Brian's heart rate gradually normalized again as he entered the OSP center. There were no windows in the room. It was lit up by a big screen at the long wall and many little ones. In the middle stood a table, which surely had some technical trickery skills, too.

Brian placed himself at the table's corner beside Nate and looked to Eric. Who walked, a tablet in his hand, to the big screen, where an ID photo of a man could be seen, "Naval Yeoman James Rush, home on leave from San Diego Naval Base, died in an illegal street race in a stadium parking lot early this morning."

Eric played a video.

An Eclipse and a Civic drove a normal quarter mile race. Until the Eclipse, probably as the driver activated his NOS, suddenly exploded.

"In our culture, some consider it a rite of passage," Nate said pejoratively. Brian looked to him and lifted a brow. He caught Callen's look, who responded grinning, "Boys will be boys."

Nate flinched and looked slightly embarrassed at Brian, "Sorry, I forgot-"

Brian waved his hand, "It's not to everybody's taste. And I think for a large portion of Americans one car looks like another."

Eric smiled challengingly, "But not for you? Then you can certainly tell us the models."

"The silver one was a Honda Civic and the orange one a Mitsubishi Eclipse."

"That one looks familiar to me," Callen murmured and stepped closer to the screen. He regarded the Eclipse extensively, "Isn't that the car I drove down in Miami?"

Smiling Brian shook his head. It was strange that he couldn't tell the difference between one jeans model and another, but these cars couldn't be more diverse for him.

"You drove a Spyder and I drove an Evo. When I was undercover, two years ago, I had an Eclipse. Didn't survive for long."

"Well, for me," said Nate, "everything looks the same."

"That's because you don't have a heart for cars," meant Kensi accusingly.

"Hear, hear!" Brian exchanged a fist bump with her. Then Kensi went up to a second screen, where Yeoman Rush's personnel file was seen.

"What was Rush's classification?" asked Sam.

"Well, according to his file," answered Kensi, "he was working Admin Support for the quartermaster's office."

"What's weird is," noted Eric, "Yeoman Rush's file is heavily encrypted."

Brian frowned, "What Admin division is encrypted?"

Sam explained, "The ones used to cover something confidential. Eric, find out what he was really working on."

"Well, could just be an unfortunate mishap", said Nate. Sam didn't seem convinced. He brought the video up, zoomed in and played it again, "Maybe. But that encrypted personnel file suggests he was working somewhere classified."

Callen stepped forward, "The other driver kept going. Never even tapped the brake."

"Doesn't mean he didn't know Rush or even murdered him," Brian added for consideration. The five turned to him. They had really piercing looks, but Brian didn't let it show in his face. He just put his hands into his – tight – pockets. On that account he should maybe talk again to Ms. Lange. But the others waited for an explanation from him.

"Such a crash doesn't go unnoticed for very long. Another driver hardly would've stopped. If NOS goes off, the best you can do is fleeing. This one nobody would've survived. And the police will have been there fast, so everyone will have scrammed to avoid more trouble."

"And what would you have done?" asked Nate interested. Brian look innocently back, "I just got a clean slate, so I'd hardly say I'd drive an illegal race."

"So, you don't think the other driver's running?" asked Eric. Sam brought up the picture if the Honda. Kensi listed, "Tinted windows, no plates, no ID."

But Sam had discovered a little marking on the car's rear, "Tokkan One. Tokkan, it's Japanese. It means a lightning bolt."

Callen asked Brian, "I know you weren't in the city for two years, but does the name ring a bell?"

"The racing scene is interconnected, too. I heard that Tokkan became the new number one after Dom ran from L.A. But no one exactly knows who that is. No one ever saw him."

"We need to find the other driver," said Callen, "let's check out the crash site."

"Take Kensi," spoke Sam. Callen and Kensi looked surprised at him. Puzzled Brian lifted a brow. Callen had told him that Sam was his best friend and partner. Shouldn't he therefore work with Callen together?

Sam turned around, "Yeah, you heard me. I know you're taking the PCH. I'm not sitting in traffic. So I'll find out everything I can about Yeoman Rush. You two suck exhaust for the next two hours."

Brian raised his hand, "Maybe then I could come with you?"

Sam crossed his arms, "So I should do all the work alone?"

"Okay," said Callen, "then Brian and I will drive and Kensi'll be helping you."

"No way!" meant Kensi, "I was looking forward to it."

She looked to Brian. A mischievous grin sneaked on her face, "Let's toss-up for it."

Brian hesitated, and then he accepted. They tossed a coin, Kensi was allowed to declare and won. But Brian wasn't too disappointed, "In exchange I'm entitled to look at the totaled car."

Kensi nodded.

"If the game's over," Callen grinned, "then let's go, Kensi. Hey, what do you say we stop for some doughnuts?"

Triumphantly Kensi passed Sam and Brian "I love doughnuts."

Sam shouted after them "You didn't say anything about doughnuts."

Brian grinned. This team was really wicked. It may be to his likening. He stepped beside Sam, "And what will we be doing now?"

Sam brought up the personnel file, "You're the so called car expert. Analyze the video with Eric."

Astonished Brian looked at Sam. Recently Sam seemed on edge around Brian.

Maybe the man was just tired.

It rang two times, before the man at the other end answered, "Vance, here."

"Hello, Leon," greeted Hetty, "I assume you already got my email?"

She heard a sigh, "You mean concerning your new protégé? His file is right before me. I'm not really sure, whether he's the right candidate. He has quite a record."

"Didn't you read the preliminary report from Miami, yet? The boy's a natural. And he meets all requirements: best at the police academy, outstanding shooter and driver, speaks several languages. And during his undercover assignments he only got good evaluations."

"Yes," mocked Vance, "at his last assignment he was so good, he changed sides. Hetty, with all the sensitive data your team daily works with, we can't afford that!"

"If we better watch out for O'Conner than his old bosses, something like that won't be repeated. The LAPD wasn't that innocent of the events two years ago."

"Be that as it may: I don't deem it a good idea."

Hetty inwardly cursed. She contemplated the surveillance photo, taken by the colleagues from L.A. two years ago and that now lay in Brian O'Conner's file. He reminded her strongly of Daryl. That was probably the reason why she fought so hard to keep the man.

"Director Vance, this man can handle more weapons than most of your agents. He has a good instinct and his interrogation evaluations show how manipulative he can be. I think the rest of his file speaks volumes."

"Hetty, if you so urgently need a replacement for Agent Vaile, then pick one of the NCIS agents. I guarantee you free choice. Or you talk to that undercover officer from the LAPD. Decker was his name, right?"

"Deeks. But that's irrelevant. I want O'Conner and I think he's earned a second chance. Think of your own past. Didn't somebody give you a second chance, too?"

Vance kept silent. Hetty allowed herself a little smile. So far it worked out. She closed in for the kill, "And think of that, Leon: Do you really want someone with O'Conner's skills on the other side?"

Vance sighed long. He hesitated and Hetty saw his face before her eye. The forehead frowning, the mouth distorted. But eventually he acknowledged defeat, "All right, Hetty. I'll put him on the list with the candidates for the FLETC and-"

"I don't think that will be necessary," Hetty quickly objected, "Why prolong it? O'Conner did already two expert courses for interrogation and shooting there. And now he should do basis training?"

"Hetty, the Criminal Investigator Training Program is mandatory for every new NCIS agent-"

"Do you want the poor boy to quit on his first day, because he's bored to death?"

Groaning Vance relented, "Very well, hetty. He doesn't have to do this training."

Satisfied Hetty grinned. She'd accomplished to outsmart the old fox again!

"But I want him learning under Gibbs for a few weeks. Then I'll be able to evaluate his performance myself. And if Gibbs didn't scare him off, he may return to the OSP."

"Whatever," Hetty agreed. Gibbs was a good mentor and Brian would survive a couple of weeks with him. The boy had survived much worse.

"Then I'll expect O'Conner in D.C. as soon as your case is closed," muttered Vance, "have a nice day, Hetty."

With that he hung up. Hetty clapped her hands, stood up and went to the water kettle. It was time for a nice cup of Rooibos tea.

While she waited for the water to boil, she discovered an envelope from the LAPD in her in-tray. Curious she opened the envelope and a photo of Callen fell out of it. He'd run a red light again.

Hetty's mood increased exponentially as she got an idea. Grinning she pured the water on the tea leaves and waited for Callen and Kensi to come back. Meanwhile she visited the web in search of driving schools.

Grinning Callen held the bag of donuts in his hand. He had a piece of raspberry vanilla in his hand and Kensi devoured the last piece of green apple. The last one was a chocolate donut with strawberry filling. He pressed the bag with it in it into Brian's hands, who smiled at him and immediately reached into it.

"You seem a little wet," he said and took a bite, "is it raining?"

"Heavy drizzle," answered Kensi, "but the track was the best. No obstacles far and wide. You can get your car at full speed, there."

Brian smirked. He had a sparkle in his eye and a little strawberry marmalade at his mouth's corner, which Callen would've liked to lick off. Instead he cleared his throat.

"There are some tracks in L.A.," Brian wiped the marmalade off and licked his thumb, "you'd like. There made for quarter mile races. But if you want to experience something really cool, join in Race Wars."

"I never heard of that."

"It goes down annually in the desert. The whole day just races, without cops and all. Only you, the track and your car. If you're good, you'll make money."

Excited Kensi linked arms with Brian, "I think you'll be my new best friend. Will you take me along one day?"

"I don't know. Do you have a car you could drive there? Just watching would be boring."

Kensi grinned so wide that Callen was happy Brian kept to just one team. He'd resent eliminating one of his best friends.

Brian seemed to read his thoughts, because he looked at Callen, "Maybe you should think about it, too. If you had fun in Miami, you'll like that for sure."

Callen stepped closer to Brian and lowered his voice, "Oh, fun I did have."

A blush covered Brian's cheeks. He opened his mouth, but Sam appeared, "Hello, G, already back again?"

"There and back in just over an hour on the PCH. Booyah!" he put the last piece of donut into his mouth.

Sam played it down, "Ah! You got lucky," his eyes wandered to Brian, who nodded back chewing, then back to Callen again, "Where's my doughnut?"

Callen looked down at Sam, "I thought you were watching your figure."

"Okay," that sounded a little aggressive.

"Oh, Mr. Callen," Hetty held a photo up. It looked damn like that of a traffic cam. Callen's heart dropped into his gut. He wasn't even back in L.A. for a day! Did the police really need that long to send the photo to Hetty? That was unfair!

Before he'd taken the plane down to Miami, he'd promised to drive properly. And just now he'd broken the speed limit just slightly.

"It seems you've been spotted again in a bit of a rush."

Callen took the letter with the picture from Hetty's hand. Brian looked at the photo, "Ooh, red light camera. Busted!"

Callen acted fast, "I was chasing a suspect."

That always went down well.

Sam pulled the paper to him, "Nope. That was our day off. You were late picking me up for the Kings game."

Annoyed and reproachful he stared at Sam. Thank you, partner!, he thought.

"No doughnut, no love," Sam replied.

Brian giggled, "It won't be that bad. You surely have contacts with the cops, right? Let them sort this out."

"Maybe our buddy Bernhart from LAPD can help you out with that", Kensi jumped in to help him.

Hetty wasn't that keen, "Oh, he most certainly will not. You're gonna jeopardize this cover?"

"Is it really that bad?" asked Brian, "You certainly just have to pay a fine, right. Everyone runs a red light sometimes."

"It isn't that easy", objected Hetty. That figures!

"You'll do what everybody else does and go to traffic school."

"That's quite a severe and boring punishment," pitying Brian patted his shoulder. Callen gifted him with an annoyed look and the blonde grinned cheekily back.

"It's no big deal," said Sam, "you can do it online. You'll love it."

"You can if you haven't had a conviction in the previous 18 months. Unfortunately, this is number three for Mr. Callen."

"You have three violations", astonished Brian looked at him, "don't you know how not to get caught?"

"Not everyone is a crazy driver like you", he muttered back, "maybe you should show me some tricks."

"I'll come, too!" shouted Kensi.

"Mr. Callen" oh, Hetty's voice was strict, which meant she was deadly serious, "You'll do 16 hours of in-class study."

"Hetty, you're joking", begged Callen. He was short on getting on his knees! He'd even wash her car!

"Don't worry", now she smiled and that was worse, "maybe it'll be fun. I enrolled you in a comedy traffic school for the next two days. On the second day they're doing education on their own grounds."

Almost panicked he looked at his boss. Brian beside him hid his grin behind his hand.

"You didn't!" Callen was now at the negotiation stage, "Hetty, I'm working on a case!"

"Sam and Kensi are more than capable of covering for you until you're finished."

Both nodded eagerly and Sam held both thumbs upwards. Traitor!

"One moment!" Brian's head darted up, "I didn't hear my name."

Hetty measured him with an amused look. Callen saw how Brian paled, "I anticipate nothing good."

"I thought it would be a good idea to give in your name together with Mr. Callen's."

"You thought so," murmured Brian almost inaudibly. He looked as if he was in shock.

"You are not supposed to fall back into old patterns," explained Hetty, "a little refreshment will do you good. And just for you I made sure you got a course with practical experience."

"Thanks," said Brian weakly and looked helplessly to Callen, who just shrugged his shoulders and was delighted that he wasn't alone in this farce.

Hetty looked at her watch, "It starts in one half hour in Culver City, so you best be on your way. We don't want you breaking the speed limit to get there."

Kensi suggested, "You might wanna take the 90. Just saying."

"Which is the Marina Freeway," said Hetty. Callen just found one word for that, "Ha!"

"We'll take the 405th", Brian chimed in, "the San Diego Freeway. It's significantly faster. Pass me the keys, please, G?"

Callen wanted to reply something, but threw them just defeated at the blonde.

Before they were out of the villa, he turned around again and said to Kensi, "If you got something, send a preliminary report to the appraiser. She shouldn't call us and get on our nerves."

"Appraiser?" asked Brian confused, "What appraiser?"

"Her name's Allison Pritchett and she's appraiser for Raydex insurances."

Brian snorted, "I bet! I think Eric should check this woman. She lied coldly to you."

Callen looked open mouthed at him.

"Why do you think so, Mr. O'Conner?" asked Hetty.

"You can't get insurance for cars for street races. Even if your car is insured, as soon as you tune it for street race, it gets invalid. Every good driver knows that."

"Wherefrom?" asked Callen.

"Well, some learn it from experience; the others know the California traffic regulations."

"Wow, well", said Kensi and put her hands on her hips, "I'll tell Eric. And you both learn more about traffic laws."

"Ha ha", said Callen. With sagging shoulders he and Brian departed. Into a day of hell.