt?"

Tony let out an involuntary snort. At the moment he couldn't really single one source of pain out from the overall ache. "Nope."

"Anthony," Ducky said remonstratively. "You don't have to be so stoic."

"When have you ever known me to be stoic?" Tony asked, reaching for his usual blithe demeanor. Judging by Ducky's expression, it was less than successful. "I yowl if I get a stubbed toe."

Ducky gave him a dour look, but he moved off. "Didn't the doctors give you any medication?"

"They might have if I'd left in a normal sort of way," Tony said, suddenly regretting the lack.

The rear doors of the room opened suddenly, and Tony clutched the shirt up in front of his chest briefly before dropping it to his lap again. He'd look like a fool if someone came in and found him trying to cover himself like that. No one entered for a moment.

"Hello?" Ducky called. "Can I help you?"

Brad walked in, looking around. "Sorry, I wasn't sure this was the right door. My escort left me outside."

"You're very welcome, Dr. Pitt," Ducky said. "Please come in."

"Tony, are you okay?"

Tony shrugged. "Peachy," he said.

Brad walked over to the table and put a plastic bag down next to Tony. "Tom stopped me on my way out to give me your drugs. You know how to manage all this stuff, right?"

Tony reached into the bag and rummaged. "I do," he said with a sigh. "Ducky, you got a –"

Ducky held out a bottle of water and Tony broke off. He opened the giant sized bottle of Motrin and took one. Ducky snorted. "For someone who's not in pain, you certainly took that quickly enough."

"Doctor's orders," Tony said defensively.

"Tony, you're talking to your two doctors," Brad said. "We both know just how well you follow doctor's orders."

Tony was feeling a little crowded. He jumped off the table, and Brad stepped back several paces. "Look, I said I'm fine, and I meant it. I'm fine." He knew his tone was a little too loud, but he couldn't seem to control it. Anger and humiliation and a sharp feeling of betrayal were commingling to unsettle him. He felt restless, and he knew that it wouldn't take much more of this to make him explode. "Are you done yet?" The question came out accusatory, and Ducky's brows drew together in a startled and slightly hurt expression. Tony felt bad, but he didn't have the ability to address the issue at the moment.

"Yes, dear boy, I am," Ducky said, his expression clearing. "Your clothing is right here. Dr. Pitt and I will turn our backs if you like."

Tony nodded. He didn't trust either his voice or his word choice at the moment. Brad looked at him for a long moment, like he was trying to figure out what to say, but then he turned around with Ducky. Tony dug in his bag for his clothes and jerked them on, zipping and buttoning and tucking automatically. When he was done, he took advantage of their turned backs and left the room.

He heard Ducky's voice calling him, but he lucked out when he hit the elevator button. The doors opened immediately and he stepped inside and hit the Door Close button before pressing the button for the level of Abby's lab.

"Damn it!" Brad swore, repeatedly pressing the call button. "Where would he go?"

Ducky stepped back and watched the lights flicking on, one after the other. When it stopped, he nodded. "Abby," he said. He went back into his office, dimly aware of Dr. Pitt following him. He dialed Gibbs' cell phone quickly. Anthony's emotions were unusually close to the surface today. He could see why Gibbs was so concerned.

Sunday, 1013, NCIS Headquarters

Jen stared at him when he was done describing what he'd found at Harris's house, eyes wide and expression appalled, and Gibbs just gazed back at her. She took in a breath. "You think he drugged Tony, put his unconscious body into sexually explicit poses and took photographs?"

"DiNozzo didn't know anything about them. I asked." She grimaced, pursing her lips. Gibbs answered the obvious next question before she asked it. "And there's no way anyone could do what I saw to DiNozzo while he was normally asleep, or even drunk asleep. They'd wind up with bruises or worse, and a very awake DiNozzo."

She opened her mouth to reply, but before she could speak, Gibbs' phone began to ring. He reached down and grabbed it. "Ducky," he muttered for the director's benefit, then he answered it. "Gibbs."

"Anthony has left rather abruptly, Jethro. He went to Abby, I believe, or at least that's the floor the elevator stopped on."

"How is he?" Gibbs asked.

"No worse than before physically. Beyond that I won't commit myself."

Gibbs nodded grimly. "Thanks." He closed the phone. "Can you use some kind of computer thing to subtly find out if DiNozzo is in Abby's lab?" he asked.

"Don't want him to know you're checking up on him?" He rolled his eyes and gestured for her to answer the question. "I'll send her an instant message. It's possible he'll see it, but it's the best I can do."

Gibbs nodded and waited impatiently. Nothing happened for several long moments, then she said, "Abby says he's down there, and he's kind of agitated." Gibbs rose. "She also says she's got it covered for now." Gibbs paused, uncharacteristically indecisive. "Do you think there's a problem?" Jen asked. "Because if you do, we should address it now."

Gibbs sank back into his seat. "I think DiNozzo's been through hell and back, and just got freshly attacked by a man I told him he was safe from," he said with some heat.

"No one's denying that, Jethro –"

"The FBI?" Gibbs asked acidly.

"No one here is denying that," Jen amended. "But if you don't think he can handle twenty minutes alone with Abby in her lab, we need to talk about it."

"No. Actually, Abby will probably be good for him."

"They're close, aren't they?"

Gibbs shrugged. "So –" His phone rang again and he picked it up. "Fornell." He put it to his ear. "Yeah?"

"My God, Gibbs, was it these photos you were talking about?" the FBI agent said in a low voice.

"It was photos," Gibbs replied carefully.

"And DiNozzo doesn't know about them?"

"He didn't, I asked him earlier today. He still doesn't really know what's in them."

"Damn, do you mean I'm going to have to tell him?"

"Unless you're going to have Manton do it."

"She's been pulled," Fornell said. "They've put someone else on that side of the investigation. She's meeting with Harris right now, I guess."

"Is she sane?"

"I've never met her, so let's hope so. Regardless, she can't get him loose. I made it clear that NCIS would claim him for assault on a Navy doctor if someone tried to spring him."

Gibbs blinked. That hadn't occurred to him. Why hadn't it occurred to him? He shook his head. Now wasn't the time to wonder. "I'll tell the director. Will you be coming today to talk to DiNozzo?"

"Agent Glick and I will be there in a little over an hour. I'd rather not talk to him in an interview room, but you're still not allowed to be present."

Gibbs scowled. "What about Dr. Pitt?" he asked.

"Sure, he can be there," Fornell said. "See you in an hour or so." Fornell clicked off as fast as Gibbs usually did.

"What about Agent Manton?" Jenny asked.

"She's been pulled from the case and a new agent assigned. Her name is Glick, but Fornell doesn't know her."

Jen leaned back in her chair. "Is there anything else I should know before the FBI descends on us?"

"Fornell doesn't want to talk to DiNozzo in an interview room."

"The conference room is available," Jen suggested.

Gibbs nodded and rose. "I'd better see where Ziva and McGee are in their research."

"Be careful. I'm not telling you to stop –"

"Good."

"– because I know you won't, but anything you or your team does could be construed as a vendetta against Harris."

"Last I checked, we don't let the criminals we investigate decide who can and who can't investigate a case," Gibbs growled.

"We don't – sometimes the courts do. I know you usually figure that's the other guy's job, but this is a different situation."

Gibbs nodded once and went out. The anger he felt was boiling over at the thought that Harris might, by accusing him, have contaminated all the evidence they'd found so far. The testimony of Hamlin and Simons might just get thrown out because Gibbs had been the interrogator. If so, Harris's admission probably wouldn't be enough to bring them back in. On the other hand, they hadn't located the third guy involved. If Fornell found him and his story matched, they'd be home free. Damn, but he hated counting on the bad guys.

Ziva, McGee and Benoit looked up as he headed through the squad room. Both McGee and Ziva turned back to their work immediately, but Dr. Benoit watched him approach. She started to get up, but he waved her back to the seat. He wasn't using it, and he wasn't in the mood for games.

He'd passed all the way through the bullpen on his way to the elevator when one of them got the courage to speak. "Boss?"

"Yeah, McGee?" he asked, turning his head but not pausing.

"What happened?" The question was simple, the tone was earnest and concerned, and it stopped him in his tracks. When Gibbs was in this mood, McGee rarely questioned him, so if he was asking, he really wanted to know. DiNozzo was with Abby. Abby was kind and caring. He really didn't need to rush to rescue DiNozzo from Abby's care.

He turned around and walked back into the bullpen. Now he had all three sets of eyes on him. "Harris approached the FBI late last night and informed them that I was harassing him and DiNozzo because I disapprove of the relationship, and that I was basically forcing DiNozzo to accuse him. Some crackpot in the FBI took this seriously enough that they sent out an investigator who – presumably because I gave the order not to admit Harris – lifted that order and told Harris." Ziva's eyes snapped angrily, and McGee's jaw dropped. "Harris got into DiNozzo's room – I'm not sure how, McGee, I want you on that." McGee nodded. "DiNozzo was alone, so Harris attacked him. I don't know any of the details, but it can't have been long and . . ." He pursed his lips. "He was clothed."

"The scrubs still?" Dr. Benoit asked. Gibbs nodded.

"Not a hospital gown, then?" Ziva asked, looking relieved. Gibbs nodded again, turning faintly sick at the thought that if DiNozzo hadn't made his break the night before, Harris would have caught him in a hospital gown, open at the back and covering next to nothing.

He shook himself. "We aren't stopping our investigation, but be discreet. There's a chance Harris can turn anything we do to favor himself."

"Right." McGee blinked at his computer screen. "How do I discreetly request footage from Bethesda, and what time am I looking for?"

"First, he attacked a Navy doctor who interfered with him, which is in our purview. Request the footage on that basis. The attack was at approximately 0900."

"Got it, Boss. Do we have a name for the doctor?"

"Dr. Brad Pitt."

"What was he doing there?" Ziva demanded, coming to her feet, her voice rising with alarm. "Is Tony having lung issues?"

"He was there as a friend," Gibbs said mildly, and both Ziva and McGee relaxed slightly. Dr. Benoit merely looked confused. "Now, I'm going to go talk to Abby." He pivoted on his heel and went to the elevator. This time no one tried to call him back.

After a moment, during which both McGee and Ziva commenced working like furies, Jeanne said, "Lung issues?"

Ziva looked up briefly, her face tense, and said, "It is nothing."

"That didn't sound like nothing to me," Jeanne replied.

McGee cleared his throat and then seemed to hesitate. "Tony had an illness a couple of years ago," he said. Ziva gave him a sharp look, but he continued after moistening his lips. "Complications crop up now and then, sometimes in connection with injuries to his torso."

"What illness?" Jeanne asked.

McGee pressed his lips together. "I'm sorry, I think the rest is still classified," he said.

"The illness is classified?" Jeanne asked, staring incredulously.

"Yes," Ziva said. "If we told you, we'd have to kill you."

Oddly enough, the familiar old saw didn't sound quite like a joke when Ziva said it.

Chapter Text

Sunday, 1029, NCIS Headquarters

Gibbs walked into Abby's lab to total silence. She had her back to him, working at one of her computers, but DiNozzo was nowhere to be seen. Gibbs felt a moment of alarm, but then he realized that Abby would have called him if there was something wrong. He walked up right behind her and started to speak, but before he could, she turned around and put a finger to her lips. He raised his eyebrows. "He's sleeping," she signed.

Gibbs looked around and gave her an exaggerated expression of inquiry. Sign language was as much body language as it was gesture. She pointed towards her inner office. Gibbs walked softly into that room and saw DiNozzo asleep on the floor behind Abby's desk. He lay partially on the futon, which wasn't nearly long enough for his frame, and he was hugging the farting hippo.

After backing out silently, he turned to Abby. "What happened?" he signed.

She glanced over at DiNozzo. "He came in here a little high strung. He talked for a while about a lot of nothing, sort of pacing around the room." She made her signs a little larger than normal to indicate that DiNozzo was loud and upset. "I just tried to keep up with what he was saying. I knew he just needed to . . ." She shrugged and he nodded. DiNozzo had needed to vent his emotion without talking about what was really bothering him. "Finally, he just leaned against the glass." She nodded towards the wall of refrigeration. "And slid down it, sitting with his knees up. He told me what happened today."

"Details?"

She shook her head. "Just that Harris showed up and messed with him. He said it wasn't more than a few minutes before you came in. He . . ." She paused, hesitating. Gibbs spread his hands inquisitively. "He kind of unglued on me." She glanced in DiNozzo's direction again. "Don't tell him I told you."

Gibbs tapped her shoulder to get her to face him again. "Even if he was looking, he doesn't understand sign," he pointed out.

She rolled her eyes. "Anyway, he cried for a while and I told him none of it was his fault, and he said he knows that now, but that he can't figure out what Brody sees in him." She grimaced. "I offered him Burt to hold and got back to work. A few minutes later, he dug out the futon and lay down in my office."

"Don't think he slept much at the hospital," Gibbs signed.

"Who does?" she asked.

He shrugged. "Call me if he needs anything."

She gave him a thumbs up and got back to work.

Sunday, 1035, NCIS Headquarters

Jeanne wondered what was going on downstairs. Presumably Agent Gibbs had gone to see Tony, but Jeanne didn't even know how to get to autopsy. The only places she knew how to get to from here were the conference room, the interrogation rooms and the forensics lab. None of those seemed likely to help her at the moment. The need to see Tony, to talk to him, to offer him comfort, it was almost physical. He needed comfort, and it couldn't all come from his coworkers. Support from that quarter was important, and she would never demean it, but he needed to know that there were other people who cared about him. From what everyone around her had said, she'd begun to develop a suspicion that the only real family Tony had were Gibbs, McGee and Ziva. Jeanne was determined to rectify that.

She tried to focus on an article on prosthetics, but ways she could make up past wrongs to Tony kept popping into her mind. Some of them were agreeable fantasies, and not all of them involved much conversation. She had long ago perfected the art of daydreaming while appearing to study, so she continued to look at the pages, turning one every so often, and contemplated taking Tony into her arms and making him feel better. A part of her knew it wasn't a realistic notion. Good sex was not the cure for rape, no matter how sleazy novelists portrayed it. He might not want intimate contact with anyone for a while. Besides, there were a few things they really needed to talk about before there was any chance of restarting a physical relationship.

First, they needed to hash out the ways they'd hurt each other. Tony both had and hadn't chosen to hurt her, she recognized that now. He'd chosen to do the job knowing that it could – and almost certainly would – hurt an innocent, but she knew now, however much her heart might want to deny it, that her father had been a criminal. Cops had to stop criminals. She wasn't sure what the goal of cultivating her had been, perhaps Tony had been supposed to get close to her father through her. Regardless, in the real world, good people sometimes had to do bad things to have a good effect. Like buying black market drugs to give sick children, even when you knew that the drugs had been stolen from the aid caravan that had been bringing them to the village in the first place. Standing on principle might be the ethical, the idealistic thing to do, but if it killed children, was it the moral thing to do? She hadn't had to make that decision, but she knew people who had.

This wasn't the pleasant fantasy she'd started out with. She sighed and sat back, stretching. They had a lot to work out, not the least of which was her own vicious attack on him. If he could forgive that, she would be grateful, but she certainly didn't expect it. He might not have chosen to hurt her for the sake of hurting her, but she had most assuredly set out with the intent of hurting him. Looking back, she evaluated her thoughts and feelings on the day she'd gotten the call that her father was dead. She didn't know now if she'd truly believed Tony was guilty, or if she'd seized on an opportunity and ignored the incongruities because it suited her.

A voice startled her out of her contemplation. "Where's Gibbs?" She looked over and saw a man in a suit and trench coat standing at the other end of the row of desks. He had salt and pepper hair and a ferrety face, but it was clear that both Ziva and McGee knew him, and knew him well. Beside him stood a tall woman with blond hair. She, too, wore a suit, and she wore it well.

"He went down to talk to Abby," McGee said. "I can call –"

"No need," Gibbs said, walking in between the desk Jeanne inhabited and McGee's. "DiNozzo is asleep, Fornell, and I'd just as soon leave him that way."

"That's what you said at two this morning."

"Well, I'm saying it again now."

"That's fine," said the woman unexpectedly. "I think we should start with Agent Gibbs." She held out her hand and Gibbs shook it. "I'm Special Agent Gillian Glick."

"Special Agent Gibbs," he replied. "So, where do you want to talk to me? I can take you to our interrogation rooms if you'd like."

"I assume they have all the recording equipment one expects under those circumstances?" Gibbs nodded, looking slightly bemused. "Then that would be ideal. I think it would be best for all concerned if we kept a clear record of these proceedings."

Gibbs nodded. He turned to Ziva and spoke in a low voice. "DiNozzo's asleep in Abby's office. You and McGee stay away for now. I don't think he slept much last night."

Ziva nodded. "Yes, Gibbs," she said.

"Agent Glick, Tobias, follow me." He led them towards that back elevator again and Jeanne bit her lip. Abby's lab. She knew where that was. The trouble was, she wasn't sure how easily she could get away from her minders. She glanced at both of them. McGee might actually be pretty easy. He had the focus that really intense computer geeks tended to develop. If she murmured some excuse about the restroom when she got up, he'd probably never notice. Ziva was the real difficulty. She was on the phone, but even so, her eyes were never stationary.

Her voice rose slightly, making it harder to tune her words out. "You cannot send it?" she demanded, sounding irritated. "Very well. I will be there shortly. It had better be waiting for me."

"What's up?" McGee asked as Ziva rose.

"Detective Harris worked a case with NCIS three years ago," she said. "I am pulling the file to read the agent's notes in case there's anything that might be pertinent, but apparently it involves some classified project or other, and I have to pick it up personally and sign for it."

"Bummer," McGee said, and turned back to his computer.

"Yes, it is indeed a bummer," Ziva replied, her tone making it clear that she wasn't altogether comfortable with the idiom. "You will need to keep an eye on our guest while I am gone."

Jeanne looked down at her journal as Ziva left, hoping that the other woman's reminder would not, in fact, make Agent McGee more vigilant. She skimmed an article on skin graft techniques. It wouldn't do to get up immediately. For one thing, he'd just had that reminder. For another, it might look a little suspicious. On the other hand, she daren't wait too long, because she didn't know how far Ziva had to go.

She let out a sigh, stood up, and stretched. McGee looked up. "Little girl's room," she said, and he nodded, returning his attention to his monitor. She walked in the direction of the women's restroom, then made for the door to the stairs instead. The elevator would make noise, and there was always the chance she'd run into someone. No one seemed to use the stairs much.

When she arrived on the right floor, she paused on the landing, peering out the window in the door to see if anyone was in the hallway. Not a soul. She opened the door and started walking along as if she belonged. At least she hoped she looked like that – she might just look self conscious and weird. It occurred to her as she drew near the open doorway that she had no idea what she was going to say to Abby. She walked into the little entry way, clearly designed for complete biochemical hazard lockdown, and saw that Abby was standing in front of a computer, a pair of headphones on her ears. Jeanne could faintly hear the music coming from them. She stepped inside and looked around. Tony wasn't visible, but the glass door opposite where she stood clearly led to an office. The sliding glass door was in the open position.

Just then, Abby turned away and went to one of the cabinets along the wall between the windows. This put her back to the door and Jeanne. Jeanne seized the opportunity and hurried across the room into the office.

There she found Tony, lying on his side on a futon that was a good six inches too short for him. In his arms he held a stuffed hippopotamus, and his brow was furrowed. He was making those faces and half-formed gestures that Jeanne associated with his bad dreams. She knelt immediately and started stroking his arm and rubbing his back. That usually calmed him, and this time was no different. Once he was calm, she shifted sideways so that she was sitting with her legs bent beside her and kept stroking his arm. She'd like to stroke his hair, but she was afraid of hitting his stitches.

She dropped her hand to her side. He was all she wanted in a man. Had she screwed things up beyond recall?

The twitches started up again, this time with accompanying vocal sounds. If he'd been awake, she thought he'd probably be yelling, but as it was, the sound was muted. Jeanne lay down behind him, pressing herself against his body and stroking his arm. On occasions in the past when his dreams had proven intractable, all she could do to stop them was take him in her arms. She hugged him tightly and was relieved to feel a cessation of the tremors.

The warmth of his body so close to hers felt wonderful and reminded her of other times, better times. She snuggled closer and before she knew it, her own exhaustion caught up with her and she fell asleep.

Sunday, 1041, NCIS Headquarters

Gibbs gave instructions to the technician in the observation room, then went to join Fornell and Glick. He sat on the witness/suspect side of the table facing the two FBI agents and waited.

Glick sat forward. "Agent Gibbs, can you tell me when you first became aware of the relationship between Officer Harris and Agent DiNozzo?"

Gibbs looked at his watch. "Approximately forty-one hours ago," he said.

She made a note and looked up again. "Were you aware that Agent DiNozzo was in a homosexual relationship?"

"Nope," Gibbs said.

"Did you know he was in any kind of relationship at all?" Gibbs shook his head. He was irritated with himself for not knowing, for not being as aware of DiNozzo as he should have been. "Would you have had a problem with the relationship if you'd been aware of it?"

"Yes," Gibbs said, and the pair exchanged startled looks.

"What do you mean?"

Gibbs rolled his eyes. "Look, I don't give a damn who any of my people sleep with, so long as their partners aren't abusive," Gibbs said. "Harris was abusive.

"But you didn't know about Harris?"

"Not until I got the call from Dr. Benoit."

"Why did you put Detective Harris on the no admit list at Bethesda?"

"DiNozzo had just told me that Harris had been stalking him for six weeks," Gibbs replied. "That he had changed his locks because Harris had a key to his old locks. It seemed prudent."

"Did Agent DiNozzo ask you to prevent Harris from getting in?"

"No, he did not."

"So you took it upon yourself?"

"I did."

"Do you think the fact that Agent DiNozzo didn't make that request implies that he didn't want Harris kept away?"

"No, I think it implies he was suffering the aftereffects of a head injury and trauma," Gibbs said. He glanced at Fornell, and the other FBI agent simply spread his hands as if to say Gibbs should just go with it. "I take care of my people," he said.

"Yes, so I have heard," Glick said, nodding. "You keep tabs on their movements, you require them to follow a series of rules that you made up, you demand that they be available twenty-four/seven, right?"

Gibbs scowled at her. "The job we do requires they be available twenty-four/seven, just as yours does, the rules are common sense practices that regard the job, and I don't keep tabs on anyone's movements unless I have a valid investigative reason."

"According to Harris, you always seemed to know where Agent DiNozzo was," Glick replied, tilting her head curiously.

Gibbs shrugged. "Have you ever met DiNozzo?" he asked. She shook her head, raising an eyebrow. "Everyone in range of his voice tends to know where DiNozzo is going on most evenings."

"Did you know he was going to Hanrahan's on Friday night?"

"No." Gibbs looked down at his hands. "Friday he was pretty quiet." That had been one of the warning signs he'd noticed. DiNozzo went gradually silent about after hours stuff over the past week or two.

"Could you give me an example of these 'rules'?" Glick asked.

Gibbs rolled his eyes. "Rule one," he said. "Never let suspects stay together. Rule two, always wear gloves at a crime scene. Rule three, never be unreachable. Any of those sound unreasonable?"

"There are more, aren't there?"

"Like rule 12," Fornell said, his eye twitching with amusement.

Gibbs glowered at him. "Never date a co-worker. Good advice wherever you work."

"Very," Glick said dryly. "Are you having a sexual relationship with Agent DiNozzo?"

Gibbs blinked at her, then turned to Fornell. "So, have you decided yet?"

"Jury's out," Fornell said.

Glick watched them without expression, apparently just waiting for Gibbs to answer. "No, Agent Glick, DiNozzo and I are not having a sexual relationship. We have never had a sexual relationship, and we will never have a sexual relationship. For one thing, I don't swing that way, and frankly I don't think he does either."

"But he had this relationship with Detective Harris," Glick said.

"It is possible to have a relationship with a member of the same gender and not be gay," Gibbs pointed out.

"Bi?" she suggested, tilting her head.

"I don't give a damn what you call it."

"Has Agent DiNozzo ever had a homosexual relationship before?"

"Not that I am aware of."

"But he didn't tell you about his relationship with Detective Harris."

"No. He didn't."

"Why do you think that is?"

"You'd have to ask DiNozzo the answer to that."

"I asked you what you think, Agent Gibbs."

"I think . . . you'd better ask DiNozzo." Gibbs had his own opinions about the answer to that question, and they were none of Glick's business.

She nodded. "Well, I think that should be all for now. Can you check if Agent DiNozzo is awake yet? If not, we should probably talk to Dr. Benoit."

Gibbs gave Fornell a glare, but he rose. "I'll be back shortly." He left the room and went straight to Abby's lab. He wasn't at all certain he thought Agent Glick needed to talk to DiNozzo, unless she took a different tack with him than she had with Gibbs. He walked into Abby's lab and found her listening to music on her headphones. Disregarding her, he went into the office and stared dumbly at what he found. DiNozzo now lay on his back, the stuffed hippo forgotten beside him. His arms were around a much more attractive figure. Dr. Benoit lay half on her stomach and half on DiNozzo, her head cushioned on his chest, her arm across him, their hands entwined together, fingers interlaced.

Gibbs backed out slowly and tapped Abby on the shoulder. She looked over at him, eyes wide. Gibbs raised his hands. "Did you know you had another guest?" he signed. Her brows knit and she shook her head. "Benoit," he fingerspelled, and then he pointed.

She went to the window and peered in, then turned, her eyes wide with astonishment. "How sweet!" she replied, her gestures large enough to make it an exclamation.

"Don't wake them," Gibbs signed, and he went out of the lab. Upstairs in the bullpen, he found Ziva and McGee hard at work. He walked into the space and looked around. "Anybody know where Dr. Benoit is?" he asked loudly.

"She went to the restroom," McGee said absently, his eyes on his monitor.

Ziva looked up, glanced down and her eyes widened. "It has been twenty minutes since you told me that," she said, rising. "We had better find her." They both started to go into panicked search mode, McGee starting in one direction, Ziva in the other.

"Oh, I know where she is," Gibbs said once they'd gotten to the opposite ends of the bullpen from each other. Both turned in surprise.

"What?"

Gibbs gave them an amused grin. "I just wondered if you did."

"Where is she?" Ziva demanded.

"In Abby's lab."

"She's with Abby?" McGee asked. "Why didn't Abby tell us?"

Gibbs shrugged. "Abby didn't know." He started to walk away. He'd have to come up with someone else to throw to Fornell and Glick.

Ziva followed him. "What is she doing there?"

"Sleeping," Gibbs said, getting on the elevator. Ziva's eyes widened as the doors closed between them. He went to the interrogation room and opened the door. He beckoned to Fornell, who rose and came out.

"Where's DiNozzo?" Fornell asked.

"Still sleeping," Gibbs replied.

"And Benoit?"

Gibbs shrugged. "Also sleeping."

"Gibbs, how –" Fornell broke off, and Gibbs saw the suspicion awake in his eyes. "You don't mean –"

Gibbs snorted. "Oh yeah."

"But she accused him of murder!" Fornell exclaimed.

Gibbs nodded. "Yeah."

"Glick is going to want to talk to one of them," Fornell said.

"How about Hamlin and Simons?" Gibbs suggested.

"The two who attacked DiNozzo at the beginning of this fiasco?" Fornell nodded. "I can probably sell her on that, but you can't keep DiNozzo incommunicado for too much longer without feeding into Harris's claims."

Gibbs shrugged and went to give the orders to send Hamlin in to be questioned. Then he placed himself squarely behind the mirrored glass in the observation room. He wanted to see this for himself.

Chapter Text

Sunday, 1347, NCIS Headquarters

Tony woke up slowly, feeling very warm and comfortable. Given that he knew where he'd gone to sleep, that seemed odd. He opened his eyes, and, lifting his head, he saw curly brown hair laying tumbled across his chest. His right fingers tightened automatically around the hand he held in his. The handclasp felt so familiar, so indefinably right that he had to convince himself that he wasn't dreaming. How on earth had this come about, he wondered.

Mundane needs intruded themselves on his mind, but he ignored them, wanting this moment to last as long as possible. In this bubble of time, he could pretend that nothing had changed between them. His squeezing hand must have awakened her, however, because she tilted her head up and their eyes met. A faint flush stole across her cheeks, but she didn't immediately move. "Are you okay?" she asked softly.

"Fine," he said. "I just . . . I need to . . ." She flushed again as the meaning of his unfinished sentence penetrated, and they disentangled themselves self-consciously. "I didn't want to wake you."

She shook her head. "No, don't worry about it. I . . . I didn't mean to fall asleep."

"Stay here," he said, puzzling over what exactly that response meant. "I'll be back in a minute."

She nodded, and he rose to his feet. Abby was working in silence, which had to have been a concession to him. She looked up as he entered the main lab. "Tony, are you okay?"

"I'm fine."

"Where's Jeanne?" Abby asked.

"Still waking up," Tony said. "Did . . . did anyone see us?"

Abby nodded. "Gibbs came in. That's the only reason I knew she was in there with you, actually. She must have snuck in."

Tony blinked. "I'll be back shortly. Don't let her leave."

"I won't," Abby said, glancing over at her office, seeming puzzled.

Jeanne brought her knees up to her chest and tried to contain her emotions. He hadn't seemed angry at her presumption. She couldn't believe she'd fallen asleep while trying to soothe his nightmare away. He'd have a perfect right to be furious with her invasion of his privacy.

Feeling his hand squeezing hers, his arm around her, she hadn't wanted to wake up. She squirmed a little with embarrassment. What must he think of her, lying down beside him while he was asleep and couldn't object?

Footsteps made her look up. Abby was looking down at her, the oddest expression on her face. Jeanne realized that she had also invaded Abby's privacy, and she felt her cheeks flush. She started to get up, but before she could, Abby collapsed down to sit beside her. "Did you have a nice nap?" she asked cheerily.

Jeanne flushed hotter, but she decided to brazen it out. "Yes, actually," she said. "Unexpected, but nice."

"You looked very comfortable."

Jeanne glanced over at her, a dreadful surmise coming into her mind. "Did anyone else see us?" she asked.

"Just Gibbs," Abby said, and Jeanne groaned. "Oh, he wasn't mad or anything," Abby said hastily. "He told me not to wake you guys up."

"I was just trying to stop his nightmare," Jeanne said. "I didn't set out to . . . to . . ."

"Get all cute and cuddly?" Abby suggested, and Jeanne felt her cheeks flush again. "I don't think Tony minded," she said. "So . . . still in love, huh?"

Jeanne's jaw dropped. "That's . . . very personal."

Abby nodded. "You were sleeping in my office."

Jeanne had to admit the truth of this, and that it lent a peculiar intimacy to the relationship, but she shook her head. "It's still very personal."

"Yes, but, see, you were sleeping in here with my Tony. You do remember that he's my Tony?"

Jeanne gave Abby a penetrating look. "But you're not dating him, and don't want to?" she asked.

"No."

"So, in what way is he yours?"

"Because I'm the person who's going to hurt you if you break his heart again."

Jeanne nodded slowly. "I see. I don't think you're the only one."

Abby shook her head. "No, I'm not. Isn't that nice?"

Jeanne gazed at her solemnly. "Actually, yes, I think it is. You and the others, you're Tony's only real family, aren't you?"

"Well, since his father would have to improve to be pondscum, yes," Abby replied, her eyes snapping. "But you've got to understand, I'm a forensic scientist. I have the best chance of anyone on earth of killing someone and not getting caught."

"That's . . . good to know," Jeanne said, not sure what else she should say. "How long have you known Tony?"

"Almost seven years," Abby replied. "I was here before he came, though not all that long."

"So you and he and Gibbs have been together for a long time?"

A cup was placed firmly on the desk in front of them. It was brightly colored and had the words "Caf-Pow!" inscribed on the side. Tony's hand was still wrapped around it.

"Tony! For me?" Abby exclaimed.

"On one condition," Tony said, his eyes calculating.

Abby drew back, looking mockingly suspicious. "What's the condition?" she asked.

"You leave us alone and close the door."

Abby and Tony locked eyes for a moment, then she shrugged and got up. "I can do that. I'm going to have to tell Gibbs you're awake, though."

"You haven't already?" Tony asked.

"Not yet." She took the drink and left the room, flipping a switch that seemed to control the door, because it slid shut behind her.

Tony sat down next to Jeanne, mirroring her position, and they were both silent for several moments. Jeanne wasn't sure what to say, or what he wanted, and her stomach churned with anticipation. He'd definitely arranged for them to be alone together, which was a first since she'd come back, but she didn't really know what that meant.

"I didn't –" Jeanne said, but he spoke at the same moment, and they both broke off, looking away.

Tony dropped his head down on his knees, and Jeanne took advantage of the movement to get a peek at his stitches. The bandage was off, and she could see that they were healing well enough amid the stubble of regrowing hair. Not much inflammation. Unfortunately, she couldn't see any of his other injuries. He'd taken refuge in blue jeans and a dark red turtleneck with long sleeves, covering every inch of his skin beyond his hands and head. Tony looked up, and she noticed new bruises on his face. "What are you doing?"

"Checking your stitches for signs of infection," she said, hoping he hadn't noticed that she hadn't only looked at his head.

"You know, Ducky already checked me out pretty thoroughly," Tony pointed out.

"I assumed so," Jeanne said. Those bruises looked as if someone had clamped a hand over Tony's mouth. She tore her eyes away and looked at the drawers of the desk in front of her. "Agent Gibbs said he took you to autopsy."

"Then why were you looking?" he asked irritably.

"I'm a doctor, Tony, it's kind of automatic," she said. "Like the way you reached for the gun you didn't have that last night."

Tony didn't respond immediately. After a long moment, he sighed. "You noticed that, huh?"

"Hard to miss," she said. She turned her body to face him, crossing her legs and reaching out daringly to take one of his hands in hers. He didn't pull it back. "What happened, Tony?" she asked, infusing the question with all the compassion she could without sounding condescending.

He looked up, brow furrowed, his hand limp in hers. "What do you mean?"

"How did this . . . ." She waved her free hand in the air, uncertain what word encompassed recent events. "How did all this come about?"

Tony shrugged, his chin dropping. "I don't know," he said. "I screwed up. Again."

Jeanne reached forward and put a finger under his chin, lifting his face. "Tony?" His eyes met hers reluctantly. "Stop it. This isn't your fault."

"I'm a law enforcement professional, I have training in profiling, and I misread Brody altogether. That is my fault. If you'd misdiagnosed something you'd seen before, you would feel like it was your fault."

Jeanne shook her head. "I don't generally try to diagnose the people I'm dating," she replied. "You –"

"I wasn't dating him!" Tony replied heatedly, drawing his hand back from hers, leaving her hand feeling cold and bereft. "There was no dating."

"Then what were you doing with him?" Jeanne asked, clasping her hands together to keep from reaching for him immediately. "I mean, you're not gay, are you?" Ziva had already answered that, but even Ziva had to be wrong sometimes.

Tony crossed his arms on his knees and turned his head away, every line of his body informing her of his discomfort with the question. "No, I'm not gay. I'm not bi, either. I've never been interested in a guy before or since."

"So . . . what happened?"

Tony shook his head. "I needed . . . something." His voice was flat, and he was still looking away. What did 'something' equal? Sex? Jeanne really didn't like the thought of him with someone else, man or woman, but that wasn't the point. Jealousy wouldn't help him right now. She considered the question as dispassionately as she was able. She didn't think that sex could be the whole equation. "And I couldn't get it . . . the normal way."

Jeanne blinked at him, wondering what 'the normal way' implied beyond the obvious. How promiscuous was he – normally? "And?" she prompted when he fell silent.

"And Brody offered it in a way that was sufficiently different that it worked," Tony said, shrugging. The relaxed gesture was at odds with the tension in his voice and with the way his hands were fisted. "I guess. I don't know. I just couldn't . . ." He closed his eyes and put the heels of his hands against them. "I can't talk about this," he said in a strangled voice, but he didn't make any move to leave. Jeanne gave in to the temptation that had been plaguing her. She rose to her knees and gave him a tight hug. He stiffened briefly, then relaxed into the embrace, one of his hands reaching down to squeeze the arm he could easily reach. She held him for a long moment, then shifted to sit next to him, one arm still around him, offering comfort. When he didn't object, she reached out and took his hand again, and just sat, waiting. It was a struggle to keep her reactions off her face. She was angry with Brody, angry with herself, desperately worried about Tony, but he needed a calm supporter. Giving rein to those emotions would not help her provide that for him. He turned his head and looked at her, his eyes very dark green, reflecting his unsettled emotions. "Why are you here?" he asked.

She ventured a smile. "Would you believe I'm under orders not to talk about it?" she asked.

His body jerked, and she realized he'd snorted. A mordant humor entered his eyes. "Gibbs, huh?" he asked, and she nodded. "You know, he's not your boss. You don't have to do what he says."

"No, but that's not why. And it's not that palpable air of authority he exudes either." She squeezed his hand, wishing he'd lose some of the tension that thrummed through his body. "It's the fact that he genuinely cares about you."

"Yeah, I'm a good agent," Tony said dryly, looking away.

"That's not what I mean," Jeanne said, frustrated by his immediate reinterpretation of her words. "He cares about you, not just your job."

Tony's lips tightened, and he turned to scan her face. After a moment, his eyes dropped. "I know."

He sounded strangely uneasy with this knowledge, and Jeanne found herself wondering just how hard that admission had been to make. She leaned her head on his shoulder. "What made Brody's offer okay?" she asked.

He tensed up again, and she thought he wasn't going to answer, but then he cleared his throat. "No strings," he said finally. "No expectations and no guilt." Jeanne felt a sinking feeling in her gut, and she concealed the reaction as best she could. What she'd suspected was true. It was her fault he'd wound up with that man. She had sent him out to find what he needed wherever he could, and he'd found an abusive bastard. Jeanne squeezed his hand tightly. Tony sighed. "If it had been what it was supposed to have been, it would have worked out, at least for a while."

"But what was it you needed?" Jeanne asked, and he gave her a startled look. "I can't believe it was sex. You went more than a month without it when we first started dating, and even though I knew you wanted me, it didn't seem to be that much of a struggle for you to hold back."

Tony was silent for a moment, then he spoke in a very neutral voice. "How do you know I went without?"

She butted him with her shoulder gently. "Because I know," she said. "Or are you saying you didn't?"

"No, I'm not." Tony blinked at the back of Abby's desk chair. This conversation had taken a surreal turn. What could she possibly be getting at? "I don't understand what you mean. Sex is what I was after."

"With Brody?" She asked the question neutrally, but he could tell the idea upset her.

"Yeah," he said, and he looked away.

"But you . . ." She paused and he wondered what she was thinking. He was afraid to look at her, afraid of what her expression would be, and upon realizing that, he forced himself to turn and study her face. Her brows were knit thoughtfully, her lips gently pursed. He wanted to know what was going on in her head. Finally she cleared her throat. "This may sound goofy, and I know it's touchy-feely, but you couldn't exactly ask Brody to hold you." She shook him gently, as though to remind him how readily he'd accepted her embrace, both waking and sleeping. "If there's one thing I learned about you over those months, it's that you crave touch, and not just sexual touch."

"I like sexual touch," Tony said, a tad defensively, though at the moment the whole idea made him want to hide in a corner.

"Duh," she said teasingly. "But adults don't get a lot of other kinds of touch, not unless they're in a committed relationship with someone who likes to cuddle."

Tony nodded slowly. What she was saying made some sense. Any number of the girls he'd taken to bed over the last fifteen or so years had been startled by his tendency to snuggle up after sex – or even before. He liked the warmth, the closeness. He was getting some of that right now, he realized self-consciously, from a woman he'd hurt and hurt badly. He started to pull away and was startled to find that she hung on.

Jeanne poked him gently on the knee. "You like to cuddle." He shrugged and relaxed. If she didn't object, why should he? She'd initiated the contact, after all.

"What does that have to do with Brody?" he asked.

"Have you ever had cuddling without physical intimacy?"

Tony blinked. His initial response was to dismiss the question with a joke, but Jeanne was really trying to make a connection, and he couldn't disregard that. He considered the question, thinking back over his life. His father had never touched him except to discipline him. His mother had shown him off, but he didn't remember ever sitting with her unless it was some kind of special event where he had to be on his best behavior. He cleared his throat, feeling obscurely ashamed of his answer. "There may have been one or two nannies when I was little," he said. "But I honestly don't remember. I spent most of my time at boarding school, where I was in trouble a lot."

Jeanne squeezed him tighter. "This is a basic human need, you know," she said. "Being touched like this, physical affection. Some people need it more than others, just like some people need vitamin D more than others."

"You think I wound up with Brody because I needed a hug?" Tony asked, more than a little appalled with himself.

She gave him an irritated glare. "That's a neat way to minimize a complex emotional need," she said, and he grimaced, looking away. "I know it's touchy-feely, and you're a big, tough federal agent, but there's nothing wrong with needing human contact. If sex is how you get it most of the time, then you're going to go after sex, and if Brody hadn't turned out to be a nut job, it would have been fine."

"So, it doesn't bother you that I've been with a guy?" he asked.

"It bothers me that he treated you badly," Jeanne replied, evading the question. "I assume you used proper protection."

Tony froze, his gut twisting almost painfully. He'd managed not to think about that aspect of things for a while, but the memory of being dragged into his own bedroom and forced onto his bed flooded back with a vengeance. Jeanne's arms tightened around him, but she didn't speak. After several seconds, he found his voice again. "I . . . wasn't always given the option of choosing," he said.

"Have you been tested?" she asked. He nodded. "Anonymously, I suppose?"

He shook his head. "No need. What with my sex life, I get tested fairly regularly. You'll note, we always used protection."

"Your sex life?" she repeated, tilting her head.

Unaccountably, Tony flushed. He'd never ever been embarrassed about his sex life, but this moment seemed to be different. "Before you, I was kind of a busy guy," he said. "Remember me telling you I had commitment problems?"

She nodded. "And I remember telling you that I didn't see any."

"Well, they exist." Jeanne didn't seem to know what to say to that. She continued to lean against Tony, her head on his shoulder, her arm around his back, her other hand holding his. It felt like coming home after a long absence, and he wanted the moment to last as long as possible because he knew it would never come again.

"Do you mind if I ask about your test results?" she said.

He shook his head. "All negative, always," he replied. "I've never caught anything from a sex partner besides the flu."

She laughed. "Healthy as a horse, huh?" There was an odd tone in her voice, and Tony looked at her narrowly.

"Has someone been telling tales out of school?" he asked.

"Are there tales to tell?" He just gazed at her. "When they heard that Dr. Pitt was in your room, both McGee and Ziva came out of their chairs with worry."

Tony rolled his eyes. "I haven't had a problem with that in over a year," he groaned.

"A problem with what?" Jeanne asked. "Or is it classified like McGee said?"

Tony furrowed his brows. "I suppose it is, in a way."

"The illness is classified?"

"That it was possible, I think," Tony said. "I was the victim of an act of domestic terrorism."

Her eyes widened. "Anthrax?" she asked.

He shook his head. "Plague," he replied, watching to see how she reacted.

If anything, her eyes grew wider still. "Pneumonic?"

"That's the one. An antibiotic resistant strain that had been developed by scientists so they could come up with a defense against it."

She shook her head, seeming almost dumbfounded. Finally, she said, "How badly sick were you?"

"Oh, I was never in any real danger," Tony said airily. "Once Gibbs ordered me not to die, I was safe as houses."

Jeanne shook her head, brow crinkled up adorably. "He ordered you not to die?"

"That he did," Tony said. He cleared his throat. "So, you avoided the question when I asked if it bothered you that I'd been with a man."

"I didn't avoid it . . . exactly," she countered, her brows knitting.

"Does it bother you?" he asked, not sure why he was pressing the issue. It wasn't as if it made a difference. Her opinion shouldn't matter to him. He held his breath. It shouldn't, but it did.

She didn't answer right away, and he suffered agonies in the waiting. "It bothers me that you were with someone else," she said finally, and his eyes widened. "I know," she said defensively. "I resigned any right I ever had to an opinion on you seeing other people not once, but twice, but it still . . . I don't like to think of you with someone else. I . . . I still love you." Her cheeks flushed crimson, and Tony didn't know what to say. His heart exploded with joy, his head said that was idiotic, and his buttocks were going to sleep.

The door opened, and Tony got to his feet with alacrity when he saw Gibbs entering the room. He bent immediately to help Jeanne up, and held her hands a moment longer than necessary for the task, but then he turned his attention towards his boss very firmly.

Gibbs gave him a penetrating look. "DiNozzo, you okay?"

"Everyone keeps asking me that," Tony said. "I'm . . ." Gibbs raised an eyebrow, and Tony knew that he was demanding an honest answer. "I'm going to be fine," he said, which was the closest he could manage to 'my world has turned upside down, I don't know which way's up, and the pins and needles in my butt make it uncomfortable to move.'

"Fornell is here to investigate the case." Tony nodded, but before he could ask the question on his lips, Gibbs answered it. "Agent Manton has been reassigned." Gibbs somehow managed to make that imply the outer rings of hell as the assignment. "There is a new agent investigating Harris's allegations."

"That hasn't been dropped after his new attack on Tony?" Jeanne asked.

"Unfortunately, no," Gibbs said, giving her an unreadable look. Turning back to Tony, he said, "They want to talk to you. I still can't be present, but Dr. Pitt is here." He glanced towards the lab and Tony saw that Abby was talking to Brad. "They're waiting in the conference room."

"The conference room?" Tony asked. "But – what about the interview rooms?"

"Fornell thought it was the wrong environment," Gibbs said with a shrug.

"I see." Tony gave his own shrug. "I guess I'd better go." He turned to Jeanne. "I'll talk to you more later," he said, and she nodded, eyes downcast. He gave her a quick hug and left the room.

Gibbs watched DiNozzo collect Dr. Pitt and head out. Once they were gone, he turned back towards the woman who stood before him. She looked uneasy but mildly defiant. "How'd you wind up asleep in here?" he asked, wondering what her answer would be. If she was truthful, he might give her some leeway, but the biggest reason he hadn't separated them immediately was that he thought it would cause more trouble than it would solve.

Her eyes dropped. "I wanted to see him," she said, then she raised her eyes to his. "I don't work for you, and I wasn't given any specific instructions to stay anywhere in particular."

"You weren't?" he asked mildly, and Dr. Benoit flushed.

"Okay, I knew I was supposed to stay with Ziva," she said. "And I didn't. I snuck away while she was getting a file and I told McGee I was going to the lady's room."

"Right. And Abby?"

"She had her back to the room. I just walked through." Dr. Benoit shrugged. "I know it was rude, and I'm sorry about that, but Tony was having a nightmare when I got here."

"A nightmare?" Gibbs repeated, mildly concerned. So far as he knew, DiNozzo wasn't prone to nightmares.

"He used to have them when . . . when we were together. Only sometimes, but it's easy enough to soothe him out of them. I leaned down to try and help calm him without waking him, and I must have fallen asleep."

Gibbs snorted. It was just nutty enough to be true, and she looked heartily embarrassed. "So, you were in here alone together for a while. What did you talk about?"

Dr. Benoit blinked at him. "That's actually pretty private."

He waited in silence. It was a technique that worked most of the time. The pressure built on the person being questioned till it became unbearable, and they had to talk. More often than not, they answered the question. DiNozzo usually cracked in seconds, but he often talked in circles till Gibbs reined him in.

Dr. Benoit stared back at him, then she crossed her arms. When she finally spoke, it was in a tone of polite conviction. "Agent Gibbs, I know that you care about Tony, and I'm glad he has someone who's so firmly on his side." He nodded thoughtfully. This wasn't cracking. "But the conversation I had with Tony just now is entirely private."

Gibbs knew that he had just been warned off. It had been done with civility and respect, but it was no less firm for all of that. It was a boundary he could honor. He relaxed his stance slightly, and saw that she recognized that she had won her point. He cleared his throat. "They'll want to see you after they're done with DiNozzo."

"I see," she said. He started towards the door, but she spoke before it opened. "Can I ask you a question, Agent Gibbs?"

He turned around. "I don't promise to answer it, but ask away."

"How badly was he sick with the plague? He passed it off with a joke."

Gibbs blinked. "You're a doctor, you know how serious plague is."

She nodded. "He said he was never in any real danger, but both McGee and Ziva reacted to your mention of Dr. Pitt with a strength that makes me doubt that."

Gibbs snorted. "The scientist who created the bug that got him gave DiNozzo the same chances as people in 'plagues of the past,'" Gibbs said. "He was in danger, all right."

"What is that in numbers?" Dr. Benoit asked.

Because she seemed to be in earnest, and because DiNozzo seemed to be giving her his trust, Gibbs answered her truthfully. "Fifteen percent," he said.

"My God," she breathed, covering her hand with her mouth. "Was he the only one infected?"

"Fortunately, yes," Gibbs said, reflecting that Kate's cold might have made her less able to fight the deadly illness off. Not that it had muttered in the long run, he thought bleakly. Dr. Benoit seemed to be done. He started towards the door again.

"Did you really order him to live?"

Gibbs laughed and didn't answer. He left her in Abby's office, staring after him.

Chapter Text

Sunday, 1439, NCIS Headquarters

Tony walked into the conference room to find that Fornell and his new partner had taken up one end of the table. She was a gorgeous brunette wearing a burgundy suit with a black lacy shell peeking out of the collar. Tony wondered if she had any more sense than Manton. It would be a challenge to have less. He walked in a shade uncertainly, uncomfortable with the thought of being the victim in a round of question and answer. It was one thing when Gibbs was asking the questions, and quite another when it was Fornell and a woman he didn't know.

"DiNutso," Fornell said, and Tony grinned, finding his footing immediately with that greeting. It at least gave him someplace to stand, even if he was still uneasy. "Have a seat," Fornell added.

"Sure, Toby," Tony said, pulling out a chair. Fornell's brows drew together. Maybe he was going a bit far with that one, but the man knew how Tony pronounced his last name. "And you are?" Tony said to the woman.

"Special Agent Gillian Glick," she said.

"This is Dr. Brad Pitt," Tony replied, as Brad took the seat next to him.

"We've already spoken with Dr. Pitt," Agent Glick said. "Why is he here?"

"I'm not allowed to have my first choice of person to support me through this," Tony said. "And after the crap Agent Manton said, I wanted an impartial witness to the proceedings. Thus far, I have no reason to think you'll be any better."

"Agent Fornell –"

"The last time Agent Fornell was involved in an investigation that concerned me, I was accused of serial murder, and he once dumped me on a busy freeway at night. Our relationship is somewhat convoluted." Fornell chuckled a little, but Agent Glick looked startled.

"He did what?"

"To be fair, I had just conspired to take a victim's body from under his nose."

"Take?" Fornell repeated. "Steal is the right word."

"The case was in our jurisdiction more than yours," Tony said.

"Is this relevant?" Brad asked.

"Not really," Fornell said. "DiNozzo, can you give us an account of your relationship with Detective Harris?"

Tony decided it that he liked it less when Fornell pronounced his name the way he said it. Rather like handcuffs and crime scene tape, it served to indicate that the situation was serious. He sighed. "Where do you want me to start?"

"When did you first meet Detective Harris?"

Tony shrugged. "About four or five months ago, at a bar. He hit on me, I declined, and that was about it."

"You don't recall meeting him before that?" Glick asked. Tony shook his head. "So, then what?"

"Then, a few weeks later, maybe three, but no more than five, three men attacked me."

"Can you give us the details of that attack?" she asked.

Tony described the attack again, aware of Brad growing irate beside him. He told them about letting Brody drive him home and come in for a beer, and about inviting him over the following night to watch a movie. "The Untouchables," he said in response to Glick's question. "It's one of my favorites. We had a few beers, he made another suggestion, and I agreed. He stayed the night. The team caught a case late the next morning, so after breakfast, Brody went home and I went to work."

"How did the relationship progress after that?" Agent Glick asked.

Tony shrugged, trying to conceal his embarrassment. "He'd leave notes on my windshield. Neither of us really wanted to be outed, so we didn't use the phone or e-mail."

"How did you communicate with him?" she asked.

"I . . . didn't, really." Tony looked down at his hands. "I let him take the lead. I wasn't . . . I didn't really know what I wanted, so I let him decide, most of the time, anyway."

"You say you didn't want to be outed, so I take it you were concerned about how other people would react to this relationship."

"Characterizing it as a 'relationship' seems too strong to me," Tony said. "I didn't want anyone to know I was screwing around with a guy. From my perspective it was a buddy thing, a release of tension, so to speak, and I made that clear from the outset. I told him I was specifically not looking for romance, I wanted sex with no strings."

"And he accepted that?" she asked.

"He said he did," Tony replied. "I had no reason to think otherwise until much later."

"So, what were your typical encounters like?"

Maybe having Brad here wasn't the best of ideas, but Tony wasn't going back on it now. "He'd show up at my place, we'd watch a movie, maybe have a pizza and beer while we watched, then we'd . . . have sex."

"Forgive me for being crude, but was one of you always the . . ." She seemed to run out of words.

"He fucked me, if that's what you're asking," Tony said flatly. "I never . . . he didn't . . . that's just the way it worked."

"I see." She made a note. "At what point did things start to go wrong from your point of view?"

"He started leaving clothes at my place, said it was more convenient. I gave him a key, because if he got there before I got home, he'd just hang out in the hallway, making my neighbors nervous. He started showing up on nights when we hadn't made any arrangements and surprising me – sometimes by not making his presence known till I'd been home for a while." He couldn't suppress a shudder at the memories that brought up. "He started asking me questions about my day that demonstrated knowledge of my activities that he shouldn't have had."

"Did you think he was following you?" Fornell asked.

"I was pretty sure he was following me, actually," Tony replied.

"So far none of this amounts to rape," Glick said. "Are you making that allegation, or does that originate with Agent Gibbs?"

Tony swallowed an uncomfortable lump in his throat. "He . . . he raped me," he said, and he felt his face flush.

"Can you describe it?"

"Which time?" Tony asked. "I don't have a good explanation of why I put up with it, I was convinced he was a good guy and that I must be sending the wrong signals, I guess. I also . . . I'd just come out of an incredibly bad relationship that was making sex with women an impossibility. I –"

"How so?"

Tony closed his eyes. "Without going into the classified details, I can tell you that I was given an undercover assignment to get close to a woman whose father was of interest to the agency. I had the bad luck to fall in love with her, and I didn't withdraw from the assignment. When the time came to reveal the truth, she took it badly. When her father was found dead about six months later, she returned and accused me of his murder." He looked up and found Agent Glick staring at him. "I felt that I had handled things poorly, and I was still in love with her. It was getting in the way of forming relationships with women, even casual ones."

"But it was different with Detective Harris," Glick asked.

"I believed it was," Tony said.

"Why don't you describe the first occasion that you think was rape," Fornell asked.

Tony took a deep breath. "I was coming home late on a Saturday night – we'd had a really rotten case that finished badly – I mean, we solved it, we caught the bad guys, but it had left a bad taste in my mouth. I wanted to kick back with a beer and watch a mindless movie, something without gray areas, and then go to bed." He paused uneasily. "I dropped my stuff by the door, walked into the kitchen to grab a beer, and when I walked out into the dining room, Brody grabbed me from behind. I told him I wasn't in the mood, but he was insistent. I told him no repeatedly, but he dragged me to my room, undressed me and . . ." Tony clamped his jaw shut.

"Were you afraid of him?" Glick asked.

Tony shrugged. "At the time, I thought that I just wasn't fighting back hard enough," he said. "I believed that if I'd just tried harder, I could have stopped him."

"You mean you could have convinced him that you didn't want to have sex?" Glick asked.

"No, nothing was convincing him of that," Tony said, shivering slightly. "When I kept telling him to stop, he took me by the neck and told me to shut up, and he threatened to . . . not to use any lubricant if I didn't stop objecting."

Glick was gazing at him with a neutral expression. "So you stopped." Tony nodded. "And this isn't the only time it happened that way?" Tony shook his head. "Why didn't you tell him to shove off?"

"I just convinced myself that it was my fault, I guess. I know it doesn't make a lot of sense, but I didn't want it, I told him no, and he pressed on anyway."

"How many times?"

"I don't know," Tony said. "I wasn't really keeping track."

"Did you ever have willing sex with him after he started forcing you?"

"Once or twice, I think," Tony said. "I started making excuses, staying at the office all night on nights when I knew he was free, any avoidance tactic I could think of, but always soft pedal. I didn't want to get into a fight, and I knew if I told him I didn't want to have sex, it would become a fight."

"When did you tell Gibbs about the relationship?"

"I didn't," Tony said. "He knew about it when I woke up at the hospital. Not details, but he knew about Brody because Jeanne had seen him and heard me call him by name."

"So, you contend that Gibbs was unaware of this sexual relationship before the incident that put you in the hospital," Glick asked.

Tony blinked at her, irritation developing over her choice of words. "Yes, Gigi, I do," he said sarcastically, and her eyes widened. "I didn't tell Gibbs because I didn't really want Gibbs to know about it."

"Harris told me that you refused to go on a trip with him because, quote, 'Gibbs wouldn't approve.' Can you explain that?"

Tony tilted his head, searching his memory for . . . "The trip to Switzerland?" he asked, and Glick nodded. "He wanted me to go away with him for a week, and I had told him several times that I didn't want to go, that I wasn't interested, that we weren't the kind of 'couple' who go on trips together, but he wasn't getting it. To get him off my back, I finally told him that Gibbs wouldn't approve the time off. It sounds like he heard what he wanted to hear. He does that a lot."

Glick nodded slowly. "How long did that go on for?"

"A month or a little more," Tony said. "I'm not sure."

"And how did you end the relationship?"

"I told Brody I wouldn't be available one night but I didn't tell him why. I guess he didn't trust me or something, because he came to my place while I was out. The friend, Abby, she's our forensics tech, let me out in front of my building because my car was in the shop. She was kind of giddy, hepped up on caffeine, and she gave me a pretty solid kiss before she left. Brody was watching from the window of my apartment. When I opened the door, he clocked me, then slammed me against the wall. I didn't even know it was him till I managed to hit the light switch. He demanded to know why I was cheating on him with a 'transvestite slut.' Those were his words."

"A transvestite?" Glick repeated. "This was a woman, I thought."

"Abby is a very tall, statuesque woman, and she's a Goth, so she wears fairly heavy make-up, especially when she goes out. I explained to him that she was a woman, and that seemed to piss him off even more. Finally, I convinced him that Abby and I are like brother and sister – which has the virtue of being true – and then he started feeling up my ass and asking for sex."

Brad let out an appalled sounding snort, and Tony looked at him uncertainly. "I told him to get the hell out and stay the fuck away from me."

"And he left?"

Tony nodded. "I think he was still embarrassed about the mistake, and we'd never left the foyer, so I got him to leave. It's the only time he ever listened to me when I told him something he didn't want to hear."

"Then what happened?"

"I didn't see him for a week, but I kept thinking there'd been someone in my apartment. I had the locks changed the following weekend. After that, I started finding notes in my mailbox that detailed sex acts that an anonymous writer wanted to engage in with me. It wasn't hard to put two and two together, but I still thought I'd led him on somehow, so I wanted to handle it myself. I checked the paper for fingerprints and bagged them, but I put them in my desk at home. McGee and Ziva collected them night before last, I think. The same night they found the notes in my DVD cases."

"We've got someone checking through your apartment again now," Glick said, and Tony grimaced. Cleaning up after them would no doubt be fun. "So, you thought someone had been in your apartment. Go on."

"Half the time, if I went out in the evening, Brody would just happen by, and he'd start bugging me to get back with him. A week ago, he actually grabbed me and pinned me to a wall, insisting that I just didn't remember how good we were together or something like that. I didn't report it, but I still have the bruises."

"And then, Friday night?"

"Friday night I went to Hanrahan's. I told myself I shouldn't go out, but I can't stay locked up in my apartment every night. I was there maybe ten minutes when I looked up and saw Brody coming in. I slipped out the back door, but he must have seen me and circled round, because he met me about halfway down the alley. He grabbed me, shoved me up against the wall, and started groping me. I told him to stop, but he told me that I belonged to him, and I needed to learn that. Then he kissed me, and it was then that I noticed Jeanne."

"Dr. Benoit?" Glick asked.

Tony nodded. "She produced a taser and ordered Brody to stop. There was an argument during which he figured out that Jeanne and I already knew each other. This pissed him off and he smashed my head into the wall, knocking me silly and requiring three stitches."

"He smashed your head into the wall because you already knew her?" Glick asked.

Tony shrugged. "What would you think when he's saying 'Do you know this bitch?' at the same time?"

She pressed her lips together, made a note, then said, "So, then what?"

"Then Jeanne tasered him, he left, and I fell into a limp puddle." He grimaced. "And I told Jeanne not to call an ambulance, but she ignored me."

"Right, then at the hospital. What happened there?"

Tony grimaced. That was still too close in his memory to be comfortable to talk about. "I was asleep, and I woke up to him leaning over me. I . . . I couldn't speak, but I tried to punch him."

"You tried to punch him before he did anything?"

Tony glared at her. "He was the reason I was in the hospital, and I'd just learned that he'd hired men to attack me so he could rescue me from them. Hell yes, I punched him. I just couldn't get any real force behind it under the circumstances. He grabbed my wrists and held them down and started to kiss me. I turned my head and was about to yell, and he put his hand over my mouth." Tony rubbed his jaw. It was still rather sore, and, if Ducky could be believed, there were visible bruises. "He started nuzzling my neck and telling me how much he missed me, and how Agent Manton had gotten his restriction lifted. That's when Brad came in. I heard him yell, and he tried to pull Brody off, but Brody shoved him into a wall." Tony paused. "I didn't ask. Brad, are you okay? Did you see a doctor?"

"I'm fine, Tony, I was just dazed."

"Please go on, Agent DiNozzo," Glick said.

Tony gave her a dark look, but he didn't argue. He'd gotten the answer he wanted. Grimacing, he said, "I got off the bed, too, and told him to get away from me, but he followed me and . . . and he grabbed me. What was it he said, that it was Gibbs talking. I confronted him with what Gibbs had told me, about hiring the guys, and he said, 'Sometimes you need a catalyst. Guys like you, something needs to happen to show you what you need.' I told him he was crazy, and that's when the cavalry showed up." He let out a heavy breath. "I told him over and over again that I didn't want to see him, but he wouldn't leave me alone."

"All right, Agent DiNozzo, that all seems very clear," Glick said. She looked down at her papers, made a note, and looked up again. "So, what do you know about photographs?" Tony shuddered. "You are aware of his taking photographs of you?"

Tony realized abruptly that this was a minefield. Letting on that Gibbs had already known about the photographs could seriously derail the case. "Abby found some on the internet that they thought were linked to Brody. I know there's some pictures of me naked on the web, and I didn't voluntarily pose for them."

Glick stared at him, seeming momentarily discomfited. "I don't know anything about photographs on the web."

Tony blinked at her. "So, what photographs do you mean?" he asked. He didn't look at Fornell, who surely knew that Gibbs had actually mentioned it to him.

She pulled a folder out of the pile in front of her and slid it across to him. "Please take a look at these," she said. Fornell raised a hand briefly, but then subsided.

Tony opened the folder with a little trepidation. He stared in shock at a photo of himself lying buck naked on his bed, flat on his back, his arms and legs splayed wide. He shook his head and shuffled that photo to the back to reveal the next. In this one, he was on his stomach, still naked, his hips propped over a pillow, and there were bruises on his thighs. From the feel of it, there were several more photos, but Tony couldn't take any more. His stomach was twisting painfully, his hands were shaking, and he . . . he stood up abruptly and hurried out of the room. Thanking his lucky stars that it was a Sunday and the building wasn't jammed with people, he ran into the bathroom, flung a stall door open and threw up, then leaned against the side of the stall, his heart beating rapidly, his skin clammy. He felt wretched.

A moment later, he heard the door open. Expecting Brad, he flushed the toilet and turned to exit the stall. Gibbs stood there. "You okay, DiNozzo?"

"I'll live," he said, and he walked over to the sink. Running his hand full of water, he took a mouthful and rinsed. After spitting it out again, he took a sip to try and settle his stomach. Then he leaned on the counter and stared into the sink, not particularly wanting to look at himself.

"What happened?" Gibbs asked.

"She showed me some photos," Tony said as neutrally as possible. He looked up and saw Gibbs in the mirror. He looked furious as he turned towards the door. "You can't have seen them, Gibbs," Tony added in an undertone. "You don't know about them."

"You just told me, didn't you?"

Tony sighed. "Yeah, I guess I did."

Gibbs nodded once, then left the bathroom. Tony sagged to the floor, leaning against the wall beside the sinks.

"Are you insane?" Dr. Pitt exclaimed as Gibbs approached the open door to the conference room. "How could you spring a series of pictures like that on him?"

"What the hell is going on here?" Gibbs demanded. He gave Fornell a narrow-eyed glare, but the other man didn't meet his eyes.

"Agent Gibbs, you're not supposed to be here," Glick said primly.

"Not while DiNozzo is, but he's not here now, is he?"

"No, I suppose not," Glick said. "I showed Agent DiNozzo some photographs that Detective Harris took, simply to confirm whether he knew about them or not. I'd say he most definitely didn't, given his reaction."

As she spoke, she gestured to an open file folder on the table, and Gibbs walked forward. He glanced down at the one on top and saw a rear view of a naked DiNozzo, propped up and bruised. He flipped the folder shut and glared up at her. "You showed this to him?"

"No, she handed him the folder with a vague mention that there were photographs, and let him open it for himself," Pitt said harshly. "She didn't bother warning him what the nature of the pictures was."

"He already knew there were pictures taken of him naked," Glick said.

"Those are more than naked," Pitt snapped. "Those are vile and abusive, and you have contributed to his . . . where is he? I'd better check on him."

"Turn left, there's a restroom around the corner," Gibbs replied. Pitt left the room, his whole body radiating his anger. Gibbs watched him go, then looked down at the folder on the table. His thoughts were roiling in fury. "Fornell, you knew what was in that folder?" Gibbs demanded abruptly, turning on his old friend. Fornell nodded curtly. "And you let DiNozzo open it cold?"

"We had to know if he was aware of them having been taken," Fornell said.

"What's this about the FBI perpetuating the abuse of Agent DiNozzo?" Jen's voice was sweet in a way that Gibbs recognized as foretelling danger. Both Glick and Fornell seemed to pick up on the subtext as well.

Gibbs picked up the file of photos and handed them to her. She was going to see them sooner or later in any case, so it might as well be now. "Glick handed these to DiNozzo, warning him only that they were pictures of him."

Jen's eyes narrowed, and she opened the folder. Her lips tightened as she quickly shuffled through the photos. "What was the purpose of this?" she asked.

"Detective Harris told us that Agent DiNozzo was aware of and consented to this photo shoot. I had to verify that one way or the other."

"So you chose to confront the victim with evidence of his victimization?" Jen asked.

"If Detective Harris is telling the truth, then Agent DiNozzo had a long term relationship with him, then accused him falsely of rape in order to please his boss. Not knowing either party before meeting them today, and given the sterling records both men show in their work histories, I found it a little challenging to know for certain whom to believe."

"And knowing that Detective Harris put Agent DiNozzo in the hospital didn't sway your opinion in any way?" Jen asked acerbically.

"That proves he has a temper, not that he's a rapist," Glick replied.

"A temper?" Gibbs exclaimed incredulously. "A temper is raised voices and slamming doors, not cracking a man's head open against an alley wall while trying to rape him."

"Agent Gibbs?" That was Jen using her director voice. He turned and glowered at her. "Will you please step outside?"

If the circumstances had been different, he would have had a few things to say about being asked to leave, but he didn't dare give the impression he expected Jen to give him his way. After all, he was accused of influencing people, including the agency, into persecuting Harris. He walked out onto the mezzanine and slammed the flat of his palm down on the railing. Leaning on it, he tried to bring himself under control.

He was aware of McGee making his way up the steps, but he didn't acknowledge the younger man until he spoke. "Boss?" McGee said, and his voice had an unusually steely note.

"Yeah, McGee?" Gibbs asked, not looking at him.

"I broke into the CIA files." He held out a file folder and Gibbs turned to meet his eyes. The anger he saw there told him that McGee had made the adjustment from dismay about the homosexual relationship DiNozzo had engaged in to anger at the man who had abused his coworker and friend. Shaking the file slightly for emphasis, McGee said, "I have here the names of the other victims."

Gibbs looked at the file, but didn't take it. "Victims?" he repeated, emphasizing the plural.

"Five men over an eight-year period," McGee said. "All of them law enforcement officers with limited recourse unless they wanted to come out publicly."

"Do you have information about what he did to them?"

"I have observation transcripts in PDF, but I thought you'd want to see this right away. It does have summaries of the relationships."

Gibbs took it and flipped it open. Five sheets of paper, five descriptions of men being courted, abused and then hounded. He scanned the reports quickly. "You see anything noteworthy about this?" he asked McGee.

"Um . . ." McGee cleared his throat. "There's a pattern of escalation evident," he said, his voice ending on an upward tone, like he was asking a question.

Gibbs nodded. "Go see if you can locate these guys."

"Their current addresses are on the back," McGee said.

Flipping over the page on top, Gibbs raised his eyebrows. "Good work, McGee."

Leaving his agent standing at the railing of the mezzanine, he walked back into the conference room where he was clearly interrupting some kind of tense discussion between the two women. Fornell looked like he wished he could become part of the wall, or better yet, melt through the wall and disappear. They all looked up at his entrance, eyes widening.

"Agent Gibbs –" Jenny started, but he handed her the file.

"Thought you should have the latest information." It was up to her whether to show illegally gained evidence to the FBI. "We just got this."

She looked at him suspiciously, but then she opened the file and started scanning the contents. Glick looked impatient, but she was canny enough not to interrupt an agency head. When Jenny was done reading, she glanced over at Gibbs and raised her eyebrows. He shrugged. Jenny looked down at the unexploded dynamite in her hands, and he waited to see if she would light the fuse.

Turning it around, she handed it to Glick. "What's this?" the FBI agent asked, glancing back and forth between them.

"Evidence of a pattern of behavior," Jen said coldly. "Evidence not gathered by this agency or yours, so it can be trusted to be impartial in this matter."

Glick opened the file and began to read. Fornell stood up and went to stand behind her so he could look over her shoulder. Glick started nodding, flipping from page to page. Fornell's head came up, and he gave Gibbs an appalled look. Gibbs grimaced and shrugged. Glick finished perusing the file and closed it. "We can't use it in court," she said.

"No, but it does rob Detective Harris of credibility," Jenny said sweetly. "Or don't you agree?"

Glick shook her head. "It casts strong doubt on his truthfulness, absolutely."

"I've already got people looking into Harris's past," Fornell said. "After all, the kind of crap he's been pulling on DiNozzo doesn't come out of nowhere. I knew he had to have done it before. I hope we'll be able to find at least one of these guys independently."

Gibbs nodded. "Director," he said, nodding to her, and he left the room.

Chapter Text

Sunday, 1545, NCIS Headquarters

Tony looked up when Brad came in, but then he just looked down at his knees. "Not the guy you thought I was, am I?" Tony said.

"I don't know why you'd say that." Brad settled down on the floor beside him. "I knew you were a player, I just didn't know you sometimes played the other side of the field."

Tony shook his head. "This was the first and last time," he said emphatically. "And I haven't really been a player for some time."

"So you said," Brad replied. "The Love Machine fell in love, huh? Star-crossed and all that?"

Tony snorted. "Star-crossed. That's a nice way of saying 'fucked up beyond belief.'" He shook his head. "Did you see the woman I was with in Abby's office?"

Brad's brow furrowed. "I believe so, pretty brunette, curly hair?"

"That's her."

"Her who?" Brad asked.

"Her," Tony repeated, and Brad's eyes widened.

"The one who accused you of killing her father?" he asked incredulously.

Tony nodded. "She interrupted Brody during that last attack." Tony reconsidered that statement. "During the attack before the one you interrupted," he amended with a scowl. "My life really sucks at the moment."

"If she accused you of murder, what were you doing alone with her?" Brad asked. "That doesn't seem wise, somehow."

Tony blinked. "You know, I'm not actually sure how that happened. I went to sleep clutching a farting hippo – don't ask – and I woke up with Jeanne in my arms. I forgot to ask her how that came about."

"As a trade, it could be worse," Brad said thoughtfully, and Tony snorted. "Seriously, a farting hippo?"

"Named Burt. He belongs to Abby."

"Ah. 'Nuff said."

Tony laughed. "A lot of people have that reaction to Abby," he said. "Anyway, I'm sorry to drag you in on that. I just . . . after the way Manton was talking, I didn't want to be alone with her. I more or less trust Fornell, but if it came to a question of the FBI or me, I don't want to know which he'd pick."

"I get that," Brad said. "And there's no need to apologize. I'm glad to be able to help. I left Gibbs giving that woman what for, by the way, and sent Director Shepard after him."

Tony groaned and barely stopped himself from banging his head against the wall. "I need a hat," he muttered.

"Something soft," Brad advised. "That really looks awful, by the way."

"Thanks," Tony said. "I appreciate the honesty. Hearing people say 'it's not so bad' just makes me want to smack something."

Brad shrugged and was silent for a moment. Finally he said, "Tony, man, are you okay? I mean, have you been checked out?"

"I've had the tests," Tony said. "And I'll keep on getting them."

"Good, but that's not what I meant. I mean, have you been examined?"

"Since when?" Tony asked. "I gather I was looked at in the hospital."

"A rectal exam?" Brad asked, and Tony shuddered.

"I don't know, I was unconscious for most of the time the doctors were looking at me," Tony replied. The thought was not reassuring, but he was reasonably sure that someone would have told him if that had happened. "I hear there are evidence photos, so you could check."

"Or I could just look at your chart," Brad pointed out. "I doubt it, head trauma rarely requires that sort of exam – but rape does."

Tony's whole body tensed. He'd managed to ignore the reasoning behind the questions until Brad had said it outright like that. He shook his head. "He wasn't violent in that sense," he said. "He didn't injure me. I didn't . . ." He ground his teeth and looked away, feeling tears welling up in his eyes. "I didn't fight him."

Brad put his hand on Tony's back. "Okay," he said. "It's okay."

"No, it's not," Tony growled. "How can it be okay that I didn't even try to stop him?"

"You did. You said so."

"I told him to stop, I didn't make any actual effort to stop him. For a month, a month and a half, I just let him fuck me whenever he wanted to, and I didn't realize what was happening. It never even occurred to me that he was doing anything wrong. I thought I was . . ." He buried his face in his knees. "I thought it was my fault."

"And how many rape victims have told you exactly that, Tony?" Brad asked gently.

"I'm a cop. I should know better."

"This is a platitude, I know, but that doesn't make it untrue. What you know in your head doesn't always translate to your gut."

Tony looked up in immediate denial. "I know in my gut that the rape victims whose cases I've investigated weren't to blame for what happened to them," he said sharply.

"It's different when it happens to you," Brad replied implacably, and Tony looked away. "One of my friends is an oncologist. He's helped dozens of people get through cancer, their own or a loved one's. His mother got cancer and his world fell apart. He knew all the answers, but it didn't make the process any different for him than for anyone else. In fact, in some ways, I think it made it harder."

Tony shook his head. "And now I'm going to get to face him in a court of law and tell the world I was an idiot, a dupe, and a victim." Just how public that could become was appalling. "My father is going to freak out."

"I know my father would," Brad said.

"No, you don't get it," Tony said. "My father wouldn't give a damn if he knew I was raped so long as it didn't get into the papers." He snorted. "It might affect stock prices for ALD Enterprises."

"Your father works for them?" Brad asked, sounding startled, and Tony remembered suddenly that his father had taken over a pharmaceutical company a few years back.

"ALD, Anthony Leonard DiNozzo." Brad's eyes widened. "He's a big name in business, but he doesn't have Trump-like notoriety, mostly because he's really good a spinning things, and none of his divorces have been very splashy."

"And he doesn't want notoriety," Brad said.

"Nope. Nor does he want a son in law enforcement." Tony shrugged. "Sometimes I don't think he wanted a kid at all." Abruptly, Tony noticed that he was talking a little too freely. He plastered a fake grin on his face. "Anyway, that's neither here nor there. If I'm lucky, he'll send his lawyer to try and shut me up."

"And if you're not?"

"He'll come in person." Tony levered himself up from the floor and went to the sink again. He turned on the water to wash his face. The cold water felt good. He pulled off a handful of paper towels and dried his hands and face. "I suppose I still need to talk to Madame Gigi."

"Not today."

His eyes, closed against the water and the rough paper towels, flipped open and he saw the director standing behind him in the entrance to the bathroom. The sound of the water must have obscured the opening of the door. He whirled, his stomach doing an angry twist. "Why not?" he demanded. He didn't want any kind of special treatment, and he would not accept pity, particularly not from Jenny Shepard.

"Agents Glick and Fornell are talking to Abby, and then they will be pursuing other leads that have turned up."

"Do they have any more questions for me?" he asked.

"If so, they can wait until –"

"I'd just as soon get them over with today," Tony said, not caring that he was interrupting her. "I don't need to be coddled. I needed a break, but I'm fine now."

Director Shepard nodded. "I'll find out if they have any further questions today," she said.

Tony grimaced. He knew what that meant. She'd ask them in a way that made it abundantly clear that the answer should be no, they'd demur politely, and he might as well not have bothered. "Where's –" Brad's phone rang, and Tony turned towards him. "Thanks, buddy, but if you have to go . . ."

Brad held up a hand and answered his phone. The call was brief. He hung up and said, "Tony, I'm sorry. I do have to go."

"Thanks for being here," Tony said. Brad gave him a very awkward hug made more so by the presence of Director Shepard. Then he hurried out, leaving Tony alone with Jenny. "Where's Gibbs?" he asked.

"In the lab with Glick and Fornell," she said. "Abby's tests were positive."

Tony blinked. "What tests?"

"On your hair and fingernails," Jen replied. "Gibbs was right. You were drugged."

Tony shook his head. "Not all the time," he replied. "Not . . ." Not the first time, he finished in his head. He didn't want to tell her that, though. He didn't want to tell her anything. He tried to slip by her, and she didn't block his way.

"Where are you going?" she asked.

"The lab," he replied, wondering why she'd bothered to ask. Where else would he be going?

"Are you sure? What you may learn –"

"I'd rather know," Tony said, and he took the stairs down to the squad room instead of the elevator. He slowed as he approached his desk, not sure exactly how McGee and Ziva would receive him. Ziva he'd seen once already, but he hadn't seen McGee yet. Besides, this was work, and how people treat you in the hospital isn't necessarily how they'll treat you at work. Chickening out, he took the path to the elevators that avoided their little bullpen. That way he could put off McGee's awkwardness and Ziva's . . . whatever . . . till later.

The elevator doors opened as he approached and disgorged Gibbs, Fornell and Glick. Tony grinned broadly, though a grin was about the last thing he felt. "I was just on my way down to the lab to find you," he said. "You have any more questions for me? Sorry about the impromptu break."

"No, Agent DiNozzo," Glick said. "I've got one or two other people I'd like to talk to. I'll let you know when I want to see you again."

Obviously Director Shepard had already made her wishes known. "Okay," he said. "I don't have my cell phone back yet –" Gibbs held a phone out to him, and Tony took it, feeling considerably more himself. Opening the new phone, he read out the number for Glick and Fornell.

"Thank you," Agent Glick said.

Tony got on the elevator, figuring Gibbs would know where he was going. Or at least he'd be able to figure it out within two guesses if he was being dense. He hit the button for Abby's floor, but when the doors opened, he stopped before getting out and hit the door close button. Where was Jeanne? He hadn't noticed her in the bullpen, but that didn't mean she wasn't there. On the other hand, she could still be with Abby. He wasn't sure he was ready to see her yet. That unexpected declaration had caught him off guard, and he didn't quite know how to react.

Taking a deep breath, he leaned back against the wall. If he knew Gibbs – and he did – his boss would be along shortly.

Sunday, 1623, NCIS Headquarters

As Gibbs walked back from seeing Fornell and Glick out, McGee and Ziva looked up from the work they had so diligently pretended to do when the three of them had passed earlier. "What's going on, Boss?" McGee asked.

Gibbs snorted. "I'll tell you when I know," he said.

He'd just passed McGee's desk, headed towards the elevator when McGee spoke again. His voice was muffled, clearly not intended for anyone else's ears. "Promise?"

Gibbs turned back and walked up to stand at the divider between McGee's desk and the empty cubicle. McGee looked up, alarmed. "Yes, McGee. I promise," he said, tapping the boy lightly on the back of the head. McGee's eyes widened, and he got back to work.

Gibbs hit the elevator button and waited for it to come back up from wherever DiNozzo had taken it. The doors opened to reveal DiNozzo in a carefully cultivated nonchalant pose. He was leaning back against the center of the back wall of the elevator, his hands in his pockets, his ankles crossed, his eyes studying some point on the floor about a little ways in front of his feet, and he was taut as a bowstring. DiNozzo didn't look up, but Gibbs knew he would recognize the shoes.

Gibbs stepped inside and let the doors shut behind him. "I thought you were going down to the lab," he said neutrally.

DiNozzo looked up, his air of repose replicated on his face if not in his eyes. "I was, but I figured you'd be along in a couple of minutes, so I waited."

"Could've been a long wait," Gibbs observed.

"Naw," DiNozzo said, shaking his head. "I know you. Once you're done, you kick the guests out and get back to what you were doing before they showed up."

"Which was?"

"Checking up on me," DiNozzo said with a trace of self consciousness. He leaned forward and hit the emergency stop on the elevator. "Look, Boss, I know you well enough to know that you found out why Jeanne came back, and that if you weren't satisfied with her reasons, you'd have sent her packing, or at least given her limited access to the hospital and NCIS."

Gibbs shrugged, waiting. DiNozzo hadn't asked a question, he'd made a statement that Gibbs had no argument with.

"She tells me you ordered her not to talk about it."

Gibbs shrugged again.

"Why is she here, Boss? I need to know, and the current situation isn't changing in the foreseeable future, so waiting seems a little silly."

"What situation is that, DiNozzo?" Gibbs asked.

"Me being freaked out about . . . stuff," DiNozzo said, shying away from naming his issues.

Gibbs sighed. "I can see your point, DiNozzo, but can you see mine? Don't you have enough pressures on you at the moment?"

"Having her here and not knowing why isn't easing that any, Boss."

Gibbs considered that. When DiNozzo had been in the hospital and incapable of sustaining a conversation for long, restricting what people talked to him about made sense, but it made less sense now that he was demanding the information. "I'm not the one who should tell you," he said.

"But you'll lift the restriction?" DiNozzo asked.

"She doesn't have to do what I say. She's made that clear already."

"She has?" DiNozzo's brows knit. "But she said she . . . what are you talking about?"

Gibbs shrugged with a small grin. "I asked her what you two were talking about after you woke up in the same room."

DiNozzo's eyes grew very round. "And?"

"And she very politely told me it was none of my business."

"And you let her?" DiNozzo seemed astounded.

Gibbs snorted. "Technically, it wasn't," he said. "She's not under investigation, she's not my subordinate, and you weren't on company time."

"And you didn't ask me."

"No, I didn't." Gibbs looked at him. "And I'm not going to."

DiNozzo didn't seem to know what to make of that. He leaned forward again like he was going to turn the elevator back on, but then he stopped and leaned back. He glanced up into Gibbs's eyes, then down again. Staring at the floor, DiNozzo said, "Would you think I was nuts if I told you I'm still in love with her?"

Gibbs had wondered if this was going to come up. He leaned against one of the side walls. "No. Are you?"

DiNozzo let out a mirthless chuckle. "Oh yeah. Seeing her again, talking to her – I mean, I knew before, but now it's even more obvious. The trouble is, I don't know if I trust her."

"I can see where that might be a problem after your history."

"But part of me wants to," DiNozzo added. "And, shockingly enough, it's not the part that wants to get laid." He paused and shrugged slightly. "Or not only the part that wants to get laid."

Gibbs laughed and nodded. "Okay."

"I just want to know if you think that's crazy."

Gibbs shrugged. "Love is a crazy emotion, DiNozzo." The younger man sighed. "You asking me for my advice?"

"Kind of."

"Take it slow and talk to her. I wouldn't jump into anything." DiNozzo grimaced thoughtfully. Gibbs gestured toward the emergency stop, and DiNozzo nodded.

Just before the door opened, DiNozzo said, "Gibbs, would you say I need human contact more than the average person does?"

Gibbs looked at him, wondering where that question was coming from. He shook his head. "How do I answer that without sounding like a Barbra Streisand song?"

DiNozzo's eyes widened, and he started to laugh. "People," he sang in a pleasant tenor. "People who need people . . ." He shook his head, still chuckling. "Never mind."

They got off the elevator together and walked into Abby's office. "Tony!" Abby exclaimed, and she launched herself across the room at DiNozzo. Gibbs moved slightly out of the way and watched her give DiNozzo a tight hug. Looking startled, DiNozzo caught her and returned the embrace.

"Abby, I haven't been gone for more than an hour," he said in a puzzled voice.

Abby drew back. "I'm so sorry," she said. "I didn't mean to get you punched."

DiNozzo's brows drew together. "That wasn't your fault," he said. "What the hell did Gigi say?"

"Gigi?" Gibbs asked mildly, amused by the fact that DiNozzo had already given Glick one of his irreverent nicknames.

"What did Agent Glick say to you Abby?" DiNozzo asked.

"It's not just Agent Glick, Gibbs told me before but I forgot. My farewell after the Undead Ants concert made that jerk punch you."

"You didn't do anything wrong, Abby," Tony said. "Don't let anything she said get to you. It wasn't your fault."

"I know that," Abby said. "I just feel bad anyway!"

Gibbs glanced over at Dr. Benoit and saw her staring at DiNozzo. He had the impression that she was holding herself back from participating in the scene that Abby and DiNozzo were playing out between them, as if not wanting to intrude. After a moment, she glanced aside and her eyes met his. She flushed a little and turned away.

"So, what did you find in my hair and fingernails?" DiNozzo asked.

"That you are a frequent user of commercial hair and nail products," Abby said with an impish grin.

"Abby," DiNozzo said softly, and her expression grew serious.

"Just like Gibbs thought. Sedatives. Clonazepram and sodium thiopental."

"Like they use in lethal injection?" DiNozzo asked, brows knitting.

Abby nodded, but she added to the list earnestly. "Or truth serum, or to induce coma, it has all sorts of uses."

"Great, my . . . my boyfriend dosed me with coma-inducing drugs so he could get laid. Do I know how to pick them or what?"

"As I understand it, you didn't pick him," Gibbs pointed out. "You were set up from the start."

DiNozzo grimaced. "Yeah."

"Actually, the coma-inducing drug was only given to you once," Abby said. "Probably to anesthetize you." For the photo shoot Gibbs thought, but didn't say. DiNozzo looked like he felt slightly ill. "It's very quick-acting."

"He can't have given you the clonazepram very often, either," Dr. Benoit added, putting her hand on Tony's arm.

DiNozzo snorted. "No, no oftener than once or twice a week for a couple of months." He covered his mouth with a hand, but the yawn he tried to suppress got away from him.

Gibbs reached into his pocket for his keys. "You need to get some real rest, DiNozzo, something other than sleeping on the floor in someone's office. I'll take you to my place, and you –"

"No," DiNozzo said instantly.

"What?" Gibbs asked sharply.

DiNozzo's face creased anxiously. "Sorry, Boss, but I can't stay with you. It could get you into trouble."

"DiNozzo, you can't be serious."

"God knows what he's insinuated about us, Boss," DiNozzo said, his eyes intent and earnest. "She already asked me if I really told Brody that I wouldn't go to Switzerland with him because 'you wouldn't approve,' which is just ridiculous."

"What did you tell him?"

"After about five or six different attempts to convince him that I simply didn't want to go with him, and that we weren't a 'couple' in that sense, he wouldn't let it go, so I told him you wouldn't approve the time off." He shook his head. "After everything Brody's said, for me to go stay with you would look kind of bad."

"I don't give a damn how it looks, DiNozzo!" Gibbs snapped, expecting that to be the end of it.

DiNozzo met his eyes solidly. "Well, I do," he said, and Gibbs was rocked back by the sincerity of his response.

"You could stay with me," Abby said.

"Abby, you sleep in a coffin," DiNozzo replied. "And you don't have a spare room."

"I have a couch. After all, how long would you be staying with me for anyway? The FBI can't keep your apartment locked up forever." DiNozzo looked away, and no one spoke for a moment. Abby cleared her throat uncomfortably. "You're not going back to your apartment, are you?"

DiNozzo didn't answer her directly. "Anyway, they'd just say you were under Gibbs' influence. Staying with anyone from here is out."

"You could stay with me," Dr. Benoit suggested diffidently. "I'm not connected to NCIS or the navy in any way." Gibbs gave her a startled look.

"Jeanne, you don't have an apartment," DiNozzo said.

"No, but I can get a larger suite at the hotel. Where were you planning to stay?"

DiNozzo shrugged. "A hotel, but –" He trailed off, looking unsure.

"Then what's the problem?" she asked.

He blinked at her, then grinned weakly. "There isn't one . . . except . . ."

"What?" Dr. Benoit asked.

"I don't know how I'm going to get my clothes," DiNozzo said.

Gibbs rolled his eyes. "I'll pick up your clothes, DiNozzo," he replied.

"As if!" Abby exclaimed, and Gibbs turned to her in surprise.

"I could do it," Dr. Benoit said quietly. They all turned to look at her. "I mean, unless you dress significantly differently as Tony DiNozzo than you did as Tony DiNardo."

DiNozzo shook his head. "I wore the same stuff . . . I mean, I'd leave work and go . . . no difference, really."

"Then I could do it." DiNozzo's eyebrows went up. "I promise, I won't snoop. Or at least no more than any normal person might."

"That still puts you behind me," DiNozzo said. "God, but you're honest." She flushed.

"Except when you try to get him arrested for murder," Abby said sarcastically. Both DiNozzo's and Benoit's eyes opened wide, and Gibbs gave Abby a light smack between her ponytails. She gave him a startled look and fell silent.

DiNozzo patted his pockets for his keys, then looked up at Gibbs, who shrugged. "Ziva will go with her."

"But, Boss, I got really good locks." Gibbs just looked at him. "Right. That should work."

Gibbs considered the question for a moment, then nodded. "Fine. Jeanne, you go tell Ziva that I told her to take you to DiNozzo's place."

"How are we going to get in?"

"Ziva will take care of it."

"But how –"

"Jeanne, just go," Gibbs said. "The faster you get back, the sooner DiNozzo can crash."

"Right." She turned and went.

"Abby, don't you have work to do on Peterson's case?"

"Yes, Gibbs," she said. He waited, and she bit her lip. "And I'll get back to doing that, sir." She returned to her machines, and Gibbs gestured with his head for DiNozzo to follow him out.

In the elevator, he said, "Ten minutes ago, you told me you weren't sure you trusted her, and now you plan to stay with her?"

DiNozzo grimaced. "Not that way . . . I don't think she'll do anything like accusing me of a crime again." He shook his head. "How do you trust someone with . . . God, but this sounds melodramatic."

Gibbs hit the emergency stop. No doubt he'd get another memo from the director about proper use of agency facilities. "Just say it, DiNozzo."

"I love her, and she just told me that she loves me." Gibbs contained his reaction, striving to keep his expression calm and dispassionate. "But trust between two people . . . how does one regain that after what's happened? When you feel that strongly . . . it's so much easier to get hurt."

Gibbs nodded slowly. "And staying with her won't make that more likely?"

"Do you think it's a bad idea? I could still get a room at another hotel."

Gibbs could see how little that plan appealed to DiNozzo, and he particularly didn't want the man alone right now. "Not necessarily, I just wondered about the apparent contradiction."

DiNozzo shrugged. "It's a contradiction."

"And that's the way life works," Gibbs replied with a sigh.

"Well, you know what they say about life," DiNozzo said, and Gibbs raised an eyebrow. "It beats the alternative."

"Nine times out of ten," Gibbs agreed, hitting the switch again.

DiNozzo gave him a sideways look. "That's rather grim, you know."

"Is it?" The elevator stopped at the squad room, but DiNozzo hung back when Gibbs got out. "You coming?"

"I forgot my pain meds in Autopsy," DiNozzo said, hitting the button.

Gibbs watched the doors close with a sigh. The longer DiNozzo put the first real meeting with McGee off, the more awkward it was going to get. He shrugged and went back to his desk.

Chapter Text

Sunday, 1631, NCIS Headquarters

Ziva looked up as Jeanne approached, raising her eyebrows in polite inquiry, her emotions seething under the surface. "Agent Gibbs wants you to take me to Tony's place to get him some clothes, but we don't have any keys," Jeanne said, and Ziva's eyes narrowed.

"Keys are not a problem," she said, and she reached into her desk drawer to gear up. "But why would you be going?" she added, glaring.

Jeanne shrugged with a maddening smile. "Gibbs told me to," she said sweetly.

Ziva rose and began arming herself. "But why you?" she demanded, wondering at the woman's chutzpah. "I could manage fine without help."

"I'm sure you could," Jeanne replied, still maintaining that pleasant tone, though Ziva could see an arch look in her eyes. "But I offered to do it and Tony accepted."

Ziva grabbed her bag. "I see. Let us go. McGee, let me know if anything comes up."

"Sure, Ziva," he replied, watching them with wide, slightly anxious eyes. Ziva found his innocence endearing sometimes. He had no real experience with women, and it showed.

She led Jeanne down to her car, and as soon as they were underway, Jeanne pulled out her phone. Ziva listened with one ear, still unsure that the woman beside her was entirely to be trusted. "This is Jeanne Benoit, room 943. Yes, everything's fine, but I need to move to a larger suite, one with two bedrooms." Ziva gave her a startled look. A honking horn drew her attention back to the road, but she continued to listen to Jeanne. "Yes, both should have king beds, no smoking, exactly the same as my current room, but with a second bedroom." She paused, listening. "That will do very well, thank you. Now, I'm going to need you to stock the fridge with LaPure water rather than your house variety, and I'd like pretzels, Moon Pies and Acadia brand kettle chips, some of all varieties. Oh, and Kona Café blend coffee please." She nodded. "Very good, but I'll need it in an hour or so. Can you have it ready then? Good." She listened for a moment. "If that's not a problem, I would appreciate it. Thank you." After hanging up her phone, she put it away.

"Feeling cramped, are we?" Ziva asked acerbically. "And a little hungry?"

Jeanne gave her an odd look. "It's for Tony," she said. "He'll be staying with me for a while, since he's concerned that staying with one of you will cause problems for Agent Gibbs."

"Staying with you?" Ziva exclaimed, horrified by this turn of events. She opened her mouth, but no words came to her – or at least no words that Jeanne would understand.

"Agent Gibbs doesn't seem to have a problem with it," the other woman said quickly, as if to head off an expected explosion. "It's just a stopgap until a better solution can be contrived, or until that bastard's allegations are shown to be the bullshit they are."

Ziva almost asked why Tony was not returning to his own apartment, but her common sense kicked in before she asked so foolish a question. At least she was arranging for Tony to have his own bedroom. If she had been expecting to restart the relationship, she would surely not have done that.

Ziva parked in front of Tony's building and got out of the car. Jeanne was looking up curiously. "Have you not been here before?"

"No, he always came to my place."

"And that never seemed odd?"

"It did, later, but at the time he managed to charm me out of thinking about it."

Ziva snorted. "That is Tony," she muttered, leading the way into the building. They took the elevator to the fifteenth floor and then Ziva led off again towards Tony's door. She made short work of the lock, enjoying the startled sound Jeanne made when she realized why their lack of a key didn't matter, and opened the door.

She had spent several hours here on Friday night, and looking around now, she felt anger stirring. What need could there possibly have been to dust every surface for fingerprints? Neither man denied that Harris had been in the apartment, so far as she knew. Jeanne came in behind her and let out a heartfelt curse. "I hope his clothes aren't messed up," she said. "Which way to his bedroom?"

"This way," Ziva said, pointing. "I will gather his toiletries."

Jeanne's eyes widened. "Right. I hadn't . . ."

Ziva shrugged and went into the bathroom. All the drawers had been looked into, but things seemed to be largely in their normal places. She was looking for the case Tony always used on long trips when a noise in the doorway made her jump and look up. Jeanne stood there holding the very case she'd been looking for. "I think you may need this," she said, politely not noticing Ziva's discomfiture. "I found it in a suitcase."

"Thank you," Ziva said, taking it, and Jeanne left again. This whole situation put Ziva very much on edge. She gathered up Tony's things and stowed them carefully in their places. He had a bit of a mania about his toiletries. Normally, she might play a few games with that, but now was not the time to disrupt that kind of routine. When she was done, she carried the case with her into Tony's bedroom. The sheets and blankets were all off the bed and gone. "Did they not realize that Harris has not been in the apartment for at least five weeks?" Ziva asked incredulously.

"For all we know, he claims that the relationship was continuing up till Friday night," Jeanne said. She was carefully placing suits and shirts into a garment bag.

"He only needs a few things," Ziva pointed out, a little startled by how thorough the other woman was being. "This is not permanent."

"He said he's not coming back to this apartment," Jeanne replied. "If we take everything now, it will save time."

Ziva blinked. "He said he's not coming back?"

"Why do you think I'm getting his stuff?" Jeanne asked. She looked up with an air of humor. "Or did you just think I was being officious?"

"I . . . I did not . . ." Ziva stopped talking. The thought that Tony didn't even want to return to his own home infuriated her. How could that bastard have so completely destroyed his sense of security and self? She walked into the living room and picked up a few things she thought he'd want to have if he was not returning. Jeanne looked up as she placed them on the bed and went digging in the closet for a leather duffel bag she knew Tony had.

After placing a final suit in the garment bag and zipping it closed, Jeanne walked over to pick up the few items Ziva had brought in. "Who's this?" she asked.

Ziva glanced over. "That is his mother," she said. "And the other picture is of him with his grandmother. I do not believe he would want them left behind."

"This is obviously the team, but . . ." She paused, looking at a fourth picture. "Why aren't you in this one?" she asked. "And who is this woman?"

Ziva had started pulling pairs of jeans out of the closet and rolling them to go into the duffel. "That is Kate," she said. "She died just before I joined the team."

"Kate?" Jeanne repeated, sounding startled, and as if she recognized the name.

Ziva turned and stared at her. "Yes, Agent Kate Todd. What do you know of her?"

"Nothing, really, except . . ." She shrugged, staring at the picture. "Tony mentioned a woman named Kate a couple of times, mostly when he was making fun of himself. 'Kate would say . . .' whatever. I asked him who Kate was, and he said she was a really good friend."

Ziva couldn't speak for a moment, then she cleared her throat. "That is . . . surprising. I have never heard him speak of her."

"Why not?"

Shaking her head, Ziva shrugged. "I do not know." She dug out Tony's second leather duffel. "Here, perhaps you should start on the dresser."

Jeanne put the framed photographs back down on the bed and took the bag Ziva held out. She grabbed a nearby chair and put the bag down on it, then opened the top dresser drawer. Neither woman spoke for a while. Jeanne finished with the top drawer, socks and underwear, and started on the next. Ziva was considering starting at the bottom of the dresser and working her way up when she realized that Jeanne had stopped dead, holding a small box in her hands. Ziva walked over to stand at her shoulder, curious what had arrested the other woman so completely. Seeming entirely unaware of being watched, Jeanne opened the box very slowly. Inside was a bracelet wrought of silver. It had an odd shape to it, but Ziva couldn't see it clearly because Jeanne reached in, covering the bracelet with her hand and starting to cry.

"What is it?" Ziva asked, and Jeanne turned, eyes wide, clutching the box to her chest protectively.

She stared at Ziva, clearly deeply affected by what she had found. "I . . . he . . . he kept . . ." Reaching into the box, she pulled out a little band of plastic that had been much handled. It was barely recognizable, but Ziva blinked at it in astonishment.

"Is that a hospital bracelet?" she asked, perplexed by its presence in a jewelry box in Tony's dresser. Why would he keep such a thing?

Jeanne nodded. Almost absently, she put down the jewelry box and pressed the tattered hospital bracelet to her lips, tears continuing to stream down her cheeks. Ziva picked up the box and looked at the bracelet inside. So far as Ziva was aware, Tony never wore any kind of jewelry, or at least, nothing more than a watch, so she was curious to see what it might be. It was a wide silver band, a cuff bracelet, and it was fashioned in the shape of a hospital ID bracelet like the one Jeanne was weeping over. On it a name was inscribed. DiNardo, Anthony, in true hospital fashion, putting the last name first.

"I don't understand," Ziva said, looking over at the other woman.

"I gave him . . . one day when he was making excuses for why he couldn't keep a lunch date, I put this bracelet around his wrist and told him he had to keep it on until I saw him again. He . . . he did." She lifted the plastic tape in her hand. "And he kept it. If none of it had meant anything to him, he would have thrown it away. Even if it had, he still might have thrown it away. But he . . ." She buried her face in her hands and turned away.

Ziva looked down at the box in her hands. Jeanne had given Tony this bracelet to commemorate that tattered and dirty piece of plastic tape. The very unique nature of the gift opened up a whole new door on the relationship the two had shared. That Jeanne knew Tony well enough to know how much this would have meant to him told Ziva more than she wanted to believe about how very much Jeanne had loved him.

Then a memory occurred to her suddenly, and she looked up. "It is your fault!" she said. Jeanne turned in surprise. "I was so worried that day, I thought he was ill and not telling us or something, but you put the bracelet on him as a . . . as a . . ."

"It was a joke," Jeanne said. "A reminder that he had a date with me in the evening."

"I watched him like a hawk for symptoms of trouble, I dogged his footsteps at work, I looked up everything I could find on . . ." She trailed off. McGee seemed to think they should not tell her the specific illness.

"Plague?" Jeanne asked, and Ziva nodded, startled that she knew. "Tony told me."

"Yes. I looked up articles and case histories and . . . and it was a joke?"

Jeanne stared at her and started laughing even though tears still ran down her face. "I didn't know," she said. "How could I know? It's not even . . . it's for the psych ward."

Ziva's eyes widened, and she lifted the silver bracelet to her eyes and read the tiny letters on it. "I do not believe this."

"I guess I'd better put this back how I found it," Jeanne said, holding her hand out for the box. Ziva let her take it and watched her put the ID bracelet tenderly into the middle of the silver one. Closing the box, Jeanne tucked it into the bag she'd been filling. She gazed at the box for a long moment, then looked up again, tears flowing afresh. "It's not even his real name," she said helplessly and went to the bathroom. Ziva heard her blowing her nose. A few moments later she came back and started working again without saying anything. After that emotional scene, Ziva felt very awkward. Respecting the other woman's silence, she knelt down to check the bottom drawer.

After a while, though, the quiet got to her. She looked up. "Tell me, why did you not believe him when he told you he did not care?"

Jeanne turned towards her. "I did, at the time. Later it occurred to me that I'd believed all his other lies, too. And when I'd had a chance to think about it, I didn't believe it at all." Jeanne went quickly through the remaining drawers, grabbed a few things out of them, then closed up her duffel with some difficulty.

"We shall have to carry these ourselves," Ziva said.

Jeanne shrugged, picked up the smaller of the duffels and draped the garment bag over her shoulder. "I can manage." Ziva took up the remaining duffel and they went down to her car. The two duffels went into the trunk with Jeanne's bag and they draped the garment bag along the back seat. "Maybe we should drop this by the hotel," Jeanne suggested.

Ziva's lips tightened, but she nodded. Her phone rang and she picked up as she started the car. "Did DiNozzo's apartment swallow you both whole?" Gibbs asked dryly.

"We thought it would be best to gather a large quantity of his clothing so that this would not have to be done again."

"Has Jeanne gotten the second room yet?"

"She has requested it, but I do not know if it is ready."

"Find out. Tony and I will meet you at the hotel."

When Ziva hung up and turned, she found the other woman already on the phone. "Yes, immediately," she was saying. "Good. I should be there in about a half hour, and I'll need a cart and a bellhop when I arrive. If Agent Gibbs and Agent DiNozzo get there before I do, please show them up to the suite without delay." She hung up and put her phone away.

"How did you know they were going to the hotel?" Ziva asked.

Jeanne gave her an odd look. "He doesn't talk quietly on the phone, does he?" she asked.

Ziva blinked. "Not really," she said.

"Does Abby really sleep in a coffin?" Jeanne asked suddenly, and Ziva's eyebrows went up.

"Yes, she does," she said.

"That's just a little weird, don't you think?"

Ziva nodded. "More than a little."

"Oh." Jeanne looked out the window while Ziva continued to drive. She did not know what to make of the woman beside her. For months she had been nothing but a first name and a certain light in Tony's eyes, a spring in his step. Ziva had wondered about her, but nothing had seemed to require her attention. If the relationship had seemed more serious to her, she might have looked into this mysterious unknown girlfriend, but Tony had never been serious about anybody. Besides, all the hospital calls and nonspecific appointments had seemed more urgent.

Then the director's operation had come crashing down and chaos had reigned for a time. Tony's car, their belief that he was on Ducky's table, his sudden appearance and the CIA's abrupt involvement . . . and Jeanne's ultimatum, followed by her utter abandonment of Washington D.C. It had been over and Tony had been devastated. After that, her return, the accusation of murder and all that went with it, including Tony's emotions boiling up again.

Looking at the woman in the passenger seat, the pensive expression, the way her hands twisted together, Ziva wondered if she'd been as right in her advice to Tony as she'd thought at the time. If telling him to cut off the emotional connection – to pretend it had never existed – had been the right move. Certainly it hadn't stopped anything on either side. There was no denying that Tony still loved Jeanne, nor that Jeanne still loved Tony.

"There's a stoplight ahead," Jeanne said suddenly.

Caught staring at her passenger, Ziva jerked her attention forward and braked to a relatively smooth stop.

Chapter Text

Sunday, 1748, NCIS Headquarters

Gibbs went down to autopsy and found DiNozzo listening with glazed attention to one of Ducky's stories while Ducky worked on a corpse. They both looked up when Gibbs entered, and Tony's eyes lightened slightly. "We ready to go?"

"Yup. Come on, DiNozzo."

The younger man rose obediently. Gibbs stepped back to let him pass through the doors ahead of him and raised an eyebrow at Ducky, wanting to get his judgment of DiNozzo's mood. The elderly medical examiner gave him a worried look, and Gibbs grimaced in response. He followed DiNozzo out and into the elevator. "You know, you're going to have to see McGee sooner or later."

"I'm not avoiding McGee," DiNozzo said airily. "Why would I avoid McGee?"

"I don't know, but you sure seem to be."

"I just didn't want to offend Ducky."

"Right." McGee was on the mezzanine talking to Director Shepard, so DiNozzo skated again. The longer it took, the worse the tension was going to get. McGee hadn't noticed as of yet, but if this kept up, he was bound to.

DiNozzo pretended to fall asleep in the truck on the way to the hotel, and Gibbs didn't disturb his charade. Now was not the time to initiate an in-depth conversation, not if he wanted DiNozzo to actually get some rest. It would be hard enough for him to go to bed at six in the evening. Gibbs didn't need to get him worked up ahead of time.

When they arrived at the hotel, Gibbs parked the car out of the way on the curving front driveway. When the engine turned off, DiNozzo 'woke up' artistically, and Gibbs snorted. "You know, DiNozzo, when you really wake up from a nap, you don't do that stretching and yawning thing."

"I don't?" DiNozzo asked, tilting his head disingenuously. "I thought I just did."

Gibbs rolled his eyes and got out of the car. They crossed to the hotel and went inside. Gibbs asked at the desk for Jeanne Benoit's room.

The clerk called up the name on her computer, then looked up with a practiced smile. "Agents Gibbs and DiNozzo?" she asked.

"Yeah," Gibbs said.

"Dr. Benoit has asked that you be shown to her suite." She beckoned and a young man walked up. "Ricky, please take Agents Gibbs and DiNozzo to 2114."

"If you gentlemen will follow me," Ricky said, bowing slightly and turning to lead them towards an elevator. He slotted a key card into a reader marked For 20th Floor & Above. DiNozzo leaned against the back wall of the elevator, clearly nearing the end of his resources. Gibbs was glad they were almost to the end of their trip. The elevator stopped and the doors opened on an attractively furnished hallway. When they stepped out, Gibbs noticed that there was a second concierge desk up here. Evidently, the people who could pay for this floor merited extra services. Unusually, DiNozzo didn't seem to register anything as they walked down the hall to room 2114.

Ricky opened the door and ushered them into a space that, apart from the lack of a kitchen, looked more like a high end apartment than a hotel room. They entered on a short hallway that took a sharp left turn, then let into a well appointed living area. There was a desk under one of the large windows, a sofa flanked by two elegant chairs faced an armoire that undoubtedly concealed an entertainment center. There were the ubiquitous cards describing available services, but there were also fresh flowers and a fruit basket. A small wet bar took up one corner of the front room, and a trio of suitcases were piled tidily behind the sofa. DiNozzo made straight for one of the chairs and sank into it while Ricky stood waiting with an ingratiating smile and an outstretched hand. Gibbs shook it and sent him on his way.

Leaving DiNozzo sitting in the living room, Gibbs took a quick look through the whole space. Each bedroom had its own separate bathroom, and there was a half bath off the living room. Flat screen TVs hung on the walls of both bedrooms, and there was more than adequate closet and dresser space for the occupants to make an extended stay in comfort. A spacious private balcony with a table and chairs opened off the main room.

Gibbs turned back the covers on the bed in the smaller of the two bedrooms, then went back to DiNozzo. "Come on, DiNozzo."

The younger man turned his head and looked up at him. He appeared to have already checked out. "Yeah, boss?" he asked automatically. Gibbs got him to his feet and walked him into the bedroom where he bullied him into stripping to his boxers and getting into bed. It was a measure of just how tired he was that he didn't raise more than a token objection. Gibbs made sure the curtains were drawn against the fading light, turned off the lamps, left DiNozzo's cell phone on the bedside table and shut the door behind him. Then he settled down with a newspaper to wait for Jeanne and Ziva to arrive.

Ten minutes later, the door opened and Ricky walked in pushing a baggage trolley that contained both DiNozzo's duffel bags and a garment bag hanging from its rail. Jeanne and Ziva entered after, each laden only with her own bag. Jeanne took the garment bag off the rack herself and then she seemed to notice the closed bedroom door. She walked through into the other bedroom and hung up the garment bag, then returned to tip Ricky on his way out.

"Tony is asleep already?" Ziva asked quietly.

"He was asleep on his feet in the elevator," Gibbs said, rising to his feet. He pulled out his card and held it out towards Jeanne. "Call me if he needs anything," he said with quiet emphasis.

"Of course, Agent Gibbs," she said. "Will you be by later on?"

"I'll call you," he replied. "Ziva, let's go."

Ziva followed him out and, for a wonder, they got an elevator car alone on the way down. "Why are you permitting this?" she asked, her voice just on the angry side of neutral.

"Not a lot of options," Gibbs said. "And DiNozzo's a grown up. If he's okay with it, I can't stop him."

"You could," Ziva replied. "If you told him not to, he would –"

Anger surged in him. "Whose side are you on?" he demanded, turning on her. She stared up at him, eyes wide. "You keep talking like that, especially if you do it where the FBI can hear you, and you win Harris's case for him."

She blinked at him, then nodded. "I am sorry. I did not think. I am just concerned about the closeness that is developing again between the two of them. At this time, it could destroy him if she turned out not to be what she seems."

"Do you have reason to believe that she's not?"

Ziva grimaced, and shrugged very slightly. "I do not."

"What does your gut say?"

She didn't speak immediately. The elevator doors opened to let a couple of strangers aboard, then the doors closed again, and they resumed the trip down to the lobby. He followed her out to where she had parked her car just behind his. When she reached the driver's door, she stopped and turned. "My gut says that she is sincere, and that she wants to help. But even assuming that is true, she could still do great damage if she does not handle things well."

Gibbs nodded slowly. "True enough, but then so could any of us."

"You mean the team?" Ziva asked, and he nodded. "Yes, well, I know the team. I trust them. I do not know if I trust her."

Gibbs shrugged. "In the end, it was DiNozzo's decision, but I can tell you one thing." Ziva raised her eyebrows. "I really don't want him alone at the moment, and we've got work to do. Work he doesn't need to witness."

Ziva tilted her head as if considering his words. "I understand. I do not like it, but I understand."

"Good. See you at the office."

Gibbs started to climb into his car, then had a sudden realization that he'd forgotten an important piece to safeguarding Tony and headed back into the hotel. Five more minutes wouldn't make much difference.

Monday, 0831, Chalmers Hotel, Washington DC

Tony awoke to an unfamiliar ring tone. He opened his eyes and blinked at the comforter. Right, new cell phone because his was in evidence. They were probably dissecting his list of calls as he lay sleeping. He squinted at the time on the beside alarm clock. Or maybe not. He reached over and grabbed the phone, flipping it open automatically.

"DiNozzo," he said blearily.

"Tony, it's so good to hear your voice. You sound sleepy, did I wake you up?"

Tony sat up straight in bed. "Brody?" he exclaimed. "How did you get this number?"

"Do you know where I am?"

"In some kind of holding for the FBI, right?" Tony devoutly hoped that was where he was, and not outside the door.

"You've got to tell them to let me out, Tony," Brody said, his voice soft and persuasive. "I don't belong in jail, you know that."

Tony blinked. "You cracked my head open, you hired some thugs to try and rape me, and you raped me yourself repeatedly for weeks. Where do you think you should be?"

"I should be beside you in that bed," Brody replied huskily. "With my hands on your ass, showing you who you belong to. I want to put my fingers ins –"

Tony threw the phone across the room where it broke against the base of the dresser. He got up off the bed, but there he stalled. His hands were shaking, and he couldn't think what to do. The door opened, and Jeanne said, "I heard a noise. Is –" She broke off and hurried to his side. "Tony, what's wrong?"

"Brody . . . he called." He gestured vaguely in the direction of the damaged cell phone.

"What?" Jeanne looked over at the shattered phone. "What did he want?"

"Phone sex," Tony said, feeling numb. "I need to call Fornell."

"Do you have his number?"

"It's probably . . . in my phone," he said, looking down at the scattered pieces. His brain was stuck in neutral. He couldn't focus on anything that made sense.

Jeanne walked up and put her hands on his face, making him look at her. "Go take a shower. We'll call him when you get out."

Tony nodded. "A shower . . . sounds good."

Jeanne watched Tony walk into the bathroom and glared at the phone on the floor. She went out into the living room of the suite, pulling Tony's bedroom door partially closed before she picked up her own cell phone. There were a few new numbers in her speed dial these days. She pressed seven, then send. It rang once, then a gruff voice answered, "Gibbs."

Her emotions got the better of her, and she spoke more angrily than she'd intended. "Agent Gibbs, I thought that man was supposed to be in custody."

"What?" Gibbs exclaimed, sounding alarmed. "You're not saying he's there?"

"No, but he just called Tony on his cell phone."

"He did what?" Gibbs demanded. "What did he want?"

"According to Tony, he wanted phone sex," Jeanne snapped. "How the hell is he free to do that? What kind of idiots are in charge of him?"

"I'll find out. Check to see if there was a callback number."

Jeanne grimaced. "I can't. The phone is now in multiple pieces."

"What?"

"I think Tony threw it," she said.

"Where is he now?"

"Taking a shower. He seemed alarmingly blank, but he wanted to call Agent Fornell to tell him about the call, only it appears that Agent Fornell's number is in his phone."

"Which you can't look at because it's in pieces."

"Exactly."

"I'll call Fornell – or actually I don't have to. They're here." A click told her he'd disconnected, and she made a face. He seemed to do that a lot.

Monday, 0844, NCIS Headquarters

Gibbs closed his phone and gazed with narrowed eyes at Fornell and Glick, who stood talking quietly in front of the elevator. "McGee?" he said quietly.

McGee looked up instantly. "Yeah, Boss?" he asked.

"Go to Room 2114 of the Chalmers Hotel and pick up DiNozzo's cell phone." McGee started gearing up immediately. "Oh, and you might want to get him another since I gather this one's been destroyed. Just tell the clerks that no one is to be told the number unless they ask me directly."

"Yes, Boss," McGee said. He left the squad room with decent haste.

Gibbs glanced over and saw that Fornell had left Glick alone in front of the elevator, heading off towards the coffee machines. He strode across to her. She gave him a cool, professional smile, no doubt preparatory to something like 'good morning,' but he didn't give her a chance. "Tell me, Gigi," he said sarcastically, and her eyes widened. "What is Harris doing calling DiNozzo? Exactly who do you have watching him?"

Agent Glick stared at him blankly for a moment, then she shook her head. "Detective Harris is in holding. He couldn't possibly have called Agent DiNozzo."

"Well, he did," Gibbs said. "Apparently he was after phone sex. I want an answer to just how he made that phone call and how he got DiNozzo's cell phone number. That was a newly issued phone, not many people had that number."

Fornell walked up. "What's up, Gibbs?"

"He says that Harris made a call to Agent DiNozzo," Glick replied. "One moment, Agent Gibbs." She drew aside, opening her phone and making a call.

Gibbs narrowed his eyes at her, watching. "If I find out she gave him that number, even inadvertently –"

"She didn't," Fornell said.

"Well, I can count the people who had that number on one hand, Tobias. You and she are two of them, I'm the third, whoever issued it to him in IT is the fourth, and DiNozzo is the fifth. That limits the pool of options a bit. I'm going to assume that you didn't give it to him, I know I didn't give it to him, and DiNozzo certainly didn't. That leaves our IT staff and her." He jutted his chin out towards Glick.

"Are you crazy?" Glick demanded at that moment. "You gave an accused rapist and stalker unmonitored access to a phone?" She was silent for a moment. "I don't give a damn whether he's a cop or the pope. You don't do that, for his own protection if for no other reason." She listened, her eyes narrowing. "Well, he made use of that opportunity to call someone he shouldn't have, so congratulations. You just enabled him to further attack our victim, and you didn't even get a recording of the call. Now it's he said/he said again, and I'm getting damned tired of that."

Gibbs believed in her frustration, which made it seem unlikely that she'd given Harris the number. He took off in McGee's wake. The youngest of his agents was still talking to Josh in IT. Gibbs came to a stop beside him. "Who has access to these phone numbers?" he asked.

Josh knit his brows. "Anyone who has access to the database they're stored in," he said. "That would be me, Sheila and Marcie. And, of course, anyone the phone's user has told."

"I meant the database," Gibbs said. "Are Sheila and Marcie here?"

"Marcie's on the Wednesday through Sunday schedule, so no, but Sheila's here."

"Did either of you give Agent DiNozzo's new cell number to anyone?"

Josh blinked at him and glanced at McGee. "I just issued the new phone a minute ago," he said. "I don't understand."

"The new phone that was issued yesterday," Gibbs said in a clipped voice.

"Yesterday?" Josh repeated. He looked at his computer screen. "Why does he need a new one today if he got one yesterday?"

Gibbs drew closer to the man, looming over him. "Did someone give the number out?"

"Sheila?" Josh called, looking warily up at Gibbs. A young woman in jeans and a button front shirt came out of the store room. "Did you give anyone Agent DiNozzo's cell phone number today?"

"Yeah," she said. "A cop called, said he was working a case with DiNozzo, and asked for his cell."

"You, come with me," Gibbs ordered. "McGee, you got the phone yet?"

"I do," McGee replied.

"Then why are you still here?" McGee didn't even try to answer, he just fled. Gibbs fixed Josh with a stern look. "No one gives DiNozzo's new number out without checking with me first. Got that?" Josh nodded. "Make sure Marcie understands it, too."

Gibbs stalked off, an uncertain shadow behind him. He could sense her nerves, but he wasn't interested in allaying them. "Sir?"

"Don't call me sir," he replied shortly. "I work for a living."

"Agent . . . Gibbs?" she asked. "What's wrong?"

Gibbs turned on her, and she backed up to avoid running into him. "You gave DiNozzo's cell phone number to a man who's been stalking him, that's what. The FBI will be wanting to talk to you."

"The FBI?" she repeated.

"Now." She trailed him back to the squad room. "Agent Fornell, Agent Glick, this is Sheila . . ."

"Ackleton," she supplied. "Sheila Ackleton."

"Sheila gave DiNozzo's cell number to a cop who called this morning, so we've got that half of the equation solved."

"And Agent Parker allowed Harris access to a phone for approximately twenty minutes last evening and twenty this morning, as a courtesy to a fellow law enforcement officer," she said.

"I didn't give the number to anyone named Harris," Ackleton said, and Gibbs raised an eyebrow. "His name was Carvaggio. Paul Carvaggio."

"Chief of Harris's district," Gibbs growled. "Can you pull records for the phone Harris used?" Glick looked uncertain. "Never mind, I'll have Abby do it." Leaving them, he stalked over to his desk and picked up the phone. "Abby, run the records on DiNozzo's new cell phone for today, then get the records for the number that called him this morning."

"On it, bossman. Is –"

Gibbs hung up and turned to find Fornell standing straight in front of him. "What, Tobias?"

"Have you forgotten that you and your team are not supposed to be on this case?"

Gibbs glowered at him. "Just since he made his claims, the bastard has physically attacked DiNozzo, and now he's called him. Anyone who still believes Harris is a victim in this situation has his head so far up his ass that he'll never find it again."

"That's as may be, Agent Gibbs," Agent Glick said. "But your team needs to stay off this case altogether."

"I might, if I believed the people investigating it were getting the job done," Gibbs replied.

"The phone number got out via NCIS," Glick said.

"To a serving police officer," Gibbs snapped. "I'll have a bone to pick with him later, but the fact is, she didn't give it to Harris, she gave it to an assistant chief of police. Your people let Harris make phone calls at will."

"Twenty minutes last night and twenty minutes this morning," she retorted.

"More than long enough to cause trouble," Gibbs shot back.

"Enough!" Jen said, and Gibbs clamped his jaws shut. "What's going on here?"

"Agent DiNozzo allegedly received a call from Harris this morning," Glick said.

"Exactly what about that was alleged?" Gibbs demanded. "The call? Or the fact that Harris tried to have sex with DiNozzo over the phone?"

"He did what?" Jen asked, her eyes snapping. "Do we know what the call consisted of? Surely if he made the call from the Federal building, it was monitored or recorded."

Glick had the grace to look embarrassed. "No. He made some excuse about calling a lawyer."

Jen set her teeth. "Has anyone asked DiNozzo what he said?"

"No," Gibbs replied. "I was going to go check on him after I made a stop at District Three headquarters."

"Gibbs," Fornell said warningly.

"What, Fornell? That bastard made it possible for Harris to harass DiNozzo."

"And we'll handle it." Fornell walked up to him, using his own tactic against him, though it was a little hard for Fornell to loom at him. Still, he did a surprisingly good job of it. "I will handle Carvaggio," Fornell said sternly.

Gibbs took a deep breath and nodded curtly. "Fine. Handle him." His desk phone rang. "Gibbs."

Abby's voice was anxious. "The only number that's ever called Tony's phone is the FBI, but it's a general number. McGee might be able to trace it down more closely. Gibbs, what's going on?"

"Tell you later." He hung up and looked at Jen. "Abby traced the only call DiNozzo received to the FBI."

"I have someone talking to Harris about his phone calls last night and this morning right now," Agent Glick said. "In the meantime, I have a few more questions for Miss Sciuto about the website she found."

Gibbs let Jen handle getting Glick down to Abby. Ziva walked up carrying three cups of coffee. "Where is McGee?" she asked. Gibbs took a cup of coffee and went to sit down. He wanted to shoot someone, but he wasn't supposed to work the only case he had. He passionately wished that Brody Harris would fall off the face of the planet and leave DiNozzo alone.

Chapter Text

Monday, 0924, Chalmers Hotel, Washington DC

Tony let the water stream over him in steaming torrents. He'd washed and rinsed thoroughly, but now he wished that the water could sweep away the last four months – or if not that, at least the memory of that phone call and the sense of having Brody, who was miles away, in bed with him again. Finally, he admitted to himself that all the water was doing was getting him wet, and he turned off the faucet. He climbed out of the tub and grabbed a towel . . . it was luxuriously soft, and the robe that hung on the back of the bathroom door looked like pure heaven. He scrubbed his hair dry, pulled on the robe, and went out into the living room.

Jeanne offered him a cup of coffee that smelled wonderful. He took a sip. It had just the right amount of sugar and cream, and it was his favorite blend. Somehow he doubted that the hotel stocked it, so she had to have had them put it in just for him. He looked up at her once the caffeine had hit his system and smiled. She was wearing jeans and a sweater, and she looked beautiful. "Did Gibbs say he'd call Fornell?" he asked.

"How did you know I called Agent Gibbs?"

"Stands to reason," he replied, shrugging.

"Come, sit down," she said, pulling him over to the sofa and sitting close beside him. "Agent Fornell showed up while I was on the phone with Agent Gibbs. Your boss sure does hang up abruptly."

Tony nodded. "Oh yeah." He took another swallow of coffee and tried not to think too hard about what the next few weeks were going to be like.

"Are you okay?"

He turned and looked down into her anxious eyes. "Sure," he said easily, and her eyes widened.

"Tony, don't lie to me," she said intently. "Never lie to me. Not even to make me feel better."

He blinked at her. "I'm not . . ." He faltered as her eyes narrowed. "What do you want me to say?"

"The truth, Tony," she said, reaching up and cupping his cheek. "I'm not going to break, and I'm not a co-worker you have to put on a good front for."

Closing his eyes, he took another swallow of coffee, buying time. "I feel like shit," he said finally. "I ache all over, the back of my head itches like crazy and I don't dare scratch it. Meanwhile, I just got a phone call from someone who shouldn't be able to call me on phone whose number he shouldn't have, and I don't know how that happened. For all I know some idiot let him loose, and he's on his way here."

"I'm sure that Agent Gibbs would have told us if he'd been released," Jeanne said, taking his arm and squeezing. "And he can't easily get onto this floor. I'd lay odds that Gibbs stopped by the security office on his way out last night to give them Brody's photo and instructions not to let him into the hotel."

"With him under arrest?" Tony replied.

"Unless I'm very wrong about him, Agent Gibbs doesn't make assumptions about things he doesn't control," she said, and Tony snorted.

"You're not wrong," Tony said.

She leaned up and gave him a kiss on the cheek. "I'll be back in a couple of minutes," she said, and she disappeared into her room.

There was a knock at the door, and Tony's mouth went dry. Jeanne's reasoning was sound, but Brody had gotten by Gibbs' defenses once, at the hospital. He stood up and walked over to the door, peering out through the peephole. His shoulders slumped. He didn't particularly want to see the man who stood outside, but he couldn't leave him in the hallway, either. Girding himself, he opened the door. "McGoo, great to see you, come right in."

"Hey, Tony," McGee said. He walked in a little awkwardly. "How are you feeling?"

"Peachy keen," Tony replied irritably, and he could see McGee's internal cursing of the stupid question. It made him feel a little less annoyed at the probie. "What'cha doing here?"

"Gibbs sent me to collect your old phone and bring you a new one."

Tony froze for a second, then tried to play it off, but the pause was long enough for McGee to notice. Tony saw his eyes crinkle with worry and barged on to head off any possible expressions of sympathy. "It's in there," he said. "I'm afraid you'll find it's a little the worse for wear."

McGee walked into the bedroom, then looked out again. "It's shattered," he said, sounding stunned.

"I threw it," Tony said. "It made a very satisfying crunch."

"But . . . why?"

Tony stared at him. "Gibbs didn't tell you?"

McGee shook his head. "I mean, he was pissed, and he started yelling at one of the techs because she gave your number to someone over the phone, but he didn't say why while I was there."

"Agent McGee," Jeanne said, and Tony turned in surprise, suddenly aware that he was wearing nothing more than a robe. McGee would undoubtedly find that odd. "Did Agent Gibbs send you?"

"Yes." McGee looked from her to Tony, then back to her and flushed. "I need to . . . I have to collect the phone."

"Got an evidence bag, McGoo?"

"Yeah, Tony, but it's not exactly evidence in that sense, is it?"

"No," Tony replied, shaking his head. He walked around behind the sofa and stopped, staring at his suitcases, which were bulging full. "That's . . . a lot of stuff," he said.

"I hung your garment bag in my closet because you were already asleep when I got here and I didn't want to wake you."

Tony looked at the bags, then looked at Jeanne. "Did you pack everything?"

Her smile faltered. "Don't be silly," she said. "Everything wouldn't fit."

"Why?"

"You said you didn't want to go back, and I figured this would make that simpler," she said, and he could see that she was afraid she'd done the wrong thing. "I'm sorry, I wasn't –"

"No, it's fine, I just wouldn't have asked you to do that much work."

"Ziva helped," she offered, as if that mitigated the amount of work the two of them had to have done to get his clothing packed up.

"No doubt," Tony said dryly, trying to think what he might have in his drawers that he wouldn't want either of them to see. "A garment bag . . . so you packed my suits?"

"I did."

"And what about my ties? Who packed my ties?"

Jeanne flushed, and Tony knew she'd seen it. "I did," she said. She paused, moistening her lips. "I found . . . it. And Ziva saw it, too, so I'm sorry if you didn't want her to know."

"Ziva must have found that interesting," Tony said. He cleared his throat and aimed for a change of subject. "Is there any breakfast?" he asked briskly.

"I was going to order when you woke up," Jeanne said, matching his tone. "What do you want?"

"Food," he said. "You know what I like for breakfast." As he said that, he turned and saw McGee exiting the bedroom, his face again going scarlet. Fortunately, Jeanne didn't see because she'd turned away to make the call to room service.

"I think I've got all the pieces," McGee said, not meeting Tony's eyes. "There may be a few elsewhere in the room. You really smashed it."

"I was angry," Tony said.

"What . . . what happened?"

Tony shrugged. "Brody called."

"What did he say?"

"You read the notes you found in my desk, right?"

"Ziva found them," McGee said quickly, as if that made it better. Tony raised his eyebrows. "Yes, I read them, after I stopped her from reading them out loud."

Tony shuddered. "Ugh, reading them silently is bad enough," he said, and McGee nodded with feeling. "Well, if you've read those, you've got an idea of what he said."

"No wonder Gibbs was pissed."

Tony nodded. "You said you had a new phone for me?"

"Yes." McGee dug in the pocket of his trench coat. "Here. I've already beamed all the work numbers you need into it, got Fornell's and Glick's so you have them, too."

"Who has this number?" Tony asked, his tone not quite as nonchalant as he'd aimed for.

"Gibbs ordered the techs not to give out your number without consulting him," McGee said. "In that tone that nobody disobeys. I have it, I'm going to give it to Ziva and Gibbs, and he'll probably give it to Fornell and maybe Glick, and probably the director."

"Right." Tony gulped. "You'd better get Jeanne's just in case I do something crazy and smash my phone again."

"Okay." McGee walked over to do that errand, and Tony bent down to pick up the larger of his two duffels. When he tried to lift it, he discovered just why the doctors had warned him to go easy on his abused muscles. He tried and failed to suppress a groan that brought both McGee and Jeanne over instantly.

"I'm fine," he snapped when they tried to ask him what was wrong. He continued to lift the bag and walked into his room with it. Placing it on the bed, he closed the door, only then realizing that he had no idea if he had enough clothes in it to get dressed. He unzipped it and started pulling things out. Fortunately, it contained jeans and underwear, and he found a couple of turtlenecks deep inside. He got dressed hastily and went back out into the living room. McGee was waiting. He carried Tony's other bag into the room and put it onto the luggage rack, then went back for the garment bag, actually taking it from Jeanne. Tony pretended not to notice, and said, "So, where are my shoes?"

"I put three or four pair in the smaller bag," Jeanne said. "Socks too. They're under the ties."

"Okay. And the . . ."

"In there, too," she said.

"You leaving now, McGoo?" Tony asked.

"Yeah – unless you need anything else." McGee looked around the living room as if he expected to find chores popping out of the woodwork.

Tony put a hand on his back and propelled him towards the door. "I didn't need that. Be seeing you."

"Yeah, Tony, see you later."

Tony shut the door on him and went back in his room to unearth some socks.

"Why do you call him McGoo?" she asked. "He doesn't seem nearsighted."

"For the same reason I call him Probie, McGeek, McGoofy and a host of other silly nicknames."

"What's that?"

"To get him to stand up for himself and tell me to stop," Tony said absently. He blinked. "And because it's really, really fun," he added with a demented grin.

"We're not going anywhere, Tony," she said, grabbing his hand to stop him from rooting around in the bag. "If Glick wants to see you, she can come here."

Tony sat back on the bed. "I guess it's too late to make this a Brody-free space," he muttered. To his surprise, Jeanne opened one the drawers and started carefully placing his ties inside. "You don't have to do that," he said.

"Do you plan on living out of the suitcase?" she asked, not stopping.

"I had been, yeah, but that was when I was expecting a couple pairs of jeans, some shirts and maybe one suit, not four-fifths of my wardrobe."

She turned around, brows drawn together. "You are upset about that."

"No, I'm not," he said, taking her hand and leading her back into the living room. "I'm just startled. I don't really understand what's going on. You're trying awfully hard to take care of me. Why?"

Another knock on the door made him jerk with surprise. Jeanne hurried to get it. "It's room service," she called before she let them in. "I thought we'd eat on the balcony."

Tony looked around at the room they were in and wondered exactly how much it was costing. He certainly couldn't have afforded anything like it. He'd probably have found something like Motel 6 just to hold him until he could arrange for movers. Jeanne got the waiter to take the cart out onto the balcony, and Tony took stock of the room. When Jeanne had signed the bill and tipped the waiter and they were alone again, he said, "Executive suite?"

She nodded. "It's what they had available."

"Jeanne, this –"

"You need to eat," she said firmly. "Come out on the balcony."

He followed her and sat down. She'd ordered waffles and eggs and sausage, and it all looked great. "Trying to fatten me up?" he asked facetiously.

"Maybe," she replied. "Have you lost weight?"

He had a mouthful of waffle, so he couldn't answer immediately. He shook his head, chewing quickly and swallowing. "Maybe some. I've been working out."

"How well have you been eating?"

He shrugged. "Well enough, I guess," he said. "About this room, I'm not sure –"

Jeanne broke in on him. "I just wondered, because stress can do strange things to people's appetites."

"Jeanne, I can't afford a room like this," Tony said in a rush.

"So what?" she asked. "You wouldn't worry if it was an apartment."

"It's not an apartment," Tony replied. "It's a very expensive hotel room."

She shook her head. "Don't do this, Tony. Don't."

"Don't what?"

"Don't turn into the kind of guy who can't handle it when a woman has more money than he does."

"This has nothing to do with you being a woman," Tony protested. "I just don't like sponging on people, that's all. If this was your apartment, I'd talk about rent if I thought I was going to be in it for a while."

"Even if we were together? I mean, if you were living with someone, and you were together, would you . . . I mean . . ."

Tony watched her flounder for a moment, then reached out and took her hand. "Yes, Jeanne, I'd talk about rent if I was staying with a girlfriend long term."

"About rent, or about splitting the expenses?"

"About some kind of sharing of expenses, yes," Tony said. He let go of her hand and started eating again. "I mean, if you ask McGee and Ziva, they'll probably tell you that I'm a major mooch, but ten bucks here and there for lunch is entirely different from . . . from letting someone support you wholly."

Jeanne gazed at him thoughtfully. "What if . . . just say, if you were with someone who had a lot more money than you, would you want to live in a place that you could afford, or would you be willing to live someplace more . . . what she could afford?" He knit his brows, not sure what she was asking or why. Her eyes widened. "Not that your place . . . it was really nice, and it was kind of interesting to see it because I hadn't ever seen it before, and it was . . . while definitely a guy's apartment, it was elegant."

Tony snorted. "Grandma's antiques will do that for you."

Jeanne shook her head earnestly. "No, it was more than just that. It was well put together, a nice mix of modern and antique. Not at all the usual bachelor pad, or frat house. I think that's what I expected from . . . what little you said about your place."

"Well, I had to discourage you from wanting to come over. If you had, you might have seen my mail or any of a dozen things that said the wrong name. And we weren't funded to the point of having a separate dwelling for me." He took a deep breath. "Look, I don't know how soon I'll be able to move because I don't know when my place is going to be released by the FBI, and then I'll have to hire movers, not to mention finding the new place. It could take a while, and I don't want you to feel like I'm taking advantage of you." Nor did he want to feel like he was taking advantage of her, but he didn't say that aloud.

"You didn't ask, I offered," Jeanne said. "And if you're really worried about it, we can start looking for a place for you as soon as you want. I need to find a place myself. I'd planned to call a realtor today anyway."

"You'd planned . . ." Tony furrowed his brow, puzzled. "For me?"

"No, I'm moving back to the area," she replied, and Tony's heart stopped briefly, then started beating far too quickly. "My stint with Médecins Sans Frontières is up in another seven weeks, and I've already taken a job with George Washington University Hospital. I came back for the interview and . . . and to see you if I could swing it."

Tony gave her a wry look. "You swung it," he said.

She grimaced. "I was hoping for something a little more casual," she said. "Not quite so dramatic."

"Is that why you were at that bar?" He shook his head. "But I never took you there. It's one of my old haunts, so it wouldn't have been smart."

"I know," she said, and she colored. "I hired a private detective to look into . . . a number of things. After I figured out that I was a complete idiot, I decided it was smarter to know . . ." She flushed hotter. "I'm not saying that . . . I mean . . ."

"Good," he said firmly, and she looked at him with startled eyes. "I sometimes think every woman should have her boyfriend investigated before she goes anywhere alone with him."

"Oh."

"I'm a cop, Jeanne, I see the aftermath when it goes wrong."

"I thought you'd be annoyed," she said.

He shrugged and finished off his breakfast. Then he stared down at his empty plate, a little surprised. He hadn't eaten a full meal like that in a while, but talking had let him just put it away.

A knock on the door made him look up. Jeanne was still eating, so he rose. "I'll get it," he said. She looked briefly concerned, but then subsided into her chair. He went to the door and checked through the peephole. With a sigh, he opened the door and let Agent Glick in. "Good morning, Agent Glick. I trust you had a more pleasant awakening than I did."

"I . . . probably did," she said, walking past as he stepped back to let her in. "That's actually what we came to talk to you about." She was followed by Fornell. Tony closed the door behind them and wondered how Jeanne was going to react to this invasion of what he definitely thought of as her space.

She had come in off the balcony when he got around the corner and was greeting the guests in her own, smooth fashion. Tony cleared his throat. "So, do you want to talk to me alone, or . . ."

"That would probably be better," Glick said. She turned to Jeanne. "If you don't mind, Dr. Benoit, or is there another room we can use?"

"I'll just go finish my breakfast," Jeanne said, and she went back out on the balcony, shutting the door behind her. Tony found he wanted to call her back, but he repressed the urge. Taking a seat on one of the chairs, he waited for them to ask their questions. He knew how he'd handle the situation if the case were his, but it wasn't.

"Agent DiNozzo, can –"

"Tony," he said, interrupting her. "Please, just call me Tony."

"Very well. Please tell me about the phone call you received this morning."

Tony grimaced. He didn't really want to talk about this. "I was asleep in bed when I heard the new phone ringing. I didn't recognize the ring tone, so it took me a minute to register that it was my phone." Glick was nodding. He was providing too much information about irrelevancies. He took a deep breath. "I answered, he . . . he said it was good to hear my voice and asked if I'd been asleep because I sounded sleepy. I asked him how he got the number, and he asked if I knew where he was. I said in holding with the FBI, I thought, and he told me I had to get him out because I knew he didn't belong there." He grit his teeth. "I pointed out that he'd attacked me in a number of ways and asked him where he thought he belonged. He said . . . he said in bed with me and started describing what he'd be doing if he were. I threw the phone across the room when . . ." He shook his head. "Do you really want the details of what he said?" he asked, knowing what the answer had to be.

"Word for word, please, Tony," she said.

Tony glanced at Fornell, who had the gall to look sympathetic, and stood up in a sudden motion. He stalked over to the desk under the window and sat down. In quick motions, he wrote out what the conversation had consisted off on both sides and threw the pen down. Rising again, he turned around and handed the page to Glick. "There. That's it."

"Thank you, Tony." She looked at the page. Tony walked across the room to grab himself a soda from the fridge so he wouldn't have to watch her read it. "It cuts off in the middle of a word," she said after a moment.

"That's all I heard," Tony said, still facing the refrigerator. "I threw the phone across the room because I didn't want to hear any more."

"I see. I think we can infer the rest of the –"

"Is that all?" Tony demanded, turning around. "Or did you have other questions? Questions you didn't get to ask yesterday because I freaked out and Director Shepard told you to beat it?"

Glick shook her head. "No, that's it. I would like to express my distress that Detective Harris was able to –"

"I don't really want to hear it, I'm sorry," Tony said. "If you're done, please . . . please just go."

"Okay, DiNutso," Fornell said. "Come on, Agent Glick."

"It will not happen again," Glick said, and then she left.

Tony downed the soda, then walked back out on the balcony. "Jeanne, have you ever visited the Smithsonian?" he asked.

"Some of it, why?"

"I want to go somewhere, and that seems like a nice neutral where."

"Then let's go," she said with a smile.

Chapter Text

Monday, 1024, NCIS Headquarters

"Boss, have you looked at your e-mail?" McGee sounded worried and upset.

Gibbs looked up at him. "Not lately, why?"

"Agent Fornell e-mailed something to you."

"How do you know?"

"He copied me." McGee looked uneasy. "I think he was afraid you wouldn't see it yourself."

"What is it?"

"Two transcripts of the phone call this morning," McGee said. "Tony's version and Harris's."

Gibbs' eyes narrowed. "And?"

"Tony's is really disturbing, Boss."

"What does it say?" McGee grabbed a piece of paper off the printer and handed it to him. Gibbs scanned it quickly, damping down on his blood pressure as he read. "And Harris's?"

"Up till the stuff about beds, it's pretty much the same, but he just has Tony hanging up on him, and he blames you for all the bad stuff Tony said about him."

Gibbs rolled his eyes and handed the paper back to McGee. "You found a way to tie that website back to Harris yet?"

"Abby and I are still working on it," he said.

"What about the phone calls from Harris this morning?"

"I've got a program running to pull up the . . . here it is." He looked up. "That phone didn't get a lot of use last night, but it's had a fair amount this morning. Last night, there's one call at 8:15 to DC District 2 headquarters. I'd have to get access to their internal system to get more detailed as to who it went to." Gibbs nodded impatiently. "It was eleven minutes long. Then there was a call to . . . ah, the police union offices, it looks like he actually called for a lawyer."

Gibbs grimaced. Calling his boss and then calling his union didn't look so bad on the surface. "What about this morning?"

"Well, according to the FBI, Harris had access to that phone from around 8:25 this morning till just after 8:45." Gibbs nodded. "There was another call to District 2 at 8:26, that one lasted four minutes. Then there was a call to Tony's cell phone at 8:31 that lasted about a minute, and then at 8:35, he called his union again for almost nine minutes. I called Agent Glick to find out if there's some kind of log that shows the exact times Harris was using that phone, because there are calls both before 8:25 and after 8:45 that I don't want to spend a lot of time researching if it's not necessary. She said she'd have someone e-mail me the information, but no one has gotten back to me."

"Call her again." Gibbs glanced over at Ziva. "You got any new information about this supposed connection between Harris and Eliseo Vargas?"

"I can confirm that there is a connection, but my contacts say they have seen no sign of quid pro quo. Harris appears to do nothing for Vargas, but Vargas showers him with gifts."

"Chase that down if you can." He was well aware that he might be setting her an impossible task. The CIA hadn't succeeded in finding the source of the connections, but he had confidence that his people wouldn't stop till they'd found everything that was out there. He didn't have the same confidence about either the CIA or the FBI.

He rose and went upstairs to report their progress – or lack thereof. Cynthia put down her phone as he entered the outer office. "I was just calling you, Agent Gibbs," she said. "The director asked me to send for you."

He gave her an ironic nod, but didn't slow down even to find out why Jen wanted him. No doubt she'd tell him soon enough. He opened the door and found Agent Preston from the CIA standing in front of Jen's desk. Anger surged through him at the sight of the man who had barged into DiNozzo's hospital room to ask him to continue his relationship with the man who had attacked and raped him. Controlling his rage, he walked forward in time to hear part of what he was saying to the director.

" – convince him not to press charges? It's important that we have this man –"

"It's important that this man go to prison for what he's done," Jen said. "Agent Gibbs, I thought you'd be interested to hear what Agent Preston has to say."

Gibbs glowered at the man. Preston gave him a wary look, but he pressed on with Director Shepard. "Director, he's a contact with a dangerous organized crime empire that we've had trouble infiltrating. If he's locked away, we lose that altogether. Surely you can see the problem inherent in that?"

"What I can see, Agent Preston, is that you seem hell bent on protecting a serial rapist and stalker," Jen said.

"One whose connection with Eliseo Vargas appears to be peripheral, at best," Gibbs added.

"Maybe so," Preston snapped. "But it's the best we've got."

"Then get something better," Gibbs retorted.

Preston turned his back on Gibbs, focusing again on Jenny. "Director Shepard, I have it on good authority that Agent DiNozzo's family is concerned that it would be better for him if he didn't take this public. At this stage, it's still possible to contain –"

Gibbs closed the distance between them and stepped into the narrow space between Agent Preston and Jen's desk, crowding the CIA agent. "Did you contact DiNozzo's father?" he demanded angrily.

"Agent Gibbs, I hardly think it's relevant who contacted whom," Preston said, swaying backwards but not actually stepping back. "Would you mind?"

Gibbs glared at him until the bastard took a step away, and then Jen said, "Agent Gibbs?" He took a step to the side, giving her free sight of the man again. "Did Mr. DiNozzo call you?" she asked sweetly.

"As I said, who contacted –"

"Answer the question, Agent Preston," Jen said, her voice going hard.

"I called him, if you must know, and I was a little startled to discover that the man hadn't been informed of his son's situation. Agent DiNozzo was unconscious in the hospital for several hours, and no one even contacted his father."

"That's at Agent DiNozzo's request," Director Shepard said.

"He was unconscious," Preston repeated. "He could hardly make any –"

"It's a standing request," Gibbs said, and Preston gave him a puzzled look. "DiNozzo submitted it in writing about six years ago. Mind you, DiNozzo's been conscious for several days. Has it occurred to you that if he wanted his father to know about his 'situation,' he'd have told him himself?"

"I was given to understand that you might have been isolating him from outside influences," Preston said stiffly. "After all, Agent Gibbs, you are currently under investigation for possible involvement –"

Gibbs found himself speechless with rage, but Jen cut Preston off. "You of all people know what nonsense that is," Jen said sharply. "We've seen your files on Harris's behavior, as has the FBI."

"I wish to speak directly to Agent DiNozzo. It's his choice whether or not to press charges in this matter, not yours, and not Agent Gibbs'."

"I have your card. I will pass your message on to Agent DiNozzo. If he wants to contact you, that will be up to him."

"Director Shepard, I insist that you tell me how to reach Agent DiNozzo."

"No," Jenny said, standing up. "And that's all I have to say on the subject. Good day, Agent Preston." Preston stared at her for a moment, then picked up his briefcase and left. He shut the door behind himself with a punctilious click rather than slamming it, but the very care he took suggested that slamming would better suit his mood. Jen let out an angry huff of breath. "Those idiots are too used to getting their own way," she said. "What can we expect from DiNozzo's father?"

"Who knows, but I'd better let him know that his father's been informed."

"Have you got anything new for me?"

He filled her in on the latest news, which was sparse to say the least, and then returned to his desk. "McGee, can you get into DiNozzo's voice mail?" he asked, recalling several phone calls that they'd let ring through.

McGee looked up at him. "If I have to, sure, Boss."

"Do it. Anything from his father or from Harris, make a copy of and then delete." McGee glanced over at Ziva, then back at Gibbs, his brows drawing together. "Delete, Boss?"

"Did I stutter, McGee?" Gibbs demanded. McGee got straight to work. Gibbs contemplated the phone for a moment, then picked it up and dialed DiNozzo's new cell phone.

Monday, 1538, Smithsonian Archives

A clandestine phone call to a friend had netted Tony and Jeanne a private tour of the clothing and textiles archive. She'd seemed so interested in the garments on display, peering through the glass at the hand stitching and exclaiming over the beading and other embellishments, that he'd had a brainstorm while he'd waited for her to come out of the restroom. He'd told Dr. Langer where to find them and taken Jeanne to eat lunch in the museum cafeteria.

Now she was getting to look much more closely at some clothing that was being prepared for a later exhibit, and Tony watched her with pleasure as she soaked up Angela Langer's steady stream of lecture. His phone began to ring, and he stepped back from the pair of women to answer it. This time, he checked the name on the caller ID. Gibbs. Flipping the phone open, he said, "DiNozzo."

"I thought you should know, Agent Preston wants you to drop the charges against Harris, and he's trying to get hold of you."

"Great," Tony muttered. "Do you have his number so I can tell him to bite me in person?"

Gibbs snorted and read off a number. Tony jotted it down on the receipt for their entry into the museum. "But you should also know, he evidently contacted your father in his efforts to find you."

Tony blinked. "He did what?" he asked, his stomach dropping through the floor.

"I just thought you ought to be prepared."

"Has he called the office?" Tony asked.

"Yeah. McGee pulled the message off your voice mail."

Tony contemplated that invasion of his privacy and decided not to take any notice of it. "And?"

"And he wants you to drop the charges and keep your name out of the papers."

Tony could tell that there had been more and that Gibbs wasn't going to tell him the rest. No doubt the message would also have been erased from his voice mail so he'd never hear it. He let out a mirthless chuckle. "I think I'll let him figure out the bite me when he sees the news in the Times," Tony said.

"Sounds good to me, DiNozzo," Gibbs said. "You need anything?"

"I'm good," Tony replied. "Jeanne and I are at the Smithsonian."

"Have fun." The phone went dead and Tony pocketed it. He turned to find that Jeanne had moved up beside him. Dr. Langer had vanished.

"Something wrong?"

"Not really," Tony said, doing his best to jettison the mood the news had forced on him. "Weren't we talking about pin tucks?"

Jeanne wisely decided not to pursue the question. Dr. Langer came back at that moment with a cup of coffee which she put down on a table far away from the fabrics they were looking at and began her lecture again. Tony felt Jeanne twine her hand into his, and he squeezed, grateful for the unquestioning support.

They had started with a selection of women's clothes from just prior to the Civil War, but when they'd finished looking at that, they moved on to mixed family groups from multiple eras. "We have trouble finding children's clothes from most time periods before the 1940s," Langer said. "Children's clothes tended to be passed from child to child until they wore out, and then they were used for things like quilts. So these few examples were a fortunate find."

Tony wandered over to look at some men's clothing that were being placed on a manikin. The waist of the man's coat seemed incredibly small, and the trousers extremely tight. The man who was dressing the dummy looked up and saw Tony's expression.

"Ah yes, Regency period men's fashions could be outlandish," he said. "From signs like the stress on the seams and wear patterns, we think the owner of this garment wore a corset to fit into it."

"A man in a corset?" Tony said, disturbed by the idea, though he knew of men who wore girdles to fit into their old military uniforms. Gibbs wasn't one of them.

"I'm Alan, by the way," the man said. "The wasp waist was much desired," he explained with a smile, gesturing to a nearby picture from a period magazine. The man did, in fact, look a bit like a wasp with a bulbous chest and the spreading skirts of his coat. Giving Tony a once-over, Alan added, "You would have been considered greatly oversized by the fashion elite of this era."

"How did he move in those pants?" Tony asked.

Alan laughed. "That's a good question."

Tony watched for a few minutes more as Alan arranged a cravat around the dummy's neck, then returned to where Jeanne was having a lecture on mid-nineteenth century corsets from Dr. Langer. "– why fainting was such a common occurrence, with the lungs so compressed by the displacement of other organs."

"Charming," Jeanne said.

"But women today stuff their feet into shoes that are too small for them, and starve themselves to have slender figures." Dr. Langer shrugged.

"And some endure insane amounts of plastic surgery," Tony added.

Dr. Langer nodded. "Every generation has its unhealthy tactics to look beautiful."

"It makes me want to go have a huge steak dinner with all the fixings," Jeanne said.

"That sounds good to me," Tony replied. That would also involve sitting down, and little as he wanted to admit it, he was growing very tired and achy. He looked at his phone. "It's getting towards dinner time. Are you –" His stomach let out an embarrassingly loud rumble.

"Well, whether I am or not, you are," Jeanne said with a smile. "Dr. Langer, thank you so much, it's been fascinating."

"You've been a good audience," Dr. Langer said. "Thank you for giving me an opportunity to lecture."

When they were outside again, Jeanne said, "Do you have any place in mind?" Tony shook his head, and Jeanne looked more closely at him. "Why don't we go back to the hotel?" she said. "We can decide there."

Tony nodded, and she raised her hand to call a cab. He needed to pick up his car from his apartment, but he didn't have the energy required to do that right now. In fact, he actually fell asleep in the cab on the way back to the hotel. He awoke to Jeanne shaking him gently. "Time to get out," she said with a smile in her voice, and Tony dragged himself out of the backseat.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to conk out like that," he said, more than a little embarrassed.

"You're getting over a fair amount of trauma," she replied, putting an arm around his waist. He put his arm around her shoulders automatically. "It's normal for you to be a little tired."

"I didn't do that much, today," Tony muttered. "Not enough to fall asleep like that."

"Don't worry about it, Tony," she said as they got onto the elevator.

He stopped talking about it so she wouldn't worry, but it bugged him that he kept getting so tired so quickly. He'd had plenty of traumas over his lifetime. Why should this one be hitting him so hard? "I guess the warranty is running out."

"They say it runs out at thirty," she remarked. "Don't worry about it. You can't expect to bounce right back from something like this."

"Oh, I can," he said. "I do expect it, but it doesn't seem to be happening."

She leaned into him. "So, that gives us a few more days of quiet, is that such a bad thing?"

At the moment, he had to admit that it wasn't, and since Gibbs and the others were no doubt investigating Brody, he didn't particularly want to be there for it. He couldn't participate, and listening to it would probably drive him nuts.

"I've heard the steak house here is very good," Tony commented. And easy, and quick to get back to the room from, but he didn't say any of that, though he had no doubt Jeanne picked up on it.

"I'll call and see if we need a reservation."

Sleepy as he felt, Tony decided that he needed something to help him perk up, and he knew himself. Feeling crappy could normally be countered by looking good. He went into his bedroom and dug out one of his nicer suits, found the shoes that went with it, and made sure nothing was crumpled. He selected a shirt and a tie, unearthed a suitable pair of socks, then stepped back to contemplate the outfit for a moment.

"Tony, they can't fit us in for an hour," Jeanne called through the door. "Can you wait that long?"

"I'm good," he replied. "I think I'll take a shower." He gave himself a quick scrub, then turned off the hot water right at the end. The burst of cold water woke him right up. He got out, put on the luxurious robe again, and quickly blow dried his hair. It occurred to him as he did so that he might want to let Jeanne know that he was dressing up. She'd be justifiably annoyed if he outshone her in that department. Combing his hair, he walked out into the living room of the suite. She was on the phone, listening, and she was wrapped in a robe identical to his. She looked adorably tiny in it.

She looked up when he came out of his bedroom, and her expression was one of fond exasperation. "Yes, Mother, I've talked to him. In fact, I'm looking at him right now." Mother? Tony froze on the spot. Her mother had to loathe him after what he'd done. "Yes, he's speaking to me. What?" She glanced over at Tony again. "He . . . he's wearing a bathrobe." Tony's brows went up, startled that she was sharing that information. In fact, Jeanne seemed flustered by her own indiscretion. "Mom . . . no, he . . . me? I'm . . . in jeans, why?" She flushed, and Tony wasn't sure if it was a result of the fib or if her mother had said something to occasion the embarrassment. "Mother, you have a dirty mind." Her mother, then. This was being a fascinating conversation to overhear, if not altogether comfortable. Jeanne grimaced. "He's just staying with me because there's something wrong with his apartment." She shook her head. "No, you can't talk to him. No. Mother, I'm hanging up now. Good bye." She placed the receiver on the cradle a little more forcefully than was strictly necessary.

"What was that about?" Tony asked.

"My mother is a voyeur," Jeanne said irritably. "Sorry about that. She's been hounding me for updates ever since I came back to the city. So far I've managed to ignore her because she always called while I was out."

Tony shook his head. "Updates? On what?"

Jeanne flushed deeper. "On how things are going with you," she said.

"I would have thought she'd want you to stay away from me," he replied. "She didn't seem to think much of me when I met her."

"That was before you turned out to be a secret agent," Jeanne said, rolling her eyes.

"I'm not . . . I mean, I was undercover, but I'm not a –"

"I know," Jeanne shrugged. "And she does, too, but she likes a federal agent better than a film studies professor."

Tony wasn't sure what to make of that, so he decided to ignore it for the time being. "I thought I'd get dressed up for dinner if that's okay with you." It occurred to him that she might feel obligated, and he tried to figure out a graceful way to back down if she looked disinclined.

"Oh good," Jeanne said with a grin. "I've got a fabulous dress that I haven't had a chance to wear. Mom sent it for my last birthday, apparently not caring that my need for evening clothes was limited where I was." She bounced over and gave him a kiss on the cheek. "I'll be ready in ten minutes."

As she disappeared into her room, Tony reached up and touched his cheek. A second later, he dropped his hand to his side, cursing himself for a sentimental ninny. He went back into his room and began getting dressed. He hoped devoutly that her dress would not clash with his tie.

She was out before he was. A mildly irritating snafu with his shoelaces had required him to raid another pair for less worn laces. He paused in the doorway to stare at her back view appreciatively while she fiddled with her earrings in the mirror. Her hair was caught up in a loose bun, tendrils escaping to curl at her neck. The dress was crimson, a close-fitting sheath with narrow straps and a small kick pleat. Her shoes were silver strappy sandals with three-inch heels, which did incredible things for her legs.

She finished with her earrings and turned around, smiling when she saw him. "As always, you look dapper and handsome," she said. The front of the dress was even better. There was some kind of pleating at the bustline, and the neckline was square, enhancing an already perfect figure.

"You look amazing," Tony replied. "You're right, that's a fabulous dress, but you make it stunning."

She blushed. "Well, I'm ready when you are," she said, picking up a beaded evening bag. For answer, he merely walked forward and offered her his arm.

Chapter Text

Monday, 1808, Chalmers Hotel

Jeanne was conscious of a pleasant flutter in her midsection and an increase of her heart rate as she took Tony's proffered arm. It was a supremely romantic gesture, and his compliment was still making her feel slightly flushed. She tried to remind herself that Tony was a polite guy, and none of this meant anything for certain, but her back brain was unconvinced. It knew what it wanted.

Tony walked her to the elevator, and thence to the restaurant. The maître d' bowed them to their table without any ado, and they settled into their seats. They spoke of nothing much, that is to say, they spoke of her work in Africa and Tony's work in DC, movies they'd seen recently. Nothing that touched on current events. Nothing that touched on the ending of their relationship. Nothing that touched on the future. She let Tony guide the conversation, and as always, he was a fluent talker. He had a real gift for small talk, and something she'd heard called piffle. Light banter flowed back and forth between them, covering and protecting the deeper feelings that they weren't addressing at the moment.

Over dessert, Tony gave her a quizzical look. "So, your mother likes secret agents, huh?"

Jeanne sighed in exasperation. "I think I gave you the wrong impression. See, my mother knows everything." Tony's eyes widened, and she hastened to explain. "Not everything everything, but she knows how the relationship ended, she knows what you were doing, she knows what I did, and she thought mine was the greater betrayal."

"What?" Tony exclaimed. "That's crazy!"

"You were doing your job," Jeanne said. She shrugged her shoulders uncomfortably. "I was seeking vengeance."

Tony blinked at her. "Vengeance is such a . . . biblical term."

"Well, revenge, anyway, I . . ." Jeanne bit her lip. "When the guy told me that they knew it was you who'd killed my father, I wanted to believe it, not because it made sense, but because it gave me license to be a bitch."

"Wait," Tony said. "Back up. Who told you they knew it was me who killed your father?" The waiter had come up at that moment to check on them, and he froze in uncertainty, staring at Tony. "I didn't," he said, looking alarmed. "Kill her father, I mean. It was a . . . misunderstanding." The waiter nodded uneasily and walked away. Tony watched him go, grimacing. "Great, now that guy is going to go tell his manager that they have an incident waiting to happen at this table."

"Don't be silly, Tony," Jeanne said, leaning forward and taking his hand. "I'll tell you the whole story when we go upstairs." Tony still looked anxious, so Jeanne grabbed the little notebook she always kept handy, ripped out a sheet of paper and wrote their room number on it. Leaving it on the table, she rose, taking Tony's hand again. "Come on, let's go."

"Don't you have to sign something?" Tony asked.

"I'll make it right later," Jeanne said. "Come on."

They left the restaurant holding hands because Tony didn't try to extricate his from hers. Jeanne was pleased by that. Taking his arm might be romantic, but it was also formal and could be impersonal. Holding hands was anything but impersonal. She glanced up at Tony's face while they waited for the elevator and realized that he was looking more than a little off balance. She decided that hand-holding wasn't enough to offset his emotional state, and that in this mood he was unlikely to make any moves himself, so when they got on the elevator, she stepped closer and put her arm around his waist. Tony's body tensed briefly, but then he relaxed and pulled her close into a hug. "I don't blame you," he said softly. "I did at the time, believe me, but I realize now that it was my fault. I screwed up in more ways than one on that assignment, and –"

She reached up and touched his lips to silence him. "It wasn't your fault," she said. "No matter what you did, it can't justify what I did."

"Not justify, but you would never –"

The doors opened and a woman of about her mother's age entered the elevator. She wasn't large, but her presence made the space seem very crowded all of a sudden. Tony broke off and Jeanne caught the hand that was on her shoulder and squeezed it. They remained silent till floor seventeen, when the older lady got off, then Jeanne said, "We can talk in the room." Tony nodded without speaking, and Jeanne hoped this would be easily resolved. She sensed confusion and anxiety from his direction, and she wanted to alleviate it without upsetting him.

He released her to dig in her bag for the room key, and she found hers and the one she'd had them make for him. She hadn't yet had the right opportunity to give it to him, but she pulled them both out and handed him his. He took it without a word and opened the door, holding it for her with a vestige of his usual gallantry. She put her bag aside and took his hand, leading him to the sofa. At her silent urging, he sat down, and she sat next to him, leaning against him and snuggling. Not only did he not object, he put his arm around her shoulders and squeezed. "What did you mean?" he asked after a moment.

Jeanne took a deep breath. "I got a call on my satellite phone from someone who said he was FBI Agent Norman Meyer to tell me that my father's body had been found." She could feel the movement of Tony's nodding against her hair, but he didn't speak. "He told me that they were sure you had killed him, but they didn't have sufficient proof to convict, and . . ." She paused and leaned sideways so she could look into his face. "I was angry, but that's no excuse. I told him that I knew you'd done it, too." Tony shook his head and started to say something, but she forged ahead. "He sort of led me through a plausible story of how I could know, asking a lot of leading questions that I answered . . . falsely. I'm sorry, it was a terrible thing to do, but between impulse and temper, I made an incredibly bad mistake."

"Leading questions?" Tony asked neutrally.

"'Did you see it happen?'" she quoted. "'You were no doubt afraid to accuse him because he's a federal agent, is that why you went to Africa?'" She ached for the lost expression in his eyes. "I should never have done it, and I knew that on some level, but once it was started I didn't know . . . I wasn't sure I wanted to stop it. I believed him, and that was wrong, too. The minute I let my brain get involved instead of sticking with emotions, I knew you would never have done such a thing."

"But . . . the FBI moved on that, based on that interview?"

She shook her head. "I don't know what they got," she said. "About three days later, I got another call from someone asking me to come to DC for an interview. I told them the story Meyer had pulled out of me, and they wrote it all down, recorded it, you know how that works better than I do. I signed a document, perjuring myself. I still don't know why they didn't prosecute on that."

"Jen asked them not to," Tony said. "Because I asked her to ask them not to."

Jeanne blinked at him. "Oh," she said blankly. "Anyway, later on, after I saw you, I asked to see Norman Meyer, to find out why he'd been so certain, and they all looked blank. I said he was the person I'd talked to first, and they told me they had been tipped off by a source in the CIA that I'd confided in who thought I might be persuaded to lay evidence against you if they asked the right questions, and gave them the right questions. There is no Agent Norman Meyer, and . . ."

"You were set up," Tony finished for her.

"I helped," she replied. "And all I can say is I'm sorry, there's no excuse for what I did. And . . ." She shook her head, puzzled. "Why would you do that, ask them not to prosecute, after what I did to you?"

Tony shrugged. "Your father had just died, you were miserable, it was my fault anyway, and it wasn't like you were going to pop up and do it again."

Jeanne cupped his chin gently, and realized suddenly that he'd covered the bruises on his chin with some kind of make-up. She didn't comment on it, though. She didn't think he'd want to talk about it. "What makes you think any of this is your fault?" she asked.

"I screwed up," Tony said. "I wasn't supposed to let things . . . I'm not sure what I could have done differently, really, but I wasn't supposed to let this go as far as they did."

"I don't understand," Jeanne said. "The whole point was to get close to me, wasn't it?"

"Yes, but I could have . . . I don't know . . . kept things frozen at a slightly less intimate level." He sighed and looked away. "When I knew I was in love, I should have gone to Jenny and told her I'd gotten too close or something, but I didn't want to give you up. I kept fantasizing about possible futures that I knew could not be realistically possible. I . . ." He snorted. "All my previous relationships were either less than a month long or I sabotaged them in one way or another. I've never . . . this sounds lame, but I've never felt this way about anyone before. I shouldn't have let you believe so completely that it was forever, but I wanted it to be forever, and I let that overflow into . . ." He shook his head. "Have you ever seen The Music Man?"

Jeanne raised her eyebrows. "You got your foot caught in the door?"

Reference caught and tossed back without a hitch. No one got his movie references, no matter how obvious, and that one wasn't obvious. "I love you, Jeanne!" he exclaimed without considering the statement in the least.

Her eyes glowed with pleasure, and she dropped her hand from his chin to his shoulder. "I don't believe in the 'think method,' Tony," she said.

Tony smiled at her and tilted his head. "I'm not sure what that means in this context."

She laughed. "I'm not sure, either," she replied.

His laughter died away and he took her hand. "So, this may be a dangerous question, but where do we go from here?"

Her eyes widened, and her hand tightened on his. "I don't know. That . . . depends." Tony didn't know what that meant either. She leaned closer. "It depends on what you . . . what you feel ready for. I don't want to make you uncomfortable."

Tony blinked at her. "You don't," he said. "But . . . do you forgive me for what I did to you?"

She opened her mouth to speak, but then she stopped. "Telling you there's nothing to forgive isn't going to work, is it?" she asked. He just shook his head. "Tony, I know you never meant to hurt me that way, and you were doing a necessary job."

Tony didn't know how to react. He couldn't tell her how much he'd come to doubt the real necessity of the job. If he'd known that La Grenouille had been working with the CIA . . . he would have asked Jenny different questions at the very least.

Jeanne cupped his cheek. "You believed you were doing a necessary job," she said. "Didn't you?"

He nodded. That one he could answer. "Of course, I'm just not suited to that kind of job."

"Deep cover?"

"That wasn't deep cover," Tony replied. "I was still doing my regular job all along." He shook his head. "No, it was the . . . it's one thing to go into a situation where you're surrounded by mobsters or drug runners or whatever, and deceive them completely. It's entirely different when it's . . ." He shrugged. "When it's someone like you. Yes, I believed it was necessary, or I'd never have done it. But the fact is, there are people who can engage in the kind of relationship I developed with you without getting truly involved. I don't think I could have done that, even if I hadn't fallen in love. Casual sex is one thing, deliberately setting out to have a long term 'romantic' relationship with a stranger without meaning any of it is beyond me. I'd hoped to accomplish everything I needed to before going that far with you."

"Is that why it took a month?" Jeanne asked.

"I hated the idea of lying that way," he said. "I . . . I know people who've done it before, to get information, but I never realized how impossible I'd find it to use sex that way. Given my history, one might be excused for thinking that sex means nothing to me, but I find that's not the case."

"Does that excuse Director Shepard?" Jeanne asked, her eyes unreadable. The question strayed a little too close to things he wasn't ready to talk about yet. Tony looked away. Jeanne squeezed his hand. "I meant her using you like that. I'm not trying to put you on the spot about my father. I won't. I just . . . did she not know that she was asking you to do something you weren't up to?"

Tony snorted. "She didn't know . . . she barely knew me when the op started, and I think she wanted to believe I was a younger version of Gibbs that she could mold rather than that I was an independent human being with a unique background and personality." He grimaced. "I probably shouldn't tell you this, not because it's secret but because it's personal to them, but they have a history that I'm not altogether clear on. I know he trained her, I know they had some kind of a relationship, and I know she finds commanding him challenging at the best of times."

"He is a little autocratic," Jeanne said hesitantly.

"That's like saying water's a little wet," Tony said wryly. "Anyway, a few months before I engineered our first meeting, Gibbs quit the agency. He moved to Mexico and dropped out of contact with all of us. I can't really go into detail on the background behind it, but he'd had enough and he just left. Jenny – Director Shepard – didn't want to replace him on the team because she didn't want to believe that he wasn't coming back, and she started treating me like a substitute Gibbs. It was really flattering till I realized that it wasn't me she saw when she looked at me, she saw mini-Gibbs."

"I'm sure –"

"Jeanne," he said gently, and she closed her mouth on the empty reassurance. "I've been enough people's substitute something that I recognize it. I'm also good at willful blindness sometimes. She's an attractive, intelligent woman, and she treated me like an attractive, intelligent man that she relied on. It just so happened that the man in question wasn't actually me. I didn't see it because I didn't want to. And because it would genuinely never occur to me to be seen as a substitute Gibbs." And she'd used his reaction to put him into a situation that was more than a little questionable. He still didn't really know what to do with the fact that he didn't altogether trust his director's judgment.

"I see Tony DiNozzo," Jeanne said, reaching up to touch his nose in an exploratory way, her eyes warm now, boring into his. "I see a man with a depth I only glimpsed in snatches when I spent time with him before, and one I want to know a great deal better."

Tony blinked at her. "Which brings us back to the question of where we go from here."

Jeanne leaned against the sofa, snuggling in against his shoulder. This put her closer physically, but made it impossible for him to see her face. "Well, I don't want to start over," she said, and a sick pit developed in his stomach. If she didn't want . . . then what was this all about? Before his emotions and insecurities could develop on this theme, she spoke again. "Starting over implies wiping out everything that came before, and that's not what I want at all. If you're up for it, I'd like to start again."

His arm tightened around her shoulder, and he felt something that really could not be tears prickling in his eyes. That was exactly what he wanted. To take up where they'd left off, acknowledging all the pain that had passed between them, striving to regain the joys they had shared. He found his voice after a long moment of breathless wonder that she could trust him enough for this. "I'm up for it," he said. It sounded like a paltry response in his ears, but she cuddled even closer and let out a happy sigh. He closed his eyes and rested his cheek against her head.

A moment later an enormous yawn overtook him. Jeanne drew away slightly and looked up at him with a fond smile. "Maybe not tonight," she said.

"I'm not ready to go to bed," he replied pathetically.

She studied his expression and apparently decided against challenging his stubbornness. "I've got movies," she said, and he perked up a little. Rising, she went across to the drawer beneath the television in the armoire. Opening it, she ran her eyes over them. "What do we have . . . oh, perfect!" Not letting him see the box, she pulled out a silvery disk and plopped it into a DVD player that he really should have noticed since it wasn't part of the room's original furnishings.

"When did you have them do that?" he asked.

"While we were at dinner. I called while you were in the shower." She grabbed the remotes and looked back at him. "You want anything to drink? There's some pretzels, too."

He smiled at her. "I'm good."

Nodding, she curled up against his side and resisted his attempt to take the remotes. When the picture of Robert Preston and Shirley Jones came up on the screen, he let out an amused snort. "You couldn't have planned that."

"Happy accident," she said, and raising the remote, she clicked play.

Chapter Text

Monday, 2251, Chalmers Hotel

They were only halfway through the second song when Jeanne realized that Tony was actually asleep. She'd figured it wouldn't take long. Instead of disturbing him to put him to bed, she just enjoyed the closeness for a few minutes, then made him comfortable on the sofa. She left the movie going, concerned that he might wake up as a result of its absence, then she fetched a blanket to cover him with. The exhausted, frazzled look he'd worn for hours seemed to have faded somewhat when he fell asleep. She tucked the blanket in, then went to make some phone calls. Her friend Marjorie was still working real estate in DC, and she agreed to make space in her schedule to show them some apartments the next day.

Once that was done, she went and started getting Tony's luggage unpacked. A knock on the door made her drop what she was doing and hurry over, glancing quickly at Tony to reassure herself that he hadn't awakened.

She opened the door and recognized Tony's father from photographs she'd seen. Stepping outside, she shut the door behind her. "What can I do for you?" she asked.

"Is this Anthony Dinozzo's room?"

"Yes, this is Tony's room." She smiled politely. "It's interesting to finally meet you, Mr. DiNozzo. I'm Jeanne Benoit."

"Who are you?" he demanded brusquely. "And where is my son?"

"He's inside, asleep," she replied. "I'm his girlfriend." It might be a little out of pace for their current relationship level, but it was a lot easier to explain than 'his maybe fiancé if things work out on this second go round.'

"He's gay," he announced incredulously.

She shook her head. "No. At most he's bi-curious."

"He's had a homosexual relationship."

"So have a lot of straight people," she said, wondering why he thought this was appropriate conversation for the hallway. "Regardless, we're together."

"I want to speak to him."

"He's asleep."

"Then wake him up."

"No," Jeanne said flatly. When he moved towards the door to knock again, she intercepted him. "I said no. He needs his rest, you're not waking him up."

"Miss Benoit, I don't know who you think you are, but you have no business coming between me and my son."

She blinked at him. "If we're going to use titles, sir, it's Dr. Benoit," she said.

"Are you a medical doctor?"

"I am, but I'm here as Tony's girlfriend."

"So this sleep thing isn't a medical opinion," Mr. DiNozzo said. "It's just a preference?"

"It's both," she said. "He needs sleep, Mr. DiNozzo, he's had a rough few days."

"I came down from New York to specifically to speak with him, and –"

"Well, then no doubt you'll be staying the night," she said. "You can express your concern in the morning. I'm sure you don't want to disturb his rest." Footsteps down the hall made her look up. "Agent Gibbs," she said with a smile.

"How's DiNozzo?" he asked, barely giving Mr. DiNozzo a look.

"He's asleep." She glanced at Tony's father. "Have you met Mr. DiNozzo senior, yet?"

"The second," DiNozzo said, and they both looked at him.

Jeanne cleared her throat and turned back towards Gibbs. "Have you met Anthony Leonard DiNozzo II yet?" she asked, keeping her tone as neutral as possible.

"No," Gibbs said shortly.

Jeanne could feel tension rising in both men. "Mr. DiNozzo, this is Agent Leroy Jethro Gibbs," she said. "Tony's boss."

"I've heard the name," Mr. DiNozzo said. "What are you doing here, Agent Gibbs?"

"I'm checking on DiNozzo," Agent Gibbs said, glowering at Mr. DiNozzo. "Do you think you could come back when he's not asleep to tell him you want him to let his rapist get away with it?"

"What?!" Jeanne exclaimed. She'd been willing to give the man the benefit of the doubt, but if that was why he was here . . .

"Shh!" Gibbs said softly, and she looked towards the door.

"Damn it," she said under her breath. "Sorry." Turning towards Mr. DiNozzo, she said, "Is that why you're here?"

"Why I'm here is none of your business," he replied stiffly, his eyes hard as he returned Gibbs' glare.

"It's very much my business," she retorted.

"You might not want to have this conversation in the hallway," Gibbs observed mildly. "Not if you want to keep DiNozzo asleep."

"No, you're right," Jeanne said, glancing at the door again.

"I want to talk to him, and I want to talk to him now," Mr. DiNozzo said, his voice rising a bit.

Jeanne pulled the door key out of her pocket. "Agent Gibbs, would you sit with him until I come back? I don't know how he'll react if he wakes up alone."

"Sure," Gibbs said, taking the key.

"You have my number in case something comes up and you have to leave."

Gibbs nodded and opened the door. Mr. DiNozzo was civilized enough not to try to push past her, nor to yell out and guarantee waking Tony, but he didn't look pleased when the door shut again with both of them on this side of it. "Mr. DiNozzo, would you care to join me for coffee in the lounge downstairs?"

"I want to talk to my son," he said irritably. "You have no right to keep me from him."

"You have no right to barge into his private space," Jeanne replied coldly. "Come with me and we can talk, or go away and come back in the morning, around ten. Your choice."

He compressed his lips and she wasn't sure which way he was going to jump. Finally, he cleared his throat. "I would be pleased to get to know you better." He didn't look like he meant it, but the effort had been made, and she could appreciate it.

They didn't speak in the elevator on the way down to the lounge, and there was no trouble finding a table. Nine-ish on a Monday didn't seem to be a busy time. She found them a booth that wasn't too close to the other patrons and a waiter appeared as if by magic. "What can I get for you?" he asked, directing his question to her.

"I'd like coffee," she said.

"Scotch and soda," Mr. DiNozzo said. "Make it a double." The waiter nodded and moved off among the tables. "Now, tell me why my son would be alarmed to wake up alone."

"What do you know about what's happened to him?" she asked. From what little she'd heard, she thought it unlikely that either Gibbs or Tony had contacted Tony's father, so she had no idea what information he had, or how badly garbled it might be.

"I know that he had a homosexual relationship with a DC cop whom he is now accusing of rape, and I learned of it thirdhand." His irritation at not being contacted directly by NCIS or Tony was clear, and Jeanne wished she knew the reasoning behind that decision. It would give her better ammunition. "The man who contacted me claims this has more to do with his boss's influence than with the actual events."

Jeanne stared at him. "Who contacted you?" she asked.

"An Agent Ashley Preston."

Jeanne rolled her eyes. "The CIA seem to be masters of misinformation," she muttered.

"CIA? What do they have to do with this?"

"Didn't Agent Preston identify his agency?" Jeanne asked.

"I assumed he was with the FBI," DiNozzo replied. "He said they were investigating."

"They are," Jeanne said with a grimace. "It just so happens that shortly after Tony was physically assaulted by Detective Harris, Agent Preston – from the CIA – showed up and asked Tony to resume his relationship with Harris."

"What do you mean 'physically assaulted'?" Tony's father asked.

"I mean the bastard put him in the hospital," Jeanne said. "Tony was unconscious for nearly an hour."

Mr. DiNozzo stared at her. "I didn't know that."

"Of course you didn't, it wouldn't further Preston's goals for you to know that." She shook her head. "I have to tell you, Mr. DiNozzo, that if you're here to tell Tony not to press charges, I can't agree with you."

"My son has insisted on a career in law enforcement, Dr. Benoit. Men in that profession are notoriously homophobic. I very much doubt his colleagues will approve of his choice, and –" He shrugged. "It's for his own protection as much as for mine."

Jeanne concealed her seething anger. "Well, you said you wanted to get to know me," she said. "What do you want to know?"

"Actually, there are a few things you should know. I assume you know who I am." She nodded. It was a safe assumption given that she'd introduced him to Agent Gibbs. "Well, if you believe that you will be marrying money, I think it only fair to tell you that I make Tony no allowance, and he has very little money of his own. A small annuity from a trust his grandmother set up for him, and his salary." He looked around at the hotel. "I don't know how he can possibly be affording all of this."

Jeanne smiled. "I have more than enough money of my own, Mr. DiNozzo. Tony's money or lack of it means nothing whatsoever to me."

"Just because you're a doctor, that doesn't mean you have the kind of money that can afford this kind of extravagance," he said, gesturing around at the environs. Jeanne's smile grew edged. The waiter delivered their order and made himself scarce. DiNozzo immediately took a deep drink of his scotch.

"The penthouse was taken," Jeanne said nonchalantly, sipping her coffee black. "Besides, we didn't need that much space."

Mr. DiNozzo's eyes sharpened on her. "Oh, so it's not Anthony's room, it's yours."

"It's our suite," Jeanne said, emphasis on the possessive pronoun. "Until one of us finds a new place."

"Now that makes sense," DiNozzo said, and Jeanne wasn't sure she liked his tone. "What sort of medicine do you practice, Dr. Benoit?"

"Trauma care, but I've been working in a more general practice for a while now." She wanted out of this conversation, and she found herself wishing she could think of a way to prevent this man from seeing Tony.

"I see. And how did you meet my son?"

That was a question with more pitfalls that Jeanne was entirely prepared to deal with. "Through his work," she said simply. "So, tell me, how is it that you've never met Agent Gibbs? Surely you came down to visit Tony when he was sick? Or on other occasions when he's been injured?"

"I rarely know when Anthony's injured, and I don't know what illness you're speaking of." Jeanne stared at him, not sure how much she was permitted to tell him about the plague if he didn't already know about it. DiNozzo tilted his head, eyeing her quizzically. "Unless you're referring to that ridiculous practical joke he had one of his coworkers pull on me a few years back." He snorted with a small headshake. "Claiming he had the plague . . . I don't know if he was trying to get me –"

"He did have the plague," Jeanne said, stunned. "Are you saying you were told and you –"

He let out a bark of laughter. "Has he hoodwinked you on that?" he asked with a knowing smirk. "And you a doctor?" Mr. DiNozzo shook his head superciliously. "You have a lot to learn about my son, young woman. For one thing, 'the plague' is not something a man contracts in Washington DC without it becoming a national news story. Besides, it's not as if it's even really out there anymore, is it? Outside of a few labs, it simply doesn't exist." Jeanne was dumbfounded. He actually believed what he was saying. "I told Agent Todd not to bother me with such nonsense, and she didn't call back."

It took her a moment to find her voice again. "Mr. DiNozzo, I've been working with Médicins Sans Frontières for more than a year now," she said. He raised a polite eyebrow. "Plague is a serious and ongoing concern in many parts of the world. There was an outbreak in Madagascar in January of this year, in fact, that killed about twenty people. It most certainly exists."

He shrugged indifferently. "My son wasn't in Madagascar or any other third world nation that still fears the plague. He was in Washington, DC, our nation's capital. If he'd –"

Jeanne leaned forward to cut him off. She pitched her voice as low as she could, but she was unable to keep her anger out of it at this point. "Since an attempt was made to inform you of his condition, I'm going to assume you're permitted to know this." Mr. DiNozzo leaned back and waited, his expression condescending and aloof. It made her want to slap some sense into him, but she forced herself to remain calm. "Your son was deliberately infected in what I understand to be a case of domestic terrorism." His eyes widened. "I gather the attack was kept quiet for some reason, though I wasn't told why."

"Has it occurred to you that you were lied to?" he asked, though she could tell he was less calm than he was trying to project.

"The reason I was told implies otherwise," she said, and his eyes narrowed. "He has serious health concerns regarding his lungs, a result of scarring left behind by the illness." She shrugged. "I gather that when his car exploded last year with someone else in it, the first indication they had that the body wasn't his was the lack of lung damage."

DiNozzo sat up straight. "His car exploded?" he exclaimed, then looked around to see if anyone had heard him. Lowering his voice, he leaned towards her. "What are you saying?"

"That his car exploded while someone else was driving it," Jeanne repeated. "And before you suggest I'm being fooled about that as well, I was there, I saw it happen." Taking advantage of his stunned silence, Jeanne waved the waiter towards them.

"No one told me," DiNozzo muttered, his eyes distant.

"I'm not surprised," Jeanne said. His eyes snapped to her face, ire growing in them. She favored him with a cold smile. "If you belittled an illness he nearly died of and didn't even bother looking into it later, I can't imagine Agent Gibbs or his team calling you again for anything short of his proven death." She looked up as the waiter arrived. "May I please have the tab?" she asked. She had cause to be grateful for his efficiency. He pulled the slip of paper out of his apron pocket immediately, freeing her from spending any more time with Tony's father. She wrote her room number on it and signed it quickly. "If Mr. DiNozzo requests anything else, please put it on my tab as well," she said. The waiter nodded and walked away. Jeanne rose, her companion still staring at her in mingled shock and anger. "If you still wish to speak to your son, we will be ready to meet with you tomorrow morning at ten, but we have things to do. We'll be leaving by ten-thirty, and I don't intend to wait for you. If you miss us tomorrow, please call prior to dropping by again."

He regained both voice and truculence and started to bluster at her. "You have no right –"

"Good night, Mr. DiNozzo," Jeanne said, ignoring his words. Turning sharply, she walked away from the table. Once she was in the elevator, she stopped and turned around. The doors shut her inside alone, and she sagged with relief that the bastard hadn't followed her. No wonder Tony identified with Gibbs as a father figure if that's what he had otherwise.

When she got to the room, she dialed her phone, hoping that Agent Gibbs would have put his on vibrate to avoid waking Tony. He didn't answer the call, but a moment later he opened the door. "Where is he?" he asked.

"I told him to come back tomorrow," she said, and her voice still hard with anger. "But I couldn't stand talking to him anymore when he told me smugly about how he'd dismissed the news that Tony had plague."

"He told you that?" Gibbs asked, preceding her into the room. Tony still lay on the sofa, his eyes closed, his breathing deep and regular.

"I asked him how he'd missed meeting you if he'd come to see his son while he was sick." Jeanne glowered at the wall. "At first I thought he just didn't know, but then he told me how he'd told Agent Todd not to bother him with nonsense and I wanted to punch his lights out."

Gibbs shrugged. "I told her not to call him, but Kate had some idealistic notions about family."

"He was quite irritated that no one had called him about this, but after that conversation, I can see why. Who'd bother with a man who hadn't even checked up on his son's health after being told something like that?"

Gibbs was silent for a moment, then he walked towards the balcony, stepping out. She followed him, not sure what was up, but certain he had more to say. When they were outside with the door mostly shut, he cleared his throat. "Actually, it's because DiNozzo made a request in his first year with NCIS that his father not be informed of anything less than death or his being missing more than seventy-two hours."

Jeanne looked at Tony through the French windows. "What was his mother like?"

"I know less about her than I know about his father," Gibbs said, "which is not much." He gave Jeanne a measuring look. "She died when he was ten, so I didn't bother having her investigated."

Jeanne blinked at him. "I see. I just found out in general who his family was. I didn't have the detective go into much depth on Tony's family, just on him."

"He know?"

Jeanne laughed helplessly. "Yes, I told him. I expected him to be angry, but he was pleased. Said more women should have their boyfriends investigated before they went anywhere alone with them."

Gibbs snorted agreement, but he didn't speak.

Jeanne opened her mouth to respond, but then she noticed Tony on his feet, heading towards his bedroom. She was about to alert Agent Gibbs to this when Tony came to a sudden halt, grabbing the door frame in a while-knuckled grip, his face losing all color. Forgetting Agent Gibbs altogether, Jeanne hurried in through the half open door to Tony's side.

Gibbs was mildly startled when Benoit whipped past him. He turned and saw DiNozzo standing in the door to his bedroom looaking paralyzed. Benoit slipped up beside him, put an arm around his waist and started speaking quietly to him. DiNozzo's shoulders loosened a bit upon her arrival. Gibbs watched from outside, though he drew close enough to hear them. His immediate urge had been to go take over, but she seemed to have things under control.

When he came into range, he heard her say, "It's no big deal."

"It's stupid," DiNozzo protested. "He's never even been here."

"It's not stupid," she said reassuringly.

"It was just a phone call," DiNozzo said, and he sounded miserable.

"It was way more than that, Tony," she said, drawing him away from the bedroom door. "Look, you can use my bed."

"I don't want to put you out of your bed," Tony said.

She paused and gazed into his eyes. "Who said you would be?"

Gibbs tensed slightly, not sure how DiNozzo would respond, prepared to step in if need be. DiNozzo might not react well to such a forward suggestion at the moment. He needn't have worried.

"Really? Are you sure?" DiNozzo said, and he sounded both surprised and pleased. "I didn't want to intrude, I thought you'd gone to bed, and –"

"Tony!" she said in mild exasperation. "I would not go to bed and leave you asleep on the couch."

"Oh." Gibbs knew that tone. It was his 'astonished that someone cared' tone. Jeanne would no doubt grow as familiar with it – and dismayed by it – as Gibbs himself was, assuming things continued as they seemed to be. "I'd like that," DiNozzo said.

"Then it's settled," Jeanne replied firmly. "Do you want pajama pants or –"

"Let me grab a pair of clean boxers," DiNozzo said, and he gently extricated himself from her embrace.

Taking advantage of the opportunity, Gibbs stepped inside, drew Jeanne's attention to where he'd put the door key, and left on silent feet. He was halfway home when his phone rang. He lifted it to his ear and said, "Gibbs."

"Agent Gibbs, thank you for your help."

"Call me Jethro," he said gruffly. Watching her handle Tony with kindness and understanding, yet without any sign of cosseting, appeared to have broken down the last of his barriers against her. "He asleep?"

"He is. I thought you should know what our plans were for tomorrow. I told Mr. DiNozzo to come by at ten if he was coming, so hopefully he'll think better of the visit." Gibbs nodded. "Then we have an appointment with a realtor friend of mine. We both need new apartments, and it will take Tony's mind off . . . stuff."

Gibbs nodded again. "Sounds reasonable," he said, unsurprised that she was moving back to DC.

"So, if the FBI need him for anything . . ."

"I'll let them know."

"Oh, by the way, Agent Preston led Mr. DiNozzo to believe he was with the FBI, and used the Brody version of why Tony is pressing charges. I thought you might need to know that in case Mr. DiNozzo tries making any trouble. Forewarned and all that."

"And all that," Gibbs said neutrally, agreeing with her. "Call me if you need anything," he said.

"Thank you . . . Jethro. Good night."

He hung up and drove the rest of the way home, reflecting that things sometimes worked themselves out better than he thought they would. He figured they'd be living together within the year, and the thought made him unexpectedly happy.

Chapter Text

Tuesday, 0957, Chalmers Hotel

Tony stared at Jeanne in dismay. "My father was here last night and you didn't wake me?"

Jeanne gave him a look that was half worried and half defiant. "Yes, you needed your sleep more than you needed to hear his crap."

Tony blinked at her. "I take it you spoke to him," he said.

She gave him a grim smile. "Oh yes. He owes his continued existence to the fact that I couldn't afford to go to jail right now more than anything else."

"Was he offensive to you?" Tony asked, ready to give his father an earful if he'd been too rude.

"Well, he did imply that I was a gold digger," she said. "Then that you were a gold digger when I explained that I had money of my own."

Tony gave her an anxious look. "A lot of people might think that," he said. "But it's not true, really, I –"

"I know," she said, squeezing his hand. "If you'd been after my money, you'd have pursued me when I gave you that ill-considered ultimatum."

"Oh." Tony shook his head. She had answers for everything. "So, where did you leave it with him?"

"He's supposed to come by between ten and ten-thirty this morning, or not at all," Jeanne said. "I'd prefer not at all."

"You gave him a specific time?" Tony asked, his heart sinking. She nodded. "He never misses appointments. No matter what."

"Then he should be here in –" There was a knock on the door. "Now-ish," she finished, glancing at the clock.

Tony rose and went to the door. He was dressed and ready for their morning, but he hadn't managed to get the visible bruises covered up with the stage make up he'd used for dinner last night. Might as well face it immediately, since he could hardly put his father off for the twenty minutes it would take to conceal them.

Jeanne made a move as though to intercede, but appeared to think better of it. Tony was glad. He'd just as soon get this over with quickly. He walked into the vestibule and opened the door to reveal his father looking impatient. Tony stepped back. "Good morning, Father," he said.

Leonard DiNozzo's eyes went immediately to the bruises on Tony's neck and face, and Tony felt himself flush. "Good morning. Joyce asked me to tell you good morning as well." His father glowered at him. "She'd like you to call her when you have some time." Tony nodded. His most recent stepmother actually seemed interested in his well-being, but he was never sure if she was serious or not. He shut the door behind his father and ushered him into the main room of the suite. "How long have you been seeing this one?" he asked, jutting his chin towards Jeanne.

Tony didn't know what Jeanne had told him. "We've just resumed an interrupted relationship," he said, hoping that fit the bill. "It's been a bit less than a week just now, but last year we were together for six months."

"I've been in Africa, as I told you, Mr. DiNozzo," Jeanne said. "Please, have a seat. Would you like some coffee?" Tony recognized the tactic. She was smothering him in politeness, as if that would make it less likely for him to be unbearably rude.

"Thank you, Dr. Benoit," he said, settling down in a chair. Tony sat down nearby. "I think I must see what I can do about having that Agent Preston investigated," he said. "From everything I've been able to learn from the FBI, his representations to me were faulty to say the least."

"The FBI spoke to you on the subject?" Tony asked, wondering who he had to thank for that indiscretion.

His father nodded. "I also would like to communicate with Agent Todd. It appears I owe her an apology."

Tony's emotions hiccoughed to a stop on that statement. When he could get his brain moving again, he said, "You can't. She's . . . she's dead." His father's eyes widened. "She died about three years ago." Tony shook his head helplessly. "When did you even speak to her?"

"When you had the plague," his father replied, and Tony blinked at him in shock.

"She was shot by a sniper," Tony said. "On my second day back."

"Back?"

"Back from medical leave." He paused, still a little stunned by this turn of the conversation. "From the plague."

His father stared at him silently for a moment. "So that must be why she never called me back."

Tony snorted dryly. "Yeah, phone coverage where she is tends to be spotty at best."

"Anthony!" his father snapped sharply, and Tony found that his spine still straightened to attention at that tone. "That is not a subject for levity."

Tony stared at his father, aware that Jeanne was a hairsbreadth away from intervening. Cultivating a relaxed air, he shrugged. "You weren't standing next to her."

It took both of them a moment to register what that meant, and Jeanne covered her mouth with her hand. His father cleared his throat, looking suddenly uncomfortable. "Were you hurt?"

Tony rolled his eyes. "No, Dad, he was a sniper. If he'd wanted to hurt me or Gibbs at that moment, we'd have been dead. He killed Kate, then he vanished." He made a face. "For a while."

"Did you catch him?" Jeanne asked softly.

Tony nodded. "Gibbs got him," he said. "Anyway, Dad, I'm going to press charges. Nothing you can say will persuade me otherwise, not knowing that this bastard has gone after five other men in the past. I don't need the next guy on my conscience."

"It's not your responsibility," his father said. "Why didn't those other five men do something about him?"

Tony shrugged. The question had occurred to him, but he didn't really want to get into it. "I can only answer for my own actions, and I don't want some other guy's father asking that question about me," he said. That actually seemed to get through to his father a little, and Tony sighed. "So, is there anything else? I've got a full day, and I'd like to finish getting ready."

"Joyce said she'd like to meet your young lady." Tony glanced aside at Jeanne and could see that she had no idea who Joyce was.

"Is she going to be in DC anytime soon?" Tony asked. His stepmother worked as a consultant for a health care lobby group and was in Washington from time to time. They usually had lunch.

His father shrugged. "You're going to call her, right?" Tony nodded. "Well, I guess I'd better be going. It was a pleasure meeting you, Dr. Benoit."

"Likewise, Mr. DiNozzo," Jeanne said, rising to the occasion. Both of them sounded almost sincere.

Tony saw his father to the door, and as they reached it, Leonard DiNozzo said, "Oh, and the next time your car blows up, I'd like to hear about it."

Tony's jaw dropped. He brought it shut with a snap. "I couldn't have told you, Dad. It was a top secret undercover operation."

"Dr. Benoit knows," his father pointed out.

Of course. Tony should have realized. How else had he heard about it? Tony grimaced, then shrugged. "Her father was the target of the undercover operation," he said.

Leonard DiNozzo's eyes widened, but to Tony's surprise and gratitude, he didn't follow the issue up. "I'm sure Joyce will keep me up to date on your goings on, assuming that you tell her about them."

"Right." Tony pursed his lips and put out his hand. "Take care, Dad."

They shook hands and parted as amicably as they ever did. Tony shut the door and said, "That was surprisingly pleasant."

"That was pleasant?" Jeanne demanded.

"Oh yeah. He didn't yell, he didn't tell me I was a useless son, he didn't tell me I was bound to end up in the gutter. He even expressed interest in knowing about my future activities. All in all, quite pleasant. Probably Joyce's influence." At Jeanne's questioning look, he elaborated. "She's the most recent in my string of stepmothers," he said. "My favorite of the bunch, in fact, and she looks like she might last awhile. They've already been together for five years. She handles him pretty well, and she actually seems to like me."

"And she wants to meet me?" Jeanne said.

"He must have told her about you last night. You seem to have made an impression on him."

"Well, he certainly made one on me," Jeanne replied. "You okay?"

Tony considered the question. "More or less," he said. "Having my father meet my girlfriend is pretty weird. The first and last time that ever happened I was seventeen. Having it happen without my direct involvement is downright surreal."

She blinked at him. "Seventeen?"

Tony nodded. "My last high school girlfriend. She was a friend's sister, and she really only lasted for two weeks, but she's the only one my father ever met."

"You must have had girlfriends in college," Jeanne said.

"I did, but I saw my dad maybe six times during college, and all of those were at family functions hosted by my grandmother."

"And you didn't take your girlfriends?"

Tony shrugged uncomfortably. "The one or two who knew enough about the world to figure out who my father was just could not understand why I 'claimed' to be poor all the time. Somehow explaining to them that I'd been cut off from any form of allowance at age twelve did not appeal to my fragile ego at the time." He grimaced. Not that it appealed much now. "It was easier not to expose the ones who hadn't figured it out to my family gatherings."

"He cut you off at twelve?" Jeanne demanded incredulously. Tony shrugged. "But why?"

He rarely ever told anyone. Gibbs knew, but Tony hadn't told him. Gibbs' background checks were the definition of thorough. He cleared his throat, still not sure what he was going to say, but before he could speak, there was another knock at the door. Jeanne got up to answer it, and Tony made his escape to the bathroom to hide his bruises.

Female voices sounded in the living room of the suite. Jeanne had told him only that she'd asked a real estate agent friend of hers to meet with them at 10:30. Evidently the friend was a woman. He finished powdering the make-up to as unobtrusive an appearance as possible and emerged to find Jeanne talking to a woman he'd met several times at clubs. He'd even danced with her once.

"Tony DiNardo!" she exclaimed with pleasure. "Jeanne!" She gave Jeanne a mock-glare. "You didn't tell me he was the friend."

Tony thought seriously about turning right around and hiding, but if he could face his father, he should be able to face this. From Jeanne's expression, she had forgotten that her friend knew him and that she knew him by the wrong name.

He summoned up his charm with a bit of effort. "Tony DiNozzo," he said breezily. "Great to see you, Marjorie."

Marjorie blinked at him, startled. "But – I thought –"

Tony turned the charm up. Hopefully, this woman was enough of a gossip and knew enough of Jeanne's other friends that he wouldn't have to do this more than once or twice more. "Actually, I met Jeanne while I was working undercover."

Marjorie's eyes widened. "Undercover? Are you a cop?"

"Federal agent," Tony said. "NCIS."

Marjorie nodded. "Navy cop, then," she said, surprising him. She grinned at his startled expression. "My brother's serving on the USS Enterprise."

Tony blinked. "I see. I knew someone who served on that ship a couple years back."

"Jim's been on the USS Enterprise for five years, so he probably knows him."

"Oh, I'm sure he knew her," Tony said. "She was the agent afloat, not crew. Special Agent Paula Cassidy."

"I see," Marjorie said. "Well, I'd like to make use of your bathroom, and then we can get started."

Jeanne showed her where it was and then came back to Tony's side. "Knew?" she asked tentatively.

Tony looked down at her concerned expression. "Oh, yeah, she died . . . while you and I were dating, actually. Do you remember that downtown religious center that blew up twice in one week?" Jeanne nodded. Tony sighed. "She died in the second blast."

"But we talked about that," Jeanne said, her eyes widening. "And you never mentioned . . ." She trailed off uncertainly.

Tony shrugged. "They didn't even announce her gender on the news, much less her name," he pointed out. "Telling you I'd dated the victim of that explosion –"

"You dated her?" Jeanne asked, her brows going up.

"Not for long," Tony said uncomfortably. Memories of Paula were still distressing at a deep level. Much like memories of Kate. "Anyway, it would have brought up all sorts of questions I couldn't have answered as Tony DiNardo. Like the fact that I met her at Guantanamo." He cupped Jeanne's cheek. "On the other hand, it was talking to her that made it clear to me that I had to tell you how I felt."

"You told her about me?"

"More than I told anyone else," Tony said with a snort. "She wasn't someone I saw all the time, and we'd shared a pretty tempestuous relationship, to the point where the first time I was falsely accused of murder, McGee actually suggested her as a possible suspect."

Jeanne's eyes widened further. "The first time . . ."

Tony hadn't considered how that sounded. "Yeah, um . . ." Marjorie was emerging. "Tell you about it later." Jeanne blinked at him anxiously. He took her hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze. "So, Marjorie, what's on the program?"

"Let's go down to my car first," she said, leading the way out of the suite. Tony and Jeanne followed her into the elevator. "All right, we want two apartments, preferably fairly close together. Jeanne, we discussed your requirements and what you thought Tony's requirements would be." Tony glanced at Jeanne, raising a bemused eyebrow, and Marjorie nodded. "So, Mr. DiNozzo, Jeanne said you'd need a space to work out in and a large area where your movie collection could be displayed and shown."

Tony blinked. "Yeah, um . . . about that. I'm a federal agent, with a federal agent's salary. I don't need an actual separate room for movie storage and viewing, just a good-sized living room." She nodded. "And I'll need good internet access, and there has to be excellent cell service." Or Gibbs would let him know about it.

He could almost see Marjorie adding these requirements to some sort of mental list. "And you need to be near the Navy Yard, and you need to be near George Washington University Hospital?"

Jeanne nodded, and Tony felt constrained to add, "Reasonably close is good enough. I don't want any coworkers offering to bunk at my place when we've got a hot case."

Marjorie laughed. "All right, then," she said. "I think I've got some great places to show you."

There followed several hours of going from apartment to loft to condominium. Nothing seemed quite right. If he found a place he thought he could stand, Jeanne would find something wrong with it that he hadn't noticed, and Jeanne wasn't satisfied with anything. He kept finding himself holding hands with her at odd moments, and he kept seeing spots where he could pull her aside to kiss her, but he never took the opportunity. He wasn't sure if it was cowardice or discretion, and he wasn't sure he wanted to look closely enough to find out.

Finally, they stopped for an early dinner at Morton's, and over steak they discussed the possibilities they'd seen. Tony put forth reasonable arguments for a couple of the places he'd liked well enough, but Jeanne shot them down firmly.

Over dessert, Jeanne said, "So, are you free tomorrow, Margie?"

Marjorie tilted her head. "Not sure. Let's try once more for each of you tonight," she said. "I think I may have just the thing."

Jeanne turned to him. "Are you up to it?" she asked.

Tony shrugged. "Two more places? Sure. No more than that."

Marjorie nodded. "Let me make a quick phone call." She stepped out into the lobby of the restaurant, and Jeanne leaned closer.

"If you're too tired, just say so."

"I will," he said, on the verge of exasperation. She'd been mother-henning him all day. "If we could settle this today, it would be great, don't you think?"

"Why in such a rush?"

"Because then we could just enjoy each other's company," he said, and a smile spread slowly across her face, brightening her eyes.

"I like that idea," she said.

Tony drew her hand to his lips and kissed the back of it. "Good, because it's the first idea I've liked this much in a while."

Marjorie came back, and they talked of commonplaces while they finished the last of their desserts. Tony enjoyed every last bite of his rich chocolate raspberry torte, ignoring the voice of Ducky in the back of his head, giving him advice about cholesterol. Soon enough, he'd have Jeanne looking out for that. The thought gave him pause as he realized that he was really looking at this sudden resumption of their relationship as permanent. His fingers must have tightened, because she glanced over at him. A warmth kindled in her eyes, her fingers squeezed his, and Tony had to stop himself from leaning over and kissing her.

A moment later, he realized that Marjorie was paying the bill. "No," he said. "I can get it."

Marjorie shook her head. "I can write it off," she said. "Neither of you can." As if that covered a three hundred dollar meal.

Jeanne just nodded, and they all returned to Marjorie's car. Their path took them past George Washington University Hospital and straight into Georgetown. She appeared to be taking him seriously about not being too close to work. He wondered how far beyond Georgetown they were going, but then she pulled into an alley and then into a driveway behind a house.

"Where are we?" Jeanne asked.

"Come inside, and see," Marjorie said.

Giving each other dubious looks in the twilight, Jeanne and Tony followed her up the path, holding hands. As they passed through the backyard, Marjorie enumerated the opportunities offered by the large back lot. "It was once landscaped, I believe, according to some of the photographs I've seen from the twenties, but the man who owned it in the fifties preferred a flat lawn and had it all torn out." Jeanne made a distressed noise, looking around at the wall to wall carpet of green. "Most of the bricks from the paths were saved in the garage."

"It has a garage?" Tony said, glancing over and seeing the building, largely concealed by a row of green bushes.

"Large enough for two cars, in fact," Marjorie said. "And the stairway where they shot parts of the Exorcist movie is just down a few blocks."

Tony glanced in the direction she was pointing. "Really?" She smiled and guided them onward.

The house was classic Georgian, of red brick with evenly spaced white framed windows. Four steps led up to a small, square porch and a pair of tall, narrow doors. Unlocking one, she took them inside into a broad hallway. There were doors to either side, one of them in a niche under the stairs. She immediately opened the door to the left and flipped on the light. They followed her into the room. "As you can see, the kitchen is fully modernized, but retains the original fireplace with both bread and warming ovens intact." She gestured towards the hearth. "In fact, all the original fireplaces are still present."

"Marjorie, this is a little big, don't you think?" Jeanne asked. "Are we just looking at the first floor here?"

"No, the whole house," Marjorie said airily. "Through here is the dining room." Tony followed Jeanne and Marjorie, then wandered out into the main hall of the building. It was beautiful. Historical Georgetown at its finest. Tony figured Jeanne could afford it, but he agreed that it was a little big for one person. Heck, it was a little big for two people. They emerged from the dining room, Marjorie still describing its amenities. The rest of the ground floor was duly looked at, but Tony figured they'd have to leave his place for another night as the tour went on. He was losing steam.

By the time they reached the second floor, he'd started zoning, so the words, "Tony will find this a great room for his exercise equipment," came as a complete surprise. He stopped dead and looked around. It would be a good room for a workout. South facing, so it wouldn't have constant sunlight, but it had a nice view of the backyard that could include a weeding girlfriend's upturned butt. He turned to Marjorie, who had fallen silent and was awaiting their reactions, a small smile playing on her lips.

"I asked for two places," Jeanne said.

"And made it clear by constant references all day that you really wanted one," Marjorie replied. "Then there's the fact that you held hands more often than not all afternoon." She eyed their hands meaningfully, and Tony realized that he'd taken Jeanne's hand upon reaching the upper floor without thinking about it. Mildly embarrassed, he resisted his initial impulse to drop her hand and squeezed tighter instead.

"It was the next step we were contemplating before things . . . changed," he said softly, looking down at Jeanne.

"But are you ready?" Jeanne asked, her brilliant eyes filled with concern.

He pulled her into his arms without a word, kissing her on the forehead briefly before engulfing her in a warm embrace. "Yeah, I think I am. But I can't afford to rent half this place."

"It's not for rent," Marjorie said.

Jeanne pulled away far enough to say, "It's a little soon to buy."

"It's not for sale." The real estate agent still looked so pleased with herself that Tony started searching his mind for a third alternative.

"Then why did you bring us here?" Jeanne asked, beginning to sound slightly annoyed.

"Because it's for lease. The owner wants to sell it, but he can't because of probate issues. He's offered it for a year's lease with an option to buy. I thought that might suit you two perfectly."

Jeanne looked up at Tony, a question easy to read on her face. "I still can't afford half of it," he said.

"That will be a problem forever, Tony," Jeanne replied. "Does it make that much of a difference?"

Tony blinked at her. "It might make a difference to the owner," he said.

"I can work all that out," Marjorie said quickly. "If you two can work it out between you, I can make it right with the owner."

"We can work out the financial details later," Jeanne said, and her voice held all the longing he'd felt over the last year.

He smiled down at her. "Okay. Let's do it."

"All right, I've already called the owner, so he won't be talking to anyone else." Marjorie smiled at their startled expressions. "I could have canceled it just as easily, so don't look at me like that. We can have a meeting tomorrow if that suits you. Around two o'clock?"

"Sure," Jeanne said, and Tony thought she sounded as stunned as he felt.

"Tony?"

Tony nodded. "I can't wait." And the scary thing was, it was the truth.

Marjorie took them back to the hotel, had them fill out the credit applications, and left them alone. Jeanne got up and started puttering around, but there wasn't really anything to pick up or clean because the maid had been in. Tony watched her, then got up and took her by both hands. "If you're not sure about this, we can back out. That place off Connecticut would be just –"

"I'm sure," she said. "If you're sure. I don't want you to do this just because you're on an emotional roller coaster."

Tony shrugged. "I've wanted you back since the moment you left," he said simply.

"After the second time I left?"

Snorting, Tony shrugged again. "It took a little longer, but yeah. I . . ." He swallowed. "I love you. I never stopped."

"You're a romantic," she said.

"Don't tell anyone. They all think I'm a playboy adventurer."

Jeanne laughed. "They'll stop when you settle down."

"With a rich chick?" Tony shook his head. "They'll just say what my dad said. I'm marrying money since I don't have it myself anymore."

She shrugged. "Not when you start wearing suits from Sears," she said.

Tony stared at her. "Nothing on earth would induce me to . . ." He caught the twinkle in her eye and trailed off, drawing his brows together.

"I'm terribly strict about money," she said, and then laughed at his expression. "You don't even buy from the upscale department stores, do you? You're strictly a designer boutique kind of guy."

"Which is why I'm not very trendy in my suits," Tony replied. "I can make a suit last years because I keep trendiness for accessories."

"Very practical."

"My clothing is paid for by the allowance from a trust my grandmother set up for me," Tony said. "I don't have a lot, not even compared to Gibbs, but what I have is very good."

"Not even compared to Gibbs?"

"Gibbs is not a big fashion guy," Tony said. "He's the one who wouldn't mind being dressed by Sears. Ziva has a very European sense of style, but Gibbs wears what he finds comfortable that he can get away with."

"McGee wears Armani," Jeanne observed.

"Ah, yes, but that's just because McProbie splurged after getting his first royalty check," Tony said with a snarky grin.

"Royalty check?" Jeanne asked.

"Yes. McGee has a little secret."

Jeanne blinked at him innocently. "Like the rest of you have little secrets?" she asked.

Tony shook his head. "No, McGee's is more like a big honking secret," he replied.

"Like dating the daughter of the arms merchant you're investigating isn't a big honking secret?" she asked.

A horrifying image came into his mind. "No, and thank God we weren't doing that when he was writing the novel!" Tony breathed in sincere relief.

"Novel?" she repeated, her eyes going wide.

"Yes, McProbie decided to write a novel. His main character was Special Agent McGregor, flanked by Special Agent Tommy and Officer Lisa, of the Mossad, no less."

Jeanne's eyes widened further. "They weren't based on you guys, were they?"

"And all commanded by Special Agent L.J. Tibbs," Tony said with a flourish. "Aided by forensic scientist Amy. It was less than subtle."

"Yeah, I'm glad we weren't dating then. Being Tommy's girlfriend Jane would not suit me at all." She gave him a narrow look. "Is Tim writing now?"

"I don't know. He sort of stopped for a while after someone started stealing the ribbons from his typewriter and then began killing people off from his next novel, but he could have started up again. I don't think it's something you give up easily."

Jeanne nodded thoughtfully. "Well, I've had a very full day, and I'm ready for sleep. What about you?"

A large yawn answered for him, and they trundled quietly off to bed.

Chapter Text

Tuesday, 2210, NCIS Headquarters

"Gibbs, someone is running Tony's credit," Ziva announced abruptly. Gibbs raised his eyebrows mildly, but the four people around him went into immediate action. Fornell dialed his phone, Abby walked over to McGee's desk, where he had started tracing the presumed miscreant, and Ziva picked up her desk phone and started to call the credit bureau.

"He was looking for apartments yesterday," Gibbs said, raising his voice a little to be heard over the babble. McGee and Abby looked up, McGee's hands falling away from the keyboard. Ziva hung up her phone, and Fornell converted his phone call from directive to inquiry. Discovering that his flunkies had no new information for him, he hung up and holstered it. Once they were all quiet again, Gibbs shrugged. "Maybe he found a place."

"I could find out where," McGee suggested.

"Why don't we leave him a little of his privacy?" Gibbs said dryly, and McGee flushed.

"He does not have much left," Ziva observed.

Gibbs thought sourly that he'd have more of it left if he hadn't tried to handle things himself. "Anything new, Tobias?"

"We've located three of the guys the CIA observed with Harris," Fornell said. "One of them won't talk to us, one is willing to talk, but he'd prefer it was off the record."

"And the third?"

Fornell gave him a grim look. "He's dead. Ate his gun a year ago."

There was silence in the bullpen for a long moment while everyone absorbed this. "So the other two are going to leave DiNozzo to twist on this alone, then," Gibbs said. "I want to talk to them."

"Jethro –"

"Damn it, Fornell, how far do we have to bend over backwards to prove this bastard wrong?"

"Pretty far, I'm afraid, unless you want his defense attorney to convince the jury that you're set on controlling every aspect of this case whether it's yours or not." Fornell gave him a narrow look. "I mean, it wouldn't exactly be a stretch to convince people that you're a control freak."

"Not helping, Tobias," Gibbs growled.

"Actually, I am helping, Jethro. I'm helping you to avoid screwing up this case."

"Get those guys to talk, Tobias. That would help."

"I thought you'd want to know. The other two have moved out of the area, so we're having more difficulty finding them."

"But I gave you current addresses for them," McGee said.

Fornell turned to him with a shrug. "Both men are experienced cops who were trying to hide from a man with investigative skills. One address doesn't exist, and the other is a laundromat that takes mail."

"I don't want DiNozzo standing up in that arraignment by himself, Tobias," Gibbs said. "It will be more persuasive if we can show a pattern."

"I'm on it, Jethro, it's just going to take time. One good thing, Harris's buddies at the precinct have washed their hands of him, and he's no longer suspended with pay. It will take time for them to can him completely, but he's not getting paid any more."

"What did it take to persuade them?" Abby asked.

"Eyewitness testimony, thanks to Dr. Benoit and Dr. Pitt, and photographs of the marks left on DiNutso's body, plus his frank admission that he might have overreacted to Tony's rejection."

"He admitted that?"

"While continuing to place the blame on your shoulders," Fornell said. "The way the man reasons is convoluted and insane."

"I want him locked up in a supermax, Tobias, where he won't ever touch another human being again."

"He doesn't have enough against him for life, Jethro."

Gibbs shot to his feet, slamming his hands down on his desk. "Find enough!" he snapped, and he stomped off to talk to Ducky.

"You truly have very beautiful hands," Ducky said to Lt. Commander Allegri. "Well kept, certainly, but the nails are nicely shaped to begin with." He glanced down at the bare feet at the end of the autopsy table. "Your feet, on the other hand . . . . Perhaps if you had worn sandals you would have cared for them better."

"Sandals, Ducky?"

He'd heard the doors open, but he hadn't looked up from the body he was examining, well aware that his visitor would identify himself sooner or later. "Good morning, Gibbs. Is there something I can do for you?"

Gibbs didn't immediately reply. He walked up to stand beside Ducky and looked down at the body of Lt. Commander Allegri. "Garrote?" he asked, noticing the telltale ligature marks on the neck.

"Hanging, but it was post mortem," Ducky replied. "This man died of heart failure brought on by, I believe, an excess of digitalis." He took up a cloth and wiped his hands. "He'd been prescribed a medication containing trace amounts of digitalis, but he wasn't taking it. His killer didn't realize that, however."

"Can you prove he wasn't taking it?" Gibbs asked.

"None of the other chemical compounds that should be in his blood are present, neatly eliminating it." He dropped the rag and looked up. "Now, I know you haven't come down here to discuss Lt. Commander Allegri's manner of death, so what are you here for, Jethro?"

Gibbs didn't immediately answer, and when he did, his words startled Ducky. "Why didn't he come to me?"

"I presume you mean Anthony," Ducky said, and Gibbs just glowered at him. "Why do you suppose he didn't?"

"If I knew that, I wouldn't have asked you, Duck," Gibbs said testily, and Ducky contemplated that Gibbs' support of the Socratic method ended at approximately the point that someone attempted to use it on him.

"Anthony is . . . well, one can't call him private so far as affairs of the heart go."

Gibbs shook his head. "Actually, as far as affairs of the heart go, he's quiet as the grave. It's affairs of the libido that he's loud about."

Ducky considered that for a moment. "I suppose you're right, but I don't think you could call this affair with Harris one of the heart. Nor really of the libido. There is one other thing that Anthony keeps quiet about." Gibbs raised his eyebrows. "Embarrassment. He'd gotten himself into a predicament that he didn't know how to escape from, but it was one he found excruciatingly embarrassing. The poor boy probably felt he'd lose face in front of you if he let on what he'd allowed to happen."

Gibbs grimaced, but he nodded. "See you, Duck," he said, and he walked out of the room.

Ducky looked down at the body on the table. "I believe he already knew that answer, major, he just needed someone else to state it aloud."

"But it's not like that, doctor." Ducky looked up to find Mr. Palmer emerging from the storeroom.

Ducky raised an eyebrow. "Were you listening, Mr. Palmer?"

Palmer flushed faintly. "I couldn't help overhearing your slightly facile analysis of Tony's situation, and I think you've got it wrong."

"I beg your pardon!" Ducky exclaimed, a little startled to find his assistant contradicting him so firmly.

"I mean, yeah, loss of face is an issue, but there are a lot of other issues involved here."

"Would you care to elaborate?" Ducky asked dryly.

Mr. Palmer shrugged uncomfortably. "Tony was cop," he said simply.

Ducky blinked. "Oh. I hadn't looked at it from that perspective. I suppose that would contribute to his unwillingness to involve Gibbs."

"With his charge full speed ahead and take no prisoners tactics, I'd think so," Palmer replied. Grimacing, he added, "And then there's the whole family issue."

"Family issue?" Ducky repeated, genuinely perplexed. "What are you talking about?"

Mr. Palmer's eyes widened. He shook his head. "I think I'd better be getting back to work." He turned away.

"Mr. Palmer," Ducky snapped, and his assistant stopped and looked back, alarm lurking in his eyes. "What are you talking about?"

"The inventory, Dr. Mallard. I think we may be low on a few –"

"I meant about Agent DiNozzo's family," Ducky said.

Mr. Palmer pressed his lips together. "I shouldn't have said anything at all about that, Dr. Mallard. I didn't realize you weren't in Tony's confidence." Taking advantage of Ducky's astonishment at this announcement, Mr. Palmer disappeared back into the storeroom.

Wednesday, 1008, Chalmers Hotel

Tony stared down at the sleeping face beside him. Beauty, brains, compassion, humor, all wrapped up neatly in a package that actually seemed to like him. He kissed her on the forehead and then slipped out of bed to do his morning business. When he came back out, she was sprawled flat on the bed and he didn't want to disturb her. Pulling on a t-shirt and a pair of sweats, he walked out into the living room, scooping up his cell phone as he went.

The time on the display penetrated his sleep-fogged mind, and he looked at it in bemusement. He couldn't think of the last time he'd slept past nine in the morning, not when he hadn't worked the through anyway. Now it was past ten. He flipped the phone open and found the number he wanted. It was easy enough. McGee hadn't just given him the phone numbers from his phone, he'd somehow given him the identifying pictures as well. He located the number without a picture and dialed.

"Tony, how are you?" McGee said. "Is everything okay?"

"Sure, fine," Tony said. "I just was wondering the same thing. You guys got a case?"

McGee's voice lowered. "No, we don't, and Gibbs is acting like a bear with a sore head."

"You'd better look behind you, Probie," Tony said, barely suppressing the urge to do the same.

"He's not here, Tony, he's with Ducky."

"But no case?"

"No. I don't know why he's there."

"You sure you don't want to look behind you?"

"I already did," McGee said, sounding embarrassed. "So, did you find a place?"

Tony blinked. Gibbs must have told them. "I don't want to jinx it, so I'm not answering that question."

"So you did, and it's a good place," McGee said.

Tony scowled. "Did you hear the part about not jinxing things?"

"Don't be goofy, Tony," McGee said. "Ziva says you have excellent credit."

"Does she?" Tony asked. "Why – are you guys still investigating me?"

"Actually . . . we got a ping that someone was running your credit report and we . . . sort of overreacted. Or at least, Ziva and I did." Tony nodded glumly, not liking the fact that they were pinging his credit report. "So . . . how are things at the hotel?" McGee asked in a tone that Tony knew he thought was neutral.

"She's asleep," he replied.

"I didn't mean – I wasn't asking –"

"I can almost hear you blushing," Tony said.

"I am not blushing," McGee expostulated.

"Do you want me to call Ziva? I can use the hotel phone."

In the background, he heard a voice. "He is blushing," Ziva announced. "Tony, how are –"

McGee interrupted her. "Do you want me to put this on speaker?"

"No," she replied, and he heard a muffled argument that ended with Ziva's voice on McGee's phone. "How are you doing?" she asked, and he could almost see her face, half-vindicated by her triumph, half-concerned about Tony.

"I'm fine, Ziva," Tony said. "I just wondered if you guys had a case."

"We are working cold cases," she replied. "Very cold cases. The one I am looking over was last worked by an Agent Blackadder."

"Viv, huh?" Tony said. "She's a piece of work. Last I heard, she was agent afloat somewhere."

"You knew her?"

"She was . . . she came before Kate, but she couldn't handle Gibbs."

"Faint of heart?"

"Insufficiently flexible." That voice came from beyond the phone, and Tony smiled. He'd give odds that Gibbs would somehow know about everything that had passed. A moment later, Gibbs spoke directly into the phone. "How you feeling, DiNozzo?"

"Good enough. You?"

"Well, I've got a sore head," Gibbs said with an ironic lilt. Tony heard a faint yelp from McGee. "You find a place?"

"Papers aren't signed, so I can't say yes, but I think so."

"Good. I'll get Fornell to release your stuff so you can get on with moving." The phone call abruptly ended, and Tony snorted, closing his phone.

He contemplated the drawer full of movies that Jeanne had procured for him, but he had a couple of other phone calls he needed to make. First he called Agent Preston and told his voicemail to go jump in a lake. The bastard had called his father. If he'd ever had a chance of Tony going along with what he wanted, he'd lost it at that moment. All in all, though, he was glad not to talk to the man directly. If he'd had to do that, he'd probably have started yelling, and he didn't want to wake Jeanne.

He took a breath in and dialed again. Maybe he'd luck out twice and get voicemail again. "Hello?" said a familiar voice, and he sighed.

"Hi, Joyce," he said. "How are you?"

"Worried," she replied, and Tony grimaced. "Your father has told me some things that seem fairly extreme, and I wasn't sure if he was exaggerating or not."

"My father never exaggerates, Joyce, I thought you knew that."

"For effect, he does," she replied. "Quite often about you. I've gotten him to admit as much."

Tony grimaced. "What did he say?"

"That you nearly died of the bubonic plague and that your car exploded. And that I should ask you about your recent unpleasant experiences."

Tony snorted. "Trust Dad to be explicit about the classified stuff and discreet about the unclassified. I can't talk about most of that on the phone, Joyce."

"Oh." She sounded blank, and Tony knew she had realized that his response more or less confirmed the truth of what she'd been told.

"But I didn't have the bubonic plague." He let out an audible sigh. "I'll have to have a talk with Dad about what he can and can't say over the phone."

"He told me in person, Tony," she said. "I'll be up in DC next week. Can we have lunch on Tuesday? Unless a case comes up, of course."

"Unless I miss my guess, I'll still be on stand down Tuesday, so that shouldn't be a problem."

"Stand down? How badly off are you?"

"It's complicated," Tony replied. "I'm not badly hurt, but there are issues that I don't really want to go into." Like the fact that he was pretty sure that Jen was going to require a comprehensive psych evaluation before he could go back out into the field. Besides, he was contemplating augmenting his current sick leave with some of his regular vacation time to spend a little more time with Jeanne.

"Well, then, I'll see you at Frederica's at one, then, on Tuesday."

Tony nodded. "Sounds good."

"Will your girlfriend be there?"

"I'll check with her. I don't know if she'll be free. She's starting a new job soon."

"Oh? What does she do?"

"She's a doctor," Tony replied. "I'm not actually sure which part of the hospital she's going to be working in, though."

"Well, if I can't meet her on Tuesday, we'll have to arrange another time. Your father was quite impressed with her."

"Impressed?" Tony repeated, startled by that word choice.

"I'll see you Tuesday, Tony," Joyce said. "Do take care of yourself."

"You too, Joyce," Tony said, and they hung up.

"Who was that?" Jeanne asked. She looked bleary but beautiful, even with her hair sticking out crazily.

"My stepmother," Tony said. "She's going to be in town on Tuesday, and she would really like to meet you."

"I think I'm free," Jeanne said.

"You don't have to if you're not ready."

"You've met my mother, Tony, and I sprang my father on you as a surprise." Jeanne shook her head, and they tacitly agreed not to discuss the rest of that day. She smiled at him and walked across to put her arms around his neck. "I think I can manage to have lunch with your stepmother."

He kissed her lightly on the lips. "That might make it easier for me since she wants to know everything that's been going on."

Jeanne snuggled in close. "Moral support, huh?"

"What do you want to do this morning?"

"I was thinking we could go looking for a good dining room set. I don't have anything, and your table is okay, but . . ."

"Way too modern for that room," Tony said. "I was thinking I might give it to Abby. She's always liked it."

"So, you want to go to some antique stores?" she asked.

She expected him to agree with alacrity. Instead he gave her an embarrassed smile and shook his head. "Actually, I was thinking that I have the exact thing for that room," he said, his expression wistful. "If you like it."

She blinked at him. "Not something in your apartment?" she asked, thinking back over the stuff she'd seen there.

"No, it's a table that seats between eight and twelve, early nineteenth century, imported from England in the early thirties. All the original chairs, though the seats have been redone a couple of times." He chuckled at her startled expression. "It really wouldn't have a place in a bachelor pad, but a house like that one . . ."

"Where is it?"

He blinked at her disingenuously. "In Georgetown."

She pinched him. "I meant the table."

"In storage, in New York," Tony replied. "I inherited a lot of stuff from my grandmother in the mid-nineties. I kept the few pieces that would fit in my apartment and put the rest in storage." He started enumerating things on his fingers. "A full dining set, including sideboard, a pair of twin sofas with side tables. Some bedroom pieces, including an amazing bed with testers and everything." He shrugged self-consciously. "A bunch of stuff."

"Family heirlooms?" she asked.

"The other thing my trust pays for is the storage for those things. Some of it's pretty expensive, like the textiles have to be kept in a climate controlled environment."

"Textiles?" Jeanne asked curiously.

"Well, there's some bedding and table linens, and I think there's some clothes as well. I haven't looked at most of that stuff because a lot of it was already in climate controlled storage."

Jeanne tilted her head. "Clothes?"

"Stuff that belonged to my grandmother and my great grandmother. Maybe even older stuff."

"Can we go see it?

"Sure," Tony said with an easy smile. "One of the reasons I've never gone and looked is because it's no fun without someone to share it with."

Jeanne hugged him tighter. "Okay, then, what do you want to do this morning?"

"Window shopping?" Tony suggested.

Jeanne thought of all the pleasant times they'd spent wandering from store to store, looking in the windows. "Sounds lovely. I'll go get dressed."

Chapter Text

Wednesday, 1136, NCIS Headquarters

McGee sat back, staring at the screen, stunned. All this time, the CIA watching Harris assault man after man, and the reason for the connection gave them nothing – no help whatsoever.

"McGee, what are you doing?" Gibbs demanded, and McGee realized that he'd been sitting still for a longish time.

"I found the connection between Vargas and Harris, Boss," McGee said. Gibbs' eyebrows rose and Ziva got up and walked over.

"What?" she asked.

"In 1993, Harris saved a little girl named Magdalena Abelardo from a serial killer," McGee said, and they both looked at him impatiently, waiting for the connection. "Magdalena Abelardo is Eliseo Vargas' niece."

Gibbs stared at him, and Ziva's eyes went wide. "Harris rescued Vargas' niece?" Ziva said, clearly looking for clarification.

"Yes," McGee said.

"So, the connection is that Harris was a good cop?" Gibbs asked.

"Apparently," McGee said with a grimace.

Ziva laughed aloud, and McGee raised his eyebrows at her, giving Gibbs a sidelong look, expecting their boss to freak out. "Something to share, David?"

"The CIA believes that they can make use of this connection to learn information of interest to their investigations into Eliseo Vargas. It is amusing to me."

Gibbs snorted and shot his most junior agent a calculating look. "McGee, document this information and get it to Agent Preston."

"Yes, Boss," McGee said with a grin. "I could also send it to his supervisor, to make certain it doesn't get overlooked."

Gibbs gave him an approving glance. "You do that, McGee," he said.

McGee suppressed the urge to gloat. For one thing, with Tony not present it wasn't nearly as much fun. For another, Gibbs tended to say cutting things when he felt they were enjoying themselves too much. Instead he just reveled internally in the implied praise and did his job.

Wednesday, 1512, Georgetown

"When can we move in?" Jeanne asked Margie once the papers were signed.

"Now, so far as I'm concerned," Margie said, and Tony grinned at Jeanne. "Here are the keys. Call me if you have any questions or need anything." She took Jeanne's arm and led her away slightly. "And we need to do lunch," she said as they moved away.

Tony walked into the next room. They'd signed the papers in the kitchen, on the counter. He wandered through the dining room into the front hall, looking around. There was a hall tree in storage that would do nicely in here. He couldn't believe he was actually doing it – actually moving in with Jeanne. He opened the front door and stepped out into the small areaway in front of the house. The only thing that marred his pleasure in this turn of events was the knowledge that his father and many of the people he knew would believe that he was only after the money and the lifestyle. Even some of his friends might believe it.

Then he thought of Jeanne, and his heart warmed. It didn't matter what anyone else thought, so long as they knew the truth.

"Tony?"

He turned back into the house and closed the door. "I'm in the front hall!" he called. Footsteps echoed in the empty room. He put out his arm as she approached and she slid right into his embrace, into a spot that felt to him like it was made for her. "Are you happy?" he asked.

"Yes," she said a little breathlessly. "And terrified."

"I think that's healthy," he said, and Jeanne laughed. "So, do you want to start planning rooms, or do you want to do something completely unconnected?"

"What did you have in mind?"

Tony shrugged. "Miniature golf?"

After locking the front door, they went out the back way. After window shopping, they'd taken a cab to Tony's apartment building to pick up his car. "I'm surprised you didn't go with another Mustang," she said.

"I did," Tony replied, thinking nostalgically of the cherry Mustang he'd bought with the insurance money and danger bonus. "But it got totally trashed a while back, so I've elected not to buy any more classic cars. I just don't seem to have good luck with them. I mean, the Mustang you knew was even part of the frame for my first accusation of murder."

"You mentioned that before. What happened?"

Tony shrugged. "It dates a long way back, to when I was a Baltimore cop."

"You were accused of murder in Baltimore?" Jeanne asked. "That didn't turn up in any of my Google searches."

"No, the problem originated in Baltimore," Tony said. "See, there was a case where the forensics wound up totally screwed, and I went to check out the lab to see what had happened. I found all sorts of stupid violations, and that got the head of the lab fired."

"Good," Jeanne said, and Tony raised an eyebrow. "Did someone get off because of what he did?"

"Yeah, a murderer," Tony replied.

"As I said, good."

Tony shrugged. "Well, it turns out he wasn't actually responsible for the specific problem that screwed my case, so I guess he got his name cleared. I don't know why, the other issues I saw were his responsibility, but whatever. The whole thing screwed up his life, though, and he wound up changing his name and getting a job in another jurisdiction. Anyway, his proving that he wasn't the culprit meant he had to show who was, and that guy got fired. This second guy blamed both of us, but I guess because I was doing better than poor George Stewart, his anger focused on me."

"What did he do?"

"Well, first he got a job as Abby's assistant, which was a problem to start with," Tony said, and Jeanne's eyebrows went up. "Long story, Abby doesn't like assistants. Anyway, he started collecting things that he could use to create evidence. An apple for teeth marks, the bloody rag from when I got punched by an assassin."

"Assassin?" Jeanne exclaimed.

"Again, long story," Tony said. "So, he gets all the evidence together, creates his props, and then goes to George Stewart's place of employment – how he got in I still don't know – and cut the legs off a female cadaver."

"He cut the legs off?"

"Yes, and planted them, along with a rubber glove tip with my fingerprint on the inside, in a back lot in Quantico. They had my teeth marks in a neatly excised bite, my blood, glue and fibers from my car's trunk and . . . I'm trying to think . . . that might be it. He was counting on the skills of Abby and Ducky to get the job done for him, and they came through in spades. Ducky managed to get a bite mark off underlying tissue, Abby matched it to my teeth, she found my fingerprint, my blood, and Chip himself found the glue from my trunk carpet. I was arrested and put in holding until they located the source of the legs. At that point, George Stewart was arrested."

"Thus getting the other guy responsible for . . . Chip? Is that the name?" Tony nodded. "For Chip's getting fired."

"Exactly. If Abby weren't a perfectionist, he might have tried again, but she kept testing to verify that Georgie boy acted alone. As it happened, he wasn't even involved. Chip was trying to take one or the other of us down, he wanted me, but George would do."

"So where is he now?"

"In prison, serving time for a number of crimes, not least of which is interfering with a corpse."

"That should be least," Jeanne said militantly. "You might have gotten the death penalty for that kind of murder."

Tony shrugged. "It was three years ago, over and done with, though I will get an alert when they release him, just to be on the safe side." He reached out and patted her leg. "So, being accused of a murder I didn't commit isn't exactly unfamiliar to me, and you didn't even do half as good a job as Chip did."

Jeanne gave him an anxious look. "That's always going to stand between us, isn't it?" she asked.

"As is the fact that I seduced you to get close to your father," Tony pointed out, his heart sinking. If she was already thinking that way . . . he shoved the negative thinking away. "I was just explaining. Besides, Chip tried to have me convicted as a serial killer, and an incompetent one at that. I like a crime of passion way better."

Jeanne laughed, which Tony interpreted as a good sign. It was what he'd been aiming for, and if the laugh was a little weak and emotionally charged, that was only to be expected. He squeezed her hand and she squeezed back. Nothing worth doing was easy.

Wednesday, 1705, NCIS Headquarters

Gibbs looked up when his desk phone rang. He'd sent McGee and Ziva home. Their perp was in jail and staying there, and there was no point in both of them working themselves into the ground. Picking up the phone, he said, "Gibbs."

"Boss, I . . ." DiNozzo's voice trailed off, and Gibbs sat up straight, abruptly worried. "I wondered if we could have dinner."

Gibbs blinked, disconcerted by the suggestion. His immediate response was to ask why, but he squelched that. Under the circumstances he thought he'd do better to give DiNozzo a little more leeway than usual. "You're not going out with Jeanne?" he asked.

"She's getting together with some friends from before, and I suspect I'm going to be one of the main topics of conversation, so I'd just as soon not be there."

"Do you want to go out, or would barbecue at my place work?"

DiNozzo was silent for a moment, as if Gibbs had startled him. "Your place would be fine," he said, and he sounded oddly relieved. "I've got my car, so I can meet you there."

"I'll be there in an hour," Gibbs said, and he hung up the phone. The only reason he could think of for DiNozzo to want to have dinner with him was that he had something to tell him. Couple that with an apparent preference for privacy, and Gibbs suspected he'd be smacking DiNozzo upside the head before long.

He finished things up and headed home, picking up a couple of steaks on the way. When he got there, he found DiNozzo's car out front and the lights on inside. Evidently, DiNozzo had taken advantage of the knowledge that Gibbs never locked his front door. Gibbs went in and found DiNozzo in the kitchen. He appeared to be making a salad.

"How are you feeling?" Gibbs asked.

DiNozzo didn't jump, but the front door made noise and his senior agent was used to his tendency to sneak up on people. "On average, I'm feeling pretty good," DiNozzo said. He tossed a double handful of sliced cucumbers into the bowl with lettuce and tomatoes, then turned around. His eyes were sparkling, but he had an oddly tentative air about him. Gibbs wasn't sure how to read it, and he wasn't used to that.

He put down the grocery bag and pulled out the steaks. "Have you heard back about that place?" he asked.

DiNozzo nodded, a touch of anxiety entering his eyes. "Actually, yes. That's one of the reasons I wanted to talk to you."

"Oh yeah?" Gibbs glanced towards the back door. "I don't suppose you started the barbecue?" he asked.

DiNozzo snorted. "Too many years of anticipating your least little instruction," he said sardonically. "It's ready for grilling."

"How long have you been here, DiNozzo?" Gibbs asked, ripping the steaks out of their packaging and heading out the back door.

"Long enough to get the grill ready for you," DiNozzo countered, which was a non-answer if Gibbs had ever heard one. "Want a beer?"

"Sure."

They set about the business of grilling meat, potatoes and corn, which DiNozzo had left, already wrapped in tinfoil, on the picnic table by the grill. DiNozzo was unusually quiet, and Gibbs wondered what was on his mind. He seemed a little edgy, but nothing out of line for his recent experiences. They drank beer and waited for the meat to cook in a companionable silence. Odd for DiNozzo, but not unprecedented. The man was more complex than most people gave him credit for.

"You want to eat out here?" Gibbs asked.

DiNozzo shrugged, but Gibbs sensed reluctance, so he loaded up the platter with the cooked food and they went inside to eat at the kitchen table. DiNozzo started chatting airily about sports, and Gibbs decided that he'd waited long enough. "So, what is it about this place you wanted to talk to me about, DiNozzo?" he asked in the middle of a story.

DiNozzo broke off and looked down at his plate. "I'm not sure how you'll feel about this, Boss, but I'm moving in with Jeanne."

Gibbs blinked at him. It was sooner than he'd expected, but that might just be a good sign. "Does she know?" he asked facetiously, just to see DiNozzo flounder.

The younger man's eyebrows drew together. "Of course, she . . . oh." He rolled his eyes. "We've signed lease papers on a house in Georgetown."

"Georgetown, huh?" Gibbs repeated. "Nice neighborhood."

"Mostly," Tony replied, seeming relieved. Gibbs knew what he'd been expecting, but he should have known his boss better than that. "All those embassies, though, it's kind of a rough crowd." They ate in silence for a few moments, then DiNozzo cleared his throat. "I kind of expected you to object," he said.

"None of my business, DiNozzo," Gibbs said, glancing up.

DiNozzo's brows drew together again. "But Brody was?"

"Jeanne's not going to pick you up and body slam you into a wall," Gibbs said. DiNozzo gazed at him for a moment, then his eyes dropped to his plate again. Gibbs could see the slight smile on his lips, however, and was satisfied that he understood the point.

"So, Boss, if I requested a week off at the end of my sick leave, would you grant it?"

Gibbs raised his eyebrows. "I don't know, DiNozzo, are you going to?"

DiNozzo nodded. "We need to go to New York."

"Visiting your dad?" Gibbs asked, startled.

"God, no," Tony replied. He scowled. "Though I suppose we might have to have dinner if he's in town."

"Then why are you going?" Gibbs asked.

"I've got a bunch of furniture in storage that will be perfect for the new place, and we need to check it out."

"Furniture in storage?" Gibbs repeated. If DiNozzo was pulling out the stuff he'd had in storage since 1994, then he was serious as a heart attack about this move.

DiNozzo just grinned and kept eating.

Chapter Text

Thursday, 0956, NCIS Headquarters

"He's doing what?!" Ziva exclaimed. The upswing tension made McGee wish he could turn around and leave, but he was just arriving for work, already late due to a scheduled appointment, so that really wasn't an option.

"It's his decision, Ziva," Gibbs said.

"It is insane!" Ziva replied. "She cannot be trusted. Could you not talk him out of it?"

"I didn't try." Gibbs turned away to sit down at his desk.

Ziva started to follow him. McGee stepped forward. "What's wrong?" he asked to forestall her. He could see that Gibbs wasn't in the mood to be interrogated, and the day had already started badly from his perspective. It didn't need to keep going badly.

"Tony is moving in with Dr. Benoit," she said. "No doubt you will tell me there is no reason for concern."

McGee blinked at her. "He's what? Is he crazy?"

Ziva nodded. "You see, Gibbs, even McGee sides with me."

That was taking things a bit far. Gibbs had a tendency to take statements like that at face value without checking them with the third party, and, in fact, he was at this moment glaring at McGee. "I don't side with anyone," he said hastily. "I just think it sounds a little unwise."

"Lots of things are unwise, McGee," Gibbs replied. "That doesn't stop people from doing them."

"But you can advise your friends not to do unwise things, can't you?" Ziva asked.

"He'd already signed the lease when he told me," Gibbs said mildly. "It was a done deal."

"He's under a great deal of emotional stress. It could be argued that he was not –"

"Not what?" asked a voice from behind them, and McGee turned slowly. It was something about this job – or maybe this office – that guaranteed that comments would be overheard by the least appropriate person. "Not competent?" Tony supplied brightly, his expression a bizarre combination of manic glee and irritation. Jeanne was a few steps behind him, her eyes wide.

"I did not know you were there," Ziva said, her expression troubled.

"That much is obvious," Tony said.

"What are you doing here, DiNozzo?" Gibbs asked.

Tony shrugged. "HR told me I'd have to put in for the leave in person, I need to change my address, and I guess I need to schedule some appointments, so I thought I'd come in. Jeanne came along because we have plans in this direction, and she wanted to say hi to everyone."

McGee transferred his eyes to Jeanne's face. She looked uncomfortable, but not at all abashed. Raising a hand, she said, "Hi." McGee responded in kind, and Gibbs nodded at her. Ziva looked like she couldn't decide which she wanted more, to fall through the floor or to continue the argument.

"Can someone walk her down to see Abby?" Tony asked. "I want to get this HR stuff dealt with as quickly as possible, and she's got something to tell Abby."

"Sure, DiNozzo," Gibbs said. "Jeanne?" He gestured towards the elevator.

"Thank you, Jethro," she said, nodding, and they left the bullpen.

When they'd disappeared into the elevator, McGee turned to find Ziva and Tony staring at each other, neither speaking, but not giving any ground either. He cleared his throat. "Jethro?" he repeated, a little startled by Jeanne's informal address towards their boss and Gibbs' calm acceptance of it.

Both Tony and Ziva turned towards him. "No idea," Tony said in response to the implied question. "That's a new one on me."

"How can you even think of moving in with her, Tony?" Ziva asked in an undertone. "It makes no sense."

Tony turned towards her, his expression totally flat. "I don't think that's any of your business, Officer David," he said in clipped tones, and then he started towards HR.

"Tony?" McGee said hesitantly. Tony turned back, his eyebrows up, his expression unchanged. "It does seem a little sudden, and a little soon."

Tony grimaced and he shrugged, a little of the stiffness dropping from his manner. "I get that, McDoubtful, but in this case, I think I know what I'm doing." He grinned suddenly. "We're taking up where we left off, both of us a little older and a little wiser. Can't go wrong with that." With that, he turned and headed off towards HR with a jaunty swagger.

"I do not like this," Ziva muttered.

McGee sighed. "It's not really any of our business," he said slowly.

"He is our teammate. It is our business. If you were moving in with a woman who had attempted to have you put in prison for murder, don't you think he'd advise you against it?"

"Probably, but that doesn't mean I'd listen." She pursed her lips at him irritably. McGee shrugged and went to his desk to get to work. Gibbs would not be happy if he came back upstairs and found them still discussing a matter he clearly considered to be closed.

"Well, that was awkward," Jeanne said once they were on the elevator. Gibbs just nodded, not saying anything. "Are you bothered by this move?" she asked, glancing over at him.

"Not my business," Gibbs said, and Jeanne eyed him thoughtfully. She had a feeling that if Gibbs did have an objection, he wouldn't be shy about stating it. She'd have to check with Tony later, but from her read of Gibbs' personality, saying it wasn't his business was almost as good a blessing. He left her at Abby's door, and Jeanne walked in a little hesitantly, not sure what her welcome would be. "Abby?"

"Jeanne, hi," Abby said, emerging from her office. She seemed alarmingly neutral. "I hear you and Tony are moving in together."

"It seems everyone's heard," Jeanne said uneasily. She'd hoped to tell Abby herself. Biting her lip, she stood still, waiting for the explosion.

Abby tilted her head, raising her eyebrows. "Gibbs just said Georgetown. Where at?" There was no sign of annoyance or Ziva's justified paranoia.

"I don't remember the address yet," Jeanne said with a relieved laugh. "What I remember is how Tony keeps describing it." Abby raised her eyebrows. "A couple of blocks away from the stairs in The Exorcist. I don't think the post office will recognize that address, though."

Abby's eyes went wide. "That's cool! Tony must be excited."

"Just a little," Jeanne said. "So, you're okay with this?"

Abby shrugged. "Yes and no," she replied frankly. "Yes, because I can tell that the two of you are head over heels in love, and I want that to work for both of you." Jeanne nodded. "No, because you slammed him harder than anyone has ever since his father stopped mattering to him, and that's saying something. Tony's been slammed more than a few times."

Jeanne grimaced. "I realize that, but –"

"Look, it's done," Abby said. "No point in making a fuss about it, and Gibbs seems okay with it, which says a lot for me." She tilted her head. "Just so long as you remember that he's my Tony, and that I could commit a murder and totally, totally get away with it."

Jeanne nodded slowly. "I'll remember," she said, with absolutely no doubt at all that Abby meant every word she'd said.

"Good," Abby replied with a single nod. "So, tell me about the house. What's it like?"

"Well, it's Georgian and absolutely beautiful." Jeanne got lost in a description of all the possibilities the house presented, and Abby seemed equally interested.

"I didn't know you liked to garden," she remarked when Jeanne finally wound down.

"I do, when I have time," Jeanne said. "You should come over sometime soon and see the place."

Abby grinned. "When are you guys moving in?"

"Well, my stuff has to come out of storage, and the FBI still hasn't released his apartment," Jeanne said.

"Gibbs will take care of that," Abby said with assurance. "Now that you're ready to move, he'll make Fornell get off the dime."

Jeanne thought it would be convenient to have people around who could make law enforcement hop to it, but she had a feeling it would be more complicated than that. "And now I've just got to figure out how to tell all my friends that Tony and I are back together, and that he's not a film studies professor. And then there's always Tony needing to tell his friends that he had a relationship with me despite the fact that he never told anyone anything." Put like that it sounded even more daunting than she'd realized.

"Have a party," Abby suggested brightly.

"A party?"

"A house warming party," Abby said, getting visibly excited about the idea. "Once things are at least minimally set up, get all your friends and all his friends together and make the announcement. That gets it over with all at once, everyone can gossip and chatter as much as they like, and if you can't handle it, you guys can always hide upstairs."

Jeanne blinked. "I suppose that would work."

"We'll just have to come up with a good story to cover up the classified stuff," Abby added thoughtfully. "But that shouldn't be too hard."

"That's . . . a brilliant idea," Jeanne said. "If Tony's up for it. I wouldn't want to do anything that made him uncomfortable."

Abby shook her head vehemently. "No, absolutely not."

"I think it will have to wait until after we get back from New York, at the very least," Jeanne said.

"You're going to New York?" Abby asked. "To visit his family?" She sounded faintly disbelieving.

"No, I've already met his father and we're having lunch with his stepmother on Tuesday," Jeanne said. "We're going to go look at the stuff he has in storage."

Abby stopped dead and turned to look at her. "He's pulling his grandma's stuff out of storage?" she asked incredulously.

"Some of it, at any rate," Jeanne said, and Abby's eyes widened slightly. Jeanne shook her head. "Why do you look so stunned?"

Abby blinked, and then she smiled. "No reason," she said cheerily.

Jeanne was about to pursue what was obviously a fib, but a voice from behind her forestalled her. "Dr. Benoit, how lovely to see you again."

She turned to greet Dr. Mallard with a smile. "Good morning, Dr. Mallard."

"So, I gather you're going to be looking more closely after Anthony's welfare very soon," the elderly doctor said, and Jeanne blinked.

"He means he's heard that you're moving in together," Abby said.

"Oh." Jeanne nodded. "Yes, we are."

"I'm glad to hear it. He needs someone to look after him." He turned to Abby. "Abigail, have you found anything in the stomach contents yet?"

Recognizing that she wasn't needed for this conversation, Jeanne walked out and went to the elevator to return to the bullpen. She had a feeling Tony had sent her down here to protect her from Ziva's sharp tongue, but she was a big girl. She could handle whatever was thrown at her.

The elevator doors opened and she came face to face with Director Shepard. Blinking back her dismay, she stepped onto the elevator and the doors closed. There was a moment of tense silence, and then Director Shepard spoke.

"I understand we're going to be neighbors," she said.

Jeanne glanced at her and saw that the other woman looked icy but very controlled. "Are we?" Jeanne asked, raising her eyebrows.

"I live on O Street near 33rd," Director Shepard said.

Only a few blocks away from the new house. Jeanne blinked. "So, then you know all the best delis locally."

"I do." Director Shepard was silent for a moment. "Luigi's is rather good."

Jeanne nodded, and the elevator doors opened. The two women stepped out, and Jeanne turned to the director. "You know, even though you work with Tony and we'll be living in the same neighborhood, there's no real reason we should ever have to see each other."

Director Shepard gazed at her for a moment, then nodded. "I agree," she said curtly, and then she walked swiftly away.

Jeanne walked over to the bullpen and saw Agent Gibbs catching up with Director Shepard as they both went up the stairs.

"Tony should be back soon, I think," Agent McGee said.

"Thank you, Agent McGee," Jeanne replied. Ziva was ignoring her, and Tim returned immediately to his work. She walked over to stand by the windows so that she wouldn't feel quite so out of place. She sensed that people looked at her curiously as they passed by, but no one said anything.

"What is he thinking?" Jen demanded as soon as her office door was closed. "Moving in with that woman after everything that's happened."

Gibbs blinked at her. "Is this the part where I act like you never said that so you don't have to be embarrassed by un-director-like behavior, or do I talk to you like you're an old partner who's being an idiot?"

She whirled and glared at him. "Idiot?"

Tilting his head, Gibbs said, "Would you prefer jackass?"

Jen crossed her arms and glowered at him. "Exactly what is idiotic about thinking this is a bad idea?"

"Of all the people in DiNozzo's life, you are the least entitled to an opinion on this subject, Jen. You can't possibly be objective."

She gaped at him, but recovered her voice quickly. "I very much doubt I'm the only one who finds it disturbing. What did Ziva say?"

Gibbs shrugged. "Ziva also has a minor problem with objectivity in this situation, but that's neither here nor there. It's no one's business but theirs."

Jen gave him a dubious look. "If you had a problem with it, that wouldn't matter."

"If I had a problem with it, there would be a reason, Jen," Gibbs replied unflappably. "Not like this knee-jerk reaction to a situation you set up – and set up poorly, I might add – going in a direction you didn't anticipate." Jen turned away and went around behind her desk. "Now, is this all you called me in here for, or did you have something case-related that you wanted to talk about?"

Her eyes were narrowed when she looked up at him. "Have we managed to locate the remaining two victims the CIA identified?"

Gibbs sat down. "McGee found one of them, we think. The FBI is sending someone out to check it out now."

"Let's hope he's willing to stand up and speak," Jen said.

Gibbs nodded grimly. Once he'd filled Jenny in to her satisfaction, he went back downstairs and got to work. The day passed without any startling revelations. His cell phone rang at around four, and he picked it up, squinting at the readout. Fornell. Since he and Glick had gone out to interview the guy McGee had found, he assumed Fornell was calling to report on that adventure.

"Gibbs," he said.

"Jethro, we have a problem," Fornell said instantly, actually talking over Gibbs' brief greeting.

"What?" Gibbs demanded. Both McGee and Ziva looked up at his tone, but then they returned to their work.

"Harris is out," Fornell said curtly. "Has been since ten a.m. or thereabouts."

"How the hell –"

"Now isn't the time. Do you know where DiNutso is?"

"Out and about with Jeanne," Gibbs said. "Son of a . . . McGee," he snapped, and the younger man's head came up. "Call DiNozzo. Find out where he is. If you can't reach him, try Jeanne."

"Sure, Boss," McGee said, already dialing.

Ziva rose and came over to stand by his desk. "What is wrong?"

"Harris is on the loose," he said. "Fornell, we're locating DiNozzo. What the hell happened?"

"CIA borrowed him after Glick and I were on the road, and no one saw fit to tell us. No one at the Agency is being real forthcoming about what happened, but we got the call about an hour ago that he'd been on the loose since roughly ten this morning."

"An hour? Fornell –"

"I only heard the minute before I called, Gibbs," Fornell said earnestly. "Heads will roll all over the place for this screw up."

Gibbs flipped his phone shut and looked at McGee. "Well?"

"No answer from either of them," he said. "Tracking Tony's GPS chip now."

Gibbs made a call down to Abby. Words poured into his ear in a rapid torrent. "Gibbs, I don't have anything for you, but your radar is getting a little better, I have something for –"

"Not now, Abby," he said sharply, and she fell silent. "Did Jeanne tell you anything about their plans for today?"

"No," Abby said. "What's wrong?"

Gibbs hung up and looked expectantly at McGee. "Nothing yet, Boss. I –" His eyes focused on the screen abruptly. "11th Street NW, between E and F," he said, already gearing up. Gibbs couldn't fault him.

"The E Street Cinema," Ziva exclaimed after a brief moment of thought. "They must be at a movie."

Gibbs nodded. That was a good bet. They were on their feet and waiting for the elevator within moments. "Does Tony go there a lot?" McGee asked.

"Haven't you heard him talking?" Ziva replied as the doors opened. "It is his home away from home."

"During the last four months?" Gibbs asked, walking into the elevator and hitting the button.

"Certainly," Ziva said.

"So Harris might have seen him there," McGee said.

Gibbs started forward as soon as the doors were open again. "Ya think?" He took out his phone and dialed Fornell. "Keep trying DiNozzo," he ordered. There was going to be hell to pay.

Chapter Text

Thursday, 1637, E Street Cinema, Washington, DC

Tony reached into his pocket for his keys as they walked out of the elevator on the level of the garage where he'd parked the car. "What did you think of the movie?" he asked Jeanne. His hand encountered his phone first, so he pulled it out and turned it back on. He'd been of two minds about turning it off completely, but he wasn't on call, he wasn't even available for duty.

"I'm not sure," Jeanne said. Tony blinked at the screen. McGee had apparently called him fifteen times in the last twenty minutes. Weird. There were a couple of texts, too. He called one up, still listening to Jeanne. "It was odd," she said. "Did you notice how they –"

He lost track of what she was saying when he read the message he'd called up. "Harris out, we're on our way. Call me."

Tony grabbed Jeanne's arm, gauging whether they were closer to the elevator and the theater or closer to his car. He decided on the elevator and turned. "Come on, Jeanne, we need to get to where there are –"

Jeanne grabbed his arm in a tight grip. "Tony?"

He turned back and saw that Brody had emerged from between two cars ahead of them, no more than ten feet off, between them and Tony's car. Tony's mouth went dry at the sight of him – and the gun he held in his hand. It was pointed straight at Jeanne. He immediately shoved her behind him, and Brody lowered the gun slightly.

Tony glowered at him. "What are you doing here, Brody?"

"I've come for what's mine," the big man said. "I've got a van right here. Come with me now and no one gets hurt."

Jeanne grabbed the back of Tony's shirt. "Don't you even think about it!" she hissed.

Tony turned his head. "Jeanne, when I tell you, run for the stairs," he muttered.

"Tony?" Jeanne said uncertainly, still holding onto his shirt.

"It's easy enough, Tony," Brody said. "Just come over here, and I won't shoot anybody."

Tony reached around behind him and eased his shirt out of Jeanne's fingers. She immediately re-entwined them and whispered, "I am not leaving without you, Tony!"

Tony's eyes darted around the space, looking for a way out. The elevator was out, it was too far and the doors wouldn't open right away. On the other hand, people could come out of the elevator at any moment. That was both good and bad, but –

Brody lunged forward to catch Tony's arm, and Tony dodged towards the opposite row of cars dragging Jeanne with him, then pushing her ahead between two cars. They were parked against the ramp up to the next level. His heart raced in terror for Jeanne. Brody wouldn't kill him, but he might be just whacked enough to kill her. A gunshot rang out, echoing in the enclosed space and tinging off metal when it struck the railing that separated the ramp from the flat parking.

There was enough room at the base of the railing to fit a small person through. "Go through, Jeanne," he hissed, shoving her towards it.

"Not without you."

"I won't fit, I'll have to go over, but I want you on the other side before, okay?" She stared at him anxiously. "Do it!" he ordered sharply, and, grimacing, she turned to comply.

Thursday, 1642, streets of downtown Washington DC

"The movie he went to is over," McGee said, looking at his handheld computing thing. He'd checked earlier using Tony's credit card data. Gibbs turned onto E street, his jaw clenched so tightly that his head was beginning to hurt. McGee looked around at the traffic-choked streets. "He was driving, so where would he have parked?"

"There is a parking garage inside," Ziva replied. "Up ahead, there." She leaned between the seats and pointed. Gibbs slalomed across two lanes of traffic and turned in to the sound of honking horns and skidding tires. Ignoring the punch card machine, Gibbs went straight through the barricade, eliciting a startled exclamation from McGee.

He started around the levels of the garage, trusting to McGee and Ziva to keep their eyes peeled for DiNozzo, DiNozzo's car, Jeanne and Harris. The elevator disgorged a small party of people on the second level as they passed, but none of them was the person they sought, so he kept going.

"Boss?" McGee said. "Tony's in the garage according to my GPS."

"Call him, McGee!"

Thursday, 1643, E Street Cinema, Washington, DC

Jeanne managed to eel through. It was a close fit for her, but she made it. Tony glanced behind him to see where Brody was, but he couldn't see the man. He climbed up onto the concrete base of the railing, then clambered over, moving as quickly as he could. He didn't like being out in the open like this. His head stuck out above the level of all but the tallest vehicles. His pocket began to ring right when he was at his most visible, and he both heard and saw Brody running around the parked cars towards the ramp.

"Jeanne, run!" Tony said urgently. "Get to the next level and hide."

"Not without –"

"He's not going to shoot me!" Tony growled. "Go!"

Giving him a desperate look, she took off running. Tony scrambled the rest of the way over the railing, preparing to follow her. Jeanne was a few feet short of turning onto the next level when three things happened at once. The elevator below opened and voices sounded in the echo chamber that the concrete structure created, screeching tires could be heard from the ramp up to that level, and Brody came around the corner onto the ramp. He aimed at Jeanne, hesitated, then fired.

That hesitation gave Tony the seconds he needed to surge forward, blocking the shot with his body. Time seemed almost to slow down as he moved, diving across the bullet's path. He felt the impact, but the pain took several seconds longer to register. Tony clutched his gut where the bullet had struck him and struggled to keep his feet, but his knees buckled. The jolt that traveled up his body when his knees struck the ground made the pain spike unbearably. He landed facing Brody, not Jeanne, so he saw his stalker's eyes open wide when he realized what he had done. Brody's hand dropped to his side, and he started screaming at the top of his lungs. "No!" he howled as he ran towards Tony, who only managed to raise a hand before the man was on him, gathering him into his arms.

Tony tried to shove him away with no success. Essence of Brody, gunpowder and the stale exhaust of thousands of cars filled his nose. "Brody . . . get off . . ."

The other man didn't seem to hear him. He just started rocking in demented grief. "Tony, no, I didn't mean – why did you do that? I'm sorry – I didn't – I love you – Tony, don't die – please – Tony . . ."

The heat of the barrel pressed against Tony's side, and he knew that Jeanne was still in danger. He had to do something, find some way to protect her, because she wasn't practical enough to have kept going once she heard the gunshot, she wasn't sensible enough to stay where he'd sent her. He had no doubt that she was already on her way back down the ramp towards them. Brave, noble, compassionate, all words that described her. And at the moment, so did really, really stupid because he could hear her footsteps coming down the ramp.

Despite his good intentions, Tony couldn't muster up the strength to do anything more than wonder why he wasn't unconscious.

Jeanne turned around at the sound of the gunshot and saw Tony hover on his feet for a second, then fall. Her heart leapt into her throat. She started running back towards him, but Brody was closer. He reached Tony first, scooping him into his arms and rocking, spewing a hysterical babble of apologies. Jeanne came to a stop, staring in anger and anxiety at Tony, who was feebly struggling in Brody's arms. She wanted to drag him away, but wrestling with Brody wouldn't help much, and it might hurt.

While Jeanne dithered about what to do, a woman ran to the foot of the ramp and stared upwards. A man came up a second later and tried to drag her away, but she shook her head. "He shot that man!" she exclaimed, pointing at Brody. "I saw him shoot that man!"

Jeanne leaned towards the two men. "Brody," she said earnestly. "I'm a doctor, let me help him!" Brody didn't seem to hear her, continuing to rock and babble. Tony's eyes were open, but she couldn't tell how much of what was going on around him he was aware of. She didn't have a clear idea of where he'd been shot, except that it was definitely in his abdomen. PAT. Penetrative abdominal trauma carried with it a laundry list of life-threatening complications. She had to get Tony away from Brody, but she wasn't sure how.

A black car screeched to a halt about ten feet short of the witness, making everyone but Brody jump. Even Tony jerked and tried to look in that direction, but Brody's body was in the way.

The rest of Tony's team boiled out of the car, guns drawn. McGee headed towards the witness and her companion, his gun held by his side, his ID in his hand. "Federal agents!" he called out, presumably so they wouldn't run away. The man kept trying to get the woman to come with him, but she wouldn't go.

Gibbs and Ziva were moving slowly up the ramp, guns trained on Brody. She wondered if they could see that Brody still held a gun in his hand.

Brody glanced up and around, looking like a cornered animal. This allowed Tony a little more room to move, and he tried to push the other man off. Brody shook his head. "I can't let them split us up, Tony, you know I can't." Jeanne didn't like the sound of that.

"Dr. Benoit, please move away," Gibbs said.

Jeanne shook her head. "Tony's been shot!" she said urgently. "I need to get a look at him."

Brody looked up again and saw how close Gibbs and Ziva had come. He leaned close to Tony and whispered something, then twisted slightly. Still holding Tony's upper body in one arm, he brought his other arm around, the gun in that hand. Jeanne flinched backwards a foot or two, but he didn't point it at her. He pointed it at Tony's head. Tony's eyes went very wide. His hands came up to grip Brody's wrist, but he didn't seem to have the strength to force the gun away from his face. Jeanne was frozen in place, though every emotion was screaming at her to find some way to stop what was about to happen. Brody gave Tony's shoulders a squeeze. "We'll be together soon," he murmured, then Jeanne heard the report of two guns almost at once.

Her heart stopped for a second, then, as Brody's gun hand dropped away, the gun falling to the ground with a metallic clunk, she realized that it had been Ziva and Gibbs who had fired. Tony's eyes were closed, he was flinching, but he hadn't been shot. Not this time, at any rate.

Brody slumped down over Tony, who let out a little squeak of pain that he would find excruciatingly embarrassing later. Gibbs crossed the remaining space between them quickly and, with Ziva still covering Brody, pulled him off Tony and rolled him over to lie flat. Jeanne could hear ambulances in the background as she dropped to her knees beside Tony. She pulled his shirt open and saw the wound low on his abdomen.

A hand came up to touch hers, and she looked down into Tony's heavy-lidded eyes. "Am I going to live?" he asked.

"Of course," Jeanne said. "Tell me how you're feeling."

"It hurts," Tony replied, his tone telling her plainly that it was a stupid question.

That was as far as she got before the paramedics arrived and pushed her aside. When she would have tried to involve herself further, Gibbs caught her arm. "Let them do their job," he said, and she clenched her hands into fists, scared and angry and worried . . . and unnecessary. The paramedics were doing their jobs fine without her. "What happened?" Gibbs asked.

Jeanne closed her eyes, trying to control the wave of tremors that suddenly swept through her body. "He just came out from between two cars, pointing a gun at my head," she said, her voice remarkably steady. "He told Tony to come with him and no one would get hurt."

"Can you show me where?" Gibbs asked intently, seeming to be entirely business. She saw the frequent little shifts of his eyes towards Tony, though, and the anxiety that boiled underneath the cool surface, and that made his attitude easier to bear.

She looked up at him, into those deep blue eyes. "I want to go with Tony," she said.

His expression softened for a split second, but then he said, "I'll see that you get to the hospital as soon as possible if we're not done by the time he's ready to go, but we have to get this right, or Brody could walk."

Jeanne nodded slowly. She walked over to the gurney. "Gibbs needs me," she said to Tony when he looked up at her.

His eyes flicked to the side and above her, and she knew that he was looking at Gibbs. "Better be careful, Boss," he said with a faint smile. "I'm a very jealous man."

"Right, DiNozzo," Gibbs said.

Jeanne leaned down and gave Tony a kiss on the lips. "I'll be along as soon as I can."

"I love you," Tony said, all joking apparently aside for the moment.

Jeanne's eyes filled with tears, and she squeezed his hand. "I love you, too."

The paramedics waited for her to release Tony's hand, then took him away. For a moment she wanted to fall apart, but she pulled herself together. Gibbs needed information. Another ambulance pulled up, and so did two more cars. At least one more must have arrived while she was focused elsewhere. Agents Fornell and Glick got out of the most recent arrival and walked over. "A little late, aren't you, Tobias?" Gibbs asked.

"You shot him?" Fornell demanded, looking at the paramedics working on Brody. He appeared to be unconscious. Jeanne hoped the bullets had done fatal damage, feeling vicious and unethical, but she much didn't care.

"Didn't have a choice," Gibbs countered.

Before Gibbs could elaborate, Fornell looked around. "Where's DiNozzo?"

"In an ambulance, headed for Bethesda," Gibbs replied. "Harris shot him."

"He shot him?" Fornell exclaimed. "What happened to love everlasting?" He threw an odd glance at Agent Glick, who looked disturbed.

"He was aiming for me," Jeanne said in a small voice. "I don't know . . . Tony told me to run, so I had my back to it when it happened." She felt like a coward for having taken off, even though Tony had told her to.

Gibbs took her by the shoulders. "You did exactly what you should have done," he said. "Now, take me through what happened, and show me where."

"Gibbs?" Agent Fornell said with a rising inflection. Gibbs' brows went up, and he gave the FBI agent a warning look, but Fornell didn't back down. Gibbs pursed his lips and gave way. Fornell turned to another agent. "Martin, will you please question Agent Gibbs?" he said, and Gibbs went with a younger man. Briefly, the young guy looked uneasy, but he squared his shoulders and took Gibbs in hand. Fornell turned to her. "Now, please tell me everything that happened."

Chapter Text

Thursday, 1712, E Street Cinema, Washington, DC

Gibbs answered the questions Fornell's young pup asked him, and they were reasonably sensible questions, he had to admit. It just galled him not to take an active part in the investigation. Unwillingly, he surrendered his gun. It would have to be tested, per procedure, since he had fired it.

"Thank you, Agent Gibbs," Agent Martin said finally. "Agent Fornell knows how to reach you if we have further questions."

"He does," Gibbs said. He turned to see that both Ziva and McGee were being interviewed as well. Glick was talking to McGee, and someone Gibbs didn't know was talking to Ziva. Jeanne appeared to be finishing up with Fornell. He walked across to them and stopped a few feet away. He didn't want to interrupt, but he had made a promise to her and intended to keep it.

After a couple of moments, Fornell turned bad-temperedly. "Yes, Gibbs? Why are you hovering?"

"I promised Dr. Benoit to see that she got to the hospital. If you're done with her, I thought I'd drive her over."

This had the expected effect on Jeanne's mood. Her impatience became an almost palpable thing. Fornell turned back towards her, saw it and sighed. "I will need to speak with you again later, Dr. Benoit. Please call in the morning and make an appointment."

"Of course," Jeanne said. "Jethro?"

"My car," Gibbs replied, and she immediately started towards it. No question but that she wanted to be gone. "Tobias, tell Ziva and McGee to take a cab, would you?"

"I can have someone drop them at the Navy Yard if you like." Gibbs nodded and turned away. "Let me know how DiNutso's doing, would you?"

Gibbs grimaced and shook his head. "Sure, Tobias," he said. "Just make sure and tie him up tight this time."

"He's been shot twice, Gibbs. How worried are you, seriously?"

"He's not dead," Gibbs replied flatly. "No doubt you'll want to question DiNozzo. Just make sure nobody makes out like he's at fault here, okay?" He shot a glance at Glick.

"It won't be a problem, Jethro," Fornell said. "Go. I'll see you there."

Giving Fornell a warning look, Gibbs headed to the car and found Jeanne already belted in and ready to go. He slid into his seat and started up, taking off with a peel of rubber. Jeanne was holding on, but she didn't look upset like most of his passengers tended to. He had a strong suspicion that she'd be just as happy if he went faster.

He pulled out his phone and tossed it to her. "Call Ducky. He'll meet us there."

She didn't bother with questions, just pulled up his contact list and found the name. "Dr. Mallard?" she said after a moment. "This is Jeanne Benoit." Gibbs could almost see Ducky's alarm at receiving a call from Jeanne from his phone. "Tony's been shot," she said. "He's at Bethesda already, and Jethro and I are on the way." She paused. "Lower abdomen. He was able to talk, he was lucid, and though they were urgent, the paramedics didn't seem exceptionally concerned." She nodded. "We'll see you there." She hung up and offered the phone back. He took it and put it away. "He said something about finding someone to baby-sit his mother."

Gibbs nodded, and they continued in silence. DiNozzo had been talking – and joking – but that didn't fill Gibbs with confidence like it would with McGee. DiNozzo was a stoic jackass. He'd make jokes while he was bleeding to death.

He dropped Jeanne at the entrance and then went looking for a parking spot. Before he even turned off the engine, his phone started to ring. He picked it up and looked at the display. Jeanne Benoit? Flipping it open, he growled, "What?"

"He isn't here," she said urgently. "He had complications on the trip in and they took him to Georgetown because it was closer. I'm back at the entrance."

Gibbs' phone beeped. "Be ready." He hung up and answered it again. "Yeah?"

"Gibbs, they took DiNutso to Georgetown," Fornell said.

"Yeah, I heard," Gibbs replied dryly. "Anything else?"

"No, I –" Gibbs shut the phone and cut him off. He stopped with a screech at the entrance and Jeanne got in without wasting a moment, allowing him to take off instantly back towards DC.

"Did they say what the problem is?" Gibbs demanded once they were on the road again.

"Not specifically, but they were calling Dr. Pitt."

Gibbs put on an extra burst of speed and got to Georgetown in record time. He pulled his car into a staff spot and they both hurried into the hospital where Gibbs went straight to the desk. "Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo?" he said without prelude to the woman behind the counter.

"You are?" she asked, already typing.

"His boss," Gibbs replied sharply. "Where is he?"

"In surgery," she said. "Go up to the second –"

"What's wrong?"

"If you go up to the second floor, you can find out everything you want to know from the surgical liaison."

Jeanne grabbed his arm and led him towards the elevators. They reached the surgical waiting room, and Jeanne hurried across instantly to engage a young man behind a desk in conversation. Gibbs followed and listened to them babble in technical language and then tapped her on the shoulder. "What does all that crap mean?"

"Tony's blood pressure dropped dramatically in the ambulance, indicating that he was bleeding internally."

"Why did they call Dr. Pitt?"

"He was having breathing problems, related to trauma to his diaphragm," she replied.

Gibbs glowered at the wall. "How long will he be in surgery?"

"That depends on the amount of trauma they find," the liaison said.

Gibbs wanted to smack him on the back of the head for stating the obvious, but he didn't employ this jackass. "I'd better call the director." He turned as he spoke and discovered that Jenny had just walked into the room.

"I'm glad you finally thought of me," she said acerbically. "How is he?"

Jeanne's lips went very tight. "He's in surgery," she said. "There's trauma to his bowel and his diaphragm."

"How bad?"

"I don't know exactly," Jeanne replied. "But if the bullet damaged his diaphragm, it took an unexpected path through the body, since it entered just below and left of the umbilicus."

Jenny's eyebrows went up, and Gibbs gulped uneasily. That didn't sound good. He walked over and sat down, uncertain suddenly that his legs were going to hold him. He rested his head in his hands, and a moment later he felt someone sit down next to him, putting her hand on his back. He looked up to repel Jenny, but discovered that it was Jeanne.

He hated waiting. Last time DiNozzo had been in the hospital, he'd had a case to investigate, a cure to locate, but this time he had nothing. He wasn't allowed to investigate, so instead he was waiting. Ducky showed up and was allowed into the observation room as Tony's doctor, then Ziva and McGee arrived. Jeanne filled them in with the information coming from the liaison, and then they sat down, like him, to wait.

Thursday, 1951, Georgetown University Hospital

Two hours had passed since they'd arrived, and the surgery was still in progress. Jeanne looked absently through the bag of Tony's effects. Shortly after their arrival, the nurse had given them to Gibbs who had passed them on to her immediately. "Fiancé," he'd said, jerking his head towards her, and the nurse had nodded and taken down her information.

Knowing that it could gain her greater access both to information and Tony's room, Jeanne hadn't demurred, but when the nurse had left, she'd turned to Gibbs. "You know, we aren't actually engaged."

Gibbs had shrugged. "You've been back less than a week and you're already moving in together. I give it two weeks."

She hadn't responded to this optimistic assessment, but her internal reaction told her what she hoped would happen. She actively wanted to be engaged to Tony, and it wasn't just all the trauma talking. She picked up his phone and stared at it. "I'll be back in a moment," she said to Gibbs, and she stepped out of the room, hurrying down the hall to a safe zone for the phone. Then she looked in Tony's contact list. She didn't find a number labeled Dad or anything that related to his father, but she did find one labeled Joyce. Pressing the button, she put the phone to her ear, hoping devoutly that this wouldn't piss Tony off.

"Hello, Tony?" said a pleasant alto voice. "Tell me you're not canceling lunch."

"Um . . . this isn't Tony," Jeanne said. "Joyce DiNozzo?"

"That's me," Joyce said, sounding faintly alarmed. "Who is this?"

"Jeanne Benoit," Jeanne replied. "Tony's girlfriend."

"Oh, I . . . is everything all right?"

"I'm afraid not. Tony was shot about three hours ago, and –"

"Shot?" Joyce exclaimed. "Is he all right?"

"He's in surgery, and everyone's being very guarded," Jeanne said. "They're not giving us a lot of detail at this point."

"What hospital?" Joyce asked urgently.

"Georgetown University Hospital," Jeanne replied. "Are you coming down to DC?"

"Of course I am."

"You might want to check with me again before you come out to the hospital. I'm pretty sure that the minute Tony's stable, he'll be moved to Bethesda."

"What's your number?" Jeanne passed it on. "Did Tony ask you to call?"

"No," Jeanne replied. "I'm not sure how he'll feel about it, either."

"Well, I'll call you when we get into DC. Thank you for letting me know." She paused. "Why didn't you call Leonard?"

Jeanne shrugged. "I don't have his number, and I couldn't find it on Tony's phone."

"I see. Well, I'll call you, and I look forward to meeting you."

"Likewise," Jeanne said. She hung up and went back to the waiting room where she found Dr. Mallard in the midst of speaking to a rapt audience.

"– fine. He just needs rest and time to recover."

"What about the problem with his diaphragm?" McGee asked.

"It was only a contusion, but Dr. Pitt asked to be informed if Anthony was admitted again. That's why he was called."

"When can we see him?" Director Shepard asked.

"I was told that I could bring his fiancé and one other close friend back with me," Dr. Mallard said, and everyone but Gibbs turned to look at Jeanne. Ziva looked accusatory.

"It's as good as true," Gibbs said with a shrug. "Well, Ducky, lead the way."

Jeanne escaped the incredulous glares of the two women by following Gibbs and Dr. Mallard to the recovery room.

"I cannot believe she told the staff that she is his fiancé," Ziva said in a throttled voice, and McGee glanced uneasily at her. Frankly, he thought Gibbs was right. If they weren't already engaged, it was only a matter of time, and Ziva was in denial if she thought otherwise.

Director Shepard shook her head. "I don't believe she did," she said slowly.

"Well, Tony certainly did not," Ziva exclaimed.

"Gibbs?" McGee asked tentatively.

Director Shepard nodded. "I'd say so," she replied. "I stepped away for a moment when we first got here, and when I came back, she had his back of effects. Regardless, it doesn't matter, in any case. If Tony doesn't want her in there, he won't be shy about saying so."

Given how firmly he'd sent the director away, McGee had no trouble believing that. He sat back down and took out his PDA. He had a couple of books on there, so he started reading. The director settled down with a file or something, and Ziva paced until Director Shepard ordered her to sit quietly. Ducky came out and reported that Gibbs had persuaded the staff to allow him to remain with Tony despite the official policy that limited guests' time in the recovery room. Somehow McGee wasn't surprised at Gibbs managing to overturn policy, though he wasn't altogether sure why their boss was insisting on staying by Tony's side.

Hours passed. Abby showed up and had to be calmed down. McGee got the lion's share of that duty, but he didn't mind. He just hoped Tony was going to be okay.

The liaison walked over to Director Shepard, a piece of paper in his hands. "He's being moved to ICU."

"Do we need to wait somewhere else?" the director asked, and the liaison handed her the piece of paper, explaining that it was a map. They all got up and wended their way through the hospital to the ICU waiting room. There were already people there. A young woman sat with an older woman, crying softly. Nearby a small child played with a collection of matchbox cars. An older couple sat near the window. They looked well to do. The man's face rang a bell for McGee, but he didn't think he knew them. A couple of teenaged boys sat in the corner, one of them had his face buried in his hands. McGee wondered what they all saw when they looked at his party.

Director Shepard walked across to the older couple and put out her hand, speaking quietly. McGee glanced over at Ziva, Ducky and Abby. Ducky looked as puzzled as he felt, but a light of understanding came into the elderly doctor's eyes as McGee watched. Both Abby and Ziva seemed unsurprised, and Abby actually looked a little peevish.

"Who is that?" he asked her in a quiet voice, but just then, Jeanne came into the waiting room. When she saw the pair, she headed straight for them, and the director made way for her.

"Mr. DiNozzo," she said, and McGee's eyes opened wide. That was why he looked familiar, he looked a lot like Tony. "I let Tony know that you were coming, but I'm not sure how much of what I said sank in. Morphine does strange things to his thought processes."

Tony's father nodded at Jeanne. "Dr. Benoit, this is my wife, Joyce DiNozzo."

"Please, call me Joyce," Mrs. DiNozzo said. "How is he?"

"He's been moved to ICU because they want to watch his breathing," Jeanne said. "Otherwise, his injuries were relatively easy to patch up, according to what they tell me."

"Why is his breathing a concern?" Mrs. DiNozzo asked, and the rest of them drew closer to hear her answer.

"Two reasons, one, his diaphragm was injured slightly, and two, the state of his lungs tends to complicate any injury that requires surgery."

"The state of his lungs?" Mrs. DiNozzo repeated. "What state of his lungs?"

"He has extensive scarring from . . . a few years ago," Jeanne said, and McGee was just as glad she hadn't said the 'p' word. In a hospital waiting room, that might just cause panic. "It's only a precaution, he should be fine."

Mrs. DiNozzo looked uneasy, but she didn't press. Her husband grimaced. "When can we see him?"

"I don't know," Jeanne said. "They kicked Gibbs and me out when they moved him, and they're supposed to let us know when we can go back in."

"What are the rules about visitors here?" Director Shepard asked.

"Family only," Jeanne said. "But since Gibbs is listed as his medical contact, that counts."

"How were you in with him, then?" Mr. DiNozzo asked, his brow furrowing, and McGee glanced over at Ziva, whose eyes narrowed at the question.

"Agent Gibbs told them I was his fiancé," Jeanne said. "And I didn't argue." Ziva scowled, but she didn't speak.

"He's okay, though?" Abby asked, and it was like a dam let loose. "I've been so worried, but Timmy said I shouldn't worry because Ducky was calm, but when is Ducky ever not calm? I can't believe that jerk shot him, and you have to tell me he's going to be okay and that he's coming back to work because he just has to. And I'd love to be in your wedding even if I have to wear a truly awful color like orange." Jeanne blinked at her, and Abby stopped dead. "And that was totally inappropriate given the situation."

"He's going to be okay," Jeanne said, and if there was a hint of amusement in her voice, it wasn't exactly surprising.

"You must be Abby," Mrs. DiNozzo said with a smile, and Abby looked up, clearly startled. "Tony mentions you frequently when we talk."

"He does?" Abby said. "I didn't know he talked to you."

Not the most tactful of remarks, but Mrs. DiNozzo didn't take it amiss. "We have lunch whenever I'm in town. I'm Joyce DiNozzo and this is my husband, Leonard, Tony's father."

This produced a round of introductions during which Mr. DiNozzo was largely silent, nodding and shaking hands when necessary.

The door to the ICU opened and a nurse came out, heading straight for their group. "Is one of you named Jeanne?"

"I am," Jeanne said, eyes going wide. "Is something wrong?"

"Not wrong, he's just asking for you and I don't think he'll calm down until he sees that you're okay."

Jeanne hurried after her and the doors closed behind them. "Why would he be asking for her?" Mr. DiNozzo asked testily.

"Probably because the bastard who shot him was actually aiming at her," said Fornell, walking up. "I gather DiNutso's talking now?"

Ducky cleared his throat. "I'll go see if he's up to being interviewed," he said, and he used some kind of pass to get through the ICU door.

"Who are you?" Mr. DiNozzo demanded.

"Agent Fornell, FBI. Who are you?"

"Anthony DiNozzo is my son," Mr. DiNozzo said, and McGee thought he detected a hint of emphasis on the pronunciation of the surname.

"I see," Fornell said, but before they could get into further posturing, Ducky stuck his head out the door.

"Agent Fornell?"

Fornell walked away and McGee felt the tension in the waiting room shift up a notch. Gibbs walked in and looked at them. "What's everybody standing around for?" he asked. "McGee, Ziva, DiNozzo's going to be fine. Go home and get some rest. Director, I'd advise you to do the same." He turned to Abby. "Abbs, he's in good hands. Go home, get some sleep. Hopefully he'll be out of ICU tomorrow and you can visit him." Abby nodded, her eyes glittering.

"Are you going home, Jethro?" the director asked.

"Nope," he said. She raised her eyebrows, clearly prepared to protest, but Gibbs wasn't done. "DiNozzo asked me to stick around."

Director Shepard nodded. "All right. Call us if you need anything," she said, and then she put a hand on McGee's shoulder and started herding Ziva and Abby towards the door. "Good night, Gibbs. It was a pleasure to meet you, Mr. and Mrs. DiNozzo."

Chapter Text

Thursday, 2008, Georgetown University Hospital

Gibbs watched his team go, and then turned toward the ICU doors. Where the hell was Ducky with his magic pass?

"Agent Gibbs?" His jaw set, Gibbs turned towards Tony's father and raised his eyebrows. "That Agent Fornell . . . he any good?"

"You think I'd let him handle Tony's case if he wasn't?" Gibbs asked acerbically, and Mr. DiNozzo gave him a startled look. "I take it he's been here?"

"He's with Anthony now."

Gibbs grimaced. If that was the case, they wouldn't let him in. He still couldn't be present when DiNozzo was being questioned about Harris. He found a magazine and a chair and sat down. A moment later, Mrs. DiNozzo sat in the seat beside him. "Agent Gibbs, can you tell us what happened? We still don't really have the whole story."

Gibbs shrugged. "You knew he was being stalked?" She blinked at him, and he glared up at DiNozzo senior. "You didn't tell her anything?"

"I told her to ask Anthony," Mr. DiNozzo said.

"We were going to meet next week," Mrs. DiNozzo put in.

Gibbs rolled his eyes. "A man named Brody Harris manipulated Tony into a sexual relationship, and when Tony broke it off, he began stalking him. He was witnessed physically attacking Tony last Friday, and he escaped from custody today. I'm not altogether sure how he found them, but he did. I don't know the details of the confrontation, but I do know that he tried to shoot Jeanne and Tony got in the way."

"Of course he did," DiNozzo senior said gruffly. Gibbs couldn't decide whether it was pride or irritation the man was displaying, and decided not to worry about it.

An announcement over the speakers passed through Gibbs' head without really taking root. It wasn't Tony, Tony was fine. A weeping woman in the corner looked up, though, and she began to talk anxiously. "What does 'code blue' mean, Mom? I know 'stat', but what does 'code blue' mean?"

Gibbs turned his attention away from the fear-inducing explanation that was none of his business and looked back down at the magazine, starting again to look for an article worth reading.

"Tony speaks very highly of you, Agent Gibbs," Mrs. DiNozzo said.

"He has nice things to say about you, too," Gibbs replied, thinking back on the one conversation they'd had about DiNozzo's current stepmother, right after the wedding.

"That's good to hear."

The doors opened and Fornell came out. He saw Gibbs and walked over. "You know, that kid is an even bigger pain in the ass flat on his back than when he can get up and walk around."

Gibbs snorted, but DiNozzo senior scowled. "My son has been shot and you're making jokes?" he exclaimed. "How did that man get away?"

"We're still working on that," Fornell said. "He was in another agency's custody at the time."

"Weaseling your way out of responsibility," DiNozzo senior said scathingly. "Where is this Harris now?"

"ICU room 15," Fornell said. "Agent Gibbs and Officer David shot him to keep him from turning a simple shooting into a murder suicide."

"You mean he's on that hall, too?" Gibbs demanded, rising to his feet.

"And there are three agents with him at all times," Fornell said in a placatory tone. "He's not getting at DiNutso."

"Does Tony know how close he is?" Gibbs asked.

"I don't know. I didn't tell him. I left him billing and cooing with the good doctor."

"I want more information on this investigation," DiNozzo senior growled, and Gibbs slipped away to go in with his DiNozzo.

His agent was in room 11, and Gibbs paused in the doorway, observing. Jeanne had leaned across Tony's bed to push his limp hair back from his forehead. Tony gazed up at her with an expression of awe and love in his eyes. Even when he was at his most playful, his most sardonic, the place to look for truth from DiNozzo was his eyes. Often they showed an emotion entirely at odds with his demeanor. Right now the cynic was missing, and only the man in love shone through. Gibbs had known that DiNozzo was in love, but he hadn't realized how wholly it had taken him over. It took Gibbs' breath away to see it so clearly, the masks absent for the moment. The vulnerability there opened the door for enormous pain, but also for enormous happiness. Gibbs had known both, and he hoped DiNozzo would know only the latter in this relationship. They'd already survived a crisis, so maybe they had a chance of surviving the pitfalls of normal life.

"Boss!" Tony said, his mask coming down again. Jeanne sat back and smiled up at Gibbs. "I just sent Fornell away with a flea in his ear."

"So I heard," Gibbs replied. "Your father and Joyce are here."

DiNozzo's eyes opened wide. "How'd they find out?" he asked incredulously. "There hasn't been time for it to be in the papers."

Jeanne gave him a guilty look. "I called Joyce," she said, and DiNozzo's eyes widened further. "She'd find out soon enough anyway since you're scheduled to lunch with her on Tuesday."

"I could have cancelled that," Tony muttered. "I've done it before."

"She's worried about you, Tony," Jeanne said.

"Just tell me your mother isn't out there," Tony grumped.

Jeanne stared at him. "She's going to kill me. I haven't called her yet."

"Why would you need to call her?" Tony asked.

"She knows we're back together, Tony! She'll kill me if I don't tell her. I'll be back in a minute." She was out the door before DiNozzo could make a response.

DiNozzo looked up at Gibbs, a pathetic look on his face. "If her mother shows up, that means she'll meet my father and Joyce."

Gibbs sat down and gave DiNozzo a friendly grin. "Yes, and they'll do it without you," he said. DiNozzo's expression brightened. "Think positive."

"Where's Brody?" DiNozzo asked.

"Four doors down," Gibbs replied, not sugar coating. DiNozzo's eyes widened. "With three armed guards and four bullets in him."

Tension drained from DiNozzo and he forced a grin. "I'd imagine they've taken the bullets out by now."

Gibbs shrugged. "Then he's got four plus holes in his body. Either way, he's not real mobile." DiNozzo still looked a little anxious. "And I'm not going anywhere."

"Good." He grimaced. "I mean –"

"I know what you mean, DiNozzo," Gibbs said.

A nurse walked in, guiding DiNozzo senior, and Tony stared at him in apparent shock. Even though Gibbs had told him, he evidently hadn't truly believed that his father was here. "Father," he said, blinking. "I didn't . . . I hope this isn't too inconvenient."

"I would imagine being shot was extremely inconvenient," DiNozzo senior said gruffly, and Tony's eyes widened. "So, I understand from your co-workers that you're moving in with that young woman."

Tony nodded. "We signed the lease yesterday," he said.

"Well, to my surprise, you seem to have good taste."

"You like her?" Tony asked incredulously. "I mean, you were extremely civil, but you do that with people you don't like."

"She's an adult," DiNozzo senior said, and Gibbs was intrigued that his reaction was more or less like his. "And she definitely cares about you. Both are points in her favor." He smiled wryly. "And she's not a gold digger."

"Not hardly," Tony replied. "Not that it matters. I don't have any gold to dig."

"Joyce and I have taken rooms at the Chalmers," Tony's father said.

"You're staying?" Tony exclaimed.

"My son is in intensive care after being shot by a man who was stalking him for weeks. Yes, I'm staying."

Gibbs saw the cynicism creep back into Tony's eyes. "Ah, damage control," he said. "I get it."

"Think what you like," DiNozzo senior said. "You always have."

"Look, I'm kind of tired," Tony replied. "I think I need some rest."

"We'll come by tomorrow, then." DiNozzo senior gave Gibbs a nod and then left.

Tony looked over at Gibbs, his expression forbidding comment. He situated himself and closed his eyes. Gibbs sat back and started reading. Family, he thought with a sigh.

Ziva walked through the halls of the hospital. She figured that Gibbs would need someone to spell him, because she knew that he was planning to stay the night. Things were quiet at this hour, and most of the rooms were dim. She kept her footsteps silent, not wanting to make it even harder for the patients to sleep.

As she passed through the ICU waiting room, she heard soft weeping and glanced around. In a corner that was hidden from the door, she saw Jeanne hunched with her head down and her hands clenched together. The other occupants of the room were sleeping or occupied with their own concerns, so she walked over and sat down next to Jeanne.

"Has something changed?" she asked anxiously.

Jeanne jumped and looked at her with wide eyes. "Ziva, what are –" She broke off, shaking her head. "Changed? Nothing – why do you ask?"

"You are crying," Ziva said. "You were not earlier."

Jeanne took a deep breath in an obvious effort to control herself. "I couldn't," she said. "Tony doesn't need to see me . . . and when a doctor cries, people worry more."

Ziva blinked. "Perhaps not when the doctor is the injured man's . . ." She pursed her lips, not liking the options she had. "Whatever you are."

Jeanne let out a weak laugh. "Maybe not, but it's hard to break training." She gazed with wet and reddened eyes at her. "I'm sure you know about that."

Ziva shrugged. "I have come to see if Gibbs needed someone to spell him."

"I haven't been back in since I called my mother," Jeanne said. "Something about talking to her made it impossible for me to maintain." She snorted. "Moms have that effect."

"I would not know," Ziva replied. "My mother died when I was young."

"I'm sorry," Jeanne said, and her sympathy was obviously sincere.

"It is nothing." Ziva rose. "I had better go look in on Gibbs."

"I'm not sure they'll let you in."

Ziva shrugged again. "I will work something out," she said.

The nurses must already have heard a great deal from Gibbs on the subject of Tony's attacker being only four rooms away from him, for they gave Ziva no trouble when she explained that she had come to give Gibbs respite. She walked to room 11 and paused, looking at the agents who stood outside room 15. She had no doubt that they, unlike the nurses, had been briefed on just who had given Harris the injuries that had brought him here. It seemed less than likely that they would let her take a look at her handiwork.

Shrugging, she turned towards Tony's room and found Gibbs leaned back in his chair, his chin on his chest, a newspaper with a partially filled in crossword puzzle on his lap. There was a pen on the floor where it appeared to have slipped from his grip.

Ziva stepped quietly into the room and gazed down at Tony. His eyes were closed and he had a tube in his nose. His face seemed a little pale, but other than that, nothing there gave her any hint as to the seriousness of his condition. The bruises from his previous encounters with Harris stood out darkly against the pallid skin. She wanted to look him over more completely, but was wary of invading his privacy. There were tubes leading under the blanket that covered his body, and there were multiple bags connected to the IV in his arm.

"Ziva?" Gibbs said, and she glanced over at him, surprised that he was awake. "I thought I ordered you home."

"I went home," she replied. "And then I returned to give you back up."

"Back up?" he asked.

"Agent Fornell gave Director Shepard an update on the situation. I learned from her how close Harris's bed was to Tony's and I knew you would want someone he felt safe with near him at all times." Director Shepard had been of the opinion that Gibbs wouldn't tell Tony the truth about that, but Ziva knew him better.

"I'm not leaving, Ziva," Gibbs said gruffly.

"But you may need to relieve yourself from time to time," Ziva said. "Or to get up and walk and breathe fresh air. I do not believe he would feel safe with McGee, and the director would make him feel anxious. However, I am reasonably confident that he will feel safe with me."

"Shhhh." Both Gibbs and Ziva looked down to find Tony's eyes slitted. "Gibbs, go do something," he said. "Ziva's here."

"I'm not leaving, DiNozzo."

"Get your . . . coffee," DiNozzo muttered, some of his words slurring into meaningless sounds. "See . . . Jeanne . . . sss." He drifted away again and Ziva looked up at Gibbs.

Their boss gave her a dry look. He bent down and got the pen off the floor. In the margin of the newspaper, he wrote, "I'll be back." Then he dropped the paper and pen in the chair and left the room. Ziva took his spot and looked at the paper. She recognized the answer to one of the clues immediately and filled it in before considering whether Gibbs would approve of her working his puzzle. Shrugging, she decided that all their puzzles were team efforts and continued.

When Gibbs got out into the ICU waiting area, he found Jeanne sitting with a well-kept woman in her fifties. Her mother. Gibbs recognized her from the photo McGee had unearthed. Jeanne looked up when the doors opened. When she saw him, she rose and hurried over. "Has anything changed?"

"No, I was just ordered to get a break," he said, glancing over at Jeanne's companion.

Jeanne looked over her shoulder and flushed. "Oh, Jethro, this is my mother, Dr. Helen Berkley. Mother, this is Special Agent Jethro Gibbs, Tony's boss."

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Agent Gibbs," Jeanne's mother said, putting out her hand.

Gibbs took her hand and shook it. "And you, Dr. Berkley."

"I didn't think Ziva would be able to pry you away," Jeanne said.

He shook his head. "DiNozzo woke up for a second and told me to get some coffee."

"He woke up?"

"Jeanne, you know perfectly well that his prognosis is excellent," her mother said. "You told me yourself."

Jeanne gave her an anguished look, then glanced at the door. "Why don't you go on back in," Gibbs said. "Ziva's only really there because he knows that Harris is four rooms down the hall from him."

Jeanne's eyes snapped. "He's where?"

"Under guard," Gibbs said reassuringly. "But DiNozzo knows he's there, so I just want him to feel safe."

"But . . ." She looked at her mother.

"Go, Jeanne. I'm sure Agent Gibbs will take care of me."

She didn't have to be told again. She went up to the door and got let in, leaving Gibbs alone with her mother. He turned to her. "I was going to go see what this hospital has in place of coffee."

"That sounds like an excellent notion," Dr. Berkley said. "You recognized me the moment you saw me, didn't you?"

"I did," Gibbs said, nodding.

"As I recognized you." Gibbs gave her a sidelong look as he pressed the elevator button. "I know that Jeanne had Tony investigated, but I thought I would look into things a little deeper. I had you and your team investigated as well."

Gibbs chuckled. "Glad to hear it."

"Really?" she asked.

"Hey, if my daughter was involved with a man who had lied to her as thoroughly as DiNozzo lied to Jeanne, I would do the same thing."

"Actually, I was more concerned that you would be vindictive after the accusation of murder," she said. "There was something off about Tony the night we met, and finding out the truth of his situation answered all my questions."

The elevator arrived, and they both got on. Once the doors had closed, Gibbs cleared his throat. "What was your conclusion?"

"I was uneasy about Officer David, but Jeanne has spoken of her since arriving here."

"So you thought she was safe enough?"

Dr. Berkley shrugged. "Do you think I have reason to be concerned?"

Gibbs snorted and shook his head. "Has she told you they're moving in together?"

Dr. Berkley nodded. "She called me Tuesday night and told me they'd made an offer on a place."

"Papers were signed yesterday."

"Good, that's settled then."

"So, you approve?"

"I could see that he was in love with her when I met him last year, and I know she's in love with him." Dr. Berkley shrugged. "What more can a mother ask for than a man who loves her daughter, who has a steady job that he excels at, and who is willing to throw himself in front of a bullet for her?"

"And the fact that he had a homosexual affair with a fellow law enforcement officer while on the rebound from the relationship in which he lied to your daughter for months makes no difference to you?"

The elevator doors opened at the same moment that Dr. Berkley turned to him and said, "Homosexual affair?"

Gibbs blinked at her and then sighed. He gave himself a smack on the back of the head. The elevator doors closed again but the car didn't move. They must be at its default rest location.

"Would you care to elaborate?" Dr. Berkley asked.

"What exactly did Jeanne tell you?"

"She told me that the situation was complicated, that someone had tried to shoot her, that Tony had deliberately gotten in the way, and that she would explain everything in detail later."

"Right." Gibbs pursed his lips. "I don't know what you know about your daughter's last meeting with DiNozzo before this month."

"You mean when she accused him of murdering her father? I believe she was fairly candid on that point." Gibbs found that a little startling. "She was very upset with everyone, but most of all with herself after that incident."

"I see," Gibbs said. "Well, DiNozzo apparently met up with a man named Brody Harris shortly after Jeanne returned to Africa, and he was basically manipulated into a relationship with the man. When DiNozzo wanted to end it, the man started stalking him, assaulted him on several occasions, and finally shot him."

"So, he wasn't aiming for Jeanne?"

"Oh, no, as I understand it he wanted to kill her because she was his rival, but once he'd shot Tony, he knew he couldn't get away so he decided to make it a murder suicide."

"Good heavens."

"The rest of us objected."

"Where is this man now?"

"Recovering from surgery for the four gunshot wounds he took when we objected."

"So you objected strenuously," she said.

"You could say that," he replied. "Coffee?"

"Yes, please," she said.

The coffee kiosk in the lobby was closed at this hour, as was the cafeteria. Following directions obtained from the information booth, they found the little room with snack and drink machines. Both stood staring with equal distaste at the coffee vending machine for a moment, then she sighed and started looking in her purse for change.

Coffee substitute in hand – Gibbs refused to think of this acrid, lukewarm beverage as coffee – they returned to the waiting room where Gibbs discovered a bit of very bad news. He was going to get to introduce DiNozzo's father to Jeanne's mother.

"Agent Gibbs, I thought you were with Tony," DiNozzo senior said, getting out of his chair and hurrying over. "They said he had two people with him."

"He does," Gibbs said. "Jeanne and Officer David."

DiNozzo shrugged. "Well, I suppose that if the bastard's under guard, it doesn't matter that he doesn't have a good protector in there with him."

Gibbs shook his head, but before he could answer, Dr. Berkley said, "Ziva David is a Mossad-trained anti-terrorism operative. I think he'll be safe enough."

"Who is this, Agent Gibbs?" DiNozzo senior demanded. "Does she work for NCIS?"

Gibbs took a deep breath, but before he could speak, Jeanne's mother took the matter out of his hands. "I'm Dr. Helen Berkley, you must be Anthony Leonard DiNozzo II."

"Are you one of my son's doctors?" DiNozzo asked, looking her up and down dubiously.

"No, I'm Jeanne's mother. You've met my daughter by now, I'm sure."

"Oh," DiNozzo said, blinking. "Yes, we've met a couple of times. What are you doing here? Have you met Anthony?"

"Yes, but it's been some time," she replied.

"And you approved of him for your daughter?"

"Not really," she said. "But he was undercover at the time. I much prefer his real identity to his cover."

"What was his cover?"

Dr. Berkley glanced over at Gibbs. "I'm not sure I can tell you that. It might be classified."

"His identity wasn't classified," Gibbs said. "He fronted as a film studies professor."

DiNozzo senior snorted. "That must not have been too difficult for him. He always was frivolous."

Gibbs suppressed a surge of irritation, but didn't say anything. The man would be unlikely to take criticism from him. Dr. Berkley nodded, briefly increasing Gibbs' annoyance. Then she spoke. "Yes, he's very good at playing frivolous, isn't he?" she said with a smile. "Sort of a modern day Peter Wimsey, sans eyeglass." Gibbs didn't quite get the reference, but he could tell it was a compliment from her tone. "In any case, when Jeanne called, I knew she needed her mother's support, so of course I came." She put her arm in his and guided him over to the seat he'd vacated, leaving Gibbs alone with his coffee.

Chapter Text

About a Week Later, Georgetown, Washington DC

McGee climbed back down the stepladder and took several paces back to see if the banner he'd just finished hanging was even. He'd tried tying it to the balusters of the staircase, but Abby had nixed that as too likely to leave it off center and uneven. He gauged the ends and the length of it. Since the staircase took sharp bends at each end of the banner, it was a little hard to be absolutely certain it was properly set. It appeared to be even to his untutored – read male – eyes. Abby would, of course, be the final judge. Personally, he thought they might just be overstepping their bounds a little in setting this up, but Abby's confidence would not be gainsaid.

"Perfect, Timmy," she announced from the door to the dining room, her voice making him jerk around with surprise. He'd thought she was in the kitchen, from which he could still hear the sounds of industrious activity.

"Are you sure they won't mind?" McGee asked. "Tony's bound to be tired and kind of loopy. He may not want company."

"We're not company, McGee, we're family," Abby replied stoutly. "Now, start hanging streamers."

McGee did as he was told, reflecting that Tony would make fun of him if he were here. "Who's in the kitchen?" he asked. So far as he knew, she'd only managed to rope him into helping with this insane party.

"Ziva finally got here," Abby said. "She's doing the real cooking, I just did some prep work for her. Now I'm free to supervise the decorations."

Which meant, McGee reflected as he moved the ladder to yet another spot that she pointed an imperious finger at, that she was free to boss him around. He hadn't even gotten a look at the upper floor yet. He'd only seen the kitchen because Abby had condescended to feed him after conning him into going to pick up – and pay for – this banner she'd ordered.

"Don't you think Jeanne's going to feel a little left out?" McGee asked, glancing at the banner again. It read Welcome Home Tony!

"Why would she?" Abby asked blankly. McGee considered explaining it, but then he just shrugged. It was Abby. Jeanne would undoubtedly get used to her.

"What are we all going to sit on?" McGee asked hesitantly. When Abby got like this, it could be dangerous to ask questions, but the house was sparsely furnished.

"Jimmy's bringing some folding chairs from Ducky's place," Abby said nonchalantly. "And I've got a couple of card tables in the car."

"Why is there so little furniture anyway? I thought Fornell had released Tony's apartment days ago."

"He did," Abby said, tweaking some of the streamers McGee had hung to make them meet some unknowable criteria of her own. "But Tony doesn't want all of his stuff back because . . . well, you know."

"Right," McGee said. He hadn't considered that aspect.

"And Jeanne used to live in a one-bedroom apartment," Abby added. "So her stuff isn't even half enough to fill the downstairs. I set up a bedroom for them in what I think is actually the dining room –"

"You set up the bedroom?" McGee asked. "Why you?"

"Because Jeanne asked me to," Abby said. "She gave me the keys yesterday so I could get some basic living arrangements put together and stock the kitchen."

"Did she ask for a welcome home party?"

"No, but they'll both be glad to see us all."

"The director?" McGee asked dubiously. Given that she'd invited the whole team, plus Ducky and Palmer, he wasn't sure how Abby could have avoided inviting Director Shepard, and somehow he thought that putting Jeanne and the director in the same room would be awkward, at best.

"She had a meeting she couldn't get out of," Abby replied airily.

"On a Sunday?" McGee asked, and Abby just raised her eyebrows. "Okay. So, you just took advantage of Jeanne asking you to do her a favor to set up this party."

"Yup," Abby said unrepentantly. "I'd better check on the bedroom and the bathroom, see if I've forgotten anything."

"Is there a full bathroom downstairs?" McGee asked.

"No, just a half bath, but he's not supposed to take baths or showers for a few days yet anyway," Abby said. "And I'm sure he can manage a sponge bath in the kitchen."

"Or she can," McGee said without thinking, and Abby giggled. McGee flushed and decided not to explain that he hadn't meant anything sexual by it. Abby wouldn't believe him, and he wasn't altogether certain she should.

Abby disappeared, and McGee put the roll of streamers down on the ladder and decided to explore. He went up the stairs to look around. The upstairs hall was paneled in the same, fine, honey-colored wood as the entryway. He began sticking his head into rooms to see what they looked like. Trust Tony to pull a plum like this. A colonial row house in Georgetown. The man either had no luck at all or he had all the luck. McGee snorted. With Jeanne he seemed to have had both at different times. The bathrooms were obviously additions, but they'd been done gracefully, so that they didn't disturb the arrangement of the rooms or do weird things to the windows.

The rooms were empty and echoing, and McGee couldn't imagine filling them all. Every room had its own fireplace, all on inside walls to share chimneys. He began writing in his head, his mind automatically seeking to place this house – this good fortune – into his own world. On the other hand, he'd need to balance that good fortune with bad, and there was no way he was writing about Brody Harris with Agent Tommy, or anything even similar. Not only would Tony never forgive him, but Ziva and Gibbs might just kill him. He'd have to come up with some other evil to befall Agent Tommy.

So musing, he opened the last door on the hall. It revealed a pretty little room with built-in shelves along one wall and sprigged wall paper. There was something tiny and flat propped up on one of the shelves, and McGee walked into the room to peer at it. He blinked. It was a wallet-size picture of Tony and Jeanne. He wondered whose wallet it had come from. Sitting there, in that room, it looked a little silly.

Shoes came clumping down the hall, and he turned around to find Abby bearing down on him. "Gone UA, I see, Timmy."

"I just wanted a look around. God knows when we'll ever be back here. Tony isn't known for his frequent invitations."

Abby rolled her eyes. "Tony's more of a 'go out and party' kind of guy, but I have a feeling there's going to be more invitations now."

"Jeanne?"

"Yeah," Abby said. She stepped into the room and looked around. "This is pretty," she remarked, then returned to the main thread of her discourse. "Jeanne's a lot more –" She broke off, staring. "Oh my God, how sweet!" She clumped daintily across to the photo and put her hands on the shelf, resting her chin on them to gaze at it. "And it's even the picture I chose."

"What do you mean?" McGee asked.

"Come downstairs. I'll show you." She grabbed his hand and dragged him down the steps and through the dining room door. The room was square and there was a bed opposite the fireplace. Above the fireplace there was a framed picture, an enlarged copy of the photograph from upstairs. Abby'd always enlarged very tiny images, so he didn't doubt she'd had no difficulty with this one. In fact, she'd enhanced it to look like a painting, no doubt to cover the pixilation that such a large version of the image was bound to create.

"Where'd you get that?"

"I have my ways," Abby said mysteriously, which meant she'd scrounged around for it somewhere.

"Abby, don't you think Tony's going to freak out that you have a photo of him that he didn't give you?" McGee asked.

Abby blinked at him. "Why?"

"He's been being stalked, Abby. You know, photographs and stuff."

"I know, Timmy," she said. "It's not the same. Get back to work."

Tony had his head resting against the seat, his eyes closed. It was nice to be leaving the hospital, and he was just as glad not to be going back to the hotel. He didn't know what he'd find when they got to the house, but if Jeanne had organized it, he was sure he'd be fine with it. He turned his head and gazed at her, driving competently through the busy streets.

"Have I told you lately how much I love you?" he asked.

She glanced over at him, her eyes warm with affection. "You have. Once or twice," she said.

"Good. I'm not used to saying it, so I'm glad I'm saying it enough." Whatever the hell the pain meds were, they were making him say strange things again. That was another good thing about getting out of the hospital. A measure of privacy for when he started spouting stupid crap. He rolled his head forward and saw that they were getting close to the street they now lived on. He could see the Exorcist stairs, or at least the opening that led to them, down the block. She turned earlier than he expected, on the street instead of into the alley behind the houses. "Jeanne, where are you going?"

"I don't want you to have to walk all the way through the backyard," she said. "So I'm pulling around front."

"Oh. That's not necessary. I can walk."

"I know, but . . . humor me."

Tony nodded. He saw the red brick exteriors going by, and then he saw something he really hadn't expected. "Is that Gibbs?" he asked, shifting slightly and hissing a little at the minor pain the movement caused.

"You know, I think it is," Jeanne said in a tone of voice that told him clearly that she'd been expecting Gibbs even if he hadn't. She pulled over to the side of the road, and Gibbs came out from between two cars.

He opened the door on Tony's side and leaned down. "Leave the keys. I'll park it out back while you get him inside."

"Thank you, Jethro," Jeanne said, and she got out, leaving engine going with the car in neutral and the parking brake on.

Tony looked up at Gibbs. "When'd you start that up?"

"Start what, DiNozzo?"

"The first name thing?"

Gibbs gave him one of those exasperated looks. "Does it matter?"

Tony shrugged and nodded at him to take a step back. He got out of the car slowly. Jeanne slipped past Gibbs and put her arm around him to help him stand. Tony gave Gibbs a helpless look. He didn't really need help standing, but Jeanne was stubborn.

"So, have you been back here to put things together?" Tony asked.

"I asked Abby to do it for me," Jeanne replied.

The car gunned away at that moment, or Tony might have turned around to get back in. as it was, he paused and gave Jeanne an alarmed look. "Abby? You put Abby in charge of putting the house together?"

"Sure," Jeanne said. "What's the problem? I'm sure she did a good job."

Tony looked up at the door and sighed. "I'm certain she did a superlative job. Let's get in there so she can have her fun."

Climbing stairs wasn't too bad. He didn't want to be running up and down them every five minutes, but Jeanne was making an unnecessary production out of the process. He didn't mind having her arm around him, but he felt enough like an invalid. He didn't need any additional help.

"If Abby's here," he said, reaching towards the doorknob, "then I'm assuming she's inside and the door should be unlocked."

"So I understand. I hope you don't mind, she said she'd like to see you when you get home."

Tony turned the knob and gave the door a gentle push, prepared for just about anything.

Jeanne stared into the front hall, which had been bedecked with red, white and blue streamers, and brightly colored helium balloons that had been let go in clumps and tied to the balusters of the stairs. A banner hung from the staircase. The message, "Welcome Home Tony!" made her grin. The room also seemed filled with people, more than just Abby. She was beginning to get a feeling for what Tony had meant about Abby doing a 'superlative' job on the house.

Next to her, the subject of the banner snorted. "I guess you're chopped liver," he murmured to her.

"Hush," Jeanne said, and she started to step forward.

Tony caught her arm. "Shouldn't I be carrying you over the threshold?" he asked plaintively, and she looked up into his eyes. It was the drugs and his randomly firing neurons that were talking, not Tony.

Reaching up, she cupped his cheek in her hand. "That's only for weddings," she said softly.

"Right, and we haven't done that yet," he murmured. She gave him a fond look and drew him into the front hall.

It felt like a triumph, coming home to his chosen family with the woman he loved beside him. When they got inside, they were immediately surrounded, but predictably, it was Abby who reached him first. She rushed up, then stopped dead and gave him a careful hug, like she was afraid he was going to break. He squeezed back tightly, and her surprise made her squeak. She looked up searchingly into his face, and, seeming satisfied, grabbed his hand and Jeanne's, leading them into one of the front rooms. Card tables covered with bright cloths stood in a loose grouping surrounded by wooden folding chairs that Tony thought he recognized from Ducky's house. They all had balloons tied to the backs, and there were scattered clusters of anti-gravity balloons around the room. People sort of spread out as they couldn't in the smaller front hall, McGee, Ziva, Jimmy, Ducky and even Brad. Gibbs walked in amid the greetings, catching Jeanne's eye and dangling the car keys. Jeanne walked over and claimed them while Tony shook hands all around.

"Oh, let me get your stuff out of the way," Abby exclaimed suddenly, taking Jeanne's purse and waiting impatiently for Tony to take off the jacket Jeanne had insisted he put on 'to guard against the chill' of the sunny spring day. Everyone seemed a little paranoid about his health. It wasn't like he hadn't been shot before, though he supposed Jeanne had never experienced it.

Abby and Jeanne guided him carefully to a chair that was different from all the others. It looked like the captain's chair from Ducky's dining room set. Padded and comfortable, it was a suitable seat for an invalid. Tony balked. "This is goofy," he said. "I'm fine. I can sit in whatever chair everyone else is sitting in."

"Maybe you can," Jeanne said soothingly. "But you're not going to."

Unfortunately, that statement came at a general lull in the conversations, so everyone heard it and fell silent. Feeling awkward, Tony settled down, glancing around at his team. Jeanne's hyper-anxiety seemed to be catching, because they all looked worried. Or maybe it was just that she was a doctor, and thus should know if he needed cosseting.

Just as he realized that the one face he wasn't seeing looking at him anxiously was Gibbs, the man himself walked in carrying two bottles of beer, both open. He walked straight up to Tony, his expression as inscrutable as ever. "You want a beer, DiNozzo?" he asked.

Jeanne made an odd, half-formed gesture, but Tony had asked the doctors at the hospital about alcohol with his current regime of medications, and they had told him to go easy but that there was no need to completely avoid it. He grinned up at Gibbs and took the bottle. "Thanks, Boss," he said. He had to dispel this air of solemn worry. Thinking quickly, he turned and looked up at Jeanne. "Maybe you can tell me why hospitals don't seem to consider beer a clear liquid," he remarked, waving the bottle around to illustrate his point. "It's clear and it's liquid."

As an ice breaker, it was a winner. Everyone started talking at once because it seemed everyone had an opinion. Ziva and Abby disappeared for a few moments, then they brought out trays of food. Tony gazed lustily at it. "Who did the cooking?" he asked.

"I did," Ziva said.

Tony grinned broadly and grabbed himself a cheesy-mushroomy looking thing. "Jeanne, Ziva cooks like a dream. You wouldn't think it was her kind of thing, you know, all girly and stuff, but she's amazing."

"You are more gourmand than gourmet, Tony," Ziva said, her tone slightly acerbic. "So I am not sure how you would know."

"Oh, that hurts," Tony said, clutching at his chest.

"What hurts?" Abby asked, leaning towards him.

"Ziva's sharp remark," Tony said, giving her a sardonic look. "You know, they let me leave the hospital for a reason, Abby. I'm fine. Just a nifty little scar to show my grandkids and brag about. I don't suppose anyone brought any music."

"Actually, I did," McGee said. "I have my iPod and some speakers."

Tony's eyes widened, and he looked around a little desperately. "Anyone else?"

"Actually, I brought an iPod of stuff you like," Abby said. "Timmy, get your speakers." McGee rolled his eyes and left the room.

Jeanne was sitting close beside Tony, and she leaned over to him. "Does she give orders like that all the time?"

"In certain moods, she does," Tony replied softly. Gibbs snorted, and Tony grinned at him.

"Did he hear you?" Jeanne asked.

"Gibbs hears everything."

Music mellowed the mood some, and Abby brought out a box of games. "I figured we could have a little fun."

Tony glanced over at Gibbs and was amused to see the long-suffering look on his face, but then he looked at Jeanne. "Any thoughts?"

She stood up and looked the box over, then selected a game called Taboo. Tony approved the choice. It was silly and everyone would be able to play. Even Gibbs, which he insisted on when the older man tried to bow out. Ducky was delighted to join in, of course, and Brad knew the game. With a word game, McGee was in his element, and he clearly expected to triumph over all comers. This stimulated Tony's competitive streak, and he found himself forgetting his policy of keeping his vocabulary strictly under control so that McGee could feel sufficiently superior. He always did better if he believed he had the edge over Tony in something other than computers. McGee expected to be superior there, so that didn't impact his performance significantly.

In describing murder, Tony used the word defenestration, and McGee's eyes widened. "Hey, you made me define that for you when I used it the other day."

Tony gave him an innocent look. "Obviously you're having a good influence on me."

McGee's eyes narrowed suspiciously, but then Abby guessed the word and they moved on.

Predictably, Gibbs was the first to notice when Tony began to flag. Tony would willingly have forced himself to go on. It was a great pleasure to spend time with this group when there wasn't a crisis requiring their imminent attention.

"I think it's about time for me to call it a night, DiNozzo," Gibbs said, rising.

"But the game's not over," Abby said. "You've got to stay a while longer, Gibbs."

Gibbs' action seemed to have drawn Jeanne's attention to Tony's waning energy. She reached out and put a hand on his. "I think we can finish this game, Jethro."

Acceding to her judgment, Gibbs went and got himself a fresh glass of iced tea and sat down again. Tony found the reactions of the others very amusing. Brad didn't know them all that well, so he didn't notice anything, but Ziva and Abby exchanged startled looks. Ducky looked faintly bemused, McGee confused, and Jimmy, of all things, approving. Tony felt remarkably cared for, if a little self-conscious. They finished the game, McGee's team winning, but he had Ducky and Abby, so they cheated with esoteric scientific jargon.

When Tony started to get up like a proper host to see his guests out, he discovered that he was unable to rise to his feet without assistance. They'd shifted to the sofa and chairs for the game, and Tony had sunk deeply into Jeanne's couch. Between them, Jimmy and Jeanne got him up. "Where did you set up the bed, Abby?" Jeanne asked. "Jimmy, will you help –"

"Jeanne, I can walk," Tony said, though he had to confess that he didn't really have the energy to see their guests off properly.

"Tony . . ." She bit her lip, clearly torn between her guests and taking care of Tony. She was clearly going to be paranoid for a long time after this.

"I'll get him through into the bedroom, Jeanne," Jimmy said softly. "Okay?"

Seeming grateful for this solution to her dilemma, Jeanne squeezed Tony's hand, then let go. Jimmy guided Tony into the front hall, but they went right past the stairs into the room Tony expected would eventually be their living room. It was empty. "Where's the bed?" he asked, glancing back towards the base of the stairs. "The bedroom's upstairs."

"In the room behind this one," Jimmy said. "Jeanne didn't want you to have to go up and down the stairs a lot for the first few days back." Tony groaned. "Sorry, she and Abby are both absolutely freaked about this whole you getting gut shot thing."

"Yeah, but Ziva was here, right? Didn't she have any influence?"

Jimmy gave him a pitying look. "For a hardened assassin, Ziva's remarkably paranoid about your lungs."

"Oh God!" Tony moaned. "Not that again. Brad assures me that my lungs aren't a problem this time."

"Well, she keeps asking him when you're not around," Jimmy said. "Oddly, every time it comes up, she gives Jeanne a death glare. I can't figure that one out."

"That is odd," Tony said, blinking. He sat down on the bed. "Thank you for remaining moderately sane, Jimmy," he said.

Jimmy shrugged. "I take my cue from Dr. Mallard. He's pretty calm about all of this, even when we're alone, and he doesn't have to keep the mask up."

Tony sighed and let himself relax a little. He looked down at his shoes and thought seriously about just leaving them on. Bending sounded kind of sucky. Then Jimmy squatted down and started undoing the laces. "You don't have to do that, Jimmy," he said.

"I don't mind, Tony," Jimmy replied, setting first one shoe and then the other aside. "Keep in touch, would you? I worry about how you're coping with all of this. You've had a hell of a month."

Tony snorted. "Sure, Jimmy. Oh, and I owe you a major apology. I should have listened to you."

"Yes, you should have," Jimmy said. "But that's in the past. Catch you later, Tony."

Tony watched him go and then lowered himself gently across the bed, staring up at the coffered ceilings of his new house. Life could be weird when the hellish and the sublime came together.

McGee didn't quite know how it came about, but he found himself washing dishes in the vaulted kitchen with Abby drying next to him. Ziva seemed to have a nearly magical ability to get them all moving in the direction she wanted. She and Gibbs stayed in the dining room, straightening things up and folding up the excess card tables and taking down the balloons. Abby had protested briefly over that, but Ziva had pointed out that they would very soon start sagging and would be less than cheery for Tony's mood and might trip him up.

"How does she do that?" he muttered, watching Gibbs and Palmer go by with Ducky's chairs.

"Who do what?" Abby asked.

"How does Ziva get us all doing whatever she tells us?"

"What are you talking about, McGee?" Abby asked testily. "I'm the hostess of this party, of course I'm cleaning up afterwards."

McGee decided not to pursue the subject, but not only had Ziva maneuvered Abby into doing what she wanted, she'd convinced Abby that it was her own idea. Of course, she had some help there since Abby didn't like admitting that anyone could get her to do things besides Gibbs, but Ziva had even managed to press gang Dr. Pitt into helping. He watched them carry some of the food in and put it in the fridge and thought that maybe she had some help there, too. Dr. Pitt had a really sappy look on his face.

McGee pulled the plug and rinsed the water down the drain, and Abby finished drying the last dish, putting it in a neat pile in the one cupboard they'd put things in. "It's still early," he said. "You want to catch a movie?"

"Sure, McGee."

Gibbs watched Abby and McGee leave, each to their separate cars, making plans to meet up at some movie theater or other. Dr. Pitt had already gone, and Palmer had driven off towards Ducky's place to return his chairs. Ziva wound up standing next to him. She had certainly gotten everyone moving, gently shoving Jeanne towards Tony to get her out of their hair while they cleaned up. He turned and smiled down at her. She flushed a little and looked away. "What?"

"I'm proud of you, David," he said, and her eyes came up to meet his. "You did good tonight."

Her eyes were soft and vulnerable for a moment, but then they toughened up again. "I do not know what you mean. Here are the keys. I think I will go join Abby and Tim at their movie."

"You do that," Gibbs said. She trotted down the steps and he stepped back inside to take a quick glance through and make sure that there was nothing else out of place – not that anything could really be in place at the moment. Once he was satisfied, he went out the front door and closed it softly, turning the key in the lock and then pocketing it. He went down a couple of blocks to his truck and climbed in. Just as he'd settled himself in the seat and put the key in the ignition, his phone rang. He didn't bother digging out his glasses to look and see who'd called, he just flipped the phone open. "Gibbs."

"How did the party go? How's DiNozzo? When do you think he'll be ready to come back to work?"

Jenny finally paused in her onslaught of questions to let him answer a couple. "The party went fine, Jen," he said. "DiNozzo is about how you'd expect after being shot in the gut. He got tired early. How did you know it was over?"

"I just saw Abby's hearse go by," she replied, and Gibbs snorted. "He's okay, then?"

"He'll be okay," Gibbs said. "And if I know Tony, he'll be back at work before it's really good for him."

"Mmm," Jen said, and Gibbs just knew she was thinking about how similar DiNozzo and he were in that respect. "So, how are things going on –"

"You are not seriously going to ask me about their relationship, are you?" Gibbs asked dryly.

"Of course not. Good night, Agent Gibbs."

There was a click, and Gibbs shook his head. Then he thought of another call he should make. He found his glasses and started looking through his contacts list, then placed the call. She answered after two rings. "Hello?"

"Helen, it's Jethro," Gibbs said.

Her voice warmed slightly. "Hello, Jethro. How did things go this evening?"

"Well enough," Gibbs replied. "DiNozzo tired quickly, but that's no surprise."

"And my daughter, is she still acting like a mother hen with one chick?"

Gibbs snorted. "Oh yes. I understand there are betting pools on how long DiNozzo will put up with it."

"Have you placed your own bet?" she asked.

"No point, I already know the answer," Gibbs said. "DiNozzo's not going to risk his second chance for his ego."

"I'm glad to hear it, Jethro. Thanks for telling me."

"Good night, Helen."

"Good night, Jethro."

Gibbs closed the phone and put it down on the seat beside him. Starting the truck, he pulled out into traffic. He glanced to the right when he passed the DiNozzo/Benoit residence and smiled. All might not be right with the world, but they were a step closer with this development. He drove on home, feeling unusually content.

When the house finally went still, Tony slipped out of Jeanne's arms gently. Not that he didn't like being there, quite the contrary, but he felt a pressing need that could no longer be ignored. He went slowly to the half bath that had been inserted between the two rooms. Jeanne had come into the room shortly after Jimmy had left him on the bed, and she'd helped him the rest of the way out of his clothes, changed herself, and climbed into bed with him. Once horizontal, she had fallen asleep nearly instantly. That had been enough to tell him just how much time she'd spent at the hospital, even if his memory wasn't always as clear as it should be between the drugs and sleeping way too much. He had been aware of people moving around the house while he lay dozing beside her, but the sound of the front door closing and the click of the tumblers turning in the lock had brought him fully awake.

He turned to wash his hands, contemplating his situation with wonder. How had he gotten so lucky? People didn't usually get second chances, not especially when they'd screwed the first chance up so badly.

The bathroom door opened and Jeanne appeared. "Tony, are you –" She saw him washing his hands and stopped, turning what had been going to be a question into a statement. "You're okay."

"I am," he said with a smile. Turning towards her, he pulled her into his arms. "Alone at last," he murmured into her hair.

Her arms wrapped around him. "I know. I've missed that."

They stood there for a long moment, then Tony kissed the top of her head. "We can't spend all evening standing in the bathroom," he said softly.

She laughed and drew back, gazing up at him with a fondness that made his breath catch in his throat. How would he ever be able to deserve that look? She took his hand and led him back out into the room that was serving as a bedroom. "How are you feeling, seriously?" she asked.

"Seriously, with every nerve ending," he replied. She turned to look at him, her brows furrowed darkly, and he hastened to elaborate. "I'm tired and a little achy, and it's about time for my next round of pills, but overall I feel peachy for a man who's been shot." He reached out and tucked her hair back behind her ear. The hospital bracelet on his wrist caught in the curls and pulled them free again. He took the thing between the fingers of his other hand and started to pull on it. Then he looked up and met Jeanne's eyes. "Can I get rid of this one, or do I need to keep it, too?"

"Hell no," Jeanne exclaimed. She turned as if to go get something, but then she stopped. "I have no idea where to find a pair of scissors in here," she said.

"Grab my belt," Tony replied, nodding towards his pants. She gave him a dubious look. "Seriously, grab my belt." She picked his belt up, sliding it out of the loops of his pants and handed it to him, her perplexity showing in her eyes. He took the buckle in one hand and the body of the belt in the other and pulled, revealing the wicked little knife that had saved his life more than once. He presented it to her ceremoniously.

She took it, sliced through the hospital bracelet and tossed the strip of plastic tape aside. Then she put her hand out for the length of the belt. He handed it to her and she sheathed the knife bemusedly. "So all the time we were together, this was here?"

"Well, I've replaced the leather twice since then," Tony said. "But yes. It's proven very useful on more than one occasion, and keeps me in Gibbs' good graces even when I've had all my weapons taken away."

"How so?"

"Rule nine, never go anywhere without a knife."

"Rule nine?" she repeated. "There are nine rules for working with Gibbs?"

"Oh, way more than nine," Tony replied. "But I bought this with rule nine in mind, and it's saved my life a couple times."

Jeanne put the belt down on her dresser with reverence, then walked back over to him, cupping his cheek in her hand. "It's time for bed, hero," she said.

Tony waggled his eyebrows lasciviously. "I think that's a great idea."

Jeanne laughed. "Come on, loverboy, let's go."

They got into the bed and Tony tried to play the Lothario, but all he managed was a passionate kiss before he had to relax onto the bed with a sigh. "I don't like to make promises I can't keep, but . . ."

Jeanne leaned over him and kissed him gently on the lips. "Hush," she said, taking his hand and interlacing her fingers with his. "I love you, Tony."

"I love you," he said, smiling at her, amazed that it had been so hard to say the first time.

She kissed his forehead and then his lips again. "That's all the promise I need." He squeezed her hand gently, and she settled carefully on his chest.

Finis

Thank you for following me on this crazy ride. Let me know how you liked it!