A/N: Because yesterday's chapter was so short, I'm posting this now to make up for it. Thanks to all who have reviewed, and a shout out to all my regular peeps. It's so nice to see you all!

Disclaimer: Disclaimed.

Gibbs was annoyed.

At the end of a long day spent at a crime scene, his usual winding down routine involved retreating to his basement with some bourbon and his boat. There wasn't a boat out the back of the base house that he could turn to now for meditation or distraction, so as soon as they'd gotten back from Petty Officer Woods' apartment, Gibbs had put on his running gear and hit the pavement. He'd been jogging for the last hour as problems, theories, and exposition floated into and out of his head, sometimes with a resolution and sometimes without.

The team had spent the afternoon on the case, meticulously going over each of the crime scenes. They'd bagged every glass and empty bottle, dusted every bed frame, window and door, collected the sheets and every item of trash. Two boxes brimming with evidence would be put on a plane at 0500 tomorrow morning and make its way to Abby for processing in DC.

Despite not having made headway today, it wasn't the case that was bothering him. Gibbs knew that things were always foggy and nonsensical at the beginning of an investigation, but he was sure that somewhere in the pile of glass, plastic and fabric there would be something to help them track down the killer. By this time tomorrow, things were bound to be much clearer.

No, the thing that was annoying Gibbs the most was what was going on with his team.

Vance wanted to steal his senior agent. His senior agent was sleeping with his junior agent. His junior agent was struggling to pretend like she wasn't as madly in love with him as he was with her. And his middle agent was laboring under the misconception that Gibbs was so distracted by the other two that he didn't see what he was trying to get up to with Abby.

Did everyone think he was stupid?

It wasn't that he didn't think Tony was ready to be team leader—he'd clearly been ready for years. And it wasn't that he didn't believe that Tony and Ziva were serious about each other—that had been obvious for almost as long as Tony's team leader potential had been. Nor was he explicitly against McGee being crazy about Abby—though he wasn't sure if that was a long-term thing. What irritated him was that everyone seemed to have decided that the only way to go about things was to lie and sneak around. Gibbs might expect suspects to lie to him, but he couldn't swallow it coming from his own team.

Although he didn't want them to be completely upfront about things, either. He could do without having Tony and Ziva screwing in the bedroom next to his, and he definitely didn't need to witness McGee stumbling and bumbling over the object of his affection. And God help any of them if he ever caught them playing grab ass when they were supposed to be working. But they didn't have to insult him by acting like none of it was happening.

Gibbs could think of easy fixes for each of these problems. Vance wanted his senior agent? Okay. Ignoring the sharp and heavy sense of panic that thought brought to Gibbs' chest, that definitely had an easy fix. If DiNozzo wanted it, he should definitely have it. The kid had long been too good to stay under Gibbs' command. His talent was being wasted playing the sidekick, and if he wasn't already bored where he was, he soon would be.

Problem two: Tony and Ziva. Another easy fix. Tony took the team leader position, Gibbs wouldn't have to continue to accommodate them, and on top of that, their chances of making it together in the long term rose significantly. If they stayed on the same team together, they'd either kill each other or break up (and then possibly still kill each other) by Christmas. Gibbs would put money on it.

Problem three: McGee and Abby. That one was harder, because Gibbs wasn't convinced that Abby returned McGee's affections. Yes, she adored him. But not as much or in the same way as McGee adored her. Part of Gibbs wanted to sit the kid down and give it to him straight. And if it were DiNozzo in McGee's shoes, he probably would have. But McGee wasn't as thick-skinned as Tony, and in the end Gibbs could do more harm than good. The solution to this was to simply let nature take its course. Sooner or later, Abby would spell it out for him, and Gibbs didn't doubt that she'd handle it perfectly.

The only problem with these fixes was that they weren't immediate. They wouldn't be fixed as soon as Gibbs walked through the door on base, and would perhaps drag on for a few months at least. So Gibbs would just have to be…well, calm wasn't going to happen, and nor was patient. But he could give tolerance a go. And if that didn't work, his slapping arm was going to get one hell of a work out.

An hour later, the team was sitting at one end of the dining table and demolishing a lasagna that Tony had made. Gibbs was outlining the plan for the next day in between huge bites of a dish that was much, much better than he expected it to be, and the others were nodding along without complaint as they mostly focused on chewing and swallowing. Thanks to the time difference, their stomachs had been rumbling for dinner for hours.

"We'll talk to the friends again tomorrow," Gibbs said after swallowing a chunk of pasta and meat that almost choked him. "Look at the tapes and get IDs on the women. Try to find a connection between the victims."

Tony and McGee made noises that he interpreted as "Right, boss", as Ziva broke to take a few large gulps of water.

"Bar-jumping," she said, then covered her mouth as she held back a burp.

Tony wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "Hopping."

McGee took advantage of the silent argument Ziva and Tony were having with their eyes and turned to Gibbs. "Weird for women to kill strangers, boss."

"How d'you know they were strangers?"

McGee swallowed some lasagna. "Uh, because the victims' friends didn't recognize the women?"

Gibbs pointed between Tony and Ziva with his fork. "Would these two chuckleheads be able to positively ID all the women you know?"

"I could ID Ziva and Abby, boss," Tony broke in. "Even if my blood alcohol was .33."

McGee ignored him. "Probably not."

"McSpinster's got a point though," Tony said. "Except not the one you were actually trying to make. Women rarely kill, and it's almost unheard of for them to kill someone they don't know. And it's even more unheard of for them to do it in groups."

Ziva picked up his train of thought. "I wonder if any of the victims have a history of violence."

"Women usually kill to protect themselves or their kids," McGee picked up.

Tony nodded, but then shook his head. "I don't know, it still doesn't sound that plausible to me. I worked a crap load of domestics in Baltimore and Philly. Abused women don't leave their attacker and then go back again to seduce them and kill them."

Ziva thought about that. "Well, we've got three women. They didn't necessarily kill their own abusers. If they were friends, they may have killed to—"

"Any of this wild speculation based on fact?" Gibbs cut in. Theorizing was one thing, but they were beginning to get away from themselves. When none of them spoke up, he said, "We'll look into their backgrounds tomorrow."

They ate for a few moments in silence, each thinking over the case and their own theories, until Tony put his fork down on his empty plate, sat back and rubbed his belly.

"Delicious, if I do say so myself." He looked over at Ziva. "What are you making for dessert?"

Ziva wrinkled her nose. "You can't possibly want more after all that."

Tony shrugged. "I'm a growing boy."

She eyed his gut. "Yes, you are."

He eyed the lasagna that remained on her plate that she hadn't made to touch in the last few minutes. "You gonna eat that?"

She sighed to herself and pushed her plate over to him. Tony took it with a grin and tucked in.

"So, who was that agent that Gale was talking about today?" McGee asked. "Stan Burley?"

Tony's fork paused halfway to his mouth, drawing McGee and Ziva's attention before he shoved the lasagna in his mouth. McGee and Ziva shared a frown.

"Oh, don't tell me you hit on his wife," Ziva said, and earned a screw you smile from Tony.

Gibbs said, "He worked with me. Before DiNozzo."

"Ooh," McGee said with a grin. "So, you're his replacement."

Tony swallowed. "I simply took a vacant position."

Gibbs smirked, and riled Tony up a bit more. "Man, he was a great agent. Wonder if he'd be interested in coming back to work for me."

"That hurts, boss."

"Did he quote movies all the time?" Ziva asked.

Gibbs shook his head. "Nope. But he read a lot."

"Did he give his coworkers disparaging nicknames?"

Another headshake. "No, Tim. He was real respectful. Abby and Ducky both adored him."

"You all suck," Tony stated.

Ziva gave him an exaggerated pout, but squeezed his thigh to assure him it was all a joke. He gave her a quick wink as he finished the last bite of lasagna, and then Gibbs stood and started collecting their plates. When McGee rose to help him, he caught sight of Ziva's hand still resting on Tony's leg, and he frowned to himself. She'd squeezed his hand in the living room earlier, and he was sure he'd seen Tony kiss the back of her hand on the plane this morning. And now she was feeling him up under the table? If they'd decided to say to hell with the rules, McGee didn't think they could have picked a worse time than the week they would have to share a house with Gibbs. But before he could give them a subtle warning, Ziva removed her hand and started gathering their empty glasses.

"Thank you for cooking, Tony," Ziva said over her shoulder as she followed McGee into the kitchen.

"S'ok," he replied, following the rest of them. "Make sure you tell Nonna how good it was."

Ziva looked up at him from her position bent over the open dishwasher. "Is Nonna going to kick my ass for making you cook?"

Tony grinned and leaned against the counter. "No. She'll be proud of me."

Ziva rolled her eyes. "Figures," she grumbled.

"You know Tony's nonna?" McGee asked, wondering how he'd missed the introduction.

"She friended me on FaceBook," Ziva replied. "And I didn't know how to say no."

"Why would you want to say no to Nonna?" Tony asked, clearly not seeing the problem.

"I wouldn't, Tony. I love her. I just wish there was a special FaceBook that you could use with parents where they don't see what you share with your friends."

Tony made a face. "Oh, don't worry about it. She doesn't care about any of the stuff I put up."

She put her hand on her hip and argued with him over the top of Gibbs' head. "That's because you're the first-born male grandchild into an Italian family. She thinks you can walk on water."

His smile got wider and more self-satisfied. "Yes. That's true."

She leaned over the counter towards him. "But you remember you can't, yes? We tried it, and you sank."

Tony gave her a private smile as he remembered that particular drunken escapade. "I know. And I also can't fly."

Ziva nodded. "Right. But I can."

He touched her wrist. "No, you can't."

"I'm pretty sure I can," she said with a nod.

Tony's hand covered hers. "Okay, but we talked about this, didn't we? And we agreed that you wouldn't try it unless it was absolutely necessary."

"Whatever," Ziva sniffed, and turned back to the dishwasher.

From the corner of the room, McGee caught Gibbs rolling his eyes at the wall. McGee couldn't blame him. Wait until he filled Abby in on this.

"Don't worry about Nonna," Tony was saying. "She likes you."

"We have never actually met, Tony."

Tony nodded, like she'd just made his point. "Right. And still she always asks about you. She FaceBook friended you. She gave you her recipe for tiramisu. You're in with Nonna, Ziva."

She looked at him over her shoulder and unsurprisingly found his staring at her ass. "So what does that get me?"

Tony lifted his eyes. "Rum balls at Christmas."

"Oh. Well that doesn't sound too bad."

By the time he got to bed, Gibbs was rethinking his decision to try to accommodate Tony and Ziva's relationship. It wasn't that they'd been overt at dinner, but they had been damn annoying. It was hard to tell, though, whether they were more irritating now that he knew for sure what was going on behind closed doors, or whether they'd always been this irritating. One thing he was sure of, was that the conversation that was currently going on down the hall and drifting into Gibbs' bedroom wasn't helping their cause.

"You didn't punch me for hitting that guy who was leering at you today," Tony was saying, and Gibbs could only assume he was talking about Agent Gale.

"He was not leering," Ziva replied confidently.

Tony revised his statement. "He was hitting on you."

"He was doing that," Ziva allowed.

"You didn't tell me off," Tony said, but there was a distinct lack of both jealousy and apology in his tone.

Ziva seemed just as mellow about it. "Did you expect me to?"

"Kind of."

There was a brief pause. "I suppose I was in a good mood."

"What brought on the good mood?" There was a smile in his voice now.

There was a much longer pause. "You brought me a pastry with apricot filling this morning."

"You know, it was the last one. I had to pull my gun on a sixty-year-old woman to get it."

There was a very unladylike snort from Ziva. "Your bravery is noted."

"Well, I know how you feel about stone fruit wrapped in pastry. The old lady might have thought it was overkill."

"I understand. You don't want to know who I killed to get you that coffee yesterday."

Tony chuckled, and after a few more moments of silence, Gibbs heard a muffled "goodnight" before Tony crossed into his own bedroom. Gibbs sighed in relief that he wouldn't have to get up and turn the hose on them, and tried to remember his resolution from earlier in the evening to try to be more tolerant. Okay, so he'd give it another day and try to give them more leeway before he started slapping heads. Any longer and his eyes would fall out of his head from all the rolling they were doing.

I'm currently stalled on chapter 7. Damn you, chapter 7! Why do you insist on being so difficult? Why? You're making my head hurt. And I resolve not to publish chapter 5 until you've straightened yourself out and brought me a mojito in apology.