"What was that for?"

Gibbs ignored Palmer's reaction to the headslap. "Call me when you've got something, Duck."

As he headed out of Autopsy, he heard Ducky say, "You're the only one here he still does that to, Mr. Palmer. I encourage you to take it personally."

Gibbs stepped into the elevator, first glancing over his shoulder; Palmer had a big dopey grin on his face. He enjoyed a rare smile of his own as he rode upstairs, but it was replaced by a frown when he arrived in the bullpen. It had been three months since his three new team members had replaced Tony, McGee and Ziva, and the only legitimate complaint he had was that they were not Tony, McGee and Ziva.

O'Brien, Kaplan and Lombardi were competent, hardworking, willing to obey orders and eager to please. They worked as a team and they assisted each other when the situation demanded it. They were also ambitious and competitive. And they didn't like each other. They just tolerated each other. That was the biggest problem. Or difference, rather. Only an idiot would be mad that his team was professional, but nothing more.

Gibbs sat at his desk after nodding in acknowledgment of each new agent's polite, "Agent Gibbs." They'd all given McGee funny looks when he'd walked into the bullpen a week after the change to pick up a book he'd 'forgotten' and called Gibbs 'boss.'

He sighed. You couldn't force them to be friends and you couldn't order them to be more familiar with you. His glance flicked up to the empty catwalk. And you couldn't complain.

He had seriously contemplated quitting again – or just retiring permanently – until he'd found a good reason to stay when an unexpected phone call had come in over a month ago. Speaking of which… He answered his cell phone without checking the caller ID first. "Gibbs."

"Safe to talk?"

"I'll be down in a few minutes, Abby." He snapped the phone shut and walked out of the bullpen, waving his new team members back into their seats. They had stopped following him everywhere after the first six weeks, either because Vance had decided he wasn't plotting a coup or because they'd gotten bored.

The elevator was just as good a place to converse as ever. Abby had run a bug check to make sure for him. He hit the emergency stop and returned the call he had just received. The line connected before the second ring. "Gibbs."

"You know what time it is, don't you?"

Ziva laughed. "I've got plans later tonight. I didn't think I would be able to call when I was fairly certain you would be at home. Have you heard anything?"

"Latest reports put them in Léon."

"Spain or France?"

"When did France get involved?"

"Who said anything about it? I was just questioning your accent. Spain, then?"

"Yeah. Where are you?"

She sighed loudly enough for him to hear. "You know I cannot tell you that."

"Ziva, you're chasing the same people and NCIS has a special interest in apprehending the bastards."

"And bringing them to trial?"

"Well…"

"Exactly why it is better for Moussad to handle it. I hate to say it, Gibbs, but all of our evidence indicates that the team that was killed allowed themselves to be set up far too easily. I will not let that happen again."

"You and I both know he won't allow it to."

"True, but…I would rather have them out of our way."

"They wouldn't be in your way if you hooked up."

"I…I have already discussed it with our director, and we have been ordered not to initiate contact. We…" Her voice became distant for a moment as she shouted something in Hebrew. "Sorry. We are authorized to offer collaboration if accidental contact occurs. I would just like some advance warning if such contact is going to occur."

"I take it you aren't worried about it at the moment."

"They are several steps behind if they are still in León. Are you…are you in contact with him?"

"The answer is still no. I know he talks to McGee and Abby occasionally. He thinks I blame him." Gibbs rubbed his forehead. "Remind him I don't if you see him."

"It is highly unlikely…"

"You wouldn't keep calling to check up if you didn't want…"

"I am doing my job, Gibbs. I need to know where our allies are as well as our enemies so nothing unfortunate occurs. How do you think I would feel if we fired on NCIS inadvertently?"

"Probably about as bad as he'd feel if he ends up shooting at you."

"There is no need to worry about…" He waited as she had another conversation on her end. "I'm sorry. I have to…"

"Yeah, wouldn't want to screw up your plans. Stay safe, Ziva."

"You as well. Shalom."

He leaned against the elevator wall, phone grasped loosely in his hand. He wasn't sure how his relationship with Ziva had devolved into covert conversations with him sharing classified information, but he had to believe it was all for the best.

Abby was chattering when he walked into the lab, "…but I told him that I was not that kind of girl, which he only believed when I showed him the taser. I'm so glad you let me keep that!" She suddenly turned and saw him. "Gibbs! I should have known you'd be eavesdropping on my conversations with Moppet Ziva." She picked up the mock-up and moved to stand against the wall beside a similar figure representing Tony.

"Not healthy for you to be talking to them so often."

"Oh, I don't talk to Moppet Tony that much anymore. I get to talk to real Tony at least once a week since Director Vance decided that the Rota team's evidence on this terrorist cell should all be verified through my lab. Ziva, on the other hand… I probably am talking to Moppet Ziva too much. I wish she'd call."

Gibbs held his tongue, on one issue anyway. "Next time you talk to DiNozzo, tell him he's several steps behind. And that he may need to expand into France."

"Gibbs, how do you…"

"Never mind, just let him know. Now, do you have anything on the Pratt case?"

"I would have called you if I did. I'm still waiting for the computer to…hey!" She spun as an alert sounded. "Have we talked about your magical, spooky timing, Gibbs?"

"Yup." He wondered if the fact that Abby had suddenly come up with relevant evidence meant that he was making the right choice. He wouldn't have to make up a lie to tell his new team, at any rate. "And?"

"Fingerprints! We've got a hit! Ooh, he looks like a bad guy."

"Send it upstairs."

"Done. Oh, I should have held that hostage until you told me how you know that Tony is…"

"Stop, Abby. Just give him the message and let me know where he ends up."

"Why?"

"To keep him safe."

Her eyes went wide. "Someone is after Tony?"

"No, just trying to avoid him." He wasn't sure that she understood everything from his look, but he was sure that she understood enough to trust him. "Make sure you tell me where he is when you find out."

She seemed to fight off her worry and saluted. "Consider it done."

He kissed her cheek and went back to the elevator. He had a strange feeling, like he was being pushed and pulled at once and the only forces were coming from somewhere in his own body. Together and separate were blurring. He no longer had a gut instinct telling him what was best for his team.

In the bullpen, Lombardi and Kaplan were arguing over the possible motives of the man whose fingerprints had been found on the weapon left at their latest crime scene. He wished he could sweep it all away. A temporary solution was all he could come up with. "Go pick him up."

"Agent Gibbs?"

He pointed at their shocked faces. "You and you. Go get him."

"You…aren't coming?"

"If you don't think you can manage a simple arrest, I'm sure O'Brien would be happy to go instead."

"I would, Agent Gibbs," O'Brien said, standing quickly.

"Don't bother," Kaplan rejoined. "We're on our way."

Gibbs waited until he was certain Lombardi and Kaplan would be gone before walking to the elevator without telling O'Brien where he was headed. Coffee. Maybe coffee would make him feel better.