AN: A bit of a filler chapter, with much introspection and not much going on... you know how paranoid I get about keeping your interest, but the action will be along soon.

Do I believe horses are telepathic? Film quote: You're darn tootin'. Tony'd know which film.

B, I put a teeny bit in for you, hope you liked!

Weekends With Doris

Chapter 2

Behind the tack room was a shower and toilet; above it was a tiny, dry loft with a cot, a chair and a camping stove. It was Tony's favourite place in the world. Sally had repeatedly offered him the guest room at the house; he'd kept on declining with a variety of smiled excuses, until she'd given up, shaking her head in despair.

"What is it with that guy, that he'll get attached to a horse, but keeps people at a distance?" she grumbled.

"I don't know, Sass, maybe cops have noisy nightmares... he surely wears that gun as if he knows how to use it, and I don't mean shooting soda bottles."

Sally shook her head. "Something's made him the way he is... I'd like to get my hands on them."

"That's someone, love, not something," Amos pointed out, and his wife shrugged.

"Whatever fits. Doris, us... we're a coping mechanism... I don't mind, I just worry."

"Yeah, sweetie, me too."

It was early, but they could hear Tony moving quietly about in the yard. They knew he'd check all the other horses' feed nets or mangers, make sure all the automatic water bowls were working, and turn out the animals who still lived in the paddocks during the day. He'd also run a not so practised, but learning eye over their general state, and leave a note on the kitchen table if there was anything he didn't like. Amos and Sally sighed, and revelled in their extra forty minutes in bed at the same time that they fretted about the man who made it possible.

Doris stood sleepily outside her box, untethered, but waiting for Tony contentedly. The saddle he brought out looked like a big Mexican rig, but it was modern, and on a lightweight carbon-fibre frame, and weighed less than half as much as a traditional outfit. He'd have ridden her bareback if he'd thought he was good enough, but he knew a day doing that would kill him even if he managed to stay on board, and anyway he needed the saddle to hang things on. He'd added a water canteen, although they were seldom far from a creek, two serapes rolled up behind the saddle, and a lariat on the horn, simply because it looked good. Poser or not, he might find it useful one day.

He didn't carry a rifle; bears and cougars were as rare around here as a 'well done' from Gibbs; but a saddle bag with a substantial lunch and more treats for Doris was essential. He gave her an apple from his back pocket, and she ducked her head obligingly into the hackamore he held out. Amos had known the first time he worked with her that she didn't need a bit, and that was something that had made Tony happy from day one. Some of the 'spade' bits that rodeo riders used, he couldn't even bear to look at.

She crunched the apple, and butted him hopefully, and he looked at her severely. "It's bad for your teeth," he said. Her look said 'So? Give.' Tony looked round with exaggerated caution and produced the sugar cubes she knew he had. "See..." he rubbed her chocolate coloured neck... "anybody's for sweet stuff." He swung up into the saddle and tightened the latigo; not even a kind soul like Doris was above taking a deep breath as the cinch was fastened up – to let it out later. Many a rider had found themselves with a saddle on sideways... They headed out of the yard the back way, and along Tony's favourite trail. Amos stood at the bedroom window and watched them go.

Somewhere in Canada, last fall...

He remembered this mare... maybe ten or twelve years old, liver chestnut, not a patch of white on her anywhere... he'd seen her last year and marvelled that such a big, raw-boned animal could bend and twist herself so well. She'd been the best barrel racer in the whole show, by a mile, and made her rider look better than he was. He wasn't particularly grateful, Amos had noted then, taking the plaudits for himself.

He watched; this year the mare seemed a little slower. He wasn't surprised when she was beaten into second place by a younger animal; and sadly, he wasn't surprised at the way the rider lashed her across her nose with the ends of his reins. The man saw Amos looking at him.

"She's getting slow," he said irritably. "Need to find myself an animal that can still do its job. Pity... she's smart. Reckon I'll just keep her for breeding for a while, see if I can get a foal a year out of her for three or four years... she might pass her smarts on. After that, she's done."

Amos stayed calm. "Has she been bred from before?"

"Nah."

"Risky, then, friend." It was. First time breeding with a mare that old was fraught with risks; in this case, Amos was pretty certain, the veterinary support would be lacking, to say nothing of the day to day care. He'd already assessed her; now as he looked at her standing patiently by, her head down and a thin line of blood on the bridge of her Roman nose, he came to a decision and went to work.

"Might just lose her, and your stud fee with her."

The man spat to the side. "She's on her way down."

"Give you a thousand for her, cash, as she stands. No history, no questions."

"Two. She's good rodeo breeding."

"Not lookin' to breed from her. She's what, thirteen? Fourteen?I came to buy stamina animals for trail riding. Fifteen ."

He didn't want to shake the man's hand, but made himself. As the guy removed his tack, and Amos produced a head-collar and the cash, the big brown horse stood looking at him solemnly. He tried something. "What d'you call her?"

"What?" As if it didn't matter. "Doris."

He shook the head-collar. "Doris... c'mere, gal." She came, trustingly. "Done," Amos said with satisfaction.

There was no doubt she was a highly people orientated horse, clearly regarding herself as part of the human herd; being with such an owner as her last one hadn't destroyed that. Even more clearly, she had a very soft spot for one particular human. Amos watched the two disappear up the trail, shook his head in wonder, and went to make a cup of tea for Sal.

The first part of the trail was level, and Doris was full of beans. The continual tossing of her head told Tony she wanted to run; after letting her warm up gently, he said "Go on then," and she exploded forwards. She quickly settled down to a ground eating lope, and since the noise of her hoof-beats was too loud for their usual one-way conversation, he waited until she'd run for as long as she felt like it, which was maybe a couple of miles, then brought her back to a walk just as gently.

"Feel better now? Good. Well, I told you I'd got a lot to tell you... that doesn't sound right, does it? Well, you know what I mean... You know I hoped things would settle down now the Boss was back? Sorta. Kinda. Hell, gal, not at all. See, he still doesn't remember everything, and sometimes we wait for him to give an instruction – what am I saying, with Gibbs it's an order... If he doesn't say anything, I start to, and you know, as soon as I do – the very same moment, he starts, and then asks me if I want his job. It's as if he's baiting me.

"Wednesday night... I'd been up early – really early, doing a job at the airport for Jenny... and the night before that I'd been working for her... I could hardly keep my eyes open. Had a headache... The other two finished their reports and handed them in. I said look, I don't feel so good, I'll be in early, finish mine in the morning when I'm fresh. The other two stood happily back and waited for the eruption... 'Ya'll do it now, DiNozzo.' I tried to speak to him one to one, quietly... I said 'Come on, Boss, you know I've done it before, you know it'll get done.' Then I realised. 'Ah...you don't know.' He really didn't. He'd forgotten how I like to work when there's no-one else around... He'd forgotten that I do work. He didn't care about being quiet..."

Tony's voice took on Gibbs' inflections with deadly accuracy, and Doris huffed curiously at the different tone she was hearing. "'No, I don't know, DiNozzo. I don't know how you're behind, and I don't care. I don't even know if you still work for me, or if you're the Director's errand boy. You don't leave until you're done.' And the other two chorused sweetly 'Good night, Tony,' and off they went. I finished my report, and still went in early on Thursday morning to check I hadn't made any mistakes. Thursday night, I had a pile of requisitions to sign off on, and he told us all to go. I expected him to say I had to stay to finish them, so I stayed where I was. Big, obvious stack of papers in front of me.'Did you hear me?' So I went. And yeah, you've guessed it – in the morning he wanted to know why the requisitions weren't done."

He fell silent for a while, as they wound their way among the tall, straight pine trunks. Was he exaggerating? If he was really, utterly honest with himself? Dammit, if he wasn't being honest he could kid himself everything was hunky-dory, and just carry on...

The other two, he could understand where they were coming from...

Come on, 'the other two'... Prob – no, since that night you've not called him that once – Tim and Ziva... you're making them sound like a collective entity ganging up on you.

They are.

Like I said, you're exaggerating.

No, I'm not. They were left without Gibbs, and now they've got him back. They don't know they're doing it, because they just follow him. If it's OK for him, then it's OK for them too. It must be, because he never corrects them, right? Right?

Right... and he never speaks to me but to growl...

Sheesh, if both sides of the argument were agreeing, the pity party was starting up... Stop. Now.

A couple of paces more, and it was Doris who stopped, jerking her head up and huffing. He looked where she was looking, and they watched as a group of deer picked their way between the trees, only about ten yards away, but so well camouflaged in the dappled light that they were almost ghostly. There were young ones, on their spindly legs, who regarded the strange entity on the trail with great dark eyes, before vanishing with the rest of the herd. It was a picture to lift the spirits.

After a moment, Doris assumed her rider wanted to go on, and set off again.

They headed for Belinda's Mill, just to see if there was anyone still there – only two guys from a sanitation company loading up the portable loos onto the back of their truck. The camp was stowed neat and tidy, the mill protected by a carefully built coffer dam of planks and sandbags, so that the rains of winter wouldn't bring silt down to re-bury it. It would be a hive of activity again in the spring. Tony wondered if Simon and his son had made it up here, and how they were doing.

He thought of little Adam, he thought of his mom... Senior... Jenny and this new, mysterious long term assignment she'd hinted at... he'd kidded himself up that at least now Gibbs was back he wouldn't be working so hard... he laughed out loud, and Doris looked round at him in surprise.

"Sorry, old gal, pay no attention to me..." Her nostrils fluttered as she replied with one of those snorts that made him swear she understood English. She could have been Ziva... "OK, less of the 'old', I know."

Something on the ground caught the sun and flashed, and Tony was curious enough to 'light down to see what it was. He picked it up and laughed again, to Doris's puzzlement; it was a badge, and he'd seen it before, attached to the front of a book. 'Junior Engineer', it said in bold red letters on their silver background, above a logo that looked like something Captain Kirk would wear. He put it in his pocket, and wondered if he'd ever be able to give it back to Adam... but thanks, universe, for letting me know they came here.

A slow climb later they arrived at his favourite lunch spot. A loggers' clearing among the tall trees was bisected by Belinda's Creek; erosion had left a random scene of stony beaches and undercut banks. Tony had named it Belinda's Secret. It was his secret too. His and Doris's. He unsaddled her and removed the hackamore – unlike just about any other horse, and most of the humans he knew, he could trust her to stay with him. After demanding and getting treacle sandwiches, she settled down to the earnest business of lunch, as Tony leaned against his favourite tree at the water's edge, eating his lunch and tossing pebbles into the creek.

They didn't know they were doing it... Did he? The almost use of the P name had taken him back to that night, the night he'd been told he didn't deserve his own team, and had then promptly gone and turned down the chance... suddenly the ciabata and bresaola he'd treated himself to tasted like cardboard, and it hurt to swallow. He teased... constantly... was he now just getting back what he'd always given? He could rationalise that the Probie thing, the McNicknames and all of that was to help McGee leave the stuttering, green-as-grass novice behind, and it was, and it had worked... but he'd have done the same if the IT expert Gibbs had found the team had been a fifteen years veteran.

He sighed, and Doris swivelled an ear in his direction, keeping an eye on him although she never paused from her determined grass-cropping. A more experienced agent would have had a go right back at him, and they'd have had an on-going battle that would have been fun... Tim wasn't like that; had he gone too far and pushed the Probie – McGee – over the edge?

And hell, he couldn't begin to rationalise the why and wherefore of how things were between him and Ziva... she hadn't been any happier than Tim or Abby with his leadership, and since Gibbs' return they'd all four been writing the same blog. And Gibbs didn't even need McGee's help.

So... he had to just tough it out until Gibbs remembered him... remembered him, the one he said was good, and brought back from Baltimore. The one who had his six...

He chose me, didn't he? He'll remember that one day.

Hmph. It better be soon.

It will be. It'll be OK.

He hadn't realised he'd said that aloud, until Doris lifted her head to look at him. She wandered over, wondering if it were time to move off again, and put her nose against his shoulder. Did she read his mood? Amos, and quite a few others he'd spoken to who'd been around them all their lives, told him seriously that yes, sure, horses are telepathic... well, he was sceptical, but somehow, she'd picked her moment. Bless. He rubbed her nose, and after a while he stood up, using her neck to haul himself to his feet. "OK, girl, you want to go, we'll go."

They made a long, leisurely circuit of the area, climbing one of the taller hills for a wonderful panoramic view, before heading on down past keeper ponds and farm buildings, timing it perfectly to see the sun set behind the tall trees as they arrived back at the yard. Tony rubbed Doris down, checked her feet and settled her in her box, with another treat and a pat of her neck, then went up to the house to let the Frames know he was back.

He was fed of course, and then somewhat tentatively asked if he wanted to lead a trail ride tomorrow, for four New Yorkers and two Spanish visitors. Sure. Why not.

It kept him occupied and too busy to think; he got to practise his Spanish, and eat a picnic devised by Sally that he'd remember with a happy sigh for a long time. (He took them to a different spot to eat it though, Belinda's Secret was still his.) Doris brought him back to his den exhausted enough to fall into a deep sleep; Amos noticed that he'd moved the Mustang out of the car park and left her pointing slightly downhill on the side of the dirt track. "He'll be away early, Sass" he told his wife ruefully.

Sure enough, they didn't hear him leave; he said goodbye to Doris before sun-up, and rolled the car down the hill without switching the engine on, so as not to disturb the Frames or the horses. He was back in DC and at his desk by six-thirty, and the requisitions were finished before Gibbs arrived.

The Boss didn't believe in coincidences; after working with him for so long, neither did Tony, but if this wasn't one, it was the complete opposite of the kindly fate yesterday. Hell, it was just about the most perverse worker of happenstance in the entire universe that looked down and thought, 'Hmm, DiNozzo's back on an even keel – I know just what to do to put a stop to that...'

Gibbs arrived and grunted an acknowledgement of his presence, his glance falling on the folder of requisition forms sitting in the tray waiting for the internal mailman to collect them. He said nothing, but sat down. Ziva and Tim arrived together; after their greetings, Tim stopped by Tony's desk. "So," he said pleasantly "A good weekend with Doris?"

Tony didn't know whether he was being wound up or not, so he went for pleasant himself. "A wonderful weekend, thanks... out in the – fresh air." Oops, he nearly said 'mountain air', and he seriously didn't want to give any real information out. Gibbs did NOT need to know about Doris. As things were, he'd be making sure Tony worked all weekend, every weekend, for the next forty years. "On Sunday we went out with six of her friends. I'm in a stable relationship."

(He'd toyed with the idea of buying Doris, and bringing her closer to DC, but she needed other company for the many times he wasn't around, and she'd miss the hills. Sigh... how he'd have loved to tell Ziva, 'She's moving to Washington to be closer to me'... but it wouldn't be fair.)

"That's nice," McGee said, and wandered off to his desk looking thoughtful.

They worked quietly and diligently, and Tony wondered if McGee suspected, or maybe was loosening up a bit; and thought of Rota... until Gibbs' phone shrilled.

"Grab your gear. Warship captain's daughter kidnapped in Madison." He happened to be looking at Tony as he spoke. "You got a problem with that, DiNozzo?"

His SFA couldn't have looked more innocent, or uninterested, more quickly. "Me, Boss? Not at all." No... really not at all... much. Madison – not ten miles away from where he'd been this weekend; not much more than five, in fact. Just have to hope he didn't meet Sally on a shopping trip. He'd have said what were the odds, but he wasn't tempting fate, oh, no...

They made it in an hour and ten minutes; Tony had a route which could have clipped fifteen off that, but he didn't volunteer it. Gibbs would only have wanted to know how he knew. Even so when the Boss headed for route 95, he barely kept the look of surprise off his face and held his tongue.

The warship captain lived in a beautiful house beside Malvern Lake; he and his wife both came from money. LEOs patrolled outside; a senior Deputy Sheriff waited with the wife and her son. There was, as yet, nothing to indicate if terrorism was involved or just greed; only an unmade bed, an open window, and a hand-written note, 'we've got your sister', on Chick, the younger brother's bed, beside his cell phone. Mrs. Betteridge was beside herself with fear. Her husband's ship was in the Persian Gulf; so she was afraid it might be a target. Her daughter was seventeen, beautiful and a former Pageant Queen, so she was afraid for her in the worst possible way. She wasn't a cowardly woman, but, as she admitted shakily, she was the type who panicked, and not good in a crisis. Gibbs simply handed her over to Tony.

In the end it was McGee who solved the case, very simply, after three fraught hours when not a clue was to be found, and Daniel Betteridge made his wife's state worse, and Tony's job harder, by refusing to leave his ship unless someone told him there was a very good reason to do so.

When the call finally came to the brother's cell and Gibbs answered, an astonished voice on the other end said "Who the hell are you? Where's Chick?"

The boy gave Gibbs an anxious look as the Marine handed him the cell. "Talk to him..."

"Hello..."

"Are you missing your sister, Chick? What'll you do if she never comes back?"

"What? Why... what have you done with her?" The boy was thoroughly bewildered, and frightened, and Gibbs took the phone back.

"You're scaring him. Where's Eloise? What do you want?"

"I want him to miss his sister..."

Tony was beside Tim, scribbling furiously as he pointed to his screen. He came over and held the paper out to Gibbs. The Boss exploded. "This is a joke? A joke?"

The call was cut off suddenly, and the mother screamed "No!" as Tony hurried back to her.

"The cell that made that call is currently at your daughter's college, Mrs. Betteridge. It's registered to a Warwick R. Leyton. Is that name familiar?"

"It's Eloise's boyfriend, mom! He... he wouldn't hurt her... he-"

Gibbs stuck his face two inches from the boy's. "But he'd scare you? If she asked him to? What have you said to her?"

To his credit, the lad didn't collapse. "I told her I was fed up of her... cos I was. She's mom's favourite, she gets all the attention... I told her I wished she'd go to Gran's in Canada and never come back."

Before his mother, or Gibbs could say anything, Tim said, "Eloise's phone has just come on line, Boss -" and the house phone rang. Tony reached across and put it on speaker as Mrs Betteridge answered.

"Mom? Mom... it was a joke... who was that man? We were just having a go at Chick because he -"

"Your 'having a go', young lady, has put the entire Persian Gulf on alert, cost the local taxpayers a lot of money in LEO time, and frightened your family! Get your ass back here, and bring Warwick R. Leyton with you. The County Sheriff will want a word with you both!" He stormed out of the room, and out of the house. Tim closed his laptop and followed; Tony squeezed the stunned Mrs Betteridge's shoulder, and shook hands with the Deputy, before following, only pausing in the doorway with exaggerated courtesy to allow Ziva to precede him.

When he got outside, he saw another Deputy trying to persuade Gibbs to stop and listen to him. Tony explained in a very few short words just why they'd had a drive down from DC for precisely zilch.

"Oh," the man said. "Well, in a way that's good because now we can get our people back to deal with another possible emergency. Seven year old boy's apparently gone missing up near Duet."

Gibbs had been opening his mouth to yell "DiNozzo are you coming?"

He stopped abruptly as his SFA said "Duet?" in a very rough voice.

"Yeah, his father says he was playing with some older boys – they've probably just gone off a bit too far afield..."

An angry voice emerged from the radio he was holding. "The other boys have come back. Without my son. He's only seven -"

Tony grabbed the radio. "Simon! Simon Townley! It's Adam that's missing?"

"DiNozzo... Tony, is that you? Thank God..."

TBC