It was either post this chapter as is (without the Gibbs POV section I intended to add) or wait a couple of days, so...

I begin to realize through writing this how much of the story the NCIS actors manage to convey through facial expressions. It's kinda impressive. And hard to duplicate without, you know, the visual representation of the actors.

I vote it should be illegal to have to go to work at 6am! Must sleep now.

Hope you all enjoy, and that I did not miss massive amounts of typos. This chapter lacks a bit in case advancement, but we will come back to that in the next one, promise.


Tony and Ziva entered Gibbs' house in discomfort. Both were used to coming and going as they pleased here, but usually they headed straight to the basement. In Tony's case, sometimes he crashed on the most comfortable surface he could find, or used the shower or raided the fridge.

But neither of them had ever dared to invade Gibbs' personal space to the extent of poking through his stuff.

They stood in the living room, gloves on, and avoided looking at each other. They did not have a conversation regarding how unlikely it was that they would find useful evidence at Gibbs' home. Neither one of them thought this search would supply new clues for the case. But they couldn't avoid it. It was procedure to search the home of a kidnap victim for clues. Procedure, and solid police work.

Tony shuddered. "Kidnap victim" and Gibbs were two concepts that he could not force together in his mind. Nor did he want to expend the energy to try to merge the two. Gibbs was no damn victim. He would be just fine.

That felt good. He tried it out loud, forcefully. "He will be just fine. Ziva. Stop thinking negative thoughts."

She looked him up and down and quite obviously dismissed him, moving towards the stairs. "Let's start in the basement."

Good plan. Maybe they'd get lucky and find something down there before they started rooting around anywhere more personal. Out loud, he said, "Why? Chicken?"

"I am not afraid to do my job. However. You bring to mind an excellent point." She went into the kitchen and opened the fridge. "There is food in here that will spoil if it is not eaten soon."

Tony moved in right behind her and peered in himself. "Boss hates waste."

So they started their search with chicken and avocado sandwiches. And they took them to the basement.

Not because they were cowards.

Because it just made logical sense to work their way from the bottom of the house to the top.

They found mostly the expected in Gibbs' work space. Tools, sawhorses. Booze. There were half-finished carvings scattered across one of the workbenches. Some were toys, which Tony knew Gibbs had been making to donate to various children's hospital wards.

Though he only knew that because Jackson had told him.

Some other bits looked like the beginnings of creatures, or were just pleasing sworls that teased the mind with vaguely defined forms.

Tony smiled as he ran his fingers over the smooth surfaces. Leroy Jethro Gibbs, the artist. Man, he would hate that!

When they had completed their search and Ziva started up the stairs, Tony pocketed a small piece that, with a little mental manipulation, looked a bit like his old Mustang. Hand in his pocket, he rubbed his thumb back and forth along one side of the more-or-less rectangular object as he bounded up the stairs to meet Ziva in the living room.

They had investigated the kitchen thoroughly already.

The living area also held little of surprise. Gibbs didn't own a lot of things. He wasn't the type. Tony suspected that he never had been, and could understand the impulse. As someone who had been used to moving every year or two years for most of his life, he agreed that toning down on the general amount of accumulated stuff was both possible and useful. But this, he would call more bare or sparse rather than simply well weeded out.

They flipped through the pages of books looking for work notes that may have been used for bookmarks. Lifted the couch cushions and the couch itself, finding precisely nothing. It was spotless.

Curiously, there was a women's-style pink bicycle leaned up against one of the bookshelves.

Hmm.

Earlier that morning, Tony had called around to all of Gibbs' recent female friends that he could think of. This included all three ex-wives, who thankfully all had solid alibis. Dragging one of them into interrogation would have been a huge waste of time, and not an easy task either, since Gibbs seemed to favor complicated women.

Tony was not aware of any current romantic attachments Gibbs had. But really, how often was he aware of such things?

They swept quickly through the small half bath and the various closets that compromised the rest of the first floor space.

Then they moved up the stairs to the second floor, which held three bedrooms and a full bath.

They started with the guest room, which due to its large size and location was clearly supposed to be the master bedroom.

You could hardly blame the guy for not wanting to sleep in the same room he had shared with Shannon.

The space was almost bare; just a bed and dresser and one rug. Tony searched the bed and the closet, while Ziva opened the drawers of the dresser.

She turned around, towards him, a lighthearted question on her face and a small stack of men's clothing in her hands. A ratty old Ohio State sweatshirt lie at the top of the pile.

Tony grinned a little sheepishly and rubbed the back of his head. "What?"

Ziva gave him a real smile in return. "Nothing at all." She gently placed the clothes back into the drawer and closed it.

They were already about finished with this room, and ready to move on to Gibbs' bedroom.

As the crossed the hallway into the next room, Ziva announced abruptly, "I have something to tell you."

Tony did not care for her tone of voice.

They entered Gibbs room. Ziva moved to the closet, and Tony to the nightstand next to the bed.

"It is my belief that director Vance is either attempting to undermine your authority, or else to gather enough ammunition to validate taking this case away from you."

"I'm not exactly surprised."

"He stopped me this morning to ask me what I thought of your leadership skills, and if McGee and I were being utilized to the fullest."

Tony kept silent. His boss' nightstand was full of interesting things, mostly letters. Though he was itching to read them, most were from identifiable sources, such as Franks' daughter-in-law, Jackson Gibbs, and Hollis Mann.

Reaaalllly.

"Do you not want to know what I told him?"

"I will not ask you to tell me what you told him. That conversation was between you and the director."

"I informed him that I could see no other way for McGee and I to be 'utilized' to our fullest extent without you or Gibbs leading the team, as there is no one else who understands the team and its members' skills well enough to do so."

He didn't expect any less from her; they may have their differences at times, and certainly they squabbled, but those kinds of displays were between the two of them, sometimes in front of the team. But they were good at presenting a united front to outsiders.

"Also, I informed him your skills were not being 'utilized' to the fullest. The implication was that his interruptions and lack of support in a team leader could cause only delays, certainly not aid, to this case."

Tony looked up now.

"Well, in truth, I did not so much imply that as say it straight out." She fussed with some hangers in the closet. "I may have also implied that you have other skills – I mean other than investigative skills – that are underused."

She closed the closet door and moved on to the dresser.

Did she just saunter over to the dresser?

"What exactly is it possible you may have implied, Ziva?"

"Do not let this go to your head. But I may have said something along the lines of your ability to dress yourself well. And I may have indicated I have seen you dress others well, such as when you pick out wardrobe for McGee or Gibbs on undercover missions. And I may have let my eyes move up and down the director's subpar suit with non-matching tie. And I may have walked away."

Oh, this so was not helpful to his already strained relationship with Vance.

But oh, he wished he had been there to see the man's face!

"So you do admire my fashion sense, hmm?"

"Tony, now is hardly the time." She scolded, and moved further from him.

"Fine…but we will return to this when we have Gibbs back." He threw out a cocky smile, which he even partly meant. "We will get him back, you know."

Ziva turned enough to look at him over her shoulder and said with confidence, "I know you will, Tony."

Well.

That put a little spring back in a man's step.

Energized despite the lack of sleep, he forced himself to put the letters back and moved to the small desk in the room's corner.

He found mostly bills, and some non-classified cold cases from work. In one drawer were legal papers, which informed him that Gibbs' mortgage was already paid off, and that the man had more money than Tony would have expected.

Though, really, when did he ever spend money? Maybe he should have expected it.

He also found that Gibbs owned a parcel of land near his hometown.

Interesting, but not relevant to the case.

Below these, he found a copy of Gibbs' will.

Oh, he did not want to read it. But if he didn't, and it later turned out that Gibbs had left his money to a pack of French thugs with a penchant for making academic vending assistants disappear, wouldn't he feel stupid…

So he had to open it.

Right?

He tapped the file against the desk. Ziva did not comment, which told him she had already found things she was not so sure she wanted to know about, and was therefore not going to inquire about any additional items he found.

He opened the file.

It wasn't overly large, and seemed more or less simple. Tony skimmed for what he would normally look for in a kidnapping case.

Most of the money went to his godchild down in Mexico, the rest to Abby. The parcel of land went half to his dad, which is likely where he got it from in the first place, and half to Ziva. Nice touch boss – give a kid who doesn't have a home a place she can really call her own. There were a few specific bequests here and there, and each member of the team and a handful of others were listed as people who would be receiving letters written by Gibbs, currently held by the law firm that drafted the will.

Wow, he did not want to ever read that letter.

And wow…Gibbs had lawyers.

He skimmed through the rest, noting that any cars or boats owned at the time of death would be donated to a charity supporting families of deceased marines.

And that the house and all contents would go to Anthony DiNozzo, Jr.

"All" was underlined.

Tony did not like this case. It was presenting him with crazy amounts of information that would normally have made him gleeful.

But today he just felt like he had swallowed a frog. Two frogs. One stuck in his throat, and one hopping around, trying to get out of his stomach.

He closed the file and put it carefully back exactly where he had found it. Then he sat on the bed.

They had to find Gibbs. He couldn't afford to take a break.

But sometimes a guy just needed a minute to process.

Ziva sat next to him, brushing shoulders, just as she used to.

They both sat silently for a handful of minutes, until the world righted itself around them.

Then they both stood, and together they searched the third room, the room that no one went into, the door that was always closed.

There was nothing pertinent in Kelly's room to the case. Just a strange amalgamation of happiness and sadness. They did not say a single word until they were finished, and the door was closed behind them with reverence.

Tony opened his mouth and started to say many things. What finally came out was a growl, "I am still hungry."

They went back to the kitchen and finished off the chicken before leaving.

Despite the fact that neither of them were hungry.