"I thought you'd gone home." The medical examiner watched Gibbs pace around the autopsy table, oblivious to the open chest of their latest victim. "I was just about to weigh the heart, if you're looking for some entertainment."

"Ducky, what do you know about MS?"

"Interesting lesions in the white matter at autopsy. Axonal transaction identified by the presence of terminal Axonal ovoids."

"Ducky..."

"May I ask for what reason you are asking? Is this about the case?"

"It's about DiNozzo. Those dizzy spells he's been getting."

"I see," said Ducky, lowering his head slightly and giving a small pat of condolence to the face of the corpse who was having to wait. "The central nervous system controls much of the body's functioning and much of that activity passes through the white matter at some point. White matter is rather like the body's optical cable."

"And that's what makes him dizzy?"

"Vestibular ataxia. Lesions in the white matter can produce all manner of symptoms - blindness, paralysis, spasticity, tremors, loss of bladder and bowel control, impotence."

"Ducky, I don't need the whole encyclopedia." Gibbs hissed sharply. "It's bad, then, I mean, that's what you're saying."

"Actually it's rather a fickle disease. But, if I remember correctly, patients who experience a sudden onset of motor symptoms tend to be hit harder than someone whose first symptom is, say, optic neuritis."

"Tremors? Trouble walking? That kind of thing?"

The pathologist looked long and hard at the chief field agent. "Yes. That... sort of thing."

Gibbs gave a small frown. "Is it fatal?"

"Not generally, no. His life span should be normal. His energy level will suffer."

"And he could end up paralyzed in a wheelchair."

"Possibly," Ducky picked up a wicked looking electric saw, contemplating the inner workings of the body on display in front of him. "I believe the most common symptom is fatigue."

"Can he keep working?"

"I'd rather think that would be up to him. The associated cognitive dysfunction is usually quite mild and I think it's mainly a matter of speed of performance not the performance itself. So, yes, Anthony should be able to work, probably not in the field, but possibly in research. It would be best if I get you the number of my good friend, Sherri Lenz, she's a specialist in the field. I am not qualified-"

"This isn't on the record, Ducky. I just wanted an idea of what we're working with here."

Gibbs looked at the silent member of their trio. The vic was young, probably about DiNozzo's age. There were worse things than a diagnosis. Ending up on Ducky's table, being one of them.

"I better go; you've got a... date" Gibbs gestured at the burdened gurney. "I'll let you know... something."

"Please do that." Ducky pulled the down the clear protective eye gear and fired up the saw. Then he shut it back off. "Jethro--"

Gibbs stiffened at his given name. "Yes, Donald."

"If he wants to work," Ducky's lilting accent always reminded him of a paternal English prep school teacher, "you should let him try."

"I'll take that into consideration, Dr. Mallard."

It was a little past seven when Gibbs again rolled to a stop outside the apartment building. No DiNozzo in sight. With a sigh, Gibbs put on the parking brake and left the car running in the early morning chill. He bounded up the stairs, his steps pounding a steady rhythm on the concrete risers.

Lifting a fist to knock on DiNozzo's door he found it swung open instead and could barely pull the punch that threatened. Equally as startled, Tony stepped backward and his slow left foot caught on the rug, sending him butt- hard on the floor, left leg crumpled under him.

"Sorry about that, DiNozzo." Gibbs reached a hand to haul him up, but took no more notice of the episode than that. Tony brushed himself off then, limping slightly, shut the door and silently followed Gibbs out onto the landing.

So that, Tony supposed, was the way it was going to be – Gibbs was going to be "Gibbs". And he was going to, what, pretend he didn't have a debilitating condition that would eventually lead to his very early retirement? Gibbs might have a control-freak nature and think this could be overcome by sheer willpower, but Gibbs didn't have a carnival ride spinning in his head, didn't have a half-numb leg slowing him down.

Gibbs went down the stairs much slower than he'd gone up them, a hand on the railing, using his body to unobtrusively shield Tony in case the younger man stumbled again. If he fell it was going to be into him, not down the steep steps.

The ride had, again, been made in remarkable silence, considering DiNozzo's usual propensity to talk his way through ... anything.

Gibbs swung into the Starbucks drive-through and fished out his wallet. "How do you take your coffee?"

"You're buying me coffee?"

"Don't look so shocked DiNozzo, I'm sure I've bought you coffee before."

Tony fiddled nervously with the knob to the glove compartment. "No, you haven't."

"Okay, well I'm buying you coffee now. How do you take it?"

"Um..."

"I've seen you drink coffee, DiNozzo. It shouldn't be that hard a question."

Tony swallowed hard. "Black is fine."

Gibbs nodded in approval. "Good choice."

(tbc)