This time Gibbs sat down at the small table across from Tony. He scanned the press of bodies for anyone matching the description of the "Suicide Blond" and met a couple of very interested glances thrown DiNozzo's way with a petulant glare of his own.

"Anybody you like?" asked Tony, his hands worrying the edge of the table as if they were in search of something to do.

"Platinum blond in the corner. Looks like a leather fetishist. Could be him." Gibbs frowned in the direction of the dance floor. "Couple of blonds dancing."

"Big Boy!"

Gibbs held back the snarl that threatened when Tony's admirer from the other night landed a hand on the younger man's shoulder. He couldn't hide the hardness in his eyes, though.

"Touchy, touchy," tsked 'Big Boy', his hand straying to ruffle DiNozzo's hair.

Tony leaned minutely into the touch and Gibbs pressed his chair back suddenly, "I'm getting a beer."

Whether he was just playing his part, or whether his real emotions were getting the better of him, it was the right move. 'Big Boy' occupied his vacated chair in an instant and, leaning against the bar, he could see that Tony had gotten him to call the leather-clad blond over.

He tried to lip read but it was far too dim to make out what was being said. Just not dim enough to hide the hands being laid on Tony's thighs.

With a disgruntled sigh he retreated to his perch in the booth and set about watching DiNozzo's back.

McGee sat in the darkness of the van, watching the track of the recording and listening to the disembodied conversation, which, even filled with profanity, was far less startling than what he thought he'd heard murmured between DiNozzo and Gibbs.

What he'd hastily wiped from the start of the recording.

He rubbed sweaty hands on his pants and fervently wished Abby were there. She'd say something to make it okay that it seemed like Tony DiNozzo didn't find Agent Gibbs near as frightening as he did.

Personal sexual preference aside, he just couldn't get over the idea that anyone could find the senior agent anything but heart-stopping ... in a totally terrifying, decidedly non-tempting kind of way. And Gibbs had ...

He'd not only kissed DiNozzo, he'd apparently ...

McGee shook himself. The thing was not to go there. Not to even think it.

Gibbs made Abby's coffin look like his grandmother's chintz sofa.

"You're back."

Gibbs' gaze flicked briefly to the professor then returned to DiNozzo.

"This is getting to be a habit."

"It seems," Gibbs agreed sourly.

"Offer is still good."

Gibbs snorted, watching the leather boy lean in toward Tony. "Who's the blond?"

"Calls himself 'Suicide'."

"Catchy," returned Gibbs, trying again to make out what was being said across the barroom floor.

"So ..." speculated Haskins, "you let him come and do this because –"

This time, at least, Haskins managed to get his full attention. "You still studying me?"

"Maybe. I didn't realize until you helped him up that he was—"

"Crippled?" finished Gibbs sharply. "Half blind?"

"So," the academic returned to his previous question, "you let him do this to you because he's ..."

Gibbs gave in and took a deep swallow of his beer before he replied, not untruthfully. "Because it's who he is. It's what he does."

"Suicide won't mind a threesome," Haskins ventured and found the suggestion, not unexpectedly, immediately shot down.

"I would."

"So, you're a one-man man." The professor observed. "Very old-fashioned of you."

Gibbs worried the beer bottle. "What can I say? I'm a conservative kind of guy."

A hand he hadn't been expecting tightened over Gibbs' own. "And I'm just trying to broaden your horizons."

Gibbs gaze locked on the unwelcome touch, which was quickly withdrawn. "I'm not interested."

And he truly wasn't. The trim and somewhat slight professor was not his type. Not in his early years when he'd always wanted to meet strength with equal or greater strength -- Haskins was far too bookish-looking to have ever fulfilled that need. And not now when his desires apparently ran to Italians with quick, cocky grins and a tendency to get under his skin – in more ways than one.

"Fair enough." The sociologist nodded toward the front of the bar. "You have my condolences that he doesn't feel the same way."

Gibbs felt a prickle of fear go up his back and knew, even before he glimpsed the leather-clad blond holding the door open for a smiling Tony, that the younger man had again managed to break the first fucking rule of team surveillance: don't voluntarily leave the sight of your backup.

He flipped the cell open, thumbing the direct connect. "McGee, where the hell is he going?"

"Some place called Messrs DeSade."

"Fuck! McGee, follow them. You so much as let him out of your sight and you'll be doing cold cases in Norfolk until you retire, you hear me?"

What he was going to do to a certain other agent when he caught up with him would be something he'd work out later.

"You're a cop," observed Haskins.

"Not exactly," said Gibbs as launched himself off of the bench. Seeing him stalk toward them, the crowd wisely parted.

"Where the hell do you think you're going, Professor?" he snarled as he flung open the front door of the bar. A hand caught the swinging block of metal and glass before it could fall back with a satisfying clang.

"With you."

"I don't think so," Gibbs enunciated precisely.

"I do. You want to get in to DeSade's without causing a ruckus; you'll need a membership card."

Gibbs stopped. "It's a fucking private sex club? So help me, if I get him out of this in one piece, I'm going to kill him." He clicked the walkie- talkie again. "McGee, you still with him?"

"Y-y-yes sir. Going down Andersonville past Highland right now."

He eyed the waiting academic. "You know where this place is?"

"Oh yeah."

Gibbs tossed the keys to the agency sedan at Haskins. "Then drive."

Thanks to The Tenth Muse for the beta .And, also, apologies for screwing with it after she was done. Any mistakes are, of course, inevitably my fault.