“You have to do something about this, Gibbs!”

I look up as NCIS Forensic Scientist Abby Sciuto storms toward my desk, her brow furrowed and mouth drawn tight in an unusual display of fury. I maintain eye contact with her as I return briefly to my phone call. “I’ll have to call you back, Director.” Abby dares to be not even remotely fazed at learning she’s interrupted an important conversation. Though I don’t let it show in my expression as I stare her down, it’s one of the things I love most about her.

“No need, Jethro. You know what to do,” Director Morrow dismisses me.

I continue to give Abby an impassive stare, concealing my amusement at the fact that the head of NCIS doesn’t even bother questioning that pacifying her is a higher priority to me than talking to him anymore.

“Impeccable timing, Abbs” I inform her dryly. “Now what is it I ‘have to do something’ about?”

“It’s not fair!” she blurts out, folding her arms across her chest, covering the image of the skull and crossbones that adorns her otherwise tasteful blouse. “Every department has at least two people, right? You’ve even got four, Gibbs. Well that’s if you include you, which of course you do because you’re the Bossman. And--well, okay, there’s really only three if you consider that Stan, Stan, the Burley Man’s gone, but they’re letting you replace him, so really there’s four people on your team--and I’m only one person and there’s always a really big backlog of tests and--" I hold up my hand to stop her.

“Take a breath, Abby,” I try to lull her into focusing. She obediently draws in a deep breath, and as she lets it out, her anger deflates with it. I sit up straighter, tensing as that anger is replaced by obvious distress. “Abby?”

“They’re firing Pig,” she reveals, her face contorting with emotion. It takes me a moment to realize she’s talking about Enzo Pigotti, her most recent lab assistant. I can’t help but wonder if he actually likes the nickname Abby has bestowed upon him. Not that it matters; once Abby chooses your name, it has a way of sticking.

“Oh, Abs, I’m sorry!” Agent Fiora sympathizes as she looks up from her computer. “But…wait. Didn’t you tell me not too long ago that he’s really annoying?”

“He is, Probie. And I don’t think the guy even knows what the words ‘personal hygiene’ mean,” Senior Field Agent Thomas snidely adds, his nose wrinkling in disgust. The words may be accurate, but considering how upset Abby is at the moment, they were better left unspoken.

“Well…yeah,” Abby reluctantly admits. “But he kind of grows on you.”

Fi snorts lightly. “Like a fungus?” she teases, her eyes gleaming with mischief.

“He’s an acquired taste,” Abby agrees with a wry smile.

“So more like lutefisk, then?” Baker injects. As it so often does, his attempt at bantering with the women falls flat.

“You have lutefisk growing on you? And you say Piggy has poor hygiene?” Abby shoots back at him, her voice light, but I can hear the belying tension.

I see Fi covering her smile as Baker scowls and rises from his chair, incensed at the gibe. Abby’s eyebrows rise as she waits for him to launch into a typical Baker tirade, but before he can launch into it, I silence him with a look. For just a moment he seems as though he’s going to ignore me, but after his initial hesitation, he sighs and sinks back into his chair.

Abby appears triumphant until she remembers why she’s here. She turns back to me with a pleading look.

“Why are they firing him?” I inquire. If I’m going to go out on a limb, I want to have the facts.

“Well, they say it’s because of the budget, but I know there has to be some other way for them to make the cut! They can’t just fire him, Gibbs! He’s only been here a couple months, and I know he left a really good job to work here and--”

“I’ll talk to the director and see what I can do,” I cut her off smoothly as I turn my attention back to my desk. Knowing that she’s not yet appeased, I wait the requisite moments for her shoulders to slump in defeat and for her to turn away before I look up again and add, “I’ll offer to use some of my budget allotment toward paying his salary until I find a replacement for Burley.” That will only delay the lay-off, but perhaps will buy enough time to find another way to fit the assistant into the budget.

Abby lets out a squeal that seems completely out of place coming from a girl wearing a spiked dog collar. I can’t help but smile as she bounces around my desk to give me a quick hug and peck on the cheek before she glides away with a fresh spring in her step. “Thank you, Gibbs!” she calls over her shoulder before she disappears into the stairwell.

“Gear up,” I command my agents as I rise to my feet and grab my coffee, ready to move out. “We’ve got a missing Marine.”

I smile slightly to myself as I hear Fi and Baker scrambling to grab their belongings and reach the elevator before the doors close. I let out an exaggerated sigh as I have to reach out to stop the door from closing just before they arrive. Fi’s eyes drop to the floor and she appears sufficiently chastised as she shuffles into the elevator, Baker on her heels.

Once we’re loaded into the van and well on our way to the crime scene, I begin filling my team in on the information I received from Director Morrow. “Lance Corporal Blake Richmond, UA since 0800 this morning.”

“That’s only a few hours,” Baker states the obvious.

I glare pointedly at him in the rear view mirror for a few moments as though offering to let him continue speaking, though I know that he knows better. He flushes slightly and mumbles, “Seems like a lot of fuss for a Lance Corporal running late…”

“Were there signs of struggle?” Fi suggests, trying to smooth things over.

“No obvious signs of struggle,” I refute. “No obvious signs of foul play,” I add.

“Then why are we…” Baker stops himself before I even get a chance to glare. “No obvious signs,” he acknowledges the distinction. I can tell he really wants to ask why we’re being called in on the case, but to his credit, he holds his tongue. I give him a small nod of confirmation.

“Lance Corporal Richmond,” Fi repeats the officer’s name, her brow furrowing thoughtfully. “As in…?”

“General Theodore Richmond,” I concede the connection. “Blake is his son.”

Baker lets out a small huff. “That explains it,” he mutters, just loud enough for me to hear, though I pretend for the moment not to. Fi looks over her shoulder and I see shake her head slightly as she mouths something to him. Unfortunately he ignores her signal and continues to dig himself into a deeper hole. “So we have to waste a day because some General’s son decides to play hooky?”

“We are wasting a day,” I emphasize his words sharply, “because The Director determined that this case warrants looking into.” Though I see Baker shaking his head in a display of disgust, this time he’s wise enough not to say anything and we complete the trip in silence.

“Thank you for meeting me here, Gentlemen,” General Richmond greets us upon our arrival. “And Lady,” he amends as he catches sight of Fi as she begins unloading equipment from the truck.

“General,” I return his greeting. “Special Agent Jethro Gibbs. These are Special Agents Ghislaine Fiora and Barker Thomas.” I purposely introduce Baker with the wrong name. I hide my smile as I see Baker gritting his teeth, clearly wanting to correct my ‘mistake’ but adhering, instead, to protocol and not calling out his superior in front of the General. “When was the last time you saw your son?”

“I have not seen Blake since Friday afternoon. When he did not report this morning, and wouldn’t answer his phone or his cell, I took the liberty of calling his girlfriend Shelley. She was with him Friday night until she had to report to work at 11pm,” he continues. “She did some checking for me, but says that none of their friends have seen or talked to him since that time.” According to that timeline, Lance Corporal Richmond has been missing only slightly longer than 48 hours at most. Just long enough to make the investigation official. “That is when I decided to come here and check on him.”

“Permission to speak freely, General?” Fi asks him, tucking a strand of her blonde hair behind her ear. Even after he nods his affirmation, she glances at me as if requesting the same permission. When I grant it, she looks back to the General. “Do you always…?” she hesitates and I suspect she is searching for the right words to use in hopes that they won’t sound offensive.

General Richmond smiles at her obvious discomfort. “You’re asking if I always jump when my son is two minutes late?”

Fi grins at his unexpected but kind bluntness, and immediately relaxes. “Yes, sir.”

“If we were talking about my older son, Joseph, I wouldn’t be worried. But Blake is very…punctual,” he explains, also choosing his words carefully. “If he is going to be even one minute late, he calls.” After a moment he adds, “Without fail.”

“Understood,” Fi jots that in her notes as we make our way toward the Lance Corporal’s apartment.

“When he didn’t answer after I knocked, I let myself in,” General Richmond reports. “I was concerned that he was sick or injured and couldn’t reach the phone.” He pushes open the apartment door to reveal an immaculately kept apartment. I stop him from re-entering the possible crime scene before stepping aside to let Baker and Fi through.

“Did you bring in the paper?” Fi asks immediately, spotting the newspaper set on the corner of his coffee table and snapping the picture.

Surprised by the question, the General frowns. He looks at it for a moment then shakes his head. “No. No I didn’t.”

“It’s today’s,” Fi notes aloud. “Which means that he must have been here this morning.” While that might seem like good news, it also means unless we find compelling evidence to suggest foul play, the case is no longer an official investigation. Still, there is a missing marine, and my gut tells me that we should continue, if only as a ‘favor’ to The General, who does not appear any less worried than when his son had potentially been missing 48 hours. In fact, his expression seems to darken with this revelation.

I catch Fi glancing at me, biting her bottom lip and can almost feel the tension radiating from her. I can see the unspoken question in her eyes. “I knew there was a reason I picked you for my team. Good eye,” I reassure her and am rewarded as she relaxes a bit and smiles. Her observation skills test had, indeed, drawn my attention to her application and had earned her an interview with myself and Director Morrow. In her few months on the team she had more than proven the exceptional score had not been a fluke. She had a keen eye, indeed. “Put it to more use.”

As Fi’s questioning look, I motion for her to continue photographing the scene.

“Have you checked with the police and the hospitals?” Baker barely makes an attempt to hide his irritation as he asks. He receives twin glares from General Richmond and me for his effort. “I’m sorry, Sir, but I have to ask. How do you know that he didn’t just take a personal day?”

“I don’t. What I know, Agent Thomas,” General Richmond relays warily, “is that my son didn’t leave this apartment.” At our trio of curious looks, he continues. “When I got here, I let myself in. The door was locked, but he gave me a key for emergencies.”

“What do you mean that he didn’t leave the apartment?” Fi pauses with her work to inquire when he doesn’t continue.

“I know that sounds crazy, and I know that it’s not true; obviously he’s not here, but all the evidence...” he trails off and shakes his head, at a loss. “Blake’s car is in the parking lot. His wallet and ID are on his nightstand. His weapon is in its lockbox,” he proceeds with his explanation.

“Maybe he went for a walk,” Baker’s annoyance rings loud and clear.

“You should start calling the hospitals,” I calmly direct his attention away from the interview. When he opens his mouth to protest, I stop him. “That wasn’t a suggestion.” His mouth snaps shut and after a moment, he slinks a short distance down the hall so he can start making the usual round of calls.

“He didn’t go for a walk, Agent Gibbs,” General Richmond declares in a tone that brokers no argument. “His keys are hanging right over there,” he motions to the hook a few inches away from the door, “and I know he gave the spare to Joe. He’s been having some trouble at home and thought he might need to crash here for a night or two. And before you ask, I did talk to him this morning and he hasn’t been here or seen Blake at all this weekend.”

“We’re going to need Shelley’s phone number, as well as your sons’,” I inform him, mostly just to assure him that we are still investigating despite the determination that Blake has only been missing a few hours.

“Of course,” he replies, his stance relaxing slightly as the implication of that request sets in. “Thank you, Agent Gibbs,” he adds, his sincere gratitude palpable.

After wrapping up the preliminary questioning with General Richmond and promising that I’d keep him in the loop, I head into the apartment for my first walk through.

The place is clean; almost to the point of obsession. The books are lined up evenly on the shelves--perfectly alphabetized, I note. The shelves have been recently dusted, as has the mantle, which is sparsely decorated with only a handful of photographs and a couple small knick-knacks. There’s not a single item that appears out of place. In addition, there are no dishes in the sink or on the counter. A peek into his bedroom reveals that his bed is made with military precision, and aside from his wallet and military ID, there is nothing visible on his nightstand. Only his cell phone sits atop his dresser. Even his desk has minimal clutter, with only his laptop and printer set out on top. A quick scan of the drawers indicates that he is extremely organized and every item has its place. His closet is tidy; his clothing is hung with care, his shoes carefully lined up.

Likewise, his bathroom is immaculate. The porcelain fixtures gleam. It even appears as though the mirror has been recently Windexed.

I snap on a pair of gloves and carefully open the medicine cabinet. There is only one toothbrush, so it does not appear that the girlfriend is a frequent houseguest. There are no medications, not even over-the-counter. Just the toothbrush, dental floss, a razor, shaving cream, after shave, and deodorant.

“No John Does at any of the area hospitals,” Baker announces as I return to the living room. “And the place is clean,” he adds, his arm making a wide sweeping motion. “No signs of struggle obvious or otherwise.”

“It’s too clean,” Fi counters with her assessment. “There’s not even trash in the bins. There are no papers that need recycling other than today’s. And--"

“So he’s a neat freak!” Baker argues. “Come on, his dad pretty much said that the kid is anal.”

“Just because he’s punctual, doesn’t mean he’s anal.”

Baker snorts, but doesn’t reply. Instead he looks to me. “Why are we still here, Boss? We don’t even know that he’s missing!” He pales slightly at my glare. “We’re here because Director Morrow wants us to look into it,” he backpedals quickly. “The carpet is freshly vacuumed,” he changes his tactic and appears to be getting with the investigation. “There are normal walk patterns but no sign of anything or anyone being dragged. I don’t smell bleach or shampoo, so it’s a waste of time to check for spatter.” He corrects himself before I get the chance, “But I’ll check the kitchen and bathroom.”

While he works on that, I make a second round of the apartment. I tag, document, and collect the few stray items that Richmond has left behind: his keys, his ID, the newspaper, and his wallet. Before I bag the wallet, I carefully thumb through it, taking note of a receipt from ‘Club Fiasco’ dated Friday night. According to the address, the club is located in Baltimore. Considering the distance back to DC, the timestamp that shows the tab was paid shortly after 10pm seems to be about the right time Shelley would have needed to leave to get to work. There are no more recent receipts.

“No spatter,” Baker announces as I return to the living room again.

“Not in the bathroom, either,” Fi corroborates his findings. “I don’t even really know what else we should look for,” she admits guiltily.

“The place is clean, Boss.”

“Well then, wrap it up,” I command them.

“You know, this does kind of remind me of some cases Pat was telling me about the other day,” Baker mentions as he starts packing away his equipment. “I’m sure it’s nothing since he’s down in Baltimore,” he starts to shrug it off, but then reconsiders as he notices that I’m suddenly paying his chatter attention, “but he was talking about some cases that have them totally stumped. It’s like the vics just disappear into thin air.”

“Your brother works homicide, doesn’t he?” Fi asks quietly. “Did they find bodies?”

“Nah. They’re not Pat’s cases, yet. He figures they will be soon enough, but officially they’re still Missing Person cases. The people are just gone. One day they’re there, the next they’re gone, leaving behind everything including cars, wallets, purses…and there’s been no trace of them after that. They’re not using cell phones or credit cards.”

“Just like Lance Corporal Richmond.”

“Yeah, but like I said, they’re down in Baltimore. Besides, we don’t even know for sure that Richmond is missing.”

“Richmond was in Baltimore Friday night,” I reveal to my team.

“That could just be a coincidence,” Fi suggests.

“Could be.” Except that I don’t believe in coincidences.

“I could call Pat and see who’s working the cases,” Baker offers.

I shake my head. “More likely to get answers in person.” It’ll be a lot harder for them to say no when they can’t just hang up on us. Since our case is not yet official, we won’t have any clout for taking over jurisdiction, and there’s also absolutely no chance that they’ll willingly just hand us the case files. I want to have a look at those records, anyway, to see if we can find any sort of link between Lance Corporal Richmond and any of their possible victims.

As we finish sealing the crime scene, Baker pretends to make small talk, asking the question I’m sure he’s been dying to ask for quite some time. “So, you picked Fi for her ‘good eye’,” he reminds us of the earlier comment I’d made. “Why’d you pick me?” he asks, clearly fishing for compliments.

I cock my head to the side and impassively study him as though considering for a few moment, but the truth is, “I didn’t.” I allow a tiny smile as I turn to lead them back through the hall. I could have told him that his aptitude and proficiency test scores had been far above any of the other applicants at the time of his hiring, but the truth was those scores don’t mean all that much to me other than to decide whether or not to grant an interview. Truth be told, his interview had not impressed me. But then neither had any of the other interviews I’d conducted at that time. If it had been up to me, I would have waited for a better candidate; the decision to hire Baker was ultimately made by Director Morrow.

“Sir, you can’t just go back there,” the precinct clerk tries to stop us as I bypass his desk on the way into the Baltimore Police Precinct 921. I simply flash my credentials and continue on my way, knowing that going straight to the source will cut down on at least some of the red tape.

“We’re here to see my brother, Detective Thomas,” I hear Baker excusing us as I breeze past the desk and into the bullpen.

I scan the area and scowl as my sight sets on the nearest desk’s occupant. One of Baltimore’s finest, indeed. The young man’s loafer adorned feet are propped up on his desk and he is leaning back in his chair with his hands tucked behind his head and his eyes closed, a magazine with a questionable cover spread open across his chest. The pristine suit and designer silk tie complete the picture of a wet behind the ears Probie who has no idea what the real world has in store for him once he finally gets away from the desk and makes his way into the field. I suspect, however, that he has no intention of ever doing that, having landed what appears to be a pretty comfortable desk job. My guess is he’s the Captain’s son, or perhaps a nephew.

“Comfortable?” I ask in a low voice as I stop before his desk. I almost smile at the way he scrambles, shoving the magazine under his desk and rolling to his feet in one fluid motion.

He smiles brightly, completely unabashed at having been caught sleeping on the job. “Detective Anthony DiNozzo,” he introduces himself, reaching out his hand for a formal greeting. In order to attain his title, he must have spent at least the requisite amount of time in the field. Huh. My initial impressions are rarely far off, though, and my initial surprise wanes as I notice the well manicured hand extended toward me. Evidently since his promotion in rank, he spends as much time as possible lazing at his desk.

When his offer of a handshake goes unheeded, Detective DiNozzo casually drops his hand to his side, unruffled and handling the should-have-been awkward moment with ease. “What can I do for you today, Mr…” he trails off, prompting me for my name.

Once again I leave him hanging. “I’m looking for the detective in charge of Missing Persons.”

I watch curiously as Detective DiNozzo’s smile falters ever so slightly. “Then you’re looking for Detective Gale. He’s over in the Special Investigations Department,” he informs me, a hint of disappointment in his voice. His eyes flit past me, becoming more vibrant as his gaze settles on Fi. His grin slides firmly back in place, wider than it was before. “I’d be happy to escort you,” he adds, though I suspect he is no longer talking to me. The way Fi blushes slightly even as her lips curl into a tiny smile confirms it.

“Not necessary, DiNozzo,” Baker turns down the offer before I have a chance to accept it.

“Baaaker,” DiNozzo draws out his greeting with exaggerated delight as he snags the apple from the corner of his desk and nonchalantly tosses it from one hand to the other. “Pat didn’t tell me you’d be here today. Afraid he’s not gonna be in until later. We had a late night.”

“Partying on a school night, Tony?” They may be on a first name basis, but my senior field agent doesn’t seem all that pleased to see the younger detective.

“Stakeout,” DiNozzo corrects him, surprising me once again as he debunks my theory about riding his desk and offers an explanation for why he’d be sleeping ‘on the job’ with one simple word. He tosses the apple again as though he’s juggling it.

“Right,” Baker snorts, unimpressed. “Let me guess. You needed to do some ‘recon work’ at one of the clubs downtown?” DiNozzo’s jaw tightens at the insinuation, but he seems content to let it go, even when Baker adds, “Can’t believe my brother hasn’t put in for a different partner yet. He’s gotta be tired of carrying you by now.” After just a moment of hesitation, DiNozzo seems to just accept the other man’s assessment of him with a small shrug and a smile that doesn’t quite match the expression in his eyes. “What’s it been, about two years?”

Before DiNozzo can answer, I clear my throat to reign in their attention. “Detective Gale,” I pointedly remind them why we’re here.

“Of course, Agent…Sir.”

“Gibbs,” I offer, adding, “The last name’s not ‘Sir’,” at his questioning glance.

“Of course, Agent Gibbs,” he amends as he flashes his grin once more and motions for us to follow him.

As we walk, he continues pitching the apple back and forth and I begin to wonder if it’s a nervous habit or just simply a way to burn off some excess energy. Curiosity gets the better of me and my hand darts out, plucking the apple from the air before it can complete its latest journey. I can’t stop my own grin as his eyes widen and his jaw drops for just a split second before he can recover. I’m not sure exactly what I expected, but I didn’t expect his eyes to light up with genuine mirth even as he tries to cover his astonishment.

Yes, my initial impressions are rarely far off, but I get the feeling that this may just be one of those rare times.

“Hey, Bobby,” DiNozzo calls out as he leads us into the Special Investigations Division.

“How many times I got to tell you my name is Robert or Detective Gale?” the detective at the desk asks him, dully, not even looking up from the file he’s reading. He looks far more like a detective who has spent the night on stakeout than DiNozzo does. “Hey, weren’t you due in court this morning?”

“Not for another hour.” Well, now. That explains both the expensive suit and why he didn’t just stay home this morning like his partner had; seems I’m 0 for 4 on my assessment of the young detective. “Got some visitors for you, Detective Gale. Detective Gale, these are Agents Gibbs, Thomas, and…” he turns to Fi. “I’m sorry, I’m afraid I didn’t catch your name.”

“Fiora,” she supplies.

“Agent Fiora,” he repeats back to her silkily as he reaches out to grasp her hand. “Hi, I’m Tony,” he introduces himself directly to her as if the rest of us aren’t waiting on him, holding her hand a few moments longer than what would constitute a traditional handshake. I watch incredulously as his thumb caresses the back of her hand just before he lets it go and turns back to Detective Gale. “And Agent Fiora,” he completes our introductions.

“FBI?” Gale looks confused as he looks up at us. “Thought I knew all you guys.”

“They’re from NCIS,” DiNozzo corrects before I can. I raise my eyebrows as I look at him piercingly. He has the grace to look slightly uncomfortable before he steps back, giving me the floor.

“So what is it that I can do for…NCIS?”

“Naval Criminal Investigation Services,” I explain, showing him my credentials. “We’d like to look at some of your open case files,” I get directly to the point.

“Which cases would those be?” Gale asks guardedly. I can see him tensing as I begin to describe the cases that Baker relayed to me earlier. For a moment he looks like he’s going to deny knowledge of the cases, but when I glare at him in warning, he gives a reluctant nod. “I know the ones,” he grudgingly admits. “What, uh, does NCIS want with ‘em?”

“We’re working an ongoing investigation,” I exaggerate our involvement, “and I do believe that it may be connected to your cases.”

Gale shakes his head. “You’re not taking over. They’re out of your jurisdiction…unless you got proof of military involvement?” he challenges.

“A missing Marine,” I answer, hoping it will be enough, but knowing it won’t be.

“Look, we haven’t been able to connect any of the cases to each other. What makes you think that your case is related to any of ‘em?”

“Hey, even if there isn’t a link between the, it never hurts to have a fresh set of eyes looking at ‘em,” DiNozzo surprises me by making the suggestion. The police aren’t exactly known for handing over their cases any more than NCIS is known for it. Especially not potentially high profile cases like serial kidnappings that tend to lead to promotions and commendations for those who solve them.

Gale glares at DiNozzo icily. “This isn’t your department or your business, DiNozzo. Why are you still here?”

“He’s got my apple,” DiNozzo replies casually, cocking his head to the side as he looks at me expectantly. I almost hand it to him before I realize that he’s not asking for the apple back; he’s asking my permission to stay. All right, DiNozzo. I think maybe I’ll just hang onto it for a little while. I lob it from one hand to the other as I turn my attention back to Gale.

Out of the corner of my eye, I notice DiNozzo shrug innocently at Gale before he pretends to turn his attention to something else. Then again, he’s looking at Fi, so perhaps he’s not pretending. It’s hard not to roll my eyes just a little bit before I begin campaigning for the files again. The more Gale wants to keep the coveted files protected, the more I want access to them.

“Look, we’re not trying to take your case. We just want to find out if there’s a link,” Fi tries to assist and I silently curse her for it. I know she’s trying to help, but she just admitted that we’re completely fishing.

Knowing he has us, Gale makes his ultimatum, “You get me a warrant, and I’ll get you copies of the files. Until then, you’ve got no jurisdiction here.”

I heatedly start to move toward him when suddenly DiNozzo steps between us, giving me a barely perceptible nod before he turns to Gale. “Sorry we wasted your time.” He bodily turns me away from Gales desk and gives me a little nudge to direct me away from the stubborn detective’s desk.

“I want those files, DiNozzo,” I reiterate to him as soon as we’re out of Special Investigations.

“You’re not going to get them that way, Agent Gibbs.” The way says it leaves me little doubt that our unexpected ally has a plan. I give him an impatient glare, waiting to hear it. Instead of answering to me, however, he turns once again to Fi. “What do you say we meet for a late lunch,” he proposes, flashing what I’m sure he believes is his most dazzling grin and raising his eyebrows suggestively.

I blink. He’s making a date. Now? “Lunch, DiNozzo? Make a date on your own time!” I chastise him. Though he completely ignores me, Fi looks at me as though asking for permission to answer him. “Well, go ahead.” Maybe once he gets his answer, he’ll come through for us.

“Um. Yes. Sure, I-I’d love to meet for lunch,” Fi stammers.

“Then meet me at Café Blanc at 2:00,” he requests before providing her with quick directions. “Looking forward to it.” I roll my eyes as they continue to moon at each other for a few moments.

“The files, DiNozzo?” I prompt exasperatedly.

DiNozzo gives me an apologetic smile as he sinks into his chair. “Got you covered. I’m due in court in just a few, but I’ll make a few calls…pull a few strings. Should have something for you this afternoon.”

It’s more than he’s required to do, so we’ll have to take it. For now. I toss the apple up and catch it one more time, pointedly not returning it to him.

He nods his acknowledgement before he returns to his attention to his desk.

“Oh, and, DiNozzo?”

“Yeah, Boss?” he answers, looking slightly startled by the slip. “I mean Agent Gibbs,” he corrects himself, shaking his head a little as if to clear it.

“Try to have something for us before lunch.”

“On it, Gibbs,” he assures me, brandishing his patented grin once more.