AUTHOR'S NOTE: This is more NCIS with a Highlander twist than a true crossover, though Duncan MacLeod does make an appearance or two. Please note that it goes wildly AU after "Dead Air" and never looks back. It's probably not all that faithful to Highlander canon, either. You have been warned.
Finally, as always, all rights in this work are hereby given to the creators/owners of NCIS and Highlander, respectively.
**CHAPTER ONE**
Leroy Jethro Gibbs sat at his desk, reviewing yet again the files on the residents of Royal Woods. At first glance, all of their background checks came up empty - but that in itself set his gut churning, so he was going over them again while DiNozzo, McGee, and David were out collecting voice samples.
Very few people were actually model citizens, and the chances of 43 model citizens living in the same gated community, however exclusive that community might be, were odds that no bookmaker would take. So far, though, Jethro hadn't found any evidence to back up his gut.
And then it wasn't his gut he was worrying about, as a buzzing sensation settled in the back of his head.
Jethro straightened to glance covertly around, wondering what might have caused it. Nothing seemed unusual in the bullpen, so he told himself to ignore it, that the stress of the case must be getting to him in a weird way.
The elevator dinged, and Jethro looked up to see the others returning from canvassing the neighborhood.
McGee and David seemed normal enough, but to Jethro's experienced eye, DiNozzo was moving slowly, carefully, and certainly more quietly than usual. DiNozzo had zipped up his jacket, and there was a tightness around his eyes and mouth that suggested some discomfort.
It was only the presence of that buzzing sensation in his skull that made him ask, "Something wrong, DiNozzo?"
He hadn't really expected an answer, but DiNozzo turned to him. "Sudden weird headache, Boss - like a hive of bees took up residence in the base of my skull. Give me a minute."
DiNozzo didn't wait for an answer before striding toward the men's room - at least, Jethro noted, he was moving more quickly than before.
Jethro tamped down his surprise at Tony's description, so like his own headache, in the face of the bigger question. He turned his gaze first on McGee, then David.
"What happened out there?"
The two junior agents exchanged a glance, and David said, "Nothing. Tony got the samples, and we came back here."
Jethro studied them a moment longer. Something must have happened, or else DiNozzo wouldn't be getting the same headache he'd gotten once or twice over the years. Still, maybe he should talk to his senior agent first.
Without another word, Jethro followed DiNozzo to the men's room.
Inside, he found his senior field agent leaning on the sink, staring into the mirror. DiNozzo's face was damp, and Jethro concluded that he'd splashed water on it.
"What happened out there, Tony?" Jethro asked.
"Why do you think something happened?" DiNozzo countered.
Jethro debated only for a second before answering, "Because I have the same headache you do, and I never got it until after something happened to me."
DiNozzo met his gaze in the mirror and Jethro watched his throat muscles as he swallowed. "What happened?"
In for a penny, in for a pound. "I died."
DiNozzo flinched, and it was all the confirmation Jethro needed.
"How the hell did you die out there and they -" he jerked his head in the direction of the bullpen "- didn't notice?"
Instead of answering directly, DiNozzo turned to face him and unzipped the jacket he wore.
Jethro's breath caught at the sight of the bloodstained shirt beneath the jacket, the slash in the fabric at the left ribs. Then DiNozzo pulled his shirt aside and Jethro saw the unblemished skin beneath.
"Last house," DiNozzo - Tony - was saying. "Burglary in progress. The guy was strung out on something, got lucky."
"Not sure I'd call this lucky," Jethro muttered. Aloud, he said, "And?"
"And?"
"And what happened after he got lucky?"
"I - passed out, I guess." Tony swallowed hard. "Only you said you died, so maybe I died, too. I don't know. Whatever happened, I came to, and the guy was gone."
"Then what?" Gibbs prompted.
Tony blew out a breath and his expression hardened. "I got up, realized the wound had healed, freaked out for a few seconds, zipped up my jacket, and headed back to Ziva and McGee."
There was more, lots more, Jethro knew. He also knew this wasn't the time or place to get into it. Right now, he had to focus on the immediate problem. "Just say it, Tony."
Tony shook his head, pulled a miniature recorder from his pocket. A moment later, other voices echoed through the room.
"What happened to you?"
"Don't play dumb. You reveled in every minute of my suburban suffering."
"Actually, no, we've been not listening for the last couple hours. One can only stand your voice for so long."
White-hot anger like he hadn't felt since he'd found out Shannon's and Kelly's deaths hadn't been an accident shot through him. Jethro's fists clenched, and it took all his self-control not to storm out of the men's room and kill his junior agents with his bare hands.
"Boss." Tony's voice brought him back. "It's okay, Boss."
"No," Jethro ground out. "It's not. But it will be."
"Boss?"
But Jethro's mind had slipped into that clarity that only came when all the pieces of a puzzle had fallen into place. He knew what he had to do.
"Take off your shirt, DiNozzo."
Tony blinked, then smirked. "Didn't think we had that kind of relationship, Boss."
Jethro glared at him. "Take off your shirt. Put your jacket back on, go wait for me in the break room. I'll deal with them, and then we'll deal with this."
Tony's eyes widened briefly, but then he was shrugging off his jacket and starting to unbutton his shirt.
Jethro checked the recorder's display, making a note of the location on the recording. "This pick up your fight?"
"Yeah." Tony gave him a number, and Jethro repeated it silently to himself, memorizing it.
Then Tony's jacket was zipped, and he was reaching for the door.
"Move slowly," Jethro said, "like you were when you came in. You have a superficial knife wound."
"It healed - ah." Always quick, Tony nodded once in acknowledgment, and then he shuffled out of the room.
Jethro followed more normally, but where Tony turned toward the elevator, Jethro turned back to the bullpen. His pace increased with anger when he saw Ziva and McGee apparently focused completely on their computers. Normally, he'd appreciate dedication to duty, but today, they'd breached their first duty and they were totally unaware just how wrong that breach had gone.
He couldn't tell them the full truth, but he could damned well make sure they understood how they'd screwed up and how badly.
"David, McGee, with me." Jethro didn't pause to make sure they were following as he turned and strode up the stairs toward the director's office.
Director Vance's assistant, Cynthia, opened her mouth when she saw him, but something in his expression made her wave toward the door. "He just got off a conference call."
Jethro shoved the director's office door open and stormed inside. Leon Vance looked up from his desk, one eyebrow raised inquiringly - which, Jethro had to admit, was a lot better than the angry glare he'd been expecting.
"A disciplinary matter needs your attention," Jethro told him, his voice mild despite the snap in it.
"We have forms for that," Vance observed dryly.
"You'll be signing a bunch of 'em soon." Jethro turned to face his junior agents. They stood silently, watching - McGee's expression confused, David's studiedly neutral.
"These two," Jethro all but snarled, "think it's fine to joke about not having their partner's back when they're in the field."
"I do not know what you mean, Gibbs," David said. "We were there the whole time."
"Physically, maybe," Jethro allowed. "But when DiNozzo got back to the car, you told him you hadn't been listening."
McGee flinched. David didn't.
"See, Boss, it was only for a minute," McGee began, and Jethro had to acknowledge a little respect for the junior agent's tone. He'd half-expected McGee to stutter again.
"Really?" Jethro asked. "A minute?"
"Or two, perhaps," David allowed.
"That's all?" Jethro looked from one to the other. "You're sure?"
They glanced at each other, then nodded.
"Gibbs," Vance began, but Jethro held up the hand with the recorder in it, and Vance paused.
Jethro pressed play and once again those terrible words filled the room.
"You reveled in every minute of my suburban suffering."
"Actually, no, we've been not listening for the last couple hours. One can only stand your voice for so long."
"It was a joke," McGee protested. "C'mon, it's not like Tony never jokes around."
"Does he joke around in a way that leaves you wondering whether he has your six?" Jethro shot back. "More to the point, does he joke around in a way that leaves me wondering - and then lie about it?"
"That's a little harsh, Gibbs," Vance said. "Sure, it was in poor taste, but it was a joke."
"Poor taste," Jethro repeated, his tone deliberately mocking. "Then what's this?"
He flung Tony's shirt onto the director's desk, red blood dark against the white silk.
McGee took a step forward. "What happened? Is Tony okay?"
"Of course Tony is okay," David said. "He is being dramatic to drive his point home."
Jethro ignored her, instead keeping his gaze fixed on Vance's.
"I've never known Jethro Gibbs to be dramatic," Vance said after a moment. "To make a point or otherwise. Go on."
Jethro turned back to face his junior agents. "A minute or two, you said. Not the couple of hours you said on the tape. You're sure?"
Again, they glanced at each other and nodded.
Jethro rewound the recording to the other number he'd memorized and pressed play again.
"Finally," Tony's voice sounded hoarse, overused. "Last house. 26867 Royal Woods Drive."
A knock, a pause, another knock, then Tony spoke again. "Doesn't seem to be anybody home. Wait, I see movement inside. … Shit, burglary in progress. I see one guy, could be more. Come on, guys - he's going out the back. I'm going after him."
Jethro kept his attention on McGee and Ziva. McGee had paled, and Ziva was starting to look concerned.
Her concern deepened when muffled sounds that might have been Tony's footfalls on grass or gravel came from the recorder, and then Tony's voice rang out again.
"Federal agent - freeze!"
Then there was a shout and then a sound Jethro knew too well - fists hitting flesh. Tony's grunts, and another voice, male, high-strung, shouting incoherently.
The sounds of the fight faded abruptly into silence. Jethro let the recorder play for a full minute before he turned it off and put it on the shirt lying on Vance's desk.
"The dirtbag was strung out on dope, according to DiNozzo," Jethro said, keeping his voice steady through force of will. "Guy got lucky, he said - but DiNozzo's the lucky one. Bled a lot, but it's a surface cut."
"That was just a minute or two for the fight. How long after?" Vance asked.
"Fifteen minutes before DiNozzo got back to the car," Jethro answered, then continued before Vance could say anything else. "Give the case to Balboa. DiNozzo and I will be back on Monday."
He turned to the door, paused to glare first at David, then McGee. "Don't bother reporting to me on Monday. You're off my team. Preferably out of NCIS, but that's not my call."
Jethro slammed the door behind him without looking back.