CHAPTER 10 - Communication

Director Vance called Tony into his office to give him a pep talk of sorts, though Tony understood it was a 'don't embarrass NCIS' talk. Vance even went so far as to say he was proud one of his agents had been asked to lead the SMUT development team, as was SecNav Sarah Porter. Although the development was being overseen by Deputy Director Morrow of Homeland, Vance assured Tony that if they needed anything NCIS could provide, all he had to do was ask.

Everyone was busy at work, but Tony ran down to say good-bye to everyone. Ducky joined them in the bull pen and reminded Tony he was hosting Thanksgiving dinner at his house. The whole team would be present, and Ducky expected to see Tony there as well. "Wouldn't miss it," Tony said. He got a few hugs and handshakes, and some ribbing about being in charge of organizing SMUT. Gibbs shook his hand and gave him a pat on the back.

And then, a short time later, with his friends and colleagues watching from a safe distance, Tony boarded the helicopter provided, not by the CIA, as Jethro had suggested, but by Deputy Director Morrow. As the helo rose in altitude, Tony saw Abby waving a large white handkerchief far below, with Jethro standing by her side. They got smaller and smaller until they were nothing but tiny specks in the distance.

◊ • ◊ • ◊ •

"How'd your undercover gig go?" Tony teased. He had been emailing his friends when he got a chance, but he was glad to get a phone call from Tim at the end of the day. Taking a seat on his bed, and glad he had a room to himself, he said, "If you need to brush up on your acting skills, I can recommend a great place called Camp SMUT on the shores of beautiful Hope Lake."

"I'll pass on that, thanks. The investigation went okay, but it would have been better if Bishop hadn't been glaring at me all the time."

"What'd you do? Hide all her snacks?"

Tim proceeded to relate to Tony how Ellie had been planning a special anniversary trip – and he'd mistakenly spilled the beans to Jake. Now he was in the doghouse and he didn't know what to do. "I've apologized to her a dozen times, and I got her tickets refunded," Tim moaned.

"Buy her flowers. She loves lilies, but not the ones with a lot of perfume," Tony suggested. "Tell Marcia down at Fourth Street Floral who they're for and she'll set you up."

"Okay, thanks. I'll do that." Tim started relating the details of their latest case so Tony settled back in bed to listen. There was a creepy murder where the body was embalmed and vacuum-sealed and kept in the killers' spare bedroom. "They would have gotten away with it, too, if Major Newton hadn't run into them and thought there was something off about Mrs. Hudson."

That led to a conversation about Maj. Newton, who Tony had found overly obsessive. "He never let anything go."

Tim replied, "Guess it paid off in this case, even though he was killed for his trouble. So, who's on your SMUT committee? Or is it all top secret?"

"Just don't go blabbing about anything I tell you," Tony warned. McGee insisted he'd keep mum, so Tony said, "There are four of us committee members. Deputy Director Morrow is overseeing the whole thing, but he's not involved in any of the decisions. We'll present the entire program to him once we've got all the moving parts in the bag."

"Who is 'we'?"

"Well, you know Dorney's mother, Joanna Teague. She's real smart, and tough, and can steer any discussion that goes too far off the rails. There's Rob Cox, ex-bouncer, ex-army, ex-Los Angeles detective, and current strategy consultant for the DOJ. Good guy, has solid ideas. And then we have former paramilitary operations officer for the CIA, who is currently an FBI undercover specialist, Milo Garcia…"

McGee interrupted, "Wait a minute, you're working for Milo Garcia? The man's a legend and he's only… forty-two? He infiltrated the Corlesi family, and handled sensitive jobs for the attorney general's office and–"

"I know who he is, McBiography, and just to be clear, I'm the designated chairman of this development committee. Teague, Cox and Garcia are working with me," Tony said bluntly. He told McGee a bit about their progress in creating the parameters the SMUT unit would be working under, but didn't admit that although he was kept busy, he missed his friends. "Can you believe they don't deliver pizza out here!" he complained.

◊ • ◊ • ◊ •

The last thing Tony did every night was to call Jethro. He'd sit in a comfortable chair by the big window in his bedroom, where there was a lovely view of the lake during daylight hours. Their conversations were mostly one-sided, as expected. He was working on his boat; progress was slow but steady. Yes, he was keeping an eye on Tony's pin-up. His side of the dialog dried up as soon as he'd made a couple of observations about their latest case, and there was a rather long stretch of silence.

Tony ventured to ask, "How're you doing, health-wise?"

"Getting there."

"You been talking to Taft or anyone?"

"Nah. I like to listen to your yabba yabba."

Okay, so if Jethro wanted to listen to Tony talk, that's what Tony would do. He talked about how he and his colleagues were staying in a large stone house overlooking the three-mile-long Hope Lake, and its history; how the owners had run a hunting and fishing camp on the property a hundred years ago; how beautiful the large lake was; how the nearest town was so small there were no stoplights; how much he liked the people he was working with.

Jethro made a comment about old houses, and said how he hadn't seen much of New York State, although he'd gone to the races at Saratoga once with Diane. He commiserated with Tony being stuck in a small town, but it was good he was kept busy with the SMUT project, and working with some first-rate people. He even knew Milo Garcia from an op they were in together, in Paraguay, years ago.

As usual, before he hung up, Jethro said in a soft voice, "Love you, Tony," and Tony replied, "Miss you, Jethro." In bed that night, listening to the soft hooting of an owl and the whisper of the wind through the pines, he felt very much alone.

A few days later, Tony received an email from Abby containing a photo of Gibbs she'd taken recently. She wrote, 'Yay! We have our Gibbs back!' and when Tony saw the photo, he knew why. There was Gibbs, wearing a polo shirt, with his silver hair cut short, Marine-style. He was smiling a little, and one eyebrow was slightly arched, as if he was questioning why Abby was taking his picture. Tony printed it out and kept it by his bedside, and the last thing he did before turning the light out, was to whisper, "Night, Jethro. Miss you."

◊ • ◊ • ◊ •

"Tony, you'll never believe this! Guess who's riding shotgun with Gibbs?"

"Hello to you, too, McNewsboy," Tony replied, holding the phone to his ear while sitting in his rapidly cooling car outside the Barrel of Hope. The other committee members were already in the pub, or what passed for a pub way out here in the boonies. Not only did Barrel of Hope have a bar, but it also had an attached pizzeria that made a halfway decent pie. Maybe he could convince them to deliver.

Almost two weeks had passed since they'd arrived in the small town of Hope Lake Village, New York, and this was the first time Tony and his colleagues had left the camp for beer and pizza.

"Oh. Hi," McGee said absently. "They've been going out together, like partners!"

"You should see the set-up here. The four of us have been brainstorming in a room literally covered in white-boards and a state-of-the-art computer system which makes me think Gibbs may have been right about this being a CIA front–"

"Tony, are you listening to me? Everyone's been placing bets on how long it'll take before Gibbs head-slaps him…"

"Head-slaps who?"

"Gibbs' new partner. Guess! Go on. Bet you'll never get it, not in a million years."

"Okay, I'll bite. Male. Someone I know? Probably older because I can't see Gibbs tolerating a probie riding along with him. You wouldn't be all up in arms if it wasn't someone out of the ordinary, which could mean he's a person of authority. Not Fornell because they've teamed up before, so that's nothing new. Not Morrow because he'd never play second fiddle to anyone. So… I'll say, Director Vance." There was silence. "Tim, you still there?"

"How did you do that?" McGee practically whined.

"Simple deduction, my dear McWatson. How're things going back in NCIS-land without me?"

"We're doing fine without you," McGee said, sounding a bit pissed off.

"So tell me the latest gossip! I miss hearing who's doing who around the water cooler."

McGee related some gossip from around the Yard, including how their temp agent, Dale Carney, had solved a murder case in one hour flat. "He remembered a similar case he'd worked on twenty years ago, and one of the people they'd interviewed at the time matched the description of a guy we had in custody. Only he's twenty years older, of course. But he nailed it!"

"Good for Dale. How's Gibbs?" Tony asked. "Apart from being tolerant with Vance."

"He's acting sort of… different."

That didn't sound good. "How different?"

"It's hard to pinpoint. Like… he was going out for a drink after work with Fornell, and he invited Ellie and me along. On the way out, we shared the elevator with a couple of the baggy bunnies, and he invited them to join us."

"No! Charlene and Minnow?" They had both been in charge of the evidence locker for as long as he could remember, and they took their responsibilities seriously. Everyone at NCIS knew it wasn't in their best interest to annoy the women, or else their evidence just might get temporarily misplaced. Tony was happy to say he'd always been on their good side and, for some reason, they adored Gibbs. Go figure.

"Yeah, and there was karaoke, and Ellie and the other women got up and sang These Boots are Made for Walking. Gibbs loved it! Not that he joined in or anything, but I definitely saw his foot tapping. What does it all mean?"

"Uh, that the world as we know it is imploding?" What did it mean, though? That Gibbs was lonely? That he simply wanted to get out and have some fun? Was he pulling their leg? It was a bit odd, as McGee had pointed out. Tony would have to ask Gibbs about it when he phoned him.

As soon as McGee finished, Tony wrapped up the conversation saying he was getting cold and was expected for dinner.

Tony joined his colleagues inside the pub. Rob and Milo, along with Joanna, were seated at a table in the rear, all three positioned on the far side of the table so they faced the door. He tried not to laugh at their instinctive way of protecting themselves. "You guys expecting company?" he asked, purposely taking a seat with his back to the door.

Garcia shrugged. "It's the man who doesn't have eyes at the back of his head who ends up eating dirt."

"Wow, that's so deep, I'll have to mull it over while I look at the menu," Tony said nonchalantly, and turned his attention to the menu. "I'm just gonna trust that the three of you are watching my back. Who's up for sausage and pepperoni with extra cheese? Let's order."

◊ • ◊ • ◊ •

The four committee members were staying in the VIP accommodations on the grounds of the state police training camp. The six-bedroom house – mansion was a more appropriate term – built of stone and local timbers in the late 1800s, was known as The Stone House. It was set back half a mile from the main road, with a good view of Hope Lake.

When the state bought the land in the 50s, it came with several buildings. In addition to The Stone House, there was a large clapboard building right on the main road that served as the barracks for a handful of state police officers. Ever since the state police offices had been relocated to a town forty miles to the east, only a few officers manned the Hope Lake Village post. The grounds were still used for training by the state police, National Guard, Forest Service and other law enforcement agencies.

One reason this remote location had been chosen for the SMUT project, Tony was told, was that there was a dormitory building that would serve the twenty-four recruits who would join them soon. It could potentially house a hundred people, and came with a big kitchen and a rec room. There was also a building with a gym adjacent to an outdoor gun range.

The four SMUT development team members were the only ones sleeping in The Stone House, and they had the luxury of a cook preparing and serving them dinner in a well-appointed dining room on the ground floor. There was a large TV in a wood-paneled game room on the ground floor that featured a heavy mahogany pool table – not that there was much downtime to enjoy it. They worked long hours, and when they wrapped up for the day Tony often retired to his room to unwind. As the days turned into weeks, he missed NCIS, and he missed Gibbs more than he could say.

◊ • ◊ • ◊ •

The committee had accomplished quite a bit in the first two weeks; tomorrow the candidates for the SMUT program were arriving. Two dozen test bunnies, Tony called them. Teague was in charge of the recruits, but they'd all had a hand in choosing them. Just sifting through a couple hundred applicants had been a big job, but it had been decided that working with a small group initially would be the best way to test the program.

The recruits came from several agencies, and across law enforcement, so they got a good cross-section of people. All of them were experienced at handling crime scenes and knew investigative procedures; some already had strong undercover skills, some none at all. They were not fresh out of FLETC; ages ranged from a 22-year-old to a few candidates in their late forties. Most of them were looking for more from their careers, seeking something exciting as well as rewarding. SMUT promised them a chance to work at a potentially dangerous job, where they would never know what short-term assignment they would get next.

Part of the undercover program was to train the candidates to drop into a character quickly. The SMUT agents might only be undercover for a few hours, or, at the most, a few days. The unit's purpose was narrow: to perform brief infiltrations wherein they'd gather the intel needed, and then get out quickly.

Once the recruits arrived and were settled in their quarters, it was down to business. All four of the committee members related their good and bad experiences in the field to their students, and taught them undercover techniques that just might save their lives. Garcia and Tony had done several deep undercover missions, but all four of them had done short stints as well. Teague admitted she wasn't skilled at improvising, but Tony never had trouble dropping into just about any type of character.

Tony got along with the recruits, and related tales of his undercover exploits, including his time working for the Macaluso family, and the 'buck naked bust' in Baltimore in which he'd infiltrated a nudist colony, which was "very Peter Sellers, carrying a guitar in front of me at all times," he'd said.

"But you've got to remember that all it takes is one small slip and you, and others, could be put in danger. You, and those around you could get killed," Tony warned his audience. "You need to be confident, and I don't care if you're scared shitless, you're going to have to find a way to act confident. Practice helps. My job is to train you for short assignments, and if you make the cut, you'll go on to FLETC afterwards and learn – or refresh what you already know – about surveillance, risk management, the legalities and prosecutorial guidelines and all that fun stuff." He held up a batch of index cards he'd prepared with some scenarios and character guidelines. "Now, who wants to try their hand at being a bag lady who wanders into a bank that's being robbed?"

◊ • ◊ • ◊ •

Tony was having trouble sleeping. Usually, he dropped off as soon as his head hit the pillow, but tonight his mind wouldn't stop running through all the things they had yet to accomplish. Knowing that he wasn't going to fall asleep anytime soon, Tony opened his laptop and replied to an email from Bishop. He kept it light, writing to her about Hope Lake, and how he'd jogged along the shore path this morning. Although the temperature had been brisk, it had been refreshing.

'The town is compact, okay it's small, and just as you enter Main Street, you're out the other side of town where there's a sign is telling you Next Gas 40 Miles. They have a transistor radio on the shelf in the diner, next to those little boxes of corn flakes – yes, a real radio with an antenna so long it nearly pokes out the waitress's eye every time she walks past it. I know, and there we were, thinking Gibbs was the only person on Earth who actually listened to one. You'd love some of the characters who signed up for this program. Our oldest probie is about forty-five, and he's a nice-looking man, father of three, wears a brown suit he must have got at Sears (Yeah, I know), but what's great is he's been a cop since he was twenty-one, and as fast as you can snap your fingers, he can change into this tired salesman with a 'I've seen the world and I don't like it' vibe going on. I've seen him transform from his everyday persona to a sad sack of an old man shuffling along the sidewalk in search of his next drink. People never cease to amaze me.'

Since the day Tony had arrived at the camp, Abby had sent him photos, keeping a diary of sorts, to give him a view of what he was missing back home. There had been a few videos, too, and the one he'd received that day had featured Gibbs at his desk, doing his best to ignore Abby's pleas of "Gibbs! Gibbs! Gibbs! Say something to Tony." Eventually, Gibbs looked up, straight into the lens, and Tony's heart did an odd sort of flip-flop, because this was his Jethro looking straight at him, his lips twitching as he tried to hold back a smile. At Abby's encouragement to speak, Gibbs growled, "Get your ass back here as soon as you've finished foolin' around, DiNozzo." And then he softened his words with a quick wink and a barely audible, "Miss you."

Tony was glad he'd viewed the video in private, because his cheeks heated up in a blush, and he started to get all hot and bothered. Until recently, he hadn't realized what a huge turn-on Jethro's voice was when it got all low like that. Now, like Pavlov's dog, his cock seemed to be conditioned to harden in response to Gibbs' every growl.

After playing the video two more times (okay, so it was four times, and yes, he had his cock in his hand while he watched), Tony leaned back in the desk chair and phones Jethro. He'd called him several times since he had arrived, but any conversations they'd had were brief because one or the other had been called off for something important. Or else Jethro didn't pick up. Or Tony missed his call and found a brief message left on his voicemail: "It's me. Call me." He'd emailed Jethro a few times, but Jethro's responses had been far too short to be satisfying. It was as if he found writing an agonizing task.

It was late, but Jethro picked up on the first ring. "Hey."

"Hey. You working on the boat?" Tony asked, more than happy they'd finally connected and weren't likely to be interrupted.

"Yeah. It's coming along. Got most of the hull done."

"Good. Everything okay at work?"

"You mean Abby and McGee haven't been filling you in on the latest?" Jethro asked sarcastically.

"And Ellie and Ducky, and Palmer, and even that cute girl at the coffee cart. They text or call or email me with surprising regularity," Tony replied with a smile.

Jethro snorted.

Tony ventured to ask, "So… you got time to talk?"

"Wait." Tony heard the sound of Jethro climbing the basement stairs, and then what might have been him settling on the couch in the living room. "Okay now."

Tony waited but Jethro didn't say anything more. "So," Tony said.

"Yeah, so talk."

"Oh, silly me, I thought this was going to be a two-way conversation," Tony said.

Jethro sighed. "Okay."

"Okay." Jesus, this was like pulling teeth. "I heard you and Fornell enjoyed some karaoke… with McGee and Ellie? The baggy bunnies were fun?"

Jethro snorted but didn't reply. Just as Tony was about to say something not very nice, Jethro cleared his throat and – finally – spoke. "You get the video thing Abs took on her phone?"

"Oh yeah! It was like you were talking right to me. Only without the ability to head-slap me," Tony said, rubbing the back of his head.

"That was the point. Only it wasn't your head I was thinking of slapping," Jethro said, his voice deepening.

What? "What?" Tony asked, not quite believing what he thought Jethro was insinuating. He heard a small metal sound, as if… "Are you unzipping your pants, Jethro?" Tony asked slowly.

"Yep, and if you're not doing the same thing in ten seconds, I'm gonna assume you have company and don't want to…"

Tony's pants were off and he was on the bed in the prescribed ten seconds, phone by his side with earbuds in place. He was panting a bit when he said, "Okay. I'm ready now."

Jethro chuckled. "You sure about that? 'Cause if you're not, I can go back to what I was doing–"

"Don't you fucking dare!" Tony squirmed a bit, got his pillows stacked up behind him and sighed when he was comfortable. "Okay. I'm ready for you."

"You think I'm gonna reach through the phone lines and stroke your dick or something?"

"Well, that would be nice, like really nice, but… I'm holding my cock and I gotta tell you, it seems very excited to hear your voice. Maybe you can growl a bit because that really turns me on, Jethro."

"You know what turns me on? The way you say my name."

Tony could hear the unmistakable sound of Jethro jacking himself off. He licked his lips and asked, "Are you going slow, Jethro? I like slow."

"Yeah, real slow. Using some of that lube you left here, the kind that smells like wood."

Tony laughed. "Woody's Wood Lube." He reached for his own citrus-scented lube and slicked himself up. Lying back, he closed his eyes, gave his dick a few firm strokes, so good, hot and silky, bucking a little into his own hand, moaning, "Jethro…Jethro…yeah, there… Oh, yeah…"

Jethro's voice was in his ear, whispering, "I'm there with you, my hand on your cock. You feel me? You're so fucking hard…"

"God yes. I'm sliding my hand up and down yours, pumping, my thumb's over the head, rubbing in circles, oh fuck, stroke me harder."

"I can do harder," Jethro said, panting.

"Yeah, like that…" They went on talking dirty to each other until, with a gasp, Tony came, shuddering through his release, crying out, "Jethro!" while in his ears he heard Jethro breathing heavily and grunting, "Fuck! Fuck, Tony!" as he came.

Time passed, and eventually Tony moaned and said softly, "We have to do this again… I won't stop thinking of you until we do… Tomorrow night?"

Somehow, he could tell Jethro was smiling when he said, "It's a date. Sure beats karaoke. Sweet dreams, lover boy. I love you."

"Mmm," Tony replied before hanging up.

◊ • ◊ • ◊ •

Abby did a video call early one morning, just as Tony stepped from the shower after his sunrise run. She leaned forward and did her best to peer below the edge of her screen, exclaiming, "Oooh, what are you not wearing, Tony? Are you planning on running the triathlon again next year? You're looking washboardy, from what I can see. Is washboardy even a word?"

"It is now. I'm wearing a towel, and no, no plans on competing again," Tony countered. He pulled on a bathrobe and sat at the desk to talk with her via his laptop. "Tell me everything that's going on," he invited. He really missed being away from his NCIS family. Although Tony spent work hours in the company of his SMUT colleagues, it just wasn't the same as being with friends.

After the committee had finished for the day – and they often worked a couple more hours after dinner – Cox and Garcia usually went off to call their wives. Sometimes they joined Joanna and Tony in a game of pool in the richly paneled billiards room, but they tended to retire early.

Tony had walked down to the police barracks a few times, and played cards with the state police stationed there. There were usually four or five guys bunking on-site, and of those, a couple might be on call on any given night. Like Tony, they were looking for something to pass the time. He'd gone bowling with them, bringing his SMUT colleagues along for fun on one bitterly cold night. Teague had proven to be the best at the sport. That wasn't a surprise, as Dorney had told Tony his mother had taught him how to bowl – and he'd been very good at the game.

Tony listened to Abby recounting the harrowing time she'd experienced at Celodyne Pharmaceuticals, using broad hand gestures to illustrate how she'd outsmarted the 'bad guys.' As usual, they ended up talking about Gibbs. "I even followed him a few times," Abby admitted. "Just to see if he was meeting anyone, you know, like a girlfriend, but… um… he went straight home and down in the basement, as far as I could tell. So my sleuthing didn't get me very far."

"You mean he caught you peeking in the windows? Really, Abby, you know the man has a sixth sense about that kind of thing," Tony said, rolling his eyes. "If he finds out you…"

"Well…." Abby said, scrunching up her face.

"He caught you at it," Tony said, shaking his head in disappointment.

"Okay, so he caught me looking into one of those little basement windows. He didn't believe me when I said I was checking for termites," Abby said, twisting a long pigtail and giving Tony one of her 'I'm not at all sorry but if I smile you're sure to forgive me because I'm so cute' smiles.

"Noooo, really?"

"It doesn't matter anymore because… I don't think Gibbs is still seeing whoever he was seeing."

"Why'd you think that?" Tony asked cautiously.

"You know that week before you left? He'd stopped being Agent Grouchypants, and was actually smiling – just a little private smile – when he thought nobody was looking. It was obvious he was seeing her at that point. But then he stopped smiling so much, and now, he's sinking back into grouch mode. The weird thing is, sometimes in the morning, he's in a good mood, but it always wears off by the afternoon. Even Ducky has noticed it."

"So you don't think he's getting laid at night and by the end of the day he's missing her?" Tony asked. He had good reason to believe that Jethro's good-mood-mornings were the result of jerking off long-distance on most of their nightly phone calls. Luckily his room at The Stone House was at the far end of the corridor, away from the other committee members. He'd taken to muffling his groans in a pillow if things got too intense when having phone sex with his lover.

"…..and when I went back and tried to sneak in, I found he'd locked the door on me! I don't understand why Gibbs would do that!"

"Because you snake in without an invitation?" Tony asked.

"But the previous time I was there, he showed me his latest boat in the basement. Oh, and I saw he'd stuck the big photo of you up next to the hot rod poster. How funny is that? Maybe he thinks you're a hot rod, too?"

"What? I'm no hot rod!"

"Okay, you're a hot bod," Abby said with a giggle. "I'm sorry I didn't ask you if I could blow that photo up, Tony, but it was for Gibbs, and I didn't think it mattered. It's not like he thinks of you as a pin-up or anything."

Really, Abs? Then why do you think he asked for a copy of that photo? "Ha ha, no, definitely not. Look, I have to do some paperwork and turn in, so talk again soon, Abs! Night!"

"Night, Tony! Love you!"

"Love you too," he replied. The second Tony disconnected, he realized he'd told Abby he loved her. It was nothing new, and it had slipped off his lips naturally. So why couldn't he say those same words to Jethro?

◊ • ◊ • ◊ •