This chapter isn't beta'ed. I should probably warn you that I find Mike Franks to be an odious character and his portrayal is not exactly flattering but IMHO it is entirely canon-compliant.

Thanks for everyone who expressed their good wishes over the bushfires. The situation here is still quite grim. I'm with family atm anxiously waiting to see if yet another mega-fire will require them to evacuate people and pets. We have been anticipating that this might be needed for approx. 3 weeks and watching the mega-fire nervously but when the awesome firies managed to get it under control, we all relaxed. Then in the last 36 hours, a new threat has emerged as a new mega-fire approaching from the opposite direction threaten the world heritage listed towns along the highway. In a last-ditch effort to save them, fire authorities have decided to backburn the bush.

Rising To The Bait

Chapter 51

Sitting in her room in her comfy recliner chair staring out of her window at the garden and listening to the birdsong, Rebecca Cooper knew that it would soon be time for her to head down to the dining room for lunch. She glanced at the clock and noted it was nearly 11.40 am and wondered a little anxiously if Tia was coming today.

As much as she despised the ordeal that mealtimes had become after her car accident, there was one aspect of meals that Rebecca did enjoy. Friends and family like her daughter, Tony and Jess if they were visiting her at lunch or dinner times were able to join her in the dining room for a meal. Somehow it seemed to make eating feel a little bit more normal and a bit less stressful. For some reason, they didn't make her feel embarrassed about her difficulties in getting food into her mouth. Probably because that was what family did – they were there for you, no matter what.

To start with, when she'd regained consciousness approximately a month ago, Rebecca, who'd always prided herself on her dexterity – had been awfully embarrassed by her inability to feed herself. Even now, having people staring at her while she ate made her feel even more self-conscious. Having to go to the dining room to eat made it easier for visitors to make their apologies and leave without making anyone uncomfortable.

If however, people other than her family did stay and share a meal with her wanting to b sociable and or supportive, they were generally far too busy trying to figure out what the heck it was on their own plate. Since it was more often than not an unsolvable mystery, it meant they weren't exactly focused on watching her struggling to hold her much-hated clunky looking fork and spoon (modified with a piece of tubular foam around the handles to make them easy to hold) and try to pretend otherwise. Due to her food being pureed to a gloop, Rebecca hadn't had to do battle with a knife yet, for which she was eternally grateful, although she hated eating mush. But a knife – cutting up food – the idea sent her into a total panic!

Yes, the modified flatware made it easier for her to eat but for Rebecca, it was also a constant reminder of the loss of her previous dexterity, as even using them she had to concentrate intently to get every mouthful of her thickened pureed gloop into her mouth. It was exhausting and disheartening to perform something she'd always taken for granted before.

As to her actual food status, Rebecca was very hopeful she would be upgraded from pureed to soft food and spoon-thick fluid (pudding consistency) to having honey-like fluids very soon – and it couldn't have come soon enough.

But mostly what she loved about the dining room was that she could sit up at a table – albeit still in a wheelchair – and eat one meal every day with her daughter, who seemed not to notice how much her mother had changed. It gave Rebecca a much-needed sense of normalcy that was missing in her life. Never before had she been separated from her precious daughter, so eating lunch with Tia proved to be the highlight of her day. Importantly, it reminded her of why she wanted to recover.

As she looked around her room – a private one since there was no one in the second bed, she looked at the drawings on the wall which Tia had been busy decorated her room with. While her daughter was no Rembrandt, she was much improved since the last time Rebecca had really looked at her drawings. As she looked at the drawing of two sturdy-looking ponies which her daughter had informed her were named Trixie Bluebell and Clover, she could hear her excited chatter as she made her way down the corridor to her mother's room.

Rebecca heaved a sigh of relief that she would get to eat lunch with her little girl. She missed her so much.

"Emmy said that she is going to have a slumber party for her birthday next month. And she said I could go too. Do you think I'll be allowed to go, Meggy?" she asked wistfully. "It's okay if I can't go."

Rebecca heard her nanny, Megan reply calmly. "Let's talk about it later. Do you know if Emily is going to have the sleepover at her mom's house or her dad's?"

Tia giggled and Rebecca felt her heart swell with love and gratitude that Tia hadn't been badly hurt in the accident.

"I forgot to ask her," she admitted. "I wonder if Luna could come with me?"

Rebecca briefly wondered who Luna was? Possibly a friend.

Megan swept into Rebecca's room with a polite knock, Tia dancing excitedly along behind her. "Maybe, Tia. How about we see what happens when it's closer to Emily's birthday?"

Seeing her mother waiting for her, Tia forgot all notions of a distant birthday and raced towards her mother excitedly, propping at the last minute to prevent her being knocked out of her wheelchair which her nurse had just transferred her to a couple of minutes ago.

Hugging her gently, Tia seemed to understand that her mother was struggling with her inability to give her child a simple hug. She carefully picked up Rebecca's arms and wrapped them around herself, sighing in contentment to be in her loving embrace.

"Mama, Megan and I made you some double chocolate chip cookies this morning.

Rebecca hid a grimace since she didn't want Tia to suspect that the prospect of mushed up cookies didn't exactly fill her with excited anticipation. There were some things that just shouldn't be pureed, and cookies were one of them. Even before the accident, the idea of dunking cookies in her tea filled her with disgust. Still, if it meant not hurting Tia's feelings, she would eat the mushy mess, if not willingly, at least stoically for her darling girl.

"But we can have them later. Let's go! They've got tuna casserole for lunch!" She prattled excitedly.

It was one of life's little mysteries that Tia seemed to know what was on the menu, especially when most people were left scratching their head. Even more unfathomable was that she seemed to actually like the hospital food and acted excited to be able to eat it with her mother every day. Maybe the hospital food reminded her of the school cafeteria food that she no longer got to eat because Tia was currently being homeschooled. Rebecca was not entirely clear on why that was. Perhaps they'd told her why, and she'd forgotten or maybe they'd decided she wasn't ready for any more bad news.

Tia continued to badger her mother, trying to hurry her up so they could get to the dining room faster. She was afraid that if they were late, the kitchen would be out of food. Her daughter also never seemed to notice how difficult it was for Rebecca to eat or anyone else for that matter. She was a favourite guest in the dining room because she would chatter away to everyone, apparently oblivious to the various physical and emotional struggles going on around the room.

Rebecca had noticed that she also had a way of looking people in the eyes without making them feel like they were freaks or objects of pity. Tia simply accepted people as they came. That, plus she sneaked in contraband for them, aided and abetted by her nanny, making mealtime much more entertaining in the short time that her mother had been in rehab.

Most of the staff were equally captivated by her, the one or two who didn't approve of her black-market activities had been won over soon enough when she presented them with delicacies that quickly dissolved their objections. It was hard to be arguing that the rehab patients were supposed to adhere to a healthy diet when they were stuffing their own faces with chocolate fudge brownies too.

So, meals with Tia, despite how exhausting it was to do something she' taken for granted before the crash, were almost her favourite time of the day. Even better though, was when Rebecca retired to her room for a rest period after lunch and Tia read to her. They would snuggle up together in the recliner chair and Rebecca would feel at peace. At the moment they were finishing off Anna Sewell's classic tale, Black Beauty, but Rebecca knew that this was not the first book that Tia had read to her.

Somewhere at the back of her mind was the memory of her reading to her while she had been deep asleep. Or had she? Maybe it was just a dream.

~oO0Oo~

Forty-eight hours after his new trucker mate dropped him off in Raleigh, North Carolina, on his circuitous route to DC, Mike Franks arrived in the nation's capital or as he always thought of it - as the butthole of the US where all the shit congregated. In his experience as a federal agent, DC was where all the rat bastards hung out, fornicating with each other while trying to get to the top of the shit heap quicker than everyone else.

He'd never regretted leaving the rat race behind when he resigned from NIS and heading down to Mexico. Franks could never abide by the fact that slimy politicians would sell their own grandmother if one them saw an extra vote or two in the betrayal.

Still, with such a mob of amoral assholes trying to gain the upper hand, they inevitably attracted plenty of other pricks to DC like a bunch of hungry remora swimming in the slipstream of the apex predators... um, politicians. Like carrion feeders, they clustered around the weak and the fragile, waiting to pick them off if they let their guard down, even for a second.

To be honest, Franks found it difficult to decide who was the bigger hyena – the ass kissers or the crims. Certainly, he wouldn't trust either group as far as he could throw them but at least he understood the dirtbags, having put them in prison or sent them to take a dirt nap after double-tapping them for over a decade as a federal agent.

So, given his sound grasp of the psychology of these dirtbags, it was child's play for Mike to obtain whatever he needed. Primarily, he needed weapons which couldn't be traced and some wheels for himself, so he was able to get around in this place, this Sodom and Gomorrah fleapit of a city where corruption festered like a giant boil on the nation's butt.

Now in addition to his loyal sap which he'd confiscated from a particularly vicious gangbanger and had been his trusty companion for over a decade, he had a Saturday night special or two, plus a sawn-off shotgun. Plus, he now owned a rusty white van that looked like something a handyman might use. Okay 'owned' might be a tad too strong an adjective to describe how the van came to be in his possession. The fact was that Franks had purloined it from a meth dealer who decided to resist his efforts at repossession, and now he'd no longer be needing it for his business, on account of him needing to be focused on his quadriplegia.

So okay, Mike was no goddamned doc but even he knew that a bullet transecting a spinal cord meant that Mr Meth Dealer would be far too busy having to swap out his colostomy bag and change his urinary catheter to be worrying about transporting his merchandise around in his van anymore.

Not that Franks would shed a tear for the punk assed little prick. No siree, Bob!

It was simply one less dirty cockroach on the streets and besides, no doubt someone else just as filthy and disgusting would be quick to step up into the breach and take over the territory and his clients. These people were bottom-feeding scum suckers and in Franks' opinion, the world would be much better off if someone blew each and every last one to kingdom come!

Satisfied that he was ready to storm the Probie's home in Alexandria if it proved to be necessary, he drove to the modest home Jethro had owned with his pretty little red-head wife, Shannon and their kid, Kelly. It had remained untouched by time, despite him living there with three new wives. Not to mention quite a few lady friends who'd come and gone, along with his ex-wives.

Since Mike had no intention of ending up in prison, all for simply taking out Russian mafia trash, he drove sedately to avoid drawing the attention of the traffic cops. In other words, his driving was nothing like the way Probie drove or from what Mike gleaned, the crazy-assed way the dark-eyed Mossad hottie insisted upon driving when anyone was stupid enough to give her keys to a car.

Franks smirked lecherously. Ziva reminded him of one or two South American beauties he knew – fiery and passionate senoritas. He wasn't sure if Gibbs was schtooping her, but with her tight little ass and her fiery temper he wouldn't mind having a crack of her even if messing with Eli David's daughter was probably a mite foolhardy. Still, he had it on very good authority that Kidon trained assassins were very well qualified in the art of seduction. Although, he conceded ruefully, banging her brains out might not fit the definition of safe sex – and he wasn't referring to the catching of STDs. He reckoned it would likely be one helluva ride.

However, Mike had no desire to have his neck snapped in the throes of passion or end up with an ice pick in the eye. Although he couldn't think of a better way to go, he still had family responsibilities with his daughter in law and granddaughter who were depending on him.

Probably better to leave her to Gibbs - the dirty dog! After all, he had the daddy kink thing down pat – what with David, plus that kinky little lab rat of his with the tatts and collar. That chick totally rocked the whole Goth Lolita thing! No wonder Probie needed so much damn coffee – undoubtedly, he'd been burning the candle at both ends! Between dipping his wick with both Ziva and Abby he was probably also going through the little blue pills at a rate of knots, the lucky son of a bitch!

All though, to be honest, Mike was more comfortable in the role of the debonair skirt-chasing secret agent, about to embark upon a suicide mission. In his expert opinion that was better than banging boots with a trained black widow spider or someone who did it in a coffin. Yep, his super-suave 007 routine worked every time! The senoritas were tripping over themselves, volunteering to take Little Mikey for one last adventure before he left on his final mission. Of course, he wasn't one to brag but Little Mikey wasn't all that little... so when he returned from his suicide mission the senoritas were more than happy to welcome him back to their beds for more loving.

Unfortunately, Layla was quite disapproving of his shenanigans, particularly his playing fast and loose with the truth. So, he'd been forced to sow his wild oats much further afield since she'd arrived in Mexico. Of course, being on the run with his daughter-in-law and a toddler, even one who was as cute as a bug-in-a-rug had definitely put the kibosh on his lady-loving ways.

Little Mikey (who didn't really appreciate the moniker seeing as how he wasn't little in any sense of the word) wasn't all that happy with the lack of loving either. And when Not-So-Little-Mikey wasn't happy, neither was Mike Franks. Something else to lay at the probie's feet too when he caught up with him – his lack of sex life.

The fact was, he was so damned horny right now that even the thought of frumpy old Gladys Plosky, Jethro's widowed neighbour was starting to look like a mighty fine lay at this point and Not-So-Little Mikey normally did not stand up to attention for anyone over the age of forty. Mrs Plosky must be seventy if she was a day and didn't even have her own teeth.

Deciding that desperate times called for desperate measures, Mike vowed that the first chance he got when he found somewhere to stay, he'd be taking care of Not-So-Little-Mikey's needs himself...again. He'd fantasize that the little hottie, Ziva David was having shower sex with him. It was probably much safer sex than actually banging her, too!

Parking several streets away from his target, he approached the unassuming two-storey home with caution. He was dressed like a meter-reader, with a clipboard and a yellow ball cap with a generic logo on the front. He'd purchased them at a local mall, along with a pair of dungarees and a plaid shirt to complete the look. He'd read the gas meters of a number of homes before he approached Gibbs' house. When he'd 'read' Probie's meter he slipped unobtrusively around the back of the house and entered via a window.

Sure, Jethro didn't usually lock his front or back doors...but he also wouldn't normally rat out his former boss and mentor either, particularly one who was a fellow Marine...sempre fi! Therefore, Mike wasn't taking any chances. Rule 8...never assume! He wouldn't put it past the sneaky bastard to have left some sort of calling card or way to tell that someone had used the door.

Luckily, he was smarter than his probie – always had been. He played him when he smuggled Layla and Amira in the US and he played him when he pointed him in the direction of Senor Hernandez, so Jethro took him out and avenged his dead agent for him. Plus, he'd played him again when he went after Arkady - at least until the SOB ratted him out to the Fibbies.

Since he would have bet his life that Gibbs would never do that to a fellow Marine, it was not surprising that Mike was gonna be extra cautious when having to deal with his former probie. However, somewhat to his disappointment, there was no one home. After helping himself to the solitary beer in the fridge, Mike began to make a systematic appraisal of the home. Yeah, the place was tidy enough he supposed, if you ignored the thin, uniform patina of dust and an air of neglect that covered everything in the house. Plus, there was the stale air smell of a house that hadn't been properly aired for some time. Maybe Probie was on a case somewhere, Mike concluded feeling let down.

Checking out the Probie's cupboards, he noticed that there was plenty of canned goods but little in the way of fresh food in the fridge – what there was, was just frozen crap. Just as well he drank his coffee black – he went ahead and made himself at home, starting a pot of coffee.

Suddenly feeling ravenous, he opened up a tin of chicken soup and found some bread in the freezer that was showing signs of significant freezer burn. Lord knows how long it had been in there, but he shrugged philosophically. Beggars can't be choosers, especially when it had been many hours since he'd last eaten. He chucked the bread into the toaster and continued to reconnoitre the Probie's abandoned crib for clues to his whereabouts.

Climbing the stairs, he found some of Jethro's clothes missing – so it was likely that Jethro was on an assignment somewhere. Deciding to risk it, he'd eat first and then take a long hot shower. The former Marine would kill two birds with one stone, working out some of the muscle kinks that being on the road had caused him, and he could also indulge his Not-So-Little-Mikey at the same time. Deciding that the soup was probably hot enough by now, he availed himself of clean towels and left them on the sink in Gibbs bathroom.

Although Franks was grateful that he could make himself at home in the shower before he became so desperate that he decided to seduce Mrs Plosky, the former NIS agent was pissed off. Gibbs was missing and there was no clue as to where he'd gone, or more importantly when he'd be back. He'd wanted to confront the yellow-bellied coward, and it was pretty hard to do that or get himself some answers to pressing questions if the Probie wasn't around to talk.

It had never occurred to Mike that he might not be in DC. Maybe he was doing Black Ops again. He would have to use some of his 'questionable' contacts to try and find out where Gibbs had gone and when he was likely to be returning.

That smarmy little CIA prick, Trent Kort, who was the weasliest bastard he'd never met (and that was saying something since Franks frequently l hung out with hyenas when he needed to gather Intel) would probably be his best shot at getting info on the QT. Best not to let him know he was in the States though, he wouldn't put it past the Pommy bastard to double-cross him if he thought it was worth his while.

But that still left him with one pretty big quandary about his plans. Should he bunk down here in the Probie's crib or find some fleapit dosshouse cum hotel in DC for him to sleep in while he waited for his protégé to come home so they could have a nice little chat? He could think of pros and cons with both options but in the end, he decided that the Probie's nosy neighbour, Mrs Plotsky probably keeping a lookout over Jethro's house, it was too much of a risk to run. The only safe option where the old busybody wouldn't see the lights on at night would be if he was in the basement, but Mike didn't want to get trapped down there, either.

Several hours later he emerged from the backyard of Jethro's property. People would have seen him in the neighbourhood, and he needed to move his van someplace less conspicuous. He'd pick a street that had a lot of comings and goings, so it wouldn't stick out like a pimple on a pumpkin – these streets were too goddamned quiet. If he could park it outside a shared house, someone dealing smack or even one of those stuck-up housewives hawking a little bit of 'how's your father' on the down-low to earn extra bucks, that would do nicely. No one would think twice about seeing a strange vehicle parked down that street.

If he could find somewhere where a bored housewife was turning tricks Mike would be able to kill two birds with the one stone and 'Little Mikey' could have himself some senorita loving. He had to admit, he never did like handjobs, particularly when it was him doing all the work.

~oO0Oo~

Megan had most definitely perfected the art of watching her charges, and yet fading right into the background so they'd forget she was there most of the time. Unless of course, she needed to step in if there was a security issue involved or if Tia or her friends did something dangerous. As a bodyguard come nanny to her ten-year-old charge, some colleagues might say that it was beneath her professional dignity to expect her to babysit a bunch of the little girl's friends, but she disagreed.

Tia had been put through the wringer, what with the death of her stepfather, her mother's serious injuries and the two kidnapping events. So, it was little wonder that she'd been diagnosed with complex trauma. Plus, in order to keep her safe for all these months, she hadn't been able to go to school or do normal stuff like going out to places or going for playdates to other kids. It did her heart good to see Tia hanging out with little Emily Fornell and the Vance kids, even if she had to chaperon them to ensure that they stayed safe. Jardine hoped that one day Tia would no longer need to be guarded by her but for now, it was necessary.

Truth to tell, Megan still felt incredibly guilty about allowing herself to be drugged while Tia was in her care. It led to Tony's father snatching her from right under Megan's nose during a visit to her psychiatrist's office. Although Tia was already traumatised, the second abduction didn't help her psychological state at all.

So, if she as more inclined to focus on Tia's social and emotional needs than she otherwise might be, it as her way of trying to fix something that her carelessness had contributed to. Besides, the former cop found Tia was a quaint little kid and she honestly loved spending time with her. While she would never admit it to her charge lest she became more guarded in her interactions, listening to Tia's conversations with various adults and her own friends was always interesting and frequently quite amusing as well. One thing was certain, it definitely no hardship for Megan to hang out with these kids – they had a way of looking at life that as out of the box and refreshing.

Today, Tia was spending time with Emily, Jarod and Kayla and they were down at the stables with the two ponies. They'd been taking it in turns to ride the two patient ponies around the property before showing the Vance kids how to groom the ponies after riding them. The former cop noted of the two Vance siblings, Jarod seemed to be the more nervous one around the ponies, not that she would ever embarrass the little boy by pointing that out. His sister, on the other hand, seemed to be a natural, leaning up against the sturdy bay, absentmindedly stroking Clover's cheek as he whiffled softly through his lips in what Megan took to be contentment.

Jarrod picked up the brush, slipping the leather strap over the back of his hand and then started tentatively brushing the grey pony Trixie Bluebell, who was mostly now referred to as Belle like he'd seen Tia and Emily demonstrating. He copied the long rhythmic strokes like the girls had said although the ex-cop observed that he was still quite hesitant around the ponies, not putting much of his body weight into the grooming. He gradually became more confident that the pony wasn't about to turn around and take a bite out of him and started leaning into it.

After a while where the only sound was the rustle on brush on the ponies' bodies, Jarrod apparently decided to ask about something that Meghan decided must have been troubling him.

"Tia, is your father mad at my dad?"

Tia frowned and cocked her head, outwardly considering the matter before asking a question of her own. "Why?"

"Cuz, he doesn't joke or smile anymore when we come over here."

Tia frowned, "No I don't think so. Why would you think that my daddy is angry?"

Emily rolled her eyes with a cynicism more akin to a bratty teenager Megan thought with some amusement. Once again, in keeping with the goal of being invisible, she remained stony= faced, although it was difficult not to laugh. Damn it, why were kids so freaking funny?

"Because Tia, Mr Vance got Mr Craig killed when he made him go to Israel with him," she said bluntly. "My dad told Mommy that he was a bleep bleep hat."

Tia looked at the Vance kids worried that Emmy might have hurt their feelings, but Kayla shrugged philosophically. "Mom's feral! She's making Dad sleep out on the sofa in the living room again. She only does that when she's really mad with him," she revealed candidly.

Tia looked uneasy. "Why isn't he sleeping in their bed," she wanted to know.

Meghan remembered it was Tia who had managed to coax Jackie into letting Leon back in the marital bed once before. Since sleeping had become such an ordeal for her and she took comfort in sleeping with Tony and Jessie, it had become quite a sensitive topic. She'd worried about Gibbs when he'd been injured by the Kidon assassin hiding in Ziva's apartment. Tia had offered him her bed and her cat, Luna to sleep with him so he wouldn't get lonely. She probably also knew that Vance had been hurt, which would explain why it would worry her that he was sleeping alone.

Kayla shrugged, scrunching up her nose. "Mom doesn't think he should have been friends with that guy in Israel cuz he's bad. Mr David tried to kill him when he got mad with Dad about something."

Emily looked shocked. "Wow when I get mad with my friends at school, I don't try to kill anyone," she said, judgementally. "If I did that, I'd be grounded by my mother and father until I was really really old, like twenty."

Meghan stifled a giggle that was threatening to burst out of her mouth. Emily Fornell as such a card sometimes, particularly when she said something outrageously funny without any awareness of what she'd said. Meghan had always appreciated comedians who favoured the art of deadpan delivery such as Bob Newhart and a rather obscure comedian called Elliot Goblet from Australia.

She watched on curiously as Kayla smirked as she told the younger kids, "Mom called Dad a dumb poop when she thought we had gone to sleep," Kayla admitted ruefully.

Jarod shook his head forcefully. "Nuh-uh, Kayla. She didn't call him a dumb poop. Mom called him a dumbf..."

Kayla slapped her hand sharply over her little brother's mouth, making a popping sound as she scolded him. "You know we aren't supposed to say those words, you big dweeb head."

"Hey, I am not! I'm gonna tell Mom you called me a dweeb head," Jarrod retorted hotly as he punched his sister on the arm.

Kayla smiled at her brother evilly, "Then I'll tell her you said the F word and you know she'll be really mad. You'll be in so much trouble, Jarrod Christopher Vance."

"No, I didn't," he protested looking worried.

Meghan snorted, trying to turn it into a sneeze as Tia flashed her a quick look and a bright smile before turning her attention back to her friends. It was never good news when someone, especially family rolled out your full name including your middle one.

"Only because I stopped you," his big sister told Jarrod sternly, while Tia and Emily (both of them who only children) stared bug-eyed at the siblings as they proceeded to bicker back and forth.

"Did not!"

"Did too!"

"DID. NOT!"

"DID. TOO!"

"Uh uh!"

"YES. YOU. DID!"

Eventually, Tia interrupted them to ask. "Why is your mom calling your dad a bleep bleep because his friend? Mr Vance didn't have anything to do with killing Mr Craig, did he?"

Puzzled, Jarrod asked, "What's a bleep, bleep?

Simultaneously as Jarrod asked the question, Emmy chimed in with, "My daddy says he was a bleep, bleep to trust Ziva's father because he said that the whole David family were rotten to the core."

Tia replied to Jarrod, "When I want to say bad words that I'm not allowed to, I say bleep, bleep instead. It's what they do on the television," she explained solemnly.

Jarrod nodded. "Cool!"

Meanwhile, Kayla considered what Emily Fornell had said. "Mom didn't like Mr David and she told my dad he wasn't a good man. Now that he's home safe and sound, she's really mad at him."

Emily looked excited. "Did your mom hit him over the head with a sandwich?"

Kayla and Jarrod looked surprised. "No, why would she do that?" Kayla wanted to know.

Emmy giggled. "Momma said that one of Uncle Gibbs' wives when she was angry with him, hit him over the head with a sandwich."

Jarrod was curious, "Was it a baloney sandwich or a PBJ one?"

The young red-head paused, "Prolly a PBJ one," she decided, or an egg salad sandwich, cuz they would make a big mess and get in his hair."

Megan meanwhile was doing her best not to laugh at the image, figuring out pretty fast that Miss Emily was referring to a golf club called a sand wedge, not a food item. Having witnessed his less than delightful personality up close and personal while he'd been staying in the cabin and eating meals with them, Meghan could kind of understand why an ex-wife might be driven to take such drastic measures to make a point. Although Abby Sciuto worshipped the ground he walked on, her cousin Nikki had also had some unflattering things to say about him too.

Still, as a former cop, Meghan also knew that domestic violence was not something you could joke about – even in someone who prided himself as being a bastard. And while most people thought it was only women who were victims of domestic abuse, men could be victims too.

Although, she was trying not to laugh at the idea of Vance or Gibbs for that matter getting hit over the head with a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. The malapropism was cute as however, a quick change of topic caught Meghan on the back foot, literally trying not to choke.

Jarrod frowned. "I think that Mom crushed Dad's nuts."

Tia and Emily exchanged looks of sympathy, but Kayla shook her head.

Honestly, if parents had any idea the things their kids heard that they weren't supposed to, they'd be shocked. Equally, if they had an inkling of what their kids talked about, they'd be mortified.

"What makes you say that, Jarrod? Even if she's really mad at him I don't think Mom would do that to him. She didn't hurt him, she just kicked him out of their bed, plus she told him she was going to be getting her own toys to play with and that made him really unhappy," she reported seriously, as Megan stifled yet another snort of amusement.

Listening to this conversation was proving to be very painful since she was under no illusion as to nature of the toys, Jackie Vance had been talking about. She'd always admired the older woman for her wit and intelligence, not to mention her sense of style. Now Megan couldn't help the stirring of more than a touch of hero-worship towards her for the gutsy way Jacki had dealt with Leon. The woman has class and chutzpah too - in spades. Oh, to be like her one day when she was all grown up!

Jarrod looked stubborn. "Because when Dad is taking a shower, he moans and groans like he's in pain."

Tia looked worried. "But didn't he get shot. It's probably his arm that hurts. Daddy's arm was sore after he got shot." She didn't want to think that Mrs Vance had crushed Jarrod and Keyla's daddy's nuts because she was a nice lady.

Jarrod shook his head. "Yeah, I thought that too, Tia. So I asked him if his arm still hurt from the bullets and he said it was almost as good as new. So, I reckon, Mom must have crushed his nuts cause that really, really hurts," he informed them with authority and since they weren't in a position to argue the toss, Kayla, Tia and Emily apparently decided to take his word for it.

Meanwhile, Megan noticed Kayla with a speculative look on her face. "I did hear Dad say under his breath that his left hand was getting sore from all the work he had to do since he arrived home. Maybe he hurt it at work. My friend Stephanie's mom got repetitive strain injury from doing too much typing," she said as Megan was helpless to silence the loud snort that exploded, causing the four kids to turn and stare at her in surprise, having forgotten she was in the stable with them.

Tia smiled brightly at her. "Hey, there you are, Meggy. Good! Can you help me to clean out Trixie's feet, please?" she requested as Megan moved to hold the pony's head halter with her left hand and held up the pony's left front foot with her right one as Tia used her hoof pick to remove a stone from the pony's delicate foot.

She considered the information that she acquired about Jackie and Leon's sex lives and briefly wondered why nannies didn't publish more tell-all books. No doubt it would be a best seller.