Author's note:

For MarciaRebafan .. whose stories you should seriously check out.

Conference Room at the Naval Base in Sigonella , Sicily

Monday, February 7th, 1999

1130

"Am I boring you, Agent Shepard?"

Jen drew the sleeve back over her watch hastily and flashed the instructor a smile.

"Not at all."

"While we might think we see the world as it is," the man droned on, "we in fact perceive it the way we are. "Now imagine, if you will, a law enforcement environment where professionals recognize the value of diversity and move beyond judgments, and bias, to become role models of cultural leadership and change."

The woman sitting next to her fluttered her lips when he started to run a slide show.

"I don't think I can handle another two days of this," she whispered.

"And I can't decide if this is about working together or covering our collective asses against legal exposure."

The woman covered her mouth as she chuckled, and Jen took advantage of the dimmed lights to sink lower in her seat and close her eyes. She'd realized ten minutes into the diversity training course that the only way to survive it was going to be to think in increments of time. An hour till coffee break, then an hour's worth of workshops. Another break, then another hour of prattle. And so on.

Thirty minutes to lunch at this point – and then she'd call Pat and do a bit of venting.

Naples Field Office

1205

"Did that seafood taste good to you last night?" Callen asked as he touched his abdomen gingerly.

"You mean the seafood we never got a chance to taste?" Pacci replied with a sardonic smile.

"Something was off." Callen shifted uncomfortably from one leg to another as his gut twinged again. "How much longer do you think this is going to take?"

"Pretty damn long," Gibbs said as he walked by and tossed a clip board at him, " and it's all yours. Finish the threat assessment and meet us back at the office. Pacci, with me."

"Where are you gonna be?" Callen called after him.

"Got a break in the case," Gibbs tossed over his shoulder as he strode away.

"The surveillance equipment did the trick then?" Pacci asked as he hurried after him.

"Yup."

"Sweet."

Ten minutes later they were standing in the presence of the Base Exchange manager and a brunette they'd become familiar with over the past few days.

"Agente Gibbs," she said with a slight incline of her head.

"Commissario Barbera," Gibbs said. "What've we got?"

"The surveillance cameras caught her redhanded about forty minutes ago," the manager said. Clearly relieved that an end to his nightmare was in sight.

"Where is she?"

"This way," the Commissario said as she led the way to a small office down the hall. "Although I do have to warn you, she is hysterical."

The first thing that struck Gibbs when he entered the makeshift interrogation room was that the suspect was nowhere as hysterical as she seemed – but he held his peace and watched.

"Signora, sit down please," Barbera said irritably as the woman rose from her chair. "Sit."

Gibbs watched for a moment longer, and then he tossed his file on the table, turned a chair around, and sat astride it.

"Sit!" he said sharply before he slid a few papers in front of her. "Talk."

The woman chewed her lower lip for a moment, and then gave him a look of pure hatred.

"Ho tre bambini, e quel figlio di puttana mi ha costretto a .."

Gibbs slammed his hand down on the table once, and she jumped.

"In English," he said as he fixed her with a hard glare, "because I know damn well you speak it or you wouldn't be working here."

For a moment the woman looked as though she might retaliate, but then her shoulders slumped. Gibbs tapped the documents he'd put in front of her. "Papers say you're behind on your taxes," he pointed out. "You don't tell me what I wanna know, that's gonna become relevant."

The story came spilling out seconds later.

Nothing he hadn't heard before, but it angered him nonetheless.

The husband who had run off years before leaving her with three kids; no child support because the police hadn't been able to track him down; and the worthless boyfriend who didn't work, lived off her, and had come up with a scheme for her to steal US goods from the base exchange and sell them on the black market.

"Is this him?" Gibbs asked as he slid a photo, courtesy of the Polizia di Stato, across the table at her.

"Yes."

He steepled his fingers across the folder and looked straight at her.

"I need you to tell me where he is," he said. His voice wasn't so much gentler as more empathetic, but it worked just the same.

"A casa," she said in a whisper. "At home."

Gibbs rifled through the sheets and found the address. When he had, he stood from the seat without another word.

He ignored the anguished cry of "please don't hurt him. Non gli faccia del male," as he made to walk out of the room - but when Commissario Barbera made no move to follow him, he turned and looked straight at her.

"You waitin' for an invitation?"

Sigonella/Naples

1220

"Anything new with the case?" Jenny asked as she let a piece of pasta frolla melt in her mouth.

"Nah. Just more of Commissario Barbie battin' her eyelashes at Gibbs," Pat replied as she applied varnish to her toenails. "How's it going over there?"

"The instructor's got an axe to grind and nobody has a sense of humour. I'm bored out of my gourd."

"What's the matter, Shepard? Losing your touch? Come on … some razamatazz! Do I need to come over there and remind you how it's done? You've been hanging around Gibbs and Pacci too long, you know that?"

"Speaking of .." Jenny said, "are my team still out doing the threat assessment?"

"Last I heard." Pat closed the varnish bottle and looked around. "Just me in the office at the moment. Everyone's out to lunch. Hang on ..."

"What are you doing?" Jen asked as suspicious noises came down the line.

"Dropping some nail clippings into the coffee jar in Chuck's desk," Pat replied nonchalantly.

"Why?"

"He's starting to piss me off, that's why. Every time he sees me it's like Whoa Black Betty. It's getting old. And he put up photos of you and me on that table all over town yesterday. With my phone number on them. Bad form."

"So you're leaving toe nail clippings in his coffee jar .." Jen qualified.

"For starters."

"For starters?"

"Little things first, Jen. Littl - shit, someone's coming. Gotta go."

Jen looked at the phone for a long moment after she'd hung up, and then tried Jethro's number.

He didn't answer.