Tony shifted in the front seat and asked the same question he'd asked the day before. "Are you sure we just can't call her and talk this out on the phone?"

The I-95 was taking its toll on his already queasy stomach and he rubbed absently below his ribs trying to calm it.

"Wouldn't do that with a suspect," observed Gibbs, swinging into the left-hand lane to pass a much slower moving minivan.

Tony closed his eyes and swallowed hard as they swerved back into the center.

"Trish isn't a suspect," reasoned Tony. "At most she's a …witness."

"Tony, it'll make a much greater impression if we're standing on her front porch." The only reply was a low groan and Gibbs reached out to knead Tony's thigh. "Want me to pull off and get you something? A soda?"

Tony's eyes were still closed. "Just … pick a lane and stay in it. I want to get this over with."

It was nearly three when they pulled off into a Connecticut suburb of older, well-kept houses, Gibbs squinting at the blurry driving instructions. His glance at Tony told him the younger man was still asleep, head propped up on his fist, temple pressed against the passenger-side window. He glided the car to a stop before a pale yellow, renovated Victorian and sighed at the natural rock steps leading up to the porch. All, he quickly counted, eight of them and no handrails in sight.

He shook Tony's shoulder gently. "We're here."

Tony blinked dazedly at the oak-lined road before him. "Connecticut?" He stretched as best he could in the confining quarters, turning to look at the house. "Nice digs." He blinked again and pressed his forehead against the glass of the side window. "I … think," he amended.

"You ready?"

Gibbs got back a simple "no," but Tony was already moving to unbuckle the seatbelt. In a minute they were both standing stiffly, Tony holding onto the car for balance. Gibbs let out an eager Rufus, who was obviously ecstatic to be released from the back seat.

He trotted around the car to nuzzle at Tony's hand and have his ears scratched. Then he positioned himself with canine professionalism at Tony's side.

"Got rock steps, eight of them," Gibbs informed Tony, taking a minute to consider the logistics. "No handrails."

"I'll make it." Tony said it determinedly, although Gibbs wasn't sure if the reassurance had solely to do with climbing the stairs. "What if she's not there?"

"Then we wait for her." Gibbs nodded toward the porch. "Got a porch swing."

"Cozy," muttered Tony, taking the harness up in a firm grip.

At the bottom of the steps, they paused, Gibbs surveying the uneven surface of the rock risers. "Come on," he finally urged, taking definitive action and stepping up, a helping hand clamped high up on Tony's inner arm. He waited while Tony hefted himself onto the first step then squared him to climb the next. The whole thing, which Gibbs could have easily done in three large steps, took, instead, eight painfully slow ones, but eventually they were safely on the porch. Tony leaned hard against the crutch, more shaken than he obviously wanted to admit.

"Your steps are starting to look appealing," he panted, suddenly cherishing the relative steadiness of the bricks and the wrought iron handrail he faced on a usual day.

"Catch your breath," Gibbs instructed, rubbing a brief circle against the tense shoulder muscles.

"I'm okay," muttered Tony, a bit petulantly. "Let's get this over with."

Gibbs pressed the antique doorbell and listened for the sound of footsteps. Tony took up a place behind and a little to the right of where he stood, clearly wanting Gibbs to take the lead. In a few seconds the door opened. Trisha Arnwine's hair was still blonde and curly, but her wardrobe apparently leaned more toward jeans and t-shirts than Madonna these days. A toddler was shyly wrapped around her leg and her free hand rested on child's head.

She took in Gibbs, then Tony, her eyes lingering on the crutch before she faced Gibbs more fully. "Can I help you?"

"Hi Trish," said Tony softly, causing her gaze to return to his face.

Recognition finally sharpening her gaze, she said, "Tony? Tony DiNozzo?"

"Long time no see," Tony offered.

"Wha … what are you doing here?"

"Could we come in?" asked Gibbs.

"Uh," Trisha backed up a couple of steps, "…sure."

"There's a small step up," Gibbs pointed out as unobtrusively as he could, trying to not make Tony's entrance any more awkward than it already was.

"We can sit in the living room," said Trish gesturing across the hall.

Gibbs merely nodded, settling Tony in the closest chair, lowering the crutch to the floor while Rufus sat at his usual position on Tony's left.

Trish had balanced her little girl on her hip. Small, pudgy fingers reached toward Rufus as she moved to the couch.

"Trish," Tony leaned forward, elbows on knees, "this is Jethro Gibbs, we work together at NCIS."

The acronym brought forth a frown. "That, like, a software group?"

"Naval Criminal Investigative Service," supplied Gibbs. "But we're not here in an official capacity. We came to talk about a more … personal matter."

"Did you …" Trish gestured vaguely in Tony's direction, "…get hurt on the job?"

"No," Tony briefly touched his braced knee. "Multiple sclerosis."

"Oh, I'm sorry, Tony."

Tony shifted uncomfortably under the sympathy. "We're here to talk about my father, Trish."

Gibbs watched as the woman's body language, previously open, now became protective. She pulled the toddler closer to her.

"Tony, I've always had nothing but the utmost regard for father."

"He pay you to say that or just threaten you?" asked Tony.

Trish laughed but the levity was clearly forced. "I don't know what you mean."

"Yes, you do, Trish," Tony countered gently. "And, whatever happened, you were a minor. Any blame rests solely on my father."

"I have a family, Tony."

"And so do I," Tony acknowledged, "one that I'm trying to keep together and that my father is trying to pull apart. He wants my son, Trish. You can surely understand why I can't let that happen."

There was sympathy in the woman's blue eyes, but her reply was firm. "Tony there's nothing I can do."

"Did you have a relationship with Albert DiNozzo while you were underage?" asked Gibbs.

Tony winced at Gibbs' cool style of interrogation while Trish merely looked startled, as if she'd forgotten Gibbs was in the room.

"I was … high school was a bad time for me. I had … issues," Trish admitted, one hand holding tightly to her daughter, who was threatening to squirm off the couch. "I did more than one thing I'm ashamed of …"

"Did you have a relationship with Albert DiNozzo?"

"Gibbs!" hissed Tony at the repetition.

Trish looked from one man to the other, finally settling on Gibbs. "If I say I did, what are you going to do with the information?"

"Use it," said Gibbs simply.

"Use it how?" pressed Trish.

"There are things neither of us wants to make public," conceded Gibbs, nodding briefly in Tony's direction, not stopping to make the declaration clearer. "We don't intend to bring charges or leak the story to the press. However, if this is going to work, Tony's father has to think we will."

Trish shook her head. "Why do you think I won't just call him and tell him that?"

She shied a little at the cool appraisal of Gibbs' gaze but he merely asked, "When was the last time you saw Albert DiNozzo?"

"When I told him I slept with Tony."

"Bet that went over well," Tony observed wryly.

"Not one of my finer moments," admitted Trish, finally helping the squirming child to the floor. Once released, she made a beeline for Rufus.

Tony held up a hand as Trish jumped up to retrieve her. "It's okay, he's great with kids. Sam climbs all over him."

"Sam?"

"My son." Tony dug into his pocket and produced his wallet. Sliding out the snapshot Gibbs had taken of a smiling Sam, he was about to find someway to lever himself up when Gibbs rose, retrieving the photo and passing it to Trish.

Gibbs was met by a gaze that showed, from even this relatively innocuous action, that Trish had apparently figured out what it was that he would not want made public.

She ran a fingertip over the photo. "He's beautiful, Tony."

"It won't get out, Trish," Tony assured her. "It's a bluff and always will be. But we've got to make my father think it's not. The one thing he'll go to the ends of the earth to protect is his reputation."

"What would I have to do?"

"Stand firm if he contacts you," answered Gibbs. "Say that you will go public if it comes to that."

"I'll need to talk to Jack - my husband," she explained. "He knows I was a little … wild in my youth but he doesn't know the specifics. I'll need time to--"

"Trish," Tony's voice was soft, "if this is any way will harm your family then I don't want you--"

Trish could see the look in Gibbs' eyes harden at Tony's declaration.

"It's okay, Tony. Jack wasn't a saint either. We know this about each other. We'll survive this." She grimaced. "I owe you one, Tony. For what I said … for what I did."

Gibbs took out one of his cards, scribbling their home phone number on the back. "Our number," he said, deliberately confirming her conclusion.

She studied him a moment before taking it. "I'll talk to Jack tonight."

"Afterward, call us," Gibbs instructed. After a look at Tony, he added, "please."

Trish nodded, "All right." She walked over to kneel down next to Rufus who was enduring an exuberant patting. "I think you've petted the nice doggie enough, Kris."

Taking the cue, Gibbs helped hoist Tony to his feet, Rufus scrambling up, abandoning his newfound friend.

Trish watched Gibbs closely, clearly studying their interaction. Finally, grasping Tony's forearm lightly, she said, "I'm glad you found someone, Tony."

Tony smiled, imagining the look that must be on Gibbs' face. "You, too," he replied.

Gibbs nodded his goodbye, bestowing a gentle touch to the top of the little girl's head as he passed by. At the door he reminded Tony of the step down, then at the edge of the porch he slipped his arm around the slim waist. Released, Rufus trotted down the stone steps, turned and waited for them. Gibbs could feel Trisha Arnwine's gaze on his back and it made him tighten the hold he had on the man beside him. In reply, Tony, likewise, brought an arm around Gibbs' waist, tugging him toward him.

At the bottom, they unwound their grasps, though Gibbs' hand lingered in Tony's for a moment.

The front door clicked shut above them and they made their way to the car unseen.

Sorry for the delay ... got involved writing a Gi/Di Thanksgiving fic that can't be posted here for ratings reasons. If anybody's interested, you can find it at the very nice NCIS Fanfiction Archive: it's called "The Art and Science of Thankfulness". The archive is at ncis . fictionresource . com (well, without the spaces, apparently URLs aren't allowed)

Thankfulness, too, to C for patient beta'ing. Thanks, too, for all the feedback from the last chapter, if I didn't get around to thanking you personally. Feedback is always appreciated.