An unexpected flurry of cases meant that the MCRT worked the following weekend so the proposed bonfire didn't happen.

Tony did make time, however, to start going through the boxes marked 'Books'. Some of the books were old school texts and one of them enabled him to mend fences with his neighbour. Gloria Gordon was delighted to get a book called 'British war heroes of the nineteenth century' featuring a picture of General Gordon of Khartoum on the cover. Tony didn't like being on bad terms with his neighbours but there was an added reason to be on Gloria's good side. She was a phenomenal baker who had been forbidden by her doctor to eat her creations so she needed to find someone to eat her cakes; the gift of the war heroes book meant that Tony once again became the recipient of Hummingbird Cake, Red Velvet Cake, Whoopie Pies and whatever else she whipped up.

Tony also found a series of children's books on the American Civil War. He had no interest in that subject but, remembering that they had used his crate as an impromptu fort, he bestowed them on the young occupants of apartment 6.

There were some books, however, which he found himself unable to give up. There was a near complete set of Paddington Bear books: these had been gifts from Aunt Caroline who had usually send him one as a Christmas or birthday gift. The other, even more precious, find was a set of the Mary Poppins books which he had read with his mom and which were inscribed with messages from her. If he was honest, he had enjoyed watching the movie more but the books were a link to his mother which he was pleased to rediscover. The Paddington and Mary Poppins books found a home in his bedroom (he wasn't quite brave enough to put them on display in his main living room) and he occasionally found one to be a soothing bedtime read after a stressful day of capturing criminals.

Tony put aside the rest of the books, resolving to ask Tim if any of them would be suitable for his scout troop and thinking that the remainder could go to some thrift store.

Tony was now able to turn his attention to the remaining boxes ambiguously labelled 'Misc' which he assumed was short for miscellaneous. One box had the bed linen and towels from the drawers under his bed so he soon had another pile ready to go to the thrift store. The other boxes turned out to hold the contents of the various shelves in the room and these sent Tony down memory lane once more.

There was a picture of his parents' wedding day. They were dressed in what was probably the height of fashion for the time but it just looked embarrassing to Tony: they looked very happy, however, and were surrounded by members of their family who had varying degrees of approval on their faces. Tony spent some time trying to identify everyone and spotting family likenesses; he had always thought he took most over Senior but now he could see similarities with his mother's relatives as well.

There were photos of Tony with sports teams, with school friends and holding trophies. There was one of him at Camp wearing his clogs and Tony decided to leave that one hidden somewhere. There was one of him sitting at the piano with his mom but that was the only family picture and, most conspicuously of all, there were none of Senior.

Tony sighed and continued to look through the boxes. There was a plaque awarded for being the most improved basketball player of the year; he remembered that was the year in which he had finally had a growth spurt which had brought him up to the height of his class mates. There were medals and certificates for running, for teams winning leagues and competitions and there was an old football which Tony felt must have been significant at some point but he couldn't remember what momentous event in his young life it had come from. A couple of diplomas for passing piano examinations brought back a mixture of memories.

It was only as he emptied the last of the boxes that he realised that he had half been expecting to find something else. He smiled at his foolishness and tried to decide what to do with the rest of what he had found.

NCISNCIS

The next day he went to see Ducky in the morgue with a slight feeling of apprehension about what he was going to say to him.

"Good morning, Anthony," said Ducky with his usual courtesy, "and what can I do for you this fine morning? Although actually I fear it is not a particularly fine day, I found it to be rather chilly this morning and the weather forecast was not encouraging. But I digress, to what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?"

"It's about the miniatures, Ducky …"

"You know, Anthony, I am most excited about widening my knowledge of eighteenth and nineteenth century English colourists although, as I think I mentioned before, I believe the history of the work of their contemporaries in Scotland is equally fascinating although it may be rather more difficult to access their history. But I interrupted you, pray continue."

"I'm really grateful to you …"

"Really, Anthony, you do not need to express any gratitude to me. I will enjoy the task very much. It will be a welcome respite from the doom and gloom of my usual occupation. Although it should be said that some anatomical diagrams are works of art in their own right and when time permits I may extend my research to those as well. Dear, dear; I do apologise, Anthony. I seem to be monopolising the conversation."

"I think you said that you might know someone interested in putting them in a gallery …"

"Yes, indeed. I know the very person, I am sure he will be delighted to consider them."

"Will be?" pressed Tony, "does that mean you haven't asked him yet?"

"I do apologise, Anthony. I fear I have been very busy over the last few days …"

"But …" tried Tony.

"But you are right, Anthony, it is unforgiveable. I undertook to perform this task for you and I have failed …"

"I don't …"

"And you are right not to understand, Anthony. I pride myself on keeping my promises and I have let you down. I promise I will not let the matter rest any longer. I will contact Christopher as soon as I have finished the current autopsy report."

"Please don't," said Tony.

"I quite understand, Anthony. There is no reason why you should continue to trust me in this."

"DUCKY!" said Tony in desperation.

"Why, Anthony, whatever is the matter?"

"Ducky, I've been trying to tell you …,"

"Ant …" began Ducky but was stopped by Tony raising a hand to silence him.

"I emailed my cousin Crispian a few days ago when I found the portraits. I thought he should know where they are."

"That was thoughtful of you, my boy. I do hope he is not laying claim to them … I must say that your documentation looked very thorough and seemed to confirm that the miniatures were being gifted to you. I could recommend a good lawyer if you need one …"

"Ducky!" said Tony in a warning voice. Ducky bowed his head in submission so Tony continued, "I got a reply overnight …" Ducky opened his mouth to speak but closed it again at Tony's warning glance, "turns out that Crispian knew where they were, Uncle Clive had told him."

"That is very reassuring, Anthony. I'm sure Christopher will be pleased to know that the ownership is not in doubt."

"Crispian also told me that the other Paddington family miniatures are going on a long term loan to the National Portrait Gallery in London."

"Yes?" said Ducky, briefly for once.

"Yes. And I think it would be good to let Elizabeth and Edward join them there."

"Oh," said Ducky.

"Don't you think that would be a good idea?" asked Tony anxiously, "lots of people would be able to see them."

"I think it is a splendid idea, Anthony. It turns out to be rather fortuitous that I had not made any enquiries."

"And you could still do your research," said Tony encouragingly.

"Indeed," said Ducky, "it will be good to broaden my intellectual horizons. It doesn't do to rest on one's laurels, you know."

"Ducky," said Tony with a laugh, "you are the least likely person I know to rest on anything!"

Gibbs came in at the moment, looking for the autopsy report and heard the end of the conversation between the two.

"And tell me, Anthony, have you finished unpacking those boxes yet?"

"Yeah, last night, Ducky."

"Did you discover any more treasures?"

"No, Ducky, no more priceless heirlooms!"

"Not even Mr Fuggles?"

"No, no Mr Fuggles."

NCISNCIS

Gibbs arrived at Tony's apartment that night.

"Boss?" said Tony as he opened the door. He cast his mind back over the day but couldn't think of anything which had happened to prompt another visit from Gibbs.

"Brought the other frame," said Gibbs, shoving a package into Tony's hands.

Tony relaxed a little, "Thanks, Boss." He ripped the covering off and admired Gibbs' latest handiwork. He put the picture on the piano next to the miniatures. He turned to see Gibbs surveying the pile of books in one corner.

"Who knew I had so many books?" he joked, "I'm thinking those'll go to the thrift shop."

"Mind if I have a look?" said Gibbs.

"Sure," said a puzzled Tony.

"Mike Franks' granddaughter is just getting into reading," explained Gibbs, "she might like some of them."

"Oh, OK. Not sure how girly they are, though."

"Don't think that'll matter. At her age they don't really think like that."

"Knock yourself out, I'll put the coffee on."

Gibbs selected a few books and sat back on the couch with them. He nursed the mug of coffee and seemed to start reading one of the books. Tony relaxed a little and then jumped when Gibbs said casually,

"So who's Mr Fuggles?"

Tony choked on his coffee and Gibbs had to slap him on the back.

"What?" he gasped when he could breathe again.

"Heard Ducky say you were looking for Mr Fuggles."

"Not exactly looking," said Tony.

Gibbs did his eyebrow raising gesture.

"I wouldn't have minded finding him," admitted Tony, "but I wasn't actually looking for him."

"I think Ducky would call that semantics," said Gibbs, "so who was he?"

"A toy rabbit. It's not a big deal, you know."

"I didn't say it was," said Gibbs mildly. "Why Fuggles?"

"Senior was into English beer at the time. He was looking into importing special brews into New York bars. He said there was a type of hop called 'fuggle' so, as rabbits hop, fuggle would be a good name for my rabbit."

"Your dad gave you the rabbit?"

"Bit out of character, eh?" said Tony.

Gibbs shrugged, not wanting to give an opinion.

"It was my ninth birthday," Tony continued, deliberately not looking towards Gibbs, "I fell out of the tree in our garden. Senior, unusually, was at home and took me to the emergency room. He got Mr Fuggles for me in the gift shop while my arm was being put in plaster."

Gibbs nodded approvingly, thinking that Tony had at least one good story to tell of his father, even if it did involve a broken arm.

"When he came back, the nurse told him they were admitting me for the night because I'd hit my head and they wanted to keep me in for observation. He came and sat with me in my room, he held my hand. We came up with the name for Mr Fuggles." Tony took a sip of his coffee, "he didn't tell me off for climbing the tree or for ruining the birthday party. It felt like what fathers are meant to do." He turned his gaze so he was looking straight at Gibbs and said in a carefully emotionless voice, "and then he told me to be a good boy and he'd see me when he got home because he had to go off on a business trip to California."

"And did he?"

"What, go? Oh, yes, he went. Not sure it was a business trip but I'm pretty sure he went to California."

Gibbs didn't know what to say but Tony didn't seem to mind and carried on, "I know it's pathetic, but I really loved Mr Fuggles. It was about the only thing I could remember Senior ever buying me himself and he was really nice to me – well, until he left. Mr F was small enough for me to be able to take everywhere and people not notice. I even took him to boarding school with me. I'd look at him and think that Senior could do the right thing sometimes."

"He left you in the hospital," said Gibbs crossly.

Tony shrugged, "With Senior, I learned to take what I could. Like I said, I took Mr Fuggles with me everywhere. Until I went to England; I left him in the Long Island house but I never went back so I didn't see Mr Fuggles again."

Gibbs was glad he had a reputation as a functional mute as he couldn't think of what to say and he couldn't think of anything he could do to fix it. Tony might have divined something of what his Boss was thinking,

"Please don't tell Abby. She'd start doing some sort of search to find a replica or replacement and, honestly, Boss, I'm not even sure what he looked like anymore. It's not a big deal, really."

Gibbs had to settle for that and left shortly afterwards.

NCISNCIS

The National Portrait Gallery was delighted with Tony's offer to lend them the Paddington miniatures and things moved surprisingly quickly. A few days later, Tony took some leave to visit London and deliver them himself. He took a London cab from his hotel to the gallery where he was warmly greeted and shown the gallery where the miniatures would live from now on; then it was time to sign the paper work and hand the pictures over. He wondered if this was a bit like a parent leaving a child at school for the first time: he knew the pictures would be safe and well-looked after but he was surprised to find that he didn't want to let them go.

The gallery wanted to show their gratitude so gave him lunch and, after a few seemingly casual questions, offered to show Tony some of their collection of photos of 20th century English movie stars. This meant that he spent a happy hour looking at pictures of Elizabeth Taylor, David Niven, Dirk Bogarde and Merle Oberon and left feeling a lot more content. He had to fight his way through the crowds milling around the Portrait Gallery and was pleased to see how popular it was; he hoped it meant that lots of people would be looking at his miniatures. He decided to get the full London experience so walked across Trafalgar Square after leaving the gallery and went on a traditional red double decker bus for a round-London tour.

The next day he looked up the trains from London to Henley and was absurdly pleased to find that they went from Paddington station. Once in Henley he took a cab to a village just outside the town and went to the quiet churchyard where his great uncle was buried. He knelt to lay a bunch of white roses on the grave and then stayed there lost in memories of Clive until he realised that it had started to rain and he was getting soaked. He stood up, briefly touched the headstone and said, "Thank you. Sorry it's late, but thank you."

Then he got up and went to the pub which stood next to the church. He grinned when he saw that they sold beer made from Fuggles hops so he ordered a pint and a ploughman's lunch to tide him over until it was time to go back to London.

NCISNCIS

Gibbs kept an eye on Tony's apartment and fed Kate while he was away. Shortly after Tony had gone away he picked up the mail and noticed that a package had arrived which had a return address for Anthony DiNozzo Sr; almost without thinking he tucked it in his pocket and took it home with him.

A happy Tony bounced into the squad room the day after his return from the UK and distributed his gifts. McGee got a money box in the form of a London red post-box (to save your royalties in, Probie). Abby got a doll dressed as a Tower of London Beefeater; Ziva a tin of shortbread with a picture of Buckingham Palace on it; Ducky got a biography of George Romney (to help with your research), Jimmy got a book on the London Eye ('cos I know you're interested in eyes) and Gibbs got a model of the Cutty Sark tea clipper moored at Greenwich.

As the team looked at their gifts and gazed doubtfully at the additional present of tooth destroying Brighton Rock, Gibbs jerked his head to summon Tony to his desk.

"Those books and the other stuff you're going to donate?"

"Yes, Boss?"

"I'm having a yard sale on Saturday. D'you want to put your stuff in it?"

"You're having a what?" said Tony in disbelief.

"You heard me, a yard sale."

Tony mimicked Gibbs and raised an eyebrow in enquiry.

"The street's doing some fund raising for a kids' play area. Seems a good cause and I've got some trash to get rid of. D'you want in or not?"

"In, Boss. Definitely."

"We'll have that bonfire afterwards."

"Thanks, Boss."

"8am sharp, DiNozzo. Don't be late."

Gibbs' yard sale was a surreal experience for Tony. It turned out that Gibbs was the star of his neighbourhood: a mender of dripping faucets, broken windows and creaking hinges and someone who seemed to keep the street safe. As a result his neighbours turned out in droves to pick over his goods and they were all eager to buy something as a way of saying thank you to their guardian. It was just as well that his 'trash' was supplemented by Tony's contribution as otherwise the yard sale would have been over in an hour.

Tony enjoyed talking to the customers and was glad to see that his childhood belongings were going to good homes and helping to raise money to help other kids. When Gibbs nodded towards a father and his small son and said,

"Denis is into civil war re-enactions,"

Tony knew what he should so. He went to his car and hauled out his old costume. A few minutes later the pair walked off happily with the costume in a bag and their money still in their pockets. Tony thought the father and son looked a good family who could withstand any jinx associated with the clothes but he couldn't bear the thought of getting money for his unhappy memory.

The efficient Gibbs soon had his yard neat and tidy once the sale was over and he and Tony retreated to the back yard.

"Thought we'd have steak as well," Gibbs said, "might as well make use of the fire."

"Fine with me, Boss."

Gibbs got the fire burning and Tony went to collect the ski-suit/astronaut costume.

"I don't think anyone would want this anyway," said Tony, "I did a real number on it all those days ago."

Gibbs grunted and Tony chose to interpret this as approval. He wondered if he should say something as he consigned the costume to the flames but, reflecting that Gibbs wasn't really one for ceremony, he just tossed it in. He watched as it writhed in the heat and then finally disintegrated. Tony was surprised not to feel anything much as it was destroyed; he guessed that perhaps he had taken Gibbs' advice and consigned the bad memory to the trash where it could no longer hurt him.

Gibbs coughed, "Package came for you when you were away. From your Dad."

"Oh, God," said Tony, "tell me it's not another crate."

"It's not another crate," said Gibbs obligingly.

"Phew," said Tony but he looked uncertain enough to make Gibbs think he had been right to consider withholding the parcel. He took the package out of his pocket and handed it to Tony feeling that he wanted to be on hand in case Senior was about to unleash another of his unpleasant surprises.

Tony shook the parcel and prodded it.

"D'you know what's in it?" he asked.

"Nope. Thought of getting Abby to x-ray it but decided that was overkill," said Gibbs deadpan.

"Oh, well. Might as well get it over with," said Tony, ripping the tape off. He pulled out something wrapped in bubble wrap and an accompanying letter.

"Dear Anthony," he read out loud, "sending you that package the other week reminded me of something. I went into your room when it was being packed up and saw your rabbit on your desk. Call me an old softie but it looked so lonesome there that I picked it up and took it with me. I've had it with me ever since, it always reminded me of you. I used to picture that little boy being so brave in hospital and how hard it was for me to walk away.

But now everything else in the room has come back to you so here is Mr Fuggles too.

See you soon, love, Dad."

With slightly shaky hands, Tony unfolded the bubble wrap to reveal a rather shabby (and to Gibbs' eyes) ugly plush rabbit. A soft smile dawned on Tony's face and he rubbed one finger gently over a lopsided ear.

"Senior," he sighed, "always full of surprises, eh?"

Gibbs stood up,

"Guess we don't need the fire for Mr Fuggles?"

"No!" said Tony in an outraged voice.

"Good. I'll put the steaks on then," and as he walked back to the house he gave Tony a slap on the back.


AN: thank you to everyone who made suggestions for what could be in the boxes – I think I probably got most of them in!

I didn't know fuggle was a type of hop (beer ingredient) until after I'd named Mr Fuggles but I think naming a rabbit after a hop sort of fits.