Rule #10: Never get involved in the politics of the NCIS.


Somehow, by sheer stroke of luck, Xander managed to beat Gibbs back to Quantico. This meant that he was able to slink into the bullpen under the stares and scrutiny of Tony, McGee and Ziva but avoid further wrath from Gibbs. Tossing his pack under his desk, located just around the devider to McGee's and still within view of Gibbs', Xander all but collapsed into his chair.

Dropping his head onto his desk with an explosive groan, he couldn't help but think whistfully to the warm bed he'd left behind only a few hours ago and the peace and simplicity that went along with it. The heavy pendant around his kneck slides free of his shirt and thuds onto the desk shortly after, yet another reminder of all the secrets Xander keeps.

Even with his head down and eyes closed, the muscles in the back of his neck and shoulders slowly began to tense as he felt the weight of the trio of stares on him. Without moving an inch, Xander could tell that Tony and McGee were hovering above him thanks to the shuffle of their shoes on the floor. Ziva, he was less certain about, given that she did live up to her ninja knickname when it came to stealth.

He might be down an eye, and his other senses may have grown to compensate this, but the Islraeli woman could move quieter than a Slayer when she wanted to.

It was a little terrifying sometimes.

"Uh, Xander?" McGee starts, uncertainty clear in his voice and the way he shifts anxiously.

Rolling his head to the side, Xander finds himself staring at Tony and McGee's chests, his left cheek pressed heavily onto his desk. If he still had a left eye, it would probably be relegated to staring at his own nose.

"Mmm?" he can't even drum up the energy for real words.

"What… what was that thing?" McGee asks quietly.

Xander wants nothing more than to tell the truth. It would make whatever happens next in his life so much easier. But he can't, he won't ruin his team's view of the world with all the darkness.

So what comes out almost makes him break down in wild laughter.

"Pretty sure it was a dude on PCP McGee."

"PCP, Xander, really? Do you think we're that stupid? I saw the blood," Tony snaps, fear turning into irritation.

Glancing past the two looming forms of his friends, Xander can see Ziva seated at her desk, feet propped up next to a stack of files, and toying absently with one of her knives as she watches the three males. Her dark gaze is unreadable.

Before anyone can say anything else, the elevator dings and Gibbs strides in.

"McGee, get me all the information on the IWC now!" he barks, sending the young agent scrambling back to his desk. "DiNozzo, take your camera to Abby and get her to run anything and everything."

As Tony vanishes down to the lab, pack in tow, Xander sits up and tucks his pendant back into his shirt. Opening his mouth, he mentally prepares himself to start the sparing match of attempting to stop Gibbs from investigating any further.

"Gibbs, you were ordered to drop this, were you not?" Ziva asks, continuing to pick at her nails with the blade as she speaks.

Clearly not expecting to hear an argument from the Mossad agent, the MCRT leader and Xander both stare at the woman. She stares back impassively.

"Agent Gibbs, Agent Harris, could you come up to my office for a moment," Vance breaks into the tension, unaware of the silent battle of wills he'd just stepped into.

With the tension effectively disperssed, Ziva returns her full focus to the blade in her hands and Gibbs looks vaguely like he is about to have a stroke. Xander watches Vance's retreating back for no more than a second before he quick steps his way out of the dangerous waters that make up the MCRT bullpen. Sensing several pairs of eyes on his back, Xander can't stop the instinctive twitch that accompanies the flood of adrenaline. The constant scrutiny is making him jumpy and he feels a little like an elastic slowly being stretched taught.

Vance leads the way into his office, leaving the door wide open for Gibbs, who trails behind, and Xander settles into the guest chair furthest from the door. He fights the inexplicable urge to sit on his hands. Instead, he plucks a pen from Vance's desk while the director speaks quietly with Cynthia and sets about spinning it between his fingers, nerves playing an accordian of stress on his emotions.

Gibbs storms in seconds later like the embodiment of a thundercloud, all dark scowls and furrowed brow, frustrated energy flying off in all directions like bolts of lightning. It fills the room in a flash, pushing at Xander's chest and pulling a frown from Vance.

"Agent Gibbs, would you take a seat?" Vance asks.

"I'd rather stand," Gibbs retorts.

Vance levels a stern look at the MCRT team leader. "That wasn't a question Gibbs."

Xander gets the very real sense that if it weren't the director Gibbs would bare is teeth and snarl like a very angry real bear.

The thunder seems to swell and press outwards as Gibbs lowers himself into the second visitors chair.

"Now, I received an interesting phone call this morning that I'm hoping you can shed some light on that Agent Harris," as Vance finishes speaking, his gaze slowly drifts from Gibbs to settle heavily on Xander.

He blinks, but is only put off for a fraction of a second, mind working quickly and snark slipping out before he can stop it.

"Sorry director, the escort service I use is very high end and I don't think they accept the broody types," as soon as the words are free, Xander wishes very much that his reaction to stress wasn't incredibly inappropriate jokes and that he could gain control of his tongue right now thank you very much. But the sight of Vance fighting off what might actually be an aneurysm and the way the directors face twists into something that Xander can only describe to be as modern art, make it almost worth the hell that's about to come for his quip. Out of the corner of his eye, Xander catches Gibbs gaze on him and swears that he sees the slightest twitch of his boss' lips beneath the scowl.

"As much as I would love to write you up for insubordination for that Harris, I have some questions about the IWC, and while I may have been bound by the orders to turn over the MCRT case form this morning, you're going to answer them."

"Not unless you have 50 bucks," Xander retorts, this time sighing into the silence and giving himself a light smack on the back of his head. Glancing over at Gibbs, he mouths sorry boss, and then continues in a more serious tone.

"And I have no clue what the IWC is, so I couldn't answer even if I wanted to."

"Is that so?" Vance asks, quircking an eyebrow and, if Xander hadn't been in the game of intimidation for years, he could see how the director usually got his way.

"Yep," Xander responds, popping the p loudly.

The eyebrow rises higher and Xander can't help but figure that if Vance had any hair, his eyebrows would have merged with it. The image is enough to pull a small snort free.

That sends the eyebrow shooting to the moon.

"I'm the director of NCIS, I have some of the highest clearance in the country, and you, a mere agent, have no authority not to answer. I know you're connected to the IWC in someway, I read the report Agent McGee filed and I know that you are on first name terms with the two IWC folk who took over the scene. Now, Agent Harris, do you care to change your story?"

As Vance's tone darkens and the threat within the director's words becomes clear, something in Xander shifts. There's something to be said for loyalty and Xander's first instinct is to protect the IWC and all it holds with the ferocity of a wolf.

Mind working frantically to try and come up with some way for him to get out of this without dangerously straining his bonds with NCIS, he can't, not in any sound mind, answer the questions he knows Vance wants to ask. Now is not the time.

(The next time Xander sees Spike, he's going to punch the vampire in his pale face.)

"Oh Director Vance, you trying to flex your political muscles in front of me will do nothing but maybe give me fuel for some very interesting cartoon ideas," Xander retorts, settling into his chair.

"Agent Harris, I will have you stripped of your badge if you keep up this insolence," Vance snaps, hands coming to slam on his desk in frustration.

"You and I both know insubbordination wouldn't warrant that; sure you could stick me on desk duty or transfer me, but you'll find that harder than it's worth."

"Harris!" Vance snaps, nostrils flaring and shooting to his feet to loom over his desk, rage flooding the room. It bats away the still lingering tension from Gibbs' thundercloud like cobwebs before a broom.

Sighing, and hoping to salvage any sort of peace between him and the director, Harris relaxes a fraction. "Sorry Director, but I actually can't give you the answers you're looking for, no matter how much you think or suspect I know. Because I don't have the answers."

For a second, Xander actually thinks Vance might leap over his desk and throttle him. Instead, what he says makes Xander's heart sink to his feet.

"Gibbs, you have my full authority to continue your investigation into the matter this morning, using whatever evidence you managed to gather and I'll clear any overtime you may need. Use Ms. Scutio and you can bump any other investigations out of the way. I want to know everything you can about the folks who took over this morning and the IWC," Vance may be addressing Gibbs but Xander knows all this is directed at him.

"Director, you can't -"

Vance shoots him a look that says, go ahead, I dare you, and the young agent falls silent.

Gibbs ponders his order for a long second, gaze moving between the other two men as he runs over something in his mind.

Then he nods slowly and something triumphant flickers through Vance. He stands upright and seats himself carefully. When the director folds his hands on the desk, Xander finally manages to resist his immediate urge to stick out his tongue.

"Wonderful. Agent Gibbs, I trust you will punish Agent Harris sufficiently for his insubordination; I have another meeting to get to."

With that, he looks down at the papers on his desk, a smug smirk firmly in place.

Xander opens his mouth to say something, but Gibbs flicks a finger at him in warning and stands, leading the way out of the room. He follows, chest a maelstorm of conflicting emotions, and digs into his pocket for his phone. Plodding along after Gibbs, he thumbs out a quick text as he hovers at the top of the stairs.

Giles, we have a problem. Get back to me when you can.