Chapter 11: MATCH POINT
WASHINGTON D.C., TWENTY-FOUR HOURS LATER
"What are they doing up there?" McGee whispered from behind his desk. "The debriefing's over. Everything's back to normal."
Bishop's face revealed disbelief as she gazed at him. "They're taking . . . a selfie." He frowned at the notion. Her eyes returned to the duo conversing outside MTAC. "Oh, he's giving her his famous hug . . . and there you go. A kiss on the cheek."
"He never took to me this fast." Tim reported puzzled as he relaxed in his chair.
A wicked grin curved her lips. "Are you jealous?"
"No." He countered a tad offended by the remark. "It took him years to warm up to Tony. Kate a little less. Ziva and Abby were a different story. To me, he was tough but fair."
"Yeah, and I had to beg him to be Mr tough guy."
"I'm sure it's nothing earnest. A nice Gibbs typically entails . . ." Tim stopped as she ogled him to keep quiet.
Afterward, he heard the subtle thuds of his boss descending the stairs behind him and pretended to flip through a file. Ellie however, held her eyes on Gibbs until he halted before their bullpen's partition. Conscious of his presence, Tim shifted his gaze. Widened his eyes as Bishop stifled a chuckle and looked up at the man. A slow mischievous grin slinked across Gibbs' lips.
"Word to the wise, McGee. Next time change the subject, that way you don't have that caught out teenager look on your face."
"So that's how you caught Tony." Bishop pointed her pen at him. "Written all over his face, literally."
Gibbs smirked. Entered the bullpen with something outlandish dangling from his right hand, and took a seat at his desk. Both his Agents gazed with puzzling expressions, Tim the one to inquire.
"Is that a bat, boss? It looks used."
The older Agent scratched his chin, eyes gleaming with cynicism as they settled on McGee.
"I'm so glad I've got you to point out the obvious."
"It's a cricket bat, mate." Clayton's head popped up from the panel behind Gibbs. "Admired, chic game in England."
"Thought it was Polo." Tim said with a dubious look.
"Nah, I heard it's tennis." Bishop corrected.
"Football." Gibbs inserted from the side.
"They don't have football in England." Tim revised.
"Not American Football, Agent McGee. Soccer." Clayton said as he disappeared from view.
"Cricket's fourth on the list." Gibbs lifted the bat for them to see.
Its face spotted red dints were it had staved off countless of bowler attacks. Blistered cracks had split their way from its tip towards its center, whilst its grip exhibited remodeling. Altogether, it presented a classy game of war at work forty years ago.
He continued. "If you're so curious to know, it's an old-fashioned, worn, and priceless antique from her father's collection."
Bishop shielded her face with a hand and whispered to McGee. "More like a metaphor for Gibbs."
Tim shook his head in warning, while the older Agent concluded his perusal. "A beautiful piece of craftsmanship. One of a kind exclusively made by her father."
His gaze flitted between their innocent expressions before he glared at Ellie. Her face fell, whereas his perked up. "I'll take that as a compliment."
"So I heard the trip was a success, Gibbs. Confusing start, but a comfortable finish." McGee offered as a subject change.
"Yeah, you could say that." His eyes lifted as Tori bounded down the stairs and walked for their section. "Eye opening, too."
A radiant smile lit up her face, waving a bandaged hand as she walked by the bullpen. "Cheers Agent Gibbs. See ya around."
Forthright, he raised a hand in the air. Tim and Ellie gazing quite bewildered by his cheerful appearance.
"Au Revoir mon chéri." He called after her.
"Looks like she made an impression." Ellie stated from the side, then raised an eyebrow at him. "Should we be expecting another addition to NCIS any time soon?"
"She's spoken for, Bishop." He straightened his back, peering over the divider to where the Major stood at the elevator. His eyes softened. "She can do more for her country where she's at than what she could from here. Don't envy her either."
Tori entered the elevator, turned in time to witness him gazing at her. She offered a sloppy salute before the doors closed. Gibbs snorted, shook his head, and opened the report on his desk.
"I knew it." Bishop exclaimed delighted, next, beckoned at Tim. "Own up."
"DOD." He quarreled in swift fashion.
Her eyebrow raised once more, challenging his refute. "NSA."
"DIA."
"CIA."
"NGA."
"FBI."
McGee flipped his hands up, thinking it ridiculous. "C'mon, you know only Fornell fits the bill."
"MI6." Clayton supplied from his side.
Bishop's face lit up. "Oh, that's interesting, very interesting. I say Russian Intelligence."
"How about Secret Service?" Tim questioned his face revealing a subtle craftiness.
"How about I say it, then I'd have to shoot you. All of you." Gibbs declared as a delicate threat. "At least it will be quiet around here."
They gazed at one another, Clayton shrinking back down to his desk slowly and silently. McGee's chin drooped, finding the file a lot more interesting than before. Ellie shrugged. Her eyes scanning the information on her laptop as if it were the most fascinating piece she has read to date.
Gibbs raised his chin, smile devious as he scanned the bullpen. Familiar orange walls. Usual playful bantering Agents. The same routine. It was good to be back.
Back to normal. It felt earnest, refreshing, and yet something still nagged at his instincts. Still tugged at his gut feeling. He scowled at no one in particular, shrugged one shoulder, and set his sights on Tori's report.
They settled the case. Exposed a terrorist cell. Both perpetrators confessed their transgressions. His instincts had been right, and Tori had gained valuable lessons about investigating. From him of all people. He'd met honest folks, and hopefully gained new friends and reliable sources. They'd exposed a bad apple in NCIS – Derringer was behind bars. After a short meaningful lecture from yours truly, the Director capitulated. Gave his stamp of approval, and promised future collaboration with Major Hatcher and her knights.
Gibbs smiled at the prospect, what it had taken to gain their trust and vice versa. An eye opening experience indeed, but now it was time to let go and move on. Like he'd done with countless of cases before. Albeit unforeseen and uncomplicated at the end, it was still a victory. Victories were good.
That's it, convince yourself, Gibbs ol' boy; perhaps you'll believe it. Eventually.
A yellow post-it note captured his attention. He froze, eyes scanning the writing repeatedly until he heard McGee clear his throat beside him. He snapped it shut as if caught out for sneaking a quick look at an answer sheet. He raised his gaze up to the taller man and narrowed his eyes.
"Reason you're in my space, McGee?"
"Navy Lieutenant killed in a drive by shooting."
"Then why are you still standing here? Grab your gear and let's go."
Gibbs turned in his chair. Slipped the report in the same drawer where he grabbed his badge and service weapon. Stood to his feet and motioned at the empty desk across from his.
"Where's Torres?"
"Umm, it was his turn to buy lunch." Bishop relayed. "I'll redirect him to the crime scene."
"Good." He took lead, mind reeling over the message Tori had given him. Commented over his shoulder when he reached the elevator in their stead. "What are you waiting for?"
"Yeah, who was the one that said we missed him?" Bishop quipped as McGee fell in with her stride.
Seven days later, he followed the path to his front door and bounded up the stairs, ready for a peaceful evening. Instead, stopped on the middle step, eyes narrowed at the dark slit next to the door frame. His eyes studied the surroundings as he seized his gun and walked up to the door, inaudibly.
"There's more to this case, and you know it." Tori's note came to mind. "P.S. Watch your six."
Above the knob sat a bloody hand print. Its size and angle eliminating the Major from the onset, as it was seemingly male. He halted, snaked the weapon forward and slid the door open.
His home was dark, light from the street lamps casting silhouettes through the windows. No sounds came from upstairs. None from the lower level either, but still he sensed another presence. There were the cupboard next to the staircase, the living room, kitchen, and basement. The former as hiding place was a no good, leaving him with three other options.
He snuck left, then forward to the kitchen. Came to a standstill, straightened in posture. He canted his head to the side, brow furrowed bewildered and astounded at the familiar person sitting at the table.
Danny?
TO BE CONTINUED
