The brushed metal doors of the elevator closed, hiding Vivian Blackadder from view. A lock of red hair had fallen free from the confines of her hair clip, and as it stuck to the tear track on her cheek, Tony almost felt sorry for her.
"What do you think, Dinozzo?"
Tony looked up at his boss. Gibbs was bent over a report on Amad Bin Atwa.
"She's not bad," said Tony, "For a suit. But I don't think you can trust her to watch your six. She almost got you killed."
Gibbs narrowed his eyes. "What are you talking about, Dinozzo? She almost got you killed."
"How hard did you hit your head, Boss? Mohammad threw a grenade at you. Remember?"
"It didn't even touch me," Gibbs shrugged it off, "But Blackadder blew your cover when you were surrounded by armed Spanish terrorists."
Tony laughed. "It was worse than that, Boss. They were armed Spanish fishermen."
Gibbs smiled and threw back a mouthful of stale coffee from the paper cup on his desk. The agents were silent for a minute, as they filed their reports in the darkness of the empty office. They were still wearing the clothes from their undercover operation, and every few seconds Tony would brush a lock of hair out his eyes. Gibbs had made him wash out the styling products for the operation, and Tony knew that he looked younger than usual.
"We'll be shorthanded again," said Gibbs. "The extra work will fall on your shoulders."
"My shoulders are young. They can handle it." Tony felt Gibbs' hand connect with the back of his head. "Not that your shoulders aren't young, Boss."
Tony shrugged off his vest, and rolled up the sleeves of his shirt to type his report. Gibbs looked comfortable in his overcoat, but Tony missed his Ermenegildo Zegna suit.
"I'll talk to Morrow in the morning," said Gibbs. "Finish your report."
"On it, El Capitan."