Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by the writers, producers, et al of the television show 'NCIS'. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to any person, internet persona, or other being, living or dead, is completely coincidental and unintentional unless otherwise noted.

A/N: Ever since reading The Sum of Your Memories and A Piece of Blue Sky (both by nat rulz here on FFN) several months ago, and more recently Empathy (by Kesterpan, also on FFN), I've been kicking around the idea for a supernatural!Tony story. Though all three of the aforementioned fics are Tony/Gibbs slash, this story is not going to be slash – hell, it's not even going to include romance in any way, shape, or form. It will contain cussing in at least two languages, though. On that note, I feel I ought to warn y'all that this chapter contains some extensive dialogue in Italian, and rather than put the translations of what was said at the end like I usually do, they'll be in parentheses along the way; see A/N2 for more info. This is set sometime after S8E7 'Broken Arrow', but contains no spoilers after that episode (I've yet to see anything from S9), but anything prior to that ep may be included and I've tweaked Tony's personal history a bit, which will be explained in the course of the story. And this story has nothing to do with any of my other NCIS fics.

Rule Four

The best way to keep a secret? Keep it to yourself.
Second best? Tell one other person, if you must.
There is no third best.

Chapter One: The DiNozzo MOAS

Tony shifted the latest pile of requisition forms aside and dug into his desk drawer for a candy bar. It was half an hour to quitting time, and lunch was but a fond memory. Ziva was looking through a cold case and McGee was down visiting with Abby while Gibbs was… Well, he could've been upstairs, bugging the director (or vice-versa), or out getting coffee, or simply lurking unseen, waiting for an opportunity to smack the back of Tony's head, though DiNozzo personally doubted it. Didn't matter – the lead agent wasn't in the squad room for the moment, and as a result, it was definitely snack time.

His questing fingers located a Hershey bar and he managed to extract it from a tangle of rubber bands and paperclips with a minimum of effort and a decisive "Yes!" of victory. Ziva glanced over long enough to determine it was nothing needing her attention before resuming examining the casefile in her hands. He just managed to strip the chocolate of its wrapper when his desk phone rang. Sighing a little, Tony picked up the receiver. "DiNozzo." Curious again, Ziva watched over the top of the file folder. "Uh-huh? It's not my dad again, is it?" His eyebrows inched towards the center of his forehead. "Send her up, I guess." He slowly hung up the phone and distractedly got up from his desk, his chocolate bar forgotten for the moment.

Ziva sat the file down on a pile of similar folders on the corner of her desk. "Tony?" She followed to where he now stood, looking out the windows. "Is something wrong?"

"I don't know," he replied, but before he could go into detail, the ding of the elevator captured his attention.

A security guard was escorting a petite brunette of roughly Tony's age, who was wearing a visitor's badge clipped to her denim jacket, which she wore over a plain white t-shirt and a floor-length green linen skirt. She was tense, frowning, and her silver-framed glasses had slipped down her nose. Tony brushed past Ziva, meeting the guard and visitor at the imaginary line around Team Gibbs area of the bullpen. "Thanks, Mark. I've got her from here," he said to the security guard, then pulled the woman into a hug. "Ciao e benvenuta, cugina," he said, then released her (Hello and welcome, cousin). "Now, tell me, cosa ci fai qui?" (…what are you doing here?)

A little of the woman's stiffness faded, though she still had a distinct air of 'worried'. "Hello to you, too, Tonio," her voice was low-pitched and tinged with a slight Sicilian accent. "Dobbiamo parlare." She glanced at Ziva (We need to talk). "Posso parlare qui? E' una questione di famiglia." (Can I talk here? It's a family thing.)

Tony pulled the woman a little closer to the windows and leveled a look at Ziva. Ziva got the hint and returned to her desk, but stared blankly at the file while keeping her ears open. Once she was seated, Tony nodded at the woman. "Sì, certo. Ziva sa un po' d'italiano. Di cosa hai bisogno?" (Yes, of course. Ziva knows little of Italian. What do you need?)

Ziva quirked an eyebrow at that. I am more fluent in Italian than I am in English, Tony. Instead of saying as much out loud, however, she continued to eavesdrop. The visitor relaxed a little more and managed a tight smile. "Ho bisogno del tuo aiuto," she said, reaching out to hold Tony's left hand in both of her own (I need your help).

Tony's expression switched from lightly confused and highly curious to somewhat apprehensive. "Il mio aiuto? Per che cosa?" (My help? For what?)

The woman looked up from their joined hands and suddenly Ziva could see the family resemblance. She must be from Tony's father's side of the family. She's got the same blue eyes that DiNozzo Senior has and she shares a similar cast to her features as both Tonys. "Tuo padre è nei guai," she said the words so quickly that Ziva had a little trouble figuring out what she'd said (Your father is in trouble).

Tony relaxed completely and let out a laugh. "Mio padre è sempre nei guai! E chi se ne frega?" (My father is always in trouble. Who gives a damn?)

The woman jerked her hands away from Tony's and hit him. "Vaffanculo! Tuo padre è nei guai e non
t'interessa! Sei veramente uno stronzo!" (Go fuck yourself! Your father's in trouble, and you don't care! You really are an asshole!)

Tony winced, whether at the smack or at the words was anyone's guess, and grabbed the woman's wrists before she could hit him again. "Hey! Calm down, Gema! Let's try this again. Di che cosa stai parlando, mio padre è nei guai?" (What are you talking about, my father is in trouble?)

Gema wrenched her wrists free of Tony's hold and glared at him. "Un sogno, Tonio, e tu sai i miei sogni non mentono." (A dream, Tony, and you know my dreams don't lie.)

All hint of Tony's earlier humor evaporated in an instant. "Porco mondo, Gema, non ci credo
più. Sono un agente federale, non posso fare nulla sulla base di un sogno. E tutto quello che hai un sogno, o hai qualcosa di più preciso?" (Damn it all, Gema, I don't follow that any longer. I am a federal agent, I can't do anything based on a dream. Is all you have a dream, or do you have something more definite?)

Gema shook her head and adjusted her glasses. "No, niente di più di quello che avevo quando avevo dieci anni e la zia Alice –" (No, nothing more than when I was ten and Aunt Alice –)

Tony paled drastically. "Merda. Hai visto mamma morire. Mi ricordo ora. Che cosa hai visto nel tuo sogno?" (Shit. You saw Mom die. I remember now. What did you see in your dream?)

Before the woman could reply, McGee arrived. He looked from Tony to Gema and back. "Hey, Tony…"

Tony glared at Tim. "Now is really not a good time, McGoo. Go hack something."

Surprised by the venom in Tony's voice, Tim quickly backed away from the pair, coming to a halt at Ziva's desk. Seeing that Ziva had been paying attention to his conversation all along, Tony sent a glare in her direction, too, before returning the entirety of his concentration to his cousin. McGee crouched next to Ziva and whispered, "What's going on?"

"Shush, I am listening," Ziva whispered back.

The short exchange was enough that she missed part of the conversation. "…non mi importa se segui la vecchia religione. Sei ancora figlio di tuo padre, mio cugino, e ancora in possesso dei tuoi doni. Hai avuto sempre più talento di me. Non posso fare da sola " Gema seemed to be on the verge of tears. (I don't care if you follow the old religion. You are still your father's son, my cousin, and still possess your gifts. You have always been more talented than me. I can't do it alone.)

Tony sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "Non ho mai detto che hai fatto. Ora, dimmi, cosa hai visto?" (I never said you did. Now, tell me, what did you see?)

Gema echoed Tony's sigh, and it was even more apparent that the pair were blood-relations. "Non molto. Quanto basta per sapere che lo zio Tony è in pericolo. Ho visto un flash della casa di Napoleone all'Elba, poi tuo padre in un luogo buio, una pistola alla testa." (Not much. Just enough to know that Uncle Tony is in danger. I saw a flash of Napoleon's house on Elba, then your dad in a dark place, a gun to his head.)

Tony frowned. "Hai provato a chiamare papà?" (Have you tried to call Dad?)

Gema nodded. "Sì. Così ha fatto papà. Lui non risponde al telefono." (Yes. So did Dad. He's not answering his phone.)

Tony pulled Gema over to his desk and dialed his father's number from memory on his desk phone. "Damn it," he said, hanging up the receiver. "Voicemail," he explained to his cousin. He grabbed his cell, nearly knocking his computer monitor over in the process. Though someone who didn't know him might not notice, both Ziva and Tim could see that Tony was worried. His hands shook slightly as he thumbed down his contacts list before hitting 'send' for his dad's number.

Tony raised the phone to his ear, expecting voicemail again, but was awash in relief when he heard his dad answer, "Junior?"

"Dad –"

What he was going to say was interrupted by the distinctive sound of a fist hitting flesh. A faint, male voice said, "Give me that, old man."

The relief disappeared more quickly than it had surfaced. "Dad!"

"Shut up and listen, you asshole," the unidentified voice was now clear through the line. "It took you long enough to call. I guess some of us are just better sons than the rest, huh?"

"Who is this?"

"Who I am will become clear soon enough. Unless you want your father dead, you'll do exactly as I tell you."

Tony's knees gave out and he landed in a heap on the floor at Gema's feet; his teammates quickly hurried over while the visitor knelt next to her cousin. "Wha…?"

"You have forty-eight hours to do the following: First, you will drain the trust accounts left to you by your mother and grandparents into an account number which will be emailed to your cell phone. Second, you will obtain and use a one-way plane ticket to Rome, where you will call this number once again to arrange for a ride. Third and lastly, you will tell no one of this arrangement, unless you truly wish to attend your father's funeral." The man disconnected the call.

"Tony?" His name penetrated his mind in three-way stereo.

In reply, all he could do was look at Gema. "Avevi ragione." (You were right.)

Gema ignored the man and woman staring at her and Tony in confused concern and planted herself on the floor. It was a familiar invitation, issued and accepted a hundred million times over the years, begun during that first horrible summer after Aunt Alice had died. Unthinking, her Tonio accepted once again and laid his head in her lap. She combed her fingers through his hair, humming faintly. Slowly, the humming emerged as quiet song. "Ninna nanna, ninna oh," her singing voice was very obviously highly trained, even though it currently lacked in volume. "Questo figlio a chi lo do?" (Lullaby, lullabu. Who this child I'll bring to?)

Not for the first time, Tim found himself wishing that it wasn't just Gibbs and Abby who could communicate in ASL.

"Se lo do alla Befana, se lo tiene una settimana," Gema's right hand continued to card through Tony's hair while her left lightly traced the length of his nose. His eyes were closed and he was, to all appearances, quickly falling asleep, even as his pasty complexion began to regain some color. "Se lo do al lupo nero, se lo tiene un anno intero." (If I give him to the old witch, she will take him for a week. If I give him to the black wolf, he will take him for a whole year.)

Ziva tore her eyes away from the strange sight and looked around to see if Gibbs was anywhere near. Unfortunately, there was no sign of the man as yet.

"Non lo do a nessuno, e lo tengo sempre piu'," as she finished the old lullaby, Gema rested the palms of both her hands on either side of Tony's face. "Vai a dormire, Tonio. I'll wake you soon." She stripped her jacket off and carefully transferred the sleeping agent's head from her lap to the makeshift pillow. (I won't give him to anyone, and I'll take care of you my treasure. Go to sleep, Tony.)

"What is going on?" McGee whispered, not too sure himself if he was directing the comment at the stranger in their midst or at Ziva.

Gema stood and leveled a somewhat unsettling gaze at her cousin's teammates. "There is no need to whisper. He will not wake until I tell him to."

"That's nice," Tim said. "And who are you?"

Ziva answered, "She is Tony's cousin." To Gema, she added, "E io sono più fluente in italiano che Tony non lo sa." (And I am more fluent in Italian than Tony knows.)

One of Gema's eyebrows arched higher than the other. "Is that so?" She smirked at Tony's sleeping form and the family resemblance was stronger than ever. "He always was a little… arrogant, at times."

"That's nice," McGee repeated, rapidly getting frustrated. "Someone wanna read me in on this or should I go back downstairs and bring Abby up here?"

Ziva winced, knowing what Abby's reaction would be on seeing 'her poor Tony' out cold on the floor. "I do not believe that will be necessary, McGee." She returned Gema's unblinking gaze. "Perhaps you could explain what brought you here?"

Gema ran a hand through her short, pixie-cut hair, the gesture alike enough to when Tony did the same thing that both Ziva and Tim had an odd sense of dislocation. "I suppose so – I mean, Tonio's told me all about the people he works with. Calls you his 'family away from family'. I know he trusts you."

Gibbs' voice suddenly boomed out across the squad room, originating about halfway down the stairs. "Someone wanna tell me just why DiNozzo appears to be taking a nap?"

Gema looked over her shoulder and any remaining tension in her shoulders melted. "That would be my fault, Signore Gibbs."

Gibbs quickly rounded the end of the cubicle walls and halted next to his SFA's lightly-snoring form. "And you are…?"

"Gema DiNozzo. Tonio's papà and mine are brothers."

Gibbs ran a gaze over Gema from head to toe. "I can see that. Doesn't explain why he's sleeping on the clock."

"Uncle Tony is in danger," Gema explained. "I came here for Tonio's help to find him and get him back."

"From what I know of Tony's dad, I don't doubt he's in trouble," Gibbs scowled.

Fire flashed in Gema's dark blue eyes. "This isn't another dodgy investment or pissed-off ex-wife, you faccia di stronzo! This is real, life-or-death danger!" (son of a bitch)

Gibbs couldn't help but double-check the woman's hair – still brown – as her angry stance was nearly identical to Diane's just prior to when she came after him with the golf-club. He instinctively backed up a pace. "Hey, calm down. I meant no disrespect," she snorted and rolled her eyes while muttering what was, no doubt, something derogatory in Italian. Ziva and McGee exchanged an unbelieving look. "How do you know that Tony's dad's in trouble?"

Gema crossed her arms over her chest. "Because I saw it in a dream." At Gibbs' frankly skeptical expression, she continued. "Sleep and dreams are my talents," she gestured to the still-snoring agent on the floor. "But outside of that, I can't do much." She glanced from Gibbs to Ziva to Tim and back. All three wore similar skeptical expressions. Gema sighed. "Look, I know it sounds nuts. But it's true." A slow smile crept into her face, dousing the angry fire in her eyes and morphing it into the mischievous twinkle that so often heralded a need for acetone when seen in Tony's eyes. She readjusted her glasses and held her hand out to McGee. "Tim, right?"

McGee nodded and stepped forward to take her hand. "Yeah."

Gema clasped his hand and even as he was saying 'pleased to meet you', she reached up with her other hand and stroked a finger down his nose. "Vai a dormire." At the conclusion of the gesture, Tim's eyes rolled up and he collapsed like a marionette with its strings cut. "Do you see?" she asked the other two. (Go to sleep.)

"What did you do to my agent?" Gibbs hissed. He could feel a headache building.

"Just told him to go to sleep," Gema replied. She leaned down and ran her fingers up Tim's nose. "Sveglia." (Wake up.)

Tim's eyes snapped open. "What the –"

"You alright?" Gibbs interrupted.

McGee nodded. "Yeah, I think so. What happened?"

Unable to answer, Gibbs looked to their visitor while helping Tim back to his feet.

Gema glanced down at her cousin. "I think I'll let him sleep for now – he never was the best at explaining this." She redirected her gaze back to Gibbs. "Is there someplace we can speak privately? And will anyone care if we leave Tonio here?"

Gibbs shook his head, "No one will think twice about Tony. It's not the first time he's caught a nap in the bullpen." He then herded the rest of his team and the visitor to a conference room. Once everyone was seated, he glanced from Tim to Gema. "Explain."

Gema took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Okay. Like I said downstairs, I'm Tonio's cousin – his only cousin on the DiNozzo side. And we DiNozzos have a bit more in common than just the family nose," she grinned. "We all have talents – even Tonio." She held up a hand to forestall questions. "I'm getting to that, just give me a minute. Like I showed you, I can control sleep. This extends to dreams. I get… flashes or warnings when I sleep, I always have. Night before last, I dreamt about Uncle Tony. It wasn't anything specific, just a lot of memories I have of him, overlaid with a sense of urgency. Then last night, I got something a bit more specific. I got a locator-flash – a quick scene that tells me where I'm seeing – of Napoleon's house on Elba Island. It was immediately followed by seeing Uncle Tony, tied to a chair in a dark room, with a shadow holding a gun to his head."

"You told as much to Tony," Ziva mentioned.

Gema sighed. "Yes. I did. But what I didn't tell him was the scene that followed. After the flash with the Bad Man, I saw Tonio as the roots of a tree." She let out a little huff of self-depreciative laughter. "Sometimes what I see isn't literal. What this tells me is that whatever trouble Uncle Tony is in, it has to do with Tonio."

"Did you try to get a hold of your uncle?" Tim asked.

Gema nodded. "Yes. I tried calling, but I wasn't sure if Uncle Tony had my phone number or not – he won't answer the phone if he doesn't recognize the number. But when I didn't have any luck, I went to papà. Papà couldn't reach him, either."

"So your uncle doesn't have his brother's number, either?"

Gema shook her head. "That's not what I meant. Papà and Uncle Tony don't need technology to get in touch – they're identical twins, they've always been able to speak mind-to-mind. The only time they can't reach each other is if it's a distance-thing, and I don't mean simply being a state or two away. They have to be separated by several thousand miles before their talent is muted so much they can't hear each other."

The three agents in the room traded looks. Gema scowled. "Hey, I don't care if you believe me or not. It's true."

"Didn't say I don't believe you," Gibbs said. "Just…"

"It's a lot to take in," Tim supplied.

Though she could tell that McGee and Gibbs both were having difficulty accepting what Gema was saying, Ziva had no such trouble. She'd heard rumors at Mossad about a black-ops specialist team who were supposed to have assorted psychic abilities. She had no problem with the existence of such abilities; no, what was bothering her was that she couldn't imagine Tony, of all people, as having any such ability. Sure, he had a knack for making people underestimate him and for pissing people off, but those weren't psychic in nature. "What can Tony do?" she found herself asking.

"His skills are a lot more useful than mine," Gema replied. "I mean, there isn't much call for someone who can literally make you go to sleep. Just about the only thing I use it for is making sure I have peaceful trips on planes and trains." Ziva was about to argue – she could imagine a hundred ways such a talent would have come in useful, but held her tongue. She'd speak with Gema about it in more detail later. "Anyway, Tonio can… Well, it's called retrocognition or post-cognition. He can see the past, if he wants to. He rarely uses it, considers it 'cheating'," she used air-quotes around the word. "I think it's just because his mamma was Catholic – some of the useless guilt that faith rams down its members' throats must have rubbed off when Tonio was little." She smiled at a memory, but didn't elaborate. "Anyway, Tonio, if he puts in the effort, can also scry current events. And if he knows the location of what he's looking for, he can call it to him – that one's called apportation – but it only works if he knows where the item he needs is located."

Suddenly, the object of their conversation poked his head into the room. "My ears are burning," Tony said as he entered the conference room. He handed Gema her jacket and sat next to her at the oblong table.

"You must have slept well last night," Gema replied, slipping into her jacket. "You almost never wake before I tell you to."

Tony nodded, "Yeah, like a baby. Don't think it's gonna be quite so good tonight, though." He glanced around at his teammates. "I take it she told you?"

Three nearly-identical nods confirmed his statement. The look on Gibbs' face promised that there would be a highly-uncomfortable conversation sometime in the near future, but Ziva simply looked appraising, and Probie had reverted somewhat. Tony frowned, no doubt the geek was picturing some sort of comic book hero by now.

Ziva broke the silence. "So this is why you get so stubborn about some of our cases."

Tony couldn't help himself – he snapped, "If I used it at work, Zee-vah, do you really think we'd have unsolved cold cases to go through? Or that Renny Grant would have done three years in prison for something he didn't do?"

Gema laid a hand on Tony's shoulder. "Hush, Tonio – it's not her fault."

Tony glared at his cousin. "It's cheating and I won't do it."

"Is it cheating to use your eyes?" The team could tell this was an old, old argument between the pair.

"That's different," Tony replied.

"No, it isn't and you know it."

Tony sighed and ran his hands through his hair. "This is getting us nowhere. Dad's in trouble. Let's deal with that first." He locked eyes with Gibbs. "When Gema told me about it, I tried to call him. I tried my desk phone first, but I only got voicemail. He answered when I tried my cell. He's… I don't know if he's okay, but he's alive for now. Someone's got him – I don't know who, but the voice is vaguely familiar, and no, I can't place it. He – the bad guy – has given me forty-eight hours to drain my trust accounts that Nonna and Mom left me, and to get myself to Rome via one-way ticket. Said he'd text me the account number to transfer my money to." He took his cell from his pocket. "Hasn't come in yet."

Gibbs glanced at his watch. "McGee –"

Tim sprang to his feet. "Get on tracing Tony's dad's cell," he said hurrying out of the room.

"Ziva –"

"Running down the usual suspects," she hurried after McGee.

Gibbs stood. "You go help Ziva – let her know if you're aware of anyone she's looking into having a connection to Tony or his dad outside of what we already know."

Gema smiled at his order but could see the sense in it. She didn't argue, simply kissed Tony's cheek and hurried after Ziva.

"Tony, you're with me."

"Kinda figured, Boss," Tony slowly pried himself out of the relative comfort of the chair. "Coffee and dinner for the team, I know. And probably a lot more talking than usual."

Gibbs didn't deny it.

A/N2: All of the Italian contained herein comes courtesy of the Italian cussing dictionary on about (dot) com and through wordmonkey; the lullaby came from a site called lullabiesofeurope (dot) wetpaint (dot) com. If anyone out there sees a better way for me to convey what I've said in the Italian bits, please please please let me know and I'll fix it (and credit you). Thanks in advance!

Edit 04/02/2012: So far, I've gotten a couple of fixes from trekde (whose profile indicates Italy as a point-of-origin). Thanks for that! Hopefully, if anything else needs polished, folks will speak up. I don't speak Italian and have never studied it and I hate relying on the interwebz to translate for me. Apparently, though, the cussing was all correct - go figure.

Edit 04/14/2012: Located and assassinated a typo.