Author's Note: This story was written, or at least started, back in like 2007 or 2008. A long time ago, at any rate. It is set soon after Ziva joined the team and long before Tony's father showed up on the show. This is, in fact, the story that required me to name Tony's father, and I missed Tony's middle initial that we saw on screen in Season 3. By the time I knew, I had already firmly named him Anthony Leonard DiNozzo II, and had him going by his middle name. Once a name is attached in my mind, it's difficult to change it, so he's stuck with it in my stories.

I stopped watching the show in roughly season 8, but plan to go back and watch it, so please avoid spoilers in your comments in reviews if you can.

Oh, and I really appreciate the immediate flood of reviews.

Also, sorry for the wodge of text, but to the guest reviewer, Barbara, and anyone else who is thinking this . . . This is not a work in progress. It is completely written, and was finished YEARS ago. I post chapter by chapter for 3 reasons. 1) It stokes anticipation. 2) It gives me a chance to recheck each chapter as I go. 3) If you post a whole 60,000 word story in one go, you get one, maybe two reviews. I'm a review junkie, so I post them a week apart because that way I get bunches of reviews. :)

Chapter 2

Gibbs fished the keys out of his pocket as they approached the door to Tony's apartment. McGee stood in silence while Gibbs opened the door, and if he wondered why their team leader had a key to DiNozzo's apartment, he didn't ask. Gibbs was reasonably certain that McGee still took Tony's facade for reality and didn't see the miserably insecure man beneath it. He certainly didn't know about the minor breakdown Tony had suffered after being forced to kill Jeffrey White. What reaction Tony had been unable to repress at work, most people had put down to being chained unknowingly to a serial killer.

Only Gibbs had heard Tony's confession – knew Tony's grief for what it was. He'd come to like that pathetic man, hadn't seen through the shell to the killer beneath. Having to kill White or be killed had shaken him to the core, but Tony just didn't let people in. Gibbs knew a thing or two about that, and he'd come by a few times to check on Tony. After the first time, he'd ordered his senior field agent to provide him with a key for the front door, fully aware that Tony wouldn't refuse. Wouldn't even think of it.

They stepped inside. "Tony?" Gibbs called, just on the off chance that someone was playing a prank on Tony's father. There was no response, but he really hadn't expected one. "Look for anything out of place."

McGee nodded and they split up. Gibbs headed towards the bedrooms and McGee took the more public parts of the house. There was nothing to see. The bed wasn't made, at least not to Gibbs' standards, but other than that, things were neat and ordinary. He met up with McGee in the living room where the most junior of his agents was looking around, seeming puzzled.

"Something wrong, McGee?" he asked.

"This just . . . doesn't seem like Tony, somehow," McGee said.

Gibbs looked around. Expensive prints, designer furniture, flat screen TV, a scattering of sports magazines. "I'm not sure what you mean."

"Well, I just always . . . I pictured Tony's place as sort of a bachelor pad."

"This is a bachelor pad, McGee."

"No, I mean . . . take out containers and mess, you know. Bachelor pad."

Gibbs nodded, understanding finally. "He has a cleaning service," he replied. "And he brings women here."

"So?"

Gibbs shook his head. If McGee didn't understand the importance of cleanliness in that sense, he wasn't going to be the one to tell him. He wondered what McGee's place looked like. Kate had described it as a server room crossed with a college dorm, whatever that meant.

His phone rang. He grabbed it. "Gibbs."

"A maintenance worker found Tony's gun and his wallet in a trash can in Georgetown," Ziva said without preamble. "We are very lucky, because he took it to the police instead of trying to sell it."

"Where in Georgetown?" She gave the approximate location and he started towards the door. "Anything else?"

"Not so far," she said.

"Get them both to Abby."

"Yes Gibbs."

"And get the maintenance worker to meet me there and keep calling." He clicked the phone off and turned to McGee. "DiNozzo's gun was found in Georgetown."

"That's . . . not good."

"You think, McGee?"

The younger man kept silent all the way down to the car and almost all they way to their destination. He sat up straight then and started looking around. "Where are we going, Boss?" he asked.

"The trash can where the gun was found."

McGee fell silent again, but he looked troubled. Gibbs got to the block and found it parked solid. He pulled up to the side of the road directly in front of the trash can, popped his blinkers on and got out. McGee waited until the traffic slowed and followed him. "Boss?"

"Yeah, McGee?" Gibbs didn't look at him. He was busy scanning the street and the sidewalk for his maintenance worker.

"I've been here before, with Tony," McGee said.

This got his attention, and he turned to face McGee. "Go on."

"There's a club on the next block that Tony really likes. He bullied me into going there with him a couple months ago."

"A good spot for a snatch, then," Gibbs said. McGee nodded uneasily. "How often does he go there?" Gibbs asked intently.

"From what he said then and things he's said since, at least every other week, maybe more often sometimes."

"So if they watched long enough, they'd get a chance."

"Yeah," McGee said with a grimace.

Gibbs pulled out his phone and dialed. "Ziva, where's my maintenance worker?" he demanded. She was trying to come up with an answer to the question when Gibbs saw a black man in a dark green coverall moving towards them. "Never mind," he said into the phone and closed it again.

"You Special Agent Gibbs?" the man asked. Now that he was closer, Gibbs could see the name on the chest of his coverall, Jackson.

"Yes, and this is Special Agent McGee. You're the one who found the gun?"

"Yes sir," Jackson said. "I was emptying the bag early this morning and I saw the shape pressing out against the side of the bag. I took it to my truck and dumped the whole thing out in the bed because I wasn't about to stick my hand in there. You never know what kind of crap people throw away these days."

"Very wise," McGee said.

"So, I found the gun and the wallet."

"No cell phone?" Gibbs asked.

"No sir. I gave everything I found to the police. They even asked for the garbage that was in the bag with the gun. Why I don't know."

Gibbs nodded, and he hoped they'd send the whole mess of it over to Abby. "When was that bag last emptied?"

"Should have been sometime yesterday afternoon. Depends on whether the guy on that shift got around to it."

"Approximately what hour?"

Jackson shrugged. "Between three and five, I'd guess. You'd have to check with the guy who does it. We all have our own routes and ways to get stuff done."

"Okay. Give your contact information to Agent McGee." While McGee was getting that, Gibbs turned and looked around. Even at night, this area couldn't be completely deserted, especially not if there was a club nearby. As soon as McGee was ready, Gibbs said, "Take me to this club of yours."

"It's Tony's," McGee replied. "It's not really my scene." Gibbs just stared at him. "This way," he said, starting off down the street. Gibbs kept an eye out for good spots for an ambush, but there was really no sure way to guess. There were at least three or four alleys along the way. And for all they knew, someone had slipped him something in his drink, though Tony had gotten a lot more careful about that after his experience with GHB. Apparently he hadn't enjoyed waking up locked in a room with one live marine and a couple of dead ones.

"This is it," McGee said, pointing to a door with a simple neon sign over it. Ziz.

"That's a club?" Gibbs asked.

"Complete with red carpet and velvet rope to corral the unworthy," McGee said sourly. "What do you think happened?"

"I don't know, McGee. Let's see if there's anyone home." He walked up and tried the door. It was locked, so he pounded, waited for a few moments, then pounded again.

The door opened abruptly, and Gibbs stepped back. A young woman stood there, her dark hair held back with a red headband and her hands covered with yellow rubber gloves. "Yes?" she asked in a distinctly Slavic accent.

"Are you the only one here?" he asked.

"Yes?" she asked again.

"Boss, I don't think she speaks any English."

Gibbs closed his eyes and counted to five. "Really McGee?" The young man looked suitably chastened, and Gibbs pursed his lips. He pulled out his phone and called Ziva again. "Do you speak any Slavic languages?"

"I do."

"I'm about to hand the phone to a woman who doesn't appear to speak any English. See if you can get her to tell you if there's anyone else at the club."

"What club?"

"Just ask her, Ziva," Gibbs said impatiently. Then he handed the phone to the girl.

She took it, looking puzzled, but gamely held it to her ear. "Yes?" she said, and Gibbs didn't strangle her. She listened for a couple of seconds, her brows knit. "No," she said.

"Well, she got a new word out of her, Boss," McGee said. Gibbs didn't look at him, he just waited to see if Ziva would have any success.

The girl listened a couple more times and said no, but then her eyes brightened and she began to speak in a liquid tongue that Gibbs couldn't quite place. She paused a couple of times, clearly listening to questions, then answering them. Then she held the phone out to him. "For you," she said.

"Ziva?"

"Yes," she said in a passable imitation of the girl, and Gibbs ground his teeth.

"Ziva!"

"Sorry Gibbs. There is a manager upstairs, doing the books. She will take you to him if you will tip her twenty dollars."

"Do you think you could explain to her the concept of obstruction of justice and prison?"

"Gibbs, give her the money," Ziva said sounding almost angry. "We are wasting time."

Gibbs grimaced and dug in his wallet. He handed over the cash and the girl smiled. She beckoned them inside and he followed. They went through a series of open rooms with speakers and sound equipment and basically everything besides a disco ball. Finally, they reached a back hallway and went up a set of dingy stairs into another hallway. She took them to a door, mimed knocking and made herself scarce.

Gibbs knocked and a voice inside the room muttered something in the same language the girl had spoken. It sounded profane. Then the door was jerked open. The man, a stooped fellow with thinning dark hair and a habitually sour expression, glared at them. "What do you want?" he demanded.

Pulling out his badge holder, Gibbs flipped it to show his badge and his ID. "I'm Special Agent Gibbs and this is Special Agent McGee, NCIS. We have a few questions. You are?"

"Andrej Branislav," the man said. "I am the manager. How did you get in?"

Gibbs shrugged. "Were you here last night?" he asked.

"I am here every night," the man replied. "I said I am the manager. Come in." He ushered them into a room that had a table, four chairs and a computer. "Sit."

Gibbs looked at McGee who produced the picture of DiNozzo that they'd provided themselves with. "Did you see this man here last night?"

"Do you know how many people come here?" Branislav asked, barely glancing at the photograph. "I don't know."

"Please look carefully," McGee said, still holding the photo out.

Grudgingly, Branislav took it and squinted at it. "This man, I have seen him a few times. I believe he comes here often, but I do not know if he was here last night."

"When does your staff show up for work?" Gibbs asked.

"At eight," Branislav said. "We open at nine."

"I'll need the names, numbers and addresses of all the people on duty last night," Gibbs said.

Branislav scowled, but he gave him the information he asked for, and they left.

When they got to the car, Gibbs let McGee take the wheel and he dialed Fornell's number. He'd wanted to give Tony's father the opportunity to call the authorities himself, but he suspected Tony's father had remained stubbornly convinced that his son was playing a joke on him, if for no other reason than the fact that he hadn't heard from Fornell himself yet. He was now past letting the senior DiNozzo take the lead. The phone rang, and then Fornell picked up. "FBI."

"Fornell, I need to know if the FBI has heard from Anthony Leonard DiNozzo of Long Island, New York."

There was a pause, then Fornell said, "I'm not the secretary for the whole of the FBI, Gibbs. What's this about?"

"If he'd called, you'd know," Gibbs replied. "Damn that stupid, arrogant son of a bitch." Gibbs was aware of McGee giving him an alarmed look out of the corner of his eye.

"Is he any relation to your DiNozzo?" Fornell asked, unfazed by Gibbs' show of temper.

"His father. He received a ransom demand for Tony this morning and called the office to yell at him for the practical joke."

"Are you sure it's not a practical joke?" Fornell asked. Gibbs didn't say anything, and after a moment Fornell sighed. "Sorry. Of course you are."

"Since Tony's father doesn't seem to be interested, I am now officially reporting the abduction of a federal agent."

"There goes my hope for a quiet day," Fornell said. "Shall I meet you at your office?"

"I'm heading back there now."

"What happened?"

"I don't have any idea, but his gun was found in a trash can in Georgetown near a club that he apparently frequents."

"Ziz?" Fornell asked.

"Yeah. How do you know?"

"We took his life apart a month or so ago, remember?"

"Right," Gibbs said. "Ironically enough, that may actually make this easier."

"Yeah, we've already done a good piece of the legwork."

"Twenty minutes?"

"Twenty minutes."