Gibbs sat at his small dining table, check book and pen in hand, a small stack of unpaid bills on the table before him. Through the open doorway, Donny Palmer lay sprawled on the battered sofa flipping idly through some kind of comic book. Gibbs watched him for a moment, smiling fondly, thinking, as he nearly always did around Donny, of Ducky. His friend would have adored his young namesake, of that he had no doubt. The twelve-year-old was at that gangly, awkward stage, all elbows and knees and feet. His build was the image of his father's, but his coloring was fair and blonde like his mother's. Unlike Palmer, who could still be shy and socially awkward occasionally, Donny was a spitfire, funny and mischievous. His friendship with Gibbs's own namesake, Leigh McGee, doubtless had something to do with that. This latest prank they had pulled on Palmer was proof of that. God, Ducky would've skinned them alive. From what he'd heard, Palmer's reaction had been somewhere in the same category. After all, Ducky had trained him well, but the Scotsman would've been beyond livid.

Shaking his head in fond exasperation, Gibbs watched Donny for a moment longer. Then, he turned to his bills and got to work. A little while later, Donny appeared at his elbow.

"Hey, Uncle Gibbs," Donny said, peering curiously over his shoulder, "I'm going outside, okay?"

"Hmmm?" Gibbs said absently, not looking up from what he was doing. "Oh, yeah, sure that's fine."

Donny was out the door, letting it slam behind him, almost before the words were out of Gibbs's mouth. A while later, bills paid and tucked neatly in the mailbox to be picked up the following morning, Gibbs wandered into the yard to see what Donny had gotten up to. Much to his surprise, Donny was nowhere to be found. Gibbs walked completely around the house, calling as he went, but there was no answer and no telltale flash of blonde hair sticking out from anywhere. Even after all these years and all his law enforcement experience, Gibbs couldn't stop the wave of panic that washed over him at that realization. He moved to the sidewalk, striding quickly down the street, praying silently that Donny had just wandered off somewhere. If anything had happened to this kid, Palmer would never forgive him. Hell, Gibbs would never forgive himself.

A few doors down and across the street, his neighbor, Mrs. Lowery, was working in her flowerbeds. Gibbs called to her, crossing the street to stand in the edge of her yard. She stood and came to meet him, dropping her trowel, dusting off her knees, and carefully removing garish floral garden gloves. "Jethro!" She called brightly, smiling." How you doing this afternoon?"

"Just fine," Gibbs told her, forcing himself from years of practice to smile and be cordial. "Have you seen Donny? You remember him, blonde and about this tall." He held a hand up just below his shoulder height.

Mrs. Lowery nodded. "Yes, of course I do. I was just talking to him earlier, telling him about Mrs. Matthews's puppies. I think he was headed over to see them. Didn't he tell you?"

Gibbs shook his head ruefully. "No, he seems to have forgotten that part. You know how kids are. Thank you. I'll go and retrieve him now."

Ms. Lowery laughed with good-natured exasperation. "That boy… Don't be too hard on him now. I'm sure he was just excited about puppies."

"You're probably right," Gibbs agreed, turning to walk away. "I'll talk to you later." Right now, he had other things to attend to. First and foremost, Mr. Donald Palmer had some explaining to do.