I DO NOT OWN NCIS OR ANY OF ITS CHARACTERS!

MINDING THEIR BUSINESS

"How does he do that?" Tony asked no one in particular.

"Do what DiNozzo?" Gibbs asked coming in behind his agent entering the squad room.

"Well… That Boss!" the senior field agent points at the team leader. "Come from no where and answer questions."

"I anticipate," Gibbs smirked behind his ever present coffee cup.

"It's got to be more. I can anticipate. What you do is more than that." Tony started thinking he might be on to something. Maybe all the trauma Gibbs had endured somehow sharpened his synapses. But then again, Tony argued with himself, he'd had his own share of head injuries and was no where near the level that his mentor had reached.

After work he convinced Tim and Ziva to join him for some drinks. Together maybe they could come up with the answer.

Three heads leaned in over the small wooden table marked from years of glasses and bottles scraping across its surface. Even now two bottles of beer were being held in the hands of two of the occupants, the other held a glass of wine.

"We can figure it out," Tim stated confidently four beers into the conversation. He wasn't drunk by any means, but not being a frequent drinker the alcohol seemed to affect his insight to the man they were all discussing.

"I've tried to figure it out for years. Even tried a few tricks of my own when he was gone to see if I could duplicate his abilities. But when he came back he burst that theory saying that wasn't how he worked." Tony shook his head remembering how he used his cell phone to eavesdrop on his teammates and popped in the like their boss and catching them unaware.

Gibbs didn't know the things he knew by using gadgets. He was a technophobe to the extreme.

"His senses are sharp, perhaps from years of training," Ziva suggested.

"But how? He's nowhere then he's there or here," Tony looked quickly over his shoulder half expecting to find their gray-haired leader standing behind him. He wasn't.

Though his presence was a good distance away, he was very much aware and amused by his agents' conversation. They had had a hard week and were given the next few days off. It was good to know they were unwinding. He wondered if they'd ever figure him out.

Sometimes he wished he could separate from them, but the link that had been created was too strong. It worked wonderfully on the job. He always knew what they were doing and if they were safe, but their personal lives deserved to be exactly that. As much as he protected his own personal time, they should be provided the same courtesy. Sure there were times it was blocked, usually by his own personal demons, or maybe other stresses, but he had to work hard to let them have their secrets.

They would never figure it out. He couldn't even begin to explain it himself. It as always something he'd been able to do with those closest to him. Maybe his military training helped to enhance it. Or maybe the gift was what made him such successful as a Marine.

Distance played a part. The closer to someone he was physically the more he was attuned to their thoughts and actions. It was the long distance from his wife and daughter that prevented him from knowing what was happening to them. He only had a gnawing in his gut that something was terribly wrong in his universe.

Now with his team, they couldn't pull anything over on him. Sometimes he had fun letting them think they got away with something, only to drop a knowing remark at the end of the day.

He pulled his thoughts away from theirs and concentrated on his next project. Measuring and cutting the pieces of wood both soothed his body from life's tensions, but also his mind from sharing everyone's thoughts all day. Was it really any wonder why he spent so much time in his basement? The bourbon helped cloud it all as well; he smirked taking a sip from a glass nearby.

Back at the bar the trio had run out of possibilities. Until Tony clunked his bottle down saying, "I got it!"

"Well whatever it is you got, don't give it to me," Tim quirked.

Tony gave him an eye roll. "No. The bossman is psychic."

"Yes, yes. I am sure that is it," Ziva replied sarcastically.

Tony smiled thinking he'd finally found the answer to the mystery of their boss.

In his basement, Gibbs smirked himself. Close DiNozzo. Close,' he toasted his senior agent. Putting his glass down, he turned again to the therapy of his choice; once again blocking the links that connected him to his 'family'.