"McGee," said Gibbs when he returned to the police station, "I told you to go find DiNozzo."

"I did," replied Tim.

"Then where is he?"

McGee thought about pointing out that he didn't have handcuffs with which to restrain Tony but thought better of it … as he so often thought better of retorts to Gibbs. He settled instead for saying, "He's fine."

"What do you mean, he's fine?"

"He's fine," repeated Tim.

Gibbs gazed at his colleague, "He's fine? You sure?"

"Well," amended Tim, "As fine as he can be at the moment."

"You talked to him?" asked Gibbs.

"Yes, Boss."

"And?"

"It helped, I think."

"And?" said Gibbs again.

"And I think … I think I won't tell you what we talked about." Tim braced himself for a Gibbs blast but was surprised when Gibbs simply nodded.

"Except," continued Tim with relish, "It turns out that Christopher Norris works for the British Security Service!" It wasn't often that Tim could surprise Gibbs, but he thought he had just managed to do so although it took an expert in Gibbs facial expressions to detect shock in the slightly widened eyes and suddenly thoughtful look in those eyes.

"What?"

"That's what Tony says. He came to say goodbye – I get the impression that he and Tony are better friends than they let on."

"Huh," said Gibbs.

"Bit like you and FBI Agent Fornell," said Tim. "You know, loving to hate one another." Tim held his breath, wondering if he'd gone too far but Gibbs simply grinned and said,

"That's what you think, is it?"

Tim nodded bravely and waited for a biting response.

"Huh," said Gibbs. "And where's DiNozzo now?"

"I left him at the quayside. Near that café we've started using."

"Huh," said Gibbs. Tim wondered about being brave enough to ask if huh had become his favourite word but decided he'd diced with enough death for one afternoon so nodded instead.

"Huh, I could do with a coffee. Thirsty work riding out to Antony."

"What about Symonds?" asked Tim belatedly remembering where Gibbs had been.

"In the safe hands of the Plymouth constabulary. They're bringing him back with a beer delivery. Looks like he just panicked and hopped on a bus."

"On a bus?" said McGee, apparently sharing Gibbs' feeling that an intensive manhunt shouldn't have been thwarted by somebody simply catching a bus.

"Yeah. He's been laying low, but his money was about to run out and he knew the Nevada would be heading out soon."

"And why did he run in the first place?"

"He felt threatened. By our spy," said Gibbs.

Tim shook his head, "Boss, do you get the feeling that nothing seems to be normal here?"

"You may be on to something, Tim. Hey, I'm going to get that coffee. Get in touch with Captain Dake and tell him his missing Petty Officer will be along soon."

"And what should he do with him?" asked Tim.

"His decision," said Gibbs, "I'd suggest he listen to his story before throwing the book at him."

XXXXXX

Gibbs found Tony still sitting at the café. He wondered how long Tony and McGee had been talking but realised that he had cycled pretty fast both to and from Antony.

"Hey!" he said by way of greeting.

"Hey yourself," returned Tony.

"Want another one of those?" asked Gibbs pointing to the teapot on the table.

Tony shook his head, "No. I think I'll dissolve if I drink anything else."

Gibbs saw a waitress lurking nearby and nodded: she nodded back and hurried indoors to get the order.

"You know," said Tony conversationally, "Considering you've only been here a few days you've got an awful lot of people in Plymouth running around after you."

"It's a gift," said Gibbs modestly.

"What happened with Symonds?" asked Tony.

"He ran because he was scared," said Gibbs, "And because a bus came by conveniently."

"An unlikely tribute to the Plymouth Bus Company," said Tony absently. "What was he up to?"

"Your friend Norris was nosing around," said Gibbs.

"Ah," said Tony, "I wondered if that might be the case." He sensed Gibbs' disapproval and hastened to say, "I only wondered after he came to say his farewells. And my father mentioned that Norris had been sneaking around him asking questions … made me think he might have been agent provocateuring … you know, stirring things up. How do you think he latched on to your Petty Officer?"

Gibbs paused while he delivered a hard stare at Tony to try and check his truthfulness and then, apparently satisfied, said, "You remember I said I thought Mickey Symonds knew something?"

"Yes, but you didn't know what," said Tony. "You don't think he's involved with spying on top of everything else, do you?"

"There isn't any spying," said Gibbs firmly, "But I think Mickey was muddying the waters."

"Why?"

"They may not have met but I'm pretty sure there's some bad feeling there," said Gibbs, "At least on Mickey's part. I reckon he knew his cousin was coming and thought he'd arrange for a rumour to spread around Plymouth."

"Makes sense," agreed Tony.

"And if the rumour of a spy ring distracted the Plymouth Police Force, then that could work in his favour as well," added Gibbs.

"Huh," said Tony unconsciously imitating Gibbs as he pondered the Symonds' parts in the confusion of recent days. Then he remembered what had happened when he last saw Gibbs and he winced before saying, "About earlier … I'm sorry about losing my temper like that."

Gibbs shrugged, "Doesn't matter. No damage done. Or there was - a cup got smashed but when I went past the reception desk just now, it looked as if Travers was gluing it back together."

"He's a good man," said Tony. "But still …"

"Still nothing," said Gibbs firmly.

For a moment it looked as if Tony would argue the point but finally he nodded agreement before saying, "And thank you."

"For what?"

"Sending McGee after me. Although I think the poor chap was worried he'd have to fish me out of the water."

"Was he right to worry?" asked Gibbs.

"No. I wouldn't do anything like that."

"Then why did you thank me?"

"You know, I've been waiting for days for you to collar me, force me in some meaningful conversation. You've been circling, hovering for ages … waiting for an opportunity …" Gibbs shrugged rather than answering. "And I've been braced – ready to repel all boarders," grinned Tony. "And it worked but then you tried another tactic."

"What was that?"

"You sent McGee … and I cracked."

"He's easy to talk to," said Gibbs.

"And he looks so unthreatening," said Tony, "You should think about letting him do interrogations, you know."

"I'll bear it in mind," said Gibbs.

"It worked on me," said Tony, "I talked more than I have for ages … but you know all that."

"No," said Gibbs, "He told me you'd talked to him, but he kept what you said to himself."

"Good man," said Tony, "Maybe he should be a priest. You know, the seal of the confessional and all that."

"I'd rather keep him in the job he's got now," said Gibbs sternly. He took a drink of his coffee, "If you want, you can tell me as well," he said gently. "As a friend."

"Thank you, Gibbs … Jethro. Although I think you've probably guessed most of it." Gibbs gave his characteristic shrug and Tony continued, "I told Tim, I've always been someone who coped. Thought they had a duty to cope – and it worked for me, it wasn't really a struggle. Coping was part of me. And I liked to fix things – well, not things – I'm not that practical. But I cared about people, about making things better for them. And it was good. It wasn't that I didn't think about things – I did but I was good at compartmentalizing them: knowing what I could do something about and trying not to worry about the rest."

"Sounds good," said Gibbs mildly.

"Then I met Lucy … and that was great. We got married and she came to the house in Saltash. Perhaps we did too much."

"Too much?"

"I'm sure it's not recommended to get married and then start tearing your house to pieces! But the other cottages came up for sale and it seemed a good opportunity. And people around here are desperate for work, so it seemed good for other people too."

"Fixing people again …" commented Gibbs over his coffee cup.

"I suppose. And then there was Andrew … and that was when it seemed to go wrong," said Tony sadly.

"Andrew, your cousin …"

"Yes."

"And your son …"

"Yes. I wonder sometimes if it was a mistake calling him Andrew, but we never really thought of any other name for him. Andrew and I were cousins, but I think we were more like brothers – we grew up together and went away to the same school. The only time we were really separated was in the war – we weren't in the same college at Cambridge, but we were still near one another."

"And the war separated you?"

"Permanently," said Tony, "But I think I got over that. Had to really because I had to be strong for Aunt Lottie. Andrew died just a few months after Uncle George was killed – she needed my support … so did my grandfather. And it was war, there wasn't much time to grieve. And you know, at other times someone's grief is so personal to them but in war, grief is commonplace – there's not much special treatment on offer."

"So you did what you had to?" said Gibbs.

"Yes. Of course. And I didn't mind. And that's all in the past. Then the baby arrived, and we called him Andrew as a tribute to the man I'd grown up with. And we gave him Gordon as his second name."

"Gordon?"

"Yes, you remember Pondie … Mrs Pond, my aunt's housekeeper?"

Gibbs nodded at the memory of Dora Pond and her wonderful jam.

"Gordon was her son. Andrew and I grew up with him as well – played and got into trouble together. And he went off to war, and he didn't come back either. So we named our son Andrew Gordon after two special people."

"They would have been proud," said Gibbs.

"I hope so. And I loved my son from the moment he was born," said Tony with a smile. "But …"

"But …?"

"Something changed. It's stupid but I started worrying about him. Worrying about the world Lucy and I had brought a child into. And I guess my job didn't help."

"Catching criminals," said Gibbs, "Being at the coalface of people's violence and cruelty … doesn't always give you a balanced view of what people are like."

"You're right," said Tony gratefully. "And it was stupid, we were worn out living with the chaos of the rebuilding … I was busy at work because the Chief Inspector of Uniform was on assignment in Barnstaple … he's on holiday now and due back next week."

"And?"

"And I'm used to coping, so I did … I always do. But it was harder, I was tired. Not finding time to eat … always being in a hurry … feeling I wasn't doing right by Lucy and Andrew. And underneath, this nagging worry about the baby. And then I felt guilty about that – hell, I'm a police officer: I should be able to make sure a baby is safe."

"You did everything you could," said Gibbs.

"How do you know that?" demanded Tony.

"Because I know you," said Gibbs, "I've never seen you do anything badly. You're always planning – noticing things. I wouldn't doubt that you did your best."

"That's what Lucy says," said Tony wryly, "You and she will get on well. And you're right – sort of. I felt I was doing my work well and I almost became glad I was so busy. It meant that I wasn't at home so much and I could try and forget that, while I was a good DCI, I was a pretty rotten father!"

"I don't believe you'd be a bad father," said Gibbs.

"You would have if you'd heard how my son wailed every time I picked him up," said Tony ruefully. "And I know it wasn't his fault – he was probably picking up on my worries – but it didn't exactly help the situation."

"Did you … resent him?" asked Gibbs tentatively.

Tony stared at him in astonishment, "No, of course not! I always loved him, cared for him … I wished I was better with him, better for him … sometimes wondered what on earth we'd done but always wanted him."

"And what happened then?"

"I thought I was hiding all the worry and fear … and then I realised that people were getting worried about me. And that didn't help – well, you know, there's this whole coping thing so I thought I was letting even more people down. It didn't help that my father started trying to get in touch and I felt as if I was being a bad son. And then there was the threat from Mickey Symonds … for a moment when the brakes on my car failed I was almost grateful …"

"Grateful?" said Gibbs sharply.

"For a moment I thought I was going to die … and I thought that Lucy's life would be better without me!"

"That sounds pretty stupid to me!" said Gibbs.

"Only for a second," protested Tony, "Then my survival instincts kicked in and I steered the car to safety, but it was a wakeup call."

"How so?"

"Made me realise how low I'd got … and I knew that Lucy and Andrew wouldn't be better off without me. And then when we decided that it would be safer for Lucy to move out until we'd settled Mickey Symonds, well it confirmed it all for me. Because I missed them so much … even Andrew's crying! I went to see them most nights – that's why I'd come home late – but it wasn't enough."

"And did you do anything about it?" asked Gibbs.

"About what?"

"About how you felt?"

Tony laughed, "Forgive me, Gibbs but somehow you don't strike me as someone who would encourage talking about feelings!"

"Maybe not," conceded Gibbs, "But a wise person once suggested that talking about things could help."

Tony grimaced slightly at this memory of urging Gibbs to seek help with his shellshock. "You're right, of course I know that you're right … and I think it is getting better …"

"Yeah?"

"To begin with, knowing that people around me were worried about me … even before I'd begun to worry … was another burden but recently it's begun to feel like a help that I've got people who care. And I think you helped too …"

"How?"

"You treated me as you did before … well, apart from hovering and gate-crashing my house, but you were demanding of me at work and that did me good. Made me feel that I was still capable of working."

"Always a pleasure to drive people hard," said Gibbs cheerfully.

"And somehow I'm guessing that you goaded me into losing my temper," said Tony.

"I saw an opportunity," confessed Gibbs, "You'd kept control all the time and I figured that I needed to do something to jolt you out of it. And me accidentally mishearing the name of the place that Symonds had holed up in … well, it was an opportunity and I took it."

"But you didn't follow me? You left that to Tim?"

"That wasn't my original intention. I'd reckoned that I'd eventually force you to talk to me but after I'd made you lose your temper I thought you might open up to someone you weren't mad with … and like I said, McGee is easy to talk to."

"I suppose so," said Tony, "But I want you to know that I'm still shaken by hearing you use the words open up!"

Gibbs ignored this comment although, truthfully, he was surprised at his willingness to encourage Tony to talk about his problems.

"What next then?" asked Gibbs.

"It's helped talking about it," said Tony, "It's good to have said it out loud rather than just rattling around inside my head getting louder and louder. And I have two weeks' leave starting next week and that will help."

"Good," said Gibbs.

"And you have to admit, Gibbs that it's been crazy since you and Tim crashed into Plymouth …"

"We helped you catch Mickey Symonds," protested Gibbs.

"Who wasn't anything to do with you or why you're here," Tony pointed out. "Then we went haring off after Tim's mysterious radio signals …"

"And foiled an assassination attempt on the British king," said Gibbs.

"Which also isn't anything to do with why you're here."

"And found Lincoln Symonds," said Gibbs.

"Who wasn't a spy, who wasn't in any danger and who gave himself up when he got bored of being on the run," concluded Tony.

"But we've got some useful pointers on what floating operatives could do if they were stationed on US ships," said Gibbs.

"You mean you've learned that it would be a good idea to tell sailors not to drink Devon scrumpy!"

"Well, yes," admitted Gibbs.

"I could have told them that!" said Tony, "Doesn't seem worth the time of two valued employees of the Office of Naval Intelligence."

"Valued?" said Gibbs.

"Well, I'm assuming that you're valued. Or, if you're not, that McGee is," said Tony with a grin.

"You may be right," said Gibbs.

"So, are you ever going to tell me what you and McGee are really doing here, Gibbs?" asked Tony.

"Nope," said Gibbs.

Tony stared at him and then, copying one of Gibbs' gestures, shrugged, "Well, I guess I'll work it out eventually. And in the meantime, I hope you can both stay until the weekend. There are some people I'd like you to meet.

AN: should have known I wouldn't finish it in one chapter … one fairly fluffy chapter to end with, I think …