Heading back to headquarters, Jethro had his team running background while he went to grab himself some coffee and attempt to refocus. He was concerned about LJ but he couldn't let it affect his working the case.

When he walked into the squad room, a fresh cup of coffee in hand, it became clear that his team was looking into LJ and the Medal of Honour that the corporal was presented by President Clinton more than forty years after World War Two was over. Back in the day, no African-American servicemen were awarded the medal due to discrimination and it wasn't until '96 that congress passed legislation to correct the injustice. Seven men were recommended to receive the award. Only two were still alive. One of them was Corporal Leroy Jethro Moore.

Deciding to focus back on the case, he got his team's attention. "Anything on Boxer?"

"Hey, Boss!" DiNozzo said. "Uh, Ziva talked to Petty Officer Boxer's C.O."

Ziva glanced down at her notes. "He said, to make extra money, Boxer had a night job parking cars at the Adams House hotel."

DiNozzo got up from his desk. "McGee and I were just, uh, headed there."

He dipped his head slightly. "Kim Taylor?"

"She's here," Ziva informed him. "She's waiting in Interrogation." She glanced down at her notes. "Um, she is a preschool teacher and spends her spare time doing volunteer work at Washington General Hospital."

Saving that bit of knowledge in the back of his mind, he made his way to interrogation with Ziva in tow. "I'm Special Agent Gibbs, Ms. Taylor." Jethro gestured to the younger field agent. "This is Special Agent David. Have a seat."

Ms. Taylor spoke to Ziva as she sat down. "You're the one I spoke to on the phone."

Ziva gave an affirmative little hum as she took a seat herself.

"I wish you could have told me what this was about," Kim commented a bit nervously. "Driving in, I was racking my brain trying to think of what Navy investigators would want to talk to me about."

Jethro placed a photo down in front of her. "That your pistol?"

Ms. Taylor eyed the photograph. "That looks like the one I got at a pawnshop."

"It is," he stated simply.

"How did you get it?" Kim asked, clearly confused.

"Why did you buy the gun?" Ziva questioned.

"For protection," Kim stated.

Ziva and Jethro both gave the redhead a look, wanting Ms. Taylor to elaborate.

"There were some home invasions in my neighbourhood," Kim explained. "One in the building next door. The day after I got the gun, I took it to a range and actually fired it. It scared the hell out of me." Is she saying she got rid of the gun? "I didn't want it in my apartment. My brother said he'd take it."

"You gave it to your brother?" he reiterated.

"Last week," Kim confirmed.

Well, that's interesting timing. "Hmm. Why did he want it?"

Ms. Taylor looked a bit worried now. "He didn't say."

"What is your brother's name?" Ziva asked.

"Kris," Kim said. The redhead then glanced between both of the agents. "Is he in some kind of trouble? What is this all about?"

He leaned forward slightly. "Where would we find Kris?"

"He's a student at John Hamilton," Kim informed them.

Deciding to look further into Kris, he had Ziva walk the redhead out of the building and made a mental note to send agents to speak with the young man after paying a visit to The Adams House. Kris was involved in this mess somehow, however tangentially. They just needed to figure out how exactly the young man was involved.

Heading into autopsy, Jethro heard Ducky make a comment to Palmer. "I am the worst person to ask about marital advice."

He turned to the Assistant Medical Examiner. "Trouble in paradise, Palmer?"

"Breena and I had our first fight last night," the younger man explained.

He gave a little hum.

"She changed her hairstyle," Palmer proceeded to explain to him. "She asked if I liked it, and... I was honest."

"Not always the best policy," he commented.

"That's what I said," Ducky agreed.

Palmer eyed him. "What do you think I should do?"

Jethro gave the younger man a deadpan look. "Jimmy, do you understand the irony in all this, you asking me for marital advice?" I've been divorced thrice.

Ducky chuckled softly. "Still more experience than me."

"Yeah," Palmer quipped. "Any sage advice?"

"You know how I feel about apologies, right?" he pressed.

"They're a sign of weakness," Palmer replied.

He gave Palmer a pointed look. "Not between family." Jethro then turned to Ducky and turned their focus back to the case at hand. "You recover the slugs?"

"Yes," the medical examiner informed him. "All three... .22s. As is the weapon found at the crime scene. Mr. Palmer is about to take them up to Abby for confirmation." Ducky eyed the tired-looking man. "If he can stay awake long enough."

Palmer chuckled softly and made his way out of autopsy.

Ducky turned back to him. "I heard about your namesake, LJ."

"No secrets around here," he quipped.

"You never mentioned the original Leroy Jethro before," Ducky commented. "But then, of course, there are lots of things you've never mentioned."

"Ah," he said. "It's complicated. He's a great guy, Duck. Montford Point Marine."

"First African-American Marines," Ducky stated. "Served with great distinction."

"He's a humble man," he stated with a hint of introspection. "Never talked much about what happened during the war." Something that Jethro could easily relate to. He didn't like talking about what he'd seen while fighting overseas either.

Desert Storm had been the worst. His tours of duty in Panama and Bosnia hadn't been vacations, but his time in the Persian Gulf had been beyond brutal. His mind instantly went to Lieutenant Cameron dying in his arms after trying to save him. What he saw in Kuwait - before that, he was different. It took something from him. That's what war does. You come home and you're like half a person. The other half of you is still back there where… at least it all made sense. All the blood. The chaos.

"When'd you last see him?" Ducky inquired.

"Sophomore year, high school." Jethro signed before jumping into an explanation. "He, uh... he just left." For reasons that Jethro could likely speculate. He was quite a bit more observant than his old man usually credited him with. "Something happened between him and my dad, and... my bullheaded father, he won't talk about it."

Ducky nodded. "Have you tried to contact him?"

"I wrote him to congratulate him when he was awarded the medal," Jethro said softly. He hadn't taken it personally but would've liked a response. "Never heard back."

Ducky gave him a sombre nod.

With that, Jethro left autopsy, quickly getting an update from Ziva and McGee who he had sent to John Hamilton University earlier to talk to Kim Taylor's brother. Kris wasn't at school. Apparently, the young man had decided to take a little trip and both agents had to settle for a brief chat with the roommate - Alec Dell. A conversation that didn't prove to be overly fruitful either. Dell to all appearances was a lazy student who owned a vacuum pump beer bong. Not very helpful. It wasn't as though they'd got much from Boxer's coworker, Bode, either though. His field agents did run into Mr. Chaya, but that wasn't exactly an honour any of them was fighting over.

Sending his team home at 1700 as he doubted they'd make much more progress that, Jethro followed his own advice and headed home to his wife. After stopping to pick up the Shopsmith 10-E.R he'd wanted from the pawnshop.

"You're home!" Shannon said happily as he closed the front door of their home behind him and shrugged out of his black blazer. "Put out any flames today?"

"You didn't hear on the news?" That was a bit surprising, but then again if the redhead had, the story was probably more focused on Vijay Chaya than on their victim.

"No," she said. "I've been over at Stacy's since I got off work, helping to do something for her niece. Alyssa's coming down to visit."

He gave his wife a small smile. "That's nice."

"Agreed," she said. "So, what was it I might have heard on the news?"

"Before that," he said. "I may have done a thing."

She raised an eyebrow. "What's did you do?"

He explained what he'd bought and then rolling her eyes, Shannon helped him to bring the Shopsmith inside. They then moved their conversation to the couch for a bit before ordering in some dinner and playing a few games of cards.

Shannon ended up reading a book quietly later on in the evening and Jethro headed to the basement to do some woodwork and relax; working on the grey desktop shelf that his better half had not so subtly hinted at wanting.

Eventually, Jethro put the tools down and checked his watch. It was 2130. Kind of late, but he was pretty sure that his old man was probably awake.

Pulling out his cellphone, Jethro dialled his father's phone number. The man picked up on the second ring. "Hello?"

He wasn't sure how to approach the conversation. "Hey, Dad."

"Jethro," his father replied a bit confused. "It's not Sunday. Everything all right?"

"Yeah, yeah. Everything's good." Um, you got a minute?"

"Well, yeah. I got nothing but time," his father said. "Hardly sleep anymore."

Jethro gave a weak chuckle at that. "Yeah." The veteran agent decided to just bite the damn metaphorical bullet. "Hey, I, uh... I ran across something today. Are you aware that, uh... LJ tried to pawn his Medal of Honour?"

The line instantly fell dead silent, the tension tangible.

"Dad?" he asked, breaking the silence. "You know anything about that?"

The Gibbs patriarch's voice was laced with emotion as he replied. "Nope."

"You ever going to tell me what happened between you two?" he pressed

"I told you," his father growled, "never bring up his name."

Jethro had expected a notable reaction from his father. He knew that the subject was quite touchy. What he hadn't expected was the phone line going dead. His father had just hung up on him! Yikes!