Chapter 11

Tony had considered his clothes for the day with care. He wasn't going as a boy toy today, or not only as a boy toy. Today he was also Gibson's lieutenant. Gibbs was wearing his typical type of outfit, so Tony had put out a pair of good, dark jeans and a long sleeved, tailored shirt, and he planned to wear his leather jacket. He stood in front of the bathroom mirror, buttoning his shirt, when the door opened and Gibbs came in. He shut the door behind him and locked it.

"You gonna take a shower, Boss?" Tony asked.

"I need one," Gibbs said. He turned on the water. "And I've got some things to tell you."

Tony turned, finishing his buttons. "What's up?"

"Yesterday, when you were off surveillance, Garner and Wallace missed you coming out of the hotel."

Tony blinked at him. "What?"

"They lost you for fifteen minutes."

"They lost me?" Tony repeated. "They . . ." He leaned back against the bathroom counter and contemplated that information. "From when we left the hotel?"

"Yeah." Gibbs pursed his lips. "You okay?"

"Sure," Tony said. "The fact that if Mark had turned left instead of right on Fifth and bypassed that whole traffic jam, he could have taken me anywhere and Wallace and Grommet wouldn't have had a clue?" Gibbs grimaced. "That doesn't bother me at all."

"Maybe we should have gone with the suppository GPS chip," Abby said in Tony's ear.

"Under the circumstances, no," Tony replied. "They'd stand a good chance of finding it."

"Oh. Ouch."

Tony grinned sardonically. He could almost see Abby's face in his mind's eye. "So, are Wallace and Grommet on me today?" Gibbs seemed satisfied with Tony's reaction. He got into the shower.

Kate spoke in the earwig. "It's going to be me and McGee in one car with Garner and Wallace in the other, just in case they split you up."

"Cheery thought," Tony said. "Tell Wallace and Grommet to keep better track today. I may be pretending to be Gibbs' dog, but I don't want to end up as a chew toy."

There was a brief silence, then Kate said, "They can hear you, Tony."

"Good." Tony turned back to the mirror and finished getting ready. He was really glad he wasn't playing this as a girly boy. Make up was irritating, and he'd had to use it once in a while when he'd worked undercover for vice. It also cut down on the primping and the potential for cracks later.

He tapped the curtain and Gibbs poked his head out. He pointed towards the door and Gibbs nodded. Leaving the bathroom, he sat down on the bed for his socks and shoes. Rudy and Mark were still reading and playing with puzzles. As soon as he was completely ready, Tony went and grabbed his guns from the safe. Both Rudy and Mark were suddenly on their feet with their guns out and pointing at him.

"What are you doing, Vellucci?" Rudy demanded.

Tony put the guns back into the safe and took a step back, his hands up. "I was going to put them in their lock boxes for storage today," he said.

Gibbs emerged wearing his pants and shirt and saw Rudy and Mark drawn on Tony. He stepped between Tony and the two bodyguards. "What the hell is going on here?" he demanded. "Do I have to shoot you idiots?"

"He's not allowed weapons while we're guarding him. Mr. Sullivan made that clear."

Gibbs stared at them for a moment. "Is he holding a gun now?" he asked. Both men slowly put their weapons away. "Tony, go get the lock boxes," Gibbs said when they'd holstered their guns. Tony lowered his hands and walked over to where they'd stashed their luggage. He pulled out the two pistol cases and brought them over. "Put them on the bed." Tony did as he'd been told. "Now, come get your weapons and put them in the cases."

Rudy shook his head and moved to intercept as Tony crossed the room. "Mr. Howe, I just said –"

Gibbs turned and he didn't even have to speak. Rudy faded back and Tony walked to the safe unmolested. He picked up his guns, carried them back to the lock boxes and secured them inside. He then handed the keys to Gibbs, who pocketed them.

"Now, Tony, pick up the boxes and come with me."

Tony followed Gibbs out of the room. Rudy and Mark hastened after them. Gibbs went to the front desk, arranged to have the lock boxes lodged in the hotel vault, and then checked into the new rooms, got the keys and arranged for their luggage to be moved.

"Everything should be ready for you in 1811 by three, sir," the young woman behind the desk told him. Rudy was checking into 1812 and making similar arrangements for his and Mark's luggage. Tony glanced at his phone. It was five till nine.

Within moments, a black limousine pulled up. Mark opened the rear door and Tony stepped forward to look in, checking for threats. Sullivan was the only passenger. He was sitting in the far forward-facing seat. Tony nodded at Gibbs, who gestured him inside. Tony climbed in and sat in the far rear-facing seat. Too close to Sullivan by half, but there wasn't anyplace to sit that was much farther away. Gibbs came in and Sullivan patted the seat next to him. Gibbs took it and that wound up with Rudy in the second rear-facing seat and Mark in the front with the driver. This put both Tony's bodyguards in easy reach of him, since the glass between the front and back wasn't up. Tony felt fairly hemmed in, but since he was pretty sure that was Sullivan's goal, he found that unsurprising.

"Good morning, Gibson," Sullivan said genially. "I gather you found the space you had too little for your purposes?"

"Too little to be shared by four men," Gibbs said. "Your guards will stay out of the bedroom of the new suite."

"We can discuss that later," Sullivan said, his mood suddenly less pleasant.

"You brought it up, and I want it settled," Gibbs replied.

"Well, then, if you're in there with the door locked, they will stay out. Other than that, they will enter whenever they feel the need."

Gibbs raised his chin and looked at him curiously. "Define 'feel the need.'"

"Gibson, your pet has claws. My men need to be able to check up on him when you're not around." Tony didn't like this conversation, nor the way Sullivan looked at him when he said the word 'claws.' He tried to submerge himself in the mind of a man who expected to be talked about rather than to.

"Yes, well, your men have a hair trigger that needs to be remedied. Vellucci went to put his guns in their lock boxes for storage in the hotel vault, per my instructions, and nearly got shot."

Sullivan raised an eyebrow at Rudy. "He didn't warn us or anything, sir," Rudy said with a glower at Tony. "He just walked over to the safe and pulled out his guns. We didn't know why or what for."

"You see, Gibson, they weren't being hair triggered, they were being careful."

Gibbs looked unsatisfied, but he didn't continue the discussion. "Where are we going?"

"I've got some people for you to meet in Richmond."

That was a two hour drive plus, so Tony settled himself more comfortably. He kept abreast of the conversation between Gibbs and Sullivan, but focused his attention more on nonverbal cues. Sullivan came across as entirely relaxed. Not surprisingly, Gibbs radiated tension. It fit the situation, so he didn't worry about it, but tried hard to make sure that he came across as less anxious. After all, Vellucci should be trusting in Howe to keep him safe, though he supposed the stress his 'master' was showing would have an effect on his mood.

He couldn't spot the follow cars, which was a good thing. It meant that Rudy couldn't spot them either. Every so often Kate would say something, or Wallace, just to let them know they were still back there. He actually wished Wallace would keep his mouth shut. Every time he heard the man's voice, he remembered what Gibbs had told him and his stomach twisted. The only thing that had held him together during that alarming hour of being off mike and without his earwig was the thought that Wallace and Garner were out there, that they knew where he was, and that they could and would come in if anything looked hinky. Like if Mark decided to take him someplace other than the club, for instance. He was glad he hadn't known at the time.

Sullivan pulled out some Coke and offered one to Gibbs. He shook his head, raising his coffee in explanation, but gestured towards Tony. Tony took it with pleasure. It was sealed, and he was thirsty. Besides, it gave him something to do. This being next to a conversation but not allowed – without permission – to be part of it was weird. He had managed to maintain control thus far, not even letting his comments get to the point where it was obvious he wanted to say something, but he was concentrating. If he ever relaxed, he'd probably pipe right up with an out of place comment. Being shirtless and on his knees helped with that. It kind of pointed up the difference between his current role and normal life. Even the collar helped, but he wasn't wearing that just now.

"We could send Tony," Gibbs said, and Tony's attention was drawn instantly to the here and now.

"Not at this time."

"If you want to see how my operation could benefit you, it doesn't make sense to constrain my right arm," Gibbs replied.

"Is that how you view him?" Sullivan asked, looking slyly at Tony. "What does he do besides bird dog?"

"Whatever I want," Gibbs replied. "Runs errands, breaks legs, finds people. He's very good at finding people."

"So he's a bloodhound as well as a bird dog. How nice for you that he's versatile." The words themselves were innocent enough, it was the tone and the sidelong glance that turned it into a sexual comment.

"I don't suppose you could can the innuendo?" Gibbs asked wearily. Tony would be good with that, too. It was getting harder not to show overt discomfort when Sullivan leered at him.

Tony looked over at Gibbs. After a moment, Gibbs raised his eyebrows. "Send me where, Boss?" Tony asked.

"You were not invited to speak," Sullivan said sharply.

"Actually, he was," Gibbs said, and Sullivan turned to him, startled. "I think you can trust me to keep my boy in line, Doug."

Sullivan looked at Tony for a long moment. "I never know what to expect from him. He's such a curious mix."

"We're not a typical pair," Gibbs said. He turned to Tony. "Doug was saying that he had money that needed to be collected from one of his customers." He turned back to Sullivan. "Who would you ordinarily send?"

"Marino, but he's restricted to the club at the moment."

"I'd be happy to help out," Tony said.

Sullivan shook his head. "It's a job for one man, not a party of three."

"So send Vellucci alone," Gibbs suggested persuasively.

"Here we are," Sullivan said.

The driver had pulled up into a complex of warehouses and parked in a spot designed for a semi-truck. Mark came round and opened the door on Gibbs' side of the car. Rudy got out first, then Tony, then Gibbs and Sullivan. Tony took his place just behind Gibbs' left shoulder as they headed towards the nearest building, which didn't have the look of a warehouse. It looked more like an office.

The first room they came to inside was an ordinary enough office for a warehouse. Linoleum floors that had seen better days, metal desks with computers and clipboards and random personal doodads. The chairs were better than he might have expected. Evidently someone had heard of ergonomics. Since it was Saturday, the desks were empty. Sullivan seemed to know where he was going, though. He led the way to a door at the other side. It opened onto a hallway. They passed a break room and a couple of individual offices with names stenciled on the closed doors. The door at the end of the hall bore the name Federov.

Sullivan walked up to the door and knocked before opening it. "Simon?"

"Come in. I'm just finishing up some damned paperwork," said a bad-tempered voice.

"It never ends, does it?" Sullivan said. "I brought a new colleague to meet you."

"You mentioned you might," the voice said, then Tony was in the room and he saw a plush office that was head and shoulders above the rest of the building in terms of luxury, and somewhere under a bordello in the area of taste. There was a large desk at one end of the room, between two of the floor to ceiling windows that let light into all the rooms they'd seen so far. It was piled high with papers that Tony suspected were filed in the 'I can find everything' method that one of his father's friends used. The man worked in an apparent state of chaos but could put his hand unerringly on any piece of paper he wanted at any given time.

"Simon, this is Gibson Howe, Gibson, Simon is one of the men I'd want you to be helping supply."

Simon looked up, his eyes peering over the glasses he clearly wore for reading. He was a small man, entirely bald on top with curly grey hair cropped close to his head. "Oh, this is the fellow Marino was telling me about. Which would make this . . ." He turned towards Tony, eyes frankly appraising.

Gibbs got one look at Simon's expression and said, "Mine. "He's mine."

"Oh, that's a shame," Simon said, smiling at Tony. "We could have such fun." Tony edged slightly closer to Gibbs. He hadn't expected to be on the menu here, too. "I can see you're very attached, though, so I won't push."

Simon invited them all to the other end of the room where there were three chairs around a coffee table. Taking the center chair with its back to the wall between the windows, he invited Gibbs and Sullivan to be seated on either side, then said, "I can get a cushion for your boy, if you like."

"That's not why he's here," Gibbs said. Tony had taken up a spot against the wall behind Gibbs. He leaned back and crossed his arms, keeping an eye on the room. Rudy and Mark, robbed of the ability to stand behind him, wound up on either side of the door. He supposed they could stop him if he bolted. It was ludicrous.

"Not sure what good he'll do keeping watch without weapons, Gibson," Sullivan said.

Gibbs shrugged and they began to discuss business. Again, Tony kept abreast of the conversation about the kinds of things Simon needed, and the schedule, but paid more direct attention to body language. Simon and Sullivan both kept glancing up at him, but not for the same reason. He got the feeling that Simon felt uncertain about Tony's position in the situation. He had expectations that weren't being met, but he wasn't so much upset about it as confused. Sullivan's gaze kept drifting from the faces of his companions to Tony, almost as if he couldn't help it. Tony pretended not to notice, but Sullivan was altogether too aware of Tony's presence. Tony could see the tension rising in the three men. Gibbs wanted Sullivan to keep his eyes off Tony, Sullivan wanted . . . what Sullivan wanted, and Simon was aware of the dynamic but uncertain what to do about it.

After maybe twenty minutes of this, Simon leaned forward, looking mildly frazzled, and said, "Would you like a tour of the facility, Gibson?"

"I don't know if we have time," Gibbs said, glancing at Sullivan. There was no answer. Tony had been looking at Simon, but the silence made him look at Sullivan. Their eyes met because Sullivan had been watching him again, and Tony felt a deep, internal shudder at the hunger he saw there. By a dint of great effort and many years' practice at covert work, Tony kept his reaction off his face, but he felt it all the more strongly because he couldn't express it. "Doug?" Gibbs said curtly to catch his attention, and Sullivan turned away.

It was palpable relief to have Sullivan's gaze off him, and he was afraid that reaction showed more plainly than it should. Sullivan could still see him past Gibbs' head, so any expression on his face would be visible.

"Sorry, my mind wandered."

"Maybe you should try concentrating on the matter at hand," Gibbs suggested icily. "Simon offered a tour of the facility. I said I wasn't sure if we had time."

Sullivan glanced at the baroque clock on the wall and stood up. "We don't, I'm afraid. Sorry, Simon."

"No, it's fine," Simon said, rising with almost comical haste. His words tumbled over each other as he hurried forward to shake Gibbs' hand. "It was a pleasure to meet you, Gibson. I look forward to doing business with you."

Gibbs nodded and walked off with Sullivan towards the door. Tony followed, but he caught a glimpse of Simon's face as he watched him walk by, and there was pity in his expression, as if he suspected he knew what was coming. It didn't boost Tony's mood.

Author's Note:

To the guest who asked about Kate being 'useless' so far. This is a fair question, but from my watching of the show, I always found it perplexing that 'profiler' Kate was so clueless about certain aspects of sexuality. To my mind, she interpreted the most innocent remarks of Tony's as innuendo, and he gave back as good as he got and wound up looking like a jerk up against "innocent, Roman Catholic Kate." But there's an episode when they stand there in the squad staring at a sexually explicit, kind of darkish bondage website, and all she can think of to say is "I'm going to hell just for looking at this," or words to that effect, and the questions she asked seemed fairly naive.

I've since thought about it, and her profiling training comes from the Secret Service, where her focus was on protecting the president and family. Sexual predators seem to be the least likely she'd face in that circumstance, so perhaps that's why her understanding in that area is somewhat flawed. (I don't know for certain how profiling training works in various agencies, so this is me noodling.) She's always better when, sexually, at any rate, she's dealing with heterosexual, relatively conventional circumstances, which these are not.

I can say, that in later chapters, she shows up pretty BAMF! But, to be fair, I will consider the upcoming chapters in that light and see if my perspective on the character portrayal shifts. I doubt it, I've read the story ten or twelve times (I like to reread my own work, vanity, they name is Eideann.) but I will look.

Many thanks to a good reader on another site for catching an error. Edited per her comment. Thanks to mamamia1964.