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Chapter Text

Columbus Observer: Local Sports, byline Marcus Plennic. (pg. D1)

Prayer Vigil Called for Injured Buckeye

Nov. 23, 1992, Columbus, Ohio; A candlelight vigil will be held for Buckeye Star running back, Tony DiNozzo, 21, who was critically injured during Saturday’s game against OSU's long term rival University of Michigan.

After leading the Buckeyes to a respectable 8 out of 10 wins, this season, DiNozzo was on his way to securing a ninth win for OSU, running a routine push to ‘gain yards’ for the Buckeyes - which he'd probably done hundreds of times before - when he was almost simultaneously tackled by the Wolverines' linebackers. The initial tackle landed awkwardly on DiNozzo’s left leg, resulting in a complete hyperextension of his left knee, which tore three of the four major knee ligaments caused and severe fractures. The second tackle - striking DiNozzo as he was already tumbling from the first tackle - hit the OSU running back too low, and at a twisting angle that fractured DiNozzo’s T-9 vertebrae.

DiNozzo was immediately taken into surgery on arrival at Ohio State’s Wexner Medical Center to remove any blood and bone fragments that may have accumulated or were otherwise threatening his spinal cord. After a close inspection of DiNozzo’s spine, surgeons determined it was unstable and that it was necessary to implant steel rods to stabilize his spine and prevent additional injury. While his surgeons have classified the injury as "life-threatening", Dr. Laurence Ogilthorpe stated that DiNozzo, being young and in otherwise excellent health, stands a strong chance of surviving his injuries; although, it is very possible that the young athlete, whom many believed was on the short list for this year’s Heisman, will likely never walk again. "However," he continued, "the medical staff will not be able to know the extent of DiNozzo’s injuries until the young man wakes from his latest surgery and they can assess the extent of his paralysis." According to Ogilthorp, DiNozzo stands a better chance of recovery if paralysis is partial and if movement or sensation starts to return within the first week after the injury. If neither movement or sensation are regained within 6 months, DiNozzo may be permanently paralyzed.

Steve Walker, the R.A. of the Alpha Chi Delta Fraternity and DiNozzo’s fraternity brother, has asked friends, classmates, and OSU supporters to join the Fraternity, Football team, and Basketball team (whom DiNozzo led to the Final Four this past Spring) in sharing their well-wishes and support for the young athlete in the absence of family, who are currently unavailable. The vigil will be held in the North East Courtyard of the Wexnar Medical Center, facing the intensive care unit, where he is expected to remain for the foreseeable future. The vigil is expected to run from 7:00 PM - 10:00 PM, tomorrow, Tuesday, Nov. 23rd.

Columbus Observer: Local Sports, byline Marcus Plennic. (pg. D3)

Student Athlete will Not be Returning.

Jan. 8, 1993, Columbus, Ohio; OSU officials announced, today, that fmr. Buckeye running back Tony DiNozzo will not be returning this semester, after having undergone multiple surgeries following his Nov. 21st injury during the OSU vs. Michigan game. In mid-December, he was placed on a medical hardship scholarship and removed from the Buckeye roster while he pursues an extensive rehabilitation program. As of last report, DiNozzo remains confined to a wheelchair with only limited movement below the waist.

Columbus Observer: Local News, byline Lucy Tolliver. (pg. A2)

Israeli Prime Minister and Peace Prize Winner, Shimon Peres, to Give OSU Commencement Address.

May 31, 1995, Columbus, Ohio; Ohio State University announced today that they will be hosting Shimon Peres, Israeli Prime Minister and Peace Prize Winner, who has been invited to offer the June 9th OSU Commencement Address. Noting that while other universities may be inviting Hollywood Celebrities, OSU administration explained that OSU’s administration and supporters wished to honor their graduates by instead selecting a distinguished and reserved leader who could truly speak to the promise of their future. Due to tensions in the Middle East, OSU has received mixed feedback from students with overseas ties; however, after meeting with these students has confirmed that commencement plans will continue as announced.

On an interesting side note, the Israeli Prime Minister will have a possibly unexpected tablemate. In addition to the Valedictorian, this year, another student will be sharing the stage with the University President, Board of Directors, Ohio Governor, and Prime Minister Peres - Former OSU Running Back and graduate student, Tony DiNozzo, whom some of you may remember as the star athlete, who was tragically paralyzed in his 1992 bid for the Heisman trophy. After withdrawing from OSU on a nine-month medical leave, for physical and occupational rehabilitation, DiNozzo returned the following Fall semester to complete his Bachelors of Science before proceeding to simultaneously earn two Masters. Following the commencement ceremony, the Alpha Chi Delta Fraternity requested the opportunity to honor their brother with a presentation, the details of which were not released to this reporter outside of a blanket invitation to remain after and celebrate their brother’s personal, academic, and athletic excellence.

Columbus Observer: Local News, byline Lucy Tolliver. (pg. A1)

OSU Alpha Chi Delta Fraternity Awards Former Athlete with Scholarship Created in His Honor.

June 10th, Columbus, Ohio; The intrigue alluded in my May 21st article regarding OSU’s planned commencement speaker turned out to be well worth the wait. The well-attended commencement ceremony, which opened with a moving speech from Prime Minister Shimon Peres, was a poignant and impressive ceremony providing that provided a stunning glimpse of true academic excellence (see ‘OSU Commencement’ article above.); however, what may have been the most memorable element of this humbling event was the Alpha Chi Delta recognition that came after.

As noted previously, due to the DiNozzo’s wheelchair-bound state, DiNozzo had shared the dias with the Prime Minister and other Officiates during the commencement ceremony, and had appeared to believe that he would be escorted out after the hall cleared - up until the entirety of the fraternity chapter and both the basketball and football teams gathered at the base of the dias - when Prime Minister Peres, whom had apparently been conscripted or kind enough to distract DiNozzo as his friends gathered, then directed his attention to the assembled students and graduates before making his apologies and shaking stunned young man’s hand before departing. Whether or not DiNozzo noticed the Prime Minister’s departure was hard to say as I was too far away to hear his comment at that point.

Once the hall had cleared of families who were intent on leaving, I and the families of the students who had stayed, moved forward and quickly settled in the closest rows as a young man identifying himself as the Alpha Chi Delta President turned the microphone back on and began to explain the award:

”As Prime Minister Peres proclaimed so passionately: Today, we have been surrounded by so many leaders, our own age, who are idealistic and impassioned, who are conscientious and driven, who will find their determination and spirits tested as they work toward seeing their dreams for the future realized… but there are few among them who have already been tested, in body and soul, in conscience and drive, and - on having their future and dreams denied them - have risen and fought to regain their determination, to conquer their flagging spirit and broken form, and to transcend the adversities they’d faced with humor, humility, and humanity.

In all honesty, to my knowledge, there was only one among us, today, who can claim that he has done so; though, those of us who know him know he would never claim that recognition for himself, which is why we are here today to do it for him. Tony DiNozzo, please come forward.”

After reading these words, it will probably not surprise you to learn that the fraternity president, Peter Flomich, graduated with a Bachelors in PolySci and a Masters in Communication. The remainder of his presentation was equally excellent and poignant; however, our editors did not feel we had the available space to print it in its entirety, so what follows is a summary of how the recognition continued. After giving each of his assembled friends, teammates, and classmates the opportunity to share touching and often heartbreaking anecdotes of how the devastated athlete had struggled to not only overcome but excel after being forced to give up both his intended careers (a short-term football career to pay off his college loans, which would almost have been certain given his status before the injury, with only the Citrus Bowl remaining in what would have been his last season, followed by his long-term career goal of law enforcement), the fraternity president explained how - to a one - his fraternity and former team members found it unacceptable that he had felt forced - by financial reasons- to defer on the invitation from MIT to continue in the prestigious university’s doctoral program on completion of his Masters in Forensic Accounting and Computer Science - neither of which could currently be continued through OSU.

Their solution, Flomich explained, was to approach their fraternity and chapter alum, Buckeye Donors, boosters, and notable OSU alum to successfully raise a scholarship fund large enough that -with the conservative oversight of the college’s scholarship foundation - it will be able sustain another six to eight full scholarships to support injured athletes at the same scholarship level as the young man was being currently awarded -- without any additional donations. With collaboration from the University’s President and administration, the fraternity arranged for MIT to hold DiNozzo’s deferral until after the award, allowing him to make the decision without financial concerns intervening.

The astonished scholarship recipient was understandably speechless for several minutes before he chokingly accepted the scholarship and was summarily - if gently buried- in hugs and congratulations from his friends, teammates, and their families.

After having heard the many anecdotes that they shared about this impressive young man, I cannot fault their recognition of this young man's inspirational qualities, but hope that they too recognize the inspirational nature of what they have done - and count themselves among the leaders, whom we will be looking toward with respect as they make their marks on the future.

Chapter Text

March 7, 2004, Yards Park Washington, DC:

“Not that I don’t find your company ‘charming’ Jethro, but is there a reason you’ve invited me out on a day when the ‘real feel’ is about two degrees above freezing?” Tobias Fornell groused unhappily at the NCIS agent. A damn cup of coffee, even on Gibbs’ dime, wasn’t worth this, even if it was two to three times better than the breakroom coffee back at Quantico.

“Yeah.”

...

“And that reason would be?” Fornell gave in, forcing himself to go along with Gibbs’ damn silent marine act, even though Gibbs had been the one to ask him to meet up - presumably for a favor; it was just too damn cold to be bothered with power plays and shenanigans.

“My gut.” Gibbs sighed with no further explanation.

Fornell would have scoffed, if Gibbs' gut feelings hadn’t been proven too accurate, too many times in the past to question without contradicting evidence. “Okay, and…a little more detail would be helpful here?”

...

...

~~~Aww. To hell with that!~~~ Fornell grimaced at the lack of response - shivering again - after taking a sip of coffee that seemed to be cooling down faster than he was warming up.

“Look, Gibbs, keep the coffee.” He complained, setting the cup down by the man. He didn’t really think that Gibbs would be inclined to drink after him, but the man was a marine, so who knew; besides, sometimes gestures were just as important as words. “And keep whatever secret you’ve got to yourself until you’re actually ready to talk about it, then call me; and when you do, if the meet up isn’t some place warmer. next time, don’t hold your breath waiting for me to show...”

Matching actions to words, Fornell pushed himself up and stalked away, only getting several feet away before Gibbs was beside him. He cursed under his breath, understanding that his friend / rival / ex’s-ex would have let him go if whatever was bothering him wasn’t serious... of the marine’s-invade-first-and-ask-questions-later-kind-of-serious… the kind of serious that had the I’d-rather-professionally-castrate-you-than-share-a-case-Gibbs asking for help usually implied the ugly kind of cases that Tobias would have preferred to stay far, far away from.

“Aww, Damn it! Jethro, what is it? And don’t say your gut.” Fornell demanded, not slowing down. They may have had a better chance of avoiding anyone seeing them together or overhearing them in the intelligently-emptied, near-freezing park, but Gibbs had given up the chance for that naturally increased security by making Fornell drag the favor GIBBS wanted to ask, out of the recalcitrant agent bit-by-bit.

“You heard about the agent that got into NCIS, and got away?” Gibbs asked needlessly.

Fornell had, and Gibbs had to know he had. It had barely been a week, and the man had broken into a Federal Agency, shot two agents (including Gibbs, who probably should have still been wearing a sling and brace to immobilize his shoulder till the wound healed), held two others hostage, and got away without a trace. It was going to take something big to make that kind of gossip go away.

“Of course,” he answered when Gibbs waited him out. “What about him?”

“He’s not done, yet.”

And - that - seriously deserved the raised eyebrow Fornell gave his annoying associate; because seriously? From all accounts, the man had to have been a professional - despite his agency and foriegn power being unknown regardless of some educated speculation - and professionals almost never finished with the game until they were verifiably six-feet under.

“With NCIS… my team… me!” Gibbs added, clearly picking up Fornell’s unsurprise with his previous statement.

Interesting. From what Fornell was seeing, though, it looked like there was an equal or greater chance of Gibbs not being done with the foriegn agent than there was of the reverse being true; although, all due credit given, Gibbs’ gut was usually right.

“What makes you think so?”

“My gut… his attitude… how much he knew about me, Kate, and Ducky.”

“Okay… so what are you doing or have you done to find him?”

“Have feelers out with all my contacts, 24/7 facial recognition searches, info requests with NSA and DIA… so far it’s all turned up squat. The bastard’s in the game. I know it. Someone should have something on him. Six days old, and I’ve found more info on decades old cold-cases than on him.”

“What about your profiler?”

“Her?” he grumbled, “She doesn’t have her head on straight.”

“Really, I would have thought with Secret Service training, she would have been …” Fornell pushed.

“Ducky said she had the chance to stab him and didn’t.”

“Well, Dr. Mallard may not have grasped the full picture that…”

“Duck’s RAMC ... knows what he sees when he’s seeing it.”

“I see,” which wasn’t entirely true, but Gibbs’ assurance didn’t entirely surprise him. He knew the coroner had to be ‘made of sterner stuff’ as Tobias’s Nona would say, just to tolerate Gibbs, and the two men had reportedly struck up a fairly good friendship; though, Fornell hadn’t had many opportunities to see the two men interacting outside of crime scenes - where it was hard to discern whether their interactions were cordial or simply professional.

“Still, she was trained as a profiler and may have some insight.”

Gibbs’ response was closer to what Fornell would have expected from a growling dog, so Fornell dropped the issue. Either Gibbs would take his advice or he wouldn’t, just like he’d take Fornell’s help or he wouldn’t. Fornell finally sighed. He honestly didn’t expect to find anything more than Gibbs had - not by himself- but there was one source he could tap, who might be able to find something out. Until he sounded the man out, though, Fornell didn’t want to raise Gibbs’ expectations. He knew better than most - thanks to Sacks’s big mouth and heavy handed tactics’ - that if Di… WC… if WC wasn’t interested in digging into the matter, they didn’t have the leverage to make him interested.

“Send me copies of your notes, and I’ll see what I can find.”

“Here.” Gibbs answered, slapping a jump drive into Fornell’s hand almost before he had the chance to hold it out. It went without saying that it was probably everything Gibbs had. It would make things easier, at least. Tucking the drive into his pocket, Fornell glanced up intending to toss another snarky comment at Gibbs, but the man was already gone, leaving Tobias not entirely sure whether he should still be cursing the man out under his breath, or just grateful that he could get back into somewhere with central air and heating.

Waiting for his contact to answer the buzzer, Fornell huffed softly, trying to figure out how to phrase the favor he was going to ask. The last favor he’d appealed to the young man for - to give Deputy Director Ryan a chance - had ended up putting WC (admittedly not his real name, though Fornell understood why he insisted in using the moniker) on the radar of some coworkers who hadn’t had the common sense to recognize something good when they saw it, but who had more than enough control issues to make themselves true nuisances.

Of course, Fornell had only heard about that earlier that morning, after visiting Ryan’s unit, in hopes of speaking to WC, only to find that while she hadn’t taken his hint to hire Tony as a mentor for the hackers she was trying to turn around in her program, she had pegged WC as someone who bore additional surveillance and interference with if he stepped over the narrow margins of her moral directives. How WC was likely to greet him after that, Fornell had no idea.

“Unless you have Slacks or Blondie hiding in your trunk, Toby, you’re welcome to pull on in.”

“Nope, just little old me.” He answered with a smile.

The snort that earned was - all in all - a good sign.

“Fine, come on up.” WC answered, and the mechanical gate lifted slowly, barely high enough for his car to go underneath, before lowering immediately behind him.

A broad driveway cobbled with slate paving stones followed a gentle s-curve up to a sprawling, but otherwise, almost nondescript craftsman style ranch house set to the back of the property - manor style - with graduated hedgerows blocking the view of the home from the street and surrounding areas. Near the end of the driveway as it reached the home, the end of the s-curve split taking on a stylistic ‘serif’ with the left split curling inward, momentarily paralleling the home’s wide front until it split again with the split closest the house tapering into a slate stoned, gently sloped walkway that only someone familiar with the home’s owner would probably realize was a wheelchair ramp, while the split further from the house curled back onto the main driveway. Meanwhile, the right split of the driveway stretched along the northeast side of the house and gave guests almost closer access to the broad front entrance than the ramp gave the owner.

Pulling close to the house, Tobias sighed as he closed the car door behind him. While the agencies and districts regularly relied on and traded on favors between members of other agencies, even agents and agencies of foriegn powers, there were unspoken warnings against going outside those boundaries to independent contractors… even ones with top secret and comparmentalized secret information (TS/CSI) clearances, even if they were regularly hired by the relevant agencies. Regardless of their field and experience, these contractors were rarely shown even the respect shown mercenaries and were regularly excluded from the better graces of the intelligence community - regardless of their skills and backgrounds. If he weren’t already certain of Gibbs’ access to skilled cyber-hunters and SOC specialists, not to mention his pet goth, Fornell would have taken the drive Gibbs had given him back to Quantico and called in a marker or two with the FBI cyber squad.

FBI pride aside, Tobias was all too aware that the best of the FBI’s organized crime unit and the best of the best of the region’s cyber squads had tracked every single phone, computer, and credit card account associated with the Macaluso Crime Family - for over five years - and turned up nothing, until an SAC from the organized crime taskforce overheard an independent SOC analyst, hired to run a security check, discussing the perceived weaknesses of the computer searches that he and another analyst had observed and decided to call the man to the carpet for his remarks. Instead of putting the independent contractor in his place as the SAC had intended, he found himself eating his words after challenging the man ‘to do it better’, which the contractor - WC - almost immediately did. Within three months, the contractor’s investigation built a case that brought down the core of the Maculuso’s empire and holdings. It was impossible to argue with that kind of success, especially when the contractor followed up with proof gained through the portion of the investigation he had been hired to do, which confirmed a number of higher ups suspicions, that the reason they hadn’t gotten anywhere - previously- on the Maculuso and several other organized crime investigations was largely but not entirely due to compromised agents that IA hadn’t been able to ferret out.

Fornell had met WC when the contractor’s investigation turned up corrupt agents in his own office and Fornell was tasked with gathering proof. He couldn’t say that they’d struck up a friendship, through the ordeal, anymore than he really thought of what he had with Gibbs as a friendship, but they had reached enough of an understanding that when the Witsec Marshall assigned to guard WC, after the Maculuso case went to trial, had - months into the assignment - turned up on the payroll of a money launderer, whose computer use the analyst had been hired to investigate to determine if and what back doors the petty officer might have taken advantage of to hide activities that had only been discovered after a shipmate reported an overheard illicit phone call, WC turned to Fornell. Not exactly trading on favors, but showing the beginnings of a working relationship - he hoped.

It was one of the reasons that he’d sounded Deputy Director Ryan out about hiring WC for her unit. With the younger man’s skill and experience, not to mention irreverence, in Fornell’s opinion, the SOC analyst would have excelled in turning the still young and impressionable ‘black hat’ hackers Ryan was targeting back onto a better path and likely even producing valuable assets for the FBI… and the additional protections that holding a position as a federal officer would have given WC were only what was due considering the primary threats to the man had come from his un-contracted work on the Maculuso case at the FBI’s behest. Why she hadn’t been able to recognize WC’s potential value to the department, he had no idea.

“Socks... “ WC reminded him as he opened the door, gesturing to a porch bench beside the door.

“Yeah, yeah, I know the drill.” Fornell offered, sitting on the bench to remove his shoes and slip them under the bench. It was a bit of a nuisance, but not without just cause, and Fornell recognized the practicalities of the request.

“So you say, but your words would be a lot easier to believe if you weren’t standing at the door, staring into the distance when I opened it.”

“You may have a point.” Tobias agreed, picking out a pair of ankle socks waiting for guests in a basket under the first bench and sliding them on over his dress socks. It might be overkill, he supposed, but he’d been to a crime scene earlier in the day and at the park with Jethro so couldn’t guarantee that nothing had slipped into his shoes to be tracked in. WC’s appreciative smile was a good clue that he’d made the right decision.

“Okay, come on in. What do you have for me?” WC asked, already turning directly into his private office - to the left of the door- and holding his hand out as he reached for a clipboard hanging just inside.

“Have you heard about the break-in at NCIS, last week?” Fornell asked even as he held out the jump drive Jethro gave him. “An associate was involved in it and is running their investigation. Those are his notes, reports, video clips, voice prints … he says everything they have on it. He’s frustrated that they haven’t come up with anything yet, and asked me to see what I can turn up on it.”

WC raised his eyebrow at Fornell’s explanation, and Tobias was expecting to hear some comment on who would be turning the information up, which he had to admit was deserved. Instead, WC remarked, “He’s investigating an incident he was involved in? … And just how involved was he?”

And … ~~~That was justified too ~~~ The phenomenon of Gibbs was sometimes hard to explain.

“He was the highest field officer available on the scene, familiar with the other parties involved, one of his team members was among the hostages, he’s reportedly close to the older medical examiner being held hostage, and he was shot during the stand-off with the foriegn agent.”

“Soooo, no possible conflicts of interest there.” WC assessed sardonically, continuing, “And no one at NCIS sees a problem with a direct victim of the break-in leading the investigation into it?”

“I’m sure someone’s probably told him that the investigation should be handled by another agency, but… Gibbs is… difficult to explain sometimes and others reactions to him - even harder. Don’t misunderstand what I’m saying; he is a good agent and a gung-ho marine who believes in justice, but when it comes to protecting people he considers his own…”

“He goes all ‘Dirty Harry’? How likely is that, here?”

“Honestly, I’m not sure. He’s convinced that the intruder isn’t done with his team or himself. If the man does come back to threaten them, Gibbs’ll do whatever it takes to prevent that, but if the man stays away, Jethro would probably be almost content to hate him from afar.” Fornell explained, stifling his amusement when he watched WC mouth ‘Jethro’.

“It’s worse,” he chuckled, “Gibbs’ full name is ‘Leroy Jethro’.

“That is worse,” WC chuckled, handing the clipboard to Fornell for him to read and sign. To Tobias’s surprise, it was a federal contractor’s chain of custody verification form, noting that a copy was being made of the entirety of the jump drive with a description of the drive’s contents.

“Kid, I don’t have authorization to hire you for this.” Fornell protested, certain he’d hit a roadblock.

“Chain of custody doesn’t need it, Toby, but if there’s a chance of this going to court, then the copy of the drive’s contents will be covered. Your friend is presumably a federal agent who presumably gave this directly to you, a federal agent, who just handed it to me, an SOC investigative analyst with TS/CSI clearance… Wa La, an unbroken evidence chain. You’ll notice that I left cells above for him to record compilation of the drive and for the two of you to sign off on its earlier transfer. … Unless you're telling me there isn’t a chance of this going to court?”

~~~ And - There - was the roadblock.~~~ But it was one Tobias could respect. It was even almost classy… letting Fornell know that if he was planning on using WC’s skills in a revenge plot, Fornell was going to be taking - documented - responsibility for it, so wouldn’t escape the consequences… without hinting in any way shape or form what those consequences would be or making any sort of direct threat. One wasn’t necessary, anyway, at least not to anyone who was aware of how effectively WC had separated the compromised FBI, WitSec Marshalls, and the then LEOs from their careers after discovering their malfeasance.

“Not sure how the higher ups will proceed with whatever discovered, they may end up including it in whatever monthly grievances go out between the oval office and whatever consulate applies, but it’s a good precaution either way.” Tobias answered signing the sheet, not completely dismissing the concern, but trying to allay it. He had been telling the truth, though, if the intruder came back and tried to get at one of Gibbs' team, Gibbs wouldn’t hesitate to end him, but it wouldn’t be a revenge mission. Hopefully that would be enough, because - as WC pointed out - the investigation was very, very close to skirting the edge of unsanctioned… and Tobias really couldn’t see himself doing anything else in the years remaining until his retirement.

WC handed the original jump drive back to Tobias and gestured him toward the lounge, offering, “If you remember how to work the coosno, there’s beer in the lounge. I’ll take a look at what you have here, and let you know if I have any questions.”

“I think I can figure it out, thanks.” Tobias accepted, heading to the smaller lounge that sat just on the other side of the door, watching while WC rolled over to his workstation in what would have been the living room of another ranch house. The wide-screen wall-mounted computer monitors, conference phone, mobile keyboard and smart-tech hub on his workstation left no question to the room’s purpose, though... at least not any more than the coosno ‘smart coffee table’ with a revolving refrigerator drawer and waiting preset-Netflix tablets left any question of the lounge’s purpose: namely, to keep him out of WC's hair while he waited.

Well, he’d been put on hold in less comfortable manners, so Tobias grabbed a beer (It turns out he did remember how to work the hi-tech robot-ish looking coffee table.), grabbed a tablet, and settled back in one of the over-soft sectionals.

Chapter Text

Tony waited until he heard the change in music from the diminished chords of fight scene score that rose when the lauded hero was revealed as the machiavellian villain into the lighter mellow notes of the lydian chords as the montage shifted to reveal the fight had been a dream sequence, before he interrupted Fornell.

“So, tell me about Dirty Harry.”

“What?!?” Tony chuckled at Tobias’s confused expression as the FBI agent had apparently been caught up in the movie and was having to shift gears mentally.

“Tell me about your friend, ‘Leroy Jethro’, the provider of the so very incomplete, ‘complete record’ of the incident at the NCIS headquarters.”

“Gibbs might be a bastard and proud of it, but he wouldn’t waste my time withholding information.”

“Not what I was suggesting, Toby, but his personal involvement is showing. Good Ol’ Leroy is so laser-focused on ’THE’ bad guy that he’s ignoring or glossing over alternative vectors of investigation.”

“Vectors?” Fornell questioned, his expression amusingly pinched as he was clearly trying to remember the phrase from when he’d heard him use it before.

“Vectors.” Tony agreed, knowing that it wasn’t at all helpful to the man. Rolling over to the coosno, he tapped the open symbol on the glass top ‘monitor’ and waited as the cooler top rose, debating which drink he wanted over which drink he’d enjoy but would require spending the rest of the evening drinking another half-gallon of water to flush out of his system.

In the end, he split the difference, choosing a hand-bottled kombucha made from one of the darker robust teas from Brahmputra, India and blended with a Sonoma Cranberry-Crisp Apple cider base. At a bit under 5 proof, the kombucha had about half the alcohol content of a keystone light (going rate $2.90 a six-pack), though a slightly higher sugar concentration than standard kombuchas due to the added cider base, so he could probably get away with a quart more water than usual instead of a half-gallon.

Taking a slow sip as he watched Fornell continuing to search his memory, Tony shook his head. He knew he really shouldn’t enjoy deriving enjoyment from the man’s confusion. Not that the knowledge would stop him; it really was the little things in life that kept you going. Toby’s confusion, the tang of cranberry just discernible over the dark robust notes of tea, the anticipated movie marathon with Steve and Whit over the coming weekend… and a new ‘case’ to sink his teeth into, above and beyond the monotony of his normal SOC contracts: little things that kept him going.

“Vectors,” he repeated. “Think of vectors as file drawers, each filled with information from front to back on one particular subject, in the middle of a massive file cabinet filled with information about everyone you could ever hope to find information on. I’m in there; you’re in there; this guy’s in there; the problem is you, Leroy, and I aren’t the only ones with access to the filing cabinet, and files can be easily or intentionally misfiled or split up into drawers with related topics.'

' Right now, Leroy has narrowed his focus down to digging through a single drawer - known operatives of foriegn agencies - and ignoring the fact that there’s information from other drawers that could get him to the file he wants faster. I’m guessing that after being told by the closest administrator with critical thinking skills, or barring that the agency's legal department, that he shouldn’t be working the case, he’s probably been digging in that file drawer on his off-time, slamming the drawer shut when it’s time to get back to regular case work, then jumping back into digging through it when he clocks out. Probably getting an hour or two of sleep in between.”

“Sounds about right, but how did you figure that out?” Fornell questioned with a surprised expression that told Tony his assessment was probably pretty characteristic of the man in question.

“You know this isn’t the first time I’ve gone through files from law enforcement investigations,” Tony hinted lightly referencing both the Mancuso ‘operation’ and what had probably been the likely unpleasant revelation to the then Senior Agent that he’d had compromised agents both on his team and in his chain of command. “So, I’m pretty familiar with their contents. I’m guessing you’ve known your friend long enough that you usually don’t double-check his work, so didn’t go through the jump-drive before giving it to me. You would have seen it, otherwise.”

“Seen what?”

“Well, you tell me. What elements would you expect to see in a standard incident file?”

“Photographs of the scene and any video or audio available from the incident, scene, and surrounding area; inventories and photographs of any evidence gathered from the scene; forensic results; photographs of any victims injuries; witness statements; investigating officer’s reports; lead sheets; interview summaries; background checks of individuals involved; psychological profiles of subject if available… Clue me in here. Jethro knows how to build case files, what did he leave out?”

“Take a look for yourself,” Tony answered. Picking up the clipboard he’d set in his lap while he’d picked out the kombucha, he handed it over to Fornell watching the man scan over the careful inventory he’d made of the drives files - waiting for the man’s expression to change as he read down the list to realize what was and wasn’t there.

“Witness statements (although, he could have felt they were covered by their respective incident reports), interview logs and summaries, transcripts from the negotiators phone conversations, witness statements of the HRT team with regard to the accomplice, interviews from the surviving ambulance attendant... and I’m assuming there’s more?”

“Well, I’d think statements from the gate guards who let the ambulance through but didn’t notice that the ambulance never left would be helpful to have, as well as the background check for the original Hammas operative slash hamburger-flipper, and the background for the accomplice that Agent Pacci killed after the accomplice took out one of the HRT agents and put another in the hospital... to name a few.”

“Yeah,” Fornell conceded with a nod, “Jethro’s normally better than this.”

“Everyone is normally better than they are when they’ve just been blindsided on their own home ground, threatened with the lives of their friends and subordinates, and pushed into their own ‘O.K. Corral' showdown, not to mention shot. It’s part of the reason it’s a no-no to let investigators investigate cases they’re involved in.”

“I know. I do know that.”

“Then why are you letting yourself get involved in this? Why, when you know he’s already too involved and likely to make the rash decisions if he does find this foreign agent? Decisions that could get himself and possibly others killed?”

Tony hoped Fornell had a good reason for his willingness to follow his friend down a dangerous path… much less bring Tony into it. They had only known each other for a couple of years, and while Tony had, of course, run a thorough background check on the FBI agent (as he would soon be doing on the NCIS agent), Tony had gained a strong impression that Toby was a person he could trust; not that he trusted him yet, but all of the little nuances he picked up from the man suggested that he was worth trusting. He’d hate to be disappointed.

Fornell ran his hands, tiredly, through what was left of his hair, before sighing and confessing, “you’re right; I know you’re right: I shouldn’t be encouraging this, but if there’s one thing I absolutely know about Gibbs, it’s that when he gets obsessed, he doesn’t stop. I’ve seen him like this before, and he’s going to find this guy, sooner or later, he’s going to find him and settle matters… legally if he can manage it, but if not, whatever way it takes. He says he has a gut feeling that the man’s not done with him or his team, and from what I’ve seen, his gut is right more often than not. If we can find him, it gives me a better chance of bringing him to justice without getting Jethro involved and without stepping over the line.”

Tony thought about it for several seconds, trying to decide whether the confession was honest or simply what Fornell thought he’d accept. It would have been easier if Fornell had been looking at him instead of the ground and Tony could see his eyes, but Tony knew better than to trust whatever he might have read there. He’d learn long ago, from his father, that someone could lie with their eyes. Senior’s particular favorite, at least with Tony, had been to adopt a fond, amused expression, his eyes practically twinkling right up until the second he’d physically or verbally lash out at Tony with blows that would make a full grown adult stagger. … So, Tony knew eyes could lie, and made his decision without them. That didn’t mean he’d let Toby off the hook that easily.

“You ever consider the possibility that his gut coming true is more like a self-fulfilling prophecy? He decides he has a gut feeling that a drug dealer has a ‘beef’ and is going to come after him, and on the basis of that, decides to put the dealer out of business by scaring all of his customers away, noticeably staking out his best corners, etc., and pushes the dealer to come after him or let his ‘business interests’ be stolen out from under him, which could easily make him a target for other dealers who would be happy to take over his business… but none of it would have happened if he hadn’t decided to go after the dealer in the first place. Not that I’m pro-dealer, here, at all. I’m simply vehemently anti-self-fulfilling prophecy.“

“I get the picture kid.” Toby answered with a dry chuckle, before taking a long swig out of the beer bottle, stalling as he got his thoughts together, Tony suspected, before he finally answered. “And, yes. I’ve thought about it - even suggested it a few times to Jethro; doesn’t change anything though. If I can get ahead of this thing, whatever showdown is in the works, it gives me a better chance to keep it from happening and keep bystanders out of their way.”

“Okay, Toby. I’ll look into it. Finish up your beer and the movie. The cooler has a disposal section on the other side of the drinks. Just leave your bottle there. The doors will lock behind you when you leave. I’ll call you in the morning.” Tony offered, before finishing the kombucha, slipping it into the disposal tray, grabbing a water bottle to replace it, and returning to work.

Chapter Text

Robin’s Nest II, Alexandria, Virginia

7:35 a.m.

“If you’re trying to intimidate me, Agent Gibbs, I’m afraid you’ve come two linebackers, seven surgeons, a handful of physical therapists, six dirty cops, and a mob assassin too late.” WC hilariously cut off Jethro’s tantrum over having to take off his shoes and put on ankle socks.

WC seemed to be in the mood to give a good ‘floor show’ too, as he continued, “In fact, let me make this clear for you: I don’t care how many b’s you have in your name, how many strings you think you can pull, or how many fucks you don’t give about my rules or my reasons for them. I’m not under your chain of command; I’m not contracted to anyone who would put me under your chain of command; and I don’t have to put up with your shit, so you have two options: sit down and change your footwear or go wait in the car while Toby and I talk.”

Tobias had already explained this shit to Jethro on the drive over and had no sympathy for his frustrated friend. WC was serious, and as Sacks had learned to his detriment, wasn’t going to back down.

“Sorry about this, Kid; I did try to get it through his skull, on the way over,” Tobias offered, not making a move toward the door that WC was parked in the center of, despite Gibbs demanding stare… probably hoping to breeze in on his coattails.

“Let me guess, Dirty Harry doesn’t think he has to play by anyone’s rules but his own.” WC answered tartly… and right on target, which didn’t surprise Tobias much, at all; the young man was talented at reading people and would have probably made a great LEO or Agent if circumstances had been different. Jethro’s expression at being called Dirty Harry, though, THAT was pure gold. It was an expression somewhere between the shock of a siamese that had jumped and missed its mark, a prosecutor being told he was overruled, and one of those mall performers trying to put on the impression of being a stone statue and failing.

Offering a ‘what-can-I-tell-you’ gesture, Tobias shrugged and leaned back ready to wait Jethro out, knowing his friend well enough to know he wouldn’t try to just push by WC, at least not with the younger man in his wheelchair; he might have if WC had not been visibly disabled. There were some lines, he supposed, that Gibbs wouldn’t cross no matter how many others he trampled without notice.

“Tobias…” Gibbs growled, clearly irritated at the loss of face, and Tobias’s refusal to back his intent to run roughshod over the young analyst. The irony of it was that Tobias doubted Gibbs even gave a shit about putting on the footies, but lacking the usual buttons he could push to intimidate or motivate a suspect or witness to talk, NCIS's top agent apparently decided that a power play over following any of WC's rules was the next best option and was only refusing to back down on principal.

~~~Too Damn Bad!~~~ Fornell had no intention of damaging his working relationship with the talented analyst. If Jethro would shake off his obsession even a little bit, it wouldn’t take much thought to figure out the reasoning behind most of WC’s rules that Fornell had learned of so far.

“Ehhhh,” WC mimicked the sound of a game show buzzer, drawing Gibbs’ attention off of him. “House Rules, Gibbs. My house, my rules.”

Recognizing from a flash in Gibbs’ eyes that he was about to start up again. Tobias growled, “Get in the car, Jethro. Kid, I’ll talk to you later,” before reaching under his bench seat for his shoes and pulling them on.

“Toby,” WC acknowledged with a smile, backing away from the door and closing it between them.

“Tobias, what the hell ?!?”

“Get in the car.” Tobias answered, not in the mood to put up with more of Gibbs' stubbornness. “Or walk home, at this point, it would save me time getting to work without having to drop you off first, as it is.”

“Are you telling me you’re seriously going to let him withhold information related to a federal investigation?”

“Is it, Gibbs? Is it really a federal investigation? Are you telling me you didn’t ask for my help on an off-the-books investigation but an actual - authorized - investigation? Because, seriously, we both know that’s crap… and before you try to browbeat some judge into writing you a warrant, let me save you some time, he’s not withholding information. I brought you here this morning, on his invitation, so you could fill in some of the blanks you’ve left in the info you gave me, so he could do us both a favor and track down your suspect.”

“Fill in the blanks?” Gibbs' head literally jerked up in surprise, which would probably have amused Tobias at any other time, if he hadn’t already explained this on the drive over.

“So, you really didn’t listen to one thing I said on the way here?” Tobias asked it as a question, but it really wasn’t. Standing, he walked toward the steps, only marginally caring if his jackass of a friend followed. If Gibbs tried to stay and harass WC, well... Tobias would be only too happy to cuff him and escort him off the property on trespassing charges. WC probably wouldn’t press charges, but Director Morrow would be sure to receive a complaint.

“Within twenty-five to thirty minutes of going through your files, he pointed to nine case elements even most rookies would know to follow up on… that you’d missed. You screwed up, Jethro then and again this morning.” Tobias explained as he unlocked the door and slid in.

Listening as the two car doors shut, before cutting off the audio feed from the driveway, Tony smiled as the engine clearly started and the car pulled away. So far, it appeared that he’d been right to give Toby the small amount of trust that he had - allowing the FBI agent to bring his friend to his home, which was a rather rare occurrence for anyone who had reason to know of his consultation work outside a handful of select individuals. Everyone else who came to the house were there either from his fraternity or in relation his semi-paralysis (Tony utterly refused to use the word disability even in his thoughts), and were never given any information about what he did outside of the nearly obsolete description of 'webmaster'. It wasn't an entirely false description; he did manage Steve's, Whit's, and the frat's website - even if that barely reflected 1/1000th of his actual work.

When the gate camera confirmed the car pulling out with two men, Tony set the audio and video surveillance modules to automatic and backed out of his office to make breakfast.

8:45 a.m.

Tony had only just finished cleaning the kitchen counter top when his next appointment arrived.

Amirita, having a chip card that let her through the gate, was one of the few who didn’t have to wait for Tony to ‘buzz her through’ or let her in the door. Even with the delay to switch footwear, she was, Tony realized glancing up at the clock in surprise, still forty minutes early.

“I’m sorry,” he offered soberly, recognizing the only reason she’d be early. The patient she saw-to, directly before him, had been a 20 year-old in late stage hospice care for Li-Fraumeni syndrome-related leukemia. While Amirita had never exactly gossiped about any of her patients, Tony had been a welcome confidant when the stress of watching the young girl's passing sometimes got to be too much.

Amirita nodded her acceptance, before gesturing toward a rolling chair pushed under the far end of the counter, a silent ‘may I?’

“Of course,” Tony agreed, leaving off of his clean up and rolling around to join her.

“She passed, yesterday evening, Her parents said it had happened quickly and peacefully. That she’d been in good spirits.” She explained, sniffing lightly. “They apologized for not thinking to call me, and I don’t blame them, of course, I don’t blame them… It was just a shock. Like you, they’d given me their key. They sometimes need to leave early for work, and I’ve never missed a visit or arrived late, so I was halfway up the stairs when her father heard me and came out to explain. Oh, Tony, she was such a beautiful girl inside and out, just an angel.”

“I’m so sorry.” he offered again as she slumped into his shoulder and let go of the tears she’d clearly been holding back. “I’m so sorry.”

They sat together, giving and accepting comfort, until the alert he’d programmed for her appointment beeped and flashed across the smaller wall mounted monitor, an emblematic red cross overlaid with a hummingbird drinking nectar from a sarcostemma acidum flower cluster. When she turned and noticed the screen, Amirita sat up chuckling as she recognized the symbolic interpretation of her name, and patted his cheek.

“Enough grief for one day, yes?” She laughed, “Let us focus on other matters. How have you been, Tony?”

While they usually took care of the interview portion of her visit in the treatment room as he was getting ready for the skin check, Tony had no problem going with the segue.

“Fine for the most part.” He offered with a smile, “A few headaches, but I’ve just finished up two contracts and put some additional hours in on another, so I haven’t had as much sleep, and there could be some eyestrain from added hours on the computer.”

“But, you’ll be cutting back?” She questioned, in an almost demand. “You know you need your sleep to stay healthy.”

“I have wrapped the two up, so yes. I should be able to, at least for a while.” He offered; although, he couldn’t promise how long the lull would last.

Living off contracts, even when they were very well paying, as his usually were, meant that he had to take them when they were available … much like aging actors accepted supporting parts to keep their names even marginally relevant. Relevancy was currency - even in information analysis. Due to some timely leads, earlier in the year, he was currently ahead of the expected salaries for SOC analysts of his experience and credentials by roughly 18K, but any lag in acquiring other contracts or health setbacks could erase the advantage. Such an occurrence wouldn’t put him in the poor house or even threaten his ability to cover his mortgage, but to maintain his level of independence, given the circumstances, wasn’t particularly cheap, and Tony was well aware his relevancy wouldn’t last forever.

“Here now, what has your brow wrinkling so?” Amirita asked warmly.

“Oh, just thinking about work, bills, beautiful PCA’s, holiday gifts and bonuses,” he deflected with a smile, while the statement wasn’t entirely true, it was still essentially true; without the ability to afford having PCAs, PTs, and Trainers, as well as the finances to keep his computer systems ahead of the curve for the systems he was regularly contracted to assess or investigate, his ability to work remotely or live independently would be almost non-existent. That, and he did like to give Christmas gifts, or in Amirita’s case Pongal gifts, which came a little later after the start of the year.

“Ah, important thoughts, truly.” She agreed with a soft amused smile, asking, “but there are other important items we must look after first, yes?” as she stood and gathered her up her case to follow him to the check-up room.

After noting a few blemishes, which she felt didn’t blanch quite quickly enough, onto his tracking chart, adjusting the cushions in his chair to reduce pressure against the blemish on his hip, and frowning at his skin elasticity rate, Amirita left him to get dressed, returning after a moment with a water bottle and a silently commanding stare. As soon as he was set to rights and was back in his chair, she handed the bottle off and stared at him impassively until he twisted off the cap and had taken a good solid gulp of the water, before she finally spoke.

“Your PT will come, today?”

“Tomorrow.” He corrected. “Today’s MT.”

“Ah, good. You should drink more before exerting yourself. You said you’ve had headaches, and your skin and sample tell me you are not drinking enough water. I am concerned you are dehydrated. Evan is still your MT?”

“Yes, but he has a cold, so it will be Kennedy this week.”

“Yes? Hmm, he has less personality, but skills as good and uses hydrotherapy as well, I believe. He should start with an epsom bath to replenish mineral loss and ensure you stay hydrated after.” She commented adding those details to the chart for both men to read.

“Okay.” Tony agreed, easily. Some things you just didn’t mess with, so unlike with Agent Gibbs - with Amirita he would cooperate, even when she was bossy.

10:30 a.m.

With a sigh, when his phone alarm beeped, Tony set his pencil down, glancing back over the page he’d been compiling notes about more questions he’d like to ask the various individuals denoted in Gibbs incident reports, before catching himself when he wanted to reach for the pen again. Instead, he grabbed the wheel rails and pushed, lifting himself until he briefly hung in the air before alternately dipping one shoulder than the other, gently swinging his torso as he counted down. After his count hit 0, he lowered himself back into the chair, tapped the reset button on his timer, and went back to work.

10:45 a.m.

Tony was answering an online call from the GW Alpha Chi Delta Chapter pledges when his alarm next beeped.

“Sir, Pledge Master Owen the Great has told me that I’m to place myself at your mercy and perform any and all tasks you require.”

“Did he, now?” Tony chuckled, “Any and all you say?” His chuckle might have been just the slightest bit intentionally evil sounding from the way that the pledge gulped, but Tony didn’t regret it, in the slightest. “Well, I can definitely make use of that.”

The fact that the pledge gulped again when Tony pushed himself up and shifted his weight, before dropping himself back down, only made Tony’s smirk deepen. He didn’t know whose bright idea it had been to make Tony, himself, a pledge week challenge; although, he suspected that it had been Steve who’d talked the chapter advisor into it, probably in hopes of making sure that Tony had company when he or Whit, the only other OSU fraternity brother whom had settled relatively nearby (St. Michaels and Maryland, respectively) weren’t available. Regardless of how it started, though, for the last five successive pledge weeks, he’d received a call a day from hopeful nervous pledges ordered to “submit themselves to his mercy”.

It probably hadn’t even been that difficult of a sell, when the three OSU Alum - after moving into the district and its surrounding areas - had donated to the chapter and after clearing it with the chapter advisor, had offered the chapter members first option on any odd jobs they needed at a better than minimum wage rate, dibs at summer internships (Steve), writing and revision feedback (Whit), and Business and Computer tutoring (Tony). In fact, within three months of moving to the district, Tony had cancelled the grocery delivery service and started giving them first option over car services for any appointments he needed to be driven to while paying the kids the same rate he would have paid the service. A couple of months later, with Steve’s help, he bought a wheelchair friendly ‘fleet’ vehicle (under his business name and insurance) that was ‘loaned’ to the chapter for the members who ran errands for either the three frat alum, GW administration, campus charity drives, or the Chapter itself. (Errands which did not include bar crawls, tailgate parties, or make out sessions.)

“Sir?” The pledge asked in a quavering voice, clearly ruffled by Tony’s silence.

“So pledge, are you going to do what your pledge master has ordered?” Tony demanded, waiting for the kid to decide.

“Yes, Sir.”

Well, that was a start, at least, pale and gulping or not, If the kid hadn’t had the nerve to even check it out, then his chances of getting through pledge week, much less a year of GW, fraternity or no fraternity wouldn’t have been promising.

“Then go get the keys boy, the GPS has my location already programmed into it, and bring every book and piece of paper you own with you. I’ll be waiting.”

“Sir, my next class is in half an hour?”

“Is it?” Tony asked letting his voice sound unconcerned, “Well, I suppose we won’t want you to miss that, will we?”

“No, Sir?” The pledge asked almost hopefully.

“And, I suppose you have a class after that?’

“Yes, Sir.” The pledge gulped.

“Well, I suppose you’ll have to wait until after classes.” Tony sighed as if the thought of being made to wait was actually putting him out of sorts, instead of just being used as a pledge-mental-torture technique.

“Yes, Sir.” Gulp.

“Well, then, get going. Oh, and pledge, I have some very specific rules; if you don’t follow them, I won’t let you step foot in my house - much less do any tasks, so you might want to find out what they are - before you get here.”

“Yes, Sir.”

Tony cut the call off, smirking as he did. He did so love the little things in life.

11:30 a.m.

Deciding he’d spent enough time on the questions for Dirty Harry’s crew, Tony used the need to shift positions as a cue that it was as good a time as any to flat out take a break.

“Six bells, and all’s well.” Tony laughed, even as he imagined Whit sighing an explanation that maritime bells referred to half hour intervals not quarter hour intervals, but ‘six beeps’ just didn’t have fit the rhyme scheme.

Stretching, Tony looked around the room deciding what he wanted to do next. With the plans for Kennedy’s later visit changed to include an epsom soak, putting off the exercise room until a half hour before Kennedy’s arrival would let the soak be a nice warm down from his work out. He wasn’t quite hungry; though, and had a half hour before lunch was due anyway. While his schedule wasn’t fixed down to the minute, despite his timed position shifts, he did keep to general patterns, which included mid-morning cardio… which really left only one easy alternative. So, okay, that might be an exaggeration, but one he didn’t think too deeply about. He did have other cardio options, just none he enjoyed as much.

Returning to his bedroom, Tony detoured to his roll-in closet to pick up a pair of trunks, sweat shorts, two T’s, water shoes, and a couple of towels, before heading to his bed where he transferred to the bed and pulled his feet up. A bolster pillow under his back, a half back bend, a little bit of ‘needle threading’, a couple of side to side rolls, and a half abdomen crunch later, and Tony was shucked out of his ‘work clothes’, into the trunks, and ready to go.

A short roll, 60 feet at most, all rooms combined; a detour for another water bottle; and a short transfer into his pool chair, later - Tony was rolling down the tapered entry into his pool with a happy sigh. He loved the water. Absolutely loved it. Reveled in it. Communed with it, and if he could have managed it would have swum Patrick-Duffy-Man-from-Atlantis dolphin laps around the pool every time he was freed into it. Since that wasn’t in the cards, he rolled into a supine float, instead, and started around the pool in a gentle backstroke.

NCIS headquarters, Quantico

12:35 p.m.

Gibbs flipped the folder closed, again, restraining himself from slamming it down in frustration. After Tobias’s pissed lecture, the entire ride back to the NCIS parking garage where Fornell had picked him up to take him to the damn analyst’s house, Gibbs had accepted that he’d screwed up, both in the way he’d handled the meeting and - what really bothered him - in his investigation of the man that had held Ducky hostage and shot both him and Gerald. What bothered him more, was despite going through the files for hours, he couldn’t see it.

After chewing him out for not listening to the analysts ‘rules’, then repeating the lecture he’d ignored earlier - making him parrot them back to him because he hadn’t listened before (on threat of telling the kid to drop the investigation), Fornell had countered his remark that he didn’t coddle techs or analysts with a single name, “Abby”, and undermined his assertion that that was warranted because Abby was ‘special’ (a blunt accumulation of good, brilliant, talented, and almost irreplaceable skills) by pointing out that in barely half-an-hour, the analyst - with no formal law enforcement training - had spotted weaknesses and gaps in his case that, Gibbs - a trained and experienced investigator - had missed… making him wonder if this WC wasn’t Fornell’s own version of an Abby, compounding his screw up even more as he knew how he’d react to one of his contacts giving Abby flack. Damn it!

Even more galling, though, was that Fornell had refused to tell him what was missing, and after going through the case files for hours, he still couldn’t see what was missing. He needed another set of eyes on it.

Picking up his coffee cup, and taking a slow sip, to disguise his equally slow glance around the bullpen, Gibbs considered his team and the other leads around them.

Kate was definitely out. Not only wasn’t he not certain that she had her head on straight after the incident, she didn’t have the investigative experience, as far as he was concerned, Secret Service Training or not, to pick up on anything he’d missed.

Pacci … Pacci had some of the experience, once upon a time, he’d even been Gibbs’ probie before Franks moved on, and was a good SFA just waiting out Tenner’s retirement until he took over the team lead, which he was more than ready for, even if he’d been shunted back onto Gibbs’ team, his TAD second - as a favor from Morrow, who was probably getting just as tired as he was of agents being TAD’ed to his team. After Stan transferred to an Agent Afloat position, Gibbs had run through a series of partners and juniors, never able to settle on a good match. Hell, as much as he’d respected Salvatore, they’d nearly ‘come to blows’ when a sparring session got too heated during a tense case. Yates had been a surprise and a disaster, having the chutzpah to stand up to him and the investigative skills, but too much attitude and a problem following his lead if he didn’t explain it first or she didn’t agree. Henderson was a clusterfuck best forgotten, only beating Blackadder out of the title by carelessly destroying evidence mid-screw up.

While Gibbs was glad to have Pacci watching his six and training Kate, there was something inherently upside down in asking his former probie to check his work. He’d trained Pacci, not the other way around.

Tenner, the team lead for MCRT II, in Gibbs' honest opinion, was an ass with the NCIS procedure manuals inserted so far up his intestinal tract that someone could read it if he opened his mouth. The senior agent did the job, but he could have done it a lot faster (and better in Gibbs’ opinion) if he loosened up. There was no way he’d ask Tenner to check his case files, the man would probably give him a list of overhead, expense, and labor forms to be filled out while he was at it.

Markson was working an active case, with his teams running about like chickens with their heads cut off, so no luck there; although, if the case wrapped up, he wouldn’t have a qualm asking. Markson was one of his contemporaries and had partnered with both he and King on occasion.

Glancing up to the next level, he briefly considered Director Morrow, but quickly dismissed the idea. He was sure that Morrow knew he was investigating the break-in on the side, despite the Director’s very carefully phrased order to not get in the investigators’ way, but that didn’t mean that Tom would turn a blind eye if Gibbs dropped a stack of case files on his desk.

That left leads from other departments, which he ruled out as quickly; King, if he wasn’t on an active case in New Orleans, but there was a good chance he’d try to convince Gibbs to let the FBI do their jobs; Fornell again, which he wasn’t so sure of, as Tobias could hold a grudge about as well as he could; or….

“I’m going for coffee,” Gibbs groused as the upturned cup ran dry, having had barely a tablespoon’s worth left when he’d picked it up.

“Gotcha, Boss.” Pacci acknowledged him before waving Kate over to discuss the cold-case review report she’d sent him a few minutes earlier.

Taking the stairway down to the entry level, Gibbs barely paused to swipe his card, before stalking out into the bracing wind.

Although he wouldn’t admit it to anyone, with the possible exception of Abby, if she somehow randomly hit on the right question, the weather - on days like this - worked like a chisel, chipping away at whatever mood or fog he couldn’t get out of his head, and usually gave him some perspective. Perspective.

Perspective was what he usually went to Ducky for, he reflected with a sigh, but as much as he might have grumbled to Fornell about Kate’s head not being in the right place, he knew both he and Ducky were right along with her. Hell, even Pacci had needed a head tap to get his head out of cold case files and back to searching for the ‘suspect’, and damn it, he hated that word. He wanted to put a name to that smug bastard’s face. He new that Pacci was having a hard time dealing with putting down the accomplice in the elevator, killing someone always took a toll, or most always did, and was now for Pacci especially with the knowledge that he’d been too late to prevent the accomplice from killing two swat team members.

But hiding in cold cases wasn’t the way to deal with it. Especially not an ‘emotionally safe case’ (as Ducky had described it) where there weren’t any grieving victims or victim’s families to deal with, the suspect had already been identified and took himself out to avoid prosecution, and all that was left to do was find the Navy’s money. As far as Gibbs was concerned, while they were on down time, if they were going to be working on any ‘cold’ case outside of the break in, it sure as hell better be one that brought a victim or their family closure...and the Navy Accounting Department did not count as victims.

“Whattaya want?” the new counter girl they’d hired to replace Jake, asked, her voice full of complaint no doubt because she’d had to stop reading her magazine.

“Coffee, Black.” He answered, not bothering to tone down his … tone. He might be a ‘soft-touch’ for young women, but that didn’t mean he’d put up with laziness or attitude. His daughter had known not to try that more once.

“And?” she demanded, expectantly.

“That’s it.”

“Great.’ She grumbled, petulantly, probably over the size of tip she might have gotten if she hadn’t had an attitude. “Okay, it’ll be $3.75.” she followed up, noticeably padding the price.

“I’m a regular, and even if I weren’t, 6% on a $3.00 coffee isn’t hard to figure out.” He answered, slapping down the correct change, $3.18, with a glare, before stepping around the counter and moving behind her to grab a cup and lid then pour the cup himself - not trusting her to refrain from spitting in the cup after losing her ‘extra’ tip, well both really.

“Gibbs,” Sidney, the owner, acknowledged him through the window between the kitchen and the coffee shop’s small dining area, pausing in his conversation with the baker/manager that Sidney had hired to manage the shop after his father and mother retired. “Lindsey isn’t at the counter, I take it?” The younger black man asked with a sigh, apparently aware that the young blonde was not a good fit for the shop.

“Oh, she’s there,” he answered dryly, “She decided your coffee’s worth more than your charging for it, not that I disagree, but didn’t think it’s her job to change prices and called her on it.” He explained, not mentioning his suspicion that she’d probably try to spit in his cup if she thought she could get away with it.

“Andrew.” Sidney sighed.

“I’ll take care of it,” the italian baker/manager replied, heading out of the kitchen into the hall.

“Jake’s going to be hard to replace,” Gibbs offered, knowing that while Sidney was very proud of his son’s achievement both in winning a recent architectural design competition and in using the money to go enroll at George Washington, he couldn’t deny the fact that losing Jake (who, like his father, had been raised in the family business with a mindset and work ethic most off-the-street employees wouldn’t even understand) would hurt the shop until they could find someone anywhere near as reliable.

“You have no idea.” Sidney agreed. “She’s the third hire we’ve had. We haven’t lost any customers, yet, as far as our sales go, but it’s going to happen.”

“This close to Quantico? It’ll take more than bad service to run grunts off. Just don’t water down your coffee, and we’ll keep coming.”

”Then I thank God for marines with cast iron stomachs and coffee addictions.” Sidney laughed, smiling warmly as Gibbs took another drink and nodded toward the coffee machine, commenting, “Top ‘er off, before you go,” adding, “we’d probably lost ten times that from what she’s held back from the till. Let me say thank you,” when he saw that Gibbs was going to refuse.

Taking the gesture in the spirit it was meant, Gibbs poured a little more in, about half of what he’d drunk, then put the cap on and raised his cup in salute.

12:45 p.m.

Pacci was on his cell, pen and pad in hand as he took quick notes from a dispatcher’s call. Gibbs had seen it enough times over the years that he knew not to sit down as he reached his desk and grabbed his gear bag.

“Gibbs, we’ve got a call to a club, warehouse district Alexandria. Petty officer, presumably murdered, with his body hidden in the crawl space over the club’s john. Alexandria PD are holding staff for us to interview.”

“Get the lead’s number an give him our ETA.” Gibbs growled,

"Alexandria." He repeated softly, tapping his finger on his desk before he grabbed pulled 'the' file from his lower drawer and carried it with him as he lead Pacci and Kate to the elevaror.

Newman's Rentals Warehouse 17, Alexandria, Virginia

1:20 p.m.

"We're not gonna see him again." Kate grumbeled at Pacci, complaining - yet again - about Gibbs' mood.

"That attitude would probably guarantee it; but, Gibbs? Obsessed or determined or just plain pissed… Gibbs will see him again." Pacci assured, wondering - and not for the first time - how she had risen into the ranks of the Secret Service much less a presidential detail when she had readily proven that she either lacked the instincts for the job or was only too willing to ignore them.

The foriegn agent with the 'kind eyes' who'd been only too happy to shoot Gerald in 'a ball and socket joint' intentionally causing permanent disability when Gerald's exposed position had offered a host of other options, was only the most recent example of Kate's poor instincts. The Brauer/BFF case where Kate had similiarly over-empathized with the Bomb-weilding Jane Doe was almost as bad as the case deranged petty officer who'd cracked and through some online gaming and real life sword play was convinced he was an immortal with a duty to take out the ship's captain using an explosive the same day he had wrapped chains around himself and tried to walk under water without a mask and or any sort of breathing apparatus. It didn't seem to matter how nuts they were; if there was any little thing she liked about the person (having 'kind eyes', being successful in a traditionally male field, being Catholic), Kate's objectivity went out the window, and Pacci was left to reel her back in.

Between Kate's inflated self-assurance, which Pacci suspected could be blamed on her one-time job more than her mere overestimation of her respective skills, experience, and almost non-existent investigatorial instinct, Kate seemed - at least to Pacci - as bad of a fit for their team as Viv had been; and her time on the presidential protection detail seem to have done her no favors on that score, which shouldn't have been a surprise, he's supposed, when her primary duty in that role had focused on stepping in front of a bullet meant for the president instead of doing the investigation to prevent the bullet. What it was going to take for Gibbs to see that, though, Pacci had no idea.

Pacci just hoped that the revelation wasn't forced by a disconnect in the field that left one or all of them injured or worse.

Chapter Text

Newman's Rentals Warehouse 17, Alexandria, Virginia

1:30 pm

"Kate, what was the accuracy on your last sketches?" Gibbs demanded aborting her move to retrieve her report book.

"80%," she snapped with a glare at Pacci, apparently still resenting his appraisal.

"Pacci, laser and sketch. Kate photos."

"Yes, Boss."

Pacci quickly set to measuring the room and sketching the body, keeping an ear out on the conversation between Gibbs and Ducky - only to wince as Ducky practically ordered Gibbs to deliver the foriegn agent (and target of Gibbs most recent obsession) to Ducky’s table.

Kate keep snapping, Pacci when you finish sketching, I want you to check every window, shaft, and dumbwaiter into the building and be ready to tell me how Petty Officer Gordon ended up in the basement ceiling. If I'm not back by the time you've finished, ...

You're going somewhere in the middle of a case? Kate half-questioned, half-demanded, clearly having forgotten and not for the first time that - regardless of her previous rank in the Secret Service - she was still a junior agent, barely off probation.

... do a hundred meter perimeter search of all relevant entrances and exits. Gibbs continued, ignoring that she'd even spoken, then stalked out without a backward glance.

Robin’s Nest II, Alexandria, Virginia

1:30 pm

Come on in, Pledge. Tony wheeled backward letting the sock-footed student pass through the entry.

The kid had apparently taken his warning to heart because he immediately turned to the right on entering and set his backpack on the small coffee table in the sitting room.

So, tell me, Pledge, which of the rules have you learned? Tony questioned.

Superglue is an authorized form of punishment, but not the only authorized punishment. The pledge answered with a slight quaver.

~~~Yeah, they always remember that one.~~~ Tony thought with a smirk.

Switch your shoes at the door and leave your ‘crap’ outside.

There's an addendum to that one. You're responsible for the proper handling and storage of anything you bring into the house and anything you use from the house. Packaging included, corrected Tony, still with an approving nod.

If it’s in blue, it's not for you, or er, me. I mean it's your's. There's snacks and stuff you'll let us have, but if it's in a blue glass bottle or jar or something, then it's off limits.

Yep, he agreed, not getting into the probably boring (to the kid) details that surrounded his choice to stick with the carefully 'optimized' meal plan that he and Amirita had spent a couple of weeks researching to let him have some of his favorite traditional meals while taking it easier on his digestive system and keeping his energy levels up enough to maintain an effective routine. What else?

Don't be a dick, and stay away if I'm sick. That one set Tony cackling.

That one's good, I'll have to add it to my list. It is a rule, I just don't phrase it that way, but close enough. I'm looking for one more, in particular, though.

Oh, yeah, we have to change out of our shoes before coming in.

Well, I'd assumed you've got that one covered. Tony rebutted, with a significant look at his socked feet. There's one more.

Uhm, okay, yeah. Stay to the right: all day, all night. Stay to the right.

That works, too. It's the one I'm looking for, though, I may need to give the frat my rules list and see what catchy rhymes and mnemonics you all can come up with.

So, I got them right?

Yeah, Pledge, you got them right. There's a bunch more, but those are the ones to keep in mind for the moment. Over on the coosno, there's a clipboard with some forms. Fill them out. Let me know when you're done.

A ‘tak-tak-tak’ ‘alert’ sounded from his office. Turning toward it, Tony gestured to the sitting room to reinforce his order and rolled toward the room. A quick glance confirmed a car at the gate. Flipping the video feed on, Tony tried to decide if he was surprised.

Agent Gibbs?

I'm here to fill in the blanks. Gibbs answered, as if it was just that easy.

Really? Tony questioned with a smirk. How convenient. Are you planning for a repeat of this morning? Because, I'm gonna tell you, my rules haven't changed.

The speaker was silent for a few seconds before Dirty Harry finally admitted, No, made a mistake there. Fornell was telling the truth, he'd talked at me the whole ride up. I wasn't hearing him though. Not his fault.

It didn't take much for Tony to realize that was probably the closest that the agent would to get to an apology: admitting that the issue hadn't been Fornell's fault; although, that wasn't going quite so far as admitting that it wasn't Tony's fault either. He let the man sweat for a couple seconds, before he sighed, Come on up, and pushed the button to raise the pole blocking access to the driveway and drop it after the car passed through.

As he waited for the agent to reach the door, Tony dug out the lists of questions he'd been working on and loaded them onto a clipboard, then on an - only marginally mischievous - whim, he pulled out one of the same forms that the pledge was signing off on, and slapped it on top. Tony paused for a moment, before shrugging, and grabbing the federal contractor’s chain of custody verification form that he’d had Fornell fill out and sign earlier to have Gibbs fill in those blanks as well. If the agent refused, Fornell’s friend or no, Tony’s involvement was done.

Sighing as the door remained closed, noticeably opposite to his earlier visit when Fornell’s friend had been waiting in the doorway for their arrival, Gibbs sat down on the bench and changed from his shoes into the short ankle socks - entirely unsurprised when the door opened only after he’d done so.

Fornell’s tech smiled a little too innocently, but Gibbs could ignore it if the tech was as good as Tobias had implied.

Agent Gibbs, while I am sure that Toby probably mentioned this to you, I would like to reiterate a particular point: if you still intend to come in, you will need to stay to the right of this hinge-frame - unless specifically requested on single-instance invite to do otherwise. If you can accept that, come in. The tech commented, still blocking the doorway as if he thought Gibbs would rush him.

~~~Well, it’s not like Tobias didn’t warn me.~~~ Gibbs thought, answering the tech with a nod and soft huff as he stood up from the bench.

The young man let go of the door as he pushed the wheels of his chair back and down to roll himself just toward the edge of the door before stopping at the door’s edge leaving Gibb’s only a narrow space to enter, that ‘just coincidentally’ forced him to immediately turn to the right. He was honest enough with himself to recognize that the move was one he could see himself doing, so just shook his head as the younger man gestured with a swing of his free hand toward an open ‘sitting room’ / ‘waiting room’ sort of set-up, just to the right of the door.

It was somewhat of a surprise to see a college kid, wearing a Fraternity T-shirt, jeans, and ankle socks, sitting on an overstuffed sectional seat with a clipboard in hand, reading through something before scribbling some sort of answer or note below whatever he’d read before moving to the next. Probably doing his homework.

~~~Well, Damn.~~~

Wanna send the kid to his bedroom, so we can discuss what Fornell was asking you about? The kid popped up at his question, but instead of the hopeful or rebellious expression he expected, the kid looked confused.

Not my kid. The tech answered with a smirk before nodding to another sectional seat across the room from the boy, and pushed a clipboard into Gibbs stomach.

When you two finish filling those out, put them facedown on this end of the kitchen counter. Agent, I’ll have an envelope with questionnaires for three of the witnesses Toby mentioned. His orders imparted, the tech withdrew and rolled to the work table Gibbs had gotten a glimpse of as he’d entered, starting to type almost immediately.

Holding his tongue and snarky retort for the kid’s sake, Gibbs glanced down at the top page to read:

House Rules: Your signature below indicates that you have read, understand, and agree with the following rules and that any breach of the House Rules as noted below can result in your ejection and potential ban from the house.

#1 It’s WC’s house: His house, his rules.

#2 Entry is by invitation only. If you want someone to be invited, clear it with WC beforehand. Illness or suspected illness rescends all invitations!

#3 WC’s schedule is sacrosanct. If you show up off-schedule, you wait until WC’s finished with previously scheduled activities, or go home and call to schedule, next time.

#4 Even with an invite, stay to the right.

#5 If the bottle’s blue, it’s not for you. You're responsible for the proper handling and storage of anything you bring into the house or use from the house. If you make a mess, clean it up - completely!

#6 Switch your shoes at the door and leave your ‘crap’ outside. Tracking’s not permitted, whether it be dirt from outside, water from the pool, or digital stalking.

#7 Superglue is an authorized form of punishment, but not the only authorized form of punishment.

#8 The best way to keep a secret is to keep your nose out of it in the first place. If you can’t avoid learning it, forget you did; if you can’t forget, plan for the consequences.

#9 WC reserves the right to record - without prior notification - anything occurring in the house’s common areas, and to forward recordings of any illicit activities to appropriate authorities, up to and including your parents, RA, Dean, Campus Safety, Nearest Precinct, Chief of Police, FBI and higher authorities, as warranted.

#10 Breach of #’s 1-6 can result in a permanent ban and legal trespass warning; consequences of breaching #’s 2, 4, and 8 can include legal suits, possible incarceration, and additional penalties.

Signature: _____________________________ Date Signed: __________________

Finishing the list with an amused snort, Gibbs signed at the bottom, and flipped to the next page…. To snort again.

Tony’s Recommended Rules for Life: While WC won’t assess any punitive consequence for breaching the rules that follow, karma will - so be warned.

#11 Always defuse a situation with humour; authoritarianism and blunt truth are tools best reserved for extreme circumstances and blunt personalities. (No one prefers the truth.)

#12 Never sit on the sidelines if you can help; if you don’t know how to help, ask!

#13 Never underestimate the person you’re about to piss off nor the person who has your back. If you need help, ask!

#14 Never kick rookies when they’re down. The morale of the team is everyone’s job.

#15 Always make sure your work is done, but make it look mysteriously easy for you and nearly impossible for them. (If they see behind the curtain, they’ll think they can do it themselves; when they try and fail, charge more to fix-it.)

#16 Never trust what you’re told, verify it through independent sources and double check. Never trust someone who expects you to trust what you’re told without checking.

#17 You can compromise with anything but your health, self, and wellbeing. Check ups should be done with frequency be they medical, mental, financial, or digital. Listen to the experts you pay to do the check ups, but get second opinions for anything you can't personally verify.

#18 Game theory and logic only work with people who follow them.

#19 Don’t date, trust, or loan money to coworkers. Only share what you're prepared to have used against you.

#20 Movie analogies are viable explanations - in every circumstance!

Flipping to the next page, not entirely certain what to expect, Gibbs was almost relieved to see a partially filled out federal contractor’s chain of custody verification form with the dates and details matching the drive he’d given Tobias the previous day. Before starting to fill that clearly missing information, he flipped the previous page back down to re-read the man’s ‘Recommended Life Rules’ with amusement.