A/N: So. Here's the finale installation of my little season 10 finale trifecta . . . however, we're not done yet. Because this little gem (if it can be considered such) is going to be a bit multi-chaptered. Because the idea of Tony and Ziva and an entire summer stretched out before them was just too good to pass up. So, here are the lives of our favorites agents when they're off the clock (and off the job). Kinda of angsty/fluffy/everything fic. I really hope you enjoy. Much love, keep the peace, Kit!

Updates will from now on be every Tuesday at 8pm Eastern time. (And yes, there will be another update tonight).

DISCLAIMER: I do not own NCIS; I just like to play with the characters and put them back in better moods :)

DAMNED IF WE DON'T

PROLOGUE:

THE GOLDEN RULE

"You know, I'm pretty sure that's a federal offense." He's leaning in the doorway, keys from the rental car dangling from his fingertips. Gibbs quirks his eyebrows and Tony merely nods his head toward the fire crackling on the hearth, amber flames licking across scorched files.

"You gonna arrest me or something, DiNozzo?" he asks gruffly, pulling another folder of documents from the evidence box on the coffee table and tossing the contents defiantly on the fire.

Tony simply shrugs. "Can't. Gotta be a federal agent in order to do that."

Cool blue eyes go unreadable, and then the confusion yields to mild panic –or as much panic as an unflappable marine can muster. "What are saying?" he asks, and Tony can imagine that there's concern lurking in there somewhere.

"Handed in my badge twenty minutes ago. I resigned." There's no fanfare, no prelude, no warning.

"Why the hell would you do something like that?" but Gibbs' voice is lacking its typical brusqueness. In fact, the older man seems remarkably calm in the wake of Tony's bombshell.

Again, Tony just shrugs. "McGee, Ziva, and I thought it would be good team building, you know. I suggested we get matching tattoos, but I got down-voted."

"Tony-"

"Why do you think we did it, Boss?"

Gibbs holds his gaze for several more beats before looking away, watching the papers curl and blacken into ash as the flames consume them.

Tony lips twist wryly. "Exactly."

And then Gibbs surprises Tony by meeting his eyes once more. "Thank you."

And another shrug. "You woulda done the same thing for any of us. There's more to this story –and I'm not asking for you to tell me what it is, really- but you needed the latitude to handle it and . . . at least the DoD is no longer on your case."

"The three of you . . ."

"Took full responsibility, yeah."

"DiNozzo-"

"Don't. We knew the consequences; we weighed our odds and we accepted them. We aren't being charged with anything, our resignations were enough compensation, evidently. Which I'm not saying makes any sense, but whatever. It's done."

Gibbs nods his assent. "You're gonna have to stay out of it, Tony. Tell the others. There's no immunity in this game."

"I know. I will." It's a promise, a guarantee, that, yes, they will stay away, keep out of harm's reach.

"'You do what you have to for family,'" Gibbs recites, more to himself than to Tony, but Tony asks anyway:

"Which rule is that?"

The unspoken rule; the rule that supersedes all the others.

"The golden rule."

Tony nods, offering a small, genuine smile. "Thanks, Boss."

And when the front door closes behind him, leaving Gibbs alone with a half-burnt box of secrets and a heavy heart, he'll understand.

And there'll be peace in that.