Disclaimer: NCIS characters and situations borrowed; historical persons are fictionalized in varying degrees. The Victorian NCIS universe and borrowed characters are from Sequitur's magnificent "Gentlemen of Last Resort," FFN story ID #6915570.

A/N: About three months ago, Sequitur revealed a parallel universe in Victorian London, in which the "Gentlemen (and ladies) of Last Resort" provide assistance in those cases for which the local constabulary has (or offers) little help. Since then, Richefic has also joined in and recently finished her own story with the same characters. Sequitur has graciously agreed to let me have a whack at her world now, too! I have tried my best to follow the 'canon' both of these authors have established for this universe.

I owe Sequitur many, many thanks for letting me play in her yard, for patiently responding about doing just that, and most of all, for creating this wonderful version of our favorite team! Thanks to Richefic for following along and adding to this amazing little world. And as always, big big thanks to the endlessly patient Mari83, who has suffered my fanfic squees of all kinds across six countries now! Her comments and support always help calm those pre-posting jitters.

I have huge shoes to fill with this story, so would really appreciate any and all comments and thoughts about it!

A PERSON OF SOME CONSEQUENCE

Chapter 1

Timothy McGee had been resident in Gibbs' home now nearly as long as he had been resident in the poor Mr. Davies' home, that being six months, and hardly a day passed even now when he didn't remember the old man's kindness to him. The elderly gentleman had given him gifts beyond measure in the encouragement and, in the end, the free lodging, that he'd offered so generously to the naive midlands boy McGee had been only months ago. What was more, even in death, Mr. Davies had unwittingly provided him a new life and new purpose with the gentlemen McGee sought out to solve the riddle of his landlord's murder. On his more quiet nights, McGee liked to think that Mr. Davies would have been pleased with his efforts in discovering that the rogue Travington was to blame for his murder, and so he might have smiled down from heaven and helped Gibbs see a potential in McGee's inventions the way the nearsighted old gentleman had found beauty in them.

Such thoughts, in turn, always gave rise to a feeling of ambivalence in McGee, as he considered the months that had passed since the passing of Mr. Davies; he was as keenly aware of how much he had learned in the employ of Mr. Gibbs as he had left to discover, not least of which was the true story behind the little group Gibbs had pulled together about him for the purpose of finding answers others failed to find, solving puzzles others failed to solve, even rescuing those others could not – or would not – rescue.

Puzzles, McGee snorted to himself. Why does it seem that for every one thing one learns about the 'mad' Mr. Anthony, as some insist on calling him, one finds two questions more? The most recent misadventure was a troubling episode in which, once again, Anthony straggled home late at night, coat soiled and bloodied, bruise growing under an eye and knuckles scraped. Timothy had not seen him enter, working in his little shop down in Gibbs' cellar, but even at that distance, and even though their voices were lowered, Timothy could hear that Anthony's arrival had drawn out Gibbs, and something had bothered their employer enough that he took Anthony to task for it right away, right there in the entry hall.

In earlier months Timothy would not have made so bold as to insert himself into such a scene, but as he was reminded on a daily basis, in countless small ways, he was a part of this household now and, given Gibbs' never-ending concern for Anthony and his scrapes, and given all the lessons he had himself learned from Anthony, intended or no, McGee found himself bounding up the steps to see what now was afoot. Upon seeing the condition in which Anthony ended the evening, McGee's mouth made his presence known before his mind could engage, despite the intensity of the conversation he interrupted.

"Anthony! Whatever has happened to you now?" McGee came closer.

The man's expression darkened even more, if it were possible, and he growled, "if you are to be so familiar as to interrupt our conversation, McGee, I do wish you'd do it in a more timely manner, as I have neither the energy or the interest in repeating myself."

"Anthony," Gibbs voice was quiet yet stern, even insistent, as he ignored McGee's intrusion to press, "I will not tolerate your undertaking such errands alone – there is no need of it and the danger is far greater, for both you and for the victim of your quarry, when you attempt such things without assistance."

"Sir," Anthony tried, "it was not the plan that I go alone, or tonight; you yourself are aware of the details so carefully drawn just this morning. But I was not more than the second Act into this evening's fare when I was summoned outside, only to be told of a disturbing turn of events that made any further delay too dangerous for honest consideration. A diversion was needed immediately so that an escape could be effected before any more time passed. Had I even another hour I should have gotten word to you, but as it was, I did not have that luxury."

As Gibbs glared at the man for another long moment, McGee did all he could not to let fly with further unhelpful questions. But when Gibbs' intensity suddenly softened marginally and he sighed to began speaking again, it was not to seek the details McGee had hoped to hear. "Very well, Tony." Gibbs' voice had fallen into softer mien, just as his gaze had. "Are you injured beyond what we can see of you here?"

Anthony seemed to rally, sensing forgiveness in the air. "Nothing worth a worry, sir; your own chastising cuffs to the head hurt more," he grinned cheekily.

Which grin was not returned by Gibbs, but the answering sigh carried more affection than consternation. "And your diversion a success, I assume, else you would not have come home until it was so."

At Gibbs' words, Anthony's previous look of mischief faded, and his manner softened back into a more serious one. "For my part, yes, but I have not heard anything further regarding the rest of them. I am hopeful that I was able to give them enough time to do all that was needed to be done. You know as well as I, sir, that for some poor women no matter the risk they will stay long past the point of danger and even when offered rescue do not avail themselves of the chance."

Gibbs lifted his chin slightly to fix his second with a look of pride. "But you are nothing if not convincing when it comes to women, Anthony, and I suspect you may have found the words to help young Mrs. Brown over that impasse." He took another appraising look at Anthony, whose eyes now gained back most of the sparkle lost, gained, and lost again in mere moments as Timothy watched, and finally nodded, tipping his head toward the stairs. "Go on, then, clean yourself up and be honest if you need a visit by Dr. Mallard."

Anthony looked for all the world like a schoolboy who avoided the worst of the headmaster's ire, and he turned to the steps even as he replied, "of course I will, sir, but I can tell you that the marks you see were far less his blows or even my defenses, but from my efforts to restrain him for a long enough time to accomplish our goals without leaving much evidence that he'd been taken against his will." With those words, Anthony slowed, and from the steps turned back to face Gibbs, apologetically. "I am afraid he got rather a good look at my face."

Gibbs brow clouded momentarily but without much worry behind it; he then shrugged, "I suppose it's just as well then that it concerns a matter for which the authorities would have no part. They would have as easy a time refusing the complaint of such a man as they would that of his wife..."

The fractured information McGee was receiving had been nearly too much for him to bear before, but with this new tidbit he blurted, "Anthony, not another man's wife! Surely you would not..."

"No, I would not, McGee," Anthony's eyes darkened again as he turned square to face McGee and his otherwise lighthearted words took on a warning tone. "And you really must improve your skulking skills or I will..."

The creak of the servants' entrance door in the back of the house brought an immediate silence to Anthony, and the men's knives into their hands, but the sound coming through the house was clearly not intended for stealth, and in a bare moment was recognized by each of them. Still unmoving, however, they had only another moment to wait before the pale face of their youngest and newest maid, Peggy Dawes, appeared in the doorway, looking wan and shaken.

"Oh ... s... sir, I'm sorry..." she began toward Gibbs upon seeing him there, but to Timothy's surprise she did not immediately withdraw, instead allowing her eyes flit around the entry hall where the men had gathered. "I saw the light and was afraid that ..." To Timothy's even greater surprise, he saw her relax when she made out Anthony's form on the darkened stairs. "...that Mr. Anthony had not arrived home yet."

"Indeed I did, Miss Dawes. And I am pleased to see that you have as well."

At her flustered appearance, Gibbs had quickly and subtly re-sheathed his blade, then stepped toward the trembling girl. Appraising her almost as carefully as he had Anthony, he asked, "are you well, Miss Dawes? Were you able to get your sister away?"

"Yes, sir; thank you, sir," she managed a little curtsy, "she's been taken in for the fortnight by ... oh, sir..." she gasped, turning as Anthony came back down the few steps he'd climbed and approached her, no doubt stirred by the concern in Gibbs' voice, and in doing so came into the greater light of the hall. Clearly seeing the damage done, and also apparently knowing more about the reasons for it than McGee did, the young maid's eyes filled with tears. "Please say that you were not injured on our account..."

"It's nothing, Miss Dawes," Anthony swaggered broadly for the poor girl. "Haven't you heard it said that the wounds of the flesh are mere trifles, and it's the ones deep down that you cannot see that are the more grave? These mean only a few hours additional attention from the lovely ladies at the theatre who enjoy nothing more than to fuss over a bit of a scrape or weal. I would be dishonest if I did not admit that at times, if they believe such marks to be a dueling wound or other mark of adventure, I rarely correct them – they find such things to be rather romantic."

She would not be swayed. "Sir, I would never have asked if I'd known that such a thing would ..."

Anthony laid a soft hand on her arm and looked her in the eye, all dissembling gone. "I would rather a few scrapes than let your sister stay with such a man five minutes more. We are of one mind on that, are we not?" As the woman finally offered a hesitant nod, Anthony regained his genuine smile of pleasure. "Then we're agreed. As I trust you will let one of us know in the morning if anything more is needed for your sister, Miss Dawes, I'm off to bed," Anthony announced as he turned and went up the steps, as if it had all been a part of one of his plays and he hadn't a care in the world, leaving a somewhat uncertain trio – including an even more deeply puzzled McGee – at the bottom of the staircase.

Gibbs' gaze lingered upon the retiring hero, frowning slightly in consideration of Anthony's unexpected, sudden retreat, to McGee's mind due to his worry that the younger man might be more injured than he let on. After only a moment, though, Gibbs turned to Miss Dawes and asked softly, "you're sure that your sister is in a safe place, and will have a place to go after that? You well know the number of rooms we have and should she need a place..."

"She is safe, sir, thanks to Mr. Anthony's quick thinking. She was taken in at the convent for the day or two it will take to arrange her passage, and more or less as needed." She hesitated, clearly wanting to speak, but not as comfortable with Mr. Gibbs as she was with Mr. Anthony in speaking her mind. As soon as he saw it, Gibbs nodded his encouragement to her and she added quickly, eyes filling, "sir, I would not have gone to Mr. Anthony tonight for the world, but he would have killed her if she stayed even one more night under his roof and I didn't know what else to do..."

"You did precisely the right thing; so say I and so said Mr. Anthony on his arrival after," Gibbs assured the trembling woman. "You're sure that neither you nor your sister were hurt in any way in your adventures this evening?"

"Yes, sir; only a bit of excitement but not the kind that broke bones, like Nettie's had before from him," the woman admitted. "Sir, I don't know how I could ever repay your kindness, let alone Mr. Anthony's, but I will be happy to do whatever I can to oblige."

Gibbs softened ever so slightly into one of his rare smiles and nodded, "I know you would, Miss Dawes, but you have joined this household and as you have seen, we look out for each other. Your 'payment' has been the care you have given the house and its members since you joined us. With such a motley assortment underfoot here, and all our odd comings and goings, that is more payment than has been earned."

McGee watched as the girl actually managed a smile and a nod, adding a bit of backbone back into her curtsey. "Thank you, sir." And though she was still dressed for her evening home and not for her duties in the house, she added, her chin a little higher than when she entered and her voice far more confident, "will there be anything more this evening, sir?"

"Not tonight, Miss Dawes. Thank you."

"Thank you, sir. Mr. McGee," she nodded to him as well, with a bit of a bob for him, and turned back the way she came.

McGee had stood silently in the hallway for the duration of events, and continued standing as the wheels turned furiously with the drama that had unfolded in the hallway, one no less surprising and riveting than one of Tony's plays. He wasn't sure how long he remaining, blinking, before the same quiet voice took him to task. "It's grown late, McGee. Is my cellar safe for the night or do you need to get back down there and secure whatever project you have underway this evening?"

"Oh! Oh, no, sir... I mean, yes, sir; all is quite safe..." And before he allowed himself thought to stop himself, he added, "at least ... all in the basement is safe. Will Anthony be?"

"I would not let anything happen to him, Timothy, any more than I would let it happen to you." McGee wasn't sure if he was more taken by the gentle tone of Gibbs's voice or the words offered therein.

"But if he runs off like that without letting anyone know.."

"And that is a familiar problem, but it's one about which we have had discussions, Anthony and I, and which is a debate of long standing. I believe I am slowly winning." McGee had to look close, but believed he saw a glimmer of amusement in the icy blue eyes. "But there will be no more solo adventures this evening, so if you'll excuse me I have a bit more work I would like to finish before the end of the night."

"Yes, sir; of course." As Gibbs passed, Timothy tipped his head to Gibbs in a nod tellingly like the curtsey Miss Dawes had offered them only minutes ago. Now alone in the hall, Timothy listened to the sounds of the household – his household – as the other inhabitants settled in for the night. For all the secrets and adventures, for all the deception and violence, McGee was even more certain he had been fortunate enough to stumble into a band of men – and women, he reminded himself – more honorable than any he'd ever met before.

...but he also suspected that his expectation of getting to know the others as well as he'd assumed he would, given that they were under Gibbs roof, was also as naive as he'd been on his arrival in London those many months ago...

To be continued!